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 21, 2014 | Depression, Loss, Pet Loss, Sadness |
You hear about people losing homes to fires all the time on the news, but you never hear about how the people are doing afterward.
I lost my home December 3rd, 2013, and I feel as if my whole life has been stolen from me. I’m having a hard time carrying on. This can’t be my life. I sleep maybe four or five hours a night, then I wake with the worst feeling of despair, thinking about the things we lost.
The fire took my 10 cats, that I loved dearly. Two may be missing – I go back to the property and search every evening, but have had no luck. Our home was in a rural area, and I have posters hung on poles nearby, but there are just farmers and some homes in the area, miles away from any vets or pet stores.
I’m grieving my cats, but also my home. All of my things are gone. People tell you it’s just material things, and you can get new, but I don’t want new. I was happy with my old things. I can’t get back the afghan my grandma made me, or the yearbooks that were signed by my best school friend, who died last January.
I’m stuck in a rental home until we get our land cleared and a new home. I’m surrounded by unfamiliar people, things, even different clothes. We even have a different car now because our car is what started the fire. It caught fire under the hood and spread to the garage door. I ask myself questions like, “Where did my life go?” or just “Why?” or “How are all my cats gone all at once?”
Our house looks as if it were hit with a bomb. I didn’t know the metal in your windows could melt and twist like that. Firefighters put a huge hole in our bedroom window. The things I had hanging on the wall there are gone. Even the pot of chili I had on the stove is gone. Papers my son brought home from school that I had on the fridge aren’t there now. My son’s toys and the toy box just melted all together.
I’ve had my piano since I was 7 and began taking lessons. The top has been taken off. The varnish looks like it melted. Some keys are sticking up. I’ll probably need a new one.
All the ceiling has been torn off. A lot is just hanging down. The study above the garage is just a burnt black room with no roof. It rains and snows in my study. Pages from my books burnt and laying in the yard. All my music melted.
Only one of the arms and the metal bed springs are left of the wooden daybed where the cats loved to lay. My telescope that I put together myself is gone – it was mostly plastic and wood. The whole place is beyond repair. It has to be knocked down. That brings up another whole set of emotions. Ten years of life there turned to rubble and going to be discarded in a dump.
I was having panic attacks. Self-talk is helping, but I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I’ve never been so depressed and anxious in my life. I used to love my life. Just five days before it happened, I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with family. I felt so blessed to be surrounded by all I loved, and in abundance. It was all taken from me in 3 hours. It still feels like a strange dream. I wonder if I will ever feel happy again, if I’ll ever even smile.
The days are long. I always used to be busy, so they used to speed by, but now I plod through the day at this rental home doing a little cleaning just to get the day over with.
I’m not myself. I don’t feel like interacting with anyone. I can’t afford counseling. I try to journal and read self-help books, but I still feel so dead inside.
One thing I’ve learned from this already is who is on my side and who’s not. My relations to various people have changed. I’ve had to distance myself from some family members who were hurtful or whose words just make me feel worse. Many people don’t seem to understand just how huge this loss is. It’s loss at multiple levels, pet loss, home loss, things that were special, my daily routine is gone. It’s a huge change.
To say it’s all unreal is an understatement. I don’t know what the future holds. We’ve picked out a double wide home already and have much of the paper work done to get it. We just have to wait on the destruction of our old house. We’re having a hard time finding a local company to do that. And as much as I hate it, it has to be done. I will take my sister’s cat and am thinking about a kitten to keep it company, but in my heart right now I’m just wanting the ones I lost back. I don’t think anything would give me any happiness now but to get my two missing cats back.
For now, I’m just trying to get through each day, one day at a time. I don’t know how I’m going to pick myself up from this, but I have to move on somehow. Each day is a day further away in time, and hopefully a day closer to getting my life back together again.
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 19, 2014 | Sadness, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Stress |
It’s starting again.
At first, I thought it was because I had several days where my sleep had been interrupted by kids or my puppy. Today, I had to acknowledge to myself what the problem is.
Seasonal depression. Again.
