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im new here, and idk where to begin. less than a week ago i went to a party with my friend who is a girl and i was drugged and raped by my ex boyfriend. I woke up with no clothes on and i was next to him. im so hurt and scared and idk who to tell

This post has some strong references to ED behaviors. Please don't read ahead if you are not in the mind to do to. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. I stared at this blank page for HOURS last night trying to decide how to start this blog and honestly debating on if I even wanted to post it. Time was fleeting, and I was struggling. It seemed as though all of my efforts to try to collect my thoughts were in vain because simply put – this is hard to write about. I tried to find another topic to write about today – I really did. But there was nothing going on that was worthy and being written down and this has been pressing on the forefront of my mind the past several days. I guess that’s my mind’s way of saying it’s time to deal with this and get it out in the open. It’s a funny little thing called emotional abuse. I know I spoke about emotional abuse in my last blog, but I didn’t really delve into everything that goes on in my household that constitutes as emotional abuse. I talked about how I have dealt with emotional abuse from my mother, but not so much what came from my father. My mother had more of an emotional neglect sort of abuse. My father… well, I’ll tell you about his. I’d like to say I’m very resilient and that words don’t affect me, but I’d be lying. Words hurt me more than physical abuse ever has. It has taken me a very long time to call this emotional abuse. My T has tried to explain emotional abuse to me several times, but I always deny that that is, indeed, what this is. I guess part of me bringing this up this week is because I’m finally admitting to myself what this is. I’ve always had a fear of talking about this – especially here. It’s hard to look at my situation and believe it has the same damaging effects as some of the trauma that people here have gone through. I was told growing up that I wasn’t allowed to be sad or upset because my biological parents are married. Because for some reason, that meant my life was perfect. So how could I possibly call this abuse when my life was so perfect all the time??? I developed an eating disorder when I was 15 years old. I was formally diagnosed with bulimia when I was 19. Part of me wants to blame this on my father, but part of me knows that he may not be the sole cause for my eating disorder. I know that I have other issues that factor into this, but I can’t help but think he planted a seed somewhere along the way. My mother and father both exercise regularly and eat healthy. I don’t. Not as consistently as they do. So, for that, there’s always a bit of shame around me for being heavier than them and for eating more fast food than they do. And any time I eat out, I get an ear full about it. About how I need to stop doing it because I’m wasting money mostly, but there’s also the underlying reason of ‘because you’re fat’. My dad wasn’t always the fit man he is now though. My dad was a lot heavier at one point in his life. One day he buckled down to lose weight, and he did. And ever since then, it’s been a lecture to me about being fit. But not only does he “encourage” (I use that term loosely) me to live a healthier lifestyle, he also makes unnecessary comments that drive me to a state of starvation and purging. One of my favorites is when I’ve not eaten all day and it’s 4 o’clock on the afternoon. I wander into the kitchen looking for some sort of sack or meal and I get welcomed with a, “Hey, little piggy. Coming to belly up to the trough?” To which I respond with a polite ‘no,’ and walk away hungry. He uses that one a lot. There was a time not too long ago that I had dropped a lot of weight. It was the smallest I had been in YEARS. But I was hardly eating. I was on an exercise program, but I was never hungry and furthermore, I wanted to be small. It was easier to not eat. So I would come in from a workout and grab something small so my parents would see me eating. But then it became, “Are you just eating that now so you can go eat in your closet later?” followed by an eruption of laughter from both him, and my mother. That comment lead into several jokes about eating in secret and purging. They thought it was hilarious. They had no idea that I was already hardly ever keeping any food down. There are more, but I’m sure you get the idea. Anything about food results in me being called fat in some way, shape, or form, or it leads to a string of jokes about bulimia. I can’t eat a proper meal without being judged. But my father gets mad if I talk about being nervous to eat in front of people. How does he not know that HE instilled this fear in me? The other half of his “jokes” aren’t any better. They’re more about how I also wasn’t the smart kid. His favorite line used to be “you’re a fat, stupid, loser,” but he hasn’t said that one in a while. Sometimes he just calls me ‘stupid.’ There was one day I was laying in bed, had just woken up but had my bedroom door open. He walked into my bedroom called me a ‘piece of garbage’ and walked away. All I did was exist. I hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet. While I realize these are all minor instances, when it goes on for years, it’s hard to “brush it off” and move on. To know that my dad feels so ashamed of me for being overweight and to know he thinks so little of my self-worth that he could actually tell me I would never amount to anything, hurts. I was never physically abused by my father. He’s never laid a hand on me. But his words have hurt me. So, in closing, I guess I should say that I don’t forgive him. Not yet. I’m still trying to fix the pieces of what HE messed up. The parts of me that he shattered with his words and his shame. I am trying to learn that I’m still valuable in some way or that I have some worth and hopefully one of these days, I will see that. Until then, I’m going to eat my pizza, and I’m not sharing. Hope you’re all doing well and thank you for taking the time to read. Hopefully next week I’ll have something a bit more exciting to write about! Sending happy thoughts, Poppy

