Firstly, let me say thank-you to Shannon and Heidi for starting this
web page. And to all of the women, NOT girls, WOMEN (no matter what age
we are, I think at this point being called a 'girl' is an
understatement.) who have been willing to share your stories. It is because of you
that I'm writing this now after so many years...but bear with me. I
haven't even BEGUN to heal from everything...thus, it's extremely difficult
to type, much less think about.
I suppose I should start not from the beginning, but from before hand.
My life hasn't ever been exactly pleasent or peachy like some see on
t.v shows where everything is always perfect. From about the time I was
around three or so, I'm not really sure how old I was, my mother
verbally and physically abused me. It wasn't what some people would call all
that bad--yelling and getting slapped every once in awhile. But that
gradually escalated as I got older. Maybe she did it because of the
alcohol she always consumed, I don't know. The point is that I can remember
her screaming at me, raising her then huge hand hitting me, telling me I
would never amount to anything.
It got much worse during my parents' divorce and my dad's absence. I
guess she felt awful because my father cheated on her and she needed to
take it out on something. Unfortunately, that something was me. I can't
even count the times I laid awake at night crying after she beat me,
wondering why she did what she did and said what she said. I pleaded with
God to make her stop, even promising to become a nun if she quit. But
she never stopped. Instead, I was denined the love that mothers are
supposed to give their children. I don't think I ever had it in the first
place. She never laid a hand on my older brother only me. I never told
anyone, not my father (whom I saw only maybe once a month), my brother,
anyone else in my family, no one. I couldn't. I was too afraid. Deathly
afraid. My mother on more than one occasion audibly told me she would
kill me if I breathed a word to anyone. The rest of the time it was
simply understood by her actions. And I can assure anyone who reads t!
his, it was not an empty threat. She meant it.
I hid my bruises that I got with makeup and prayed that no one would
find out. Most of them were in places my clothes covered. She never hit
in the face area too hard too often. It leaves too many unanswered
questions. She liked to go for the back for some reason. To this day, I
still have back problems and days when I can't move without hurting. I had
to (and still do sometimes) take a lot of pain killers to ease the pain
from her attacks. Needless to say, I had absolutely no self-esteem,
respect, or worth and believed every negative thing my mother told me to
be true. Why would she treat me that way if I was nothing but a
useless, evil little girl just like she said, right?
A little while after the divorce, I think a year or so, I was eight, we
were in a local bar and I met Jessica. Apparently, her father put
alcohol before his children as well. We talked and she gave me her phone
number. Both adults were too drunk to notice us. I started to hang out
with Jessica and her older brother at parties and eventually ended up in
a gang with people whom I still consider my family. My mother never
noticed anything was going on due to the fact she was passed out most of
the time. Because I was the youngest member at the time, I was
nick-named Lil' Sis. I grew especially close with two members, twins, Tony and
Tonya. They treated me as a younger sister in every way possible and
loved me for ME. Each of us became the one family we never had.
We did all of the things gangs do: fought, stole, did drugs, (I just
smoked cigarettes at times) the whole nine yards. But we loved eachother,
as strange as that might sound.
One night shortly after my ninth birthday they were all out on a run to
get money that was owed to them by a supposed group of friends. Tony
said that they would meet me when they were finished. There was really no
need for me to go, and it was only a little ways down the street. So I
waited and went for a little walk to take up time.
I didn't notice someone was following me until it was too late. I tried
to outrun the man, but he caught up with me in seconds. He put a knife
to my throat and told me not to say a single word. He didn't have to
say what would happen if I didn't I knew all too well. He forced me to
walk with him sometimes kicking my feet to make me fall when I tried to
stop. We ended up in an old abandoned building right near where I first
began my walk. I kept getting more and more terrified and prayed he
would take my money and leave me alone. But it didn't work out that way.
I almost succeeded in getting away when he stopped to remove the knife
for some reason. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me into the heart
of the building. I couldn't see anything, it was so black. I figured
that if tried to follow me, he'd get lost and I could sneak out the door.
