This is a statement of my story. Growing up my father was one of those see you every four months, and I will be three hours later dad. My mother fought cancer and died when I was 10. Around the time I was 11/12 I went to live with my dad. I had no self-esteem, hated where I lived, etc, etc. I had made a few friends but not many.

When I was 14 I started seeing this guy, who was a friend, who was 18. Well one night I convinced my dad to let me go to a party. I did this by telling him it was a shool function type thing. The truth is, it was a swimming party at his house. Well, I got tired and went to lay down. I was lieing on the couch and his cousin told me to go and lie in the spare bedroom (until my ride got there) due to the nosie. My boyfriend came in to check on me, and started touching me. I asked him to stop several times but he would not. He pinned my arms down and told me "You know I would never hurt you," as he continued to force his way on top of me. Spareing some of the detals, he smacked me around and raped me. Then he said "That was not bad, you know you want more," he then sodimized me. After he rested for about two minutes he again raped me. I know this whole time I was screaming and the house was full of people, but no one heard. When he was through he nudged me, I got up and started to leave. He grabed my arm and asked where I was going, and told me I was not going anywhere until I cleaned this mess up, and he threw the sheets to at me. To make this even worse I ended up staying with this guy. I moved the following year to live with my grandparents 3 hours and 2 states away. I stayed with him for another year, but I realy did not see him. When I was 16 I broke the relationship off, but he did not like that. To again shorten this, he would appear places, Itook him back , let him go, he would beat me (in the span of 4 months). I made everything OK by saying that he really did care for me, and was the first guy to care. I finally broke it off and had not see him for almost a year, when he appeared. Around Christmas when I was 17 he showed up while my grandparents were gone and rapped me again. One month and two day past my 18 birthday I miscarried.

From the time I was 14 until I was 17 I lived in silence, and fear of myself and life around me. I am now 20 and I am just now putting my life in place. I can least say now that I almost fully see myself when I look in the mirror. I credit Tori in helping me find myself among the mess, and I wish I would have known RAINN was their then. I now make sure people know hteir is help, and someone does care. Close to the last time he raped me I started doing volunteer work at our local women's center, and speaking out against sexual assault. I now have started a program on my campus against sexual assault, because they did not have one. I still work for the women's center, and do other work for many organizations on the side. I have done some fundraisers for RAINN, and other promotions for RAINN along the way.
 


I'm 26 years old, and just last night (2/16/99) I saw a program on TV (most likely it was 20/20 and probably a rerun) that included rape survivors and this web-site. I needed to write. I have a story to tell ... finally.

I was a 17 year old virgin, and met this guy through a mutual friend ( I needed a date to my high school's Valentine's Day Dance and she introduced us...his name was Christopher).

The first night we met we got along fine. We hung out at the mall, he told me I was beautiful, and later that evening, we just sat in his car at the park and started making out. He tried to get to third base, but I refused to let him get that far. I thought it would be "un-cool" to tell him "NO", so instead I lied and told him that I had my period.

We went to the dance the following Friday night. I didn't have the greatest time with him, but I was there with all of my friends, and that's what was important.

The dance ended about midnight. We left the school parking lot and he turned to me to ask me "So...what do you want to do now?" I said "I want to go home. I have to work tomorrow morning." He claimed it was too early to go home just yet, so he pulled into the very dark and clearly empty parking lot of a department store. We were parked for no more than 5 minutes when he climbed to my side and began kissing me and groping me, as he adjusted the front seat of the car to recline.

He got on top of me. I told him "what are you doing!!!" He just said "shhhhh!" I pushed him away and said "No, I don't want to!" He said "What do you mean you don't want to?" Getting nervous, I said (here I go again, trying to be ultra-cool) "I still have my period (but this time, I was telling the truth)." He said "who cares!" I said "BECAUSE I STILL HAVE MY PERIOD I DON'T WANT TO DO ANYTHING!!!" He pulled down my panties, held me by the throat, and said into my ear "how do you know you won't like it unless you try it!" in a low voice. By this time I was pissed off and very afraid. Finally, it was over. I couldn't scream. I couldn't cry. I just lay there and looked out the window. He didn't kiss me, he didn't hold me, he just dropped me off at home, told me he was taking off to New York that night. I never spoke to him again.

