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Found 40 results

  1. Very angry..

    Really angry and upset today. Relatives of sex offender/sexual abuser 'C' harassing and verbally abusing me in my local supermarket. Relatives of 'C' shouting and verbally through the walls of my bedroom, relatives of 'C' living on property next to my parents house verbally abusing and shouting at me. Can't seem to escape 'C', have been suffering it now for 25 years. 'C' arranged for me to be raped in my bedroom aged 17 which made me very ill both physically and mentally. 'C' is facing 10 years in prison for a child pornography scam that she set up to try and put me in prison for. 'C' sexually abused me for 8 months when I was a 16 year old, they did something to my brain with LSD so that I couldn't fight back or fight 'C' off. 'C' used to hang around my school hall when I was a 15 year old and stare at my genitals and laugh. 'C' had planned the poisoning and sexual abuse out months in advance. I need to sit a Law Degree to fathom out how to put 'C' in prison.
  2. Claire (Surname?)....

    Claire (Surname?) is a Paedo, I was under-age and I am very angry about it. She defiled my body, mind, brain and spirit with it's diseased brain. Claire (Surname?) needs to be put in prison for the rest of it's unnatural defiled life...
  3. 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.
  4. Unwritten...

    I never knew what I wanted to do for a living. Age 4 I was set up with 'N' and 'E' so that my sister could laugh and pick on me and to make sure I never had a girlfriend. It was done by my Policeman father. I was told that if I didn't do what my sister told me to do I would be made to go to war to be shot and killed. Age 13 I joined the Air Training Corps with a view to joining the Royal Air Force to be a Pilot. I always knew I wasn't bright enough to be a pilot, but I thought I would kid myself anyways. Apparently my CO said that I wasn't bright enough to get into the RAF, I would have to join the Army if I was lucky. I didn't really want to be shot and killed, but that didn't happen either. Aged 15 I was made to leave the ATC. The ATC was the best thing I ever did I really enjoyed it. I as made to leave the ATC to be turned into a 'drugs hole' someone with Bi-Polar Disorder. Aged 16 I was poisoned with LSD. Staying in the ATC would have saved me from drugs and alcohol. Think I will Law Sue the Social Services and Education Department. What is wrong with joining the Army anyway? Don't think I would have passed the medical though. To this day I have no idea what I would have done for a living. I haven't got the slightest clue.. My father says that I would have been an homeless alcoholic living under a bridge.
  5. Hi. My name is Marta. A few weeks ago my life has changed. I hope that not forever. I was raped by my friend. After that incident, I wanted to end my life. I was ashamed and afraid to look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t sleep 3 consecutive nights. And only a psychologist - friend of my cousin have found a right decision. This man believes in me and the most importantly, thanks to him, I also started to believe in myself and in my future. He convinced me to talk about pain and fears. I am sure I’ll feel better when I can tell you about all that happened to me. Thanks to the support I get now, I’m ready to do this step. I’m not ready yet to name the rapist, so in my story I’ll call him Jack. March 25, about 7 p.m. I got a call from a friend who lives in Bedford and with whom I have not seen for a long time. We became acquainted with him about 2 years ago. He invited me for coffee, we were walking and talking about nothing. He was telling me different things, a lot of jokes. He told me about his romances at a veterinary clinic. At the same time he was trying to be a gentleman. From that moment we met no more than 5 times. Jack is much older than me. He seemed to me a strong and intelligent person. However, on March 25, 2017 something happened with him. That evening I was going to Irving. Jack called me and when he found out that I was going to Irving, he offered to let me down by car. Of course I agreed. Why not? The first 15 minutes we were talking and joking. All was good. But then he suddenly decided to move out of the highway on the road where cars hardly drove. But even then I was suspected nothing. I was afraid when he stopped the car and locked the door. He took out a knife and told me to not twitch otherwise i’ll regret. He tried to stick his hand under my clothes. I didn’t let to do it and told him to stop. But he didn’t hear me. In front of me there was another person. At that moment I saw the real beast. Jack opened the door and pulled me out of the car. Pressed me to the hood and threatening with a knife, he raped me. This is an extremely difficult and painful to remember all details of that night. But I can’t keep silent. It’s even more painful to me. When he was over, he said that he will kill me if I’ll go to the police. It’s been over two weeks. Thanks to all the experts consultants. I became much more easier. Today, I realize that the silent is a wrong decision. I don’t want to live in fear.
