I was a child. When adults asked how old I was I replied "I'm five and a half" proudly because that meant I was a big kid.He was an older cousin thirteen years old and I idolized him. He came to live with us one winter. I remember it was winter because my parents had to buy him a coat after his dad dropped him off. He came into our home with nothing but a trash bag full of clothes. He lived with us for many months before we played the "game". I wanted to play house and he said okay and played the daddy. He said we had to do what mamas and daddies do, it hurt and I was scared. He covered my mouth so I wouldn't scream. There was blood sticky and warm. He cleaned me up and told me to keep quite or else he'd hurt my little sister. She was three and had watched helplessly the whole time. Only many years later would she remember vaguely what had happened. He lived with us for two years and I was hurt a few more times.I never told. I had to protect my sister. I didn't have symptoms of a trauma victim and my parents trusted him, there was no way they could have known. When I turned fourteen the memories flooded back. I told my mom, she cried. I have a best friend that has helped me deal with the pain, but other than that I've sat in silence. I was just a child, it wasn't my fault but I'm still ashamed and still afraid.What's worse is that I'm always trapped in the silence. I can't say the word "rape" or "molestation". It is hard to even type them here. I don't know why, I guess it's because saying those words makes it real brings it back. I think you guys are doing something really great here. Giving people like me a voice. A voice that we can't reach on our own.