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    I want to share something.  It may be a trigger warning for someone out here.  I wouldn’t read this if you endured a rape that wasn’t based on intimidation.  This maybe something that makes you remember something you don’t want too, or that you can relate to that may hash up those feelings again.  Maybe someone can relate and helps them to know that they aren’t the only ones this has happened too.  In either case, it is pretty intimately detailed, and please use caution when deciding to read this.


    My rapist didn’t threaten me.  He didn’t hold a gun to my head, or a knife at my throat.  He didn’t even order me around.  He had simply cornered me.  At the time, I weighed about 85lbs. I was recovering from having a long battle with pneumonia, and that had left me very weak and fragile.

    He was the maintenance man of the property I lived in.  I lived in the camper next to his, and he worked on it a time or two before, knowing about the locks.  He talked to me a good deal the day before it happened, and he expressed a very strong interest in having a relationship with me.  I turned him down several times, explaining my loyalty to my boyfriend, and just being flat uncomfortable with his advances.

    The night of the rape, he knocked on my door, jiggled the door handle, and the door unlocked… something he knew he could do.  He entered into my camper and started talking to me, the same he had tried the previous day.  I was already in my nightgown and was heading to bed when he had come in.  He held onto me, tried to love on me, and kept trying to kiss me.  I kept trying to tell him no and kept trying to get away.  But he was too big for me to fight with, and I froze in fear.  All he wanted to do was show his affection to me and try to win me over, and for me to be in a relationship with him, and love him as much as he thought he loved me.

    The details got foggy from there on out.  I don’t think he choked me or battered me in any way, but I think I shut down with the fear that I had.  I had no bruises or scars to speak about and point to show what happened to me.  The next morning, I got dressed, knocked the hell out of him with a cast iron skillet and ran away, barefoot and half dressed.  All I could think about was to get to my boyfriend, but I had gotten lost in the new town.  I had no one to turn too, and couldn't find my way.  A cop stopped me.  He knew what was wrong, but I was too afraid of the potential he had to harm me, that I couldn’t tell him what had happened.  At the time, I didn’t even know that it was even an attack or rape.


    Now, I have a problem.  My boyfriend is desperately trying to show me how much he loves me.  He wants to be intimate with me and love on me.  But the idea scares the hell out of me.  It isn’t because I don’t want it, but because I’m scared of the potential of being vulnerable to the will of a man.  I love him with all my heart and want to be with him, but how can I when I get so afraid of the potential I just freeze up like I did way back then?  I have approached sex as a wham, bam, thank you kind of moment.  I know it is needed, and sometimes I want it too, but the intimacy and desire to love someone that way is just too much for me to bare.


    The other thing about me… I was raised with a sexual predator as a brother.  He attacked me physically and mentally starting at the age of eight, and it lasted until I left home at 16.  The abuse was so bad that I had often thought about killing myself.  Later, it came out, and he hit the national news that he was a predator.  I finally felt some type of relief, knowing that my fears of him raping me had some basis, other than a figment of my imagination.


    Shouldn’t trigger, unless language/the discussion of guilt bothers you.  



    Today, I spoke to my mother, also known fondly as the ‘Oompa Loompa.’


    We were trying to finalize this week’s Thanksgiving plans.  A couple entries ago,  I explained how she is still breast-feeding my 30 year old sister, who just had a baby of her own.   She goes there every day, cooks for her, does the housework, the laundry, et cetera, because apparently my sister doesn’t quite know yet how to allow someone else to hold the baby while she cooks or shops or does something productive around the house.  So, my mother continues to enables her and picks up the slack of being a wife, mother, grandmother, caretaker of a newborn, cook and housekeeper all rolled into one.  


    Now, this isn’t a jab on my sister - I know we all have to learn somehow.  It’s her first baby.  I KNOW how hard it is and how overwhelming it can be when all they do is cry, cry, and CRY.  I know that sleep deprivation can render you useless at any given time…hell, I’m sleep deprived on a regular basis and don’t have a squalling infant to blame that on.  So I shrug off my feelings and tell myself she’ll know the ropes by the time her second kid arrives.  I do have to say though, the end result of my mother’s excessive coddling has been rough because now she’s exhausted and WE haven’t seen her in over a month.  The time I planned to go and see her was derailed when J and I both had a stomach bug and we wanted to remain cautious and stayed away from the baby.  Will be seeing my sister and the baby this Saturday, after Oompa Loompa comes here for Thanksgiving.  


    This entry isn’t even about my sister, though.  Or the Oompa Loompa, even though much amusement can be derived from talking about her and her shenanigans…


    Before we hung up, Oompa had some news for me.


    Her brother, my uncle, the ‘Reverend,” his unholy disgustingness, is in the hospital.   


    Little background information.  Other than looking like your classic creepy pedophile, he was always overweight and unhealthy.  He’s diabetic, has bad knees and always, always seemed to have something wrong with him.  Aside from mentally, of course.  And now, physically.  I’m surprised that no one else has the same effect from looking at him.  I personally want to literally projectile vomit whenever I see his face.  But I guess the point I’m trying to make…he was probably a fucking cat with nine or more lives in a previous life…I don’t understand why or how he’s still breathing.  If you ask me, he doesn’t deserve the air he breathes.  


