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Survivor Stories

I'm a male, I am 15 Yrs. old and i am not sure if i was molested/raped. I have been having re-occuring flashbacks of when I was in kidnegarten or 1st grade. I was on the school bus home, and my sisters friend's sister (she was mentally challenged by a learning disability) asked me to go over to her house so we could watch a movie.

It took alot of convincing for me (i was 5 or 6) to get dropped off at somebody elses house. when i got there, we went down stairs into their basement where she set up a tv/vcr with a kiddie movie. I am not sure what happened next. I think she had her hand down my pants and was playing with my penis. I do remember everything downstairs came to a stop when they got a phone call from my mom, who never got any notice from the bus driver. while i was waiting for my mother to pick me up i remember talking to the girls mother about her back yard. My mother only lives about a 10 minute walk away from the house, so she made it in the car in about 1 minute.

Also, i find it hard to date. I have never had a g/f to date. It kinda embarrases me because i have people comment on it. i am popular with the guys in my school, they know i am strait. There has only been 2 girls i like and would like to go out with. there are plenty of cute girls at the school but none really appeal to me for a serious relationship.

Sometimes i am mentally unstable and i have a bad temper. A few years ago i was very suicidal and now i kinda feel like it is happening again. The other day i punched my bedroom door so hard it made a wood splinter patch the size of my fist and a half inch deep. i almost put my hand through the door.

Name Withheld


I'm 19 years old and in my sophomore year in college. Beth is not my real name...I'm using an alias, because I'm too paranoid to use my real one. Anyway, my story is not as severe as many posted here. I feel sort of "unworthy" to post my story here, because so many of you have experienced far worse abuse than I have. Nevertheless, I have to get it out. Kind of long, and somewhat graphic, be careful.

I didn't really consciously remember a lot of this until last year, my freshman year in college. I began having disturbing nightmares and was depressed, anxious, and cutting myself. I began remembering some of the things that happened to me when I was younger.

I don't really know when it started. The first thing I remember is taking showers with my father. I don't know if he molested me then or not..like I said, my memories are fuzzy at best. I do remember one part very vividly, though. Since I was so young (I'm guessing about four years old or so), I was exactly eye level with his penis. I remember being very curious as to what the big 'thing' right in front of my face was, and why I didn't have one too. My father had a nickname for it--he called it his mushroom. He called mine an anthill (I shiver when I write that...I can't even say it without freaking out). But I don't know if he touched me then or not.

The next memory I had was of my father and I snuggling in my parents bed. I'm estimating (I have no way of knowing for sure) that I was about 4 or 5 at the time. Mom was gone at work, and my dad and I played a 'game'. He would pretend he was asleep, then he would roll over and say in a low creepy voice, "I'm not your daddy!" And I would get scared, but then he'd go back to being 'daddy' and I'd laugh hysterically. That wasn't the weird part. My father would then hold me close to his body and roll over on me on the bed, to where we'd roll and I'd be on his stomach, then he'd be on mine. At first I thought it was fun, because it made me dizzy...it was supposed to be a game. But it stopped being fun when he stopped rolling... with him on top of me, pinning my arms down. I couldn't move, and he was so heavy on top of me. I couldn't move my legs either. I'd start to panic and get upset, and then he'd let me go finally, but only after holding me down and tickling me so hard I was helpless. I hate being tickled now...it almost hurts me because it's a feeling of being out of control.

The next memory is very disturbing to me...not only because of the obvious reasons, but because I remember less about this particular incident than any of the others. My parents had this Hitachi vibrating massager (I hate seeing them now)...anyway, I would massage my father's back with it, and he'd massage mine. Again, where was Mom? At work. Then, and this is a flash-image memory, meaning I only remember it like a still shot...I remember feeling the vibrating massager on my clitoris, and the bruised feeling it made there. I also remember something really really stupid..the light green flower pattern of the sheets. How dumb is that. I don't remember any more than that..don't remember his face, his hands, or mine. To be completely honest, I don't remember if I was the one using the massager on myself or if my father was. It's kind of scary that I have no way of knowing if it was me or him that was doing it.

