| Read Survivor Stories | | There are 65 stories in storybook.
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| Cathe Douglas cathed | Signed on: Sat 07 Aug 2010 04:05:59 PDT
Hello. My name is Cathe Douglas and I want to tell you about a competition by the Guggenheim Museum and YouTube. It is called "Play" (www.YouTube.com/play) and I believe that it is an amazing opportunity for all survivor artists.
We could all unite and become a powerful force that will end the abuse of children around this world for once and for all. We can take on the systems that have permitted these atrocities against children to continue. Please feel free to view my video submission (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QOAFo0IVeM) to the Guggenheim. Remember that it is a narrative, so turn up the sound.
Thanks for taking the time to read this and to share this with your network and I look forward to meeting artists in October, 2010 in New York City.
Cathe Douglas | | | | Stacie | Signed on: Sat 10 Jul 2010 05:21:53 PDT
I was first assaulted five years ago and still today, I can picture it vividly. I was 17 years old when I was assaulted. The most shameful part of it was....... my attacker was my second cousin, who was 32 years old at the time. My mom and her feiance were out of town on a business trip. My baby sister who was two at the time, myself, and him were the only ones home. My sister was asleep in the other room and we had just sat down to watch a movie. During the movie, the began rubbing my back, which I didn't really mind b/c he was a massage therapist and would frequently give me and my family massages. During the middle of it, something didn't feel right. I didn't feel comfortable about the way he was touching me and I asked him to stop. He stopped, but would periodically try to do it again. I got up to move to the other end of the couch, when I did...... he grabbed me and pulled me back down. He began trying to kiss me and I struggled to pull away. When I did, It just enraged him and the started groping me and trying to undress me. I kicked him and almost got to my feet, but I wasn't strong enough to keep him off. He ripped my clothes from me and raped me for what felt like hours! Nothing would make him stop! I screamed, kicked, and cried, but nothing helped! When he finished.... he had the nerve to ask me if I was alright......... HOW DARE HE!!!!!!! I lived out in the middle of nowhere at the time, and didn't have a car, there was no way to escape. Later that night my mom came home and I couldn't bare to tell her what had happened. I had her take me to a friends house for the night. Where I broke down and confessed to them everything that had happend. My friend gave me the strength to beable to go to the hospital, where I had an exam done and some people from the local crisis center and a police investigator came and spoke with me. He was arrested the next morning and I felt a sigh of relieve, but it was short lived. He bonded out the very next morning. I couldn't go home, I didn't know what to do! We lived in another state at the time, so all of my other family was so far away. I decided it was best that I went to stay at the crisis center in the next town. I thought it was all over, atleast until court........... BUT I WAS SO VERY WRONG! After being there for about a month. I began to feel safe there. There was a carnival in town one afternoon, and I was SO SICK of being cooped up inside a building. I decided to go. I walked right down the road to the carnival and tried to enjoy myself for the afternoon. Before leaving, I went to the ladies room at the park where the carnival was. I wasn't in there but just a second when I heard someone behind me. I turned around to see him standing there behind me. He told me if I screamed that he would kill me! He said that I would pay for having him arrested, and ....(something I have failed to mention..... when he raped me the first time..... I found out that I had gotten pregnant. I was scared to death! I under NO cercomstances belive in abortion, but I don't believe that i could have raised the child either)..... he said that it wouldn't do me any good to testify against him, b/c with no evidence... meaning he was going to kill the child that was growing in me.... that he would not be convicted. He kept me conscious while he raped me again, then knocked me out. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. He had beat me so bad that I didn't even recognize my own self. The worst of it was, the doctor said he used what looked like from the wounds to be a large butcher knife and cut me from the inside out several, several times. It took me almost three months in the hospital to recover from the damage that had been done physically. I had not even begun to recover psychologically! After recovering from that assault I moved as far away as I possibly could. I only went back to testify against him and put his sorry a** in prison!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That is my story! I am terribly sorry if it was so graphic. I tried to leave out some of the more graphic details and just tell the ones that were the most important. GOD BLESS YOU ALL WHO HAVE HAD TO SUFFER THROUGH ANY KIND OF ASSAULT! I KNOW THE PAIN AND TRAUMA THAT IT CAUSES! MAY GOD HEAL YOU AND PROTECT YOU!!!!!!!!!!
Admin's Comment: May you find peace and understanding.
Thanks for posting your story.