    Yet, he keeps coming back to life.


    See…I remember this time from when I was eighteen and in college.  I was living at my father’s house since he lived closer to the campus.  I remember coming home from classes and my father telling me that my uncle was in the hospital, having suffered a massive heart attack earlier that afternoon. 


    He survived that massive heart attack.


    Then, when I was somewhere between 21 and 22, my grandmother passed, and we all remember the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me.  I might have cried if he didn’t survive that first heart attack, because this was before I came to realize that there was some suppressed feelings of animosity.  He was Uncle L, and I hate to admit it, but on some level, there was love for him, because that was simply what being a family member entitled you, regardless of what a piece of shit you really were.  And I know I’ve said it before but kids have unconditional affection for members of their families, especially the kids who don’t remember that they’re supposed to hate them.


    He ended up in the hospital again, after my grandmother’s death (if you read the blog entry, ‘Want Some Fries With That Invalidation?’ then you may remember a rather uncomfortable encounter I had with him there) riddled with infection, and he survived that, too.


    He underwent a quadruple bypass about three years ago.  He was told by his doctors that he was a ‘ticking time bomb’ and the bypass surgery posed multiple risks, but if he didn’t have it, he was toast…it would just be a matter of time…  Well…despite my secret prayers for a one-way ticket to hell, he survived the bypass surgery, too.


    Apparently, right now, his tiny, black heart is causing him some issues (I didn’t care to ask what kind of issues) and they admitted him into the hospital last night.  She has plans to see him the week after Thanksgiving.  In the meantime, he’s going to rot there while they run tests to try and figure out what his problem is, this time.  


    I hung up with Oompa Loompa and felt the corners of my mouth turn upwards.


    Oh, my God, guys…  I’m feeling like I’m a horrible, horrible person.  Here I am…I’m SMILING like an idiot.  I might have chuckled, too.  I don’t think I’ve laughed completely yet, but…seriously?  Am I that heartless?  Am I capable of such hatred toward another person?  A SICK person at that?  I don’t think I like that about myself.  I wasn’t raised that way.  I was raised to be warm, loving, kind.  To be gentle.  To forgive.

    Forgiveness is so tricky in this case, though.  I think I’d sooner forgive the man who SA’d me in 1996 than I would my uncle, and I can’t even remember why I hate him so much.  My brain simply denies me that information, and for now, that’s okay.


    The thought of him being in the hospital is simply delightful.  The thought of him spending Thanksgiving by himself while I spend it with my loved ones, is pure joy.  Of course, if someone in the family would go pick his disgusting ass up, he’d come spend holidays with us but at this point, even my mother, his own sister, doesn’t want to take the two-hour trek each way, because not only would she have to go pick him up, she’d have to bring him back home to his cockroach-infested shit-sty.  Not to mention she knows well enough by now that if he is there, I will not be.  


    I haven’t seen him since my sister’s (the new mother’s) wedding day.  It couldn’t be helped.  I made sure to avoid him completely.  Didn’t look at him, walked away when he walked past me in church to say hello.  I made sure to leave the room whenever he walked in.  And that’s been perfectly fine with me because I have not one shred of love left for this man and I’ve no desire to see him until he’s laid out in a coffin, or even more appropriate, a cheap-o cardboard box.  If it were up to me, that’s what he’d get, only because by law, he would have to be placed into a receptacle before being buried.  Then, I can spit into his dead, lips-sewn-shut face just before they put him in the ground.  


    And then, after he’s been buried, I, Capulet, am having a party.  My house.  You’re all invited.  Lots of junk food and laughs to be had.  I will celebrate his departure from this world, just as strongly as I mourned my grandmother’s.   


    I will have you all know, I feel terrible for having just said that.  Just plain terrible.  It’s not something that as a mother, I would ever teach my kids to feel when someone is sick, in pain or otherwise hurting.  The guilt over having said such cold things about another human being is present, but at the same time, I’ve been waiting a very, very long time for my non-human friend, Karma, to show up.  


    I just wonder…how many chances at life is this man going to get?  What has he done to deserve all of these tomorrows?  Why do so many good people suffer, and these monstrous sons-of-bitches who prey on innocent children keep on ticking?  If that’s not the most fucked up thing in the world, I don’t know what is.


    On another note, I’ve been told that his death (whenever Karma ever does do her fucking job) may bring forth a slew of memories, of actual remembrances.  Another epiphany may occur and I’ll know exactly why I hate him.  I will know why the thought of him being reduced into a pile of shit, maggots and formaldehyde makes me giddy enough to smile.  Maybe I won’t feel so guilty, if I find that later on, my suspicions turn out to be the truth I seek.  


    Is that what Karma is waiting for?  For me to be ready?  I seriously  doubt that Karma is in tune with my suppressed memories, but either way, it’s taking too damn long for this pathetic excuse of a person to succumb to his shitty health.  


    I apologize to you all if this has shined a different, unfavorable light onto me as a person.  I’ll be honest with you all, I don’t like what I hear, either, when it comes to my thoughts.  Like I said before, I never thought myself capable of taking pleasure in another’s suffering, regardless of how rotten a person they may be.  But I also promised myself that I’d never sugar-coat anything in my blogs, ever again.  


