He was the love of my mothers life. Later I found out she married him because she thought it would give us kids a better life. I was nine, my two brothers were 2 and 3. I remember the first night very well. I was 11 at this time, and he would wake at 5am every weekday to get ready for work. Our home had hardwood floors, and you could hear his shoes padding along, all the way to my bedroom door. I lay there pretending to sleep, it was a Friday morning. My door made a popping noise as he opened it. I thought maybe he was just checking on all of us before he left. So I lay there silently. He slid closer to the bed, and slowly peeled the covers off of my body. In my soul, I was so frightend, but my body lay there limp as he used his grease stained fingers to carress my body. That morning he only touched my breasts. But there were many more to come. I tried to fall asleep after he left for work, but could only manage maybe an hour. I woke, and took a shower. I felt so dirty. How was I to know at that point that I would never be able to wash that feeling away... I stumbled through school, still confused of wheather it was some sick dream, or even sicker reality. That night my parents went to go see My Fair Lady at the Hult Center. My brothers and I stayed the night at our grandmothers, I said a goodnight prayer, and asked god for to have only been some preverce nightmare. I awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon, not the touches of a sick pig. I knew, I knew that day, it was real. For two more years, this sick game went on. But only grew. He would slide his fingers between my legs, and place his mouth there. And even fondle himself in my bedroom. It went on every weekday morning, and grew to evenings while my mom was at school. One night before bed, he came to my room to kiss my goodnight, and he slid his tongue into my mouth. I pushed him, and he acted as if though it was a mistake. He didn't care anymore if I knew or not. I began wearing more clothes to bed, and placeing things in front of my door. But I didn't want my mom to find out. Before Craig, we had been on welfare, and struggled every day. And I believed this was the love of her life. And if I told, she would be mad at me. And mom would lose her love, and we would all lose the plush life we had never had before. He would even leave my long johns, and panties around my ankles. He knew I knew. That was part of the sick game. We would go on family drives, and my parents would be in conversation, and Craig would say how all sex affenders should have it tattooed on their forehead so everyone would know. I was so confused. How could he say these things, and be doing another? How would my mother ever believe me if I did tell her? I decided I would wait it out, until I was 18. And never return home again. But as I was still to young, I had to bare the evil monsters learching in my room at night. The most evil thing he ever did: I was taking a bath before bed, and my mother was at night school. Craig was in the living room with my two brothers. I came out of the bathroom, and dashed to my room. I was wearing a towel, and I noticed my curtains were still open. So as I proceeded to close them, I saw the most evil, devious eyes lurching in at me. I screamed louder than I have in my whole life. I heard the front door shut, and my brothers ask him what was wrong with me, all he could do was laugh, and all I could do was cry myself to sleep, again.

corissa



after reading most of the stories tonight, i am deeply encouraged to submit a 2 stories of my own.

this is a long one.

i was 12 at the time. walking home with my friend daniel. he was my best and close friend for 12 straight years, since we were babies. our mother's were best friends, and eventually, we became best friends. he came over almost every day, to play games, or just to hangout. i thought i knew him, he was nice, kind, gentle, until that day, the one that changed everything.

we had just seen a video that day, about sex and the pressures and consequences. i thought that it was really serious, and i wanted to save my self for marriage. but while the video was on, i figured that he didn't really care, for he just kept laughing with his guy friends. as we reached my house, i saw that no one was home yet. so i figured that me and daniel would just usually play pool, or watch some tv. "lets play some pool". he said. so i followed unaware of what he was going to do to me. we sat down, and i he told me that he loved me. i was still with shocked, and he told me how he loved me for all these years, and that he wanted to be more than friends. i felt touched (i was 12and stupid!), i felt like this was one of those special moments to cherish. he leaned over and kissed me. i was astonished and i started kissing him back. he started to suck on my neck, i let him, but than he started playing with my chest. i told him to stop and he got up. he went to the door and locked it. he pulled out a knife from his backpack and told me to strip or else he would kill me. i did as i was told, afraid of getting hurt. he took off his pants and i laid on the floor. he sucked on my chest, and he made me perfroms oral sex with him. all that i could think of was the pain and the hurtness of what he was doing to our friendship. he stuck pool objects in me, and i moaned it pain. i tried screaming, but he taped my mouth and told me to shut up. he entered me and raped me for about 3hrs, but seemed like eternity. i was horrified. he finally stopped and told me that if i ever told anyone about it, he would kill me. he went home and i took a long shower. i was crying and bleeding, from bruises and from being hit by daniel.

