I have the most incredible best friend. We have been to hell and back together and I think we kept each other alive. But we never expected what was going to be thrown at us. It happened only a little while ago. January 19th will be a day I will always remember. A "good" friend of ours called one nite and asked us if we wanted to come over. We had been friends with him for almost three years and trusted him. Big mistake I guess. When we showed up he had five other guys over. They had been drinking and were pretty rowdy so my friend and I decided to leave. But they wouldn't let us. My best friend has always been somewhat naive and wasn't sure what was going on. But I knew. I knew as soon as one of the guys grabbed her arm and the other blocked the door what was going to happen to us. And all I could think of was not wanting them to hurt my friend. I remember begging them to let her go and not hurt her but they laughed at me. By this point I was screaming at our other "friend" asking him why he was doing this. He had the weirdest look on his face. Something like "why not?". Then they started on us. By some grace of god they let us stay together. I held her hand the enitre time which was a comfort to us both I think, but her crying was ripping me up worse then they ever could. I dont' know how long it lasted...or how many times they raped us both. I just remember leaving. They just basically got up and when out on to the porch and left us lying there. I managed to drag my best friend out of the house and drive us home. I held her in my arms all nite while she cried. I feel like I have to be the strong one right now. I know she doesn't expect that. But I don't know how else to be. We swore to each other never to breath a word of it to anyone. But, while she is supportive for me...I feel like I need to be the strong one for her and I just needed to tell someone. I don't know how long I can be strong though. I have lost weight because I can no longer eat with out throwing up. I dont' sleep and when I do sleep I am tormented by dreams that are sometimes worse than the rape itself. I shower so much and with such hot water that my skin is raw. I know I don't know you. But I felt such a connection with the things you were saying on the TV show. You struck quite a cord in me as did your web site. I wanted to thank you for putting this site up. It does help to read other's stories. Sorry if this is rambling. It is hard to arrange my thoughts lately. Thank you for being strong enough to share your story to the public to help those of us who haven't yet found the courage to share our stories. Sharing my story with you I know, has taken me a tiny step towards healing.

Lynn
 


i was about 14, that was almost 3 years ago. i have had 12 years of christian school education & 14 of church education. i have a religious family and was expected to learn everything, which i later believed. of all the places, this incident happened at my church where i had gone for 5 years. i knew the guy and had a big crush on him for a long time. it happened like this:the youth group was sent to get christmas decorations under the front stage of the church. everyone was there at first, but everyone got lazy and left. it was finally just me & this boy when everyonewas gone he began to move closer to me & kissed me my first kiss. i than became very uncomfortable pretty fast and wanted to leave. when i tried to crawl out from under the stage he grabbed my legs. i still though he was playing but was very nervous.he suddenly rolled over me. i could barely breathe, he was so much stronger than me. i tried to move, but i never said no. if i did, no one would ever hear me from under a stage. he felt and violated me all over, but didn't give intercourse. i was crying & afraid still when he pushed me out from under the stage. he told me to tell no one, or he'd do something i'd really regret. he did this 2 more times, in 2 desolate locations of the church. i finally didn't go to church for 2 months. my parents finally made me go, but i never told them or anyone. i know worst things happened to people, and this probably isn't quailified as rape, but i'm still scared & have nightmares. i get cold every time a think about it, and want to scream. tori amos' music has really helped me alot, knowing i can relate in at least one way.

*girl*
 


Almost six years ago (I was 15 at the time) I went to a party with some pretty good friends. I drank A LOT of alcohol. I had blacked out (or at least lost track of events) several times that night. Following one of my black outs, the first thing I realized was that I was being walked up some stairs. I was so intoxicated that I slipped on the stairs. I don't remember anything between the stairs and the first thrust that he made. I suddenly realized what was going on and I knew for a fact that I didn't want that to be happening. I yelled at him to get off of me and I tried to push his hips away from my body to stop the thrusting. Nothing worked. When he was "finished", he left the room. I was unable to find my clothing (we were in an attic with no light fixtures). A few minutes later several guys came up to the room. One of my friends put his shirt on me until we found my clothes. All of the other guys just stared as I cried and screamed for my friend, Amy. When we found my clothes I went to the bathroom to change and Amy came in to comfort me. My ride had left to take my attacker home. Meanwhile, the host of the party pulled me aside and apologized for what had happened to me. Some of other guys also seemed to had understood what had happened. However, I didn't realize it until the next morning. I was too afraid to report it because I thought that I would have been in trouble for underage drinking. Plus, I thought that it was my fault/punishment for being drunk. None of my friends tried to convince me to report it either. I told my older sister about it three years later and then told my mother a few months after that. My sister has never brought it up again. My mom brings it up every now and again, however my dad has never mentioned it since my mom told him.

