Abused

They say you only remember the good times in your life. It’s not always true. For two years that I went to a school for disabled children, and before I was main-streamed into public school, I only remember the unpleasant. Something that never should have taken place. Something very wrong.
I dreaded the moment when the teacher-assistant went on her daily break, I knew it would happen. It wasn’t in some secret place, or even hidden away. With no regard to the other students, it was right there in the class room. I can’t imagine what the other kids were thinking seeing their teacher being disgusting, and using me for his play thing.
Looking back I don’t know why I just didn’t speak up. Maybe I was afraid. I can’t remember how I felt. Maybe I still had trust in the teacher. At that age you’re told the teacher is boss do as you’re told, and they’ll protect you. No one ever told me that could happen.
Maybe if I had spoken up, I might have been forced to go to some kind of counseling, and be haunted with it my whole childhood. After I left that school I put it out of my mind, but not completely. Unlike many abused children, my childhood seemed unaffected. I’m grateful for that.

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