Even after reading others stories the reaction I had to my rape 4 years ago at 15 seems unusual. I've had sex wit a lot of guys since, nearly all one night stands, it's mostly to prove to myself that sex isn't important and I even enjoy it quite a lot of the time but I still think about my rape nearly every day. Its only recently I could admit to myself that it was rape, prior to that I made myself believe that I had wanted it really, I was a virgin before, or that it didn't happen at all. I stil think of myself being a virgin until the first time I had consentual sex. Even now I'm too scared to have tests for STD's. I was 15 years old and walking through the own of the small city I live in in England. I was feeling down that day I remember and a homeless guy on the street stopped to talk to me when I bought a paper off him. When I look back I was so beautiful then, but didn't have much self confidence so I was flattered really when he asked me to have a drink with him. We got some beers and went to a nearby park and chatted. I felt sorry for him at this point, he seemed to have had a bad life. He was in his 40's. I wasn't used to drinking and I don't know, I think he spiked my drink with some stronger alcohol but I started to feel drunk very quickly. Then he kissed me. I didn't scream or run away but I didn't respond to it either. By this point I wasn't aware of what I was doing, I almost felt like I was floating above me looking down on the real me, if that makes any sense. He lead me to somewhere quiet and took my clothes off. He told me that my breasts had disappointed him and then started touching where he'd taken my panties off. Before long he put hmself inside me even though I begged him not to, I was too scared to move, he didn't threaten me with violence but I was scared of him and every time I asked him to stop he just shhhhed me. Eventually it was over and he led me back to a busy area, I was almost too stunned by what had happened to find my way home. Afterwards I convinced myself that i had wanted it really and it wasn't really rape because he hadn't cum inside me (he withdrew). That was 4 years ago and it's only really hitting me now. I've tried telling people about it boyfriends or friends, but I felt like a fraud because I was always so numbed by it. I want the nothingness to go away. I want to stop sleeping around but I can't. I still feel like a dirty slut and that if someone wants me then I should let them have me because I don't deserve any better.
by Kateon 28 Mar 2004
I don't remember the exact time that my abuse started but I know I was about five or so, because I was in kindergarden.
I didn't realize that it was wrong at first either, my uncal told me that it was just another way that people loved and it was okay because he loved me very much. And he did jump right into wrong tuching either. It was first just having me sit on his lap all the time, and he would just lightly rub the inside of my leg, until his hands traviled higher and higher until he was rubbing my vagina. But the people in my life were so busy with there own things that they had know idea what was going on.
This had goin on for a good three months or so befor he felt comfortable enough to strip by cloths off. I don't remember to many conpleat memorys form my abuse, but I do remeber the fist time that he did more then rub where he shouldn't, and that memory has fun playing its self over and over again in my mind when I get depressed.
I remember that my mom took me to my grandma's becuse she and my dad wanted to go out with some friends. I didn't want to stay at my grandma's I cried and begged for her not to make me. But she just wiped the tears from my cheeks and told me that ever thing was going to be okay. That nothing was going to hurt me, and she and my dad would pick my brother and I up in the morning. I new that there was nothing else I could do, so I stopped crying, and went right to bed becuse it was alredy late, and I thought if I was asleep I wouldn't be sad.
I slept in my uncal's room when I had to stay at my grandma's because she didn't like me, and always let my brother stay with her. Anyway. I went right to sleep. I don't know how long I was asleep before the lighing and thunder outside woke me up. I was really scard cause the power hand gone out so the night light was off, and the room was pich black. It wasn't to long after that that my uncal came into the room. He said I didn't have to be scard it was only a storm, and he was there. I relaxed a little and layed back down. That was when he shut the door, striped off ever last stich of clothing he'd had on, and crawled in be side me.
I scooted as far as I could toward the other side of the bed, but he grabed me, and pulled me agest him till I spooned his body, and could feel his erction in my butt. he said "It's alright, I love you, and this is how people show love. I promis I wont hurt you. Turst me."
I was five I didn't get much attention form anybody else, so I trusted him. I remember ever last feeling to. I felt jitery in my stumach as he pulled down my under wair. I could feel them slid down my legs. Then he rolled me over to face him. He started to tuch me, really like and gental at first, it even felt good (something I have a hard time remembering wasn't my fult), but then he put his figer inside of me and started move it in and out fast and deep, it hurt so bad that he had to cover my mouth when I cried. I remember that it felt like hours it kept sticking his figers inside of me, seeing how far he could go before I screamed. Then he made me stradle his hips righ in front of his penis so I could feel it agest my butt, and he rubbed it agest me till I felt stick wetness on my skin. That was when I couldn't take anymore. I left my body, and don't know where I went, and I didn't remeber anything for two day after. So that is what I did. When ever he would come in to abuse me I went away.
It finally stopped when I was about eight or nine, but I still hated myself for it ever day.
I've been so ashamed of what happened to me that I didn't even tell my dad about it till a year and a half ago.
