Tag Archives: sexual abuse


Perspective. That’s what I got from all of this, perspective on life and all the challenges it brings. Whenever life is tough and tries to knock me down, I remember that as a thirteen year old girl I was strong enough to survive years of mental and sexual abuse. Thinking of the strength I have within me, makes me proud. I know I will survive, whatever life brings me. I know it will be tough, I know that I will be seconds from giving up, I know I will cry, I know it will hurt but I also know that I will survive it. It’s comforting to know that.

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Pretty smile hides dark secret

I’m sitting, I’m starring, I’m feeling, I’m hurting, I’m breathing, I’m trying. There is a lot of “I’m” but if you would see me through my livingroom window right now all you would see is a girl sitting on her couch with a laptop in her knee. You wouldn’t see all the “I’m” because no one can tell the struggle I feel inside just from looking at me. Right now there is a war inside of me, there is a lot of “I want to“and there are more of “But I just don’t”. It’s not that I don’t want to deal with my emotions, write my story, let the pain out and all of that it is just that; I’m sitting, I’m starring, I’m feeling, I’m hurting, I’m breathing, I’m trying.

I want to write down my story so I can report the rapist, the sexual abuser, the one who stole something to the police. I’ve even opened the document and I can’t even bare to read what has already been written. That is how much it hurts to face what I’ve been through. Writing the story is accepting that it has really happened and it happened to me. I keep thinking that I’m passed the accepting phase but I just realised that I’m not because if I were I wouldn’t avoid writing the rest of the story. I think I have accepted that it happened to me but not all of what it means. I still can’t say it out loud;

  • I have been raped

  • I have been sexually abused

As soon as the two sentences above was written I caught myself looking everywhere else but on the computer screen. It’s hard to keep writing, because there it is in black bold letters. It is my story. My past. My secret. My pain. With tears in my eyes I try to force myself to read it, over and over and over and over again. I don’t know what else to do, what else can I do? I keep telling myself that for every time I read it I take one step closer to realising that I can’t escape it. It is what it is. It will never be easy, it will never go away but one day maybe I can read it and not look away. I hope that I can turn it around, find some kind of strength in it. I need to find a positive outcome of it because without it, whats the point in fighting it?

I’ve learned one thing from it. Never ever judge a person on his or her looks, smile or eyes. The saying never judge a man without walking a day in his shoes is pure human knowledge. Even the prettiest smiles, the kindest eyes and the most fashionable looks can hide the deepest pain, the darkest secrets and the blackest past. We have all had different opportunities in how to handle situations so painful you’re thinking of giving up breathing just to stop the unbearable pain. You could never tell what I live through every day by just looking at me, you cant even tell by knowing me. I am a living example of that the prettiest smiles hides the darkest secrets. So “Dont ever judge a man without walking a day in hus shoes”.

Im gathering all the courage I have, I need it, it is story from hell telling time.

“We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are. Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves. And maybe it’s our job to invent something better.” -Chuck Palahniuk

It still hurts every day and for that I hate you.


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What is my heart really feeling?

I’m sitting on my kitchen floor, crying. I’m surviving, I’m breathing, I’m healing and I’m hurting. I’m far from okey and worse then I’ve been in a while but I feel a fighting spirit within me that I haven’t felt before.

There are different phases of healing from a trauma and tonight I hit the anger phase. I want to scream! Kick! Hit! Run! I am so fucking angry! I did not chose this to be a part of my life and yet I am the one who has to live with all the damages it caused me.

Who gave him the right to rape me?
Who gave him the right to sexually abuse me?
Who the fuck does he think he is?
I feel pure hate.

But this is my life, this is a part of my history no matter if I chose it to be or not. I have to find a way to live with it. I have to grieve over the fact that it happened, I have to find a way to accept that it has happened and that no matter what I do it will always be a part of my life. I need to be angry. I need to be sad and I need to feel everything I need to feel. First of all I need to find the courage to feel at all, asking my heart how it feels is terrifying.

