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Found 26 results

  1. Hello

    Hi everyone, I am here as a woking single mother, a survivor of rape, domestic violence and physical assault. Somethings are clear, and some are still a little unclear. I would like to express my thoughts and feelings here in safe environment.
  2. Finding Me

    A brand new story. Telling the story of the move from Denver Colorado to Homestead Florida. Please read "Finding Me" https://www.perpetuallyhealing.com/2019/…/finding-me-47.html#redirecttheshame
  3. Love of my life

    The waves crash against the dock as I watch the sun set. I breathe in the fresh year and think that I finally found my home. My heart has belonged to the lake since I was a baby. I’ve never felt safer at any place in my life. Whenever things get rough, the pictures I worked so hard on bring me back to the ground. The orange-yellow sky as I sit on a bench by the shore. The people walking their dogs or holding hands with significant others fade. The only thing I see is the water, reflecting everything around me. I’m in love. The lake is the strongest love I’ve ever experienced. Every moment I’m not there is wasted. I think about it constantly, the memories of past visits playing in my mind like a movie. My father walking in after a two-hour bike ride, ready to eat the dinner prepared by his parents. The taste of corn on the cob we had nightly still lingers in my mind. Watching the boats pass by with my family, still whole. The day my world fell apart tainted the lake just a little, but nowhere near as tainted as the place I lay my head tonight. Seeing my sister fall, seeing her give up and watching as she puts herself back together leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. His face in my face as he takes everything I never gave him, as he shatters me, colors everything I touch in this dead-end state. His tooth gap haunts every thought. The lake calls as all of this floats in my mind. It calls me every day, asking me to return to its warm embrace. I think of the freedom I will soon feel. I think of the new memories I will make; all the things I’ll accomplish away from the darkness I feel now. I never knew one place could carry so much. I never realized that I could find a forever home, one that I found before I needed it. I feel the water on my feet, as I stand looking out at the mountains, smiling and feeling the weight of the world leaving my shoulders. I have carried so much for so long. It is finally time to feel the lightness I’ve so desperately desired. His hands will never cross my mind again, his knife will no longer twist in my side. The self I lost will always remain lost, but I will finally start over. I will finally rebuild my life, in the place that has been calling. The waves crashing against the dock are the voice bringing me home. It’s time to listen to their call. I’m finally going home.
  4. Notice: Deliberately vague in specific areas for the purpose of anonymnity where you may find yourself in similar situations I received a phone call later in the evening on Thursday asking if I'd participate in our normal Friday evening activities. Would I be willing... That I cannot handle at the moment, because I do not have a full grasp of the ancient language fluidly enough not to freeze in front of everybody. I'm easing into this which under normal circumstances is out of everyone's comfort zones. It's not at all that I'm a perfectionist - we have a tendency to critique the delivery of this portion. I don't want to have PTSD stage fright and mess up everything else that should follow with other people. It is the uncertainty of inner conflict. If anxiety flares because I know my language skills in this arena are at the extreme novice level, I can prepare for this in the future. That is why I attend classes weekly as an adult. I'm making up for decades of lost time. What I was capable of doing without freaking out I had done before. Yes, please put me on the program for that. In a perfect world, which I know is never the case... changes were made on the fly. I was happy to do the changes even though it said something entirely different in print on the program. So, as our kind, tender, sage fearless leader came to me about the reading I asked him to gently prod with the nod of his head so I didn't mess this up or freak out. He smiled. He did just that. I also wasn't missing all other participants and their roles because I was assured and comforted beforehand. I heard everything instead of focusing on just my small part. That is what generally happens when I am uncertain and afraid. I focus on "my stuff" and miss everything else. This time... was different because I unwittingly asked for help and guidance! When my name was called, I exited the aisle and walked confidently to the podium. I drew in a quick breath and exhale as I picked up the microphone. My hands did not tremble as I held the program in the left from which I was to begin reading. Fluidly and clearly I read at an even pace these deep and meaningful words that are so beautiful. Slowly, my other training in broadcast media came back and I read the sentences ahead and was able to speak them back to the audience while making eye contact. These four paragraphs are about loss, good-byes, remembrances, love and memories. It speaks of not having to say good-bye but thanks because in our hearts and minds this... never leaves us. I was speaking... fluidly, cogently and eloquently for the love and memories of everyone in that place. Not just my own father. When I'd finished and walked back to my seat, a few others reached out their hands. And I knew... I had honored all of theirs -- flawlessly. WHERE FEAR CAME FROM Had I not had professional training to speak in very large groups in front of an auditorium decades earlier, none of this would have creeped into my mind. Not once. That training wasn't even my idea. It was a business environment and we were put through this exhaustive lengthy course because the business leaders in a different division believed technical teams were anti-social. "We did not speak the same language." The root of the anxiety was somebody else's opinion of me in a group --- and my obvious 'defects'. Those same business people had a tendency to call 24/7 and screaming when their stuff broke, so the capacity for me to do my job wasn't defective. They didn't like talking to tech people.
  5. Greetings. I'm new to the forum. Hoping to find closure after suppressing my feelings of anger and denial for some years. Living in hope that that day will come!
  6. If someone blames survivors or tell them "it couldn´t not that bad" I pray for him to become scilent, think it over and thank GOD for not being able to understand them..
  7. New here, still unsure...

