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  1. This is something I haven’t been able to write about until recently in my journal. I don’t like to think about it much. When I was 15, I missed my bus. I had to go into school again but as I was walking in, he was walking out of the commons building doors on campus and he asked me why I was going back to school, shouldn’t I be leaving. I said I had missed the bus. He touched me on my arm to stop me from walking and said “I can take you home and you’ll be there before your bus?” I initially denied but he said he insisted. He said they would most likely ask a teacher to take me home anyways and I thought that wasn’t entirely right but I knew my mom would be super pissed at me for missing the bus to begin with. I don’t know why I would have ever gone with him like this. But I did! He told me he had to get school supplies at a store I lived near anyways. So it worked out. He made small talk the entire ride. I don't remember about what. He pulled into the parking lot of the store first and parked close to the gas station so it was not in a highly populated area. I remember being weirded out and my stomach turned because he said he would take me home before the bus got there. I didn’t know what to say. I don’t remember what I said. But I remember him saying he needed to do something first. So I said ok and then he just continued sitting there. He asked me questions. I don’t remember the first few, they were random about school and things- but it was making me uncomfortable. Then he started asking other questions..Like if I was ok with him going there first. I didn’t have time to answer before he asked if I was nervous. I said I didn’t think my mom would be happy with me being late. He said I wouldn’t be “too late” and that made me feel anxious. He asked if I had ever been kissed before and I didn’t say anything at first. My heart felt heavy. I thought in that moment he was going to try to do something to me but then I thought no that’s crazy! But I was now convinced he was definitely giving off the vibes I thought he was giving me- which I felt stupid for thinking that before. Of course he couldn’t really be a pervert right? Wrong. Then he asked if I had ever been alone with someone his age before (he was like 30), I said no. He asked me if I had ever been touched under my clothes before. I said never. He asked if he could... I was shy and said I didn’t know and I think he thought I meant it was okay. It was a truck he had so all he had to do was scoot over and he was next to me. So he went under my shirt and touched me. I remember flinching. “it’s okay just relax” He touched my breasts and that’s when I realized I liked that feeling. I got goosebumps and he commented on that. Said I must like him touching me like that. then he started unbuttoning my pants and before I knew it he put his hand in my pants and touched me. I put my hand on his outside of my pants but i froze in fear and just sat my hand on top of his. He was intimidating. I got distracted when he grabbed my hand with his other hand and moved it away. I didn’t say anything and I think he thought maybe I wanted more. All I remember is breathing fast and feeling anxious- and his whispering “it’s ok. Relax.” He kept touching me and it actually felt good after I stopped tensing- I hate that he was right about MY body. He asked me if i liked how he was touching me and I shook my head yes 😞 I think my reaction was all he needed to know... and he kept doing it. I had never been touched like that before and it was new and I think I didn’t know how else to react 😢He touched himself and I made a point not to look. He pulled himself out and said “now touch me” and I let him guide my hand to his penis and he had me touch it. I remember the warmth. The feeling of the size. He showed me how to “stroke it.” I never looked at it though, so he said “you can look at me” but it didn’t sound like he was being “nice” about it, it sounded like he was telling me what to do. He ended up letting go of my hand and said “keep going” so I did. “Squeeze the h*” 🤢 ugh I hate all of the memories because it just sounds so vulgar and traumatizing. He was still touching me and going further down... not going inside but almost. He said he wanted to show me something. He started tugging at my pants and when I realized he was trying to get them off of me (I was scared because nobody had ever seen me like that and he was just about to expose all of me) they were already coming down my thigh and he was lifting me to get them from under me. he was pulling at my left leg to get it out of my pants. He Got my leg out and my pants were hanging by my knee on my right leg. I was pulling them closer, nervous someone would see me even though they couldn’t. he separated my legs and pulled me over and down some by my hips to where I was facing him more. and he stuck his finger or fingers inside of me, it hurt and i flinched again and said "ow" He kept shoving them in and none of it felt good to me. He seemed discouraged and took his finger or fingers out. He said he couldn’t help himself, it was in his face. He told me he wanted to do more but we (we?!) couldn’t yet. He said he was going to kiss me. He then kissed me down there..I started squirming and saying it tickled and then he said “have you ever been l***ed?” I had no time to even react- he said he had a surprise and I would like this part and started putting his tongue on me. I was very embarrassed. He was doing that and I was looking around outside realizing nobody was close, looking or caring and I found comfort in that I guess in those moments He kept going and my head was spinning. But I guess he wanted me to feel good maybe priming me for more activity in the future? If I concentrate hard enough on the memory I remember my body wanting to o but I stopped myself from doing so because I was nervous and didn’t know what was going on. but he could tell it felt nice to me. He smiled at me. He said things about my body, he liked to watch me “squirm”, I was being "bad", he might have to punish me..blah blah blah 🤮 I can remember his panting and the sounds from what he was doing to me. I felt wrong but i got a high off it. He told me I was too small and he didn’t want to break me. Back then I thought he meant his body compared to mine I didn’t think he was talking about his body part ripping me apart since I just turned 15, but I think that’s what he meant. he looked like he wanted to jump on me but he didn’t. In that second though I thought my mom is going to know everything when she sees me (and honestly I think she did see something in my eyes). Especially if he does all this right now with his body part he was obviously conflicted looking back. He rubbed himself against my private. i was scared thinking he was going to put his penis inside of me but he didn’t he just rubbed it against me. I don’t think he wanted to leave evidence knowing he would hurt me and I would be horrified and he wouldn’t be able to say it didn’t happen. Because he was large 😢I hate admitting that because he used it as a weapon on me. Then he pushed my leg down told me to keep touching him. He said “put your mouth on me. S*** it.” I panicked and said I couldn't! He asked if I’ve ever made someone c** before and I said no. “Ok just keep going, faster.” So I did and he finished . I was like in shock at this point that I just watched him do this and he touched me and I touched him and he just finished in front of me. he wiped himself on something he grabbed from somewhere. He asked “did I get you” 😖 he asked if I was okay and I said “yea”.He said I shouldn’t tell anyone about what we did because they would be jealous and start rumors and my life would be ruined. The first person that came to my mind was R my friend because she seemed to really like him and I didn’t want her to hate me he ended up taking me down the street from my house and told me he wanted to finish what we started or something along those lines. I don’t remember what I said or anything at all. I just got out and started walking down the few houses to my home, stunned. I felt like I was dirty. Like I had just rolled around in a ton of oil. I remember running into the house and my mom was mad at me immediately! She asked me what was wrong and I said nothing at first. But she kept pushing me telling me she saw everyone else walk home about 20 mins ago and I wasn’t with them like usual. so I told her someone in a car asked me for directions and she seemed to notice I was a little off or something because she looked outside scared and then she ended up telling my grandma about it. I’m not sure why she was so nervous because I didn’t let on that anything was wrong, I was just late. But sometimes she could like sense things- I just didn’t think I could tell her because I knew she would have blamed me for going with him She took me to get mace to carry with me...Which I took with me to school and had to leave In the principals desk before and after school. Even though the person who was making me uncomfortable was the teacher upstairs. I blocked this one out. I remember thinking about it slightly and hating myself and feeling guilty and wrong . If I told any adult I would have felt so embarrassed and I didn’t want anyone to know about it. I did write about it in a notebook I ended up putting in the trash can outside the morning trash was coming...I was so scared my mom would find it 💔 as I am finishing up writing this in the car, dirty deeds done dirt cheap by acdc was just on and it’s uncanny- it was that teachers favorite band. One of the reasons all the students just thought he was so neat 😒 Sometimes I feel like I’ll always be reminded of him no matter what I do. hearing the lyrics I can surely see why it was his favorite band. Sometimes I think The only shit he listened to was pervy. The triggers will always be there and I think I just need to accept this was just a part of my past now I just feel sick and would like a rage room 😆
