My friend suggested we all go back to his house and watch TV and hang out. His parents were out of town, so we'd have his big house all to ourselves. Initially, I didn't want to go, but then I figured, he's one of my best friends, we are just going to do normal stuff like we always do at his house. There's just going to be some more testosterone in the room. So we all met up at my friend's house a little while later.

It was about 4:00pm, and we were all sitting on the couch, watching music videos, and laughing, and having fun. But then my friend came over and sat really close to me. He started tickling me, all over, and I was laughing, and squirming and eventually I told him to stop. He didn't stop.

He started to get rough and I was yelling at him to "get off, get off!" He went on to pin my wrists down to the couch, and pushed my legs down with his body. I completely forgot about the three other guys that were there until I heard their disgusting laughs and saw them pointing their fingers at me. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. I screamed until my chest was burning. That didn't stop my "friend" from tearing my shirt off, and pulling off my jeans, leaving me almost naked on his couch. He then told his friend to take the rest of my clothes off. Then my "friend" climbed on top of me and he raped me. My friend raped me.

After he was done, he stumbled off, and one of his friends came over and started touching me, and groping me. I knew I was screaming, I could hear myself screaming, but no one else did. No one saved me. The second guy proceeded to rape me over and over. I was so scared, the fear took over and I stopped feeling pain after about an hour. I was numb. I couldn't even hear their laughing anymore. I couldn't feel their hot breath or smell them. All four of them took their turns with me that night. For over 6 or 7 hours, I was repeatedly gang-raped. I remember being conscious throughout the whole thing, but I wasn't aware of what was happening the whole time. I remember coming to the conclusion that I was dying, or that I was dead. I wondered who was going to feed my dog the next day, and who was going to have all my Tori CD's, who would tell my mom that her daughter was dead. When I had agreed to let my friend take me out to celebrate my 15th birthday, I didn't expect this. I didn't expect that I would lose so much in one day. I lost so much innocence, so much of my heart.

At about 11:00pm or midnight, the four guys propped me up, and threw a towel at me so I could clean myself up. I was very bloody and sweaty. They had hit me and slapped me a lot. I noticed chunks of hair on the couch and carpet that they had pulled out. I saw that I had cuts and scratches all over my body, and I started to cry. The guys started to mock me, saying things like, "Poor little slut, aww, couldn't handle it could you, little whore." They told me to get dresses and get the hell out. They also said if I ever told anyone what had happened, they would torture and kill me. They said if I ever told anyone, the pain I felt now would not even come close in comparison to the pain they would inflict on me if I did tell. I remember barely being able to walk out of the house, and noticing cars parked outside neighboring houses. I collapsed and started to cry. Why didn't they hear my screams? Somebody must've been here when all this was happening. I got up, and made my way to the nearest strip mall where there was a 7-11 with a pay phone. I called a girlfriend of mine and asked her to come pick me up. As soon as she drove up she came and held me. I tried so incredibly hard to fight back the tears. I asked her what was wrong, and why he was hugging me. She said I looked like I just got beat up...I told her that my friend and I had been at the beach all day, and I was just tired. She was very skeptical I could tell, but she didn't ask any questions.

For a year and a half, that was the last time anyone said anything about what happened to me. I didn't tell a soul, except for one. Tori. The very night I was raped, I went home, and popped Little Earthquakes in. I listened to Me and a Gun over and over and over again the whole night. Then, I can remember when the sun rose, I played Silent All These Years, and I knew Tori would be there for me for the rest of my life. I couldn't tell friends, or family. Al I could do for a year and a half was write letters to Tori that I would never send. I would listen to Tori, and know that she could understand me. Not just because she herself is a survivor, but because she is a strong woman, who is honest with herself, as well as her loyal listeners and admirers. The turning point for me came when I finally told a friend about my rape a year and a half after the incident. The first thing she said was, "Why didn't you ever call RAINN?" I didn't expect that reaction, but I guess it was a logical response. I had been volunteering for RAINN since it's founding in 1994, and I still continued to help out during the year and a half of silence. I honestly never thought to call RAINN and receive help from a counselor. I was too ashamed, too scared of what the boys would do if they ever knew I told someone. But I did call RAINN soon after I talked to my friend, and I was put in touch with a wonderful center in my area. I attended both group and singular sessions of therapy. I found that the secret to recovery is doing something for yourself though. This is where my story takes an amazing leap, and I am smiling once again.

