I've told nobody about this, and I really do quiver when I try to type. It started when I was 5. My mom and I had moved from the house she had had with my dad and we moved to Milwaukie Oregon. We lived in a big yellow house and lived across from a scary brown house. A man lived there, with his 2 sons and daughter, their mother had died in a fire. My mother and him became close, we'd spend the nite soemtimes, and it was normal. Then he moved down the street. That's when things began to become heated. Bob, the oldest son, was tired of being continuously raped by his father and left the house at fifteen. That left jack, stacy and me. He began to rape both of them, I didn't notice it at the time, because I was only 7, and thats when stacy started to cut herself and sleep around at twelve. I'd spend the nite and hear him beat her. Beat her so raw that she wouldn't sleep. Jack would try to stop him, but he always gave up and watched tv. He'd never beat me, not while my mother was around, but he'd always make me watch. After that he started to touch me, innapropriately. He'd start with a massager that was heated and put it on my legs, I hated heat, my room was always at fifty degrees, it helped me sleep. id always yell stop! stop! But he never would. Stacy and jack would watch, they were happy he wasnt hurting them. Then one night, when I was 10, Stacy had coem home with her boyfriend, and one of eddie's friends was over, he'd been drinking and one stacy came in Eddie yelled and threw a barstool at her and she fell to the ground. I dont remember where she was bleeding, but she moved her hand down and lifted it up to see blood. She screamed.
It was such a hollow desperate scream that makes me wince. It keeps me up at night, even though im 16. I can hear her screaming. Eddie walked over to her yelling at her to shut up and raised his hand to her, she pulled me in front of her and he slapped me, in front of my mother, my brother, and his friend. Then I winced and did nothing, Stacy shoved me to the ground and ran to her room crying, always so hollow, and I sat on the floor, while he kicked me. It didn't hurt, I was in shock. I was so confused, I had done nothing wrong. Whenever he hit me I always would've eaten wrong, or looked at him wrong, but this time I'd done nothing. After that everyone went to bed and I stayed up, listening to my mom and him make love, and I cried. I cried so hard it hurt. It hurt to breathe, I cried for hours until I was sobbing nothing. After that I've never cried. I've been suspended for assault almost 5 times, I dont remember any of them. the next nite, while they were asleep, I stood outside their door. I could hear him breathing as he was holding my mother. I had the butcher knife in my hand, and I sat outside their door listening to them breathing. I had never felt more confident in my life. But I couldn't do it. That's when I began cutting. ever since, I dont hurt other people. If I hurt myself I dont hurt others. Am i insane? Does anyone else feel like this? Please help me, I'm 16 and looking for other survivors
by satsuon 4 Jan 2004
I don't even know where to begin. I hope I can do this. I am a poet and photographer and a mother of three. I'v worked in the sex industry for thirteen years and my mother did as well.
She was an alcoholic and manic depressive with on and off institution visits,her frequent boyfriends and visitors were usually more interested in me.
I took care of my mother a lot and still do, but what seems to be bothering me lately for some reason is the event that happened to me when I was thirteen.One evening, I needed a break from my mom and the incoming date calls and drinking and I went for a walk, we lived in a big city and walking at night could be dangerous. A group of clean cut college aged men were hanging out in front of a hotel smoking cigarettes, one asked me why I was so down and if I wanted a beer, I said sure and followed the group. When we reached the room they
(there were five or six)put on music and brought me a beer and a cigarette. Then one tried kissing me and I fought with him, from there they all kind of honed in and started to beat me senseless,
from then I remember being drug into the hot tub and being raped and half drowned for hours by all of the men,they hit me throughout the ordeal to keep me from fighting, I lost conciosness somewhere along the line and awoke the next day to an abandoned hotel room and blood everywhere, my clothes were stolen and I was bleeding from several areas of my body. I wrapped a sheet around myself and limped out of there undetected by the hotel staff.
I never said a word or called the police, I was a virgin.
