I have been raped twice and it was by two different people. Just as I thought I was getting over the first rape it happened again. I thought that I was finally starting to be OK. I thought that I was finally starting to trust again, and then one night while hanging out with a friend and his roommate I was drugged and raped by the roommate. The first guy who raped me was someone that I thought that I loved. We had been dating for almost a year and we were sexually active. That is no excuse however. I continued to date him after that because i couldn't admit to my self what had actually happened. I didn't actually admit to myself what had happened till about eight months later. By then I was dating the greatest guy in the world. The first time I cried about it was on Valentines Day when I told the guy I was dating. Now that I am starting from square one again I want the greatest guy in the world close by. He is now my best friend but he is 2000 miles away. Someti! mes I think that I am doing OK, and other times I feel like I am falling apart inside. I wish this was as easy as getting rid of the flu or healing a scar from something. At time I think that I just want to pack up and move away. Maybe if no one knew who I was then I could start over and the pain would go away. If I could just get a fresh start then everything would be ok. I know that wouldn't help anything. All the pain would still be inside me, and i would really be alone. I just want someone to hold me and tell me that everything is going to get better soon. I just want someone to hold me.
 


I am one of the one in four women who has been or will be raped. It happened 20 years ago, and these 20 years later I am whole. Now, when I read the stories of the young ones here, I feel like a raging mother who wants to scrape her fingernails down the faces of the boys and men who took what never belonged to them. If I can't punish each them, I CAN call out to the survivors here and tell each of you, you will find your way.

Here is my story.

Twenty years ago on a summer's day I was in downtown Los Angeles visiting employment agencies. My long red hair was curled and flying around my shoulders. I shashayed down the hot sidewalks confident I made a good impression. A good job was right around the corner.

At mid-afternoon I returned to my apartment in a *safe* part of the city. My boyfriend, Jim, was still sleeping. He worked as a waiter at a restaurant in Beverly Hills and that day was his day off and a chance to catch up on some well needed rest. As I entered my apartment I glanced outside for a moment. I saw two men exiting a small red car and running across the street towards our apartment building. I thought nothing of it.

I didn't lock my apartment door that afternoon. My roomate and I left it open lots of times. We lived in an orthodox Jewish neighborhood full of families, well-kept two-story duplexes, sunny yards and lazing cats. On this beautiful afternoon I walked to my back bedroom, kissed my boyfriend, and slipped into the walk-in closet to change clothes. I'd just gotten into a kimono bathrobe and was knotting the belt around my waist when I saw two men charging towards me. In a split second one of the men was in front of me with a long screwdriver pointed at my face. The second man was at the side of the bed. He held a small black revolver against my boyfriend's head.

"Give us the money!" the man with the screwdriver screamed at me as he dragged me out of the closet and pushed me onto the bed next to Jim. "We don't have any money," Jim said. I repeated that we didn't have any money. The man with the screwdriver was the leader and began to curse and threaten to shove it up my nose. "Tie them up!" he directed the other man. With the revolver in his right hand, the shorter, fatter man pulled our 25 foot phone cord out of the wall and tied my boyfriend's hands behind his back. The taller man with the screwdriver tied my hands behind my back with the belt of my kimono. The kimono fell open and I was half exposed, but the knot felt oddly loose and I knew I could untie myself easily. I didn't. I was afraid of the gun now back against Jim's temple. Next they blindfolded both of us with scarves. "Please don't hurt us," I pleaded. "We don't have any money." The leader didn't believe us. He told us we were lying and that he was going to kill us. "I think we should kill them," he told his partner. "Don't you think we should kill them?", he taunted. I was deathly afraid. I began to murmer, like a wounded child, low and in utter fear. "Jim," I said, "I'm afraid." I kept repeating the same words, waiting for the gun to go off. I didn't know if I was more afraid of witnessing my friend's death or of dying myself. All I could do was murmer, in this small, child's voice, "Jim, I'm afraid. Jim, I'm afraid. Jim, I'm afraid." I felt like an utter coward.

The leader told us he knew we had "household money" and that if we didn't give it to him he would kill us. Suddenly I remembered my roommate's gold jewelry. She kept it in a box in her bedroom. "Wait," I said. "We have gold here. I'll show you." "You bet you'll show me," the leader spit. He dragged me from the bed and pushed me down the hallway. "Take me to where you have the gold, you bitch!"

I showed him my roommate's jewelry and prayed they'd leave. The leader had taken the gun from his partner. Now he put it next to my head and pushed me into a seated position on my roomate's bed. Keeping the gun next to my temple he sank to his knees and pulled the kimono open. He began to bite my breasts. Oh, I thought to myself in an oddly dispassionate voice, now I'm going to be raped.

