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.

Survivor Story: Raped By a School Staff

**Trigger Warning: Graphic

Raped By a School Staff

By: Neo ZhiQi

I was raped by my school’s operation manager. I was 14 when it happened. That time I had been sick and my parents were both at work so they couldn’t pick me up from school but the operation manager offered to send me home. I accepted, of course, but he didn’t go the way that leads to my house. Instead, he started driving me into a deserted alley and when I asked him why he wasn’t going the right way, he locked the car doors out of a sudden. He forced me into a lying position and I started stuggling but he slapped me anyway. He pushed my skirt up and ran his fingers on my inner thigh at the same time, and revealing more of my legs as he continued pushing my skirt higher and higher. As a result, the hem of my skirt ended up almost at my crotch. After that, he started rubbing my “down there” through my panties, the only piece of cloth preventing direct contact with his fingers. I begged him to stop but he merely laughed. I tried to get up but he forced me back again into that lying position. When he was satisfied with that bit of rubbing me, he took off my panties and threw it onto the carpet behind him. Then he started licking my private parts and I kicked and thrashed because it felt extremely irritating and unpleasant to have somebody’s tongue and saliva on my genitals. But of course he slapped me again for resisting him. I gave up trying to fight him and was finally still, but shaking a little beccase I was already crying by then. Soon he unzipped his jeans and I was shocked, as I registered what he was about to do to me. I cried and begged him but it was useless. He spread my legs as far apart as he could and pushed himself inside me. The piercing pain came the moment he entered me and my crotch began bleeding. I screamed and cried harder. I saw bright red blood rolling down my legs as he pushed himself harder and went further inside me. When he was done, he pushed me out of the car. He threw my belongings out as well but didn’t return me my panties so I had no panties on. I attempted to wipe off my blood and I was managed to do so partially. I finally managed to reached home by a cab with some money I had, and thank goodness my parents weren’t home, so I went into the washroom and washed the blood off. I haven’t told anyone what has happened to me since then. It’s so embarrassing and I have lost my virginity when I am only 14.

Survivor Story: Untitled

By: Anonymous

every night the memory gets clearer. the nightmares stronger and more vivid… no one leaves on vacation thinking throught their actions. i left for FL hoping to come back with a good tan and a ton of pictures..i ended up hoping to come back alive, possibly pregnant and without my bestfriend. after dinner one night we walked to the pier not far from our hotel. not too long into our journey four guys walked up to us and we started talking. two faded into the night and two stayed. being 15 having an older guy give you the time of day is a nice thing let alone having one actually talk to you and be totally interested… they led us to the park down a few good blocks from out hotel. he started kissing me and i had no problem with that, i kissed right back. they needed to go somewhere so we gave them our hotel name and the room number and me and my friend went back to our room and changed out of our swimsuits..we just finished changing when we heard a knock at the door. we just about passed out when we opened the door to see them standing there. we let them in and she laid with the guy she liked on her bed and i laid with the guy that was interested in me on my bed. he played with my hair as we laid there… after a little bit my guy asked if we wanted to take a walk..by this time it was everybit of lyk 1:30am. so of course, we said okay. we walked on the beach, in the dark, the waves crashing holding hands…it was the absoulute dream. they took us to the old pier down at the end of the beach. my friend and her guy went to the top of the beach and me and my guy stayed below. we sat on a bench..i was sitting on his lap and he set his hand on my knee…then we started to make out..all okay with me. then he started moving his hand up my leg..higher..higher..higher… i slid it back down and he paused..and did it again. he laid me down on the bench. im 5ft 1in and he was every bit of 6ft.. he laid on top of me and slid his fingers inside. then he was totally in me. i’ve never been so humiliated…

