I think the hardest part about dealing with sexual abuse is the residual fear, I don't think it will ever go away. Being raped is (obviously) the most brutal thing that has ever happened to me. It was painful, and I was terrified. Now, as a 20 year old woman, part of me blames myself for the things that happened. I always ask myself "why didn't you scream?" "Why didn't you tell someone?" There are so many "why's" that I sometimes forget that I was a child. I had no idea what was happening, I was scared still, quite literally. I didn't fight, didn't scratch or cry or try to run... I stood there and let it happen. Slowly I am learning to forgive myself for this, constantly reminding myself that I was only a child, and that it's not my fault.
I wish very much that I had been brave enough to tell someone at the time, but I wasn't. I wish I had put him behind bars, where he may never hurt someone again. I wish that I had been braver, smarter, wiser, less terrified, but I wasn't. I was an 11 year old child, and it was not my fault.
Sometimes I still have nightmares about it. Not the kind of nightmare where you wake up and remember that it's over and you're back in the real world... the kind of nightmare that sticks with you for a few days. They drain my energy and leave me feeling like less than what I am. They leave me petrified once again. Hopeless. Nothing ever changes in the nightmares, he doesn't haunt me in new ways, it's simply a play by play of that day, and the fear and helplessness that I felt for the months after that.
I am still afraid of public restrooms. Something about the smell, especially after a big rain when there are muddy footprints all around. Or when I hear someone come in after me but can't see their feet. I have had genuine panic attacks in the stall of a restroom before, just because I heard the echo of the door as it shut behind me. Perhaps it was the finality of the sound, or the horrible cracking paint on the walls that were somewhat reminiscent of the walls where that horrible act took place. I don't know... something about it triggered me, and I lost myself for a while.
And my poor boyfriend, who has to deal with me waking up at all hours of the night and clinging to him desperately just so I remember that I'm not there, I am here, and I am safe. But that's the thing of it, we're never really safe. So many predators out there, so many people that would rather do you wrong than ever even consider kindness. I always thought I would get over this someday, completely over it where I am not afraid anymore... but it hasn't happened yet.
Maybe someday it will... I have my fingers crossed.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
My Story
I fear the word "rape" has become a taboo in our culture. Most rapes and sexual assaults go unmentioned, and often those that are are untrue. I have watched women tear themselves apart trying to deal with the abuses they have suffered, and I have watched men lose their lives over false accusations. So, that is where we are at. That is what rape and sexual assault is, these days, there is a stigma attached to the both of them.
In the past few years, I have been learning how to be vocal about the sexual abuse that I suffered in my lifetime. Though, not so much to friends and family. My parents know, but not the extent of what happened. They simply know that I was raped. They do not know how it effected me then, and they do not know how it still effects me now.
The place that I have been most open, and most vocal, has been on a writing website. I have shared my story with them, and in turn listened to the stories of other girls that have suffered similarly to me. That is what I want to do here.
I have found very few places that have allowed me to discuss my story openly... so I decided to create this one.
When I was 11 years old, I was raped. It was not a member of the family, or even someone that I knew, he was a man in a public restroom. I was alone that day, at the local park, and it started raining. I did not have a cellphone, and my family did not know where I was at. As the youngest of five, it was fairly common for my mother and stepfather to not know where we were all at at once. I was there for several hours, waiting for someone to remember that they had dropped me off here to meet with friends (friends that had never showed up). I was soaked to the bone, so finally I gave up on waiting for them, and instead went to wait in the bathroom, hoping to try to warm myself under the hand dryer.
I remember it distinctly, like it was yesterday. It is the biggest turning point in my whole life. I stepped into the bathroom, and my immediate reaction was that I had walked into the wrong one. There was a man standing there. I tried to walk away, and then I saw the knife.
I could go into detail here, but I would honestly rather not. He raped me, left me lying on the mud covered floor, and that was that. For the most part...
At 11 years old I was rather well developed for my age, and had already been having a period for over a year.
