Photo by Andrea Simonato - downloaded from www.sxc.hu
Newsflash
Welcome to Whitedoves Nest - a site for sexual abuse survivors and those that support them

"I hope you know why I'm crying;  as my tears know you're the cause" Elnaz
 
pathway   Home arrow Read Survivor Stories

Read Survivor Stories

There are 93 stories in storybook.
Pages: « 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 »

NameEntry
SchnappsSigned on: Sun 11 Jul 2010 00:14:28 EST
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.  
 
AnonSigned on: Sat 28 Nov 2009 19:19:10 EST
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.
LolaSigned on: Sat 28 Nov 2009 19:17:56 EST
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 SwedSigned on: Sat 07 Aug 2010 16:32:11 EST
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.  
 
 
:)
MarySigned on: Thu 27 Nov 2008 19:09:52 EST
“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 BoySigned on: Thu 27 Nov 2008 19:13:54 EST
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 
HopeswolfSigned on: Thu 27 Nov 2008 19:12:12 EST
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?
CagedbirdSigned on: Tue 16 Sep 2008 18:44:05 EST
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 
 
LayaSigned on: Sat 09 Aug 2008 02:38:32 EST
My story like everyone else's, is unbelievable. I was verbally abused since I was a child. Told I was stupid, never would be much, I better marry someone smart, etc. So I ended up marrying someone book smart, but no common sense. We had two great children together. Unfortunately, w/o my knowledge my ex has emotional problems; possible bipolar, etc. Our daughter is VERY sick with emotional problems. The worst case of "defiance disorder" I guarantee nobody has ever even heard of. My son never got as much attn. as he needed cause our daughter got it all. In all reality, as much as we loved her, she drained us dry. We moved from one state to another. After he started physically abusing the children, I divorced him. He was always verbally abusive to me. Also, cheated on me for 20 yrs. I never knew. Then again, I never loved him either, but would do it all again just to have my kids. Anyway, after the divorce, my daughter really flipped. She beat me up every single day. She bit me like a lion. She was arrested more times then I can count. My ex never got involved. He would tell the kids when they called for help "it's not my problem." The abuse from my daughter really drove me nuts. I had to put a lock on my bedroom door and eat dinner in there; along with carrying my purse and car keys in my hand 24/7. he never attended school. Finally, we put her in a behavioral institution who released her early, but according to them they thought I was wrong and was doing the right thing by releasing her when THEY though she was ready. I don't care what anyone says, a mother knows her child better than ANYONE. For the first few mos., she was fine. Then she stopped going to school (of course, I'm leaving out a lot, because it is absolutely impossible to tell all). I'd wake her up and get cursed out, things thrown at me and she's spend the entire day in bed. I could not hold down a job, because I was so worried about my daughter, I absolutely could not function in the workplace. I had absolutely nobody in the world to help. I started attracting unhealthy people, who stole from me, used me, etc. just to distract my daughter's attn. towards me. When other people are in the home, it seems to distract her away from abusing me. Anyway, I finally had to find us a house (in the middle of all this, I had a near fatal car accident that messed up my entire back to this day and when I asked my ex to babysit his exact words were "I'm not babysitting him" (our son, my daughter was in the behavioral institute at the time) I had to find a home because the cops were there too much, neighbors were complaining and even went to the extreme of smearing dog feces on our door jam and up our steps. So I found a very nice safe place without changing the children's lifestyle. I still had money I was living off from the sale of a home and I worked a little here and there. Things got even worse. I could not do ANYTHING right. They were too far from their friends, even tho I drove back and forth daily, so they could see them. My daughter got EVEN worse. The cops were at my home everyday 4am because my daughter would never go to school and cursing and hitting me and she was hurting and I was a mess, it was unreal. My family refused to believe one word of what was going on. They never could handle rough situations. I had no friends, because people did not want to be around my daughter and she made sure she'd chase anyone in my life away. She succeeded too. Finally, I had to give custody to my ex. I knew and was and still am right that he would never abuse the children again. In the meantime, I begged my parents for me to come home just to get back on my feet. They's say yes, get me all siked up then call and say "no you cannot come ever". So I had nowwhere to live. I met a woman with children who told me I could stay with her in her home until I got myself together. Well, she bailed on me...2 days before she never picked up the phone. At the time, I dated a very charming, nice man a few times, who happened to have an extra bedroom and I had the car. So scared to death of going to a shelter, I chose to move in with him. Not 3 mos. laer he was literally pushing me around (me 90lbs. he 187) and tried to choke me. he tried to choke me four times in one year. He attacked me while I was driving, pulling my hair, etc. he was 50 yrs. old. Everyone I tried to tell told me to go to a shelter. You know how we all have our own fears, well call me crazy, but I know I wouldn't have lasted a nite in a shelter, so like the idiot I was, I chose to stay. Home alone 18 hrs. a day in a very bad, very depressing neighborhood, with NO food. He never bought food. I guess he was always eating out and dating other women, I came to find. I ate one meal a day....soup. My parents still would not let me come home. I had jobs on and off cleaning warehouse floors while people walked over me, delivery person, etc. I literally had no money, no help, no friends. Talk about being all alone. I thanked God everyday and still do, that my kids were safe and not with me. Finally, 4 wks. ago, I made a daring escape. About 2 mos. before my mistake I reached 35 yrs. back into my past to an old friend who funded my escape. Thank God all I've given to people in my life came back to me twofold when I needed help the most. I literally threw everything I possibly could in my car; shoe by shoe, shirt by shirt all my kids pics.; memories of their childhood, etc. I took a chance and went back to my parents. I shipped my car and jumped on a plane. Not knowing the whole time, if I would be accepted into their home. Well needless to say, I FINALLY got a break. they welcomed me with open arms. I will say it has not been easy for any of us. I am totally grateful to know I don't have to sleep with my purse right next to my bed with my emergency getaway stuff; not worry if I talk in my sleep, not worry if I say or do somethng wrong, not worried I will get abused. I am seeking therapy, psychiatric care, ad am on welfare. I cannot possibly work yet. I will probably get back surgery. I am so grateful that God brought me this far. Don't know why guess I'm not supposed to, but he did. Yes, I am totally ashamed of the bad choices I made, especially being over 50, yes, I'm still nervous all the time, but I'm beginning to feel a little safer every day. There's a lot I had to leave out.....as I'm sure you understand, but I know I can and probably should try to write a book in order to help myself and others. Thank you for your time.
JacintaSigned on: Wed 09 Jul 2008 22:28:36 EST
I lived in denial for majority of my life. my father began sexually abusing me before i was 2. the abuse continued until i was 7 and the commuity started becoming suspicious. We lived in a very small country town and my father and mother were well respected citizens of the community. 
 