Survivor Story: A World with Honesty

A World with Honesty

By: Katie

I’ve been putting this off for a long time. More like 8 months too long, but it’s time to finally come to terms with everything and I’m ready to stop pretending. A recent English assignment told me that being honest with myself was the only way to write. Without being honest, the truth you are trying to tell will never come across and there is no effective way to heal. I was honest about the letter addressed to Charlie, but I was so hurt I did not know how to express it. So instead of showing my pain and looking for help. I tried to hide it and act strong. But now 6 months after I wrote that letter I finally realized how weak I have been. Right here and now, I am taking the time to be honest with myself and hopefully this time I can grow. 8 months ago I was raped. Writing that out made my heart skip a beat, but after saying it I have to learn how to face it, to deal with it, to grow from it, and to heal from it. It has taken me almost 8 months to put those words into a sentence. As I write this now, I can already feel myself trying to suppress the tears I so want to succumb to. Crying used to be something I avoided at all cost, from physical to emotional pain I would never shed a tear unless I was alone and safe. After this happened, all I wanted to do was cry, but I had it cemented into my brain that crying wasn’t an option. Instead, I played everything off as a joke. It was a mistake and it was my fault. I felt pathetically guilty and was utterly embarrassed. I lied, not only to myself, but to everyone around me. I wanted to make it my fault so that it might be easier to move forward. Holy shit have I never been so wrong. When I was alone, I would sit in silence, trying to get the image of him out of my head until I began to feel the tears streaming down my face. Stop it just stop it. This is the last thing I need and its not a big deal just get over it. After a few months I realized that I started to hope someone would see me cry so that they would hold me and just say they were sorry or let me know they cared. I needed someone to care. The only problem was I didn’t show or tell anyone that it mattered to me. I played it off as a joke and that’s how everyone took it. My place, actions, and thoughts were lost. I was lost and I had never felt more helpless in my life. I kept remembering what happened and all I could think is why? I still don’t know why and I never will, but I knew my trust in guys and a lot of people had vanished. I had no self worth anymore and truly believed that no guy did or ever would see value in me as well. I just thought I was something they could use, so fuck them. I pushed the ones away that I truly cared about, that meant something to me before all of this happened. But what did they matter, they were just the same as Charlie and would use me no matter what the case was. Now I realize I was so wrong and, pushing people away was only self defense. It’s only taken me months to realize that what happened shouldn’t have. Plain and simple it shouldn’t have happened no matter what kind of person I was. After it happened, I distanced myself and people began to see me for what I led them to believe. Recovery is hard and I was not prepared for how brutal it was going to be. The people close to me were unsure of how to respond and I can’t blame them. I hope to God no one goes through any thing like this. It is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and I can only feel for those who have gone through it as well. Honesty is a word with such an easy definition, but it is probably the hardest word to act on. Confronting myself has been utterly terrifying but after more than half a year it’s not always raining and I find myself not being forced to smile or laugh. I hope there is a way someday I will be able to make amends with those I was incredibly dishonest with. I was scared to make my problems any one else’s burdens and I was scared that people would finally see me as weak and breakable. I was scared my story would define me and that it would define who I would become. In my letter I said I was strong. I realized that saying it then wasn’t true. I had never felt weaker in my life, but now I can finally feel something within me that is willing to show strength. I believe I will be ok in the future, but have also learned the gravity of the situation. Honesty lets other people care. It helps them to be real around you, which is what is needed the most. 8 months of hell. I used to always feel this pit in my stomach that made me want to close my eyes and scream, but now however slowly this scream is starting to fade away and will hopefully wither away into a whisper. Honesty. Here it goes. It’s finally time to live to this word and apply the meaning in my own life.

Survivor Story: Daddy’s Little Girl

Daddy’s Little Girl

By: LaRenda

I grew up a daddy’s girl. I was always by his side; running, yard work, you name it, i was his shadow. Then on the night of my sixth birthday, i got up to go to the bathroom, and my life was forever changed. My father followed me into the restroom. He said he needed to check to make sure i was clean. He touched me, and sent me back to my room, with a warning that if i told, he would kill me. My birthday party was terrible.

The abuse continued for many years, in varying degrees. It involved stuffed animals, fingers, everything. I cannot remember everything, because i blocked much of it out. It is weird because i will have dreams where i remember something new, or a smell will tigger a flashback. It is like a puzzle that pieces randomly fall into. What i can remember, i wish i could forget. The fear, the shame, the voice, the smell, it makes me want to vomit. I wake up with nightmares constantly.