But he probably thought of that because when I got near the doorway to
my freedom, he grabbed me. I fell flat on my back and couldn't breath
the pain hurt so bad. He started kicking me in the stomach and the back
repeatedly as if he knew those were my weakest points on my body. I
cried and begged him to leave me ALONE! and that he could take my money,
everything I had if he would just leave me AOLNE. He just laughed a
wicked little laugh and said, "I don't think so, you little bitch. Not
this time." It was then that I got a good look at his face and saw he was
in his mid-twenties or so.
He pinned me down to the ground with his body over mine and brought out
the knife again and put it to my throat. This time he cut me and told
me he would slit my throat from ear to ear if I tried anything funny. I
was never so scared in my life. He started kissing me, putting his
tongue in my mouth, making me choke until I couldn't breathe. He took off
my pants I was wearing, then my underwear and began to fondle me with
his fingers first on the outside of me then on the inside. All I could
do was close my eyes and try and pretend that it was a dream, that it
wasn't really happening. That hope shattered when he unzipped his pants
and ruthlessly tore into me, ripping my isides apart. I felt like I was
going to die as though I was being lit on fire and left to burn. The
more I cried from the pain he was causing, the more he enjoyed raping me
and the more vicious he became. He laughed when he saw all of the blood
pouring out of me. I found whatever I had left of my voice and co!
urage and let out the loudest shriek I possibly could.
Instead of him slitting my throat like he stated he would, he punched
me in the mouth, knocking out two of my teeth, one of which I accidently
swallowed. My mouth filled with the familiar taste of blood and I had
to fight vomiting because of how much went down my throat. Somehow
Tony heard my screams and ran into the building, tearing the man off of
me. He hit Tony and tried to lunge at me with his knife in his hand. Tony
shot him just as he was about to stab me. He landed right next to me
with pieces of his skull and brain on me. Tony picked me up and ran as
fast as he could the house. I hurt virtually everywhere on my body,
there wasn't a single place not injured. I couldn't stop crying and
screamed when anyone besides Tonya came near me. She gave me heavy
tranquilizers and stayed with me. Some time during the night, I got up and broke
all of the mirrors in the house (I don't really remember much about it)
while they were asleep.
When I went home and my mom noticed my "unbecoming behavior" she told
me to stop and that I had nothing to be sad about and no reason to cry.
I couldn't tell her. She would say it was my fault. And it was what I
deserved.
A second attack followed the first two years later. Once again I was
alone. But before the guy could actually rape me, I managed to shoot and
kill him. I spit on him and walked away, feeling just as viloated as
two years ago, even more because it happened a second time and I felt
like something had to be wrong with me. After the inital shock wore off, I
was completely beside myself and once I realized I murdered my
attacker, I went off the deep end. I attempted suicide twice. Each time
intercepted by my friends. I didn't want to live anymore, I couldn't accept
what I had done.
Now, I'm living without my "family". Tony was killed out of hatered and
spite on March 29, 2000, my goddaughter Kia (Tonya's daughter) was
killed by an enemy gang on June 7, 2000 at five years old, and Tonya,
Jessica, Rachel (other friend), and Jerry (Kya's father) died trying to
avenge Kia's death on June 26, 2000. I would have been along with them, but
I later found out that they didn't want me along with them. (I had
gotten out of gang life when I was twelve and moved in with my dad. We
still hung out together occasionally, but gang life was out.) I found out
that they wanted it that way because they wanted something better for me
instead of that. They thought I was someone special, that I was
different and shouldn't waste my life. A big part of me still feels that I
should have been there with them, along side them ready to fight and die
for my little Kya. I wanted to. On the other hand, I don't know if I
could kill another person... So I still continue to hurt from that, as well.
