Does This Really Need A Title?

I'd like to start by saying I really appreciate this site and what's going on here. I find it amazing that so many complete strangers can band together and support people they don't even know. It gives me hope for humanity. I wish I had had something like this then...

I was 8 years old. We had bunk beds since he was only there every two weeks. It started out with him climbing down from the top bunk at night when he was sure everyone was asleep and getting in bed with me. I was so young and I didn't really know what to do. I thought maybe he'd had a nightmare, so I moved over and went back to sleep. This went on for several nights until he went home. When he came back, the same thing happened again, only I woke to being touched in places no 8 year old child should be touched. I was confused, had no idea what these feelings were or what was going on or why. I told him to stop and leave me alone and he did, but when it happened again the next night it took me hitting him to make him stop. This went on until I was almost 10, with him getting a little more bold each time. I still didn't understand what was happening and I was too scared to talk to my parents because he told me I'd get in trouble.

By the time I was 10, we were in separate rooms, but he would sneak into mine at night anyway. Sometimes things happened during the day while our parents were at work. By then, things had escalated to violence. He would clock me in the stomach when I tried to push him away, or pull out a chunk of my hair when I tried to scream. One night he had sneaked into my room, gotten under the covers with me and proceeded to touch me. I was so angry and tired of putting up with what he was doing to me that I punched him in the nose. He went into a rage and hit me back, then flipped me over and shoved my face into my pillow. He pinned my arms behind my back with one hand and grabbed a handful of my hair with the other. I tried to kick him but he had already wedged himself between my legs. When he let go of my arms to move my underwear, I reached back to scratch him and he leaned forward and dug his elbow into my spine then shoved himself into me. All I remember after that is wave after wave of searing pain and the completely foreign feeling of my body being invaded... When he was done, he wiped me off with my black sheet then simply got up and went back to his room while I lay there, reduced to nothing but a puddle of shock and tears...

He kept doing this every night when he was there, even when we went to visit my grandparents and my cousins were asleep in the living room with us, until one night when one of my cousins woke up and saw what he was doing. I had thought maybe she would help me... But she ended up following his example, forcing me to touch her and placing deep scratches on my thighs, which would get infected. This now happened every time we went to stay the weekend with my grandparents since my cousin's family lived with her. When they started noticing the scratches, I told her mom, but was made fun of and it was brushed off as a childhood curiosity. She started putting them in places where they wouldn't look for them... A place I once considered a safe haven , a place that was nearly sacred to me, was now filthy and no longer safe...

I finally got up the courage to tell my parents' friend and she told them what was going on. My mother sent him away to live with his dad and stepmom, and, after my mom told them what he had done, they made him write me an apology letter, which was thrown into a drawer and kept away from me. Afterward my mom acted strange around me. I think she resented me for the choice she had to make... My dad was so angry, he wanted to have him charged and thrown in prison. Mom wouldn't allow it. My cousin never got in trouble and they both kept hurting me until I was 13 any time I was around them. I finally got up the strength to beat the ever-loving hell out of him and my cousin lost interest after that.

At 14, I had started coping with it, and I had thought I was doing well on my own.

So it was finally over, right? No... Soon after that, I was plagued with night terrors, daymares, graphic recreations of all that had happened that play before your eyes while wide awake, uncontrollable outbursts of rage, depression, constant anger. I went to a counselor who diagnosed me with PTSD and started me on painting. It helped until we ran out of money for counseling, then my art supplies...

I had started dating this guy I met at school. He was sweet at first and I didn't really feel like my body had any worth anymore, like I had been ruined and tarnished already, so I slept with him. Long story short, I ended up getting pregnant and we had a beautiful baby girl. A few months after she was born, he started to change. He wouldn't help me with her, he became distant and cold, paying attention only to my body. Eventually, he started sexually abusing me. At one point, he even held me down and penetrated me with a large vodka bottle. I left him after that and my mom even pressured me to get back together with him...

I am 21 now. I still wake up from my nightmares in a cold sweat. I still harbor anger toward my mother because I recently found out that my father had tried to warn her that these things could happen. I still have uncontrollable rages. What I do not do is sit and feel sorry for myself. I refuse to play the victim. I am still actively seeking help, and though none of my family will hear me, I will not give up.

To all the women out there who desperately want to reach out, but aren't sure how, all you have to do is speak. Our voice is all we have. It's a precious gift. I implore you to use it. I wish I had... Break the silence. Stand up. You don't have to be a victim anymore.

nothing1692 nothing1692
18-21, F
Jan 18, 2013