Survivor Story: Untitled

By: Anonymous

This past summer, I went to FL with my legit best friend. We went to dinner and then left and went down to the pier. There, we met some guys, two of them stood out among the rest. Josh and James. They were anywhere between 19 and in their early 20′s. I still have no idea how old they actually were but I’m positive they were at least 19. I’m 15. The four of us hit it off and they walked us down to the park. My friend and James gravitated towards each other and then Josh and I gravitated towards each other. After some voluntary making out they walked us back to the hotel room. My friend and I got changed and waited for them to come back. We had now given two complete strangers our hotel and our room number. They came back and laid with us in our beds for a while before we snuck out of our rooms at about 3am and walked along the beach with them. James was treating my friend like a princess. Josh was treating me fine but I got a feeling in my stomach that this wasn’t the best idea. They walked us down to the opposite pier. He sat down on this bench and pulled me onto his lap. We started making out.. which I was fine with..but then he laid me down and he was on top of me. I could feel my legs tighten as his hands fumbled, the dark mixed with the drugs. Then I felt it. His fingers slipped inside me. I laid there. Unable to move. I had no idea what drugs he had taken but I knew he was high. I laid there and survived. I hung out with him after that, since my friend was obsessed with James. James turned out to be a really great guy, and yet again I fell for the shitty one.

Survivor Story: Untitled

By: Anonymous

I’ve never actually told anyone the whole story, but here it goes…

when i was 5 he would hit me, push me, yell at me. when i 6, he did the same.. it gradually escalated until i was 8 and he raped me. from then until i was about 13 he would rape me at least once every time he would see me if not more.. the abuse lasted for 8 years. i can still hear his threats whispered in my ear as he pinned me to the bed.. pushed inside me and stole from me. i can feel his hands everywhere they shouldn’t be. his lips tasting forbidden places. at night i still wake up and feel him in me. the more pain i feel, i can watch his eyes light up..as he slowly drains the light from mine. i can feel the heaviness of my pain and fear as it wells in my chest. my eyes stinging from the tears i can’t cry. him inside of me was one of the worst pains i think i’ll ever feel. but ik i am a stronger person bc of it…

Survivor Story: heart2heart

heart2heart

By: Anonymous

In life, there are few boundaries that do not get crossed. There are few people you find you can actually trust whole heartedly and there is no one you can rely on more than yourself. But there are times, when certain boundaries are crossed, you must rally the few you can trust, including yourself, and rebuild yourself to more than you were before. To those who are newly entering the stage and stumbling over their lines, hang in there, I promise you it will get better. The more time you take to think over the script, old and new, you will get smarter, stronger and more superb everyday. The more times you fail, the more times you will grow. I know, that right now, it may seem like life is falling apart at all it’s hinges, or that all the good things pushed you out and locked the door. Just because your past (8yrs or 8mins) may not have been filled with amazing memories or even good ones, all the lackluster times you’ve had and will have, will NEVER determine the good ones to come. Whatever happened to you or maybe even is happening, you do not deserve it. Please, take a moment and reread that sentence because I’m pretty sure it didn’t sink in the first time. You do not deserve what has happened/is happening to you. Absoulutely no one deserves to be violated. I’m sure you’ve heard people say “[he/she] took everything from me..” and trust me, I felt that way too, but guess what? They didn’t. They can not take everything from you.. a lot? absoulutely. But you survived. They did not take your life.. YOUR life. They did not take your strength, if anything they made you stronger. They did not take away how amazing you are or how brave. You survived one of the most horrific, scary, painful things that can happen to a person. You, are a hero.

Most who read this will wonder how I can say all this. Why I have the right to address all of you and validate your feelings. Well, because I have been through it too. I’ve felt the anger, the frustration, the betrayal, the hurt, the pain, the shame.. all of it.

I’ve blocked my childhood almost completely. I remember, parts in pieces, just vague flashes. But then there are some, that come in crystal clear.

