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I really don't like being touched by surprise. Particularly by men, if I see it coming it doesn't tense me up as much.
last year I was working on a job and I was on an 8-foot ladder, and this one guy every time he'd walk by me he would touch my calf. Now I was really being real good about it, it would tense me up but I didn't say anything. Well then one time he walked by and started squeezing and caressing my calf. And I went off. I climbed up his ass, asked him if we were dating, told him only two people in the world were allowed to touch me one is a woman that changed my diapers and one is the woman I'm having sex with don't f****** touch me. Damn near brought him to tears. Wouldn't talk to me or look at me for the rest of the project.
Now I felt kind of bad about that, so I've been being really good about not saying anything when people touch me.
But this morning one of the guys went by that the old tap you on the left shoulder so you look that way so they can laugh at you trick. I believe my stepfather would do that so you wouldn't see the punch coming . So I very politely told him I don't like being touched so please don't touch me.
Now he's kind of avoiding me. And I'm waiting for him to ask me why. I don't feel I need to explain it, I feel that all he needs to know is I don't like being touched, so don't.
Since I started trying to remember, I've noticed my hyper-vigilance just kicked up a notch or two. My anxiety levels are higher and I'm having trouble staying focused on tasks. I'm forgetting things and there's some mental confusion. I'm also having trouble making decisions, because I'm trying to work out all possible outcomes. Which of course is impossible.
I'm beginning to wonder how much longer I can treat this as an intellectual exercise, and when I'm going to start showing severe psychological issues over it. Which I'm pretty sure is coming.
My sincerest apologies for my lengthy absence. Yes, it's happened before and it's likely to happen again, but we all know that I always, always come back to my writing space - I will go through times where I do not really know what to write but as soon as I sit down, I am often hit with a little reminder of how much of a help it is to process things through blogging. Sometimes it takes a little while for things to start to flow, sometimes I have to get up and return the following day. This particular entry has been sitting in draft mode for a few days, already, but - finally, it's made its way to you all.
It has been a very, very long and emotional week. For those of you who don't know, our beloved kitty has crossed the Rainbow Bridge. He was an otherwise healthy 8-year-old boy - until one month ago, everything changed for him when he suddenly became paralyzed in his hind legs. Nearly one month from this discovery, he is gone. I am still absolutely heartbroken, although with each day, I am comforted a little bit more, knowing he isn't suffering nor is he in pain. He's probably extremely happy now, having been reunited with his hind legs in the afterlife, and is purring while running, jumping, chasing other animals in the fields of Heaven.
We honored our boy's wishes and made the call when he let us know that he was struggling just to stay with us. We chose to do the euthanasia at home, so that he wasn't having to experience the stress of being transported to an unfamiliar location, especially being as sick as he was. He was surrounded by people (and his cat siblings) who loved him dearly and at 4:35pm 2/11/19, he passed peacefully in J's arms.
There is a very noticeable emptiness in the house - our boy was 'the man of the house' and he was ALWAYS present, ALWAYS where we were. Whenever we had guests - there he was, to 'observe' everything. He was docile, he was patient, and he was approachable. Although he was more J's cat than he was mine, (he preferred her presence over mine, although he would sometimes demand that I allow him to climb onto my chest while I laid down) I am taking his passing VERY hard. I am the one who is home most of the time - and so, I was the one to provide the around-the-clock care, medicate him, clean his litter box messes, transfer him and his bed, food/water dishes and litter apparatus from room to room, keep him company, etc, for the last month. The day following his passing was especially difficult, for it was finally hitting me - there was nothing for me to do for him, no way I can make him comfortable, he was no longer there for me to open the blinds for so that he could enjoy the natural sunlight. Just seeing his empty bed and empty food and water dish and rolled-up litter mat would send me into fits of ugly-crying - and even as I write this - I can feel that lump in the back of my throat and the tears begging to fall.
I've just ordered cremation vials/pendants for J and for myself. His ashes will be returned to us within the week by the vet that put him down and handled his cremation arrangements, and we plan to carry a piece of him with us wherever we go - when the pendants arrive, we will fill them with some of his ashes and surely as he's in our hearts, he will also be on our person, even in the smallest way. It is one way we are made a little bit more okay with his (sudden) departure. I am also considering a small paw print tattoo, while J, his preferred 'human,' is wanting a more elaborate likeness of his beautiful face tattooed onto her arm, so that when positioned a certain way, it will look as if he's resting atop her chest like he used to do every night.
Moving along, though, before I really DO ugly-cry some more and have to postpone the release of this blog entry for another day.
Survivor's Art Group was canceled this month - we had snow on the actual day it was planned for, and there weren't enough confirmed guests when it was rescheduled for a couple days later. M, the leader, had sent me the topic of discussion so that I could give things some thought. Ironically, this would be a 'Helping Hands' workshop/group and since I'd expressed an interest in knowing the topics beforehand so that I could better prepare my responses - so M has helped me to do this, in a sense. There WERE more questions listed than the ones to follow, but these were the ones that stood out and were what I felt related the most to some things I've been recently dealing with. The rest, I omitted, but saved for a later time/train of thought. (And let it be known and understood that my 'train schedule' is AWFULLY unstable right now! I never know what I am going to end up pondering and when.)
Name something your hands have helped someone else with that you are proud of. How does it feel when you think about a time when you helped someone?
I don't think it's my actual, physical hands that actually help others. Yes, I help physically by giving assistance or even affection when asked - but this is just what's expected of anyone - when you see someone struggling with physical baggage and your hands are free - you help them. If they need their hand held, you offer yours. When they ask for a hug, you open your arms. Other than that, my hands are not my best way of helping others.
As most of my interactions are online, it's my mind and my heart that does most of the helping. My voice. Even if and when it is not my physical voice, as that's not one I am very comfortable using, especially around strangers. While I do not hear with my ears, I do with my eyes and I respond with my heart where applicable. I am told I am empathetic, have a very calming presence, a patient and caring disposition. Lately, I'm not so sure this is the case as each and every one of my senses is being put to the challenge. Not in small ways, either. And I truly do wonder if I am indeed helpful. I believe that no matter how much we help others - ultimately they have to help themselves. Perhaps we've helped them to reach the point where they're able to.
I have mixed feelings about my 'help.' Sometimes it feels good to have been there when I was needed, and sometimes it feels terrible. Especially having to make the difficult choice to 'help' along my cat's transition into his end-of-life stages, and eventually over the Rainbow Bridge in a humane, loving manner.
Imagine all that your hands may hold for you, or for others, either materially or energetically. Over time, this may become very heavy and you may have your hands full. Is there anything you are holding that you would like to let go of now? Describe what you are holding and how it feels to let go of this.
I have let go of more than one thing, lately.
The most obvious answer is, of course, my cat's required, continuous care. I received these questions, ironically, a couple of days before his passing. While taking care of him, I was also relentlessly researching how to care for cats with hind-leg paralysis. I'd even joined a Facebook group for people dealing with handicapped/disabled felines and had conversed with a few on what to expect, how can I help him? What can I do? What toys can I buy him to boost his morale? Unfortunately, I did not have enough time to apply too many of their suggestions, as the upper respiratory infection soon began to batter away at his reserves. Both vets we had taken him to were quick to say that his quality of life needed to be considered. J and I agreed that as long as he wasn't in pain and was doing all of the important things (eating, drinking, eliminating), we were going to let him call the shots - for as long as he was able. And here I am - browsing the 'net for alternative treatments, etc that would help him to thrive and adapt to his now-new lifestyle. My plan was - get him strong enough, then help him learn to get around on his front legs - was fully prepared to buy him 'drag pants' (to protect his lower end from rug burn/skin irritation that the dragging was likely to cause) and work with him on his balancing so that he could properly and comfortably position himself to use the litter box.
This quickly became an obsession. I wanted to hear the words 'euthanasia is probably best for him,' less and less. He wasn't showing that he was in pain....why was this coming out of the vet's mouth, rather than, 'let's try this...'?
I felt like I was his biggest advocate; even J had to keep me in check by pointing out to me certain things - 'look at his legs, they're rock solid and it's just a matter of time before the rest of him is affected,' 'he's not eating,' 'he's suffering, even if he's not showing us as clearly...'