How am I really feeling today according to my heart?
Really really scared, alone, hurt and angry.

I am scarred for life and for that I hate you.

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underlying story wanting to be told

My therapist asked me if I wrote a diary during the years with the assault. I asked my mum if she could go through my old stuff and see if it was there, and it was. I have had it for a few days now. Today I took it out from the bag. The first post is written in november of 2001, the year I turned 15 and at that time the abuse had been going on for more than 2 years. I bought a blank notebook and on the front page I have a photo of myself, I teared it up before gluing it on. The text on it is written with newspaper letters, it’s all black and white, no colors to light it up and just from looking at it you can tell that I was not ok.  The text on the front sais:

This little girl wants to leave, but where would she go?”
” I say NO!”
“Don’t feel sorry for me” 

Why is everybody against me?”
I stared at it for at least an hour before I found the courage to open it, I honestly had no clue what I would find in it. It is about 80 pages written during 2001-2005. I read it. I hadn’t written a single word about the abuse, the sexual assault and the rapes but if you read between the lines it is obvious there is an underlying story wanting to be told.

At 16 I had written:
I got discipline, because I laugh when all I want to do is cry”
“I cried a river but havent shared a single tear, soon I will drown in uncried tears.”
I’m emotional disabled, maybe have I during my 16 year-long life got the wrong idea of what love is”

I know that I need to write down everything that happened but I don’t know where and how to start. Its like climbing a mountain blindfolded and with a broken leg. Today I opened a document and saved it, I havent written anything in it yet but just saving a document is a great step for me. I will get it done, I want to but it’s going to take time because this is no easy story to tell.

You gave me a story to tell, a story no one should have to tell and for that I hate you,

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Uncensored story from hell

Even though I slept more than 10 hours last night I am exhausted. I have had several cups of coffee and yet I am exhausted. Not even the shining sun gives enough energy for me to not be exhausted.

My friends met me at the train station yesterday, the walked me to the police office, they waited outside to help me to keep breathing afterwards, they stayed with me the entire day, night and are still here. That’s real friends, they don’t care if you have enough energy to admit that you need them, they know that you need them and with no questions asked, they are there.

The meeting lasted for an hour but it felt like forever. I didn’t make the official police report but I asked all the questions I need to have answer to in order to do it. The next step is to try to write down everything I remember and try to sort the memories according to when they occurred. That will be ,by far, the hardest thing I have done, having to remember everything that I for so many years done everything in my power to forget. There are reasons why I have suppressed them. Until now I have only told the “surronding” story, I havent dealt with any of the actual “abuse and rape” memories. I don’t even know how to deal with them, thinking of them makes me sick. Writing them in words, where will I find the strength to do that? The smells, the feelings, the environment everything that happened, in actual life and in my head. Everything is of importance, I need to tell the story the best as I can because the more I am able to remember and describe, the greater is the chance that he will be convicted for it. Tomorrow I will buy a notebook, I plan to carry it everywhere so when a memory pops up I will catch it and write it down. Part of hell starts now but I think I have to run through hell in order to get out if it. This wont be easy, it wont feel better but I know that in the end far from here it is a necessary step to take in order to reach the end.

Knowing what comes next, telling the real uncensored story, that is what makes me exhausted. Coffee, sleep and sun wont help, just breathing and keep going no matter what will lead me through it, and my friends and family. Hell is exhausting.


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Charged batteries and ready to report!

It’s been a while since I posted on this blog. Writing here means facing my feelings and the last few weeks I have been putting my feelings off trying to charge my batteries and just being a normal student.¨

After I told my parents it was like if I was drained, I had no energy left. I never thought I would tell them so when I did it took all of what I had to do it. When they knew, my brother and sister and the rest of the most important people in my life knew and I saw my pain in their eyes, I could finally relax for a while. I knew that I wasnt alone anymore and that I would never ever carry this on my own. It has taken me a few weeks to accept that they know and right after I told them I wish I hadn’t because the feeling of never being able to suppress it or ignore it again was terrifying. From this moment no matter how hard it gets the story is told and I can’t act like it never happened. When I started therapy I was afraid that when it got to though I would do like always, flee, ignore and suppress untill it didn’t hurt anymore. I realise that telling my family ment that I can flee when I can’t handle it because I know they will carry the pain for a while, they share it with me and they will help to get through it even when it is so though that it seems impossible to get through. So I think that is what I have done the last few weeks, I have let them carry my pain for a while meanwhile I have charged my batteries.

