It all started when I was 9 years old. Everybody was outside and I was in the back room of my aunt and uncle's house playing. My uncle came in and after awhile he put his hand in my pants and started to feel. That was the first time but not the last. When I would take a bath he would come in to make sure I was "bathing" good. He would touch me all over then. Then other times when I was asleep in bed he would come in and pull the covers off of me and started to touch me and do sick things to me. He would kiss me all over and perform oral sex on me. I thought up to this point it couldn't get any worse. I was wrong. Months passed while this was going on and every chance he had he would do things to me. Then one night late he came in and that night he basically raped me. He took all my clothes off and made me lay on my stomach and it happened. It didn't stop. This went on for 2 years straight, until I was 11 and got out of there. I never told anyone what happened until a few years later. One time I remember when I was 10 he tried touching another boy at church. The boy told his mother but nothing ever happened. I could have told then and maybe someone would have believed me. But I kept it to myself and live with the regrets. It still haunts me but I’ve come along ways. I am 18 years old now. I'm finally moving on. I'll make it passed it and live my life. Thanks for listening!
by Justinon 24 Aug 2005
When I was a little girl, my cousin would take me in the back room every time I came over from age 6-12 and he would molest me. I kept telling myself it was my fault, but I kept it secret. Still, no one knows about that. But apparently what they say about it being genetic is true. My dad began to touch me inappropriately. He never raped me though. I became an addict and I was bulimic and had cutting issues as well. So they put me in a hospital and when I got out, my father pretended like nothing had ever happened. No one knows about that either. So after not learning my lesson, I went to a party at a lake house one night and a "friend" of mine and one of his friends dared me to take off my clothes and get in. I was probably not entirely sober, and I really wanted to impress them so I removed my shirt and shorts, leaving on my panties and bra and a thin white tank top and I began making my way into the freezing water. But as I got my feet in, my "friend" tripped me and I fell onto the jagged rocks and then looked at me with a sarcastic look on his face, "Oh poor Cece. She looks hurt." He said, yanking me off the ground,” I better help her.” And his friend smiled. I kept thinking "Why is no one doing anything about this” And I tried to wriggle and kick and bite and scream but before long he had me in the little shack that held the floats and goggles etc. for the lake. He continued to abuse me and then, rape me. And out of all those people at the party, not one helped me.
I found out 10 weeks later that I was expecting. I’m now 29 weeks pregnant with a baby girl. It’s been a constant struggle for me, knowing that this happened to me, but my parents didn't care. It makes me worry about it happening to my daughter. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I found out my daughter was going through this pain. I won't let this happen to me again and I won't let it happen to her either. I've gotten help that I needed for depression and I’m now able to tell my story without crying usually. I feel a lot better now. I still feel the occasional guilt, but I try to talk myself out of that. I’m just happy that I’m okay now. As you all know, rape is the most disgusting and painful thing ever.
Sorry to ramble. Anyway, that's my story.
by Cece on 24 Aug 2005
The age difference between my older brother and I is about an eight-year age difference. Until my birth, my older brother had my second older brother David as his playmate and it was something of an unnatural shock for him to add a girl into the mix. As a child Philip hated me almost from the start, he used his position and an older brother to undermine me as often as he could, and he started at an early age. Therefore, by the moment of the first full out attack, I truly did not know the difference or did not know that it was wrong.
When I was about three, I was sick with fever, as much as my body could hold I was that sick… and that illness gathered my parents full attention from what I could feel or remember that my youngest brother wasn’t a yet a year old yet. Therefore, my parent’s attention shifted from the four children that they had to the two smallest ones that could not actually feed them selves with out help. That forced more responsibility on to my eldest brother’s shoulders, which he did not appreciate; his response to what my parents was to start attacking me. At first, it was just a touch here or there, which would turn into fondling that he would move his hands underneath my dress or pull at my hair (I was a serious ponytail-wearing child). He would hit me on my shoulder and pinch me hard, if I cried he’d tell my parents that he had no idea why I was crying. When they (my parents) were not looking, he would whisper to me that he would hope that the fever that I had would take me while I slept. When ever possible he would make sick comments about my body, he left me at that age believing that what was happening was my fault. It became such a daily occurrence that it seemed "natural" to me, at the time.
My brother Philip would at ever-possible moment when my folks were not looking tell me that I was the ugliest child alive. I was told that I was not important, was fat, stupid, in every way. He told me that I was selfish, stubborn, and mad since the minute I was born. That no one in the family loved me that are pets were worth more than I actually was. My parent’s marriage was strange at best; my father could best be described at an absentee dad. He was there on important occasion, but that’s was it, he was too involved with his career to notice that small family that he had help create… With that being said both parents expected my older brother to watch out for the youngest ones. That was the “in” that my brother eventually needed to assault me.
I grew to feel alone. I knew that I had no one to confide in. I thought no one would believe me. Therefore, I went about life with an optimistic heir and hoped if not prayed that no one would see the shadows that terrorized my soul. It ran deep, but I didn't even know what was happening. Just that I was afraid, alone and confused.
I was about 4, I guess, my parents had decided to go to a local hotel for the evening. My brother had to bathe me, he was baby-sitting me overnight, for some reason I remember not wanting to take my clothes off in front of him, which did not go over well and then he made me take off my clothes and stand on the vanity sink in my bathroom and stare at the mirror reflection of me, naked. Which was my punishment for rebelling, from where I was standing, the floor was frighteningly far down. I was scared to jump.