Slowly, I began to see she was right. I was holding on too tightly, to the idea that I could fix our kitty. I needed to - not give up - but to step back a little bit and let J decide. I was not helping him anymore. Not that we were hurting him, but perhaps those words we'd heard from the vet were indeed the truth - there was nothing under the sun that could be done for him.
I have also learned that, in general, when there is nothing I can do, then I must stop trying. It's time to let go and to let things happen as they're supposed to. It is not healthy for me to stick on this same obsessive path to nowhere. There are more ways than one to learn this very important lesson and I've learned it in many ways recently. It is not easy for me to let go - not by any means, and NOT with how much of my heart and soul I invest into it in the first place.
Think of a time when someone else loaned you a helping hand. What did it feel like to receive help?
Tricky, this one. I am not a big fan of asking for help. Ever. My mother taught me well - when you ask for help, you had better be readily available when someone asks YOU for help. It's a tit for tat kind of thing - to ask for help gives someone something to hold over your head. At least, in adulthood - this is the case.
But, I don't know if it was always this way. You see, I don't remember ever asking for help before I was seventeen. Sure, my parents did mostly everything for me - they cooked, they provided a roof over my head, they bought my clothes, they gave an allowance so I had 'pocket money.' There wasn't really much I needed 'help' with. To me, this likely wasn't 'help' - they were doing what they, as parents, do. What I do for my own children. I don't look at this as 'helping them,' but as obligatory nurturing, instead.
I asked for help twice on the night I was raped. Once directly, to the man who would rape me instead of helping me. And the second, indirectly; for it was not even a 'help me,' but instead, a 'can I have a glass of water and can I use your bathroom?'
The help came in an unexpected form and was more accepted than asked for - from a kind-hearted stranger, a diner waitress, who, without my asking her to, called me a cab. I didn't tell her anything - nor did I say anything about what had just happened at the time of my arrival. My understanding was - you couldn't use a business's facilities without being a customer. And I might've been somewhat stuck on the fact that she'd done what I asked my rapist to do. I didn't supply him with the number to a cab, but did intend for him to call a friend to let her know I needed a ride back to where my car was.
But somehow, this woman knew that something was wrong. She was very careful not to touch me - even though I was trying my hardest to put on the 'I'm fine,' face; obviously ineffective. My body language was likely suggesting differently. When I returned from the bathroom, she handed me the glass of water and a menu, (just in case, I guess) and gently told me that there was a cab on the way, and that the driver was a relative of hers. I must have been able to mumble a 'thanks,' because she said, 'take care.' The cab was there shortly after, although it felt like hours and I'd hardly touched the water and still being under the impression that I had to be a customer to have the right to sit at the counter, had mindlessly stared at the menu without intending to order anything.
The driver came inside and the waitress conversed with him for a brief time before he went back into the car. On a normal day, I'd likely be able to lip-read the entire conversation. Not tonight, though. I did catch, 'when you're ready, he's waiting outside. Just let him know where you need to go.'
It didn't occur until later...YEARS later...that she'd also given me something that my attacker hadn't that night.
Medical attention was likely what I needed, but it wasn't what I had the common sense to say at the moment. Physically, I was hurting. Mentally, I was telling myself that I was 'fine' and that the bleeding had already slowed - it would stop eventually. So would the searing pain in places I'd never felt pain before. All I could think of at the moment was how angry my parents would be at me if they ever knew about what had just happened - especially since I'd gone to lengths to lie to my father to get him to allow me to go. In hindsight, I probably didn't even HAVE to lie to him - my father isn't the type to question where I was or who I was with - his usual is, 'have fun and be careful.' (Which, further thought processing would tell me I failed at that, too.) And WHAT would they both say, should the police be called? I was a minor; they'd be called. And then my parents, in turn, would be called.
All of these thoughts sending me into instant panic, I gave the driver my home address and he asked no questions. He drove. And when he arrived at my Dad's house, he let me know that the fare was already taken care of, likely by the woman at the diner or it had been an 'off duty' favor. Either way, no explanation was provided and another 'thanks' mumbled.
The help was greatly appreciated, but the choice was what I was more grateful for. She COULD have called the police, especially if she knew something was wrong. She COULD have told her family member to take me to the hospital, likely closer to the diner than where I lived. She COULD have done so many things differently - just as I could have, too. She chose, though, to allow me to make the choice between going to a hospital or going home. What I wouldn't give, today, to thank both of these kind people for giving me what I needed at the time, no questions asked.
This still scares me when I find myself needing help, whether it's with something simple - like taking out the trash or other household chores. Or when I'm grappling with those deep, invasive thoughts. My first notion is to make it clear that it's something I'll eventually finish (chores) or figure out on my own (thoughts) - but I never, EVER ask for help with these things. J will attest to this, and often scolds me for taking things on by myself. My usual response is, 'Well, if I want it done right, I have to do it, myself!'
But I cannot and still will not ask a stranger for help; the biggest reason for this is obvious. Even today, I am very, VERY choosy with who I ask for help. J is my first and (I tell myself) ONLY option. If it's not possible, I'll approach the Son. I refuse to ask my parents for help - although my mother will offer it verbally and although she'll not say 'and in return, I want....' I will always know it's coming and she will always hold whatever it is that she's helping with over my head. My father seemingly offers it freely and without strings, but I've never asked him for anything. And it is only in desperation that I accept help - and even so, I am uneasy in doing so.
I'm just not comfortable admitting the need for help - I know, in reality it is not the case, but my own, stupid brain tells me that to do so is an admission of weakness. I am quick to let others know that there's nothing wrong with asking for help - and I believe this. It's just, with myself, there is a barrier, a strong, almost impenetrable one - and that annoying voice in the back of my head, 'Capulet, you must deal with it yourself. If you can't, go to J, but you MUST try to figure out your own shit!'
If you could reach out with your hands and take in everything you have ever wanted for yourself, what would your hands reach for?
Not sure there's any material thing that I could physically reach out for that I want right now - other than my cat being alive and well, which is obviously unrealistic. Aside from a million (or two or twenty million?) bucks, there's really nothing I want for as far as the material things or the money to pay for it all.
No, what I want is more those things nobody can see, the things nobody can give me. I want to be normal, but don't know how that's possible, as for me, my definition of the word was tainted VERY early on in life. What if THIS is all normal, based on what I've already seen?
I'd LOVE to have been left unscathed by life's ugliness. I'd love to not understand heartbreak, trauma and its effects, loneliness, depression. There are times where I wish I were the perfectly-formed person - the one who has it all - but there is NO 'all' without the bad, is there? An 'all' good just doesn't exist. Not for me, not for anyone.
Air. That's all my hands are going to reach for. Maybe some understanding. Maybe wisdom. Maybe motivation. All of those things that are unseen to the naked eye, but would make sense of everything at the same time.
So yes, I'd most likely reach for clarity. Not just with myself, but in everything I've ever questioned in life.
In closing, this is the gist of what I've been struggling with this week. A whole lot of everything and nothing. My search for additional purpose continues - I did have a temporary, very important one for the last month - my fur baby's care and medical needs - but now that he is gone, so is that particular purpose.
I am well aware that one adopts many, MANY different purposes in the course of their lives. I know I have great purpose here, and that is not in any way diminished nor will it ever be. I love being here, I love this site, and love ALL of you. It just seems when one alternate purpose disappears or is cut short, it is very, very hard to see what still remains as we grieve that loss. That being said, I wish to thank everyone who has reached out and who has sent me kind messages and who has allowed me to feel what I was feeling without judgement or criticism. There was an outpouring of support, both before and after my beloved cat's passing, and I will NOT forget this.
On a positive note, amidst all of last week's insanity, I've submitted one college application for this coming fall's semester - to the local university where my son is now a student. I paid to have my transcripts sent over to them and I am now waiting for a response. The next step will be to meet with the Dean of Transfer Admissions - and this will hopefully happen soon.
I am trying to remain focused on moving forward with life, because this is, above all, what we must ALL do whenever we're knocked down or otherwise delayed, be it through loss, or any other significant life event. It is important to pick ourselves up, to re-emerge, to re-focus, and to keep going. And this is something we survivors have to learn to do - not just once or twice, but SEVERAL times as we continue on our healing paths.