  6. Hi, I am new here. I decided I wanted to start talking about some of my experience with other survivors because it's not something I can really discuss with friends and family. A bit of my background. I was raped when I was 18, I'm now 32. I had/ have a very small support network because my family is neglectful due to my mom having a personality disorder. I was alone and silent for a VERY long time. Its only in the last two years or so that I have begun to really face my past. All the best
  7. Blog pilot: Conquer

    I don't know the first thing about writing a blog. All I know is I survived. There is more of me broken than functional - but something small, somewhere inside me persists that that will not always be the case. So here I am, writing about it. (For all intents and purposes, and I still wan't nothing to do with them, my abuser will be called "X") I was with someone, who didn't care. I was with SEVERAL someones who didn't care, at least about me. However, this one in particular had brought me lower than I have ever been. We met under incredibly ordinary circumstances, nowhere I would consider special, and he was so handsome, confident, driven and direct. He knew what he wanted in life. He was charming and exotic, and I was definitely interested. He approached me, we exchanged numbers and I stepped on the path that many of you readers unfortunately have traveled. I like to think it was because I was young, or maybe that I was naive that I didn't see all the red flags. Down the road though I genuinely believed it was my fault that everything went down as it did because I wasn't strong enough and felt like I couldn't say no - even when I did. He used me however he pleased - regardless of if I said "no". He'd just go for it; wherever he wanted, however he wanted, and on his terms. Most of the time I'd go along with it because it was easier, less hassle and would be over with sooner. I felt obliged - I was with him. I remember searching for help and seeing articles of people staying in crazy relationships - but when you're with someone long enough, certain things become the norm, and you adapt and become numb. That's what I did. How could I leave the one I loved? The one I'd given up everything for? I was so invested, I left everything for him and his family. I spent countless hours helping his family run/build a business for free (which is still successful), writing their business plan, legalities, taking his siblings to school, getting things for the business, taking care of the animals, helping his mom with things around the house, working at a new job one of his brothers had finagled for me because he liked the lady who was later my boss(so I felt indebted to X's oldest brother). You name it. I had obligations, they depended on me and I began to live with them because I didn't want to let them down, and I wanted to matter so badly (This I chalk up to my home life as well as how X treated me). Also, I felt obligated. How could I say no? I was scared to say no. I fought endlessly with my mother about my living situation and defended him because I believed that I loved him, that he was really worth it, loved me and would treat me better when I deserved it. He still doesn't know everything that happened to me. Really, I don't think anybody does. Not even my therapist. I refused to admit that I was raped when coming out of the hospital because I didn't want to see X or deal with him or any of my other aggressors again and if I caused them real trouble they'd come after me. I refused to see his dark side! I countered it with good qualities or at least mentally altered his qualities into good ones just so I could get by. I tried everything I could to make us work because a committed relationship is something you've gotta work at right? I knew I was so helpful to these people, and that was good for me but I also knew I was incredibly disposable at the same time. I couldn't just LEAVE, could I? Well, X wasn't my first assailant and I hadn't had any REAL lessons in creating boundaries or learning to say no at this point in life. I was the perfect prey and I hated myself because I didn't know what I was doing wrong or what it was that I couldn't see. I was the pretty, caged canary forced to sing at his leisure...either that or he was the prowling cat looking to eat its favorite parts one piece at a time. He'd force himself on me, occasionally promising "just one more time" - swearing that it would be the last - but it never stopped and it only got worse. All the way until the only way I thought I could end it would be dying. Yes. Dying. "Dying? Isn't that extreme? Couldn't