Its hard to know where to begin. Please be patient with me as this really is the first time for me writing things out. My mind gets flooded with all these ideas and words, and I can't seem to type fast enough. I just want to help myself and hopefully help someone else not feel so alone. I've had a lot of wonderful people help me get to this point, but its always a day at a time, you know?
The first time I was raped I was 20 years old. The first time I said it out loud was 3 years ago (when I was 25). That is when my healing began. When I was 20 years old, I was in a relationship with a man that was 9.5 years older than me. I was very naive and very trusting. I wanted someone to love me and I felt like I had a lot of love to give. When he told me he loved me (1 week after we started dating) I had no reason to believe anything but that. And I felt like that when you love someone, you would never intentionally hurt them. I believed whatever he said about me was true. I believed it when he said I needed to lose weight, when I needed to change my hair style to look better, when I needed to get my ears pierced so I would look better, and when it came to sex, I just felt that since he loved me he would never do anything to hurt me and I was supposed to give into everything he wanted me to do.
In the beginning, I would say no, because it felt uncomfortable. Towards the middle and the end, I just didn't even bother anymore. I figured I was a loser, and he wasn't going to listen to me anyway, so I would just get naked and let him do whatever he wanted. I felt worthless and numb and like the definition of wrong. I was confused, because he said he loved me, he stayed with me, but he found all these things about me that he hated. He verbally abused me all the time.
Geez. I haven't thought about this in awhile. He was really messed up in the head. I guess I was too. I guess I just felt like b/c a lot had happened to him when he was younger and stuff that he should be allowed to treat me however he wanted to. I mean, after all he had it so bad before. He deserved to release it on someone. And I really thought I loved him. Turns out I just loved the idea of love. And the longer I stayed the further away from it I got. I got pregnant with him. I know it was from rape; it was never consensual sex. That's still something I haven't learned how to talk about yet. Needless to say, a year and engagement later, I found out he had been cheating on me with someone at his job and had been for almost 6 months (right around the time I had the abortion). He hated me for that. And he paid me back by cheating on me. Anyway, I'm just trying to get this all out. I'm not trying to offend anyone. I'm just trying to heal.
The second time I was raped was a year ago. 1.5 months ago I told a close friend of mine (who happens to know the guy as well) and I told 2 other close friends of mine. It became so real after that. I am still dealing with this because it is so fresh in my head. He was a "person I knew" for almost a year and I still blame myself for staying around him as long as I did. I thought I was smarter than that. I still have guilt. I still get embarrassed, because he is littler than me (literally and figuratively). Right after it happened, I remember looking at him and saying "you just raped me" and he said, "No I didn't. You were right here and what I did doesn't fall into the definition of rape." And he said that he was out of it anyway and didn't really remember what happened. (sigh)
It's hard to trust me again. Its hard to be in relationships with men. I feel so insecure. And scared. And embarrassed. And guilty. And I feel like every time I try to get close to someone they are going to leave, or they are going to hurt me. I just want to see what other people see in me. I want to believe that I can love and be loved and that I am worthy of it. I strive to be happy. I strive to survive this. They took part of me away. And I let them. But I'm going to get me back. I know I am in here somewhere and I know that I am worth it; we all are.
Thank you for listening and trying to understand. Good luck to all of you. Please email me or I'm me if you ever want to talk. I promise I will always listen. :) keep hope and love in your heart wherever you can.
He smiled. A sadistic smile, one that tugged at his maw and revealed pearl white teeth, straight in a row, a smile that never needed braces as a child, a smile that probably made hearts melt and made hearts break. He was sixteen, seventeen, I don't remember anymore, it's all a blur -- but I remember his smile, his face blurred, dark blue eyes wide and alert and his hands. His hands. They claimed long, slender fingers that seemed perfect to play piano, strong and pale, like his face, nails having dirt crusted under them and calluses upon his palms. They fondled my cheeks, ran through my loose auburn hair, unbuttoned his shirt, did everything that I could remember from that day, now three years ago exactly. I remember my screams, my cries, but no one was there; they were all outside playing baseball over in the field a mile or so away, back in the campus of the elementary school. It was just him and me, and as he locked the bathroom door in the cramped portable, I screamed and begged for God to help me, for someone to help me, so I wouldn't die of shame or fright.