I am hoping everyone is doing well, or at least as well as they can possibly be. I am sending my love and thoughts. Be good to yourselves - this is not something I say easily as it's something I am also having to remember to do for myself.
Love and light.
it's almost been 6 years since my raped happened, I still recount everything that happened that day and in a day can change your whole life. A lot of people are probably thinking what I'm doing here and why I'm in this group or shouldn't I be healed by now. Well I've put so much walls up and I was in so much denial from it for almost 6 years I denied that I got raped until all those walls came down and I stopped being in denial about what happened to me. We took it to the police, he was 17 and I was 13 when it happened but it still went to court and I was suppose to testify against him and I showed up for that day and I was waiting to do so until my defence lawyer came in the room where I was to tell me he pleaded guilty. but then he said he was high and drunk and he had an alibi, when his DNA was found it my underwear. Then we went through his sentencing where the justice system basically slapped him on the wrist and he got to walk free because he was 17 and by the time we went to court he was 18. I didn't have my parents to talked to because they wouldn't my mom told me to just get over it, my father wasn't the type to talk about that stuff. I was suffering so bad, that I self-harmed everyday. I put tinfoil on my windows because I was scared he was watching me. I knew him 3 year before he did what he did and I thought I knew him. But after it happened I blamed myself. I should have saw the signs. two weeks before that he sexual assaulted me so it had to be my fault. To this day I believe Im still to blame and i'm going to be 20 in 8 months. when my father left when I turned 18 I thought it was my fault because he didn't want a daughter who got raped so he would just ease us from his life and forget about me. now these walls coming down and denial has stopped. im completely lost I don't know what to do.
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Dear mom, it's been three years since you passed, not a day goes by I am not conflicted between missing you and relieved you are gone and so is your gaslighting and emotional neglect and abuse.In the last three years, I have tried to stop defending you not protecting me from my pedophile grandpa, dad and his friend, you are no longer poor mom who grew up unloved so you did not know better, you are the mom that insisted I wore love baby's soft perfume between my thighs at six, insisted on me modeling my new panties in front of my dad at seven, you are the mom who saw me cry after being dropped home from his place, was happy because I loved you more than him. Your new identity has caused me so much pain, I protected you for 43 years, it was my main role in life, my daughter suffered, my husbandsuffered because I put so much energy into defending you and it was for nothing, you were a monster too, he took my innocence, my sexuality, you took my idenity, my confidence, my soul so I am left empty, lost in my pain, being a burden to my daughter just as you were to me. I would rather be gone than become you in any capacity, am lost still who I am after losing you three years ago.
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I don’t know if it’s possible to forgive a man who raped you, destroyed your life. Or a man you loved, abandon you. Both of whom caused me so much pain, I know right now that is certainly a concept that I can not imagine. But, what I can imagine is letting the anger go. I believe holding onto anger, is imprisoning yourself in a cell where you hold the key yet won’t unlock the door. I find myself grieving over my ex boyfriend, I find it difficult to accept that the man I loved, who I created so many beautiful memories with caused me so much suffering, so I don’t. I have managed to convince myself that he is no longer present, at least that part of him. I think about him a lot, everyday. Actually, I think of Both of them, they flood my thoughts, what they did to me, how, why, so many questions which I will never get answers to. a few weeks ago, perhaps even days ago that reality would have brought me to tears. But, now I feel different. This is my life, whether I like it or not, I did not have the choice to be raped, to become pregnant as a result of the attack, to have my best friend and boyfriend abandon me. But, I have the choice as to how I deal with it. Sure, it’s tough and I can admit in the first few weeks I was too overwhelmed by pain to think about anything else. I had lost control. But, I have that control back, I have that ability to make a choice, to choose what to do next. So, I choose to move forward. I have held onto anger for too long, it is time to let it go. If you can’t control the situation, challenge yourself to control how you deal with the situation. My goal is to focus on what lifted me up, not what broke me down. To live in the moment, in the pain and accept it. To flood my mind with the kindness that helped me breathe again. Not the fear and trauma that kicked me in the teeth, it is tiring to live in such a way. I know it is not possible to flick a switch and suddenly your mindset is positive and your mind at ease. It takes time. But, know you will achieve it. If you can imagine it, If you can see yourself there, you, will get there.
As I briefly visited a couple of resale second hand shops, I still had the Neiman Marcus "score feel" today. I am looking at so many Theodore Birkel-related albums on vinyl, I might as well be a 'psychic medium' or distant relative. Seriously. I have SIXTEEN Yiddish/Hebrew/Israeli vinyl LP albums that I found today.
I could not be happier. Really. These are treasures beyond treasures. In the past I'd bought a bluetooth capable turntable. I realized today just how crucial that piece of equipment is. And I joyfully loaded up each pristine vinyl LP -- even with the tinny scratch and hiss. Pure bliss.
No. You won't change my mind. I'm happy. I have SIXTEEN Yiddish/Hebrew/Israeli albums.
I will be busy. I also will insult anyone who has anti-semitic responses -- because I'm a righteous bit*h.
'k? Thx bye.
I haven't been on here in a while, but I've finally started to feel better and I wanted to share something on my blog that is for the most part positive. While my past continues to haunt me, I have learned how to deal with it. At first, I will admit I thought I had just gotten used to what I was feeling that I was never going to move on from my darkened past. A few months back, I was diagnosed with PTSD. I have been trying really hard to pick up and move on. I couldn't, I had thought that I was never going to get better that there was no light at the end of the tunnel. I struggled to find the positive in much of anything that was going on in my life. I will admit, I still struggle with this but not as much. During my therapy appointment this week, my therapist had pointed out to me that I had reached the "acceptance" stage in my recovery. Meaning, after the nine long months of feeling like shit all the time and dealing with thinking about the events of my assault all the time. I had finally accepted my feelings and was ready to move on. I know I still have a long way to go in my recovery, but it feels good having made some progress. Dealing with the memories of my assault has changed my life. Having to deal with depression and anxiety, finding a good dose of meds to be on, and trying new ones has been draining. All I have wanted is to just be me again or at least feel better. I finally feel like I've made a step forward in the right direction.
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Hello, I guess I'm new to this site. I just joined a couple hours ago. My therapist suggested that I look upon these kinds of forums because they said it would help. At first I wasn't sure how reading about other people's pain would help me, but once I began scrolling through the entries I felt inspired. If other people can talk about their pain and share their stories then I don't see why I can't. I admire the people who are able to write how they feel and what went on. You're all very strong.
It happened only a few months ago. I still feel very scared and hurt to talk about it. I don't even talk about it to my parents or my therapist. I try to but I'm still not ready. I really don't want to get into the details much because that would just trigger me badly and I don't want to live through it again. But for now I think this should help me slowly open up about it. Hopefully I can speak about it before April. That's when the court date is and that's when I have to face them again. I got the letter in the mail a couple days ago saying I may have to go testify against them on the 12th of April if they choose to not plead guilty. I don't think I will be ready, but hopefully this works.
All I ask to the people reading this is to share some advice with me if you want to.
How do you prepare yourself to face them again in court?
How do you get through it?
I did a bad thing. I was scrolling through Facebook the other day and just casually looking at memes, my favorite pass time. But Facebook always has your suggested friends that interrupts the memes every few post. And in those suggested friends, I saw my rapist. I stared at his photo for a moment just kind of disgusted. He looked so happy and care free. I know I shouldn't have done it but... I clicked the profile.
I didn't realize how active he had been the past few months. I thought he was still in jail or on the other side of town selling crack. He has another fake name. Looking at his profile made me sick. We had so many mutual friends including: my brother, my friend Moose, my co-worker, and several old friends from high school. I couldn't believe that even after my brother found out what he did to me, he's still his friend on Facebook. He also has a very pretty girlfriend and I'm honestly scared for her. I'm afraid he could hurt her like he hurt me.
What really pissed me off, though, were the dozens of posts of people saying to let him out of jail on his page and his countless birthday wishes. He posted tons of photos of him with all the money he makes. In every selfie he takes, he's smiling. I hate that he's so happy, considering he's made me so miserable.
The worst post was this post he made about all the "demons" he had been fighting lately. Quote: "And ive been fighting demons latley swear yall dont know what i be going thru..."
