Later, he apologized for what he did. I cried that night, even though I thought it was over. I couldn't believe it. We'd known eachother for so long. It was over though. I didn't have to think about it.

The next time he came to babysit, I was sure that he would not do it again. I was wrong. This time, I cried sooner and he stopped sooner. I was thankful that he had some pitty for all of this. The next time my mother told me he was going to baby sit, I finally spoke up. My mom was naturally shocked, but she believed me and told my father, a lawyer, about the situation.

My parents weren;t the types to let this type of thing go. They formally filed a lawsuit. I was to testify in court, in front of him and his parents. I was so scared. He kept denying the incident, but in his heart I'm sure he felt guilt.

The day of the trial, when my mom came to pick me up, she had a smile on her face. He admitted it. I wouldn't have to testify. Noone would call me a lier, and it would never happen again. Relief filled me.

That summer, the perpetrator moved to another town, I don't know where. He was to get counceling, which puts some comfort in me. He even sent me a letter of apology. I felt as if it had never happened. I could move on with life. I did to an extent.

Still, there will always be a part of me that is that scared eight year old. I had the courage to tell people the next few years later. As I got older, though, I was more and more quiet about it. I have only told two people in the last 3 years. Last summer at church camp, my friend and I had a discussion. We each shared our experiences, and comforted eachother. We felt as if we were not alone, not crying separately, but bound together by tragedy, and both of us standing tall in triumph.

Needless to say, I feel fortunate. I live a relatively normal life, and am not constantly depressed, though there are times that I feel hopelessness. I am strong in my beliefs, and I cherish my chasteness, I actually am holding out on sex until marriage. I pray that this will all work out, and that my life can be as I hope. Beautiful.

God, family and certain friends have contributed to me being as emotionally sound as I am. I'm not afraid. I won't let myself be scared.

It happened long ago, when I was just a child. 8 years old, or seven. I'm not always quite sure. I was at home on a friday night playing computer games with my babysitter. We had fun, and I enjoyed being around him. He was a friend, but not for much longer. As I walked into my living room, he pushed me on to the coach, my stomach to the cushons. He touched me in ways I can't even fully remember to this day, I'm pretty sure I never will. I tried to scream for my brother who was across the house, but he held my mouth shut. My scream was silenced like in a dream. Then, I began to cry and he backed off.

Later, he apologized for what he did. I cried that night, even though I thought it was over. I couldn't believe it. We'd known each other for so long. It was over though. I didn't have to think about it.

The next time he came to babysit, I was sure that he would not do it again. I was wrong. This time, I cried sooner and he stopped sooner. I was thankful that he had some pitty for all of this. The next time my mother told me he was going to baby sit, I finally spoke up. My mom was naturally shocked, but she believed me and told my father, a lawyer, about the situation.

My parents weren;t the types to let this type of thing go. They formally filed a lawsuit. I was to testify in court, in front of him and his parents. I was so scared. He kept denying the incident, but in his heart I'm sure he felt guilt.

The day of the trial, when my mom came to pick me up, she had a smile on her face. He admitted it. I wouldn't have to testify. Noone would call me a lier, and it would never happen again. Relief filled me.

That summer, the perpetrator moved to another town, I don't know where. He was to get counceling, which puts some comfort in me. He even sent me a letter of apology. I felt as if it had never happened. I could move on with life. I did to an extent.

Still, there will always be a part of me that is that scared eight year old. I had the courage to tell people the next few years later. As I got older, though, I was more and more quiet about it. I have only told two people in the last 3 years. Last summer at church camp, my friend and I had a discussion. We each shared our experiences, and comforted eachother. We felt as if we were not alone, not crying separately, but bound together by tragedy, and both of us standing tall in triumph.

Needless to say, I feel fortunate. I live a relatively normal life, and am not constantly depressed, though there are times that I feel hopelessness. I am strong in my beliefs, and I cherish my chasteness, I actually am holding out on sex until marriage. I pray that this will all work out, and that my life can be as I hope. Beautiful.

