It started when I was six years old. I had a guy babysitter who was in his early 20's at the time. He would have sex with me and do everything imaginable to me. He did this to me for about two years. I remember everytime he did anything to me today like it happened yesterday. I remember he would tell me if I ever told anybody he would do something bad to me. So, me being six years old, I was very scared! I remember one day the social worker came to my house and asked me questions about him and if he had done anything to me. Touched me anywhere that I felt uncomfortable with him touching. And, in my lake of tears, I cried the word out "NO". I never budged....not to this day. It appears he was doing the same thing to the other young kids in the neighborhood and one of the told. He did go to jail, but only for a short period of time. I am sorry now that I didn't tell her what happened to me. It seems the older I get the more it effects me and the more I think about it. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about...infact...I don't think there is an hour that goes by that I don't think about it. He has destroyed my life. Sometimes I feel like I am a nobody...like I don't matter. Sometimes, I just don't want to go on......living like this. It makes me sick, what he did to me. I wish he could pay for it....for a long time. Wish he could feel the way I felt then and the way I feel now. I just remember him saying to me....just five more minutes...five more minutes. And I would sit there and stare at the clock counting when the five minutes would be up. When most kids my age were playing with dolls I was worrying about being pregnant! Since I had just learned about that word from one of my friends then and kind of knew how it happened...I was scared to death of being pregnant. And he was doign things to me I did not even know the meaning of . i did not knwo the word SEX then. Didn't know anything about it.
Then to make matter worse....when I was 16 years old I went to an amusement park with two of my best friends and 4 guys who were all over the age of 21. One of them was my best friends brother. I had lied to my parents about goign to the amusement park since it was 2 hours from where I lived. I told them I was staying at a friends house for the night. We decided to stay over night there since we were goign to be up late and would not feel like driving home afterwards. We all got the the hotel room....but on the way there we bought some liquor. We got there and we started drinking. I was pretty wasted.....I could not control my body...but I knew what was happening around me. I could not sit up or walk or even crawl. I could not even hold my head up. Looking back on it I remember feeling like I was drugged. I was so out of it. I have never been like that before. I remember one of my friends and two the guys leaving and goign to a club and my other friend was with her boyfriend in the other hotel room. I was laying on the patio out front on my back throwing up and my friends brother I was telling you about came and picked me up. He took me inside the hotel room and I remember watching what he was doing and I saw him lock the door. Not just the regular lock but the dead bolt also. I remember thinking to myself....Why is he locking the dead bolt? Then he comes over to me after he placed me on the bed and stood me up. He was still drinking. I could not stand up so he was pretty much holding me up against him and my head was bobbing backwards and forwards trying to keep control of it. I just didn't have a good feeling about him locking the door like that. Then he started to take off my shirt. I kept trying to say "I am a virgin" I would say it over and over again. He knew what I was saying because I made sure that l atleast got that out right. It took all I could to say those words, all the strength I had in me. He would not say anything back to me. He then took my bra off and layed me on the end of the bed with my feet hanging off. I remember him saying to me as he stood up this" Tamara, I have a condom,...do you hear me?" And all I said was "No, I am just a virgin" I said that over and over again. By now I knew what he had in store for me. He procedded to take off my shorts then my panties. and by that time I was skipping the I am a virgin part and just said "No" over and over again until I could not say it anymore. I remember his laying on top of me and that is all. When I woke up I was laying on his chest and he said to me. "Tamara, you can't tell anybody what we just did" and I said to him...What did we just do? And he said nevermind. After I said that I looked around and saw blood all over the place. I looked at him and I started crying and yelling that he raped me. He could not get me to settle down so he went and got my friend in the next room. I was standing on the bed naked yelling that he raped me. My friend looked at him and said..WHAT? Is this true. And he said no...that i came onto him. Which was not true. I could barely hold up my head much less come on to somebody. The next morning I went to take a shower and the inside of my thighs were black and blue from him having sex with me. I had to ride a 2 hour ride with him back to where we lived. He wouldn't talk to me. I kept asking him why? Then I told my friend to tell him to call me so I could ask him then and his response was...Why..what does she want to talk to me about.!!!! And..later I found out that earlier that awful night he had asked one of the guys for a condom...so that tells me he had it planned. All I keep asking myslef is Why? Why me? I was a very innocent girl. I had drunk that night....one in only 3 nights I had ever drunk in my life. I thought I was around peopole I trusted. He