First of all, he's clearly not the most educated person out there. Second, for some reason the use of the word "demon" really irritated me. Because, yes I suppose in a sense we all have demons. But the only thing that shit head has to go through is getting through the cops so he can sell more drugs. Part of me wonder if maybe his "demon" would be guilt from what he did to me, but I doubt that's what it was. I doubt he cares. I guess I wanted it to affect him in the same way it affected me. I wanted something from the whole thing to tear him up inside, too.
But I just blocked him. I decided it wasn't worth looking at and putting myself through that. I'm fine just fine continuing to live my life without him in it.
Even now I don't really want to admit it. Even with the people, I have told, those who know from the silent watching, I am not quite sure how to talk about it. Its a place that I don't allow my mind to go to, but at the end of the night, I always am sent right back to. So this is it, this is my breaking point of silent pleas for someone to listen. The relationship that I am talking about ended three years ago when I was a freshman in high school.
He went to another school and in that way, there was comfort in people not knowing him. Not judging him based off me. The pressure just seemed lessened. He was a senior and everyone that knew both of us seemed to intrinsically like him. So when he walked over to me I felt like for once in my life I had won something. Somehow this was my shining moment to have something that mattered to other people. The first four months were great, he waited to have my first kiss on a bus back from a volunteer event. He was charming and brought me flowers, I was floating in a dream. But there is this one moment I come back to because in my mind it is the definitive moment everything changed.
Laying in my bed, he stuck his hand in my underwear. I moved his hand away, "No." I remember how hot my face felt. "No one wants to do anything the first time... you just have to let me." And I did. Then when he pulled my hand on his di*k, even though I said I didn't want to I did. Then he forced his di*k in my face and I felt suffocated by the intimacy, I opened my mouth and he forced my head down. Then when I was going on a school trip and he told me he needed to fuck me before someone else did, I pushed him off me until he flipped me around "The little games you play", I did. If I would have said no to those fingers in my underwear, I feel like this would have never happened. If I wouldn't have caved so easily he wouldn't have felt this was alright. SO when it continued for two years, it was because of this one little moment that I could have so easily ended.
Now I am stuck here three years later, broken up with my only relationship to occur outside of that hideous one. All I can remember is every time he kissed me or we had sex, I was drawn into that moment. Every time I close my eyes I think of his arms around me when I would rather have anyone else. It scares me. If he comes back, will i be able to say no? Do I want to? Maybe I deserve it, maybe this is just the fate I deserve. I have barely lived and I am already so haunted by my past I cannot feel like there is any future in love. I do not want to be alone. I am so god damn tired of being alone. I have reached out to so many people to be met with "I am sorry, that really sucks." It doesn't suck, it hurts like hell, it has been eating me up for three years and no one cares enough to sit down with me and talk. I have nightmares about him.
Just tell me one thing... It has been three years... Does it ever go away? Do you ever love again? Do you ever feel loved again? Or is this the rest of my life? Cause I don't know anymore. I am tired of feeling so unloved and telling people and no one caring. I am tired of wondering if someday I will meet the right guy that will make the band things disappear. If anyone can really listen and care without treating me like I am this foreign thing that no one knows how to touch.
I've had a difficult life so far. When i was eight i started to show the dirst signsof depression but of cpirse, my family didn't notice. They didn't notice a lot. When i was eleven i was raped and i kept it to myself for years because i was ashamed and i didn't want anyone to know. I dealt with the depression shame and disgust of my own body by myself. I Iet it destroy me so that it didn't destroy anyone else.
At 12 my father started to sexually abuse me as well aa emotionally and mentally. He accused me of things i would never do and it's still happening to this day.
At 14 i suffered a hip injury which the root problem started from my rape but of course, i didn't tell anyone that. I suffered extreme agony for 2 years, became addicted to prescription drugs which was tramadol methrocarbonal and cocodomal. I was an addict at 14. Earlier this year i had my surgery and I've been off my meds for a few months now. It's extremely hard but i know i have to resist the temptation. Truth is i just want to fall back into that oblivion where i don't remember my rape... where my father doesn't abuse me and actually wants my company just for me... where my mum is happy to see me.
Ive never had an amazing relationship with my mother... i think she's always seen me as the burden of the family, but just shortly before my 16th birthday my father was arguing with me and my mother because cominf back from our holiday i was still in crutches (i hadn't got my operation at this time) i slipped on a wet floor and hurt my hip again. The pain was blinding and i had to be given an extreme dose of my meds to knock me out on the flight. My father took a different flight home and he had demanded before we left that i was to be there whenhe was getting collected. After my fall i was sent straight home with my sister and my father was NOT happy to say the least. He caused a massive argument, valling me a w**re amoung othet things and when it all came to a head and i was sobbing i told them i was raped in the heat of the moment. I thought when i told them that i wouldn't have to deal with it alone anymore. But my mother accused me of lying she doesn't believe me and my father makes rape jokes. That completely destroyed me.
I need help i can't do it alone anymore... I've contemplated suicide and I'm trying to convince myself that it'll get better in time but it's been nearly a decade I've been suffering with depression. Im only 17.
I just... i have no where else to turn and i thought that if there was someone going through the same thing they might be able to help.
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
- lonelyladybug x
Urm.. i don't what to say.. but i guess i need help.. 😢 i need someone... listen to my story.. how hurts i am.. i just can't take it anymore.. i have no one to talk to.. about what happen to me.. 😢😢
Even my family don't believe me.. i don't know who else to believe... i never ask to be rape.. i never ask that... 😢 but no one listen to me... they put blame on me..
I hate myself.. i hate my life.. 😢 i live with trauma and depression.. and it's getting worse.. i do self harm... to getting rid of that feelings... 😢
I don't know what else to do.. i feel like wanna die.. wanna run away.. wanna dissapear... i can't take it anymore.. 😢😢
It hurts me... 😭😭😭 god.. i totally hate my life... this isn't fair... what should i do... why no one trust me???? 😢😢😭😭
Told I didn't matter. By my father no less. This is an old memory, I don't know why I still remember it. He told me once that if he and my mother had only had ten kids. Then, it wouldn't have mattered if I ran away. It wouldn't matter if I fucked up royally since they'd have ten, precious children who wouldn't have done the things I did. I'll never be good enough for them, will I? I'll never be good enough for anyone and maybe that's okay. I'll be alone, with a revolving door for people to come in and go out. Perhaps I like it better that way. I never want to hear someone say those words again. "you're not good enough".
Yep. Fuck this life.
I take public transportation and once again as a woman - beautiful inside and out are we all , sassy, funny, strong, and cool - I was reminded by a fucktard that I'm just here to be harassed.
By the way, lately I've been reading quotes from Karen Straughan. She's on youtube. Wow, Karen. Just wow.
I don't recommend reading or listening to this horribly self hating yet hilariously bitter muppet unless you've had a lot of strong morning coffee. But if you ever thought you were, you know, special, she's the antidote.
Off to my original thought this morning. Yea, here it is. People are fucks. I've got no illusions about that. They are always judging you online and off, nursing whatever secret bitterness and jealousy resides in their bitter hearts. If you don't threaten them, they might treat you OK. If you do, forget it. People are incredible fucks. I've known that for years.
And, I live in the land of the Trump. And I've noticed men becoming bolder. The cockroaches have come out to play.
So I take the bus and often, due to living where I do and the time I take it, I'm sometimes the ONLY FUCKING PERSON ON THE FUCKING BUS.
I guess for some dudes this is too much to handle. Female bus drivers don''t bother me - and incidentally, in my life, I've had ONE incident of harassment from a woman, a lesbian woman I lived with in a homeless shelter. Otherwise, women don't harass me. Men do.
So I make the mistake - the beauty? The kindness? Of talking to this guy. He wears cheap aftershave, has a beard, sunglasses, and smiles a lot. I don't get any particularly vibe because cockroaches are good at hiding what they are . Read about narcissists and listen to youtubers talk about them. Wolf in sheep's clothing indeed, Mama. He is smart. People aren't what they do, they just are what they are.
And we somehow end up talking about politics and then he leans over slightly at some point and says, "As a woman, would you make love to Trump?" after discussing in a humorous way his current wife.
