I started attending a church, whose leader was quite young, very attractive and single. When he preached, I felt that he brought us into the very presence of God. I thought that if anyone could help me with the emotional pain and torment I was suffering, it would be him because he seemed to have so much revelation.
So, one day I got the courage to go to him and ask for his help. This man had always talked to us about being truthful and honest. So, I thought, again being naïve that I needed to tell him that I thought he was very attractive. I wanted to get that of the way so that there was nothing hidden that would cause me not to get the help I needed.
Much to my surprise, he shared that he was attracted to me. That made me feel really good. This man, with all this power and authority, this man that was so close to God, was actually attracted to little ole me. I was on cloud nine. One of the problems was that this man happened to be the PROPHET of the church. He and I started to talk every day after that first meeting. And over time, our conversation became less and less spiritual and more and intimate. He promised me that he would take care of me for the rest of my life. He promised me that we will marry me. He told me that I was the only one who would make him happy.
One day, he called me and asked me to come to his home. He said he saw something and wanted to talk to me about it and pray with me that it was a crucial matter. I dropped everything I was doing, and I went to him. We talked for some time and he told about his life, how lonely he was and how much he needed someone to be there for him and told me how much he needed me. At that time, I was willing to do whatever he needed me to do to make him happy. I was hopelessly in love and I wanted him to be happy. He kissed me.
At first, I was startled and then I felt warm all over. We were on his couch and we began to kiss each other. He gently pushed me to the floor and got on top of me. It was strange. I felt safe and so much in love, but I also was horribly scared. I knew that God was looking on and that he was not happy with either of us. And yet, I wanted so much to be there at that moment I wanted so much to be a part of him. He slowly undressed me. I allowed him to. I think for that moment I had a flashback of being raped, and I stopped him long enough to tell him that I was petrified of what we were doing. The prophet promised me that it was okay and that I would be okay. He told me that he wouldn’t hurt me, and I believed him.
He touched me and kissed me in places on my body that previously found so abhorrent. You see I didn’t like to be a woman. But this man, this prophet, this man of God, made love to every part of my body. His touch made me feel pure and whole. His love and his desire made me feel loved and wanted.
So, for a long time, I didn’t say anything to anyone.
I still think about it. Every time I see my naked body the thought snags in my mind, if only for a second. Some memories hurt a little, they cause a little pain. The memory of him touching me burns my skin, it catches in my throat and makes it near impossible to breathe. This is my reality; this pain is my punishment for I’m not even sure what. What did I do wrong?
I’ve spent most of my life dealing with thoughts of self-hatred. I’ve spent years behaving badly because I could never work out what was going on in my head. I wanted life to hurt; I wanted to live to hurt because I wanted more than anything to truly feel. Maybe I was trying to prove to myself that I existed, maybe I was trying to find meaning in my life; all I ever wanted was to see the world in all its brightest colours.