I started questioning whether or not that was rape. I tried to reason with myself. I'd say things like:

"If he didn't hit you, then it wasn't really rape."
"You didn't try to fight him off, so it wasn't really rape."
"There are no black and blue marks on your face, so it wasn't really rape."
"You KNEW him, therefore it wasn't really rape."
"He wore a condom, so it wasn't really rape."
"You didn't say NO loud enough, so it wasn't really rape."
"You said NO only once, so it wasn't really rape."

It wasn't until I took part in a Take Back the Night rally at my university in 1996 ... five years after "the incident" took place ... that I came to terms what had happened to me. I never called it rape before, because I convinced myslef "it wasn't really rape".

As I listened to the stories of other girls, I had tears in my eyes. Then I started to sob. About 45 minutes into the "dark room stories", I openly started bawling.

It was then that I knew I was raped.

Almost all those girls---who just an hour before the stories marched along with me throughout the college campus---had been raped. Those girls---who just an hour ago marched through the campus shouting "2 - 4 - 6 - 8 ...NO MORE DATE RAPE!!!" --- were now crying because of a tragedy in their lives.

It was then that I knew I wasn't alone.

I never pressed charges, I never reported him to anyone, and I couldn't tell anyone what happened until the night I marched at Take Back the Night. The only reason I told anyone was because my two friends wondered why I was so affected by the stories the girls were telling me.

I don't think about it as often as I used to, but I still think about it. The reason is probably because I no longer have to WONDER if it was rape: I KNOW it was rape. But everytime I read or hear about a rape or sexual assault, I start to cry and those tears go out to the survivors.

I'm glad that this website, the creator of this web site, and all the readers are allowing me to reveal my story. I don't consider this to be a "survival story". I consider this to be just another strand of hair that, when braided together with all those other strands of hair out there, will create a braid of strength that we can use to carry us all through the worst of times.

Thank you and God bless.
Barb
 


I was 17. That was 6 years and 2 wks ago. I can't believe it has been almost exactly 7 years ago. The memories are fresher than that in my mind. It was the first time I ever got drunk. I too was at a party, it was spring break and the night was cold. I drank way too much and I got so sick all I could do was throw up. I couldn't even walk by myself. I lived in a small town and a block away from my high school. I thought I could sober up and my parents wouldn't notice that I had been drinking if I walked around the track. He said he would walk with me and then walk me home. His friend dropped us off and then left. I got a really uncomfortable feeling, but I was still so sick. It happened under the bleachers on the concrete. I sometimes feel like the scrapes all the way up my spine are still there. He walked my home afterwards and even kissed me.

I feel sick just thinking about it. I took a long hot shower and passed out. My parents weren't even awake when I came home. I went to work the next day. I was already trying to forget it happened. He came in to my work the next day and brought me my jacket. I never wore it again. Later that day everyone kept asking me what was wrong. I thought how do they know something bad happened to me? I told them I was tired. I was, I was immediately depressed. I told my boyfriend and his parents a couple of days later. They called the police and my parents. I felt trapped by them. I ended up pressing charges against the rapist. I graduated, went to college and 2 years after the rape, I was subpoenaed for court. I show up and testified. I was sick to my stomach the whole time. After his trail he was found not guilty. I was humiliated. I felt I had let everyone down. I am afraid he was set free and he has done it many more times. I have not seen him since then, but I am still scared. I have been to two counselors and still don't feel better. I am disconnected to my feelings about it. I can't watch rape scenes on TV or I will have nightmares. I will probably have a nightmare tonight after watching your story on 20/20. I want to feel better.