  2. This specific incident was the second isolated, physical encounter I had with the person who sexually abused me. I was staying after for math help Because I really, really needed help with it...I decided to also ask him to help with the one thing I needed help with for a project in his class since it was the end of the semester project- not ever thinking he would try anything sexual IN school while there were other students and teachers around. When I went up to his class it was so nonchalant, I only had my notebook and I left everything else in the math classroom I was getting help in initially. I just didn't think anything could turn sexual THERE. I guess I still felt safe at school. I knocked on his class door because it was closed- I am not sure if he had to unlock it to let me in or not. But when he let me in, he locked the door behind him which I watched him do in what felt like slow motion. He said something about his expensive dj equipment and musical instruments he had in his room for the school band, but I still felt anxious anyways. My assigned seat was right in front of his computer desk which was also right in front of the door of the classroom. But my desk was covered in things. I tried to stand at his computer desk but he told me to go to the empty desk..I had to stand at the desk two rows behind, which made me close to the back of the classroom. He came over, stood behind me. We had already done the car thing however long ago...I am not sure on the exact time frame of everything. Maybe one day I will be able to piece together the time frames of these actual encounters for a better understanding of the timeline. But because we had done things before, as he was walking toward me I was thinking in that moment "he is going to touch me again". I think he thought me coming there was me wanting to do more with him. He took it upon himself to take this as another opportunity I guess. He was very, very close “did you come so we can finish what we started?” 😖 And I didn't respond before he grabbed my privates again the same way he had grabbed me before, and I realized it was intentional before and now. He touched me all over. The force of his hands made me lose my balance and I put my hands on the desk in front of me. I heard him take a deep breath in and then I heard his belt and he said if someone knocked on the locked door, I would have to hide and he pointed next to us (there was a spot with desks and there was cardboard where I could hide under the desk behind that cardboard... that’s what he wanted me to do) "Hide there if someone knocks" I never really wanted to admit this especially because it makes me feel used and dirty and embarrassed... He started saying things about oral sex. I was horrified-he kept joking, making me feel like I was making a big deal out of nothing “why are you looking at me like that? I ‘ate you out’ so it's your turn.” He was impatient. Next, I remember being closer to him and facing him and he told me it was “my turn” I was being “inconsiderate” and teasing him. I told him I didn’t know how, anything to try to get him to not press me to do it. But he told me he would teach me 🤢 So he did this part for a however long I told myself as I was doing it that I would never think about it/ do it again. I hated it. I still struggle with oral sex. I don’t really know how long he made me do it but it felt like forever. He showed me how he wanted me to do it so I did it the way he showed me so I could be done. I thought this was all he wanted and I dreaded him finishing. But he didn’t. Then he put his hands on my shoulders and I stood up like a stupid mindless zombie. Then he turned me around and started groping my body again. He undid my bra and felt my breasts and then he pulled my pants and underwear down really fast and forceful and it scared me. Then he reached around me and touched me for a few seconds and all of a sudden I felt him jab his fingers in me. He was saying things about my body part and about things I had no experience with. I didn't know what he was talking about! I heard his belt clinking as he was going in and out more forceful each time and it hurt. He was guiding himself to my body part. I knew it would hurt when I felt it against me almost going in and I said “no I am not ready!!” But it wasn’t very loud and I wish I would have screamed it!! He said vulgar things about me being ready.. I guess it was my fault, my body was responding) I started pulling my pants up, he tried pulling them back down and I started crying and I was embarrassed I was crying because nobody saw me cry. When I turned around, I had my eyes closed but when I opened them I saw he was backing away and pulling his pants up. So I pulled mine up all the way and I ran to the door, unlocked it and I ran to the bathroom with my bra still undone. I felt sick and gross. I felt dirty. I thought "how did I get myself into this". I actually felt stuck in this weird secret I didn't want any part of, something I didn't know how to get out of but trying to avoid him for now on. I don't know why I was still trying to rationalize things... I think I had to do that because if I admitted how fucked up this was, I think I would have had a mental break down. Maybe I should have I remember leaving my notebook in his classroom. I didn't want to go back..I was thankful I left everything else in the math classroom. I had to go to back there to get the rest of my things and I also needed to go to my locker before leaving. I ended up having to go to the office to get my locker combination. I forgot my fucking locker combination I was so rattled about what happened. I have recurring dreams of forgetting my locker combination. I always wore my winter coat in school after this so he couldn't touch me like he did on "accident" sometimes. Handing my notebook to me and grazing my breasts... I also remember instances after this when I had gym, he would come there to "excuse" me from class to "get help" or "help" the few times he did it before I started hiding in the bathroom during those periods to avoid him doing it anymore. I managed to avoid being alone with him those times he took me though. The times I avoided being alone with him when he took me from gym class was a time I went out of my way to socialize with another teacher and ask them for help with something. Another time I told him I had to use the bathroom and I tried to walk fast away from him as soon as we were passing the bathroom and I made it in there without him coming for me. Once I realized hiding in the bathroom was a place he never came after me, I felt safe in there. It became my safe haven as dumb as that is. I went to the bathroom a lot of the time I skipped classes. It was uncomfortable sitting in a bathroom stall for some of the periods, but I would just play games on my phone lol. Then my senior year I started helping a teacher grade English papers in the main school building during those empty classes I had with my abuser where he was the monitor with us-just to avoid him Ugh, he was making me uncomfortable during almost all of my college classes! Anyways-the teacher I helped grade papers for was Mr H and he made me feel safer for the most part. He knew who made me uncomfortable and vaguely why. So I guess I felt heard and validated with him. My high school boyfriend N knew him from having him in middle school and I guess we trusted him and we opened up to him about things. See N had those same college classes with me but he stopped coming to class a lot toward the last half of senior year but he half ass made sure I felt "safe" when he wasn't there since he knew some things about the teacher that harassed me at that point. Mr H was actually the teacher I had in the office with the principal as I told the school about the rape. I couldn't really look at anyone though so I couldn't tell you if they looked horrified or what. It is kind of a blur from the shock of it all I guess I feel foolish.
  3. I wrote a first draft of this earlier in a blog I keep hidden as a mental and emotional release. I was ashamed of what happened and have felt guilty thinking I was to blame for having frozen when forced, and being much older than the guy this happened with. I had no idea what to call this. However, I think I am ready to break the silence on this. So here it goes… ____ My younger sister had just gotten married, and I was ready to get away after being engulfed in all the planning. I was in AA at the time, and had been sober for 8 months, so I was proud of that progress. I decided to go visit friends out of town for a couple of weeks. At the end of my last week there, I went with my best friend to a party at a friend’s apartment. The guy whose apartment it was, was out of town and had his friend “IR”, watch the apartment and take care of his cat while he was gone. We had a good time, and then "IR" brought alcohol out. I kept declining and saying I really shouldn’t. But eventually, I felt left out of the fun, and took a drink. Then, we played a drinking game. I drank quite a bit. By the end of the game, my friend and I could not drive home. So “IR” said, we girls could sleep in the extra bedroom where there were two beds. An alarm went off in my head after a similar scenario happened leading up to my r* just 7 years prior. But my friend drove and said everything would be okay. IR even gave us clean basketball shorts and tanks to wear for the night. I crashed on one bed, while my best friend slept in the other bed. We really should have slept together if we were thinking straight. I’d fallen asleep. All of the sudden, I feel a body next to me. It was a guy and he was breathing heavily and spooning me. He started kissing my neck and slipped his arm over in front of me from behind, and put his hand up my tank squeezing my breast and ni*. I literally froze. This was all too familiar from 7 years ago where I woke up to being r*d in bed in the dark. I was still woozy from having drunk too much. I turned over to see it was “IR”. It was dark, but I could tell it was him. He shushed me, climbed on top of me, and put both of his hands under my tank now squeezing my breasts, and then lifted it up and put his mouth on my ni*. I tried to squirm out from under him, but he was much bigger and heavier than me and he kept moving from one breast to the other. I froze again and felt like I was beginning to mentally drift. I was scared, and just let him do what he was doing out of fright. Then he laid back beside me, and put his hand, the one closest to me, down my shorts and started rubbing me, while fingering me, and then reached over and grabbed my hand closest to him, and put it down his shorts on his p*. I was too scared and felt so ashamed that this was happening again to me. I remember quickly taking my hand out of his shorts, and he shoved it back in, and whispered “come on, stop playing!” I didn’t want to touch him, and I certainly didn’t want him to touch me either, but I was already becoming aroused by all he’d been doing to me, and he was strong and wouldn't let up. I could feel he was getting mad at me for not cooperating. I didn't know what he would do. He shoved multiple fingers in me so that it hurt, and then used his other hand to move my my hand on his p*, forcing me to masturbate him. I used my other free hand furthest from him, and grabbed onto his hand that was hurting me and whispering “stop, please, that hurts”. I remember trying to move his hand, whimpering from the pain. He kept shushing me and whispering to me to be quiet and just take it. I couldn’t even focus on my other hand on his p* in his shorts. I could just feel it getting firmer. I could tell he wasn’t going to let up on me or me on him. Then, I felt that tingly flushing feeling, and at that point, I couldn’t help but feel pleasure. I cli*d on right there on his hand. I felt so gross, dirty and ashamed. I remember feeling so numb and then drifted outside of my body again… like I wasn’t even there. At the same time, he wouldn’t let my hand go on his p* until he ej*d in my hand. He was breathing heavily, and made some disgusting noises, and a sigh of relief when it happened. He leaned over to kiss me, then turned over to go to sleep like everything that just happened was normal. I turned over facing away from him and curled into a ball. I still felt the pain down there, yet I was numb all over, and felt like the lowest of the lowest. I quietly cried myself to sleep that night. I was too traumatized to even go to the bathroom and clean myself up. I woke up to an empty bed. He was asleep on the couch outside of the bedroom now. I was so numb and felt so stupid for relapsing into drinking, and letting this kind of