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Found 26 results

  1. purge


    i think i should know, how to make love to something innocent without leaving my fingerprints on L-O-V-E's just another word i'll never learn to pronounce
  2. I have trouble with the passage of time. The beginning of last week started out really painful and emotional. I was out of my apartment because of the situation I wrote about two blog posts ago, and I was facing two weeks at my mothers house. I was in a state of complete anger and delusion. I was redirecting all that anger towards my roommate/ex/best friend because he was, "kicking me out." Now, those two weeks are almost up. Things don't feel as painful or emotional and I don't feel as angry and upset. But I am a paranoid person and I know how my mental illness works. Time is fleeting, we experience high's and we experience low's but how does someone deal with the possibilities. Right now, I feel relatively calm and ok with myself. I feel somewhat like maybe I've been dissociating a little bit. But what will two weeks from now look like? It's a paranoid and scary thought that sometimes throws me off my self-care track. I mean, just two days ago I was sitting in bed, on the phone with my ex screaming that I wished I was dead, that I hated myself, that I hated him. No, I am not "normal" but I find myself faced with the polarizing reality of "craziness" and "sanity" and what it all means... I started this week still blocked from talking to my ex. The only mode of communication I had available to me to him was email. He set up the boundary for himself that I could email him when I was ok to talk on the phone, in a non destructive and toxic way. (I know I must be dissociating because I am having trouble recalling my week as I am typing). On Monday he called me while I was doing my classwork, I saw my phone ring but I didn't pick up because seeing his name automatically caused intense anxiety and fear. I knew that picking up the phone and talking would result in me having to display an amount of vulnerability that I struggle with. I knew he would want to know how I was dealing and feeling, that he would be his usual introspective, psychedelic self (the man I fell in love with) and I would find myself constricted at the throat. Completely aware of how shitty I treated him just a few days prior, how there couldn't possibly be ANY way I could express how deeply sorry I felt, how much I missed him and how much I loved him. So I ignored the call and let him leave a voicemail. He was happy and cheerful, he told me he had just taken an E pill and that even though we were experiencing what we were experiencing, he is thinking of me, he loves me and he misses me. That night, I was sitting on the couch watching T.V with my mom and I couldn't stop thinking about him. So I sent him an email, asking, "how are you feeling?" because I knew he had taken the E and was probably feeling pretty good. He emailed me back, that he was feeling great and he asked me to come over for a bootycall (he was joking/flirting). Immediately, it triggered me. I was sent in to an anxious spiral. This is our issue in our relationship. I have known him for many years now, he has never once abused me, taken advantage of me or hurt me... he has been an amazing (though sometimes complicated) man to me. He always asks me why I can't see him and treat him as the man he has proven himself to be, instead of the man I see him to be based off my trauma. So, I was triggered. I started to overly explain why I couldn't, feeling guilty because I didn't want to...than feeling anger for him asking me to begin with. It turned in to a back and forth, him asking me not to take it too seriously and me taking things too seriously. He ended up calling me and through an hour long conversation of me crying, we agreed I would go over to the apartment in the morning in an attempt to have a positive experience between the two of us. I tossed and turned all night, and woke up around 8 in the morning where I composed a short email basically saying I can't come, I'm too nervous, he would be better off if I didn't come. Of course, he was upset, disappointed, hurt... He called me later in the morning angry. I reacted angry too because I hate when people are angry at me. It is a huge trigger for me, every time someone is angry with me (whether I have done something wrong or not) I respond with extreme, volatile rebellion and aggression. We eventually hung up the phone and I texted him, telling him everything that triggered and upset me. His response was sweet of course, pleading with me saying why didn't you tell me these things in your email or over the phone. Truth is, I am not entirely sure. We were overcome by sexual desire and attraction. I did end up going to the apartment. It was nice to be in my room again and it was nice to see him. I did feel a bit strange at first. Worried that I was doing something sexually toxic. He kept telling me that if I wasn't comfortable, we didn't have to do anything. But we had amazing sex, for hours. This is something we haven't been able to do in months. The next day, I went back to my moms. Friday, technically tomorrow, he is supposed to be coming here so we can officially talk about what needs to be talked about. A game plan for how to deal with these episodes, so that they don't hurt and affect him. I am incredibly nervous, because sometimes the actions in these episodes feel out of my control. But, I think I know why I have been feeling dissociative since I left Wednesday. Just like the contrast between crazy and sanity, there is the contrast between intense, emotional connection and being alone. How do I maintain a sense of -being- through sexual intimacy and vulnerability, without becoming scared and paranoid that my personhood is being taken away from me. Every time I have a vulnerable emotion, a romantic moment, or really wonderful sex... I get the overwhelming fear that I am being taken advantage of and the wall is built back up again. Sometimes it makes me mean and cold or distant and away. How does everyone cope?
  3. zayexi