When I was 5, my cousin started abusing me. It started out slow. It really wasn’t too bad. But as the years went on, so did the abuse. Every year it would increase a little. When I was 8 he raped me for the first time.
The one clear memory I do have, is when I was 12. My cousin frequently stayed at my dad’s house(my parents were divorced when I was 8mo old). We slept outside my room, on the family room floor in separate sleeping bags. The T.V. was louder than it should have been in order to drown out any cries I may make. By now he should have known, crying was not something I was interested in. With my dad and stepmom asleep upstairs, I was now his life sized game board, he was free to play how ever he wanted, so bend the rules so he was always the winner. He rolled over in his sleeping bag, looked me thoroughly over, and posed the question, “do you know the three kinds of sex?”. I knew a lot at 12, a hell of a lot more than I needed to, but I did not know the answer to that question. Not knowing the answer to a question like that meant there would be an answer and that answer would be swiftly followed with a long, intriquite demonstration. Frantically, I tried to think of anything I could pass off as an answer but nothing came. I opened my mouth to say ‘no’, but the words got stuck. With a wad of words choking out my air supply, I simply shook my head. He proceeded to tell me that “#1 is where I put my penis in you, #2 is when I put my penis in your butt and #3 is where you suck on me.” Before the words had a chance to settle between us, my legs where squeezed so tightly shut, my eyes so widely open. I vowed to myself that I would not fall asleep. The ritual I had practiced for most of my life. Unfortunately, sleep took control and handed it right to him. In the morning, I was sore and scared. Before my eyes had even had the chance to peek at the morning sunlight, he looked me straight in the eye and said “do you want to know what I did to you last night?”. Those words still send shivers racing through me. I can hear them, clear as day, pounding in my ears.

There a few memories quite so clear, but I remember a lot of the abuse and rapes. My childhood as a whole though, has been pushed so deep out of my relms of remembrance that I don’t remember much other than those memories. It’s just too painful.

I finally came out and exposed what was happening when I was in 7th grade. There are times when I wish that life could go back to how it was before, but then I rethink about it and realize that I deserve more than that. I’m not an object, neither are you.

I went to the police and the CAC and then back to the CAC a year later for a second time. On the second time, the case made us to the ADA but no further. She said that there wasn’t enough evidence to prosecute. Up until recently I felt he had won because there was no way I could touch him. He had gone free and I had ripped my family apart for no reason. Recently though, I came to the conclusion that I am the reason. I’m reason enough for myself to want better. I’m a good enough reason to stop this from continuing.
So are you. You are the best reason to speak up for yourself. You don’t need any other reasons.

I have a long way to go until I am 100% healed, and I may never be completely okay, but I will, I am, a stronger person than before. You will be too. Don’t keep your hurt silent. I am the first person to do whatever I have to so as not to hurt others, but you are just as important.

You are not dirty. You are not ruined. You are not broken.
You are beautiful. You are amazing. You are brave.
You, are a hero.

Survivor Story: Have I Survived?

Have I Survived?

By: j.

I was sexually molested by an adult cousin. I stayed over his house with his daughter, she was my age at the time (10). He was drunk and got in the bed with us. He laid behind me and put his fingers under my panties and touched me “there”. His daughter was still awake. She told her mom a few weeks later, but she didn’t know exactly what he’d done. My dad was so hurt so I told him nothing happened.

When I was 19 my boyfriend raped me. We were in a sexual relationship. This day we were going to have sex, but my body was hurting. I stopped him after he started and told him I had pain “there” and to stop. He did not stop. I tried to push him off, but he used his weight and held me there til he finished. The pain was alot to deal with. I regret not screaming or punching him.

I feel like I was molested and got out easy. I was sexually assaulted and got out easy. I feel as though I am really going to get a very bad experience soon. I’m very paranoid, now.

Survivor Story: An empty room

An empty room

By: Anonymous, Austin, TX

I still have days where I feel like this. Like everything about me has changed and is gone and I don’t know how to get back to before.

“She was like an empty room after everyone’s left. Something incredibly important had disappeared from her for good. Leaving behind not life but its absence. Not the warmth of something alive but the silence of memory.”