My mother kicked me out soon after that for trying to "seduce" one of her boyfriends, I have been on my own ever since. There was a child born to me when I was fourteen years old, I had raised him myself until I met someone when I was twenty one that I "trusted" I worked at a burger stand full time from fourteen to eighteen to support him and myself until I turned eighteen and started stripping. I write this now so that you may know me a little. I have been dealing with severe depression for over a decade with one nervous breakdown as a result of domestic abuse,and sexual assaults, I have been in treatment for drug abuse and on and off different medications. I do alright most of the time but the holidays were hard for me so I am writing here to hopefully help myself through this long episode of depression I have been immersed in, because I feel that I am worse now than I have been since my breakdown when I was twenty.
Thank you for listening.
by Ireland on 30 Dec 2003
i've written on here before of my story and right now i am so angry and frustrated that i don't know what to do with myself. my inner child is screaming for something and is angry but i don't know what it is and sometimes i just wish i didn't have to go through this. it's destroying me, my family everything. i can't connect to what i'm angry about, i wish i could, i just want to crawl into a hole and stay there.
by samanthaon 29 Dec 2003
So far I've read stories from women. I want to say that sometimes boys are victims too.
I was a victim in the 1970's when my parents went on vacation and left a family friend to babysit me.
I am not comfortable with details, but surmise to say that I was violated, and forced into sexual acts with this person for 3 days, but not actual rape.
I am deaf, which made it hard to communicate with my abuser. Circumstances around his identity, and who he was, made it nearly impossible to disclose what had happened to my parents.
All that became of the incident is that I insisted that this person not babysit me again. My parents complied.
I have been through counseling and therapy and have gone on with my life. It is embarrassing because people associate this sort of thing with being weak and helpless, which I am not. I have come to terms with that.
Therapy works wonders.
Good luck to all of you
by deaflepperdon 27 Dec 2003
My mother was born and raised in a polygamist community, she escaped after the 1953 raid ,
my grandfather died shortly after the raid, mother had to find her way at 13 , her mother remarried the step grandfather, one of his wife's wrote a book about the abuse she suffered Its called: PRISONS of the MIND. By. Kasiah May Hancock ...
My mother married and had 5 children, her first son died on Christmas morning, she divorced and had a set of female/male twins, my name is Lori I am that female twin. As a little girl I recall being locked in a large walk in closet "my older sister refers to as the gates to Hell" I recalled a time I became very ill and slept in the closet in my own vomit. Mother turned to alcohol to numb herself from the pain, she often left us with people I wouldn't leave a dog with. Sometimes she brought people home, one man came to the house often while Mom was out on the town, recalling this event I usually see a sellout standing at the door I can hear his voice, I was 2 or 3 years old at the time, I remember saying "No I don't want you to potty in my mouth," mostly that memory comes through in flashbacks, the next day I tried to tell but how does a 2 or 3 year old find the right words? The man orally copulated me, I don't actually recall the exact words I ended up using to tell, Mother quickly dismissed my claim and said "I was disgusting" I never told again! Once I was vaginally cut I don't recall the details of this abuse just the scars, before the age of 4 I had suffered a broken arm and stitches, infections, burns and who knows what else, I do recall mother standing us in a row oldest to youngest and hitting us with a stick I got to watch my brothers and sisters and then she would get to me the anticipation was the worst, I was told I suffer Dissociative Identity Disorder I don't recall much after that, but my alters know more, Lauren is the poet and protector of children, she wrote this poem, called child of the past,
Child of the Past
Life's bridges are broken,
and I am unskilled.
Will it take me forever,
to learn how to build?
Emotions are thrashing,
like the ocean in rage.
I'm trapped in a current,
holding me in its cage.
I'm lost in a forest,
saturated with fear.
My scream is an echo,
that no one can hear.
I flee from a volcano,
whose fury is mine.
The eruption takes over,
before there's a sign.
The cave of abandonment,
a place I could hide.
The child forgotten,
I found her inside. Copyright ©2003 Lauren
For more of my story please email email@example.com or firstname.lastname@example.org thank you for listening. Lori
by Lorion 21 Dec 2003
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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.