I'm not stunned so much as realising that once again the cockroaches are everywhere. THIS iS FUCKING PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION. AND ASKING ME ANY QUESTION IN WHICH SEX IS PART OF THE EQUATION IS NOT GONNA FLY.
I said no wrinkling up my face in shock and disgust. At his question, at him, at life, at how anytime I open up the door one iota and am kind to sexually insecure men I am treated to this bullshit. To how my entire life has been spent dealing with male sexual insecurity, their need to dominate, to have power over me. Men who want emotional wives on the internet, men who want to stare, men who want to touch, men who want to treat me like I'm an object, to use me, to abuse me, to have a mommy. Weak ass motherfucking men who aren't worth a hair on my head. The good men I've known, far and few in between.
On Monday I am speaking to Mr. Smiley about this. He'll either apologise, deny, or be a di*k, but I am letting him know if another word like that comes out of his mouth I'm reporting him. Once again I have to educate. Once again I have to assume the burden. Once again an asshole abuser sails through his life, his weekend, no doubt, beautifully fine, while I sit here typing up this shit, quite alone in my fight against the world.
I've met too many fuckboys to count. I gave up long ago on meeting a good one. I've found them all and tracked them down including in the spirit world. I'm tired of y'all's shit.
Women, raise your men to respect women. Men, raise your men to respect women.
And treat me like I'm worthy of some respect, but shit, I know that's too much to ask for in this fucked up cruel cold capitalistic society. And if you can't, you will find the consequences quite shockingly in your face. I will continue to respect me, however. In spades.
Can't wait for Monday. 'Cause I'm fucking over this BULLSHIT.
PS, Mr. Smiley? Sorry about the small di*k problem.
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To my friends, who are coming to terms with traumatic events:
life is cruel. It takes us and it beats us and it breaks us. We carry this pain with us because we are too afraid to process reality. We cannot process reality. How do we deal with what has happened to us? Such different events have broken us in ways we cannot even begin to understand ourselves. And how can we even begin to express what we cannot put into words?
But I understand. And you understand. We cannot fathom what the other has been through. But the process of recovery, this my friend, I can relate too. I am further along then you- I know the road and I will be here when you fall, if only you let me. Do not be ashamed or afraid to ask for help. I have no judgement. I cannot judge, for I have been there too.
I have nothing but the deepest love for you. If I could take this burden away from you I would do it a thousand times over. I would do anything for you to be healthy and happy and free of this suffering.
I cannot take away your pain, but let me help carry your load.
I'm tired of feeling like I don't have any control for what happens to my body. I feel so helpless when things happen to me and I feel too weak to be able to stop anything from happening.
I begged for help and no one did anything to stop him. They just turned away and pretended as if nothing was happening. We were on a bus, its not like they were just passing by and pretended not to hear me, they could see me in pain and uncomfortable. Maybe if I was a little bit louder someone would have helped. He followed me on my way home and all I can think about is that he knows where I live. He knows what I look like and that I'm weak and where I live and I don't know if I will feel safe again going on the bus by myself. At least I know he won't be able to get into the building without a key. At least that fact can help me feel a little more safe.
I'm tired of this happening to me. I'm tired of feeling helpless.
So I have not been here in several weeks and I can feel the need to vent so I make no promises as to how sane I will sound but I have no where else to turn.
Mhmm well I guess I start with the 24th of last month, my mom had surgery on both knees. It was a quick out patient surgery, I knew she would need help with recovery so trying to be a good daughter of course I said I would be there to help her through it all. So for the past several weeks I have been driving the 30 min to her house to be there before she gets up and then staying until 11 o'clock at night, only to pack up my young child and drive the half an hour back home to hopefully get some sleep. I'm sooooo tired! But even more then the physical exhaustion my mind feels like its on a roller coaster and I can't get off. I sit here and get all wound up over things that have happened in the past and can't be changed. Like why am I taking care of her? I know to some that may sound cruel, she's my mother she gave me life and here I am complaining about making sure she gets through recovery. And yet I can't help but feel like once again I'm just the doormat that everyone uses. She never took care of me, she never made me comfortable or made sure I had everything I needed. She'd just always brush me off and tell me to get away because I might get her sick. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.
The past two days I haven't gone to help her. She's up on her own now anyways but the real reason is because I started to get this feeling in the pit of my stomach. The one right before I do something I know I'm going to regret. I had built up the courage to tell my mom some of the things I was feeling and before I could really say anything she did what she always does and started crying. And somehow the blame always comes back to me, somehow it's always my fault. So like usual I wanted a drink and I had one but instead of just having the one and letting that be that I got my phone and was about to get a fix. I have been drug free for 4 years, but 3 weeks with my mom and I was about to throw it all away. I'd be lying if I said I feel better and I haven't thought about doing it since, but truth is I've thought about how much better I would feel even if it was for a moment, to just let go and forget for an hour.
But instead here I am telling you all my truth for tonight. So please send me good vibes as I keep fighting this war with myself.
I haven’t posted in a while and tonight I feel like I have no where else or any one else to turn to so I’m here I started cutting again and started to hate my self more and more every day every minute every second I’m terrified and scared and I hate myself and I want to kill myself and I just want to die I just want to it all to end I hate it I can’t sleep I’m scared I’m paranoid I’m not even sure how to end this but maybe with a question...
what if you were asked” where are you gonna go live with a rapist or with your brother so he can rape you too” by your significant other what would you do?
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I don't know if anyone actually read my blog entries. But I have returned for the first time in a year or two.... what has my life been like.... well the super amazing guy I would write about ended up being abusive and the relationship ended thankfully. But after him, I was SA again. Not by my ex but by a guy who I thought was a good guy. We got a little too drunk (at least I did) and he did not listen to the word no. This was a week after I started college. Luckily this guy did not go to my college but... it was a bad way to start off the school year. After that incident I would drink Friday and Saturday nights in order to forget the incident and to be free from my mind....that plan was a bad one... I ended up stopping that habit two months after because I learned it was unhealthy. Luckily I do not have as bad as flashbacks anymore and I'm learning day by day how to deal with it. I also learned what was causing my seasonal depression. A very low vitamin D deficiency. This is a year, after I was raped I now am suffering more from dealing with the guilt of the assault and with depression on top of school work.
I have been feeling so alone, no one else in my life understands what am I going through, I am scared to tell my therapist. I just feel alone......just me against my own thoughts trying to battle them by myself and I normally do an amazing job at battling the feelings but there are times when I just feel alone, like I'm drowning and there are too many thoughts happening at once that I slowly sink lower and lower till it all the way at the bottom with no way to get up. and I have to try and swim myself back up but its a struggle. I don't know if I'm going to make this blog a regular thing or not.
But if anyone feels the same way, leave a comment or message me and let me know how you cope with depression feelings and if you ever feel alone.
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When I sleep with a man, I close my eyes. I do everything I can to make it be over if it starts taking him too long. I do this even when its my decision and I came on to him; but it always feels wrong. The sweating grosses me out, the body hair, the awkward humping like he thinks he's rocking your world when all he's really doing is drying my out and causing awful friction. When I close my eyes, I don't have to see him anymore, and it separates me from the situation. I wondered when I started doing that; coming onto guys and then waiting for it to end.
When I was 16, my first boyfriend Parker took my virginity. Like most embarrassed teenage girls I couldn't look then, either. Then I got comfortable, and eventually I was confident enough to look, to take control, to fuck him back. It was all we ever did when we were together, which the horny teenager in me didn't mind a bit. But then weeks passed, and months. We were still only fucking. Not just once, but at least two times every day. I would go see him every day, pick him up, bring him home with me. Let him fuck me as much as he wanted, and then take him home again. It became routine, to let him have what he wanted even if I didn't feel like it. If I said no, he would keep asking. So I let him. When I couldn't stand him anymore, I ended it.
He was the first boy I ever slept with, and he used me like a sex doll. And I let him. I gave him what he wanted, because isn't that easier than fighting it?
