I was on vacation with my parents in Virginia. I was 13 years old. Some friends of mine and I were swimming and playing on a raft. My friends decided to get out of the water, so I stayed behind by myself. While I was floating on the raft, a man came up and started trying to talk to me. Something didn't seem right about him, so I tried to get away, but he kept following me. I got off the raft to try to swim and he grabbed it and meat the same time. There were not many people around, but he started pushing me further out away from the shore. I was too scared to even scream. I didn't know what he was going to do. I was more afraid of drowning than anything else. Then he started whispering how sweet I was, how cute he thought I was, and he stuck his hand inside my bathing suit. This continued for a while (I have no idea exactly how long... time seemed to stop). I guess he finally decided he had had enough, because he turned us around and started pushing us back closer to the shore. I remember thinking that the beach seemed like it was worlds away. He finally let me go about halfway back to the shore, and swam off. I didn't ever see him again.

I remember clinging onto the raft like a shipwreck victim for a while. I couldn't bring myself to do anything. Like you, I had never even been kissed when this happened. I didn't understand what he had done to me. I felt like I was made of stone. I just lay there in the water until one of my friends found me. I made up some excuse about falling asleep on the raft, and we went back to shore. I didn't go anywhere near the water for the rest of our vacation (I still can't swim in the ocean). I think my parents knew that something was wrong, because I had always loved to swim, but they didn't pressure me. I guess they just labeled it "teenage angst" and left me alone. I spent most of my time laying on a blanket pretending to sleep. It was during this time that I made up my mind to forget that it had ever happened. I just wanted my life to go back to the way it had been before. I figured that pretending that it had not happened was the best way to do this.

I went on with the rest of my life. Like you, I went through a period when I really thought that I was ok. I never got to the point where I wanted to end my life, but I did have a load of problems, most of them related to the assault. I didn't recognize that at the time, though. I had repressed the memory deep in my subconscience, and I would never let myself bring it back again. I first heard Tori's music in 1992, right after Little Earthquakes was released. I was a freshman in college. I knew right away that I connected with her music on a deeper level, but I didn't know why. It was during that time that the first memories of what happened started to creep back to the surface. At first they were so vague that I could ignore them. But the gate was open, and bit by bit more and more of the story came back to me. I couldn't ignore it anymore. At the same time, I couldn't deal with it. This was almost seven years after the assault. I felt foolish for allowing it to bother me so long after the fact. So instead of dealing with it, I tried to repress it again. I even stopped listening to Tori's music. For a while I thought I was ok. But I couldn't ignore it forever.

It took a few more years for the feelings to resurface again, but when they did, they came with a fury. I saw Tori in concert for the first time in November of 1998. I started listening to her music again after a long term relationship I had been in ended in 1996. Seeing her perform for the first time was one of the most memorable moments of my life. Like a lot of people who see her in concert, I became fascinated with Tori's story. I started looking around on the internet and at book and records stores trying to see what I could find. I found the Dent, I bought the biography, I updated my CD collection so that I had all of Tori's music. Then I started to really listen to her words. Within a week, everything that had happened to me had come back. Songs like SATY, "Baker Baker" and "Blood Roses" ripped me apart. I knew what I needed to do, but I couldn't bring myself to open up. Then I saw you and Kelly on 20/20. I sat in my room shaking like a leaf during the entire segment. I was taping it, and when it was over, I put in the tape and watched again. I couldn't believe what I was feeling. I finally wanted to talk about it. So here I am. I know I still have a long way to go. I have told a couple of my closest friends what happened, and they have been incredibly supportive. I also started writing again.

