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Found 5 results

  1. Growing up, I was homeschooled. In third grade, my dad lost his job and my mom went back to work. So now my dad was in charge of my younger brother and me while my mom was at work. Everyday when he was done with his lunch, he would go to the master bedroom to rest. Since my brother and I were younger, he made us come in to the room with him so we wouldn't be unsupervised. We had to be quiet, and it was a king sized bed so we would just nap with him. This went on for a while and was fine. In fourth grade, my brother and I didn't feel like napping, so we would quietly get up and mess around a little. Eventually, my brother started sneaking out of the bedroom to go watch TV quietly. I knew if my parents found out, we would be in big trouble. I refused to go with him and tried unsuccessfully to get him to stay in the room. This became a daily occurrence, and my dad noticed. However, he didn't mention it to my brother. I don't remember how it started, or when the first time was. I know he sort of groomed me a bit, but I don't remember which things he did first. I'll try to go in order just using context and logic, but I really don't remember what order these events occurred in. I had been going through a growth spurt and was having back pains. So bad that I was brought to the doctor. It turned out I had slight scoliosis. Almost daily I would have lower back pain. My dad (obviously) knew this and used it to his advantage. When I would be alone in the bedroom with him (during 'naptime'), he would ask me if I wanted him to massage my back for me. Of course I did. I don't remember if this next detail happened right away, or if he waited awhile before going further, but he would ask me to take my shirt off. I hadn't started going through puberty yet, so I wasn't even wearing a training bra or anything. I didn't think that was too unusual, and was fine with it since I had sensory issues anyway and did not care to feel my clothes being rubbed against my skin. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went, but at some point my dad asked me if I wanted him to show me what girls do with their boyfriends. He told me I was getting older (I wasn't even ten yet) and that in a couple years or so I might be old enough to have a boyfriend. That really excited me and made me feel like I was finally starting to grow up. I did want to know what girls do when they're with their boyfriends, and I assumed this must be something every dad did with their daughters. I thought it was some kind of rite of passage. I had no idea what he was going to 'show' me. I was very sheltered and had no clue what sex was. I didn't have any clue what girls do with guys other than kissing. I didn't even know what French kissing was. I just thought everyone pecked their SO on the lips. My dad told me if we did, I couldn't tell my mom anything about it. He reminded me how strict she was and told me she wouldn't think I was ready for years. That made sense to me, and since I didn't want to have to wait, I agreed to let him 'teach' me. I figured that whatever he was going to do, it would be OK since he was my father and they're supposed to do what's safe for you and you're not supposed to disobey your parents anyway. I don't remember where the conversation went after that or what we did. I don't remember how he started 'showing' me. I know that when my brother would leave the room, he would have me get up and lock the door behind him so he wouldnt be able to get back in. Then I would go back to lay in the bed with him. He would ask me to take my shirt off and lay on my stomach. I remember throwing clothes on the floor after taking them off. He would massage my back, and after awhile he would say 'lay on your back', so I would. He would then massage my stomach. I had never asked him to do that and he hadn't asked permission. He just told me he was going to do that. I thought that was a little odd, but it wasn't hurting anyone so I let him. I think after that he would move his way up. I have no idea why, I had no bust. I hadn't started puberty yet. I remember he would lick his fingers and then trace them around my nipples. I don't quite remember how I felt about it at the time, but later on thinking about that would be a trigger and I would experience phantom touches on my nipples when triggered. It would only be a few seconds, (the phantom touches) but it was enough to make me feel disgusted and freaked out. I would cringe and shake my head as if to snap myself out of it. Any time I would hear people talking about playing with nipples, I would be triggered. Anytime I had to recount this detail of my past to a therapist, I would be triggered. Later on I was able to work through that and now I don't have any problems with it. Anyway, I know that at the time I definitely didn't enjoy it, but I let him. I don't think I felt grossed out at the time (other than the fact that he was using his spit), but like I said, I don't really remember. Another thing I remember is that he would grind on me and it would hurt. I didn't like it at all. I let him though because he was telling me what to do and you aren't supposed to disobey your parents. I would be sore from him grinding for awhile afterwards. If I remember correctly, he would take off his pants and leave his boxer briefs on. However, as he abused me day after day, I'm sure there were a number of different combinations of which clothes we were or weren't wearing. I just remembered clothes being put on the floor. Not really which clothes. I know he would have me take my pants off and I'm pretty sure that he would have me take my underwear off too. Like, I remember my panties being on the floor, but that's an isolated memory from that time and it might have been from later when my mom asked me to give her a pair to possibly be used as evidence. It's been over ten years now, so all my memories from then are just little flashes and short isolated ones where I don't know how the situation ended or began. I don't know when I lost these memories, since I know I had them the following year after it occurred. Well, I think that is enough for this post. Thank you if you read this.
