My life changed forever when my father took it upon himself to make me touch him to the point where he was satisfied. I was 3 1/2 - 4 years old, I wasn't at school yet so I must have been around that age. My mum casually asked me when she came home from work "What did you get up to today?" I told her that I played with daddy's willy - she confronted him with this but he was a brilliant compulsive liar and made some story up. My mother always feared for my safety especially as my body matured, though she failed to take me out of that environment. I always kept what happened in the back of my mind-but since I didn't know that what had occurred was wrong I didn't tell anyone else. At 11years of age I became depressed and compulsively washed my hands. Then the truth came out - I told my mum everything in detail. My brother refused to believe me even though he knew my dad had talked to his girlfriend inappropriately about sex and touched her bottom - guess he was and is in denial. My mother went into denial also but did recall the day I told her about it. My father for years up until I was eleven use to make me sleep with him.
I have survived all of this without counselors and the rest. I am extremely strong and even though I dated people who were addicted to something (like my dad - who I couldn't help)I have now met a person who is normal and loving and treats me with immense respect. I have succeeded in my studies and I'm on my way to becoming a solicitor - as I do feel strongly about justice since I received very little of it! I have lost a family, I have no good memories of my father, but till this day I can still make his Jim Beam and coke to his taste....thanks for the memories.I don't feel anger or hatred towards him, to me he has been dead for many years. Maybe thats my coping mechanism? My brother believes that I will regret not making things up with him before he dies, how can I possibly? He has never said sorry because to do so would entail recognition of what he has done.
I have made on my own but I crave the family I never had and wait in excitement for my future where I can create my own family, and that will be the greatest happiness for me.
by Ashon 8 Dec 2005
I was 5 years old. My mom and I just moved from Russia because my mom got married to my step dad. My step dad had a son.
My step-brother and I slept in the same room, I don't remember much because I was so traumatized. But I remember the abuse. I said no, I don't want to but it was no use. That was the first time, it went on for about 2 months almost every night. He made me do things to him, if I didn't he would tell me he would hurt my mom or tell people about this and make people hate me, I was 5 and I didn't know any better so I did it. I am ashamed of myself, I am now 15. I still live with him and my mom knows but she doesn't believe me. I feel like no one does. Because of my step brother, when I turned 12 I started doing drugs, I started to cut, I always fight with my mom and step-dad. I know I am only 15 but I'm afraid I will never have a normal relationship because I am scared and I don't want to have flashbacks.
by Vi on 4 Dec 2005
it was on January 23, 2002. My uncle sexually abused my older sister. She was only 12 and I was there. I was only 9 year old.
by leticia hernadez on 1 Dec 2005
My heart bleeds for all of you.
I wish I had your courage to share my story. I can't yet. And I didn't suffer near as long or bad as most people here.
I am now 41, male. And I was 13 then, so I should have known better. My kids are now 10 and 7, both boys, and I am so scared when they ride their bikes or go out alone.
I read some of the stories. Please, whoever hasn't told someone, TELL!!! I was too late.
Maybe things would have been different if he had gone to jail. Now he is in hell.
by I'd rather not sayon 30 Nov 2005
I studied abroad in the UK my senior year of college. I was with a group that I would call your typical "ugly Americans." I tried to distance myself from them and get to know some of the British and Irish students. My boyfriend had broken up with me over the phone, and I was depressed for a while.
I decided one day to get over it by joining a party in the courtyard of my building and flirting with a cute Irish guy. He was giving me pint-sized cans of Cider, which I'd never had before. I had a very high tolerance for liquor, so I figured I was fine.
I have a vague memory of him kissing me -- just a peck. In my next conscious moment, I was in my room sobbing, saying "I didn't want to kiss Con (the Irish guy). I love Casidy (the ex-boyfriend)." But I had no memory of kissing him besides the peck. Six of the American girls were there, asking me what happened. I realized I was wearing someone else's clothes, and someone brought my clothes over. The girls noticed there was a pad on my underwear, and I remembered I had a tampon in. They sent me into the bathroom to check, but it was gone.