    And so, I won’t.  I am sorry if I’ve offended anybody, because as much as I hate my uncle, I also hate the people who have hurt you, too.  I want Karma to take care of ALL of them!  I’ll not lie to anyone and say I have any sympathy for their abusers’ ‘misfortunes,’ shall we say…because I don’t.  I hate my uncle and I hate that people like him are still allowed to roam this Earth, I despise that these are the people who sully our beautiful existence and make us suffer.


    On the other hand, I know so many others feel and hear these thoughts, too.  I think, though, that we all have our thirst for justice, whether it is served by way of a painful death or incarceration, it ultimately means we are free of the mental prisons these predators have sentenced us to life in.    


    I think I’m going to be extra thankful this coming Thursday when I sit down to my turkey dinner, for the fact that I can safely say that I am a good enough person to feel even the smallest amount of guilt.  It may be misunderstood, it may be unwarranted because such despicable people do not deserve any of my guilt for feeling the way I do.  I know and have accepted that there are reasons I feel this way…even if these reasons aren’t known to me, they’re there, they exist.  And I can furthermore conclude that the guilt I feel for smiling at the thought of my uncle laying in a hospital bed, alone, stems from my having learned kindness, despite a tarnished childhood. 


    I’ll be damned if I’m guilted into showing him any kindness, now.


    With that, I want to take a moment to wish you all a blessed Thanksgiving.  Whether you’re spending it with family, friends or by yourselves, I hope you’ll take a moment or two to make the day special for yourselves because you, my friends, deserve that.  I know that so many of our lives are in disarray right now, and even though we struggle with our thoughts, there is always, ALWAYS something to smile about.  




  2. Leia Skywalker
    Latest Entry

    I Saw him today. Not the bad one but the second one. My second ex and my second abuser. 

    I saw him and all I wanted to do was cry and scream. 

    I didn’t say anything. 

    I just ran. 

    Talking about them and what they did is hard, but seeing them. That’s inpossible. 

    When I see him, all I see is who I was and how that girl that I once was is gone. 

    The little girl who was comfortable and safe, she isn’t around anymore. 

    I cant even bring myself to talk to them and let them know how I feel. 

    But what good would it do. Would they listen? Would they care? Or is that just setting me up for a worse life? A bigger story?

    I don’t know and I don’t plan to find out. 

  3. nomadlady1
    Latest Entry

    I was asked by my therapist to speak out loud everyday the sexual violence I suffered as a child. She said it was a way to deal with the buried emotions caused from the event and dispel the bad energy I have been keeping inside since it happened. Also, it's so I can stop detaching myself from the memory, which essentially causes me to bury and ignore apart of my life, myself. 


    When I was six years old I was a curious, playful, adventurous child. I was always wanting to learn new things, and keep up with my big sister. I remember I learned how to ride a bike on the first try when I was five years old because I wanted to ride with the big kids in the neighborhood. I was a hesitant child, but I wouldn't say I was a 'scaredy cat'. I was just thoughtful and very observant, and liked to asses and understand my surroundings. Mostly, everything just made me wonder. I wondered all the time, about everything, but mostly the stars in the sky. Sometimes, I remember I would sit outside and look up at the sky and be so overwhelmed with emotions. Positive emotions. Sometimes it would bring me to tears. I was always a deep person. And I was also molested as a child. I was molested by my neighbor, a teenage boy actually, he was only maybe 15/16. He took advantage of my innocence, of my curiosity. It still hurts me to this day. To think that I was hurt in such a way. But I need to stop separating myself from what happened. Because it did happen to me. And I am no longer going to be ashamed of it. I am going to embrace it, because no matter how hard I push it away, the experience is never going to go away. It can only be accepted, and I can grow from it. I was molested, I was sexually violated, and I was totally, without a hesitation, not suspecting any sort of bad behavior to occur. but that's where I need to stop myself. Why should have I suspected anything bad was going to happen? I did not even know such terrible things could be done, that a person could treat another person in such a way. What a heart break that was. But still, I am not going to dwell on any sort of thought that relates to me knowing that something was going to happen. I had absolutely no idea. And that's a good thing-well it's definitely not a bad thing. 

    I am Chloe and at the age of 6 years old my neighbor and I were playing outside together, and he asked me to come inside his house. I excitedly agreed and he took me in his room and forced me on the bed, forced my pants down, and tried to rape me. I was so scared and terrified, and I was fighting but he was too strong. I am so lucky that he did not manage to physically have sex with me, because my mom knocked on his front door, worried about where I could be. He stopped abruptly. And I don't remember how I got out of there, I just remember I never wanted to return or see his face again. Too bad he lived right next door. 

    I didn't tell my mom until I was 16 years old.

    And even now, retelling this, I feel so emotional, so stuck in it. I guess it's a good and a bad thing, because it makes me realize that a lot of my anxiety and insecurity with myself comes from the bad energy of this moment I have kept inside me for so long. but it;s bad well, because who wants to recount a kinda memory like that.

