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Survivor Stories

There was my father...  There were the times in the shower.  My dad gave me a shower until I got my hair cut.  If it were only my hair, then maybe it wouldn't have been so bad.  But it wasn't just that.  He would wash my whole body.  He never used a washcloth.  It was always with his bare hands.  He would fondle my breasts and my thighs.  This happened almost every night.

He would put me to bed and tell me to be a good girl.  But I always tied to be a good girl.  Apparently though, I wasn't.  And then he would tell me how much he loved "Daddy's little girl".  I would wake up some nights and he would be by my bed.  My nightgown would be pulled up and he would be stroking me all over.  Or he would be touching himself.  I always had this funny feeling in my stomach.

As I got older, I used to hide in the closet when I heard him coming up the stairs.  I guess I figured that if he couldn't see me then nothing would happen that night.  It helped me feel a little safer.  Although it did work some of the time, there were quite a few times when it didn't work as planned.  At first, he couldn't find me.  He would search my room.  I guess he got so upset and frustrated, he left.  But once, he heard me crying in the closet.  I tried not to, but I was so scared I couldn't help it.  I can still see his face when he pulled the closet open.  The anger. He looked like a wild animal.  His hair was sticking up in all directions.  He had his pajamas on.  A tee shirt and boxer shorts.  His penis was sticking up.  In retrospect, I wonder if the challenge of finding me didn't arouse him.  His voice was a hiss.  I can't think of another word to describe it.  "Don't you ever hide from me again."  "Little girls should behave themselves."  I was terrified.  I thought for sure that he was going to hurt me in some way.  I couldn't say anything.  I got into bed and imagined I was anywhere else.  In my head, I keep yelling for him to stop.  He can't hear me.  I can't say it out loud.  I kept begging him to stop.  But he wouldn't stop.  He kept going.  He doesn't care.  He didn't even notice that I was awake.  He looked so happy.  I don't understand.  How can he be happy?  Doesn't he know that he is hurting me?

He made me touch him.  I guess I was still pretty little when that started, maybe six at the oldest.  He called it his dog.  Those nights, he would have me pet his dog.  He taught me just how to do it the way he liked.  Stroking both up and down.  Gently at first, then harder and harder.  Petting his dog, they were words that I could understand.  But I never understood why I had to do it.  His arms were long enough to do it to himself.  There were days where, when he was alone with me, he would tell me to pet his dog, right through his pants.  After school.  Watching television.  Tucking me in.  It made him happy and he would give me a hug.  He loved me.  And I was being a good girl.  I always wanted to be a good girl.  I always wanted them to love me.  I always wanted them to be happy.  He used to talk to me as it was happening.  He would tell me how much I wanted him to do this.  And that if I would be a good girl it wouldn't hurt me.

Once I got into middle school, I had a lot more homework.  Because I was always doing something after school, I left the schoolwork for after dinner.  I would try to stay up as late as I could.  He would stay downstairs watching television sometimes as late as one in the morning.  If I was awake and working, he usually left me alone.  But he would "check" on me three, four, sometimes even five times a night.  I fought so hard to stay awake until he finally went to bed.  I was getting between four and five hours a sleep a night.  I was always tired.  My mother drug me to the doctor.  All he did was tell me not to work so hard, and to get some more sleep.  I couldn't tell him the truth.  I was terrified of him and I was terrified what would happen to me.  She threatened to call the school for giving so many hour of homework.  I begged her not to.  She would have found out that there was maybe two hours of work, not five or six.  My teachers noticed how tired I always was.  I learned very quickly that I needed to hide it.  My eighth grade science teacher sent me to the school counselor once.  She wanted to know if everything was all right at home.  I lied to her too.  I just told her that I had to work really hard in my algebra class to maintain my grade.  I wonder how many people I've lied to over the years?  I wasn't always able to stay awake.  Those nights were the worst.  The lights would be on because I was working.  He'd come in and turn them off.  That usually woke me up because I was a very light sleeper.  When the lights went off, I just tried to separate myself from what he was doing.

And then there was my grandfather (my father's father)...  He loved to tickle me.  He started at my belly button and moved his way up my body.  He never "hurt" me physically.  At first, the tickling was nice.  I thought he loved me.  However, as it went on, I came to dread going over their house.  Once he got to my neck, he would move back down.  He stopped way past my belly button.  Sometimes he would pull down my underpants and tickle me all the way down there too.  I never said anything about it.  I guess I thought that was what was supposed to happen.  But I felt so bad about it.  I was afraid of him.