Alyssa



I am only sec2 and 2 days ago I had to go for the school body check up and the doctor was a male but then when I was in the check up room, I saw all the girls that came out crying and when it was my turn I just went in and he checked my vagina with a stick picereing into it and later he asked me to come back in the afternoon. I did as he said without thinking what will happen. That afternoon I went into the room and he ask me the sit on the bed and I realise that it was water inside. Later he asked me to take off my dress and lay on the bed. I didn't do it and later he said ok never mind but he was going to give a injection and I allowed him to inject me. After a while, I felt drozy and felt a sleep this was when everything happened. He tied me to the bed and later when I woke I, I saw myself tied to the bed and asked him to let me go but he said no and later he took off my skirt and later my blouse and I put my legs as tight together as possible but he force himself through and raped me for 2 hours but as nobody was a round and he lived in the school nobody could hear me. Later after 2 hours it was late afternoon and I asked to let me go but he said no. HE kept me into the night and later he raped me in the night again let his friend to rape me too. After that he let me go but my leg was too numb to walk and later he raped me again and later drove me home but just outside my home he kept kissing me again then let me home and he said that if I told any one about it he would rape and kill me. So until now I kept slient



I'm not too sure I'm in the right place. And the scary thing is, I don't know if I'm only referring to this webpage or to life in general. I can't read most of the stories because it hurts too much. It should be comforting to know I am not alone, but when I see that my story seems so different, I start to shut down. If I AM in the wrong place, I apologize. I must say one thing. . . When I first heard the song "Silent All These Years" by Tori, I heard myself. For so long, I kept what happened to me a secret. I managed to block it all and pretend that nothing bad ever happened. But when I started college in 1994, I began to realize that things weren't right, and the nightmares were actually real. I thought no one would care. When I do research on the web, straining and struggling to find people who have gone through what I have, I come up empty and feeling lost. I still have trouble telling my story. Everything I think about it, I . . . shut down entirely or I start crying like . . . like I don't know, a hurt child? I guess that's what I am. In my mind, I think and believe that what happened to me is a stigma and I shouldn't tell anyone else. It'll disgust them. Just to say that it was my brothers and their friends that hurt me makes me sick to my stomach. They were only 3 and 5 years older than me. I should have been able to do something. But I couldn't. I was born deaf and got my hearing back at 2 1/2, which is when the verbal/psychological/emotional crap started. Seemed everyone was involved in dehumanizing me except for my father. I still haven't told him. It would break his heart. I can't say exactly when "IT" started. I'm fairly sure I was four or five. Back then it was off and on, and I thought it was normal. What did I know? But then at 7 and 8 it started getting worse. It's hard just typing this. I thought I was bad. He told me I was. He used threats of violence to get me to do what he wanted. I knew he'd kill me if I didn't because he had tried to kill me on numerous occasions. I couldn't tell because everyone loved him. He was the wonderful, energetic one, the ray of sunshine. I was the stuttering, lisping freak who hid in closets and rocked back and forth. He let his friends hurt me. He video taped it. How could someone at 12 and thirteen be capable of that much hatred? Then there were the times that nothing happened and he was the super hero, the wonderful big brother. None of this is making sense, is it? I finally told my mother, but only a fraction of what happened. I lied to save her. She still loves him best, but that's okay. It doesn't hurt quite so bad now. She asked if he ever forced himself on me and I didn't answer. A part of me COULD remember, but the other part refused. I couldn't accept what happened. I couldn't reconcile my brother's different personalities as one. To me, the person who . . god . . . raped me when i was 10 was a monster. but when he comes home, i lose it. he tried to do it again when i was 21. he told me i liked it. i am his sister. what the heck is wrong with him? with me? sometimes weeks go past and nothing happens. no memories, no pain and I'm lulled into believing that i have gotten past it. but then, on nights like tonight, i feel alone. dirty. and i want to hurt myself. I guess it's like the song Iris says. . "You bleed just to know you're alive." I hate myself and who I am. I look into a mirror and i only see a monster. i isolate myself. i have friends, but they are few and far between. i think if i ever told them my full story, they'd hate me. i tried to tell my friend once and she said "I don't wanna hear that sh*t, it's disgusting." my other friend said "get over it." on nights like these, i want to curl up and die. i dont know what to do or think. i cant afford therapy. and i cant tell my story. i am an english major, so i use writing. but when i start to write, a panic attack hits. what's even worse is just about every guy i encounter tries something. just last week or two weeks ago, two guys kept grabbing me and making lewd comments. i guess for a normal person they wouldn't get so upset. i freaked out. i just wish i had someone to talk to. my best friend (she is like a sister to me) knows some of what happened. but i can't tell her everything. i dont want her to think less of me. i try to remind myself that i am not to blame. i was only a kid. but that excuse, like me, is worn out and tired. i tried therapy once, but my therapist. . she just wasnt with it. she told me to confront my attackers, to tell my mother that i didnt like HER treatment of me. that is a whole other can of worms i care not to open. crap, i'm rambling and i'm sorry. i hate dumping my problems on people. i hate throwing pity parties. but i hate that i can't seem to move on. it's like i'm a deer paralyzed in the blinding lights of an oncoming car. sometimes i pray for the car to miss me, but mostly i pray it'll hit me.

