Sexual Abuse: Coping, Recovery and Survival

[dixie]

Hmm... I've been posting in the mental illness thread, and I've really had to stop and think about something that is weighing heavily on my mind and affecting my mental wellbeing. I haven't been able to speak this "horror" out loud and in all honesty only two people closest to me even know about it. I'm hoping that eventhough I can't force the words out of my lips, that actually seeing the words take shape will help me. And I hope that this is the right place to post this. Anyway, here goes:

A little background on me: I may be a 5'4" tall femme, but I have always been a self-proclaimed "badass". I always stand up for the underdog even if it sometimes takes force. When I walk into the local bars I know most everyone by name and generally like everyone there whether they are gay, lesbian, trans, etc doesn't matter. We're like a family and they know that I will stand up for that family. When someone gets too drunk and starts harassing or bullying another person, they know that I am usually the one who steps in and does damage control. I never pick fights or start trouble, but I have no problem defending myself and/or others if I feel there is an injustice going on. I'm kinda fearless for the most part, in any given situation like that. Now, keep that in mind....

On the eve of Good Friday, I became the victim of a sexual assualt. A straight male thought it would be "good fun" to rape the "dyke". I am so ashamed to say that I was in such shock that I couldn't even fight back. I couldn't scream, I couldn't fight him off, I couldn't do anything. I don't understand! Where was all my bravado? Why did the badass protector in me retreat? Why could I not stop this?? Why couldn't I protect myself???

I sit and I cry and I truly don't know... I always had that misguided thought that "oh, that could never happen to me" and "oh, I know I could fight back". And then, this horror DID happen to me. And I couldn't do anything. I couldn't stop it. It's like I shrank into myself and a part of me died while this was happening. The physical violation doesn't even compare to the emotional and mental violation. I just don't understand. I wrote above about my stupid little badass personality. Where the hell was it when I actually needed it??? Does anyone have any idea why I allowed this to happen to myself?? Please! Someone tell me! I don't understand it!! I feel so ashamed and so disgusted... I can't even force the words out of my mouth. And I truly wish that this was something that I could shove into a file in the back of my mind and lock the door on it. But I can't. I just can't stop feeling like it's my fault that I couldn't stop it...

[Gemme]

Originally Posted by dixielady

Hmm... I've been posting in the mental illness thread, and I've really had to stop and think about something that is weighing heavily on my mind and affecting my mental wellbeing. I haven't been able to speak this "horror" out loud and in all honesty only two people closest to me even know about it. I'm hoping that eventhough I can't force the words out of my lips, that actually seeing the words take shape will help me. And I hope that this is the right place to post this. Anyway, here goes:

A little background on me: I may be a 5'4" tall femme, but I have always been a self-proclaimed "badass". I always stand up for the underdog even if it sometimes takes force. When I walk into the local bars I know most everyone by name and generally like everyone there whether they are gay, lesbian, trans, etc doesn't matter. We're like a family and they know that I will stand up for that family. When someone gets too drunk and starts harassing or bullying another person, they know that I am usually the one who steps in and does damage control. I never pick fights or start trouble, but I have no problem defending myself and/or others if I feel there is an injustice going on. I'm kinda fearless for the most part, in any given situation like that. Now, keep that in mind....

On the eve of Good Friday, I became the victim of a sexual assualt. A straight male thought it would be "good fun" to rape the "dyke". I am so ashamed to say that I was in such shock that I couldn't even fight back. I couldn't scream, I couldn't fight him off, I couldn't do anything. I don't understand! Where was all my bravado? Why did the badass protector in me retreat? Why could I not stop this?? Why couldn't I protect myself???

I sit and I cry and I truly don't know... I always had that misguided thought that "oh, that could never happen to me" and "oh, I know I could fight back". And then, this horror DID happen to me. And I couldn't do anything. I couldn't stop it. It's like I shrank into myself and a part of me died while this was happening. The physical violation doesn't even compare to the emotional and mental violation. I just don't understand. I wrote above about my stupid little badass personality. Where the hell was it when I actually needed it??? Does anyone have any idea why I allowed this to happen to myself?? Please! Someone tell me! I don't understand it!! I feel so ashamed and so disgusted... I can't even force the words out of my mouth. And I truly wish that this was something that I could shove into a file in the back of my mind and lock the door on it. But I can't. I just can't stop feeling like it's my fault that I couldn't stop it...

First, I'm very sorry that this happened. Please stop being so hard on yourself. This is a very horrible thing that has happened to you. TO you. It does not, in any way, define who you are or what you are made of.

If it happened to someone you loved, would you think it was their fault? Of course not and this was not your fault in any way, shape or form.

Second, most everyone knows about the fight or flight survival instincts. Not everyone knows that there is another 'f'...freeze. It sounds like that is what you did and it was instinctual and it did what it was designed to do...keep you alive. Though I don't know you in real time, I can honestly say that I am very happy for that and I'm sure your family and friends feel the same way.

Strength is not always found one fell swoop but in the journey afterwards. Many blessings to you and thank you for being brave enough to post your story.