I think that really created the foundation for other men to take advantage of me. Never by force, but coercion. If they tried enough, I would let them. If I knew that was what they wanted from me, I gave it to them. Again, and again, and again. Sometimes, it was drugs that convinced me. Or alcohol. Or both. They would get me fucked up and then I was even easier to convince. Friend gets me molly, and suddenly a little touching isn't as big of a deal. We're tripping on shrooms together, and the harmless back massage travels to my ass, and I allow it. Give me some painkillers, and I'll take my best friend's virginity. More painkillers, I let you do anal. Some acid and coke, I let you spit in my mouth and call me a w**re. At the time, maybe it even felt good. Maybe I wanted to do it, too.
But I didn't want to, not really. I wanted the drugs, to feel better for just a while. I wanted the attention, because loneliness hurts almost as much. It was always him that wanted to. The dozens of hims that I barely remember or remember all too well; I knew what they wanted from me, what every guy always wanted from me, and I let them have it because it seemed like the only thing left of me to give. So I didn't fight, I just closed my eyes. In a way, so did they, because no one ever seemed to notice how much I was cutting myself back then.
After a while, I tried to get better. I'd stopped being as reckless, tried to find someone that didn't think of me as a nice piece of ass to destroy. Tried to take better care of myself, and tried to push back the memories of all the things I let other people do to me. And I was doing alright, for a short while. I had just started taking klonopin for my anxiety, and had no idea how strongly it would interact with something to drink. I was on a tinder date, and between the two of us we finished the bottle. He was handsome, and older, and I was trashed. I got on top of him, kissed him hard. When I started to take off my clothes, and he politely slowed it down, then left. Told me maybe next time.
Bet you we're expecting that; neither was I. I'd never had a guy turn down sex with me before. I was ripe for the taking, but he knew I was too drunk. He was the first respectful guy I'd ever come across.
But then, I invited over my friend, Max. We had also met on tinder, but I hooked up with him roommate a few times and had made it abundantly clear that I was only interested in being friends. It wasn't that he was a bad guy or anything, but for the love of Christ his teeth were so repulsive, the thought of kissing him made me gag.
So there we were, me already half blackout drunk, Max having his first drink while pouring me another. I told him all about how I'd just had the most wonderful date, and that we were going to see each other again soon. We chatted and drank and then I noticed how he was looking at me. How he was always looking at me. Then, I kissed HIM. There's a lot I don't remember about that night, parts that got left out because of the drugs. That, I do remember. I kissed him first. I still blame myself for that.
See, when you get drunk while also on a benzo like xanax or klonopin, you don't black out entirely. At least, I didn't. While I was drunk, I was there, experiencing everything. It was only the next day that parts were missing, blurred out like someone didn't erase them properly. There were also parts that, for the life of me, I couldn't stop remembering. Images were playing through my mind over and over. Me kissing him, me leading us to my room. Him pushing my head down to blow him, it chocking me. Then it was me, laying on my stomach with him behind me. I was too fucked up to do anything but lay there, too dizzy to move. I remember how much it hurt, how aggressively he forced himself into me over and over again. I remember him spanking me, and how humiliating it was. When the worst part happened, when he decided to take his too big c*ck and force it in my ass, I remember my face in the pillow, eyes clenched shut, almost screaming, my hand grabbing the blankets for dear life. I don't remember how it ended, or much of anything after that, except that I kept laying there, staring straight ahead, and tears hitting the pillow.
He slept over, and the next morning, I made excuses about having to be somewhere soon and that he needed to leave. I went back to bed, in shock, and just cried. All day, I cried. Then, I decided to fight. I fought with him, over text, furious that he'd taken advantage of me when I had been so drunk, fresh off a date, after I had been so clear that I never wanted anything like that from him. I told his roommate, my friend, but he wasn't on my side. Said Max told him we were both drunk, that I kissed him first, that I wanted it to happen, but regretted it. Person after person I told, no one was on my side. Except for my roommate; he had been in his room, and heard all of it. I still think about how it must have damaged him, being a witness to something he couldn't stop.
28 days from now it will be a full year since I attempted suicide.
I never make it to the one year mark; for three years I've come within a month or two but then relapse in the worst ways. It's like all the cuts I didn't make were building up until the pressure was so great that one touch of a blade to my skin left a devastating wound.
The boy I had been on a date with that night stayed with me through the entire winter. I don't know if I could have made it without him. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but it was the worst time.
I rearranged my room, made everything look different. I will never put my bed back in the spot by the window, because that's where it happened. I could never lay in that bed there again, knowing that's where my face had been buried in the pillow. For a while, everything was really difficult. Then I buried it deep and soldiered on, because there are always so many other things to worry about. After a while, and after being cut off by that group of friends, I moved on with my life.
Then I started a new job, and he was there. He asked the boss to never schedule us on the same nights, because he couldn't stand to be around me, because I made HIM uncomfortable. He played the victim, telling all his friends I went crazy after coming on to him and all sorts of lies. He had his life, his friends, and I had panic attacks in the bathroom. My skin crawled when I saw him. People would say his name in conversation and I thought I was going to be sick. I couldn't keep working like that, and I couldn't quit the job, so I told someone. A manager asked what was wrong, so I told him. Nothing happened. I told the girls I worked with, and turned out, I wasn't the only one. Not one, but TWO other girls had been his friend, partied together, gotten way too shit faced, and woke up next to Max. Apparently, that was just "what he does". He targets women that can't say no. One of the other girls talked to a different manager with me, and still, nothing happened. Every feeling from that night came back into my life and I kept remembering my face in the pillow, the pain. No one did a thing to help me, no matter how many times I asked.
I eventually was fired from that job after having a panic attack that sent me home during a busy shift. Fired because I was raped, and no one would help me.
I think about how many other girls hes done this to, how many more there are to come. I want to report it, I want to put him away so he can't hurt anyone ever again. There are THREE that I know of, but even if they did come forward with me, who would believe us. Girls getting too drunk, having sex, regretting it. How do you call it rape if you didn't say no, if you didn't fight him off? My name, all of our names, would get dragged through the dirt. They would call us slutty, reckless, paint a picture of drug addicts and mental cases until no one took us seriously. And all that, for my family to witness?
There is no justice for people like me, like the other girls. We elect rapists into our Supreme Court and then are asked why it is we didn't come forward sooner, say something when it happened.
And besides, I kissed him first, remember? I kissed him first because since I was 16 years old, the world taught me to just give men what they wanted from me, that it was easier that way. How do you explain that to a court? To your friends? Your family?
The most ironic part is, I'm gay. And when I'm with a girl, I keep my eyes wide open, and I never want it to end.
You taught me so much I wish I hadn't learned.
You taught me that caring is weakness, that trust will be betrayed, that vulnerability will be preyed upon.
You taught me to hide, to guard, to pretend instead of letting people see, instead of sharing how I feel.
You taught me to doubt, you taught me to be wary, cautious, and mistrusting.
You taught me that good things can't last, that people will let you down, will choose their own comfort over others safety.
You taught me that love is a liability. A contest, a battle with winners and losers, a costume, an illusion to use for your own gain and then toss away.
You taught me to hate myself, to never see the good and to focus on my faults.
I'm unlearning all of these lessons.
One by one.
I'm learning to replace them with my own experiences - to give people the chance, to give myself more chances, to prove you wrong.
Your lessons are not true. Your teachings are false. And you don't have the power to make me believe any more lies.
I don't understand why people keep living. I don't get it. I don't know why they do things or why they enjoy things. I enjoy nothing. I'll have a brief moment of respite only for it to come back again. Just this horrible feeling like my insides are rotting away and I'm slowly dying. Life isn't worth living like this but I'm too afraid to kill myself. I wish I could. I feel like i would be better off. Life is just too hard. I don't really believe that things get better. I think they can but life's problems and difficulties never really go away. Especially for people who don't have money it's even harder. And i don't think this pain inside over what's been done to me and how the world is and how screwed up people are it'll never truly go away. I'm having to carry a burden that feels to heavy to bear. And i have no one to really talk to about this. Even on here I still feel alone and isolated. People respond to my post and then that's it. Im back to being alone again. It's all just pointless.
And i don't trust anyone. I've seen what passes as normal these days I honestly want nothing to do with anyone. And people are just so hateful and there are so many double standards and so much hypocrisy. I feel exhausted by it all. And my brain never stops I just obsess and over analyze everything, it never stops. I'm sick of it.
I want to die.