    Anyway, I hope this did not trigger anyone, that is the last thing I want. This is mostly just for my sake, a personal outlet.

    enjoy the day



  4. wolfennights
    Latest Entry

    I'm gonna make a tally here for every time I feel good, calm, accomplished, positive, or okay. :)

    For the last week, it has been five times. This is the fifth. I'm working at my pace, no one else's. I am enough. :]

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    I feel like a there is an internal timer counting down until I snap. Every day gets worse and worse and I'm terrified that I'm going to snap. I have these episodes of overwhelming anger and it's getting more difficult to hold it in. I can barely sleep and I have absolutely no motivation to do anything. I can't remember when exactly these episodes started happening, but they used to be so rare even up to a year ago. Now they are happening everyday. I don't know how to deal with this. My dad also doesn't help. He is a huge bully and likes to pick on my siblings and me. Especially when we are at our most vulnerable. This has been happening all our lives so I'm used to it, but with my anger issues, it's starting to get to me.

    I want to throw things. I want to break things. I've already cracked the granite counter with a large knife a few weeks ago because I saw red and lost control. That's exactly it: I see red, lose control, and then I go into almost like a trance, and come back to reality. I can't do this anymore. I need help.... 

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    To begin with I am 17 and was raped 2 years ago and it still sometimes causes nightmares. I was 15 years old and my parents had just gotten divorced so i rebelled. I went to party's and was not making good decisions, but I was still a virgin. One night at a party i was so drunk because i was trying to make my problems go away so i was dancing. then one of the people who i thought were my friends asked me to play spin the bottle. I agreed and proceeded to play i was having a good time. This time the bottle landed on this guy who i thought was actually cute so i was hoping it was me, and it was. he told everybody not to wait up so i thought still a little wasted we would just make out. I was having a good time and then he trys to touch me and I immediately push him off and tell him no but he proceeds. he pushed me up against the wall with his hand over my mouth and begins to touch me. i was squirming trying to get away but he was much stronger than me. ll of a sudden theses three other guys walk in and i think i`m saved but they were his friends and he told them to join in so they did. one of them pulled out a knife and began to cut my clothes off as the others were laughing. he comes really close once hes taken off my clothes and said if i make one move or sound he will cut me and i tried to get away and that`s what he did he cut me on my stomach just enough to draw blood. Then the other two slam me down on the bed and i just hear zippers and change falling out of pockets. then they began touching me down there and i scream so one of them gave me a huge scar on my knee that i still have this day. then they all took turns raping me laughing and calling me a sl*t. eventually he had cut me 22 times and 10 left scars after about 45 minutes i passed out and when i woke up they were gone with a girl standing over me asking if i was okay. i didn't talk that whole way to her house and i didn't know her now she is one of my closest friends. she let me stay cleaned me up gave me new clothes and took me home the next day. when i got home i wore long sleeve stuff for three months and maybe 8 hours of sleep a week i just kept having nightmares and when school started i had panic attacks frequently eventually the panic attacks went away only showing up when something really triggers them and the nightmares still happen just not so often. eventually i told the girl and immediately felt better. i am now very afraid of knives to the point where i wont touch any except now a butter knife which took a while to do. I am now better than ever and know that it wasn't my fault and i know i am stronger for it. i made this so u guys can tell me your story and trust me i understand.

  5. I'm wondering if I'm being stand-offish lately. Not so much with people i meet offline but with being on here. Ive just been having this feeling of not wanting to participate in general discussions. Im still struggling with my past but when i log on i find myself sitting in front of the screen watching the curser blink. The part of me that used to get on and read post seems very reluctant to do so and i don't know why. i miss the interactions I've had with the people I've met here. I'm stuck. at times i begin to type something then erase it and log off. maybe going back into therapy will help but I'm at a point where i feel i don't need therapy. i feel I'm at a good place to try and self-heal and with baby steps I've been doing okay. I'm standing up for myself better. I'm recognizing my triggers and working on the ones that should be worked on and avoiding the ones that i need to avoid. the memories are always there, that will never change, though i hope they will fade with time. but, I'm scared of the possibility i may not need this site like i used to. i believe that is the real reason i don't feel like logging on much anymore. one person ill never lie to is myself and I'm well aware of the fact that i haven't needed to be on here for my own healing as much as i did when i signed on. 

    so, my next step in life is to work on being able to give the same support i was given when i was on here. i can't say i am there yet. but i am hoping for small steps in this next step in my healing evolution.

  6. Tigerswallowtail
    Latest Entry

    As a child I learned the age old song "Yes, Jesus loves me!" I grew up knowing that I am loved, but recently realized that I haven't truly believed it in my heart.  

    I was sharing with a an older friend who was my coach in a group I was a part of.  As I told her my story and the struggles I've been going through, she gave me some things to think about.  She challenged me to show myself the same grace and love and compassion that I would so readily show to someone else if they were to tell me their story of past abuse and pain.  And then she reminded me that Jesus loved me.  I began crying.  Something similar happened during a session with my T.

    Why did the thought that Jesus loved ME trigger the tears?  Perhaps it is because I struggle with loving myself.  I never feel like I can measure up.  Whenever someone compliments me on something I've done, my first thought is what mistakes I made.  When someone says something kind about my character or say how they admire me in some area, I inwardly cringe thinking of all my flaws and the feeling that if they knew the "real" me they wouldn't regard me in the same way.  