    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.
  4. It has been some time since my last blog entry. My therapist noticed somehow in the last few months, after 18 years of therapy with him, I was somehow getting better. That I had told him more about my grandfather's sexual abuse as a child in the last few months then I had in the entire 18 years he had known me. He took no credit, my psychiatrist took no credit. I think It all boils down to activity in this site. I have opened up for the first time. And though it's just typing, I know there are warm people actually reading it. I started a dream journal, and a journal to talk to my alters. The effect of which was me meeting my alters in dreams often, having so many dreams of importance. I recognized they were of some importance, but it wasn't until I brought it to my therapist, who until this point really had no interest in dreams, that he was able to just immediately, BAM, make total sense of them. They then happened more often and more and more was coming out of my subconscious. While my psychiatrist kept insistent caution I could cause more damage than good, my therapist was ecstatic. Kind of pointing things out which made me come to realize that we had to wait these 18 years not for me to be ready, but for the alter that dealt with all the trauma to decide it was time bring some of the memories of the abuse to my consciousness. She was the one bringing those dreams and memories forward. It was her that decided it was time to start healing. She was finally ready. I had an odd dream, the last that I can recall. As my drs, and psychiatrist leaving, mother( who I am the primary caregiver for) is dying of cancer, and now my dad has inoperable kidney cancer, has caused me to go back on the high dose of my meds, essentially cutting off my dreams. The dream was 2 men came to the alter(Anna) that deals with trauma and took her away to fulfill some destiny. She was to become death to either some future or some past event. Myself and some other of the alters fought to keep her but we were no match to what took her. It felt like she was borrowed. The idea that she was coming back one day was there, but I have had no significant dreams since that dream. I hope this isn't the end. I need her around to control the flood gates. Without her, nothing new gets to me. I grew up with my mom. She grew up in a family that never showed emotion, never hugged, and she raised us that way. Since her diagnosis, I decided we are NOT going out that way and a minimum of one hug per day. She is finally opening up. I was not the only sexually abused child. Apparently, it runs in the family. In fact it seems to have run rampant in my family. It's sad. I'm sorry she had to endure this as well. apparently, my brother too, who I always had issues with was caught abusing a cousin, which makes me wonder about the mass of missing memories when I was young with him. I don't know if I should put therapy off until moms passed on, but I don't see me able to deal then, and then my therapist will retire and I will have lost every single piece of my support system. I had read somewhere to live life because there will always be some crisis going on... life sure has been that way my whole life.
  5. I am a survivor of sexual violence and this is my story! I was born and raised in beautiful British Columbia, Canada. I am a product of divorce and I have one brother, a half sister and a step brother. I was a happy child until I was 7 years old...... When I was 7 years old my great uncle started following me into my grandmas basement where I would play on her computer. He would sit beside me with his hands down my pants pretending to help me play games.. He would never say anything while he molested me... Not a word it just happened..or maybe he did talk to me and I just blocked it all out.... When he would hear someone coming down the stairs he would pull his hands out of my pants and tell me he would be right back... I hated being down there with him and after a while I gained the courage to stay upstairs when visiting my Grandma so the molestation would stop. When my Grandma asked why I didn't want to go down stairs anymore I told her that Uncle was creepy. She told me that he was mentally challenged and that he would never do anything to hurt me. Boy was she wrong!!! Turns out my great uncle molested my mother when she was younger as well. After the abuse he started asking me for hugs I never wanted to touch him, but my Grandma would insist and I did not want to disappoint her. When I was 10 years old my Uncles girlfriend who was 19 years old at the time use to babysit me and my brothers. She was such a cool person until she started making us watch porn and look at dirty magazines. It was the weirdest porn too! She would google Simpsons porn and Disney porn thinking that since we were kids we would like it better. At first I thought to myself "right on she is so cool letting us watch this sort of thing!" But eventually it started to make me feel very uncomfortable. Thank goodness my older step brother told my dad and we were never allowed over there again. It was such a relief!! At the age of 12 I had a crush on my step brothers best friend. I wanted him to like me so bad, but one day when he slept over he snuch into my room and he sexually violated me when I was sleeping. He started rubbing my vagina and fondling my chest. It woke me up, but I froze and pretended to sleep. I am so ashamed that I never stopped it. I was scared that if I woke up he would get into trouble and he would not be allowed to hang out with my brother. The same thing happened to me by my neighbor a few months after when I was at sleepover party. He tried to put his hands down my pants when I was sleeping, but this time I woke up and was able to stop him. Now that I look back at the situation I consider it a small victory and a glimpse of what ever self respect I had left at the time. By 13 I trusted no one in my life because everyone close to me either betrayed me by letting people molest me after I told them what happened or they tried to exploit and abuse me themselves. When I would visit my dad on weekends my stepmother would continuously tell me that I dressed too provocatively, I looked like a sl*t, I was going to be promiscuous and become just like my mother. All the negative comments took a toll on my self esteem, I became depressed and started to act just like my mother. Let me tell you a little about my mother: She was the product of incest. Her mother and her father where cousins. She was molested as a child and she was criticized everyday at school for being inbred. One night to numb her pain she got so wasted that she blacked out and ended up cheating on my father. They divorced when I was 5 years old. The divorce was the straw that broke my mothers back. She began to drink like a fish, do drugs heavily and sleep with anyone who would give her the time of day. There was always creepy men in our house. One day my mom met a man who beat her to a pulp and then raped her while her children were in the house. She charged him and he went to jail. He was sentenced to 2 years in jail. I remember the day she was assaulted and I remember the day the police called her to let us know he was back on the streets. I never felt safe anywhere after he was released. After her assault and rape she met a man online. She took us to Vancouver Island where I was forced to babysit 5 kids at the age of 12 in a strange house and place that I knew nothing about. That night they went to the bar and the house I was babysitting in was robbed. To protect the children in the house I hid us all in a room upstairs locked the door and turned off the lights. After about an hour of rummaging through the house the robbers left. When my mom and the man got back she was so drunk that she could barely stand. The man took her upstairs and I could hear them having sex. When I turned 13 years old I met this a girl my age on a trip to see family. She introduced me to two 19 year old boys. While they where at the place I was staying one of the boys stole $300 from my suitcase with out me knowing. They ended up using my money to buy drugs and alcohol. I wanted to numb the pain I felt inside so I decided to get drunk! We hitched hike to an old school bus that the boys converted into a house. While we were there I was almost raped by one of the 19 year olds, but luckily I was spared and he only put his hands down my pants. My friend wasn't as lucky and the other boy raped her in front of us. In the morning the boys kicked us out of the bus and made us hitch hike home alone and hungover. When we arrived back to the place I was staying at I discovered that all my hard earned money was gone and I had to phone my mom to tell her I was robbed. I left everything else out knowing I was in the wrong and that it was my fault that this had happened to me. I ended up losing my virginity at 14 years old to a 18 year old boy who pressured me into having sex with him. We had sex in my Grandmas house when she was at Bingo. He didn't tell me he had a girlfriend at the time. He lied to both of us by telling her I was his cousin and telling me she was his cousin. He took both our virginities that summer and I regret giving it to him because he didn't deserve it. As soon as I turned 15 I started lying about my age telling boys that I was 17 years old so that I was allowed to consent to sex. I believed that lieing about my age some how made me feel better about myself. I honestly didn't know what normal behavior of a 15 year old girl was suppose to be. I just thought sex was normal and that's all I was good for. That's all anyone ever wanted from me. I was desperately looking from love in all the wrong places. Thinking that if I found it I would feel whole again. When I moved in with my Grandmother at 15 I met a boy my age and we were together for 6 years. We were both young and raised by dysfunctional families. His mom was a crack dealer and her boyfriend was a very scary man. He once held a lady hostage with a shot gun in the basement while we where in the house. Eventually the Emergency Response Team caught wind and they raided the house, but instead of treating us like victims when they broke down the door they pointed guns in our face, tackled me to the ground and drug me through the snow with no shoes on. At the time I was only 16 years old. I didn't even know what was going on in the house. From that moment on I couldn't trust the police to protect me. They treated me like I was the one holding that lady hostage when in reality I had no idea until after the fact. They kept me in a cell and refused to feed me or let me talk to anyone until I told them what happened in the basement. When I was 19 years old we had a beautiful baby daughter. Her father told me to get an abortion and told me he never wanted to have kids. From that moment on the relationship was doomed as we were not ready for this much responsibility. The stress of having a child lead to our break up a year later. A week after the break up I decided to go to the bar to look for a rebound. Little did I know I was going to receive the rebound that could have ended my life. I was date raped by two men who drugged my drink. They took me from the bar and then brutally raped me in the middle of no where in a trailer on a mountain. One of the men strangled me until I would black out and hit me in the face while yelling at me to pee on him. I tired to, but couldn't. He threw me in a shower and started spraying me in the face with water. I tried to give him what he wanted so that he would stop hurting me, but I couldn't. He turned the water off, spit in my face and left the room. His friend entered the room after he left, pulled me out of the shower and raped me as well. When they were done with me I didn't know what to do, I was so traumatized. In a panic I decided to put my clothes back on and I walked over to the first guy, gave him a hug and told him "I had a great time." It was the hardest thing I ever had to say. But by doing that they decided to drove me into town where they left me to find my way home. It took me forever to find out where I lived. I never told anyone what happened to me. The next weekend I was out with friends and I saw the same two men who raped walk into the bar. I froze and the flashbacks started! I felt lost, discouraged and I didn't know what to do with my life. I became so severely depressed from being raped and abused most of my life that I made the awful decision to sell my body. I felt as if this was the only way that I could support my daughter and my alcohol addiction while coping with the trauma. My self worth was at an all time low as I started meeting men online without anyone knowing. I figured that the sexual abuse in my life was never going to stop, so I decided I might as well give them what they wanted and make some money doing it! During this time I was introduced to MDMA and Cocaine. It numbed my pain and I formed a bad habit. I told myself I would never do drugs, but I also didn't think I would ever be molested as a child and raped as a woman. My life was spiraling down hill and no one knew... I was so good at pretending everything was okay. I had to be strong for my daughter and the people around me. Everyone thought my life was perfect, but it was far from! While online I met many men who tried to coax me into pornography. They wanted to exploit me in any way they could. I kept refusing and promised myself that I would never go on film for my daughters sake. It was one of the best and hardest decisions that I ever made in my life. One of the men who tried to exploit me on film forced an object inside of my body when we were high on MDMA and I had to get it surgically removed. The man wouldn't even take me to the hospital after I begged him to. I had to call a so called friend to take me to the hospital to have it removed. My friend eventually raped