I still have horrible flashbacks, panic attacks, anxiety, stress, crying fits and hoplessness, but i am determined to keep going becasue i know i an do this for myself and it is the least i can offer myself. 
 
my mother noticed the abuse but chose to ignore it, she just couldn't handel the idea that her husband would do something like that. so she ignored it and my father continued it, i remember little of the very early abuse, i remember being inbetween my fathers legs, i remember rubbing my head in his crotch, i remember seeing pornographic magazines and being fondelled, my father giving me oral sex, sticking his fingers in my anus (which i still have alot of trouble accepting) him telling me to rub his penis around my mouth like lipstick, him crawling in my bed at night telling my mother he had to becasue i had bad nightmares and that was the only way i could sleep, me and my father going on long drives alone togeather, him giving me oral sex as a baby, when i was three pulling me out of the car hiding me behind a tree with him to give him oral sex. 
 
Our family went to church and he told me the demons would come and get me becasue i was evil, bad, ugly and if i ever said a word he would kill me. 
 
I learned to love my Daddy anyway. He and my Mother were the only people to look after me and if they didn't love me the demons would eat me. 
 
I became addicted to the abuse, seeing it as my and my daddys special time. i loved daddys special time with me and even though now it is very scary to remember back then it was very special and i liked it very much. 
 
You see i grew up never knowing the difference between right and wrong. 
i knew stealing was wrong... but daddy only touched me becasue he loved me... right? 
 
i know now it was all very wrong. 
 
My mother labelled me with ADHD becasue my behaviour became very uncontrollable, she put me on a diet and tried to feed me riddilin... i spat them out and threw them behind the fridge...  
 
I took a poro mag to school when i was 7years old in year 1, it was normal for me.. like bringing something for show and tell, the pricibal found it and i got in big trouble. 
The school said i had to go to councilling mum and dad had a big fight. 
 
I went to councilling with mum and dad and the councillor asked me about sex... well i didn't really know what sex was but i was starting to get the idea... but daddy would never hurt me... would he? 
 
Well Daddy burned me with his eyes and mummy demended to know who was touching me... Ofcourse i said nothing... the man that was touching me was sitting right next to her...  
 
Daddy didn't really touch me after that he just threatened to kill me... I acted out and became a violent child, hitting, biting and kicking everyone and everything... my Daddys 'love' had abandoned me... He didn't love me anymore.. and my mother saw me as an embarrassment... 
 
That was untill God came to get his own back. 
 
You see my dear old Daddy got cancer when i was 8 and he died after 2 years in our home. We wathced him wither away to nothing... 
 
I was very confused.. 
 
The abuse was all blocked out due to the trauma of his death which had enveloped my mind over 2 years.. 
 
All i was from that moment on was depressed, a self harmer and suicidal, i was 10 years old. 
 
I cried, i was bullied at school for being diffeent, i had relationships with other girrls my age where we would touch each other. 
 
My mother remarried my fathers best freind and i hated him, Ross was his name. 
 
He was a creepy man, i hated him, he was just yucky. 
 
