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survivor122509

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  1. I'm going through one of those moments where I can't breathe. My boyfriend touched me when I was against the wall and I broke down, crying, begging on my knees for him to stop. He touched my side. That was it. I don't know what to do. My nightmares are back. I haven't had one of my night terrors yet, but I am just as affected. I want to crawl into a hole and die. I continue to remember the phrase: One wrist for attention, two for results. No matter how much I tell anyone that I am a survivor, I still feel like a victim. I haven't survived anything. I am still in hell and only after it has comp
  2. SO! As some of you may know, two of my brothers were responsible for me when I was raped, but they were both gone when it happened. My brother J, the older one, finally apologized yesterday. After almost 6 years, he told me he didn't want to believe that something like that could've happened to me on his watch. I hadn't done anything with him, just he and I, since he joined my brother A and called me a liar. I took him out yesterday for his birthday and spent a bunch of money on him because he never gets anything new. He supports his family, but no one supports him. All his extra money goes to
  3. This entry is going to explain why I chose Eternal Misery to be the name of my blog. There are actually a few reasons why. The first big reason: I don't believe in hope. I know that's probably a big problem with some people, but hope has never gotten me anywhere in life. I believe that hope breeds eternal misery. Every time I have hoped or prayed, nothing ever happened. What really took the cake was laying there, being raped and hoping that it was a dream. Hoping that my brothers would walk in and save me. Hoping that they would believe me when I told them. It wasn't a dream. My brothers did N
  4. I honestly don't know what to do about my boyfriend anymore. He knows that I was raped and that I am not good with a lot of touching. I cannot be touched on my stomach or my sides because of this rape. I don't like taking off my shirt and showing people my stomach or my scar from the knife on my hip. I don't like being carried. He just won't understand that part. He wants so badly to break me of that. I don't want the pain of trying. I want him to give that up. I don't like being off the ground in ANYONE'S arms. We aren't planning to have sex, which is wonderful right now, but he keeps doing t
  5. Thank you so much! I will take you up on that offer when I need someone! It's easier to speak to someone that I can relate to. It's hard not to be able to talk to my soulmate about it, but he doesn't understand why it would affect me so bad. Thank you, though! I appreciate the support. *X*O* GABMC
  6. I haven't posted in a while, but I just wanted to quickly give a list for advice...if you are a rape victim: TELL SOMEONE - Make your voice heard. You have one and it is damn sure louder than the abuser. PRESS CHARGES - I understand that some people are not able to. It can be too intimidating or too scary. But if I was given the chance to go back and get justice, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I regret not doing it. I live with the guilt of him possibly going out and doing it to someone else and I wish I would've done something. FIGHT LIKE HELL - NEVER GIVE UP! You make sure that you sta
  7. I have never told anyone the full story until this post. My soulmate has no idea of all of the details, but he knows more of them than anyone. I think that you had to do what you did or else he could have potentially hurt you for not being into it. You were drunk, you could not legally consent. You were also stimulated, but that is your body's response. Your body has no idea of what is going on to you, just that it's supposed to give that reaction during that type of activity, even if you don't want it to, such as sweating while exercising. Memories increase over time, you start to remember mo
  8. After my rape, I refused to go back to stay with my brother. I wouldn't look or speak to anyone. I stayed in my room all the time and grew more and more depressed. When I had to go to school, I stared out the window, wondering how long it would take me to get to the ground if I ran right through the window. Would I die when I ran through the glass? Would I die during the fall? Or would I die when I hit the ground and made a disgusting, but satisfying splat? I even asked if that was the way to do it. I didn't want to attract any more attention to myself. I was one of the popular girls in my sch
  9. In the beginning, I was naive. I didn't listen to anything my parents would tell me about safety because I just knew that nothing bad would ever happen to me. My mom would always grab me and hold me before I walked out the door. "Come back to me in one piece." She would always tell me. I always brushed it off. I was too special to be one of those kids. I would always make it home. I made it through years of carelessness and foolishness. My favorite holiday growing up was Christmas. All of my siblings would get together with their kids and spouses and we would just have a ball. My dad would co
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