me a few weeks after the incident when I was passed out in a hotel room during my friends birthday party. When I woke up the next morning I knew that I had sex and I asked him if it was with him. He said " Yes, I thought it was okay because we are friends" at 23 I was recruited by a pimp to join a brothel located in Kelowna, BC where he made me and numerous other girls sell our bodies to anyone who entered into the building. I was raped 4 times while working there and watched other girls endure the same abuse. I was also beaten, robbed and mentally abused by the girls, clients and the man running the brothel. By this point in my life I was completely broken and wanted to end my life. I considered suicide numerous times. I tried cutting myself and overdosing, but I just could not follow through with it. I had a daughter to live for! She meant everything to me and I wanted to break the cycle for her! Luckily I did not kill my self because when I turned 24 years old I met the man of my dreams. We fell deeply in love and he promised that he would protect me from all the toxic people who ever hurt me in my life. He made every one go away! I was able to get out of prostitution immediately with his help, but with leaving came a price. I was being sexually harassed for wanting out. Men would send videos they took of without know and they would message my husband saying things like "how could you marry a good for nothing hooker" ,"I hope you know who she use to be" they would threaten my life and the lives of people I loved. One man hunted my Grandmas address down and told me that I owed him sex for money he gave me to help pay my bills and if I didn't give it to him he was going to her house to hurt her. The stalking lasted for quite awhile and I could't understand why thee men would not let me go! 6 months after meeting the man of my dreams we were married. He continues to protect me from the demons of my past and he has taught me how to love and respect myself. Recovery is a hard road because I feel that I don't deserve to be happy or treated with dignity and respect. My road to recovery comes with a lot of baggage and it strains our relationship from time to time, but I let him know everyday how much he means to me and that I don't ever want to ever lose him! We now have a beautiful baby daughter together and he is an amazing step father to my first daughter. He has now made me feel worthy of self love and respect and we continue to grow together. I struggle everyday with the psychological, Physical and emotional effects my sexual trauma has caused. I still try to numb the pain with alcohol from time to time, but it makes my symptoms worse. Slowly I have quit drugs and now only smoke pot to help relieve my anxiety and depression. I have never talked to a professional nor have I ever shared my story because I am afraid to be judged and unloved. I feel that no one will believe what I have been through and they will think I brought this lifestyle on myself. For the record I did not choose to be raped, I did not choose be abused as a child and I did not I did not choose the consequences of this trauma and how it effected my ability to love myself . But I did choose to be a warrior! It is not an easy road, but it is sure in the hell better then the road I was on. I hope to one day live a sober life, so that I can feel free from the pain of the past... Volunteering has made a big difference in my life and I have volunteered for Lyme disease, the womens shelter, cancer, the city parade, the womens coalition, Christmas food hamper, youth groups and many other not for profit organizations. Giving back to my community has made a huge impact in my recovery and I am so grateful to have the opportunity to help others in their time of need. One day I plan to create a youth program ran by survivors that will teach children how to use their voice when someone tries to abuse them in any way. It will offer a place for children to turn to when they have no where else to go or when no one believes their story. I want to call the program H.O.M.E ( Healing Our Minds Everyday) It has been almost 5 years since my abuse ended and I am now 29 years old. Ever since high school it was my dream to plan events and I have finally achieved that goal! My occupation is office manager and events coordinator of a successful family resort. This milestone would never have been reached without the support from my amazing husband, the love of my daughters and my will to survive!! I get to live the life I've always dreamed and I honestly would not change a thing. All the trauma and all the pain has made me who I am today! When you are in the midst of experiencing abuse and trauma you never believe it is going to get better and the violence becomes normal. I cannot be more grateful for my guardian angels who watched over me during my early years. They sent me my husband just in the nick of time! I would not be here today if he did not come along and teach me how to love myself. My goal is to help shed light on the ugly truth that sexual violence is more common then you think. I want to help other survivors end their silence by sharing my story in detail! The longer you stay silent the longer you will take to heal. The more we talk, the louder we will become and the louder we are the more people will listen! Thank you for taking the time to read my story! I am so grateful to be here today to share it with you all!
  6. 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
  7. The thoughts and feelings that I need to separate from myself. The thoughts of failure which stem mainly from the trauma. The trauma that I continue to overlook. My name is Chloe Colaianni and when I was six years old I was almost raped by my neighbor. The experience has put me through hurdles, and my biggest hurdle right now is the anxiety I face. The anxiety is a huge part of me defeating this. The anxiety is a small little part of me that I need to wrap in a ball and throw away. Like my T said, I can regard the anxiety as a movie. Anytime I feel self doubt, take a breath and say out loud, Chloe, this is not you this is the anxiety. You do not have to nitpick at everything and overanalyze all to the point where you're making up scenarios in your head. I accept myself, I accept that I was molested...And now I have to embrace the strong, woman that I am. But that starts with not fearing this anxiety. Not giving it power over me. Not gibing my mind power. Listening to my heart
  8. When you do these exercises do them some place you feel safe and will not be disturbed. Only share what you are comfortable with, and only with people you completely trust. If your not sure if you want to share or not, try asking your inner child. There is a difference between pretending to be a child and experiencing the child within. Experiencing the inner child is often a very physical thing, try to pay more attention to your body sensations in everyday life as well as your urges to be silly/play and your emotions which are often primal. Try to observe children without judgement. Don't try to make them more adult and grown up. Also try to notice adult's inner children. My dad makes silly noises when plying with my dog, this is his inner child peaking out. Remember that there is a difference between child LIKE behaviors and childISH behaviors. As you start inner child work, if you have mistreated your inner child, it may not want to trust you. It may hide, or only want to come out very slowly, a little at a time. Be respectful of your inner child's needs. as you become a better parent to your inner child keep in mind it is a child. judging it or making it ashamed of itself will not help. allow your inner child to act/draw/write like a child! Remember to do these exercises in a place you feel completely safe. Also note that your inner child may change forms. It may not be the same gender as you. It may have a different name, and it's name and age may change often. Keep the exercises you do in a safe place and in order. remember to go slow and at your own pace. dont feel pressured to do the following all at once. ACTIVITY 1: materials: crayons and paper 1) you are about to meet your inner child. picture a beautiful, comfortable, and safe place in the world where you two can meet. 2) close your eyes and imagine this place for moment picture your inner child there, spend a few moments with them. 3) with your non dominant hand draw a picture of your r child.. take your time and let it come naturally, dont try to force it or plan it out. it may be awkward and slow. try to be patient reflection: what was the experience like? did you judge your inner child for its drawing not being perfect? or were you able to relax and enjoy the inner child's art? how do you feel about the drawing? what does the child in the picture seem to say to you? on a new piece of paper with you dominant hand write dont any reactions or comments about the drawing you have. When you are ready, go on to the next exercise. ACTIVITY 2: materials: crayons, paper, inner child drawing from activity 1 1) look at the picture from activity 1. write out a conversation between you and your inner child using your dominant hand (the hand you usually write with) as your current "adult" self, and your other hand (non dominant) as the child self. start the conversation by telling the child you want to get to know it so you can take better care of it. ask its name, ad anything else it wants to tell you: age, how it feels, its likes & dislike, what it wants, etc. 2) ask your inner child to draw what it wants most at this time in your life 3) close the conversation by asking the child to tell you anything else it wants you to know. thank the child for coing out and talking with you. tell it you want to keep having these talks so you can get to know each other better. ACTIVITY 3: when strong emotions come up in your everyday life, try letting your inner child draw them with your non dominant hand. let the drawing be expressive, it can be doodles, scribbles, lines and shapes or a more formed object. if images appear thats fine, but don't plan what the drawing will look like. just let it emerge. pay attention to the colors your inner child chooses. select colors spontaneously, using intution. with your dominant hand reflect in writing about these exercises. Hope These Help! Megan So I tried this and I was triggered. Im really upset about my parents not being there when I was being sexually abused. I forgive them but it makes me so mad thinking about how negligent they were.
  9. 5 or 6 years old he called me to his flat, he lives next door and I was Alone no baby sitter. Don't know where were my older siblings. I got there it was dark and he said " come see this" he was masturbating and coming ... Had newspaper to catch his come. He said come closer and touch it. I said no yuck and I ran home. The next time I was in his parent's room he laid me on the bed and pulled my panties down. After that I just looked away and closed my eyes. I wasn't there anymore I didn't know what he did to me. Another time again at his place his Brother was home and they were discussing something. His Brother then took me to their bedroom and got on TOP of me as if to kiss me I looked away and then again I flew away I don't know how I got home. Another time this time at night his Father called me and asked me to sit next to him and he put his hands down my clothes touching me and he his moved lower and lower. His Son the first molester caught him and told me to go home. Another time it was in the living room he was on TOP of me grinding his member against mine and doing the motions no penetration. I closed my eyes and I don't remember how I got home. Some years later my Brother started taking drugs he had a knife to my face. One night while I was sleeping I felt a hand massaging my vagina. I froze. I saw it was my Brother. I closed my eyes and I didn't know what to do. Another time when he came in he was naked and masturbating standing at the doorway, I ran to my parents room and slept there. There was once I vomitted and I couldn't even remember getting up at night to vomit. I wasn't sick no fever or anything There was 3 of us sharing that bedroom. Maybe a year later I remember I was naked with my Sister she was naked too... She was on the phone talking to out mum. Hung up we went under the bed and started touching each other. I was maybe 6 or 7. At 14 my abusive Brother trying to get sober beat me till my nose bled it didn't stop until my other Brother stopped it all because I didn't want to switch off the telly immediately after he instructed me too. I have forgiven my bother because he apologised. But still at night is not easy for me.... This was just the sexual abuse. Neglect and the narcissistic manipulative Mom not told here yet.... I won't go into that. I'll save that for another time. In my 20s I did all t therapy and was ok. But recently due to the bullying and sexual harassment at work all came back. Nightmares, panick attacks, flashbacks, being sqittish and anxious all came back... My life as an adult was full of bad choices tricked into marrying at 17 and had a kid at 19 now I am jobless and feel like a loser... I actually wrote on the wall... Attempted to slash my wrists a few times but blade not sharp enuf. All those years I could have put my energy into my offsprings just the time flew. I worked very hard often 12 hour days at the beginning sometimes 24 hrs... Dad took care of the kids... I am grateful for my late dad. And I miss him .... Now I can't deal with life. I don't drink. I take my medication sometimes one or 2 tablets more...and I am tired because I still have to deal with life and I don't know where to ask for help... I am seeing a psychiatrist but Not for Long cause he is expensive. And I have no job. I pray. Sometimes spend the day praying to ask God to deal with my life because I can't anymore... Edited November 28 by Miko
  10. Amd1217