Hello, everyone! I am hoping this finds you all well. While I am doing fine health-wise, I'm not doing so great with my sleeping. There are some days when I think I've got it all under control and then there are other days when I revert back to what has grown to be all too familiar. While food shopping last week, I found a bottle of NyQuil that is set to expire in three months - it was marked down to $2, so I grabbed it. I have it sitting on my desk as a reminder to go to sleep when the clock passes 2-3am. It sometimes hits 4 before I'll feel tired. Ideally, I'd want to take a swig before 2, but if I'm not feeling 'tired' enough, I'll wait another hour...or two....or three? And then, before I know it, I'm first falling asleep at 4-5am and waking up at 11. That's, of course, on the days I DON'T have my kids here and don't have to worry about getting the daughter up for school. Those nights, I could EASILY not sleep at all and make do with a four-hour nap when she's boarded her bus. What's that, you say? Insomnia's a thing? Really? Hmmm. That's what I have, then - no doubt! So, a little update for you all as I know it's been a while since my last one. (I know. I'm sorry.) First off, I'm officially a student!!!! *insert horns and sirens and whooping noises here!* Last week, I registered for fifteen credits' worth of classes at the University. There's DEFINITELY no turning back, now. My classes start on 8/26 and if all goes well, I'm set to graduate in 2021; with my bachelor's in hand. Most of my credits from 20 years ago have been transferred and there are only a small handful of classes that I have to re-take, that feed into the Social Work major that my previous credits will not satisfy - so there's American Government and then there's a Statistics class that I'm TRULY not looking forward to. My son is going to be taking that very same class, only at a different time slot (he'll literally be arriving when I'm leaving!) and it might be helpful if we could study together. I'm HORRIBLE with numbers - this is something I've unfortunately passed down to both my children, apparently - my daughter is wrapping up seventh grade with all A's and B's but with one C in Math! I admittedly still count on my fingers on some simple addition and subtraction problems!!! Math is just not me, not at all. Statistics is going to be a nightmare, but hopefully the Son and I can hold each other up through it. LOL. The Oompa came with me to register. Being a retired teacher, anything school-related gets her giddy. Plus, she never really had the opportunity to join me when I did this the first time around - so I allowed her to tag along on registration day, so she could feel in the slightest bit needed. I will admit, it was good to have an extra pair of ears along with me, in case I needed them. We met with my academic advisor, who so happens to be the chairman of the Social Work department, as well as one of my professors for one of the introduction to Social Work classes that I'll be taking. So, it was very nice to meet him and get a feel for how he speaks. We all know that any Oompa visit isn't without drama or bullshit. A couple times, I wanted to smack my mother in the mouth. The first comment came while we were waiting to speak with the academic advisor - we were seated outside his office. She asked if I was going to go for my master's. I told her that I didn't want to think that far ahead. I wanted my bachelor's in Social Work and then I wanted to focus on getting myself work. Here's the comment: "And you'll make nothing." It's not about the money, I told her. We all know my reasons for pursuing this field and it's certainly not something I wanted to get into with her. Not now, not ever. I didn't have to, though. She shut up for two reasons - one - the student that was visiting with the academic advisor before us was now leaving, and two, I think she sensed that I wanted to punch her in the throat and felt it was wise to shut her mouth. We had a meeting with the professor/academic advisor and the second comment came while we were walking across campus, making our way over to the bookstore. She spoke to him, though. "Can I ask you something, as a concerned parent?" Oh, here we fucking go.... "Do you think my daughter's disability will make it harder for her to find a job in this field? Do you think she'll run into discrimination?" She actually asked this to the man who was going to be my freaking professor. If I was gonna be able to find a job or if I was just wasting my time. She didn't word it that way, but it's even more clear, she doesn't want me to become a Social Worker. I believe she wants me to become a teacher, or go into Education or to become an educator or mentor for the deaf, something I don't have any desire or passion for - I am not a school person - never was. I'm only finishing school because I've finally got a desire to do something specific and I need the degree. Personal experience doesn't count, apparently. So, why the hell would I want to go into Education???? Why would I want to follow in my mother's footsteps??? I've been trying to run the other way for years! The professor probably couldn't believe the audacity and ignorance of her question either. He somewhat blinked. "Well, we have laws in place against discrimination..." You'd think my mother, the retired EDUCATOR, knew that. She was effectively shut down, though - see, I am of the belief that she wanted him to turn around and say, 'you're absolutely right, maybe Social Work isn't in your daughter's best interests..." but when she didn't hear that, she shut up again. And for good. Possibly because this was where we parted ways with the professor - I told him I was looking forward to meeting him as one of his students in the Fall. And I am. I'm all the more determined to make his class my BEST class (it helps that it's not statistics or history related, it actually has to do with what I am majoring in!) and to show him myself that I'm not the dummy my mother basically cast me out to be. I thank whoever's calling the shots upstairs - (I don't like using 'God,') - that my mother, the social butterfly, had a concert to attend with one of her friends that night and she had to head out immediately following the registration. I think, had I been subjected to more time with her, I would have unleashed on her my anger over WHY she constantly continues to draw attention to my disability - why she keeps inadvertently reminding me that it's a limitation, a reason I might not succeed at something, a reason people would discriminate against me. I cannot understand, why she continues to allow my deafness to define me, who I am. This is one of the things that angers me the most today, one of those things that I have struggled with for all of my life and that I STILL grapple with. My hearing impairment has indeed contributed to a LOT my trauma. I've been slowly realizing that it ALWAYS comes back to it. It contributes to my social issues, too, and there's SO much more to it than Oompa even realizes, but that, I'll take the blame for. That's my fault. I've never told her. Why? Because I'm not heartless. She's proud. I know she is. I am her masterpiece. She's proud that her early intervention is what I can honestly thank for getting me onto the right track. It was because of that early intervention that I am able to speak, I am able to function as if there were no disability. She did that. She pushed, she prodded, she poked. She was a pain in my ass for pretty much ALL of my childhood and formative years, and I DO owe her credit for that. I don't have the heart to show her where she's fallen short. I figure it's more important for me to know for myself where those shortcomings are, and a kindness to her to keep them to myself. While I'll not be able to explain all of that to my mother in detail, I can certainly do so here. I'm not hurting any feelings by doing so. I'm able to speak more freely here - I've always felt that way. On that note, I've begun the undertaking of telling my story. ALL of it. I know there are bits and pieces here and there, and some of you know some of the puzzle pieces already through my posts and blog entries. I'm able to pull out a few smaller pieces at a time, talk on it, and then I toss it back into the box because it's not needed beyond that. I've realized that my story is scattered, it's all over the place, and it's because I've never really taken the time to write all of it out, from start to finish, and to analyze any and all of those little traits and quirks of mine that I've learned to adopt as 'normal,' even if they are not seen as such by someone who cannot relate. I've been tossing the pieces back into the box rather than connecting them all and showing the bigger picture. So, I've been spending the last couple of weeks writing. Not here, obviously. It is currently being drafted via MS Word and I admit I've neglected this blog for a little while - and I apologize for that. I hope to make up for it by posting my story here, too, when I'm finished. It will likely come in three installments. I've done a lot of thinking over the last several weeks - and have come to realize that I don't just have one story. There are three very obvious junctures in my life, all with very different, but equally damaging situations. All three points in my life are contributors to who I am now, who I've learned to be. These are moments that, if I devote enough time to thinking about, will provide the answers to questions that I've recently had to re-ask myself as I begin the next chapters in my life. I suppose, in a way, I am restarting. I don't know if that's even the right term for what I'm doing. I can't say I am picking up where I left off, because I didn't leave off in a good place - I left off at a point where everything derailed and from there, my life took all of these unexpected turns and twists and I lost track of who I was and where I was going in the process. I guess the right term will come to me later, but for now, I'm sticking with that. I'm determined to get these installments out before school starts on the 26th of August - and they'll be posted here as well as in a more follow-able format in Share Your Story. I'm determined, but somewhat nervous at the same time. Like I said, I've told my story before, but I've never really told it in entirety. I've left out details, I've sugar coated enough to send whoever was listening into a diabetic coma. It is the first time that I am able to tell these stories without being afraid of what others may think, of being judged, of being criticized, of being told my feelings, thoughts, and reactions weren't normal. Yes, it is being done here, from within a community where there is no fear of these things, but it's indeed a start. Rome was not built in a day, and my story will not reach beyond its intended audience until much later. I just feel ready now, to begin writing it and sharing it with whomever would like to truly understand me. I don't know that I'll have this desire later, nor if I'll have the time, so while the motivation is there, I'm taking myself to task. I am sure this writing I've set out to do, too, is a contributor to not being able to sleep - I'm in the middle of some pretty hard stuff and am finding myself opening the word document only to close it after adding one or two sentences here and there. This isn't easy by a long shot. But I'm thinking that once the hardest parts are written, then I can focus on somewhat of 'cool down' writing - focus on writing about the harder stuff in the daytime and the milder thoughts in the evenings...I'll force myself to Ny-Quil no later than 1, be in bed by 1:30....set my alarm for 8 or 9am and eliminate the naps. It's a plan, anyway! When school starts, I'll need to have this routine down pat as my first class will begin at 9am daily. Perhaps subconsciously, it's why I'm trying to focus on the harder details now as opposed to when I will have less time to sift through it all and give it the attention it deserves. So...there's that. Other than the above mentioned, there really aren't many things to report as happening in my life. The Son has been finished with classes for a while and the daughter's last day of seventh grade is tomorrow. The next few weeks are going to be insane as during the first week in July, they both become another year older (19 and 13) and we will have family coming in for the celebrating and festivities, and of course, the anticipated drama that I'll likely be posting in my next entry. (That is, providing my next entry isn't the first installment!) I hope all is well with everybody. Until later, - Capulet

