Well I dont want to horrify you all with my details but i will let you know i am no ordinary survivor. I was Raped at the age of 14, it was my first sexual encounter. I was invited to a party after a home game, i went to meet my boyfriend at the time. When i arrived he decided to go upstairs and "talk" with another girl. i picked up a drink and started to play drinking games. Before i knew it i started to black out a bit. Later on it was beleived that my drink had been tainted with the date rape drug. I was raped by at least 3 guys, there is possability there were more. After a terror of beind forcibly raped one after another, they finally let me go.
Here is where my story turns for the worse. 2 weeks after being raped i found out i was pregnant... I went through the choice of abortion or adoption and through all the hell and torment i went through, i kept my baby. My daughter is 6 now and i love her tremendesly, she is my angel to get me through this. I live my rape over and over every day when i look in to her beautiful blue eyes. Her fathers face stares back at me. I am now finding that i have a problem seperating her from the rape.
I recently got married and had my second child. going through a pregnancy again was like opening pandoras box, i had nightmares, flashbacks, and horrible thoughts that my daughter would want to meet her biological father. I could go on for hours for the little things i am going through, but i bet they are better spent with a family therapist. I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU, i need to know i am not alone, if you have been raped and became pregnant, kept the child, EMAIL me firstname.lastname@example.org or search for me on ICQ kat 23415297 also can web message me from icq.com. please, i need to know i am not alone
I have only one request of you as you read this: tell me that you hear me. I often read through these messages and feel so completely overwhelmed, so speechless that I feel utterly powerless to respond in any coherent way. I'm not doing this to seek your sympathy or pity, honestly. But this story has been locked up inside me for 12 years, and this is the first time I've said it all. I need something other than a counter on the forum index to know that I'm being heard. So, please, just reply long enough to say, "I hear you."
I was sexually assaulted during my sophomore year of high school. I never called it rape; in fact, when I finally did find the courage to start sharing my story and asking for help, it was always, "I was sexually assaulted... but it wasn't rape." I had no idea until just a few weeks ago that it really was rape.
My high school church youth group, EYC, was everything to me back then. These were the people who loved me unconditionally, who taught me how to trust and how to live a Real life--a life that I could be proud of every day. They taught me how to love, and how to let myself be loved. I am forever grateful to EYC, for they have shaped me into the woman I am today. I smile when I think of these beloved friends.
We were on a retreat in the Hill Country of Texas, then. It was January, and it was unusually cold. We'd spent the day doing typical retreat stuff--talking, hiking, watching movies, huddling close to one another. It was night now, the final night of our retreat. I'm sure it was already well past midnight, and we were all settling in for bed. I set up my sleeping bag near the fireplace, anxious for any extra warmth I could find. Soon, I heard Brian's footsteps coming down the stairs, and Chris's as well. These two were my dearest of friends. Brian and I had dated on and off for a bit, but nothing really came of it. He'd asked me once if he could kiss me, and I said, "Not yet." He accepted that, and changed the topic of conversation. Chris was like an older brother for me--such a strong, protective love between us. They came down the stairs that night and laid down their sleeping bags on either side of me, Brian on my left and Chris on my right. We whispered "Good night" to one another, and I quickly dozed off into sleep.
I awoke feeling cold. There was something touching my shoulder, and my ear. It took a few moments to realize that it was Brian. As I slept, Brian had unzipped my sleeping bag and pushed it aside; he was kissing my ear, and sliding his hand beneath my pajamas. I felt the moisture of his lips on mine, and his hand begin to snake against my skin. I was confused, and still half-asleep, so I decided to roll over and pretend that I'd never woken up at all. A moment passed, and I breathed. The cold air seared through my lungs. I saw Chris beside me, completely asleep and unaware. Brian's hand became firmer on my shoulder, and he pulled me almost gently onto my back again. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but anger reflected in his. I was instantly awake and fully coherent.
I saw his lips move above me, and heard his voice say something, but to this day I have no memory of his actual words. It was something just threatening enough to scare me, and just gentle & familiar enough that I knew I could not scream out. He leaned down to lay alongside me. One arm reached under my neck to my far shoulder, and his elbow and forearm held me down as his hand dove beneath my pajamas. That hand grabbed hold of my breast, squeezing and pinching. My mind reeled, and I had no idea what to do. I tried to say something, but no sound would come. My hands and arms felt like lead. My breathing became more rapid, the cold air feeling like icicles puncturing my lungs.