you just leave?" No. No, because in my mind there was no way out. I tried to leave, but he was so good at the mind games. He'd have me crawling back saying sorry, feeling guilty that I had left and grateful that I had returned, often turning to extremes to get me to come back. When things would get so bad he'd make grand gestures to show he'd "changed" and every damn time I'd believe him. There was no way that all of this was happening and he didn't see it as wrong. Surely he would change, wouldn't he? For me? For love? Spoiler alert: It got worse. He wasn't just sexually abusive and emotionally - physical abuse came swiftly after discussing marriage. You have to understand that THIS was my world of relationships. I didn't really SEE how horrendous this was because I didn't know any better, and I was numb. Whatever better there was out there just wasn't for me or didn't exist. I still grieve that I wasn't loved the way I deserved. For many a partner I was mistreated, abused, and expected to be fine. It was a never ending roller coaster of feeling strong and then weak on a loop from standing up after being broken. The day I decided to die, I had moved out, but come back to say sorry because I didn't tell him when I was leaving. I told him I was leaving him, but I didn't say when or how or where. I thought he was going to kill me. He glared saying "how could you do this to me, I loved you" while standing in the bathroom doorway because he came back while I loaded everything into my mother's truck. Do understand how messed up I was that I felt like I needed to go back to say how SORRY I was for leaving HIM??? I stayed the night, and he said he wouldn't take me back. If HE of all people who cared the least and yet the most about me didn't want me back - no one would. I officially lost my value and that morning I didn't go to work, I hid a large kitchen knife in my waistband and told everyone there (his brothers were living with us at the time for free and I was the only source of income because he refused to get another job after leaving his other one) I was going to shower. Blood can't clot if it's still wet. I closed the broken bathroom door, and went to work. The first few cuts were almost nice because the pain was better than the emptiness I felt and I felt alive, but my body shortly decided to numb the area and I was able to go deeper and farther running my arms and the backs of my ankles under water to prevent the clotting. One of our dogs pushed open the door because I was crying, I pushed them out and got blood on his face. X saw this and screamed at me "What did I tell you??? WHAT did I tell you?!" He told me that if I was gonna go die I should do it outside by the parking spot of our duplex. So, I proceeded to the door to go do so and he slammed the door in my face to prevent me from going out and hit me so hard across the face. The force that he hit me with registered, but I was light headed and numb from blood loss and filled with adrenaline and anger - so I didn't feel it and I hit him back - which I had never done, at least like this. I had lost so much blood in my arms that my hands were in fists and curling back to my body downwards, so hitting him was more like swinging a club or dead arm, and I couldn't feel it, but I know it was hard - and he hit back, even harder. We went at it for a moment as he continued to say that all he cared about was how much the blood on the carpet was gonna cost him, how stupid I was, how all this was gonna make him look, what he was supposed to tell people about what happened, etc. One of his brothers came to wrap me up and I wouldn't let him, I just kept screaming that I wanted to die. I had no value, I had no self worth, and the people that had ever claimed to love me did unspeakable things to me. I was nothing. I passed out from blood loss, his brother took me to the hospital because X wanted to shower and get spiffed up before going to the hospital. How do I know this? He said so "YOU go take her to the hospital. I need to go take a shower first." I just wanted to die. I gave everything I had and I had no will to live. I hated him. I hated that I loved him. I hated that I loved him and he didn't give a _____ about me. I did everything for him and his family, and he couldn't have cared less. Maybe he could have? He could have not come at all. He could have just locked the door behind me while I died outside, but as far as I'm concerned I was nothing to him and it was his appearance he was trying to save. It was never about ME, it was always about HIM. I had small moments of consciousness like being carried to the emergency room by