  2. I spent 10 years telling myself it didn't happen how I remembered it. I had a tendency to exaggerate the truth when I was young. I grew to become so convincing with my lies that to this day I still second guess whether a memory happened the way I think it did. I was in a behavioral health center for attempting to kill myself when I was sixteen. I was in a room with nine other adolescents eating an afternoon snack when a nurse began to recount the story of a neighbor and friend who molested her. As she was telling her story I had a memory shoved into the front of my mind. The trauma I told myself didn't happen. My story so closely resembled hers and I now had the knowledge that what N (my attacker) did was wrong. My ears began to ring and my vision began to black out at the edges. The next thing I know I am speaking with my social worker and sharing a story that had never left my lips before that moment. My SW was very kind but I could tell from her questions that she wasn't sure if she believed what had happened was abuse. My "friendship" with N didn't end until I told my mother she stole something from me. She asked me why little aemcee knew that stealing wasn't okay but didn't know that molesting wasn't. Of course, SW wasn't the first one to doubt that what occurred was abuse. I was in group therapy for my anxiety, depression, self harm, and suicidal tendencies and made the mistake of sharing with the group just the general story of my trauma. I remember so clearly one girl saying, "Well, it's not really assault. She was just a kid and didn't have a d***." I didn't share any details with anyone after that. I knew from my mother (who is a survivor) that telling my partners that I was a survivor before getting intimate was important. So they got a vague "I was molested when I was 5-6." Then I heard more and more stories about children who explored each other's bodies at a young and began to think maybe I had exaggerated the memory. Maybe it was just children's games. It wasn't until my sister took a psychology 101 class and talked about how some psychologists believe it's not possible to repress memories of abuse that I finally decided I'd imagined the whole thing. I was not a survivor of sexual abuse. It took two years before the repression finally caught up with me. Admittedly, I did have occasional flashbacks and nightmares but I forced myself to shove it into the back of my mind and that it wasn't real. Then one day I was watching a video. I'd had a migraine all day. I was exhausted. I was stressed about work and moving. And I just cracked. I began doubting everything I'd ever done. I found myself wondering if it all went back to N. Was I ruined for the rest of my life because of perceived abuse? All of the hard work that I'd had with controlling my anxiety and depression crumbled within a matter of hours. I began having flashback after flashback. Now I can't help but feel like I'm 16 again. Aching with pain and scared of my own shadow. The worst setback yet.
  3. Hello everyone.I am new here .I wanted to share what happened to me when i was very little.I don't remember my exact age when it happened , but i am sure i was less than 6 year old. My memory is still little fuzzy as i was very young , but i remember what happened very clearly . I don't remember how i got there , but i do remember what happen and it still haunts me. i wish i could forget but i can't . I was raped/molested/abused (i don't know what to call it) 2 times by two different men(assholes). For a long time i thought whatever happened was my fault ,that i wanted those thing to happen . Maybe in some Conner of my mind i still think that it was my fault ,that i wanted those things to happen . I don't know . This is the first time i am sharing this with anyone. I have never told about it to anyone . I cry myself to sleep sometimes when images of that time get stuck in my head . I don't know what i can do to move on from this. It has been approx 18+ years to those incident.
  4. The other day my mom asked me "Remember that time you ran away and the cops found you down at that park?" the questions she asked blurred into "I think I know what happened but I 1) can't believe it and 2) Will if you open up to me". She's not so eloquent though and asks things like "How did you get all the way out there?" and "What were you doing out there?". That has always been something that comes up in my memory frequently. But when she asked about this I couldn't bring myself to tell her that the 35 year old man the cops found me in that car with was my first at 12 years old. There are many things I remember distinctly; the taste and smell, his little brother's bunk bed, the way the white of his eyes stood out in the dark, and my favorite was his voice impressions. He could do Donald Duck among other things. I remember the exact cell phone that I had, a small pearl blue one without texting. But I can't remember his face, the car he drove, or the way we met. That has been what is bothering me lately; How could I forget? I can remember the position, scrambling for our clothes, putting on his shirt because I couldn't find mine. The cops asked questions, "No, we didn't do anything". I'm sure that they expected to find two teens escaping to the park but instead found a victimized, confused 12 year old girl with a full grown man. I remember them telling my mom that they couldn't do anything if I said nothing happened. I found and changed to my own shirt and went home. But I can't remember him standing there by the nearby tree, I can't remember how muscular or scrawny he was without his shirt on. It's always bothered me, and sometimes I wonder if I could remember more could I have stopped the other times from happening? Would I have seen the signs? To this day I live guilty that I can't be with a man of the same ethnicity because to me all his is is a full grown man that broke the trust of a young girl. A faceless man with skin, a motive, and a way of making me feel treasured. I can remember his girlfriend's voice when she picked up his phone finally one day. "Who is this?" "This is his girlfriend." "How old are you?". It turned out that she was pregnant with his child. Sometimes I want to sit down with that young woman and tell her I'm sorry that she had to find out her child's father was a pedophile from me in such a crude way. I had no idea at the time how wrong the whole situation was back then, I just knew he was cheating on us. I know all these things, sometimes it all comes back to me in a rush. It's like a nagging feeling that something isn't right. I feel like I need to know his face, how he got me... but I can't remember. It was 12 years ago now and even today I find that the guilt of the experience creeps into my every day life. I have moved on but not moved on, it still hurts. How could I forget things so important?
  5. Hi, When I was 11 I was molested by my moms close friend, an older man who was helping us financially as my step dad was an abusive drunk who wouldnt work and my mom had a list of mental problems (bipolar, schitz. etc...) and couldn't hold a job. because of the circumstances I didn't tell anyone and when custody of my brother and I was finally rewarded to my real dad who was stable I still received phone calls and messages through my mom from the man. I had nightmares for a while but still I never told. I'm 22 now I still haven't told anyone even my bf (and bff) of 5 years. I have a very strained relationship with my mother and have always debated on whether or not I should tell her that her only friend molested me. I recently found out that the man died and was considered a jewel of his community. Im not sure how I feel about this. I should feel happy i guess...maybe relieved. and i still don't know if I should tell my mother I mean it wouldn't change anything now why ruin her idea of this man that she's had for so long. Just thought this would be a good place to rant and maybe get some feed back before making a decision. Thanks.
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