He was cruel and mean and poisened my mother against her own children. 
She eventually saw us as the rotten children and his children as the worthy children. 
 
as i grew up i got a boyfreind, i was 14, i kissed him after 3 months and had sex with him just before i was 15.  
He broke up with me when i was 17 and i was devistated, i wanted to die so i stopped eating. I hated myself, if he couldn't love me, then who would? 
 
He wouldn't answer my calls and i became distressed and suicidal, once again off to councillors. 
 
I decided to steer clear of boys for a year. 
i had sex with another boy who used me for sex then dumped me and then i fell head over heels inlove with my dream man. 
 
he was beautiful, spontanious, fun, and loved me and cared about me and we attempted sex once in 3 months.. i was unsure and he was aware i was nervous... i decided to move away he said he would follow me in a couple of weeks... 
 
he was killed in a car accident with 4 of his best mates and i never saw him again. 
His car was smashed into by a train on a level crossing and they all died instantly. 
 
I went into hospital with depressin, grief and berevment. 
 
i struggled for a year trying to find what i shared with him with someone else, but all i got was the same old story of sex, sex, sex, they didn't want to love me they just wanted to use me. 
 
i moved away, found a stedy boyfriend, bought a hairdressing business and worked on that for 2 years. 
 
my boyfriend became emotinally manipulative and raped me on several occassions. i remember being too scared to go home from work. 
He was financially suppoting the salon and i felt i owed him my body... 
 
I started smoking pot at this time, i guess i was self medicating. 
 
so i let him be sexually agressive with me, eventually i had had enough, he blameed me for all of his problems as well as the business... i left him alone and took all the responsiblity of the business with me. 
I moved back home with my mother and Ross, only becasue i had no where else to go. I hated it, it was like giving in and saying  
'oh yes everything you've done to me is fine all is forgiven'. 
 
I lived there for 8 months and hardly spoke a word to them. i tried to wrok and foucs on being positive. 
 
I tried to repair my broken relationship with a trip overseas but i realised i was going to end up very unhappy if i kept pretending to be something i was not. I started writing down all the memories i had and i wrote for 70 hours straight. i had 2 books full of handwritten notes, and i had only skimmed over the surface of my life. 
 
I thought i would write it up as a book when i returened to Austarila and slowly became committed to the idea.. 
 
I set my sight on getting a job when i got back to Australia. 
 
I came back to australia for my sisters wedding in Darwin. 
I met a man up there. 
4 weeks later i went to where he was to live with him. 
 
 
He understood i was committed to understanding my own self denial and i was foucsed on writing a book. 
 
I spent 5 weeks typing day in day out. 200pages of typed information later, i was no where near realising the history of abuse, i was still deeply seated in self denial. 
 
i didn't know what to do with myself, i tried reading books om self knowledge and poetry and crating fun things to do and have fun cooking and cleaning... but my partner woudn't have it...  
he informed me of my behaviour and we decided to focus on picking up my reactive behaviours so i could learn what they were and when they occured. 
this was a very difficult period where we both thought of letting the relationship go.. 
 
7 months later i was telling a new freind how it was quite normal for me to look at poros as a child and how when i was seven i played with other little girls my age in a bush... my friend looked at me and asked ' do you think you were sexually abused?' 
 
i paused for a split second, but it was long enough to allow the idea to sink in. 
'no' i said. 
 
A week later i was out at our bush block (home) and i was confessing all of my unsaid sexual sins to my partner, how i would always be prepared for sex, that i was a pre-mediator with sex and how i use to think someone had abused me. Infact i tols 3 people in my life that their kindness was 'taking advantage of me'. 
 
You see in my head kind people, were people like my father... and for somereason, real love, real, kindess real affection and caring was taking advantage of me... becasue that was what he was and that was what he did. 
 
My partner listened... he's a good listner.. 
 
I then had the realisation of sexual abuse and the door in my mind had opned and inside of it was the horror of a childhood full of chaotic pyscologically damaging episopes. 
 
It has been 4 months now and it's still extreally painful but at least it's becoming easier to cope and accept myself and who i am and why... 
 
I am dealing with anger and shame but i think i'll be a stronger better peron by the end of this.. 
 
i have seperate my self voleentarily from all of my family immediate and extended and reahed out to my partners family for support. they all have given me their arms and ears and espically my partner, without him i wouldn't be able to face this. 
 
:roll
Powered by AkoBook V3.42

go to top Go To Top go to top
Recent Items
Main Menu
Home
Whitedoves Story
Protecting your Child
Who is Whitedove
Connect with Others
Share your Story
Survivor Art Gallery
Read Survivor Stories
Whitedoves Blog
Articles and Stories
Book List
Whitedoves Twitter
Tips for Survivors
Want to Submit a Story?
Poetry for Survivors
Thanks to Supporters
Journals
Submissions wanted
Contact Us
Links
Linking to this site
About this site
Newsletter
Fill out your e-mail
to receive our newsletter!
E-mail:
 
 
Popular
Search this Site
What has helped you the most in dealing with abuse?
 
wheroa.gif
A Survivor First Site