I’m a 22 year old female and I’ve been sexually abused 4 times in my life. The first time I was sexually abused was when I was 6 He was a friend of mine I think he was about 11 or maybe younger I don’t really remember I blocked it out until I was like 8 I kept on having dreams about it and I went to my councelor at camp one day and she told my parents then the police or whatever I don’t really remember it but I know that my parents didn’t believe me they said I did it for “attention” something they’ve said all my life. The second time I was 12 years old and I was raped by a friend of mine who is actually a gay guy he was like 16 at the time. He and I were really good friends and one day I was riding my bike with my other friend and he said “hey Autumn wanna watch a movie?” and I told my other friend that I would be back. And she said alright and so then He lead me in the house to his room locked his door and made me watch porn. And then he had his fun with me. I remember feeling so dirty and when I got home I took a shower and pretended like nothing happened (I’m really good at pretending everything is fine when it’s really not) And later on I told my mom that I had sex for the first time because I knew they wouldn’t believe me. Then when I was 15 years old my best friends Uncle raped me he kidnapped me in his car took me to mc donalds of all places and then he asked me what I wanted and I was in shock and there was a knife next to him and I was scared of him and so I just said “whatever” and he ordered something and then he took me to his house and he took me to his room and he immediately took my shirt off and my bra off and my pants and panties off and I was trying to fight him but he was way too strong for me but I kept on fighting and he ended up cutting me with the knife because I wasn’t being a “good little girl” for him. I ended up getting dropped off around the block from my house and I pretended that my friends house was my house and he left. And then I ran to my house and took a shower cuz I felt so disgusting and I was bleeding so I burned my shirt and put on my pj’s and did the dishes and waited for my parents to come home then I pretended as if nothing happened. And the last time I was sexually abused was when I was 18 years old I was with my friend and she said she knew these guys that were driving into my complex and so I was like oh and she wanted to smoke speed with them and I was like whatever because I just wanted to forget about my being a good girl all the time so I tried it too. And they ended up taking us to their house and well she had sex with this guy and I was just sitting in the room looking at a magazine and then this other guy wanted to “talk” to me and he ended up throwing me on his bed I hit the headboard and he started ripping my clothes off and he had sex with me and I didn’t wake up for a long time but when I did I freaked out and was very scared of him and he seen that I had woken up and he threw me on the floor and I crawled to the bathroom and he followed me in the bathroom and I don’t remember what happened after that all I remember is my “friend” and I tried to get out of the house and he locked us in the house well we jumped the fence and walked miles and miles she slept while I just layed on the ground at some apartments and then I remember us walking into albertsons and staying in the bathroom for hours because it was sometime in december and it was really cold. And this whole time I couldn’t feel my legs and I was still so freakin’ high. And I remember talking spanish the whole time cept when I called my friend to pick us up. It was like 6 in the morning but she picked us up anyway and then she dropped me off at my parents house and I went to sleep. That’s all I remember. I’ve been verbally abused and physically abused and emotionally and mentally all by my dad now but I still love him and I know that it’s not his fault he’s just tough on me.
by Butterfly on 3 Apr 2004