[adorable]

Sometimes the strongest thing to do is not fight back. It might have saved your life.

[Andrew, Jr.]

I just don't understand and will never be able to wrap my head around the joy of rape. Never.

I know when my sisters came to me for protection when I was maybe 5 or 6 yo, I tried to stand up to my father who was in his mid to late 40's. I have survivors guilt for that. I will take that with me to the day I die.

[Rook]

Rape is almost 95% Power + Control...
It's very seldom about getting Pleasure by force...

That being said, I still cope with events that occurred in my childhood, and within a disastrous relationship as an Adult..

I endured a lot between the age of 8 and 11, far more than I did previously..
Physical wounds heal, but the emotional ones are for Life.
I could deal with my Fathers emotional/physical abuse..
Took me years to convince myself to say anything about the rest, let alone accept the term "Survivor".

My mother hired my brothers best friends Mother to take care of us, since she worked 2 Jobs, and my father was Frequently "away", he was in the Marine Corp., at this point we were used to babysitters..Especially babysitters from Hell.
I had already endured 2 previous babysitters being "Nice" to me...
At first everything was alright, but then the Divorce process for some reason hit my mother like a ton of Bricks {she filed for it, which is why it's baffling}
She wound up hospitalized from the mental breakdown, and the babysitter said she'd watch us..
That's pretty much when my "hell on earth" started.
Her quiet, distant, oldest son evidently took an interest.
Quite the disciplinarian, when I refused to do something, I was almost guaranteed an ass-whoopin after being dragged to a bedroom while he had a fistfull of Hair..
I vividly recall the first night he approached me.
Typical autumn night, I'm sleeping on the floor in the baby room{we weren't allowed on the beds}, he rested by my side, and yeah in my innocence I figured "maybe he argued with his mom and needs a quiet place to rest"
He placed his hand over my mouth, and all I could think was his body weighed a Ton, I couldn't breathe..
And of course, inexplicable, astonishing, nauseating pain..
When it was over, he said something, I couldnt understand it {I didnt have hearing aids at this time, and I relied heavily on seeing Lips}, so I got a hard slap, and he clarified "yes or no", considering my logic said "yes = satisfying answer" I said yes, and he left.
These nightly visits continued often, one night I figured if I made some kind of unpleasant noise, his parents would catch him..
So, I would frequently yank the baby's lullaby toy to play it.
Not once did they pop up.
I can't listen to the song nowadays.
The beatings got worse, he got more Brazen I suppose is the word for it..
It spilled into Daytime, I was forced to "dress up" often, frequently he'd bring in some portable camera box, that I later realized was a camcorder of those days, if I didn't walk down the basement stairs, he would drag me, or throw me...

My behavior changed drastically, often my professors would send me to the Principals office, baffled at my moods, in detention I'd get into fights frequently, or stayed by myself..
Only 1 person in the entire school building had suspicions, the school nurse..when she asked though, I denied anything, after all my mother was sick, and I felt I'd be in grave danger if I said anything...
2 times a social worker came by to my babysitters house, Both times they didn't see anything that raised alarms...
He started to tell me if I didn't do some things he wanted, he'd simply find my brother.
The first time he said this, I snapped, I started throwing plates, cups, silverware at him.
Yeah, brainfart..but -shrug-
I won't get into much "lurid" details here for my own reasons...
Oftentimes their Minister would pop up, they'd wake me and I'd receive ice cream..for awhile, I was in hog-heaven whenever the Minister came by, it was one of those rare times I was pampered and treated like a lil prince...
I later realized the times I didn't comply, or successfully made things difficult, there was no ice cream.
Once, I was fed up, and I ran out of the house...in a long t-shirt and panties, I kept running like there was a pack of hyenas behind me..
He did catch up, and pushed me, I ate gravel, and he picked me up..I screamed, I mean..really screamed..y'know how kids scream when pitching a tantrum? Folks usually investigate.
Not one neighbor peeped out their door or window..I latched on to a rusty car, and kicked a lot..he punched my nape and took me back inside, bloody hands, irritated throat..
Another event that still puzzles is, one night he woke me, after his parents were "gone to Church", I was introduced to 'water sports', he wanted me to pee, and I couldn't..Soo, he hit me a few times, in my state of mind I managed a little..
He was a bit mad, shoved me back to bed.
His mother woke me violently dragging me by the arm to the clothes hamper, and in addition to cursing me out as a filthy waste of spic sperm, she 'educated' me in the art of actually wearing Panties to bed.
How she knew I didn't have panties on that night was beyond me for a very long time.
That nightmare ended when my mother was released from the Hospital, I swear, I saw her as the closest thing to an Angel...
She packed our stuff that same night, the next day she bought us a lot of kiddie fun stuff{water guns, plushie animals, silly putty, hot wheels, gingerbread cookies etc}, and purchased a pair of Cockatoo's, by 11 pm, we were on our way to Puerto Rico, I looked out the plane window and gave Missouri "the Bird"..
I was 9 at the time, he was 19

[Kätzchen]

Does anyone mind if a new member wanders in on the ongoing conversation here?

