My Two Year Anniversary

intherain

Testimony by Lucy Kidd

This week was the two year anniversary of the last time I was sexually assaulted. This last time was the most traumatic to me for several reasons. First, It was the only one I actually shared with people in my life, second, there were witnesses, third, there was the combined trauma of the sexual assault and the victim-blaming, 4. my attacker wrote a letter of apology to my boyfriend for attacking me (but not to me, because apparently I’m  just my boyfriend’s property), and 5, I had a mental breakdown afterwards and had to quit my job, and 6, because the attack happened in my own home I no longer felt safe there, and 7. I couldn’t sit through a class without having a panic attack, so I had to withdraw from all my classes, even though I was supposed to graduate that semester. With my previous attacks I was able to cope somehow, but not this last time. Not two years ago.

To someone who hasn’t been sexually assaulted, it’s hard to explain the phenomena of the “anniversary,” but I will try.  For some reason, the memories come back in full force – unwelcome and all-consuming. The nightmares of being attacked returned this week as well, the uncontrollable crying, and the intense feelings of anger towards the people in my life who victim-blamed me. There are the feelings of intense shame and humiliation, and the inability to control my emotions.

There are some positive things that came out of my anniversary – it forced me to deal with the fact that I am not yet recovered, that I still have a lot of work to do. I finally had the courage this week to seek out sexual assault counseling.  two years overdue but never too late. I am now able to hold down a job and a loving relationship. These are things I can be proud of.

To the Reader: your input is welcome, so long as it is not victim blaming, slut shaming, or advice on how YOU would have dealt with being attacked. If it’s not your trauma, then you have no idea.

 

Beautiful Survivor

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Testimony by Anonymous

My name is A***** and it has been 11 years since that horrible night that I shall never forget. I was a freshman in High school, had just turned 13, full of excitement, anxiety, and nervousness of not going to fit in my new environment. I had always gained my sisters and parents admiration for being ahead of my peers and expecting to graduate high school at an early age. I am still proud of graduating at the age 16; I didn’t turn 17 until July of later that year. I would follow in my sister’s footsteps she was a year ahead of me. I had an almost exact replica of her freshman semester. I tried out for the cheer squad and got accepted and was happy to be doing something I liked and being able to differ from my sister. I was part of the volleyball, where my sister was co-captain of the varsity team. I was the first freshman in that private schools history to make it to the varsity squad. The coach would, pride herself in that fact but said she saw talent and dedication with me. I loved playing setter and middle blocker. At this point it felt that things could not get any better and all my fears were just fear of the unknown and entering a new environment. It was November and football season was winding down and volleyball season had come to an end, Sara one of the girls in the cheerleading squad which I had a small crush on came to invite me to party, which some of the seniors and juniors were holding.
I quickly responded with a yes and told her, I had neither car nor a ride to the party. I asked her if my sister would be able to come to the party and she said no for it was a get together and she wouldn’t fit in. I remember telling my parents that night; I was doing a sleepover with the Sara. How it was it was a cheerleading thing. They were fine with it and once I had the ok, told her I could definitely go and she would give me the ride to the party. Arriving the party still in my uniform along with Sara, was giving two shots and I made my whole never had drank before but I drank them. They served us something called Jungle punch, which tasted like just alcohol they used everclear, rum, Kool-Aid and apple juice. All what I remember was being in the dining table laughing playing some dumb card game. I had come to blackout at the party and I had absolute idea what would occur.
In regaining my senses and soon after wards realize what was happening around me. I awoke in a hot, dim lighted garage on a cheap table naked. Degrading words written on me, I tried to release my hands and Sara just held me down even more. I began to kick my legs shouting screaming telling them to stop, to leave me alone. I was crying so much, as our teams linebacker said “It’s my turn with this slut, can’t you tell she begging for this nigger cock”. I know I was mostly murmuring at this point telling him to please not to do it and trying to kick him away. I will never forget it, feeling that pain as his cock entered me, making me feel even more dirty used and worthless. I just cried, as I had this large guy on top of me and feeling so exposed, so dirty, worthless. What hurt the most was when they forced themselves into my ass. My body felt so weak, so powerless, I don’t remember much after they forced themselves on me from behind. I tried to block out as much as I could, I felt so helpless.
I was left on my parents porch naked, had been fingered on my way home. A note saying thank you for the cheap whore, 20 dollars left with it. My mom just stood there and cried, my dad did absolutely nothing, as their car left. My sister would take me inside, help me shower cuddle with me and be that person who, I needed at that moment. Nothing would come to happen, as for in the small city that it occurred, having parents that protected them, it was just swept under the rug. I still have a hard time about this and my self-confidence at times can take a turn for the worse but I keep on swimming.

