D
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 for disobeying mum, 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, tried to kiss me and forced ‘his’ hand into my pants. 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 probably wouldn’t be able to stop it. ‘He’ told me to get undressed. I shook my head as the tears rolled down my face. ‘He’ told me again, kicked me in my ribs again and punched me in the stomach. I refused again and again and again. Eventually ‘he’ ripped off my trousers and pants.
I was absolutely terrified. I fought so much to get out of there but, ‘he’ was so strong though. ‘He’ managed to pin me down with one hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. ‘He’ kept telling me to stop crying and enjoy it. ‘He’ put ‘his’ hand inside me, told me I should be having a good time and not crying. I had stopped trying to scream out now – it was pointless and I had ran out of energy or in shock, I don’t know, I was crying though, hoping it would stop. It didn’t though. The bit that really freaks me out is having an orgasm at this point…that is just too much to comprehend for me. ‘He’ found some kind of kick from this, if only ‘he’ looked at my tears and decided to quit. I knew ‘he’ wasn’t done yet, I don’t know how – just an eaky feeling I had. I was right, ‘he’ then decided ‘he’ was going to have sex with me.
It all stung like hell and the pain was immense. While ‘he’ was having sex with me I blacked out. The next thing I remember is sitting on the floor of another room, curled in a heap and dressed.
This f*cker stole everything from me…even my virginity.
I had brushed all this to one side and got on with my life for 20 years. It has been real tough at times when the triggers came along but I have always managed to suppress how I feel. Now I can’t, I have PTSD and in counselling. I have a few friends that I have let into my life. They know what happened to me, like my husband too but I just cant bring myself to tell them all this stuff, and do they really want to know?
My hope is to get through the day without the pills that stop me running for cover and get back to the job I love rather than a job I can do in an office out the way. In addition, I need to know who I ma again and move forward so all this crap makes me a stronger person who is not wrapped up in the past on a daily basis.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story, as long as it is...there is more crap that Im sure I'll get out one day.
<Edited by CB - Please use default font.>
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 for disobeying mum, 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, tried to kiss me and forced ‘his’ hand into my pants. 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 probably wouldn’t be able to stop it. ‘He’ told me to get undressed. I shook my head as the tears rolled down my face. ‘He’ told me again, kicked me in my ribs again and punched me in the stomach. I refused again and again and again. Eventually ‘he’ ripped off my trousers and pants.
I was absolutely terrified. I fought so much to get out of there but, ‘he’ was so strong though. ‘He’ managed to pin me down with one hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. ‘He’ kept telling me to stop crying and enjoy it. ‘He’ put ‘his’ hand inside me, told me I should be having a good time and not crying. I had stopped trying to scream out now – it was pointless and I had ran out of energy or in shock, I don’t know, I was crying though, hoping it would stop. It didn’t though. The bit that really freaks me out is having an orgasm at this point…that is just too much to comprehend for me. ‘He’ found some kind of kick from this, if only ‘he’ looked at my tears and decided to quit. I knew ‘he’ wasn’t done yet, I don’t know how – just an eaky feeling I had. I was right, ‘he’ then decided ‘he’ was going to have sex with me.
It all stung like hell and the pain was immense. While ‘he’ was having sex with me I blacked out. The next thing I remember is sitting on the floor of another room, curled in a heap and dressed.
This f*cker stole everything from me…even my virginity.
I had brushed all this to one side and got on with my life for 20 years. It has been real tough at times when the triggers came along but I have always managed to suppress how I feel. Now I can’t, I have PTSD and in counselling. I have a few friends that I have let into my life. They know what happened to me, like my husband too but I just cant bring myself to tell them all this stuff, and do they really want to know?
My hope is to get through the day without the pills that stop me running for cover and get back to the job I love rather than a job I can do in an office out the way. In addition, I need to know who I ma again and move forward so all this crap makes me a stronger person who is not wrapped up in the past on a daily basis.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story, as long as it is...there is more crap that Im sure I'll get out one day.
<Edited by CB - Please use default font.>
