I took no notice when he put his arm around me, I thought he was just being friendly. I fell asleep, I dont know for how long but when I woke up he was kissing me, little soft kisses on my cheek. It was dark, I thought it was my boyfriend so I let him continue. He kissed my mouth, my neck, my ears. It was only when I heard my boyfriends car pull up outside that I realised it was him. I tried to get up but he was lying on top of me. He told me that if I made a noise he'd kill me. He locked me in his bedroom. I was so scared that I couldnt move. I just curled up in a little ball and cried and cried. I knew what he was going to do. I just couldnt believe he could do a thing like that. I wanted to scream out to my boyfriend but I couldnt.

The next thing I heard was my boyfriend leaving. I wanted to yell "dont leave me here" but I was so scared. Im so ashamed that I couldnt move or scream. I must be so weak, I just felt so helpless.

He unlocked his bedroom door and came in. I was still huddled in the corner of the room. He came over to me and told me that I wanted it, that I'd been leading him on in front of the tv and that if I was "good" nothing bad would happen.

He started touching me, telling me it felt good, that it was what I wanted him to do. He told me to touch him, but when I wouldnt he slapped me. All I could do was cry. He pushed me over and I hit my head against his bedside table. He pushed my skirt up and told me that he was going to "fuck me like I deserve to be fucked". He took off my panties and unzipped his jeans. I couldnt stop crying, I kept asking him to stop and to let me go, but he just laughed at me and told me to stop acting like a baby. Every time I'd try to get up he'd slap me, I have never been so scared in my life.

He forced my legs apart and pushed himself inside me. I can remember the pain, it felt like I was being ripped apart. I screamed, I begged him to stop, but it was useless. He was easily twice my size and so strong. He kept telling me to stop crying, that I'd asked for it, but it only made me cry more. I wanted to die.

When he finished he told me that if I ever told anyone he'd kill me. He knew where I lived, he knew all my friends. He threatened that if I ever told he'd do the same to my best friend. Then he left me alone and told me to clean up. I was bleeding and had left a big blood stain on the carpet. I was so sore. I locked myself in his bathroom and sat and cried and cried, I think I must have passed out. When I eventually came out he was sitting on the couch drinking a beer. All he did was wink at me. I hated him so much. I locked myself in my bedroom until I was sure my boyfriend was home.

I still havent told my boyfriend what happened. We still live with him but I make sure i'm not home alone with him anymore. I'm pregnant because of him, with twins. My boyfriend think they're his. I cant tell my boyfriend what happened because "he" threatens that he'll take them from me. I dont want to lose my babies even if they're "his". Sometimes he comes up to me touches my stomach, just to let me know that he's watching me. Im still scared of him. Its stupid isnt it? I let my life be run by the monster that raped me. This is the first time that i've talked about what happened. I want someone to talk to who has been through the same thing. I cant handle it on my own.

What can I say about your story---it touched me so desperately, you were so young... I know what you mean when you say he killed you, stole your innocence and trust. Then psychologically battered you at school everyday -- that's trauma. I'm 30 now but I feel 9 and 90 I was raped in 1996, early June and again December 26 at 5:03 am. Spring 96 in a college town area of New England (where i'd been living since 91) I loved my job working in special ed. with an autistic teen at the same high school where I'd done my student teaching in literature, loved where I lived -- beautiful, peaceful -- my home. The first one I'd chosen on my own (I grew up a navy brat) for no other reason than the earth felt good underneath my feet and the sky overhead held clarity and promise. And with 5 colleges and universities around the potential for another shot at my MA was attainable.

So I made friends, got jobs, partied, eventually went back to school for my teaching certification. After years of being treated go clinical depression and an anxiety disorder, I thought something was clicking -- something good. But one Friday night after a long week of low paying and mentally draining work I went out to find some fun. At a local club where a lot of my friends hung out on Friday nights (the crowd that stayed after graduation or dropping out -- mostly a bunch of overeducated artist slackers paying the rent and whatnot) people like me, drawing and writing and fitting in for the first tine cuz everyone was a freak (in a general, non-subcultured kinda way).

Enough digression in parenthesis-- Friday nite------- The club ---- The after party where I got drunk, or someone slipped me a roofie or I wasn't as drunk as all that and I just disassociated 100%. I don't know cuz i remember little to nothing, but I remember enough and the way my body hurts i know it remembers what my cognitive mind doesn't or wont. But then again I do remember, it's all so confusing, so long ago -- I'm not me anymore. At the after party it must of been getting very late, my friends must of left cuz i remember looking for someone. The next thing I remember is being in a room, being held down my head pulled back by my long hair and some bastard telling me to tell him how much I liked his cock inside me ( and don't think I can say those words aloud -- i even had to write them down with my therapist.) He wasn't the only one, and I don't know who or how many I only trust it wasn't any of my friends -- just a bunch of University scum topping off their year before they left town for the summer...