The Courage to Escape

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Testimony by Rayne Smith
My relationship started off as poly. I was with my daughter’s father as well as my abuser whom I’m going to court for. Neither treated me right really, or my daughter, but I digress.
After my daughter’s father left the picture for various reasons, I found myself getting abused. It all started because I didn’t want to have sex with him daily. It all started with that. So, I got raped every day, my abuser not caring if my daughter was there. If I said “No” hands went around my throat and the roof over our heads was threatened. I “had” to have sex with him to be with him. One time, around Christmas I got thrown on the bed.
The last time he had his hands around my throat he cut off my windpipe and chased me around at an attempt to get my phone.
He’s currently serving for violation of his probation. I go to court for a show case case, he was also stalking me.
I’m not his only victim, I’m just the only one who had enough and did what needed to be done. This is my story in a nutshell.

Survival After the Suffering

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Testimony by Vennie Kocsis

My abuse story is not “typical”, although who is to say that any abuse is typical. My story is a bit different because I am a survivor of ritualistic cult abuse. I share my experiences openly with the intent of connecting with others who have been abused. It’s important to me that we come to know there is healing and survival after the suffering.

In 1973, my mother took me and my siblings, left our father and our family home in San Diego, CA and drove across the country to Ware, Massachusetts where she joined a religious cult called The Move. I was three years old.

While at this facility my family was separated from one another and each placed into different classification units on the compound. The next four years of my childhood became a nightmare filled with ritual beating sessions, sessions involving casting out of “demons”, molestation by multiple men, slave labor working on the compound from dawn till dusk, methodical listening to hours of tapes of preaching, and an overall hopeless existence of disassociation as my body and soul tried to cope with what was being done to it.

When I was seven, for reasons not completely clear at this time, the leaders of the cult decided to shut down the Massachusetts division. They re-located many of us to another division of their cult in Delta Junction, Alaska. My family was re-united, but life would never be the same for us. The damage had already been done. In Alaska we were trained to prepare to die for “christ”, that the “communists” would eventually come to america to ask us if we believed in jesus, and would subsequently shoot us if we answered yes. We were trained to be martyrs for their religion. We were taught to shoot rifles and survive in the deep woods since we would eventually need to hide there. The list of offenses against children continued in Alaska with molestation, severe beatings and extreme labor. When I was thirteen my sister suffered an incident which caused the cult leaders to banish us from the compound. Her suffering turned out to be our savior.

Life back in the “real world” proved to be an extremely difficult adjustment. We had to learn simple things that other teenagers found natural, like how to shop in stores, learning current trending music and television, something my siblings and I had never learned to do. We struggled with understanding having social skills and many other life skills which caused integrating into a “normal” society quite painful. We hid our shortcomings as much as we could, to avoid being laughed at and criticized by our peers.

I am currently writing a novel recounting in detail my life growing up in this cult. It’s been a little over five years in the making. The details of my experiences are not easy to write out. It takes quite a lot of soothing and damage control to get through recalling many of these experiences. I feel much strength to be where I am at this point in my life. Many of the other children abused by this cult have grown up to be adults with severe substance abuse problems, extreme mental illness and in some cases, even suicide. Many cannot even talk about what happened to them. There is a handful of us who are able to speak to one another about our experiences, and we provide a network of support to one another as we are able. Being a survivor of ritual abuse can require a special understanding. Having connection with others who have experienced this level of abuse and survived is a worthy support. It can be difficult for the average person to wrap their minds around a story such as this.

I tell my story because I am a survivor, and I know the damage done when a child is stripped from everything which makes them pure and innocent. I care about what others have experienced and how we all can become functional and find self love after the pain.

I spent many years angry, asking why was I made to suffer so much. I wallowed in self pity and hatred, carrying bitterness and ugliness inside of me. I lashed out, got into a life of crime when I was a young adult, struggled to be a functional parent and much more. It is a very difficult road out of this pain, and many days I deal with flash memories and moments of trying to escape haunting images which can sometimes have a mind of their own, emerging uninvited to float around in my brain. It’s been a long journey of redefining habits and behaviors, ending self abuse and accepting that my past experiences do not have to define my current day to day existence. I believe that it is because of the horror I experienced in my childhood that I am able to carry immense compassion for the suffering of others.