Along with the sexual abuse, came physical, and mental abuse. I was always told that i was dumb and fat, even though i excelled and school and was actually underweight. I was told i better hope nothing happened to my face because i would be useless. I totally withdrew socially, which didn’t matter anyway since i wasn’t allowed to sleep over anywhere anyway. My mom was totally in the dark about the sexual abuse. She knew about the physical and mental but was too scared to leave. I had no friends, and felt totally lost and alone. I prayed to God to just let me die.

I spent the next seven years of my life in terror. I begged my father to molest me and not my little sister. Beat me. Not her or mom. This was my life, it was like a merry-go-round. Everyday the same.

People ask why i never told. You want to know. Here is why:

My father is a deacon in the church, pillar of the community, high ranking special forces military officer, and game warden. He grew up in the town i am from. He said no one would believe me. He would hurt my mom and sister. That he was special forces and they taught him to kill and that no one would ever find me. Well when i was 15ish my parents divorced-finally. I never went to stay with him. He was trying to get custody of my little sister. We kept going to court. He would call threaten my life, say horrible awful things to me, and be an asshole basically.

When i was a senior in high school, it all escalated. I was tired of living with this secret. I told my mom. She immediately called my father, who denied it. His sister called me on the phone, and told me i was a whore among other colorful phrases. It was insane. It was like opening pandora’s box. We found out i was the 5th girl he had molested. He confessed to the others, who were his nieces, but not to me. I had to go to the DA and tell him every detail i could remember. I took a lie detector test, which i passed and my father failed. In the end it didn’t matter. The statute of limitations had expired. Nothing happened to him. My mother did call me to tell me that i failed the test to see what i would say, nice right?

To graduate from my school, you have to do a senior speech. I did mine on rape. I come from a very small southern town. There were rumors flying. I wanted to tell my side. I got up and told my speech, my story, to everyone in that auditorium. I thought i would be commended for being so brave. He was right they didn’t believe me. They said i was an embarrassment, and expelled me. I had to fight to graduate. I never really spoke about the abuse after that. Everyone turned their back on me. I felt even more ashamed.

I am healing everyday. After all these years, i still struggle daily. I am still angry. My aunt saw him the other day and went up to him and actually talked to him! She told him i look just like him, then called to tell me. That is just what i wanted to hear. That i look like my rapist. So every time i look in the mirror now i am reminded of it. I have to sleep with mace on my pillow because i am so afraid he will find me, and kill me. Every bump in the night makes me jump. I have to sleep with nightlights every where because i am so scared of the dark.

I know given the chance now to go back in time, i would have told or killed him. That would have been easier than living in fear every single day. Now he is with another woman who babysits her grandkids. I know this because i know the girl who’s mom he is dating. She had stopped letting her daughter’s go over there, but her sister still allows it. I pray everyday for their safety. They say he goes to church. Why do child molesters hide behind God? He has told this family so many lies about me. Why won’t he just go away?

So he is free to molest, roam, and live free. I am living daily with shame, disgust for my own body, and a very messed view of the world. Things don’t seem fair sometimes.

Survivor Story: Learning to Cope

Learning to Cope

By: Anonymous

I chose to write this message as a letter addressed to the guy who brought this upon me. His real name is not used in my story.

I want you to know that this is incredibly hard for me to write. Trying to find words to express how I feel is outright impossible. I don’t even want to deal with these feelings and I want nothing to do with you. I’ve always considered myself a strong person. I’ve had to deal with heart break, humiliation, defeat, loss, pain, and failure, but through it all I’ve always been able to bounce back. So congratulations David for accomplishing something that I am struggling to conquer. You win. I can’t move past this and every time I see your face or hear your name a black pain washes over me. Congratulations on haunting my waking dreams and for me never being able to forget you. Congratulations for making me feel utterly worthless and less than a human being.