    I think the feelings of shame and guilt that I first felt when the abuse was happening have clung to me all these years.  I know that it wasn't my fault, that I was just a little girl not physically strong enough to resist and too young to understand what was really happening, but those feelings don't go away.  It colors how I view myself even now.  How to break free from those feelings?  How to really believe that it wasn't my fault and not just know it in my head?  Lately I've been trying to focus more on truths than on the lies.  Statements of affirmation, such as I am loved, I am a new creation and I am forgiven.  

    To be honest, I don't feel worthy.  I don't feel worthy of love.  I don't feel worthy of praise or admiration.  What makes me worthy?  How is my worth determined?  Perhaps there are many answers depending on who you ask.  For me I know that I have worth enough to cause Someone to take abuse and die a cruel  death because He loves me.  Now to truly accept that love, deep in my heart. To really believe in my heart that I am precious in His sight.  To know that when He looks at me He doesn't see my faults and imperfections, but rather the person of strength and beauty I am becoming through Him. To  be able to say with confidence that yes, I am loved. To be able to say with feeling, "Yes, Jesus loves me!"

  7. Aside from the time I spend just reliving the past and being down on myself for what happened. There is also the time I spend trying to erase doubt about what happened. Because I was young when most of it happened and the others involved were minors (teens but minors still) it has been a lingering doubt that what happened was typical exploration. Maybe, just maybe, they really meant no harm but were just trying to understand their own bodies. Maybe, just maybe, my lack of resistance implied sone 'consent'. As a minor I know I couldnt give consent really but maybe they felt I was curious as well. 

    Was I curious? I mean as I got a little older. Was I curious? Have I been ashamed that I wanted what happened to take place and turned it into something else? I havent told my family and dont know if that will ever happen. So if I am, it is not because or for them. I didnt share what happened withat anyone until I was 13 and that was another child. After that it was at least 5 years before I shared it with anyone else. Is it for me? Am I ashamed that at such a young age I was even courious about it?

    I was a bit more mentally mature than my parents would have liked. I knew early on that the family life I was in was not what most people were dealing with. My last name was changed to my father's just before I started school. My parents relationship was rocky from the start but it was more than just arguing. I didnt know it early on but I learned that no other kids dealt with a parent who was on drugs. I was content to play alone. I wanted friends but they were not having the life experience I was.

    Admittedly, the first time it happened was most likely not curiosity on my part. But did curiosity play a part later? I mean was the first instance a catalyst to understand sex? When I think of it, I can see it. When I feel it, it does feel that way. It feels wrong. It feels like a secret. It feels like betrayal. With my logical mind I say that if it were someone else, I would question it. Being a small child, I would say the possibility exists and the person should explore the circumstances around each incident to get clarity. If that doesnt work, go with your gut. Trust yourself until evidence proves otherwise.


  8. I made myself go out today, no list, no errands, just go out, so there I was having a good time out and about and decided to go to a drug store to price something for daughter. so I walked in and we went to the toys because even at 18, she loves looking at toys and right in the aisle staring right at me was a display of Wendy Walkers and Theresa one of my parts, froze, no she whispered to me as i tried to push her away so i could be an adult, but she was loudly crying in my head, i took a deep breath and kept walking but now theresa is still crying so i hope sharing her trauma, she will let me sleep some tonight. Theresa was seven when she got her walking doll. Kindly and she loved her like her own, they had the same color hair, eyes, sad smile and kindly never wanted to play school so theresa always had a playmate, One day her dad came in and played tea party with theresa, theresa was so happy, her dad wanted to play with her so she set up her tea set and fed him pretend tea and cookies, during the party her dad told her kindly spilled tea on her dress so theresa went to go change her, her dad pointed out how flat Kindlys chest was and how round theresa breast were, then her dad showed theresa how useless Kindlys body was then theresas dad showed how useful theresas body was by TW...putting a hairbrush inside her, it hurt but theresa was proud her body was better than Kindly, then her dad took theresas useful hand and said it was very useful to him and once again theresa made her dad happy then she wiped her hand on his hankie and they went out of her room to eat dinner with theresas brother and theresas mother, ending theresas grooming on how to be her dads little doll.

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    I've been reliving them in my dreams.. I woke up and I'm so scared I can't move..Then the pain starts.I'm so sore it like I went to the gym the night before. And so many common things from my life remind me of it all the time. In not sure how much longer I can live like this


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    To believe that everyone cares and to find out that they really don't care is the worst way to feel. It's the worst feeling in the world. And you sit at home contemplating how your life even got to be a mess. You sit at your glass table by your laptop, attempting to spill your heart out - Although, this blog posting may only get one read or two. Reason why, because I'm that invisible girl that everyone knows me for. I'm that girl that can be easily passed by on the streets and everyone would assume she's okay when she's not. I'm that girl that has been through an incredible amount of pain and regret, yet nobody cares, or does not want to care. I'm that girl that has been banned from all support groups especially when that was the only help I had for myself. I'm that girl that can't quit assert herself and lets other take advantage of me. I'm that girl that will be used again and again and again - Nobody understands the hurt they have caused - Because it's a never ending cycle and to be completely honest is too hard. So we result to our mean ways - To be cruel. 