God, family and certain friends have contributed to me being as emotionally sound as I am. I'm not afraid. I won't let myself be scared.
 

Then my therapist asked me if I had ever been sexually abused. My immediate answer was "no", but then I started to cry hysterically and I couldn't stop. She asked me who it was, but I couldn't tell her. I didn't want to get him in trouble. Eventually, I had to tell someone. I made my therapist promise not to tell my mom. I kept it from my mom for a long time, but one day I couldn't do it anymore. She knew that something was going on, but she couldn't help me unless I let her. When I told her, I felt both relief and fear. I made her promise not to tell anyone or do anything about it.

I told my dad a few months later and the first thing he said to me wasthat he was disappointed in me for not telling him sooner. Luckily I didn't tell him who did it, if I had the whole family would have fallen apart.

To this day I still haven't really thought about what exactly happened. He used to touch me all over my body and use his mouth. I just wanted him to like me and to be my friend. Since that happened, I have let men use me. Ihave let them do whatever they want with my body. At the time, I always know that I don't want them to be touching me, but I never say anything. Afterwards,I feel dirty and used. But I also feel triumphant. If they fool around with me, then I must be attractive right? I must not be ugly and fat

Last October on a visit to my dad, he had me stay in a hotel by myself. Before he dropped me off there at night, he had been yelling at me for an hour and a half. He told me everything that was wrong with me. He blamed me for all of his failures as a father. When I got into my hotel room, I called my mom. She was angry with me because I had gone down to visit my dad.

I felt so ALONE. After I hung up the phone, I got my pink razor out and I cut my wrist. The blade was dull, and it hurt so much. I had cut myself before, but never this deep. I began to hit myself and to bite myself. This wasn't really new to me. My battle with depression drove me to this often.

I needed to be around people. I left the room and went to sit in the lobby. A while later, two guys walked by me. One of them asked me if I was okay. He said I looked really sad. I said I was fine. They came back around later and asked me if I wanted to hang out with them. I followed them back to their room, where another guy was in bed. Tony, the guy who invited me there, offered me a wine cooler. Then we decided to hang out in my room. All three of them came. Tony was 19, Jamez was 26 and the other guy was 17. We watched TV, talked, and drank for several hours. The 17 year old left at around 3:00 am. Jamez then asked me if I wanted to have a threesome. By that time I was drunk and extremely depressed. Jamez came over and started to undress me. Tony started to kiss me.

Soon I was naked, and they were partially undressed. They took turns performing oral sex on me. I just laid there, doing nothing. I was too tired to object. Jamez asked me to have sex with him and I said no. He dropped the subject. Then Tony said that he wanted to fuck me. I said no. He repeated it, and I kept on saying no. I looked at him in the eyes. I was taken back to when I was a little girl. Tony reminded me of the person who had abused me. Tony then held my legs open and put his penis into me. It hurt so badly. I was so scared. I tried to close my legs, but he was too strong. I tried to push him off of me, but I was weak compared to him. I had never felt so helpless in my entire life. He wasn't wearing a condom. I screamed and he stopped. While Tony raped me, Jamez just sat there watching TV. Immediately, Tony got up and left the room. Jamez stayed and asked me if I was okay. I asked him why he didn't stop Tony and he said he didn't know what was going on. Jamez stayed another hour and during that time, he performed oral sex on me again and he kept on kissing me. I was too numb to feel anything. I was also too tired and too wasted. Jamez left my room at 6:00 am. When I got up, the sheets were soaked with blood.

I went home that day and my mom thought I was sick. She took me to the doctor the next day and he treated me for depression. He put me onanti-depressants. Basically, I didn't have to deal with any feelings, because I had none,while I was taking the pills. Then, I decided to stop taking them. I immediately sunk down into a deep depression. I would get up to go to school and be sobbing halfway to school. I would turn my car around and come home. Or I would go to school and cry silently in class. No one bothered me. Then I met this wonderful guy. I had sex with him the night we met. I still hadn'tbeen tested for STDs. I later found out that he had lied to me about who he was, and I also heard a rumor that he had herpes. I told my mom about the rape in October, but I still haven't told her about this new guy. She took me to be tested, and luckily the results came back negative for all STDs. I didn't want to have sex, hell; I don't even like to hold hands. I HATE TOUCHING ANYONE. I just didn't care anymore though. Although I am still battling depression, I haven't wanted to kill myself for two weeks now.