Camille
 


I was 15 at the time when this happened.. i am now 18. This guy that i had known through out school had told me that he liked me and i too liked him.. so i thought. For a couple of days we would go out and do things with our friends.. he was friends with a guy that i really didn't like.. this guy came on to me before i met the guy i was with, he told me that he wanted my virgin blood... thats why i didnt like him.. he made feel really uncomfortable. Well the guy i was with told me that he wanted to go for a walk. So we went for a walk down this grassy field.. his friends house was down the hill from where we were... I told him i didnt want to go any further and tried to turn away from him and walk away.. he grabbed my neck.. (he has really strong arms and hands..) he had such a grip on my neck that i could not move at all. i was also smaller than him. He literally pushed me down the hill and too his friends house. he said we have been planning this for a while. they shoved, me into the house i tried to run back out of the house but the both stopped me , one grabbed my neck and head the other grabbed my feet i was dragged down into this guys basement and beaten first, i was barely consious at this time.. i remember being tied to this cold metal table. they stripped my clothes and raped me repeatdly. I havent been able to trust a guy since then. i wish that i could but everytime they get near me i freeze and back away. It is still hard to deal with this pain because i had to see these creeps every day at school. I couldnt ask to be transfered because i didnt want to tell my mom or any one for that matter.. they still dont know. only close friends know. my mom would ask what was wrong but i could never tell her.. they only left bruises on my body and neck, which were easy to cover.. i did have one on my jaw line i just told my mom that it happened in gym class.

Thank you for letting me get this out..

i wish everyone the best of luck with putting this behind themselves.

-Angel.
 


I was twelve. Would be thirteen in four days. I had just gotten my period a few months earlier. I still liked to crawl in bed with my mother when I had a bad dream. I still watched cartoons on Saturday morning. I still made my mom take the crust off my sandwiches. I had a nightlight. I was still a little girl. I still saw the world with innocent eyes. I was not afraid to walk alone at night in my safe suburban neighborhood. I still believed that there were no TRULY bad people. On the night of November 17th, my innocence was brutally and cruelly stolen from that little girl. I learned what evil was. My memories of what happened come to me in spurts. In dreams. In hazy half-thoughts. At inopportune times. Always frightening. Always painful. I have remembered that night in stages. Never as a whole. It has taken me five years.

I had been hanging out with friends, and I was spending the night at Cory's (Carrie? Kelly? Kristy?). It was about midnight. I was wearing a long, flowing black skirt, a velvet top, and new black sandals. I was stoned. I was walking down the main road of our neighborhood. Our SAFE neighborhood. Our little, tiny, safe, suburban neighborhood. I heard footsteps behind me, and looked back, and no one was there. I kept walking. I heard the footsteps again, and I again turned around. There was no one there, so I turned to keep walking. There was a man standing in front of me. He had a smile on his face that made me cringe. I stumbled, and leapt away from him. I turned back around, to run in the other direction. There was a second man behind me. I turned to my left. There was a third man there. I turned to my right. A fourth man. I was surrounded. I sunk to the ground and wept.

They were wearing black from head to toe. And ski masks. Those cliché knit ski masks. They sounded like they could have been in their mid-late twenties, no older than thirty. They had that surfer sound, "dude" and "right on". One of them grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me through the dense trees on the side of the road. Into a meadow. I screamed, kicked, cried, begged.

They made me stand in front of them. The first man took out a knife. I remember how the light glistened off the clean blade. Just a tinkle while he moved it. He told me to take off my clothes. I sobbed and shook my head, and begged for them to let me go home. He came towards me, and pushed the blade to my neck. Told me he would slit my throat. I made a motion for him to stop. I did as he said. I took off my shirt. My skin stiffened from the shock of the air. I was wearing a brand new bra. I had been so excited to get it, because it had been my first pretty bra. It was off-white satin with little pink rose buds on it, and a bow where the material met in between my still growing breasts. He told me to take it off. I remember throwing it to the ground, and watching it land on the wet earth. Watching the creamy satin splash with the mud from the light rain earlier that day. That was when I knew. That was when the little girl who slept with a nightlight left me. Fled. Ran screaming from that meadow.