    Hi everyone, I have no idea what to write, except I am in the process of healing. I don't know how to begin or what to say, but this is my first step to try and make sense of this world. I am hoping this is a safe place. Sorry about the lack of words... Just still unsure how to pick up the pieces...
  8. My Rape Story

    The night started in the local Rite-Aid parking lot. "If only I hadn't have used the restroom," I torment myself. the little things. I warmed up to them and we hit it off; they even joked about me joining their friend-group. After a while, the self-proclaimed ‘leader’of the group asked for my number. Innocently, I gave it to him. After making small talk with the boys for about an hour, I decided to head home. “What a cool crowd,” I thought. Shortly after arriving home, the boy–Simon–texted me and asked for my snap-chat. The conversation continued, which included his casual, light-hearted requests for nudes and my virginity confession. I didn’t overthink the sexual content; it’s typical teenage conversation. Plus, he said “LOL” like every other message. Soon the messages became about we still being ‘strangers’ and how we should hangout that weekend. I was excited! I wanted to expand my tiny social network. Eventually he invited me to his house that night, but I told him I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I didn’t think it was wise to go to stranger’s home, but I appreciated his hospitality. He offered to meet me at the neighborhood elementary school playground instead. “Sure, that’ll be chill! Lit, now I don’t have to be home alone on a Friday night,” I thought. I changed from my slacks and sweater into a black jacket over a black tank-top with blue jean shorts–appropriate dress for beautiful Southern California weather. I threw my hair in a messy bun, slipped on my flip-flops and grabbed my phone, keys and backpack with a water bottle. I said goodbye to my dog and headed out the door. “Just left!” I messaged Simon. In no longer than 5 minutes, I approached him sitting at the picnic benches, anxious as usual. I removed my jacket, set my things on the table, and sat down. He asked me if I wanted to tell anyone about this, and confused I replied, “Uh, I don’t know?” Before I knew it, he kissed me. Surprised, I kissed back, and he slipped his hands behind my butt. I was perplexed, but fine. In all honestly, I was flattered that he found me attractive enough to kiss me, and I was comfortable with making out with boys. I shyly touched his hair and he felt me up. I was still okay. But before I knew it he was tugging at and removing my clothes–first my shirt, then bra, then shorts and underwear at the same time–before undressing himself. He pulled my onto his lap and things went in a new direction. I was no longer okay. Immediately he rammed his fingers in me, quickly advancing to finger-banging with who knows how many fingers. All I knew was it hurt. I was too speechless to tell him to stop yet, so I insisted he be gentler and slow down, but with no reply he laid me on my back and I was submissive. I didn’t know what else to do. “This is happening. Okay, this is happening. You’re okay, Tiffani. You’re okay. Just be still,” the voice in my head repeated. I scanned for cameras on the building–none. I felt the cold metal against my bare skin and clenched my eyes. I should have left, but I didn’t know how. I should have fought harder, but I didn’t know how. I should have just let him do what he wanted, but I didn’t want to. Over the course of the next 25 minutes, Simon exercised power over me by ignoring my contentions and pleas. Anytime I moved, he repositioned my body the way he wanted: when I lifted my hips in a flinch, he pressed my pelvis flat on the bench. When he wanted to touch my torso, he lifted my arms from my side. When my legs bowed, he spread them. Simon continued thrusting his fingers in and out of me, ignoring my demands to be more careful. Still, I was fearful of what he might do if I protested more–even though I wanted to. I stared at the sky and drifted in a daze before I felt a massive amount of pressure and sharp pinching. I looked down and realized he was forcing his penis in me, which I did not consent to whatsoever. “No! No! No!” I argued, but he did not stop. Wait, is this sex? Am I having sex? Whatever this is, it hurts. I didn’t agree to this– how is this happening? Why did I come here? This isn’t supposed to be happening. I don’t like it. I want him to stop. “Stop!” “It’s okay,” he tried to solace me. His coercion ploy was to no avail: “No! Stop, stop. Please,” I begged. “Come on,” he insisted. “No! I’m saying no!” After however long, he pulled out and scowled at me. “Will you give me head at least?” he requested. Frustrated at my refusal, he yanked on the roots of my hair, jerking my neck forward. He was dominant over me, and he knew that as much as I did. He returned to aggressively jabbing at and twisting my insides. More finger-banging punctuated his grinding against my vulnerability. I closed my eyes and wondered how I could get out of this situation. My thoughts raced. “This can’t be the ‘R-word,’ is it?” My heart raced faster than my thoughts. “No. Rape happens behind dumpsters in dark alleys. No. Rapists are hooded men that lurk in the shadows. No way. Rape can’t happen to me–ouch!” He spread my labia and soon came that all-too-familiar pressure again. I opened my eyes and saw his naked body hovering over mine. Confused, scared, and overwhelmed, I resorted to more verbal denial and repeatedly demanded triplets of “stop; wait; don’t; no; I’m not ready,” but he only thrusted deeper. My words were not convincing enough, but I was too scared to be physically violent. I bowed my legs to obstruct his entry, so he spread them again. “Stop!” He tried to conciliate: “Just the tip, just the tip; come on, let me please.” Aw, what a gentleman. He said ‘please.’ “No, stop!” “Come on, just like it was before. You have to let me get the hard part over with.” “No, I don’t want you to!” “Okay, okay I’ll go slower.” My mind shrieked, but anxiety silenced my words. “No! That is not what I said. I told you to stop. I want you to take your penis out of me.” “Quit!” I protested sternly. There went that voice in my head again: “What does he think he’s doing? Why is he doing this!?” I wanted to leave; I wanted to go home; I wanted to get away from him. I wanted him to get off of me. More finger-banging. I lowered my hands to my pelvis to gain control. “Stop!” I said. “It’s not my di*k.” “whatever.” “I know. But I don’t care; you’re hurting me,” I said. Unrelenting, “It’s–,” he began. “No, don’t!” I plead. “It’s not ‘it‘” “I. don’t. care. Hell, you can’t even say what ‘it’ is,” my mind shouted. But I said nothing, because what more could I say? For the third and final time, he inserted his penis in me. I felt so helpless–so defeated. I stopped staring at the black, starless sky and watched his body thrust erratically. “He’s not wearing a condom!” my conscience reminded me. “Dammit, do something, Tiffani!” ‘Fight’ mode: on. I tensed up and sternly commanded, “No! You’re not wearing a condom!” My right hand pressed against his chest and my left pushed on his stomach. “What?” he asked, thrusting. “Stop! You’re not even wearing a condom!” I exclaimed. I wanted to fight, but I felt like all the power I had was to beg and try to push him off. I wanted to know what diseases he was giving me and how I was supposed to raise a child at 16. I wondered what I did to deserve this and what made him think this was okay. “No! Stop!” I demanded. I pushed harder on his torso but he didn’t budge. My hands pressed against his intimidating abs. He looked me dead in the eyes and initiated a series of pitiful persuasion: “It’ll feel good, I promise; I won’t cum; I won’t nut; it’s okay; I will pull out; I always pull out; you have to trust me.” The voice in my head groaned and ferried with questions. “Grrrr. Do I look like I am enjoying this? What does he mean, ‘I have to trust him’? I just met him! Will he ever stop? Am I still a virgin? Did I allow this to happen? Can he not–“ He interrupted my thoughts with collisions of his lips against mine. I closed my eyes and squirmed my face away from his. He thrusted against my persistent demands to stop. My legs quivered. “No, I can’t, I can’t! I’m sorry, I can’t! Stop!” I contended. “You can’t. You’re hurting me,” I whimpered. “It hurts the first time. You just have to get it over with,” he told me and crashed his lips into mine. Nevertheless, my mind submitted to reality. It became clear to me that he did not want nor need my permission: he was going to have sex with me whether I consented or not. I was no longer confused. I lost all consensus of time. I remember wondering if I were capable of making him stop hurting me, but I was so overwhelmed that I forgot it was an option to scream, scratch, kick, punch, or show any physical violence. And frankly, I was too petrified to. I laid there on the cold bench protesting and begging him to stop, flinching against his thrusts. I felt his cold hand pushing my pelvis down. After what felt like an eternity, my phone rang—I knew it was my mom’s text message. I asked him to read me the message since my phone was facing upright closer to him. He did: “Hi, be home in 15 min ” That was my excuse to leave. I told him I was worried about getting home, and he asked if I wanted to get dressed. I said yes, but I sat frozen. He quickly re-clothed, starting off almost immediately. He left me there on the bench, abandoned. I hated myself for idealizing his company, but it sounded better than sitting naked, abused at an empty school playground. I ceased my loathe and quickly redressed and grabbed my things. Nonplussed, all I could think to do was catch up to him to ask if he came. “I didn’t. I’ll text you tomorrow.” “What?” I thought to myself. This exchange of words was seriously confounding and left me to feel like he did not just rape me. “Well, did he know? Was I not clear enough? Did he enjoy that? Am I overreacting? Why does he think I want to hear from him again?” Trembling, I began my walk home with a flood of questions and concerns. I had no idea what to make of what happened, and I did not have time to think about it. I just knew I had to get home. “Ok! ,” I texted my mom back. On my way home I tried calling my friends out of state, but no one answered. Time zones made it too late. I decided I was not ready to decipher this alone, so I would block it from my mind. “It did not happen; that did not happen. It was not rape: it couldn’t be,” I convinced myself. I was on a mission: get to my condo on the second floor—may I add unrecognized—and prepare for my mom to get home. I unlocked the front door and blabbered nonsense to my dog as I rushed to the bathroom to pee, because my virgin research taught me to pee after sex to prevent UTIs. I was too afraid to inspect myself, but I cleaned the blood and discarded my clothes in a pile in the corner of my room. I went to the living room and sat on the couch, priming my stellar acting skills. I greeted my mom and put on a façade. She asked me what I did, and I lied. I asked her about her night in attempt to divert the attention to her. Luckily, it worked. For more than 24 hours, my mom thought I was entertaining myself with YouTube videos, when the truth was I was being raped. I woke the next morning after a restless night’s sleep in denial with an aching neck. I desperately needed some sort of closure, and the only way I could think to get that was through a friendly message from him. I thought it would reassure me that all was okay—that he was not a rapist and that I had not become a rape victim. But in reality, all was everything but ‘okay.’ I snap-chatted Simon twice, both opened but unanswered. I wanted to convince myself that that night had just been an ‘experience,’ not rape. So I blamed myself. “You cannot rape yourself,” I repeated. But the truth is, he raped me. But did he really? Yes, he did.
  9. Getting Started

