I was a child. Five, maybe six. He was older, ten years older, sent to prepare for his exams. He used to be my favorite of all cousins because of how frequently he came to my home, and he was/is my father’s favorite too. He used to talk about things I didn’t fully understand body parts, intimate things. It started as words, then it became touches. My nips. Under my shirt. I didn’t know it was wrong. How could I? A child doesn’t have judgments about these things. But I knew it had to be a secret, somehow.
And then, one night, he went further down. At first, I didn’t think. I just acted as if I’m sleeping. Sometimes I froze. Sometimes, I even felt something. And then the guilt came, crashing into me the weights of questions I had no answers to. Was I supposed to stop him? I, at my age of 7 to 8, started getting trapped in something I couldn’t fully comprehend, only knowing that it was happening and I was letting it.
I tried to know if this was normal. I remember, I pretended to sleep next to other cousins, waiting, if they do the same just so I could make sense of what my favourite cousin was doing to me. Is this normal between brothers? Would other bhaiyas do the same? They never did. By ten, I had started resisting in my own ways, in silent ways so I don’t have to talk about it. Honestly, I didn’t even know what and who to talk about it, to him? to my siblings or cousins or friends?
I’d leave notes under his pillow and ask him to read it while I sleep, hoping he’d read them and understand. He read my notes but never stopped. I thought maybe since it’s normal so he didn’t understand why I was stopping him. I still didn’t like it, and since the beginning, I used to act sleeping, whenever beside him so I could not have to face him while he’s doing it and pretend it all happened in my sleep.
I’d even lock my hands, or take another blanket, or just sleep in different direction so, he doesn’t get control on my body again. I was never successful. At fourteen, something happened again. My younger cousin. Just seconds. A touch. I let it happen, and the moment I did, something shattered inside me. I realized this wasn’t normal. Following this, I pushed my abuser away and I didn’t let him near me for a whole year. I thought I had won.
I even scored best in that year’s exams. And then, something broke. Maybe it was hormones during puberty. Maybe I was just tired of fighting it. But when he tried again, I didn’t resist. I let it happen. And in some twisted way, that made me feel more guilty than anything before. I realized I have started liking it and the trauma bonding made me hate myself even more. At sixteen, I got my own phone and moved to a hostel.
With internet access, I finally learned what all of this truly meant. What s*x was. Yes, I had been a bookworm and didn’t know that how babies actually happen, I used to think sperms travel automatically while sleeping. Most significantly, the concept of sexuality. And then I realized, I wasn’t getting aroused by women, even tho I’ve had female crushes in the past. These things came all at once, like a storm, causing me to become an academic failure from a topper, leading to depression and few anxiety attacks.
I even tried forcing myself to react to women. I turned to p*rn, and the worst part? But even those only worked when they looked like my past. And every time I went back home, it still continued. One night of 2022, I gathered courage and I held his hand tightly. Refused to let him move. That night, I thought I had won. But soon, after waiting for so long to speak about this and get this knot loosen, when I confronted him, he acted like it was normal. “This happens,” he said.
“I’ve been doing it since I was way younger.” He told me I was just messed up because of p*rn and internet, that this wasn’t the cause of my pain. I felt numb. It was ok for him so he was doing it so was I the guilty one? I had let it continue knowing it was not ok for me. I had given in. How could I blame him, when I knew it was wrong but still didn’t stop it? But then I remembered how I had stopped my younger cousin. Even at 14, I knew it was wrong. And if I could stop myself, why couldn’t he?
I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know if I ever will
Question: If you were in my position, how would you make sense of this?
Option 1: I was equally involved, not a victim.
Option 2: It all was lasting effects of child abuse.
Option 3: It was not consent, it was trauma bonding
Option 4: 2nd + 3rd option