I've had everything taken away from me by the time I was nine years
old. Now 9 years later at 18 my trust in people is almost non-existent, I
can't look the same way at myself in a mirror anymore and I'm terribly
afraid of men. I never can go to into a room alone with men for fear
that they'll hurt me even though I know intellectually they won't. But
try telling my broken soul, heart and mind that. I still don't feel good
enough for anyone from the years of hell my mom put me through, and
still feel utterly worthless and have no self-confidence more often than
not. I have nightmares, crying and depression spells, and still feel
that somehow it is all my fault. I've become a shell of what I used to be
and could have become. I don't even know how to begin healing the years
of scarring that have built up around my heart there's so much. But
maybe this was a start to becoming a survivor instead of a victim. If it
is, thank you. I'm willing to try.
Sarah
Today I am 17 years old although i still have been affected heaps by
the pain that I too put myself through. It may seem like not much but to
me it was something very painfull and let me say pain full!
When I was only six years old my mother married an emotionless man
after she divorced my father when I was four.
I felt betrayed by my mother as she was the only one that I felt that I
had- I hardly knew my father- mother/ daughter relationship.
Now my mother was sticking up for this stranger and doing what ever he
said... he was always right. I was terrified of him every day when I
woke up and entered another part of the house that wasnt my room I shoock
with fear. This fear came from the feeling of everyone being against
you and being hit for absolutely no reason by a stranger (my stepfather)
and your own "loving" mother. Every time that he would walk past me he
would hit me, punch me, give me an evil grin( the one that says I have
all power over you you cant run your mummy wont save you).
One day when I had had a happy day at school, I arrived home with
little fear in my eyes. The only person that was home was my stepfather. He
sat on the coach as if he was waiting for me.
He told me to take a shower and come back to him. I took a shower
feeling excited as I thought that we were all going to go out somewhere(
which was rare). I came out all nice and clean( this makes me feel naseous
remembering). He waved me over to him and told me to sit on his lap. I
did as I was told not entirely trustng his next move (my hands wont
stop shaking as I write this- I guess I didnt really know how much it has
effected me). Then he put his hands down my pants and started to feel
me. I felt exposed and afraid..I didnt know what to do I wanted him to
stop but the words didnt come out I just sat there in fear- waitng for
him to dismiss me.
I dont remember if he ever did it again but he just pretended that
nothing happened. And that it was normal. I felt stupid and vulnerable. I
couldnt trust anyone any more especially males.
I had to live in the same house as both my molestering step father and
my carless mother for 2 years- feeling every moment of those days fear.
Every night I would have nightmares of ghosts, someone running after
me, a giant wanting to kill me and me wanting to hide form him. It makes
me cry to even think that I experienced all that!!
When I was eight nine my father took me away because I became
incredibly sick. This was one of the most relieving and hardest thing i have
ever done. To be leaving the two people who didnt care a bit about me was
relief but It was hard to try and trust my own father about not doing
the same as what my step did to me.
Now I am still living with my father but it has taken us almost 9 years
to develope a trusting and happy relationship. Throught my child I also
experienced a lot of pain due to me feeling worthless and feeling alone
and abused. Only in the last 2 years have I started to get my life
back- not really back but- on track.
Even now I still feel that people can never understand me or visualise
what Ive been through and it makes me feel sad. Sometimes i even avoid
them when I need help to avoid being rejected or not understood-
actually my whole life Ive been doing that.
I feel better letting all that out it makes me understand more about
what I went through and how much I have improved:)
"Hannah"
I know a lot of people have have started out their stories by saying
how old they were when they were molested, but the wierd thing is that I
honestly can't remember how old I was. I suppose I must have been 8 or
9, but I don't know which. Anyway, the person who molested me was my
cousin, who is 4 years older than I am.
He started the whole thing slowly. It was the wierdest thing. He used
to approach me wearing these tight boxers and tell me to look at him or
ask me to "kick him in the weiner". He told me that it was all part of
some bet with one of his friends and that if I did what he asked he
would give me $300. You have to understand that at that age, $300 was a
monumental amount of money. I didn't know what prostitution was or why
it was wrong. All I could think was that $300 would be enough money to
buy the doll I had been saving up money for.