    Hello! I'm brand new here. Nervous! I imagine everyone is when they first come here. I am happy to have found after silence. Really in need of a safe place to communicate with people who understand how confusing everything is. My therapist recommended this site and said I might be able to find some encouraging people here. Hoping to meet some of you and draw inspiration from your courage.
  10. This Christmas 2015, with a beautiful full moon and quiet consuming victory, will be burned into my memory for eternity. My healing goals include fulfilling my family karma and ending the inherent chain of abuse. To successfully achieve this goal I must slay multiple demons that thrive upon sucking my soul into their fiery bellies only to regurgitate sabotage and betrayal. This week alone I have slayed multitudes of the blood thirsty beasts crouched in venomous fury awaiting my next breath and calculated action. The demons I speak of dwell in the hearts of my poor family. Their device is to keep the family confused and acting upon ill thoughts of denial and infatuation with magnificent lies they hold in reverence. It has been nearly 45 years since my father raped me as an eleven year old child yet the damage done is ageless. My unconditional love for my family has only allowed them to manipulate a play designed to destroy my spirit and rob me of my life. Today, I have triumphed as a survivor with a cause and will not be silenced by their ignorant whining and protests. In this lonely much misunderstood journey, I have walked alone. The depth of my pain goes to the core and cannot be consoled by common healing avenues. My role is that of the warrior and I will rest only when all children are protected from abuse. When I was young, I tried to bury these ugly memories and behave with sweet complacency. My hope was that I was demented and the abuse did not really happen. I told myself that I was subhuman and was supposed to die in early childhood. I would cry for hours on end and quietly cut myself in places that no one else would see. I believed that I was living on borrowed time. I was sure that my parents secretly wished that they had aborted me so that none of this would come to light. When I was 15 my friend K. W. and I took a joy- ride in the Suburban. When dad caught me he beat me up while screaming how much I was like him and he was going to beat it out of me. I ran away for the night; I don't remember where I went. Mom knew that there was "something wrong with me" and attempted to understand the problem. She sent me to a child psychologist . Back in the 1970's receiving psychological help was stigmatized as a placebo for crazy weak people. I shut down in the therapist's office as soon as I saw the doll house and toys on the floor. I felt disrespected as a young adult and punished as if I were a child by the experience. My problems were much more grown- up than mom could ever imagine. The truth resurfaced when I was 16. Dad approached me in the kitchen as I was readying myself for my waitress shift at the pancake house. He said; "Dasi, I am sorry that I molested you that day in the orchard.". My face must have turned red from terror and fury at the realization that this ugly image and memory that I had tried so hard to forget really happened. I kind of feel sorry for him trying to make- up but, there is a long list of reasons why that is an unreasonable response on my part. One reason is that he actually legally raped me! He always tried to minimize the event and downright denied the multiple other accounts of fondling and abuse. I found myself caught in an endless cycle of self- loathing and self destructive behaviors for which I had no support system to aid in coping. I have confronted my father, my perpetrator twice in my life with unsatisfactory results each time. The first time was in a therapist's office with my first husband there to accompany me. I was pregnant with my one and only child and was ready to end the silence to assure the safety of my unborn baby. My father confessed only to the one count of csa but, not the multiple other counts of abuse. He did however go home afterward to use this information as a weapon to inflict punishment upon my mother. He told mom that he committed csa against me but, minimized it with, "She wanted it!". He then left mom and filed for divorce. Mom was devastated and suffered from severe depression for about 5 years after. Both dad and I knew that she could not handle knowing the truth. This is the very reason I stayed silent long past the statute of limitations. Meanwhile, I made my escape from this unsavory scene by fleeing 2 states away to California with my new family. I continued to attempt to have a "normal" relationship with both my parents and brother with annual visits up north. In the second confrontation I was in my late 30's. We were considering a visit up north. I would normally get suicidal before these trips. This time my suicidal thoughts were just too overwhelming for me to cope with the trip. I called dad crying and told him how truly self destructive it was for me to come visit him. I told him about all my sufferings and that he really actually owed me big time. He responded as predicted. He claimed that he had already paid enough with his own personal suffering over the ordeal. Funny- he never even did prison time like he should have nor had his life destroyed in any visible form. The only way that he could possibly back up such an outrageous claim would be if he had to suffer the ridicule of being a registered sex criminal. I knew that there was nothing that I could do legally at that point. In fact he was enjoying the benefits of the height of his career and certainly had no intention of sharing anything with the daughter he had wronged so deeply. The daughter that had obediently protected him, his career, and the family from the legal punishment and public humiliation which he so richly deserved. It was very difficult but, I realized that for my own survival, I must cut off all communication with my father. His mother and his third wife tried everything in their power to guilt me back into seeing him. They said that he was suffering terribly and that I was being cruel to abandon him this way. (They had no concern for the deep damage that his abuse had done to me!). We went up north the following year to visit mom and my brother's family. My brother and his wife told me how it was killing dad that I had cut him off from my life. We ended up getting into an argument about it and my brother finally called me a liar. He did not believe that dad raped me and ordered me out of his house. He told me to never return and so I did not for nearly 10 years. Since that day dad confessed to my brother as well, but always adds, "She wanted it!". Thereby brainwashing, manipulating, and minimizing the crime to all the people that he has "confessed" to. He never took responsibility for his criminal behaviors. It has been 20 years since I had last seen my father. My paternal grandmother died long ago. Cutting out my father meant that I sadly had to cut off grandma too. My brother and I have since attempted to have a reasonable friendly relationship. It has been awkward and quite uncomfortable at times. My father and brother have also had a very strained relationship in that 20 years and rarely ever saw each other. I had heard through the grapevine that dad has suffered several mini strokes over the past few years. I was informed that he had undergone a major personality shift and would really like to see me again. I have done much healing work on myself and was ready to have some closure with dad. I also want to protect any young