“I dont know how to heal.”

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Testimony by Vina L.
My story is not a short one. Like all the other stories, it is also not an easy one to tell. My story begins when I was 16, though the horrors started long before then. I was in love for the first time, with my first boyfriend. He was from Scotland. He played bass and his dad was in a band. He was totally cool, and cute, and I felt so lucky. He came to visit during my spring break and I showed him everything about the US that I could, while he told me everything about Scotland. I was still incredibly shy about boyfriend/girlfriend stuff. We hadn’t even started holding hands yet when he grabbed me and kissed me. I guess that was my first warning, but I was too overwhelmed to be see the signs. Later, he told me that his dad said I was very “well-endowed” while giving him a thumbs-up. That was my second sign, but after a lifetime of being bullied I was happy to take it as a compliment. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could go back in time and slap myself and make myself understand how dangerous my first boyfriend turned out to be. He wanted to kiss me everywhere. I always felt awkward about PDAs but he forced me. He would constantly pick lint off my shirt because he needed “his girl” to look perfect. The first time he abused me was in a dark theatre. I don’t even remember what movie we went to see. I was crying the whole time. All I could remember was how much it hurt because he had long fingernails, and how much I bled and hurt the next few days.  I wish I could say it stopped there, and that my story is over. But it’s not. The next day, while my mother was out, he pinned me against my bedroom wall and kissed me, saying it was time to have sex. That that’s what people in love did. I panicked. I kept saying no. He didn’t listen. he kept “assuring” me that it was what we needed to do. I said no so many times that the word started losing meaning. Eventually I gave up and let him touch me. The only thing that stopped the assault was him prematurely ejaculating before he could get inside me. The rest of his visit, I stayed in sight of my mother, though my mother was convinced I wanted sex despite our previous sex talks where I firmly stated that I didn’t not want to have sex before I was an adult. That belief, I am proud of myself for, because I never faltered from it. But I knew I couldn’t tell my mother what happened, because she would never believe me. She spoke fondly of him for the next couple years. To this day, 8 years later, she has a picture of him on our wall, though I don’t think she realizes that it causes me pain. I have to stare at it every day now that I am living at home again. I am too scared to ask her to take it down, too scared of opening old wounds. When he left, I saw him off with a heart of stone. Many would assume that the nightmare ended at that point. But it was just getting started. After the assault, I started having nightmares so horrible that I would wake up covered in sweat. I showered a lot in those weeks. And then I remembered everything. I was molested by my uncle as a child. I don’t have an exact age – possibly 4 or 5. He used to babysit me sometimes. He would have me lay on his bed and play SEGA while he would touch me and penetrate me. I remember complaining to him that he made it hurt to pee so much, but he would say that him touching me would make me better at the games. He told me he did it because he loved me so very much. A few years later, my cousin, who was about 4 or 5, started touching me, too. He wanted to feel my chest, though there was barely anything there. He told me that his dad said all boys should touch as many girls as they could. He only touched me once, and I told him it wasn’t okay. I repressed those memories for many years. It took being assaulted to remember. By time I realized what had been done to me, the statue of limitations was long past. And so I kept this knowledge a secret, knowing there was no point in telling anyone. There is one last, bitter chapter in my story of abuse, though this did not happen to me directly. Recently, my cousin (who is 15 now) had been accused of molesting three of his younger siblings. He was charged for one of them and given simple probation. The legal proceedings haven’t started for the other two yet, but I hope he goes to jail. I feel like I need so desperately for those kids to have the justice I never had. The nightmares haven’t stopped since I heard the news about this. I feel partially responsible for not speaking up as a kid. Maybe all of this could have been prevented. But it is pointless to think those things, to blame myself. Maybe there’s nothing I could have done to change it. Maybe my uncle would have gotten away with it anyway. I wish I could have a happy ending to all this, or some way to inspire others and tell them that it will be okay. But it took me until my early 20’s to fall in love again, to learn to trust again, and I ended up leaving him because after years of dating, a controlled, yet powerful sexual desire had built up between us (we both wanted to wait for marriage, him for religious reasons and me because I needed time, and so we respected each other’s wishes). It was beautiful, and everything love should be, but nothing ever came of it because I made up every petty excuse I could find to leave him. He never knew the truth. I’d rather he hated me than know the truth. To his credit, he later opened the door of friendship to me and we remain best friends to this day. I guess that’s kind of happy. I am now nearly 24 years old. After everything that has happened, my heart is truly stone and will not let love in. I do not feel like a survivor. The term “survivor” feels like something reserved for men and women far stronger than I could ever be. Lately I have been tired and unmotivated. I see my friends going out and having fun and dating and getting married and having kids, but I am afraid to go out in public. it takes a lot of mental preparation to leave my house, though I play it off as if I’m perfectly fine. I don’t know how to heal. I don’t know how to not be a victim anymore. I want to be a survivor. I just don’t know where to start.