I am so very excited that I found out that you can post blogs on this website! I have wanted to start a blog for quite a while but I never knew the right place to start or where to post it. I wanted to start this as a way to help people when they are too afraid or ashamed to reach out. For some people, healing doesn't come by telling your story, but by reading the stories of those that came before you and survived the pain you think will never end. I'm hoping that by sharing my life in all it's craziness, that it can help someone see the light again.
So let me start by telling you a bit about myself. My name is Alexis and I live in the USA. I was born and raised in the same state that I currently live in. I love to make music, sing, and read. I also enjoy Netflix and french fries. I have two sisters - one older and one younger. I have a beautiful niece and a cute little doggo. In school, I was into theater and art (although, I'm really not that talented when it comes to art - I just think it's fun!). I love to bake cakes and cupcakes and I watch a lot of Food Network baking shows. I currently work full time as a Personal Banking Representative at a financial institution that I've worked at for almost 3 years.
Now for the more serious stuff.. I was raped by a stranger who may have drugged me. I am not going to go into detail at this time, but I may do that in a later blog entry. I struggled for a long time with self-blame and wondering what I did wrong. I have spent lots of time in therapy and worked through a lot and I feel like I am on a good road to recovery. I still have good and bad days, but I am prepared to open my heart and share that with all of you. This has already been such a long, hard road and I know that I still have a long way to go on my road to healing, but I am doing my best and learning so much along the way.
I would also like everyone to know that my inbox is ALWAYS open for everyone. Please do not hesitate to reach out if you have questions or need support or just want a friend. I hope in the near future, that I can shed some light to your lives and bring you some joy.
Thank you for reading and I look forward to taking you with me on this journey we call life.
Take care, friends.
It has been some time since my last blog entry. My therapist noticed somehow in the last few months, after 18 years of therapy with him, I was somehow getting better. That I had told him more about my grandfather's sexual abuse as a child in the last few months then I had in the entire 18 years he had known me. He took no credit, my psychiatrist took no credit. I think It all boils down to activity in this site. I have opened up for the first time. And though it's just typing, I know there are warm people actually reading it. I started a dream journal, and a journal to talk to my alters. The effect of which was me meeting my alters in dreams often, having so many dreams of importance. I recognized they were of some importance, but it wasn't until I brought it to my therapist, who until this point really had no interest in dreams, that he was able to just immediately, BAM, make total sense of them. They then happened more often and more and more was coming out of my subconscious.
While my psychiatrist kept insistent caution I could cause more damage than good, my therapist was ecstatic. Kind of pointing things out which made me come to realize that we had to wait these 18 years not for me to be ready, but for the alter that dealt with all the trauma to decide it was time bring some of the memories of the abuse to my consciousness. She was the one bringing those dreams and memories forward. It was her that decided it was time to start healing. She was finally ready.
I had an odd dream, the last that I can recall. As my drs, and psychiatrist leaving, mother( who I am the primary caregiver for) is dying of cancer, and now my dad has inoperable kidney cancer, has caused me to go back on the high dose of my meds, essentially cutting off my dreams. The dream was 2 men came to the alter(Anna) that deals with trauma and took her away to fulfill some destiny. She was to become death to either some future or some past event. Myself and some other of the alters fought to keep her but we were no match to what took her. It felt like she was borrowed. The idea that she was coming back one day was there, but I have had no significant dreams since that dream. I hope this isn't the end. I need her around to control the flood gates. Without her, nothing new gets to me.
I grew up with my mom. She grew up in a family that never showed emotion, never hugged, and she raised us that way. Since her diagnosis, I decided we are NOT going out that way and a minimum of one hug per day. She is finally opening up. I was not the only sexually abused child. Apparently, it runs in the family. In fact it seems to have run rampant in my family. It's sad. I'm sorry she had to endure this as well. apparently, my brother too, who I always had issues with was caught abusing a cousin, which makes me wonder about the mass of missing memories when I was young with him.
I don't know if I should put therapy off until moms passed on, but I don't see me able to deal then, and then my therapist will retire and I will have lost every single piece of my support system. I had read somewhere to live life because there will always be some crisis going on... life sure has been that way my whole life.
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I am a survivor of sexual violence and this is my story!
I was born and raised in beautiful British Columbia, Canada. I am a product of divorce and I have one brother, a half sister and a step brother. I was a happy child until I was 7 years old......
When I was 7 years old my great uncle started following me into my grandmas basement where I would play on her computer. He would sit beside me with his hands down my pants pretending to help me play games.. He would never say anything while he molested me... Not a word it just happened..or maybe he did talk to me and I just blocked it all out.... When he would hear someone coming down the stairs he would pull his hands out of my pants and tell me he would be right back... I hated being down there with him and after a while I gained the courage to stay upstairs when visiting my Grandma so the molestation would stop. When my Grandma asked why I didn't want to go down stairs anymore I told her that Uncle was creepy. She told me that he was mentally challenged and that he would never do anything to hurt me. Boy was she wrong!!! Turns out my great uncle molested my mother when she was younger as well. After the abuse he started asking me for hugs I never wanted to touch him, but my Grandma would insist and I did not want to disappoint her.
When I was 10 years old my Uncles girlfriend who was 19 years old at the time use to babysit me and my brothers. She was such a cool person until she started making us watch porn and look at dirty magazines. It was the weirdest porn too! She would google Simpsons porn and Disney porn thinking that since we were kids we would like it better. At first I thought to myself "right on she is so cool letting us watch this sort of thing!" But eventually it started to make me feel very uncomfortable. Thank goodness my older step brother told my dad and we were never allowed over there again. It was such a relief!!
At the age of 12 I had a crush on my step brothers best friend. I wanted him to like me so bad, but one day when he slept over he snuch into my room and he sexually violated me when I was sleeping. He started rubbing my vagina and fondling my chest. It woke me up, but I froze and pretended to sleep. I am so ashamed that I never stopped it. I was scared that if I woke up he would get into trouble and he would not be allowed to hang out with my brother. The same thing happened to me by my neighbor a few months after when I was at sleepover party. He tried to put his hands down my pants when I was sleeping, but this time I woke up and was able to stop him. Now that I look back at the situation I consider it a small victory and a glimpse of what ever self respect I had left at the time.
By 13 I trusted no one in my life because everyone close to me either betrayed me by letting people molest me after I told them what happened or they tried to exploit and abuse me themselves.
When I would visit my dad on weekends my stepmother would continuously tell me that I dressed too provocatively, I looked like a sl*t, I was going to be promiscuous and become just like my mother. All the negative comments took a toll on my self esteem, I became depressed and started to act just like my mother.
Let me tell you a little about my mother: She was the product of incest. Her mother and her father where cousins. She was molested as a child and she was criticized everyday at school for being inbred. One night to numb her pain she got so wasted that she blacked out and ended up cheating on my father. They divorced when I was 5 years old. The divorce was the straw that broke my mothers back. She began to drink like a fish, do drugs heavily and sleep with anyone who would give her the time of day. There was always creepy men in our house. One day my mom met a man who beat her to a pulp and then raped her while her children were in the house. She charged him and he went to jail. He was sentenced to 2 years in jail. I remember the day she was assaulted and I remember the day the police called her to let us know he was back on the streets. I never felt safe anywhere after he was released.
After her assault and rape she met a man online. She took us to Vancouver Island where I was forced to babysit 5 kids at the age of 12 in a strange house and place that I knew nothing about. That night they went to the bar and the house I was babysitting in was robbed. To protect the children in the house I hid us all in a room upstairs locked the door and turned off the lights. After about an hour of rummaging through the house the robbers left. When my mom and the man got back she was so drunk that she could barely stand. The man took her upstairs and I could hear them having sex.
When I turned 13 years old I met this a girl my age on a trip to see family. She introduced me to two 19 year old boys. While they where at the place I was staying one of the boys stole $300 from my suitcase with out me knowing. They ended up using my money to buy drugs and alcohol. I wanted to numb the pain I felt inside so I decided to get drunk! We hitched hike to an old school bus that the boys converted into a house. While we were there I was almost raped by one of the 19 year olds, but luckily I was spared and he only put his hands down my pants. My friend wasn't as lucky and the other boy raped her in front of us. In the morning the boys kicked us out of the bus and made us hitch hike home alone and hungover. When we arrived back to the place I was staying at I discovered that all my hard earned money was gone and I had to phone my mom to tell her I was robbed. I left everything else out knowing I was in the wrong and that it was my fault that this had happened to me.
