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I will not photo-shop the truth.

I will not satisfy the urge of holding back how much and how long I have fought.


A fight I am losing. This isn’t a fight, it’s a battle.

No.

I think its war. Definitely war.

This is a war I’ve been fighting since I was 5. Scars are lessons learnt. I’m still learning from them.

They touched me. Oh how they touched me. While they were supposed to be the adults around to watch over us kids that where oblivious to the fights and quarrels our parents had, they touched me. Fondled me. Told me not to tell.

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How was I going to tell? Why would I even want to tell? When all they gave me was the attention a little, sweet, 5 year old me craved for from my parents. I loved the touches. The soothing words. The feel of their groin next to mine. 3 of them. 3 guys. I went from studying my 123 to looking forward to when I’ll be in their arms as soon as I got back from school. My thought pallets changed from what it’s supposed to be to what it is now. What I thought it should be.

I was a child that asked for oral sex from them. Not because I liked it but because it took away the loneliness I felt when I walked back into my mother’s house while she pondered on what line of action to take when father walked in to “check on us” before going back to his legal wife and four children.

Every Sunday I went to church hoping someone would notice the sad glint in my eyes amidst the smiles I plastered on my face. Hoping someone would notice that I grew moody. Hoping that someone would notice that I wasn’t really “fine” when I gave the automated response that goes with the question.

I was deceived. I was fed a wrong perception. I basked in it. I hated what I was becoming. As a child, a teenager and a young adult. I thought to myself “no one wants to be associated with someone that has been molested”. That’s just nasty on top of complications. I needed deliverance. Or so I thought.

So I took the pain, stored it in the back of my mind, threw it in a safe and intentionally forgot the combination.

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But years later, it resurfaced and I began to experience memory triggers. It became obvious to me that I could no longer put a bandage on a wound that needed surgery. God had to be looking down. He must be thinking that that wasn’t who he created or what he planned for the life in the body. I thought I could do it on my own. I cried. Prayed. Studied. Fasted. But the wound was infected it began to spread to every other area of my life. All because I didn’t want to sign the consent form to go under God’s knife. I didn’t want the surgery. I never wanted to face reality. I didn’t want to answer him or him to me. What kind of God would allow an innocent child be molested????!

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But allow me to tell you one of the most beautifulest, ugliest revelations. This very same God sent his own son to die on the cross that most would be ungrateful for, take with levity and crucify over and over and over and over again with their actions.

I thought I saw light at the end of the tunnel. Yes, I did. A light that gave me hope. A light that shone brighter and made me see the stains on me while I was running haphazardly in the grim darkness due to fear. I was too hung up trying to figure out WHY. I was too hung up on asking why it wasn’t another child. Hung up on why it had to be me that dealt with it and hung up on not been able to forgive.

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CHRIST is the ultimate hang up. He was hung up for me. For you reading this and For those that you’ll share this with. He’s the ultimate Hang up. So to every little boy and girl that felt defenseless, to every man and woman who feels that the enemy has beaten them senseless. To every swallowed cry in the middle of the night. To every face buried in pillows to hide the tears. To every voice that tried to speak out but gets a knot in their throat everytime, to he or she the enemy choked by taking away the air supply, CHRIST is the breathe of  life. Let him be your inhaler.

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Some of us won’t hear it till me meet someone that’s been through it and in that case He allowed me to go through it to stand as a testimony. And guess what? It was worth it.it was worth every ounce of Physical, spiritual, mental and emotional pain. And I’ll go through it again if you’ll read this again and allow yourself to be encouraged immensely and sign the consent form from God to refine you and mould you and guide you and kiss you and hug you and call you his very own Precious one.

I was a boy… in sin. Now I’m a Man in God.

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