While my story included sexual assault, it began with physical. My dad was physically and emotionally abusive for as long as I remember. He was the worst to my older brother. There were 4 years between us, and a sister in the middle. It all began with my dad. Without knowing it, he was conditioning me from the time I was born to accept, even expect abuse. He was the one that taught me to equate pain with love, to accept that people who love you often will hurt you. Because of him I formulated my survival technique. Never show weakness, never say mercy, never cry. Very early in my life I found myself locked in a battle of will with my father. Proving to him I was stronger than him, because I never gave in, never let him have the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. Over and over in my head saying to him, spiteful and almost laughing, ‘you think this hurts me? You honestly think you can hurt me?!?’ He was the one who taught me that it wasn’t discussed, and my mom helped too. Every time that she looked away or left the room while he was beating us. Of course he told us that it was because he loved us. Of course he told us that this is what God expected of us.
And of course I forgave him, without him even asking. I’ve never been mad at him for this, held him accountable for just how much he damaged me, and paved the way for further trauma.
I was 9 when my older brother began raping me. He was never violent, always gentle, but he would never listen to me, never let me go when I said stop, always just holding me down. He bribed me with money, gifts, and protection from my father. There were many times when he got between me and father, took beatings for me. He stopped when I was around 12.
I began drinking, smoking, self-mutilating. Anyone who felt like sleeping with me got to. I never said no. I was too afraid to. So I just let them, hating it all the while, playing mad mind games and disassociation games to keep myself from freaking out. I spent all of my teen years consumed with hate and anger, mostly self-directed. For being so fuc*ing week all the time.
From 15 to 19 I had a boyfriend Travis. Just after a month into out relationship I was gang raped at a party Travis wasn’t with me at. More men were there than I bothered to count. Sometimes now I wish I would’ve, just so that I would know. Sometimes I know that it was right not to. It went on for hours. We were outside, it was April there was still snow on the ground and real cold out. They were extremely violent; they beat me up a lot. Two or three of them would be on me at once, they raped me vaginally, orally, and anally. They cut me several times with a knife they had. They penetrated me with whatever was handy, sticks, flashlights, whatever. They laughed a lot. I can still hear the sound of myself screaming that night in the woods. Years down the road, at 19, I found out that hell was an act of retaliation, not intended to punish me but to punish Travis. At the time of the rape I knew that to some degree, but couldn’t figure out how or why. I didn’t tell him what happened. I was afraid of how he would react, what he would do to them, and how it would affect our relationship. So I told him what the rumor after the party was, that I had hooked up with a guy at this party, that I had cheated on him. He forgave me but punished me for it. Calling me a whore, refusing to touch me and calling me diseased. I tolerated this for two years and finally broke down and told him the truth, about that night and the shit from when I was little. During the two years after the rape, we never had sex, though we had been sexually active prior. After the rape I stopped drinking and therefore became completely frigid. Travis would try to touch me and I would shake so violently that he couldn’t even get a good hold on me. After I opened up to him we began to work on repairing me sexually. Progress was slow, so somehow, I really don’t remember how, we decided that he would just do it. Even if I was upset or crying or fighting him, he should just keep fucking me. So he did that, and while was he was he would whisper in my ear that he loved me, that I didn’t need to be afraid, this was because he loved me. Somehow this actually worked, at times I did have really good sex with him.
When I found out not only that he was the cause of the rape, but that he had assumed all along the truth and still gave me shit for two years over me “cheating” on him. And that he himself was a rapist, I had to break up with. I felt so betrayed. I thought back on the “sex therapy” we’d had and realized that it wasn’t for me, he didn’t care about me. In all likelihood it was what he wanted, he was turned on. I thought he was trying to help me, to heal me, but it was for him, for his pleasure.
My next boyfriend was bad from the start. We were heavy into drugs together, we had lots of threesome and group sex. Always me and men, never other women, usually mock rape, always degrading and demeaning, but whatever. Soon I was sleeping with men for drugs, unable to afford as much as I wanted to ingest. Kevin snapped the camels back one night when we were in a fight, about some guy that he wanted to see fu*k me that I didn’t want to fu*k. This arguement was going all night, towards dawn I headed to bed, leaving Kevin with a bunch of his friends, still partying. A while after I fell asleep I woke up to the door opening. Kevin and his friend, and Kevin held me down so that this other dude could do it.
I saw Kevin only once after that. I entered rehab but was only sober for about two months. Last October I was raped by a man I met at the bar. I was leaving with him to go get high. I knew it was stupid, and knew I was putting myself in a bad situation, but I did it anyway. It probably was the easiest of all the rapes to deal with. It was the shortest in duration, it was only one person, he was stranger, not someone I’d have to see again, and compared to all I’ve been thru seems so minor.
Obviously, I am unable to talk about this. My parents found out about the childhood abuse, and gang rape at 15 when I was 16. We had exactly two conversations about it. They asked me if I was alright, if I felt I needed therapy. They believed me when I said it was fine, that I was fine, that I didn’t need help. I am pretty estranged from them at this point.
So I am stuck in this cycle. So angry, addicted to drugs and alcohol, and sex. I can’t have normal loving sex with my boyfriend. I finally have one that is a decent person, who I know could never hurt me like these other men did. He’s the first man I’ve been able to say “No” to. But I make him hurt me in bed. I can’t get off unless I am in pain, so I make him hit me, choke me, slap me around. And I am so mean to him but can’t help it. I have to remind myself constantly that he is not all those other men. Force myself to look at him with kind eyes and not the stone cold defensive look I usually reserve for men.
He knows there are things wrong with me, knows that I have “issues”, but I refuse to even name the traumas to him, tho I know he connected a dew dots on his own. I still self mutilate. I have nightmares, hallucinations, panic attacks. I forget to eat and take care of myself, so I am beginning to have quite a few physical problems.
For over a decade now, this had been my life. Rape has been my life. And I hate the hard and cold and bitter person it has made me. I hate the way any morals I had were thrown out the window while I tried to run from myself and my past. I hate that I walk around saying, ‘better living thru denial’, honestly believing it. I hate knowing that it will always be this way. There is no answer, no solution, no light. I’ve turned myself into this thing, so mute and weak; I can never get back to what I was. When I reflect on the years all I see is more pieces of me that were lost, that died. One by one I can see the where the pieces fell.
I know what lead to what, I know why Seth hurt me and why I felt the need to let so many other people hurt me. I know the role my dad and mom playing in contributing to this paralysis. I understand completely the cause and effect, where the dominos started to fall. But it doesn’t help. It doesn’t change anything. And I can’t.
I read stories of people and how they’ve made the move from victim to survivor. That their liberation came when they realized it wasn’t their fault. Newsflash, every one of us are victims, and will be as long as we are alive. You can’t refuse to be a victim. You were made into one. And that is a status all of us will have for the duration of out lives. Strictly based on definition.
As far as placing blame, my true enslavement began when I realized that it wasn’t my fault. That’s how weak we are and that’s how strong they are. No amount of willpower will ever best muscles or guns at the moments when it really matters. When it comes down to it, “they” can fu*k you whenever they want to. That’s how small we are. And it’s not our fault, it’s the way it is. And that’s where my real frustration comes in. For the rest of my life I know that if a man gets a notion in his head that he wants to fu*k me, he will, and that’s that. Regardless of whether or not I decide to say no. I am only safe as long as a man allows me to be. I’m only safe until they decide they want to hurt me.
I am 22 years old. And all this doesn’t come close to completing my stories.
by Angel Longsleeveson 16 Aug 2004