I’m moody. I’m pissy. I snap at my family over the littlest things. Last night, I even locked myself in the bedroom for a while, when the stress got to me. I’m wound so tight, I feel like I’m on the verge of freaking out at any moment.
There are things I absolutely adore about where I live. I love our little community. I love the family connections we have here. I love the rich soil in my yard for my garden. The pros far outweigh the cons. We’re not going anywhere, this is home.
However, we live in the frozen tundra. That’s a REALLY big con. Last year, our winter was unusually long – just under six months. It’s not just the snow that is a problem, it’s the cold. With regular sub-zero temperatures most of the winter, that means a lot of time spent inside.
Which means by the end of the winter, my body is starving for sunshine.
I first noticed the seasonal depression last year. Unfortunately, I do not have insurance, so getting help for it isn’t something we can afford. Fortunately, my husband does have insurance, and is already seeing a psychiatrist for his mental health. Last year, his doctor prescribed an artificial sun lamp for his depression issues. His insurance paid for it, and I can use it for free!
So today, I pulled out the sun lamp and set it up on my table. I added some mood-lifting vitamins to my morning routine. It also helps that both my geranium plant and my Christmas cactus are about to bloom. I may not have flowers outside to look at, but I’ll have flowers in my kitchen.
I’m just grateful that I recognized the problem before it got too out of control this year. I’m glad the changes I need to make for my mood are fairly small.
Still, I’ll be really glad when spring finally comes.
by Band Back Together | Mar 17, 2014 | Bullying, Cyberharassment, Cyberstalking, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Fear, Guilt, Insomnia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychological Manipulation, Sexual Harassment, Stalking, Stress, Trauma, Workplace Bullying |
I’m many things: a daughter, friend, a pet lover and a 4.0 student. I swim, volunteer, love the beach and enjoy music. I’m also a victim of a growing epidemic among teens and young adults entering the workplace: sexual harassment.
On Valentine’s Day 2007, I attended my first corporate event as a volunteer for a major media corporation. I dressed professionally in a long-sleeved pants suit and arrived early to Houston’s baseball stadium. Plastered on my face was the biggest, most secure smile I could find, in spite of the butterflies in my stomach.
This corporate event was a huge deal and I played a special role in it. Around sunrise, the radio station’s videographer arrived and began setting up his equipment. He spotted me and walked over to extend a handshake. Eager to make a good impression, I introduced myself.
“Hi, I’m Jill. I’m the poet,” I said, confidently.
“Hi, I’m Howard. I’m on-air each weekend and do video as a side-gig.”
“I know. I’ve heard you.”
“Well, I work at another station, too.”
Having varied musical tastes, I said I knew – I’d heard him there, too
When the brief, friendly banter had finished, we each continued our business, the discussion far from my mind… Until I arrived home that afternoon and discovered that within an hour of meeting me, he’d found my website and sent a highly personal email. It discussed his dating history, his taste in women, that he thought I was in my forties because “forty-something women are the hottest around;” because I was “hot.”
I wondered how he’d found my information, I told my instincts to “hush” – I was certainly overreacting. After all, the media must’ve given him my information. Pushing concern aside, I believed I needed to keep the peace for my new position and sent a simple, friendly reply.
The conversation continued as he told me he had a daughter my age and found my information through an internet search. The third day, he asked to purchase signed copies of books I’d written. I gave him my home address – easy as that.
The subtle signs of trouble were there from the beginning. The wishy-washy words to keep my feelings off-balance. On my birthday he said, “The world is a better place because you’re in it.” Not two hours later, he said, “You’d look good in black lace … and I’m not talking shirts.”
It took nearly five years for me for me to find the courage to accept that the harassment was serious and not the jokes I’d thought the man was making.
“Nice to meet you” slowly became “You’d look great in an adult film” and “The world is a better place because you’re in it” became a blend of comments like “My girlfriend is an iceberg in the bedroom,” which played to my empathetic side. Feeling “sorry” for his “plight” he claimed would “improve” if he could buy me lingerie and sex toys.
I never thought he was serious, I’d thought he was joking. I know now to trust my gut; this kind of behavior is not normal for the workplace.