Survivor Story: The Curse of Rape and Sexual Abuse

Suddenly! I woke with a flash! My breathing was short. I felt the fear paralyse me for a moment. Taking shallow, quick breaths, I had just enough time to check for danger.

I’d been in that lovely place where you’re just about to settle into a peaceful sleep, when suddenly, the faces were there; staring at me with that ‘rape face!’ The dark, sinister smirk that rapists’ and abusers’ use as their power over you. ‘The look’ that lets you know, without any doubt, that at that moment, they have the power and you are the object.

All those years ago, I ‘woke’ with the same flash. A flash of fear. Confusion. “Who?” “How many?” Knickers ripped down! Full of the evidence that they’d left behind. My dignity and inner violated into shreds of shame and dirt. “What the f*ck?!!!!”  I’d been raped!!!! Shots of options slid through my mind rapidly. Priority option! I needed to get out. The house was dark, cold and silent. I looked into the kitchen from the grotty sofa I’d been stored on. No movement. I moved into the kitchen and saw moonlight shining through the glass panel in the front door. Pausing for a moment. I decided to move towards the door and made my way out.

Reporting the crime wasn’t an option. I was worthless. Dirty. Damaged, and besides, the doting Father I was bestowed had already engrained it onto me that I was a sex object; not through verbal advocacy, but via his 1am visits to my bedroom. Yup, he is a paedophile. Not one with a long coat and paedo tattood on his forehead. He’s the more powerful, middle class, law enforcing, soul of every party, going to rip your soul out, sociopath type of paedo. He’s very sophisticated, don’t you know? Cunning.

Once out of the house, I took my time walking the 2-3 miles home. The sun came up, but I was freezing, as if I’d been plunged into ice and hung out to dry in the night. Totally hollow! I’d coped at the age of 11 onwards; although in some what of a rebellious in your face coping way, but I got through. But now, how the hell was I to get through this one? After years of analysing the sexual abuse and being sold out of the family to cover his tracks, I couldn’t possibly cope with this to analyse on top, so I didn’t. I blocked.

The night before, I’d gone back to a house with a few people I knew. My subconscious is unlocking some rather disturbing memories and with them, revealing the emotional scarring that’s left me so vulnerable for so long. The last I remember I was sipping a newly poured cup of tea. I stared into the cup and then, gone.

As I lay, slumped on that grotty sofa, my head fell to the side. I could see two guys watching me. I saw their faces and recognised that rape face. I knew what they were watching. They were watching me being raped. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel a thing; nothing physical, nothing emotional. I was dead. Well, drugged.

I know who they are now and am just waiting for the rest of my memories to be realised in the light, so that I can find peace. I’m reporting their names to the police this week, as invariably, these animals have attacked others and it’s come to light that one is training to be a counsellor (over my dead body). I know now that it was gang rape. I know my tea had been drugged. The three faces are clear in my mind and so are their names. They make me sick.

It’s only dawned on me that it was drug rape this last week. Before that, it was just something deeply hidden. So confusing, that even my tendancies towards analysing gave up in those early days. It’s not for analysing now, it’s for feeling. To dig up the suppressed pain, relive it and bury it. I’ve never done that. Never even acknowledged my feelings at being sexually abused by my father, disbelieved by my mother, drug raped at 17, called for jury service at 18 for a sexual abuse case, physically abused from 20 onwards by the father of my child, raped at 25 for ending a relationship and then, when moving to start that new life…..my friend was drug raped in my house (this was when the shadow man appeared at my window). Shortly thereafter, I went out with a guy who strangled me under running taps. I left, which was a lucky escape, as I’d heard of two allegations of rape against him and it came to light that he was the man who I’d spotted stalking my property prior to our first date….. and breathe……

I’ve always picked myself up and brushed myself off, but after having suffered for the past two years with severe acute panic attacks, insomnia, severe anxiety, as well as the consistently reliable visits from the shadow/ demon/ f*cking horrid repetition of the evils of abuse in my life; it was time to banish it and break into the light once and for all. Time to take my spirit back and be happy

This is my journey. My journey away from the curse bestowed on me as a child. I’m banishing my demons and I’m breaking free.

http://www.breakingfreesupport.co.uk/retreat.htm (this retreat really helped me with my healing process)



Survivor Story: My Story

My Story

By: Adele

In 2005, when I was 17, my virginity was robbed from me. I have gotten used to the idea that there are two of me: the one before the event, and me after the event. It happened when I was in high school, just months before graduation. I kept it a secret for years, because I felt like I had done something horrible.