I'm so lost idk what to do. Trigger warning! A few months ago i was sexually assualted. A little background on me I come from an abusive background as a kid and i am not good at expressing my feelings. So To clear my mind I go for walks usually at night when my mindset gets really bad. I really am not able to tell people this part, i'm suicidal. and I have had this mindset since I was 13 and Im 19 now... Going back to what happened a few months ago, I was at my university and it was around 1 am and i was feeling really low and down and like I was going to do something that was irreversible and i was alone. My roomate was hanging out with her friend. so i went for a walk and after that I was never the same. what happened ill never forget. But I couldnt remember for the longest time but recently i remebered all of it and im in a really bad place. I was walking across campus to go to a spot that I usually sit at and im going to just fast foward to when it happened. I was walking and I saw something and my headphones were in so I turned around and i saw a sudden movement so i got scared and started to turn away and Then someone grabbed my leg.. I was so fucking scared. and then i looked and there were two guys and They started grabbing me and trying to take off my clothes and then i kept trying to get away but it hurt when i resisted. so i shut down mentally and then itwas in flashes what happened next. Then there was only one guy and he was grabbing my boobs and trying to take off my pants and he was kissing me an d I wanted to die. Then he licked the side of my face and the smell of his breath... I can still smell it sometimes... then he shoved his hands down my pants and put his dirty disgusting fingers in side me an d it hurt so much. His nails were chipped and then his pants were unbuckled. And then i guess someone yelled something and he turned and then i was running and i couldnt stop running. I tried getting help later on but no one seems to give a fuck. and i cant do this. I cant live with this. there are too many other things going on right now.

I can't stop it. I can't stop making myself bleed. It's getting worse, it's running down my legs just like when I was child. I don't know why I do it. But I keep doing it I need to stop. It's already so damaged It's so fucked up. I'm so fucked up.

I found my stepfather grave on find a grave.com. They ask what do you remember of the person. I am fighting the urge to tell what I remember. Him physically and sexually abusing me from 3 to 11. All that would do is start a shit storm. I can't prove it, all it would do is piss of any member of his family who see it and they would go the attack to defend him. And attack me. It would just cause problems for my brother who is still close to his family. I am not,I want nothing to do with them.And my brother would probably side with them. Never do anything irrevocable when angry. And when I saw that option the anger just flared up. I suddenly had a pounding headache and my heart rate shot up. Strangers on the site leave virtual flowers. Isn't that sweet. I remember laying naked across his lap being flogged with a leather belt and him fondling my ass after the beating. I remember being throat punched because I said thing wrong thing. I remember him drunk standing in front of me with his robe open and his di*k in front of my face. But flowers laid on his grave, that so nice. Never do anything irrevocable when angry and I am angry.

I have working on trying to remember my childhood for several months now. And I have barely scratched the surface. I can do all fairly accurate floor plan of the house we lived in on the first farm, I have a rough idea of the layout of the buildings on the second farm and a vague idea what they look like . All I could remember of the last farm is just a barn,the cattle pasture, and the creek running through it . On the last farm I have some memories of things happening, just childhood memories nothing traumatic, but I can't picture the room they happen in. I have the memory of E coming into the bathroom when I was taking a bath and holding my head underwater till I quit struggling . I can't picture the room , it was a bathroom but I couldn't tell you what color it was how big it was or anything else about it . There absolutely zero emotion attached to that memory. Over time we live there I was in that bathroom hundreds of times I can't tell what look like. The divorce was granted in April 1977 , I was told that we lived there for over year after E left . and that E was there for maybe eight or nine months after we moved there. This is from the phone conversation me and my brother had about a month ago . We haven't discussed it since then. now assuming that we lived on the farm during the divorce and we moved out once the divorce was granted that means it happened just after I turned 13 . Backtrack a couple of years so we probably moved there when I was 11-ish . I don't know how long we lived on the second farm, but I remember we planted soy beans and I remember seeing them getting ready for harvest. So ,for now, I am going with 9 till 11 ish I was highly sexualized for someone of that age , I remember doing sex play at that age I just don't remember if there is someone else in the room . Me and my brother shared a room on the second Farm. And he told me once that he had sex with a cow , so I somehow doubt that he didn't do sexual things to me . For now I don't remember for sure but my gut tells me things happen . After he moved out of the Southwest I ran into a friend of his that we both knew . And he told me that my brother broke up with the girlfriend he had before he moved by having him and all his friends pulling train on her and then he dumped her for going along with it. I don't know if this is true or not of course because it's hearsay , but then I'm not a judge and this isn't a court of law What memories I do have of the way A and his friends treated me I feel that I was probably the bottom. That would explain why he's so adamant about me not remembering . I've always thought that it was the TBI that kept me from remembering my childhood . But I can remember climbing the slide that I fell off of and I can remember getting out of the hospital bed so they could change the sheets . Now that I'm trying to remember I realize I have more memories closer to the TBI then further from it . In my reading I've discovered that pedophiles have an age range and I'm beginning to feel that on the second and last farm , since my sister was 2 1/2 years older than me E transferred his attention from her to me . Once she began to develop secondary sexual characteristics he was no longer interested in her and since I was the youngest I became his chew toy . And that may be why I have such few memories of the these farms. I've decided that I'm going to attempt to get my school records from the school district I went to when we lived on the farms . I'm hoping that that will give me some addresses and I can get a more accurate Google earth look at the farms. And maybe bring some more memories out . Since I do have some bisexual urges , which I feel are related to the CSA , and me and my wife have a semi open marriage I am considering having a consensual , for once , homosexual encounter. I have discussed this with my wife and she says she has no problem with this . I just need to find some body that I can trust to stop it if memory start coming up and I start freaking out . And she'll definitely need to be involved . but I need to think on this for quite a while before I do it. I know several openly gay single people so it shouldn't be all that hard to set up. If I do that it will be on the next four day weekend I get , just so I have time to put myself back together if I wound up even more FUBAR from it because I still have to work. And I am a construction worker and we don't do feelings LOL . I'm really really good at the whole emotional numbing thing . And yes I am still treating this as an intellectual exercise , even though it's becoming increasingly difficult to do so .

