This is my story

I used the help of Chatgpt to help me express myself as English is not my first language. And I want my story to be told, I thought on writing a book or even a movie but scared that my identity would come out, as most of people in my story is still alive. So I decided to share it with you here. Im 28yo (f) so I have a lot to tell. I will break it in different parts, please don't judge me.

I was five years old when it started. My brothers-let's call them V and R-would take turns SA me. They never penetrated me, but they would put themselves between my legs, using my body for their own release. I didn't understand what was happening. I only knew that it was wrong. But I stayed quiet. I always stayed quiet, otherwise they would bully me even more. (I'm their half-sister) This went on for years, until my mother met someone. My parents were separated, and she had started dating again. Eventually, she moved this man into our home. And slowly, he began to do the same things to me, except he would touch me, finger me (I guess in attempt to give me pleasure), for some reason I would pass out and wake up in the same position. He then started asking me to give him oral and handjobs. By then, the abuse was familiar. My brothers had already "pave the way", so when my stepfather began touching me, forcing himself on me, I didn't fight back. Deep down, I knew it was wrong, but silence had become my survival, as my siblings would always bully me. I was seven when he first made me go down on him. I didn't understand what he wanted, only that I had no choice. I don't know how long it lasted-maybe months, maybe a year. Time blurred. But then came the day that changed everything. I was eight years old. It was a Sunday morning, and I had stayed home from church because I wasn't feeling well. My mother and siblings had left, and I was alone in the house with my stepfather. That morning, he decided to take things further. He forced himself inside me. I remember the pain. It tore through me, something sharp and unbearable. I started bleeding, heavy and uncontrollable. He told me to change my panties, to change my clothes. Then he took my underwear and threw it away. At the time, I didn't understand why. Now, I realize he was getting rid of the evidence. Before my mother returned, he looked me in the eyes and told me not to say a word. But I couldn't hide the pain. When she came home and saw me limping, she knew something was wrong. She pressed me for answers, and at first, I lied. But she wouldn't stop asking. Eventually, I told her. I told her what he had done.

PART I