Since I had been diagnosed with high functioning autism as an elementary schooler and struggle with social cues, I assumed all of his abuse was my fault. I have a hard time with body language, and he knew that, given that he was my boyfriend for months before the first offense happened. He took advantage of me anyway. The first time it happened, I said, “I’m not interested in sex.” I wanted to wait until I was married. He backed me into a corner, forced me to take some very strong prescription pain pills that pretty much knocked me unconscious, and disrobed me.

He had sex with me in spite of my wishes. The term “rape” was definitely not a word I used often; I don’t think I even knew what it meant at the time. Early the next morning, I drove to the nearest Panera Bread, bought a cup of coffee, and sat in the booth looking out the window and cried. “What in the world just happened?” I thought to myself. I felt so disgusting that I thought everyone could read it on my forehead. All I wanted to do was take a hot bath. I came home and soaked myself in a tub for hours.

The horror continued throughout my last semester of high school. My abuser told everyone that it was something he really wanted to do with me, because he “loved” me. That was what I told everyone else too. I thought it was consensual. I finished my high school education completely oblivious to the fact that a felony had been committed against me. At 17, I just thought that it was unwanted sex. Secretly, I blamed my autism and myself: I thought it was “my fault” because I “wasn’t good socially”. To me, at the time, it wasn’t rape; it was just “bad sex”.

Something similar happened again a few months later when I had started college classes at K-State. He said, “Let’s have sex.” I wasn’t really interested at the time. “I really like you, but maybe later,” I said. It happened anyway. Several weeks later, in January 2006, I found out I was pregnant and my dad and I decided I’d have an abortion. This abusive man had sex with me repeatedly for two years before we finally broke up without asking my permission; and because of the intensity of the domestic violence present in our relationship, even psychologically, I could never freely say no. I am pretty sure a piece of me died then. I have spent the last four years trying to rebuild a life for myself.

Shortly after I turned 21 in 2008, a friend referred me to the rape center on my college center. Through the help of the Advocate at the center, I went from saying, “I had sex with him,” and finally learned how to say, “He raped me.” At the time, it was one of the worst things that had ever happened to me.

After therapy for about a year, I volunteered with the center and decided to raise awareness with a college group dedicated to the issue, until I resigned in late March 2010 due to graduation stresses.

Throughout my volunteer time, I realized that I wanted to help women who have experienced date rape (or any other kind of sexual crime, for that matter). In college, I became passionate about spreading awareness about the issues of date rape and domestic violence. Ultimately, music, my major at the time, became a field of study that I was pursuing only because I was nearly finished with it.

After I graduated college in May 2010, I spent a year in seminary in my hometown after graduating college. I thought that a seminary degree would help me the most with helping other survivors. I left seminary, and started working as a Volunteer Advocate at a local nonprofit rape crisis center. Through that organization, I now speak publicly about my experience.

When I was in college, this was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Almost 2 years after my last therapy session for the rape, I have turned the bad into something good. Through the rape, I lost my youth, but have gained the ability to live more spiritually, live life to the fullest, and have a deeper compassion for others. I’ve grown into a woman that I am proud to call my friend, autistic disorder or not.

Presently, I am hoping to become a social worker. I have decided to make my research interest about the violence against women. I am also interested in the issue of violence against women with disabilities.

My career goal today is to work in the area of policy advocacy for an organization that works to prevent sexual and domestic violence. Ultimately, I would like to professionally spread awareness in various communities and legislative bodies about rape and sexual assault. I want to educate others and reduce stigma that surrounds talking about crimes against women, and especially spread awareness about the alarmingly scary statistics about women with disabilities who experience sexual and domestic violence.