Over the past 6 years I have walked the healing path alone. Whenever I make a new friend that I can trust, I tell them about it. Every time I tell the story I feel less angry and ashamed. It gives me a chance to reflect on the situation and I realized that it was not my fault or punishment for underage drinking. I know that there is nothing that a person can do to deserve that kind of invasion. Even though I often think that I am healed, some feeling comes along that makes me take a step back to see where I really am in the healing process. This is the kind of wound that you never entirely heal from. However, I AM A SURVIVOR!

Megan
 


i linked to your site from a friend and well, i dont know. i mean it is really a well done page and i think i know i was but i dont feel anything about it, in fact,i dont understand...i dont get it i dont feel anything about it, thats all i can say.. why is that?i know almost for certain that it happened because afterward, he kept asking me if i was mad at him, untill he left to go home and i never saw him again. we were at this hippy club, a whole lot of us, but for some reason we ended up back at my house and this boy i knew wanted me was following me all over the house, whatching me like a hawk... i was really fucked up on a couple of different things and i know that i passed out. . everyone was sleeping by the time i went to lay down, an dthe next thing i knew it was seven am. i did not even remmeber faling to sleep... i wonder did i say yes to him. i wonder if it hurt me and i wonder weather or not i was really even asleep through the whole thing. i just dont know. i read in psychology that people may be able to actually repress something to the point where they do not recall an event ever having happened, yet, i must have because i dont remember anything excpept a feeling that i had just had sex. but i dont know. i cant remmember my life really turning up since that time in my life, though i havent exactly turned down, excpet as i was reading your page i realised how distant i am from everyone i know. but the thing is im not afraid of men or sex or closeness or even some drugs. and icant even tell my mother. what the hell could i say to her??! "mom i was having a party, i was doing drugs, anda guy had sex with me on your bed while i was passed out she might just say i deserved it.

this is a different story alltoghether, but who knows, when i was a little girl i was always a little bit afraid of being alone with men, like in elevators or in a store, or walking down the street. i dont know why, because i am pretty sure i wasent abused as a child.. i dont know why but i kind of got over it as i grew older... and then one day, like four years ago, out of nowhere my uncle did something bad. i dont like to talk about it or even THINK about it because i love him and i respect him still, and he is kind of a savior to our family so i mean i just cant tell anyone, and im so scared for my cousin who lives with him. i wish i could ask her about it.. that bothers me more so then the boy at my house. i know this happened, i can still, i well i cant ever forget it but i dont even know where this letter is going i dont know what possessed me to even do this, because nothing of this is anything i ever wanted to talk about. im not really maybe i am upset, but i mean, its not hindering me. something i read on your page made it kind of trickle back into my head and, well the email link like kind of jumoed off the screen in my face and well, heres my story. theres nothing i can do about it, theres nothing really more i can say. i dont feel anything about any of it. except that there is nothing that can be done about it. i hope you read this, even if its not really a wining story on overcomming issuses that i have.
 


My story starts when I was eight years old I think...I am now 22 and not a day goes by that I don't think of what happened to me and how it has impacted the person I am today.

As I don't have definite details of the accouny of my abuse, I will tell you what I do know. I imagine there has been some supression of the events as to save my sanity so I cannot recall specific details all exept one.

I do remember the man and the woman who abused me. One was a family friend and my babysitter, she was in high school at the time and I remember one night when my parents were away. I remember being asleep in my bed and waking to feel my babysitter fondling my genitals and I asked her what she was doing and all she was that she wanted me to do the same to her and when I didn't she pulled my hand to her breast and then to her genitals and after this went on for a while she left my room.

I don't recall how many times this happened,yet this particular incident just sticks out in my mind.

Now, the man who abused me, he was sort of the neighborhood pied piper, that is the only way I can think to describe him. This man was adored by all the neighbor kids and he would often give us candy and what not because he wasn't married and had no children and we assumed that he sort of adopted us all. Well one day when I was in his house (with the babysitter who abused me) I remember walking into a back room of his house and seeing stacks of porn magazines and then running out of the room as fast as I could as it scared me. I can still remember how the house smelled, what it looked like and what not, yet I have no solid memories of any actual abuse but I can 'feel' the memories on my body when they memories come. It's a strange chill and I shudder. I know this may sound stupid but something convinces me that I had been abused by this person.

