which, truthfully, wasn't fully true

I was 6 years old when I found out that children aren’t meant to be left alone for any amount of time. I was 6 years old when the mandatory yearly check ups and vaccines made rounds again before school started. I was 6 years old, my brother was 3 years old.

I was 6 years old when my mother left me and the doctor alone in the exam room to check on my brother, who was a few feet away with a nurse in the room across the hall getting his weight and height measured. I was 6 years old when I thought I found out that having your private area checked, examined and touched extensively was normal. I was 6 years old when I was molested and assaulted by my pediatrician.

I was 7 years old when I started to exhibit strange behavior. I would stuff my sweatpants with socks until I couldn’t fit any more pairs. I continued to suck my thumb long after it was deemed inappropriate for a child my age. I would place a pencil under me between my legs when seated at my desk and pull it upwards over and over again when the teacher wasn’t looking. I would straddle and seat myself on the top of the child gate and lean forward.

I was 11 years old when they showed us videos about puberty in boys and girls. I was 11 years old when I became the puberty and sex expert. I was 11 years old when I pretended I was clueless around adults, I recognized that such knowledge was too explicit for my age.

I was 12 years old when we switched pediatricians. He was the one who had taken care of me when I was a baby, before his practiced moved too far away. I was 12 years old when I found out I had terrible anxiety going to the doctors office.

I was 14 when they went in depth for sex-ed in school. They explained almost everything, from sex to masturbation to sexuality to giggly middle schoolers with crude senses of humor. I was 14 when I decided I was bisexual. I was 14 when I thought my uncomfortableness in my own body was dysphoria, and declared myself bigender.

I was 14 when I found a vibrating back massager in the house and stole it to experiment with. I was 14 when I had my first orgasm, and I didn’t understand why I felt so disgusting after feeling so good.

I was 15 years old when I decided to try masturbating with my hands. I was 15 when I touched myself once with my fingers and felt sick. I was 15 years old when I ignored those feelings and decided that was just how it was supposed to feel. I was 15 years old when I found out I had a repulsion to men and dicks, and couldn’t find out why. I was 15 years old when I realized I was gay.

I was 16 years old when the memories my mind had suppressed started to come back. I was 16 years old when the thought of a child being left alone with an adult terrified me.

I was 17 years old when my mother came up to me and stated that our gynecologist was expecting a visit within a years time. I was 17 years old when I had one of the worst panic attacks in my life.

I was 18 years old when I went to meet my gynecologist. I kept telling myself over and over and over that he was a cheerful, caring, awesome man; and I am only going to talk him today. He had an amazing reputation in the area he worked, and I trust my mother when she answers my questions about him and the exams. I was 18 years old when I had a conversation with a doctor about my body and exams while I was having an anxiety attack. I was sweating, breathing faster than normal, and the moment we left couldn’t have come faster.

I am 18 years old and I cannot handle anything having to do with my own body. I am 18 years old and panic at any mention of gynecologists or doctors or hospitals or anything to do with medical supplies.

I am 18 years old and have lived 12 years of my life post trauma, and fear that when the time comes to be intimate with my girlfriend, I will freeze up or panic and wont be able to have sex with her when I want to, because some man decided he had power over a little girl and exploited it.