    I'm that girl that you can manipulate and lie about just so you can please yourself and others.

    I'm that girl that has been sexually assaulted three times by individuals half my age. One time, by a sixty year old man. And as he lay on top of me, the only thought in my mind was this: "Why did I leave home?" If I hadn't of left my Mom's place, I wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't be struggling through addictions nor would I have burned all these bridges with different organizations that now hate my guts - And I hate them too.

    I'm that girl that you can mock and mock and mock and nobody would stand and do or say anything. Just for the fun of it. 

    I'm like a doll. You can easily manipulate and torture me in whatever way possible. Because it's easier that way. Because this is the way our society is. 

    I'm that girl that endlessly cries in hope that someone hears. However, we're in the middle of nowhere with trees and bushes and nobody can hear. Even if I scream, nobody can hear.  The closest sign of civilization is about three hours away walking distance, up at a local convenience store. But whose going to care? That's right - Nobody.

    I'm also that girl that does not deserve any help whats so ever. I deserve to wallow in my tears and die because that's all I'm good at; this is my destiny.

    Sometimes I wonder if I'm cursed or something from all the hurt I've done to others in the past and even today. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve all of these horrible things happening to me. Often, I believe this may be the case. As much as I don't want to believe it, I know it's true.

    I'm cursed and known to be invisible by everyone. I can't wait until the next guy abuses me... AGAIN.


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    100 dollars every week come out of my bank account every week . This money does not go towards things like food, transport or treats like lunch or a coffee. I do not even have the money to be spending on top of all that crap, but here I am every week looking in my account and watching as I sink into deeper money problems. Why? because I don't qualify to be funded by any organisation in my home country as my rape happened overseas. When it first happened I was put on a waiting list for 9 months for help in the place it happened despite still being a child as they put me on the wrong system. After these 9 months did I receive any help. no. I get told by the police to seek out therapy as soon as possible, but how?? I don't have the money to continue to pay for these appointments. I don't understand a system that where I did what was right and and where I gave as much support as I could to the police and was not in the wrong give me no support what so ever. 

  10. I was 14 years old and studying for my GCSEs the day that the diseased turd was brought into my class room. I have since been told that it was brought to my school with the sole purpose of raping my face. It was the local social services, they had set me up. I don't for what reason or under what law they were able to do such things. It really doesn't make any sense to me.

    I had wanted to join the RAF since the age of 6, I was my long term goal. It's what I had dreamed of doing, its what I studied for. I didn't have a plan 'B'

    I didn't however have an interest in David Spring's cartoon's or indeed a interest in 'sucking it's di*k'. I am not a homosexual. I can't imagine anyone wanted to go near David Spring.

    I didn't have an 'interest' in Art. I didn't need to pay for Jamie Conway's cigarette habit. I didn't want to go to Jamie Conway's alcohol birthday party. I didn't want to 'do' LSD.

    David Spring is beyond ugly and foul and gross and sick and mentally ill and psychically disgusted. I can't quite imagine how a social worker could legally dream up such a thing??

    Still my Policeman father 'paid' David Spring to repeatedly orally rape me. Apparently it was done for my sister. What 'mental illness' she suffers from, I can't quite fathom.

    Being a 'teenager' is hard enough without being raped by the diseased turd. Jamie Conway cost me my GCSE's. Emma Gibson (or whatever the fuck her name is?) cost me my place in the ATC and my career in the RAF.

    Claire Guy cost me my health and my wife and children...


  11. Listening to this song has been helpful in allowing me to express and experience the emotions.
    One day you opened up your eyes inside of you 
    Inside a world inside a universe you didn’t get to choose
    You didn’t get to pick the rules or pick the past or set the pace 
    Or cast the cast and crew you didn’t get to pick your starting place
    And though it was a race you didn’t understand
    You simply lined up on the blocks and when the pistol popped you ran
    And when you tripped and dropped you picked yourself up off the ground 
    And picked your scabs you knew you had to pick a plan to end what you began
    As you got older there were days of cold surrender
    Days of shrugged whatevers folded in with days of shocking splendor
    But as time advanced the lovely days were covered up from view
    By an advancing melancholy haze that hovered near the dew
    Yet there were moments 
    There were these pure arresting moments when you stepped outside your head
    Outside your pain outside control, outside the bullshit, out of body, out of rage
    Outside the need to get it, get it, you will never get it, that’s okay
    Have you felt a little off today
    Had a lot to say
    But wound up talking to yourself?
    Have you hunted for a kindly ear
    But couldn’t find one near
    And wound up talking to yourself?
    Had a little spot where you been going through a lot
    Wanna shove it to the bottom but a trouble gonna bubble to the top
    Then the bubble gonna pop and the hustle never ever gonna stop
    Cause you get up in the morning get ahead then get to bed and then you do it all again until the moment that you drop
    You need a plot, what you wanna witness with this life you got 
    You kicked and fought trynna get up in your skin and pick this lock
    That ticking clock lets you know that bit*h you got these situations witchu 
    Issues someone fit to quick should sit you should down to talk
    Ever wonder who’s the crazy the one, people walking to work as if nothing is off
    But if a person really got it they would be cracking a bottle on somebody’s head and looting from shops
    Are there times you’re alone now when nobody’s home but you walk around muttering under your breath second shit saying goddammit goddammit goddammit just whispering soft
    Do you ever get lost, deep in your thoughts, tripping when you think about the cost of seeing this through
    When you tie your stomach into knots that you don’t know how to undo
    But do you ever have another moment after that, when you can see
    There’s no one way this has to be? Or maybe that’s just me
  12. I have read so much on this site and I can feel so much of the pain being expressed by so many of the victims and survivors.  It has made me angry and I have a new calm that has come to me making it easier to live with the fact that my rapist will be out of prison in less than a month.  I feel nothing, and I am sure that he will find me right where he found me the first time, skating on the path.  This time I will be ready and prepared.  I will not be a victim any longer with a sad story.  I will be ready and this time it will go very differently, this is the only thing that brings me peace and allows me to feel happy and sleep.  I know it's wrong to say, but the courts had their chance and now I will have mine.  His release from prison will give me the chance to set things right and ensure that he never beats and rapes someone again.