The next morning, the Americans were all gone on a field trip. Con was the first person I saw. He pulled me aside and told me what happened. We had gone up to his room, where I had taken off my clothes. He didn't realize I was too drunk to consent until I called him Casidy and threw up on the floor. He had dressed me in his clothes and his friends carried me to my room. He even showed me the two condoms he had borrowed from a friend still in their packages.
One of the girls confronted Con about raping me, but after seeing them like vultures watching me right after it happened so they could gossip about it, and then seeing Con pull me aside to tell me in private what had happened, I trusted him more. I was so frustrated by not remembering and not knowing what had really happened, that I consummated the whole thing by sleeping with him. I thought I could somehow make it legitimate by trying to have a relationship with him.
He turned out to be one of the big personalities of the campus. He was a prankster and the leader of his pack, and he got whatever he wanted from whomever he wanted. If he didn't, he would make life miserable. But it was always funny to him and his friends, and if you didn't laugh, you were just a cranky bitch. He would pour things on your head, scream obscenities out the window (which faced the courtyard that I had to go through to get to my room), steal your shoes in the winter to keep you from leaving, and actually physically hold you down. He was a black belt in some form of Karate, and he would ocassionally push me down, flip me over, or keep me pinned so I couldn't move or fight back, not to hurt me, but almost as a reminder that he could control me. There was no saying no to him when he wanted to have sex, but there was to be no fidelity, and I was only accepted in his group of friends when he was in the mood to be around me. I didn't recognize that his behavior towards me was sexual abusive until another girl told me he'd done the same thing to her. Four years later, when I see a man of his build with a shaved head and brown goatee, or hear an accent like his, I feel those feelings of being intimidated, isolated, and afraid.
by Lauraon 26 Nov 2005
Prev | 1 | | 2 | | 3 | | 4 | | 5 | | 6 | | 7 | | 8 | | 9 | | 10 | | 11 | | 12 | | 13 | | 14 | | 15 | | 16 | | 17 | | 18 | | 19 | | 20 | | 21 | | 22 | | 23 | | 24 | | 25 | | 26 | | 27 | | 28 | | 29 | | 30 | | 31 | | 32 | | 33 | | 34 | | 35 | | 36 | | 37 | | 38 | | 39 | | 40 | | 41 | | 42 | | 43 | | 44 | | 45 | | 46 | | 47 | | 48 | | 49 | | 50 | | 51 | | 52 | | 53 | | 54 | | 55 | | 56 | | 57 | | 58 | | 59 | | 60 | | 61 | | 62 | | 63 | | 64 | | 65 | | 66 | | 67 | | 68 | | 69 | | 70 | | 71 | | 72 | | 73 | | 74 | | 75 | | 76 | | 77 | | 78 | | 79 | | 80 | | 81 | | 82 | | 83 | | 84 | | 85 | | 86 | | 87 | | 88 | | 89 | | 90 | | 91 | | 92 | | 93 | | 94 | | 95 | | 96 | | 97 | | 98 | | 99 | | 100 | | 101 | | 102 | | 103 | | 104 | | 105 | | 106 | | 107 | | 108 | | 109 | | 110 | | 111 | | 112 | | 113 | | 114 | | 115 | | 116 | | 117 | | 118 | | 119 | | 120 | | 121 | | 122 | | 123 | | 124 | | 125 | | 126 | | 127 | | 128 | | 129 | | 130 | | 131 | | 132 | | 133 | | 134 | | 135 | | 136 | | 137 | | 138 | | 139 | | 140 | | 141 | | 142 | | 143 | | 144 | | 145 | | 146 | | 147 | | 148 | | 149 | | 150 | | 151 | | 152 | Next
This site is offered for support of other survivors, it is not meant to be a substitute for any kind of professional help. I don't have any qualifications or training in therapy, I am by no means a professional. I claim no responsibility for the use of this web site, use of content, or content of any links leading from this site. If you are in a crisis situation I urge you to contact your local rape crisis center or health care professional.