I’ve been reading through some of the stories posted here, and it actually gives me encouragement to know that there are other people out there like me. I have recently started seeing a theripist who has told me he thinks that I have BPD and a few other choice things. I have never actually told the complete story of what happened to me to anyone. I have told only about 4 or 5 people total about partial events of what happened, but I think it might help me to tell the whole story (what I remember of it) on here. I was 16 when I met him (this was about 5 years ago). We started dating at the end of October. Everything was great for about a week. Then on my birthday in November he decided he wanted to mark the occassion with something “special.” We were in my basement watching a movie when he started trying to convinse me to take off my shirt. When I wouldn’t he got mad. This is where it starts getting fuzzy. I know I struggled against him. I also know I lost that struggle. I didn’t call out to anyone who was home because I was afraid of what they might think. He told me that if I told anyone he’d just deny it or tell them I said I wanted to. I was young and a virgin, I believed him and I believed they’d believe him. He siad he wouldn’t do it again, he also said he’d tell everyone what a slut I was if I broke up with him. So I didn’t break up with him. He kept his word about not doing it again for about three days. I don’t remember where we were or what se him off but he started yelling at me and then hitting me. He got me pinned down on the ground and said he’d stop hurting me if I let him have what he needed… I am so ashamed of what happened next… I stopped fighting him. I let him have what he wanted. He told me that from then on if I didn’t want him to hurt me that I would give him what he needed when needed it. He stayed true to his word for the most part. If i didn’t fight, he didn’t hurt me… as much. It went on like that, and I don’t remember much of that time, for several months. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I hated him but I hated myself more. I told him it was over and that I didn’t care what he told anyone else. He did not take it well, he hit me a few times and then left. I thought it was over. I was wrong. He and a friend of his made plans. They waited until I was alone after practice for a school sport. I was getting in extra practice not paying attention to anything else in the room, I thought I was alone. “Hey, you’re getting pretty good at that,” My ex called out to me. I didn’t want to, but I made myself turn around. There he was with that big ugly grin on his face and next to him was his best friend. I ran. I fought. I yelled. But again I lost the fight. And no one heard me but the two people who definately weren’t going to help. I never reported him. His Uncle was chief of police. Instead I went into self destruct. I dropped out of life. I drank. I partyed. I did drugs. I tried to kill myself. Anything to make me forget. But then all of you know that you never really can. The only reason I’m not dead is because of faulty thinking on my part. I met the man who is my current husband and decided that if men needed it so badly I was going to give it before it could be taken. I got preganant, the first time I miscarried. The second time I had my first daughter (Who was an answer to a prayer, what prayer? The Serenity Prayer, which is her name incidently). Who is the only reason I don’t go back into self destruct mode, completely, well her and her little sister. I slip into that mode from time to time, but never when they are around, and never for more than an evening at a time.
My only question to myself is, is it still rape if you allow it to happen without a fight? Is that consent? Am I wrong to feel wronged? Was I only raped twice, or was every time rape? I never wanted him to but I didn’t want to be hurt.
For those of you out there who can’t remeber what happened. Please don’t try to remember. Trust me, it’s better not knowing. I had repressed most of these memories until I started seeing a tharapist. Now I remember more everyday. Not remembering is a blessing in disguise.
by Unreppesing and Regrettingon 18 Nov 2004