You’d probably say that I’ve been used before and that this wasn’t even a big deal. It happens right? Girls get so drunk they get alcohol poisoning and cant even remember their own name. So when it gets to the point, it becomes the perfect opportunity to finally have sex with them when they have no ability to say no. I mean that’s, how you felt so of course it must be ok. Especially if I don’t even remember it because my eyes were already rolled back in my head, why not stick your dick into my “public” pussy? It must be anyone’s game at this point and I guess you had the right to bone me considering all I’ve done in the past is turn you down. But this time I couldn’t. There was nothing that was going to stop me from saying no. Because I didn’t say no or actually couldn’t say no then there is nothing to worry about. Because I didn’t say no, sexual assault doesn’t exist, right?

I can’t tell you what’s worse, not knowing this happened at all and being filled in by my friends or the sheer fact that you thought this was ok somehow. Why? Why? Why? Why did you want to have sex with me so much that you had to wait till I was already passed out? Why did you want it so badly that you were willing to let me hate myself for the rest of my life? Why did you think something like this would ever be ok? Are you even human? Do you even care about the emotional damage that I am now going through?

Rape is a strong word. I was too afraid to use it because I never wanted to think that could happen to me. I don’t want to think it happened to me. It couldn’t have.  Maybe I could feel better about the whole thing if I just blamed it on the alcohol and brushed this off my shoulder. Like I said, these things happen right? They’re normal occurrences, and having sex while passed out is just part of being drunk. Well then for your sake, I hope my incapacitated self was a good enough lay for you.  But here’s the thing, I can’t just brush this off and pretend like it never happened. Blaming it just on the alcohol seems unjust. There’s so much more to blame, if only you could see it.

I feel like my blood is surged with venom and my heart is eternally blacked, charred from the flames that you scorched it with. Words keep surging through my mind trying to put these overwhelming feelings into some form of an explanation. Violated. Yes, I was violated, my dignity, my person, my being. But still, it’s more that just being violated. Words, words, words keep circulating through my brain, trying to find a way to breach the surface. Hurt. I am still hurt. My pride, my self-esteem, my self worth, and my trust have all taken a beating and are still deeply bruised. Hatred. I hate you David. I hate you for taking advantage of me like this and playing it off like you just nailed some slut from high school. I hate that I am a high five to your bros and just another tally on your god-forsaken list. Humiliated. Still every morning I have to look at myself in the mirror and come to terms with what happened. I can’t find a way to forgive myself and I still don’t know how. Rape…. Rape. This word haunts me. A word that brings self-pity, disgust, sorrow, and pain all at the same time. A word that unravels the hatred I have towards you and tries to bring me to tears feeling like I have to beg for mercy to be set free.  Is that what happened David? It couldn’t have because I didn’t say no, I couldn’t say no. That’s not rape then. I was only some passed out slut that you had sex with and I had no opposition to at the time. That’s not rape. I didn’t put up a fight, yell or scream for you to get off me. I didn’t cry and plead for you to stop. I didn’t try to run away or get away from you. I didn’t say no. I was in a bed, lying down with my eyes rolled back in my head. That’s not rape then. No. It was an opportunity for you to have sex with me right? That must be true. Because in order for it to be considered rape I would have had to say, “stop” or something. Then why do I feel like this isn’t true? I’m not pretending to make this out to be more than it is. All I want to do is find a way to forget about this, put it behind me and move forward. But tell me this David, how can I move forward when I feel like I’m tangled in barbed wire and can’t get through? It’s more than being violated and hurt. It’s more than feeling hatred and humiliation. So what is it then? Is it rape David? How about you tell me.

Writing is a powerful tool and it helped me to expose myself to feelings that’s I had been hiding from. Yes I am a victim but I have found my own voice and have now grown. I am strong and I am proud that I have been able to come this far.

Survivor Story: Untitled

Survivor Story: Untitled

By: Brittany

The person who did this to me has a different name than the one I gave her in the story.

I feel the need to start out with a question before sharing my story, just for something to think about during my story.

Does rape/sexual assault only happen between a girl and a boy? Or could it also be between girl and girl or boy and boy?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it isn’t even that much of a story. Maybe I should Stop here because this piece won’t change anyone. But Maybe, just maybe, it will. My hope is that maybe if you hear my story, you will at least think of it some time. It’s not going to be moving, or a horror story. Just a story.

