My instant thought was: "If this is true, I'm going to kill myself."I was too identified with the experience, and the shame was too great.
I wasn't ready, and pushed the memory back into the subconscious.
I was a nonentity at school, and at home no one cared for me. It felt good to be viewed as the most perfectly beautiful, sensual object by powerful men with high standards in taste.
I also believe that the world is more than ever ready to confront its darkness. Read More: Trump Election Prompts US Mothers To Warn Children About Assault All survivors of incest, sexual abuse, and sex trafficking have my strength.
Though I suffer from PTSD, and, for example, I still become nauseous whenever I hear a certain kind of airy, trippy music, I've become so mindful of triggers that they don't control my everyday existence.
Afterwards, left lying there like a broken object, I felt so humiliated, I had to do something to save my soul, or else — and this I knew for certain — I would have withered and died.
Read More: My Name Is Brooke Axtell and I Was Sex Trafficked at Age 7 in the USI raised myself up, and stood looking at the bizarre crowd of aristocrats dressed up as hippies, swaying to the music in various levels of sexual interaction, busily availing themselves of little pills and pre-rolled joints passed around on silver trays by sober waiters.It would take several more years, many more hours of therapy, to finally share this memory with one safe person.