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    What is it like?  To heal?  To be healed?  To be free?  To run like a child once ran?  To  play?  To skip?  Is any of that possible?  Why so many questions?  Why no answers?  Why did an hour or two steal my entire life away?  My entire world?  Including family?  Why did she laugh when I said, "I forgive you."  Why, if it's really her, does she shy away from me now?  Why can't I cry?  When can I scream?  When is it enough for them?  When is God coming back?  Why do I feel like I've lost when I know I'm going to win?  Where is the little girl?  What happened to her? Why does my heart still break? -POM

  13. I've decided to work on a huge goal....going on a date. I've accomplished so much in much more than I ever thought I would. I went to NYC, which had been a dream forever. Yes, I spent most of the trip anxious and in tears, but I did it. I bought my dream home (although it wouldn't be a dream to most's a 20 acre fixer upper and I've loved every minute of working on the property and fixing it up). I've discovered some supplements that have really helped me feel mentally and emotionally stable. I haven't felt suicidal in depression has been so much better, and the little things that used to send me into darkness no longer bother me as much.

    I turn 33 on Monday and for the first time in my life, I feel like I want to accomplish something professionally (although as someone working in the education field, there's really no room to move up). I find myself wanting to work hard, set professional goals and reach them, and work my way up. To what? I have no clue. I just find myself feeling determined and motivated. I don't know what my aim or goal is..isn't that weird? I feel like I am maturing at a slower rate than most people my age, I definitely feel a few years behind everyone else.

    I've been terrified to date anyone since I was in elementary school. I've been afraid of men for as long as I can remember. I know going on a date will be my biggest accomplishment so far in my life, as silly as that sounds. Even a simple date, even if it was just meeting someone somewhere to talk for 5 minutes..that would be huge for me.I don't expect "normal" people to understand that. But all of you trauma survivors, I know you feel me. And I know that if I accomplish my goal of going on a date, it won't just be an accomplishment for me.

    I hope it will be inspirational and motivational for so many others who have experienced trauma and I hope that they too, will know that healing and progress is possible.

    I hope to keep those who are interested updated on my goal through this blog. 

    Yesterday, I went to the mall after work. I went to a book store, and smiled at 3 men in the book store. It was very uncomfortable and I felt very awkward and out of my element, but I did it. None of them talked to me, but they did smile back. This is the problem..when I feel like I want to date, no one else seems interested in me.I also have to admit that I have no clue how to flirt...I always feel so shy. I have no idea how to make anyone interested in me. I am also extremely afraid that if anyone is interested in me, they will be a creepy most of the time, it is creepy weirdos and abusive pyschos who tend to be drawn to me.

    I also bought a few new outfits. I have been trying to dress better lately. My true self at my core is a sweatpants and t-shirt kind of girl. I don't really enjoy dressing up, but I do have to say that people respond to me differently at work when I look nicer. I also feel more professional and more confident I guess, when I dress up more.

    I have a few professional goals and ideas in mind, most of which are focused on school culture. Now, I just need to work up the courage to present them to the rest of the staff. I worry that they are silly, and naive and dumb ideas. I have always had a fear of people, public speaking and crowds. I am the girl who ran many times from college presentations in tears (yes..embarrassing..ugh). I've spent most of my life avoiding public speaking. I just want to be brave and conquer that fear, too.

    Well, I hope that you guys will share your thoughts and feedback if you want to. I will try to remember to keep you updated!