thing happen to me yet again. I felt like SA had become my normal. Did I give off a vibe that I wanted this or something? I was nice to him that night, but I never flirted with him to make him think I wanted to do more. I was confused about what happened and just wanted to get out of that apartment. My best friend said she was buzzed too, and vaguely remembered hearing panting and grunting, but just thought maybe we just hooked up or something. I couldn’t even get out the words to tell her he forced me, because I was still in shock and ashamed. I left town and drove back home (a 10-hour drive) the next day. I was ready to just drive off the road at various points of the trip, so that maybe I could make it seem like an accident. Then I get a call from my best friend saying, “Hey can you believe what I just found out?! “IR” is only 19 years old?!! Girl, I thought he was at least 25! Isn’t that crazy?!" I held it together on the phone, hung up, pulled over, and my whole body went numb… I just realized this 19 year old "boy", snuck into my bed and did those things the night before. He was a really big guy, tall and stocky, with a lot of facial hair, serving drinks and everything, so I thought he was at least 21 or older. He looked my age to be honest. I was 29 at this point. I felt so sick to my stomach and vomited outside on the side of the road. All of these thoughts raced through my head. When I was around "IR's" age, I’d been repeatedly mol*d by a man in his 30s for years, and then r*d by a 40 year old man soon after that. And here I am 29, almost 30, having been in bed with a 19 year old. I automatically felt sick, like a predator. I didn’t want to do those things with him that night, but I froze and was scared... of what I found out to be a 19 YEAR OLD! What is wrong with me?! Why did I freeze like that? Why didn’t I yell or scream? Meanwhile, my friend tells me when he found out I was 29, he thought it was an accomplishment. I hated that and felt so gross and violated. I attempted suicide again the following week. I felt so horrible. It hasn’t been that long since this happened, and I finally told my friend that I didn’t want to do what happened. She asked if we should do something about it. I said no out of shame and embarrassment. Who would believe a 29 year old was SA’ed by a teenager? I still feel sick and horrible about it. I have recurring nightmares about it… me being scared to find a body next to me in bed in the dark, me freezing, the arousal, the pain I felt, the embarrassment I felt for cli*ing, him using my hand to make him… Ugh. So now, when I start to feel bad about years of SA from multiple men, I feel like a hypocrite... I feel like I don’t deserve to feel bad because I let this teenager do these sick and awful things to my body and himself. It doesn’t matter whether I knew his age or not. And no, he wasn't a minor. But it's still very close. The facts of the situation are enough to make me physically sick. I’m still having trouble trying to come back from this. If you have gotten this far, thank you for reading it. I still feel uneasy as if people would view me differently. However, I’m just so tired of keeping so many secrets like this.
  4. Hi everyone! I hope everyone is doing well in this strange time in history (pandemic and national BLM uprising!) I am new to After Silence. I am also new to the healing process. I am not sure how to go about this, but from what I have seen, AS is a great community where I will hopefully find support among fellow survivors. I am a college student studying history. I love to read and write, especially about politics. I hope that I can incorporate writing and reading into my healing process (I've heard that Body Keeps the Score is a good book. Any thoughts on this?) Anyways, I am here in quarantine with my family, and all this time alone has forced me to think. Memories flooded back and I finally came to the epiphany/reckoning with my sexual assault(s) which happened three years ago. I am now starting my healing process because these past three years I have simply been in denial and constantly burying my trauma under layers of justifications and refusals to acknowledge the truth. Thank god that forums like this exist! I am excited to conversate with all of you:)
  5. After high school, I'd seen him several times in random places. I felt watched. I thought I was paranoid, so I started avoiding going out altogether to avoid feeling crazy. N got an apartment and I moved in. I never left the house. Took online college courses. I felt safe there because it was a basement apartment and I felt shut off and hidden from the world, which I liked (and still do sometimes!) I became very reclusive. I never left the house alone. Always looking behind me. So I couldn't bare leaving the house in general. I carried a mace everywhere. I didn't even work at first, I was so scared. All of these things in which N made me feel worthless about eventually. He also invalidated my night terrors and said I was "faking them" "over exaggerating." So from that point on I trained myself to suffer in silence. Why would I want to fake something like that? I don't know. Maybe it is easy for people to think I am pathetic and unworthy of any kind of decency. Easy to use and use as a punching bag... Fast forward a little bit more, when N was dealing with some legal issues of his own, things were brought back up. I remember this conversation like it just happened. I was at my moms house and N came there to tell me the news. He sat down on the couch and told me he had something to tell me about his case. He told me how there was a witness who came forward to speak negatively on his character. Mind you, it had been over a year since the rape. But when he said his name, I completely shut down. Feeling intimidated all over again... N told me he would agree to the plea for the other side just so it didn't have to go to trial and have the possibility of witnesses (so I/we didn't have to see him). He told me he knew he was only doing it to fuck personally with us. So I was thankful for that in my own way (that he at least understood that this guy WAS intending to torture us anyway he could); but I also felt responsible, yet again, for everything going to shit. It was so hard to deal with. Why was he doing this? To punish N too? To show me he was still there, always? That he would never let me/us seem reliable?? Either way, I was shattered. I don't know if N deep down blamed me back then, but he pulled away from me. He had a lot of anger issues after this. It felt like he hated me sometimes. All I could do was blame myself. Everything WAS my fault. I've ruined it all. There was nothing N could do to redeem the case because of this guy, and there was nothing we could do to fight him because of who he was and how many people supported him. And around this time is the first time I found After Silence. It saved my life I think. I found connections there that would end up lasting a while and helping me through the roughest of times. I am forever grateful for that. But I ended up ruining a friendship that was very dear to me. She was there for me through the hardest of times. I think she remembers things like needle marks and me kind of being missing from getting back into contact with her sometimes when we ended up developing a closer friendship. She probably thought I was a delusional drug addict too, honestly looking back About six months after this botched case, N was working with a local paper to help with an article about our state's education system and how there was an issue with teachers resigning after inappropriate conduct. Then being hired easily back into neighboring districts; those districts didn't know of any misconduct because the info is sealed while it was being investigated. Of course his main motivation for this was because of my rapist ruining his case months before. Also, with him mentioning he resigned from a school before for a locker room incident. I never read this article when it was released; I didn't want to. N just told me that the guy who raped me had a bad temper and had been told to resign another time for losing his shit on students and slamming a chair near a student. I remember being horrified. Feeling betrayed that he was allowed to work in our school and take his rage out on me. Resigned from schools multiple times and was then allowed to be hired again. I actually felt like I didn't matter. I was heartbroken. It ended up getting worse when people I knew from high school rallied together to release an article just days after this article about the man who raped me, saying how he was an amazing "teacher and mentor" and how the previous article "exaggerated his character in a negative light." It also said the situation with my ex best friend R was a "rumor" and that she exaggerated the relationship to her peers. Which was wrong; I saw the texts! People saw things...she didn't make any of it up. If it was just a fucking "rumor" then why did he end up resigning, AGAIN?? There had to have been solid evidence of him misbehaving somewhere and I know I didn't have anything on him but my word nobody believed. This was what completely shushed me. I didn't think I could ever fight an entire school full of people who loved a teacher who told us he had a huge penis or joked about his sex life or sex in general! Like that alone should have made these students realize "hmmm maybe he is a little inappropriate..." but NO, I'm the fucking liar apparently!! I thought about providing the articles but I can't without the paranoia eating me alive and making me delete this, again for the 3rd, 4th time? So I am going to avoid it Anyways.. N and I ended up parting ways after he got violent with me a few times. He had a lot of problems after I ruined his life. He began drinking more and abusing drugs, and he began to take his anger out on me. He told me he wanted to see other people and after leaving me for a short time, he said he wanted me back. I didn't want him back though. I didn't want anyone. So this was another violent episode that was extremely triggering. N knows it was and has since apologized (but I mean it was fucked up). In short, he came to my moms house and dragged me out by my throat to his car and made me sit in there with him while he was drunk and threatening to hurt me if I didn't take him back. At one point saying (after he just choked me mind you) "Stop looking so scared of me! I'm not him. I could take you to the backseat and rape you like him, but I wouldn't do that! So stop looking so scared of me!" I never really understood why he felt he needed to go there and say that. Maybe he was triggered that I looked horrified of him like he imagined I looked the day I was raped, which I know he thought about often. I tried to stay as strong as I could and speak reasonably to him. I really don't remember how I got back inside of my moms house. After all of this, I didn't feel like I could talk about my past ever again, so I vowed to try to act like it didn't happen. Which worked for a while. I ended up becoming a little promiscuous. I lost my virginity to N and never had sex with anyone else. So after we broke up, I guess for some reason I decided to act out sexually. I had sex with multiple guys in a short amount of time. One of them for a while though. Not that it matters.