had taken advantage of me. I fell like it si my fault sometimes and then sometimes I dont' feel like it was my fault. It is like an on going battln within myself. I didn't tell for many reasons. One..he worked with my dad. Two..he was my bestfriends brother. And the biggest reason of all...I was under the age of 21 and drinking....they would have slaughtered me (the lawyers) if I had told. Blaming the whole thing on me. Since he had alrady begun to blame it on me. He knew what he had done...as soon as we got back home he hired a lawyer...but I never told. Now...again....I wish I would have told. I pay for it everyday I live. I just don't know what to do...what to feel....anything. Sometimes I feel like I am so different than everybody else. LIke I stand out. When I go out I feel that everybody can look at me and tell what has happene dto oem. I do have a boyfriend now and our sex life is weird. He is helpign me though it kind of ....but it is hard...he gets frustrated with me a lot becuase he does into know whatn I am feeling. he thinks he can solve my problems by saying...it wasn't you fault and go tell somebody. But you and I both know that that is not that easy at all! I do want to tell so bad....but what good would it do now? I am 20 now. I dont know if I am strong enough to tell the law. But, I do know I am strong enough to tell others my story. I don't want anybody to have to go through what I went and am currently going through, I get so angry when I hear that not everybody reports rapes...but then I get angry at myself for not reporting the crime when it happened. It would be nice to hear some input from somebody that has gone through the same thing.
I thank you very much for taking the time to read this. You dont' know
how importnat this is to me. Right now I am so distraught over this my
hands are shaking so bad righ tnow. I can barely type. I dont' think I
can handle much more of this....I really don't. Too many feelings I have
to handle. Thank you again!
my story:
when i was a kid, i went to a small community school of about 40 enrolled
students and a huge waiting list for other students who wanted in. the
main focus of studies at that school were civil rights and gay rights,
since a lot of the teachers were upstanding citizens of the gay community
here in minneapolis. it was a great place to get a strong sense of self-worth
and self-esteem, because the students were treated with such kindness and
value, that everyone felt equal and heard. one day when i was around 8
or 9, right before school was out for summer break, the whole school (since
there were so few students) went on a field trip to a big park out in a
suburb of minneapolis.
one of my teachers asked me if i could help her carry some equipment from the bus, so of course i went to help her. it was there that she locked me onto that school bus and molested me. she unbuttoned my little shirt and licked all over my chest while touching my vagina through my underwear. she told me to keep quiet and to stop crying because my face looks ugly when i cry. when she was done with whatever it was she was trying to achieve, she threw me down on one of the hot, sticky rubber bus seats and that's where i stayed. a lot of time went by. my legs were chafed from the heat of the bus seat and my face was beat red from sun burn because i was sitting by the window. and everyone started getting on the bus to go back to school. the teacher who molested me sat in the same seat as where she had done those horrible things, and smiled. and had polite conversation with another teacher while her arm was wrapped around my shoulders.
i told a friend of mine that was about 10 or 11 that the teacher in question had touched me in a way i didn't like. "bad touch" they call it in school education films. that friend wrote the teaching faculty (which contained about 7 teachers) what i had told her.
the 2 womyn that headed the school sat me down in a secluded room with the teacher who'd hurt me and asked me what the note was about. i told them that i felt i had been touched in a bad way, and they told me i was a liar. that the teacher i wrote about would never do such a thing, being a child of abuse herself. and that i was a horrible person for telling such lies. so that's what i told myself. that i was liar.i had imagined everything that had happened and that i should never talk about it again. i went on with those thoughts for about a week before i had convinced myself. and i put it out of my mind.
about a year ago i started having memories. not like movie clips, but more like flashes of overwhelming sensations of anxiety and heat, so i decided i would try therapy. i found a womon i was very comfortable with, and whom i felt i could tell anything to. so i told her about these sensations i would get seemingly from nowhere, and somehow we made a breakthrough and i was able to remember little parts of what had happened to me. but it was so diluted because it was like trying to remember a story you heard 3rd hand; missing details, and misunderstanding. i finally started to see that there were reasons why i hated myself the way i did. why i ate until i couldn't breath anymore. why i had horrible mood swings and crying jags that would last for weeks at a time. i was so glad i had someone to talk to that i could just be open with that i didn't feel like they were judging me when i told them how i reacted and...god. everything. and one day when i was speaking to my therapist, i started to tell her how much i appreciated what she was helping me to realize. it was then that she sat next to me on the wooden framed sofa and began stroking my inner thigh, whispering about how she knew i wanted her and how much she wanted me back.