Whitedove | | | | Schnapps | Signed on: Sat 10 Jul 2010 05:14:28 PDT
Over twenty years ago, you walked into my room with a plan to rape me. You made me a participant and paid me. Mom walked in and saw you in my bed. She spoke to you and then asked me if anything happened. I don't know if I was protecting you or if I was afraid you would hurt me, but I told her nothing.
But I knew she knew.
You stole my virginity, innocence, my family, my childhood.
I look at pictures and I see myself before and after being raped. I don't even see the little girl I once was.
And then I made myself as big as I could because I numbed my pain with food. I had nothing else.
One day while walking to church with our drunk mother, she told me that she lost her virginity after she was married. I had lost mine to you years before. And I felt filthy and worthless then and for years to come.
The Lord is the only one who can save me....and you. I don't forgive you. I don't think I can ever forgive you.
| | | | Anon | Signed on: Fri 27 Nov 2009 22:19:10 PST
Me: 23, Female
Them: Father, Stepfather, Mom's boyfriend
Father: Before I was old enough to go to school he asked me if I wanted to know how babies were made. He told me to suck on him till white stuff came out and that would make a baby. He died by the time I turned 9, but not before trying his luck when I visited him every second weekend. I don't remember those times, thankfully. My aunts tell me that he did things to them too. I was so happy when he died of cancer.
Stepfather: On holiday camping he got me drunk. I was 12. He cornered me in the tent while I was resting, started licking me all over. I hated that he wouldn't stop. I told him to go away. I said I'd tell my mom. He told me not to. I felt like it was my own fault for being drunk, like I had asked for it. He ended up cheating on my mom and she divorced him. Apparently he's got a family now. I hope that he dies too.
Mom's boyfriend: He never touched me, but the way he looked at me made me feel tainted. He always looked at porn and never hid it. I was 18. I was looking for a way to earn some money through chores... he suggested that there were other ways I could make money... insinuating towards the naked woman on his pc screen. Then I caught him leering at me through the bathroom window when I was in the bath.. and the shower. That was the last straw.
I first told my friend about the latest incident, then about the others. She told me to tell my mom. My mom didn't believe me for a long time but eventually got rid of that boyfriend. I hope he dies too. She says she has forgiven them, I think she's in denial. Forgiveness only goes so far before it becomes a problem.
I've had an emotionally abusive relationship. It got me into drug abuse. My self-esteem and confidence suffered. I felt like I was an empty shell. My health deteriorated. Only after my family forced me into rehab did I realize how much that boyfriend had stolen from my life. No more. That was 2 years ago. He is still an addict and even thinking of him drains my soul. The worst part is seeing his potential disappear. I have no more compassion for those like him.
Therapy has never worked for me. How can it when the person listening doesn't know my pain. I am devoted to myself now, although sometimes I feel guilty for it. I am with me my whole life, meaning I alone have to care for myself first. I love myself... and it's been the hardest thing to do. When every thought of mine has been against me I chose to have faith in the belief that I deserve better. I am in control now, no longer will I allow those bastards to influnce my life. By feeling bad I was giving them power to control me. When I realized that, I became a new person. I chose to own my life and my body. For ages I felt disembodied and afraid to feel. Now, although what I feel is traumatically intense, it gets better all the time. I can let go of the pain, I can move forward to a better life, a better me.
Whenever I feel trapped by my past experiences I have to hold on to myself. When even that fails, I put faith in the world that someone will be there to catch me. Against all my logic and reason I can still not account for how many times my blind confidence has saved me, even from death at my own hand. Call it intuition, call it God. I call it the truth of creating my own reality to suit my needs, as well as my purpose to help others.
I often become depressed but I am determined to work through it. I have repressed my feelings and thoughts for so so so long and it didn't help. Now, through some life coaching I have learnt how to guide myself through these tough times and have come out stronger every single time.
I believe that every person who suffers is better than every person who has not. We know more, we feel more, we can do more. What we need is the belief that no matter how bad it has been, each person suffering will rise and overcome the pain so that we reinforce the morality and social behaviour that will make these deformed molestors extinct. | | | | Lola | Signed on: Fri 27 Nov 2009 22:17:56 PST
I just wanted to let Hopeswolf know that I agree completely with their feeling that you are persecuted repeatedly even after you "do the right thing" and tell your story. When I recovered my memories of what happened to me, my family literally did NOT want to know about it at all, even though it was not include any incidence of incest. I am treated like I am damaged good or crazy or just useless by them. I actually asked my sister "don't you want to know what happened to me?" and she said she did, and I started crying with relief. Then she never called me back again. I finally called her after about 2 weeks, and she was cold and distant, and acted as though I'd done something wrong.