Now I'm trying to heal, but it is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life. It was much easyer just to leave my body when bad things happend, but I understand now that the only way to truely be free of my uncal is to back my silence and face him.
by Amandaon 27 Mar 2004
This is more weird psychological abuse. I think I was sexually abused but I don't know.
I remember it always hurt when I peed. And a few yrs ago, I found a questionnairre in an old copy of one of my dad's Playboys that asked if he was sexually attracted to any of his children. And he wroted Yes. His second daughter. Which is me. I checked the date of the issue. It was 1973. I would have been 2.
I uncovered this in therapy a few yrs ago, actaully 10 yrs ago. Before I collapsed and had a nervous breakdown and was nursed back to health by my uncle and his family in another country. I'm 33. When I was 18, my father and mother ran into my room and jumped on my bed. My dad on my right and my mom on my left. My dad started yelling at me that my mom wouldn't sleep with him. "you know what that means don't you.?" I told him no that I had no idea what that meant. He said that, as if this was something I was supposed to know, when the sex life goes, then the marriage goes, then they'll get a divorce and that if they get a divorce it will be all my fault.
I told him ( I don't know where I found the courage), that him and my mom got married before I was born.
All my fault. I had been carrying that with me for years believing that the most remote incidents, from bombings in Sarajevo to Baghdad are all my fault.
Now I'm a yoga teacher (my classes are packed and people love me) and an artist. I love my artwork. It's so sad and beautiful.
One of my yoga teachers, also a therapist himself, I had had a crush on, actually saved me. He could tell I needed help, and recommended a therapist to me. I've been in art therapy for a couple of yrs. And this healing journey has been incredilbe.
by Cindyon 24 Mar 2004
My father abused me physically and sexually. I thought I had done a lot of work resolving and healing from that trauma, and made a lot of progress. But now as O become more and more successful in my career, and in my relationships, my self-destructive and self-sabotaging behavior still rears its ugly, persistent head.
I am reaching out to friends, being more vulnerable and asking for help, upping the amount of therapy sessions I have a month, and trying very hard to not beat myself up.
Hopefully, years from now I will have conquered the challenge of consistently being joyful.
Good luck to you all, and please remember you deserve the best that life has to offer... you really do!
by Amethysteon 23 Mar 2004
I was three years old. My mother was only 18. She was a child of the seventies and our house was party central. One of her casual friends babysat me while she went to school during the day. I woke up one morning in my mother's bed with him. This was strange since I had recently been trained to sleep in my own room. He was big and round and I felt so small lying next to him. He started touching me and asked me to lick his ear. I complied thinking that it was silly request. My child sense told me that something wasn't right, but I had no choice because there was no one there to protect me. He told me he needed to check to see if I had peed in the bed. I remember thinking about how crazy that was since I rarely, if ever, wet the bed. I thought about telling him this, but again, I knew the situation was abnormal. When he forced his fingers inside my vagina my entire world opened up into a new realm of pain. I never even knew that part of my body existed before.
Afterwards, my vagina always felt like a sore. Whenever my grandmother bathed me down there, it hurt. She often became angry with me because I complained so much. My cousin never seemed to be bothered, so I became curious as to why mine was so different. I became obssessed with it. I wondered why I had one, and why it hurt so much. I had many subsequent sexual encounters with other kids throughout my childhood. Some with boys, but mostly with other girls. I was curious as to how they felt about their vaginas, but it was never discussed. While I was rarely penetrated by other kids, we did often have oral sex. I always marvelled at why people wanted to touch me down there, stick their fingers or other objects inside me. More importantly, I wanted to know why mine was a constant source of pain.
As you can imagine, I have had problems with this my entire life. I blocked it out for many years, but looking back, I see how obvious it was and I feel humiliated. I'm angry because my family reacted to my behaviors by making me think that I was "crazy". I was often referred to as "strange" or "unusual". The message to me became clear; I had some perverse need to do inappropriate things. As a result, I grew up believing that I was innately wrong and even "evil". Because I wanted so badly to please my family and friends, I began to bury my feelings deep inside. I strove to better myself in every way. I'm the only one in my family to go to college. I earned two degrees and I have excelled in my career.
But I'm pissed off because I now know that my behaviors were obvious signs of abuse, but because no one had time for it, or it was inconvenient, I was blamed and made to feel like I was hideous. Even when the subject was delicately approached, the sense my mother gave me was that sexual abuse is wrong, but worse things could happen. This attitude is pervasive in my family. I think my mother and all of her siblings were sexually abused. All my female cousins were abused. I can tell by our sexual encounters as children. No wonder I never attributed any of my emotional problems to the abuse, I thought it was ME first, and that the abuse was just an unfortunate, but inevitable event in the life of a poor, deprived, Black girl.
Now the chronic pain, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-hatred, rage, and sadnes overwhelm me. Right now I am at war with these feelings. I am fighting for my life.
I am fighting to not be afraid, to not kill myself, to not hate myself, to love, and be loved, and to live.
Reading your stories fills me with hope. If I am not alone, then maybe, just maybe this battle can be won and we will have to fight no more forever.
by Kenyaon 21 Mar 2004
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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.