  6. Sexual Assault & Orgasm During an assault, a Sexual Assault Survivor (SAS) may feel overwhelmed with feelings such as exposure, terror, helplessness, worthlessness, and isolation – yet amidst all this annihilating havoc, experience a degree of sexual arousal. This leaves many wondering: why does this happen and how does it effect a SAS's experience of sexual pleasure going forward? Each of us oscillate between “approach” and “avoidance” coping strategies in our quests to reconcile our experiences. Among SAS, this can present as oscillating between extremes of hypersexuality (i.e. high initiation of sexual behaviour) and hyposexuality (i.e. low initiation of sexual behaviour)(Covington & Müeller, 2001). Let's explore what each of these look like: Hypersexuality When an individual experiences orgasm during an assault, they encounter a rule of sex: increasing pain can increase pleasure. Sexual satiation is defined as the tipping point at which sexual tension begins to dissipate, typically following the climax of sexual excitement or stimulation (Bancroft & Vukadinovic, 2004). Because the brain is motivated to achieve equilibrium, it responds to extreme pain with a heavy release of opioids to regulate subjective experiences of distress and thereby produce a sense of calm (Tracey & Leknes, 2008). This anxiety-relief pattern is itself a “tipping point from peak tension to pleasure” and the SAS may come to understand that this is what sexual satisfaction is. During a period of hypersexuality, a SAS would likely describe the experience of rewarding sex as an energetic rush which culminates in a moment of “blacking out”, followed by a calm. As Freud conceptualizes it, it’s as if great tension in the body produces an urgent psychological drive towards satiation which results in climax in the psyche rather than body (Stoléru, 2014). For the hypersexual SAS, there is a pattern of overwhelming negative affect (i.e. feelings/emotions), alexithymia (i.e. the inability to identify or verbally describe ones feelings), and compulsive sexual behaviour (Walton, Cantor, Bhullar, & Lykins, 2017). Compulsions are repetitive behaviours or mental acts, of which the purpose is to prevent or reduce anxiety and distress. That is, they are ways of controlling the terror of lacking control. In this way, the SAS may learn to use sex as a way to medicate their distress. Although not particularly pleasant for their body, this compulsive anxiety-relief pattern produces an inherently reinforcing and potentially addictive “high” (Schwartz, Galperin, & Masters, 1995)(Bancroft & Vukadinovic, 2004) Hyposexuality When desperately trying to escape unwanted sexual stimulation, the SAS learns yet another rule of sex: decreasing pleasure can decrease pain. Dissociation is “the loss of the usual sense of self, time, and space, as a result of intense attentional focus or absorption in the environment, in feelings, in physical sensations, or in creations of the imagination” (Bird, Seehuus, Clifton & Rellini, 2014). In sex, a certain degree of this is helpful in order to remove the distractions of the external world, get out of our heads, and into the sexual experience of our bodies. Powerful psychological distancing effectively allows an individual to use another person’s body to masturbate, allowing for a climax in the body rather than the psyche. The hyposexual SAS would likely describe sexual satisfaction as an enjoyable physical release – similar but pronounced to a massage or scratching of an itch. In the hyposexual stage, the alexithymia associated with the hypersexual stage is reversed – that is, negative affect is consciously understood as being associated with the trauma, rather than confused as part of the “excitement” of the moment (Schwartz, Galperin, & Masters, 1995). To cope with this, the hyposexual SAS may avoid sex all together, or employ defence mechanisms to bypass awareness of emotions, bring sex to a tolerable level, and focus on the body rather than the whole of the self, other, or situation (Schwartz, Galperin, & Masters, 1995). Such defences can be employed to various degrees, for example – during sex the SAS may find they are immensely enjoying themselves one moment, then suddenly board (i.e. high defence), tearful (i.e. medium defence), or overcome with panic – thrashing wildly as if reliving an assault (i.e. low defence). A SAS may be familiar with their potential to fluctuate between these states, yet be unable to anticipate which if any of these will emerge. This lack of control over potential distress may be why a hyposexual SAS isn’t particularly inclined to initiate frequent sex. Furthermore, a heightened sense of trust tends to dissolve defences, which are crucial for preventing potential triggers in the environment from eliciting traumatic affect (Schwartz, Galperin, & Masters, 1995). This means that a SAS may respond to feelings of safety in the sexual context with the potential for an equal unmasking of their underlying sense of vulnerability to anticipated harm. For this reason, becoming too close to sexual partners may be registered in the SAS brain as dangerous, therefore they may prefer partners which they are in some way estranged to. Stepping Beyond the Cycle These “rules” of sex that may be learned within the context of assault, can be applied in healthy ways. The key is for the SAS to become aware of the forces that are driving them and begin to extract what they have discovered about pleasure from the horrors in which it was bread. Find out more about this in our next blog post, by entering your email below. To learn more about this study click: here. To pursue therapy with Sarah click: here. To be notified when part two of this post becomes available, enter your email below! References: Bancroft, J., & Vukadinovic, Z. (2004). Sexual addiction, sexual compulsivity, sexual impulsivity, or what? Toward a theoretical model. Journal of sex research, 41(3), 225-234. Covington, M. V., & Müeller, K. J. (2001). Intrinsic versus extrinsic motivation: An approach/avoidance reformulation. Educational Psychology Review, 13(2), 157-176. Schwartz, M. F., Galperin, L. D., & Masters, W. H. (1995). Post-Traumatic Stress, Sexual Trauma and Dissociative Disorder: Issues Related to Intimacy and Sexuality. Stoléru, S. (2014). Reading the freudian theory of sexual drives from a functional neuroimaging perspective. Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, 8, 157. doi:10.3389/fnhum.2014.00157 Morber, 2013. What Science Says About Arousal During Rape. Retrieved by: https://www.popsci.com/science/article/2013-05/science-arousal-during-rape Tracey, I., & Leknes, S. (2008). A common neurobiology for pain and pleasure. Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 9(4), 314-320. doi:10.1038/nrn2333 Walton, M. T., Cantor, J. M., Bhullar, N., & Lykins, A. D. (2017). Hypersexuality: A critical review and introduction to the "sexhavior cycle". Archives of Sexual Behavior, 46(8), 2231.
