by Band Back Together | Mar 31, 2014 | Date/Acquaintance Rape, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Intimate Partner Rape, Rape/Sexual Assault |
I remember kissing you, contemplating telling you that I felt I was falling in love with you, but deciding better of it. I remember knowing I shouldn’t go to your friend’s apartment but not wanting to leave the party immediately. I remember getting there and thinking, “Now he’ll finally hold me, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
I remember you being angry that I didn’t want to have sex.
After all, what was I doing in this apartment if I didn’t want to have sex with you? Why would I have kissed you if I wasn’t willing to go all the way? It’s not like it was anything we hadn’t done before! Didn’t I like you? I practically owed it to you, didn’t I?
But I didn’t want to give it to you. I lay down with you, kissed you, and told you that I was sorry but I just didn’t think going further was a good idea.
Then your hands were on my breasts. I moved them away, and you brought them back. Away, back, away, back. Then under my bra, pulling and squeezing. Again, I moved your hands away, you brought them back. You took off your pants and put my hand on your penis, I quickly pulled away.
Now my adrenaline was kicking in, and my breathing increased.
You paused.
“Are you afraid of me?” you asked.
“Oh, sorry,” I whispered, not really answering. I didn’t know what to say, or what was happening. But I was afraid of you.
You kissed me again and I kissed you back, then I settled down, hoping for some sleep. Your hands came back.
Why didn’t I say no? Or stop?
The words trapped inside my throat, I felt weak, overwhelmed. Although my voice failed me, my body hadn’t. I pushed your hands away. You removed them from my breasts and settled them on my stomach, perhaps a little farther south than I would have preferred, but this was an improvement.
Until it wasn’t.
You only quickly fondled me over my clothes before putting your hands under my dress and leggings. I felt a surge of panic race as I pulled your hands away only to have them back. Was I pushing against you this time? I can’t remember. This time you seemed stronger, angrier, more determined. You put a finger inside me and I squirmed to get away.
I’d made it as far as rolling onto my stomach to try to crawl to other side of the couch before you put your free hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down onto your fingers. I reached down and grabbed your hand, using all my might to get your fingers out of me while simultaneously trying to pull away from you. All this time,m you wouldn’t fucking budge. I couldn’t move you at all. I couldn’t move myself at all. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
Then you were taking off my leggings and underwear and putting your mouth on me, which I had told you I didn’t like. That was when I knew that you knew, but you were angry and didn’t care. I was furious and powerless and terrified of you, the person I thought I knew and could trust and would be with one day.
And then you stopped. I knew what was coming but I wasn’t sure what to do. I was in shock.
And then you were inside me. I felt so betrayed: “Are you fucking serious?” I said to no one in particular.
Then, “Don’t you have a condom?” This wasn’t consent, this was resignation.
You moved away and I could hear you going through your pockets. I took the opportunity to pull my leggings and underwear up and my dress back down and rolled into the fetal position. I’d only bought myself a couple seconds. I could hear you jerking off to work yourself back up again. Still, what could I do? I was so far from home or anywhere I knew – it was a choice of staying there or sleeping on the streets. Leaving was potentially more dangerous than staying. But why didn’t I scream? Those thirty seconds could have changed everything.
Satisfied with your erection, you turned me over and took off my leggings. I hated you so much. When you started fucking me I could feel that you hated me, too. There was none of the playful intimacy that colored our previous consensual encounters. You fucking me as hard as you could, making sure that it hurt so that I knew what a bitch I was for leading you on, and me digging my nails down your back as hard and as deep as possible so that you knew how much I fucking hated you.
I was silent, but I could feel a soul-wrenching scream burn up in my chest. Every warm feeling I’d had towards you curled up and died. I lied there whimpering and trying to hurt you as much as you were hurting me.
For a moment, you hesitated. “Are you crying?”
“No,”I whispered.
But I wanted to.
by Band Back Together | Mar 20, 2014 | Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, Fear, Rape/Sexual Assault |
It’s been twelve years.
Twelve tortuous and painfully long years. Yet, you’re still haunting me; taunting me behind the cover of darkness each and every fucking day. Wasn’t stealing my childhood and innocence enough? Why do you have to try and ruin EVERYTHING?!
News flash. I’m not putting up with your shit anymore. You will not take another ounce of my happiness for your sick and twisted pleasure.