Me ... lord I woke up at 6am in a strange place hurting all over and thinking, so stupidly, that I got drunk and had a bad and unwanted one night stand. This delusion continued of a few days, despite my altered behavior (scared shitless) and altered work performance -- I was so jumpy and so out of it, not at all my usual flaky, but weirdly organized, energetic self. I was sick. About tuesday? I noticed the bruises-- large handprints on my thighs and ankles, my upper arms, and my back-- the left side from shoulder to lower back. I went to my housemate to ask her what she saw, because I couldn't believe it nor could I believe what little memory was coming back to me. It explained my strange behavior and feeling unwell for the past few days; at least, I thought, the bruises show I fought. I called my sister and her best friend and they came down and I took a sick day. No police, not this time. besides I was drunk, I couldn't even identify who or exactly what house on that particular street, they wouldn't believe me and what could they do, it happened days ago and I definitely took that long hot scrubbing shower.

I was wearing a tight dress and flirting. I was drunk. I asked for it. The litany of self blame runs through my head like a broken record -- you're trash. I'm intelligent I know these self blame things are crap -- but that doesn't make them go away. I fear remembering (cuz I'm working on it in therapy and he asked me what's your biggest fear about remembering?) because I'm afraid that I'll remember that it was all my fault. But my body remembers, my emotions remember and I can feel it even if I can't think it.

I stopped hanging around town so much, waiting until all the students were safely gone for the summer and basically stuffed it all down deep inside me so I could be normal again -- not a dirty secret. And it worked for the summer, failing me bit by bit as fall came around. I was talking to some people in front of a local pub after closing time on a warm September night and this guy turns to me and says "I remember you from a party last spring, you were kind of ... " You were the I screamed, what happened --I WAS RAPED THAT NIGHT," talk about clearing a parking lot at lightning speed. I walked home tearing and tipsy and scared and remembering, feeling so alone -- I had to start stuffing again to be normal on the outside again, had to think about my job.

December 26 is another story. The culmination of it all was a suicide attempt on April 29, 1997 -- 14 days after my 30th birthday. I did not want another day of life. ever. But I failed ... and my parents wanted me at their house in California -- a place I hate, where I know no one, where I've never lived before. So I begged and pleaded for more time to pack my things, to stay and see my shrink and therapist there. But no I went to this place at my father's insistence, no therapy, no pot, no nothing but to escape into a bottle. Cuz god forbid the rapes or the suicides ever be mentioned -- I was way to fragile, my parents were afraid of how I would react and negative emotions are a no-no in dad's book of ediquitte. Missed my sister and her fiancée, my friends, me. All was an empty shell. So I drank myself into an I almost made it suicide attempt (with pills), my mom came to say good night and found me. I woke up remembering nothing in the local ICU. Transferred to the mental hospital, which was ludicrous in its approach to saving me. Their answer was rehab -- duh-- I didn't drink to party I drank to forget. I would have much preferred smoking pot -- which wouldn't have led to a suicide attempt. But the assholes in our government have their thumbs up their butts while the other hand holds a scotch. Wrong road did it any way since it made everyone else feel so good "now she's facing her problems." Right! I still wasn't talking about rape or why I wanted to die. It only reinforced the idea "if you weren't a drunken druggie none of this would have happened in the first place" (parental unspeak). Well ----------- FUCK THEM---------we still don't talk and I'm still the family's dirty little secret -- it would spoil our 'leave it to beaver' style impression we must make on the world. I've been messing that one up since childhood.

I'm not sure why I was looking up information on Rape and Survivors earlier today. Perhaps it has to do with the month-long down swing I recently climbed out of, and upon looking back, the bottom, and beginning of the turn upwards, was the one-year anniversary of my sexual assault. This realization came two days after the one year mark…I didn't realize it on the date, but it happened that my roommate decided not to come home (we hadn't been getting along…I was in the midst of a depression and she was under extreme stress…we couldn't be around each other). At any rate, like I said, it didn't hit me what night it was initially, but since my roommate wasn't home, I checked the doors many times in order to be sure they were really locked, and closed all of the windows even though it was humid. Oh, and I got drunk so I could fall asleep. I've been doing that a lot lately. Then the next night, I was in the back room of my apartment getting a window fan to put in my bedroom (I figured I was safe since the dog sleeps with me now). I heard my dog barking at the door. I didn't see anyone come in. But I heard a door close. It was my roommate's bedroom door, but I didn't see her. I called out her name several times; there was no answer.

