Sex+Sexual Abuse: A Survivor's Story-Anonymous (Female)

This was a story sent into me. To send your story, email me at stargee@me.com


To most people I come across cool, calm, and collected; I’m a top student, a hard worker, and a responsible young adult who seems to have everything together. I’m finally getting to a place in my life where I can say that much of that is true, but I’ve fought so hard to get where I am that success is hard for me to accept.

         There are several generations of sexual and physical abuse on my mom’s family tree, and several generations of manipulative emotional abuse on my dad’s side. Surprisingly enough, I consider both of my parents wonderfully amazing; they fought hard to overcome far more strife than most people ever know and somehow became successful human beings.

When my stepmother came into my life, the little relationship I had forged with my father transformed into a battlefield, a veritable stomping ground for manipulation and mind games. I grew up in a household where dissonance was the status quo, and though neither my father nor stepmother ever laid a hand on me, the emotional stress, turmoil, and absence of nurturing only grew worse over the years. By the time I reached middle and high school I was devoid of any self-esteem or confidence, worn down since the age of seven by the constant fear of never being good enough for either of them. I spent a sizeable amount of time in suicidal depression, cutting and starving myself because the agony I was feeling, completely alone.

         I relished the summers I spent with my biological mother, forever and always the most warm and nurturing figure in my life. My best memories were with her, small things that many other kids took for granted were momentous milestones for me; staying up late to watch tv with her, ice cream together on the couch, going shopping for articles of clothing she almost managed to convince me I looked cute in. Things were wonderful for short spans of time, until she left my siblings and I alone with our stepdad. I can say, without a doubt, that the man I knew as Rob was and still is a vile human being: a spiteful drunk, full of malice and resentment, who loved to relax by taking it out on the children while mom was at work. Much of my time around Rob has been repressed or faded away, but there are specific instances in every traumatic relationship that stay with you. One that has always stuck with me was the time when he slammed angrily into a wall, knocking a large picture frame down on my little sister’s head; I reached out to her to pull the glass pieces out of her hair as she cried and he responded by pinning me down and screaming in my face before he took a swing at me. I was 7, she was 4. I spent months each year sporting Robert bruises, and years internalizing the damage he did. To this day, when any male raises his voice or moves angrily I become a puddle of tears and quivering nerves, reacting the way I did when Robert rampaged around our small home. He destroyed my trust in the male gender, just as my stepmother crushed any chance I had at developing positive relationships with anyone female.

         I was lucky enough to avoid sexual abuse until my later years; I’ve come to believe that dealing with all three kinds of abuse while growing up might have destroyed me. When I eventually was able to bond with a guy, I fell in love at 16. When I say love, I don’t mean the kind of high school crush that most people assume kids experience; I feel in true, head-over-heels, “we’re soul mates” kind of love and it was utterly overwhelming. He and I spent nearly two years together, growing up and learning from each other. He taught me what it was like to have a true friend, to feel real affection, and to confide in a partner. At some point he changed. He started wanting me less and began dreaming about another girl, who happened to be my only real female friend. This girl was like a sister to me, she too came from an abusive family and shared many of my feelings and issues, we had bonded since the first time we met and nurtured a five year friendship. He spoke to me about his feelings, described his desire for her, and used guilt to manipulate me into group sex. He tiptoed around the conversation but blatantly inferred the fact that, if I didn’t agree to it, he wouldn’t love me anymore. He made me feel as though, despite my being extremely uncomfortable and ‘not okay’ with the proposition, I would be a shitty girlfriend and an even worse human being if I didn’t ‘at least let him try’. I loved him, he had been my partner and my rock and I wanted him in my life, so I agreed. When I gave my forced acceptance, I honestly prayed that she would know me well enough to see that I was not ok and reject him, but she didn’t. So it happened, a lot happened between the three of us that I'll never get out of my head. I ran to the bathroom afterward and sobbed for half an hour. He loved it, so it happened again. I was destroyed in a way that I am still unable to fully describe. The two people I trusted with my past and bonded with inflicted more damage on me than anyone else has ever done. He left me for her, and I spent the last six months of high school seeing them together every day, in every class.

         For a while I lost my will to live; I didn’t want to die but I saw no reason to not die either. People told me to ‘suck it up’ because they figured it was just high school drama. I was too ashamed to share what had happened in the bedroom between the three of us, so no one I tried to talk to took the situation seriously. I stopped eating because I stopped being hungry, I quit wanting to move or breathe. I no longer cared about looking or doing my best, every interest I ever had became irrelevant, and I spent most of every day choking back silent tears. I reached out to both my friend and my boyfriend, asking them to give me time to heal, for a few weeks of mercy before they became a serious couple, but nothing I said would dissuade them. All I could think was “What are you supposed to do when everyone in your life has hurt or abandoned you, despite how hard you try to make them happy? Why is no sacrifice ever enough? Why am I unlovable, so obviously repulsive and something to be stomped on by those around me?” I was sent to therapy and to group sessions that took a while to affect me: I missed most of the last half of my senior year because I spent it sitting on soft chairs in sterile rooms in a numb daze, with few people taking my pain or suffering seriously.

         It took me another six months to come to terms with what happened, to finally breathe again and share my feelings with my therapist and then my parents. It took some more time for me to stop having nightmares about it, to stop cringing when I was touched, and to stop feeling ashamed. I wrote letters to both of them, but was unable to confront either one about how betrayed and broken I felt. A few wonderful people came in to my life and helped me survive school, helped me want to live and to care again, and one even went on to become the closest friend I’ve ever had. I worked hard on my own issues, as well as dragging myself back up on my feet. I improved myself in the process, becoming a more confident and more complete person than I had ever been before. My trauma forced me to fix things with my father, and although our family dynamic is still turbulent, I know that he does love me.

         Eventually, the guy I had loved and given everything came back. His apology gave me a chance to do what I needed: I screamed at him, berated him, and cried all the tears he caused me to save up. I made him read the letters I wrote, the words I had written tore into him and made him beg for forgiveness; he cried even harder than I did. I had reached a point in my healing and acceptance where I was willing to allow him to try to earn my trust back. I loved the person he had been, and hoped that his realization of what he did to me would be enough to bring him back. I made sure he knew that I was a better, stronger person than I had been and that I would never again tolerate being treated poorly. He and I are still close, still balancing out that trust. We’ve talked through many things, and gotten help dealing with them. I never found closure with my best friend, never saw her again after high school, and may never be able to share with her how I really feel. Although that makes me sad, I’ve come to understand that even if I never see or hear from her again, I’ll still heal.

         So, I’m a survivor. I survived being beaten, manipulated, emotionally destroyed, and used physically. Somehow, despite everything, I turned out ok. What would I say to people who are also survivors? Don’t ever forget that you are wonderful, beautiful, and loveable. Most importantly, you are NOT ALONE. You can overcome anything, even when the hurt and void that abuse creates inside you feel insurmountable. It’s a good feeling to find closure and confront the people who hurt you, but know that you don’t need to have closure to feel whole again. Also, just because it wasn’t rape doesn’t mean you weren’t abused. Any violation of your comfort, morals, or emotions is abusive and every one of us needs to be aware of the difference between how we’re being treated and how we deserve to be treated.