During my time of childhood, I smiled a lot. I was one of the happiest children you could meet. I remember the first time in a long time we moved. I was about five years old. I was so excited. Around the first days my brother and I were riding our bikes. I was shy but not shy at the same time, if it makes since. We saw a girl with her friend and I believe they were playing with water balloons. But we liked to try and hide from them and quickly drive by, acting as if they didn’t notice. But soon, one of the girls, Destiny, waved us over to come play with them. We did and soon we became friends, even though she was in the sixth grade, while I was just starting kindergarten.

We would all play together, my sister, my brother, Destiny, and I. Well one day she took me to her house, – I was maybe six by then – went through her dresser looking through her underwear drawer, showing me some thongs and acting like nothing was up. She told me to take my pants off. I was confused and asked what anyone would. “Why?” She had just barely looked at me with those eyes that showed she was in a hurry and said, “Just do it.” Well I did. She then said, “Your underwear, too.” And I did. She turned around as she told me to sit on the bed with my legs wide, and I did as said, still confused and innocent. She started to lick me, and I stared as she did so, not knowing what was going on.

I don’t remember how many times she did this to me, I was young. But it didn’t stop. She would pull me to the side while my siblings, her, and I were playing. She would say, looking straight at me, “We have to go do something, right? We’ll be back.” So we left my siblings and she took me to her house and would lick me again. It wasn’t just at her house, it was at mine, too. But it didn’t stop. She asked me to lick her. She took her pants of and underwear off and told me it was her turn to be licked. I looked down and I couldn’t do it. It was hairy. I was completely disgusted of the thought. So she just ignored it and pulled her pants up, and so she still did it to me.

The only thing that made this stop, was that we moved when I finished fourth grade. I didn’t tell my parents for a while. I told my mom when I was maybe around twelve or thirteen, but it was too late. the damage was done. What she did was what she did. There wasn’t a way I could have went back in time to stop her. When I was younger, I didn’t even know it was bad. I thought it was normal, but that it was supposed to be a thing we couldn’t get walked in on because it would be embarrassing. My mom always told me to tell her if someone ever touched me in a weird way, to tell her. I guess I didn’t think this applied.

She told my mom before that she was sexually assaulted when she was younger. So I guess in my mind, I’m thinking, I guess she didn’t want to be the only one suffering of it. She wants someone else with her, alongside her. It doesn’t give her the right though still. A chain just starts. But I am not one of the continuer’s of that chain. I won’t be, ever. I will be the end of the chain. I may not be able to be the end of everyones chain, but at least I can stop the chain I was brought onto.

But you know what the after effects of this was? I actually became afraid of males, not females. Only because in my mind, now that I seen what a female could do, imagine what a male could do. I am older now, so I can stop females. But males, I don’t really think i would be able to. I am only sixteen at the moment. I am not to old but I can handle a lot of things myself now.

I am a female.

I was sexually assaulted by a female.

I am a victim.

But I am strong.

I stopped a chain.

I survived.

Survivor Story: LIFE

LIFE

By: Anonymous

This is my story of how I survived in silence. I am finally ready to come forward. It is especially hard, because I am male. But, I am going to be brave and share. Life for me, consisted of wealth and privilege. My single-yet brilliant mother and I lived in an exquisite penthouse, I was home-schooled and was an aspiring model and my mother was and is to this day, a brilliant executive in healthcare. Our life was all society pages, chauffeurs and jet-setting to Europe. Then, life changed very quickly. My mother became ill, as she had before then. She had bacterial meningitis and was hanging onto life by a thread. I had matured far and well beyond my years. So, instead of her going to rehab. I took her home at the age of twelve, to nurse my mother and my best friend back to health, myself. It was a long and challenging year. But, she was finally returning to good health.