I ran into the living room, and just sat on the couch, curled up in a ball, crying. I was convinced someone (he) found out where I moved, broke in, and was just waiting for me to fall asleep so he could kill me. I figured he was pissed that I got away unharmed, and wanted me to pay. I sat frozen for who knows how long…then decided I had to look in her room. It was probably all in my head, but in order to fall asleep, I had to know. So with visions of him being in there, I called my dog, and made her walk in front of me to the door. I wanted to knock to see if it was my roommate, but then I thought, if it is him, he'd know I was at the door, and if I opened it, he would grab me. So instead I quietly turned the knob, and gently swung the door open. A bag that was hanging from the doorknob swung slightly, and I screamed, and began sobbing uncontrollably, as an image of him flashed in my mind. After a moment or two, I gathered myself enough to start breathing again, and poked my head into the room, to see my roommate sitting up in bed looking at me very confused. I mumbled an apology, and ran to the couch, where I collapsed and wept. She didn't come out of her room, and I felt more alone than I had ever felt in my life (I found out later that she was still asleep and didn't remember me coming in).

The thing is, is that after assault, and after I was in a safe place for a while, I felt pretty much okay. I didn't realize the lingering fear. I thought it was over. But everything from that night flooded back, the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had to throw up, but couldn't move, and the fear; the fear alone was paralyzing.

It was the summer of 1997. I was working nights at a restaurant on the weekends. I got to my apartment at about 12:00 midnight. My roommate and her boyfriend were watching movies. I made myself a couple of Rum and Diets to wind down from the evening. I also had a very bad headache so I took some allergy medicine, thinking "I'm gonna sleep *really* good tonight." I fell asleep on the couch sometime between 3:00 and 4:00 am. I awoke a little after 5:00 very confused. As I came out of my sleep I heard labored breathing, and a strange "squish, squish, squish, squish." I looked up to see a silhouette standing in front of me, masturbating. I thought it was my roommates boyfriend, and mumbled, "What the hell are you doing?" The next thing I remembered, was me getting off of the couch, and screaming, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT!!!!!" I had no fear, and I guess he sensed that I was ready to kill, because he just left through the front door, which he unlocked when he came in just in case he needed a quick get away. I was so confused. I noticed a cold wetness on my legs, and realized I was half naked. I looked at the couch and saw urine all over it. I went into my room and grabbed my bathrobe, and then got some paper towels to clean up the urine. I didn't remember what had just happened.

After a few moments I remembered that someone had been in here, and I was convinced it was my roommates boyfriend. I knocked on her door to ask if he was still there, and she said that, yes, he was sound asleep. I said that someone must have been in our apartment then…but in an instant I just said that I must have been dreaming. After all, I am known for my vivid and often disturbing dreams. But still she came out, and looked into the living room. She saw that my underwear and shorts were on the floor. She picked up my underwear and saw that they had been cut off.

She quickly dialed 911, as the reality of what just happened started settling in. The police came within minutes and asked me questions, but I couldn't remember anything. I couldn't understand how I could sleep through someone cutting off my clothes. The police asked if I had been drinking or taking drugs. I told them I had a couple of drinks, but not enough to make unaware, or to knock me out like that…I initially forgot about the allergy medication I took (but I still don't understand how I could sleep through something like that). The police asked me if he said anything to me. I said no. They asked if I said anything to him. I said I told him to leave. They asked me to describe the intruder, and all I could remember was someone of medium build, medium height, brown buzz cut hair, white or light Hispanic, between 18 and 25. The woman officer said, "That's him. It's him again." The sound that came out of my mouth was one of pure agony, "What the hell is going on????" I groaned. The other officer said that "it couldn't be him because the time frame is too close." I felt like I was in the middle of a dream. It was all so surreal. It was like I was watching a movie. Just looking at these police officers talking to one another about a serial rapist as if I wasn't even in the room. My head was spinning. Apparently they investigated two other assaults before mine. They asked if I had been raped. I said I didn't think so. Off to the hospital we went. I was greeted by a rape counselor, a nurse, and a doctor who led me into an examining room. A nurse came in holding my shorts and asked me if I knew they were cut along the side. I was lying on a cot, in a hospital gown, crying and shaking, and in complete disbelief. What made me so lucky? That was all I could think. Why did he just leave? Why didn't he stab me with whatever he had to cut my clothes? Why wasn't I killed??? Why wasn't I RAPED????

