I was standing in the men\u2019s room at an upscale Seattle, Washington, steakhouse. I\u2019d spent the day hanging with my Boston Celtics teammate Avery Bradley, volunteering for one of his favorite local charities. We\u2019d helped feed 500 families. Now we were unwinding with some of the other sponsors. NBA training camp was right around the corner. I\u2019d just signed a $1.4 million contract. Life was good.<\/p>\n
Just as I was finishing up, I felt something. A hand gripped my backside. Not in an accidental kind of way. What on earth? I zipped up my pants and whirled around. An older dude, stumbling drunk, a few feet away from me, smirking. I didn\u2019t think. My fingers shot out, inches from his face. \u201cI could kill you with my bare hands,\u201d I said, but he just laughed. \u201cWhat is it you see in me that you would do that?\u201d I demanded, the thought escaping my lips almost before it registered in my mind.<\/p>\n
He tried to make a joke. I shoved past him. \u201cI\u2019ve got to get some air,\u201d I said when I got back to the table.<\/p>\n
I went outside. There was the older dude, still grinning, still stumbling drunk. Before I knew what I was doing, my hands were around his throat. Squeezing hard. Then arms pulled me away. Avery and the guys we were eating with. \u201cIt\u2019s okay. He\u2019s not worth it. Let it go,\u201d they said.<\/p>\n
Back in my hotel room, the walls felt as if they were closing in on me. I was frightened, confused. I curled my six-foot-three frame into a ball and called my wife, Tosha.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what\u2019s going on with me,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m just really messed up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s pray,\u201d she said. \u201cHeavenly Father, hold Keyon in your arms. Protect him. Comfort him.\u201d I winced at those words. I\u2019d never been sure that God really <\/em>did protect me, not after what had happened to me when I was a kid. A secret I\u2019d kept buried inside me for 25 years. I\u2019d never talked about it with Tosha or anyone else.<\/p>\n I told Tosha not to worry, but after I hung up I couldn\u2019t sleep. That awful summer day. It was all coming back. I was seven years old, walking with my best friend to the school basketball court where I grew up in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida.<\/p>\n It seemed as if I\u2019d always had a basketball in my hand. Still in grade school, I started playing against teenagers. Point guard, running the offense, the spark that makes everything happen. I loved the speed, the constant motion, how the other kids looked up to me.<\/p>\n But this day, it was raining hard. Just past an apartment building, an older teenager I knew shouted from a window, \u201cCome hang here until the rain passes.\u201d<\/p>\n All the adults were at work. We listened to hip-hop, rapping along. \u201cCheck this out,\u201d the older boy said. He put on a video. Suddenly, onscreen, a man and woman were having sex. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn\u2019t turn away. The older boy ordered my friend and me to touch his privates. Then more. I thought it would never end. When he finally released me, I ran, not even looking for my friend. At home, I got right in the shower, wanting somehow to wash away the shame, the guilt. I couldn\u2019t stop crying. God, I knew, had seen everything. There was no hiding from him. I couldn\u2019t imagine what he must think of me. Why hadn\u2019t I fought back? Had I done something to make the boy think I was interested? I felt sick.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t dare tell anyone. I was afraid of what my parents and siblings would think of me. Afraid of what they might do to the older boy if I told them. The only way to get through it was to toughen up. Keep my mouth shut. Show the world I was no pushover.<\/p>\n My father was a florist. He kept tons of knives around the house to do his work. I found a thin one, pulled the rubber grip off my bike\u2019s handlebar and slid it inside. If there was a next time, I\u2019d be ready. I was a warrior. The face I wanted the world to see carried over to my game. On the court, I was a slashing, juking, ball-handling wizard. Playing point guard, I was in control\u2014everything went through me. My brothers, my sister and my parents were my number-one supporters. \u201cIf you can see it, you can achieve it,\u201d my father would tell me. \u201cThat\u2019s the secret. You\u2019ll be unstoppable.\u201d<\/p>\n I liked the sound of that. Unstoppable. <\/em>I tried never to think about that horrible day. I had to put all that behind me. Keep moving. The same way I got past opponents on the court. Yet anxiety<\/a> and insecurity would bubble up out of nowhere.<\/p>\n After playing two years of college ball at the University of Missouri, I got picked in the first round of the 2000 NBA draft, the tenth player selected. Since then, I\u2019d been in the league 12 years and my game was only getting better. The Celtics were one of the top teams in the league. The previous season, we\u2019d taken Miami to the seventh game of the Eastern Conference finals. I\u2019d just signed the biggest contract of my life. Coach Doc Rivers had singled me out as one of the team\u2019s leaders. \u201cKeyon gets it done,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I had a beautiful, devoted wife. Four kids. A perfect life. Why was I letting one encounter shake me up like this? I was sobbing. Like that day in the shower when I was seven. My mind felt like it was coming apart.