I never thought that I would attempt to do my blog again but im doing it in a different way this time, in hopes it can help me deal with the strong emotions and allow myself to feel them as I write. Recently my brother committed suicide by over dose. I also am experiencing loss of my mental health support and many changes are happening. now that we know the place this blog is coming from guess im going to get started. To my Brother: Why the hell did you leave me to walk through this world alone and with out you. You broke your promise to never leave me you LIED!!! Out of everyone that has hurt me you just fucking out did them all. You have torn my world apart. You are through with your and have just ripped me apart while doing it. I hate you so much right now. why couldn't you reach out I would do anything for you, I would gladly have died for you all you had to do is ask. you took the easy way out and that's not fair. I don't know how to live without you. you took my beatings as a child, you tried to protect me from the bad guys. you were my hero, my best friend, my brother. you did a permitant solution a temporary problem. I know how hard it is to trust and I knw how much pain you had, but I have that to and I didn't take my life even though I have wanted too. I feel more loss. I DONT know how to live without you and I don't want to. you have a niece that even though you only saw her once and watched her grow through pictures I made sure she knew who you were. she adored you, that one special day when I got to see you with her. she is so proud of you and proud of herself for helping you be clean for the 9 months she was in me. I am sorry that you were told you weren't welcome at the birth of her. I wanted you there to experience that with me and I know it hurt you that that happened. now the only way she will know you, my best friend, is through pictures and my memories you took away the chance for her to make sweet memories of you, why did you steal that from her? you were selfish and that's all there is to it. I fucking hate you with every breath in my body. yet at the same time I love you and want you back. I would do anything to have you back, but I know that cant happen. yes I still love you and my heart hurts for you, that it got to the point you thought that was the only option.One day ill be able to forgive you but today isn't that day. I don't want to accept that you are gone. I really do miss you. we had so much fun together. yes there were bad times but there also were good times and that what I want to remember of you. I am so sorry I wasn't there for you. even though this pain is here it will one day ease. for now my dear brother all I can say is this: I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU!!!!

I beginning to get a few more flashes of my childhood, I keep drawing up this picture of a barn on a Hill. I think it's from the last farm. I vaguely remember the layout of the second farm we lived on this isn't from there. Its the only mental image I have of a building from there. I can't for the life of me picture the house, I know I had my own room, I can kinda picture the dresser that was in the room. But I really can't picture the room , It had a lot of books in it . I remember looking out the window Watching E and M unloading Christmas presents the back of his car. Her coming up telling me to go back to sleep so I wouldn't ruin the surprise . I still don't any remember Christmases . I know the room That me and A shared On the second was a horrible purple pinkish color, I think it opened up into E&M Bedroom. I'm not 100% sure about that. I remember hiding a lot, I mentioned the animal Den on the first farm.I remember finding a stripped Out Passenger car Upside down in a ditch, And I hide in it Until A and cousins found me one day. But I don't remember hiding in it after that. I do remember a lot of hiding, In closets, Under beds inside farm equipment and out in the Woods. I remember somebody lost the key To the diesel storage tank For the tractor. It wasn't me because I wasn't allowed to drive the tractor I was too small. So it was either A or E , when A realized that we couldn't find the key he knew that when E got home there be hell to pay. When E got home he had me tell him I lost it. I don't remember what the punishment was but based on past incidents I can imagine it wasn't good. I suspect there was a lot of times That A&J Would have me confess To things that I didn't do So they wouldn't be punished. I guess they figured since I survived the TBI I was OK with taking blows to the head. I mentioned when he came into the bathroom the one time and Held my head under For disrespecting him. And it kind of got me thinking, I don't think I was upset Or embarrassed That he came in on me When I was naked. It makes me think That being naked in front of him Wasn't all that unusual. That could be Just from The naked line up he used to make us do when he was yelling at us. But I suspect there's more to it than that. I think M worked nights a lot, and E was a drinker, so he be all drunk and horny and we were available . When I cant get hold of my wife one of the pictures that flashes up in my head is finding her and my daughter raped and murdered. I always been like that, that could just be the CPTSD or it could be something Leaking past one of the locked doors in my head. E didn't murder any one but I believe he raped J. And maybe us boys as well. My wife has a lot more faith In my ability To do the schooling that I want to do Then I do. I told her she could spend 250 bucks On a device For me to do online school And I'm holding a $600 piece of equipment in my hand. She believes in me a lot more than I do. That's why words are randomly capitalized throughout this post, I'm teaching a new device voice to text With my accent. Voice to text does not like my accent. Lol.

Our first farm wasn't very big it was only about 8 acres . there was a creek running through it and a couple acres of trees , for child as young as I was seem like a forest . This is where I have the clearest memories of the "Games". I remember being in my sisters room , all three of us naked on her bed . We wouldn't have been very old , I believe I was in fourth grade , she was 2.5 years older.. I have a vivid memory of her laying on her back with her legs spread and us using our hands to rub each other . And rubbing up against each other. This is when she said the thing about us peeing in her.It was very bright so I think the curtains were open. Again I think she started playing with us so E could watch. The creek that ran though the farm had cut a ravine , it wasn't very deep , but the sides were above our heads. I remember the three of us going out there , and her saying that we could hypnotize her and she do anything we wanted . I remember all three of us naked down there , playing with each other and rubbing against each other . The first vagina I kissed with my sisters , and the first female who took my penis in her mouth was my sister . And yes me and my brother also played with each other . I think we moved the games outside so E could get a clearer view. Later on we built a lean to out of brush , I believe the games continued in there even though I have no clear memory of it. We couldn't see out but if someone wanted to they could see in. With out us knowing they were there. I remember I found an abandoned animal den, I would worm my way in to hide. I have no idea what animal made it but it was large enough for a 4th grader. It was a dank smelly nasty borrow in a pile of dead trees and brush. But nobody know where I was. There was a family that lived next to us that also had kids about our age . They would come over and play and then one day they didn't anymore . They were very religious. I have the suspicion that J tried to include the older daughter in the games and the parents found out and forbid them to come over . I just have this fuzzy picture of two naked girls in that lean too . I remember being told that we hated the mother and father. That they were religious freaks and we needed to stay away from them . Again we were highly sexualized for children of that age . Me and my brother had G.I. Joe's and my sister had barbies. We would play G.I. Joe on liberty with them where we have the dolls do sex acts. Like I said this was the early 70s , media wasn't as openly sexual then as it is now . So we got these ideas from what was being done to us . I don't think we were there very long , long enough to grow and bale hay. But then I'm not sure, I only remember the summer there . I remember loading the steers and pigs on to a truck to take them to the slaughterhouse . That may have been while we were moving to the second farm . I remember E being abusive and violent because we weren't doing it right . this is all took place in the northern Midwest, so there would of been snow and cold. I don't remember winters , only flashes. As is my habit when confronted with a problem , I do research . Let's collect as much information as possible about the problem we're trying to solve and see how we can apply it to the problem . It appears that not only was I trauma bonded to E, I also have trauma amnesia . I may never fully recover the memories of the abuse . It may only be vague impressions, suspicions and just brief flashes.