    So with all the political shit becoming even more important and Donald Trump saying the things he has, i have blown up on social media at my family. All of the arguing and trying to make me change my mind because I'm "young and naive" and "don't understand" how our country works pushed me over the edge and i went off on my family, and the only person who stood up for me is the first person i ever told about my attack and she helped me through the recovery of it while i was still her student. Since we are friends now on social media she saw what was happening to me and stepped in to tell me, in front of them, that i wasn't wrong for telling them that making light of what DJT said makes my recovery difficult, and that led to my family asking what she was talking about, which led to me telling my extended family that i was raped 4 years ago. No part of me was mad at my friend, i was grateful she stepped in and said something because i was struggling to find the way to tell my extended family before the holidays. She gave me an avenue to do so and I'm happy about that. I'm not happy that my mother is angry with her. No one else understands my struggle; our struggle. My friend does because she's been through it as well. Im so lucky to have her to still talk to when things get to be way too difficult because either she's at the same spot as me or has been before and can give me advice on how she overcame.
  11. **TRIGGER WARNING** alcohol, abuse ---- I am a drunken fool. I was leaving a party and was offered a lift to the station. A friend was going in the same direction, and said he would walk me the rest of the way to the station. He didnt take me to the station. he took me to his house. "Its not safe, the last train has left, you cannot get home. This area is not safe" "you stay here, I will look after you" I didn't know where i was, where the station was. Was it really dangerous outside? I went into the house. I was uncomfortable. I tried to leave. he restrained me. physically stopped me from leaving. and, as i drunkenly passed out, he used my body for his pleasure. i would come to semi-conciousness and feel him on my body. Pushing him off. telling him no. drifting into unconciousness. The cycle repeated. and afterwards, lying there. In shock. Frozen. I dont know how long I was lying there for. But eventually i came to. I ran. It was 4am, in a place I didn't know. But it was safer for me on the streets.
  12. raveninhaven


