This is her story:
On my 21st birthday, me and a group of old friends got together. Normally on my birthday, we go out to eat then go back to the house or hotel to drink, dance, and have a good time.
This year was different.
Everyone was drinking, having a good time. After dancing a bit, I got sick and went to the bathroom to throw up, I knew that was where I would spend the rest of my night. Passing out in the bathroom was my last memory.
I woke up on my back in the dark with my pants down and my "friend" on top of me, inside of me. He dragged me out of the bathroom to rape me. As the rape happened, it was like I wasn't inside my body ... it felt like a dream. I couldn't believe what was happening, I couldn't believe someone I considered a friend would actually rape me. I remember trying to push him off of me but he's about 270 pounds.
He kept kissing me in my mouth and moving my body all around and positioning me the way he wanted me. He clearly knew I was unconscious, he knew I couldn't fend him off. I don't know how long it went on, it felt like forever. I was scared to make a noise.
When he finally got off of me, I remember going to the bathroom. I saw him laying on the floor so I ran to the bed and went to sleep.
When I awoke the next morning everything immediately rushed back. I burst out crying. No one was there except my best friend and cousin, and I told them what happened. We decided that we would go to the hospital and have a rape kit performed.
It felt like I was being violated all over again.
At the time I wasn't sure if I was going to press charges but I went and got the rape kit performed just in case. I told a mutual friend what happened and he said he would talk to the guy. His story was "He was so drunk. He doesn't remember anything that happened that night."
I didn't believe that at all.
A week later I wasn't feeling too well so I went to the doctor. I was told that I was having my first herpes outbreak, I cried and cried and cried. I don't sleep around to prevent things like this from happening. I just couldn't believe all of this was occurring.
I have so much hate in my heart for this guy. After getting that news, I was ready to press charges. It's been two months now, and it's still so, so hard. I cry every day. It eats me up inside that he's out here living his life freely while I'm suffering through each day. All from something that shouldn't have happened.
I have so many triggers now. I was the first out of my girlfriends to turn twenty-one so it's hard to sit and listen to talk about what they want to do for it. My twenty-first birthday is full of nothing but bad memories. It's really been a struggle. I feel like no on will want me because of this STD that I can't get rid of.
I feel like he took a piece of me I'll never get back.
I kept wondering when I'd finally grow out of my depression. I've been to therapy. I've taken medication. Nothing doing. No help there.
People tell me that I simply should not let it get me. One person even told me that I just have to pull myself up by the bootstraps and get on with it. Whatever. People who say that kind of thing are lucky because they really have no idea what depression is like.
When I was in second grade, I remember coming home from school one day and finding my mother laying on her bed, unresponsive and catatonic. When my father returned home from work, he couldn't get her to rouse. I have no idea what caused this event, though I think that my mother may have stepped outside her marriage to get satisfaction elsewhere.
In any case, this began in the long ago time they call the eighties. She went away for a month or so to the "stress ward" of the local hospital. There she made me a California raisin painted ceramic. You know, the little characters that would sing about the grapevine? It was the first of many times we've had to take mom to the doctor. She's a fragile and sensitive person, loving and caring. The world is not kind to the sensitive.
My father was abandoned by his own dad when he was just three or four years old. He suffered some extreme child abuse at the hands of his mother and her new husband. As a result, he has many problems. I think he may have borderline personality disorder. He knew how to provide materially for the family but was all thumbs when it came to anything emotional. He's a cowboy, hard and rough.
I was the last child they had, separated from my closest sibling by a decade. I was nearly an only child growing up. I'm artistic and sensitive and I had exactly two friends growing up here in a small Utah town. I had to suffer the abuse of Mormon children who would tell me that I'm going to hell because my parents smoke or drink. They would chase me away from their groups, calling me names and threatening violence.
Needless to say, my childhood was far from happy.
I tried to fit into the local world of churchgoers, but was turned off by the bigotry and small-minded worldview espoused in their Sunday school. I will not go further into it, but if you have ever been in a small Mormon town and had the audacity to be different from your peers, you'll understand. It's probably much the same in any community where only one faith is prevalent.