I will report it to the police. For me that is a huge step and I know that it will break me but its okay because I know that I will never be able to rebuild my ground unless I break down the one I am standing on for the moment. What he did to me was crime, I don’t know if it will ever leed to him being charged for it but at least I can live with it, I did my best. My dad sent me an article from the news paper today, it was about a similar case where the prosecuted actually got charged as guilty and dad wrote -“It is never to late”.  It doesn’t matter that it happened several years ago, I relive it every day so for me it is still a part of my present. The actual rape and abuse is in the past but the memories and the feelings I carry with me all day, every day and every where. For me this isn’t the past and reporting it to the police is a part of the process of making it become my past as well. Reporting it means telling it all, every part of it, having to remember things that I promised myself never to remember and telling things to others that I thought would never cross my lips, secrets so deep Im not sure I can find them within me. Im so scared, Im scared because I know it will hurt so bad that I wonder if it is worth to keep breathing and I am scared that they wont believe what I have to say. I know my family does and I have to remember myself that that is what matters. I am also scared that he will hurt me and even more scared that he will hurt someone I love. I am so scared and all I can to is face it. It is like bungyjumping with a safetyline you dont really know if it will work.

Today I ate, I ate loads, I ate untill I felt sick. I couldnt understand why because I wasnt hungry and then I realised; this is me trying to find other ways of feeling bad rather that facing the real reasons. That is what I have done since the sexual abuse started. Either I eat so I feel sick, drink untill I pass out, sleep with guys I don’t want, slam my fist into the wall and much more.  If I feel disgusted I eat in order to try to blame the feeling of being disgusted by myself on the fact that I ate so much. If I want to forget memories that wont go away I drink until I pass out. If I have to prove to myself that sex means nothing in order to try to normalize the abuse and rape I go out and sleep with someone I don’t want to so that I can justify the feeling of being used and raped. If I hurt to bad, I slam my fist into the wall because physical pain is easier to deal with. I realised my behaviour a few months ago and still I do it but the difference is that I can now forgive myself a lot easier because I understand why I do it and that it actually is okay. It is my way of surviving and in the end that is all that matters, that I survive and make it through it.

I will make it and there is no question about it but god damn it is gonna be a long bumpy road there but one day I will stand there with the greatest smile and not having to punish myself anymore. I will be happy because I realised that I deserve it.

For everything you are I hate you.

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I am not a whore

It is almost midnight, I’ve turned off all the lights, brushed my teeth and I’m all cuddled up in my bed with my computer in my lap. It is time for yet another try to put words on my story, to keep sharing and trying to let what I feel inside out. I stare at the screen and my fingers wont move, every time the same procedure and then like if a lighting would hit me my fingers dance across the keyboard and my story appears on the screen.

Rape is a type of sexual assault usually involving sexual intercourse, which is initiated by one or more persons against another person without that person’s consent. A person who commits an act of rape is known as a rapist. The act may be carried out by physical force, coercion, abuse of authority or with a person who is incapable of valid consent.

That is how Wikipedia defines what a rape is. In my case rape is a type of sexual abuse involving sexual intercourse initiated by one person and the rapist carried it out with abuse of authority. My rapist was an excellent manipulator, the best one I have ever met, and he knew exactly what to say and do to keep me in his imaginary cage. In the beginning I searched for a way out and I tried to fight the situation I was stuck in but after a while I gave in. First of all I was only 13 and I think the what was happening to me chock me and I didn’t realise it until it had been several months of it. Then came the shame, the shame of what was done to me and then I couldn’t tell because of the shame because what if they said it was my own fault and I was the one to blame. I remember thinking “What is the point in telling when then maybe wont even believe me”. 