i started sobbing. i couldn't believe it was happening again. i told her not to touch me and that i would report her if she wouldn't let go of my leg. it was then that she told me that if i ever spoke a word of what happened in that office, that she would tell my mother everything i had said to her. all about sexual desires, and lies i had told and all the names i had called my mother.
i ran from her office and caught the bus home, i was crying so hard i couldn't think or breath and when i got home i called my mother and told her that i hated my therapist and that i was never going back. ever. 2 hours later, after my mother had come home and calmed me down a little, my therapist called my house looking to talk to my mother. my mom basically told her to go to hell. but it was one of the scariest, stressful couple of hours of my life. after that happened, i decided that there was something seriously wrong with me. i knew it was my fault that these womyn kept touching me. that i was a slut and a terrible person, that i was a tease. so i put it all out of my mind. everything again.
and it's only because of those sensations of heat and anxiety returning that i was able to remember all that's happened to me now. i'm at the beginning stages of healing. i've found the cause of my behavior. now i have to start working on it. it's still very hard for me to be a teenager. and to not be bitter when people tell me about how hard their life is because they had a fight with their parents or they're failing math class. but i'm working on it. i'm reading a book called "the courage to heal" and doing the work book that goes along with it. i'm finally taking control.*
my story, after reading all of the others, seems pretty simple, though in my mind, i know it's not. here goes, in any case: when i was eight, my older brother molested me. it's taken me a lot of years and countless tears to say that word: molested, and connect it to me. it always seemed like something that didnt happen to real people, just the TV kind. but it did happen to me. and, as a kid, i didnt know quite what to do.
i worshipped my brother. he was "cool" to me. whether it was smoking a joint or one of the various other things he was forever getting in trouble for, i was convinced he could do no wrong. this was why i was left totally stunned when he did what he did to me. it wasn't the physical act so much that hurt (though that was no walk in the park either) as much as the sense of betrayal i felt. i felt i HAD to have done something to deserve it. in my mind, that was a lot easier to deal with than the thought that maybe, just maybe, he would do it for no other reason other than he COULD. he told me it was okay, that there was nothing wrong with it. of course, this didn't jive with his backup plan of threatening to hurt my mother if i ever told.
this little threat caused me to be extremely paranoid about my mother, having full blown panic attacks whenever she would even leave the room. i can still remember sitting outside her bathroom door, trembling, convinced i would never see her again. (can we all say "therapy"?) i dont know if there are phases in this kinda thing, but i myself went through quite a few.
first i followed him around like a little puppy dog, doing everything for him, trying to be the perfect little sister so that he'd never do it again. needless to say, it didn't work. i tried ignoring him, thinking he would lose interest. that only made him angrier.
finally, he moved out, going to live with his real mother (he was a half brother). i thought this would solve all my problems, but it only made them worse. the news that he had molested his other little sister hit me like a rock. "what if i had told?" i thought. "would that little girl have been spared the pain i have to live with every single minute of every day?" guilt bombarded me. i not only convinced myself that my molestation was my fault, but my brother's sister's, also. i kept this all inside me, refusing to tell anyone, terrified they'd "know the truth" about me. that it was all my fault. i grew to hate my brother. i couldn't even bring myself to be civil to him when he came to visit. but on one visit, he left me a message. while he was in the house, i made it a habit to lock my bedroom door at night. this i did, routinely, that particular night. i had noticed him acting strange during the day, staring at me for long periods of time, as if thinking. the next morning, i found my bedroom door not only unlocked, but also wide open. everyone in my house denied involvement, when questioned. my brother only smirked. i took the warning. any thoughts of telling anyone i might have had vanished. then last year, a friend of mine came to me and told me her uncle was molesting her. she was the first one i ever told about my molestation, and through helping her, i helped myself. we cried, shared, and eventually healed together, she and i. today i dont hate my brother any more. i learned to forgive him. not to say that i condone what he did. i think forgiving him was the best thing i've ever done. it set me free. i've discovered a new me in sharing my experience. its good to know that what happened to me served a purpose in this life. i have met so many people who are in the same situation i was and can honestly say "i understand." that is, perhaps, the greatest gift of all. "true happiness is not in position or posessions, but in knowing that one life has breathed easier because you have lived."
