I was four years old. My family was very wealthy, so I lived in a huge house. One of the servants was a nice man who always played with me and gave me sweets. I used to go to his room and play. He was like an uncle to me. One day, he made me take off my clothes and rubbed his penis against my vagina. I was horrified because I knew it was wrong.
The worst thing was that it felt good.

He did it for the next two years; I was too small to penetrate. The next servant did it for the next four years. Again, I was too small. Always the smallest child in the room. Six years in all, I was molested. The whole time, I felt horrible. It was my fault these things happened. I was a bad person who did bad things. I was a whore, a fornicator who would go to hell.
I felt dirty and unclean.

To this day, I have trouble looking men in the eye. I see them as threats. I have trouble getting and staying in relationships. I don't really trust men. I don't think I really like them either. The worst thing is I'm heterosexual, so I still find them attractive, but I don't really act on it.
I wonder if I'll ever get married. I wonder if I'll ever find someone I can feel comfortable with. I've struggled with depression and suicidal ideation all my life. I oftentimes feel dirty and unclean. Unlovable.
I feel like my molesters stole a part of me away and I can't ever get it back.