Anyway, I never suspected that things would escalate the way they did
and when they did I was terrified. I had seen him beat up his sister
until she was literally black and blue and I was afraid he might do the
same to me if I changed my mind about "helping" him win his bet. So I
did what he told me to.
He never actually raped me, but he had me do a lot of things that a kid
that age should never have to do. I remember one time in his basement,
he lay on top of me on a couch and made me touch him until he had an
erection. Then he made me jerk him off until he ejaculated. The whole
time I wanted to stop, but I was so scared.
Another time, he brought me into the bathroom at my aunt's house and
told me to let him put his hand down my pants. I must I have said no at
least 10 times before I finally gave in. He was always so persistent,
reminding me of all the money that I would be getting.
Anyway, the whole thing lasted for about two years. To this day (I'm
16 now), I don't understand what the bet was or if it even existed. I
do know that about two years after the whole thing started, he offered
to give me the money he promised and I refused to take it. I had this
feeling that the money was dirty and I was even dirtier.
I still don't really believe that what happened wasn't my fault. I've
read many of the other stories, and most people were physically forced
to have sex. I had a choice to make, and I made the wrong one. I feel
so selfish that the whole thing upsets me so much when other people's
situations are so much worse than mine. But I can't ignore the
flashbacks and the fact that I've broken up with every guy I've ever gone out
with before he could get close to me. I just don't know what to think
anymore.
Jordan
Try to close your eyes for a moment and imagine a young girl, eleven
years old. This was me. I was a very young girl, innocent to the world I
had not yet discovered. From what I can remember I had always been the
little girl willing to try new things. I dabbled in some reading,
inventing, singing, ect. In my world, there was always something to do and
somewhere to go. After my rape I had no where to go but inside my own
mind. Hiding my secret from the world for ten years. Only telling who I
must like friends so that I could get through the day without a tear in
my eye. I never really criedmuch about the rape, but I did on the other
hand feel the pain every single day. There was not one single day that
went by when I didin’t remember it. Every time I took a shower I would
look down at the drain and still see the blood washing away. How I
wanted so badly to scoop it up and put it back into my body. But I knew it
was only a dream of mine. I thought to myself, "Why can’t I just go back in time and run away from home?" This way it would never have
happened to me. But that would just leave another girl who ran away. I am
glad to have survived. I do know now that If I would have ran away I
was facing the risk of being raped on the streets, possibly kidnapped and
killed...anything could have happened. I thank God every day for him
giving me the chance to keep going on with life because essentially that is
what is important to me. That I did survive. That I do not call myself
a victim. I use to call myself a victim of rape when I was younger
because I knew I was. But now I see it as only being a victim at the time
of the rape. But ultimately when you live after it is over and done
with, you can proudly say you have survived. Yes I have survived. I
survived the rape of my Step Father when I was eleven years old. It was about
three days before Halloween. I had gotten my costume ready like all the
other little children in our apartment complex. I had some friends who were going to be angels and ghosts, witches and goblins. I had to
make my costume. I thought the color black was neat and decided to be a
dead person because I had absolutely no other idea for my costume.
Well, it was three days before Halloween and I walked into our apartment
from the hot day. My Mother was not there for a few months because my
Step Father put drugs in her purse and she was stopped on the free way by
the police and had to go to jail for a very long time which to me as a
child seemed like an eternity. So I had to stay in this place with
"Him" which was pure torture. I will just get strait to the point. When I
walked into the door, I was wearing my little black dress. It was
actually kind of pleasant that day. The California sun made it very hot
outside but the air conditioner inside was a nice surprise to walk into. I
guess I was out playing with the other kids. My boyfriend/neighbor of I
had just got done becoming blood brothers. We both cut our hands at the palms and rubbed them together. So when I came through the door,
all I wanted was to bandage up a bit. It was just a childish thing. I
saw my Step Father come out of the bathroom and turn in my direction. I
walked up to him to go to the bathroom and wash up. Then I noticed he
was wearing nothing but some see thorough black briefs. His privates
were very visable and very erect but at the time I had no idea what that
meant. I had no idea what sex was or about the anatomy and how it
reacts. So I tried not to pay any attention to it. I thought that maybe he
was just getting comfortable because of the heat. Then he looked at me.