his one good brother Q, being put in the wheelchair, getting my 20+ staples, seeing X & Q standing in the hallway, X looking and smelling like he was going to a formal event.... X never visited or called me in recovery/rehab, and his reasons for why were lies. I called him to see if he was coming, and he always said he would, but never did and had the cleverest of excuses which were validated as lies by S. I went to therapy and rehab and never admitted to being repeatedly raped, or abused. I didn't want to get him in trouble, nor did I want to get involved with the police, court, or with any of the other miserable people who had done similar things to me. I knew that If I caused problems, especially legal problems which would compromise their business and a dozen other things, I knew that they'd come after me. I blocked his number and cut as many ties as I could conceive and one day he called me from a number I didn't recognize. He wanted me back. He was making a grand gesture again for change that we could be happy and promising all the things I wanted to hear. However, enough was enough, and I said no. I said no and when he persisted I reinforced my no, with REASONS! I wasn't helpless anymore. I was done, I was out, and in my own little way I had won. in rehab and therapy I didn't want to confess or share my abusive truths because I wanted to escape the pain, block it out, pretend it never happened, and I couldn't do that if I ever saw them again, especially a court hearing or someone coming after me because X was in jail etc. Many of my exes were incredibly physical while others were strictly verbal and emotional and I didn't have a clue on how to get better. I just went into rehab as a depressed teenager who had a lousy home life, low self esteem, particularly bad relationship and break up, self harmed, and opted for suicide. My brain did a miraculously terribly thing which was block out all my traumatic events. Miraculous because there were times after my safety plan was made and I was released from the hospital's rehab facility that I was normal. I didn't have that darkness haunting or plaguing me. However, it created abrupt triggers when my brain made connections to real life and my barricaded memories, like it dug under the wall and leaked it out. Because of it, I get the worst PTSD episodes and I am back in the moments where I am not safe. I'm starting to master not suppressing, and learning not to be overwhelmed, but let's be real here, it still happens more than I'd like to admit. This caused me problems in my marriage which is now over - which is an entirely different can of worms as he was very mentally controlling and abusive - thank goodness and am now in the arms of the sweetest, most gentle man who is my best friend, know no bounds of building me up, making sure I know I'm his top priority, understands why I may react in strange ways, knows my pain and why I am the way I am - and I could never be more grateful for the love, and compassion he gives me without guile or expectancy. Dear reader, Just because hell was your romping ground doesn't mean you can't find your way to heaven. There is hope even when there is none and if you look you will always be able to find it. Dark times and hard times can make for a beautifully strong, unstoppable, unyielding spirit and mind. I am still healing, but I'm in a safe place, and SO much more of a person than I was. What once was a whisper is now a shout and the times that ensnared me made me who I am now. I can stand up for myself, I know my worth, I know more aspects of myself. I am weak no longer. I came out strong and I conquered. You can conquer too. I needed help, but ulitimately it was up to me to make decisions towards a better destination. Only I could save myself. I am my own hero.
  8. Hi, my name is Susan H. I'm 19 years old and I live on the west coast. I was a victim of a lesbian r*pe when I was 13. At first I was embarrassed about my situation as far as how it happened and why. But I am very slowly getting over it and sometimes need someone to talk to. Thanks Susan
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  10. Contacted my rapist

    •Few days ago I contacted my Rapist from Alabama....i asked him if he could mail me my guitar. He said he'll try his best. Then he asked me if I'm coming to Birmingham anytime soon. I said maybe In December. For a whole day I tried my hardest to find his location and Facebook but no luck. Closest thing I have is home address and number. I feel empowered in a way knowing where he lives...hopefully I'll be strong enough one day to do something about that son of a bit*h.