I'm sorry if i wasted anyone's time. . .

Kelly



I was raped on May 16, 1997. Even though it's been nearly four years, the memory will slam into my brain at the strangest times, and I find myself back in a motel room in Kentucky ...

It was a Friday night. I was just getting ready to go to bed when someone knocked on my door. I cracked it to see this little black guy swaying outside, obviously drunk. I, being the good little AA newbie that I was (four months sober), saw the chance for--aha!--a conversion. Besides, he was about two inches shorter than me, fifty pounds lighter, and extremely drunk, so no fear, right? He said he had seen me at the local AA club, and I went on about how great AA was and how it had helped me. He kept turning the conversation to sex. I kept deflecting him, and we would talk about something else, but then he would get back to sex. After a couple hours, I made a show of yawning and telling him I had to go to bed because I had to go to work early the next morning. He said, "I ain't goin' nowhere." I laughed and said, "C'mon, dude, it's too late for this shit," or something like that, then I walked to the door and opened it. He may have been smashed, but his reflexes were like lightning--he ran to the door, slammed it, locked it, then lifted me off the floor--with one arm. He wrestled me to the floor, and we struggled for a good half hour. I wasn't scared so much as furious--how dare this asshole think I was going to put out for him! I called him every name in the book and screamed until my throat was raw. I guess he realized that I wasn't going to give in, so he upped the ante--he got out a straight razor, held it to my throat, and said, "Don't think I won't cut you, bitch." I went cold, because his eyes were absolutely dead and I had zero doubt that he would slash my throat.

The only thought that went through my head was, "Get out of this any way you can." So I told him that if he wanted it that bad, then he would have to let me up to get some condoms. Surprisingly, he did. I staggered into the bathroom, my legs shaking, and he was right behind me, waving the razor, saying, "Don't try nothin' stupid now, bitch." I again pleaded with him to leave now, if he left now I wouldn't call the cops, all the things a desperate person says to get out of a horrible situation. He just kept saying in that flat voice I hear in my dreams sometimes, "Nope. Nope. Nope." A little of my anger came back, and I said, "Well, if you think I'm going to fuck you willingly while you hold a knife to my throat, you're fucking crazy."