He didin’t touch me at all at this point. He said "Come into the
bathroom, we have to talk about something." I had seen my Mother beaten so
many times by this man that I feared if I would have said no that I might
be beaten as well. He had hit me a few times but I knew if I did
anything wrong it could have gotten even worse. So I went into the bathroom with him. He closed the door behind me and told me, "Your Mom told me
to teach you about sex. You see this, this is a penis and you have a
vagina." He showed "It" to me but I couldin’t look at it. Then he said
something else. "Now, listen to me, I told Athena the same thing when
she was young. I could demonstrate but you can say no if you want, she
said no." Athena was his other daughter. I figured that since she said
no, I had the same right because that is what he said. From this moment I
knew my Mom had nothing to do with this. She wouldin’t ever put me in
danger and she was the protector not the inflicter. So I said "No" and
started to walk away when he said something I will never forget. "Well,
this is what your Mom wants so I have to anyway." I was then pushed up
to the counter next to the sink and my legs were spread. He then
penetrated me about three to five times. It was very painful. I honestly
thought I was dying. I remembered how slow it was. As if he wanted the moment to last longer. I looked over at the curtain at the shower and
craved the shower when It was gonna be over at last. I looked up at the
mirror at myself, but was it really me? I didin’t understand who I was
nor did I recognize my own face. After he was done with me. I felt my
own blood trickle down my leg. I didn’t know what had happen. Infact, I
didin’t actually know for two years. He finished and told me something
else I will never forget. "Don’t tell your Mom, just keep quiet." So
gullible I was to fear the hands of that man. Out of fear that he would
cause me more pain again, I did not tell anyone and even when he was out
of my Mom’s life for good still I was afraid to say anything because I
felt she would not believe me. I got up after he had raped me and I
pulled up my underwear and pulled down my black dress. I had to wash the
blood from the counter with tissue. I flushed it all away down the
toilet. I watched as my first blood has circled around and around and around, down the toilet like it was nothing but waste. I looked at
myself in the mirror and thought about how ugly I was. Now I knew what it
felt like to feel ugly all over. I could barely walk because I felt
bruised from the inside. I felt torn from the outside in. As if he’d turned
me inside out like a dirty pillow case in which you are too lazy to
wash out. This was the first time I had not showered In a week. I didn’t
shower because I didn’t know what to do. Then my Step Father told me one
day a week later that I had to go shower. So I did shower. I showered
it all away. I came out and he smelled my skin. Telling me that I didn’t
use enough soap. So I had to get back into the shower and soap up
again. I remembered how horrible Halloween was. Athena took me trick or
treating. I felt bad in black because I was raped in black but there was
nothing I could do. I was three days fresh of the rape so walking from
place to place was hiddenly sore. I was in so much young pain. The kind of pain that was reaching into the heart and out on the flesh.
Throughout all of this pain I was feeling, all I could think about was one
thing, my Mother. I wanted her to hold me close to her and tell me it
was okay. She always had this Motherly scent to her which I craved so
much. I just wanted to lay in her arms. This was the most devastating
part of my life. So I thought. I had a whole life ahead of me and I soon
realized this. Yes, I have slowly been recovering. I have been through
my share of depression, molestation, masochism, suicidal thoughts. I
guess it comes with the territory. But I believe that through my story and
others like it that I will be able to reach out. It was the basis
around ‘Journey Through Beulah Land’. To share and have others share. This
way we are are in a cirle helping eachother find they’re way through
life’s huge struggle. Because I had such wonderful friends who believed in
me, I believe in others. Because I found Tori Amos when a family member gave me her tape at the age of 15, I found strength through her
music. Through friends, support, Tori Amos and my own will I found the
hope I had longed for. I truly feel that others can have this as well.
Lets seek life together. The more we live, the more we can fight to
progress. Women and Men are raped every day. With the time that it takes
you to brush your teeth, another Woman or Man in America is being raped.