When I close my eyes, I expect you to be gone.
I’m done. You disgust me, you sick fuck!
When I was 11, I was first sexually assaulted by the guy who was dating my older cousin. My cousin had to work the next morning, so went to bed early. Sick Fuck Number 1 decided we (he and I) should play a game of truth or dare. I thought it sounded harmless. I was dead wrong. At first, I was excited because I idolized my cousin and wanted her boyfriend to think I was “cool,” so that I could hang out with the older kids. The dares started out normally, but then he started getting a little too daring. He would dare me to flash him, kiss him, touch myself, etc. I told him no, this wasn’t fun anymore, he was with my cousin who was sleeping right down the hall. No, no, no. I tried to get away, but he would threaten me, and then hold me there while he touched me. When that wasn’t enough, he made me watch him pleasure himself, and then do it for him.
My cousin and I had always been so close, always. When I told her, she didn’t believe me. She thought I was lying, and that I threw myself at him. I was 11, I hadn’t even had my first kiss yet…
I never mentioned the incident again for 4 years
Two weeks later. I was at my dad’s lake house for the summer, same as every summer. We had neighbors up there that had kids that my 6 year old brother (6yo) and I played with regularly. We primarily hung out with the two younger kids, a 7 year old girl and 10 year ldo boy. They had an older brother who was 15, but he wanted nothing to do with the younger kids.
We often had sleep-overs and watched movies. Normal kid stuff. The parents would always be either right outside, or a few houses down at someone’s campfire. Everything was business as usual that day. We got all our blankets together and spread out in their living room for movie night. The other 3 were fast asleep, and I was just on the verge when Sick Fuck Number 2 came in for the night. I thought nothing of it and managed to fall asleep. Not long after, I woke up to Sick Fuck Number 2 on top of me with one hand up my shirt, the other traveling south, and trying to kiss me. I tried to get him off of me, but he was a football player and much heavier than I am. His little sister, who was barely two feet from me started waking up, so he bolted to his room. I was awake, terrified, for the rest of the night.
This continued for two more years. It got worse, he would get angrier, his threats more violent. I kept my mouth shut like he told me to. The only reason those sleepovers continued was because my little brother adored our neighbors, and I refused to let him go there on his own. I didn’t want to be the reason my brother wasn’t allowed to have fun.
My parents and Sick Fuck Number 2’s parents were really good friends. Still are. Years later, when it all came out in the open, you know what my parents said? “He was just being a normal teenage boy.”
It all went downhill after that first summer. I used my body to get guys to like me. I had sex with so many guys through high school because, in my eyes, that’s all I was good for. Sex has always been something dirty and ugly to me.
Now I’m 23, married with a 2 year old son, and trying to overcome my negative feelings towards sex. My husband deserves better than that, better than me always feeling dirty after something that should be beautiful. It’s tearing us apart. The sick fucks are still winning after all these years. I’m done!
by Band Back Together | Mar 10, 2014 | Date/Acquaintance Rape, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault, Trauma, Trust |
I’d been traveling in Nepal for a few months; I felt a great amount love toward so many people I’d met. Their openness and kindness astounded me. I’d met so many people I could trust, and when I met one I couldn’t, I wasn’t expecting it. We met in a mundane way, an interaction like dozens of others – just small talk. He suggested we go get coffee and I agreed. He reminded me of a friend from home, thoughtful … if maybe a bit dark. We spoke about our lives, about our families, our schools, our hopes for the future.
The months leading up to the trip had been the most magical of my short, sweet life. I’d gradually become closer to a old friend, Elijah. He’s the best person I’ve ever met, yet I pushed him away for years. He persisted, waited, he wrote songs, traveled far to see me. Finally, I stopped pushing him away. He’d sing me to sleep, then drive half an hour back home. We took walks late at night while the fireflies buzzed around. We took out the canoe we’d bought the year before onto the lake in the moonlight. We went to a contra dance for his birthday – he wore a floral skirt, we went to New York with a friend and rode the ferry until 4 in the morning. I slept on the floor of the subway in his arms while the sun came up.