When I was about seven, my father bathed me still, and when he bathed me 'down there', he didn't use a washcloth. He used his fingers. It stung and burned from the soap, and I told him it was stingy. But he didn't really do anything but imitate me the way I said stingy. Then he would take me out, dry me off, and lay me down on my parents bed. Yes, mom was at work. He told me to spread my legs, and he got a cotton ball and rubbed gently on my genitals, telling me I had to be clean. At seven, I knew this was strange, but I was too embarrassed and too uncomfortable to say anything about it. This went on for a while..and who knows how long it had gone on before the age of seven. Seven is just when I remember it. Some days, I would itch severely 'down there', and go into the bathroom and see blood. I was seven...girls at that age are too young for their periods. I started mine at 13, so whatever that blood was from, I don't even wanna know. (However, I just recently learn ed from my mom that I used to have some irritation down there, and dad had to keep me clean..she said she kept me clean too..but I still think it was weird).

I was 13 when the most blatant incident of touching occurred. Mom had already gone to work, and for some reason, I wasn't at school that day. My dad came into my room that morning and laid down behind me...in a spooned up position. I could feel his body on my back. At thirteen, girls are very aware of what's happening with their bodies, and I remember thinking, "Ew..dad's right next to me". That hardly prepared me for what happened next, however. My father reached his arm slowly over my side and slid his hand down into my underwear. (I was only wearing a short t-shirt and underwear). He touched my private parts for a minute, but I was pretending I was asleep, so I fake-twitched and he quickly took his hand away, and left the room. I lay there scared, not knowing what to do.

In June of this year, my counselor called Child Protective Services to make sure my father wasn't molesting my 14 year old sister, but they ended the investigation. To this day, my father still crosses boundaries, and invades my personal space...no touching like when I was younger, but he'll touch my back, my butt sometimes, and sometimes, when I'm home for the summer, he'll come and sit on the edge of my bed. It scares me! I am still having so much trouble with the depression and cutting, and I want it all to go away. When I describe the incidents, I kind of detach and don't go into all the emotions I felt at the time, but believe me, I get so upset all the time, I sometimes feel like I'm going crazy! I need help, but there's no one there.

I've only gone out with one guy..I was 16. He kissed me, I totally freaked, and I broke up with him simply because I was scared. I still feel so stupid about that. I'm almost 20, and I've only kissed one guy. I hope someday I'll trust men.

Beth


From about the age of 4 to the age of 8 I was sexually abused by a teenage boy that lived next door. It's hard to remember exactly how long it lasted or how many times it happened because I have very few memories from that time in my life. It ended when I was 8 and he had intercourse with me--again, I can't remember much about it, just bits and pieces. Mainly, what I remember is the pain and the fear. Somehow my parents found out--I have no idea how--and I ended up in the emergency room being examined which was a terrifying and humiliating experience as I had no idea why I was being examined that way. We moved right after that and I never saw him again, although I thought about him almost constantly for years. There was no sexual abuse in my family but there was a lot of physical and verbal abuse and the sexual abuse and rape from my childhood was never dealt with which made everything that was happening to me a heavy load.

I had a lot of problems with depression, eating disorders, self injury, and running away when I was growing up. When I got to college, I started seeing a male therapist to deal with these issues and he said I needed sex therapy to work through the sexual trauma from childhood. We were in a sexual relationship for 4 years which was also filled with psychological and spiritual abuse from my therapist, especially when he drank too much. It was a very confusing and lonely time for me because I wasn't allowed to tell anybody and I was playing the part of "daddy's little girl" with him (he was 30 years older than me). It finally ended when I was 22 when word got out on campus and the whole thing became a big scandal.

It's been 7 years since it ended, and I have spent most of the time struggling with the same problems I had in childhood except to a greater degree. I also have been very isolated for the most part and have been unable to have a relationship with a man. Only recently I began seeing a Christian counselor who specializes in sexual abuse issues and she told me that I have multiple personalities which scares me to death. I'm starting to seriously work through the abuse from childhood and college and right now feel like I'm wandering around the desert with no end in site.

Virginia


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