As Tori Amos would say it, it is time to unlock the silence. I
understand this now. That unlocking the silence does not only mean that we
should unlock the silence from within us, but we need to unlock the silence
that allows these rapists to keep doing what they do. By spreading the
word about rapists, creating more safety tips to protect us all we can
eventually put them in jail where they belong and protect ourselves so
that it won’t happen again, or to our children, our nieces and nephews,
sisters, mothers, aunts....whoever. Lets stand together finally. I remember someone saying to me once that there were too many sites our
there dedicated to Rape & Abuse and that one more won’t make any
difference. That only made me want to contribute this site even more. This
isn’t just another rape & abuse survival site. This is my rape & abuse
survivor site. Even if I touch a few hearts, even if I can help to save a
few lives. At least I have done that much. And that is enough to circle
this world over and over until we all know inside that we have the gift
of healing and recovery. It is up to us to chose whether we want to
walk the right path. The path to unlocking the silence. To come out of the
nest, it’s time, as Tori Amos said in the song 'Mother' which was my
hero song. I hope through my word I have reached many. I do not ask to be
praised highly for this. Please know I will be here for you to help you
heal and help you get the right kind of support you need. It was given
to me by so many supporters I have became great friends with. I know it can happen for you. Believe in yourself and anything can
happen. You are my friends.
Love & Support ~Haullie Edina
Journey Through Beulah Land
I am sharing my second story with you all because I feel that it is so
important for me to get it out. I was 16. It was the year 1990. My
parents had just divorced. I was devastated. My mother had become very
abusive with me both verbally and physically. I think she just had so much
anger and hurt inside she had to let it out - and I was the only one
there. My boyfriend.....My savior.....My abuser.....My rapist. Who could
have thought that this boy who loved me so dearly would beat me. He was
smart. Hit me in places where I could hide the bruises easily. He broke
my hand once shoving me into a wall. To this day when I tell the story
I tell it like it was accidental. We were so in love. He was there for
me when my mother beat me - but then after those wounds would heal - he
would beat me. We were having sex - consentual sex. He was trying to
get me pregnant - he was very interested in my period, if I was late,
and refused to wear a condom. He was my first true love. I would have done anything for him. The night I was raped. It was January 16,
1990. I was grounded and he wasn't allowed to come over (bad grades). My
mom went to the movies with a girlfriend. It was about 8:30 I was
folding some laundry in the living room. I heard him knocking on the back
sliding glass door. I went to answer it and said Matt what are you doing
here - I will get in trouble. He knew my mom wasn't home. He came in.
We kissed a little. He started to get more aggressive and I said no -
you have to leave. Mom will be home any minute and she will be pissed. He
was 6'2" about 180lbs. He was a football player - excellent body. I was
5'5" 100lbs. He picked me up and sat me on the kitchen counter (i
forgot to mention that i had worn a skirt that day)he spread my legs open
and moved his body in between them. I said Matt stop it right now - you
have to leave - I don't want to have sex. He smacked me so hard my head
flew back and hit the cabinets. Shut up he said - I could break your neck you know. He undid his pants and went at it. I began to cry and
started pleading with him. Please, please, stop it. I told him that I
loved him and to please stop. He hit me again. I could feel the sting
under my eye and knew it would be black in the morning. He held my wrists
together behind my back with one and put his other around my neck -
cutting off the air - and I couldn't speak. When it was over - when he was
done - he backed away from me, gave me a kiss and said see you at
school tomorrow and left. I ran upstairs and got in the shower. I
immediately went to bed before my mom got home. A few days later I broke down at
school and went home to tell my mom. He beat me home and was telling
her that we had been having consensual sex. I explained to my mother that
he had raped me. She didn't believe me, yelled at me that I better hope
I don't get pregnant and she threw him out (for sex..not rape). Four
years ago in May of 1996 he shot himself in the head - good ridance to bad rubbish. I guess he couldn't live with himself any longer.
H
