When I was about five or six years old, someone who I trusted raped me.
I would go over to my neighbor's house multiple times a week and get a pickle. Afterwards their son would take me upstairs and make out with me and finger me. He'd say, "You can eat a pickle after this." I just remember the pain of all of it. I kept going over for about a year.
When I started started going to school, it stopped. He got married and moved on with his life. I didn’t figure out what had happened to me until junior high. I bawled my eyes out and couldn’t believe what had happened.
I still sometimes think about it and cry myself to sleep, but when I wake up I tell myself, "You're stronger than this!"