Throughout our courtship, I’d been breaking up with a crappy, shitty, obnoxious fucking relationship. I dragged out because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Unfortunately it hurt quite a few people, Elijah included. He supported me though this, gave me advice and waited until I was ready to end it. When I did, our time together truly started. We lived in his house together for several incredible days. We cried together after watching Babe, we went to the river, we walked his dog. He drove me to and from work– half an hour each way. We were really in love, completely committed to each other.
I’d never felt more comfortable, more myself.
I carried the feeling of love and peace with me as I left for my four-month trip. It was so hard being so far from him – I felt I was spread too far. I wanted to be more present in Nepal, but I missed Elijah so much. I had pretend conversations with him, wrote him letters I never sent. We communicated less and less, but I never lost the feeling of love and closeness.
Near the end of my trip, months later, I was drinking horrible coffee with a person I was getting to know. He suggested that we go play pool and drink beer and I, feeling confident about my ability to travel alone, agreed. I don’t ever drink and I don’t know why I did. I went along with something I’m against and I don’t know why. Maybe I was trying to break out of self-imposed restrictions. Maybe I was trying to be like all the friends I had lost. Maybe I was being reckless.
I lost control. I drank until I couldn’t walk straight. We left and went outside – I was ready to return to my room a few miles away. He kissed me but it felt like an attack – so aggressive, so forceful. I said that I wanted to leave, my head was spinning; everything was spinning. He drove me back to my room. When I expected him to leave, he stayed.
My memory has so many gaps I can barely piece together what happened.
I remember telling him to stop, I remember the pain of him biting my breasts. I remember it stopped for a minute. I remember him saying it was okay, we didn’t need to do that, we could just talk. I remember him entering me and every time I think of that there is nowhere to run.
I’m so furious at myself for not fighting, I can’t understand why I was so paralyzed. My head was spinning, I was far from reality, but still, I could’ve fought him. This was my greatest fear – I had nightmares of being chased in a glass house by two men trying to rape me. Elijah had made me a dream catcher and they stopped. I don’t have those dreams anymore – they became my reality.
Afterward, I lied to myself, I couldn’t understand or face what had happened. I’d died inside, lost myself, I was less than a shell of a person.
It happened the next morning – I can’t remember it, but I know it happened. He raped me the next night, too. I was dragged around, like meat on a hook, my life no longer my own. I was so far away from Elijah, from my family, from everything I’ve ever loved. I was a walking, breathing scar. I left that town and felt the most incredible relief. We met up again and it was the same feeling of complete loss of self; I felt disgusting and alone and dirty. He left. Again the relief.
I went back to the family I’d lived with for over a month, their love was the most wonderful, healing thing. My love for them was so powerful. I felt good again, temporarily able to forget the rape.
I continued lying to myself, and the lies, after I’d told them long enough, were difficult to disprove. I told myself that this was what I’d always wanted – to be traveling and wanted, to be pretty enough for people to want me. I covered up the assault with this bullshit façade I clung to it for dear life. I couldn’t possibly be so alone, so afraid to face the truth: I was raped. I held onto these lies when I left Nepal and flew home to meet Elijah who’d driven 3,000 miles across the country to meet me.
I was so happy to see him but something was … wrong. We felt distant, we couldn’t connect. I’d promised I would be honest and so I told him that I’d had sex with someone else. That was the worst lie I’ve ever told. I slept, but he was up all night; he drove to Washington and cried for hours.
In the morning, he had gotten us breakfast and we left. We spent the next 10 months not leaving each other’s side no matter that we were both so damaged, something so wrong. I blamed him for reminding me that I’d “cheated” on him and begged him to forget about it. He couldn’t believe it was the truth. We fought for all those months – horrible, confusing fights. During them, I was so removed, almost apathetic.
We decided to take a trip to South America to truly commit to each other. After a few days there, the truth came out. Seated under a tree I told him the truth, about how I had said “no” but it happened anyway, how I’d been dead inside. It wasn’t an easy truth to hear.
After all those lies, he can’t always trust me. Sometimes he does, sometimes he wants to, and sometimes he wants me to suffer all the pain I’ve caused him. Sometimes he doesn’t believe me. He tries to understand why I didn’t fight back, why I let it happen several times after the first attack. I feel this foul, consuming darkness. I feel this love was ripped away from me, his trust ripped away. I need him to believe me, to forgive me. I love him. I don’t want to pressure him but he blames me. He gets mad at me and believes first lie sometimes. He’s never laid a hand on me but sometimes I wonder how we can be together if he doesn’t believe me.
