A story of physical and sexual assault.
I Don’t Understand
I used to attend conventions as a female cosplayer. Something I greatly enjoyed & do to a limited degree. --- After reaching a close to doing photos & signatures, I headed back to my room. Ready to unwind & bathe. Just at the door, someone startles me. Standing some measure away from me. Seemingly messing with his own room door. He asked me to do a pose & sign for him. As a newbie then I didn't suspect anything of it. So I just went along with it & provided it for him. Satisfied, I returned to making entry into my own room. I make a stride past the door; I'm hit from behind. Knocking me down into a kneel. Suddenly I'm being restrained & before any proper attempt of struggle, a cloth is placed over my face. Abruptly blacking out, unable to do anything. I wake up, pain erupts all over my person. I find myself in horror of what I've just seen. My cosplay left ruined, essentially naked. Left as a heap of filth covered in bruising. All I can do is be left with tears & breakdown not knowing how something like this could have happened to me. That if I had just been more capable I'd have been ok. I msg the friends I made there that I can't show up & have to return home for personal reasons. After grimly cleaning & securing all my belongings I checked out & headed back home. I've never told anyone & while I don't harbor distress at anything besides the attacker themselves, I ended up not returning anyway due to covid times. Though I've been getting over it enough to return. Just this time with much more caution in mind. I just hope no other girls that love to attend just as I do have to go through such an experience. Thank you for reading Clayere Mothlorn. (Alias) If you wish to reach me by txt Kik - ClayereMothlorn
TW: Mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts/attempts, sexual assault, and bullying
My initials are not CJ. I will not share my name, my location, or my appearance. I am thirteen years old, and the only thing I allow myself to share is my story. If you find your way to this post know you are not alone and you are never too far gone. I was born into a broken home. My parents fought- everybody does really- but their fights were different. Trackers in my moms bags, tears on her pillow, and her feet dragged when she walked.
My parents ended up divorced [a year and a half after] which was probably for my benefit. Then my dad took me for a while. Apparently that was somewhat illegal and I didn’t see him until I turned seven. I moved in with a nice older lady who I will call Lilac, because she loved those flowers more than life itself. I lived in a small red house a few miles from the beach and Lilac taught me about nature. She would let me “help” plant flowers and I would name them. I remember naming one and she used it to name her granddaughter, that was the first time I felt important.
I don’t have many nice words to describe my parents. My mother is obsessed with diet culture, smoking, and hating on people. My father is a businessman with little business. He is remarried and I have a stepbrother who I will not attempt to rename. My stepbrother and I used to hate each other, he never wanted a sister. My parents, my sibling, and everybody around me was dumb. I was a prodigy. you can blame the autism, you can blame my teachers, but for whatever reason, I was some sort of special. My parents didn’t make me feel special, they made me feel bad.
As I write this, I am sitting next to my mom after she called me mean. I had a neighbor who I used to be best friends with. She was a year older but immature for her age and we got along. I drifted apart from her last year. There are so many things I could mention right now, my addiction to self-harm, my suicidal thoughts or attempts, the multiple sexual assaults and bullying incidents from my past. I could mention my eating disorders and my sexuality, or the fact I’m trans but can’t tell a soul. But I am a popular girl, bet you didn’t expect that. I hang out with friends every day, spend money on overpriced leggings and my whole life revolves around social media.
On the odd chance you read this and recognize my story, say nothing. The scars on my wrist are fading now and they aren’t even visible anymore. You have no way of identifying me. Thank you for reading this. If you decide to take away anything from this story take away this: hug your friends. hug your family, tell them you love them. I am chronically ill, and I don’t know how much longer my heart will beat like this, I wish somebody would hug me.
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