Every time I meet someone who has survived abuse, I am inspired even more to continue telling my story. Their survival inspires me to continue on, as excruciating as it can be to re-live this trauma every time I dig in to recall it. Most of all, they inspire me to continue to Love and care for every single human who has been hurt and carries the scars of being violated.

Thank you for taking the time to read and understand my journey. I welcome open conversation, thoughts and sharing of individual experiences. I will always lend support as I am able. May we Heal.

30 Years Later

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Testimony by Anonymous

I think in my 20’s and 30’s there was always a shadow of the memory in the back of my head.

You know, like a quick mental picture, then it sinks back down. In my 40’s I went through a really tough time (considered suicide actually), A REALLY ROUGH TIME. But that’s another confession. These stressful times caused this memory to violently surface. A therapist said this is a common age for things of this nature to surface.

I don’t remember my actual age, 9 to 11, perhaps. A man (I know who he is) is in a shower with me and washing my back. And then I am washing his back and then his front. I am using a wash cloth on his penis and he tells me to make sure it’s really clean.

Now I’m sitting on his bed as he rolls pantyhose up my legs. We are camping in his back yard and he says this will keeps us nice and warm. he stands me up and pulls them up to my waist and his hands linger on my ass. His fingers slip into the waist band and slides around to the front, pulling the band down and under my penis and balls, then he kisses my penis and takes it into his mouth and begins sucking. This has never happened and I’m scared and at the same time it feels good. I can’t move.

I don’t know what is happening but soon I am cumming in his mouth, it feels good and hurts at the same time. Now he stands up and turns us around so he is sitting on the edge of the bed.

I am still scared, but I let him pull me close and kiss me then push me to the floor as he opens his robe. He takes my hand and uses it to rub his cock to life. It’s right there in front of me and he tells me to kiss it and I do. Then he tells me to open my mouth and I do.

He still has my hand in his and is now squeezing his hand over mine to grip his penis harder and we begin to stroke it. He has one hand on top of my head and I am scared and its hard to breathe.

Something splashes into my mouth and I am scared, thinking that he’s peeing, but then it’s not like that. He tells me to suck it all down. He lets go of my head and hand, and he lays back

on the bed. I’m still kneeling there when he says to go get a drink and get dressed, we have to go put the tent up. I remember thinking, this has to be ok, mom just dropped me off a while ago. I cant call her and say come get me. Her and dad were going somewhere. I don’t have anywhere to go. He then says he bought me a new scouting flashlight, one I wanted but couldn’t afford. I like the flashlight and finish getting dressed and then we go set up the tent.

I went back, I don’t know why. That’s what hurts me more than anything. Why would you go back after the first time. It was another backyard campout. There were supposed to be other boys
there.

The shower again, washing my penis, then making me wash his. It seemed like a dream like I was watching me do it. My hands didn’t feel like they were attached to me.

Drying me off with a large towel, now I knew no one else was spending the night.

I was led to the bed were he again put pantyhose on me and had me stand up. His hands were moving up and down my legs, touching my butt.

Turning me to face him, he put something soft over my head. I didn’t know what is was, looking back, I realize it was a girls slip.

Again his hands roamed over me. And again he laid me back on
the bed and took my penis into his mouth. I was scared again because it felt good. I didn’t know.

I came soon and he pulled the hose back up, to cover me. I knew what was next. I could feel myself drop to my knees and his hands grabbed my head and forced my mouth onto his penis. I tried to think of anything else, but I could only feel his hands pulling my hair.

But then he stopped and stood up. I just knelt there. He came up behind me and pulled me up.

Hugged me from behind and then bent me over the bed. He pulled the hose down to my knees, and he stepped up and his hands grabbed my ass and I felt him stick a finger into me. It must have been well lubed because it went in before I could protest.

Then he was moving it in and out with his other arm on my back. I couldn’t move. Suddenly he was off me and I was empty, but just as quickly he put his penis inside me.

His hands grabbing my hips and pressing down on top of me. It was hurting my ass, but he didn’t stop. Grunting and breathing heavy, he came and lay on me for a moment. I cried that I couldn’t breath, and he finally got off, and told me to get those clothes off and get back in the shower.