  11. Hi there. I know I've only been here 57 days, and there hasn't been many posts, mainly due to my life off of the internet, but I would like to change that. So, I thought I would start off by introducing myself and explaining my first post, just in case anyone was confused. Anyway... Hello, again. My name is Nikita, but my nicknames are Niki or Pepper. I was born on July 27th, 1995 in New York. I am currently 21 years old, and I reside with my parents. I've been mentally ill since I was five years old. I've been diagnosed Major Depressive Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, Insomnia and I've been told I border on Borderline Personality Disorder. I didn't start getting treatment (medications and therapy for these diagnosis) until 2008, which was also the year I began self-harming. I've been in CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) and have been on numerous medications such as: Abilify, Ambien, Ativan, Celexa, Effexor XR, Klonopin, Prozac, Trazodone, Wellbutrin XL and Zoloft since being diagnosed. I am currently taking Klonopin, Trazodone and will hopefully soon be starting Cymbalta and Naltrexone. The use of the Klonopin is for my Social Anxiety Disorder, Trazodone for Insomnia (although it is also another antidepressant), and the Cymbalta will be for an antidepressant and the Naltrexone for impulsivity (self-harm). I was almost three months clean this October 31st of self-harm, but ended up relapsing on the 27th. Although I don't really approve of medications, I am going to give it one last time, before fighting my insurance for an alternative method that I approve of, which is TMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation), because I refuse the treatment of ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy). Due to my mental health, I've missed out on a lot of things, such as achieving my high school diploma. I couldn't handle being around all the students, so I stayed home all the time, or I would need to be medicated, which only worked for about the first two hours anyway. To be honest, I felt like I was cheated out of my high school diploma because of my mental illness. I was a good, smart student, even when I wasn't in school. My homework was done on time, and when I went to take my regents exams, I passed. However, the school opted to put me into foster care, as if that would fix anything, but my family and I won. Not long after, I dropped out of school. In that time, I should've gotten my GED (General Education Diploma), but my best friend at the time had different plans: do drugs, drink alcohol and shoplift. I can say this is not a part of my life I regret, because if it wasn't for her, my Social Anxiety Disorder wouldn't have gotten better. Although I do feel like it has gotten worse with the recent rape/sexual assault. Besides not achieving my high school diploma, it took me until August or September of this year to achieve my driver's permit, even though I have been driving since 2014. Moving on... In 2011 I stumbled across a couple bad sites when I was in a bad place. I was depressed and suicidal. A couple years after belonging to these websites, I had my first suicide attempt in 2012, and until May 2015, I've had a total of 10 suicide attempts. I also gained my first fiancé, who was emotionally and verbally abusive towards me. We were together on and off for three years (since 2011). In November of 2014 I got my first job, where I was sexually assaulted three times by my supervisor. In my post, "Hello, new member here" it says that "I've come to the final phase (renewal phase)" with my first (three) sexual assaults, and I have. So, I see no reason to discuss it. The second time I was sexually assaulted, I was in a psychiatric ward, on my 10th suicide attempt, by another patient, which also happened three times. I've come to the final phase with those sexual assaults, too. The third time I was sexually assaulted, was yet again, another three times which then lead to rape by my second job supervisor. When I began working, I ignored my supervisor outside of work like the plague due to what two other co-workers told me: he plays mind games and will try to sleep with you. Especially because one of those co-workers was a female he had tried pursing. Unfortunately, I played the game after avoiding him for two months, seeing if I could beat him at his own mind games, because of my background of psychology. Sadly, I didn't know I was dealing with a sociopath. At the time, he was in another relationship with a co-worker, who was also pregnant with his child, but I didn't know this until the time she gave birth. In December, after two months of not putting up with his mind games, I fell victim and I became a second woman. The biggest thing I am not proud of. He manipulated/sweet talked me for a couple months, before meeting my ex-fiancé. You know, the whole, "I have romantic feelings for you", "I'm going to leave her", "You're (insert compliment here)", etc. I even wiped his crocodile tears a few times. When I had met my ex-fiancé, I told him (my work supervisor/SA/rapist) that I couldn't see him anymore and that we could only have a work relationship, nothing more, and he said he was happy for me. For months I gushed about my ex-boyfriend, then turned ex-fiancé, and in return I think it made my work supervisor/SA/rapist infuriated because he couldn't have me to himself or my happiness, maybe. One night, my work supervisor's boss made me upset, and I had asked him (work supervisor/SA/rapist) if he was doing anything after work since we both were getting out at the same time. I asked to grab a drink, but since I was underage at the time, I couldn't buy. He did, though. Three 12 oz