Anyway, I was molested by my friend's older sister when I was ten. She was sixteen or seventeen and she would suggest a game of hide and seek. Well, she'd take me into her room and have sex with me. It happened several times.
There are so many ways that this kind of thing messes up within a person. One glaring thing this has done is made me very afraid of women. Like all survivors of molestation, I have had a very difficult time getting close to women. I suppose my depressed mother may have something to do with that. I never shared this with my family.
Well, my self-esteem is a wreck. I have three great children whom I see every other week. Fifty-fifty custody of my children. My ex wife is my ex because she could no longer take my long dark bouts of depression. She is opposite of me in every way - outgoing and friendly. She's a good person, but I can't help but have negative feelings toward her.
I hate myself for wrecking my marriage. To be sure, it takes two to tango, but I feel that the bulk of the blame lies upon me. Since my divorce, I have had hundreds of lonely days and nights. I've had only one or two really fun dates. I think of myself as one of the defective and unlovable people in the world.
I've lost any hope for the future.
I go to work every day. I write my stories and novels. I play my bass. But every single damn morning I wake up, the first thing in my head is "loser" and "just get it over and kill yourself." I find myself saying that I'm all alone. I comfort myself with the reassurance that if I'm alone, I won't make anyone hate me. I won't have to live through another divorce. I won't have to see my mate die.
But all the same, I want to be like other people. I want to love someone but I cannot help but to think that in doing so, I will simply make them hate me. I want to be able to introduce someone to my friends and children. But I just cannot imagine anyone wanting to be with me.
Well, I don't want to wallow in my stupid grief. I'm almost late for work. At least I have that. Many don't nowadays.
That's my story, briefly.
I was violently raped twelve years ago, when I was 8 years old. I was threatened not to say anything, so I kept it to myself.
Now it has come back to bite me BAD! I've been sleeping with the lights and television on. I always have to check under my bed and make sure the doors are locked. It drives me crazy.
I wish the fear of someone getting me again would go away. I am sleep deprived. Any advice would be great, please.
I don't know what's wrong with me. I suspect that all these years spent in isolation have ruined something fundamental inside me. Maybe I'm just not meant to be around people. I can't let anyone close to me. Whether that has to do with my anxiety or just all-around damaged psyche, I don't know anymore. There's a smoldering ball of fear and shame where trust used to be, and I couldn't tell you how it got there, but so far it continues to rot everything, perhaps me most of all.
More than anything right now, I think I'm sick of getting my hopes up. I'm sick of letting myself believe, for even a split second, that I can be different when at the end of the day, even if I could be, I wouldn't know how to. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy that I can never seem to escape.
It's a self-indulgent notion, I know, to consider myself to be in any way broken, but today I feel that, for the first time in a long while now. I really do fear that I'll be alone for the rest of my life because of this. That I'll always be pushing everyone away because I can't bear to let anyone see who I really am on the inside, out of the fear that they will be as disgusted with what they see as I am myself.
I knew from the beginning that it was going to turn out like this, so I don't understand why it hurts so much. I should have never let this drag out as long as it did and wasted everyone's time in the process. I hate being so incapable. I hate being so despicable. I hate being so goddamn predictable. I hate me most of all.
The One Who Shall Remain Nameless:
I loved you with out measure, and I am finally realizing 30 years later that you didn't love me! You wouldn't have abused me or cheated on me if you did! If it was only me in the equation, I would never have spoken to you again. But our son is involved, and I can't just walk away. He is 29 now, and you missed a lot in his childhood, but that is okay. He has done fine without you.
I could hate you, but I don't. I pity you! I pity you because you have no idea how to love someone, or have them love you back, because you don't have the mental capacity to love. I am sorry that you don't have a heart. I am sorry that you will die alone because of your actions. So no, I don't hate you. I have worked hard to not hate you. I will say goodbye and know that karma will get you one day because you can't hurt people with your words and deeds and get away with it!
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