people from being sexually assaulted by him. I came prepared for the worst and had done a lot of work- up with my therapist for this visit of redemption. I knew that this could be the final battle with uncertain results or maybe a new beginning with possibly much deserved retribution due to me. I was able to arrange a visit with dad and his current wife last weekend. He has had some mini strokes and has become as gentle as a kitten as a result. This only makes him even more dangerous to any children that he may be around. His mental illness has certainly not gone away as evidenced by the fact that he was checking out my breasts last Saturday. He obviously has never had self control and is only worse than ever now. It was nice to be able to have some quality time with him at his best. It is unfortunate that it required such a dramatic drop in his mental status to be able to have a pleasant time with him. He was normally always mentally abusive and toyingly mean. Now he cannot hold a train of thought long enough to be mentally tormenting anymore. He would attempt to tell me stories about people that I knew from our past but then quickly forget what he was talking about. We went out on the river and he complained of the cold. The man I used to know would never show such weakness even if his toes froze off from frost bite. He can still drive but got us all lost twice on the back roads. Again, he is an accomplished outdoors-man and never got lost on back roads before. All together we had a pleasant visit aside from me having a couple of short PTSD episodes from the experience. I have to be able to talk to his current wife about protecting her grandchildren from this man. She and I are only now getting to know each other. They were only newlyweds when I broke things off with him 20 years ago. She and I had met only once or twice back then. Now that communication lines are open again I intend to call once a week or so until she and I have a good rapport. When I feel that the time is right I will attempt to remind her that it is not safe for her grand kids to be left alone with him. Now that I am strong enough, I will do everything in my power to protect any and all children from him. His csa is no secret among my closer relatives but now I understand that there must be other survivors out there, somewhere. I have not found the other survivors to date. However, from here on I can protect all children from falling prey to him until he dies. It is so sad how the laws protect perpetrators but not survivors or future victims. On Christmas day I reported to mom how my visit with dad went. She is not happy that I have reopened communications with him and his wife. I pointed out to her how the chain of abuse works. I elaborated upon the people that I suspect contributed to the inherited problem and behaviors in my brother and his son that are red flags as well. There is a story about my paternal grandmother giving birth to stillborn twins. My father is the eldest living sibling and I believe that the twins came sometime after him. Anyway, apparently her father made her throw the twins down the outhouse. Talk about dysfunction, huh?! Naturally this was horribly traumatic to my grandmother to be forced into such an act. Well, this makes me think. Were the twins really stillborn and who was the real father anyway? Certainly no part of that story was "normal". I also suspect my paternal grandmother of csa, as does my mother. There was another story about my second eldest uncle. He was out hunting with a friend and supposedly they were crossing a barbed wire fence when the rifle fell down accidentally shooting his friend to death. This brother also was notorious for acting out with his violent temper. He is also suspected of spousal abuse. I am quite familiar with this temper for both me and my brother have inherited a milder version of this problem. All these siblings were raised in the country hunting and fishing daily nearly from birth. They all knew about basic gun safety while hunting. (Side note; one of the favorite games that the boys played was to throw knives "at" each other to see how close they could get to each other.) Granted things were different in eastern Washington back in the 1940s- 1950s but, this goes to family history of dysfunction and abuse. I cited other examples of dad's neglect and abuse toward my brother and me, not to mention our pets. He would take us out fishing in cold weather and make us sit on the bottom of the freezing cold and wet aluminum canoe. I remember begging to go back to the shore and I would be shivering with purple fingers and toes. My teeth would be chattering so hard that I could barely talk. Dad would tell me to shut up and sit my butt back down on the freezing bottom of the canoe. If anything, telling him that I was cold would make him keep us out there longer not shorter. I reminded mom about the stories above related to the high statistics of csa in minors by age 18, the chain of abuse and people in our family that fit the profile, and perpetrators mostly being repeat offenders. I told her that she needs to look at things for herself and not just take people's word for things especially when its all so fishy. She broke down and told me that she could not take anymore! She said that I should just focus on healing myself and leave the rest of the family out of it! She is protecting the males in the family and refusing to see that since they have sided with dad, a known perpetrator, on several occasions that it leaves them open to suspicion as well. I told her that perpetrators will cover for each other. I have been told to shut up by all the males in my family at this point. Of course, I won't shut up until every last child is protected and safe from abuse. The only exception here is my son, who bless his heart, has grown into a mature and respectful adult. He is well liked and has many friends throughout the southern California area. He honors women and is a kind,loving, and devoted partner. He is in a long term relationship with a beautiful woman who mirrors the same respect and kindness as well. Their relationship is an inspiration to me and I hold as a model for what a functional relationship actually looks like. I harbored and protected him away from all the family dysfunction for all of his childhood. It looks like that decision payed off. What I learned from these events is that neither complacent niceness, deep depression spiked with PTSD, nor suicidal thoughts eased by self mutilation, or even outright anger and confrontation could possibly cool my internal volcano. The school system failed me, social services failed me, the legal system had failed me, and most importantly my family had failed me. I had protected them all those years and they have reaped many benefits while I got the shaft. My family always put the whole thing back on me as being "my problem" and therefore skirted their part in perpetuating the chain of abuse. They have not shown an adequate attempt to educate themselves on the subject yet. I have advised them to join aftersilence.org so as to become a functional supportive network and allies in prevention. I eagerly await that day! They prefer to make unreasonable proclamations based on naive concepts and obsolete stigmas. Furthermore, the more I give statistics, quote professional statements, and report personal experiences and observations, the more they continue to betray me on a larger and larger scale. The whole family is now on this journey with me I am no longer alone. The big question is; are they strong enough to survive the truth the way that I was forced to for all these years?
  11. If I Could Speak Freely

