The Freedom Journal

This is my journal/diary entry for the diary contest. Some things may be sad, but most of it will be happy. I might even put a few secrets in this. Read to find out. I hope you enjoy
-Red

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3. September 5, 2015

         Dear Freedom Journal,

yesterday, I said I would tell you why I don't like Jack. Well, here's why: when I was five, I was telling my brothers goodnight after telling my parents the same thing. He was fifteen or sixteen at the time. I was telling him goodnight, and he kissed me on the lips. His tongue was in my mouth. At that time, I didn't know that that was bad. I remember what happened that day so clearly. It haunts me. I've told my mom before, but she never did anything. I was in fourth or fifth grade when I told her. She didn't do anything. In sixth grade, I told her again. She still didn't do anything. I haven't said anything about it to my dad;I don't want him to think I'm lying or do something reckless. A few of my friends know. Everytime I think back on it, I feel like a complete idiot for not doing anything, for not telling someone. I wish I could go back in time and tell the five or six year old me to tell my parents, to do something. I can still feel his lips on mine. I can still feel his tongue in my mouth. I can remember going to my room not knowing that what he did was bad. I can remember it all. 

        That isn't the first time something inappropriate has happened to me. In fourth grade, a boy who I won't mention, touched below my hip on my waist. He was thirteen, and I was nine. But I actually told someone. 

        The third time happened this year. I was in the school's library. A boy, my age, asked to sit with me. I said yes not wanting to be rude. He sat in the chair next to mine. He pulled out his iPad and used my chair as sort of a table for it. His hands were on my thigh. I tried to ignore it, thinking maybe he'll move them. He didn't. I finally said 'Oh, sorry. I'm in your space.' I scooted away from him. Somehow, he moved his chair when I wasn't paying attention and leaned his iPad back in my seat with his hands touching the top of my thigh. I was finally relieved when he said he had to go to the bathroom and left. I moved from that chair to one farther away. Luckily when he came back, he said he was leaving. After he left, I could still feel his hand on my thigh. It hurt like there was a bruise, yet I didn't have one. 

    I wasn't scared in that situation. I was uncomfortable and annoyed. I didn't want to move to another seat in fear that he would follow me. I feel so stupid for not telling anyone. It's too late now.

          I'm just going to end this entry. Bye.

                                              Forever yours,

                                                                    Red

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