In May of 1997, a nationwide RAINN day was held, and all over the country there were PSA's (public service announcements) about abuse awareness, and rape awareness. There was one point in the day when radio and TV stations aired Tori's Silent All These Years as part of the RAINN day. This inspired me to hold my own RAINN day at my high school in correlation with the nationwide RAINN day. So, I convinced my administrators at my high school to air two Tori songs, Me and a Gun, and Silent All These Years every hour. I also held workshops and mini-seminars where there were open discussions, questions and answer sessions, and many tears. At one point during the day, I gave a speech in front of the entire student body, teachers, staff, everyone. I didn't tell my personal story, but I did tell other's stories, I gave startling statistics, and I smiled. I was smiling, and showing confidence and I was making eye contact with people. I had never been so afraid, yet so proud in my entire life. I felt such rage towards the boys who had raped me, but when I saw them in my audience, MY audience, I looked at each of them, and I knew, at that very moment, I was hurting them more than they could ever, ever hurt me. Sure, I still had some scars, and physical pain, but even though they had taken so much from me, I was giving back so much to girls and boys at my school who were afraid to ask about this. Kids at my school had no idea RAINN existed, and they were so grateful to me for holding my RAINN day. Girls and boys came up to me for days after and hugged me, and told me how strong, and amazing I was. I was so surprised by the reactions I got from the kids at my school. I got phone calls from so many kids asking if we could talk, and if I could help them. One girl was being molested by her Uncle. She was 14, a freshman, and she turned to me! It was so empowering to me what I had done. I felt such gratification and happiness. And the fact that the boys who had raped me knew I felt this way, made it even better.

My RAINN Day was an incredibly big step in my recovery. If it weren't for Tori, RAINN, and my friends who had been there for me, I don't know where I'd be. Since I was raped on my 15th birthday over three and a half years ago, I have come a long way. In September of last year, I appeared on The Roseanne Show, where I told my story to Roseanne and Tori, face to face. However, I hid my identity, and remained anonymous. My experience with meeting Tori was incredible, but it was brief, and slightly impersonal. My real chance to thank Tori came when I went to New York to tape a segment for ABC's 20/20, with Shannon, the owner of this website. In New York, we all told our stories, told of how Tori has had an impact on our lives, and we got to hang out with Tori. I got a chance to hug her, and thank her. I could just look in her eyes, and I knew she knew what I was saying. So here I am, a freshman in college, working a couple jobs, barely getting by. But I am trying so hard to be strong, and with the help of friends, RAINN, The Roseanne Show, all the people at 20/20 and of course Tori, I am on my road to full recovery.
 

Yes, I am another survivior of rape. Though it comforted me to find your site as a source of refuge, it also sickens me to know just how often this happens. This is my story.

I too was fifteen, a virgin. Way too young to be put through what I was. I met a guy through a close friend. He was amazing. He was good looking, artistic, an excellent musician, and seemingly a compassionate soul. I didn't even begin to realize then what he was capable of. We started dating exclusively, or at least I thought it was exclusive. His infidelities were no balm for my suffering. I kept wondering why I was chosen, out of all these different girls, to be the one to suffer his abuse. About a month into our relationship, he began the physical abuse. He never outright hit me, that was too direct for him. He preferred sharper pain, in hidden places. He hurt me in way he knew I would be ashamed to tell anyone about. I was covered in claw marks all over my chest and back, I had holes bitten into these same areas. Bruises covered me from where he would grip me, to keep me from moving away. I was only about eighty five pounds and could never hope to fight of a larger guy who was several years my senior. Agter about a month of physical abuse is when the rape began. Initially I didn't think of it as rape. Not matter how badly it hurt, or how mush I cried, it couldn't have been rape inmy mind because he was my boyfriend. I thought that he was just taking what was rightfully his because I wouldn't give it willingly. I also thought that if I didn't fight him in this, he would stop the other abuse. I was wrong. The abuse went on even as he was raping me. I have a scar under my left breast from one of his bites. I peirced the skin and went clear through to my ribcage. That scar is my reminder, I'll never let that happen again. Alll in all he raped me four times. I remember his laugh. I would whimper in pain, too scared to actually cried out. When he heard me and knew I was hurting he would only do more, and laugh. I can't forget that sick smile.