When I was very young at the apartments we lived in when E and M first got married. I was maybe 2 or 3 years old. E aftershave got spilled. one of us dumped it down the toilet .I believe he used aqua Velva aftershave . That's the first time I recall him lining us up naked for interrogation. After much yelling on his part it was decided I did it. Hell I might've . I was laid across his lap naked and spanked. I'm getting flashes of other times I was beaten for something . I think that's when I started being blamed for everything that us kids did to anger him, because I was so small he would just use his open hand on me . Fists and the belt would come later . As I got older and the level of violence increased it was just the way we did things . my wife went and bought a container of Aqua Vega aftershave, smell is a good way to recall memories . I had it for about a month now and I will admit I am a little concerned of what will happen when I smell it . I have a memory of him either pushing M or punching her and knocking her down the stairs. She hit the wall so hard she put her head through it . these were apartments that were built previous to 1968 , so it wouldn't have been sheet rock. It would have been Lathe and plaster. That's considerably more solid then sheet rock. She's had multiple back surgeries since then . I remember from the first house her being in a full body cast . I can't help but wonder this is when the back problems started . I've always had the impression that my introduction into human sexuality was I caught the two of them having sex and he made me stand there and watch . I believe more then once. One of my "kinks" is watching people have sex. Not voyeurism but being in the same room and them aware I am there. But that also could be because of the Games. I remember me and my brother playing outside after dark , and him telling me to start looking at the apartments across the way so we could watch people having sex through the windows. Like I said I was very young I hadn't started Kindergarten yet , I don't believe he started kindergarten. This was the late 1960s . I believe that it would be unusual for children this young at ,that time, to be aware of sex. I remember the 3 of us bathing together. We were highly sexualized as children, I remember during one of the games on our first farm J said that we couldn't put our penises in her because she was worried we would pee and get her pregnant. I would have been 7 or 8. This was way before sex education at schools. I don't remember the birds and the bees talk but we were aware ,vaguely, of how babies were made. I did manage to recall a holiday, I remember getting lost on Halloween when we were out trick or treating. There's no real emotion attached to that memory , I remember later in the marriage when he would go on one of his rages or start pounding on me, I would pick a spot just pass his head and stare at it . I believe that even that young I was starting to disassociate with what was going on around me I'm getting flashes of mundane things too. Getting the old school bowl haircut. Playing. Things like that. I don't remember the move from the apartments to the first house . there are still great big chunks of my childhood missing but I'm working on it .

I find commenting on other people's threads very uncomfortable. One of the reasons I do that it's because as a child I was taught that everything I thought and said was wrong. That I was an idiot who couldn't get anything right. I've remembered after the TBI them getting so frustrated with me because I would have difficulty with spelling. And I remember being told how stupid I was ,what a loser I was, how I was going to be this big gigantic failure. So it's difficult for me to comment on the threads Of course I suffered severe brain trauma, and I'm being told now I was in a coma from 3 to 7 - days. But of course according to them that was just an excuse I was just lazy and stupid. But I'm forcing myself to do it, even though I find it very uncomfortable and it causes me anxiety. Because in order to do what I want to do I have to be able help people. So please forgive me if I'm clumsy at it, if I inadvertently say the wrong thing or it's not coming across the way I intended. I'm doing the best I can with my severely limited social skills. And to elaborate on my last post about being a violent drunk, no I never cross the line and hurt a woman or a child. I've never struck my wife in anger or struck my children in anger. And I definitely have never forced sex on a woman or a child. I decided early in the game that if I ever did that my next act would be to eat a bullet.

Since I talked to my brother I had a few more flashes come out. We lived in a house, I believe it was the 2nd farm, that had a basement with a real low ceiling. I was probably only 7 or 8 and my head just barely cleared the joists. I liked playing down because E don't like going down there becuase it was so low. Because I was down there alone I think just me and him were home. I remember him angrily yelling for me to come up. I remember seeing him at the top of the stairs outlined by the brighter light behind him and I remember fear. I remember we were visiting M parents in a different state. And my sister and a different girl were putting on a lesbian show for us boys. I can't remember the time frame.I think she was 12/14 E wouldn't have been there so I guess by now it was how we played together. I remember us taking bathes together. At the first house. Washing each other, with E in the room. That would make me about 4 or 5 A 5 or 6 and J 7 or 8. I remember at the 1st house we have a fort built out of sheets on the clothes line in the back yard. An adult would of had to build it as we were to small. we were playing I show you mine if you show me yours. I think with the neighbor kids. I walked out, for whatever reason and caught E standing there. He was so angry. I, believe now because I caught him peeping. I think we weren't allowed to play with these kids after awhile. I remember their father telling us to go home because J took her shirt off. He was uncomfortable with that. I really don't remember having friends other then E nephews after that. I had school friends but I don't remember going to their house or them coming to ours. I do remember going to spend the to night at a friend's house once. But I can't recall ever doing it again. I mentioned on a thread that we had an abandoned heating oil tank in a basement at a house we lived at. Every time I smell the smell of heating oil I think sex. It was the house we lived in town after E left. M worked nights and A and J were in Hi school so that the place they would have the keggars. They like getting the little 13/14 psychotic boy drunk and watching him go insane. At that time all I wanted to do was drink or die. I remember being in the basement with my brother. But not what happened or why we were down there. So I have to wonder if the games continued after E left. On the net I come across a series of pictures of male rape victims holding up sign of thing their rapist said to them. One of the sign said" All brother do this, it's called practicing" that freaked me out. What can't I remember and just had bad was it?

I fully intend on continuing this voyage of self discovery. I am very goal orientated, and my goal is to know, to the best of my ability to remember. It was decades ago 1 TBI and me trying very hard not to remember. So a lot may just be suspicions and vague impressions. As most know on this page PTSD charges the structure of the brain. And the way it remembers trauma. Some of me trying not to remember all the CSA is they blamed me. And I believed them. That I was just wrong. That I was a thing that should be grateful they tolerate me. Yes I know that's a symptom of PTSD. Then I didn't know that. And they took full advantage of that. From the time the marriage ended till my final suicide attempt after the gangrape, I was a violent self destructive alcoholic. Think of all the worst symptoms of PTSD mix it with Jack Daniels. I can't ask my Mother because she is 77, had several Strokes She was highly trained medical professional and now simple medical terms are hard for her to pronounce. Why put her though it. My sister is a narcissist, a drug addict and a petty Thief who stole all my mother's money after she started to get sick. I will never speak to her again. And my brother will lie. TW If it turns out that I was E cumdump then so be it. I suspect that after my brother was physically able to I was his. Till one of E nephews got a license then all of them stopped interacting with me. They feed me and give me the bare minimum of care necessary to keep me alive. I scared them.