I was Afraid of Him and I didn’t Know Why

Testimony by Leah

How do I begin to tell my story? It has been 5 and a half years since the beginning of my story took place, and I still don’t know how to begin. You never think you could be abused and violated by a friend so badly, but you can. Friends can rape friends. And that is exactly what happened to me.

I decided to go to party at my friend’s house with a couple of my girl friends, and was ensured a safe ride home by one who was not going to drink. After what I remember to only be two or three glasses of white wine, I walked into my friend’s bedroom to check on him. He and I had known each other for one year and in the course of that year we had gotten very close…so close that he had developed feelings for me. I had told him a few times that the feelings were not reciprocated in that way and that I valued our friendship but did not want to date him. I have to admit, there were times when hanging out with friends that our fun conversations led to flirting back and forth. I felt bad about that after hearing that he had feelings for me, and tried to go on with our friendship without the awkward drama. But here we were, together in his room. That is the last thing I remember before having my clothes ripped off.

I had blacked out. Perhaps it was the wine or the shock of what was happening or a combination of the two, but I cannot for the life of me remember what happened from the time I got into his room to the time I was naked on the bed. He was forceful and far from kind. It was excruciatingly painful…I was a virgin. He was so determined to get into me that he had no care for my body. I was pushed up against the wall, hitting it with my head. He wielded my body to and fro, trying to get in while on top, bottom, or with his finger…any way just to get the job done. The horror of these bits and pieces of memories went on for hours, until suddenly out of nowhere I felt aware of my surroundings and what was happening to me. It was almost as if I had sobered up the second he finally got in me. I shrieked in horror at what was happening, told him to get off of me, and ran to the bathroom completely naked (luckily he had one connected to his room). As I sat in pain on the toilet seat I started saying over and over, “what have I done?” After I wiped and saw the blood, I really freaked out and told my “friend” that I needed to go home. He tried to get me to stay with him but I was dressing faster than I ever had before in my life. My girl friend then drove me home.

He had got his revenge in a horrific way. I lay awake the whole night in shock and disbelief. I was bruised from head to toe. My inner thighs were so sore that I could barely get up the stairs without wincing. I had hickies on my breasts, lips, and neck that were so purple I had to wear turtle necks (it was September) and layers of makeup. I had nightmares every night. It was the first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last thing I thought of before I went to bed. My “friend” made an effort to wait for me outside my classes, take me to lunch, and text me almost every day. I was afraid of him and didn’t know why! When I got out of my classes early I would bolt in the opposite direction and not text him back. He was trying to make me believe he was still my friend, and that he hadn’t raped me. Every time he was around I forced a happy face and tried to ignore my short breaths and shaking.

His presence was so horrible that 3 months later I packed my bags and moved 2.5 hours away. I was experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and didn’t know it.

It’s been a long road, but I now know (and believe) the truth of what happened that night. My old “friend’s” name is filed in his town’s police department. I learned a lot from what happened to me. I want to share with girls/women out there that they do not need to blame themselves for having sex when drunk. Alcohol is the number one form of date rape, and Hollywood does a disgustingly good job making women feel like no wrong is committed when alcohol and sex combine. The truth is that it’s not sex, it’s a crime even if you don’t say, “no”.

Rape is Rape. There’s no Grey Area

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Testimony by Anonymous

I’ve decided to speak about what happened to me. I’ve never really told anyone because I never really considered what happened to me as rape, and I feel like compared to others’ stories, it’s not something others would really understand. Anyway, here it goes. I was with a guy I had been seeing for a little while, and we had already been having sex during this dating period. One night we were having sex, but he decided on his own that he was going to have anal sex with me. I had never done that before with anyone. He didn’t hold me down or grab me; he was strangely gentle, but I wanted none of it. I was in a lot of pain, and told him to stop. He just quietly said, “shhh,” and told me to relax. I kept telling him that I wasn’t going to relax and that he needed to stop doing what he was doing. He finally did stop. The whole thing only lasted about two minutes, but it was a horrible. Despite what he did, and my obvious rejection of his actions, I still allowed him to stay in my apartment, and continued having vaginal intercourse. At the time, I didn’t even really think anything of it. However, the next day I felt awful, both physically and mentally. I couldn’t believe that I allowed him to stay with me even after taking advantage of his position. Despite all of my rational thoughts, I’d still tell myself that he didn’t actually rape me because we were already having sex. That’s why I want to share my little story. I was raped, and just because it was with someone I was dating, and I was already having sex with him, doesn’t mean that him having unwanted anal sex with me wasn’t rape.