by Band Back Together | Aug 25, 2015 | Abuse, Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Anger, Child Sexual Abuse, Date/Acquaintance Rape, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault |
t’s always hard for me to start these sorts of conversations. Although I feel a bit more at ease, considering the audience. I’m a victim of multiple forms of abuse, but most recently I’m having issues dealing with date rape. I was raped once, back when I was in middle school and came to terms with what happened. I never once considered it would happen to me again.
I was naive.
It happened six weeks ago at a really inconvenient time. Yeah, I know, it’s NEVER convenient and no one is ever prepared for it. It just further complicated issues with my ex-boyfriend. I was raped by an acquaintance; a friend of a “friend” (I use the term loosely now).
I still blame myself even though I know I shouldn’t. I have some pretty textbook reasons:
• I had too much to drink that night
• I allowed myself to feel safe in a clearly risky situation because I believed that the people I was with had some sort of accountability
• I openly admitted to being attracted to my attacker
• He kissed me once and while I made it clear I was uncomfortable, I did not remove myself from the situation.
I get that it’s not supposed to be my fault but I have a hard time allowing myself to believe that.
I was invited to a party at a coworkers house who I’ve worked with for the past six months. He had some friends staying with him from Chile who were there, too. My coworker, his best friend/my attacker, and several of our co-workers were there.
Beer pong and alcohol consumption wasn’t the problem. There was marijuana present and that illegal activity was my first deterrent to seeking help – there goes some of my credibility.
I hung out with the girls and was doing fine until I was comfortable with the group. We all work together, we have to see each other at work. I took that as we had accountability for our actions.
Nope.
I broke my self-imposed rule: don’t accept alcoholic drinks at the point you no longer feel the need to drink. I was persuaded by hospitality and the “party vibe.”
I drank too much and at the point that rest of the group was leaving, I decided I was not quite yet ready to drive. I asked to stay a few more minutes before leaving.
I thought I was being responsible.
His buddy speaks about as much English as I do Spanish. My Spanish isn’t fluent but I can get by. Still, he got me alone while we were talking, which wasn’t hard. I know the game, avoid the chick your friend is trying to “impress” and give them space. I spent a good thirty minutes trying to avoid this guy. He kissed me and I pulled away, politely excused myself, and he kept his distance. For a bit.
My coworker and his Chilean guests were very accommodating and offered me their couch to crash on. I politely declined but elected to stay another fifteen minutes. My coworker asked me to dance and I politely declined. Suddenly, he felt tired and went to his room, leaving me alone with his friend.
I felt uneasy, decided I didn’t like the scenario so I went to get my bag off the couch. He told me to sit, sleep here, “don’t drive, you’re drunk,” and took my keys. I would do the same for my friends and I appreciated his concern.
The mood didn’t change – I was still uneasy. Rightfully so. He pulled me in and made an advance in the living room minutes after my coworker retired to bed. He grabbed my bag and keys and took them from me. I explained I needed to leave and he pretended not to understand me – he reminded me that I was drunk.
It’s funny how fear sobers you up.
He pushed me down and got on top of me. What pisses me off more than anything is that I saw it happening and froze. I just fucking froze. The man was on top of me, my arm in between is groin and mine and all I could think was: “make a fist” – and I did. “Bring you arm up. Straight up as hard as you can and run” – I didn’t. I froze. I talked myself out of it.
He tried to kiss me and grope me. He had me beat on upper body strength and I knew it. I was terrified. What if I didn’t stun him and just pissed him off? Then what? He clearly didn’t care about me; would he punch me in the face?
A million questions ran through my mind as I lay there. I looked at him and said “please no, please stop” again and again and again and all he said back “No problem, I understand, no sex”
I mean, what the fuck, man. No English isn’t your first language but you plainly made it known you understood me, you jerk!
I tried to pull my panties back up and push him off me – and he just continued. He had to know it wasn’t consensual.
There’s another reason I can’t even look my coworker in the face. I screamed. I stopped being scared and screamed, I begged for help and only got louder. It’d been maybe fifteen minutes after he went to his room. I KNOW, I just KNOW he had to hear something. Someone had to hear something. And no one did anything to help.