I printed off what I wrote and took the book referenced in part one in to the PhD that I trust. I read it aloud. "May I see the book?" "Absolutely." "That's damaging." "It is and although I despise the men who have made tons of money in law enforcement off of their sales practice, I won't burn the book. I refuse to do what Hitler and many others have done by burning books. I do NOT agree with the parochial 'version' of anger and if anything calling it a sin makes them money by keeping people sick and miserable. Worst longterm gaslight tactic ever."

I am a new member and I am 23 yrs old and I am struggling with a lot of stuff and I was told by a friend that this is a great please to seek help. LDM0426

"Rape is the only crime where the victim is interrogated as the subject of interest. Little attention is placed on the perpetrator's behavior, if any." Once attacked as a child, the math odds do not improve in the longterm favor of the victim. This establishes a pattern that it's okay for silence and repeat abuse. It doesn't matter who or what is responsible for the original criminal act, what's important is that the victim doesn't internalize the crime. Why would I think this way? Not only does a victim/survivor have to fight the original crime, but the aftermath of the mob. They are mathematically -- atrocious odds. Personally, I didn't come up with the example of math and casinos. It was two males at Stanford who did. That too, pissed me off. It is an opinion that the Reid Technique from 1947 -- is part of this horrible gap in lost time, lost wages, broken families and other longterm consequences that are offloaded onto the victims. Commercial entities also use these interview and interrogation method... but first, as a female, the religious nut jobs have to have their Spanish Inquisition jab. "Is she diseased?" "Is she of childbearing years?" "Is she married?" THIS IS STRAIGHT OUT OF THEIR BOOK, "Blame Victim (Company or Supervisor)" page 217 "Use. This rationalization can be used for theft or damage to property. The victim can be blamed in almost any crime from a homicide, to a sex crime, to theft. The guilt is transferred to the victim by the interrogator who portrays the suspect as a victim of circumstances. The suspect became involved because the victim dressed or acted a certain way, flaunted their wealth, or made advances to the suspect." STOP RIGHT THERE. I want a complete list of every human who has attended this Reid course, used this method AGAINST rape survivors and bought this damned book. While I won't burn it, I will stare holes into it. AND I will stare holes into the website of the two men authors who are of 'lofty credentials' in this so-called fake justice nation. I FLIPPED YOUR 1947 MONEY RETIREMENT STRATEGY SCRIPT YOU BASTARDS. Legally, nobody is required to pass a religious test in this particular country. Nor are they fully required to submit their body to examination without legal representation. MIRANDA -- how odd is this warning label from a foreign rapist trial who got off on a technicality? I have the right to scream decades later because yelling is not against the law. I have the right to insult the academic masses who have financially benefitted off of 'rape research' but have yet figured out how to resolve the K-12 anatomical education in the classrooms. I have the right to tell the male judge and male lawyer that they are assholes when they collude on the insensitivity bandwagon and I'm reduced to tears in a trial. I have a right to interrogate the backgrounds of the medical practitioners who might believe my body is their evidence playground. I have a right to make sure any documentation about me in a file contains no bias about what people think of me... but rather facts. Most importantly, I have a right to laugh, to pursue my own path of healing and to investigate what is best for my life. I am not to be categorically dumped into a group or groups for research purposes, nor am I to be used as a 'rape prevention' tool or mouthpiece. I have a right to my personhood, my thoughts and my future. I have a right to refute Stasi-like tactics from a University-backed funding pool that is propped up by extremist patriarchy political channels. I have a right to my data accuracy and it not being propagated into a big data lake. I have a right to my female brain which is absolutely no different than a male brain. Mine happens to work logically and analytically and I can shut down the emotions just like a male with a light switch. I have a right to work with my anger and find the beauty in it as opposed to the myths attached to female anger. I have the right to my own emotions and I don't need your campy zen Corporate bunny fluff self-coddling because I came from that campy Corporate training environment and played the politics there. Yes -- Yes, I am terribly pissed off that the former Presidential administration used the financial anti-terrorism "fine" to supposedly fund rape kits and forensics. You filthy bastard of Ivy League might not realize some of us have been working on Iran things long before you entered the State of Illinois politics. We had to sit in those long gas lines during the seventies while we were given that delightful shitty government education in the middle of nowhere. Thanks for using our pool as human shields for your Middle East agenda. (In the event you two nincompoops didn't realize that human shields are against the Geneva Convention.) They ONLY went to where the huge foundation money goes -- Universities -- and didn't even dance in the K-12 ring. Common sense says... if you're raped into PTSD as a kid into teens -- college isn't even in the forecast. Thanks assholes. That's the early childhood education your political strategy neglected. In the event the original officers who destroyed a rape kit seven years after the first rape don't see the crime scene tape... they're not allowed to cross that line. I am evidence. I am not property. You'll not stuff me in your evidence lab rat room for observation. I am a survivor... and I also have a right to be mad as hell.

Thirty seven years ago I was raped by what I consider a stranger as a teen walking home in the rain... someone I did not know personally nor had I ever spoken to or been in proximity. The place is small and it is a place where telephones aren't necessary for words or rumors to travel. Everybody "knows" everybody or seemingly so is familiar with the names or families. I'd assume this is quite typical in everywhere remote small places. I do not remember details. What I do remember clearly was where I was previously, what I was doing in the arcade was a very normal social activity and that there was no ride home in the rain and I was told to walk. My mother was sick and unable to come get me. Walking is also something that is a normal activity in a very small town. I wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. There were also no taxis, Uber or Lyft for teens. Bicycles were our only other form of transportation. There were no drugs or alcohol involved. I didn't run in huge social circles and being rather bookish anyway, I wasn't interested in popularity climbs. What I do remember is the luring tactic by the perpetrator who claimed he knew the step-Dad and where I lived. "Hey... need a ride?" seemed to be a kind gesture. That's the lure. An obituary or two clued me in that he'd probably seen me playing in the yard with other kids while he was visiting his uncle on the same block. Yes -- obituaries reveal quite a bit of data that you wouldn't otherwise think would be important. I'm equally as capable of solving my own crime scene -- because I was there. Many months ago, I got up enough wine-induced courage to take that entire PD to task. Yes. Even though the statute of limitations (colorful topic) has passed, I called to re-report the crime on my own accord. Dead parents couldn't back me, but I did it anyway. Dead grandparents weren't there to support me, but I did it anyway. And... the PD hung up on me repeatedly so I kept calling and screamed that they were going to listen to me. Besides... PDs are used to screaming drunks. Might as well temporarily use this to my cathartic advantage. So yes, the 1981 rainy April night was re-reported and that was that. I got my point across that I will not be silenced. After all, telecommunication engineering is in my background. Voila! And wine is not a longterm solution or crutch. I was able to reconstruct decades worth of passwords by loosening up my own cranial archives and getting inside my own head. I'm done with that. Mission accomplished. I figured if it was good for the Ancient Greeks it might work for me, too. Amazing what I was able to piece together that I thought was really permanently blocked... and this time I wrote it down! What I did not know is that a first cousin is related by marriage to both a retired police officer as well as the perpetrator. It's now really no wonder he walked and probably did that over and over as they do. All of these years, she and her mother pretended to act out of concern but at my first hint of "revolt" towards her and not being her technological free support, she turned. She also tried to manipulate me into a fake forgiveness scenario over decades probably out of her own secret guilt. When I told her to stop sending me photos of a truck in a driveway and that it was hurtful, she kept doing it anyway. When she's insecure about her husband sending texts to a woman, she can pay a private eye for the address sleuthing... or actually go find a shrink. As they say, it's actually those closest that do the most longterm damage. I just walked away. I didn't realize that the downstream guilty cling to the victims just as hard as the perpetrators do. In doing so, cutting those ties... I freed myself. This is my healthy decision. And some of that rage subsided.