cans of beer. I slammed the first two while we sat by the river the leads out to the lake because I was so pissed off at his boss. We just sat there, talking about anything and everything. I watched him cry, and I wiped his tears. Finally my ex-fiancé called telling me what time he'd need to be picked up from work. My work supervisor/SA/rapist helped me up the stairs, and into his truck, where we talked a little bit more. It was time to leave after awhile, so I got out and got into the car I drove in. He came by when my door was opened, and knelled besides me. I told him I feel sick, and that I'll eventually get sick. He then kissed me, and I pushed him off of me. Next, he went towards kissing my neck, where I pushed him off again and told him to stop, that I'm engaged. He did. I told him to leave now so I can get sick, which he did and so did I. The next time was after work, too, which he insisted on buying alcohol, and I was okay with that, just that I would drink slower this time. By this time, Pokémon Go had came out, so we would walk the city with our alcohol in cups you could conceal them in. Almost nearing the end of my night, since I had to pick my ex-fiancé up from work, we went to this park near the lake. We walked around a bit, catching Pokémon. The sprinklers were on in the park, I thought it would be amusing to shove one another into the sprinklers and then get back to catching Pokémon, but that didn't happen. We had ended up wrestling. The grass was wet. He shoved his hands down my pants, as I told him to stop, and back up away from him, but the grass was too damn slippery and he was strong. He stopped after a while, and I scurried to my feet and over to his truck to grab my belongings. When I got there though, he turned me around and pushed me against the truck, slipping his hand down my pants again, demanding I orgasm. I faked the orgasm so he would get out of my pants and off of me sooner. I think he assumed I "needed help" because I had told that my ex-fiancé and I were having sex issues, and in return he talked about the types of issues he was having with his girlfriend, because I had hoped the first sexual assault was the last and we could become friends again and move along. The last time, I was home and he was home. He had asked to hang out, but I was hesitant. Before leaving home, we got into an argument through text message, which pissed me off, so I brought along the tools I use to self-harm with and baby wipes to clean myself up with. I headed out towards a secluded area near the lake in the city where we've been before. When I got there, I noticed Border Control. I didn't bother to bring my tools with me, so I went on a walk to the secluded area and decided to watch the sunset and listen to some La Dispute. It was nice. About halfway through I looked over, and who do I see coming my way? Him. I panicked, but couldn't go anywhere because the way I needed to go to go back to the car, was the same direction he was walking in. I laid there, staring at the sky. He came over, asking me if I was still mad at him. Of course I was. He tried cheering me up. Said he had already bought me alcohol and would let me drive his truck. I rolled my eyes in a, "yeah, let's see if you can cheer me up" kinda way. I was practically quiet or sarcastic to him the whole time, until I got alcohol in my system. We drove around the city for a while because the park where he first sexually assaulted had just finished having an event. By the time we got back to the park it was 11:00 PM, cleared out. Not a single person around. This time I took my bag with me. We walked down the stairs to get closer to the lake, to make our round of catching Pokémon, but halfway through, he grabbed me, forcing himself onto me, kissing me. I told him to stop, that this wasn't acceptable, I'm engaged, what we (technically him more than me) was over, but he pushed me on to the ground, dropping my bag out of my reach. He got on top of me and put himself inside my mouth, which is also when I also noticed he had a pocket knife on him. Not even a couple minutes afterwards, he unbuckled my belt, pulled my pants and panties down, flipped me over where I was on my knees, and inserted himself. I remember bits and pieces, like how much it hurt. My head was pushed into the ground and my nails dug into the dirt. Then my ponytail being grabbed, and him telling me to call him "daddy". Within a few minutes after that, he was finished. He looked into my bag, wiped myself and himself off, and threw the wipes into the bushes. It hurt so much to sit and stand, but I got up so quickly and starting walking fast to the car, feeling tears swell in my eyes and a panic attack coming on. We both reached our vehicles. He demanded a hug from me, so I complied and then left. I got in the car, and left him at the park. I cried and had a panic attack all the way to my ex-fiance's parent's house. No one was home. I rushed in, and jumped in the shower. I examined myself and I couldn't take the pain and how swollen I was. I didn't even wash off. I just stood there in the shower, crying. Eventually I worked myself up to get out of the shower, get dressed and go to my ex-fiancé's work. I didn't tell him right then and there because I was so ashamed. He didn't know until the next day, and he saw me still in pain and swollen. After that, it was the hospital, police, and the workplace... Right now, I am unemployed but interested in getting my GED out of the way so I can become a Phlebotomist and Phlebotomy Technician and then hopefully going through 11-12 long years of college and medical school to become a Medical Examiner. So, yeah, that's about my life right now. Thanks for taking the time to read.
