amiablePlum87 Member Profile

...See more When i was seven years old I moved countries. The language was technically the same, but the dialect and accent were so wildly different it was a struggle to communicate. I missed my friends so much, I'd cry for hours every day. I gave up on making more, since the move had come out of nowhere and i was scared of losing anyone else. I also moved education systems, and since the curriculums were so different, and I was borderline ADHD, I got put in learning support for a while. That was where he saw me. His name was Finley and he had the palest blue eyes I'd ever seen, and hair so blond it was almost white. He was a few years older than me. He was only a year ahead in school though. He'd started late and then been held back. He spent all day in learning support, as apposed to my half hour or so. And he liked me. He adored me, or so I was told. He slurred his words and never had his eyes all the way open. He'd delicately disassemble a clock but was rough with people. I tried to be nice, because I felt sorry for him. It backfired. He started chasing me down in the playground. He'd tackle me to the ground and kiss any part of me he could reach. He kissed like a tiny baby; mouth open and slobbering everywhere. He was bigger than me. Stronger than me. I couldn't get him off me. He slurred out that he loved me, and I cried my eyes out. The teachers and his parents told me "Finley is autistic. It's his special way of showing he loves you. " and I belived them. I wasn't sure what autistic meant but I knew Finley was Disabled. If I didn't let him do what he wanted he'd cry, and if it made him cry it was bullying, and bullying a disabled kid was one of the worst possible things in my worldview. I was too young to know about anything worse. So I didn't stop him. If it was just the tackling and the pinning and the kissing I might have handled it okay but he didn't stop. He'd lay on the ground and try and look up the skirt of my summer dress. Wrap his arms around me and burry his hands between my legs. When I started wearing a bra (I was an early bloomer, I needed one by age 10) he popped the buttons off my shirt to see it, to feel it. I stopped climbing trees for fun and started doing it to get away from him- he was too heavy to reach me. I learnt to arm myself with a skipping rope. I framed him for petty theft and minor injuries, so he'd be pinished for SOMETHING at least. The teachers used to make me sit by him in assembly. They said I calmed him down. His hands would be on me the entire hour. I was so, so, unimaginably glad when he finally left and gave me a year of peace. But I'm still not over it. I feel like I'm having a heart attack every time I see someone with hair and eyes his colour. I'm PETRIFIED of saying no to anyone, boys especially-he was always worse if he didn't get what he wanted. I struggle to trust anyone. I hate being touched; I have to work to stop every hand feeling like his. I can't be in a relationship, either. I'm very much a sexual person, but I'm scared- what if it happens again? What if I become that person to someone and hurt them like he hurt me?any hands become his after a while. I have no idea how to get better, no idea what to do. I need help.

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