Okay, so. This may be graphic, disjointed, or just plain rambly, but I've been thinking about it a lot and just kind of need to write about it. I'm hoping it will all miraculously make sense then.
When I was a little kid, around 4 years old, my sisters and I had a male babysitter. He was about 18, I think, but I'm not 100% certain on the age.
My sister's boyfriend decided to tell me one night a couple of years ago about this terrible thing that had happened to my older sisters and myself. He sat down with me on the couch and proceeded to describe in detail how my babysitter molested my sisters (then about 5 and 6) and me with a broom handle, taking one girl out of the closet at a time and leaving the other two in there. The boyfriend told me this with complete disregard of the fact that I was one of those kids, like he was just telling me about something that happened to my poor sister. I, understandably, was upset, so he went and woke my sister up to talk to me. We talked about it for quite a while, and she said, "There are other things too, but if you don't remember them, I don't want to tell you about them." We've never mentioned it or these "other things" instead.
Now, here's why I'm confused: I've never had more than a few memories of my childhood, up until the age of about 10, so this initially was a complete shock to me. As soon as the boyfriend told me about it, though, something clicked in my mind and was like "yes, he's telling the truth... sort of." My mind agrees that things happened with that babysitter, but it doesn't agree that it happened the way my sister says. I really really feel like it was a body part and not a broom, to put it hopefully not-too-crudely. Something in my brain keeps telling me that's how it went, and that same something says I liked it, and I don't think I can describe how horrible that makes me feel.
Mainly, I worry that since I don't have the same memories as my sister, maybe they're not memories at all and I'm just making the whole thing up. I don't have any bad memories of this babysitter, although I do remember things that in hindsight could be construed as odd, like running around and snuggling with him in my underwear, but that could just be how I was when I was 4. My point, though, is that I remember liking him and being happy when he came to babysit. So what happened? I mean, I very strongly think something did, but what if it didn't? And what if it did and I liked it? What kind of person does that make me?
I had a million more things I was thinking to say about this, but they've all gone out of my head now, so I guess this is it. Thanks for reading.