I was kind of abused by my cousin at 6 years old. Not really a rape but the images still hurted me when they appeared. He used to be my favourite cousin until at 17 or so that I all of a suddern I reminded everything. During those years I never remembered a thing and I was so happy when he visited my home. I loved him. Its crazy that this story I am writting its my real life... I often wonder how much that shit affected me. I havent talked with him since that and usually I cant stand that my parents do still talk to him even while they know it. I always say that my father, which beated me up several times when I was a child, should have used his violence with him when he heard my confesssion. He never did and I somewhat understand why, this cousin its a poor soul they say, almost retarded and well its true. Makes me think that for some reason the good persons are what accumulate more damage from others, like its absurd that we hurt more our beloved son than who molested him. Its just all a big pile of shit, a foul smelling manure track.
People like to stuff their mouth with forgiving and letting go but I dont think I will be able to forgive that kind of agression to a helpless human being. Kind of cursing, marking someone.