    In my head I wrote this in the style of open mic poetry night sort of thing. But this one will never be spoken by me. I wish I could though, even if I just heard it out loud. I don't know how to really BE with someone anymore. Something subtle starts to grip my mind and wipes it clean it's the quietest scream I've ever felt. He was supposed to love me... and he was suposed to care for me... and he was supposed to know the most about me... I made it through the first "You were too young" "It could have been so much worse" "The memories are such a blur" I can still remember his daffy duck impression though I made it through the second At least he didn't touch me shrugging off the memory I just stare forward in time like I did in that room I can still feel the heat of panic run down my neck though I broke on the third There was something different that time something unnerving about how I trusted him It shook me the way I made my voice heard My confidence soared, I was in control but I broke that time It was the quietest snap I ever heard It took me over a year to process that night one day it just hit me. The man I was with at that time just said "I was wondering when you would see it for what it really was". The woman who was supposed to love me just sighed she never did end up believing me The drinking at a peak I had no will to live struggling to win against the pessimism that had gripped me never safe never loved never heard I reached out. I caved in. I'm living now, but I feel like I'll never win. I'm better now, but this is the quietest war there's ever been.
  12. Encouragement

    If you healing from sexual assault and you get out of bed in the morning, You are doing well. If you healing from sexual assault and you hold down a job, You are amazing. If you are healing from sexual assault and and you are still remotely pleasant to others, You are a lot nicer than me. If you are healing from sexual assault and you cannot always be there for a friend, You are still a good friend and a strong enough person to know what is best for you. If you are healing from sexual assault, and find it difficult to care for yourself, but still find the strength to care and love your family than you are strong as well. If you are healing from sexual assault and you decide to tell your story, You are brave. If you are healing from sexual assault and you decide that you are not ready to tell your story, You are also brave. If you are healing from sexual assault and you cry daily or have nightmares, You are normal. If you are healing from sexual assault and seeing happy, healthy people makes you sad, angry, jealous and worse, Join the club. If you are healing from sexual assault and you decide to press charges against your perpetrator, You have incredible courage. If you are healing from sexual assault and you cannot or choose not to press charges against your perpetrator, Your perpetrator is still the one to blame, and you are smart for knowing what you can handle. If you are healing from sexual assault and think that what happened was your fault, You are wrong, but you are not alone. If you are healing from sexual assault and are jealous that some survivors put their abuser in jail, You are one of many. If you are healing from sexual assault and feel like your significant other truly understands and is 100% supportive, He or she is rare and a keeper. If you are healing from sexual assault and you have a good support system, It will help A LOT. If you are healing from sexual assault and you don't have enough people who understand what you are going through, I strongly recommend joining a support group. If you are healing from sexual assault and were not believed or supported when you found the courage to tell, You still deserve to be heard, no matter how long ago it was. If you are healing from sexual assault and you feel like you hate your body, Remember your spirit is held within your body. If you are healing from sexual assault and feel painfully alone and isolated, Please know that there are thousands of people healing with you in spirit. If you are healing from sexual assault and there are days where the only thing you are able to do is exist, Remember, we are existing with you till you can live again. If you are healing from sexual assault but still looking to the future, You are a survivor. -anonymous
  13. Something For Me