We went to her first physical therapy appointment, and that is where everything began to change. We met the physical therapist. He was tall, very young and what most women would probably define as charming. I know that my mother was charmed. After six months, of physical therapy and rehabilitation. She was discharged, but the physical therapist and her fell for one another and began dating. One year later, everything was unrecognizable. My mother was healthy and working again. I was finishing all of high-school classes, at the age of fourteen. On top of that, I had already scheduled conferences with high-fashion designers in Paris, for possible modeling contracts. And, my mother had the boyfriend she always wanted and I had the father figure I never expected to have. He was kind, warm and showered both of us with everything. From gifts to weekend getaways.

It was the beginning of December, the weather was horrible. Frigid temperatures and blowing snow. My mother was called to business in Chicago, and she was preparing to leave for the overnight trip. I stayed behind for educational reasons and I had a big photo-shoot the following day. So, she left. But she wanted and insisted on having her boyfriend “Eric” stay with me. The weather got worse as the hours went by. My mother had left and I was at home with the staff. Who, I dismissed due to the weather. Around 5pm, Eric arrived, with an overnight bag and groceries. He wanted to make dinner for us. And, alcohol. Which, we have minimal of in our house. The evening progressed as normal, he was cooking and we were talking as I went through my schedules and looked through the current issue of Vogue. Then, his attitude and demeanor changed. He began asking me a lot of questions about my childhood, my mother and I’s relationship and then he started asking very personal and private questions. He continued to drink and drink. Finally, after he quit cross examining me. We had dinner, in our formal dining room. Which we rarely dine in. I had a very uneasy and sick feeling in my stomach. Of course, I already battled depression and PTSD. So, I felt that way a lot of the time. After dinner, we retired to the great room and started a movie. He loved these confusing- political thrillers. Towards the middle of the movie, he put his arm around me. And, I tried in a settle manner, to move away from him. He smelt strongly of Armani cologne and alcohol on his breath. He continued to be more affectionate.

Where, I became extremely uncomfortable. And created an excuse to go to bed. Which, he began acting aggressive and irritated. I went to my suite (as we called it) and locked the french doors. Took a long hot bath and dressed for bed. And talked to my mother, who was then in chicago. On the phone for at least forty five minutes. And, I stupidly did not mention Eric’s strange and creepy behavior. I believe now, he was quite the pretender. I fell asleep around 10pm. And was woken around midnight by a noise outside my bedroom. It was still snowing, as I had my drapes open. As I peeked out the door, he came out from behind the corner and approached me quickly and started making out with me. I started to panic and shake, I could feel my heart pounding and my sense of security going. I repeatedly yelled to get off of me and leave me alone. I also said “NO” over and over again. I started to scream and he then put his hand over my mouth and dragged me into my bedroom. Where he stripped me and himself, and began raping me. And verbally assaulting me the entire time. He said “he has waited for this long enough”. When he finished, he said that he would do it again, and then break my neck if I told anyone. Including my mother. He got up, picked me up and put me in the shower and told me that I need to clean myself up. I started the hot water and stood there. Shaking uncontrollably, I was bruised and sore. I felt numb and incredibly dirty. I could smell his cologne and the alcohol. I scrubbed my skin until it hurt. I then, got out of the shower and staggered into my closet and dressed in clean sleepwear. He then came up behind me and pushed me against the wall and said “remember what I told you”. And he showered, gathered his belongings and left. It was now 6am. I began cleaning everything up and tried to make it look like nothing had happened. I pulled off the blood- stained Vera Wang Bedding from my bed and called concierge to come pick it up for dry-cleaning and continued to scrub everything. Before the staff or my mother returned.

I finally told my mother, eight months after the attack. She immediately called the police and went to his loft looking for him. He had moved out and disappeared. He ended returning, to stalk and harass us for the next two years. Then, he disappeared again and was never found or prosecuted. For what he did to me or who knows how many others. For the next four years, I battled suicidal-depression, severe anxiety, panic-attacks, an eating disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. After excellent counseling and therapy, I have started to heal everyday. And my mother and I have repaired our then damaged relationship. She continues to thrive in Healthcare and I am glad to say, France now considers me a Supermodel and Fashion Royalty. Life has been very kind. And very evil. But, if we can heal. We can survive. I would love to help others like me. Because, none of us are alone in the situation.