And I know that many men don't come forward with their stories of abuse because of the societal pressures forced upon them that men don't show emotion etc...I think this is a shame because it is humanity and emotion that links us all. Only when we as people can share together and accept that these terrible things happen to all different types of people every day will we be able to move on and live better lives.

Derek
 


I don’t know if I deserve to write to Welcome to Barbados.

I know a fellow youth group member groped my breasts soon after they developed in the hall at church. That’s not enough. I know a classmate groped my crotch and pushed me to the floor in front of the entire class when I was eight. Everyone laughed, and the teacher did nothing. That’s not enough.

I know I had to go to the police station when I was about nine to describe the car of the man who lay down on a blanket in front of me and my friends and touched parts of himself in an odd way. I know I scramble from my car to my house door when it’s dark, and check every lock on the door repeatedly before going to bed. I know I had my father install a lock on my bedroom door so I could finally sleep without wondering what each noise was. I know I moved across the country to get away from the man who threw things at me. I know last year I woke with a man standing over me saying, “That’s right, you scream, you bitch,” and all I could do was scream until my housemates came, an eternal ten seconds later, and pulled him out of my room. Then, I could move. Still, that’s not enough.

Was I raped? Ever? I have this memory that stops short at an unsettling place. I was in Girl Scouts, in brownies (elementary school kids), but the man who ran our troope moved on to lead a troupe of cadets (the next level, middle school kids, as I recall). I was too young to be in that troupe, but somehow I ended up becoming a “pixie cadet,” someone too young for that level but part of the troupe anyway. We met once a month to go camping. The other girls, being much older than I, would often tease me and shut me out of their conversations.

One trip to a cabin, I remember I went to him crying. I can’t remember his name or his face, but I can see the fire he sat next to, off a ways from the cabin. All the others were still in the cabin. I told him that the others were teasing me. He came close to me, put his arm around me, and said, “Don’t worry. I’d trade all the rest just to keep you.”

Blankness. Such detail about everything but him, then nothing, like a film jumping out of a reel-to-reel projector. I can see the fire, the logs arranged around the fire for sitting on. I can feel the log I’m sitting on. I can almost see the placement of the trees. I know the quality of the twilight, when it’s almost gone and the light from the fire starts to matter as much as the heat, but then nothing! What happened at that jolting point where my mind goes blank?

I do know one more thing. I was talking with my mom about my abject fear of rape, and she said, “Oh, do you remember that time you fought off the rapist? I didn’t know you knew that’s what he was.” WHAT!?! “When you were a little girl, perhaps seven, your friend’s parents took you to the elementary schol fair. A man grabbed you before they even realized you were out of their line of sight. But you bit his hand hard and he let go enough for you to scream, and you put up such a fight he had to let you go or be caught. Around that time, quite a few young girls about your age were found raped and strangled by someone matching the method and description of the man you fought off.” I remember the struggle and the reassurance, but I didn’t understand it until my mom gave me the rest of the story. After I got off the phone, I wrote “Warrior Child” and stuck it on my monitor. When I start to get afraid because I once froze, I remember that I once fought.

Ten years ago, the man who threw things at me said, “Here, I think you’ll like this singer,” and gave me a copy of Little Earthquakes. I was so passively rebellious, so close to leaving him that I never opened the CD and I left it behind me. In 1996 (I think), I saw Tori Amos in concert because a friend had an extra ticket. In 1996, I started hearing her music as my housemate played it. At the close of 1997, I bought all of her albums, but didn’t listen to them right away. I didn’t even listen to Boys for Pele until 2/99, after buying from the choirgirl hotel and seeing her in concert again and checking the Dent almost daily. There was so much to think about in her music.

It’s still hard for me to listen to “Me and a Gun,” even though nothing’s ever really happened to me. Probably. Depending on how you look at it. Still, I had to write in for others like me, who fear every night sound with “no good reason.” Take some time to stare at the reason you fear, even if you don’t quite know its shape. You’ll work through it. You’re stronger than you know.