By the time a box of lingerie he purchased for me was delivered to my home and I pursued action against him in 2012, I’d endured a lengthy history of requests for dates, pressure to pose for pictures and/or provocative video, cyber-stalking, emotional abuse, and calls and texts at all hours. The toll on my life was apparent – sleepless nights, stomach upset, and stress. I lived in constant fear of what the next step in his obsession might be.
My innocent response happens far too often among teens and young adults unprepared for workplace sexual harassment. Today’s teens and young adults are not alone in dealing with job-related harassment. According to Adolescents at Work: Gender Issues and Sexual Harassment, thirty-five percent (35%) of high school students reported they experienced sexual harassment in their part-time work. Of the 35% who were sexually harassed, 63% were girls and 37% were boys. In 19% of cases, perpetrators were supervisors, and 61% of the time harassment came from coworkers.
Sometimes it can be difficult to tell the difference between flirting and harassment, but it’s never okay for an adult to flirt with a child. It’s not okay for someone in a position of power to flirt with or suggest improper behavior. Such behavior in the workplace is illegal and companies must have guidelines in place outlining zero tolerance for sexual harassment.
If you are going through something like what I experienced, I want you to know that this is not your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do caused this to happen. This did not happen because of anything you said, your choice of friends, your appearance, or your personality. Anyone who harasses another is a bully. Bullies are cowards that pick on the strong and innocent, simply the person is there. No more, no less. You are not guilty of anything, even if you initially went along with the harassment. The blame is with the harasser; you are a survivor. You can heal.
You deserve respect.
From the minute that you feel awkward about a work-situation, tell someone you trust and begin documenting every comment, action, or event that’s left you feeling uncomfortable. If you’ve received e-mails, save screenshots. If you save the e-mails, don’t alter them in any way. If someone says that they don’t think what you’re going through is that bad,” remember – it’s not their place to judge. You own your truth. You own your boundaries. Only you know what you will or will not accept.
While someone else may tolerate behavior that bothers you, it’s your life and your decision. You’re allowed to end uncomfortable situations; no job is worth trauma, torment, or the health toll enduring daily abuse can cause, such as depression or post-traumatic stress disorder. You cannot always leave your job, but you can stop the cycle of harassment. The harasser wants your silence; don’t give them the satisfaction.
Some may believe you’re weak for choosing to address sexual harassment and strive for change, this is not true. You are not weak; you are courageous and brave, trying to make the world a better place for others; that is an admirable aspiration for anyone.
As the result of my journey, I reached out to a therapist to help me understand what had happened. My therapist put the harassment this way: “The harasser is an annoying gnat you can flick away until the pest becomes smaller and smaller on your horizon. By standing up, speaking out, and refusing to accept abuse – you are a big flyswatter with the power and will to end the cycle of harassment.”
If your boss, co-worker, or friend demands your undivided attention, calls you five or ten times per day, follows your every move on and offline, or starts mimicking your style or words, there could be a deeper problem.
Stand your ground; know your boundaries; always listen to your inner voice. Respect, trust yourself and you will get through this. I told my story and put the spotlight on my harasser; you have the power within you to do the same.
Even on the darkest day in your fight against sexual harassment, always remember you’re worth so much more than workplace abuse. You will come through the experience with greater awareness and more compassion for others. You have a bright future ahead of you and you will survive this.
I believe in you!
by Band Back Together | Mar 14, 2014 | Adult Bullying, Bullying, Coping With Bullying, How To Heal From Being Bullied, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Self-Esteem, Teen Bullying |
I am a student at a university. I am good at what I study.
To cut a very long story short, a guy who was in my friendship group got jealous of my marks, and was mad that I wouldn’t give him my answers. He sent me horrible messages saying I was a snake and an academic climber.
I know its very little compared to many stories on here, but it has really affected me. I am not friends with the group anymore as no one stood up for me.
I feel so self conscious and my self esteem has plummeted, I feel like everyone is looking and judging me all the time, and I’m all by myself.
I don’t know what to do, these are meant to be the best years of my life…