Although I have realized the mistakes I have made in the past, I feel I am destined to repeat them. I'm not sure that I know how to change or to go back to a time where I respected my body. For a while I thought I was better, but I am still letting men use me for my body. Supposedly therapy will help, but it sure hasn't so far. I am still somewhat hopeful.

Karen
 

i was around 6 years old when my parents were seperated. i didn't understand why, but i was a mother's girl and so i went to live with my mother. me and mom moved in with a family friend who lived in another town. things were going great. my mother was wonderful. mylife was good.

a few weeks went by like this, and then my mom & her friend introduced me to mom's new boyfriend. i knew that it wasn't right for her to have a boyfriend. she was still married to my dad. i didn't say anything though. i was 6 years old. they wouldn't listen.

mom and her friends would go out to bars a few times a week and leave me with mom's boyfriend at his apartment. we would play little games and he would act like i was a baby. he would pull down my pants and put baby powder on me. then he would touch me ocassionally and make me touch him. i hated him.

one night a friend and i were at his house and he was babysitting us while our moms were out. erin (my friend) went into the other room to sleep and i was lying on the couch watching "mr. ed." i remember this well because the man's name happened to be ed, too.

i fell asleep and woke up with him on top of me. i was 6 years old... an innocent child. first he just touched me like he had before and i told him to stop. i started crying and he told me to shut up or he would hurt me. i didn't say anything else.

he then put his fingers inside me and proceded to perform oral sex. i don't remember the rest of what happened. i was too small to understand and too weak to move. i went to sleep and didn't tell anybody. he told me that he would kill my brother & dad (who were in another town) if i told. i was so scared.

a few weeks later, he took me and my friend and our brothers camping with him and a friend of his. we went swimming and he treated all of us kids like we were his own. it was great. i didn't really think much about what had happended before. i was having fun.

the friend he had brought along took the boys to the store, and he took me and erin back to the cabin we were staying in. then he fondled us both. he threatened to hurt our brothers if we told or made any noise. we were scared. he proceded to do the same things he had done before but this time he hit us for crying and trying to protect oneanother.

my mom left to go back to my dad a few weeks later. she asked me if he had done anything to me. i guess she could tell something was different. i just started crying. i remember that he had said he would kill my brother & my dad. i didn't want that to happen.

i told her he had made threats. then i told her that he thouched me where i didn't like to be touched. i couldn't explain anything else. i was really small.

i haven't been able to tell anybody this whole story before. there is not a day that goes by that i don't think of him and what he did to me. he took my innocence. even though he did not fully rape me, he robbed me of a lot. i was so tiny and he was so big. it hurt both physically and emotionally. it still hurts.

i'm 17 now and it's been 11 years since all of this. i can't stop thinking about it. i feel like there's nobody to talk to sometimes. i am crying now as i'm writing this because i keep thinking that nobody cares. maybe he's haunting me. i hope he's dead.

please write to me if you would like to talk about this. like i said, this is the first time i have been able to put into writing my whole story and it is really hard for me. i feel better now that i have told it. thank you for letting me.

~*melody*~
 

For years, I stayed silent, out of shame. Not out of shame over being mistreated; not out of shame over having force exerted upon me. No; rather, I felt shame because of pain and flashbacks possessed me and hurt me so when what was done to me "wasn't so bad." After all, I wasn't penetrated. After all, "all" that happened to me was that my then-teenage peers forced me down and "messed with me" over my screams and my tears. They laughed; surely, if they were laughing about it, it wasn't so bad, no worse than teasing, and the emotions that raged within me were just immature overreaction... right?

Wrong. It took years of growing, years of learning, to learn that it's all about the abuse of power, that the details matter so little when another violates the sanctity of your control over your own body.

