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Deleted member 14359
I have been pondering over my story and whether to post here for so long now. It is time to get it done.
I was beaten and raped when I was 15 years old. I now have PTSD because I didn’t deal with it after it happened. I now feel alien to myself and can’t help wonder who I am and when am going to get through the day without the bad feelings, anguish, anger, violation etc etc.
It all started with bad parents I guess, they were always too busy to recognise me. I was brought up with high expectations, not to complain and get on with it. If I ever went against the grain and tried to talk to them I would soon feel the consequences at my mother’s hands. Not surprising then that I find talking about my feelings so difficult, I was never taught.
I went off the rails eventually at 12 years old, I think. Got involved with drink, drugs, crime and hung out with what I thought were friends at the time. I was young, naïve and a little street wise.
Then one night, when I was 15 and not living at home because I had been thrown out, a guy came into the house I was staying at. We were alone in the house. I kind of knew ‘him’ – that f*cking wanker, but not that well. I don’t even know his name so I’m left with ‘him’. Anyway, he tried to kiss me…urrhh so wrong, he was like 30 odd years old, stunk of fags and BO, ‘he’ disgusted me. I moved away from ‘him’ so, ‘he’ grabbed my hair and pushed me up against a wall, licked my face, brushed ‘his’ hands all over my body and tried to kiss me. I fought to get free, so ‘he’ dragged me up the stairs, threw me to the floor, kicked me in the ribs and shouted at me to stop screaming and crying.
At this point I knew what was next and I knew I would struggle to stop it. I was sobbing on the floor. ‘He’ told me to get undressed but, I shook my head. ‘He’ told me again and slapped me across the face and kicked me in my ribs again. I refused again and again and again. Eventually ‘he’ ripped off my jeans and pants.
I was absolutely crapping myself; hysterical is not a strong enough word. I fought so much to get out of there but, ‘he’ was so strong. ‘He’ managed to pin me down and hold one hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.
I was beaten and raped when I was 15 years old. I now have PTSD because I didn’t deal with it after it happened. I now feel alien to myself and can’t help wonder who I am and when am going to get through the day without the bad feelings, anguish, anger, violation etc etc.
It all started with bad parents I guess, they were always too busy to recognise me. I was brought up with high expectations, not to complain and get on with it. If I ever went against the grain and tried to talk to them I would soon feel the consequences at my mother’s hands. Not surprising then that I find talking about my feelings so difficult, I was never taught.
I went off the rails eventually at 12 years old, I think. Got involved with drink, drugs, crime and hung out with what I thought were friends at the time. I was young, naïve and a little street wise.
Then one night, when I was 15 and not living at home because I had been thrown out, a guy came into the house I was staying at. We were alone in the house. I kind of knew ‘him’ – that f*cking wanker, but not that well. I don’t even know his name so I’m left with ‘him’. Anyway, he tried to kiss me…urrhh so wrong, he was like 30 odd years old, stunk of fags and BO, ‘he’ disgusted me. I moved away from ‘him’ so, ‘he’ grabbed my hair and pushed me up against a wall, licked my face, brushed ‘his’ hands all over my body and tried to kiss me. I fought to get free, so ‘he’ dragged me up the stairs, threw me to the floor, kicked me in the ribs and shouted at me to stop screaming and crying.
At this point I knew what was next and I knew I would struggle to stop it. I was sobbing on the floor. ‘He’ told me to get undressed but, I shook my head. ‘He’ told me again and slapped me across the face and kicked me in my ribs again. I refused again and again and again. Eventually ‘he’ ripped off my jeans and pants.
I was absolutely crapping myself; hysterical is not a strong enough word. I fought so much to get out of there but, ‘he’ was so strong. ‘He’ managed to pin me down and hold one hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.