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Happy Marriage by the Numbers

Happy Marriage by the Numbers

Pamela C. Regan, PhD
California State University

hen 4,000 couples in the UK who had been married for more than 16 years, on average, were polled on the keys to a long-lasting relationship, some interesting facts were discovered. On average, these married couples wanted four cuddles a day… romantic gestures from their partners every 10 days… unsolicited helpful gestures three times a month… and seven cozy nights in and two dinner dates out a month.
We can make our own marriages happier by incorporating these “happy marriage behaviors” into our lives. Striving to give your spouse, say, four cuddles a day might start out feeling artificial but eventually will become a rich part of the fabric of your relationship. Because kindness reaps kindness in relationships, you will encourage your spouse to reciprocate.

ROMANTIC GESTURES EVERY 10 DAYS

In a long-term relationship, we tend to think romantic gestures are no longer necessary. But surprising your spouse with flowers or a romantic dinner reminds your partner that you still are in love with him/her. If you decide to run a bath for your wife because she had a bad day, it shows that you are thinking specifically about what would please her, and that thoughtfulness is far more important than even the action itself. To be truly romantic, don’t ask your partner what he might want. Instead come up with your own idea — something that shows great attention to your partner’s unique likes and dislikes.

4 CUDDLES A DAY

Make sure to hug or affectionately touch your partner at least four times a day. The happiest couples touch a lot. Try a slight squeeze on the shoulder at breakfast or a hug before you run off to work.

3 HELPFUL ACTIONS A MONTH

Thoughtful actions that lighten a partner’s load are perceived as tender and caring — especially when done without anyone asking. Taking the initiative to do the dishes or make your spouse coffee in the morning shows that you are paying attention and makes your partner realize how central he/she is in your thoughts. You even can come right out and tell your partner, “I’m doing this because I love you and I want to make sure you know that.”

7 COZY NIGHTS IN AND
2 DINNER DATES OUT A MONTH

Your “cozy nights in” should be different from your everyday routine — make sure you aren’t parked in front of the television. Instead, have dinner together, talk about your week, make plans, check in about upcoming activities. Also, reserve special nights two times a month. Making the effort to dress up and go outside the family home together reinforces your “coupleness” and adds vitality to a relationsh