    Today I did something for me. I washed my hair, showered, cleaned my home, and exercised my body. This may not seem like a big deal to anyone else but this is coming from a person who previously couldn't get out of the bed. I look like a normal, healthy person but deep inside I'm a frightened little girl burying herself with food and using her fat as a shield. Today is different. Today I did something for me.
  14. I'm New Here.

    Hey, I'm new here, so I don't exactly know how to do this or what to say. I honestly doubt very many people will read this. But it makes me feel better typing this. I was raped when I was child, various times on many accounts. My rapist, my brother, should have known better. But truth is, I know he knew better. I'm 16 now, and he's in his 20s. Nothing's happened, and almost nobody knows, and now I'm trying to get better. I know I can do it. If anyone has any advice, please, I'm open ears. I need all I can get.
  15. 3 Days In.

    Hi there, I'm not going to give out my real name, but I am very new to all of this and am wanting to start my recovery process as soon as possible. I'm feeling a lot of conflicted things. I blame myself. Some moments I don't. I go through the what ifs and wonder if I'll ever return to normalcy. I'm looking to find others who can relate to my story and take their advice...and to not feel so alone. Anyways, I'm a 24 year old female and love riding horses, hiking with my dog, and hanging out with my friends and family. I'm also a recent college grad! Forgive me if this isn't a great introduction. I'm still processing this situation and forum.
  16. I Was There, Where Were You....