I really don't know where to start this, but I think its time to talk--once and for all. My name is Lee Anne and I am 15 years old. I had a pretty crappy upbringing, but not all of it has been bad so far. My parents divorced when I was less than a year old, but my dad stuck around to add to the agony for awhile. I've been back and forth between my argumentive parents for my entire life. Finally, I got to live with my mom again. Hve you ever seen something as a blessing and damnation at the same time? Well, if not, I'll tell you from experience--it happens.
When I was thirteen, I was extremely naieve to say the least. I'd had two little "boyfriends" in my life, which I took very seriously at the time. Of course, I never even had a guy's hand in my clothes, and I was "The Virgin From Hell," as they called me. I met a guy one evening that kind of intimidated me, but I ws still Polite to him...too polite. (We'll call him Jarod.) We sat up on the lookout for awhile and talked, and he stole a good-night-kiss. He invited me to his apartment, but my mom played along and said "no." He called me the next day and said he'd meet me at the carnival at the lake. I planned on blowing him off, because he was twenty--and wierd! I went that evening and had a good time with my friends, and we came across a couple of "nice" guys. We were hanging with them all night, and one took a liking to me. He was a little pushy, and tried slipping his hands in my underwear. Well, needless to say, he succeeded. He kept trying to get me to go off into some dark, wooded hills with him, my ride came just in time. Free at last---or so I thought. I have a frequent tendency to be wrong, you see.
Somehow, he got back on my good side--MOST RAPISTS COULD. He took me for a walk through a golf course's parking lot, and out behind a secluded rock garden. We sat and talked while he plotted my sick destiny. He found a metal nut like one you could find in almost any garage, and picked it up. He rolled it between his fingers, and casually slipped it down my jeans. "Oops--guess I'll have to go get that," he said, slyly. "No, Chris, I got it," I said, and shook it out of my pantleg. He began a hardcore flirting routine that looked to be way overpracticed. Through intimidation, persuasion, and applied force, he got me on my back in a ditch. He asked me if I'd ever been "fingerbanged" before, and I said I hadn't. He asked if I wanted it , and after I said I didn't, he said "Oh, you'll love it. I know you will." Soon, the begging was clearly not phasing him, and my weak, yet sincere attempts at ordering him to stop were only amusing him. He had his hands on me, in my pants, and he was hurting me. Before I knew it, he was on top of me, pinning me down, trying to take my virginity. He got the physical part of it. I told no-one--not a single person for at least four months. Then I got drunk and told a newfound friend at a Halloween party. He became whom is now my fiance.
Last winter, at a party, I was heavily medicated for a serious bacterial
infection in my ears. I had some beer, much less than usual, but enough
to disable my defense. You have to understand--I was 5ft. tall and 90lbs.
at the time. A guy that was very large followed me into the bathroom and
tried to force me to suck his dick. I vomited an entire batch of chocolate
brownies all over. Later, I was dragged to another house and brutally raped
on the billiardroom floor. I tried my damnedest to crawl under the pooltable,
but he only dragged me back. He bruised and scraped my body up, leaving
nasty scars on my knees. I was promptly taken home and dropped off. I had
to have thrown up five times that night. I couldn't shake off the cold
all over my skin. I could feel his skin all over my body, and I just curled
up and shook all night. He and his friends told everyone thet I slept with
him consentially, so I went along with it and took the shit. began listening
to a lot of Tori Amos and began to find comfort in my bitter world. I was
to the edge of sanity, and two inches from suicide. I dreamed that Tori
came to me in a park and said,"Stop thinking about suicide and things will
start happening for you." I took this advice and was soon reunited with
my long-lost love, the stranger I confessed my first rape to on Halloween.
We've been together for almost seven months now, and we are planning marraige.
