Survivor Story: Untitled

**This piece could be triggering

Untitled

By: Disconcerted Scribbler

I came home on day from school, and Bob* was there, drinking on the couch. Children’s Aid had come by only a few days before, asking if he had ever touched me. Someone in my family had come out about him touching them, and Children’s Aid was doing a followup. I had said “No, he loves me. Never touched me” and he hadn’t. He never laid a hand on me. A few times in the old apartment I had gotten the belt, but that was quite normal in those days. I was never really worried because he was always drunk, and when he drank he was fun. He never got angry with me when he was drunk. The most risque thing he did was drink and drive with me in the car, which is pretty bad, but not as bad a molesting an 8 year old. I felt safe with him. He wasn’t my dad or anything, but I knew I was safe. The man upstairs on the other hand; he didn’t make me feel safe.

His name was George* and he babysat me a lot when mom and Bob* were at work. He had a niece and two nephews living with him. I remember going to the beach with them one time and him touching me under the water. I still can’t figure out why nobody noticed. When we got back to his house him and I sat on one couch and his nephews and niece sat on the other. He slipped his hand under my bathing suit. We were watching television and she rubbed his fingers into what I called my “cookie”. That was the first time he’d done that. It didn’t feel good, like it does now. It felt strange, foreign, and unpleasant. When I asked his niece later why he did that and she said “It’s okay, it’s normal, he does it to me too”.

From then on, every time he baby sat me he would pull me into the bedroom, or couch, or even in the bathroom and tell me how hot I looked, how dirty I was, how sexy I was and touch me all over. I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t act like I enjoyed it. I felt broken. I would just stand there, or lay there, with a blank face. I let him touch me. He never told me not to tell my mother, so I’m not sure why I didn’t.

Looking back I wonder if he wanted me to tell her, to make him stop, I wonder if he enjoyed being attracted to children. I guess in a way I didn’t see the seriousness of the situation. I thought it was normal for adult men to touch me. Except Bob*, he never touched me, and that made me trust him. It made me believe that his love for me was pure. This was the first time my trust was broken. This was the first time I was being shown that people can’t be trusted. Of course, back then, this day meant I was a bad kid. This was the dawning of a new era, the era where I lived up to what he told me while he was thrusting into me.

I walked in the house and asked him why he was home. He grumbled something that sounded like “Fucking kids… stupid fuckers” yadda yadda. I threw my shoe at him and laughed, expecting him to laugh too, we were silly like that. That day, though, I got no reaction. No smile. No death glare of sarcasm. Nothing. So I called him a loser and started walking to my room. We lived in a basement apartment and there were no windows in my room, so even in broad daylight, it was pitch black in my room. I had mirror sliding doors on my closet, which covered an entire wall in my room. I turned on the light and turned on my cassette player. Music of choice? Spice girls. The song playing? 2 Becomes 1. I started singing it, bopping my head back and forth, making my long ponytail swing side to side. I heard thumping coming from behind me and turn around to see Bob* thumping down the hallway. His face was red and filled with thick veins on his forehead and reminded me of Popeye when he got really mad. I backed up and said “Bob* whats wrong?”

He stormed into my room and shut the door. He grabbed me with one hand and turned off the light with the other. He threw me against the glass sliding doors and all I could think was “I can’t see. I can’t see. I have to get to the light. I need to see.” And all that came out was “What did I do?” My neck was hurting from him holding me up by my shoulders, and the seems on the sleeves were cutting into my armpits. I thought I was in for a spanking when he kept grabbing at my pants.

Then he stopped. “Wait.”

He let go of me and I crawled into the fetal position, crying. “What did I do? I’m sorry” I cried. He didn’t say anything as he turned on the light. He looked at me for a few moments and picked me up again. He threw me face forward onto my bed. My bottoms got ripped off and I knew I was in for a good whipping.
But I didn’t get a whipping. He twisted me around and grabbed a hold of my legs. He pulled my legs closer to him and I felt something jab near my “cookie”. I cried out for my mother.
So I asked. Over and over again. “Why? What did I do? Bob* it hurts! Please! Stop!”
“You. You’re just like her. Just a slut. You deserve this”

I felt it enter me. I’m not sure how to describe to you how it felt. I was almost 9, so I was small. It felt as though all of his hate an anger just entered me. It wasn’t like how rape is shown in movies. I didn’t lay there with a blank face, I wasn’t crying, I was screaming. I was trying to hit him. I was flailing around. He was a big man, I felt like a feather trying to fight a tornado. It was sweaty and violent. Sometimes I wished he would have left the lights off. Why did he was to see that? I’ve never been in so much pain in my life… not at that point anyway. I screamed for what seemed to be forever, but was really only 5 minutes. He just kept thrusting. My blankets were thrown everywhere from me trying to flail away from him. Then he grunted, stopped and leaned in close.

