Sexual Harrassment and Assault

I'm just really tired of it all. It's been eating away at me for some time now. I can't count all the times I've been harassed by boys and grown men. I don't know one girl that hasn't been sexually harassed at least once in her life. That's pretty sad.

Sophomore year was one of the worst years of this. Two boys harassed me all year long saying disgusting things to me, touching me, poking me. One day one of them even stuck his hand up my skirt and pinched my ass! That was super fun. Later that year a different boy pushed me on the ground and stood over me jokingly saying "give me a blowjob."

Junior year I didn't have classes with the two boys anymore. But then the boy who had said "give me a blow job" later took it even further. I was at a party at his house, most everyone was already gone. It was me, him and his brother and my other friend who is a boy. The boy twisted my arm forcing me to the ground, next thing I know him and his brother start to dry hump me. His brother on my boobs, and him on my lower stomach. I was yelling stop. They didn't care. And my friend didn't do anything, he just stood there. And that really hurt.

They have finally stopped.  It amazes me that boys think these things they do are okay. I just want it to stop. But the really sad thing is, I feel like I deserve it.

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Epilogue

I am officially 1 year clean. I'm happy, no more depression or self harm :). I'm leaving my stories up so people who went through the same as me (especially you girls) can see that they are not alone. I would tell them to not wait it out, thinking its a phase. One day I came to the realization that cutting was getting me no where. It became useless, but this may not happen to everyone. Please get help even if you think it's minor. A tsunami starts as a ripple.

Shiloisnolongeralone :)

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It's like it never stopped

Have you ever had a dream or well nightmare that's so vivid you can feel it happening to you as it's going on. I've been having the same nightmare for as long as I can remember. It starts the same way and the outcome never changes. When I try to talk to people about it I can't explain the vividness of the dream. The only people who understand are just like me; trying to deal with the fact that someone they are supposed to love and trust just took advantage of them. Let me clear somethings up so you aren't confused I am a 17 year old girl, my attacker is a 25 year old female. We are both the same sex. My attacker was my aunt she was 13 I was 5 when it started.

The nightmare won't stop it's exactly what she did 12 years ago.

She took me to her room like we did forever because she was my aunt and we hung out in her room instead of dealing with the family during the gatherings because I have anxiety really bad. I sat on her bed and we started to play with dolls. She then pushes the dolls off the bed and tells me to come here. Me only being 5 I didn't know if I was in trouble or if she just got bored from playing with the dolls. I crawled over to her and she started to undress me. I asked her if it was bath time and she told me it was something like that. Once she got me naked she started to undress too. The minute she was undressed she went to her closet and pulled out a couple of sex toys. I asked her what they were and she just told me they were toys. She got on top of me and put her fingers inside me, and she said that they would be a tight fit but she would make them work. I told her I didn't like this new game and I didn't want to play anymore. She told me to shut up and them continued. She started to put the toy in me but with me only being 5 it wouldn't fit. She kept pushing harder until I started to cry and she stopped. She told me this is what people do to each other when they love one another. I told her that's not how my mom and dad show me that they love me. She got mad and slapped my face really hard and told me that if I talked back to her she would hit me even harder. I just sat her and nodded my head. Once I was quiet and quit crying she started to feel me up again but this time she was biting all over my chest and said she couldn't wait till I had boobs for her to go at. I started to cry again and she shoved her fingers inside me again and told me to quit crying or it will hurt worse. I nodded my head and just gave up trying. I gave up trying to make her stop. I gave up on everything after that. 

After I get to here in my nightmare I just wake up screaming. I told my mom after I had nightmares for about a year. She tried to press charges on her sister for everything she had done because it wasn't just one or two attacks it was many. But the state police wouldn't do anything about it because we were both minors. They told my mom and I to forget anything even happened. She got away with a slap on her wrist. My mom, dad, and brother know about it all and act like it never happened. My grandparents also know and I'm pretty sure that they are just trying to buy back my love and trust with clothes and shoes. I don't blame them for it and I don't blame myself. I wish I had told someone sooner than when I did, but I was 5 when it happened and 6 when I told. I know how hard it is to explain to my friends when I spend the night and I have nightmares. The story gets easier to tell over the years, but when I do tell it I'm scared people won't look at me the same. I'm scared people will think I can't handle social events, or I can't do crowds, or that they have to baby me and protect me from the world.  I can handle events and crowds, and I prefer to dive head first into the pool of life. I act like nothing happened by day but at night it's like it never stopped.