I'm not going to go into details about what happened to me at this time, but I just read Hopeswolf story and it resonated with me greatly. I want to thank them for sharing and let them know how much it meant to me that I'm not the only one experiencing that feeling of total abandonment because of something that was completely out of my control and has decimated my life. Thank you. You're definitely not the only one. | | | | Jennifer Allene Swed | Signed on: Fri 06 Aug 2010 21:32:11 PDT
My father was a cowardly pedophile who lusted and acted upon his lust to my siblings and I. My father sexualized and isolated my eldest sister Martha as a child. She had only a few friends. She took her life in her late 30's. I'm not exactly sure how my younger brother Billy was victimized because I never witnesed a rape or beating as I did with my other siblings. I just heard things from outside the rooms. Billy took his life in his early 20's. My mother was an enabler and a pedophile as well. She finally divorced my father when I was 11 years old but my father was still active in our lives. My mother had a serious drinking problem all her life and after the divorce had a relationship with a male teenager. I have two living siblings who I am distanced from. I have been married to a loving husband for 17 years and have a 26 year old daughter who has grown into a very bright and independent young woman. I am very proud of her. I like to write poetry though I am no expert at it. I use it as a release and relaxation tool. I very much enjoy reading poetry as well. I did just recently publish a book about my families dysfunction with our stories told through poetry. I have been able to donate copies of the book to several centers that deal with sexual assault. I am very glad to be able to give back. By publishing my book with the possibility of helping others makes me feel that my deceased siblings lives were not in vain. I believe that the book I published was just the tip of the iceberg for me and I still have so much to sort out. I have had therapy in the past and it has helped. This past year I had some major triggers which brought so much back for me that I needed to start working on my thoughts and feelings regarding my abuse as a child again. I would like to share this short poem I wrote recently wrote. It's called Molting.
She emerges from her cocoon
Into a sanctuary of pale blue light
Warmth and clear skies
encircle her movements
She observes a flock of birds in flight
Greenery cushions her footsteps
Aromatic scents flavor her nose
She feels nothing left behind her
Realizing she has moved on
Her shoulders are more relaxed now
She barely notices her breath
Serenity has embraced her
She hopes for peace at long last
I look forward to being about of this group.
 | | | | Mary | Signed on: Wed 26 Nov 2008 22:09:52 PST
“OUR LITTLE GAME”
Sitting in the darkness
With so much sadness on her face,
Tears welling up inside her eyes
She's breathing as if in a race.
She listens for the footsteps
That she knows are going to come,
She hugs her knees together
And to herself begins to hum.
Her eyes she closes so tightly
As her heart it skips a beat,
No-one around to save her
Her abuser she is soon to meet.
Slowly her door did open
As his figure looms so big,
Tears start streaming down her face
As her fingers in her skin did dig.
She rolled herself into a ball
As he stood right next to her,
He bent down low and whispered
But she didn't even stir.
“I'm here for you, is what he said
Come, let's go and have some fun.”
'NO!!!” she yelled inside herself
But his booming words had stung.
She couldn't yell her words out-loud
He would smother her mouth with his hand,
So there was no use to fight him
She just couldn't understand.
He scooped her up into his arms
And kissed her upon her cheek,
She wanted to scream and claw at him
But her spirit was just too weak.
He threw her on the bed so rough
She tried to squirm away,
But he held her down and told her
“Don't you move, you have to stay.”
Her tears were like a fountain
Spewing down upon her face,
“Please don't do that to me,” she yelled
But he answered with such disgrace.
“You're mine to do with as I please”
Is what he said to her,
“But daddy,let me go, please stop!!!”
But he pressed down so she couldn't stir.
She lay so still as if in a trance
As he squirmed on top and sighed,
She couldn't bear to look at him
She wished she could have died.
As she lay there he whispered into her ear
“Remember this is our little game,”
She cringed when she did hear this
And thinks she is to blame.
She rocked herself to sleep that night
And wished for angels to come,
To set her free from this abuse
That has made her feel so numb.
But no-one came to set her free
Her stomach would twist into knots,
Not knowing what else was coming next
She wished and hopes he rots.
Now as an adult she faces the wrath
Of the demons that haunt her soul,
The memories are fresh, and take over her mind
Of the childhood and joy he stole.