He wasn’t nice like the first time. He was mad at me. I did something wrong. I showered. And then he made me sleep outside in the tent by myself. I don’t remember sleeping. I was worried why he was mad at me this time.

I remember 3 other times, I don’t want to tell anymore right now. I don’t know why I went back. I don’t remember any threats or blackmail type stuff. I don’t remember anything else that summer.

I went to therapy for a couple of months around my 40th birthday. She helped me see that even though it took 30 years to remember, it was still there, eating at me. I have never liked being in large groups. I don’t like to be touched and I hated holding my wife’s hand. I almost never initiated sex,

and would usually just tell her no, not tonight. I would masturbate regularly, but would often involve some aspect of pain. Such as clothes pins on my nipples or cord wrapped around
my testicles with slight weights.

I was, am married. For 17 years, lived together for over twenty. She never knew, heck I didn’t know. All she knew was that I didn’t want to have sex with her. I totally killed her self esteem. When she asked and I said no…I knew she would cry herself to sleep. I would lay there in the dark, wondering what was wrong with me, what kind of asshole doesn’t want to fuck his wife.

Eventually she found someone else. Someone who desired her. I found out, and some other things were happening in my life, so the stress was off the charts. Then my fleeting images of being in a shower evolved in to full fledged nightmares.

I can’t really blame her. I pushed her away for so long. It’s my fault. We are still together, but I don’t trust her. We have good days and bad days.

After Thanksgiving, 2012, we were talking on the phone while I was at work just before lunch.

I was happy and things were going ok. After lunch she just happened to call back and I was crying. In a complete reversal in less than 35 minutes, I was scared and panicking. I wanted to run and hide. I was literally under my desk crying and talking to her. She was scared and wanted to come get me, but it’s an hour drive to work. I told her I would sneak outside and let the cold air and sunshine work it out of me.

I was scared, but realized I had been having these little panic attacks for a long time. This one just the most severe and quickly forming. I went to the doctor, I had only told my therapist and wife what had happened. Now, I was about to tell a new male doctor, my previous doctor having been a woman, how I had been sexually abused. Telling a man what happened scared me very much, but my wife went with me to hold my hand, so to speak. He prescribed some anxiety medicine, and something for PTSD. These helped smooth out my moods swings. Bumpy sidewalks now, instead of roller coasters out of no where.

Run Rabbit Run

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Testimony by “Mercy May”

At fourteen years old I was introduced to a ( what I thought was dreamy ) 27 year old guy that had long beautiful blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, stood six foot four and was a truck driver… With little concern from my parents ( or his ) we quickly moved from sneaking around, to ” dating” , then within months I was living with him. The first time he struck my in rage, I was shocked. My mother was a violent type of woman and so I retaliated. That surprised him. It was almost two years before he did it again. This time he broke ribs ( kicking me while i was down) , dislocated my jaw with one hit square in the jaw, and walked away smiling as I laid in the floor three months pregnant with his daughter. I spent time away, at my family’s home until healed enough to return, braced for more. This child would have a mother and father in her life and I wasn’t going to take that away from her. The night I went into labor, I interrupted him and his friends. No pictures were taken after delivery, I wouldn’t allow the black eye to be seen by her when she grew up. A child raising a child, with a husband on the road wasn’t easy but she was worth every heart ache. She was almost 3 years old when he finally couldn’t handle my happiness anymore. She witnessed many many restless nights of Momma and her ice packs. More than i care to share or admit. I left again with family after he pushed me from behind while walking with her in my arms. I feel across her and she (( and I blame myself still) hit her head on doorway, causing an immediate goose egg on her forehead. He had crossed a line. I got up, soothed her, rocked her stayed up all night with her afraid to let her sleep. The next day when he walked through the kitchen door of our home, I waylaid his ass with an aluminum baseball bat in the head as hard as I could at nineteen. Seventeen stitches down the side of his head, and I smiled, told him it wouldn’t happen again and waited for his retaliation in the coming days. No police were coming to get me, he didn’t want his families name drug through the mud. Within two weeks I learned we had a son on the way. I told him then it had to stop or I was leaving for good. ( never stay thinking it will get better- just go….) My son was born in March , spring time beautiful skies, dark bags under my eyes from being the best Mommy I could be, broken inside. I went to work, putting the two in day care, I helped introduce him to his Meth dealer ( a Co worker that he became friendly with) and then shit got real. Not only was he larger and meaner than me, now he seemed invincible. Broken collar bone, near miscarriage, dislocated shoulder, bruises….they watched it all unfold every night. He starred seeing ‘Cooks’ cousin, not behind my back but in our bed, in our home, in front of my kids. My attempt to leave then was unsuccessful, I truly loved what he was when we started and just knew he would realize his faults. Third child November of following year….bounced my head off of clothes dryer at his Mithra home, and she acted like she didn’t see it. Her baby boy could do no wrong. They were the perfect Baptist family, and we weren’t allowed to speak of it. His first birthday, I incited everyone, wanted it to be special for all three Kids. Streamers confetti balloons, I went all out. After party, I merely asked for a little help cleaning up the house. Second time I went downstairs and asked, he followed. But not to help. Everyday I look in a mirror now, I see how much he loved me. He cleared the dining room table with my head. I wear a partial, that’s why I cover my mouth when I smile or chew food. He took eight of my upper teeth at 24 years old. When I regained consciousness, my daughter ( five years old) was trying to put my bloody broken teeth back in my mouth. She was crying harder than anyone I have every seen to this day. Her brothers hiding in their closet and he was gone. Gone for days with no call no note on fridge no money on table and no car in driveway. I can tolerate pain now, like no other five foot woman should. I can tell you that the children will never see him hurt me again. I can tell you it wont stop till you leave. But I can’t tell you what its like to watch them grow up. After I left him, his family fought me for custody. And since 2007 have been in his family’s care, 278 miles away from me. Our divorce was finalized and I have no love in my heart left towards him. He beat the love from me, stripped me of my self dignity and has stolen their innocence from them . I can tell you, kids do remember. She told him last month she hated him. I feared he hit her. She hugged me, said Momma I will run, run away so far he wont ever find me. He still haunts my dreams. But I can’t feel what he does anymore. And it all could have been prevented if I had left the first time he backhanded me.. My kids were worth every scar every broken bone and every tear.
Feel free to shake your head at this point, I do every time I look in mirror