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La Mariposa--The Butterfly

La Mariposa, the butterfly…flying around, wings beating, always in motion…

My Tia, my butterfly…always up for dancing, for a good time…tales of laughing, of dancing the night away in her heels, swinging her hair, her beautiful smile…

She was beautiful.  Long dark black hair down to her waist…always a laugh, always a hug and kiss…she was my butterfly in the world of earth mothers and rules and don’t do this and don’t do that…

Mi Mariposa…my tia, the woman who was lightness and air even as she held a secret, a shame that shouldn’t have even been a shame…a child that was conceived of love but not of marriage…

I remember the day she told us, the girls, the daughters of her sisters…she burst into tears, with the shame of it…and we were shocked.  We couldn’t believe this creature of light and goodness would have had something to hide….

It was a story of love…of a 26 year old innocent falling head over heels with a 19 year old Lothario that loved her back…of course he did, who wouldn’t?  Of deceit, of shame, of walking down the aisle at her wedding in a blue dress, not white…but the children she created, the children…they were beautiful.  They were beautiful.  They were perfect little children who gradually fought against the perfection and still fight against it…to no end, to no end…

Mi Mariposa, my butterfly…the years after her marriage to the perfect man failed…she was still the belle of the ball, still the beautiful one to me, to me…still the one to knit the most perfect gifts to my children, the ones I never expected, the ones I still am surprised by…

My butterfly, through years of health issues…breast cancer, heart problems, the pacemaker, her beautiful daughter gave her a kidney so she could have life…my mariposa was supposed to live forever…

She hurt.  A pain.  A pain that did not go away.

Cancer.

She fought.   Would tell me, when I would visit “ I am not afraid, m’ija.  I will fight this”.  She asked for hugs and kisses, which I gave her without condition…after all, this was my butterfly who gave me nothing but unconditional love all these years…I owed her this.  I owed her rainbows and butterflies and pain-free nights, but all I could give her was my love.  My divided love, in between my job and my husband and my kids, but she was mi mariposa and I adored her beyond reason…

She grew weaker.  She stopped putting in her teeth.  She no longer wanted the treats, the coffee, the sweet bread I would gladly buy her…

She was a skeleton.  A wisp.  She was the cocoon where the butterfly would emerge.  I would cry at night thinking of losing her, but wake up confident that a day would go by and she would live.  She would still be alive, mi mariposa,  my tia that loved me without judgement, that adored my children, that was the thread to my history that I couldn’t lose, that I couldn’t lose…

She was comatose in the daybed.  Murmuring.  She was near the end.  But I still prayed, please God, please don’t take my butterfly away.  My mother and my other tia, they are my touchstones, my firm concrete.  But this one, she is my dream, she is my light…please don’t take her away so soon.

But God said sorry, this one needs to be part of my light.  This one, she is too much for this world…she needs to give her light to others…I have plans for her.  So God took her away…and there’s this hole in my heart.  I stumble across a crocheted hat for my daughter, a stuffed monkey, a sweater crocheted out of love, and I want her back.   I long for the day I feel the warmth of mi mariposa, her wings beating against my cheek, and I hope that that day will come and I will be embraced in her love again.

For my Maria Delia…I love you so much.  I can now hope for a heaven so I can feel your laughter on my soul again.  I miss you.

 

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An Email Reply To My Father

Let me give you a little backstory:

I'm now a forty-year-old Mama of two girls.

