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Why I Share My Story of Abuse

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I met him on a sort of social network for gay youth. He enticed me with comments about my profile picture, complimenting my partially straightened Bieber-lookalike cut, brushed to perfection.

We’ll call him Ben. He was 21, and I, 13. He wasn’t the only man to message me on that website but was the first I responded to.

At 12 years old, a year before, I went to sleep away camp for the first time. During that week of laying in bunks in cabins with no air conditioning and what seemed to be the world’s worst mattress, the other campers and I hiked, swam, sailed, and fished.

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