The Start of Hating Myself

When I was in the seventh grade I invited my friend over to walk to the pool with me. He knocked on my door and I invited him in. I had to run upstairs to my bedroom to get my pool bag and he followed. None of this seemed out of the ordinary because we had been friends for years. As I was facing my bed gathering all of the stuff into my bag I felt his hands go up my shirt. I giggled and said stop. He wouldn’t stop. He kept getting more aggressive and picked me up and pinned me down on my bed. I felt his hands moving down my body. I continued to tell him to stop but he never did. I finally started screaming and kicking and finally he stopped.

He made me feel as if this was my fault because I invited him over. He told me multiple times, “what do you expect when you invite me over and your parents aren’t home.” I expected him to respect me and be my friend like he always was. 

I never told anyone about what had happened and I regret that more than ever. 

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