The last step, the hardest step was to say to myself that I was a survivor, that this isn't about measuring the details of my hurt against another's, that there is no shame in feeling hurt even where others have been hurt worse by those objective standards some onlooker might apply.

Now, when I hear another say that it what happened to them wasn't so bad (and I never realized how common that cry was!), I can say -- and mean it!-- that the meaning of being a survivor and not a victim comes from within.

Doug
A Survivor
 

I have read the stories of others, and the impact they had on me is incredible. I feel it is my obligation to share my own story, in the hope that it might help someone have more courage than me and stop the harm being done.

I was 6 years old and enjoying my childhood. Some new neighbors moved in next door and I thought I had found a new friend. I had actually found the first trial of my life. My neighbors were satanists. They forced me to be involved in ritual abuse, the specifics I will keep to myself. A seemingly normal family, was involved in things that should never be mentioned. The horror I saw and was involved in will haunt my mind forever. I was told that if I ever spoke of it, they would torture and kill my entire family. That threat is enough for any 6 year old to keep quiet. I believed they would hurt my family, they had hurt me. The damage to my body from those neighbors will keep me from bearing children, a heartache to me. To my luck, my neighbor lost his job and was forced to move away. I thought I was free. The house next door attracted more predators.

Throughout the next 6 years, predators moved in and out of that house, using and abusing almost every member of my family. My family doesn't talk about things, and that cost us much happiness. Of the 10 children in my family, only 2 were spared. My brother, 6 sisters, and myself, all victims of sexual violence. I have been raped more times than I can count, by over 7 people at different times in my lifetime. It is obvious that I would feel like I bring this to myself. I often feel like it is my fault. I wondered whether I was cursed by my first neighbors so I went to a Holistic doctor and asked him. He affirmed my fears. I was cursed and the demons that invaded me then, still dwelt in me. It may be scary to talk about, and believe me, it is scary, but it exists. Satan exists in reality and he wants control over us.

Daily I fight his influence and power. But there is one thing that I have discovered, he only has power if I give it to him. That is now what I struggle with, having the inner strength to keep myself safe from him pressure. And even though I have my down days, and get depressed at times, I have found that I have the strength that I need to defend myself and that strength is in my own character. Physical abuse, emotional abuse, severe sexual abuse, and spiritual abuse have run my life for 15 years. Now I am in charge.

I would like to hear from you and help you in your quest for personal freedom. I would love to hear from anyone that would like to talk, write, or just have someone to listen. I hold no grudges, because that would only hurt me. Free yourself. Talk about it, don't be like my family that unwittingly helped the abuse by keeping the secrecy. Abuse thrives on secrecy. Be warned, not everyone will be sympathetic, but a helpful ear can mean the world. Tell me your story, and become my friend, we can always use more friends. My name is Melanee and my e-mail address is melray1134@aol.com
 

I had a really troubled childhood. I was chronically depressed and didn't realize it until I was 16. I tried to kill myself after a breakup. I got into therapy with a wonderful psychologist. That lasted through high school and 2 years beyond, about 4 years total.

I left home after high school. I had quite a bit of what I would call "reckless behavior" but nothing that bad in retrospect. I did have very bad judgement in my friends and boyfriends.

I met "Greg" at a party. He was so beautiful. I later found out he was interested in me. I was so flattered. Someone that handsome was interested in me. I had pretty low self esteem at the time. We dated, and he was really weird. He had a troubled family. One night, he told me about a girl he dated in college. They broke up, and she called him a few weeks later, upset and wanting to talk. He went over to her house and raped her. He told me he liked it, and if he could do it again, he would. She pressed charges against him but his family is wealthy and fought back. It was thrown out because she couldn't prove that they weren't dating. The records were sealed. He transferred to another school. I was shocked. We stopped dating, but kept being friends.

