Hey gang~~

No one is under any obligation to read this over-long e-mail.  I’m just blathering.  MAY TRIGGER!  BE CAREFUL!

I know I’ve never elaborated on what happened to me; I never thought it serious enough to bring up.  In my mind, it wasn’t much because far worse has happened to far more people.  That, and I don’t remember much.  I have about 3 years that are missing out of my childhood.  I only get the crumbs of those memories.

I was a PAINFULLY shy kid.  Horrifically so.  When I went into middle school (grade 6, age 11), I had no friends (all my pals from elementary school went elsewhere), and I was picked on and teased.  A *LOT*.  Why?  I have no idea.   In shop class there was a group of 4-5 (I think) older boys that would sit around me and ask me very embarrassing, very sexual questions.  I was a VERY young 11.  I had no idea what they were even talking about half the time. At the same time, in Social Studies, there was a classmate, Kenneth (I can’t remember his face, but I can remember his name—weird, huh?) who was molesting me.  I don’t remember how it started, but it went from him touching my stomach, to my thighs, to my chest, etc.  By the end, he was touching me between the legs under my underwear. Yes, it got very explicit. He would whisper dirty things to me while he touched me under the desk.  He would also pinch me, slap me, push me.  One time when I wouldn’t let him push my arm out of the way so that he could have more elbow room, he pushed me out of my chair.  No, the teacher never said anything to him.  She liked him.  She didn’t like me.  No, I never said anything either.  Every day I swore I was going to ignore him.  I swore I wasn’t even going to look at him, but he would talk to me, and he would be so nice, that I would either give in, or I would get scared he was going to get angry, and the whole thing would start over again.  I would just shut off and wait for the classes to change.

This went on just about everyday for about 6 or 7 months until, for what ever reason, the teacher changed my seat.  I think it was because Kenneth was getting more and more physical.  Or maybe she finally figured out what was going on.  I repressed everything, and am STILL trying to get back all the pieces.  I also stopped wearing skirts, became a self-injurer at 11 because I hated myself, grew up with bouts of horrific depression, attempted suicide a few times, and  I denied my gender and sexuality for a good 9 years or so.  Until last year, when the relationship between my fiancé and I became increasingly more physical, I had no idea what it felt like to be sexually frustrated.

Sorry this is so long.  It’s taking a lot for me to trust this much, and I’m trying to get it all out in one mailing so I can’t chicken out.  ;)  I know this is small potatoes compared to what most of you have lived through, but . . . But I’m not sure.  *LOL*  I’m sure there’s more to this story, I just don’t have access to those chapters right now.

Thanks for listening.

~~Oak the Star Stealer