“Strip down or else I will not promote you”, these were the words of my principal when I went to his office after school hours. I insisted, but he stood up and locked the doors.
He grabbed my waist and started to unzip my pants. I was twelve at that time and had no idea what was going on with me.
He asked me to lay down on the table, but I kept on resisting. He said, “Imagine the embarrassment you would go through when I will not promote you; your friends would laugh at you”. I felt ashamed, but I did what he said because honestly, I thought failing would be a bigger embarrassment.
What he did next was nothing like I had imagined.
He got on top of me, holding me down and grabbing my underwear. I couldn’t shout because he was the bloody principal. He had all the authority; no one would go against him, or at least that is what the twelve-year-old me thought.
I just cried my heart out. I was too embarrassed to tell this to anyone, even my parents. The abuse went on for months. I used to face that evil in an angel’s disguise every day. His evil smile still haunts me, the way he used to look at me whenever I see him in the hallway. In the end, I passed with flying colors but at the cost of what?
I am nineteen now. To this day, the scar is still there, and I cannot talk about it with anyone because men are not supposed to be the victim. Dealing with stigmas attached to such memories has been difficult. I am a guy; I am expected to be tough. How could this happen to me? Society tells us:
Real men cannot be victims.
Real men do not get depressed.
Real men do not cry.
Real men do not need therapy.
This society has a habit of reinforcing these attitudes. However, they can be changed. They need to be changed.
