Disclaimer: the following article contains sensitive content and has references to sexual harassment. Reader discretion is advised.

I was ten when I discovered that I wanted a boyfriend. Something about the validation of a man who said he loved me made me feel whole. Not only that, but the presents, the showering of affection, and the kisses made me have butterflies inside. It looked freeing and fun and romantic, just like all the princesses had. Having my own prince charming was a major goal in my life, and I needed to accomplish it. This need shoved me onto my path to be in a world of disappointment.

I was 12 when I was first introduced to the idea that men aren’t always who we think they are. The internet exposed me to people online who thought my body was beautiful and wanted every inch of it. And at such a small age, I realized that men can, and will, do whatever they want and always get away with it. From cat-calling to sexual harassment to rape, men have always done as they please and never gotten a smack on the wrist for it.

I was 14 when I found out men know exactly how to say what you want to hear, so you can be under their complete control. Since the moment I stepped foot into my “boyfriend’s” house, my mind had completely succumbed to the lies I was told up until that point. Which took from me an innocence I so desperately wish I could have back, things would be so much different if it had never happened. But it did, and it caused me to realize that men can be absolute dogs and fiends.

I was 17 when I saw that in the eyes of men, I am just a helpless girl waiting to be ruined. Being told that I’m “so beautiful” and that they “wish they had a chance with me” by grown men three times my age is so sickening. It’s disgusting, filthy, putrid. I never asked for anyone to talk to me like that, let alone a man who is probably married and has kids, maybe grandkids. But in the horrid grey eyes of these people, I am just a small, fragile girl who needs a big, strong man to change me in all my ways. And that’s how they want it to be. Further proving to me that men can say, do, think, and act the way they want, and no one will ever bat an eye.

How old will I have to be for me to see a change in society’s men? How old will I have to be to truly understand why I am seen as property to be bought and sold off? How old will I have to be for men to stop taking things from me that don’t belong to them? How old do I have to be to be free from this misery?