I came across this site looking for support. I rarely talk about what happened to me in great detail. I have told people before that I was raped or abused but I hardly ever tell how it happened. I started therapy recently and for the first time managed to actually speak to someone face to face about my experience and not feel terrified of what they would think of me. I am in my mid twenties right now but the abuse I suffered was as a child. I was nine years old and living with my mother. My father had died a few years before and my mother pretty much hated me. She worked various part time jobs but always managed to get fired from them. She drank and did drugs and had a habit of dragging strange men home all the time. A different guy every night, some would come back and some I never saw again. I don’t really know if she had gotten money from any of them but I do know that she got her drugs and booze off many of them. One guy that she brought home though stayed for quite a while. I will call him Sid. Sid liked both men and women and it wasn’t unusual for him to bring another guy or girl to the house with him. After a short time Sid ended up moving into our trailer. He was unemployed, a lush and physically abusive to both my mother and myself. It was not odd to see my mothers face bruised and bloody. She lost many teeth from the times that Sid had punched her in the face. He used to beat her in the head till she would pass out, he broke her nose once and once I came home from school to find my mothers arm in a cast. I asked her what had happened and she said Sid. Thats all she had to say. It ended up that Sid would watch me while my mother was at work. Most of the time he would sit on the couch and get drunk, other times he would get pissed for no reason and he would start to hit me, sometimes with his hands, sometimes with an object. The wooden yard stick that my mother kept behind the stove was his favorite. We had a gas stove too and he loved to threaten me by trying to force my hands over the fire till I would scream, then he would let go of me and I would run away. He lived at our house for about two months before the first time that he actually abused me sexually. I walked into the living room and he spotted me. He asked me what I was doing and I told him that I had to use the toilet so he told me to go on to the bathroom. When I was done he called me into the living room and told me to sit on the couch. I told him that I was tired and wanted to go to bed so he waved me off but I remember him watching me as I walked out of the room. I next remember hearing him walk into my bedroom. I turned to ask what he wanted but he grabbed me suddenly and forced me face first onto the bed, pinning my arms behind my back. I screamed because I thought he was going to break my arms. I was scared and I remembered thinking that a beating was coming. I remember thinking, what did I do now? I was good, why is he doing this? But I wasn’t prepared for what he did next. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. The next thing that I remember is feeling him pushing against me. I screamed then because of the pain. After a while I passed out, he did what he wanted to me and when he was done he went back in the living room and popped open a beer. I woke up on the floor later, crying, my face stained with tears and a horrible pain in my back side. I went to the bath room and washed the blood and his mess off me and when I came back out he told me, without even looking at me, that if I told anyone that he would kill me and my mother both. I ran back to my room and cried myself to sleep. The next night he came again, and the night after that. It became a regular thing, I was too scared to tell anyone but one fateful night mother happened to come home early and caught him. She called the police and he was arrested but to this day she told me that it was my fault that it happened because I knew he liked men too and that I acted to sexy around him. A nine year old and I was too sexy? I don’t see my mother now, and I am not sure if I can forgive her. I just wish she could have held me and told me that she was sorry.
by noonessonon 3 Nov 2005
Labels: I came across this site looking for support

When I started reading these I wasn’t going to share anything

When I started reading these I wasn’t going to share anything, because what happened to me seems so mild in comparison, but I feel like I want to anyway.

When I was 4 years old some family friends were over. My mom and another mom left, and my dad and his friend were in another room playing on the computer. My brother, who was 7 or 8, was playing with me and this other boy, “Ron”, who was about 13. My brother left the room to go play with my dad and his friend on the computer, I think, leaving me alone with Ron. Everything is very hazy, seeing as this was 13 years ago (I’m 17 now), but I remember him making me pull my underwear down. Then he started to touch me, but I pulled away and told him that it tickled. So he said, “Then I’ll do it softer” and I remember thinking that that would just make it tickle more. My brother kept coming in and out of the room, and I think a couple times he caught me pulling up my underwear and so knew something wrong was happening. My father never came and checked on us. If my mom was there she would have and this might have never happened. I have a lot of resentment toward my dad because of that.

My brother and I, according to my mom, were talking about it the next morning, and my mom overheard us and made us tell her what happened. Being so young, I don’t remember all that happened, but my mom says that he did say he was sorry. It turned out that he had been abusing his sister, who was mute and otherwise mentally challenged, for a long time. After what happened to me, it came out about him abusing her and the abuse stopped. So, while it wasn’t good that I was molested, at least it stopped the abuse of his sister. I can only imagine her pain.

A year or so later, when I was probably 5, my best friend (who was also 5) was spending the night. We were in my bed and she had me pull my underwear down. Then she started to kiss my private parts, but it was really weird and I had her stop. I moved away and have lost contact with her, but I still wonder what on earth would make a 5 year old little girl want to do that to another little girl?

I am so thankful that I’ve never been raped, and that the abuse was not continual. But I still know and understand those feelings that come with sexual abuse…the confusion, anger, hurt, sadness, depression…and the what if’s and why’s. What if my mom had stayed? Why didn’t my dad come check on me? I can only try to deal with it and move on. If you are reading this, I’m glad, because you have taken a big step in looking for help. DON’T ignore it. Seek therapy and help. It feels so much better to tell someone. And if this is happening to you now, TELL SOMEONE! I know how hard that is, but this is happening too much, especially to children. It is an epidemic. By telling someone, you may be preventing the abuse of another victim. The point is SPEAK UP. Don’t be silent any longer. You deserve to have justice served.
by Rachelle on 2 May 2005

