What shapes one as a person? Your social life? Your friends? Your family? Those don’t shape who you are, they shape how you behave. What shapes one as a person is hardship, learning how to move on from something so severe that your life has to start over just to be torn apart, only to start again. 
My life derailed at the riteful age of seven. Now I know what you may be thinking: What could be so bad that your life had to start over? What could have possibly happened to cause severe emotional and physical pain? My life ended and restarted at the age of seven. 
My life derailed in the first grade, at the riteful age of seven. No one knew what was going on at night, no one but my rapist and I. My own mother, the person who was suppose to be there for me, didn’t care to figure out why I suddenly wasn’t acting normal. She allowed my rapist into the house, she allowed the events to unfold and happen because she was afraid. She was afraid of what might happen to her. She was scared to come clean. 
She did not know I were being raped, but she knew I had changed. I was never the same when she was with her. 
Things changed. Things changed when she started dating. Things changed when she allowed her in the house. Things have never been the same since.
Now you may be wondering who ‘her’ is… she was the person my mother had been dating at the time. She had two kids, a son and a daughter. The son was in highschool, whereas the daughter was a year younger than me. The daughter was a complete brat, but that’s a story for a different day. 
You’re probably thinking this story is all about the girlfriend, but it’s not. She has a brother, who at the time, would frequently spend the night. Those were the nights I dreaded the most. He would sneak into my room at night, even while his own niece and nephew were in the room, He’d make sure my own mother and his sister couldn’t hear a sound. He would walk over to me, pin me on my stomach and hold me down to where I could just barely breath. I was unable to make a sound. I’m going to spare everyone the details of what he had done while he had me pinned down, but he was, and still is a rapist. Because rapist don’t change. 
He continued to do this to me for months, until my mother had finally had enough of his sister. All of them were abusive in there own mischeivious ways.
Since the incident, I have been diagnosed with PTSD and crippling depression. I’ve been admitted Center Pointe Hospital, which had helped me through wanting to die. And to this day, I’ve never forgotten what happened, but I don’t allow it to form who I choose to be.
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