My experience with date rape and the role that my crisis center and therapists played in my healing made a profound impact on who I am today, and I really like that person. I only hope that one day I can provide as much hope and compassion to other survivors as they provided me.

In Honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month

By: Elisha Adey, Austin, TX

Domestic violence. Intimate partner violence. Lately I’ve been struck with the vast number of survivors of domestic violence in my life. This violence comes in the form of physical, emotional, psychological and financial control. It looks like a bruised cheek, a question of self worth or a struggle to justify leaving. I have found that it is both one of the most difficult and simplest forms of control to understand for what it is or to escape from. It can be a terrifying situation or the most comfortable situation the abused partner feels they’ve ever been in. It can feel like a locked cage or like the most freeing haven. But it is never simple, never truly comfortable and never free.

According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, 1 in 4 women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime, 85% of survivors of domestic violence are women and overwhelmingly, the majority of instances will never be reported to the police. But these are statistics. What does domestic violence look like when you detach it from the numbers, from the faceless statistics? It is an alarming reality happening to friends, family members, acquaintances and strangers you pass by everyday. It is something that you yourself might be experiencing.

I was in an abusive relationship in high school. It lasted almost 3 years and there is still a piece of me that wonders if I should even be writing this. I often wonder if what I experienced can be classified as abusive since, you know, I stayed with him for so long.  But that is exactly why I am writing this. What I experienced was abuse. Even though I have counseled many survivors of domestic violence and seen them go from self-blame to naming their situation as abuse, I still look at my own past and think, “But didn’t I kind of ask for it, in a way?” I did not ask for it. And it wasn’t my fault.

He started out like a sad puppy, pulling me in with manipulation and gently isolating me from my friends and family. He was also very angry, but not at me, he would reassure me. At his parents or brothers or friends… but he would take it out on me because we were so close, because I wasn’t ever going to leave him. Because he needed me. He was arrested for choking me very early on. For holding me up against a locker in between classes and not letting go until I promised him that I would never leave him. This pattern continued for years. As soon as I showed strength, resistance, control, he would shove me against a wall, threaten suicide and remind me that no one would ever love me the way that he did. Who could love me? I was worth so little, but he would help me. He would build me up and together we’d be worth something. But alone, without him, I was nothing. I had terrible taste in music, movies, books and friends. I needed him to point me in the right direction and to stand behind me with his hands on my back as I made my way through. My past didn’t matter. My plans for the future didn’t matter. All that mattered was us, taking care of each other and standing up against anyone who got in our way.

Eventually, I did get away. I got a restraining order and put up with him stalking me for a couple of months. I had to change my phone number 4 times, but I maintained control of the situation and stayed away. And today I am in control of my own life and have a much better understanding of my own worth.

But there are still times where I question my self worth. I am also a survivor of child sexual abuse, which for me was and is more difficult than the domestic violence. Ever since I was 5 years old, I’ve believed that my value lay in being an object of pleasure for men. That my worth was in my body- and not my body’s strength, but its ability to please a man. It started a cycle of doubting myself that has continued since early childhood.

I survived because I began to see my self worth through others eyes, and eventually my own, and I realized that I deserved more than what I was experiencing. I survived because I was able to talk about the situation I was in with those around me. This is why I started this website- to give others a space to share what they’ve experienced and to see that they are not alone. You are not alone. I am not alone.

“there are some folks for whom openness is not about the luxury of, ‘will I choose to share this or that,’ but rather, ‘will I survive- will I stay alive?’ and openness is about how to be well and telling the truth is about how to put the broken bits and pieces of the heart back together again. It is about being whole- being wholehearted.” ~ bell hooks