Moral of my lengthy story, ” Run run rabbit run away far far away, the first time.”

Much love tonight from Longview Texas.
Mercy May ( forgive but Momma doesn’t )

I pray someone, just one person, who needs to actually reads this and I pray you listen.

I Want to be Free of Him

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Testimony by Danielle Piatanesi

When I was 15 I was fighting a lot with my Mom (my parents are alcoholics and I was fed up with it.) So, when my oldest Sister Jenn offered to let me live with her and help watch after my niece during the day I was like “SCORE!” and moved out as soon as my Mom agreed.
I was SO excited to be moving in with my cool sister and her even cooler husband. He let me stay up late and play video games and drink beer and smoke cigarettes, get high for the first time, he was SO cool! He also liked gambling at Tahoe and Reno so he would set me up with KILLER suits to watch my niece in while he gambled. I could order all the ppv and room service I wanted! Also got to run a muck in Circus Circus. I felt like I had a Dad for the first time in my life. (my dad while physically present was drunk and an emotionless robot. “hi” “goodnight” and “goodbye” were the only words I ever heard from him.) My brother in law actually talked to me, played games with me, made me laugh, took me shopping, spent quality time with me. I felt SO lucky!
Then, one night while my sister was sleeping in her bedroom (they slept separately, her in her room, him on the couch) and i was lying on the floor watching tv as usual… he got down off the couch, covered my mouth and told me to keep quiet. He pulled down my shelf bra tank top, exposing my breasts. He used my body that night. I was in shock I think, I couldn’t even say anything or move at all. I was totally frozen while experiencing hell.
The next morning as soon as my sister left the house he got to work “programming” me I guess. He told me this was my fault for walking around his house in a shelf bra tank top with no bra. That my breasts were begging to be played with. He told me that if I ever told anyone that they would take my niece away and she would have a horrible life in the child care system. That my father would know what a whore I am and would disown me. That I would have no place to go once my family knew what a slut I was. I would be all alone on the streets. And I BELIEVED Him.
My abuse went on for 5 years. I spent 5 years trapped in a house with him being raped over and over. I was 15 and while I wasn’t a virgin, I was so very inexperienced. He was the first person to eat me out. The first man to cause “good” feelings down there- of course mixed with fear and anger and horror and shame.
And now being eaten out feels icky to me. I see his face. I feel him. I just want it to stop.
I just want my life, my mind, and my body back. I want to be free of him.