MY DARK SECRET

I never really spoke about it because I never really accepted it as I mentioned before. I do not feel like I am in a bottom-less pit anymore, I no longer feel that I am the only one. I had the opportunity to read some other blogs which have given me an ounce of courage to dig up the scars that I tried to conceal over time. I know it will bleed and cause some pain, but I am prepared to finally try and understand what happened so I can heal and forgive myself. I will reveal my story as much as I can dig up without breaking down uncontrollably…

I can’t remember how old I was exactly but I do remember being in primary school. He wasn’t much older than me, just a few years if I can remember exactly. Probably mid teen, about 16 or 17 I guess. We did not spend a lot of time together because of how far apart we live from each other. During the Easter holidays or maybe Christmas if I did well in my class exams, my parents would send me for holidays by my grandfather.

Holidays was always the best times of my life, not being in school! No work, no teachers…no headache. My life then was pretty simple, I can’t remember having any problems, I was as normal as they come. Actually despite everything that happened, right up until I was seventeen, I considered myself to be normal. I had no reasons to think otherwise. But now as I go back to that dark time, I am now starting to understand why I thought I was normal.

I have put so much effort into hiding it, making sure no one suspected. I did such a good job at it that I also hid it from myself. But it was still there, lurking in the back of my mind and no matter how much I suppressed it , I couldn’t deny its existence.

I was the oldest child for my parents, I always wanted a bigger brother and maybe that’s why I bonded so well with him. He always cared about me. He was so young and free-spirited. Spoilt really if you ask me. sometimes I ask myself if he knew what he did to me. if he ever thinks about it. After it happened, it was never mentioned again. I wonder if the whole ‘incident’ just vanished from his memory. I often put myself in his shoes, trying to understand why he did it. His mom died at an early age, he was 6 or 7 I think. He had 7 brothers all older than him. I wonder so many times ?

I respected him so much though, although he was so young. I couldn’t deny his role in my life. So many times I was left under his supervision when my grandpa went to work. And it was on one of those occasions it first happened. The first time my father’s brother touched me….