After he finished, I laid there and cried. He’d shocked the hell out of me. I didn’t even know how to respond. I get now that it was very controlling but I don’t understand my reaction. I laid on the couch and didn’t – couldn’t – move.
He covered me up with a blanket got down by my face and said three things I’ll never forget: “What is my name?” He asked over and over until I said it. “Give me a kiss,” and he pushed my face to his until I kissed his cheek, and then “Good girl.”
I wanted to spit in his face. I want to kick him in the throat and run screaming for the neighbors to hear. Instead, I listened and I laid there and cried until I was sure he was asleep in the other room. It was two hours before I moved. Then I got dressed, fixed my face, and left.
The guy was a jerk. My co-worker is an enabling scumbag who told me it was my fault
The first person I called, a longtime friend, threatened to tell my mom (who I still haven’t told) if I didn’t go to the police because, “It would be my fault for letting him get away with it and do it again.”
The rape is affecting the relationship I’m in now. The date rape happened while my boyfriend of three years and I were broken up. We weren’t dating but both hoped things between us could be worked out. I had no intention of dating anyone else. Then this happened and I reacted in such stupid crazy ways that even I can’t explain my behavior.
I didn’t want to tell him and I regret telling him because he did exactly what I thought he would – he basically blamed me.
I figured making him want to leave me would be better than dealing with it, so I sent provocative pictures of myself to some random person online hoping he’d just leave me. It seemed like a better alternative. Yes, I know how dumb that sounds. In the end when he questioned why I wanted to hurt him, I felt like utter shit.
I don’t know how I thought hurting him and making him leave me would be better than explaining what happened.
So I explained it. I wish I hadn’t. The first things he said to me were: “how do I know you didn’t cheat on me and just regret it? Did you like it? Did you kiss him at all? You didn’t lead him on at all? How do you know he used a condom and if he did how’s come you waited for him to put it on? If he had time for a condom you had time to do something…”
We’re back together now, but he couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to say anything.
My boyfriend said it’s not my fault sure but he didn’t act like it. He blames me for protecting my co-worker because I won’t tell him where the guy lives so he can kick his ass. And I’m mad at him.
I’m frustrated, tired of trying to explain feelings he can’t understand. I’m sorry for intentionally hurting him, but making him feel better about what happened to me isn’t my job and it’s pissing me off. I want to say:
I’m not here to make you feel better, kicking his ass doesn’t change what happened to me it just opens you up to an assault charge.
By now, it’s too late to press charges. I didn’t go to the doctors or police. He and his friend were only staying in the United States for a few weeks and I’m pretty sure he’s already back in Chile. I’m happy I’ll never have to see his face again.
I see it sometimes when I go to sleep. I wake up and hear myself saying his name. I wish I’d have spat in his face but instead I said his name. I’m not sure why he even cared if I knew who he was – it’s not like he’d ever see me again.
I’m confused, upset, pissed off, and tired of trying to sort it out for other people. I haven’t even done that for myself yet.
I will never again assume people are to be held accountable for their actions.
by Band Back Together | Jul 29, 2015 | Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, Fear, Parent Loss |
When I was a little kid, my father would hit me. My mum didn’t care and didn’t want to listen when I tried talking to her about it. I was growing up, and around the age of 11, it became worse. He started touching me inappropriately, and it was terrifying. I couldn’t tell anyone because I was scared that they would judge me. A year or 2 later, my parents separated. I never wanted to see my dad again, I hated him so much. After a while, I told myself that I would go and see him when I would turn 18.
June 2014, I was 17 years old, and I was in the middle of my exams when I got a call. It was someone telling me about my real dad, who had been really sick for over a year and he was in hospital. I told myself I HAD to go, but I was so scared. I asked someone close to me to come with me and I went to see him. I spent hours in the hospital every day, sitting by his side and talking to him. I have no idea if he was able to hear me, but I still tried. It was so painful. That week, on June 20th, he passed away.
I have been telling myself that I should have visited him before, when he was still in good health. The only memories I have from him now are when he was sick, in a hospital bed.
