I always hated the way my skin crawled when someone touched me. Even something as small as a hug made me feel trapped, suffocated.

I never really understood why—until the memories started coming back.

It started as flashes. A hand on my shoulder. A voice in my ear. A feeling of being small, powerless, frozen in place.

Then, the nightmares. The panic attacks. The overwhelming realization that the person who was supposed to protect me had stolen something from me instead.

For years, I buried it. I told myself I was overreacting, that maybe it wasn’t as bad as I remembered. That's if I just ignored it, it would go away.

It didn’t.

It took me  years to finally say the words out loud. To admit that what happened to me was real. That it wasn’t my fault. That I didn’t deserve it.

I still struggles with intimacy, still flinches when someone gets too close. But now, at least, I know why, and for the first time in my life, I've learning how to take back what was stolen from me.

                                               -Rel