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Dear Mr. Molester


Dear Mr. Molester:

I thought about you, today. I think about you quite often, actually. I don’t hate you. I admit, at one point in my life, I did. The memories burned my inner soul with despair and fear, but now, it no longer bothers me. I must say, that you have absolutely changed my life. I have grown to believe that everyone in my life teaches me a lesson, whether it’s what to do or what not to do; I learn from them. You are a special case.

Do you remember that day? Well, I do. I remember what the grass looked like. What the temperature felt like. And most of all, I remember your body odor. It clung to the inner part of my nose for years. I could be in a different state, and freeze in fear, because I would smell an odor that smelled just like you. I was afraid to sleep. Afraid to trust. I mean, you must admit that you played a major part in my trust issues with people who didn’t share the same blood as myself. I’d known you most of my life, and for someone I considered a friend (of the family), you definitely didn’t hesitate to turn a good thing bad. Can I ask you a question? How long did you plot this? Did you think I was really pretty the first time you saw me? Or did you gain an attraction overtime? I would like to know because that day was like any other day. You know how you would call me next door to receive a small gift. OH HOW I LOVE THE DOLLS FROM THE McDONALD’S HAPPY MEALS! You used to always get me those. Was that your way of building a rapport with me? I admit, that was very clever. You even had my mom and grandfather fooled. I think, the whole neighborhood.

Was I the only child? I mean, several kids in that neighborhood trusted you. Or was I special? These are just questions a young lady would like to know. Like I said, I’m no longer mad at you. I no longer hate you. But I’m confused as to why. I do thank God for allowing me to be a testimony to other young people who have been violated. I’m unashamed to share my story…now. Yeah, it took awhile. I would feel so dirty all over again. It was like I could smell you, and feel your hands on my body, and taste your forceful tongue, even without you being around. But not any longer! I won’t keep you a secret. You know why? Because someone else needs to hear my story. Someone needs to know that there is no reason to feel like you are to blame, or to feel ashamed to go out in public because you feel like people are looking at you.

I did have to pray, though, for one thing. When I finally get married, I want to enjoy kissing my husband. Yes, I’ve kissed a guy or two before, in my day, but each time I did, I only saw your face. I only felt your presence. My husband, however, will get all of me. I’ve gotten victory over shame, disgust, hatred, distrust and numbness. I’ve even learned how to truly love myself. But that simple thing, you know kissing? Yeah, that’s something I want my husband to know I’m being sincere. You stole that desire from me, but as a disciple of Christ, I know that desire will come back. It may be back now, and I just don’t know it. I haven’t met my husband yet! But I want to thank you. Although I physically wrestled you, I now know that it wasn’t your flesh and blood, but principalities. And you didn’t know. But I pray that you received Jesus as your personal Savior before you passed.

Well, I have said all that I needed and wanted to say. And by the way, rest in peace.



Alecia Rhoe
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