It's been over ten years since you first laid your hands on me and I still can't seem to forget the way you touched me and the things you made me do. Back then I didn't understand what I was being coaxed into doing. All I knew was that my favorite uncle wanted me to put my hands on his body and he always seemed so happy when I complied. I wasn't supposed to know what you were asking me to do. I was eight years old, for crying out loud! You took advantage of that innocence and abused my love and adoration.

If we hadn't moved the year later, I know the abuse would have continued, and I would still have had no clue the kind of scars you would eventually leave. You still took me into your room when I visited Grandmama and you managed to give yourself a few moments of satisfaction while she chatted with my mother just outside your room, both unsuspecting, both oblivious to what was going on.

When I started junior high, three years later, I realized for the very first time what I had been through. I had been sexually molested by my uncle. I wept that day and crawled into the bathtub, sobbing hysterically. I turned on the hot water and screamed when it scalded my hands. I took a hard brush and started scrubbing my body, my hands, my breasts, my stomach--wherever you touched me. My skin turned red and there were cuts on my chest, yet I kept scrubbing, hoping to erase the memories of your lips and hands on me. I have scars to prove the kind of pain you caused me.

Each year was more difficult to deal with, especially that year I had my first boyfriend. When he put his arms around me, I started to shake uncontrollably and whimper. I was so afraid and so scared. He was the first person I ever told about my abuse and I couldn't stop trembling as I told him what you had done to me. Every time he touched me, I would shudder, and instead of feeling loved and cared for, I would be afraid. Every time he kissed me, I would push him away. Every time I felt him against me, I would remember you and stand for hours under the shower, wanting desperately to be rid of your stains.

I'm almost nineteen years old now and you will never touch me again. You took away my innocence and the only thing I knew I had--my purity. Because of you, I will never feel the thrill of a kiss or the magic of a touch. I will always tremble when someone touches me and I will feel sick inside when I remember the things you did to me. I will always know, in my heart, that I was a victim of abuse, and I will have to live with the consequences of that for the rest of my life.

I'm no longer angry at you because maybe you too were too young to understand the consequences of your actions. Maybe you didn't think I would remember. Maybe you never thought I would grow up to be so strong as to have the courage to face my past and actually survive it. You should have never touched me because one day, I promise, the past will come back to haunt you. When it does, I hope YOU have the courage and decency to face it, just as I have.

Ras.