This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.
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the story the actually got me to write mine put something here. her words changed me, gave me hope. so simple yet exactly what I needed to here. “healing means becoming a survivor. you are a victim until you decide to become a survivor and than you can heal”. if you’re reading this and you like me, dislike being called a survivor and feel like you’ll never give yourself that title. just remember we are in stage one and someday, maybe months, maybe years, we’d be able to become survivors and heal.
I hope someday I can come back here and tell you all about what healing means to me and how i’ve grown and turned into a survivor, but i’m not there yet. I don’t think i’m even close. but I do have a story, my story and that, I can share. may that be enough to help someone else. i’m sorry my story is so out of wack. maybe it gets better the more I tell it? It was a new year’s eve party. the start at 2022, my best friend took me to the party she was going to with one of her fuck buddies. the part was small and we where the only girls, the house smelt of BO and alcohol (maybe that should have been our sign to leave). one boy, name(not scared to say you’re name asshole) he was tall and skinny with red hair and green eyes. EXACTLY MY TYPE I was always so attracted to red heads, until I meant name. now when I see a red haired, tall skinny man I get scared. my heart skips a beat and I stare at the stranger until i figure out if it’s him or not. than I see his face: sweaty, mouth agape, reddened, jerking in and out along with the rest of you’re body. anyways, we play beer pong. i’m on name's team, i’ve never played so he shows me the ropes. I had never drank so I got drunk, quick. one beer, 2 mixed drink, a shot and I was tapped out for the night. new years comes and goes, we party more, people slowly trickle out (by people I mean one. one person left) and suddenly me, name and another guy are all sitting together. somehow oscar the grouch gets mentioned and i’m sure it’s Oscar the grinch so I google it. while it was loading namesuddenly kisses me. I remember being excited and kissing him back but from there it gets hazy. I remember as he starts to underdress me that fear started to creep it, slowly at first. I wondering where his friend was, was he sleeping? next thing I remember he’s kneeling over me his penis right next to my vagina, he’s holding my legs and i’m terrified. things are going way to far and I need to stop it. I remember I told him things like how I was a virgin and not on birth control and on my period but none of it worked so finally I got the courage and said “I don’t think I want to do this” and his reply was forcing himself inside me. I was afraid to say no because if I said no and he ignored me that would mean this was “officially” rape as if somehow this wasn’t yet rape. it fucking hurt. hurt so bad I managed to dig my acrylic nails into his skin. if you’ve had acrylics than you know, that’s hard to do. It was too late, I couldn’t stop him. “don’t cry yet, once this is over i’ll wake up my friend and we can leave than i can cry at home” i was too embarrassed to cry in front of him. my hand grazed something and I look next to me where my head was dangling off the bed and I realize i’m brushed up against another man. I was being raped, my first time having sex was rape and it was in a room with two sleeping men. we go to the bathroom, I figured it was for a condom but in reality he places a bright orange dirty towel on the sink to absorb my blood, he lifts me into the sink and continues to have his way with me. “you have to give in at some point” he tells me and I think that was the moment I died. that was the sentence cut onto my tombstone, ringing in the ears constantly. give in? so, you know I don’t want this? I have to give in and let you in? release myself to you against my will? at some point? I thought I was already being completely compliance, we change locations for fucks sake. yet I tried my best to relaxed. he grabbed all over me, my squeezed my boobs hard and grabbed my neck. he was shoving me I to the sinks faucet so I put my hand on it to try and block it from hitting me but he kept moving my hand. it resulted in a big bruise on my lower back making it hurt to walk. every step I took was a reminder of that moment. sometimes I still feel the bruise, I know it’s gone but I can still feel it. god! I grew up christian (loosely). I don’t even really believe in god anymore but hey it’s worth a shot right? so, I pray “god, any god out there please help me. please make him cum already so this can be over.” and what felt like hours later I muster the courage to speak “if you can’t finish it’s okay”. he pulls out. that was it. it was over. we shower, we cuddle, we sleep in each others arms. i’ve convinced myself he will be my lover because if we don’t end up together that will mean that I was raped for nothing. in my head if we at least dated than it would have worked out in the end. I was searching for ANY reason not to call that was it was. and for while I loved him, I talked to “him” in my car (to myself while pretending he was next to me), thought about him 24/7, talked about him with friends and family. I felt guilty like I made this sweet innocent man rape me because I didn’t say no. than slowly I began to hate him. maybe this is the first stage of going from victim to survivor. anger.
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