Cheryl
 


I read your page, and I could almost put my story together using parts of stories from 4 or 5 others. I know I am not alone. I snuck out of my house to go to a party with my "friend" Tresa who was spending the night with me. My best friend was going to be there, too. It was September 9th 1989. I was 17. My best friends' boyfriend picked me and Tresa up, and we all went to the house where the party was. We were dancing and talking and acting like normal teenagers. The guys at the party were older... like 19-21 years old. One named Richard had the same last name as me and it turned out we were cousins... very remote. I was having good time. The other guys there were Robert R. Robert B. Chris S. , a guy I don't remember his name and my best friends' boyfriend Jeff. Me, Tresa and my best friend were the only girls. I was drinking a wine cooler and left to go to the bathroom. I came back and drank the rest of the wine cooler... the only drink I had that night. I started feeling really messed up, so I went to the bathroom and the next thing I remember is I was in the bed in the bedroom next to the bathroom and two guys were holding my arms and Robert R. was raping me.

Then I blacked out again, and then Robert B. was raping me. I remember seeing flashes of light (which I figured out after the 3rd flash was a polaroid camera). I was desperate to stop the situation, but I couldn't do ANYTHING.

I remember Jeff- my best friends' boyfriend putting my underwear on and someone dressed me and I threw up all over the bed. They were all "helping" me get my stuff together. I saw Robert R.'s wallet on the floor, and quickly stuffed it into my purse thinking about getting proof. I blacked out again. The guy who was my remote cousin was carrying my up some stairs and I threw up down his back. He didn't do anything bad to me. But they were all in the same house... they had to know... I remember Tresa laughing when they were taking the pictures, she said she saw them, too. I woke up the next morning on the porch of the apartment that Jeff and Robert R. and Robert B. lived ... on a couch. I went into the house and woke Jef up and told him I needed to get home. He told me just to take his car. I refused and made him drive me home... I was still REALLY messed up. Too much so to drive and I wasn't thinking to clearly. I just knew I was going to be in big trouble when I got home. Jeff dropped me off down the street and I saw that my parents and Tresa's parents were on the porch waiting for us. I tried to sneak into the house.. like they wouldn't notice... and all the windows were locked. I don't think I had shoes on... I remember just socks. I scratched my palm climbing over the wood fence. I finally just had to go up to them. I know my hair was all messed up and I must have looked terrible. My parents started screaming at me and my stepmother was slapping me. They made me clean all the windows on the outside of the house, right then, and clean all day. I felt like I was going to die. I was so tired and messed up. I was going to tell them, but after being screamed at and slapped around, I decided it would be better not to. The next day i asked Tresa what the hell happened, and why did she do this to me? and she said, "Well, they were going to put a trash bag over your head and put you in the trunk to take you to the apartment, because you were throwing up and they didn't want you to mess up the car, and I told them not to. " Like I should thank her. I asked her who had the pictures, and she said Chris S. (it was his parent's house where it occurred). I tried to get them back, but he wouldn't give them to me. I had a school dance a few nights later, and Robert R. pulls up in his Bronco and Tresa climbs out. I asked her how she could hang out with him after what he did to me. Then he said to me, "What did I do to you?" and I said, "You raped me! " and he said, "I did not f--ck you." I was SO confused. I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe I got it all wrong. Then later saw an article on Rohypnol the "date rape drug" and I was like "THAT"S IT!!!!!! That is what I felt like... that is what happened to me! I knew it wasn't just the one wine cooler... I was DRUGGED!" I was so happy to realize WHY I was so incapacitated. I was glad to figure it out. I was so confused for so long. A light came on. Several weeks later, I rented jet skis with another friend out at the lake, and who should be swimming in the water in the nearby swimming area but Robert R. I went at him with the jet ski full speed... I wanted to kill him so bad, and now I had a chance. But I couldn't. I scared him BAD, but I couldn't kill him. That next July I got engaged to a wonderful man I had known for 2 years, and when I was going into the mall to get my shoes for the wedding, I saw Robert R. My stepmother was with me. I couldn't say anything. I decided not to tell anyone. More trouble than it was worth.

I got married the next December and I told my husband a month after we were married. He is very understanding, but he doesn't know the "whole story" just that I was raped. We have been married for 8 years and have 4 beautiful children. I have really not dealt with this. I told my sister, and a friend and that helped. With the Lord's help, I will survive. I think sharing with someone who understands is the best therapy. Someone who has been there. None of my other family knows.. not even my mother who I am very close to. I think that there should not be a stigma attached to rape, and that there should not be a statute of limitations either. I am ready to prosecute them, now that I have my feet under me, but it is too late. That is victimizing in itself. When my very young children get a little older and in school, I WILL do something to make a difference where rape is concerned. I will help. I will keep it from happening to someone else. I will use my time to make a difference.

Taylor
 



 



 


 
 
Back to Barbados