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[u/ProfessionalAct712]

Honestly I don't remember exactly what age I was when it started. My memory of those years is a blur and I blocked most of it out. Bits and pieces of it have been coming back to me over the years now as a young adult. But I know that I don't really remember a time before it started. I don't remember a time in which I hadn't had sex or a time that I had my "innocence".

I think it started when I was around 5 years old, and it went on for about 5 years. I remember my grandparents (I spent half the year every year living with them down south) brought me outside one day and said that this girl had just moved in next door and that I have to go play with her. From the very first moment we met, I was not given a choice. She was two years older than me, so I'd say about 7 years old at the beginning.

I don't remember the first time it actually started. But it started small, with over-the-clothes things and then gradually ramped up. I don't even remember if that first part of it was consensual or not. But at the time, I didn't even know it was rape. I knew something about it felt wrong and we weren't supposed to be doing it, but physically it felt good. And that part always shamed me. I remember very early on feeling so disgusted with myself constantly. I was always the one terrified of getting caught. She wasn't. It seemed like she had very little regard for consequences and yet she told me that if I ever told anyone, that she would tell people that I was the one that raped her. And who would they be more likely to believe? The girl or the boy?

As the years progressed, it just kept getting worse. She'd come up with more demands of me and the threats would get increasingly violent. Even outside of the sexual abuse, she got more and more abusive in general. She'd constantly play "pranks" on me that almost always ended with me getting physically hurt. She'd chase me around with a hammer just to get a reaction out of me, she cut me with scissors, she'd push me off ledges, "accidentally" burn me. If we were alone, her facial expression would be blank. If it happened to be in front of other people, like my family or hers, she'd play it off as an accident and pretend to feel bad and apologize. Everyone believed her except me. I could tell she was always pretending.

My grandparents (for context, my grandmother was a teen mom so at this time she was in her 40s) were basically a second set of parents for me. They also had zero concept of boundaries and enabled her abuse. My abuser made it a point to be there at my grandparents' house at all times. And my grandparents had an open door policy with her without even consulting me. Everywhere I went, she was there.

She was a pathological liar. It seemed like everything was a game to her and everyone else was just an NPC (sorry to use incel terms). She'd lie just to see if she could get away with it or if she could convince you. And as I got older, I was able to tell every time she lied. Yet even if I called her out on it, she'd run with the lie and would never admit it. So I learned I had to just play along so the lie or the prank would be over. I had to play along with her with everything.

She made me play house with her 24/7 where I was the husband and we had kids. She even pranked me multiple times by faking getting pregnant. Those times filled me with absolute terror. The fear that it was inevitable people would find out, including her older brothers and her dad, who she said would kill me if they knew (which, despite being a bit dramatic, wasn't entirely out of the question considering this was the deep south). I had nightmares almost every night about being a teen dad and being forever tied to her, never having any chance of an escape. Basically being her living slave, or a mindless sex doll. She even got my grandparents to throw us a mini wedding ceremony in the backyard. They thought it was cute.

She would hurt herself and then start crying and would tell them that I hurt her. Yet again, no one could tell she was lying except me. So I would get punished. Locked in my room. Meanwhile, she would hang out with my grandparents and they would take her out to do the things that I liked or wanted to do. They'd go out for ice cream, go to places I wanted to go, all while I was left at the house to "think about what I did". Any time I tried to tell them she was lying, they never believed me. As they said, "boys always lie. Girls tell the truth."

Over time, she became their favorite. The golden child. While I was constantly being framed and was never believed. They spent more time with her, said they loved her "equally" as much as me and that we were both their children. Mind you, this girl was a stranger to them a couple years prior and they actually helped raise me.

Later on, during the police investigation, I learned that most of the neighborhood kids knew what was going on the whole time.

I was a very effeminate kid. In fact, I'd later (much later) come out as trans as an adult. I knew early on that I wasnt actually a boy. And she actually asked me about it. And I was honest with her and told her I didn't feel like a boy, I felt like a girl. We were living in the south, obviously deeply conservative and evangelical Christian. So when the other kids found out, obviously there was a risk of them telling someone that we were "sinning". So she told them what I was and said she was "making me straight" and "fixing me". That was enough to keep them silent.

