Children are born innocent. They love and trust all. It is life and experiences that rob them of that innocence. My innocence was robbed when I was about 3 or 4. I was outside playing when a stranger came up to me and offered me a quarter to go with him, so I did. He took me to the garbage room in the building I lived in. He had me pull my pants down and lie down on my stomach. I did this with no question or complaint. He proceeded to lick my anus. Why he did this I don’t know. Why I went with him and allowed him to do what he did, I don’t know. I went back outside and he told me that he didn’t have a quarter to give me. For some reason I didn’t care. But, this was the first time that this happened to me but it wasn’t the last.
When I was 5 my mom had hired a male baby sitter to watch my brother and I. He was a neighborhood kid whose mother was a friend of my mother’s. I don’t know how it started but he would take me to my bedroom and have me suck on his penis. When it came time he would finish up in the bathroom and then come back to my bedroom and leave a dime under my lamp on my dresser. This happened a couple of times. I never told my mother of these incidents.
When I was about 10 years old a friend’s father approached me about giving him oral pleasures. Since I had done it before I didn’t think anything of it and complied. This went on for several months. The last time we were together he talked me into swallowing. He kept telling me how it was good for me and tasted sweet. When this happened I didn’t agree with him. It sickened me and turned me against such acts.
This was a robbing of innocence. These incidents satisfied and gratified the men involved but ruined me. These incidents affected me as an adult. My husband could never understand why I didn’t want or couldn’t give him pleasures in this way. I tried to explain it to him several times. But he didn’t want to hear it. At any rate my marriage suffered and eventually ended. I can’t say for certain if it was due to what had happened to me as a child but I can say that what happened to me didn’t help.
I have a son now. He is as innocent as I was as a child. It’s hard to
want to take away that innocence to protect him from predators. But as
a parent and as a survivor of sexual molestation I have to prepare him.
It is a robbing of innocence from all.
Then, one night it all just came back.
I was pinned to my bed, bound somehow, by something holding my arms and legs, leaving me spread open to the world. My FATHER was hurting me, my MOTHER was watching. I was crying. HE was thrusting. I was hurting. My mother reassured me that everything was okay. "If you loved your father, you would stop crying". I was crying. HE was thrusting. MOM was watching. I was hurting.
Then I woke up. Though this dream disturbed me, I dismissed it as a nightmare and thought it was all over. It wasn’t over. The nightmare came back. I was crying. HE was thrusting. MOM was watching. I was hurting. Almost every night, it haunted my sleep. I was crying. HE was thrusting. MOM was watching. I was hurting. I couldn’t sleep, in fear of this nightmare haunting me. I feared my parents. Once being so close to my parents, I now felt uncomfortable sitting with them at the dinner table. I couldn’t be alone with my father, paranoia overcame me and I would be terrified. I couldn’t tell my parents why I had a sudden change in demeanor. How do you tell your parents something like that? I felt so guilty. How could I possibly fear my parents and dream about such awful things when they were so wonderful? They had always spoiled me, been so loving, we had always been so close. I figured it was my fault. I was the problem. So, I stopped eating. I was still crying. HE was still thrusting. I was still hurting. After a while, mom wasn’t in the dream anymore, though it haunted my thoughts in my sleep and was on my mind constantly during the day. My grades in school went down. My once so constant, cheerful, happy-go-lucky smile was gone. My weight plummeted. My parents noticed. They put me in counseling. I wouldn’t talk to the counselor. I wanted it to be over. I was still crying. HE was still thrusting. I was still hurting. I was in and out of different clinics and specialists, food was forced through my nose and down my throat. I wanted it to be over.
Then, one day it was over. The nightmares stopped. I worked hard to get my life back together. I got my weight back up, involved in school activities, and got my grades up. Once again, I started to dream of the future. But my smile was gone.
Life was great. I was sweet sixteen, tall, pretty, popular in my high school and had the boyfriend of my dreams. Out of nowhere the dreams came back. Only this time, it was not my father being the aggressor, it was my uncle. HE was so real.
I lost weight again. I starting cutting myself with razor blades. I started having this sick, twisted fascination with feeling the knife pierce my skin and watch my blood, my own blood pour out of the wound. I had cuts on my hands, wrists, elbows, feet, ankles, stomach and chest. My parents threw me into counseling again. The nightmares continued, haunting me day and night.
At around this same time, my uncle was arrested for sexual molestation of a little girl at his church. It was then when all of the pieces started fitting together. Until I was about 8, my family had lived next door to my uncle. My uncle watched over me every day when my parents were out. HE was the man in my nightmares. The nightmares were real. My parents didn’t press any charges, wanting to keep me out of all the pressures of the legal stuff, testifying and whatnot. All family ties were cut off. HE will be judged, God will judge HIM.
After one cutting incident that almost cost me my life, I started an intense rehabilitation program for sexual abuse survivors. I learned how to live WITH it. Yeah- it sucks. But, I CAN’T LET HIM WIN.