He’s the only person I’ve told of my attack, I trust him and love him more than I can even understand, but this has made it really difficult for me to heal. I feel I’ll never have my life back, when I’m alone, I get so scared. My fists clench. Waiting for a sound of someone coming near.
The dentist said that I can’t make irreversible mistakes, he had no idea what that meant to me. I smiled. I know that this is irreversible, I just hope wherever it takes me, I’ll be all right. An old friend said that I looked as though I’ve really experienced things. He, too, had no idea what that meant.
My life is changed forever I think. I don’t think it has to be for the worse. It certainly has been, but I have hope. I have hope that someday when my eyes are open they see the bright blue of Elijah’s eyes, and when they are closed, they see the calmness of the night sky.
by Band Back Together | Jan 31, 2014 | Bullying, Childhood Bullying, Coping With Bullying, Coping With Depression, Depression, Fear, Guilt, How To Heal From Being Bullied, Major Depressive Disorder, Psychological Manipulation, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Teen Bullying |
When I was in about 4th grade my friend would tell me all these sexual things. One night this person was over my house and they fingered me. I didn’t know what it was. This person manipulated me into thinking it was okay. I touched this person back. And it went on and on. This person would touch me a lot. And I would do it back.
I didn’t know any better. All I knew was it felt good. This person told me to never tell my parents or anyone else.
I’m still scarred by it. It distorted my childhood. It changed me. It made me do things I didn’t want to do. I can’t help but feel guilty. I mean 4th grade? It makes me feel so gross. I’ve never even kissed anyone.
In middle school, since I felt ugly, I jumped at any chance to show off my boobs to get some sort of positive attention from boys, and of course, I did. Sometimes it went too far. It made me cry, but it was better than being called ugly.
One time a boy touched my front-side in the hallway. He said if I told anyone he would get his sister to beat me up, so I kept quiet. Another time a boy shoved me against a locker and had his hands around my neck. He threatened me, but I don’t remember why.
Riding the bus was the worst because while they were calling me ugly, they were touching me or pushing me on the floor of the bus.
One time I was the park with my best friend and a few boys who bullied me. (Why did they bully me? I don’t know.) We were playing soccer. My old friend Melinda was there. They respected her, so they left her alone. But they would circle me and smack my butt, poke me with sticks in the front area, my boobs, and my butt. I liked the attention, but I also hated it. I told them to stop, but they wouldn’t. Two of the boys walked me home (not sure why) and one of them smacked my butt. A 30 or 40 year old man saw him do it. He yelled, “Oh yeah, smack that!” It scared me so much! I was furious! I yelled, “Fuck you!”
They told me if he came back to rape me they would leave.
I’ve had multiple experiences with grown men making me very uncomfortable. I get looked up and down. I see the lust in their eyes, and it really frightens me.
I have a friend who I love very dearly. But he can be very abusive. He’s very “hands on.” He touches my butt and my boobs every so often. But when he’s mad, he literally hurts me. He pulls wresting moves on me or chokes me for a few seconds. To him it’s a joke. To me, it’s scary, and it hurts.
One time I was locked in a room with him and he pushed me down, and he was standing over me. It sounds ridiculous but I was still scared. We are best friends, I just wish he wouldn’t take things so far sometimes.
All these events make me fear men a lot. I have a lot of anxiety and guilt from these events and I’m still not over them. I honesty think I have depression from all the bullying and harassment.
by Band Back Together | Jan 28, 2014 | Anxiety, Date/Acquaintance Rape, Depression, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Loneliness, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sadness, Self-Esteem, Sexual Coercion |
I think I’m depressed. That’s the thing that worries me the most. I had this kind of shitty thing happen to me about a year ago, and I fear it has changed me. I used to be really happy, and could see beauty basically everywhere. I was outgoing, loved hanging out with my friends, and generally just doing stuff. But now I have absolutely no motivation to do anything. I sit at home watching tv, or playing games; anything to keep me from having to go outside and face life.
It’s sad, because I just moved to this new town, for school. An education I should be really excited about, but I’m not. I should try and make some friends here. I have one good friend left. The rest I have neglected to the point where we don’t speak anymore. Several have tried numerous times to call me, but I just don’t pick up. Before I moved, I would make plans to meet them, but then make up some lame excuse and not show up. They must think I don’t like them anymore. I’m so sad. I don’t want to cause other people pain just because I’m not feeling well, but I just can’t get myself to contact them.
