Back when I was a young boy I was known by my extended family as the happy, smiling boy with lots of energy and enthusiasm. Their friends and acquaintances loved that about me and would always say “you have a beautiful smile”, and I’d always smile wider as a thank you. 

In truth, however, that bright, wide smile was just a facade. A mask that I had put on to make the people around me happy and sort of keep the image of that happy boy alive for their sake. Behind the scenes, I had the hardest time believing all the wonderful things people were saying  about me all the time.

Behind the scenes, I found it exceedingly difficult; if not impossible; to recognize everything that was being praised.

Ever since I remember, there was this dark cloud that kept me from finding any worth in my soul, from finding myself beautiful, from searching for a meaningful time on Earth or having any reason to … live. 

It felt as if I’ve fallen on a pitch-black abyss with nothing but this heavy darkness tightly grasping me at all times as my only company; with the occasional shimmers of light that managed to reach its depths serving as both a relief from the torture as well as an instigator when it died out.

A darkness so heavy that my footing constantly broke under my feet whenever I tried to climb out, leaving my spirit bruised and discouraged. 

An abyss so deep that I got caught in the delusion that to escape it I needed a savior, a superhero that would come down flying, pick me up and take me out from it onto the skies to live a happily ever after. 

While I was not mistaken on the “needing a savior” part, what I was naivety wrong about was assuming that the savior would come down and get me; instead of being me who had to get stronger and get myself out.

I got entangled in the trap of only getting that power when others gave it and offered it. The idea that my worth was only tied to what others had to say was ingrained so deeply in my soul that I felt the strongest person in history when I had it; the most fragile when I didn’t have it and the most broken when put down. 

I became enamored with feeling that powerful as often as possible that I chased after it. I constantly transformed into what others needed to have around, said the most entertaining stuff, falsely shared their opinions and blindly took their side. 

Everything to get that much needed validation for me to function and to forget how meaningless my life was without it.

I became addicted to that validation and sought after what I thought was the best: love. So I sought after it as well, desperate to receive it and obsessed to keep it once I finally had it. The pursuit of the biggest validation was also the biggest mistake. 

In that process I strained relationships and friendships trying to force this new dynamic to happen, I insulted those who didn’t feel like giving it to me or never let them forget it. 

Especially when everyone around me was getting into relationships and growing into their sexualities, but not me; which seared another wound into my mind and soul. Why everyone, but me? 

Was I really that ugly? Was I really that undesirable?

While this died out throughout the years, it came back in full effect once I started exploring my own sexuality and enjoying that attention. 

Men were swarming around me like moths to a flame and I reveled in their attention and the things they did to me or wanted to do. I loved playing with them when chased after but became a needy person and desperately went after them when they finally relented. 

Went back and forth between dominating our little games but turned into a sore loser when they had the upper hand; clinging to and feebly reminding the times where I was winning. 

I was in a fragile balance of steadily building my self-esteem with sex and not feeling like it was necessary. The more I built and healed it, the less fun I was having but less willing I was to let it go. 

It went on like that for some time until one of the most eventful situations in my life unfolded. Just when I was at the height of enjoying sex, loving every second of it without getting too attached or hurtful to others or being dependent on it for my sake. 

Just when I was enjoying it in the healthiest way I got to know it, it happened. 

I walked into one of those encounters I was used to, enjoying the attention and the things being done to me, testing how fun things could be with this guy and loving the things and sounds he was making with the things I was doing to him. 

I didn’t have the time I usually liked to have to enjoy as much as I could so at that point I had to stop, lamenting the fact but promising to continue the fun on another time; which usually worked. 

And when it didn’t, guys tried to make me stay and continue the fun all night long but relented when “no, not today” was the answer they were getting after a while. 

But “no” wasn’t enough for an answer for this guy.

He kept going at it despite my insistence, he kept putting it in even as I struggled, he kept touching me and kissing me even as I was getting dressed, he kept clinging to me although I basically started running away. 