Amy
 


It's been almost two years since I was raped. The rape has penetrated every millimeter of my psyche, it has ruined my heart...I could never think about it while I was still with my boyfriend (he wasn't the one who raped me), whom I loved very much, but it contributed nonetheless to the eventual demise of our relationship. I tried to talk about it of course, but I always felt like a lawyer discussing a case. I had a series of flashbacks after sex...it was the only time I got in touch with the anger that was rotting me from the inside. I think it freaked my ex out a bit; I don't think he did or will understand. I was so in love with this boy that I felt more bad for him having a rape victim of a girlfriend than I felt for myself. I was in France and 18 years old when it happened...I had been at a party less than ten minutes away from my dorm room with some friends. I had been drinking heavily and it was pretty late. My friends lived in another building; mine was less than 500 feet away and I felt safe enough to walk to my room. I remember feeling tired, and sitting down along the way, talking with some other people coming back from various parties. It was spring, the weather was warm and a bit windy...then a tall, dark man came up to me. He told me that he wanted to take me home...I was immediately scared of him, but I didn't know what to do. I was so drunk I had to hold on to him. I faked him out for a bit, I asked to go to some friend's rooms first, but they weren't around (where the hell were they??), so I agreed to let him walk me home. I collapsed in front of the door to my room. He let himself in, and when I came to, he was on top of me. I can still smell his breath, I can feel him inside of me and it makes me sick...behind my bed were five pictures of my boyfriend; I screamed at this man to stop...he didn't understand. Either because he was a foreigner too (he was from Morocco and spoke Arabic) or because he didn't want to. He said that I would enjoy this much more if I were wet, I told him I couldn't get wet because I didn't love him and didn't want to have sex with him in the first place; I asked him how he could even try to have sex with me with five pictures of my boyfriend (who was still in the US) staring at him...I screamed, I cried, he promised to stop. My window was open; I don't know how people didn't hear me- I don't know why they didn't come to help me- He stopped once, and said that he wished his wife loved him as much as I loved my boyfriend. Turns out he was married, a professor, 35 years old: What the hell was he doing raping this drunk american girl in her dorm room? Why was he here? Why was I here? What does this fucker know about love, I wanted to spit. Once I stopped crying, he started again, then he stopped again.. he said he wanted to go back to his room and get something,but that he would be back. When he left he tried to kiss me; I spit in his face. When he left, I went to the bathroom...when I came back, he was in my room (how did he get into my room?); he had a piece of paper, a love note for me. He pushed me down on the bed...Why did he come back? All I did was scream and cry and spit at him the first time. What did he think he could get from me? He realised, yet again, that I wasn't wet...He pulled his pants down and I saw what had been hurting me all evening...I understood, somehow, that he wasn't going to leave until he came...he placed his hands on my head...I had to give him oral sex. Later the French police would tell me that I consented because I did that...what the police didn't know is that all I wanted to do was survive, and in order to survive and get this man away from me, he had to come. He left...but not before he left me another "love note"...What happens afterwards are more a series of questions in my mind...Why were the police so racist, so sexist (two of their choice quotes were "You were both drunk, get over it" and "What do you expect when you hang out with Arabs" - andfor the record, I love North African culture hence the email address), why did I feel so fucking sorry for HIM and his wife who didn't love him, for France hating him because he was Arab, for the problems !! I caused him by going to the police (mainly at the urgings of my friends). Why am I just as angry now as I was the night it happened? Why do I cry when I think about justice and how there was no justice for me? Why do I act so snobby around other rape victims ("Well at least your rapist spoke English" or "At least you got raped in your own country") when all I want to do is reach out to someone who understands what it's like to scream with no one listening? Why do I hide my vulnerability from people? I see girls on my campus (I'm back in the USA now)...after having been raped, they act out- flunk out of classes, get rid of all their friends- and I'm jealous of them- jealous to the point of sickness because they are able to show their pain...they can still FEEL. I can't do that anymore...I look for my heart and I can't find it,I look for the love I used to nurture and give freely, but I can't trust anyone. I don't know who I am now, and I can't find who I used to be. I hate myself, I hate the person I have become, I hate the way I pushed away my ex- boyfriend, and I hate feeling like a victim...All I can do is blame myself...it's the only way to feel in control. When will the pain end? When will my selfishness stop? When will I stop punishing myself and start feeling- for myself and others- again?