  7. zayexi

    Limits

    At 1:09 am, I texted my best friend. “Are you awake, by any chance?” He wasn’t, but if he had been, I’d already imagined the conversation we would have. I would tell him, “S*** just groped me while he thought I was sleeping. It kind of weirded me out.” He would reply, “OMG, straight men are so creepy!” And we would laugh about it a little, and then I’d go back to sleep. The imagined conversation was at odds with how I was actually feeling: panicked, disoriented, aware that it had been an hour since he’d done that and that my pulse was still racing. But these feelings didn’t make sense to me. It was just touching, right? I wasn’t a prude; I’d had plenty of casual sex in my life; and earlier on the trip I’d even idly contemplated the possibility that S*** and I might hook up. So what right did I have to feel so upset, so frightened, so confused, when all he’d done was touched me, and not even under my clothes, not even for that long? Just a guy being kind of a creep, I tried to tell myself; go back to sleep. But my body wouldn’t listen and instead I lay awake, watching myself feel things that I felt I had no right to feel. *** The first thing I remember is the weight of his hand on his thigh. In my memory it feels abnormally large, like it could cover my whole thigh or even my whole body. Maybe he rolled over accidentally in his sleep, I thought; or maybe he wants to hook up. Before I had time to decide how to react, I felt his hand moving, fondling me with heavy, almost possessive strokes up and down my body, moving from my exposed thigh to my exposed neck and back down. If I don’t respond, he’ll think I’m asleep and stop, I told myself when it started. But he didn’t stop; he kept stroking me while I lay there motionless; and then I remember feeling frozen and scared and confused and just waiting for it to be over, until it was. After he stopped I stayed motionless for I don’t know how long. It felt like it could have been an hour or five minutes. The imperative thing, in my mind, was to maintain the illusion of sleep. I didn’t consciously think about what I was afraid would happen if I broke the illusion; I just knew, in an unquestionable way, that I couldn’t. I tried to feign the deep breathing of someone sleeping, which was hard because my heart was racing and my breathing felt shallow; I tried to imitate the little movements people make during sleep, because being too still would be suspicious too; and I listened to the sounds his movements, trying to judge whether he was asleep or awake. I was lying on my left side, my right leg draped outside my sleeping bag because of the heat of the night. That casually draped right leg is where the touching had started and I desperately wanted to move it away, but the need to keep feigning sleep felt more important. I could feel the humid air in the tent on the skin of my thigh, reminding me it was still exposed. *** Eventually I decided it was ok to move. I looked at my phone expecting it to be maybe 4 or 5 am, thinking I could just pretend that I woke up abnormally early and decided to go for a walk around the campground. With a sense of dread I saw that it was only a few minutes after midnight. I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. I had a friend camping in the tent next to ours and contemplated waking her up, but whenever I actually thought I might do so, my body felt frozen to the ground. Anyway, I told myself, it would just seem hysterical; and he might deny it, or react badly, and I didn’t really want him to know he’d hurt me; and it had happened, it was over, what good would getting someone else involved do now? So instead I lay in the tent, trying futilely to use every trick I knew to get to sleep, and trying to understand what had happened and most of all why I felt so scared by it. I remember the hot, heavy air; the characteristic hum of insects, which had been a comforting sound; the panic I felt whenever I would hear him move in his sleeping bag. Here are some of the thoughts that went through my head: You need to go back to sleep; you won’t be able to climb tomorrow if you don’t. You’ve experienced unwanted touching before; why should this feel so much worse? You should feel flattered that he wanted you. Maybe he did it because you were on Tinder before going to bed, or because you kind of flirted when you were at the swimming hole. It’s over now; even if it happens again, you know what to expect, so it won’t be that bad. I want to cover myself in my sleeping bag, but it’s too hot. Am I sweating because it’s hot outside, or because I’m scared? Maybe it didn’t happen at all; maybe it was just a dream. Why didn’t you tell him to stop? Why didn’t you pretend to want it? Sometimes I think those hours lying awake in the tent were worse than the assault itself. *** I thought I probably wouldn’t tell I***, my friend and climbing partner for the trip, what had happened—because I didn’t know if I could; because I didn’t know if it was worth it; because I figured it would just ruin the rest of the trip for her and make things awkward. And for what? It had happened, and now it was over. Time to get over it and move on. But as much as I tried to convince myself to move on, I couldn’t really. Nothing felt real, and it was as though part of myself was still in the tent, waiting for the night to be over. I*** could tell something was wrong: as we walked to the climbing area, she looked at me and asked, “Are you ok?” I nodded and tried to think of excuses I could use if she asked again, like that I hadn’t slept well (which had the benefit of being true). But as we began to get ready to climb, I decided to tell her, without really knowing exactly why. “I don’t really know how to say this,” I began, “but…” When I described what he’d done, I remember that her eyes widened and she said something to indicate how unacceptable it was. “Yeah,” I replied, “It kind of really weirded me out, but anyway, it’s happened, so…” I shrugged. She looked me in the eyes and said, in a tone that mixed firmness and gentleness: “Ok, but you do realize that’s sexual assault, right?” I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure if I believed her. We did a short climb, because I wanted to, also without knowing why; we went to lunch, and she listened as I told her more about how I felt; and I started maybe feeling like my reaction made some sense after all. *** Two months later, I still sometimes feel like I did the day after the assault, and I am still trying to make sense of how “just touching” could have affected me so strongly. I haven’t gone camping since then, despite having wanted to; street harassment that I used to brush off startles me on a visceral level; sometimes it feels hard to concentrate or cope with the little unexpected challenges that are a part of everyday life. Someone later told me, “Sometimes you don’t know where your limit is, or that you have one, until someone crosses it.” I certainly didn’t expect my limit to be what S*** did. Like so many women, I grew up with the constant threat of rape looming over me; it was why, my parents told me, I couldn’t walk to middle school alone; it was a threat looming at every alleyway, every party, every bar. If I had a limit (and I wasn’t sure I did), that surely had to be it. When female friends complained about street harassment, or went out of their way to avoid walking alone at night, I would outwardly sympathize but inwardly scoff a little, because I felt I could handle that and didn’t really understand why they might feel differently. I had conversations with friends where we talked about how of course consent is important, but plain old bad sex isn’t really rape, is it? As for myself, I had been assaulted once before, although I didn’t think of it as that at the time. It was sometime in middle or high school. I was at the public library, and an adult man came up behind me and groped my ass. I froze, he left, and I told no one. In my mind, the experience was always marked by “see, that wasn’t that bad” and “good thing it didn’t go further.” It was evidence to myself that I was strong enough to deal with this kind of thing. Strong enough also to deal with the routine comments about my body I received from passing men, to deal with being followed and not being sure if they’d listen when I told them to leave me alone, to deal with whistles and stares and smacked lips. The fact that I’d had a lot of casual sex also convinced me that I couldn’t have a limit there, or maybe anywhere. Some of it was fun and exciting and something I knew I wanted, but much of it was almost automatic: something I did without thinking about whether I wanted it or not, and without even thinking that that was a valid question to ask. I can remember two times that I told someone to stop, and both times I was grateful and a little surprised when they actually did so, as though they were doing me a favor that I didn’t deserve. I think maybe I felt so certain that my boundaries wouldn’t be respected (because I am a woman, because women live under a constant threat of rape, because if you don’t want to do something with a guy it’s probably because you are frigid and a prude) that I felt it was better not to assert any at all. After all, if you don’t assert a boundary then it can’t be violated—or at least, you don’t have to face the pain of knowing that someone deliberately chose to do so. But that night in the tent with S*** made me painfully aware that maybe this strategy didn’t protect me as much as I’d thought it did. After years of telling myself I was strong enough to deal with this shit, that it wasn’t really that bad, all it took was the touch of his hand on my skin to cross a limit I hadn’t even allowed myself to realize I had.
  8. I've never tried to run a blog before, so I hope that the messiness of this blog won't deter you from reading what I have to say. I want to start this blog by saying that I think that sexual assault or R (or anything that could fall in this category) is NEVER the victims fault. Never ever ever. But at the same time I still feel that this doesn't apply to me. What happened to me has changed who I am as a person and how I think about the world and the people in it. It has made me a much more cautious person and a much more clingy person. I will never say what happened changed me for the better, because that is not true. What happened has stolen my life from me and no matter how hard I try I still feel like I will never be able to get it back. But even though this all happened to me, it must be my fault. I mean, I must've let this happen to myself because how else could it have happened? I was always told that I should always be in control of my body and I couldn't be in this moment and that's on me. I wouldn't ever wish sexual abuse on anyone. The pain that this has brought me is immeasurable and I don't think anyone should ever have to suffer through what I have had to, but I wish that my attacker could feel the pain that he has brought me. I wish that he knew what he has put me through. Every day I wake up and have to face my attacker. I pray to God that when I see him he doesn't make any comments to me, but I can bet on at least one sexual whisper in my ear when my back is turned, and I can guarantee he will "accidentally" press himself against the back of my leg. It's been almost two years since he left the scars on my body and stole the hope I had for the future. I thought that I was past this pain, but lately I feel that it is getting bad again. The nightmares have returned and the urges to hurt myself have increased. I have been trying not to think about bringing pain to my attacker but thats all I can think about lately. I want him to hurt the way I hurt, and ache the way my body aches. I want him to wake up in the middle of the night like I do and feel unsafe in his own skin. I want his life to be flipped upside down like mine was. I know that he doesn't deserve this pain. No one does. I wish I could get these thoughts out of my head and oh god do I wish that I could stop feeling bad for my attacker because I want him to feel like I do. I came to this site hoping to find people who feel the way I do and I hope that people can help me find my way through this. I can't live with this type of pain anymore. I can't deal with the nightmares anymore. I hope that my first post doesn't scare you away and I hope that this community can help me find the person I used to be. Thank you
  9. Hi everyone. I was nearly assaulted over 3 years ago by someone I thought was a friend. I have "dealt" with it as best as I thought I could without reaching out for help. My two most precious people in the world, my husband and my mom, have been enormously supportive. But, I feel like talking to other survivors will help me and hopefully I can be helpful or at least provide an ear/pair of eyes to them as well. I have grappled with what I now see is very common in survivors, especially questioning if I was actually assaulted, guilt and self-blame (this one has been extremely tough), shame (even now I'm going the online route instead of a face to face group), depression, PTSD symptoms, and some of the worst emotional pain I've ever experienced. I recently moved across the country, away from where I lived my entire life and everything I have ever known and changed my line of work. Part of this was to help "forget" what happened. This new experience has opened my eyes in 2 ways. 1. There is no forgetting it, so I need to FORGET THAT IDEA and 2. I need some kind of closure on this and feel this forum will help me figure out what this looks like (a more direct confrontation (long story), therapy, etc). I'm open to any ideas/comments/insights. And please know I'm here for everyone, anytime.