I am 18 now, a freshman in college and I have my life back, though the struggle is far from over. I still have the nightmares, still have the thought in my head. But, I also realize that I have a VERY supportive family and friends that will stick with me through thick and thin. Listening to other people’s testimonies makes me realize that things aren’t so bad, there are people worse off than me and that if other people can overcome it, then I can too.
I must learn to love myself, my body, all that I was, all that I am, and all that I’ll ever be. Yeah- it’s hard. It will be a long time before this is all over, if it ever will be.
BUT- the smile is coming back.
Crysta
I don't know how or why it started. I just remember it happening on many occasions. He would play truth or dare with me and dare me to suck his dick. Or, he would play doctor and I was the patient.
I remember one time, he asked me if I wanted to have an orgasm, and I said ok, not knowing what he meant. So, he told me to take my clothes off and lay on the couch. Then he examined my vagina for what seemed like hours. Then, all of the sudden, he said ok, you're done how was it? I knew that it was wrong, but I was scared. I thought that if I just went along with it, he wouldn't hurt me.
Another time, I needed money for something, and I didn't have any. So, I asked my big brother for a dollar. He said he would give it to me if I sucked his dick...so I did. Sometimes I wonder if that makes me a prostitute.
I remember once, my parents were home, but they were off watching tv. My brother took me into his room and locked the door. He didn't actually have a lock, he just propped up a chair, and that kept the door unopenable. Then, he made me jack him off. That was the first time I'd ever seen cum. It scared the hell out of me. I couldn't figure out what it was. I just knew that something had just come out of his penis. Just then, there was a knock on the door. I hid in the closet. It was my first instinct. I thought that we'd get in trouble so I hid. It was mom, she was looking for me. He just said,"Yea, she's in the closet". Making me look like an idiot. He loved to do that. That was probably his favorite game of all. Making me look dumb. And he was great at it.
See, not only did I get sexually abused, but it was a full package. If he got mad, he'd beat the shit out of me. And when I laid there, huddled in a ball because the pain of his beatings had paralysed me, that's when the laughter came. Evil laughter from deep within the shell of this demon-boy.
He could belittle me with the snap of his fingers. And I let him. Because he was my brother. I looked up to him. I always wondered if other people did that. If everyone else's brothers beat them and laughed at them, and performed oral sex on them.
On top of that, my father and I didn't get along. He was always blaming me for something. Whether it was his flashlight missing, or missing forks or whatever, it was always my fault. He was always yellling at me for something. There was always yelling in my house. Never a silent moment. Until I was about 12. The abuse stopped.
I remember the day it stopped. I remember sitting in his doorway topless halfway hoping something would happen. (I don't know why I wanted something to happen. I always have feelings of guilt because of it. I also feel guilty because it felt good. Isn't that sick?) All he said was,"We don't have enough time". I, again, was belittled. So, from that moment on I decided nothing would ever happen again. I have a sneaking suscpision that he decided that too. But, at this point I don't care what he thought.
Ever since that day, there has been an erie silence in the house. My brother withdrew, and only came home to eat, sleep, dress, or play videogames (which he always did in his room). I never really spoke to him much, and if I did, it was almost always a yell. Then, one day, I get the news that he joined the Navy. Finally, I'll get the whole house to myself, and I can have my parents all to myself too. It was one of the happiest days of my life.
Over the next 3 years, I barely saw or spoke to him. My parents, still knowing nothing, kept in touch with him. But I tried to distance myself from him as much as possible. It was great, and I had my secret under lock and key...until one of my best friends told me she had been raped back home. All of the sudden I found myself blurting out the words I'd wanted so badly to say for so long...my brother molested me.
A few months later I told my closest best friend...well actually that time I found it harder to say, so I wrote it down on a sheet of paper. After a long talk with her, I shoved it into my pocket and forgot about it. A few days later, I went out and got high with my friends, came home, and went to my room. A few minutes later, my mother comes in with my jeans, and a note she'd found in the wash. I had to tell her. I mean imagine telling your mother that her son had sexually molested, beaten, and tormented you for years right under her nose...now imagine doing it and being high. That was a night I'd never want to relive.
A year past, and I heard very few words about therapy. It had been mentioned, but no action had been taken. I felt as though my mother didn't want me to deal with it. I felt she just wanted to sweep it under the rug and forget. I graduated from high school, and started my first summer as a graduate with my ex-boyfriend. Life seemed great until one night I was with my ex and he was pressuring me for sex. Normally, it wouldn't have been a problem, but I was on my period, and didn't want to. But, eventually I gave in and began having sex with him in the back of my car. After about an hour or so, I couldn't take the pain anymore. A. I was on my period so my muscles were tense. B. He was unusually endowed in that area. I asked him to stop and he said,"But, I'm almost there"...so I let him continue for a few more minutes. Then, he started ramming really hard, and I couldn't take it anymore. I begged him to stop, and I began to slap his shoulders with my fists yelling out stop stop, please stop. Finally, he pulled away, and I just curled up into a little ball and cried my eyes out. After an hour of listening to him apologise, We drove to a gas station where his cousin picked him up. I looked down at my hands and they were covered in blood. I just began to sob even more. I ran straight to my friends house. I told myself that I just needed a cigarette, but I think I went there for protection and support. They could tell something was wrong. After I relayed the story to them, they banned him from the house, blurted out "rape" and I went home. I just sat in my car staring at my hands for like 20 minutes. Then, my best friends drove up out of nowhere and helped me inside. If it wasn't for them, I'd still be in the car.
