Hi, My name is Kristina. I am 13 yrs old. I was 8 when I was raped.
I don't know what all happend to me but I can tell you what I remeber of what happend to me. I was playing next door at my dads and I was playing with someone that was 14 15 at the most. He started to get a little more searuros and he raped me. That was terrfying. He keptt on doing it he wouldn't let me go home he would stop and after awhile he would rape me again. It was scary. I mean I still had to see him after that I would go vist him because I didn't know what he did was called and I din't know if it was bad. He still touched me and I was really scared. I knew that was wrong. I was really scared. He kept on touching me intill I was 10 and he moved awya.
I was almost raped when I was 10 by some one else when I was 12 I was almosted raped again an the person held a knife up so my face and I got away. I forgot when I was 4 the person that raped me when I was 8 touched me and then when I was 8 like I already told you he raped me.
I am just starting to fix everything. So if you are being molested or if you have been raped. don't what like I did tell right away please. If you have any questions you an email me at Krissy11121@yahoo.com
I am a normal male in my late twenties. I have recently started working nights. One day I was woke up because my little brother was raping me. I was still extremly tired. I used what kittle strenth I had to elbow him then passed out. Now I feel like I am no longer a man. I was helpless and pathetic. My brother is retarded and can not handle jail. My life is ruined. What should I do?
I was filling out the survey elsewhere on this site when I finally was able to tell this whole thing for the first time. It's been really cathartic to start telling what happened, even if it's to strangers (this is so much easier than even thinking about telling my mother!)... this is very triggery, so please please be safe if you're reading further.
Joshua (my assailant, my ex-boyfriend) had just come home from basic training and would be leaving for Hawaii in a week, where he would be stationed for the next three years. He called me up, and I agreed to go with him for coffee and to talk. At the coffee shop, we talked about our on again/off again relationship, and we agreed that it was best to call things off. I'd dressed in jeans and a loose tshirt, sneakers, nothing special.. he was dressed the same. We each (I thought) understood that this would be a last "date" and were okay with being distant friends. Something was different in him, he seemed a bit on edge.. but I figured it was because he was being stationed so far away, and was still strained from Army basic training. After coffee, he suggested we go to our old hangout, a local little cemetary near his family's house. "Just for old times' sake." I figured, what's the harm? and went along (he was driving). We got to the cemetary around 11pm, wandered around pointing out the headstones we used to laugh at, the dark corners we used to make out in.. he still seemed really tense, but I thought, "this is hard on him, poor guy." We sat down under a big tree in a dark corner of the lot to talk, and he got closer and tried to kiss me. I started to get a little uneasy, but what the hell, he was leaving the next week. Then he got more aggressive, putting his hands on my breasts, and under my shirt.. I pulled away, tried to cool things off, and stood up to head back to the car - and he shoved me back against the tree, hard.
I was shocked, and angry, told him to back off and take me home. He got angry at this, told me he'd come here with me because he thought we would have one last fling before he left, that he deserved this after so long in the Army camp.. he told me I owed him this. He kissed me, he pawed at me; I tried to shove him away, to get out from under his hands and told him again and again to stop, to get away, to take me home. He said he'd wanted this all through his time away and knew I would come here with him.. finally I got a hand free (he had my legs pinned against the tree with his legs) and clawed him across the face. His face got dark and he was furious, slapped me hard across the face and shoved me down to the ground against the base of a headstone. I cracked my head on the stone and nearly blacked out - I wish I had - I got so scared and hurt so badly that I just froze, couldn't move, just concentrated on breathing as he tore my clothes off. I was sobbing, but couldn't make a sound, it was like my screams and cries were stuck in my throat. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and flicked it open, held it to my throat.. said if I screamed he'd cut the scream out of me, slow enough to hurt. At that point I just went numb, clawed into the dirt to keep from breaking into pieces and screaming - concentrated all of my energy into not screaming so that I'd stay alive. He unbuttoned his jeans and - I'll never forget this - spread out my shirt under his knees so he wouldn't get his pants dirty. When he shoved himself into me it was like I was splitting wide open, I had to bite my lips so hard I tasted blood so that I wouldn't make a sound.. he was going and going and said he couldn't come, that it was my fault, he said he could tell I'd been a whore while he was away (I'd only slept with him once, before he left, and never with anyone since - I thought I was in love with him, I was sixteen then and seventeen when he came back), and that it was my fault for being so dirty, so I'd have to make up for it. So he pulled out of me and made me suck him off, kneeling over me with his knee on my chest, I could barely breathe and he went to the back of my throat - I fought not to gag, and almost threw up when he came all down the back of my throat, but I didn't make a sound, just dug my fingers into the dirt and stared at the streetlight I could see at a distance, fixed on that streetlight and thought of that street, so far away from the dirt and the tree and the headstones in this corner of hell. When he was done with me I just lay there, I couldn't move, I couldn't feel anything but pain, everywhere. He spat on me and called me a dirty whore, he said he'd given me what I wanted and now he was leaving, said he'd find better girls where he was going. Then he put on a normal tone of voice, said he’d had a good time and asked if I wanted a ride home!! I couldn’t find a voice to answer… he threw my clothes at me, went over to his car, and drove off.
I assume he went home, I didn't look.. just looked at my streetlight, off in the distance, and slowly got the strength to stand up and lean against that tree. I don't know how long the whole thing took or how long I stayed there, staring at that streetlight, but I somehow walked home (it wasn't all that far) and crawled into the house.. no one had waited up, so I balled up my dirty sticky bloody clothes, put them in a garbage bag, and threw them away.. the trash collectors took them the next day, no one ever saw them. I remember feeling the desperate need to get clean, to get into the shower, to scrub the whole night out of my skin and my hair and my mouth… I stood in the scalding shower for god knows how long, until the hot water ran out, and then I stood under the freezing cold water for even longer, hoping it would wash me down the drain with it. I couldn't get the dirt out of my fingernails for days... the dirt under my skin is still there. I can feel it, even on those days when I'm so numb that I can't tell if I'm breathing, when I bleed to see the red well up, because the little hurt reassures me that I'm still here.
I'm still here.