I never was strong enough to leave him. He eventually tired of his games with me and left me for someone else. I often hate myself for letting him get away with it. I can't help but think that by remaining silent, I have allowed him to do this to countless other girls. HTier sufering is partly my fault. I had nightmares for years, I still do sometimes. THey always seem to happen when I begin to feel safe again. He'll come to me in my dreams, with that smile and that laugh, and let me know that he won't let me escape my past.

THree years later I have finally started to heal. Much of this is thanks to my fiance, the love of my life. I am lucky to have found someone who understands what this put me throuhg. Someone who understands when I burst out crying during sex because I'm scared. It is a slow process, but I am learning that sex can be wonderful and beautiful. I am also learning, once again thanks ot my fiance, to feel that I am beautiful. I have started modeling and it really is helping me feel alot more comfortable with my sexuality and my beauty as a woman. (to see me go to www.vangargoyle,net/no/kara27.jpg) Hopefully this will all end, I can sleep at night, trust love and trust myself. Perhaps then these precious thing will finally stop bleeding and begin to wash away.

Kat
 

My story is not one of a violent rape. It took me almost a year to even realise that it was rape. It happened a little over a year ago when I was 18. I had been dating a guy who had a very violent personality. He would punch trees and bus shelters for no reason and always carried a knife on him. We had already been sexually involved when the rape happened. I guess there's some background information involved in this story. The day it happened, I was having a very bad day. An article I was reading had triggered some abuse memories from the past. I was very vulnerable and should have just gone home; but I trusted him. We were lying on the couch at his place when he lay on top of me and suggested that we go to the bedroom. I said no, but he wouldn't accept that for an answer. I told him that I was having a bad day because of abuse memories and I wasn't in the mood for sex. He told me that he didn't need to know about my past and basically that he didn't care to know. I was adament that we not have sex but he wouldn't give up. He started kissing me and pressured me for sex for the next half hour. Because of the vulnerable state that I was in, it took all I had in me to keep on saying no. He finally wore me down and my survival instincts (from past abuse) kicked in. I went into the frame of mind of "just let him do what he wants and you won't get hurt". I got up, in a completely numb state, and went to his room. I let him undress me and use my body however he wanted to. I wasn't really present mentally while all of this was going on. My spirit had just given up and left. I guess it's called dissociation. Anyway, after it was over, I got dressed and left. I went out with friends to dinner after that and said nothing. I felt like shit but figured that it was my fault because I let him do it. It wasn't until recently that a counsellor told me that consent under duress is still rape. It hits me hard now but I felt the need to share my story in the hopes that others will realise that just because they didn't say no cause they were scared, doesn't mean they said yes either. I'm a fighter and I'm getting over it. I will beat this just as I beat the abuse. Life can go on.

Julie
 

i was depressed. had been for years. i was 17. lonely. i had friends but had never been kissed. all my friends were dating. i was lonely. i met him at a community dance. we had known each other from other events. his name was rob. he asked me to dance. we dated for 3 months. he made me feel loved. i trusted him. one night he wouldn't take no for and answer. he raped me on the front seat of his dad's pick up truck. he was so loving and caring on minute and then he had me pinned beneath him. i begged him to stop. i struggled. he hit me saying that if i laid still i wouldn't get hurt. i laid there and cried. he kept telling me how good it was. then he took me home. my family was away. i was alone. he kissed me good night saying next time would be better. that your first time always hurt. i went up to bed and cried myself to sleep. life was never the same. i went through the motions at school and work. friday my parents left again. i stayed home to work and do chores. saturday i worked and came home. i refused to go out with my friends...saying i didn't feel like it. i went to bed and woke to the sound of someone in my room. before i knew what was happening he had me pinned and proceded to rape me once again. in my house, in my room, in my own bed. this was all too much for me to deal with. so i didn't. i suppressed it and repressed it..just plain forgot about it. he called a couple of times. i wouldn't talk to him. one night i answered the phone when he called. he wanted to talk. i was young, i was feeling so down, he made me feel special....and i really didn't know why i was mad at him. so i went. he wasted no time with talking. none at all. as soon as we were on a counrty road, i lived in the counrty, away from houses....he parked and moved over beside me. as soon as he kissed me i froze. i was helpless. and was raped a third time. about a month later i over dosed. it didn't work. 3 years later the flash backs started. it is 11 years after the rapes and i am still haunted. i am unable to trust anyone, especially myself. i am being treated for depression, and i am seeing a therapist. i just want a life back. i need to find some peace. i was and have been angry with myself for so long....i don't know how to change that. i have self injured for years now. i am trying to stop. it is hard. i know it wasn't my fault....but i feel like it was still...............