When I sleep with a man, I close my eyes. I do everything I can to make it be over if it starts taking him too long. I do this even when its my decision and I came on to him; but it always feels wrong. The sweating grosses me out, the body hair, the awkward humping like he thinks he's rocking your world when all he's really doing is drying my out and causing awful friction. When I close my eyes, I don't have to see him anymore, and it separates me from the situation. I wondered when I started doing that; coming onto guys and then waiting for it to end. When I was 16, my first boyfriend Parker took my virginity. Like most embarrassed teenage girls I couldn't look then, either. Then I got comfortable, and eventually I was confident enough to look, to take control, to fuck him back. It was all we ever did when we were together, which the horny teenager in me didn't mind a bit. But then weeks passed, and months. We were still only fucking. Not just once, but at least two times every day. I would go see him every day, pick him up, bring him home with me. Let him fuck me as much as he wanted, and then take him home again. It became routine, to let him have what he wanted even if I didn't feel like it. If I said no, he would keep asking. So I let him. When I couldn't stand him anymore, I ended it. He was the first boy I ever slept with, and he used me like a sex doll. And I let him. I gave him what he wanted, because isn't that easier than fighting it? I think that really created the foundation for other men to take advantage of me. Never by force, but coercion. If they tried enough, I would let them. If I knew that was what they wanted from me, I gave it to them. Again, and again, and again. Sometimes, it was drugs that convinced me. Or alcohol. Or both. They would get me fucked up and then I was even easier to convince. Friend gets me molly, and suddenly a little touching isn't as big of a deal. We're tripping on shrooms together, and the harmless back massage travels to my ass, and I allow it. Give me some painkillers, and I'll take my best friend's virginity. More painkillers, I let you do anal. Some acid and coke, I let you spit in my mouth and call me a w**re. At the time, maybe it even felt good. Maybe I wanted to do it, too. But I didn't want to, not really. I wanted the drugs, to feel better for just a while. I wanted the attention, because loneliness hurts almost as much. It was always him that wanted to. The dozens of hims that I barely remember or remember all too well; I knew what they wanted from me, what every guy always wanted from me, and I let them have it because it seemed like the only thing left of me to give. So I didn't fight, I just closed my eyes. In a way, so did they, because no one ever seemed to notice how much I was cutting myself back then. After a while, I tried to get better. I'd stopped being as reckless, tried to find someone that didn't think of me as a nice piece of ass to destroy. Tried to take better care of myself, and tried to push back the memories of all the things I let other people do to me. And I was doing alright, for a short while. I had just started taking klonopin for my anxiety, and had no idea how strongly it would interact with something to drink. I was on a tinder date, and between the two of us we finished the bottle. He was handsome, and older, and I was trashed. I got on top of him, kissed him hard. When I started to take off my clothes, and he politely slowed it down, then left. Told me maybe next time. Bet you we're expecting that; neither was I. I'd never had a guy turn down sex with me before. I was ripe for the taking, but he knew I was too drunk. He was the first respectful guy I'd ever come across. But then, I invited over my friend, Max. We had also met on tinder, but I hooked up with him roommate a few times and had made it abundantly clear that I was only interested in being friends. It wasn't that he was a bad guy or anything, but for the love of Christ his teeth were so repulsive, the thought of kissing him made me gag. So there we were, me already half blackout drunk, Max having his first drink while pouring me another. I told him all about how I'd just had the most wonderful date, and that we were going to see each other again soon. We chatted and drank and then I noticed how he was looking at me. How he was always looking at me. Then, I kissed HIM. There's a lot I don't remember about that night, parts that got left out because of the drugs. That, I do remember. I kissed him first. I still blame myself for that. See, when you get drunk while also on a benzo like xanax or klonopin, you don't black out entirely. At least, I didn't. While I was drunk, I was there, experiencing everything. It was only the next day that parts were missing, blurred out like someone didn't erase them properly. There were also parts that, for the life of me, I couldn't stop remembering. Images were playing through my mind over and over. Me kissing him, me leading us to my room. Him pushing my head down to blow him, it chocking me. Then it was me, laying on my stomach with him behind me. I was too fucked up to do anything but lay there, too dizzy to move. I remember how much it hurt, how aggressively he forced himself into me over and over again. I remember him spanking me, and how humiliating it was. When the worst part happened, when he decided to take his too big c*ck and force it in my ass, I remember my face in the pillow, eyes clenched shut, almost screaming, my hand grabbing the blankets for dear life. I don't remember how it ended, or much of anything after that, except that I kept laying there, staring straight ahead, and tears hitting the pillow. He slept over, and the next morning, I made excuses about having to be somewhere soon and that he needed to leave. I went back to bed, in shock, and just cried. All day, I cried. Then, I decided to fight. I fought with him, over text, furious that he'd taken advantage of me when I had been so drunk, fresh off a date, after I had been so clear that I never wanted anything like that from him. I told his roommate, my friend, but he wasn't on my side. Said Max told him we were both drunk, that I kissed him first, that I wanted it to happen, but regretted it. Person after person I told, no one was on my side. Except for my roommate; he had been in his room, and heard all of it. I still think about how it must have damaged him, being a witness to something he couldn't stop. 28 days from now it will be a full year since I attempted suicide. I never make it to the one year mark; for three years I've come within a month or two but then relapse in the worst ways. It's like all the cuts I didn't make were building up until the pressure was so great that one touch of a blade to my skin left a devastating wound. The boy I had been on a date with that night stayed with me through the entire winter. I don't know if I could have made it without him. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but it was the worst time. I rearranged my room, made everything look different. I will never put my bed back in the spot by the window, because that's where it happened. I could never lay in that bed there again, knowing that's where my face had been buried in the pillow. For a while, everything was really difficult. Then I buried it deep and soldiered on, because there are always so many other things to worry about. After a while, and after being cut off by that group of friends, I moved on with my life. Then I started a new job, and he was there. He asked the boss to never schedule us on the same nights, because he couldn't stand to be around me, because I made HIM uncomfortable. He played the victim, telling all his friends I went crazy after coming on to him and all sorts of lies. He had his life, his friends, and I had panic attacks in the bathroom. My skin crawled when I saw him. People would say his name in conversation and I thought I was going to be sick. I couldn't keep working like that, and I couldn't quit the job, so I told someone. A manager asked what was wrong, so I told him. Nothing happened. I told the girls I worked with, and turned out, I wasn't the only one. Not one, but TWO other girls had been his friend, partied together, gotten way too shit faced, and woke up next to Max. Apparently, that was just "what he does". He targets women that can't say no. One of the other girls talked to a different manager with me, and still, nothing happened. Every feeling from that night came back into my life and I kept remembering my face in the pillow, the pain. No one did a thing to help me, no matter how many times I asked. I eventually was fired from that job after having a panic attack that sent me home during a busy shift. Fired because I was raped, and no one would help me. I think about how many other girls hes done this to, how many more there are to come. I want to report it, I want to put him away so he can't hurt anyone ever again. There are THREE that I know of, but even if they did come forward with me, who would believe us. Girls getting too drunk, having sex, regretting it. How do you call it rape if you didn't say no, if you didn't fight him off? My name, all of our names, would get dragged through the dirt. They would call us slutty, reckless, paint a picture of drug addicts and mental cases until no one took us seriously. And all that, for my family to witness? There is no justice for people like me, like the other girls. We elect rapists into our Supreme Court and then are asked why it is we didn't come forward sooner, say something when it happened. And besides, I kissed him first, remember? I kissed him first because since I was 16 years old, the world taught me to just give men what they wanted from me, that it was easier that way. How do you explain that to a court? To your friends? Your family? The most ironic part is, I'm gay. And when I'm with a girl, I keep my eyes wide open, and I never want it to end.