  10. Hey, all! Hoping this finds everyone in good health...mental and otherwise! As for me, I'm still...well...me. I dare not say for sure that I'm in good mental health because that, as always, remains a matter of opinion. So...spring has finally sprung where I live...where there were gnarled, menacing tree branches, there are now lovely cherry blossom trees in bloom, colorful leaves growing, grass and flowers sprouting. Rising temperatures are also lifting my spirits - although we've had more than enough rain, it's still nice to be free of the arctic nightmare that was this past winter. I'm more motivated to go outside - this week, we're having a little work done in our backyard. Next week, I'll be attempting to decorate. The Son's graduation barbecue has been set for five weeks from now and I'm motivated to make our back yard beautiful. The cherry blossom tree I want of my own is likely going to be next year's project; making the yard presentable is going to keep me busy enough for the next few weeks. Lost a little bit less than one pound, bringing my total to 26.1. Slowly but surely, I'll get there. My water intake hasn't been what it should. Will work on that this week. But, anyway...enough of the small talk... Lately, I've been struggling with sleep, again. I thought I had it figured out, but I apparently do not. Tylenol PM has been deemed ineffective - two nights this past week, I took two and waited, waited and WAITED. Sleep remained elusive, even though I had managed to cover every single little annoying light in the room. I tossed and turned for at least another two or three hours before I finally fell asleep - an hour before the alarm roused me to get the kids up and off to school. I think I know what the problem is. It's not until I'm trying to fall asleep at night that my brain (which has been inadequately programmed to accept SLEEP as an acceptable and normal way of life) decides that it's time to think about things that I don't necessarily have answers for. At two or three in the morning, no less. I'll be tossing and turning, intent on replenishing on my energy and strength and my brain goes something like this: "Pssst. Hey, Capulet. D'ya remember the kitchen drawer you meant to re-arrange and organize? Well, it's getting fuller because you've been neglecting it for weeks. How much longer do you think it'll be before you won't be able to open it? And when you finally DO get to it, the knob you pull to open the drawer is loose. You're going to need a Phillips screwdriver to tighten it. The screwdriver is actually IN that drawer, too, so you don't have to look far. You planned for that, actually. And then when you're done with that knob, you're going to need to tighten at least a dozen other knobs throughout the kitchen and bathroom cabinets..." So, there you have it...there's me...at three o'clock in the fucking morning, there I am with the screwdriver, because my brain won't shut the fuck up about the knobs. You'd also think - okay, all thirteen knobs tightened, am I going to be able to sleep now? No. Because then it starts with the next thing. It's like my brain queues thoughts - things I push away when I have all the time in the world during the damn day, and it saves them for when I'm supposed to be sleeping. But I think I'm a sleep superhero - I've mentioned previously that this was something I've been used to since I was in my late teens. Sure, the day after, I'm a zombie and the night after, I USUALLY crash accompanying a NyQuil swig. So, a couple nights ago...I had a pounding headache. Took a Tylenol PM - (and here's further proof that it simply doesn't work...I either need to take three or four or find something stronger) and headed to bed. Few minutes in, there's the voice of my brain. "Hey. Hey. Never mind sleep. Tell me, Capulet, why do you think you don't like music?" I punch my pillow. Oh, my God. All I want is to SLEEP! Shut up, brain. SHUT UP! I attempt to ignore the voice. I think of other things. I think of my beautiful nieces and my handsome nephew. My cats. My upcoming house projects. The parties I'm trying to plan for birthdays, graduations, other marvelous life moments. I try to "start" a dream...hopefully I'll drift off and finish it. No such luck that night, though. "You're not going to sleep until you explain to yourself why you hate music. Come on. It's time to think about this and nothing else, because you're NOT going to be able to sleep until you do..." I want to say Will Ferrell is the voice of my disobedient brain - simply because I can't stand him and find him annoying. Very convenient, isn't it, to have him narrate my impromptu middle-of-the-night thoughts? So, I get to thinking about my dislike of music. It's not because I want to or choose to, it's because Will Ferrell won't let me sleep. I always thought that it mostly has to do with the fact that I can't hear it. I can feel the beat, I can hear, through the help of my hearing aid, the sounds. But I cannot string together the words to a song. I can't tell if it's a pleasant sound or dissonant. I can't enjoy it, even in the smallest way. I don't understand when someone tells me that music is more than hearing; it's an experience. I don't get it when my fiancee rushes over to me after watching 'The Voice' with goosebumps on her arms and she says, "Oh, my god...their singing...it sent chills through my body...look! See the goosebumps?" And sure enough, yes, there they are. I don't get it when I see people in the gym or jogging in the park with headphones in. I mean, I guess I CAN understand - for these people, it serves as a distraction...when you can focus on your favorite songs while you work out, the exercise doesn't seem so tedious. Maybe that's why I fail miserably whenever I DO bring my ass over to the gym. I see people with song lyrics tattooed on them. Lyrics I normally cannot identify the song they came from or who the artist is. My mother loves music and enjoys Broadway...she goes to shows often with her (retired) friends. My father, when he's not swearing at the Mets and their recent lack of baseball talent, loves music and occasionally 'jams' with his (also retired) friends - he plays the organ and the saxophone, for fun. He's also known to enjoy American Idol when it's on. My sister (the one who's a bit of a snoot) has been performing since she was a small child and much to all of our relief, she's now just had her second child and is just now focusing on motherhood, something she should have started doing five years ago when my nephew was born. My fiancee loves playing her favorite music in the car or in the bedroom...she will attempt to tell me about certain songs, certain performers, and as much as I try, I can't bring myself to care. In fact, J and I have an inside joke. Whenever I see people sing, I have to admit to being amused by it and often referring to it as 'people screaming.' Because, to me, it looks like they're screaming in pain. Especially the ones who belt out in song and distort their faces so excessively, it reminds me of someone attempting to pass a kidney stone or preparing for childbirth. And so, on J's days off, I sleep late (most likely because the night before was a restless one) and while she's waiting for me to awaken, she 'watches people scream' with her cat. It works for me. And finally, my KIDS love music. The daughter is constantly playing music through her iPad while she does homework, cleans, takes showers. A lot of the time, I have to tell her to turn her stuff down, because it's giving me a headache. The Son, a few weeks ago when I picked him up from school, expressed his sadness that I couldn't hear music. He said he 'felt so bad' for me, that he found it devastating that I didn't know what I was missing. I told him that I wasn't bothered by it. I think I found it more touching that he was of the impression that we'd even have the same taste in tunes... I've even seen and met other deaf people (and it's safe to say they are just as deaf as I) who enjoy feeling the beat and claim to love music, even watching people sing/perform on television, even if they're not getting the full audio experience they still SOMEHOW manage to gain from music and reading the subtitles as a person performs. I'll never understand though, how that's possible, either. But I never questioned it. I don't think I ever really cared enough to do so. I guess it would be a different story if I'd ever heard music. If I'd been born with the ability to hear and lost my hearing later in life, I think I'd have been crushed, having something I enjoyed so intensely taken away from me. I think that's what my son THINKS happened in my case, even though I've explained time and time again - you can't possibly miss something you've never had the pleasure of understanding or experiencing. But...I have to confess...I hate music. When I hear music playing through the radio or through someone's phone or from the TV, it sounds staticky. It's just loud, annoying noise. Oftentimes, it gives me a headache because that's what noise DOES. When you can't make heads nor tails of it, you're left with unnecessary background noise that plays in your head long after it's been turned off. I can't help but roll my eyes - is it really as hyped up as everyone says? I mean - I've always said people were entitled to their own opinions, not everyone likes and dislikes the same things. But almost every single person I know likes music...and I can't help but feel left out because this isn't something I can take joy in alongside them. Ebenezer Scrooge's 'bah humbug' comes to mind whenever I see someone enjoying music or singing...and I just find myself disconnecting from any and all forms of music. I allow myself to get lost in thoughts and if the 'noise' gets to be too much, I take my ear out. I retreat into silence, because, for me - this is more comfortable. I have another theory, though, on why this is such a torrid topic. And this isn't an easy theory to recognize but in hindsight, it makes a whole lot of sense. I am going to issue a trigger warning at this point...okay? When I was assaulted at seventeen years old, it happened at a party. I was in someone's bedroom (it was not my attacker's house nor a fraternity house - it was simply someone else's 'folks-are-away-on-European-vacation-so-let's-have-a-rager' house) and my assailant had locked us inside that upstairs bedroom under the pretense of making a