I was a punching bag at age 6.
By age 9, I was still a punching bag, but also a play thing to satisfy new sexual urges that teenagers tend to experience. Of course, he didn’t ask me if I wanted to play along.
At age 10, I was a ball of rage, but fighting hard to keep that rage inside.
At age 16, I thought that one boyfriend, whom I loved more than life itself, would be the hero I needed him to be, if I gave myself to him sexually.
However, even after that, the rage didn’t stop. I’m nearly 26 and it still continues.
Maybe it has something to do with not moving on.
No, I have moved on, to a point.
As I got older, I was criticised for not moving on.
Why did I allow the past to give me nightmares?
Why did I allow it to affect my choices in men?
Why did I allow it to fill up every part of my being?