<\/p>\n I tried another prayer, but the words wouldn\u2019t come. I didn\u2019t deserve God\u2019s love. I could feel him staring down at me, judging me. The shame of that day. It had never left me. I\u2019d felt it at times when I got down, discouraged. The feelings intense, a dark shadow I couldn\u2019t control. It would come over me after a bad game. I\u2019d kick myself for missed shots, errant passes, feeling as if I\u2019d let my teammates down. I\u2019d tried to hold it all together. But it wasn\u2019t easy. Part of me was afraid to let anyone get too close, even Tosha. They\u2019d learn the awful truth about me. Now, as if a dam had burst inside, I couldn\u2019t hold it back.<\/p>\n Getting to the airport the next morning to go back to Boston was harrowing. Being home was no help. I didn\u2019t want to tell Tosha about being molested. Didn\u2019t want to look weak. But something had to give. I didn\u2019t even know what I was saying.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re talking crazy,\u201d Tosha said. \u201cWhat do you mean we need to repent? I\u2019m worried about you, baby. We need to see someone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I can\u2019t,\u201d I said. The thought of spilling my guts to a shrink scared me more than anything. Who knew where that would lead? I wasn\u2019t sleeping. Tosha, our kids looked at me as if they were afraid of me. I couldn\u2019t go on like this. I drove to the Garden, where the Celtics play, wandered onto the court and broke up an informal practice. \u201cThe end is near,\u201d I heard myself say, thoughts, phrases ricocheting through my mind. I went to General Manager Danny Ainge\u2019s office. \u201cI\u2019m done,\u201d I said. \u201cI can\u2019t do this anymore.\u201d He listened, then picked up the phone. A couple teammates appeared at the door. \u201cThese guys will drive you home,\u201d the GM said. \u201cLet us get you some help. You don\u2019t seem like you\u2019re in a good place.\u201d<\/p>\n That\u2019s for sure. A day later, I walked down the middle of a busy road, cars honking. Suddenly there were police all around. Tosha screaming.<\/p>\n Next thing I knew, I was in a small windowless room, the walls padded. No furniture except for a bed. I couldn\u2019t understand what the doctors were asking me, and I didn\u2019t trust them anyway. \u201cI want out of here,\u201d I demanded. They gave me meds that made me like a zombie. But slowly my mind began to clear.<\/p>\n That night in Seattle. How had I let a drunk man get to me like that? It was nothing. And yet it was as if, with that one grope, he\u2019d opened some kind of portal inside me. That door I\u2019d always kept closed was flung open. All those feelings of shame I\u2019d kept bottled up. It was too much. It was a secret that nearly killed me.<\/p>\n Somehow I\u2019d made it through all those years of repression. Not because of anything I\u2019d done. Because of God. He\u2019d been with me\u2014even when I felt abandoned<\/a>. He\u2019d never left my side. It was I, in my shame, who had left him. Now for the first time I could actually feel him. An overpowering, physical presence. Holding me, comforting me. The shame, the fear I\u2019d held inside of me, was gone.<\/p>\n The next day, Tosha came and climbed into bed beside me. \u201cThere\u2019s something I need to tell you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n When I was done, Tosha held me tight. \u201cI love you, baby,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd God loves you. He loves you even more because of what you\u2019ve been through.\u201d<\/p>\n A few days later, I moved to a better room\u2014one with windows. Coach Rivers arrived. He\u2019d flown from his summer house in Florida the moment he\u2019d gotten word.<\/p>\n I told him everything. If Coach was shocked, he never showed it. \u201cI\u2019ve known so many men with a story like this,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s nothing to be ashamed about. I\u2019m here for you. Whatever you need.\u201d<\/p>\n True to his word, Coach got me out of the hospital and hooked me up with an amazing psychiatrist, Timothy Benson at Harvard Medical School. Through months of therapy, Dr. Benson helped me see how a repressed trauma can cause a severe mental breakdown years later, triggered by an event that brings it all back. \u201cIt\u2019s called PTSD<\/a>,\u201d he told me. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t affect only soldiers. Talking through what happened, understanding the emotions involved, being open with friends and family are all part of the healing.\u201d<\/p>\n Dr. Benson was right. Talking about the childhood sexual abuse I experienced, the fear buried inside me, has helped me heal. That\u2019s why I\u2019m sharing my story here. If you are suffering as I did, talk to someone\u2014a therapist, a doctor, a person you trust. And talk to God. He sees your soul\u2019s pain and, as my wife put it, loves you even more because of what you\u2019ve been through.<\/p>\n