Cristi
 


I don't know how to start and I can't write the whole story because Ihave to go to school in the morning. But I want you to know some of my story. I got married at eighteen. Six months after the wedding, the physicalabuse started. The sex was always an issue in our marriage because of pastsexual abuse. When I was twenty I had a baby boy. Less than a week after mybaby was born, I was in the hospital having surgery to have my appendix out. A couple of weeks after that, he wanted sex. I told him no, because I wasstill sore from the birth and the surgery. He started to get angry at mebecause I wouldn't give him sex. Because of the physical abuse I was scared tosay no too many times, I was too tired to get beat-if you can understand that. So I laid on my back and said, "If you want it then take it." He took it. Istill haven't told anyone in my family about it. I left him less than a yearafter that, and we tried to get back together, but it didn't work. (Thank God) I have been divorced over a year now and am in the middle of a custodybattle for my son. I don't know if it will help to bring it up, I don't knowif I can prove it. All I know is my husband raped me, and it has affected meever since. I don't really trust anyone anymore and I have a hard time with relationships. I will tell my whole story when I have the time to typeit all, I just wanted someone to know that MY HUSBAND RAPED ME.

Marci
 


this story has two parts--lucky me....

Part One--the childhood--

I guess I was about 7. We lived in arkansas (we'd moved there after dad got out of the airforce). My brother started playing 'games' with me. I never thought they were so fun. If I won, I'd get to listen to his music or something dumb like that. If he won, he'd get to touch me. He made up the rules...he always won.

There was a bleach spot on my carpet--I'd stare at it while he was touching and kissing my body. I knew this couldn't be right. I just didn't know why. He said we were just playing. I always hated touching him, but sometimes I did to make him go away. He'd up the stakes from time to time--"If you do this, I promise it will be the last time." That's how he got me to touch his penis...That's how he got me to finger myself...That's how he got me to give him a blow job. The blow job is the most vivid memory...the one that haunts me everytime i break down...kneeling in front of him in my closest...him telling me what to do...me refusing...him threatening...It was never enough. I threatened to tell a couple times. He said our parents wouldn't believe me. Or he'd call me a spoiled brat, always running to daddy when something went wrong. Or he'd say I'd be in trouble--big trouble--because I played the games for so long. There are some nights when I know something is wrong--slices of memories--horrible weight on my chest--but nothing more--maybe he had sex with me--maybe he didn't...I can't really say...i was about 11 when it all stopped...then he moved on to touch and rape other girls. I hope they can forgive me.

Part Two--i should've known better--

Walking through the mall--arm in arm with a friend. A boy taps me on the shoulder (I was just barely 16). "Didn't you go to FHS?" I looked at him closer--I couldn't remember who he was. A short conversation later we discovered we went to the same high school (he'd graduated a year or two before). My friend and I went off somewhere else in the mall...a few more times he "bumped" into us. I thought it was strange..but i turned off the alarms. Somewhere he got my number (or where i was staying) and we went our seperate ways. He called up...arranged a date...and my friend and I met him at the mall. We got in his truck and he started driving.

We ended up in a field in the middle of no where...I was getting alarmed (yes i know it was a little too late)...we were making out...then i decided i was done. I told him so...my friend wasn't yet...he'd managed to take my shirt and bra off...everytime i'd get dressed he'd take them off again. Somewhere in the ordeal i gave him a blowjob...if i was down there he wasn't touching me. I got his cum all in my hair and on my necklace... When we finally got back in the truck and on the road he kept pinching and holding me...i was so bruised after that. We finally got home. Another case of the friendly rapist.

No real proof that I was violated, except for the nightmares and the cutting and the anorexia that all came back. Lets not forget the panic attacks...Curled up in a corner of my class room--staring at my jeans--or a small spot on my jeans--crying--telling everyone not to touch me. Those are my two main stories--there are a couple instances of guys getting me drunk beyond belief and taking what they wanted--a couple guys hitting me around or pushing me further than i wanted to go--but those stories blur together...one into the other...i wonder when it will be enough.

