I guess I swerved around the topic for a while in fear of exposing or being too vulnearble for "just a blog." Fear that people wouldn't think that I'm strong or think they couldn't come to me with their stuff because I was carrying my own. But I think it's super important to talk about it because not talking creates more toxicity than the actual situation.

Abuse.

Whew, by now I feel like everyone knows I pretty much write how I talk. Unfiltered, feeling-led and a million grammar mistakes, but it's raw and it's me. I don't know how to make this sound pretty. There's not enough smilies or metaphors I could come up with to be witty enough to sugar code such a heavy topic.

In the black community -- in the minority community -- abuse runs rampant. Unspoken and not confronted. Cycles passed down like family traditions. I had heard of the stories of it happening to other girls but when it happened to me, it was different. It wasn't a weird uncle or that touchy feely cousin that was always happy to see me. Shit, I thought I could get through this without crying but doesn't look promising... it wasn't a stranger or someone I didn't trust. For years I replay that night over and over I think maybe if I had just said something or if someone had taught me to be more vigilant or if this person had taught me what was okay and what wasn't, maybe I'd be different.

Maybe I would be trusting and more open and accepting without hesitation. But I'm not. I'm not that way. I don't think I could ever be. See, while others would say, "That person robbed your innocence!", I so badly want to interrupt them and say, "No, they stole my oblivion." They took away the childlike ways and forced me to be alert and protect myself first always. They took away my trust, they took away my peace. The peace of just meeting someone and not thinking, will they hurt me? I hate talking about this because I just know you're reading this on your whatever device thinking, "poor Sabrina," or treating me like a charity case or victim. I guess I can be as bold in my writing because I don't have to see the glossy eyes turning with water when I tell people that it's happened to me.

The best way I feel I could describe it to you all is I feel like that person took my voice. I started writing poems because I felt like no one was listening to me, but when I wrote, I got everyone's attention. Like they took away the freedom to speak without any inhibitions or fear. They took away the comfortability in just being heard. Which is crazy.

Sexual abuse is difficult and tricky. It poured over into other areas of my life in such tangible ways. I used to be terrified of being a mom. Though it is a desire, I would be awful. I would be overprotective, constant questions and unbearable. I have legit anxiety about dating because there's no good time to say it and when it comes to exchanging battle scar stories, mine will always take the cake. Oh, and I hate hate HATE getting close to new people, it makes me physically nauseous knowing that they'll know but they won't know all of me because I feel like I come with too much and I do.

I recently told my baby cousin (who's like literally grown, not a baby) what happened and he wanted to know who. He like so many people thinks that the person is to blame. I struggled and toyed around with idea of just putting the fault on one person. Shoot, it's easy. A direct line, no straying from it. It's clear who's to blame... but it isn't. It never is. If I was immature and young minded I could and most definitely would blame a million people, me being on the top of that list. I don't hate that person at all, I don't think they are the devil, and I don't wish bad upon them. I pray they find whatever led them to make the decision that they did because like I've said before, trauma is a cycle, and it didn't start with me, but it certainly will end with me.

I hear so many stories of women being abused and how it's shaped their life. How they see through a cloud of gray because that person stole the light and color from their life. How they hate God because they don't understand how he would allow such an awful thing to happen. How they can't have a healthy sexual life because the pain of the abuse took place of the pleasure.

I don't know much, but I do know it had to happen to me. That God is too distinct and intentional for my life to be just a chain of cause and effect. I'm not saying God causes pain, but He definitely allows it. Pain allows us to be empathetic and full of grace. Our lives are not our own. A lot of pain would make sense seeing as it was never meant for you. Pain is not a keeper, just a teacher, and like a good one, it will never leave until it's finished teaching you.

Abuse, trauma, and pain are so hard to unravel at any age. I am 22 and I'm still having a hard time trying to undo the knots it's tied. I just know in our transparency there is room for so much healing and growth. I can't speak for all men and women who have endured things like this. But it's okay to be sad, confused, and angry, it's just not okay to stay there. I have NOT arrived and I have SO much more healing to do. I hope this helps someone, I'm not a guru or a guide at this.

I'm just human with a lot more being.