At the time this happened to me I was volunteering as a rape crisis counselor at Cedars Sinai hospital in Los Angeles. I had already counseled close to 20 women on the aftermath of rape. Mostly I just listened to their stories because I knew that counseling wasn't really what happened in that little grey and blue modular office. It was really a place where women could tell it. And someone would listen. Someone would hold their hand while they shook and moaned. I was that someone. So while the rape proceeded a part of me was already beginning to counsel myself. There was a coach somewhere inside of my head that said you can get through this. While the gun against your head can kill you, this indignity, this pain, this humiliation, can not.

The birds sang outside the window that afternoon. Dogs barked in the distance. A soft breeze blew the curtains across the room. While the counselor inside my head said comforting words, another part of me wondered if Jim was still alive. What was happening to him? Would I be killed? Slowly I felt the gun slide away from my temple. The rapist was lost in his own fantasies. I began to test whether I could push him away. He had me on my stomach and was sodomizing me. With my hands tied behind my back I pushed a little bit. He didn't become violent. I pushed a bit more, just enough to test him. Somehow I knew that although I couldn't make him stop, by his tolerating even a little bit of resistance he wasn't going to kill us. In that moment of knowing, I got a little bit stronger.

His partner had been standing in the doorway watching. Now the rapist told his partner "to take his turn." I was flipped back over onto my back with my legs dragged down so they dangled off the bed. The first rapist forced opened my legs and urged his partner on, but the man ejaculated on to my thigh almost as soon as he stepped between my legs. How exciting this piece of work must have been to him.

Suddenly it was over. "Don't move for 10 minutes!" the leader spit and they ran out the front door. I sat up and waited a few seconds. The blindfold had slipped long ago so I'd been able to partially see for most of all of it. I looked out from underneath the blindfold down the hallway and didn't see them. The apartment was absolutely silent, except for the singing birds outside the window. I leapt up and ran to the window and screamed "Fire!".

Because I knew no one would come if I screamed "Rape".

I ran to Jim's side. He was o.k. "They hurt you," he said. "Yes," I replied. But I was in a daze. I knew we had to call the police. I knew I had to go to the hospital to be swabbed for semen. It all felt like a dream, but I dialed 911.

When the police came a male officer began to take our stories. When it came to the rape they wanted me to be specific. I sat on the same bed still in the kimono and recited the story. When it came to the sex the officer pushed for the details. I was angry. I felt humilated all over again. But I spit out what had happened to the strangers crowded around my apartment. Then the hospital. Then back to the police department for more questioning. Then home.

Then I cried. I started crying that night and I didn't stop crying for two weeks. I would go to my boyfriend's restaurant during the day and hide myself in the staff's rest room. I'd curl up on a couch and cry. I went to Cedars Sinai and talked with a rape crisis counselor and cried. I couldn't understand why I couldn't pull myself together. I was trained as a rape crisis counselor myself, for god's sake!

We decided to leave Los Angeles. I thought if I left an urban area I could leave the pain behind. We moved to a small town in Connecticut. I began to explore the area, but we had a stick shift car. Although I'd learned to drive on a stick shift, suddenly I was afraid that if I got stuck on a hill I wouldn't be able to control the car and I'd slide backwards and hit somebody. Next I discovered I couldn't drive over bridges. A few weeks after that I was afraid to drive on the expressway.

Although we were sexually loving, my relationship with my boyfriend deteriorated. Within four months of the rape/robbery I had a miscarriage. I hadn't known I was pregnant and I was taken, hemmoraging, by ambulance to the hospital. Three weeks later I received a phone call from my parents in San Francisco. My 23 year old sister had been killed in an automobile accident I flew out to the coast for the funeral. When I returned, my boyfriend told me he could not go on with the relationship. Within 24 hours I returned to my parent's house in San Francisco. I was 32 years old.

That summer I worked at an office job during the day and began writing the great American novel at night. I prayed and meditated and worked. I called very few friends, and when I did I didn't talk about the rape. If anything, I was obsessed with the breakup with my boyfriend. I focused on having a broken heart. I slept very little and ate even less. I was consumed with work which I believed would allow me to heal, if I just worked hard enough. Still, a little voice in my head would go off every once in awhile. "You didn't lock the door."

That fall I had my first panic attack. Full-blown and terrifying, I demanded to be taken to an emergency room. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Nothing was wrong.

I spent three months visiting doctors. I had hundreds of dollars worth of tests. I was convinced something was "bad in my blood." Nothing was wrong.

Finally, in fear of losing my mind, I found a psychiatrist. I wanted someone who could commit me. AND get me back out.

In nine months of therapy, here is what I learned: after such experiences some people suffer from something called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It doesn't matter how strong you think you are, or how strong you think you SHOULD be - some experiences are more than anyone can handle alone. You have to tell your story.

