The Unpleasant Touch

Middle of the day. Everything uncomfortably quiet. A sudden movement. Someone at the door. Fastened heartbeat. Quick steps approaching closer and closer to the room. I pretend to sleep. An unwelcomed familiar yet unpleasant touch.

Crowded room. A warm blanket. Family gathering. Smiling faces. Something crept under the blanket silently. I turned cold. The touch.

5th birthday. A car ride. Crowded. Playing. Laughing. Teasing. A cold shiver. The touch.

10th birthday. A party. A cake. Family. New clothes. New toys. Old fear. Old touch. Disgusted. I gave up.

Turned 16. Lost my grandma. Sad faces. Sad hearts. Discomfort. Familiar chills. Familiar face. Familiar touch. Hurt. Loud scream. I broke down.

I am 19 today. I have a new life. New people. Some nightmares, some memories. But no touch scares me anymore.

Yes, my childhood was nothing like it should have been. Yes, I never knew what it meant to be carefree. I never knew what it meant to live without any fear. But, those incidents, those people have turned me into what I am today.

I would have cared much less about others if the worse had not happened with me, I could have never felt the pain of the world, of every person going through his or her own journey, every soul trying to breath, trying to shout, trying to be heard.

It would have been much different, maybe much better too. But today, I don’t hold any grudges against anyone. Yes, they did wrong, but, I became strong enough to live through any difficulty that life might throw at me.

This was one of the deepest secrets that my heart held from the childhood. It was never meant to be heard. I never wanted the society to judge me, to sympathize with me, to feel pity for me. No, I don’t want pity messages, I don’t want people telling me “Don’t say it out loud”.

Yes it happened. Yes I suffered. But, no, it doesn’t affect me anymore.


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