Friday, September 25, 2009
Hello everyone. What’s up? I thought I was alone for a minute or so
Hello everyone. What’s up? I thought I was alone for a minute or so, until I have seen this site. I’m 16 years old. My past haunts me. When I was 5 years old I was molested by my uncle David for 3 years. I didn’t know what was happening. I was mad at myself all the time. My mom always asked me why I had a rash but I never told. I kept a secret hidden from everyone I loved. When I turned 7 on my birthday I told my mother what happened. We went walking for a while then we went back to were I was living and she ran in grabbed her gun and chased him out the house. He told me if I ever told her or anyone else he’d kill me but some how I figure he could have just done it then because I had a horrible future to a wait me. How can young ones keep it in so long is what I used to be asked Now that I’m about to be 17, I know how they did it. They are scared and lonely and know if they told they’d get punished and someone wouldn’t believe them. I told and I put him in jail. He just got out last year. Why would someone hurt the one they love? There are too many lies out there, children are hurt and raped and abused and I don’t know why because I was one of them. I have my memories and they are horrible but I get through them. I say to myself every morning when I get up that I am strong and I don’t need much to get me through life. I sometimes pretend it never happened but that’s just me. That’s how I keep myself going. I have goals now. Since all of this happened I have hope and faith. I’m set for life. I just didn’t have much of a childhood and I know how some of you feel, but you have to keep going. I’m glad I got to share my story, so thank you all for yours.
Love you all,
Hope and Faith,
Courtney
by Courtneyon 15 Mar 2005
Labels: Hello everyone. What’s up? I thought I was alone for a minute or so

What is worse than Death? Rape, molestation! Fear is how they Control! Any unwanted physical contact is rape. Molestation is the same thing but between family. I like this site a lot. My boyfriend found it and said to take a look so here I am.

My abuse started when I was just 4 or 5 years old. The son (between 6 and of my baby sitter’s did it. I thought he was cute but I didn’t know what he was doing. He said it was ok. I blacked out most of it.

My father was physically abusive. To this day I still have marks on my body where he has hit me. Broken blood vessels that were left when he beat me with his hands, belts and a wire hanger. All this for not being good, fighting with my sister, reading late at night, you name it I got hit for it.

The real kicker was my biological father at the age of 12. I will never forget it whether my eyes are open or closed. Summer time I just finished middle school, hot, on the weekend about 1 in the morning. I’m total nude. I awaken by getting kissed on my back. It tickles at first, then the alarm goes off in my head and I turn over. He’s kneeling by the edge of my bed. “What daddy?” (that phrase still makes me sick to my stomach) I don’t really remember what he said until I started shaking and crying begging “please daddy…, don’t daddy…” He told me in his matter of fact “STOP, BE QUIET!” as he stood up. He took the covers off me and kept asking “do you like that?” as he touched me. Puke is not even close to what I wanted to do. He knelt at the foot of my bed and began to touch, finger, lick. All I could think of was “wake up please wake up!” Finally after what seemed forever he got up and said “did you like that?” There was movement on the stair and he quickly covered me up and went to see what it was.
To add insult to injury my mother comes in and says “Baby are you ok now is everything better?” as if that was suppose to make me feel better. (NO she didn’t know what happened, he told her I was sick and he was checking on me.) It took me a month to tell her what happened and actually she asked me after I told a friend what happened and she told her mom and her mom told my mom.
After that I was self-destructive. I slept around with different men. I put my self in situations that got me in more trouble and yes more abuse. I hung with the wrong people. Got in trouble.
My mom finally told me something that I will never forget. “Damn it! You can be a victim all your life or you can be a survivor… which do you want to be?” and that is what I ask all of you hear which do you want to be? Choose a victim or a survivor.

I choose to survive. I am proud of that and proud of all who have left their stories as well as those that visit. It is all a form of help. Death is not an option and neither is being a victim.
Yes I have awakened it the middle of the night screaming in a cold sweat there again. I have no doubt that it will happen again. No I don’t trust people as far as my finger. And the person who created the statement “That’s Life” needs to be shot. Because, RAPE and MOLESTATION should not be a part of life. But I am a SURVIVOR.
by Maiyshaon 12 Jan 2005