There are lots of different parts of you that get tied up in a ball with the story of the rape(s). You have to take as long as it takes to unravel the whole ball. Sometimes you pick through the ends of the threads and get very far away from the trauma, only to discover as you trace the thread back that the trauma is mixed up with lots of ideas you had about yourself and about life before and after the trauma itself. It's painful and frightening to look for yourself down dark hallways of fear and delusion. My personal delusion was that I was too strong to be effected by something like this. I had to break into a million crazy pieces before I could heal. And my healing wasn't finished in that nine months.

In fact, it's still taking place. That's why I came to Welcome to Barbados when I learned about it on 20/20. I'm saddened by the stories here. I look for God in a world where the littlest among us are tormented. Where youth or innocence or safety in the world are trashed in these ways. How can we be safe again? Well, I don't think we'll ever be safe in the same ways we once were ... but we can make a safer world for ourselves, our girlfriends and daughters and neices, our nephews and sons, if we speak out. The rapist is a sick, twisted individual. I was foolish to leave the door unlocked, but I wasn't evil. The rapist is pure evil masquerading in a human body and he deserves to be exposed for what he is. Tell your story in a safe place. Don't stop telling your story! The world needs to know.

God bless Tori Amos for bringing young women to a safe place. God bless each of you who struggles to make a safe place for herself, and for others. Together, we will find what we need.

Jacqueline
 


The friday prior to the air of 20/20, my friend staci called and told me tori would be on the show...i had no clue why, i thought...hmm, her new album...but as i sat and watched all of the other topics being discussed...to my supprise you caught me...from way down. Your story was very close to my experience, but i never thought of it as a big deal, because i was told, by my best friend at the time that " it was my fault"...of course i believed her over myself. It took months until i even thought about it entirely... i had to sit and think, the worse part was trying to fall asleep. I tried telling one person..other than the ones who were there during my traumatic experience, but everytime i tried talking about it, it didn't seem to come out right, so i gave up trying to get help.

It was halloween night...i was doing my little job of passing out candy to the neighborhood kids for a few hours. My friend at the time told me that she was going over to a "homegirls" house so she could see her boyfriend(that she was banned to see)...she wanted me to go, because she knew she was going to be drinking, and she wanted me there, just to be there. I wen't inside, told my mom i was staying at HER house, but instead...we were going out to party. Later on our ride showed up...we had them meet us a couple blocks from my house...so our parents wouldn't know...in the car there were 3 guys already in there so we had to pile in on top of them. Thing is...they were all in a GANG, see i did'nt really fit into there "thuggish style"...but we went to a girls house..people were already there and drunk...I decided to go ahead...and i had alot to drink. New thing i know, some guy tells me i needed fresh air so he took me in the yard, and then he threw me on the ground...i couldn't see at all, i could just see movement...my ears were ringing, and everything was in show motion, like a dream. Then i felt hands everywhere, i could here voices of more than one person. I tried standing up and i fell back down again...then all that would come out of my mouth was"QUIT", i felt a very tight grip around my neck, and ankles then i tred to see, but my eyes couldn't open any further.

It took alot of time for me to realized i was being raped, i mean i couldn't even think at all,i didn't know where i was, who the people were, and i felt alot of un familiar feelings. I remember calling my friend, but she was nowhere around...then it was over, i layed there for a while..i just remember some other guy walking around...i tried to speak but i choked on my words. He pulled me up and said, here are your pants, and your keys, and i cant find your underwear but we'll look for them in the morning...he walked me inside...i ran ito walls, and people and then i hit the floor. I woke up the next morning and the first word out of a girls mouth was "WHORE", i still did not even know what happened to me. I went up tp her bathroom, caught a glimpse of myself...my hair was ratted up, i head blood all over my clothes, and i smelt really horrible. My friend at the time came to me and i started crying she sobbed w/ me but the she said " you weren't raped, it was your fault, if you ever tell anyone they will come after you"...that scared me...coming from my friend, but really she was trying to cover herself. I had to go to work that morning...i went looking almost exactly the same as i did, and the next day, and weeks after...all i could see was what i first saw the morning after.

I lost that friend...after that, when i called her up and brought up HALLOWEEN. I never once spoke of it, untill i tried once, to a gay guy i know, but it didn't come out right...and i feel what i just told you sounds just as bad.