phone call to someone who could pick me up since my 'ride' was downstairs and drunk. Anyway, at one point after things had gone terribly wrong, I was pinned down on the floor, with him on top of me, methodically ripping away my soul. It was after I had stopped fighting him - any previous attempts to cry for help were not heard nor recognized and the door remained locked for the duration of the assault. And although I may not have understood it in the moment due to shock and eventual 'check-out', I'd later begin to realize why no one came. It's because, through the floor, I could literally feel the blasting of the music playing downstairs. This kid must have had top-of-the-line speakers and stereo equipment because it was the type of loud that one could barely hear themselves in, never mind someone in a bedroom upstairs. My body (back mostly) vibrated along with the floors. Surely, no one heard my feet and fists stomping on the floor. No one heard me scream. No one came to my rescue because NO ONE HEARD ME. During that life-changing moment that I will never be able to associate without the presence of loud "noise," I lost not only a huge part of myself, but also the ability to see music as anything but bothersome as well as loathsome. And there you have it, friends - I want to think that although the hearing impairment is likely the primary culprit, that there is also that secondary reason why I won't open up my mind to music. I just can't. Yet, I've been known to jot down some poetry and I was constantly writing things down following the sexual assault. These were my most common outlets. Both of these are closely associated with songwriting and with creation. But for me - there was no musical vision accompanying these words. While another artist might be able to put 'noise' and lovely melodies to these words, all I can manage, is silence. I am sure that music in general is a beautiful thing - yet, I can't help but associate it with something so ugly and heartless, cruel, cold. And this is something I don't like about myself nor to admit about myself, especially since I know that for so many people, whether they are close to me or not, this is a STAPLE. People have said they don't know what they'd do without their favorite music...for to them, it's comforting. As I near the end of this post, I do want to put a little disclaimer here - that if you are one of those who gain comfort from music, I certainly do respect that - I just would never be able to understand it the way you do! And in no way do I feel differently about any of my friends who love something I dislike so much - for I truly feel we all have our valid reasons for loving/hating something. I just feel that unless you can effectively explain and comprehend what your own personal reasons are, then you're not justified. (I don't know if this is even the right word or even fair to say - it's just a feeling I have when it comes to my own likes and dislikes, and it's, as expected, nearly 3am right now so I've surpassed the point of translucent thinking.) I truly wish that this was different for me and that I were more open to reading song lyrics, 'feeling' the meaning behind them, etc, but this is not something I can do right now. If this will ever be possible, I don't know, but I'm not in a hurry. But, to me, aside from not being able to hear it properly, music is simply just noise...and likely a triggering one. I'm not sure if writing this blog entry will enable me to completely understand or even to answer this particular pressing question that from time to time plagues me at odd hours of the morning. I'm not sure if it's even validation I seek. Either way...I'll hope that this interpretation appeases Will Ferrell as I hobble over to the bed. I've taken the swig a few minutes ago and am hoping that shortly, sleep, along with silence, will overcome my otherwise busy, insomniac brain. I'm sure that in the next couple nights, Will shall be back and he'll be asking me (at 2am) if I've remembered to feed the Daughter's hermit crabs or if I've remembered to transfer the clothes from the washer into the dryer or I've paid a bill or emailed an aunt for her birthday. My best to everyone. And, until next time, adios! - Capulet
  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. Sometimes I feel like I made the whole thing up. I think this is partly because I don't want to believe this happened to me and partly because no one believed me, or if they did they didn't seem to care. It wasn't a "violent" rape, it's as di*k head Robin Thick says a matter of "blurred lines." But now I know the lines were clear. I said no to multiple advances, to the point where my friends were telling him to leave me alone. All night he wanted me to drink more, and when I thought he was leaving me alone, he was really waiting for me to be drunk enough to not realize where I was. After writing my story in detail, I realized how real my experience is. It saddens me that so many beautiful girls, women, and men will be victims of rape and not even let themselves believe it. Believe there is a real reason why they feel violated, lost, empty, depressed. I wish I could tell them I believe them. Because despite what the media says, nearly all reported cases of sexual assault are real. So can we please begin supporting victims. Can we please tell them their feelings, their memories, and their lives are legitimate.
  13. 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. MyselfAndI

    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.
  15. MyselfAndI

    It's complicated..

    **Detailed Story** It feels as though one moment changed my entire identity, stripping away any of my remaining naivety and innocence. But when that mystified encapsulation of fear, anxiety, and anger finally managed to dissipate, I was left with only the framework of who I use to be. I was replicating a girl who disappeared into womanhood without the chance to say goodbye. Inside, this woman is still filled with the fear, anxiety, and anger, but now the remaining cracks are filled with regret. I find myself asking "why did I go out that night?" "why did no one care?" "why didn't I do anything.." My story is complicated because there are no clear lines, but isn't that the thing about rape... I went to a party at a "good" friend's house. I went over early, along with another girl, to hang out before the party started. I wish I could remember more of what happened that night, but some of my later memories are lost due to the alcohol, and the earlier ones due to the passing time. Finally, the people began pouring in. I really liked everyone at the party, but there was one guy there who I had never met but had heard of. He had a reputation of sleeping around and partying all the time. He was not the type of guy I would ever want to hook up with, but hey lucky me, because that night i guess I was his target. Throughout the night he kept hitting on me and trying to always be near me or sitting next to me. I would just politely/ nervously laugh and then proceed to ignore him as he would make crude remarks about my body. After many awkward attempts of trying to get me to go upstairs with him, my friends told him to leave me alone, they knew him much better than I did. I didn't see him for an hour or so, so I continued to talk and drink with my friends. But again, he came up to me trying to get me to go upstairs, and when I would say no he would try to get me to drink me. We went upstairs, but instead of going into the kitchen where some people were drinking, he pulled me to the side and we started kissing. When I realized what I was doing I stopped immediately. He tried to coax me to stay but I said I couldn't because I just broke up with my boyfriend, which was true but wasn't the reason I didn't want to stay. I wish I hadn't been so nice. I went downstairs, where he continued to pursue me for the rest of the night. It was to the point where I was no longer trying to be polite. I should have felt that I was being hunted that night, but I thought I was with my friends and everything was chill. So I continued to drink, and we were eventually smoking too. I eventually found myself sitting alone on the floor up against the wall. I am not sure how long I was there before he sat down next to me and put his arm around me. I think he was talking to me, but I'm not sure I was even responding, I just needed to sit there for a minute. But then suddenly I found myself walking up the top flight of stairs towards the bedrooms. The next thing I can remember is being naked on the bed, being moved around like I was a doll. I still have a flashback of his pale skin glowing in the darkness, the only thing I remember seeing other than the pillow my face was shoved into and his penis when he was trying to get me to perform oral. The whole time this was happening, he kept telling me he wouldn't tell anyone if I didn't. For years, I took this because he was embarrassed or thought I would be, but I realize now that he knew what he was doing to me was wrong. But I didn't need to tell anyone, because my friend and his friend came looking for us. They knocked on the door, it took me a long time to finally be able to put my shirt on, but once I did I walked out of the room and straight down the stairs. He was hiding in the closet, but they knew he was there so he came out. I don't remember much after that, I just fell asleep on the sofa. He told everyone he had sex with me that week at school. People were coming up to me and asking about it, his friends were asking me if I had a good time with him. My friends seemed to feel bad that I was upset (barely speaking off and on for nearly a year) and that I was uncomfortable at just the mention of him, but they continued becoming even closer with him, along with more of my friends as he kept becoming more popular. Nobody really cared to believe that what happened to me was rape, I was just another girl at a party he had sex with. For a while, I believed this too. When I would finally let myself admit that I was raped, I would instantly deny it with, "I wasn't that drunk," "I could have said no that last time," "if it were rape someone would care." Now i am filled with regrets that I didn't speak up for myself, how blind I was to societies perception and constant sexualization of women, and that I wore my rape like a badge of shame for years, and still do at times to this day.