  12. Hello, I am new to this group. This is my first post. I was raped 29 years ago at the age of 18. I delt with it by blaming myself for getting drunk. (Now, I know that's not true, he is the one who took from me what I did not give. He is to blame.) I never reported it, never told my parents. For reasons I can't explain, it's coming up and out now. I am feeling the pain, fear, and panic of my 18 year old self, NOW. The nice people at rape call centers didn't know what to do to help me. I am having trouble finding people like me. Who understand how and why I was able to keep all these painful feelings hidden away for so long, because they did the same thing. I'm sure there are other people like me. I hope to get help here. The help that comes from listening to other people's experiences and stories. The help that comes from hearing how someone was able to move out of the darkness into the light. I don't know how to change myself from victim to survivor. Thank you for reading this. one more thing. I am old, and I am having trouble navigating this site. If anyone has suggestions of where to look, how to look, and what to look for, I'd appreciate it. I don't even know if I am posting this in the right place...
  13. Dear Perpetrator... *TW

    Dear Perpetrator: I have no clue of what you may be doing now that you are no longer in my life; however, I have no desire to know or honestly do I care. I do, however, want to express how you have personally impacted my life since the attack. Ultimately, I want to express gratitude. Yes, you heard me correctly. I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart. The night you so kindly took advantage of me as tears stung my eyes and I expressed cries of "no," I did not know that within due time, something would happen to me to get to the point I am now. See, perpetrator, I have been a people pleaser my entire life. Of course, you knew that because you took something so delicate.... Someone who would give the shirt off of her back to help others and would do anything in the world for someone that asked for her help... Someone who would put others' needs before her own without batting an eyelash... Someone who was involved so vastly in the community and offered a helping hand, regardless of her own personal problems or issues... You took someone like that, and you broke her. You allowed her world to fall apart around her, bringing her down to her knees. I never thought I would be sitting here now, thanking you for destroying a part of me that I will never have back until I understood the truth of the matter. Due to the fact my entire life has been catered around doing for others and making sure others' needs are accounted for instead of worrying about my own self, I realized that ultimately, I was the one that was to blame for such. I was weak.. I was weak because I allowed others to judge me and make me feel inferior. I allowed what others thought of me to dictate my life in every way. Now that I realized that my happiness is no longer altered by how others view me as a person, but rather my happiness comes from my own heart and those who bring out the best in me, I could never be more satisfied. I found that those that only cared for me in order to use me no longer were worth my time. I also learned that you were no longer worth my time either. Actually, you were never worth my friendship. I have found my strength in times of sorrow... Whether it be waking up in the middle of the night and sweating due to terrible nightmares and flashbacks of the situation, or whether it be getting out of bed when I felt as though my world was ending, I found strength in the hopeless times. For you see, Perp, I forgive you. I forgive you, so now I can move on with my life and enjoy the simple blessings that are so graciously provided. I forgive you, so now I can inspire others that may go through a similar situation or warn them about my situation ahead of time. I forgive you because I have found my strength in my weakness. In the past, I had blamed myself for the situation that happened you had caused. I am grateful that my eyes have now been opened, and I owe you all of the credit, for this was 110% your fault, which is why I am writing to you now. You should understand that you are so sick for wanting to ruin my life, which is why I forgive you because I refuse to let you ruin it. I also refuse to sit back and let you do this to someone else. Now that I know my story will inspire others, I hope it will inspire you as well. You need to understand, Perp, that when a girl says "no," she means NO. When a girl cries, that means she is unresponsive to your forcefulness, so stop. As I said, Perp, I do not know where you are right now in life nor do I care to