Before I knew it a year had gone by and by now I was the best liar you could find among 14-year-old girls. I lied to everyone “Where have you been? Whats wrong? Where did you get money from? Why didn’t you answer when I tried to call?” . Loads and loads of question and I always had an answer ready, I lied more than I told the truth. The worst part is that I lied to myself but I had to, how would I otherwise make it out of bed every single day during these years. The worst lie I told myself every day was “I am ok”. I promise you, I was not.

Why did I keep it all to myself? Fear!
That is the reason why I never told, I was so scared of what would happen if I tried to tell. He had his strategies, he knew they would work, to force me to shut up. He used to put money on my bank account. He told me that it was my own fault when I “made him pay”. I never wanted the money but I couldn’t prevent him from putting it on my account. He made me feel like a whore. And I never asked for money the only think I begged for was for him to stop. He threatened me but the worst threat was never what he would do to me it was what he would do to the ones I loved. How could I justify that someone else got hurt just so that he would stop hurting me? I couldn’t. So I didn’t tell. I kept my mouth shut, I turned off all my emotions and whenever he called I cried inside as I spread my legs.

Maybe I should believe in Karma because in that case my life looks pretty good from here. I hope I have had my years of hell.

My birthday is coming up, I’m turning 26. I’m proud of what I have accomplished so far. Academically I have done much more than I ever though I was capable of, and  I have travelled the world and been to more places than some people ever dream of visiting. So from that point of view I don’t mind turning 26 but I have never really lost my virginity to someone who cares, I havent truly loved someone because I have been too scared to let my emotions out and I’ve missed out on so much during the years of the assault because I lived my life as a robot with no emotions. Emotionally  Im only ready to turn 21. He stole so many years from me, It is not ok to steal somethink that you can never get back.

You stole years of my childhood and for that I hate you.


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You locked me in a cage

There is so much I want to tell and so many feelings that I want to describe but it is like climbing up a hillside covered in soap. I keep trying but I just keep slipping back and it takes several tries before I manage to get somewhere. I want to share my story and I need to share it, because after I finish a post I read it out loud to myself and it is like if it is the first time I ever hear it. It is like I can’t process what I’ve been through and accept my feelings before I have put them in words and read them. It is so unreal and I’ve denied it for so many years that I managed to suppress it to the level where I need to hear it before I can believe it. It is like watching a movie and realising that the movie is about yourself. I don’t cry when I write the posts but I cry when I read them, I cry so much that my entire body shivers.

I suppressed what I’ve been through in order to survive, I couldn’t handle it and I couldn’t deal with it. I fled, not physically but mentally by trying to say that I only had myself to blame, it could be worse and that sex doesn’t mean anything. I learned how to live without emotions because as soon as I started to let myself feel my entire chest ached to the level where I could barely breathe. I kept not feeling even after it stopped, I was afraid that if I let go and started to process it I couldn’t bare what was hidden underneath.

It has been 6 years since the last time he sexually assaulted me and still he is the reason it hurts when I breathe, the reason I am terrified to death to fall in love because that means having sex with emotions and that I can’t do, the reason I fled my hometown and are miles away from my loved ones and the reason to so many other things.

He stole my virginity, I was 13 and he was 29. He was obese, bad teeth, poor hygiene and always with a cigarette between his lips. He was manipulative and he held my in an imaginary cage for 7 years. By imaginary cage I mean that he know what he would say to make sure that I wouldn’t tell and that I would keep showing up when he called. My therapist told me that it is still not to late to report him to the police and I realised when she said that, that I am still terrified of him. His words still echoes in my head. I havent seen him for several years and yet I am scared to death of him. Will this feeling of being terrified of him ever go away?