Christina
 


I had moved from California to Texas with my boyfriend in 1995. While we were living there, he decided he didn't like the commitment and we broke up. I had been working at a radio station and had a crush on Scott who also worked there. He and I had gone out as friends while I was with my boyfriend and I would tell him how things weren't going well. My boyfriend and I broke up at the end of June and I went out with Scott and his friends for 4th of July, 1995. (Scott had just quit the station.) We got drunk as a group and partied all night. He would kiss me and then say he felt funny about it since I was like a little sister to him. At the end of the night, we piled in his car and he began caressing me. We all returned to his house where he began to have an argument with another girl over money. I didn't want to deal with it, so I went into his bedroom. He came in and we began kissing. I liked him...I was thrilled we were together! He left the room for a bit and came back a different person. He had been looking for a drug called ecstasy all night, but as far as I knew, he never found it -that's what he and the girl were fighting about. When he returned, in his underwear, he laid on top of me and we started fooling around. I wantedto have sex with him. But, after my clothes came off, he started acting strange. He would laugh in a sinister tone - that sounds almost silly, but it is true. He rolled me on my stomach and anally raped me while I yelled and screamed. He slapped my backside and left huge red handprints. He rolled me back over. He began having sex with me and I stopped screaming. WHY?I don't know...I just laid there. He wanted me to yell his name and how great he was so his roommates would hear. I didn't. I tried to get up and he squeezed my arm (which left a nasty bruise) and then began pinching my nipples. (When I got home, I found that my nipples had bled...) We continued this way for I don't know how long...him yelling and laughing, me screaming and freezing. When he was finally done...I just laid there. I either fell asleep or passed out. I woke to him touching my groin and telling me I was the best sex ever. I then got up and started dressing. He then called me a whore and slut and every other name he could think of. I went home. Showered. And did nothing. He called the next day as if nothing had happened and I just hung up.

Everyone would ask, "How was your 4th of July?" What do you say? I finally told a few friends that I was assaulted - not raped. One dragged me kicking and screaming to the police, where I cried and said I was to blame. I liked him. I wanted to be with him. I am to blame. Since there was no evidence, and I blamed myself the police had to let it go.

I went through so many emotions and phases - including a very nasty phase where I wanted revenge in the worst way.

I left Texas shortly after that and returned to California. I had been sexual with others after the rape, but no one that I cared about. When I came back to California, I met David...he was the most caring person ever. After a bit of a whirlwind courtship, we got married in June of 1996. Sex was never a problem...until we were married and finding new depths in our love. I began to withdraw and not want him to touch me. I was having severe bouts of depression and didn't know why.

When July 4th rolled around in 1998, I tracked Scott down and called him. He was happy to hear from me! I told him he was a rapist and that I hoped he rotted in hell. Then hung up...That gave me such a rush!

But the depression got worse. I finally went to a therapist in Sept. of 1998 and the healing began. Julie was wonderful! She specialized in rape counseling and let me know I wasn't alone. Although I didn't want to have the discussion we had, I knew I had to. She made me realize that, yes, I had been raped. Even if I wanted to have sex with Scott, I certainly didn't want anal sex. His slapping and twisting of my nipples was certainly not welcome. I was the most hung up on not fighting him off...I had taken self defense! But, she pointed out that Scott is over 200 pounds and works out and while slapping and hurting me (125 pounds)...if I kept fighting, I may not have lived. That sobered me up. All the things I felt I was alone in, she could tell me many stories to match it. She made me face the demon to gain control. I wrote a letter detailing what happened and mailed it to Scott. Now he can have a constant reminder of what he did.

I feel much better and things with my husband have improved. Of course, there are some movies or news stories that I can' t watch. David and my mom are the two closest people to me, but I can't tell them the details. I want to protect them...But, I want to help other women. No one should blame themselves for their rape...it is not their fault! Yes, I may have liked Scott, but once things turned strange and I said NO...then it became rape... My one wish to achieve closure would be to confront Scott face to face.I know most survivors don't get the chance to send a letter like I did, but I still want more...

Traci
 


I am 50 years old. My first rape happened when I was 14 or 15, I can't remember. It was a stranger visiting the neighborhood. He forced himself on me. I was having my period at the time. He was not violent, but I was black and blue the next day. I just don't remember it all.

