For me, it began with a visit to my biological father (at age 13), whom I had no memory of, since my Mother left him when I was less than a year old. My older brother lived with him until he was 10, then came to live with us. He talked all the time about how great our father was, so eventually I became adamant about meeting him myself. My Mother was reluctant, knowing what he really was, but knew that I had to find out for myself. Understand that she did not know he was sexually abusive, only that he had been physically abusive to her, and his other wives. Feeling that I would be safe, as long as my brother was with me, she allowed me to go. The first day was wonderful, he was caring and compassionate, curious about my life. The next day, he started drinking and that night he called me into his bedroom. At first I thought that him rubbing my leg while talking to me was "fatherly" love, but soon it turned into rubbing between my legs and telling me to take my clothes off. When I resisted, he threatened to tell my brother, who was asleep in the next room, that I had initiated the contact and that he would ensure that I would never see him again if I did not comply. I idolized my brother, I had only been with him for a very few years, and honestly had no idea of the whole sex thing so I didn't know what was in store for me, so I complied with his wishes, after all, he was my father, wasn't he? I was forced to have compliant "adult" sex, being directed to moan correctly, say that he was the best, ask for more and tell him that I loved him. Over the next two weeks, this was a nightly ritual, with him trying to talk me into staying to live with him, as his wife. During the day, when the three of us would go sightseeing, he would send my brother off on some errand so that he could touch me, getting me "ready for the night". Finally I had had enough, called my Mother from a payphone, in tears, and asked to come home, never telling her why, just that he was mean to me. I buried the whole thing, and went on with a life filled with self-destructive behavior, drinking, drugs, thoughts of suicide and putting myself in positions where I was abused by other men in various ways. I never told a soul until I was 21, married, and had a flashback during sex with my husband. He must has though I was crazy. I opened my eyes while he was on top of me and saw the face of my father. I screamed, cried and tried to hide in the corner. When he finally got me to come out, I was able to relate a small part of the story to him and he forced me into counseling. It only took one session with a doctor who told me it was ok to be angry and that it wasn't my fault. That's when the healing began. Over the years I have read countless books on violence and began to understand that my father had a pathological hatred of women. He beat them all, he had 7 wives and many children, only one of which I know. 30 years later, I am strong, able to tell my story, willing to tell my story to help others understand that you really can emerge from the darkness. Don't let your fear stop you, take baby steps if you have to, but don't let your abuser continue to rule your life. You are not alone, reach out and you will find that there are many of us willing to help, and that you can help, just by understanding. Nobody truly understands what we feel, unless they have been there. If you have been there, you have the capacity to make something positive out of your pain and your abuser has lost the battle over your soul.
by Tammyon 3 Mar 2004
I was sexually assaulted by my cousins. I had to be very young because I was not in school yet which was why I know I was young. my mother had been in the hospital at the time and left me with her second cousin to watch. Her sons were the ones who did the crime. While she was with different men, they first would give me lunch by making me drink urine with my sandwich and then I would beg them to let me perform oral sex on them so they would leave me alone. They would pass me around to their friends as well. I remembered trying to tell their mother but because I didnt know how to say what they were doing, she couldnt understand me and would answer me back in baby talk. After a while I gave up. I dont remember how it all came to an end I just remember bits and pieces. The pain is still there and im very paranoid when it comes to my children. I really find it hard to trust them by themselves or with each other. I havent received any counselling and didnt tell anyone else in my family. I only tell you because my identity is annonomous. The only thing that keeps me sane is knowing my children need me to love and keep safe.
