I'm not sure if this is really a confession, just something that happened when I was young, I just need to get it off my chest. I don't remember everything; I was five and my parents were into drugs and clubbing. They decided to go out one night, and asked a random neighbor in our apartment to watch me. They brought me over to his place while I was asleep. I remember waking up in some strange room, terrified.I cried for my mom, and the guy opened the door and told me to shut up. I wouldn't stop crying, so he came in and slammed me down against the bed. He stated hitting me in my face, stomach, chest and legs. The memory is really hazy, I just remember the next thing as my night gown being ripped up and his hand fondling my vagina. He laid on top of me and I couldn't breath. I felt a horrible burning in my vagina as he penetrated me; he kept saying nasty things, and shoved my face sideways into the bed so I could barely breath. I blacked out, when I woke up my clothes were back on, and I was in a lot of pain. Later he came in and showed me his pistol that he kept in the dresser. He warned me if I said anything, he's shoot my family. I never said a word; a year later, my uncle came to stay with us, within a month, he was in my room every night, putting his fingers in my vagina, and making me perform oral sex on him. This went on the entire 2 years he lived with us. It really has warped my mind about sex; so much so I think I'm numb to abuse. When I was 13, I was walking home, and a man in a police uniform walked up to me. He claimed some kids had been caught throwing rocks at a building, and I needed to come to the station. Instead he led me to what I thought was a police station, it looked like a regular building from the outside, but inside was a empty warehouse room with two other older men. I was raped repeatedly, but I don't remember once screaming or crying, just laying there waiting for it to be over. I remember one kept saying, "daddy wants to fuck his princess". After, the guy drove me home to my street and shoved me out. Not sure if I'm just that crazy, but these incidents really don't bother me. It happened, and I can't change it, I'm actually a very happy, normal person, with a normal sex life. I don't think about these things all the time or even some time, just once in a while I wonder why it doesn't bother me MORE; should it?? Is it just me having a positive, optimistic view at life that I survived, or is it denial??