I still think about him a lot and somehow I have forgiven him for what he did to me. I try to think about the good times with him, when I was very small. He inspired me to start playing music, to start singing, and he taught me that people should be forgiven, people deserve a second chance before it’s too late.
by Band Back Together | Apr 21, 2015 | Addiction, Adult Children of Mentally Ill Parents, Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Birth Injury, Brain Injury, Child Sexual Abuse, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Incest, Parentification, Prescription Drug Abuse, Rape/Sexual Assault, Schizophrenia |
Growing up, my family dynamic was so different from anyone I’ve ever known. My father was born a footling breach with the cord wrapped around his neck. He ended up with brain damage due to the lack of oxygen to his brain and was later diagnosed with schizophrenia. My mother is developmentally delayed and was also later diagnosed with schizophrenia.
My parents met through my mother’s brother, my Uncle Bob, who was also developmentally delayed. Uncle Bob and my dad went to special education school together and became friends. Bob introduced my dad to his little sister, my mom. They met, fell in love, got married and then I came along.
Neither one was really capable of living on their own, much less together, and now a baby, me. By six weeks old I was malnourished and dehydrated – I almost died. My maternal grandmother took me away from my parents and brought me to the doctor. From then on, she did her best to raise me. It wasn’t long before my parents divorced and my mom moved back home with us. My father moved back home to his parents, too.
We had grandmother, my mother, Uncle Bob, and my grandfather, the child-molester, all under one roof. My grandfather molested my mother and had a reputation for other little girls in the neighborhood. I believe he started molesting me when I was less than a year old. I don’t understand why nothing was done legally but my grandmother said they just overlooked him.
I believe that he had intercourse with me around age four. My mom and grandmother noticed that I had like a nervous breakdown and screamed when anyone came near me for over a week. They had to keep me in my baby bed and just bring me food like a animal! I believe with all my heart he raped me but no one took me to the hospital or doctor because he might have gone to jail for it. My grandmother had no education and relied on my grandfather to support her and the rest of the family. I’m not making any excuses; I think she just didn’t know what to do.
I had so many problems with my private areas when I was a little girl and nothing was done. I still don’t understand why. I even had to have surgery on my vagina when I was five – it’s like everyone was wearing blinders. Baffling. My grandfather died when I was seven, so the molestation ended
By ten, I realized I was already more advanced than my parents. I taught my dad his ABC’s using flashcards when I was eight. He never learned to read and neither did my Uncle Bob. My mother can read but has absolutely no common sense, so I swear my dad was more intelligent. At fourteen, I had to quit school to take care of my family. By then my grandmother’s health was failing, times were changing, and they didn’t understand how to make appointments, pay bills, stuff like that because things became automated.
I became very angry that I had no childhood so I rebelled – big time. I ran the streets and ended up getting raped. by a friend’s father. He actually plead guilty to it and severed a year and a half in prison. I still feel like that was my fault because I flirted with him.
That’s the only way I knew to act around a man.
My mom is a religious fanatic so I grew up in church and attended a private “Christian” school. My dad’s mother paid for it but not for the reasons that you might think. Embarrassingly, it was to keep me from going to school with black people – terrible.
The school was crazy too; I just couldn’t escape craziness! At one point we had a so-called Evangelist visit and for two weeks we were made to listen to what was supposed to be real exorcisms and learn all about demon possession. It was horrible! I am forty years old and I still have issues with it.
After I quit, I ran the streets, acting like I was 21. At 14, I met a 19 year old man and moved in with him. I was living like a married woman at age 14. My grandmother was actually happy that I had settled down; now she always knew where I was. Unfortunately he was very obsessed with me and abusive. At first, I enjoyed the attention and punishment; I put up with it for two years.
Ironically – and I know this will be hard to believe but I swear it’s true – BOTH of my parents had nervous breakdowns and were diagnosed with schizophrenia within the same year! My mom thought she was possessed by a demon and talked to God while my dad thought he could talk to the devil.
They were both in and out of different mental hospitals all the time. My mom would speak in tongues and run outside into the street, it would take six police officers and EMTs to restrain her. My dad would try to kill himself, he took 120 over-the-counter sleeping pills and was in the cardiac intensive care unit before going to the mental hospital.
