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Hello everyone. I don’t write much any more, but recently my friend Ufuoma dropped me a line and gave me some encouragement. She’s really good at that, you know.

Shortly after Ufuoma called me back into the world of WordPress, I read a post on the AskTheBigot blog, guest written by a woman named Moira Greyland. It is a deeply personal story of horrific suffering. I am so humbled that she allowed so many people to share in the deepest pains of her past, and I suggest that you read it too and offer her your support. Sharing her story has brought some more pain into her life, because it’s a story that even some of her friends didn’t want to hear. But please, I request if you find yourself also feeling edgey after reading her story and don’t have any good or kind things to say, please be thoughtful and consider how hard it must have been for her to share it.

Anyway, after reading it today, it got me thinking of some of the parts of my past that I’ve been wanting to write about but never got around to. I think it’s because I was still bitter about a lot of it. I also think it’s because it eventually revolves around sexuality. Again. I really don’t want people to think that I’m obsessed with sex and sexuality, but if I come off that way, please understand the reason behind it. I did not go searching for sexuality to become a huge part of my life. It was pretty much thrown upon me, and because I think that physical touch is my strongest love language, it really effected me.

My story is not nearly as awful or shocking as someone like Moira Greyland’s story. Compared to her’s it’s actually quite tame and common place, but still holds profound relevence in the course my life took.
When I was in either grade one or kindergarten there was a boy in my class whom I will call Dustin (for privacy purposes). My first impression of Dustin was that he was compassionate and charming. I confided in him that I couldn’t ride a bike yet – I still used training wheels – and he declared that bikes are for babies. Training wheels are where it’s at. He made me feel a lot better about being behind the other kids in that regard. Naturaly, I considered him a friend immediately. He was a nice kid and continued to charm me. Unfortunately I don’t remember much of that. I remember sharing bananas and peanutbutter with him, and I vaguely racall that he didn’t get offended when I wanted to play with my barbies while playing with him. But other than that, my main memories of him are either confusing or sad. 

One day while I was playing at his house I was feeling lazy, and I wanted to lay down. He offered to let me lay down in his bed, and so I did. He asked me if I wanted anything, I declined, and he commented on how much he liked having me in his bed. He seemed really happy. Later that afternoon he told me to go down to the basement  with him. I agreed, and we went downstairs. Once there he told me to take my tights off. I remember him making it sound like it was a game. I did, and then he started to take some of his clothing off. At that moment his babysitter came downstairs looking for us, and upon seeing that we had been undressing together she asked what we were doing. I had no idea what we were doing, but once again Dustin made it sound like were playing a game. His babysitter told me to go home.

The next day my parents sat me down in our basement and had a talk with me. I remember them being concerned, asking me what happened the day before, and telling me that it’s not okay to do that sort of thing with boys. I remember feeling very uncomfortable and kind of upset with them, and I think my mom picked up that because she didn’t keep me long. After the talk was over I went across the street to play with a friend. She had a bunch of her friends over at the time and we all decided to play around in her parents’ camper. While we were playing my friend’s mom popped into the camper and started talking to me. In front of everyone. About the day before. She gave me what felt like a lecture about inappropriate behaviour, and then left us to keep playing. It may have just been a short talk, but it felt like a lecture, and I was mad. I felt violated. I felt humiliated. I was so mad. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that stopped being mad at her.

After that it wasn’t as fun to hang out with Dustin. I wanted to go home a lot sooner than before when he would invite  me over, and I didn’t want to invite him over to my house much anymore. One day while I was walking home from school he asked me to come over, but I refused. He insisted but I refused again and started walking towards my house. He went infront of me and stood with his scooter infront of the walk way to my house. He insisted that I come over, and when I tried to get around him he moved and blocked me again. Thankfully before this went on too long my mom approached the house, walking home from work. She asked what was going on. Dustin told her that he just wanted to play with me, and I told her that I didn’t want to play with him and he wouldn’t let me go home. She told Dustin to go home, and I don’t recall playing with him again after that. 

Later on, in grade three, Dustin moved away. We had a big figt before he left. I don’t even remember what it was about. I remember another friend was there too, and she used one of the strategies for standing up to bullies we were taught in school; she just got up and walked away. I didn’t though. I felt compelled to argue with him. I think I just didn’t like how he acted anymore, and I wanted him to know that. We haven’t spoken since. 

That’s all I’ll write for today. I planned to write more, but I’ll probably write more tomorrow. I have a lot more to tell. 

Thank you for reading and God bless.

(P.S. I can’t figure out how to use spellcheck with this thing anymore, so I apologize for any gramatical errors or spelling mistakes.)

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