“Carla*, listen to me. You deserve this. Stop your whining.”

I continued screaming. Calling out for mom, or the people upstairs, anyone. When he eventually stopped and pulled out, I felt like my inner self was collapsing, physically and mentally. I felt like when he pulled out of me, he was also pulling out my innocence, my purity, and my soul. I started having a panic attack, though back then I didn’t know what that was. I couldn’t breathe. I was dry heaving and shaking uncontrollably.

He left my room in a hurry. I coiled into a little ball, with my feet locked up to my bum, because in my mind, I could stop him from doing it again. He came in and although I tried to keep him away from between my legs, he won and ripped my legs apart. He began to wipe away the blood that had formed in my area, and the blood that had smeared on my legs.

“Now, you shut up about this. Or I’ll do it again. Next time it will hurt more. Stop being a slut. Nothing happened here. Don’t fucking make up stories. Nothing happened here that you didn’t deserve”

He went out to the living room and continued to drink. I realized at that time that my music was still playing. I hadn’t heard any of the songs. I shut my door. Rewound the cassette and started playing it. Turned off the lights. And went to bed.

*Names have been changed.

Survivor Poem: Excerpts

**This piece could be triggering

Excerpts

By: Shreya Sen

The man who said I’d be on T.V
The man who raped my son
The man who dressed me like a school girl
And sometimes like a nun

The man who beat me when I said no
Left me a bloody muck
The man who gently locked the door
And gave me a brutal fuck

The man who killed my childhood
When I was three or four
The man who made me bleed inside
But smiled and whispered “more!”

The man who sold me to the brothel
The man who gave me to his boys
The man who stole my money and my faith
And ravaged me with toys.

The man who went scot free
Abandoned the children and the crime
The man who showed me it’s a man’s world
And left me cleaning the man grime.