He backed me up against a tree. Reached under my skirt, and cut off my white cotton underwear. I sobbed. He touched me. Put his fingers I inside of me. His dirty, lascivious fingers. I could FEEL the filth. He made me tell him I liked it. I kept begging for him to let me go home. Over and over again. Please. Please. Please……. Please? He unzipped his pants. Black denim. A tiny hole in the knee. And then there it was. Ugly. Repulsive. I wanted to throw up. He made me touch him. Make him hard. I could feel the bile gathering in the back of my throat. Before I knew what had happened, he was inside of me. I felt him. Felt myself rip. Felt the pain. Such intense pain. Pain like I had never experienced before. My feet left the ground. I left my body. I watched the whole scene from afar. I watched a man thrust into a little girl. Watched with frightened, confused eyes. I saw the look on her face. She stared into the night. Blank eyes. Surrendered strength. She stared. I wanted to run to this little girl. I wanted to take her in my arms. Stroke her hair. Kiss her eyelids. Beat the will to fight back into her. But she just stared.

He came inside of me. I thought it was over. I thought they would let me go. And then he threw me to the ground. Motioned for the second man to come over. I watched her. I watched her lay there. She just lay there. No tears. No fighting. She just lay there. He assaulted me orally. To this day I can feel his tongue inside of me. Like a snake. Listening to my body. And then he was inside of me. I had gone numb. The pain had numbed my body. There was a rock digging into my right shoulder. It was a little rock. No more than a pebble. But it dug. Dug into my soul. Lodged itself in my heart.

They all took their turns with me. Four hours later they stood up. My skirt was around my waist. My eviscerated underwear lying next to my soiled bra. My shirt was in the branches of the tree. My skin was dirty. My breasts cut and bruised. The first man leaned over me. His face millimeters away from mine. He smiled. That sick, nauseating smile. And then he pushed his mouth to mine. He kissed me. A soft, closed mouth kiss. Almost tender. Almost loving. And they left. They got in their car, blasted Guns N Roses, and left. Left me there. In the mud. Dirty,bleeding. There was no moon. I lay there, searching for the moon. And she wasn't there. I sat up. Cringed from the pain between my legs. I sat in the mud and I rocked. Back and forth. Rocked through the pain. Rocked and sobbed. Cried tears for the little girl that had fled when I threw my bra to the ground. I just rocked and sobbed.

I eventually stood up. My skirt fell back down around my ankles. I put my dirty and ripped shirt on. Left my bra and underwear in the mud where they had landed. I couldn't bear the sight of my beautiful bra, soiled and destroyed. I went home. I got in the shower, and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Couldn't get it hot enough. The dirt washed away. My skin turned pink. The cuts on my chest swelled, and the skin around them became spongy. I still felt dirty. Couldn't escape the feeling that they were coming for me. That they had followed me home. I stayed in the shower for two hours, and crawled into bed as the sun was peeking it's head over the hills.

When I woke up the next afternoon, I remembered nothing. It took me a week. I spent a week wondering why I felt so afraid when the sun set at night. I spent a week full of nightmares, and asthma attacks, and crying jags. And then I heard a Guns N Roses song on the radio. It hit me. I started screaming and sobbing. I threw things, and smashed every dish in the cupboards, and eventually curled myself into a ball on my bedroom floor, and wept. I tried to kill myself that night. I tried to rip open my wrists with a kitchen knife. I tried again a few months later. I took an overdose a few months after that. I wanted so badly to die.

I didn't tell anyone for two years. I spent two years in silence. When I finally made the decision that it was time to tell my mother, I sat her down, and I explained what happened. She didn't even look at me. When I was done, she told me that she didn't believe me. That I was making it all up for attention. I ran from the room, and I have spoken nothing of it to her since then. About six months after that day, I tried to kill myself for the final time. I took 174 Tylenol and aspirin. I spent a week in a psychiatric hospital, told them what they wanted to hear and they sent me on my merry way, with medications in tow.