    I have not yet been able to find a title to this poem, but I started writing and it just flowed out of me so peacefully and it drained my body of some of the negativity my father has left behind. Long way to go, but I'm glad to find a good outlet! I hope you guys like it! Thanks for your time My heart aches My mind wakes These thoughts won't seem to go away The thought that maybe one day I'll be at ease No longer begging you please The thought that one day I'll be able to say Dad, I don't care. I don't care that you can't love me Not in the way love should be For those who love truly Could never harm so cruelly. They wouldn't put on their child Darkness that drives the mind so wild You wouldn't touch the forbidden fruit Then keep secrets hidden in your suit When questions raise You still soak in undeserving praise Because what it comes down to Is that you are too selfish to Forget about your pedestal To rid of the demons who lure Around your daughters hearts For they are tearing lives apart But you don't care Not for our tears Only for your own pain And knowing that is what keeps me sane Because dad, we are not the same. And I may not be completely tame But I know never to put my desires above someone else's needs because that negativity plants seeds That cause the bad thoughts to grow But I will never be the source of this i truly know Because dad, we are not the same.
  13. I decided today to report my father for molesting me when I was a child. Here's my story, and it is the very first time I'm telling it ...... I remember two different lives I had as a kid, yet at the same time I barely remember anything. My mom always told me we were a happy family, that I had a good mom, a good dad, and good sisters. We were a Catholic family, I went to a Catholic school, we had enough money, our family would go have dinners and do normal things with other families, and I was told we all were good people. If I caught my parents arguing my mom would always assure me everything was fine, that her and my dad would never get divorced, that they loved each other and that arguments just happen. She told me this over and over and over again, and I believed her, because children believe their parents, deep down I knew it wasn't true, but I had no idea just how untrue it was. Skip forward many shitty years of confusing feelings i had no idea how to deal with or where they came from. Looking back, I can easily say I was depressed, but I didn't really know I was, because I didn't know the difference. In fourth grade, a girl my family knew was raped in a corn maze by two older guys who drugged her, beat her, and threatened to kill her and her family if she told anyone. Finding out about that was very hard for me, and I started feeling the feelings I now know so well. I stopped turning in homework, started hanging out with other trouble makers, and, started getting weird urges that caused me to sit on the edge of my chair. Fifth grade comes around and my sister dares me and my best friend, who was also a girl, to make out, take off each other's clothes, etc. The next morning my mom noticed I had a hickey, but didn't think anything of it, I guess. This is when my depression got bad, and I knew it very well. I thought I was pregnant. I hadn't gotten my period, we didn't have sex, we were both girls, but I thought everyone would stare at me because I was a pregnant 10 year old. A month later I found out my oldest sister was raped, and my struggles increased drastically. I started getting uncomfortable with my mom hugging, kissing, and cuddling me, and she was not happy about that. At this point, she had suspicions about my dad but I still had no idea. She told me it was mean not to let her be affectionate with me and would say "I'm not poison." She could bring me to tears by kissing my neck and even know when she knows everything she doesn't respect my physical boundaries; she never has. When I was in sixth grade I found out my dad had been addicted to porn and everyone in my family knew but me. A year later I found out something sketchy happened with my oldest sister, but didn't know what. A year after that I found out he convinced my mom and sister that my sister was schizophrenic and was hallucinating naked women on the computer screen. It sounds wild, but he convinced my mom, my sister, and their therapist, so they spent thousands of dollars getting her tested and it wasn't for 10 months that my dad admitted to watching porn. My mom saw this as no reason to divorce my dad, because, as she always told me, she wanted me to have a father. Okay, but then that therapist they had all gone to see, told my mom to be careful because it wouldn't be out of his character to molest any of his three daughters. At that point, I think he had molested all of us at least once, but I don't think it was over yet. Throughout middle school, everyone called me a w**re. I didn't have sex with anyone, but they knew my sister, who was 13, had, so therefore I was going to, too. It was middle school that I became popular, but it was also then that I became a target. I was the girl who was going to get her ass grabbed walking down the street; I was the girl who old men would approach; I was the one who got offered money in exchange for several favors. Out of my friends, it was always me who got harassed. I kissed a lot of boys, and was boy crazy and was a bit too sexually focused for my age. When my period came in sixth grade, that screwed me up. I had to touch myself down there?? I had to talk to someone about touching myself down there????? No thank you. I didn't tell anyone, and had horrible hygiene, honestly, for the first two years of having my period. I didn't want to feel that and I didn't want to like it. I would bleed through and smell bad and it is so embarrassing thinking back to that. Thank you dad for making my awkward phase 10x more awkward. Now we've reached high school. My freshman year sucked for the most part, but I met a boy who I really really liked. He was the first boy I ever actually liked. We starting dating at the beginning of summer and had a great summer together. About a week before school starts, I was messaged by a boy who had just graduated, and I was just about to start my sophomore year. He asked if I wanted to drink with him and his friend and go to boulder, so I said yes. It was the beginning of my party phase, but my boyfriend didn't party, so may as well make other friends who do, right? Well, we ended up going to his friend's apartment and they got me very very drunk. He knew I had a boyfriend and wasn't wanting to do anything, but it didn't matter. He didn't have sex with me, but he did everything else to me, but I did nothing to him. When I was telling my doctor about this in an STD test a few months later, she said "Well usually they do it for their pleasure, not yours." Thank you for that, doctor. Right after the occurrence I started acting weird, my boyfriend noticed, and I broke up with him because "I was sad my dad was moving out." I was not sad. I wanted my dad out so badly. My mom asked him to leave and he stayed for 7 months, and she let him!! Then a couple weeks after the break up, I still felt bad about the situation(not yet realizing I had been raped) and told him a boy tried to kiss me but I pulled away. He was so unhappy about that, so he told everyone! He told his friends, the football team, my dance team, and basically everyone he knew. Being a shy sophomore who was never secure about any part of my existence, I took it pretty hard when the most popular junior and senior from the football team told me how much they hated me, or when a girl on my team asked me about cheating on my boyfriend with a college guy in front of our whole team and some parents on the team. Because life likes to kick you when you're down, this was the same time period I starting getting really really sick(which is why I got the STD test). I was constantly in severe pain. I could rarely keep food down, and there would be days where I couldn't even keep down water. My health took over my life for the next 3 years and it was all in my stomach. I had 9+ diagnoses and saw so many different doctors I lost track. I have endometriosis, but I have no idea how I got it. No one in my family has had it, which is the only known reason for it. Weird. I did end up reporting that boy for hurting me, but nothing came out of it. No regrets. I wasn't promiscuous for most of high school because my sophomore year I started dating a boy and we dated until a month or so ago, however, we did break up for one summer when I was 17. That summer I was raped twice within two weeks. I didn't even know one of the guys' names. It didn't even seem to phase me. I always questioned if I had been molested, but I thought I would remember that. After this happened, I started thinking about it more. By now I knew we were questioning whether he molested my sister(the one who had me and my friend touch each other) but my mom referred to me as the "untouched" one, so I didn't find much room for my curiosity. Now, I am 18 years old, just started my second semester of college, and can say I've never felt happier or healthier now that I have moved out of my house. It's amazing how moving out has cleared everything up. I still don't remember him actually touching me, but I have remembered all these things and much much more that tells me exactly that. For the past year, I've been saying he did, no he didn't, yes he did, no he didn't, but he did. My gut is telling me he did and I'm finally ready to listen to it. But it is hard. I'm constantly remembering new little things that click but find myself having no one to talk to. My mom has a very very very hard time being supportive, and it's hard talking to my sisters about it, because none of us have fully accepted it and we all shut down. I told my dad a few weeks ago I wanted space because I was questioning things that happened to me when I was a kid and he said "Okay." I told him we could still talk if he wasn't going to be passive aggressive and he said something else then said "Well, this is awkward, isn't it?" Chuckled and changed the subject. What is that shit? Both of my sisters are working on writing him letters to tell them they no longer want a relationship with him. We are all ready to move on(my mom, not quite) and I need to talk about it, so I am going to report it. I did report the first boy who molested me when I was 15, even after he tried to convince me I was asleep the whole time and dreamt it. It took all the courage I had, he never got in an ounce of trouble, but I didn't regret it, and I hope it is the same this time. I would like my dad to be in jail, but more importantly, I want to be able to talk about it. If you have read this far I am very grateful for your support and would ask you to wish me luck with prayers, positive vibes, or whatever way you try to send goodness; I would certainly appreciate it!!
  14. Trigger Warning: I found a trigger. This may not seem like a super huge deal but due to the nature of my sexual assault experiences, I don't have much memory to work with t process the experiences. But I definitely think I found a trigger. I've been so confused why I refuse or try to escape touch or closeness with my boyfriend and would often make self-depreciating comments about me being flawed or just not a "touchy-feely" person. I often describe the situation as trying to hug a porcupine. He has good intentions and always tries to show his love for me through closeness and touching. I often feel smothered and want to escape from him and it leaves him feeling disappointed and confused by my "coldness". This has been an ongoing experience with me for the last couple of years. I never really understood it until I had my moment of clarity the other day. We were laying in bed watching TV and when he rolled over to kiss me his body laid over mine. I immediately reacted and felt a burning sensation in my chest and an ever urging need to shove him off as hard and fast as I could. He, thinking I was playing around didn't take me seriously. The tussle ended up with me using all my physical force to shove him off the bed and onto the floor with a hard thud. The event ended with me retreating into the living room nagging him about not listening to me and becoming irritable and intensely and acutely angry with him for not IMMEDIATELY getting off of me. I realized it then that I maybe had been triggered and it brought me right back to the foggy, drunken, emotional memories of the sexual assaults. I had become panicky and desperate to use every ounce of energy and will in me to throw him like a rag doll. Something I was not able to do during the assault. After feeling my body surging with vibration and mixed emotion I explained this to him. Of course, with immense love and understanding he heard me and accepted me in that moment in my brokenness. I'm so thankful for him.
  15. FinallySpeakingOut


