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Survivor Stories

When I was 17 years old, I got my first "serious" boyfriend. He was 19 and attracted me by making me feel somehow wanted. And I needed that. I was virgin and curious about sex, and he made me want to have sex, but not the way it came.

I used to visit him at his place after school once a week. Of course, one of those days we ended up in bed. We were kissing and he was touching me and I was enjoying it. Then he asked me to get totally naked and I said "no", I didn't want to have sex. But he convinced me, telling me "Come on, I just want to feel your body". So I did. And then he penetrated me, without my consense. I remember I was only crying and feeling pain. I tried to push him away but he was much stronger than me. After he finished, I looked at him with tears in my eyes. That was definitely not the way I wanted to have sex. He said he was sorry, so I forgave him. After all, it had been my fault. But, thinking back, he did not have any right to have sex with me after I had said "no".

Of course, nobody knew about this. I knew that, if I told somebody, I would have been blamed back. And I went on seeing him. He started becoming rude and jealous. Once more I had sex with him and, to my disappointment, he spent the whole time saying bad words. I got tired of him and left him. I realized I was much more worthful than him. He kept on chasing me down. One day, on the street, he threatened me on raping me. I threatened back that I would scream, so he left me alone. The last thing I knew about him was that he died in a car accident. I felt almost happy about it.

It is so easy for young girls to fall in abusers' traps. I have now a 4 year old daughter and it breaks my heart to think that she will for sure face this kind of threatens in the future and that all I can do is to give her the feeling that she has to take care and to defend herself. I don't think I can do more than that. As long as males' education doesn't change, they will go on threatening women.


my earliest memory was of me throwing pieces of hot dog bun bread at some seaguls who were all scatterd near a tinish-silver looking picnic table i was seated at with my mother, sister and father. i remeber throwing one piece in piticular down for the seagul who wasn't really fightng with the others for food attention, when another seagul went after the same piece of bread. both beaks at eachother, tugging on the bread at two ends. i threw another piece down for the second seagul to leave the first one's meal alone, but instead the first seagul dropped the bread they were fueding intensely over and ate the new piece. for some reason, this sums up everything in my life...especially since i have never seen a picnic table look that shiney again in my life, nor was that family outting sceane very true.

my father was an alchoholic before my mother met him. he had many emotional problems, and my mother didn't know what she was getting into. she just wanted a man who was good to her, and good have a couple of kids and a dog with. this didn't happen the way she had hoped. my father soon after the birth of my older sister (the only child he had with a woman and that he intended to have and stay around for), his drinking binges worsend, and he sought help many times, but failed to pull through. as the alcohol and drugs swept in, he began hitting my mother on a reglar basis. for some reason, my mother thought another child would have him turn around. my father told my mother, "No more kids." but she wanted another child desperatly. i was actually an accident, and by the time she knew for certain she was pregnant, abortion was out of the question for how far along she was. my father even tried punching her in the stomach to rid himself of me, but somehow i didn't give in. i'm proud of that.

my father didn't start beating me until i was three, i remember him throwing me against walls if i was 'in the way' or bashing my head against polls. i have scars all over from him randomly putting a cig out on me, i always moved away slow, as if to tell him i didn't care. i never cried. he even bit my arm, turnnig it black and drew some blood and i just looked at him (i don't remembr this, my mother told me about the inncident). i think this is why he hated me so much, cuz i never reacted in a vunerable way. maybe he was intimidated. i never smiled in family photos, but my sister and moter coverd that area for me. kinda funny. he never hit my sister. he loved her.

the first time he touched me, i was either turning four or just turned four, cuz i remember that birthday well. i remember people taking pictures of me downing cake. food was always the release. it really didn't bother me that he was touchng me. i'm not sure why. i guess because i was so used to being beat and watchng him beat my mother, that it was almost a reliefe that it wasn't leaving visible scars..of course never count on a man to do a woman's job. he soon became hostil since once again, my reaction wasn't sobbing, just blank, and the touching turned more violent as i grew older. when i was four (definantly) was the first time he actually penitrated me. i do remember that almost clearly. eagle eye, like most cases of incest. i remember how much it hurt, i remember the pain. i remember him asking me to preform falatio, and i agreed. and it sickens me, but i did it. i always cleaned up the mess. maybe he did it once or twice, but usually i would take the sponge i kept by my bed (i wasn't allowed to use the bathroom after 6pm, so i'd have to go to the bathroom in my trash can, and wipe with a sponge, grosse i know)

my mother knew it was going on, but pretended it wasn't. my sister caught us a couple times, so he would take me to the basement locking the door. his frinds knew, i think they didn't really mind. they were probably doing the same things to their kids. my silent friends. finally, when i was five, my mother divorced him, but she still allowed him to see us, and every other week-end i was there with him. it stopped for awhile, then started..he has a problem with keeping in touch (it's the dead-beat dad, 'i don't feel like finacially supporting my offspring who live in poverty' in him), so he'd go out of state and i'd be free for awihle. the last time it happend, i screamed so loud, his land lords wife knocked on the door and i think she knew what was up. he stopped, and did not beat me.

a year ago he called, and i told him never to call me again. i told him i remember everything, and nothing you can say will make me forget. i don't hate him. i have no feelings tward him. he can burn in hell for all i care. i know he was messed up as a kid, and thats why he's messed up now and messed me up, but i still won't forgive him. i will never lay a hand on my child, or any child. it is wrong, and pathedicly disgustng. the problems a child of abuse suffer from, are undefinable. i have had weight problems, i was an obese child, now an overweight adult battleing bulimia, have addictive and compulsive impulse personality, severe depression, suicidal tendencies, OCD and soo many other things. some are chemical imbalnces i inherited, that would've happend anyway, but it was aggrivated by the fact that my father was harmful. i wll alway be a child inside, and will always hate it. if you are being hurt, you need to get help -even if its you hurting yourself now. if you're cutting or burning yourself or exploiting behavior you know you shouldn't be, then you need to break the silence. think of it a hugging your sewn up doll again.

im: lostunicornhorn

i grew up, being raped and molested by my father. my first memory of being molested was when i was four, and he was washing me in the tub, he kept pushing me backward, to where i was almmost lying down, but i had lye, propped up on my elbows to keep my head above the water, but it was uncomfortable, and hard to hold my head above the water, but he kept pushingme down that way, so he could rub me down there. that is my first memory of him touching me down there-- so that it hurt, memories before that at all are sketchy, except goodnight songs, my mom would sing, and other small snipets of dolls or toys, or siblings-- but that was, the first *terror*. fear- absolute not understanding, and dissociation. it continued progressing to rape, at a young age and ending when my period started when i was 12.

i was molested and raped by the preacher of my church starting when i was ten. My family didn't go to church, but it wasn't really a family. We all avoided eachother, it was -- painful. and i would do anything to not be at home, and was loooking for *anyone* who would love me. the preacher, said he did, would, and would forever.

i dont know if you would call it rape, i was willing to be --- "be loved", i was also terrified, funny, how dcan one be willing and terrified at the same time, but i was. I wwas. and my home life was so devoid of love, i would do anything to be loved. that ended at 14, when it was revealed by another girl he "loved" her too, and several others. even then, i defended him publically to the church, but i was heartbroken wierd-- at 14, i defended him, and was destroyed that -- he didn't love me, like i thought he did. bizaare.

i was also stranger raped, at 27, when as a real estate agent i was showing a house to a man and his friend, on a saturday morning.



we must face thosee things we fear- and in facing them, we beomce more.
I am more.
I am not defeated.
I am more.

I am 33.
life begins now.


Tell your story.

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