    I was there, ...where were you? Faces breaking, and not into smiles Furniture takes flight,....yet has no wings Nor do I, with fright amidst, I remain firmly grounded, without flight... I was there,.... where were you? Walls shaking, due to "homestyle" earthquakes.... Floors slippery, yet there's not a drop of moisture in sight excluding tears.... No wax on the floors, not including emotions' snuffed candle residue.. I was there,...where were you? "Stunner" shades were used to mask your identity Growing self pity used as a chaser after every single shot You swam to the bottom of bottles, without surfacing for air I was there,... where were you? You slipped and fell again, aww boo hoo That wax free floor has caused you damage again? What's that? You ran into his fist first.... I was there,... where were you? Excuses rise, while reasoning cease to exist Safety first, took a backseat position in this so called "game" of life Sense made of nothing, and nothing made sense I was there,... where were you? Cold, hard truths maintained physicality... While escaping, never crossed the minds path.. Emotional exchange, was foreign in currency.. I was there,...where were you? Alcohol induced love and anger, you decidedly used for survival Violent environments' ignorance soothed my soul Offensive defense embodied my being I was there, where were you? My nature, made your nurturing obsolete... My strength, supported your weakened psyche... Even with my hearts' transparency, you willingly remain blind... I was there Momma! Where.... are you?
  17. I......

    I don't know I do care I'm happy I'm sad I know love I know strife I'm tired I'm ready I hate confusion I defeat dismay I crave release I pursue patience I'm heavy I'm light I'm saying I'm alive
  18. I Married Your Son

    I sent you a message and friend request after you deleted me.(Just like I said in my other post I am a glutton for punishment.) So "what did I do to you?" has been answered, loud and clear. I married your son. I knew it had to be that since those pics have been up since the day of the wedding and you had the nerve to still have my sister listed as a friend so I know you knew as soon as we were married, due to all the web updates. So, what I did, was share my joy in a social media type of way and that was too much for you apparently. I told you when you flipped out and tried to kill yourself in front of your abused son and daughter, (who may have been adults at the time, regardless, no one should have to watch a loved one attempt that) that I would love him always and no matter what, and his sister that I love as if she were my own blood, without allowing you to continue to cause them pain. I told you to get out and get your shit together or I would figure it out for ya. Well ya left, but that is all you did and always do. Ya never actually got help for that sick twisted mind of yours, so therefore you only held up part of the deal. See I took it all the way. I stuck by their side while you recoiled into your batty nutshell of a brain, lost within the dirty, evil, pathetic depths of your shallow soul. Your son, your daughter, and I became even closer, while you decided to distance yourself, only so you could bring it up 2.5 yrs later to throw in our faces. You are upset with your son for "letting" me do the things I would. ie: calling you a bit*h, and telling you that you were disgusting and a spineless female, etc. Be upset bit*h because I meant it ALL. You let the father of your precious children abuse the son emotionally, and physically, and let him sexually abuse your daughter, and then made her cover it up for 8 years, as if nothing had ever happened. Then when your daughter finally decides to tell her brother, what their father did to her, you seriously freaked the fuck out. You didn't hold any composure, strength for your family, or ability to understand anything but it not being your fault. Be upset bit*h. Be mad at the fact that you stunted your daughters growth, but regardless, she has made leaps and bounds with self improvement and motivation to be far better of a person than you lead her to believe she could be. That's right you don't care. Be upset bit*h. Be angry that your son chose to protect, support and believe in his sister, unlike you. Be flabbergasted at the fact that a "20 something bit*h" (as you stated) can love your family in a way that is too burdensome for you. No, your son is not my child and neither is your daughter, but they are My LOVED ones. See, you can pop out whatever kids you want and discard their love as you see fit, but as the saying goes, "what's one man's trash, is another man's TREASURE."
  19. Cool Avenged Sevenfold Artwork

    From the album Keep Calm and Carry On

    Cool pic of Avenged (not by me) (if it's yours, I can't remember who did it, so message me and I will credit you =D)
  20. Avenged Sevenfold

    From the album Keep Calm and Carry On

    My favorite band ^_^ They have gotten me through the toughest times
  21. Amethyst

    From the album Crystals for healing

    Amethyst is a calming stone, can help you sleep, calm and is a wonderful stone for meditation and opening the third eye to furhur develop your intuition.
  22. Green Sardonyx

    From the album Crystals for healing

    Green Sardonyx helped me find new, respectful friends. It aids in attracting support to you-supportive people and situations. I was living in a shell till I started working with this one.

    © MagickalGoodies

  23. Chrysocolla

    From the album Crystals for healing

    Chrysocolla is another gentle stone-this one works on your throat chakra as well as heart..alowing you to speak your truth and express yourself. If you have trouble talking to others, this would be a good stone to work with.

    © MagickalGoodies

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