Then there were the nights I had to stay at his house.  I dreaded those nights.  He took off all of my clothes and made me lie on the bed.  He put my arms over my head with my hands together and told me to stay that way.  If I moved or cried, he hit me with a leather belt.  I don't know how long I stayed in that position.  I was so cold.  It felt like it was forever.  I had almost fallen asleep when he came back into the room.  I laid there while he felt my whole body, from top to bottom.  He was on the bed with me.  Then he left and told me not to move or I'd get it with the belt again.  I tried not to cry, but I did.  As soon as he heard me, he came back and punished me for disturbing his football game.  He told me that I better not move again.  So I didn't.  I laid there and counted the cracks in the ceiling, over and over, and over again.  But I couldn't help but listen for him.  I was terrified he would come into the room again.  After what seemed like forever, he came back into the room.  And he got on the bed again.  I was so afraid he'd get the belt out again.  He wasn't touching me anymore.  He was on top of me.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't breathe.  He was so big and heavy.  He was hurting me down there.  I wanted to scream and yell, but I couldn't.  It hurt too bad.  All of a sudden, he jumped off of me and the bed.  I put my arms down.  He started to scream at me.  He told m that he had said not to move.  He told me I was an evil child filled with the devil.  He was right.  He got the belt again and told me to put my hands back up or he'd punish me again.  I begged him not to, but that made him really angry.  He took me by my shoulders and shook me.  He kept yelling how little girls should obey their elders.  He put my hands back over my head and made me stay like that.  I laid on that bed for hours.

And lastly was my godfather (my father's brother)...  It only happened one weekend when I was staying at their house.  My uncle is on my cousin's bed.  With her.  She's asleep.  And he's touching her.  What does he have?  He is sticking it inside of her.  She's not moving.  Maybe she not asleep.  Maybe she's just pretending like I do.  I tried to go back to sleep.  My eyes were closed.  I didn't want to watch.  I heard him get up.  I started to relax because I thought he was leaving.  He is standing over my bed.  It feels like forever.  All I can do is lay there and pretend to sleep.  God, please make him leave.  I promise I'll try really hard to be a very good girl.  I know I say that all the time God, but I really mean it this time.  I thought I could sleep there.  I thought I'd be safe.  But he just stood there looking at me.  He used Dial soap too.  He smelled just like my father.  He just stood there looking at me.  I don't know how long it was.  I was so scared.  I know I was a bad girl at dinner.  I didn't eat the lima beans.  He is punishing us for not eating the beans.  He told us to think about the starving children around the world.  He never went away.  He must have looked at me only for a few minutes.  But it seemed like forever.  My eyes were closed.  Oh god, the bed is moving.  It's him.  Next to me.  Playing with my feet.  It tickled so I laughed.  My feet always tickle.  That's another bad thing I did.  I shouldn't have laughed.  He didn't want me to laugh.  Now I know I really deserve a punishment.  Now he knows I'm awake.  He's leaning over me.  His voice.  It's so scary.  He's telling me that I had better never tell anyone or I'd be in big trouble.  Why won't he stop shaking me?  I promise I'll never tell.  Not even my daddy.  I'll never tell anyone.  He's still on the bed.  I still don't know what he had inside of dawn, but it was inside of me too.  It's so very cold.  I want my daddy.  He was always warm.  All I could is lie there.  He knows what a bad girl I am.  Now I have to be a big girl and take my punishment.

icq: 61721888

Although it happened so long ago, 23 years to be exact, the rape has destroyed me in ways that it took more than two decades to realize. i suffered from all of the effects of a brutal rape by three men when i was 14. the responses from so-called friends made me never want to talk about it again, leading to serious psychological problems created by repressing such a horrible trauma. most people listened and did not respond, never mentioning it again and leading to severe feelings of isolation. others used it as lurid gossip, making me feel unwanted and embarrassed. a few months later i tried to kill myself. only during the three days in the hospital did i feel good, away from the world that hurt me so badly. my parents did not know about the rape, although my friend's mother heard me talk about it and told my mother. i lied and said it didn't happen. i think she wanted to believe that and has. she has never asked about it again. i told her it "almost" happened. later, for at least a year, i began hitting myself with rocks and hammers, creating bruises on my arms. all throughout college, i felt better being in a new environment, but i treated friends cruelly and abruptly. i could no longer trust anyone and expected everyone to hurt me. my drug use, which started before the rape, continued in the form of excessive drinking and pot-smoking. fortunately, i have those under control since i have a beautiful 18-month daughter now.