My mother came over immediately when my roommate called (I was laying down sick from the super-dose of antibiotics I was given, "just in case"), and we put extra locks on all of the doors including our bedrooms. My roommate and I never left each others sides for three months. She often slept in the living room right off of my bedroom. I didn't really sleep for about two weeks. Anything would wake me up; even my cat padding into the room. Even my dog sensed the tension and fear, and became over-protective…especially towards men. One night, after about two weeks had passed, I was drifting off to sleep, and I suddenly knew that he did, in fact, say something to me…what was it? What made me react like I did? Then it came to me, a low gravely voice saying, "I want you to suck my dick." When I closed my eyes I could see that silhouette, and hear the "squish, squish, squish, squish." And I saw myself get off of that couch time after time, in a complete rage that someone was in *my* apartment, demanding that I suck *his* dick…I cried myself to sleep that night. I didn't want to remember that.

Shortly after this, my roommate's cousin, who was staying with us for a while, awoke in the middle of the night to hear someone jiggling the front door knob. This happened periodically over the next month or so. I was growing increasingly frightened, but did not consider moving. That would be running away and letting him win. My roommate agreed. Her best friend had been raped, and beaten to death just over a year before my assault, and she was tired of living in fear, and running. So, instead every time he came back we would counteract with security. We bought burglar bars, deadbolts, and security locks, even alarms to hang on the doorknobs. We made sure all of the neighbors knew so if they saw or heard anything out of the ordinary, that they would investigate. That was comforting. To know that several people were keeping an eye out for this bastard. We even went to the police and told them that we had someone stalking us. They agreed to patrol our area more frequently, and would periodically walk around our house to look for anything out of the ordinary. But that did not stop this guy from psychologically torturing both my roommate and me. He had to have lived in the neighborhood, because no one ever saw him try to get in. Out of the six times he tried after the attack, no one ever saw him. He knew the police's schedule, and he would vary the time, so that neighbors would pretty much have to keep a night watch in order to see anything.

We made our apartment a fortress, and for a few weeks, we felt relatively safe. Until one weekend, when my roommate and I went to visit the family of the friend who was killed, and see her grave for the first time. It was a hard day, for the both of us. I remember looking down, knowing that she was lying there. She died trying to protect herself from her assailant. He beat her and raped her repeatedly....again, why was I so lucky?? It felt strange to be standing there…and again, almost surreal.

When we arrived back at our apartment, it was about 12:00 midnight. My roommate went into her room to get ready for bed, and in a panicked voice, asked me to come into the room. I walked in, and saw that someone removed the burglar bar from her bedroom window. We both began to cry, and we held each other as we walked through the apartment, each carrying a knife, checking each corner, each room, each closet. We called a friend and he said he would be right over, and that we were staying at his place. The next morning, I looked at my roommate, and I said, "I can't do this anymore. Everything we have done to secure that place, he has found a weak spot. And, what's to stop him from grabbing us on the street????" She agreed, and we started looking for a new place to live that day. Luckily both of our places of work were very understanding.

We finally found a new apartment in a safe neighborhood, and moved right away. It took me a long time to get myself to a point where I wasn't jumpy…I guess I still am, but it's better. For about six months after the attack, I felt as if I was a spring that was wound too tight, and that I was going to snap and break at any moment. I had fits of crying at work. I had nightmares. But I knew I was safe. I was lucky to have supportive people around to reassure me that I was not losing my mind. That I was reacting normally. That I had been psychologically traumatized. And eventually I was able to walk at night without jumping at my own shadow. I am still very cautious, and probably will always be, but it's good to be cautious and aware of your surroundings. It keeps you safer. I still want to take self defense classes, but I don't know if that would bring back too much that I'm not ready for.

They never did find the guy. Since I couldn't remember what he looked like, and my description was that of 75% of the males in the area, there wasn't much anyone could do. The thing that I still can't get over is my reaction. Why in the hell did I attempt to take on someone twice my size? Why wasn't I afraid? I never thought I had that reflex in me. Then again, I had never been in that kind of situation either.

Thank you for letting me tell my story. I know it is long. I have never actually sat down and written about it, but after visiting your site, and reading your story, it just started to come out. And to tell you the truth, it feels damn good to get all of this out of my head, and onto paper, so I thank you, and wish you the best in your recovery. In case you are wondering, the guy who killed my roommate's friend received life without parol...It's shocking to realize the evil that is in some people. But, it's good to know that he will never be able to hurt anyone again…that is comforting. Although my attacker was never caught (not to my knowledge, and I'll never know), at least she was brought to justice.

Your site is very special. And I agree, Tori is a wonderful tool…her expression often captures what I cannot put into words, and I love her for that. She is a source of catharsis, and makes it easy to expel some intense emotions. She is a remarkable woman, isn't she? Again, thank you.