Tag Archives: sexual assault

Try to discuss your sex life in detail with your uncle

I have not told more than a handful of my closest friends and family about this blog and yet I had about 200 visitors last month. This means that you who have visited the blog has found your way here on your own, I do not know if it’s good or bad. Good because it is important that things like this comes up to the surface so it does not become something to be ashamed of. Bad because some of you may have ended up on my blog because you’ve been through something similar, and I do not mean bad that you ended up here but tragic that it happened to you too. I feel for you. 

I have a wish that one day I can be the public with my blog, I know I write that you should not be ashamed that you the victim of a rapist while I am not ready to stand for it myself. I really do not know why, I do not feel ashamed and I do not want it to be something that must be kept secret. I just want to be strong enough to handle the comments that comes with it, from those who think that rape is something you must blame yourself for. I do not understand how these people think, unfortunately they do exist. Narrow minded idiots. 

At the moment I am at a crossroad, I don’t know which way to go from here. I know I am not done with therapy but at the same time I am not ready for more therapy right here and right now, it have to wait.  When I have had my darkest and toughest moments I wished for someone to know what it was like, I didn’t want to know the person because that would be too much. I can’t really explain it but when it comes to rape it is so shameful and sickening so talking about it is really hard, especially with people you know. Try to talk to your mum, dad, brother or sister about your sex life, as detailed as possible and you can understand what I mean. Maybe helping others can heal me but next problem is I don’t really know how to help others. Any ideas? I want this to end up in something good, I don’t want this to only result in struggle, self-destruction and depression. I know that if I can create something out of this, it will be easier to live with. 

I want a normal sex-life, dont know it that is ever going to happen. That really really sucks. Just had to share it.

 

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Shame on you!

This blog is my naked story, I don’t hide anything and it is my words describing exactly how I am feeling. I try to write about absolutely everything, because rape isn’t just affecting you when it happens it affects your everyday life, everyday for the rest of your life. This is my diary, I have decided to write in a public media so others can read it because I know how important it is to not keep a story like this to your self. The shame that comes with it makes it harder to share and we need to make this an ok thing to talk about. We need to get rid of the shame in telling the world you have been raped. You would tell the world if you wore robbed, beaten or cheated on but not that you were raped. This is wrong, this is the shame talking and the rapist winning.

Sometimes I need a break from the blog, because what I write is so loaded with shame and anxiety that I am almost disgusted by my own words. My own worlds are to strong for me to handle.  Sometimes I read the post loud to myself, it is amongst the most painful experiences but it helps me. It helps me to listen to my own story and to accept that it is ok to be hurt. Reading it out loud is like the final statement that this has actually happened to me.

Even those days where I feel absolutely great, where everything just feels so right this hangs over me like a dark cloud. I can cuddle in bed with my man and from nowhere my rapists face is stuck on my cornea, I feel sick and I have to put all my energy and focus on not throwing up. This instead of being able of enjoying life and love. I need to write this, I need to put this in words so that I can remind myself that it is ok. I can’t control life but I can make the most out of it, I can either be stuck in my past or I can take control of it.  It took me years before I could tell my closest my story, It was the hardest thing I have ever done but It has also given me the greatest rewards. I now have the support that I need, If I don’t tell, I let the rapist win. The shame is his, not mine. I am giving it back.

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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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A chapter from my sweet 16

This is my journal. My story and my way of making it through. When I write I just write the words that my fingers creates from the keys on the keyboard. I don’t think about what I write, it is like if I was on autopilot, my fingers dance away and create words, the words builds sentences that creates chapters of my story. I never know what I will write about and sometimes I feel lost in my posts and I am always surprised when I press publish because somehow the confused memories has created a complete chapter in the story of my life. The chapters are from both the past and the present and I have realised that; what I have been through affects every day of my life and that is why I sometimes can’t differ between now and then. A lot of the times I start to write about how I feel today and after when the post is complete it is like it has guided me and helped me to figure out where the feelings come from.

I never knew that words from strangers could be comforting but your comments have proved me wrong. This morning I woke up to a comment that made me cry. She made me realise that my story has an effect on people and when you tell me that what I have been through is not ok, it helps me to realise that it was not ok. I have struggled for so many years with the blame, I have blamed myself for what happened. I can’t count the times I’ve thought; What if I would have done something different? What if I would have just refused to get out of bed one morning? What if I would have jumped in front of a car to make it stop? I finally realised that it doesn’t do me any good to think what if. I can never change the past, all I can do is change today and my future. I can’t control everything that happens to me but I can control what I chose to do with it. I am in control of my own choices and I’ve decided to stop thinking; what if. It is harder than it sounds, because life is full of choices and by stop thinking “what if” you have to take responsibilities for all your choices and if you make the wrong one you have to make it work anyway.

I am scared of showing too much emotions, I’m afraid that I will scare people off. I hate that, I hate that I am not brave enough to stand up for what I feel. So what If I say I love you to a friend or a boy. If they feel cornered or uncomfortable it is their problem, no one has the right to be angry at you for saying you love them. I hate that I am scared of how they will react if I show that they actually mean something to me. I am so damaged that I can’t even say “I think I’m really starting to like you” without it feels like I am throwing myself of a cliff.
I am afraid that I will look stupid if I show to much emotions. I sent the boy a good night message, I didnt know what to write so I took a picture of myself where I made a “kissing” face and just wrote, goodnightkisses! I pressed send and a minute later I felt like an Idiot. Why? I dont know. If he thinks Im stupid it is his responsible to let me know. Go me for daring to look stupid!
I think I know why I have such a problem with telling people of how I feel, it is because I care to much about what they will answer me back. I have to understand that telling someone you like them is not a question it is a compliment to them and that I dont need a reply. Telling someone you like them is losing control, it is daring to see what happens when you open up. Will they stay or will they run away?
There is the key to my problem, I cant lose control. My therapeut told me that Im in such need of control because that was my lifeline when the abuse was going on. I made it through, day after day, year after year with the help of control. By controling my day I made sure that no unexpected surprises happened. If something unexpected happend and broke my pattern of control I broke down completly. Telling someone you like them is losing control because you go from something you know what it is til somthing unknow. But that is life, daring to take the step.
Life is worthless without love. When I was 16 I met a guy, the abuse was stil going on but this boyfriend “saved” me. He didnt know about the abuse so he couldt stop them, he saved me in the way that he held me when I went to sleep. He broke up with me after one year, and for me that ment that the world was going under. I broke down, I shivered, I couldnt breath and my parents couldnt for the world understand why I was so sad. Everyone have had a highschool crush that ended in heartbreak but I acted like life was over. If they had know what was going on with me with the rapes and the assault they would probably understand that when he broke up with me, the only thing that made me get out of bed in the morning disapeared. I there and then decided, even if I didnt know it, that I have to have control because otherwise I wont make it. So that is why, I am so extremly scared of just saying:  “I think I’m really starting to like you” .

I cant tell the boy Im seeing that I am starting to like him and for that 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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