jaci
that is what happened to me...............my e mail is jaci_01@yahoo.com
 

I find your site incredibly courageous. I think the first step toward healing is denying the rape the power that a secret has--acknowledging it as something that really did happen. It's been five years for me, and I'm doing fairly well--now. I almost killed myself at the time. Now, I try to tell my story to anyone that would be helped by knowing it--to younger girls with that hurt look in their eyes, to rape and sexual assault victims of any age, and even to men. In fact, I tend to become extremely graphic when sharing my story with unsympathetic men. I describe, in some detail, what it feels like to be violated, ripped apart, to want to die. (Of course, if the men are initially horrified by the fact that I was raped, and want to kill the rapist, I spare them the details. There are some wonderful guys out there.)

Anyway, my story.

I was sixteen, and a virgin, and although I wasn't exactly the happiest, most centered kid on earth, I was starting to pull my life together. My sophomore year in school was going well, and I was dating this guy who was fun to be with. Unfortunately, he ended up being a lot less than fun. Actually, I lie when I say I was sixteen--for most of the prelude to the actual rape, I was fifteen. I was raped two days after my birthday. It hurt--a lot--but I didn't know that sex didn't always hurt, at least the first time. And it was easier not to fight, easier to lie there and pretend I was somewhere else. I'd never heard "Me and a Gun" at that point, but my mind was in Barbados all right.

The worst part is that I felt helpless, trapped, and emotionally dependent, and stayed with the bastard for the better part of two months after that. Sometimes he didn't hurt me badly; sometimes he did. I have graphic stories that can make anyone cry. I'll spare you.

It all got a lot worse when I got pregnant. I told him, and he blamed me. He also seemed to recognize the hold that gave him over me. That's when he became his most brutal--where he had held me down before by being twice my weight, he started pinning me with his hands, hard enough to leave bruises. He hit me with things. And I started really fighting back, screaming "No!" and hitting him ineffectually (my 5'4", 115 pound body didn't stand a chance against his 6'4" 200-pound body). He seemed to like it when I fought him.

So there I was, sixteen and pregnant with a rapist's child. I wanted to die. I almost killed myself; I think the main reason I didn't was that I didn't have the energy to care whether I lived or died. I stopped eating. I stopped sleeping. I stopped caring for myself much at all.

I lived like that for six weeks, at the end of which I miscarried. It's not surprising; the way I was treating myself, I would have been amazed if I hadn't. I had directed so much of my hate and pain inward, and focused it on what I thought of as that piece of him, that nothing could have lived inside of me.

The miscarriage gave me the strength to leave him, to refuse to see him or talk to him again. He didn't leave, though--five years later, he's finally stopped trying to hunt me down. He used to send me flowers, call my friends and try to find out where I was, show up to see me randomly. This didn't precisely make it easier to heal. I had a lot of flashbacks at first, and still do occasionally, but not often.

These memories will always be painful, not least because I find it very easy to blame myself--after all, I didn't fight at first. And he was my boyfriend. I know it's not my fault--that no human being EVER deserves to be hurt like that, no matter what--but it's still easy to second-guess myself. And it's hard to trust others, now. The worst part of it, though, is that at this point in my life I want to have a baby--not now, but in the foreseeable future. And I'm terrified that I can't, that I killed the only child I could ever have. That haunts me more than anything. If she'd been born, she would be four years old right now.