He killed me. That day, I was dead.
I am now fourteen years old, and that day of which my rape happened -- I was eleven.
This may be triggering material so please be in a safe space when you read it.
There are things that I remember and things that I am sure that I have blocked out of my life. I was entirely too young to have sex - entirely too young. I was less than a month past my fifteenth birthday. I thought it was cool that I had a boyfriend who was almost 20. I was fifteen.
I had a realization this weekend. In the 8 years since 1992, I have met well over a hundred people in real life that have been raped/molested/abused in some way shape or form. I had always said to myself that there was a reason I found these people out, or they found me. I thought I was there to help them (I got my degree in psychology in 96 and thought about working with abuse survivors). I was talking to my best friend and I recounted this information to her. She knows about my sexual history -- and she said to me "Abby, maybe you're drawn to survivors because you are one."
I sat there and it was like I got hit by a ton of bricks. I told her that I didn't think I could call myself that because I was never raped or molested. I had never said no. I had been very sexually active -- going out and looking for it even. And then I remembered and I kept remembering things. Like my friend mike picking me up because my car had broken down and him being drunk and wanting to rub himself on me and me not wanting him to and not saying anything. I remember calling a friend in my hometown and asking for a ride - and him asking for sexual favors in return. I could have said no, but I didn't. I knew how screwed up that was, but I did it anyway. He wouldn't kiss me because he only kissed 'people he loved'. I should have had him take me home and said no. But I didn't.
I remember sitting in the bathtub when I was very little - probably about 8. The door was closed and I was upstairs. My father's mother came into the bathroom and closed the door. She then proceeded to use the toilet and did so almost silently. There were 2 other bathrooms in the house. I remember thinking this was strange and she never touched me.
I remembered being barely 15 and being in love with a guy and fooling around with him on the beach -- not wanting to give a blowjob and him calling me "chickenshit" in a playful way and me feeling badly and doing it. I remember being 15 or so and getting really really drunk with the above mentioned friend mike - he was 20, and having sex with him. He bit me a lot and I had to cover my neck and shoulders for 2 weeks.
I remember the guy I was in love with coming to my house when my mother wasn't home and making me chase him around the house and leading me into the bedroom and having sex with me (my first time) and telling me that he loved me right after -- previously he had only said that he liked me. It hurt and he didn't really seem to care that I was scared or that it hurt.
I remember putting myself in situations that were dangerous -- with men I didn't know at all -- going back to their houses, throwing myself at them, degrading myself. I remember meeting a man named rufus when I was 18. He was 24 at the time. There is so much there...but he pretended to be a multiple to make me interested in him (remember I have a psych degree and he was a psych grad student and brilliant) - giving me massages, making me feel "safe" and then trying to "educate" me about sex, critiquing my technique, saying how much better I could be, saying that if I lost weight I could be a stripper. He was always angry during sex and ended up hurting me (I bled profusely for about 30-45 minutes and was afraid that I'd have to go to the hospital).
One time I made him angry and one of his "multiples" - the once who defended him, "came out" and said "the door is locked, you're all alone here, I could do whatever I wanted to you". He was highly trained in the martial arts and 6'4" 300 lbs. He told me he had broken a girls arm shoulder and wrist once "accidentally" when she hit him. He told me that he could walk up so silently behind someone that they wouldn't realize they were dying until they hit the floor. He later told me that he was not a multiple and that I would "regret" it if I ever told anyone. He scared the shit out of me, controlled me, and degraded me. He told me later that he was not a multiple and that I would regret saying anything to anyone about it.
The worst part of all of this, the part that's the hardest - well, there are two. 1) That I became involved with this man and I thought the sex was consensual 2) that I am in a gray area and worry that this means that my abuse isn't real because I was promiscuous. I am terrified of being rejected.
I have eaten and eaten to hide the pain of these things. I have a wonderful loving and gentle husband who would never EVER EVER dream of hurting me. We have a great sex life. But I eat. And I weigh close to 270. I am 5'7". All of my feelings of anger have turned into chocolate and cake and pizza and ice cream. I am partially to blame for some of the things that have happened to me. These things exist simultaneously in my head with the pleasures of sex. This is all very confusing. I think that if I can get past these things, get in touch with my anger and THEN forgive, I will be able to lose this weight.
im: blisshaze or seilahstar