Survivor Story: Untitled

**This piece could be triggering

Untitled

By: Anonymous

close your eyes..take a deep breath…clear your mind..feel these word…a little 5yr old girl…long blond hair w/ eyes that change color in the sun..happy..laughing..waiting to celebrate her 6th bday w/ her favorite cousin…it was so cool that they were born on exactly the same day!..finally it was here! cake. presents. incest. What was supposed to be a beautiful beginning to a great yr as being 6 turned into the ugly beginning of the next 7 1/2 yrs..that night that cute little 5yr old girl turned 6..she lost the sparkle in her eye when he touched her breast..she lost the innocence in her smile as he felt her up…the wonder in her heart faded in2 confusion as he went down lower..and lower.. She didn’t know to stop him..she trusted him and she had no idea what was going on..after about 30min he stopped and they fell asleep. a few days passed and when Friday came it was time for the little girl to go to her dad’s..her dad wanted nothing but for his daughter to be happy so he invited her cousin over..so he didnt have to deal w/ her.. everything was ok until it came time to go to bed..she put on her pjs and her cousin did the same..they crawled in2 bed and her dad tucked them in and wished her sweet dreams..ha. sweet dreams. if only she would sleep. her cousin grabbed the remote and turned on the tv in the room for bakground noise. he rolled over and pinned her to the bed. he put his hands on her breasts..and moved them lower..and lower..and lower..he then put his lips on hers and as she clamped down her teeth his snake tongue slithered in. his spit tasted lyk venom..the words he whispered scared her. she wondered how long two people could kiss..it seemed to take hrs b4 he rolled off her. he fell asleep..she stared at the ceiling..confused and hurt.. when morning came she just told herself nothing hapened. but after those days things slowly started to change with her. the same thing happened at least every friday usually more than that for abut 2yrs..if u havent figured out this is my story. if you’ve been ok so far read on..if not i would stop. if you can’t handle this..it just gets worse. when i was 8 and he was 9 he decided that was getting boring so he came up with “better” ways 2 entertain his sick mind. when we would play in the sandbox outside by ourselves in the hot summer heat he would move my bathing suit out of the way and put sand in and on me..and even in the hot summer heat his hands there sent rigid chills right through me. when it was time for lunch we would go inside to ‘eat’. I usually just picked at my food. at our grma’s house it would be resting time then so she would end the 2 of us dwnstrs to watch cartoons for and hr or 2. i would’ve done anything 2 watch tv. i didnt know it then but i gave my 1st handjob when i was 8. he made me squeeze and play w/ him till he cummed. disgusting. it went on lyk thi for another yr and then it got just a lil worse. he used to do anything to hurt me. he’d push my legs so far apart and watch how far i would get. he would put soap, sand, bubblebath..just about anything on me down thr. it hurt. a lot. when i was 9 he fingered me. hard. not a good hard. a painful, scary, rough, tearing, hard. he would hit me when i asked hi, to stop. slap me if i said it hurt. and if i threatened to tell he would just shove his fingers harder and harder. but lyk so many other things..that could only satisfy him for maybe 8months a yr. when i was 10 he would kiss, lick, bite me. my chest no longer interested him. he was concerned with 1 part of me. and that was it. that was all i was good for with him when we wr alone. on a snowday that winter i went to his house, as i did everyday, and he said he wanted to play dr. i hated that game so much. but i’d take anything over the blowjobs i had to start giving him when i was 11. and especially for all the times he raped me from when i was 10 1/2 – 13 1/2. i remeber one night lyk it was yesterday. i was 12, he was 13. we wr at my dad’s house. i had on shorts and a tshirt..it was the middle of summer, july 3rd. it was late when i heard the zippers coming apart. the father the zippers came unglued the more concentration i put on keeping my legs closed. he slid in next to me and asked me if i knew the 3 ways to have sex. i said no. and he proceeded to tell me. he then took off his clothes and took off mine. leaving nothing but my bra. he got on top of me. i used every muscle in my body t keep my thighs pressed together. i knew what was coming. this had happened many times b4. he knocked me around a litttle bit…then in he went. he was inside me and i was wishing i cold be anywhrbut thr. i yearned for the days when he would be all over me but not in me. it hurt so bad. he pushed in farther and farther. i layed thr. waiting for it to be over. i focused my eyes on the clock. just 5hrs until my dad would be getting up. just push through it. it has to end soon. it was about and hr til he pulled out..kissed me..relaxed for about 30min..rolled on2 me again and let himself back in. this pattern went on for hours…and since he didnt get bored with this as easily this pattern happend everytime i would see him.. he raped me about 200 more times(add that to the 2yrs prior 2 that and youd get sumwhr round 900-1200 times) when i finally stopped it. i managed to tear apart a whole family in about an hr but it was over. or at least it wasnt rly happening anymore. the nightmares and flashbacks still haunt me. but i guess its only been about 1 full yr. im 14yrs old and i understand more about fear hopelessness and pain than some adults. i am deeply sry for ne1 who has gone thru anything lyk this. i am sure thr are worse stories than mine. mine is 1 of physical,mental, and sexual abuse, rape, incest. but also of pain, wishing and hopelessness. an i do regret my decision about telling sometimes but thr are many many many times i do not.

Survivor Story: Untitled

**This piece is extremely graphic and could be triggering

Untitled

By: Anonymous

I am at the mall. I am browsing. I am a little nervous because I haven’t been to the mall by myself since the whole “trying to get a restraining order against my ex” incident, but for the most part I have put that out of my mind.

I do not spend long at the mall – I have nothing to buy, and no money to buy it with. I am walking out of Macy’s to my car. It is not dark outside, not yet, but it is overcast and looks like rain. I reach my car and start to open the door.

There is something over my face, over my nose and mouth. Someone behind me someone behind me someone behind me can’t breathe

I am aware of Pain. I am on my back but I can’t feel my arms. I am lying on top of them; they are behind my back and when I try to move them something digs into my wrists and holds them together. My stomach aches. I open my eyes.

HIS bedroom. I recognize it all too well. I am lying on his bed. My clothes are gone – where are my clothes? – and there is… blood. Blood everywhere. On my stomach, on my thighs. Between my legs is an agonizing sort of pain that I can’t think about right now.

The door opens. It is Him. He is naked except for boxer shorts, and is sipping from a bottle of water. He looks at me. I am afraid.

Him: “You’re awake.”
Me:
Him: “You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? You thought you could spread the word… try to intimidate me. Guess what? I’m not intimidated.”
Me:
Him: “But you should be.”

He walks over to the bedside table and puts the water down. I am watching him. He rifles through the drawer, pulls out a condom. I suppose I should appreciate that he’s practicing safe sex. He waves it in front of my face.

Him: “Know what I’m going to do with this?”
Me:

He slips out of his boxers. My mouth goes dry. I cannot stop staring at his fully erect penis. He smiles.

Him: “Remember this?”

He opens the condom and puts it on. It is purple and looks incredibly disturbing to me. It’s so hot in here. Why is it so hot? I am sweating. My arms are tingling. He climbs on top of me and sticks his fingers in me. Painpainpain. When he pulls his fingers out they are covered in blood. He smiles at me, and then he is inside me. I cry out because it hurts so bad. He covers my mouth with his hand and rides me. I am weeping with pain and horror, but I can’t make a sound. He fucks me for what feels like forever. When he finishes, he does not collapse on top of me like my other ex used to; instead, he merely removes his hand from my mouth and pulls out. His purple condom is coated in blood as well. The sudden change in pain level – from agonizing to merely severe – leaves me gasping in relief.