And, wonder of wonders, he folded the razor and put it on the dresser. And I snatched it up and held onto it with a death grip. Then it began--he punched me repeatedly, threw me on the bed, hooked his finger in my mouth and pulled my head to the side, ripped my leggings off, and attempted the deed. He got inside a couple times, but I managed to cross my legs and trap his dick in my thighs. He was so far gone I don't think he knew he wasn't in. Finally he came, and the first words out of his mouth were, "Gimme back my blade." I told him to get out of my room and I would. We went back and forth a few times, and finally he agreed. He left, and I threw the razor after him and slammed the door.

I did call the cops, and they did catch him later that night (strolling down the street, whistling, the cop told me later). He had a string of priors, but none for assault (his crime of choice seemed to be car theft). I went through the exam, and he did plead guilty on the advice of his lawyer--to sexual misconduct, a misdemeanor. South Carolina wanted him on another charge, so he went to jail down there, getting a twelve-month suspended sentence.

I was lucky. My physical injuries consisted of bruises and a cut mouth. My mental injuries, however, took a lot longer. I don't feel guilt or shame. I feel fury--at him, but mostly at myself. What the hell was I thinking, letting some strange drunk in? I should have made an excuse to get the hell out of there and run to the manager's office and gotten them to kick him out. I know in my heart that it was not my fault, but it sucks to be shown you're not the master of your little universe. I have wept, I have raged, but in the end I did win. I have a wonderful life now, with a husband whom I adore and who adores me. I refuse to let this piece of shit and what he did ruin my life. I'd rather be angry than scared.

They win only if you let them.

Patricia



I was raped by a stranger when I was 13 and on the way home from school but never told anyone and carried on as normal. The first person I told was my boyfriend, the one person I thought I could really trust, when I was 18. I naver told him I was raped, I couldn't get the words out so I told him everything else I had been forced to do and left the rape out. Everything was fine until one night when he was drunk and asked me if I wanted to have sex I said no but he did anyway. I didn't fight him off I was just so shocked, he was supposed to love and protect me. He cried when I told him what he had done and said he didn't mean to, that he was drunk and didn't realise. I forgave him but we split up soon after because I was still scared of him. Recently I've moved to Uni and am now suffering from depression and ptsd. All my friends have been grat but I an't believe that I am so weak to let it bother me now when it didn't at the time.

My head is pretty messed up now particualrly as I went out last night and ended up being walked home by a friend of a friend. To cut a long story short we were getting intimate when he tried to have sex with me I said I didn't want to, asked him to please stop but he didn't. Afterwards he felt really bad and said it was just his libido taking over, that I should have pushed him off but I feel to blame. What is so wrong with me, I'm a very friendly person but am I too friendly. After he had apologised I had consensual sex with him and apologised for getting upset. I felt these weird emotions in me like the first time I was raped whenever I'm with a bloke now I feel I have to do exactly what they want because I'm scared, even if they're not being threatening. Were all 3 of these things rape, how can I get over it and speed up the healing. I hurt so much and feel so worthless, I wish I was dead. The problem is I'm stubborn and won't let those bastards beat me, but I don't know what to do I don't feel like me anymore. How can I change myself so I'm not a victim or will I always be this pathetic and worthless. Is it my fault or have I just been unlucky, what do I do next time I see this guy. I can't report it or even tell my friends cos they're all mates with him. Please help me.

Ellen



I found this site over a year ago, but couldn't dig deep enough to share my story then. So here it is now. Nearing the end of my freshman year of college I was raped by two students in a dorm room. The room had been full with other students drinking, and I don't really remember everyone leaving. I was pretty drunk, so not everything is clear. I remember one of them starting to tickle me, then carry me over to the bed. Then the lights went out. No matter how many times I cried no, or tried to struggle free, they didn't stop. I was too drunk to fight. They took turns, and after they were done, I passed out on the floor. I didn't report it that year, I was afaid of being busted for drinking. The worst part was that one of them was a sophmore at the time, so for two years I had to see him nearly every day. No matter how much seeing him made me ill, I refused to let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much it still hurts me. Everyday I can still feel their breath on my neck, with every hug it's still their hands I feel. But everyday I hold my head up, and march forward.