At 17, I met my ex-husband and became pregnant with twins. I lost one of them during my pregnancy but delivered my now 22 year old daughter. He gave me my first black eye while I was pregnant with her. We had three more children together, three sons. My oldest son was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome and my middle son has autism.
Dealing with all my family issues with my sons delays was more than I could handle. On top of everything, my ex-husband was abusive. Along with several “minor beatings,” at one point I had a fractured elbow and a nose broken so severely, he split my nose almost in half.
In 2006, my Uncle Bob, who had been like a father to me was killed in a accident. It was more than I could take. I started abusing pain pills – big time. Two years later, my grandmother passed away and added drinking to the mix. A lot of drinking.
I left my ex-husband and met a girl I fell in love with; we were both idiots and addicts at first. Man, do I have stories! Four years into our relationship, I lost my kids. I gave up on life. Around the same time, my girlfriend and I briefly separated. When we were separated, she slept with her ex boyfriend, got pregnant, then we got back together.
I’d like to say we sobered up right away but that would be a lie. The baby was almost two before my girlfriend got help. Eventually I followed. Today, I split my time between my ex-husband’s house and my children. She lives with her boyfriend and her daughter. We are very close. Turns out, I really like my ex-husband now that we’re not married and he’s not abusing me.
I just wish I had someone to talk to that can relate to even half of my crazy upbringing. Someone who can relate to me. I don’t know anyone with both parents like mine or a life like mine. It’s a crazy life, but that’s all I know.
Thank you for listening, The Band.
by Band Back Together | Feb 10, 2015 | Abuse, Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, Loss, Love, Lung Cancer, Parent Loss, Therapy |
This is a letter I wrote to my deceased abusive father. My father died in 2000 of lung cancer. I am now, 46, but as you will see, I always called him “Daddy.” I never matured to the name of “dad” or “father”. My therapist told me to write him a letter and it did help. I just thought I might share it.
Dear Daddy,
You shocked me, Daddy. You had me confused. Since I only visited you once a year, during the summer, and you were my real one and only daddy I would ever have; and boy did I love you, why did you do this?
That first night it happened, I was asleep and the pain awakened me. I’m guessing you felt my body tense up, so you quit and got off my bed. Then, two nights later, you started again. Once again I awoke with a start. This time I faked sleep and rolled over away from you on the bed. This is when the confusion really set in. Because I didn’t know the rules of a father, I wasn’t sure if you weren’t doing a duty all fathers perform. I knew about child molestation already, but I was not sure that applied to fathers, I was so young.
After you left my bed, and you went to bed that night, I woke up one of my step-sisters; whom you raised full-time. I pulled her into the bathroom with me and told her what happened. She just looked at me and shook her head knowingly. You had apparently been doing this to both of my step-sisters for a long time.
That is when it hit me! Daddy, you molested me! There was no so called “duty.” I may only have been a young girl, but I knew right then and there that what you did was wrong; and it would never never ever happen again.
I quit going to sleep before you did. Then, the situation changed to different offenses. I remember walking by the kitchen table where you were sitting, and I was wearing a tube top. You told me to lift it up so that you could see how my breasts were maturing. I adamantly and strongly denied your request. You just seemed to laugh like it was a joke. I was wary of you every day, for the rest of your life. However, amazingly even at that young age, I felt empowered that I did not take the abuse any more. But I still loved you, you were my Daddy.
During the next 20 years I had set my boundaries and kept them. For those 20 years, I waited for an apology. Over the years, I only told a few very, very close, trusting friends.
Then you got sick, Daddy. I couldn’t leave your side and stayed 24/7 at the ICU. My friends, who knew the secret, questioned my loyalty. They kept telling me that I owed you nothing. But you see, Daddy, I still loved you, all along. During those last few days, I thought just maybe the apology would come. It never did, even when you knew you were going to die.
I’ll never forget when the day came that you asked me to unplug the machines and let you go. We both expressed our love for one another. I did as you asked, and then crawled up in bed with you and held you until you died.
I know you did wrong, and I know you knew it too. But I always did and will love you. And I know you loved me.
If I hadn’t empowered myself so soon after the incident, I don’t believe we would have had the life-long love for each other. I believe the fact that you did not say you were sorry upset me more than the abuse. I didn’t realize your death would affect me so much, since you were mean and abusive.