Some of you might know me here - others might not.... and I've written some about my past history with sexual abuse. I'll try to not repeat myself tonight, but I wanted to come here and write a bit about my experience.

*It's complicated*

I have a love/hate relationship with my family... because my father and my eldest brother were my sexual perpetrators - in the beginning - and later on, as I grew up to be the young woman that I was (and still am to a certain degree), I discovered that my mother was complicit throughout the whole process - it was "tit for tat" like mental game that pervaded in my family life.

It's complicated because ... on one hand my abusers violated me; and on the other hand my abusers taught me everthing that I know - it's strange/wierd to me that, even after much therapy over the past years, persons capable of committing such treacherous behaviors against another human being, could be loved at all.

I loved my father. I was daddy's girl. I looked up to my eldest brother too - but that all ended when sets of abuse were exacted against me - repeatedly - randomly - no holds barred "war" and I never knew when the next assault would happen.

My father was a service man - his whole family served in the military. He served in the Navy - while some of his brothers and sisters served in other branches of service. My father's twin brother took his life (he and his wife were childless by choice) - and in what I think is the flip side of his twin brothers' situation, my father was always trying to take my life from me. Repeatedly. Over and over again. He even socialized and taught my brother the finer art of doing it because if he didn't - I'm pretty sure my eldest brother might not be around. He is, but he has own hell to live in.

Anyway, the reason that drew me to write about it tonight was because I was just watching a video clip and something occurred to me (because the man in the clip lived through catastrophic war scenarios during WW2) about how he was being memorialized for not giving up.

My father was rigid man. Our household family dynamics are classified as "Protective" - that's a specialized term in Human Communication processes. We didn't have open communication- it wasn't allowed. But somehow, the potent mixture/combination of dynamics in our family served me well because I never just took it. I always fought with my abusers. I know that (in my case) my will to not be treated like that, saved my life.

I know that my experience is not unique at all.... I used to attend a private group and most of us who attended in this group all shared similar stories.

I know that what saved my life was my sheer will to not give up and to fight back and simultaneously walk away.... sometimes, I ran for hours on adrenaline surges, just to get away.

Anyway, thanks for letting me share a bit tonight.
~ALK

[Kätzchen]

Originally Posted by Kätzchen

Does anyone mind if a new member wanders in on the ongoing conversation here?

Some of you might know me here - others might not.... and I've written some about my past history with sexual abuse. I'll try to not repeat myself tonight, but I wanted to come here and write a bit about my experience.

*It's complicated*

I have a love/hate relationship with my family... because my father and my eldest brother were my sexual perpetrators - in the beginning - and later on, as I grew up to be the young woman that I was (and still am to a certain degree), I discovered that my mother was complicit throughout the whole process - it was "tit for tat" like mental game that pervaded in my family life.

It's complicated because ... on one hand my abusers violated me; and on the other hand my abusers taught me everthing that I know - it's strange/wierd to me that, even after much therapy over the past years, persons capable of committing such treacherous behaviors against another human being, could be loved at all.

I loved my father. I was daddy's girl. I looked up to my eldest brother too - but that all ended when sets of abuse were exacted against me - repeatedly - randomly - no holds barred "war" and I never knew when the next assault would happen.

My father was a service man - his whole family served in the military. He served in the Navy - while some of his brothers and sisters served in other branches of service. My father's twin brother took his life (he and his wife were childless by choice) - and in what I think is the flip side of his twin brothers' situation, my father was always trying to take my life from me. Repeatedly. Over and over again. He even socialized and taught my brother the finer art of doing it because if he didn't - I'm pretty sure my eldest brother might not be around. He is, but he has own hell to live in.

Anyway, the reason that drew me to write about it tonight was because I was just watching a video clip and something occurred to me (because the man in the clip lived through catastrophic war scenarios during WW2) about how he was being memorialized for not giving up.

My father was rigid man. Our household family dynamics are classified as "Protective" - that's a specialized term in Human Communication processes. We didn't have open communication- it wasn't allowed. But somehow, the potent mixture/combination of dynamics in our family served me well because I never just took it. I always fought with my abusers. I know that (in my case) my will to not be treated like that, saved my life.

I know that my experience is not unique at all.... I used to attend a private group and most of us who attended in this group all shared similar stories.

I know that what saved my life was my sheer will to not give up and to fight back and simultaneously walk away.... sometimes, I ran for hours on adrenaline surges, just to get away.

Anyway, thanks for letting me share a bit tonight.
~ALK

I know my post was posted years ago, but what happened to me in my growing up years has always played a big role in my pursuit of not letting past sexual abuse rule my life.

It's not like I can ever forget. It's also important for me too, to remember that what happened to me has been an integral part in how I process hurts in my life.

While letting go of the pain it has caused me, I also mindfully remember that I am strong and that I chose to care about me, at any very early age in life.

Being my own protector and believing in my own self worth, and trusting myself, has been an important years long effort in my own personal recovery.