He is still smiling. He gets off of the bed and goes back to the bedside table. He pulls off the condom and throws it on the floor, and then opens the drawer again. He pulls something out, balances it in his hand. I can’t concentrate. What is it what is it. He gets back on the bed and shows it to me. A gun.

Him: “See this?”

I draw breath to scream, but it gets caught in my throat. He takes the gun and inserts it into my vagina. I am panting now, little short bursts of breath that are almost like sobs or shrieking. He pulls the trigger.

It clicks. Nothing happens. It is unloaded. I burst into tears, noisy tears, and he laughs.

Him: “No, we can’t have that.” He does not explain what he means. He grabs my upper arm and forces me into a sitting position. He drags me off the bed. I can barely stand. He takes me out of the bedroom and through the living room, into the bathroom. He shuts the door. I can sort of feel my arms now. They hurt so badly. He turns on the shower and turns to look at me.

Him: “Get in.”

I am terrified, so terrified, but nothing can be worse than the gun. I get in. The water is cold, but quickly turns to scalding hot. I am crying still; I can’t seem to stop. He lets the water run for a while, until the blood is mostly washed off of me, and then he turns off the water. He lets me out and, to my surprise, grabs keys off the counter and undoes my hands. Handcuffs. Hands free now, I massage my aching wrists. My shoulders scream in relief. He hands me a towel and tells me to dry off. I rub myself off, in so much pain whenever I bend over. He leaves the room and I contemplate running, but I don’t have my clothes or my purse and my car, what happened to my car? He returns with my stuff. He is no longer naked, but dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Completely normal-looking.

Him: “Get dressed.”

Me:

I try my hardest to get back into my clothes quickly, but I am shaking and crying so it takes longer than it should. He waits impatiently by the door, and when I am done, grabs my arm again. He leads me out of the apartment and out to the parking lot. He unlocks a white car and shoves me in the back seat. My purse is there. My keys are not. It is just now that I realize my cell phone is gone. He gets in the front seat and turns the car on. He drives.

I am watching out the window carefully, hoping maybe if he drops me somewhere random, I’ll be able to find a phone and call for help. Instead he takes me back to the mall parking lot. My car is still there. He pulls into the spot next to it and gets out. He opens up the back door and hands me my keys and my cell phone.

Him: “Get out.” I do. I practically leap over to my car and get in, but before I can shut the door he sticks his head inside.

Him: “I hope now you’ve learned your lesson. Tell anyone else, and this will happen again. Shut up, and, well, maybe… Maybe I’ll leave you alone.” Then he is in his car and he is gone, and I am left in my car, crying so hard I am screaming.

I am at the hospital because I am bleeding, bleeding like I have my period except I don’t. I scribble my information down on the preliminary paperwork and after the people at the front desk see it, they call me back almost immediately. I am taken to an exam room and asked tons of questions.

The nurse wants to know what happened. I ask for emergency contraception, and she leaves. The next person inside is someone who calls herself a rape crisis advocate. Her name is Jenny and she has a sad, sympathetic smile.

She starts asking me questions. I am refusing to answer them. She wants to know if I was raped. I say no. She asks who hurt me. I say no one. The doctor comes in and kicks her out. Jenny asks me if I want her to stay and I say no. I want no one and nothing.

The doctor is as gentle with his examination as possible, but it still hurts like hell. He tells me there is significant tearing and bruising, and asks me if I want a rape kit done. I don’t. I just want the bleeding to stop. The doctor does not pressure me. He finishes examining me and puts something inside of me to help with the bleeding. He gives me a list of instructions: No sex, no masturbation, no tampons, no douching, for at least a month. I need to wash regularly with clean, warm water, but don’t stick my fingers or anything else inside. He quickly draws blood for testing – pregnancy and HIV, he says – and says he will call me with the results in a few days. He asks me before he leaves if I want the advocate to come back in, and I say no, I’m fine. He says, let me get your paperwork, and leaves the room.

I am alone and I have stopped crying. I am Numb now. The nurse comes back in with my paperwork and I sign. She gives me a little plastic cup with a pill in it and a paper cup of water. She explains that this is the morning after pill. I am a pro at swallowing pills. She asks if there is anyone she can call, and I say no, I’ll be fine. I get dressed again and I go home. I call my dad on the way home to tell him I’m on my way.