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Description
It was my first year of High school.
I was really excited, I was part of a cool program in school.
I was going to work with computers, something that I liked a lot.
It was going pretty well for a couple of months.
Then it happened.
Coming from behind.
I sat peacefully in my chair, doing my work.
He stood over me and grabbed my breasts and squeezed them hard.
Twisting and turning.
I was helpless.
It was me, a small overweight kid against a star football and baseball player.
What could I do?
It hurt, a lot.
I almost cried because it was so painful.
He stopped after a while, after I had struggled to get free.
I thought this was just a one time thing.
What could I tell anyone about this?
Who could I talk to?
No one.
Nobody would think this was serious.
"You're just being bullied, man up," I thought to myself.
Then it happened again, the next day.
Coming up from behind me,
Me being blissfully unaware.
It kept happening.
Sometimes multiple times a day in that class.
He'd strike at any opportunity that I was distracted.
I had to adapt and prepare myself.
I had to be ready to be assaulted at any minute.
I cried to myself in my sleep,
Knowing that tomorrow I would again be molested.
I began to fear going to that class,
My favorite class,
My favorite subject.
Fear, turned into dread.
I was so afraid of walking into that class,
That sometimes,
It was a small relief when he wasn't there.
I could breathe,
For just a few seconds,
But then need to come to the realization,
That tomorrow would be different,
I would be assaulted again,
And again,
Forever?
I couldn't take it anymore.
My thoughts were poisoned.
I always had to look behind my back,
I always had to hunch over and protect myself,
I never felt safe,
It spread into other classes,
The fear that I would be attacked,
It was everywhere.
I could talk to no one.
They would probably just make fun of me.
Who would believe?
Or want to help?
My parents would probably kick me out
"You're just a pussy and a disappointment,"
I thought to myself, thinking of how they would reply to me
How could I stand up to the star football and baseball player?
What could I do?
I was powerless against this.
Again, I just couldn't take it anymore.
I scheduled an appointment with the school counselor.
I didn't care anymore.
There was nothing else I could do.
Months of this abuse,
had I access to weapons at home, maybe things would have turned out differently,
but instead,
I tried to get help from the only people who I thought could do anything.
She had weird hair,
But I told her about what was going on,
I cried while talking about it because it hurt,
It hurt to think about it,
It hurt to know that maybe this would never be stopped,
It hurt to know that maybe I would be punished for doing this,
But fortune smiled upon me.
I was able to stand up to the months of abuse
I was able to retaliate, not with force
But with actionable consequences
But those months of abuse were not without consequences of their own
I would quickly pack this away,
And never talk about it again with anyone.
It would fester in my mind.
It would poison me.
But, I had done it.
The perpetrator got punished.
I was free from this daily torment.
But I would never forget it.
I was free until the next set of challenges,
The ones that would break me even further.

Description
It was my first year of High school.
I was really excited, I was part of a cool program in school.
I was going to work with computers, something that I liked a lot.
It was going pretty well for a couple of months.
Then it happened.
Coming from behind.
I sat peacefully in my chair, doing my work.
He stood over me and grabbed my breasts and squeezed them hard.
Twisting and turning.
I was helpless.
It was me, a small overweight kid against a star football and baseball player.
What could I do?
It hurt, a lot.
I almost cried because it was so painful.
He stopped after a while, after I had struggled to get free.
I thought this was just a one time thing.
What could I tell anyone about this?
Who could I talk to?
No one.
Nobody would think this was serious.
"You're just being bullied, man up," I thought to myself.
Then it happened again, the next day.
Coming up from behind me,
Me being blissfully unaware.
It kept happening.
Sometimes multiple times a day in that class.
He'd strike at any opportunity that I was distracted.
I had to adapt and prepare myself.
I had to be ready to be assaulted at any minute.
I cried to myself in my sleep,
Knowing that tomorrow I would again be molested.
I began to fear going to that class,
My favorite class,
My favorite subject.
Fear, turned into dread.
I was so afraid of walking into that class,
That sometimes,
It was a small relief when he wasn't there.
I could breathe,
For just a few seconds,
But then need to come to the realization,
That tomorrow would be different,
I would be assaulted again,
And again,
Forever?
I couldn't take it anymore.
My thoughts were poisoned.
I always had to look behind my back,
I always had to hunch over and protect myself,
I never felt safe,
It spread into other classes,
The fear that I would be attacked,
It was everywhere.
I could talk to no one.
They would probably just make fun of me.
Who would believe?
Or want to help?
My parents would probably kick me out
"You're just a pussy and a disappointment,"
I thought to myself, thinking of how they would reply to me
How could I stand up to the star football and baseball player?
What could I do?
I was powerless against this.
Again, I just couldn't take it anymore.
I scheduled an appointment with the school counselor.
I didn't care anymore.
There was nothing else I could do.
Months of this abuse,
had I access to weapons at home, maybe things would have turned out differently,
but instead,
I tried to get help from the only people who I thought could do anything.
She had weird hair,
But I told her about what was going on,
I cried while talking about it because it hurt,
It hurt to think about it,
It hurt to know that maybe this would never be stopped,
It hurt to know that maybe I would be punished for doing this,
But fortune smiled upon me.
I was able to stand up to the months of abuse
I was able to retaliate, not with force
But with actionable consequences
But those months of abuse were not without consequences of their own
I would quickly pack this away,
And never talk about it again with anyone.
It would fester in my mind.
It would poison me.
But, I had done it.
The perpetrator got punished.
I was free from this daily torment.
But I would never forget it.
I was free until the next set of challenges,
The ones that would break me even further.