I had to do something. Chris was still sound asleep, but all it would take is one scream to wake everybody up. I was in a room full of people--people I loved. Help was right beneath my fingertips. But that help would come with a price, my mind reasoned. If I screamed, if I told anybody--ever--, if I sought help, EYC would collapse. Our beloved youth director would surely lose his job, EYC would be disbanded, and we would all lose this precious community. Everybody would hate me, and everybody would blame me. I couldn't let that happen, not because of me. No. *I* would not cause the destruction of EYC.
So I made the choice, right then, to stay quiet. I had never seen Brian like this. He was athletic and competitive, yes, and in all honesty we all knew that he was teetering on the edge between the Good and the Bad, but *this?* What did I do wrong?? What did I do to make him do this to me? I pleaded with myself, with God, with Brian, as I tried to understand.
His hands brought me back to the here-and-now. He leaned over, more fully against me, and his leg fell atop mine. His knee sank between mine, ever-so-slowly prying my legs apart and pinning one down at the same time. It was all so slow. I could feel the heat of him on my skin and through the fabric of my pajamas, and the contrast of that heat against the frigid night air made it burn. My arms wouldn't move, my voice would not produce sound. As his one hand continued to roughly fondle my breast, his other hand slid across my abdomen and belly. It lingered at the waistband of my underwear, then dove beneath. I could feel the sharpness of his cuticles and fingernails as he began to touch the skin just at the base of my pubic hair. I tried to roll over again, tried to make just a little bit of sound, but I was no match for him. He murmured something else. His restraining grip became stronger, and I couldn't move. His fingers sank further inward, beneath the curls, between the folds of flesh until he found my clitoris. He squeezed it, pulled on it, fondled it. My flesh was completely dry, though, and that dryness coupled with the sharp skin of his fingers made it hurt. His knee sank a bit deeper between my legs, forcing them further open, and within half a moment I felt his finger push inside my vagina. It hurt; as he moved in and out, it felt like hot sandpaper inside me. And then it hurt more, as he pushed at least two, maybe three fingers inside me.
That's when I disappeared. I don't know if I passed out, or just completely detached myself, but I have absolutely no memories from then until later. I don't know what else he did, I don't know what made him stop, I don't know how long this lasted.
Next thing I knew, my sleeping bag was securely zipped up around me again, Brian was asleep beside me, and the sun was beginning to rise. I braved the well-below-freezing temperatures and fled to the outdoor shower, washing and scrubbing and crying for what must have been a very long time. When I put my clothes on and went back inside everybody was awake, eating breakfast, and packing up their gear. I left my sleeping bag there and never reclaimed it.
My only option was to keep quiet. I couldn't stand the thought of being the cause of EYC's destruction, so I did my best to pretend that nothing happened. I had to convince everyone that things were normal--that nothing ever happened. And that meant staying friends with Brian. We saw each other several times a week at EYC, we hung out together, we talked on the phone... we went on retreats together. Somewhere along the line, I even convinced myself. If it weren't for the nightmares, I might have succeeded.
Nightmares, at least once or twice each night, continued for years. Every single one was about being raped. Sometimes the rapist was a total stranger, sometimes a classmate, sometimes yet another dear friend. I felt everything, though, in those dreams. I felt it all. Again, and again, and again.
Finally, once I left for college, I recognized that this was sexual assault. Not rape. Noooooooooooooooo. Rape is violent. Rape is forced intercourse. Rape is screaming in a back alley somewhere... Not this, I told myself. Nooooo.
So here I am, today. And I know that it *was* rape. I've never said that word when referring to my own story. The nightmares ended eventually, but they've been popping up this fall since the terrorist attacks in September.
I was raped. I was 15 when I was raped. I was raped by one of my dearest friends.
I have a wonderful life. I teach high school, and I adore my students. I fell in love with a kind, gentle, compassionate man while I was in college, and he has been there for me every step of the way. He holds me when I feel frightened, dries my tears when I am sad, and makes sure that I *feel* in every fiber of my being that I am loved. We've been married for almost three years now; he is the love of my life, my soulmate, my angel. He has taught me how to love again, and how to trust.
And now it's time to take another step forward on this neverending journey of healing. It's time to say the words aloud. It's time to share my story with others, starting with my students... As the 12-year mark of my rape approaches, I will begin the process of telling my story to my very own students. I do this to finally end my silence, in hopes that my story can comfort those who already know this pain too well... as well as in hopes that I may be able to prevent someone else from going through this hell. I will talk to the girls as well as the boys, freshmen through seniors. I will say the words.
I was raped. I am a survivor.
Do you hear me, out there??? I was raped, and I am a survivor. Thanks... :)