  16. Hello everyone I'm just going to go by my user name I am joining this to have more people to talk to. my Rape crisis counselor suggested i join something like this.
  17. 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.
  18. In the last year or so I've gained quite a bit of weight. I now have stretch marks all over because of how quickly I gained it. I didn't try to gain it it just kind of happened because I went off my medication for a while because I kept not getting to the doctor. I was afraid of the fact that I didn't have insurance. I used to look in the mirror and love myself but now I look in the mirror and I see something completely unattractive. I didn't wear shorter shorts this summer, I didn't wear my favorite sun dresses, I couldn't afford to buy all the cute new clothes I would have loved to be able to wear. I am beautiful, but I don't feel that I can be sexual. My weight feels like too much of a burden. But even with all that insecurity I feel wonderful. I don't feel as scared anymore. I'm aware that victims come in all shapes and sizes, but I just feel less like an option for predators and I have less propositions in general. It makes me feel safer. I want to be healthy, but I'm afraid to lose weight. I'm afraid of adding some other guy to the list of people that wouldn't listen when I said "No" or set a boundary.
  19. We are all born into this world as loving, trusting, pure beings. We possess a genetic and a soul connection to all of our ancestors. We are the culmination of everything that we have ever been as well as all that we can and will ever be. Upon this earthly playground we live, love and have experiences both public and private. We are molded by our unique genome as well as our environmental influences thereafter. We experience ecstasy as well as pain, joy and sadness, heaven and hell. So when it is time for us to die, what then did we gather from all of this life? For those of us who are agnostic or atheist; the question is... "What legacy have we left"? For those of us who are spiritual or religious; the question is..."What contribution have we made to the greater good and what rewards or challenges shall we face in the hereafter?". None of us get a free ride. There is a natural give and take that we all share in this life. Some of us believe in a higher justice and some of us question if there is such a thing. When we are in the midst of our sufferings, faith can be hard to muster. Maybe we think we deserve punishment. There are still others that live with an attitude of entitlement. As if all other beings and nature have evolved only to serve as an instrument of personal satisfaction. Presented to us just for our personal exploitation. Family, friends, life, death- does any of it matter? Is there a God? If so; why do we suffer so much? Perhaps we are all organic miniature libraries circling the infinite main library of the creator. Micro representations of the cosmic macrocosm. If we accept this hypothesis, then what we do and think at all times is recorded and rewritten many times within ourselves and beyond. This IS the model that I subscribe to personally. We all fall, we all make mistakes and we all can get up again and heal wrongs of the past. We have a responsibility to all creation to makes things better and not take more than our share. At this point I am going to divulge some personal information that some may find shocking. This announcement is in the spirit of healing for all those whom have had any similar experiences and need a platform for their voices. My father Lester raped me when I was approximately 12 years old. When he performed this heinous act against me he stole my feminine power and my life in one fell swoop. My life would have gone much differently if this tragedy had not occurred. In the 44 or so years that followed I have done much work on myself and have triumphed as a survivor. My father went on to have his 15 minutes of fame and has been able to live a fulfilling and exciting life. He has played a leading role in saving the peregrine falcon from extinction and blazed the trail for others to continue this important work. His personal contribution to the higher good of the planet is an unquestioned fact. He is a charismatic, handsome and successful character in that particular play. He got away with his crime against me without any visible downside in the public eye. I went on to struggle with lingering PTSD for the following 44 years. In that time I have done much healing work on myself as well as many others along the way. This public announcement is intended to reach any other "targets" out there whom Lester or any other perpetrator may have damaged. If you or someone you know had any alone time with my father as a minor please contact me! Together we can close this chapter of abuse and educate others as to methods in prevention of this kind of sexual crime. This sociopathic behavior can only be prevented if we bring this problem to light for all to see. Most of us survivors are terrorized by the idea of exposing these dark offenses. We most often are ruled by shame and fear that paralyzes us from taking any important bold action. My silence very well may have left other innocent young people unprotected and then later preyed upon by this man. The statistics vary greatly, but generally show that approximately 1/5-1/4 of us have fallen prey to sexual abuse by the age of 18. Most experts agree that all child sex criminals are serial offenders. Most of these predators are people who are close friends or family of these young people. The targets are from all walks of life, all races and can be of either gender. These perpetrators most often "groom" their young prey by establishing special relationships with the children. They make the children feel extra special and usually progress to the inappropriate behaviors with these minors almost in plain sight. In other words the perpetrator is usually trusted by the child's family and therefore allowed to have private time with the minor. The only way for us to protect our children from these kinds of crimes is to educate all of the young and adult public. We have to change laws that are protecting the perpetrators. We must also provide better social services and effective counseling to the families involved. Now that I have spoken my anguish publicly, I may live the rest of my life fully. I will die knowing that I have done everything in my power to contact any other people who have experienced this indignity. Bless you all! The professionals say that according to statistics, I am not the only one. I have not found the other survivors yet. Anyone with any information related to this case or any other similar cases are encouraged to contact me! You might not even realize that you were victimized by this man. You may have warm and fuzzy memories of him because you thought that you were special to him. Please take the time to reconsider what the actual nature of that relationship was. As a united front, we can heal together and end this kind of abuse. Are you brave enough to be a part of the solution? If so, let’s talk. :-) My father's name at that time was Lester He preferred to be called “Les”.
  20. RAINN’s National Sexual Assault Online Hotline Now Available in Spanish https://rainn.org/news-room/spanish-online-hotline-pr-english?utm_source=SPECIAL%3A+Bilingual+Services+Launch+&utm_campaign=SPECIAL%3A+Bilingual+Services+Launch&utm_medium=email Para leer en español, haga clic aquí https://rainn.org/news-room/spanish-online-hotline-pr-espanol I received this Email from RAINN today, and wanted to share it with the AS Members Dear I wanted you to be among the first to know that RAINN is launching a big expansion ofits services. The National Sexual Assault Hotline will now be bilingual, able to assist the 37.6 million people in America who speak Spanish as their primary language. The new destination for sexual assault support in Spanish israinn.org/es. https://ohl.rainn.org/es/ At rainn.org/es, survivors and their loved ones can receive confidential help and support from professional, trained staff. Read more about the new services in today's Washington Post, and watch an interview with a survivor on Univision's Despierta América.
  21. I told my best friend about what happened to me. It was hard, and at first I am not completely sure if she believed me or not. But after the words came out of my mouth, "I was raped by my brother," she at first was shocked. Then she hugged me, and told me that it would be okay. I felt like there was this weight lifted off my shoulders and it feels good. I urge anyone who is in the same position as me, or knows somebody who is. Tell somebody, even if it is a friend. It will help, I promise. I feel like I am one step closer to becoming myself again, like I can carry the weight of what happened and not let it affect me anymore. Much love xx
  22. sarahh2396

    Hi

    Hello, I'm Sarah I'm from new Hampshire. Just over a year ago, I was sexually assaulted by my best friends older brother, I would talk to him while I was at my friends like normal human beings until one night everything changed. I was diagnosed with PTSD, I have opened up and told my story but no one believed me and people still don't believe me I guess I'm just looking for some understanding and maybe for someone to help me find a reason why
  23. Hi im new to this site and dont know what to do or say? I guess I can just put why im here. I was abused by the man who was supposed to protect me for harm not the one to cause it. My father if I can call him that. My uncle sexual abused me from the age of 4 to 9 I never told my father as I was told he wouldn't believe me and I would get a beating for lying I believed it as I got beat for less. I never really got over my childhood and it showed into my teen years when I was 15 I sexual assaulted would of been rape if a woman hadn't heard me scream.I was told that talking to other victims may help me so I thought id give it a try.
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