I am certain some of you can see where this is going, but if not, then allow me to explain. The bastard knocked me up. He raped me, at 11 years old, and got me pregnant.
When I finally realized there was something happening with my body, something that wasn't quite right, I talked to my mom. She took me to the doctor, who confirmed it.
She didn't even wait for me to explain, she didn't even give me a chance. She ripped into me for being a slut, a whore, and the very next day I had an abortion. It would be three days before my 12th birthday. A day that would not be celebrated that year. She told me to never speak a word to my father, because he would think I was such a whore he wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. So I didn't. It became our dirty little secret, and for five years I never uttered a word.
I told a few friends, my story changing every time. I don't know why I lied to them, none of them knew the whole truth, in fact... none of them do to this day. I don't know what possessed me to hide the truth, and I don't know what made me think that it was something I would be judged for (I suppose I can thank mommy dearest for that). But my behavior changed.
I was a very active child, I rode horses, I was a gymnast, I was always somewhere doing something with someone. Suddenly I was did/was none of these things. I spent most of my time on the couch, I started sneaking alcohol from my mothers cupboard (not difficult since she is an alcoholic) and stealing her cigarettes. I did anything, everything I could, to convince myself that I was okay, and to ignore the pain.
I was 14, when I had my first 'real' boyfriend. I hardly knew him before I slept with him, and to this day I am not sure why I made the decision I did. He was there, I needed to take my body into my own hands... I needed something.
He came and went in a matter of weeks, and once again I buried myself in my drugs of choice.
And then came C. He seemed sweet at first, and once again, I slept with him. It wasn't at first, but eventually he became abusive to me. He started strangling me before sex, he would make me pass out and then he would have sex with my body. I closed my eyes, and I let him... always slightly afraid that he would take it too far next time, and I wouldn't wake up. I let it happen anyways. On occasion he would push me around a little, we fought all the time, and when it was over I saw it as a blessing. I was relieved.
Then, of course, there was A. He was many things to me. My dealer, my lover, the worst of them all. He was the first to give me a pill, told me it'd make me feel better. And he was right, because you do feel better when you don't feel at all. I don't even know how many different types of pills I took, didn't even pay attention before I swallowed them down. Then when they seemed like they weren't effecting me anymore, I started snorting them. At that time, I weighed barely 100 pounds, and I was a mess. A was in some debt... not with the banks, but with the drug dealers in our area.
It wasn't long before he realized he could trade something for drugs, and he didn't have to work at all. He could trade me.
For three weeks (six times total) I traded sexual favors for drugs, and my boyfriend became my pimp, and I had reached rock bottom.
My father (whom I have not much in this, but is the most amazing man in the world) began to grow concerned for me. He called the police, and told them that I had drugs on me at school. They called it an anonymous tip, but somehow I have always know that it was him. I went to juvy for three days, and then court ordered rehab for two weeks. When I reemerged, I could feel something different.
I have not touched a drug since then. I have met a man, who is not perfect, but is respectful and patient.
I am turning 21 in a couple of months, and I am excited to see where life can go.
I am hoping that my story helps someone out there... if you have read this, and are also a sexual abuse victim that wants to share your story, please send me an e-mail.
Sexconfessed@gmail.com
I will post all and every story, poem, or letter I receive here.
In the past few years, I have been learning how to be vocal about the sexual abuse that I suffered in my lifetime. Though, not so much to friends and family. My parents know, but not the extent of what happened. They simply know that I was raped. They do not know how it effected me then, and they do not know how it still effects me now.
The place that I have been most open, and most vocal, has been on a writing website. I have shared my story with them, and in turn listened to the stories of other girls that have suffered similarly to me. That is what I want to do here.
I have found very few places that have allowed me to discuss my story openly... so I decided to create this one.