In the years since then, I've been with women and with men. Overall, I prefer women, but I've accidentally ended up with a man for now. And he's a wonderful one--he's careful with me, respects my trigger points, and has helped me conquer a couple of them. I've learned to enjoy sex, which is quite an accomplishment, and, more importantly, to see it as something I can control. One of the reasons I share my story with other survivors is that I've been through hell and I've come out the other side. I'm okay. I don't think about my rape every day anymore. I no longer compulsively scrub my skin until I peel the top layer off. I don't starve myself anymore (and have put on a bit of weight because of it!), I have the capacity to love and to be loved. I have a good job, a comfortable relationship, and 10 assorted dependants in the forms of cats, ferrets, and birds. No, it's not perfect, but I've come a long way from the girl whose hair was falling out from lack of nutrition, or even from the me I was two years ago, jumping at shadows.

I hope that someone, reading this, finds a shred of hope for themselves. If you need--or just want--to talk, don't hesitate to email me. The more we share with each other, the stronger we get.

Jennifer
 

I'd like to share my story, and maybe it'll help someone like me, who could've used the company of someone else who's been there, and understands.

My life growing up, wasn't the greatest. I'd never known my real father, and had a line of abusive step-fathers throughout my life. To say I'd never had a good male influence in my life would be a great understatement. As I grew older, I felt the need to be loved by men grow and grow, until the point, when I was sixteen, that I started having casual sex. At the time, I had a very poor self-esteem, and major self-image issues, I thought that if guys had sex with me, that automatically meant that I was worth something to them. I didn't know that self-worth was the most important thing.

It went on like that for the next year or so, I'd sleep with a guy, and automatically feel dirty and ashamed that I'd done so. On New Years Eve of 1998, I made a resolution that I'd stop having sex, until I found someone special. In late January of that year, I thought I had. His name was Justin, and a friend of mine had introduced me to him. He was sweet, charming, thoughtful, and we had a lot in common. We'd talk on the phone for hours and hours at night, until we could barely stay awake, and then we'd go to sleep.. I'd wake up in the morning, and call him from my bed, to wake him up, and we'd talk until one of us had to go. We ended up getting physical someone early in the relationship, just a couple weeks after having met him, we slept together.

After a while, Justin started getting back into some things that I didn't want to deal with. He was doing heavy drugs, and hanging out with his gang-member friends, and I didn't really want to get into that scene. I stopped calling him, and stopped talking to him, and it seemed to work. Then one night in March, after I'd started a new job, and was sick with the flu, he decided to make a surprise visit. He slipped in my back door without waking me up, and I only realized his presence when he kissed me. I paniced at first, somebody waking me up with a kiss in the pitch black.. then he identified himself, as if that were supposed to calm me down. He ended up raping me there, in my own bed, in my own house. I must've blacked out, because the next thing I remember is waking up the next day, and smelling his cologne on my sheets.

It took me a while to accept that it had happened, I didn't even tell my best friend for weeks afterward, because she'd never liked Justin, and I was afraid she'd say i-told-you-so. I felt dirty, dirtier than I'd felt with all the guys that I'd been with before. I didn't know what to do, and I never never wanted to talk about it. I ended up telling my best friend a couple weeks after it occured, I also told my then-boyfriend.. he told me that it had been my fault, and I must've brought it on myself. I got angry that he'd told me that, because I knew that that was wrong, but I couldn't help feeling guilty over it. I broke up with the boyfriend, who later appologized in profuse amounts, and started working on getting myself through it.

About a month later, Justin came to my backdoor again. I'd since taken to locking it, and so he knocked for a while, while i laid in my bed, terrified. I thought of picking up my phone and calling 911, but i was too scared to move. eventually, he went away, and all I've seen of him since then is a glance or two, downtown, but even that was enough to scare me senseless. it took me almost a year to even be able to think of a guy in a romantic way and not be terrified of the repurcussions. I can now hold someone's hand, without wondering how tightly those hands could hold me down. I'm not afraid anymore, and I'm not riddled with guilt. I'm healing, even if it's slowly, it's surely.