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Survivor Stories

It happened ten years ago when I was seventeen. to this day I think about it and wonder if it was my fault, if it was really rape or if it happened because I deserved it.

I was at a party with a bunch of my friends and had been drinking all night. I was a pretty heavy drinker back then and did alot of things that I'm not too proud of. I only remember bits and pieces of the evening because i kept blacking out due to all the alcohol consumption and the fact that I had gotten high smoking pot. I know that I had passed out at one point and my friends came to wake me up so I could get a ride home. It was two in the morning and I was suppose to be home by twelve, I was very thankful someone had found a ride for me.

I knew the boy who came to get me and give me a ride so I wasn't to concerned, It wasn't until we got to the car that I started to become nervous. The boy who was driving was someone who I had purposefully been trying to avoid. He made me feel very uncomfortable and was always harrassing me. I got in the car anyway because I knew I was in trouble for being so late, especially under the circumstances. I knew the other boy anyway and trusted him completely so I figured I'd be okay. We started down the road and all I could think was that I would be happy when I finally got home. Suddenly I realized the car had stopped and the boy who was my friend had gotten out and I was left there alone with a person I knew was bad news and who I definately did not trust.

I was very scared at this point because I knew what kind of a person he was. We started back down the road and I felt like maybe everything would be okay and he woud just take me home. The car stopped again along with my heart as I realized the guy was crawlig into the backseat of the car with me. I was so scared I didn't know what to do. I looked around but couldn't see any houses. I wanted to run but I was still so drunk I didn't know what to do. It was the middle of February on a freezing cold night and we were on a deserted country road with nothing else in sight, I wasn't even sure where we were. The next thing I know he's telling me to take my pants off. I was so terrified I started screaming at the top of my lungs. He said if I didn't have sex with him he was going to leave me on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I didn't want to do it and I kept begging him to take me home. He grew very impatient with me and started geting louder insisting that I take of my pants or he was going to throw me out of the car. I was so afraid,It was so cold and I was so drunk I thought that if he let me there I was going to die, or even worse, someone else who was worse than him would come along and pick me up. Not knowing what could happen was just as terrifying as what was already happening. I begged and pleaded with him but he didn't want to hear any of it. He yelled at me to get undressed now or he was going to leave me there. Very reluctantly and very terrified I did what he said. The next thing I knew he was inside of me. It was the most horible, disgusting and unbearable thing I've ever lived through. I was crying the whole time and trying to pretend it wasn't really happening to me. I just wanted it to end. When it was over he let me get up and put my clothes on. He told me to get into the front seat and he would take me home. I was numb,I was in shock over what had just happened. I can remember as I was sitting there and we were driving down the road all I could think about was how much trouble I was going to be in and how everyone would think that it was my own fault. The guy who did this kept apologizing to me and saying how he shouldn't have done that. He wanted me to know how sorry he was. Like that was going to make up for what he had just put me through.

When I got to my mother's house I was in hysterics. I was trying to explain to her what had happened and was feeling totally embarrassed and ashamed. She wanted to take me to the police station to report it but I was too afraid that they wouldn't beleive me and I didn't want anyone I knew to find out. The next morning my mother asked me if this really happened then why wasn't I going to report it? I was stunned by her question, how could she doubt what I had told her. I would never lie about something like that. I was ashamed enough at what had happened, I didn't even want her to know. So how could she ever think that I would make something like that up? That's when I knew I definately couldn't report it. If my own mother doubted me how was anyone else going to beleive me.

It was never talked about between us after that day. To this day I'm still not sure if she really believes it happened. I'm still not sure if it could legally be considered rape, after all I 'm the one who took my pants off. I always wish I had just gotten out of the car and had taken my chances. My couselor tells me it's not my fault but I don't know if I really, truly beleive that yet.

I do know one thing though that night changed me forever.

Jennifer P.


I thought that I would tell my story because it is easier to tell people that I dont know. I will keep it short because I am scared. I was abused by my dad from the age of three (from what I know) I am 19 now and I am still suffering. I have set up a club called borderline personality disorder and sexual abuse which is on excite and has a chat room. I would really like someone to use it. It has been up and running for months and no-one has been there. I want to talk to someone who has been through what I have. Please.

Diana Barnard


there is so much to tell that i don't even know where the beginning starts. i have stories to tell but no one wants to listen; i have prayers to sing but no one cares to hear; i have poems to write yet no one cares to read them. there is so much inside of me that i want to get out but i can't.

there is a screaming inside of me that scratches and tears me apart and i want to do the same. the pain torments me; not only does it linger and scream at me, but it takes over completely. and i don't know where it comes from, why it's here, and why it refuses to go away and leave me be.

i do anything i can -- i beat myself, bruises mark every spot my clenched fists have landed. i burn myself, the skin pink, swollen and scalded. but it does nothing and it helps little.

i do not like the physical pain. but i need it, i want it, i long to have it. just to get my mind off the screaming. it's a pain i can understand; a pain that distracts me though the distraction is only momentary. only for a short while. the physical pain -- i burn myself, i beat myself so it causes and uncomfortability within my nerves, on my flesh. it's easily understood; i know where it came from, why it's there. i know that it will go away.

then i'm left with the emotional pain. the pain that tears away at my soul, my heart and my mind, the pain that invades me. my nameless, faceless sorrow, that has found its home inside me.

just yesterday i pulled out my lighter. i lit a cigarette and held it to my sock; i was too afraid to place the cherry of the burning stick directly to my bare flesh. i lit my lighter again, rotating the flame until the metal got hot. i pressed the heat to my hand, to my leg.

