if you've ever been raped or sexually abused (or know someone who has), and wish to talk about it, go. You know, it isn't that easy to write on a blank page, especially about something like this. But all the same, I think as a culture and especially as a generation we need to talk about this kind of stuff. So many women are raped in this age of confusion and frustration. So many children are abused. Men too, but I don't have the knowledge to talk about that. Perhaps it is such a personal thing that nobody feels it is their place to say anything. It's a secret, because it is the acknowledgement of our mortality and our fine balance on randomness. But this silence is disempowering. My grandmother, aunt, and mother were all raped young. It is a string of secrets that cuts generation off from generation, child from mother, and sister from sister. Is it their burden? They carry it. Was it their fault? WHo decides? our individuality is really honored as a priciple in this culture. rape cuts it. not only is there that horrible pain, but there's this hate of everything, a blinding bitterness, because it is a loss of control, and a violation of something we have always been taught is the most important thing of all. Individuality is the basket all our eggs are in. how could we not feel the world has deserted us? I read what someone (I probably shouldn't say her name if she deleted what she said from here) wrote here, but it's gone now. I just want to say that I was listening and that you don't have to feel bad or ashamed for posting what you said here. Even if I couldn't find anything to say, I do care that you hurt. Take care, brave girl, 'kay? ~Eryn
A niggling voice in the back of my mind keeps murmuring to me as I write; "You don't count. You can't write on here! Don't be stupid." But I think that maybe I do, and I need to say this in a place where other people can hear me. I need to realize, and hear myself say, "Yes. This is real, and I am allowed to hurt because of it." I remember, when I was younger, how self-satisfied and smug and safe I used to feel when I would read stories in magazines about children who had been abused. How I would think, "I know my parents would never do anything like that to me!" It came as quite a shock to have two men from Child Protective Services drive up to my house and tell me that my father had been reported for molesting me while I was asleep. I went through several phases after that: disbelief, trying to ignore it, resignation. . . . and then I realized that I still hurt, every single time I saw him and had to act like a sweet, loving daughter, and then I was angry. In a certain sense, I feel much stronger now. It was hard to tell Gary that I didn't want to pretend that it hadn't happened. That I didn't want to pretend that I loved him. It was hard to stand in front of my father and tell him that, to me, he was little more than a stranger and that that was how I was willing to treat him. But I DID tell him those things, and I feel. . . . powerful. Like a sorceress, standing tall and proud and whole. I'm not sure how much sense any of this has made, or whether it really needs to make any sense at all. It isn't a story, not like the ones I usually write, with a beginning and a middle and an end. It's my life, and it's still going on. I hurt sometimes, and I'm angry sometimes, and a lot of the time. . . . I'm happy. Just with who I am. I never wished for someone else's life. I guess I figured that everybody's got crap, right? This's mine. And now I'm going to be brave and sign my name, because anonymity really doesn't change anything, and besides, I'm trying to let go of this, not keep it cooped up inside of me. So, here: -Amy. And I <b>do</b> count; I must, because I hurt. Why is it so hard to convince myself of that?
I'm not glad about what he did to me. I'll never be glad. But in a cetain, small, kind of ashamed way, I'm almost . . . . not-sorry. Not-sorry that the whole thing happened, because it gave me a chance to ask myself questions that I wouldn't have asked, otherwise. That I wouldn't even have considered, if I hadn't been faced with the fact that my "daddy" didn't see me in a strictly paternal fashion. When what was real became a dream that I no longer had(if you'll pardon my tendancy for metaphore), my eyes began to see differently. I think. I get tired of being tired, sometimes. Of being angry. Of being split. I feel drained, like a tomato being knawed at by a worm, and I just want everything to go away and leave me alone, to be the way it was before, or at least to be different than it is now. But reconciliation, which is what so many people seem to expect will happen, someday, isn't really what I want. I don't what to hug and cry and make up. I don't want him to smile at me and wait for me to smile back, because they'll all be waiting. . . . and there will be no end until I grin. I don't want to be expected to laugh, not ever. Want, want, want. Want what? What do you want, little girl? I don't know. Maybe simply to sleep. G'night, Amy About a year and a half ago, I had a guy friend who was basically a jerk. He was one of the few friends I had at the time, and he was interested in me. He was the first guy to call me, flirt with me, and he made me laugh. So yeah, that was nice, and I was planning to go visit him. Then his jokes started getting more... suggestive, and it made me uneasy. He was joking about things like masturbation and