know. You are blocked on all forms of my social media, and you will stay that way... Nor shall I ever call you by your real name, for you are far undeserving of anything but the name, Perpetrator. Be thankful I call you Perp sometimes for short. At least that nickname isn't AS bad. You have shown me what it feels like to be so broken, but you have also shown me what it's like to have strength because I found I did not have any other choice. I refuse to allow your thoughts to demean me anymore or make me feel undeserving, for I AM deserving, and you are not. Not in the least bit. Wherever you are right now, perpetrator, I want to let you know that you will always feel guilt for what you did to me. It will eat at you each day for the rest of your life as it should. However, I am moving on due to the fact I have forgiven you. You are no longer worth my time or energy because you are not worth it.... And I, on the other hand, have found strength in my weakness, hope for the helpless, and a faith far bigger than anything I have ever imagined. Sincerely, Marilyn
  14. 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.
  15. I Was 2 Years Old

    I was two years old when it all started. My Mom had just given birth to my very sick baby sister. Dad was stressed out. and i was the relief. I blame myself as most others do. and now that I'm finally an adult, I'm pressing charges.
  16. Flashback

    After my first blog post where I sequentially and in detail wrote down what had happened to me, I had what I can recall as my first true flashback. I had never spoke the specific to the events to anyone before. For years I suffered with replaying my assault in my head, over and over. I always thought that these were "flashbacks," but I was wrong. That night after my first post, as I was lying in bed trying to sleep, I was there. With the lights off, I could see his pale skin reflecting the moon and feel him behind me, like I was waiting for him to touch me. I could even feel his breath on my neck. I was no longer in my room but the room where it happened. In the dark everything was rearranged to the set up of that night. But the worst part was that it didn't feel like I was remembering it, but that I was about to relive it, that it was about to happen again. I didn't even want to write this because of negative response my mind seemed to have by laying everything out, but today I am feeling dislocated again, and I am scared what is going to happen when I lay down tonight with the lights off. It has been years since my experience and I don't want it to feel fresh again. I guess I just don't know what to do when this happens. I asked my boyfriend to come over the last time so that I would have something/someone to make me remember where I am and that I am safe. I love him and he is the only man I am able to trust, but I went through a period where he was supporting me so much that I could feel it hurting him. I'm not afraid of him leaving me for this, but I want to know how I can feel strong and present on my own.
  17. I Guess It starts here

    It's long, but it's pretty much everything on my mind. I don't know how to handle what's happened to me. The self-blame and the invalidation i feel is overwhelming. I feel unworthy to tell other sexual violence survivors my story because.....it doesn't seem....as bad of a story as other people. I would feel guilty about complaining about what happened to me because it's nothing near as bad as what other women have gone through - yet what happened still hurts in a profound way. I_Guess_I'm_Going_to_Say_This.mp4
  18. 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?
  19. Hi everyone. Just joined this forum as an attempt to make honest connections and share my past. I am looking to give and receive support and hopefully to start healing. Happy to be here.
  20. 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.
  21. I don't know if I am allowed to comment yet as I just joined today. I can hardly wait to be able to speak. I have carried my burden for 65 years and found out a few days ago that I probably won't be on planet earth for as long as I wanted. I want to talke with other men and women that were were sexually abised but never told anyone. My uncle sexually for a long time. Of course, he quit when I became 17. I have never told anyone and was ever a pallbearer at his funeral. ugh! I am looking for some andvice and love as I have decided to let my immediate family know what happened to me and how it has affected me. I simply do not want to take this to my grave. I feel my immediated family has a right to know as it will also explain my sometimes quirky behavior. Tom
  22. How Could I Forget?

    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?