Written by Mary G. | | | | Damaged Boy | Signed on: Wed 26 Nov 2008 22:13:54 PST
The room had a slight smell of damp and the floorboards creaked. The faded wallpaper was from a previous era and the curtains hung short of the windowsill allowing light from the moon to creep across the four other single beds, creating silhouettes in the dark. In the far corner of the room I could hear one of the other boys snoring and I could smell urine lingering in the air. The black stillness of the dormitory felt evil to me. I could hear my heart beating and the occasional rustling of a bed cover being pulled up over head and shoulders by the boy in the next bed just inches away separated only by an old bedside cabinet. I was cold and frightened. I knew I had been abandoned by people who I loved and I was alone in this new strange and unfriendly world. The day had passed very quickly and I was beginning to wish that I was back in hospital with familiar faces and surroundings. Outside the window I could hear the night sounds of trees fighting with the wind and strange noises of animals and birds that occasionally made me jump. The countryside was very different to the hustle and bustle of the large city that I was used to. I was buried under a heavy bed cover that smelt old and felt silky against my cold face. I lay like a corpse with just my nose and eyes uncovered waiting for the night to end. I was just eleven years old and suffering emotional trauma. I was exhausted and fighting tiredness and heavy eyelids, unable to trust my new environment, unable to give myself relief from the fear.
Earlier that day I had been driven to Wales by a social worker named Ken. I was pleased to see him when he collected me at 9am from the children’s home where I had been temporary placed for a few days. The home was run by nuns and I had hated the three days and nights that I had spent there. They had made me scrub floors early in the morning and say prayers with them before breakfast.
I had been anticipating the journey to Wales for a few weeks prior and was excited at the thought of a new adventure away from my mother and the hospital. The nurses had told me that I was going on a special holiday in the countryside with other boys and I had day-dreamed about the idyllic scenery and the welsh cottage that I imagined I would be staying in. I had been excited at the prospect of getting out of the children’s hospital were I had spent months being treated for a rare condition.
Ken was a kind person who gave me a chocolate bar as we set off in his car. I sat in the back and watched the houses and people as we drove past them. My toys and clothes were also on the back seat next to me stuffed in a big box. They had not been with me in the hospital and I was so excited about the journey ahead I did not ask how he got them. Ken kept talking to me, saying that I was very lucky to be going to the new home. He told me that I would meet other boys and that I would have the opportunity to go camping with them and to do outdoor activities in the countryside.
I was bewildered and nervous as we travelled further and further away from my familiar surroundings. The previous few years had been a nightmare for me and I had become a very quiet child, to nervous to ask questions or challenge anyone. My mother had left my step-father and my little brother in our old house and had taken me away with her to start a new life living with my nana. Subsequently, I had been a very unhappy child and I had been hospitalised with a rare condition that was caused by the emotional trauma caused by a violent step-father and the erratic life of my mother.
After many months in the children’s hospital I was told that my mother needed respite and that I would be going on a special holiday. This had been very good news to me and it was the only thing that I had focussed on for the days prior to Ken collecting me. The temporary stay in the home run by nuns was arranged by another social worker who had told me that the hospital needed my bed and that the holiday was not ready for me.
The journey to Wales seemed to last for ages but eventually Ken had turned off a main road and headed down a country lane. We turned into a farm track that was very muddy and bumpy and Ken announced that this was it. The home was named ‘The Community’ and there was a sign that had two hands holding each other with the name written above. My heart was racing with excitement when the car came to a halt and the dust settled in the courtyard. The home was a big old farmhouse with various derelict out-buildings. Ken got my box out of the back seat and I got out and looked around. It was a sunny day and I could feel the heat on my face and could smell the fresh country air.
After being introduced to a few boys who had come out to meet me in the courtyard, I was taken by Ken into an office inside the main building. A lady had brought me a cup of tea and had said hello. I was left alone for a short time while Ken went to find the man who was in charge. I was told his name was Ernest. It was a scruffy building and I had noticed that the carpets were threadbare. On the walls in the office I read a notice about something called ‘Trust’ but I did not understand it. The room was quite dark and had paperwork and clothing heaped in a corner next to old filing cabinets. The desk had pens on it and a penknife. I could hear someone shouting outside and noises coming from the kitchen that was opposite the office.