    I woke up this morning from a nightmare, again. It was a snow day, but I still woke up at 7:45. At 8:45 I went to my doctor. We upped my antidepressant medication and put me on an anxiety medication. I'm so scared of myself. I can't focus, and my grades are slipping; up until now I have been a straight A student. Now I have a C- in one of my classes. I haven't seen him since before Christmas break. I hope it doesn't change. I've been trying to write poetry, something like SLAM to use at the Variety Show my school holds every year. I just can't get the words to come out right. It terrifies me that this has affected me this much, that I can no longer do what I love because I can't focus. How could he do this to me? Why would he? I gave him everything I could and he took more than I was willing to give. He took my sanity, my freedom, my life. He doesn't even care...and I can't find the will to blame him, to blame anyone...all I want to do is sleep.
  16. FinallySpeakingOut


    All-or most-of my blogs will have a trigger warning. Today was tough. Walking around praying I wouldn't see him...I had to leave one of the clubs I enjoy most because he was always there. He still doesn't get that he did anything wrong. I feel sick, physically ill when I think about what he did to me...what I let him do. I was dating him. I hate that I still feel like it was my fault, that maybe he's right, maybe I am a wh*re. I loved him...I gave him my heart, and he doesn't even care that I'm hurting. Why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you hurt me? Why?!?! Only when I look back do I accept what it wasn't my fault. That when he asked over and over and over, when he made it clear that 'no' was NOT an acceptable answer, saying yes was the doomed single option from the start. I hate how much he affected me. How a single night pushed me over the edge of my sanity, of my ability to handle it, to cope. I despise him, and I despise myself as well.
  17. ImScared