rape, and I hardly knew him! I knew hardly anything about this guy, he never said anything about his family or his past, and yet I was planning to visit him. I told him to stop it, and called off the visit, but I still talked to him. Then he sent me another email, and in reply to my "talk to you later!" at the end, he said "you better or I'll shoot you and rape your dead carcus". That was the end of our "friendship"..... almost. When we saw each other again there were a couple times when I wasn't staying with the crowd, and he'd grab me and not let go even when I yelled "NO!" Still, I felt like I was leading him on somehow, that I was "too flirty". Well. Then camp came, and I met other guys who were not jerks and treated me with respect, so the jerk guy was ditched for good. I saw him again in January this year, but I completely ignored him and he left me alone. I have better people to hang out with. I guess this doesn't really count here, because it's "just" sexual harrasment... but I wanted to say my piece, so thank you for giving me some writing space. ~Eryn
It's not always easy to tell what one's will is. I mean, of course, when a stranger is threatening you, it's obvious. but when someone you love and you've made love to before is too forceful, is that rape? He is so kind and gentle, but when I said no, it didn't matter. It felt sad for me, that I couldn't say no. I kinda just backed down and melted into myself. He knew I had not wanted to,but he was very loving while he was totally ignoring my racing heart and suprised face. and it was only a little painful. I just felt like I couldn't speak, and like I wouldn't be heard because we had been together before. Why is it that when a woman says no, it's assumed she's just playing? And once, why always and ever? I'm not putting my name on this. You all think I'm more powerful than this.
"don't touch me"black mirror eyes a calculating coldness bury me beneath your lies swallow my soul steal my innocence ask me why i look so old invisible scars where your fingers touched leaving a slime only i can feel ask me why i hate you so much recurring nightmare slap me with reality but the terror is still there cry until i run out of tears hide under the bed but you can smell my fear i'd rather be crucified upon the roses of my grave would you visit the place where i died i'd embrace the silver and pretend to be juliet but you'll never be romeo no not ever you are the shadow behind the door you are the demon in my head you are the reason my blood drips to the floor you are the reason i scream i scream i scream but only in my dreams -goddess888 ( HIS name for me......) I hate not remembering. There are feelings, and questions. And more questions. I imagine flashbacks but there are none. I only remember that which is molded around that experience that incident that /might/ have happened /could/ have happened I'm almost -sure- that it happened the clues are all coming into place impatient me. i want to remember. ~*~ lucky. i wish i could forget. or not really, because that would take away a part of who i am, wouldn't it? one of the bit making up myself. maybe i don't want to forget. because if i survived that nightmare, i can survive anything. ... ..... ...... ....but if i could wish upon a star, i would wish it all away. it's been a long time since i've been home. a long time since i saw him. maybe he'll be gone. maybe the landlord will have kicked him and his family out. maybe it will all be good. ....maybe he's still there. waiting with his cold manipulative eyes and his neverending lies. i don't want to go home. ~Angel/Kat theres not much space left on these pages how do I make a physical/emotional abuse page? ?L ~sandra
I've been molested by three people. When I was six my next door neighbor, who was a girl a year older then me, molested me every weekend for two years on the swing in my garden. She told me not to tell anyone, because she could make it so they wouldn't believe me and I would be the one who got in trouble. I'm sure if she could've raped me she would've. I found out over a decade later that at that same time her father had been molesting her, and that's where she got that behaviour. The second person was a family friend who (when I was 6) pushed his hand up inside of me til I screamed in pain. That was just one, but still terribly disturbing. The third person was my first boyfriend. When I was 15 I realised that for years I had blocked out that girl molesting me. I told my boyfriend this, hoping for comfort and sympathy. He told me "You're just making excuses to not make out with me." He not only molested me, he tried to rape me. Lucky for me I had the guts to give him a right hand punch straight to the eye and run away. These experiences have really messed with my head. I was lucky enough that my last boyfriend did his best to help me heal.I think this place is great, and it helps me to read others stories. Although I wish that this would never happen to anyone, when it does happen banding together helps. I hope you all heal from your experiences and strengthen from the things you've learned. There are people who will love you and are gentle and won't hurt you and do actually give a damn about how you feel and who are. Amy, I'm really sorry that that happened to you. But you sound really tough :) -Aeris NBTSWikiWiki | Recent Changes Edited 58 times, last edited on April 10, 2001 by 65.11.14.249. © 2000 NBTSC Webmasters |