I broke it off with him finally, and haven't really talked to him much since. Aside from that night, life was pretty good. My brother was still out and away in a far off country, and I had my friends and dance to concentrate on. I started college in the fall and met my current boyfriend who is absolutly fabulous! He's the best!! He is so understanding and helpful and insightful, and wonderful!! I'm so in love with him, and he's in love with me. (We have now been together for almost 6 months.)
All was well in my life. Until my brother moved back home. Then all went to shit. It seemed that that black cloud that had hovered over my home for years reappeared and my wonderful, happy life turned upside down. My father says that my brother is making a real effort to treat me differently. The only things he's done is offer me a cookie or a donut. That's pretty much it. Yea dad, real big effort!!
I try not to be at home as much as possible, but that just pisses my parents off and creates more tension. They want me home more.
About a month ago, my mother and I sat my father down and told him. All he had to say about it was,"Well, we always thought he'd been molested when he was young." He always has to think of someway to make David seem like the right one. Oh he's a victim too so that makes it alright. What about me?? That's what I want to know. What about my feelings? I didn't go out and molest anyone. And I of all people have the most chances. I teach little girls and boys to dance, and I used to work at Chuck E Cheese. I used to babysit all the time. But never once did I ever, EVER touch any one of those children!! Aren't I in the right?
So anyways, I quit school and am currently trying to find a full time job that will pay me well. I am planning on moving into an apartment with two of my friends from school, and possibly my boyfriend as well. I really need to get a job that will pay me enough to move out, and money for rent, and bills, and food, and other expenditures, and still save up enough money to move out to Los Angelos by next year. I want to pursue a dancing career out there. I am finally in therapy, and am working through all this shit.
My parents told me that I have to make up with my brother before I move out. I mean is that supposed to be an ultimatum? I don't understand why I have to make up with him just because he offered me a donut. I hate the bastard, and can't wait for moving day!
So there's my story. I hope that it didn't upset anyone too much. I know how triggering it can be to listen to someone else's story. I know because the first time I visited Welcome to Barbados, I collapsed on the floor because I was so overcome with emotion that I couldn't stop shaking. I hope that whoever reads this can find hope to go on with their healing process and not let anyone or anything keep them from their dream. That's what I'm trying to do, and it's hard. But, I am determined not to let the doings of my sick and demented brother ruin my dream. May everyone finally find peace and happiness. I have nothing but love for you all. Thanks for reading all of this...
Kelsie
During all this time, I attended church with my Aunt, Uncle and these cousins. Everytime they would ask for people to come forward to be prayed for, my cousin or uncle would lean down and tell me "I" should go and ask for forgiveness for what I did. They had me believing for a very long time that it was my fault. This had a major impact on future relationships because I felt as though any guy that would give me attention must love me, and I ended up in 3 very bad, very abusive marriages and one very abusive relationship. My first husband beat me for 17 yrs, and then moved his girlfriend and her three kids into our house and asked for a divorce because " She reminds me of how you used to be". My second was very verbally abusive, and my third was/is a child molester that tried to get me involved in molesting a family friend's 7 year old daughter. Even after I'd told him my history and how badly it had affected me.
I finally found a good, understanding, patient man that holds me while I cry and try to work through feelings that sometimes come upon me suddenly. I've been through a year of counseling, and I try to remember that it was NOT my fault, but the old feelings and lack of self esteem are very difficult to forget. I still expect my husband to blow up at me, or hit me, or who knows what... when I make a mistake.
Thank you for this site and for letting me get some of this off my mind. I will be checking back here often.
Linda
ICQ#: 29610430
after thye left i dont know how long i layed there curled into a fetal postion...i dont remember getting back to my dorm but i remember crawling into the hottest shower i could take to rid myself of hem. I told the school i fell down the stairs. i had 2 broken ribs, a broken jaw, and a broken nose. several weeks went by and i found out i was pregnagnt ...i will never forget the pain in my parents eyes as they proceeded to tell me it was my fault and i was such a slut....then they sent me to a counselor who said i put myself into that position ...ei: my fault. thank you for allowing me to write this. i have never told anyone the whoole story before.
sometimes i wonder how i could have done this to myself and that i must be a horrible person. i know that is irrational but i cant help feeling like it WAS my fault.all i know is maybe the nightmares will lessen just a bit..hopefulley they wont get worse