    I've started talking about it again and now I'm anxious. Why am I always anxious? I'm going to see my best friend from school in a few weeks and I'm afraid I will say something and ruin my holiday! I hope I can keep my mouth shut!!!
  18. vakry


    Oh I've wanted to die. I still have moments I would rather be dead. But I can't take my life. I can't. And guess how I know I cannot kill myself. I wanted to. My dad had a loaded gun on top of the refrigerator. I knew the gun was there, but I didn't know it was loaded... until I wanted it. He was always locking up guns and making sure ammo was not stored in the same place. He had safes and cases and trigger locks. I never thought to check. One day I remembered it was there. I grabbed a chair and reached up for it. It was in a cloth case. I unzipped it and opened it. It's shiny silver. It's weight and chill of the metal in my hand. I brought it down. I extended my arm and pointed it at a mirror. That's when I saw... it was loaded! I opened her up and sure enough. Fully loaded. I started to put it to the side of my head, but I changed it. I put it in my mouth. I put a finger on the trigger. I squeezed gently and released. I gasped. I had no idea I was holding my breath until that moment. I stat there a good hour with a barrel in my mouth just crying. Eventually, I slowly pulled it out and carefully put it back where it belonged exactly how I found it. I repeated this exercise for two weeks with the exact same results. Insanity is repeating the same thing and expecting a different result. D was a cutter and not a poser about about. He cut along the vein and then mutilate it until he lost consciousness. He very nearly died. Twice. So, I thought that might be interesting. One swift swipe. It barely scratched! I put some rage into it. It cut like a poser. Diagonal and across and it barely bled. It really didn't do anything for me. Yeah, I figured that wasn't going to work out for me. My best friend hung himself. Why not honor him? Yeah, that wasn't happening either. I swung and found myself fighting it. I managed to right myself and yeah..... Then I decided to take some pills and have some alcohol. I threw up pretty quick. And the thought of doing it again made me gag. I've never thrown up as hard as I had that night I swallowed pills. And you know I'm an alcoholic so... not a stranger to puking. It was so bad I couldn't swallow even one pill for YEARS after without activating a gag reflex. I couldn't even do chewable vitamins without wanting to gag. How messed up is that? Sorry to be crass, but activating a gag reflex is rather a feat. I'm no stranger to deep throat. Oh yeah, there was no accident why I put a gun in my mouth. I thought it would be the most poetic way to die. So yeah. My brain, my survival instincts and even my body rejects suicide. So I can't. No matter how bad I get.. I just cannot take that leap. So, lacking the ability.... I had to find other ways to deal.
  19. ImScared