when i was 25, i married a wonderful man who has been supportive of me. unfortunately, and unbelievably it was not until recently that i realized this, i have been angry and taken it out on him through irritability at small things and morose behavior when drinking. i am now trying to get this under control. i do not enjoy physical intercourse and only have orgasims through other ways. i do have a daughter and do not want any of this to affect her. i am working very hard to resolve these issues and to overcome the post traumatic stress disorder that i have repressed for so many years. often, i hate my appearance and the very core of myself. i have always blamed myself for what happened and am trying to get over this feeling of shame.

you see, i was wild and out of control at the time, using drugs, skipping school, and hitchhiking every where. i hitchhiked with my "friend" matthew to ocean city, where we broke into an apartment of someone he knew (this act, more than any other, is what makes me blame myself. i am also ashamed that i did such a thing). at some point, we went out for beer and hooked up with three thugs, who later i found out had gotten out of prison, to buy it for us. they came back to the place we had broken into and we partyed. i gave them a painting as joke. later, they came back and said that if i did not have sex with them, they would report us to the police for breaking in and they had the painting to prove it. i was a virgin at the time. the first one put his finger in me and it hurt so much i clamped up. he then put his penis in and it hurt terribly. he laughed when he saw the blood and realized i was a virgin. the second one was watching (matthew was out smoking pot with them as they alternated) and put his penis on my face. he then said he wanted to butt-fuck me and the first one said he did too. i don't remember a single detail of what happened. i then went into the bathroom and tried to hide. the first one said i had to come out. he used my name and was speaking in a sickly sweet voice. for some reason, i do not like my name and i think it is because of his voice. i had a sheet wrapped around me and i was sick and scared. now, i do not like to go to the bathroom with the door shut. i had to come out. the third one tried to rape me, but said he couldn't. somehow it was over, but the life of pain had begun.

no one cared. even my sister who i told never said one thing about it, and shei s a very nice person. about a year ago, i told two close friends and it really helped to get it off of my chest. last night, i had a dream that a wild psychiatrist, madame tzoutazka (wasn't that the name of a movie?) was helping me. she put an axe in my head, which did not hurt, and whirled me around. as i was whirled around, the pain was dislodged. i screamed, i have been hurt to the very depths of my soul, and howled in pain. it felt good. i hope this will be just one part in my recovery. i don't like to talk about it since no one seems to care or i am too embarrassed to tell the details, because i am afraid they will blame me for doing such a stupid thing, but keeping this inside is really eating me alive.

i want to rebuild my confidence and stop hating myself. after my dream, i saw myself lying there, after the rape, as a 14 year old girl, and i reached out to hug myself and stroke my hair. i love you little cindy, i said over and over. i felt better.

Name Withheld

Hi all I am not sue where to beging. other then I am alone in my room shacking after one of the worst flashbacks I can rember and haveing no clue as to why it happand. I stumpled upon these storyes doinfg reserch. I sat down and read everyone it was then I decided to write this for all to see. Please bear with me, o am not sire if I can talk the out let alone write it out.

I was abused thru most of my childhood not by anyone my family knew but by a man (accally serval men) who laughed model rockets in my neighberhood. It all seemed so innocent at first, find a rocket get a prize then he invited all of us kids to a party. I am pretty sure some of the kool-aid was drugged. That would account for my own fuzzness. Its funny what one rembers after all these years I can describe the room but not what went on there all I know is the room causes me great fear.

The next time was a diffrent man I was older and I was sorta passed to him. Again my memorys are hazy I do rember being burned and I do rember being raped and being forced to plesere him while he casued me pain. Funny thing is if you look on my school recoreds at the time and on I was prone to odd pains in my stomic and kindney infections Hmm I wounder.....

Again time pass;s and memrotys fade, the thired man I rember little of his face but I do rember being taken into larfe mettle gullys and being abused there. I am 23 now and still clasterphbic.

The last time when just 4 days after my 12th birthday. My best freind at the time took me out to dinenr and a show. somwhow we missed the bus, and we ended up walking for the logest time. Then just after enterign a small pacth of words with a steam he grabed me from behond and produced a knife... A black handled switch blade. i can rember the look on his face as her removed my clothing and begain to fondle me.. The painj was like nothing I have ever felt. I cryed I begged I pleaded nothing worked. After what seem like an enerty he was finally done, threw my clothers at me and order me to get dressed, we went to the show where he raped me another time in collage room during the show. To this day I haven;t told many. To this day i still hide the scres and the hurts.

Someday I hoe to live in a world wher ethese things don;t happan but for now I am a phoenix rising from the ash;s trying to put myself togtehr and hide the hurts.


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