by lanna on 3 Mar 2004
I am a victum sexaul, emtional, physical, and mental abuse by my moms husband, my step father Wayne. I never talked about it with people before now. My mom and dad split up when I was two, my mom married a real creep shortly after. They got marrried and had two kids of there own. I was always fighting with Wayne, he treated me differently because I was not his child. My mom never stuck up for me that often because when she did, he would yell and scream at her afterwards. So she stay out of it for the sake of her other 2 children. Wayne choose to punsh me in his own way, he would use anything possiable to hit me with, an example of this is when I was 12 the insides souls of my shoes were dirty and made my socks dirty, this made him MAD he took my shoes and throw the at me. One hit my leg with such force my leg was black and blue mark in the excat shape of my shoe. The other hit my head. The physical abuse stopped when i was old enough to fight back. This made him madder so after that he started to yelled at me all the time calling me worthless and a whore every day, he also said that i was a bum and i would not amount to anything. He began to watch my every move he would watch me eat, and glare at me every time i took a bite, as alough i did not desevre it. This went on till i was 14. At 14 ee started touching me, i knew it was wrong but the fighting stopped and my mom was not getting hurt any more so i let him do it. He would make me "rub" his stomach but he would have pull out his penis and he would make me rub it. He just would do while the every one was around but my mom wasn't. He then he started coming in too my room at night and touching me i tried to make him stop by wraping my self in my comforter but he would just pull me out. On my 15th birthday i told my friends mom she tried to do something but i told the worker that nothing happened because I didn't want to hurt my mom, brother and sister. So i went back he never touch me again we still fought all the time and he still treated me like i didn't deserve to live, he told me that every day. I found my self a good boy the loved my with his heart and i loved him i used him to get away from my house, he was kind and fun and we are still dating to this day. I at first had a lot of trouble letting him get close. I still have manying problems wtih older men, any doesn;t matter who. I got out of my mom house when i was sixteen and i have never looked back. My move in with a nice family they were very supportive. The reason i told this story is because i want any girls out there to know its not your fault, its not your repsonsablity to keep the peace don't let them do it, the best thing you can do for your self is to get out of it. There are people all over the world who will help you. If you need to talk, I am looking to help people any one if you want to share your stroy email me at email@example.com i am not going to judge but i will try and help if you need supprot or you just need a friend. Thanks for reading my story.
by Christina on 26 Feb 2004
It started when I was about 2 years, I know it sounds crazy that I remember that,but when somthing like this happens to you,you just do. I was living with my mother and father and my father was in the army and my mother was a waitress. My dad used to take me to the base and show me off to all his friends. He used to tell them I was his angel then he would take me in his quarters and sexualy abuse me. When I was 8 I was on the base again and my dad and his friends were playing cards and getting drunk,they decided to have a little fun. With me that is. They forcedd alcohol down my throat and then threw me on the ground and took turns raping me, there was 5 of them. My dads sexual abuse went on until I was 14 years old. And I have never recovered from it since. I am now 20 years old.
by Jaymeon 25 Feb 2004
It all started when I was seven years old. My mommy and daddy both worked so they had to hire a babysitter to watch my little brother, who was two, and me. The babysitter they hired was Aaron. At first, he was really cool and I really like him. Then, for some reason, I became a really bad girl. I could never do anything right. My clothes did not math. I could not get the dishes clean. I did not fold the laundry right. I talked back to him. I do not even remember everything I did wrong. I just know that I was a terrible child and I was completely hopeless. Nobody could love someone so terrible. I tried so hard to fix things. I tried to be good, but I was just a bad girl. Nobody could love someone who was so stupid.
At first, he just yelled at me when I screwed things up. I know I was a bad girl. I deserved it. I never did anything right. After a while, that was not enough. I was not just any bad girl. I was the worst of all. He started to hit me when I screwed up. Sometimes he hit me in the arm, the stomach, or the leg, but if I was really bad, he would throw me in the sleeping bag and drop me on the floor. Well, as I said, I was not just any bad girl. I was terrible, so this was not enough. I still needed to be punished.
After a few more weeks passed and he said that he would not have to hit me anymore if I would do other things for him. I was so excited. I definitely did not want to be hit anymore. I would do anything. He told me to go in my parents’ bedroom and take off all of my clothes. A few minutes later, after he put my little brother to sleep, he came into the bedroom and took his clothes off as well. He picked me up and threw me on the bed. I was completely confused and a little scared. He grabbed my chest (well, what little I had) and he squeezed so hard I can even remember the pain shooting through my body. A few minutes later, he started biting me. How could I have been stupid enough to agree to this? Nobody could love someone so stupid. He did that for a little while and he also stuck his fingers inside of me. That did not hurt, but I was really afraid of what else he would do. This apparently still was not enough. I was a very, very, very bad girl.
A few more weeks passed and he said that I was getting even worse and he was going to have to have me do more things. I was confused and scared yet again. What more could he possibly want me to do. He put his penis in my mouth and made me perform oral sex on him. He ejaculated in my mouth (well, I thought it was urine). He made me swallow it. Then, he performed oral sex on me. It was disgusting. I felt so dirty. I just wanted to throw up. Actually, I did get sick a few times after this. This was not enough either because I was a very, very, very bad girl.