When I was 11 years old, I was raped. It was not a member of the family, or even someone that I knew, he was a man in a public restroom. I was alone that day, at the local park, and it started raining. I did not have a cellphone, and my family did not know where I was at. As the youngest of five, it was fairly common for my mother and stepfather to not know where we were all at at once. I was there for several hours, waiting for someone to remember that they had dropped me off here to meet with friends (friends that had never showed up). I was soaked to the bone, so finally I gave up on waiting for them, and instead went to wait in the bathroom, hoping to try to warm myself under the hand dryer.
I remember it distinctly, like it was yesterday. It is the biggest turning point in my whole life. I stepped into the bathroom, and my immediate reaction was that I had walked into the wrong one. There was a man standing there. I tried to walk away, and then I saw the knife.
I could go into detail here, but I would honestly rather not. He raped me, left me lying on the mud covered floor, and that was that. For the most part...
At 11 years old I was rather well developed for my age, and had already been having a period for over a year.
I am certain some of you can see where this is going, but if not, then allow me to explain. The bastard knocked me up. He raped me, at 11 years old, and got me pregnant.
When I finally realized there was something happening with my body, something that wasn't quite right, I talked to my mom. She took me to the doctor, who confirmed it.
She didn't even wait for me to explain, she didn't even give me a chance. She ripped into me for being a slut, a whore, and the very next day I had an abortion. It would be three days before my 12th birthday. A day that would not be celebrated that year. She told me to never speak a word to my father, because he would think I was such a whore he wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. So I didn't. It became our dirty little secret, and for five years I never uttered a word.
I told a few friends, my story changing every time. I don't know why I lied to them, none of them knew the whole truth, in fact... none of them do to this day. I don't know what possessed me to hide the truth, and I don't know what made me think that it was something I would be judged for (I suppose I can thank mommy dearest for that). But my behavior changed.
I was a very active child, I rode horses, I was a gymnast, I was always somewhere doing something with someone. Suddenly I was did/was none of these things. I spent most of my time on the couch, I started sneaking alcohol from my mothers cupboard (not difficult since she is an alcoholic) and stealing her cigarettes. I did anything, everything I could, to convince myself that I was okay, and to ignore the pain.
I was 14, when I had my first 'real' boyfriend. I hardly knew him before I slept with him, and to this day I am not sure why I made the decision I did. He was there, I needed to take my body into my own hands... I needed something.
He came and went in a matter of weeks, and once again I buried myself in my drugs of choice.
And then came C. He seemed sweet at first, and once again, I slept with him. It wasn't at first, but eventually he became abusive to me. He started strangling me before sex, he would make me pass out and then he would have sex with my body. I closed my eyes, and I let him... always slightly afraid that he would take it too far next time, and I wouldn't wake up. I let it happen anyways. On occasion he would push me around a little, we fought all the time, and when it was over I saw it as a blessing. I was relieved.
Then, of course, there was A. He was many things to me. My dealer, my lover, the worst of them all. He was the first to give me a pill, told me it'd make me feel better. And he was right, because you do feel better when you don't feel at all. I don't even know how many different types of pills I took, didn't even pay attention before I swallowed them down. Then when they seemed like they weren't effecting me anymore, I started snorting them. At that time, I weighed barely 100 pounds, and I was a mess. A was in some debt... not with the banks, but with the drug dealers in our area.
It wasn't long before he realized he could trade something for drugs, and he didn't have to work at all. He could trade me.
For three weeks (six times total) I traded sexual favors for drugs, and my boyfriend became my pimp, and I had reached rock bottom.
My father (whom I have not much in this, but is the most amazing man in the world) began to grow concerned for me. He called the police, and told them that I had drugs on me at school. They called it an anonymous tip, but somehow I have always know that it was him. I went to juvy for three days, and then court ordered rehab for two weeks. When I reemerged, I could feel something different.
I have not touched a drug since then. I have met a man, who is not perfect, but is respectful and patient.
I am turning 21 in a couple of months, and I am excited to see where life can go.
I am hoping that my story helps someone out there... if you have read this, and are also a sexual abuse victim that wants to share your story, please send me an e-mail.
Sexconfessed@gmail.com
I will post all and every story, poem, or letter I receive here.
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