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Survivor Stories

God, I hope this helps somebody. I don't even really know where to begin. I was raped by my uncle when I was about 4 or 5 while I was spending the summer at my grandmother's house. It was hot, and I had been playing in her lawn sprinkler, and he was watching me while I played.

Later that day when my grandmother and I were both having afternoon naps, he came into my room. I didn't realize he was in with me until I felt him pressing down on me. I can still remember the smell -- alcohol, stale cigarette smoke and rancid sweat. He jerked off my panties before I was really awake, and began fondling me. I remember being afraid and whimpering, but he told me that if I made any noise or told anyone, he would kill me and my baby brother. Something cut my upper thigh -- his zipper maybe, or his pocketknife -- I still have the scar. I was terrified. He told me that he could tell that I wanted it by the way I had been acting earlier in the day. He pressed my face down into the bed pillow and raped 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 felt so very small and sad. My grandmother sent me home a few days later because I was crying all the time and running a fever. I wish that was the only time I had been raped. I was so young then, and my memories of it are hazy around the edges. Unfortunately, my other memories are crystal clear.

My self-esteem has never been very good. I fell into an abusive relationship when I was 16. That man abused and intimidated me in every way possible. I was very afraid of him, and especially afraid of what he might do to me if I upset him. He raped and assaulted me, and had other men rape and assault me several times during our relationship. He humiliated and belittled me. The rapes were just an especially degrading item in his array of torture methods.

I left him by breaking up with him and immediately fleeing the state. I stayed with a family friend for a couple of years while I was in therapy. I never pressed charges. I thought about it, but decided that nothing could ever make up for what he had done to me, and that my life couldn't stand any more intrusion, no matter how well-intentioned. Now, later, I wish I had gone to the police. What I want more than anything is to know that he can never do this to anyone ever again. What he did to me is beyond comprehension. He scarred my body, he wounded my soul.

It seems massively unfair that I am the one who suffers after these rapes. I have flashbacks and nightmares in which I relive the events. If I were meting out justice, I would see to it that the rapist feels the emotional destruction that comes with rape, that he relives the horror and the pain from the victim's point of view every time he sleeps or gets startled. I would certainly make it so that the victim doesn't have to relive her assault ever, ever again. Once is too much!

If anyone wishes to contact me, they can e-mail me at Onesurvives@hotmail.com. I also have a rape survivors' website.

Jennifer


I don't really know where to begin or what to say. It's rather scary to talk about, even now, because I feel like it's my fault. I think I will always feel like it is my fault. It began when my boyfriend broke up with me. I was beside myself and angry and very deeply hurt. A few weeks later, he called me not to reconcile but to continue the relationship as "a purely sexual relationship" and I consented to this as a way of keeping him around.

A few months went by like this and then, one night when he came to the house, his friend Greg* was in the car. I didn't question why until after we were on the highway speeding to an unknown destination. I asked where we were going, and that's when they told me I was to have sex with one while performing oral sex on the other. I told them I didn't want to, and when we got to a spot, an abandoned camp ground in the middle of woods, I was told I didn't have to. Greg went into the car while I had sex with my ex.

Then, while I stood outside in the rain dressing, my ex went into the car to talk to Greg. He came back out and told me that if I didn't want to get left there, I'd let Greg have sex with me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where I was or how to get home from there, and the drive had been at least an hour anyway, and we were a good fifteen minute drive from the nearest telephone, so I had sex with Greg. The next day I told my ex I could never see him again. Greg continued to email me and tell me these lies, and I just let him talk to me while I'd ignore him.

A few weeks later, Greg and his friend Joe invited me to Greg's house for a pool party. I didn't believe them, but I called their good friend Kristin who told me it was true, so I went over and when I got there, only Kristin, Greg, and Joe were there. As soon as I got into the pool, Kristin left. I went to get out of the pool, but the next thing I knew, Greg and Joe had pulled me far from the ladder, to the other side of the pool, and while Joe held my feet, Greg undid the top of my bathing suit and threw it out of the pool. I screamed and cried, and Joe tried to take off the bottom of my bathing suit, but I had worked my feet free enough to kick him in the jaw.

At this point, Greg carried me around the pool, then out of the pool, inside, up to his room, where I was told I could not leave until I performed oral sex on him. I cried for a half an hour while he told me that in the time I'd been crying, I could have performed oral sex on him and walked home. I cried some more until I realized I wasn't leaving until I'd done so, so I performed oral sex on him. Then he kicked me out of his room, so I went back to the pool, put on the top of my bathing suit, and walked home. I got a shower immediately and brushed my teeth.

I knew I couldn't report it to the police because Greg's two years younger than I am --he's 16 and I'm 18, though both he and Joe are a lot bigger and stronger than I am. Also, where I live still abides by the old rule of "if it's not genital to genital, it's not really rape" and more than likely, if it got out, they'd both twist it around so that it was consensual and I could end up on statutory rape charges. So, until now, I've told no one what happened to me.

-Anonymous


So here it goes, the story of my life. It started when I was about 2or 3, I am DID/MPD and that is the age of my youngest alter. Anyway, My cousins were the abusers. Cj is my age and Mindy is a few years older, and now, I have memories of my aunt.

I know that things started with groping and touching. But then things turned sadistic. Or shall I be nice by saying ritualistic...I was poked and prodded and chemicals were put on my skin. I was beaten by baseball bats, and of course I was sodomized. Not just with my cousins penis, but with cucumbers, gold clubs, pens, sticks and anything else that was lying around. That lasted until I was about 6. Then I was vaginally raped by my cousins penis, my other cousins tongue, and my aunts fingers. I remember a wooden spoon once.

Well this was obviously traumatizing enough, but when I was 12, I got pregnant. I was about 15 weeks pregnant before they figured out what was going on. They took a baseball bat and hit my stomach until I miscarried my dear little boy. Isaac Hunter is his name, He was born on 4-12-96. He was also burned that day. Lucky enough he wasn't alive when they did it.

That was the beginning of my fights back. I decided I would have to win this, for my child, however, before I got enough courage to tell, I got pregnant again. This time I was 18 weeks pregnant when they found out. I was hit with a baseball bat, and a salty solution was put inside me. Kaylie Elizabeth was born and burned on 2-1-97. She was 4 inches long, and she had blondish fuzz on her head. My sweet Kaylie. She was also born dead. Besides all the bats, rapes, and beatings loosing those precious babies to the hands of my abusers was the worst thing to happen in my entire life.

After Kaylie, nothing mattered anymore. On February 5th 1997, I broke my silence. Nothing happened to my abusers, not enough physical evidence, and they "couldn't prove beyond a reasonable doubt" that there was force and not just consensual. I had showered...

Well, at least I have screamed to the world what happened, and now everyone knows my children's names. May they RIP. Thanks for listening...

-Laura


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