But that was not the worst one. Even though that was the first time I was actually raped, the first time was the worst. (I think) It is difficult to say which one is really the worst. Well, on with the story. My father found out I started my period and I guess he was affected. He did drugs (even though I didn't know it). He called my mom (they were divorced) and told her he wanted to take me and my sister shopping for school clothes. Well he took us one at the time. This is very painful. Even after all this time. This is not my step father. This is my blood father. We started in the morning and around noon he stopped at a motel and said we needed to put the clothes in the room cause we didn't have room for them in the car. I knew that didn't make sense, but he had never done anything like this before. When we got in the motel room, he wanted me to try on the longerie that we had bought. Naturally I didn't want to. It was not the proper thing to model your night clothes in front of your father. That was the way we were raised. South Georgia. He was persistent, so I went in the bathroom and changed. I didn't want to come out but I did. He weighed about 200 pounds and I weighed all of 98 lbs. or less.

He pulled me down on the bed. This is where it blurrs. All I can remember is screaming. If I can just scream loud enough for everyone to hear me, then he won't hurt me.

Well, believe it or not, I was not raped.

The next thing I remember is being at the drive-in movie theatre. Julie London's "The Sound of Music". Funny how you remember things like that. I was in the front seat of the car. I must have had a dress on because I remember him caressing my legs, which were bare, except for the hair on them. I hadn't started shaving them yet. Remember, this is 1962 and I was very shy. I got in the back seat. I think I had been crying for hours (still blurry).

Now, we are out in the woods. I can't seem to remember how we got there and I have never been to these woods before. I'm sure, now that I think about it, we were about thirty miles from home. Maybe more. He wanted me to do something. I think he wanted me to take off my clothes. Blurry again. I was histerical by this time. He said if I didn't do this (whatever it was he wanted me to do) he would make me get out of the car and he would leave me there. For a little girl of 14 who was sheltered by her mother and knew absolutely nothing about nothing, this was the worst nightmare that I could have had. This is the part I really don't remember (kinda like when I got hit by the car). All of my counselors have told me that your mind protects you that way. You forget what you can't handle.

The next thing I remember is my sister complaining that I got more school clothes than she did. After a couple of years of that, I finally told her that I would trade her school clothes for my school clothes and everything that went with them. Now comes the time for people not to believe you.

I do want you to know, you do survive. You get help and you get well. It does make you a different person, but everything that happens to you in your lifetime is molding you to be the person that you will be, one day at the time. And you will learn to forgive the attacker. And you will learn to love yourself again. It is only a stepping stone in your life to make you a better person, a more understanding person, a person who can help someone else that might cross the same path that you did. You will love again. And let me tell you, it only increases your loving capacity.

Thank you for giving me this opportunity to share. It is always good to visit your past and know that you have put it in your past and it no longer controls you.

Thanks again,
Barbara
I'm here if anyone needs me. I'd love to help.
 


I am writing because I have a story as well. I do not want my name attached to this. I need a place to get out. I was not raped inthe traditional sense. I was raped because I was too coward to say no. I hada boyfriend at the time...he is still with me. But he carries around the feeling that I cheated on him. I have to beg for forgiveness when Idon't have the courage to tell him I feel I was raped. I have to hide it from him...just like I will delete this email so he still won't find out. The reason I don't tell him is because I am afraid of what he will do to the sonofabastard that did this to me.

I met Michael in a park about a block from my apartment. We had chatted online for quite awhile. We were supposed to hang out. It was my dayoff, I was 16. I sat there, at the park, reading my poetry book when Michael approached.We chatted and strolled the park for awhile. He and his dog seemed friendlyenough. I agreed to go back to the apartment he shared with his sister. She wasn't home.

We sat around and listened to music. About 20 minutes later he waspawing at me and all I could think of is, why don't you stop him, Say No. Say I have a boyfriend...say anything. From the pawing he turned to undressing me. I was crying. I didn't know what to do.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a virgin. I had been on my own since 14. I thought I was grown up and that me, a beliver in feminism and all that jazz would be able to kick this monster and tell him to stop. I couldn't. He raped me. I didn't say no, I didn't ask him to stop. All I could dois cry. When he was done he got up and said that he thought it was time forme to leave. So I left. And ran back to my apartment, to hide my tears frommy boyfriend and myself.

I am now 21 and on occasion I see this bastard. I don't know what to do.He knows what he did was wrong. He tried to apologize. I think he isafraid. We have power in numbers. I know 2 other girls that he forcibly raped. I don't know what else to say. Thank you for being there. I needed to let this out.

ta1u1a@gurlmail.com
 




 
 
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