The 4th of July soon after, I went to a party at a friend's house. I got stoned and left to see a movie with another friend. He suggested we see it at "Greg's" house. I thought that would be fine, since we wouldn't be alone. I got drunk at "Greg's" house. When it came time to leave, my friend felt that I shouldn't drive. He drove me home, and "Greg" followed to take my friend home. About an hour later, my doorbell rang. It was "Greg". He was upset and wanted to talk. I let him in. We talked for awhile, then he started kissing me. I pulled away because I didn't want to be romantically involved with him anymore. He was more forceful. He grabbed my arms and held me down. He raped me. I knew he knew he could do this and get away with it. We had just stopped dating. I was stoned and drunk. I let him into my house. My father is in law enforcement in this city. I knew what I was in for. I didn't do anything about it.

About six months later, I started having horrible dreams. About me being a child and someone having sex with me. I became very upset. I had a block of memory missing in my life, about age 7 and before. My therapist just kept telling me that the memories would come when I was ready. He never hypnotized me. One night, I was having sex with my boyfriend, and this very vivid memory hit me. I was a little girl, under age 5, and someone was having sex with me. It was so vivid that I knew it was real. I was 80% sure it was my father.

I called my therapist in the middle of the night, and talked to him to try to calm down. He believed that this was a valid memory. I called my mom to see if she knew anything. She acted like I was crazy. Totally denied it. Then she called me back later and told me she had called my father and asked him about it. She said he denied it, so I must be imagining it. Needless to say, I felt very betrayed that she would do that without asking me. My dad and I have never spoken about this. I still see him at holidays and birthdays.

After finding out, I really hit bottom. I took an overdose of pills and was taken to the emergency room. Thank goodness I'm okay. I quit my jobs the next day and moved in with my father. I had no place else to go. I continued therapy. I eventually moved out.

After much therapy, I feel that I am okay. I accept responsibilty for having bad judgement in friends. I do not accept what "Greg" did to me. He is a sick person and I hope he either got help, or got arrested. Because I have no doubt that he will rape again. That thought haunts me.

My father is a different story. I did get my life back together. I feel that my dad knows what he did is wrong. He is currently in therapy and very depressed. I feel that this is a sign that he has problems, and perhaps wasn't fully aware when he molested me. I really have mixed emotions about him. Somehow I feel that I should have more anger towards him. That's why I'm going into therapy again.

I saw the 20/20 Tori Amos segment. I cried during the entire segment. The feelings came out of nowhere. It really freaked me out. I called RAINN and spoke with my local crisis center. I am going back into therapy, to sort through these new feelings. I am also signing up to be a local rape crisis volunteer

I don't want anyone to think that my life stinks. Far from it. I have a wonderful, understanding husband that I have been married to for almost three years. I have a great career as a computer programmer. I feel pretty stable and happy. This took a lot of time. I finally decided years ago that I was going to take control of my life. Something just clicked inside me one day. I feel that everyone has the inner strength to do whatever they want to. It just takes time to get there. The therapy I had also helped me a great deal. Once you understand your feelings and the motivations behind them, then you can begin to take control. From that point on, I really became a stable person. I guess I went from being unstable and in crisis, to living a more normal, stable life. I credit my strength and my years of therapy. I really feel that I am about 90% okay. I would love to tell everyone that you can get out of this dark tunnel and be yourself again. I'm almost there.

Shannon, you may do whatever you wish with my story. I know that that I really have two stories. Somehow it seems easier to deal with the rape than the sexual abuse in my family. I don't know anyone who was sexually molested. My mother and a close friend were raped. I really feel ashamed about being molested. I am going into therapy to try and get a better idea of what happened and come to an understanding about my feelings about it. I don't trust my memory 100%. I did speak to the rape counselor at my crisis center. She suggested that I need to focus on the molestation in therapy. I've called my previous therapist. I have an appointment tomorrow. This is the hardest part. Admitting that I might have problems is difficult for me. I would like to think that everything was fine. But they aren't. This is probably coming up now because my husband and I are considering moving out of state, which is causing a great deal of stress. I am not in crisis right now. I am doing okay. I am getting help, which my husband supports. He knows everything, which really helps.