Survivor Story: Untitled

Trigger warning***

By: Rachel

I didn’t expect it to happen to me. i thought it wouldn’t but it did anyway. I was 15 then, my parents were away on an overseas business trip and he was the same age as me. He was my school mate and he confessed his love for me one day. He said he had fallen for him but I rejected him. This is not the main point anyway. Even though I rejected him, he’d come to my house very often to give me things, like cards and roses, etc…and he annoyed me a lot, he passed more and more gifts to me. I have already told him that I didn’t need them but he ignored and continued making stuff for me.. then one day, another afternoon like any other he came to my house again to pass me chocolates. He said I looked beautiful that day, and he liked the blouse and skirt that I was wearing. I replied “thank you” to him indifferently and took the chocolates to put them in the refrigerator. When I walked out he told me that he loved me. I said OK, then just when I wanted to see him off (I wanted him out of the house as quickly as possible, I didn’t like him), he came up to me, ignored my words and started kissing me. I said no. I had no time to waste, I needed to get back on with my studies so I tried to push him away. I thought I did, but halfway getting him away from my face he slapped me hard on my face. It took me by surprise and before I could react he plunged his fist hard into my abdomen, and the next thing I knew, he was carrying me up the stairs, to my bedroom, and I was struggling and kicking my legs aimless into the air. He entered my bedroom and dropped me to my bed. I tried to get away the moment he dropped me but he was too fast and too strong for me. He pushed me with his entire body to my bed again and forced me hard onto the bed, so that I couldn’t get up. He punched me hard in my abdomen again, and told me to stay still, or he would cause more pain. I stopped kicking instantly. After that, he said that so long as I did what he told me to he wouldn’t hurt me. I asked him what he wanted me to do. He made me pull my knees up but my feet to remain on the bed. Then he spread my legs slightly further apart, and he had a good peek under my skirt. He reached his hands under my skirt and rubbed me through my panties. I tolerated it bitterly and I stayed still. Then, he stopped, and he told me to pee, right there AT MY BED. I was stunned, but he asked me if I wanted another punch on my stomach so I had no choice but to get to it. I started to pee, and he watched under my skirt with a look of glee. I heard a hissing noise as I urinated at my bed and I felt my panties absorb my urine eagerly while my pee accumulated at the area between my legs. Then, when my panties felt very heavy it went out through the two holes in my undergarment and some soaked out from my underwear as well and flowed along my legs. He watched my panties change and get soaked all the while I was doing this. When I had no more pee left he started to unbutton my blouse, each button one by one. I continued staying still. He told me not to put my legs down, but to remain with that post. Then when he finished unbuttoning my blouse he laid it open and it exposed my upper part of my body. He pushed my skirt up and took off my panties. He told me he didn’t mind my pee. He let me relax my legs and he told me again that he loved me before removing his pants. After that he forced my legs wide open and pushed himself inside me. Then that’s where all the pain came even though he didn’t slap or punch me again like before. I could remember the pain as it made me felt like I was being ripped apart. I screamed. I started crying instantly and begged him to stop and let me go. But he continued to push himself further into me uptill a point where I felt him reaching my womb inside me. When he was done he put his pants back on and told me to clean up, then he left. I felt contaminated. I had been used like a prostitute, and I could still feel him inside my body. I was left crying on my bed, I didn’t even bother to put my clothes back on the whole time I was sobbing..

Survivor Story: Untitled

By: Anonymous

i didn’t report it. i didn’t tell anyone for 6 or 7 years. i kept it a secret because i thought i had done something wrong. i though people would judge me and i would get in trouble. i was 7 years old when my cousin sexually assaulted me. at first it was just him telling me to get under the blanket because it was cold. then it turned into more. he never actually raped me and i know sexual assault doesn’t seem like it’s as big of a deal as rape, but for years i would be tormented with the memories. my mom found it when i was 13. i had written it in my diary which i had left in the kitchen for some reason. her reading it was wrong but i was secretly glad she had seen it. someone finally knew and could comfort me. she took me to a therapist but i was unresponsive so we didn’t go back. i convinced her that i was fine. but really i’m still not. because of him i didn’t get to live a normal child, a normal teen life. i’ve told this to a couple friends but they just don’t get what a big deal it was. when it came out to the rest of my family, everything exploded. nobody in the family talks to or about him. since my assault he has gotten three other girls pregnant. all i could think of was “if i had reported it, they would have had normal lives” so if you’ve gone through anything like this whether its rape, assault, whatever, stand up for yourself and report it. not just for you, but for anyone else who could lose their lives.