Mira
AIM:AngelEq



It all began when I was about 3 years old. My dad's best friend would babysit me. He was in high school, my parents are young. Anyway his mother was supposed to be home when he babysat, but sometimes she would leave. He would make me lay on the couch and then he would get on top of me and begin rubbing against me. I was always fully clothed when he did it, but I knew that something wasn't right. One night he went into his bedroom and he called me in because he wanted to give me something. He closed the door behind me and shut off the light. I was about 5 years old at the time that this occurred. He told me to lie down on the bed and close my eyes and he would "give me a piece of candy". I remember hearing him unzip his pants and I got this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was happening that shouldn't be. I tried to fight, but I was much too little to fight him. He forced himself into my mouth. Here I was 5 years old performing oral sex on someone, and I wasn't even old enough to know what it was. I started to cry and try calling for my mother. The really shitty part of it all? My dad's parents' house was right next door and I could see it through the blinds of his bedroom. One yard away and no one was going to come and save me. This kind of abuse went on for 4 more years and my parents never knew what was happening. I began to kiss boys all the time when I was younger, but it never went any farther than that. Still at 9 years old in the back of your garage kissing a boy? It's not something that should be happening.

I became very depressed in middle school. I spent all my time in my bedroom listening to music. Secluded away from the rest of the world. I then started to date a guy in 6th grade. (that's all there is to do in our town). Well he was a bad boy, and I was rebelling against my parents so we made a perfect couple. Soon after, he began to abuse me. First he called me a bitch and a whore, then he began threatening to hurt me. He cut me with a knife and stomped on my toe so hard, that my toenail fell off. I had no idea why he was doing this, but being 12 years old I was too scared to tell anyone and too dumb to leave. The next year he started to try to get more sexual with me. I thought it was dirty and disgusting and wanted nothing to do with it. It started with a couple of simple kisses. (harmless in my opinion). Then he tried to go up my shirt. I pushed him away and told him no, and he'd get mad and start to hit me. My 14 year old boyfriend was beating me! I had no idea what to do. So I just kept my mouth shut and let it continue. Later that winter I remember one of his friends telling me to meet him at the dugout because he wanted to talk to me, but he had to hide because he was skipping out of a detention. DUH! How stupid could I possibly be? His friend climbed up on the top of the dugout as a "lookout" for teachers and cops. My boyfriend started to kiss me and touch me, I told him no but he wouldn't stop. I tried to pull away from him. That's when he grabbed me by the neck and held me against the back of the dugout and forced me to go down his pants. It was gross but I did it anyway because he was choking me. Well things like this continued to happen. I dated him in high school and that is when it happened. I was 16 and we were at a friends house. It's kind of ironic, but he was listening to Tori Amos. He sat down on the bed next to me and then he made me lay down on the bed. I tried to fight him, but I couldn't. He forced me to take off my cl! othes and his. Then he started to touch me. I was numb and didn't know what to do. He forced my legs apart and forced himself inside of me. The pain was so excrutiating. At the moment I lost my virginity, Tori Amos' song "Blood Roses" was playing.

After it happened I went to friend's house and took a shower. I felt so dirty and couldn't wash away his scent or the blood. I was so scared that I would get pregnant. Thank God I didn't. By this time I was cutting myself and suicidal. Much too scared to tell anyone the truth. Then I heard the song "Silent All These Years". That's when my mom shut the door on me one night and I started screaming, "mommy please don't shut the door". My mom came in and I told her everything about when I was younger, not about my boyfriend. She blamed herself, but she was there for me.

I still continued to date this loser during my sophomore year of high school. He raped me 3 more times. I just couldn't get away from him. He threatened to kill me and I honestly believed and still do believe that he would. He ran away out of state and I found a great guy to be with.