‘Too bad another guy spoilt my fun’ ... ’your so broken no one will ever love you like I love you’ ... ’never speak of this again with anybody else - no one should know this about you’ ... ’you are being over dramatic, get over it’ ... ’you are not fun anymore’ ... words that follow me and shape my life. Words that people have said in response to me telling them what happened. Words hurt

I haven’t posted in a while and tonight I feel like I have no where else or any one else to turn to so I’m here I started cutting again and started to hate my self more and more every day every minute every second I’m terrified and scared and I hate myself and I want to kill myself and I just want to die I just want to it all to end I hate it I can’t sleep I’m scared I’m paranoid I’m not even sure how to end this but maybe with a question... what if you were asked” where are you gonna go live with a rapist or with your brother so he can rape you too” by your significant other what would you do?

Today has been a long rough day all together I feel like if it wasn’t one thing it’s another!!! I had counseling today and I decided I was gonna write a letter to my abuser and send it off... I hate the unknown of not knowing if he’s gonna open it or the unknown is what drives me even crazier. I’m the type that constantly has to be in control and when I’m not I get anxious and stressed out and depressed and I don’t know how to handle it!! I hate feeling this way!!! Now I’m stuck have stupid Father’s Day dinner with all the in laws and every time we have dinner I end up at the end by myself on my phone (like now) playing games or just keeping myself occupied... it makes me feel so alone and unwanted but this is what I married into I love him to much to let this mess up our marriage. Dot get me wrong he try’s to talk to me a little bit but I get so depressed I just don’t want to talk to anyone!!! I hate it I hate today I hate everything I just feel like cutting crying and sleeping!!

I’m having such a bad night I just wish it could be over with already!! I just wish I didnt have to feel this depression I’m feeling. Like I’m so down in a funk and I can’t get out. I hate not being able to talk to anyone about it. I know I can call someone but I don’t want to be a bother to them. I don’t want them to feel like I’m a burden or I’m pestering them about my stupid problems. I keep trying to push through all these feelings and I just end up finding myself sitting on the couch crying. I wish I could just shut off all my emotions and just act like everything is okay there’s no hurt there’s no pain there’s no depression there’s nothing. I hate that my mind keeps going back to all the abuse I’ve dealt with all the neglect all the physical abuse all the sexual abuse and rape and the running and the sleeping around and all the drugs and all the cutting and all the other stupid crap I’ve done and all the other stuff I’ve had to deal with. I feel overwhelmed like I can’t manage to eat I can’t manage to sleep I can hardly take care of my own kids. It’s getting bad tonight but I’m trying my best to push through it until both kids are sound asleep. I don’t want them to see me freak out or to see me sitting her pathetically crying on the couch. I don’t want them to see how unstable I truly am. It’s so hard to deal with the unpleasant presence I feel like someone is standing here watching fail watching me be weak and just laughing at me. I feel like I have to be strong for the sake of me. But why can’t someone else be strong for me? Why do I always have to be strong for me and everyone around me?? Why can’t I just have flaws for once? Why can’t I just be the irresponsible person I want to be sometimes? Why can’t I have a break? Why can’t I just be a happy normal 22 year old girl who hangs out with friends and who isn’t paranoind about leaving home or even paranoid just to walk to her car? I guess these are all questions I will never get an answer to. This is the moment I’ve been dreading for a while now. This is the moment I have to gain some balls and finally talk about it.

Today I’m feeling so lost. I just want to stay home I don’t even want to be here at work. Last night my mom called me and was telling me my brother wanted to see me and wanted to talk to me and that we were siblings and we needed to act like it. Like seriously he should of acted like it when we were growing up and he was being a douche bag to me and before he decided to stick his nasty ass hands down my pants!! He should of thought about that every time he would barge in when I was taking a shower. So seriously why in the hell would I want to even Want to see him let alone talk to him?? Granted my mom doesn’t know but still I don’t want anything to do with him

I’ve been in and out of my sleep all night crying and trying to process everything. I’m not crying like hard like balling my eyes out it’s like a silent cry ig you can say. I’ve cried so much that my head hurts and I can’t seem to stay asleep. I just want to be okay. I know yesterday was a big step but man I feel like I’m starting all over from the beginning. Like I’m having to find different ways to heal which I’m okay with. I want to be able to heal the right way this time and not want to cut or pop pills or whatever stupid thing I decide to do at he time. I want to be able to live my life and nothing seem to bother me. I want to actually be as strong as I portray myself to be. Everyone seems to tell me I’m strong but as soon as I get home I’m a complete mess. I can keep my shit together in public but at home everything seems to disappear. I just want to sleep for longer then an hr and get some rest. I feel so unglued and I’m flying myself back together slowly and with with better glue this time.