1.

I've always hated the word 'molest', not because of personal experiences, but just because the word itself sounded so disgusting on my tongue. Molest. Like a mole, or some underwater slug. 1

I only found out that I was molested about two months ago. It was typed up as part of a short biography of me, by a psychologist named Dr. Paulfermann who sat and talked to me for an entire hour of my life. 2

"When Swadhi was 11, she was molested..."3

I remember staring at that sentence and then slowly grappling in on that one single word: molest. It didn't seem right at all. 4

Molesting was the kind of thing pedofiles did to little children. It was the stepfather "accidentally", on-purpose brushing his hand against his teenage daughters blossoming chest. It was the shabby guy on the crowded subway rubbing up against the pretty business-lady in the tight skirt. 5

But this was different. This was me. Me and my brother.6

I don't recall falling asleep that night. I stayed up, staring at the ceiling, slowly mouthing the word over and over again, trying to wrap my lips and tongue around the syllables. 7

Molest. Molest. Molest. 8

I never did get the hang of saying it. But, that night, I think my disgust towards it inched a little but higher up the scale. 9