  14. I notice it regularly. I go into public places trying to combat my anxiety and do regular, everyday things that would or should be considered miniscule or simple to average people. But to me....far from simple. I open the door, I look at the available seating arrangements, my mind goes "no don't sit there" "if you sit there everyone will face you" "don't sit there and look like an antisocial weirdo" "make sure you sit at least a seat away from somebody." The thoughts are endless and I'm at a catch 22 either way. I pick a seat. It seemed like the perfect choice. Close by the desk, near nobody, also not too far from the door. I overanalyze every alternative choice while trying to reaffirm the fact that I made the best decision for my personal needs. Over time while sitting there I realized how serious my anxiety was. There was this lady and lets say her mom sitting across the way from me. Every time I looked up I swore she was staring at me just thinking some mean or negative thing about me or my appearance. Never meeting or seeing this woman ever before in my life, I tried to rationalize my crazy, outlandish thoughts and separate fiction from reality. Although it isn't always or even close to usually as it easy as it may seem. I had nothing materialistic with me to distract me from the thoughts or the other people. Normally I would bring a book, or a word search, or my phone. Anything to give my mind another escape. But I did not. I sat there avoiding eye contact and repeatedly putting my head down while looking through the same 3 papers I've already looked over a million times. I kept biting and picking at my nails. While more outlandish comments came to mind. My anxiety is something I've noticed and have been attempting to handle for some time now. However, since the incident...things have been more out of control than ever. My thoughts, my mind, my irrationality, just everything illogical seems never ending. 24/7. I don't like strangers. I don't like men. (whom I do not know) I don't like unfamiliar places, I don't like being alone, I don't like my phone dying or being dead, I don't like being starred at, observed, any of that. Then I think...maybe, I don't like me? Maybe I hate me. I hate all I've done and haven't done up to this point to bring me to where I am now. Maybe I hate myself and that's just not something that is going to change over night. I want these wild, crazy, over the top thoughts to leave me alone! I want to feel okay again, trust and love me again. Oh Anxiety, how I have struggled all this time and you've done more harm than good, I'd enjoy nothing more than to bid you farewell. Please and thank you.

    Thanks for reading


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    How do you say it?  The r word?  I walked into a house to go to the bathroom.  I was 5.  I fear there will never be security even in anonymity.  I live in a small town with 'eyes' and 'mouths" and hateful gossip...I wish I could get past it.  I prefer to wait on the Lord to correct it.  They've already tried to kill me.  Twice.

    I really want to blog this, I can't.  I will say this.  It was a miracle that kept me and my parents alive that night.

    No one wants to take responsibility for their actions so I'm blamed.  I'm persecuted in wide open places.

    Call 'her' scarlet and let the peds remain.

    Makes me sick.

  15. Miko
    Latest Entry

    Today I promise to care for myself. Eat well. Watch a movie or 2. Jog at the park. Enjoy nature. Sleep. Maybe visit a museum. Check out the courses I want to take. Read. Go to the beach. Just B

  16. I don't know. 
    I don't currently have a therapist, I'm considering restarting.

    I'd like to be able to accept it as part of me, to love myself and enjoy my life, to get past feeling guilty and obsessing about this. 
    To live, free from the little voice in the back of my head convinced every little noise is Luke come to make good on his threats, blaming me, shaming me. Making me feel like nothing I do could ever be good enough because every decision I make is affected/tainted by what happened to me. 
    I'd like to be able to talk about it, even vaguely, even online -anonymously, without panicking. I want to be able to use my experiences to support and help others.

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    I've been on AS for a few days now and I've been reading and posting a ton. As much as it feels good to connect with people who understand some of my experiences, it also worries me. A few years ago, I told my therapist about how I watch a lot of crime shows and I particularly enjoy watching ones about sexual assault. I've never experienced very much support in my healing and it's comforting to watch those shows and see people being helped. It's also triggering. Not in a "panicky" kind of way, just that it can cause me to get lost in thinking about my traumas. It can consume my thoughts. It can make it difficult to focus on the present because I'm thinking so much about the past. Analyzing, re-living, trying to understand. My therapist told me that it's quite common for people who have experienced traumas to do things like obsess over movies and TV shows that are triggering. It's not weird or bad to trigger myself in this way. It also isn't healthy and it is something I should be cautious of. I wonder if joining this online support group will actually help me to continue healing or if I'll end up obsessing over the darkness in my past. I've come so incredibly far from where I used to be and I don't want to get sucked back into a shitty state of mind. However, I think now that I'm in a safer place, maybe it's time to start confronting things that I wasn't able to work through before. Just a little bit at a time. But, I spent a couple hours writing about a few incidents that happened years ago and it got me really worked up. My heart was pounding and I was shaking. I was fine, you know? Safe, and coping with the emotions, but it felt really real. I came to where I am to get away from my past. I've created a new life for myself, a new me, and I'm happier than I ever thought I could be. As I've been delving into the shitstorm that is my trauma, I've felt connected to my old self and that scares me. The parts of me that are born from my struggles are quite isolated here. I have been here long enough to form some really deep, meaningful connections with people, but the cultural barrier makes it tough sometimes. It's certainly not like abuse and assault don't happen here, it's just that people deal with it differently. It doesn't help that most of my close friends are men. I've come to feel so at home here and I don't want to feel out of place.  I don't want to feel even more like I'm lying to people. Sometimes it feels that way; like I'm pretending not to be some shell of a person who was robbed of their insides. As if I'm selling this image of a strong, courageous, empowered woman and in reality, I'm weak and scared and a victim. 

    But, I'm fighting those feelings. Every day, I'm focusing on the good. I'm believing in myself and good things are happening in my life because of that. Maybe that's how I use this website. I write about the bad, I talk about the shitty feelings that come from it, and then I decide to rise above it. I decide to heal.

    It's almost 1am and I teach tomorrow, god damn it. Ok, time for bed.