He Was A Father To Me And I Loved Him Till One Night I Woke Up To Him Doing This To Me

sonali baral sonali baral in Your Story on 22 January, 2017

I have been avoiding sharing my story. It is easy to talk about heartbreaks; it’s easy to talk about failures.

But I find it very difficult and draining to write about what happened to me inside a bedroom behind a closed door in 2005.

I was 12 years old when my uncle (Bua's husband) molested me. And so naturally, after this incident, I did not utter a word or the right ones, at least. I tried to tell my mother; I truly did. But can a 12-year old really make an adult --- her mother, of all people --- comprehend the incomprehensible?

So, I never said much. I was too ashamed to tell my friends because what had happened to me was so unfathomable, so utterly terrifying and confusing. The thing is, when you have trouble expressing that you have been sexually abused, it is hard for people around you to understand that something truly terrible has happened to you.

I am writing about it today hoping that I'll feel a bit lighter after sharing my horrific story with the world. So a few years ago, I was really happy to know that my uncle and aunt were getting a transfer.

I used to love my uncle very much, even more than my parents.

My aunt was facing some complications. Even after 10 years of marriage she was not being able to conceive. So, for this reason, they treated me as their own daughter, especially my uncle. He used to give me gifts, chocolates, read me bedtime stories — everything — that my own father didn't do for me. Little did I know that the love he was showering on me was not father’s love.

But soon, with God's grace, they were blessed with a son. I was quite jealous as I thought my uncle won't give me as much attention as he used to give me earlier. I shouldn't have wished otherwise!

So, coming back to the story. My uncle and aunt got their transfer, shifted to their place and after a few days they visited my place. Uncle asked me to come to their place for my summer vacation. I was really happy, I packed my bags and went with them. We reached their place very late at night. So, we had dinner and slept early. As they had recently moved in, only one bedroom had an air-conditioner.

Sleeping arrangements were like this: I, my uncle, and my younger cousin brother were going to sleep on the bed. And my aunt was going to sleep on the floor.

Day 1 ended.

Next day we went shopping, had dinner, came back home, and went to sleep. My uncle used to pat or caress my hair to put me to sleep. That night also, the same ritual took place. As I was really tired I slept early. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I woke up and saw that my uncle's hand was inside my t-shirt and he was fondling my left breast. I was stunned, shocked, and motionless.

After he finished fondling my left breast, his hands went for the right one. I was confused, was not able to understand what exactly was happening to me. He continued fondling and then again he went for the left side and started pressing really hard. It was too painful and gross. He touched me in every possible way. Then, his hands went inside my trousers; he started rubbing his fingers on my vagina.

As he was about to take his fingers inside my underwear, I suddenly woke up and went inside the bathroom. I cried continuously and stayed there for hours. And when I came out, he was asleep.

I went to another room, locked myself and cried the whole night. I was not aware then that this thing had a term. It could be described as molestation or sexual assault, I didn't know. What I did know was that something wrong had happened. I felt utterly betrayed and hurt.

Next morning he behaved normally, as if nothing had happened. He was not guilty at that time and he is not guilty even now. To this point, not a word has off slipped my tongue, it’s like it didn’t even happen. I just moved myself to a different position and acted like nothing has happened but I have questioned myself multiple times on why I didn’t slap him or say anything.

Now I realize that my reaction was a product of my shock. When something bad happens to you, you don’t want to believe it’s actually happening. You want to hold on to your last shred of optimism till tragedy really strikes, but what’s confusing about this situation is that tragedy had struck and I couldn’t say a word. 

So, now I know that if someone does not believe what I have to say, I just have to speak louder and clearer.

I deserve to be heard.

And if anyone ever comes to me, whether it is about sexual abuse or anything else, I will do my best to be a shoulder to cry on. Because everyone else deserves to be heard too.  

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