I have spent the last five years pretending that it didn't happen. I have always been honest about that night, but I never really believed that it had affected me the way it did. I pushed it into the background. Pretended like I was okay. Well, I can no longer pretend. I'm NOT okay. I have realized that in the past few months. I got myself into therapy this week. I think that will be the first step in my healing. Admitting that I can't do this on my own. I can't heal myself. All of my friends know. They have been so supportive. They talk me down on my crazy days, and build me up on my suicidal days. If it weren't for my wonderful friends, I would have slashed open every vein in my body by now.

I was raped when I was twelve, a junkie by thirteen, a prostitute by fourteen, and a mental case by fifteen. I have visited every possible venue of self-destructiveness. And I lived to tell the tale. So, here I stand. I am 17. I know that someday I will be a whole person again. Someday I won't have nightmares that steal my breath, and leave me clamoring for a razor blade. Someday the panic attacks will stop. Someday I will be able to have a man touch me, and not cringe. Someday I will be happy. Someday I will be a survivor. Someday.

Amanda
 


I can remember more than several times when I was raped and molested by my brother from the time I was about four and up. I used to try so hard to push him off of me that I even gave him a fight but I was never physicaly able to struggle long enough to make him give up. I had tried in so many ways to disconnect but it never worked. My grandpa too molested me, my sister, and probably my brother. He used to make me sit on his lap and then he would stick his hand down my pants telling me that he had to make sure I didnt pee myself. Even at that age I knew that wasnt what he was doing.

When I was about 12 years old (I am 16 now) I was in a fight with my mom. We were screaming at eachother and finaly the words just jumped out of me, I told her that my brother had been sexually abusing me. I can't remember much after that, I blocked alot of things out from my childhood. He went to juvenile hall for a while and when he got out he went back to his old ways. I confronted my mom for the second time and we had to go to court because this time he decided to deny it (he pleaded no contest and went to a boys home). My mom didnt know who to believe and that caused alot of problems between us. It wasnt until just recently that he told my mom the truth and now she can never forgive herself for doubting me, but I have and my relationship with my mom has gotten much better and we have become best friends.

I went to a support group and had alot of therapy. My sister went with me to the support groups because they said that the siblings of survivors often times can benefit from some therapy. One day we were at a group session and my sister broke down in tears and said that our grandpa was molesting her. She never told anyone before that and I had no idea of what was going on. When she said what she did I felt like something hit me hard in the chest and it knocked the wind out of me. When he found out what my sister said he comited suicide.

My brother lost his job and house and is living with us again. He doesnt molest me anymore, I lock my door at night and he has a trailor out back but he hardly ever uses it. He is always fighting with my parent and calling them names and I have had alot of stress being in this position. My grades have fallen and my emotions have bled over to my friendships and disturbed them. He will be moving out at the end of this month and hopefully things will be getting better.

A few weeks ago I watched a show that came on 20/20 about Tori Amos and her fans who were raped and I cried my eyes out. I went to the site "Welcome to Barbados" and it inspired me to make my own site. For a long time I convinced my self that I didnt have a problem anymore and that I have overcome what happened to me but that will never be the case, I will always feel dirty no matter how often I shower or how well I lather and scrub or how hot I turn the water. It has affected me in every way and I feel like it controls my life and everything I do is in result of that. It has turned my social and relationship abilities into disabilities. It has given me an amazing lack of self esteem and I suffer from a terrible stomache ache every day. I am constantly uncomfortable around anybody, including myself and especially around males. I am still atracted to males, which makes it even more difficult. I am starving for strength and courage but I dont know how to go about finding it. I listen to Tori's music and Ani Difranco who is also another strong female music artist and read other survivor's stories to let their strength compensate for the strength I dont have.

~Trisstessa
 

 


 
 
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