My self-esteem is so unbearably low, it’s a pain to even go shopping for groceries. I only do when I absolutely have to. Unless I’m having a really good day, I can only buy certain items, so I’m not embarrassed. I over-eat, drink alone and don’t exercise. And as my weight goes up, my self-esteem drops even more. I’m a bit of a mess.
While I was volunteering in Africa, I was raped by a guy I worked with. I’ve had some trouble with guys in the past, so I went to Africa because I wanted a change and to clear my head for a while. He was so sweet and funny, everybody loved him. We started flirting a bit, and then it evolved into something more. He acted like he was really falling for me, and to this day I still think he was. (Unless he was just an extremely good actor, and I have no idea how to read people.)
There was a party. It was a great evening, and there was a lot to drink. I really liked him, and was going to have sex with him. My friends left for bed, but I stayed behind with him, with his friends close by, thinking I was totally safe. Like an idiot.
As soon as my friends had turned their back, he started kissing me and trying to undress me. I laughed and told him to wait, but he continued. That’s when I got scared, and told him to stop. So he raped me.
He was so much stronger than me, there was no way I could fight back, so I just shut down. I was in complete shock. Never once did it occur to me to scream for help. I’m ashamed of that now, and the fact that I was really into him. At the time, all I could think was “What? Is this really happening?”
After he was finished, I was lying on the grass, half naked, with him and his friends looking down at me. I will never forget that image. It was the most humiliating experience of my life. He started pulling me up by the arm, saying we would go to his cabin. I said no, and got away from his grip, but then he grabbed me by the hair.
That is when it finally occurred to me to scream.
There was a bit of mayhem in camp after that, and I had to report the incident. If the people I worked for hadn’t made me, I probably wouldn’t have. For that I am grateful, I suppose. It became quite clear who believed me and who didn’t. The guy who found me that night did. The rest of them, not so much. I had been working closely with these people for months, and I truly believed they were my friends. But they still thought it was my fault. He was such a sweet, likable guy, and if anything happened, it must have been my fault.
He told people that we were already in a sexual relationship, and he didn’t know he was forcing me into anything. His friends backed him up, of course, but he still went to jail for a while …about 4 months, if I’m not mistaken.
I stayed over there for a while after that, confused, broken and alone, not wanting to go home and deal with reality here. Obviously it didn’t work out in the long run, and I left a few months after the incident. About two days before going home I saw him again in the city. I completely panicked and ended up hiding behind a car.
So now I am left with the painful memories that pop up every now and then, a general distrust in all people, and absolutely no motivation to do anything. I am ashamed, sad, constantly tired, and I feel so incredibly lonely. I went to talk to a therapist a few times, but she went on vacation for a few weeks, and I never tried to schedule a new appointment.
She did tell me however, that I can get some kind of compensation for this. I just need documentation stating that the rape happened, documents from the police, or basically anything. But the people I worked for refuse to help me. I know the documents are (or were) in their office, I saw them, I touched them, but now, all of a sudden, they don’t exist.
This was extremely painful to write, but it turned out really long! Thanks to anyone who bothered to read through it, and thank you to whomever started this incredible Band. It is very nice to be able to vent like this. I normally have serious problems talking about my own emotions and problems.
Lots of love to everyone here!
by Band Back Together | Dec 5, 2013 | Anxiety, Gang Rape, Guilt, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self Loathing, Uncategorized |
I want to feel better. I am hoping that writing about it will help.
I was raped by three fraternity brothers in college. Most of the frat guys are nice guys, and we are friends, but I didn’t know the men that did this. I was drunk, but not as drunk as my sorority sisters. While helping a sister I got dragged into a room, was tied up and abused for 2 hours. I thought it was my fault and that I was a slut. I have never spoken about it until now.
It happened during this time of year.
I should be over it by now. I just feel so guilty. I am sorry I let it happen. I should have fought harder or told someone sooner. Hopefully by saying something now I will feel better.
I received a friend request from one of them. Today, I heard one of them married a sorority sister recently. It’s put me in a bad place. I really hope I wasn’t at fault, but it feels like it.