I ended up losing my virginity at 14 years old to a 18 year old boy who pressured me into having sex with him. We had sex in my Grandmas house when she was at Bingo. He didn't tell me he had a girlfriend at the time. He lied to both of us by telling her I was his cousin and telling me she was his cousin. He took both our virginities that summer and I regret giving it to him because he didn't deserve it.
As soon as I turned 15 I started lying about my age telling boys that I was 17 years old so that I was allowed to consent to sex. I believed that lieing about my age some how made me feel better about myself. I honestly didn't know what normal behavior of a 15 year old girl was suppose to be. I just thought sex was normal and that's all I was good for. That's all anyone ever wanted from me.
I was desperately looking from love in all the wrong places. Thinking that if I found it I would feel whole again. When I moved in with my Grandmother at 15 I met a boy my age and we were together for 6 years. We were both young and raised by dysfunctional families. His mom was a crack dealer and her boyfriend was a very scary man. He once held a lady hostage with a shot gun in the basement while we where in the house. Eventually the Emergency Response Team caught wind and they raided the house, but instead of treating us like victims when they broke down the door they pointed guns in our face, tackled me to the ground and drug me through the snow with no shoes on. At the time I was only 16 years old. I didn't even know what was going on in the house. From that moment on I couldn't trust the police to protect me. They treated me like I was the one holding that lady hostage when in reality I had no idea until after the fact. They kept me in a cell and refused to feed me or let me talk to anyone until I told them what happened in the basement.
When I was 19 years old we had a beautiful baby daughter. Her father told me to get an abortion and told me he never wanted to have kids. From that moment on the relationship was doomed as we were not ready for this much responsibility. The stress of having a child lead to our break up a year later. A week after the break up I decided to go to the bar to look for a rebound. Little did I know I was going to receive the rebound that could have ended my life. I was date raped by two men who drugged my drink. They took me from the bar and then brutally raped me in the middle of no where in a trailer on a mountain. One of the men strangled me until I would black out and hit me in the face while yelling at me to pee on him. I tired to, but couldn't. He threw me in a shower and started spraying me in the face with water. I tried to give him what he wanted so that he would stop hurting me, but I couldn't. He turned the water off, spit in my face and left the room. His friend entered the room after he left, pulled me out of the shower and raped me as well. When they were done with me I didn't know what to do, I was so traumatized. In a panic I decided to put my clothes back on and I walked over to the first guy, gave him a hug and told him "I had a great time." It was the hardest thing I ever had to say. But by doing that they decided to drove me into town where they left me to find my way home. It took me forever to find out where I lived. I never told anyone what happened to me. The next weekend I was out with friends and I saw the same two men who raped walk into the bar. I froze and the flashbacks started!
I felt lost, discouraged and I didn't know what to do with my life. I became so severely depressed from being raped and abused most of my life that I made the awful decision to sell my body. I felt as if this was the only way that I could support my daughter and my alcohol addiction while coping with the trauma. My self worth was at an all time low as I started meeting men online without anyone knowing. I figured that the sexual abuse in my life was never going to stop, so I decided I might as well give them what they wanted and make some money doing it! During this time I was introduced to MDMA and Cocaine. It numbed my pain and I formed a bad habit. I told myself I would never do drugs, but I also didn't think I would ever be molested as a child and raped as a woman. My life was spiraling down hill and no one knew... I was so good at pretending everything was okay. I had to be strong for my daughter and the people around me. Everyone thought my life was perfect, but it was far from!
While online I met many men who tried to coax me into pornography. They wanted to exploit me in any way they could. I kept refusing and promised myself that I would never go on film for my daughters sake. It was one of the best and hardest decisions that I ever made in my life. One of the men who tried to exploit me on film forced an object inside of my body when we were high on MDMA and I had to get it surgically removed. The man wouldn't even take me to the hospital after I begged him to. I had to call a so called friend to take me to the hospital to have it removed. My friend eventually raped me a few weeks after the incident when I was passed out in a hotel room during my friends birthday party. When I woke up the next morning I knew that I had sex and I asked him if it was with him. He said " Yes, I thought it was okay because we are friends"
at 23 I was recruited by a pimp to join a brothel located in Kelowna, BC where he made me and numerous other girls sell our bodies to anyone who entered into the building. I was raped 4 times while working there and watched other girls endure the same abuse. I was also beaten, robbed and mentally abused by the girls, clients and the man running the brothel.
By this point in my life I was completely broken and wanted to end my life. I considered suicide numerous times. I tried cutting myself and overdosing, but I just could not follow through with it. I had a daughter to live for! She meant everything to me and I wanted to break the cycle for her!
Luckily I did not kill my self because when I turned 24 years old I met the man of my dreams. We fell deeply in love and he promised that he would protect me from all the toxic people who ever hurt me in my life. He made every one go away! I was able to get out of prostitution immediately with his help, but with leaving came a price. I was being sexually harassed for wanting out. Men would send videos they took of without know and they would message my husband saying things like "how could you marry a good for nothing hooker" ,"I hope you know who she use to be" they would threaten my life and the lives of people I loved. One man hunted my Grandmas address down and told me that I owed him sex for money he gave me to help pay my bills and if I didn't give it to him he was going to her house to hurt her. The stalking lasted for quite awhile and I could't understand why thee men would not let me go!
6 months after meeting the man of my dreams we were married. He continues to protect me from the demons of my past and he has taught me how to love and respect myself. Recovery is a hard road because I feel that I don't deserve to be happy or treated with dignity and respect. My road to recovery comes with a lot of baggage and it strains our relationship from time to time, but I let him know everyday how much he means to me and that I don't ever want to ever lose him! We now have a beautiful baby daughter together and he is an amazing step father to my first daughter. He has now made me feel worthy of self love and respect and we continue to grow together.
I struggle everyday with the psychological, Physical and emotional effects my sexual trauma has caused. I still try to numb the pain with alcohol from time to time, but it makes my symptoms worse. Slowly I have quit drugs and now only smoke pot to help relieve my anxiety and depression. I have never talked to a professional nor have I ever shared my story because I am afraid to be judged and unloved. I feel that no one will believe what I have been through and they will think I brought this lifestyle on myself. For the record I did not choose to be raped, I did not choose be abused as a child and I did not I did not choose the consequences of this trauma and how it effected my ability to love myself . But I did choose to be a warrior! It is not an easy road, but it is sure in the hell better then the road I was on.
I hope to one day live a sober life, so that I can feel free from the pain of the past... Volunteering has made a big difference in my life and I have volunteered for Lyme disease, the womens shelter, cancer, the city parade, the womens coalition, Christmas food hamper, youth groups and many other not for profit organizations. Giving back to my community has made a huge impact in my recovery and I am so grateful to have the opportunity to help others in their time of need. One day I plan to create a youth program ran by survivors that will teach children how to use their voice when someone tries to abuse them in any way. It will offer a place for children to turn to when they have no where else to go or when no one believes their story. I want to call the program H.O.M.E ( Healing Our Minds Everyday)
It has been almost 5 years since my abuse ended and I am now 29 years old. Ever since high school it was my dream to plan events and I have finally achieved that goal! My occupation is office manager and events coordinator of a successful family resort. This milestone would never have been reached without the support from my amazing husband, the love of my daughters and my will to survive!! I get to live the life I've always dreamed and I honestly would not change a thing. All the trauma and all the pain has made me who I am today!
When you are in the midst of experiencing abuse and trauma you never believe it is going to get better and the violence becomes normal. I cannot be more grateful for my guardian angels who watched over me during my early years. They sent me my husband just in the nick of time! I would not be here today if he did not come along and teach me how to love myself.
My goal is to help shed light on the ugly truth that sexual violence is more common then you think. I want to help other survivors end their silence by sharing my story in detail! The longer you stay silent the longer you will take to heal. The more we talk, the louder we will become and the louder we are the more people will listen!
Thank you for taking the time to read my story! I am so grateful to be here today to share it with you all!