Back when I was growing up, my dad had then-undiagnosed bipolar disorder, narcissistic personality disorder and explosive episodes of narcissistic rage. My mother and I suffered much at his hands. When I was a twelve, same age as my eldest, my dad left. My sisters, luckily, were younger - the littlest was only a year old when he left my mother for another man.

He is now suffering the failure of a second long-term relationship with the man he'd left my mother for. He's trying to blame his ex - someone who has been part of our family for many years now - for his own failures.

My dad is narcissistic; he never sees his own failings or faults. Instead, he blames his mental illnesses for his bad behavior. He's now claiming that his former partner was "abusing him," so he's developed Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I want to say "yeah, whatever" because my Dad is clearly the bigger, tougher, meaner person.

For weeks now, he's been sending me lots of emails full of smack-talk. Today's email pushed me over the edge:

"It was not without anguish and sorrow that I came to understand I might not be welcome to color eggs with the girls.
Also, any shared celebration of the Easter Feast was unlikely to occur.
I would like to ask you to consider reviewing the issues between us with your pastor/counselor in light of the Commandment to "Honor thy Father...."
The issues between Marc* and I are complex and confusing to understand based on the surface details. You were only present in our household for a very brief period. You clearly recall that it was Marc's position that we need not flush the toilet every time (in an effort to conserve water and save on expense ).
I did seek to preserve the relationship through multiple attempts at marriage counseling aimed at fair fighting rules, sexuality, household economics, chores, and any other relevant topics.
MARC always pointed to past failed attempts AS GOOD ENOUGH REASON TO BELIEVE WE COULD NOT SUCCEED IN A FUTURE ATTEMPT. TERMINALLY UNIQUE AND WHOLLY UNLIKE ANY OTHER COUPLE. (Not unlike that of an addict.)
I am finding good spiritual support through attending multiple twelve-step meetings within walking distance of my new home.
While sharing at one of these meetings, I was reminded by another person that 

"I need not accept UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR." 

Your branding me as a cheat and unworthy of consideration falls into this area.
I DO NOT ACCEPT YOUR JUDGMENT AS SOUND IN THIS MATTER.
Let us look forward to rapprochement/reconciliation in the future. 

Lovingly, 

Dad"

 

*Name changed to protect privacy.

Dad:

I am only replying to the first two statements in your message, as I do not have the strength with which to argue with you anymore.

1)  We were out of state for much of the week prior to Easter and did not color any eggs whatsoever; there was no attempt to exclude you from any such activity as it did not even happen.

2)  I do not cook or serve the Easter meal at my home; it is held at the home of my in-laws.

Please be advised, your messages are causing me pain and distress.  You are reaching out across the internet and causing my heart to race and tears to stream down my face, just like you reached out and grabbed me when I was a kid.  In your words, I do not have to accept unacceptable behavior, and may choose to ignore or delete your messages out of hand.  I have every right to protect myself from your venom.

Are you aware of the physical and emotional damage you inflicted upon ME when I was just a CHILD???  You have the nerve to say YOU suffer from PTSD???  

YOU were my abuser.  I have a very hard time accepting you as a victim.  I DO NOT need to hear of all the ways you've suffered; all I or my sisters have ever wanted is for you to own up to your own UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOR and APOLOGIZE.  NO EXCUSES.  It is emotional abuse for you to threaten me to HONOR MY FATHER when you haven't shown honor for my personhood by owning up to the ways in which you hurt me in the past.  Please. Just. Stop.   

I am standing up for myself now.  I am done allowing you to hurt me.  I will forgive you once you seek forgiveness and admit your own failings, which is what God asks of us.  We must admit our sins, and request forgiveness.  He will grant it, when we come before Him humbly, and admit that we need Him.  I am not claiming to be perfect, or to have led my life in some perfect manner.  I am broken.  I am a sinner.  I am reliant upon God for His grace and forgiveness.  

I think my tears right now are because I know that this message will not reach you in the manner I intend, but that you will twist my words and use them to inflict more pain.  We keep trying and hoping fervently that you will hear us, but you never do.  Some of this is grief, accepting that I may never get the father I needed.  My prayer is that you will listen and hear.

--me

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