He started wrestling me into bed when I started feeling uncomfortable with being touched and kept trying to kiss me even as I was pulling away. 

And his only response to me insisting it was time to go? “If you understood how delicious you are, you wouldn’t want to let you go either” 

What was discomfort turned into genuine fear. 

Fear of now getting hurt or worse. Fear that walking into this encounter would lead to my end. The end that I no longer wanted, that I finally had left behind.

He finally relented like all the others, and finally opened all the doors so I could leave after what seemed like forever as he still tried to get it on to save some face. 

But the damage was done. 

I got home and didn’t even have a proper conversation with my family before going to bed and leaving my chats with best friends and siblings ignored.

All that was left from a casual encounter was disgust. 

Disgust towards the act that it took so long to enjoy, disgust towards the body I very slowly grew to love; the body and looks that brought me the attention of such a person, I grew disgusted and angry towards the attention that I sought for so long. 

Disgust was the only thing that stuck with me. 

I didn’t want anyone to touch me, or to want me, or to try and kiss me or give me any attention at all. 

I did end up meeting some guys I had mutual attraction with and tried to get it on with, but my body rejected every single one of them, it just shut down with anything we tried together.

Disgust turned into confusion.

I didn’t know WHY my body was rejecting something it loved not so long ago, I didn’t know WHY I hated the effort anyone put into getting close to me. I didn’t know why I hated it after so long.

Didn’t understand why until I met who we’re calling J.

He’s this beautiful and wonderfully clever guy with whom I had my first real connection since my first relationship a long time before I met him. 

Our chemistry was insane. We were so attracted to each other and when it was time to do it, again, my body shut down and this time, unlike the others I started shivering out of rage and frustration.

Not even with this guy that I liked so much I could do it and I still couldn’t understand WHY. 

It wasn’t until this faithful conversation with a friend where she asked all the right questions and made me realize the truth. 

The guy that made me know true disgust for the first time in my life; who I had forgotten because of how horrible he made me feel; raped me. 

I, was raped. 

As soon as I asked her and she sadly nodded, my body shivered like never before; its way of confirming such was the sad, unfortunate truth.

I felt an empty cold for the first time in years, knowing that day just wanting to have fun ended with me being robbed of something I never knew was precious to me. 

I lost the way I had of getting to know people in an intimate way and forming a connection even if nothing else came out of it.

I lost my means of showing intimacy to a person I liked, I was uncomfortable with the idea, I was fearful of the possibility of shutting down with him again and him taking it like he was the problem and not me. 

I decided to confront that feeling and talk to him about it and he was understanding and while our relationship lasted we slowly but surely started doing bit by bit more and more.

With no pressure and how both of us felt comfortable.

I understood through this guy and our occasional times together that all I needed was time, genuine love, connection and patience. I learned again that sex was not this disgusting, vile, venomous act meant to take things from people.

Sex was once again this act that made me very nervous but it would be okay if it was with the right person, at my own time. 

Sex was becoming once again something to look forward to and have those special intimate moments that I had missed. And I did, I was not enthusiastic about it but I didn’t fear it either.

Although it doesn’t hurt to have it, not having it doesn’t stop you from being loved and for the right person to BE with you. Just to have you around and enjoy the little things about yourself that you used to despise. 

What was once what caused one of the greatest harms was the medium through which I also healed and found a different perspective about myself. 

The idea that I was still a beautiful person, with a light that draws the right people into my life and pushed away those who weren’t. That although I didn’t have the “usual” relationship or didn’t do the “normal” things, everything I did was valid.

Everything I felt, I did, I thought was valid and real and that it was okay. 

I know I’m far from being the first to be sexualized or taken advantage of and unfortunely I won’t be the last.

But I got from my experience (after a lot of healing, mind you) is that yes, it changes you in ways you’re never prepared to handle; on the other hand it’s a new opportunity to find out what it could mean to you from now on.

And moving forward I still am.