The hardest part of this all is most definately the aftermath. I am married to this man now. I'm 19 with a baby. Married to the good guy I should say. I have a hard time trusting him, and I cry all the time about nothing. I can't leave my daughter with anyone because I'm afraid the same things will happen to her. I'm most afraid that my ex is going to come back for me.

At the same time though, I'm alive. I wanted so desperately to kill myself and end all the inner torment. I began listening to Tori Amos and found myself. Like I said it's ironic. I was listening to it when my virginity was stolen from me, and yet it's also what helped to save me. I love my life, my baby girl and my husband. I still have a lot of fears, but I'm learning that I can't let them consume me anymore. All the strength you need is within yourself, you just have to find a way to get to it. The pain and memory will never disappear, but it doesn't have to take over your whole being. It's hard to learn to love yourself again, not to mention others. But once you do, that's when you got the damn bastard that did this to you. You didn't let him win. You now have control of yourself. Not him. Whatever you do, don't give up on life or yourself. There's a beautiful world out there. Try to find it.

Candi



My story is a difficult one to tell. Which is why I have chosen to take on another name, the name of a strong, fictional female character I admire. If I lean on her, even though she is not real, I can gain strength enough to tell my story. I have been a member of ripplebacktome since August, I believe, and it is time to tell here.

My story begins early. I was a baby of three years old when he began to touch me. "He" being my cousin. I certainly don't remember it, being a baby. My therapist and I figured out that was when it started, because that is when, in photographs, my smiles got bigger and phonier. I only have one clear memory of abuse, and that is when I was four years old.

He got me away from my mother, like usual, and took me to his little one-room "house" behind Grandma's house. It is there that he raped me, not once, but twice. All the while, Elvis music played on a record player. Although I have conquered a long list of triggers, Elvis music still bothers me to this day.

It is during the first rape that I split. I couldn't handle the pain, so I "went away" in my head. It was like I another little girl. In reality, it was. Because of his repeated abuse, I split. There are seven parts to me. The first one to show herself took over for me during the first rape. I just didn't want to be there, couldn't take it anymore. I sort of floated back and forth, during the abuse.

During the second rape my body betrayed me when it responded to his touch. I have since learned that because my body responded, that doesn't make it my fault. It is written, in "I Never Told Anyone: Stories by Women Survivors of Sexual Abuse" by Ellen Bass that "the body will respond to stimulation no matter how revolting the source." And we wholeheartedly believe it.

The little girl who took over for me, who goes only by "Miss Perfect," took over once again when we started back inside. We had our hand on the doorknob when we heard his voice: "Don't you tell nobody. Nobody'd believe you anyway, you're just a kid an' kids lie an' make stuff up." Miss Perfect plastered a smile on our face, and back into the house we went, ignoring the pain in our most private parts.

He continued to abuse us, and for how long we don't know. There are bits and pieces of pictures of memories, but nothing whole. Recently I have discovered all seven parts to me, and we have gained almost total coconsciousness. We have begun to work together, so there are no more lapses in memory. No more losing time. No more finding myself someplace and wondering how I got there. Right now, we are working together rather well, so integration isn't an option. I'm sure it will be eventually, but for now, multiplicity works for us.

Xena



Well...I'm writing this to a people that will read this and have been through tragic situations too. I hate to think about it like that. I'm not going to go into all the details because it hurts and I'm here to offer encouragement and not to make you feel worse. I know that if i can get through this stuff, so can you. I've been through being raped and I was molested for 10 years. I still see the guy who raped me and also the people that still yell or say stuff to me, but i made it. I've went through having terrible anxiety and being called everything possible, but I made it. I've lost so many friends and people that I thought cared about me enough to stick up for me, they didn't. When I was raped, I was with a guy who told me that he loved me and would be there forever for me, he left. And finally the worst one, I put faith in my family and leaned on them when i was weak, they "didn't want to talk about it anymore" I know things can get rough and you want to give up, but don't...cause I know that someday things have to get better, there's no other direction it can go. e-mail me if you need an ear and i will listen.

Love Always
Kari




 
 
 
 
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