But I love you and miss you Daddy.
by Band Back Together | Jan 27, 2015 | Anger, Child Sexual Abuse, Fear |
How do you tell someone you love that you were molested by people he trusts with his life?
After 15 years, I finally told my mom I was molested. She believed me, and it felt so good. I felt relieved, but not completely satisfied. Not until I tell my big brother. He’s the one I’m afraid of telling. Why? Because he has a better relationship with them than with me.
I know he loves and cares for me, but I don’t know how far that love goes. He goes to them for everything, instead of me. I’m your sister. You should be able to be there for me and protect me, but somehow I feel that you won’t.
He won’t believe me. He will question me and ask why I didn’t say anything sooner, why I waited so long, why I tolerated their presence (kind of). I want to tell him because he thinks I’m such an asshole for not wanting them around. He thinks I’m being rude, but I can’t tell him.
It hurts to keep this from him, but it’ll hurt more if he doesn’t believe me. I’d rather be considered an asshole than tell him. I want to believe he’d be there for me, support me, protect me, and just tell me loves me.
Please, for once, be my big brother.
by Band Back Together | Jan 22, 2015 | Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Anger, Anxiety, Child Sexual Abuse, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self Loathing |
We all have ghost from the past that haunt us. Things we’ve seen that we can’t shake off, and won’t let us sleep at night. There are choices we wish we never made. We are some times broken. Desperately gasping for air. We feel dead inside and our hearts go cold, but our faces wear a mask of happiness to avoid uncomfortable conversations.
Sometimes we walk around feeling hollow, pretending to be people we aren’t and to a certain point we don’t even know who we are. Our identities taken from us, or lost in an abyss. Lost souls looking to find home and peace within themselves. I know how I got to this point; it’s complex and dark, and hard to stomach. I was a little girl. There were things happening to me that I didn’t understand, or wished I didn’t understand. My space was invaded and I would suppress it. Pretending that it wasn’t me it was happening to, because things like that didn’t happen to innocent people. But it was happening and it was real.
For years I was told I was stupid, fat, and lazy. I was doomed from the day I was born. Raised by a sister who was constantly taken advantage of by different men. We lived in a house hold where secrets simmered under a blanket of lies. Each of us stained by men. Our innocence tainted. It kills us slowly. Trying not to think of it. Wishing it didn’t happen feeling dirty and used. Our minds feel empty. Like there’s nothing left because all of our thoughts were taken from us at a young age. I remember how scared I was. How I knew what was coming every time I came home from school. It became our routine.
There are times where I’ll be doing something and I think about everything that’s happened to me, the abuse, the different guys I’ve let inside me, how I was told I was nothing. How I let myself believe that I’m not worth anything, and I get pissed off. I hate myself for letting myself submit to so much mistreatment. Sometimes I can feel my sanity leaving, my mind withering away. I can’t think as clearly, I can’t speak properly, and I become more withdrawn from the world. I become lost in my own mind. I trap myself in dark thoughts and I won’t let myself escape.
I’ve literally become two different people. Problem is I don’t know which one is me. Who the fuck am I? I look into the mirror and I swear I can’t seem to process who’s looking back at me. It’s almost like I don’t know my own reflection. I continue to let myself used as some dishrag because I believe that’s what I’m worth. Like as much as I might desire love, I’m not worthy of it. I’m honestly pretty sure I’m cursed, because I’ve been fucked over by almost every guy in my life. Let’s save that for later though.
Sometimes I can see the person I was supposed to be, or the person I could be. But her image is kinda fades. I wish it was as easy as ripping all the bullshit from your heart. Kinda like when you rip a piece of duct tape from your skin like dusting of rubble and dust from a gold totem. I wish it would be that easy to take the unbearable pain away. I want the scars on my skin to fade away. Because I swear there are nights where I feel like all hope is lost. I’ve been fighting for six years to recover …and I’m just confused now. Maybe I’m confused because despite all this bullshit I’m rambling about, all the hate, anger,and hopelessness. I’m still fierce, fighting, and strong. I still have hope and my heart burns with a passion to live life to it’s fullest.
I just need it to get better.
I want to live.