You held me in an imaginary cage and for that I hate you

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It was not my fault

I get this urge to tell my story to the world sometimes but as soon as I open my mouth I can’t to get a single word out. I get scared. I’m scared that it will make people judge me. I blamed myself for so many years, that scarred me, and I am afraid that when I tell my story people will say that it is partly my fault. Rape victims blame their self sometimes just because they didn’t scream or fight back, they don’t realise that that was their best shot at surviving. I never screamed, I didn’t fight but I did everything just to survive. Every morning I got up, I lived through it even when it was impossible. All my strength went to just surviving, I had no strength left to fight it. I learned to live with it. When I look back I wish that I would have screamed as loud as I could until my lungs bursted. It’s hard to live with the fact that I did not fight back, my therapist says that it is a surviving mechanism to enter auto mode when something like this happens to you. I’m trying to forgive myself for not fighting but it is really hard. I am so hurt and trying to deal with it and taking my life back brings back all memories.

For years I’ve denied and suppressed it, I did everything to try to find other explanations to what I’ve been through. I had sex with people I didn’t want to have it with just to relive the feeling of disgust and angst, because if I felt like that after sex maybe what happened to me wasn’t as bad as I was afraid it was? It didn’t help at all, it made it worse and made me want to crawl out of my skin. He has affected every moment of my life since the day he stole my virginity. First I lived with the sexual abuse, threats and manipulation for 6 years, when it finally came to an end I had to live with what I had been through. I had never said a word and until a year ago I had never said it when being sober. It wasn’t my fault and yet it made me feel ashamed of what I’ve been trough and i just couldn’t tell. It has created a wall between me and my family, they don’t understand why I have reacted and behaved as I have when growing up. I dont blame them even if I wish that they had seen that something was wrong. I think something’s that i did as a teenager was a silent cry for help, a whisper of see me see me save me!. But they didn’t and I did not scream either. I hope that I one day will find the courage to tell, I want them to know and I think I need them to know. I’m terrified that they will blame their self if and when I tell them. But if they don’t know my story they will never really know me and I owe them that because they are great parents. The fact that they were going through a divorce at the time matters, I don’t blame them for not seeing me when they were hurting so much for breaking up our family. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t see me and yet a part of me is so angry with them that I’m shivering.How could they not see me?

You made me blame myself and for that I hate you

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The harsh truth that I have never told before

I’m hurt and I’m hurt really bad. I’m hurt more than I have had the courage to realise. It took me several years before I could even start to realise what I have been through. I said the words out loud for the first time in my life a few weeks ago, the words were so strong they made me sick. I couldn’t stop crying, I was shaking and short of breath but finally I said it:

He raped me

The fact is, he did not just rape me, there are so many things that he did that I just can’t write. Not yet. When the memories pop up in my head, I feel sick and I want to crawl out of my skin. He stole my life, that is what he did. He stole something that no one has the right to steel, there are no explanations good enough to justify that you stole someones life. He stole a piece of my childhood, he stole my ability to love myself and what he did to me changed me for the rest of my life. There is something good in every bad, but in this case I can’t seem to find the good part of it.

Ive decided to fight, fight to get my life back and learn how to live with it. In my life there are bad days, really bad days and ok days and I will fight because I want to be able to have great days and amazing days as well. It is almost a year ago since I for the first time told my story to someone, I’ve mentioned it before in the fogs of alcohol but when they asked the next day ive denied it. After telling her, one of my dearest friends in the whole world, my journey started and there was no way back. During the past year I’ve cried more tears than an entire ocean can hold, ive screamed more than my lungs can take and ive expressed anger in all the wrong ways. I’ve travelled the world twice and yet this is the hardest journey I’ve ever been on. I’m terrified, I’m tired but I will not give up even when it hurts so bad I can barely breathe.

I cry when I write my posts in this blog because I write straight from my heart. I do not censor anything. There are no lies only the truth that I’ve hidden from everyone including myself. I will not write who I am because Im not there yet, maybe one day I can be brave enough to tell the world what I have been through but not now. My journey has begun, one step at a time, one breath at a time and one moment a time and I will be ok.

you raped me and for that I hate you

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