Panzi
 


I was 16 when I got raped. It was grad party and there was more then 800 people there. I had had a couple drinks and was feeling intoxicated. It was about 4:00am and I decided to go home. My parents were also out of town , so I didn't care if I was drunk or not. My older brother's friends were there and offered to take me home. I knew them and trusted them so I didn't feel the need to worry. We got home and I knew 2 of the guys but, the other 2 I didn't know. It was almost 5:00am now and they decided to leave. I said my goodbyes and ran up to bed. I left all my clothes on and just totally passed out. Next thing I see is a figure standing in the doorway. He was 21 and I didn't know him at all. He seemed to be drunk and baked too. He then raped me three times after that. I tried to tell him no, and that I was a virgin and I didn't want to do anything and he pretended to listen. He had a tight grip on my arms, and I was so weak that I just couldn't yell loud enough or for him to listen. He left me, and then I got up and saw a note on the floor that said I'm sorry call me, and he left his phone number. It was so emotionally destructing because I totally treasured my virginity, and it was something I really believed in. It happened ten months ago and I still think about it everyday. My parents wanted me to bring it to court but I don't think I could have handled it. I still have to go for AIDS tests every four months. He had been with a lot of girls prior to me. So here I am now, slowly recovering. But things have brightened up for me. I just recently opened my own snowboard clothing shop, and I am on a winning cheerleading team, and I have a wonderful boyfriend who has been there for me throughout it all. I wish all the luck to everyone who has to deal with this and feel free to e-mail me. Talking gets us through it.

Meaghan
 


When I was 5 years old I was sexually molested by my oldest brother until i was 10. I couldn't live with the fact that I was molested, so i told my closest friend. She told me to go to our school counsellor for help. At first I didn't, but then I thought what do I have to lose.

I seeked help from my school counsellor, but she said I know a better person you could go see. That counsellor helped me for awhile, I told my mom what happened and she said she was going to confront my borther, she never did and still hasn't. The counsellor I was with said she couldn't counsell me anymore and I landed up at "Childline". The next counsellor I had also left and I gave up with counselling, at that time I got so depressed that I tried to commit suicide. After that I thought the only way I'm going to make it is if I do something for myself and I confronted my brother, and my life seems to be finally on the right track.

Jessica
 


My story........... I thought it would be so easy, just type it up and send it out and that would be it. But my first attempt was thwarted by our server, so here I go again. This is harder than I thought it would be. I remember the day so well, like it was yesterday, but the details are fuzzy. Sometimes I am glad that I can't remember it all, other times I wish I could face it and put it behind me. I was 8 years old and playing outside with my sister when he called to me. My neighbor from across the street. He was my grandparents age and friends with them, so my family trusted him. They shouldn't have. Anyway, he called me over to his house and said he wanted to show me something. He took me to his bedroom and started touching me, he also made me touch him. He forced me to have oral sex with him. Somehow, I tried to pick up the phone by the bed and he got mad and through it on the floor. He tied me to his bed with his wifes clothes and was on top of me. I don't remember actual! penetration but I feel sure that he did because I was bleeding afterwards. I kicked at him and got away, he told me not to tell, but I did. My friend was outside playing and I told him what happened. Then I went home. My parents found out several months later after the story had been told by the kids in the neighborhood to their parents and the parents talked among themselves. My mother said we should talk. She asked what I had done, what was I wearing....... stupid questions. I was so hurt and confused. Of course nothing happened to him, and I had to grow up across the street from him for the rest of my life. There is more to my story, there always is, but I don't want to get into it now. As for me, I am going to be 30 in August. My attacker is dead!!!!! I am married to a wonderful man and we have a 2 year old daughter. My life is good most of the time and I rarely think of the rape. I have been in therapy since last October with a great lady who has helped me so much. Well, that is about all I can deal with at the moment. I love you all and wish you healing and peace. Be well.

Tara-Gemsong
 


My tale is different, and different as it may seem happened. And still it comes from a young compared to all the rest, but still i feel the pain. I had known this boy for about a year, and i knew him online. I never actually met him but i felt as if i was connected to him as a soul mate. We both loved Star Wars, and often acted it out, roleplaying and things like that. I trusted him, I found myself even loving him. But it was stronger than i ever thought I could love someone. Like the movie "You've got Mail" well, here we go, things like that do happen! But they are abbused, and thats what happened to me. I told him alot of personal stuff about myself, and I know this sounds awkward probably, but in a way, he raped me, more verbally though. It felt so much like it was real, and I still lays on me like a heavy wall never broken off. He said so many things that affected me more than I could say. Your not yourslef anymore. You no longer have that freedom that you know, someone has taken over you and just forced you to the point of total uncomfortableness...it's not like anything else, it's sword stabbed at the soul, and Tori has been my chicken soup, but as have others i love, and all pages like this one...and just talking about it helps. This is hardly the worse case...but I feel like it was more, I know what happened, and I know how i felt, and I feel as if I can speak. Many have voices but they can choose if they want to use them or not.....I found a new loving with Tori...and all her faeries, and friends...i love them all.

Rhia
 


 


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