    A Question

    It's been awhile because I've been doing much better. I have a question & It's probably stupid but I need to know if I'm the only person out here like this. My question is I can't remember how old I was when I lost my virginity. I know it's dumb but I grew up in an era where it was special and something you are suppose to remember. The thing is my ex husband was the man who took my virginity. It was a traumatic event because I said stop & no in the middle of it and he didn't stop. I just can't remember how old I was. We weren't married at the time so I can guess but I feel that I need to know. Does anyone else have this problem? Sorry for this being a dumb question but it's been on my mind lately.
  20. ImScared

    Scary Dreams

    Last night I had really bad dreams after reading all the posts on oral r***. I would never have called it that, even though I now know that's what it was. My dreams were so vivid but nobody saved me. I couldn't scream but I was terrified! I've gnawed my fingers to the point of bleeding!! All of them now have some scab or other. I'm scared to sleep tonight. I'm scared the dreams will come back. I'm scared that no one will care what happens to me.....Guess I'll try to sleep
  21. ImScared


    The closer I get to telling everything to my friend the worse I get. I have gnawed my fingers until they have bled. Now I want to control my eating also. I haven't had these issues in forever. Why are they bubbling up now? I literally bite my fingers in front of anyone & everyone....it looks so professional. The food issue started today. I can't have people tell me that I'm losing weight or I sabotage it. I gain it all back. A different friend tells me every time she sees me that I look like I've lost more weight. I think I've gained a ton. Anyways, I was suppose to tell my best friend the final chapter of what I remember...the closer I got to the time, the more my mind started telling me what an ugly, disgusting, fat cow I've become. I didn't want to eat my lunch. I didn't eat much & haven't for the rest of the day. My friend wasn't able to hear the rest today so I have to wait until tomorrow to tell him. My anxiety level is so high!!! Another friend says I need to take a break. I'm getting to stressed out. I'm afraid to take a break. I'm afraid of what will happen. I can't stay like this. I want everything back to the way it was before I started remembering & talking this summer!! I need this to go away.
  22. This week was a bad, the worst one I have had since the memories started to return. I survived it with few new scars, but only because AS was here, I made a post about my father and his blog, and what he published about me. A full page of fictional material created to sublimate my life into something more comfortable for him I guess. Either way, it hurt more that he refused to validate my existence, my story, my trauma, and turned it into something that vilified me and made HIM the victim. I had such an outpouring of love and support from my brothers and sisters here on AS that I was able to turn the blow to my already wounded psyche, and today I am in such a better and stronger place for it. Hugs to everyone on the house! ((((((AS))))) Friday I had my first discernable panic attack. We were on the freeway, luckily I wasn't the one driving when it happened. It was raining a little bit, nothing out of the ordinary for Washington, and traffic was a little thick but not too bad. Out of no where I became convinced we were about to crash into another vehicle. We weren't even close to the other cars on the road, but that didn't seem to make a difference. We were going to hit them, and I couldn't breath right. I started to sweat, and my heart started to pound, and my mind went fuzzy, and my vision started to blur around the edges. For the rest of the afternoon, when we were in the car I was absolutely certain we were going to crash into something, another car, an overpass post, a curb, a tree it didn't matter, if I could see it, we were going to smash into it. The feeling lasted long after I had gotten home, ready for work, and had in fact driven myself to work... sweaty palmed and hyper alert. It was the most concrete evidence I have to date that I am ultimately vulnerable to these memories of "ancient" history, at least emotionally. Like I said, a very bad week. But after my wife came to me, woke me up, angry and upset having just read an entry on my fathers public blog condemning me as a sl*t and a w**re, and a manipulator, and a monster, I woke up feeling ashamed, angry, weak, pathetic, loathsome, and dirty. As soon as my wife left for work, I went into the kitchen and picked up a bottle of rum. I looked at it for a very long minute... then put it back in the fridge. I am not that person any more, I will never conquer my demons if I am not 100% in control of myself. I would rather be a slave to my demons, I didn't create them. Acknowledging what happened to me, and joining the After Silence site, has by far been the hardest and most rewarding thing that I have done in recent history, and I hope that I can contribute as much to the others here as they have already contributed to me. Thank you for validating my existence as a viable human being, giving me strength, understanding, and hope. God Bless us, every one.
  23. vakry

    I Hate Me Right Now

    :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: :blush: I drank. I smoked. I sucked a friend off, he returned the favor. I really appreciate that especially since he's straight. And now I have to wear long sleeves. I never had to wear long sleeves before other than weather. I defiled my arm with an ink pen. My friend watched me do this. he's a bit of a sociopath and hurting myself kind of turns me on too. My day is complete.
  24. I feel people can only love and tolerate one "version of me". The Lady Boss. The happy, supportive, random/spontaneous, quick, straight-forward girl that will tell you what's up. The girl who appears in control, confident and quite dominant. The girl many men feel threatened by and others chase after because they can't have her. You know this girl with the tucker mouth, but who is insanely intuitive, intelligent, nerdy, with a loud laugh seeming like a cackling hyena. She's not afraid of anything and believes in people. She sees beauty in the smallest things, appreciates art and music. I can accept all of this girl's faults and short-comings. The other girl... the broken-down, depressed, wandering ghost and shell of a person. I hate her. No one likes her, not even me. She's depressed, quiet and feels better alone. She feels hurt extremely easily and is easily startled or frightened. She's a scared caged animal that's been beaten down and abused. The OTHER girl above believes everything she's been through has helped shaped her into a unique, bright, fighter of an individual and made her a better person. This ghost-girl can't let go of the past and wanders in terror into the depths of her racing mind. If I tell close friends who know the Lady Boss, about ghost-girl - they seem to fall away. I'm ghost-girl today and I feel so alone. I was ghost girl yesterday, too. Alone. Which one is me? Both? Do they fight? How could ghost-girl possibly win?
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