A man came in and said hello. He was a very small man with a bald-head wearing a suit and tie and I immediately recognised him. He was the man that I had met a few months previously when I had been taken to a meeting in an office outside the hospital grounds. I remember that he had a facial twitch and he made a snorting sound through his nose. His name was Bill. He told me that the penknife had been taken off another boy who had arrived earlier that day. He started going through my box and asking if I had a penknife. Initially he was friendly, but he became agitated when I did not answer him. He said I would have to buck my ideas up if I wanted to get on. I did not know what he was talking about.
I drank my tea and watched Bill as he pulled my stuff out of the box. He put my few clothes on one side of the desk and all my toys on the other side. I was told that everything was shared in the home. Bill had shouted out to someone passing the door and a boy came in. Bill told him my name and then passed him my toys telling him to put them in the snooker room. The boy looked pale and frightened. Bill told me to wait in the office and then he left carrying my clothes.
I realise now, forty years later, that those few items were the last remaining personal possessions that gave me a direct connection to my previous life with my mother, my step-father, and my little brother. I did not know it then, but that was the moment in time when my childhood ended. The boy I was, at eleven years of age and after a childhood of physical and emotional abuse, was eliminated that day in that little office as my box was emptied and my possessions were taken away. I recall the feeling of helplessness and the anxiety of what was happening.
I said goodbye to Ken, who I never saw again, and I was taken by a boy to be shown around the home. Bill had told me that Ernest, the boss, was going to talk to me later in the day after teatime.
The boy was named Mike. He was from Birkenhead, my home town, and he was asking me a lot of questions as we walked around the rooms and the grounds outside. I saw the kitchen and the lady who had brought me a cup of tea, and I met the other boys who were playing snooker in the TV lounge and looking through my toys. I was quickly realising that I was different to the other boys. They seemed rough and were swearing and smoking. I was a creative and sensitive boy who did not swear or smoke. I was a good child who had never been in any real trouble. I guess it would be true to say that I was very shy and introverted. There were only six other boys in the home, I was the seventh, and they all seemed older than me. Each one of them asked me a lot of questions, all wanting me to tell them what I had done, and what police station had I come from. I didn’t know what to say. I did not know what they meant so I remained quiet. One of them pushed me over and said I was a poof. Another boy laughed at me on the floor said I was a posh kid and he called me ‘Ponsonby’. They all started laughing. I was beginning to realise that this home was not what I had expected.
The rest of that first day remains a blank. I was in a trance, feeling abandoned, bewildered, frightened, and very alone. I know I had my tea and I was given new clothes to wear. I do not recall very much detail about my meeting Ernest on that first day.
Ken had gone almost immediately after I arrived and I was now without a friend or anyone who I could trust. I was frozen to my bones, hiding under my cover in that very dark room called dorm six. I have the memories of abuse that happened to me and other in that dormitory locked into my mind forever.
see www.damagedboy.com
| | | | Hopeswolf | Signed on: Wed 26 Nov 2008 22:12:12 PST
I am a survivor of sexual abuse. For 17 years I was tortured by my step-father. I have read all the stories contained in this site. We all have pieces of each other in our voices. But, I still find that when I open up about my experiences, in some way I am further persecuted. People see us, the abused, now as the tainted. Does anyone else find that? How can we help children out of this torturous world when all that lies before them is loss and grief for telling? The system believes in reunification for abusers. Case plans are developed and then children are lost. I had evidence, the semen dried-hankerchief. I had the teen pornos, the planned parenthood receipt from when he took me for birth-control. I told my story to police, along with my sister and my brother. We are tainted. We are dirty. We are the ones the have to prove a reasonable doubt. My perpetrator walked away without even having a trial. The State Attorney of Florida denied my case, my sister's case and my brother's case. I healed. I devoted myself to help ESE children. I went through months of foster care liscensing. I fostered a girl with a similar background and lost her to her abusive family for reunification. Come to find out there were concerns about whether or not I would be a good placement b/c of my past. So now I am grieving, again. Why must we be victimized over and over. I never molested anyone, I was the molested-can't people understand that? | | | | Cagedbird | Signed on: Mon 15 Sep 2008 23:44:05 PDT
Innocent
You took away my childhood
Made me grow up before my time.
The scars inside me you will never see
Maybe that’s how it should be.
My sister ran to get help
I was pierced by you, alone and afraid.
Crying, sniffling, wanting my mother
Wondering why she took the time to have me.
Now, I am a grown woman, with kids of my own
A son, a daughter, even grandchildren.
My advice to my only son, to all men,
“Treat women with respect, respect yourself.”
© Cagedbird 2005
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