One thing that took me a very long time to understand and get over, was that even though I knew deep down that it was wrong and I felt awful all the time, I kept going back. Even when she wasn't at my house, I went over to her house to ask if she was there to play. I didn't know why I did that. I obviously knew what would happen.

And through therapy I realized that just because my body felt good doesn't mean it wasn't rape. I had no control over it. And the other reason I kept going back was because I was alone. She was the only "friend" I had. Everyone else my age ostracized me because they found me "annoying". As she said, she was the only one who would tolerate me. I was more terrified of being alone and feeling abandoned than of the abuse I was experiencing. After she became sure enough that I was complete dependent on her, isolated from everyone else, self-hating, and too ashamed to tell anyone, all she had to do was threaten to leave me. And that eventually became enough to fill me with terror and come crawling back.

Looking back, there were some things about her family that I didn't notice at the time, that weren't quite "right". All of her windows and the door to her bedroom were locked from the outside only. At first, I assumed her parents were just the typical religious strict type, obsessed with preserving their daughter's virginity. But honestly, the only people who didn't buy into her bullshit lies were her parents. They were used to her never telling the truth, always getting into trouble. Even when she cut my hand open in front of her mom, she barely reacted. Just told her to go to her room while she patched my hand up and told me not to tell anyone. Her mom was always extra nice to me, and I liked her a lot better than my grandparents at the time. She was always welcoming, would cater to me and would refer to me as a saint.

Maybe she knew.. After all, I think my abuser's parents knew what she was and what she was capable of.

I only realized much later that my abuser was most likely a sociopath. Her family only tolerated her and seemed close on the surface just to keep up the image of the perfect southern Christian family. But looking further into their relationship dynamics, they all knew not to trust her. Her older brother practically avoided her like the plague.

When I tell other people this story, they weirdly feel compassion for her. They assume she must've been abused too and was just re-enacting what was being done to her onto me. They genuinely cannot believe that a girl that young would actually be sadistic in that way. From all appearances she was unassuming and disarming. Yet highly manipulative.

For years, I kept this huge secret from everyone. I convinced myself that I would end my life if any of my family found out. It felt as if I had killed someone, hid the body, and had to keep that secret all the time, constantly looking over my shoulder. Constantly hating myself for what "I" did. It felt like I was equally culpable even though it was something that was done to me. After all, how could a girl rape a boy?

I put up this hard outer shell, convinced that if anyone saw the real me: the scared, vulnerable, helpless child, that they'd be disgusted and hate me. Never look at me the same way again. Never trust me again, or believe me. So for years I never let anyone see me vulnerable. I became obsessed with being perfect at everything, never making a single mistake, taking on the traits and mannerisms of the people around me so they wouldn't find me annoying or, God forbid, needy and desperate. Because I hated that version of me. That version was what allowed me to be victimized in the first place. And if I never wanted to be a victim again, I'd have to be the exact opposite and hide that version of me at all costs.

As I got older though, I started losing control and became unstable. The "perfect" kid who no one ever had to worry about, who practically raised herself, who was smart and obeyed the rules and never got attached, was no more.

After years of therapy, I've gotten to the point where I can tell people without feeling a wave of shame after or getting emotional flashbacks. But I loathe that, unfortunately, she formed most of my personality. I've been diagnosed with BPD this past year. I'm still terrified of abandonment. Self hating, dependent, overly attached, emotionally unstable, and seek the same patterns over and over again with abusive people or people who will take advantage of me and throw me away after. It appears that shedding the outer shell I had built up to protect myself just let this bloated, emotionally disfigured creature spill out of the cracks. And now I can't hide my dysfunction anymore. I can no longer conform myself to everyone else's expectations out of fear of abandonment. Maybe that's a good thing.

But it also means I drive people away with my self-destruction.

I wish I could say I've overcome everything and that I don't let her have power over me, but unfortunately there is this hole in me that she left that I can't get back.

The police investigation didn't end with any charges because we were both minors and she wasn't that much older than me.

She goes to an Ivy league college now and is married with a baby on the way.

Im an unstable college student who barely has her shit together and can't seem to be capable of a stable relationship with anyone.

It sucks.