This boy named Jorge started flirting with me when we got in the same class the 1st semester of my junior year in high school. He’d hit me in the hallways and hold my waist to move me aside in the line. He’s the clown of the class and he did this with a lot of girls in school. I thought nothing of it! I even *liked* getting a guy’s attention. I’ve never even had a real boyfriend. But long story short, on a Monday last December (2004), there was an early release day due to Parent/Teacher conference and I had to walk a mile to my house. While I was walking, Jorge pulled up in his truck and asked if I wanted a ride to where I was going. I accepted because mostly I was freezing cold. While I was in his truck he offered me a blunt (weed) and I took a few puffs off it. Then I think that’s when he put his hand on my thigh and I pushed it away ’cause it was just weird and he’s not my type. So we got to my house. I live in the basement so I went in that way. A few minutes later when I got my coat off and stuff, Jorge knocked on the basement door, he asked for his lighter. I accidentally kept it in my pocket when we were smoking. I turned my back for one second to get it and I was rushed to my floor. I started fighting him. I know I’m not strong but I *can* fight. He wasn’t holding back neither, he got me good in my stomach and face. I was on my back so I couldn’t get him like I wanted. I remember he told me “be cool, bit*h, be cool” among other things. I hate myself because I couldn’t hold out longer. If only I could have! I knew what was about to happen. How stupid could I be to let it?! Jorge told me to close my eyes and don’t look at him. I did, I turned my head and stared at the legs of my couch. After he violated me and robbed me of my virginity, I told him to get the out and if he spoke of this to anyone I’d go to the police. I didn’t want anyone to find out about this! Although I know my rights and I know I should have told someone I was afraid to be labeled a sl*t. Something I didn’t want to be looked at as. I know I’m wrong for that now and my views have changed. I was molested before all this by a man who I was suppose to trust… this is the first time I’m even trying to recount the events of that afternoon. And I don’t want to EVER think of it again. I just want to get on with my life.

Well, as you can imagine, it’s very difficult to come out to such a wide group of people, but I feel a strange kind of comfort knowing that everyone here will understand. I lost my virginity at 15 when my boyfriend raped me. We had been dating for a month and it started out innocently enough. After a few days, he subtly started wearing down my self esteem by manipulating me and trying to coerce me into having sex with him, but I remained firm that my virginity was not his to take, it was mine to give. He told me that I was stupid not to do what he said, that I was nothing to anyone but him and even then I wasn’t much more than the s**t on his shoe. So this continued and one day when he had convinced me to leave school with him and go to my house, he trapped me in my room, pinned me down, and raped me. Every time I protested he would jab me with a pen until I laid still. He had an erection problem and blamed it on me, so any time he couldn’t stay stimulated he forced my mouth onto him. If I vomited, he would shove it back in my face and leave me to clean up. Then it would start again. This continued for another 2 months and progressively got worse. By the time he dumped me, I was nothing but a puddle compared to my original self. I like to explain this way, in the beginning I was a perfectly built pyramid. In that relationship he took me apart brick by brick until there was nothing but rubble left. I know I’ll never be put together correctly, but I can try. When that relationship ended (and he had a new girlfriend by the end of the day) I didn’t know what to do. By that time I felt I was dependent on him and without him I was nothing. I had a friend, Zach, who came and saved me. He took me to Planned Parenthood for a check up and proper medical care. (There were some cuts and bruises that my previous boyfriend wouldn’t let heal) Soon, though, he started to take advantage of my weakness and he started to rape me in his own way. Not as physically abusive as before, but he used me and prayed on my vulnerability. He used me for another two months and dumped me out of the blue one day. I believed that I loved him and that he loved me so this came as a big shock to me. It was a very hard and lonely 2 years before I felt I was going to end everything once and for all. I was in a mindless sexual relationship where we didn’t care for each other but I felt I needed to pleasure someone because that was all I was good for. Eventually I became so sour, depressed and dark that I almost did kill myself. I stayed for my dad who had recently been diagnosed as manic depressive and I didn’t want him to suffer if I was gone. One day I was on the internet and by some remote chance I met a nice man, a REAL nice man. I won’t get into it too much, but he proved himself to me by moving 1700 miles and away from his family to be with me. That was almost 3 years ago and I am now married with a one-year-old son. In most aspects of life I am happy, but even now I have horrible nightmares, flashbacks and memories that haunt me almost every day. It sometimes makes our intimate moments awkward and painful and I flash back to my sexual experiences from before. I wish I could put all of this behind me and I have made it farther than I ever thought I could, but the deepest and most disturbing parts of my experiences seem to be hardwired into my mind. They can be triggered at any time and for any reason. I’m hoping that someday I will be able to find a way to vent the remainder of my past and let it be just that, the past.