i repeated this procedure three times when two of my friends cam around the corner and blew out the flame. my beau yelled at me, asking me why the hell i wanted to burn myself. he was momentarily distracted; i made sure he was so would stop blowing out the flame. i closed my hand over the lighter and cringed. he said yeah, of course it hurts and it's stupid.

and what's wrong anyway? every time someone asks me that question i want to say you tell me. not to be rude or snipey. no, not in the least bit. only because in my mind i know there must be someone who knows what's wrong with me, someone who knows better than i. anyone knows better than i. i know there must be someone out there who can help me fix my broken mind.

until i have found that someone i am forced to deal with the anguish -- the malignant ghost that pushes iself deep inside of me. scratching, tearing, screaming. laughing hauntingly, frighteningly as i play into its hands more and more. i can't hide the pain, no matter how hard i try, and i'm ridiculed with every attempt.

pick up a sharp-edged cap that once was covering a glass beer bottle's opening. the burns and bruises are doing nothing for me. they merely provide distraction, not for long, not long enough. i want to bleed.

i run the sharp edge across my hand my arm my leg, i am only granted a weak, superficial scrape. this cap isn't doing shit for me. i need to bleed.

maybe a sharper knife, a shard of glass, some shrapnel. oh, i wish i had that damn beer bottle, the glass would cut deeper. i need to bleed.

i pull up my sleeve and stare at the cuts on my wrist. only hours old, made by a sharp gillette razor in the confines of my bathroom of my desolate room. still it didn't cut deep enough. still it didn't bleed enough, only slightly, only a little. not enough.

do not misconstrue, i am not attempting suicide. i do not want to die. not without a taste of this myth that scholars and authors and friends and passers by and people i cross paths with keep talking about. this myth, this story that people title as happiness. i've heard of it, i hear about it almost everyday. when people smile and really feel it. they say it's beautiful, they say it's pleasant.

i want to smile, i do smile. but my smile holds a secret. the torment inside of me. i am the waif that laughs away the pain. the pain that nests itself inside of me, leaving me tattered and slain, and that reflects itself on others like they are an old tainted mirror.

i am envious of anyone who knows happiness, anyone who used to know happiness. that elusive character who never brought himself to my door, never cared enough to show his face to me. never thought enough to come to me and be my friend. no, i never knew happiness. he fell out of touch with some and they have forgotten his face, what he was like. though i love them dearly there is still a jealousy simmering deep inside of me because once upon a time they knew.

to keep your head above water you have to learn how to swim. i spent my time avoiding the rivers, lakes, ponds and waterfalls. i found myself plunged in the ravine and now i am drowning.

there's always a price, every path you go down has its toll. i pay with my soul, with my sanity. i pay by being forced to live with this poltergeist that has grown tired of merely stalking me, cuffing itself to my weary shadow. the poltergeist that has taken this to a destructive degree and perched itself inside of me. the monster that holds my head underwater, pulling me deeper and deeper as i go twisting and writhing down the spiral of the whirlpool. that is the price i have to pay.

i am being punished. for what, i don't know. maybe the person who can tell me where the pain comes from, the person who can fix my broken mind, maybe that someone can tell me why i am being punished. maybe that someone can help me bleed, sever flesh from my body so i can bleed this thing out of me. maybe that someone can help me.

i don't know who that someone is, but perhaps something deep inside me pushes me closer to him or her everyday. if the pain has anihilated that longing, that knowing. the pain doesn't want to die anymore than i. it will be the death of me.

i have found a bit of a solace in that pain. i don't like it, but when it isn't screaming and tearing away at me it can be serene. comforting and soothing, like a newborn babe in its mother's arms. it lies to me, tells me that it's better this way.

maybe it's not a lie, perhaps that is the truth -- maybe it is better this way. the soft, soothing whisper in my ear comforts me, but then it frightens me as it spins the web tighter and tighter around me, imprisoning me in my own shame and torment. i feel the burning, the stinging, the pain. i writhe and struggle only to suffocat within the malevolent comfort, that false beauty. it falls deeper in love with me the more i resist, the more i resist the more the cage encloses on me. out, out, let me out! i'm shackled to this torment and i hate it! it frightens me.

i know you think i'm crazy. perhaps you are right but i think you are wrong. you are possessed, too. all you fucks who call me insane are possessed by your longing for power and omnipotence. you find solace, comfort, euphoria even, in what control you are able to obtain, in what manipulation and lies you lead people to believe and follow.

if i am insane then we are floating on the same boat. a different deck but the same boat nonetheless. i may be insane, perhaps i am. but if i am then so are you.

you label me insane because you don't know. you think you comprehend but you don't. how can you? i know, i know it all too well. it's all i've known and i fear it's all i ever will know. i don't understand this and i live it, it is inside me. how can you even begin to comprehend when you have only lived it vicariously? you don't know how it feels to have this pain constantly eating away at you and tearing you apart. you don't know what it's like to constantly hold back tears, bewildered because you don't even know why they are stingin your eyes in the first place. you don't know the confusion when the pain hits you and you don't even know why. the sorrow that invades you and won't leave. you don't know it, so how can you understand it?

if you can understand it, if you can comprehend it so well, then explain it to me. tell me what it is without labeling me insane, provide an explination. as soon as you can drop this label of insanity that you hide behind to explain everything from love to hate, maybe i will listen. until then leave me alone.

i am not crazy: i am sad, lonely alone, tormented, frightened and confused. but i am no more sane or insane than you.

i wish i knew what was happening inside of me, i wish i understood. i wish someone out there cared. i wish this ghost called happiness would one day show his face to me. maybe then i can have some peace in this battle field they call my mind.

Kelly


Tell your story.


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