I can remember being seven years old at a church function at Big Bear Lake one of the few things that my mother would get my father to attend so that we could be there as a family. My brother had taken me to the garage area to look at a vintage car, driven by the pastor, before I knew anything I was being attacked. He looks out the window and doesn't see my parents. Again, I am alone with this monster. I protest until he gets so angry that he just rips off my underwear. I scream but have no voice. Again, I tell him I hear the garage door open.
During this time, the only thing I could do as a response was wet the bed… I wet the bed until I was nearly sixteen years old, its not something that I am proud of but it is the shame that I have had to endure. I still blame myself and I feel so guilty at times even when my friends tell me I did not do any of this willingly and I never gave myself to anyone....
As the years went by the abuse got a little more in depth and soon he was having intercourse with me. Through it all, and for a while after he left, I stayed quiet. I went into the bathroom and saw blood -- on my nightgown, on my legs. I wiped it off and put on some underwear, then crawled back into bed. I did not really care at this point. I knew I could not survive if I let this get to me. I ignored the problem. I ignored the pain I felt at my brother's betrayal and at my parent's ignorance.
When the abuse would finally have stopped, I wondered what I did wrong. I wondered if there was something wrong with me or if I had done something to make him stop. I wondered if it would ever happen again too. This last question was the one that gave me trouble. I would stay up at night and listen to the floorboards creek near my room to see when he will strike next.
As a child I began a pattern of staying up until I was certain he was asleep and even then, I would stay awake and wait. Some nights I would lay awake until dawn and just let my mind wander off to a place that I cannot describe. It was almost like a trance but I was completely aware of where I was. I would try to tap my unconscious although I would not even learn that word until years later.
In feeling to that darkness that shadow I realized that I am incredibly irritated. It makes me mad that I am irritated. Everything just gets so built up and one thought leads to another. I am angry that I direct these feelings with those I love and myself in the form of guilt. I really wish I could get past the anger. There are moments that I am afraid I am going to explode.
My anger sometimes isolates me, by ruining relationships with the very people that I love the most. It keeps me from getting close to someone when I know I really would like to know them better. It has kept me from opening up and sharing my real feelings. Then the anger just builds up more and more until it is finally let out, and then shocks everyone, because they never knew I felt that way. I have a great deal of trouble "letting go" of my anger. I know I need to, but it is terribly difficult to do so. I know my anger just builds up and harms me emotionally, but still I find it hard to let go of the anger and accept that I need to try to move on. I never know when it will happen. One moment I feel well, and the next my anger becomes overwhelming. I hope that as time goes on, the anger will subside.
At some level, I think that anger is a funny thing. I suppose you could say that it is my favorite weapon that I use on myself. I do not have uncontrollable eruptions of anger, I have uncontrollable "in bursts" of anger. I get angry at myself and beat myself up before it ever reaches the surface and hurts anyone else. I am afraid of what will happen if I "let it fly.” I am afraid that I will not be a "good girl" anymore. I do not want anyone else to get hurt because of me. Even when I do get angry at other people, I hold on to it. There is a whole lot of anger churning around inside me, but I do not know how to get it out without hurting anyone. I know that I am really angry about many things; I just do not know what to do with all that anger. It just sits there like a time bomb waiting to destroy me.
Various people have told me that everything happens in our lives for a reason. This is a hard pill to swallow for someone who has been raped. What possible reason could there have been for me to go through so much pain, so much shame, and so much guilt?
by sarah on 23 Aug 2005
I have to say, that I feel really sorry for the girls that had to go through that.
I'm sorry about what happened.
I sort of went through the same thing when I was a child, probably like around 4-5. But I remember everything that happened.
I got molested from my older foster sister, she touched me, and did things to me that I didn't know what was going on.
It went on like about 2-3 weeks. But it finally ended.
I'm now 19, and I'm gay, I always wondered what I would've become if I weren't molested. Would I be gay? Would be into guys? Or would I even have a child of my own?
But I know that someday I want to have a kid.
Raise him/her a lot better then the way I raised.
That's why I don't let what happened in the past bother me, what's done is done.
All I got to do now, is look forward to the future.
I believe that behind every dark scary life story, there's a better life up ahead. You just have to keep your eyes opened, and grasp it when you know the time is right.
I've come out from behind the veil that has taunted me; I hope that you girls, and boys can do the same. But on your own time.
by Bryan Houleon 23 Aug 2005
Like many of you ladies, my story is shockingly real. My grandfather sexually assaulted me for years when I was a child. I know I was at least 3 years old but it may have started earlier than that. It ended before puberty but I don't remember how long before. Even as I type this, it doesn't feel real. Remembering it feels like I'm watching a movie of someone else's life. It was sodomy mostly and he lived out on a large farm where he kept chickens and had a bunch of vegetables. There were many places to hide or to do something bad to your granddaughter without getting caught. He didn't tell me stories about it being how grandfathers show love or anything like that. He just threatened to kill me and bury me in the dirt where nobody would ever find me if I ever told. And in addition, he would lock me in the chicken coops with the chickens and stood there laughing because he knew I was afraid of them.
I couldn't tell anybody because my Dad was sick most of the time and everybody was focused on him. He also yelled a lot and liked to use his belt on us pretty frequently and Mom always told me to try not to "provoke him", whatever that meant to a child's mind. Mom was busy working and when she wasn't working she was busy with housework or arts and crafts and didn't slow down a bit.
I had completely repressed all this unless exactly 30 years after it happened. I am 36 and these memories are fairly new. My new therapist (PhD) is fairly young but he does seem to be working his tail off trying to help me.
Thanks for "being there". I will try to look at the forum later.
by Bethon 21 Aug 2005
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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.