He started doing the same things again. He went to the top drawer of my daddy’s dresser and pulled out a condom. Being seven, I did not exactly know what it was, but he put it on. Then instead of oral sex, he tried too put his penis inside of me. I screamed at the top of my lungs because it hurt so badly. He stopped, but he was so mad at me. Well, he was more than mad at me. He threw me down the stairs. I just lied by the shower drain and cried. He came down after me and he was upset because I was crying. He told me that crying was the worst thing I could do. He was extremely angry with me. He hit me harder than he ever had before. I cried and he hit me over and over again. Why was I so terrible? Why could I not stop being so bad? This was not enough either because I was a very, very, very bad girl.
The next time he was really angry with me because I cried when my parents left. I knew I was in for a long day with him. For some reason he decided that he did not want me to scream like I had last time and he turned me over onto my stomach. He tried to put his penis into my butt. He yelled at me and told me that I was too tight. He threw me down the stairs again, but this time I was sure not to cry. He took me over to the playroom and pulled the horseshoes game apart. He took the pole out, put it in my butt, and twisted. As if this did not hurt badly enough, he pulled it out and put his penis inside of me. I was a very, very, very bad girl.
He did these same things for the next two years. I never said anything to my parents. I did not want them to know what a terrible little girl I was. I thought that they would start punishing me in the same way and I definitely did not want that to happen.
Well, just this past fall something happened again. It was not with my babysitter, but with someone else whom I trusted. Jon was like a big brother to me. We hung out all through high school and in youth group. It was never a romantic type of thing. Besides, he was three years older than I was and I did not really believe in getting involved with someone in high school who was that old.
On a Friday night last semester, Jon called me and asked me to come over to his house to watch a movie with him. I thought that it would be okay because I had watched movies at his house all the time. He came, picked me up at the dorms, and took me back to his house. He still lives with his parents.
Well, the lights were off in his room so we could watch the movie and his dad and his younger brother were upstairs, so I definitely felt safe being there with him. Well, he started to tickle me and I did not feel very comfortable with that, so I asked him to stop. He did for a little while, but then he started again. I must have asked him to stop three or four times. Then he did not tickle me anymore. He stuck his hand up my shirt and started to fondle my breasts. I completely froze and did not know what to do. I was screaming stop inside, but when I went to say it, nothing came out. I just laid there completely rigid. He continued to fondle me and then unbuttoned my jeans. I remember him sticking his fingers inside of me and wanting to cry out in pain, but I could not. He started sucking on and biting my nipples, which hurt too. I still do not understand why I could not do anything. He pulled my body on top of his and started to have anal sex with me while he continued to fondle me. I felt dirty yet again. When everything was finally over my voice came back to me and I could move again. I am diabetic and I told him that my blood sugar was low and I needed to go home because I felt dizzy. I was totally lying, but I needed an excuse to get out of there.
After he dropped me off, I went to the bathroom and took a super long shower. I still felt dirty. Actually, fifteen minutes later I went back and took another one. I cried myself to sleep that night. Everyday I wish I could have said something. I wish I could have made some type of movement to resist.
Since everything happened, I have struggled with bulimia. I feel so dirty and disgusting that I do not know what to do. When I throw up, I feel like I am a little bit clean. In addition, I have a problem with masochism. I feel like everything I do is wrong and makes me a bad girl. I feel that I need to be punished, but nobody is punishing me. Hurting myself is the way I have found to punish myself. I have taken my diabetic needles and carved into my legs and my stomach, even my wrists on occasion. I have also clawed myself with my fingernails.
This probably sounds like a super depressing story, but it is not completely depressing. My freshman year of high school I went to youth week at Camp Okoboji. Every night the entire group went to the point, which is a campfire up by the lake, to pray and meditate on the things that happened during the day. Every night I sat there, past curfew, and cried because I could not stop thinking about the things of my past.
I came back to the cabin one night and my counselor asked me if everything was okay. I told her yes, but she kept asking me. She asked me three times, but it was not until the third time that I finally told her no. It was really hard for me to say that because I was a little afraid that she would hurt me for crying. I talked to her quite a bit throughout the week and she showed me a few Bible verses to help me get through the tough times. She was completely reassuring and let me know that she would be there for whatever I needed and that God was always there for me. She told me that it was not my fault and that I was not a bad girl. If it were not for her, I may not be the Christian I am today.
I know that God is not happy that this happened, but I also know that He has helped me to get through the emotions and He has given me the courage to write this letter. I still struggle with bulimia and cutting, but without God and the help of my Christian friends, I would have committed suicide by now. Sometimes I fall back into my irrational thinking and getting sick, but I know I have friends who remind of God’s love and reassure me in every way they can.
I really hope that anyone reading this will feel free to e-mail me. I willing to listen to anyone who needs a friend. My addy is firstname.lastname@example.org
by Bethon 22 Feb 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.