If I could say one thing to Tori, I'd say THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!! She helped
me get through my fear of admitting that these things happened to me. I
am finally to the point where I can publicize this story of my downfall
and my climb up. This website rocks. I really appreciate it.
From the ages of 4-12 i was raped and beaten by my father (imagine what the song father lucifer does to me) every night for 8 years i had a 12" dick up my ass, hearing the hot grunt of a sweaty man in my ear....and every night i prayed to God to please help....at the age of 4, the only things i knew was that God protects his children and how big my dad's cock was. Now, i wonder what's wrong with that picture.......he was never there...god left me....and so i decided to quit relying on that son-of-a-bitch (god) for help and I finally did something about it myself at the age of 12. I really have a deep hate for the Christian aspect of God, (and no, i dont worship Satan)....my mission is sorta like tori's, in her own words "to expose the dark side of Christianity." I shave everyplace below my neck every month or so...to keep him away...to keep his sour hands off of me....i know i will never recover from this...ever....i've learned to roll in the pain as a pig does to mud..so i can function in socioty.....the whole thing "pureed me sanitarily" and i know, he knows...and i know my warm little diamond is between his teeth...i hate boys number one...i have a deep rage for them. Here i sit will my soul burned down around me...sitting in these ashes...and i look up and their's a boy...with a spent match in his hand...and a big smile on his face....and the rage i feel...oh god the rage....and i can listen to tori, and hear the screams of rage in her voice---the way that slime in her throat builds up and her voice suddenly turns gritty....the way she knows how it is to still have his dick in you even after years have past....she's just the only person i listen too...literally i have 26 of her CDs and that's it...nothing by anyone else.....im a singer/songwriter/pianest too, so i can understand how it is to molest a piano and make it do things it was never meant to do, and how to push it all through your throat....tori is, in a way my support group, cause i've never been to therapy...i'm not one of those therapy types....Tori is my therapy...daily she helps me get the pain and rage out...so i can sleep well that night....if i ever met tori...i would tell her that Nicodemus (a faerie friend of mine) said hi, and that I'm a wasted faerie too...nevermind... i'd probably hug her and say thanks....tori's the kinda person that when u hug her...she just knows it already.....hope this story want too graphic to put up on the page......
Love 2 you all,
Brian
I am now 29, and I was raped my 17th summer. I had gone across the country to a conference with a group of young people who were all 19 and above. I was one of three women and there were about 25 men. One of them, Greg, took an interest in me. I thought that meant I was special, but he recognized a naive, small town girl away from home for the first time. On the second night, there was a party with bottles and bottles of beer and tequilla. I got drunk and played a game called "I never..." If you did the sexual act described, then you had to drink. I was a virgin, but I drank and drank. Greg watched me leave the room to get some air. He escorted me down to his room and locked the door without my knowledge. He got me a glass of Sprite with something in it, maybe vodka, but I was past noticing. I thought he was being nice. He wrote me love notes, but he wouldn't speak to me. He undressed me. I passed out about the time he was taking off his clothes. I woke up with him on top of me. I asked what he was doing, and said, "Please, stop." He covered my mouth. I passed out again. I woke up the next morning when he was in the shower. I got dressed and went back to my motel room. I was so ashamed. He never looked at me or spoke to me again for the 2 days left of the conference.
I didn't realize I was raped. I became very promiscuous and slept with everyone. I didn't know that that was a symptom of a rape victim. I didn't feel worthy of having a loving relationship. I cried and wrote poetry to the part of myself that died that night. That virgin princess who had so much ahead of her.
I was a freshman in college waiting in the health center to get an annual exam when I read a pamphlet on rape. I realized that rape doesn't always mean a shadowy figure who breaks into the house. It can be someone you know and trust, even love. I got into counselling at the University of Texas. I went to a rape survivors group and met other incredible, strong women. I educated others in the health center. I have learned to go on and let the scared girl out. She is doing well, thanks to people like you. And people who are reading this. You can go on. You can heal. You will still cry for no reason when you hear a song, or see a person on the street. Remember that there are people who can help you help yourself. You are strong. It wasn't your fault. Take control of your life and stop letting HIM control you through fear and pain. I am a survivor. I have a loving husband now. He works to understand, and I'm so glad to have him. But it's up to me, life is on my terms. Keep healing.
