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Survivor Stories

When I was a little i was a victum of sexual abuse.I thought that it was normal I thought that there was nothing wrong with it and I now know that there is something wrong with it when I was at the agfe of four my mother was on drugs and she had left my father and she went up to New York then some place along the way I got left In florida with some people that Sexualy molested myself For a long time I didnt know that this was wrong so I always kept quite about it, but when the time came for me to share my story it all came out in rage. I attend programs for a year and ever sence the day that I was at the age of foten I have had numerous problems. But there is help and some times the help is just talking about it. I went through intense Physco therpyfor a long time but not everyone has that luxury of getting the proper help but alot of them have went through this thank you I have begun my healing

im: Miare

i was in the lunch line talking and laughing with my friend. she wanted to read a poem that my boyfriend had just wrote me. i had it in my locker so i told her i would go get it while she was in the lunch line.

i went to my locker in the locker room, where my locker is all the way down the hall and in the corner. there are always boys standing at the end of the row of lockers.

one who had always been trying to talk to me started following me to my locker. he was laughing and his boys walked the other way. i turned and he smiled and said hey.

i said nothing and kept walking. i got to my locker and when i turned around he was standing right above me pressing me against the wall. i was in shock. i told him to stop playing and get off me. he started manuvering his hands up my shirt. rubbing on my chest, and pulling at them. he had somehow pulled my bra down. his belly kind of held me back into the lockers. i was trying to get away from him. and asking him to stop. i never thought of screaming. he just kept saying let me finish.

after he touched my chest he put one of his knees between my thys to spred my legs and put his hands into my pants. he was rubbing me. and eventually started to put his fingures inside of me. i shrieked at the pain and i guess he was startled by me yelling that he pulled back a little. and i ran out of the locker room until i got to the lunch room. i walked straight to the table and put my head down and cried. everyone kept asking what was wrong but i just ended up crying even harder. i cried the rest of the day.


i was downtown. at around 9. i was waiting for the nine 30 bus. i stood there and a man started to talk to me. he was being friendly but trying to get me to go places with him. i did not go. but there was no one at the bus stop so i decided to walk to the next one incase anything happened. u know someone would be there.

he followed me. pulling me into the back seat of a car that was parked nearby. i'm guessing his. he raped me in the backseat of his car. he held me down, and kissed me and touched me then he fucked me and then sat there and told me how good i was.


growing up i was molested by my fathers, friend. he babysat me all the time. and would always come over anytime. he would just walk in, thats how close he was to us. i was the only child and my dad worked all day so i was usually left with him.

he would put his hands all over me. it started out as he wanted to do me a favor. and he performed oral sex on me. then he made me do the same.

he started having sex with me when i was about 14. we moved so he doesnt barely see me. but when he does he always has to say something or grabb me. but he knows i'm older and maturer and i would beat his ass if he does.


today tha boy from tha locker room told me he couldnt wait to see me again. and i guess he told his friends i let him because they always stand by my locker and stare at me.

havent told. dont plan on it..

Name Withheld

I'm still remembering what happened to me. Flashbacks, dreams.... I remembered more last night.

I was thirteen years old, and had changed from a girl's body to a woman's over summer vacation. The boys I had known since kindergarten, the ones who had rarely given me a second glance, now couldn't get enough of staring at me. The staring escalated to touching -- a swat on the behind, a quick blunder into my chest -- and the touching escalated to...what do you call it? Two of them would hold my arms, hold me still, the others would take turns fondling me. I told my teacher, but he told me I should fight them. I told my mother, she said I should learn to handle it myself.

On the day of my eighth grade graduation, these six boys caught me alone on the stage in the auditorium. I had been assigned the task of decorating for graduation that night. Everyone else was in the cafeteria, no one was around to hear me scream, and I didn't get much chance to anyways, because the first thing one of them did was clap a hand over my mouth.

Two of them held my arms, dragged me to a table stacked with books, pushed me down. Another of them pulled down my blue-jeans and panties. Until recently, I couldn't remember more than that, but now I can carry the story on.

They laughed and encouraged him as he put his fingers inside my body. They pushed up my shirt and touched my breasts. They told him that he fucked like a rabbit while he raped me.

There came a moment when I was staring at the drawn curtains that enclosed the stage and I saw a face appear -- a little girl named Linda was peeking underneath the draperies. One of them told her that she hadn't seen anything. She disappeared.

Another boy, one who had never touched me, walked onto the stage. I can still hear him say, "Aw, come on guys, leave her alone, okay?" I don't know what they did or said to him. He was just gone again and it was still going on.... He couldn't ejaculate. Too much pressure, I guess. The bell rang, they were shocked because I was bleeding. I was crying. Only at this point did they seem to realize what they had done. One of them, one who'd held me down, said, "You're not going to tell anybody are you? Come on, don't tell on us, don't get us in trouble." I nodded. I promised I wouldn't tell. I didn't want to tell, I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want myself to know.

They left me alone. I pulled up my jeans and pulled down my shirt. I sat on the floor and hugged my knees and I told myself the same thing I told myself when my dog died four years earlier -- "This isn't real, it isn't happening, none of this is real. Nothing happened. Nothing happened...."

The one who'd tried to help me came back. He asked if I was all right. I said yes. He asked what had happened. I said that nothing had happened. He was confused, but he accepted what I'd said and left me. I got up, went to the girl's bathroom and was surprised to see these flecks of blood in my panties and the smears on my thighs. I wasn't on my period and I couldn't imagine where it could have come from. I looked at myself in the mirror and knew I'd been crying but I couldn't imagine why.

I went back to the classroom and told my teacher that I was sick, that I couldn't work anymore that day. He assigned someone else to finish my job. I sat at my desk and stared at nothing. One of my friends got worried when break came and I didn't move. She came and asked if I was all right and I told her I was sick, and oh God, I was sick, so sick. I was so cold, my hands were like ice, I felt like I was choking on ice. She said, "You're white as a sheet." I told her I was sick and needed to rest, and she brought me a Dr. Pepper from the machine. I drank a few swallows of it, and to this day I can't bear the taste of that soda. It used to be my favorite.

So now the memories are all here and complete, down to how I tried to cut myself the day after, the story I wrote that fictionalized what had happened to me -- maybe I was trying to make it happen to someone else, anyone else, by turning it into a story. And other things make more sense now, too, like why I was so frozen every time a boy touched me below the neck. I didn't date much in highschool, I was so afraid, but I didn't know why. Now I know.


Tell your story.

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