story of family inflicted rape of a child (TW)
I can’t fully remember my age and/or other events that happened around this time period, but I was young. Young enough to not know what sexual assault or rape was, let alone sex. I was so innocent, yet so easily influenced. I knew what he was doing to me wasn’t right, but when I tried to tell my older sisters, they laughed it off, so I did the same. Even though I didn’t think much of what happened to me after that, I still fully remember being sexually assaulted by my cousin. It started off as an innocent sleepover at my cousin's house. They were both older than my sister and I (my sister is five years older than me).
The sleepover went just fine, until my sister and my other cousin went out, so it was just he and I. He wanted to watch a scary movie, I vividly remember the movie. It was called “The Messengers”. He asked me to sit in his lap and I was too young to find that inappropriate at the time. I got into his lap and felt him thrusting as I sat there watching the movie. I began to feel uneasy and uncomfortable hoping that someone would come home, but no one did. I can't remember how long this lasted, but it felt like hours. At one point, he began touching me and rubbing me inappropriately. This was not the last time this happened to me. My sisters and I would go over to their houses often and he would bring me into his empty parents room. He would tell me to bend over on their massage bed and dry hump me. This happened numerous times until I became old enough to be aware of his actions. I remember one night showing my sisters how he would touch me. I demonstrated his actions on a large bear that was just about the size of me at the time. They thought I was joking and laughed it off.
I buried these memories deep down and chose not to acknowledge them until I wanted to. I also want to say, his father is just as much a pervert as he is. My sisters and cousins have always agreed that his dad was a creep and everyone knew that, but no one did anything about it. There are several things that his father has done to me as well. His father had shown me his penis on several occasions during this time period. His father would also make me rub my hands against his crotch. I feel sick thinking that many of my cousins were openly uncomfortable about their father, yet no one did anything, and he just walks free. My parents are traditional. They grew up in China and immigrated here to give my sisters and I a better life. They always cared for success, but never much about our feelings. Telling them something like this would never be believed by them. They stick very close with family and would never believe anything like this. I have accepted that.
I will never have the relationship with my parents that many of the people I grew up with had with theirs. I will have to live with these memories my entire life and act like our family isn’t messed up. I have to see two people who sexually assaulted me at every family reunion. There are times where I have to be alone with these people, but not a word is shared about what they did to me when I was younger. They will never admit it and I just can’t bring myself to confront them. But hopefully one day I will be able to. They have ruined every part of me and the way they turned out today makes a lot of sense. My cousin now works with his dad, he is socially awkward and has never had a girlfriend. I wish I could get justice, but with the family that I have, that will never happen. I wish that young girls and boys didn’t need to know what sexual assault is at a young age, but these things are so common and should be taught to kids young. They should not wait until it’s too late to realize they were sexually assaulted.
story about being sexually assaulted by a friend
He was a friend and we lost touch because he moved to another country, but he came back and got back in touch. We decided it would be a good idea to hang out. We decided to go out and rent an Airbnb because we were going to go out and drink. We decided we would pregame at the place we were staying at and I had 4 shots and was already tipsy so I decided to lay down for a while while he was on his laptop. I ended up falling asleep and woke up to him next to me pulling down my pants. I stayed still because I was still processing what was happening. It felt like time stopped moving. I was on my stomach, so he didn’t know I was awake. He got on top of me and left my underwear on, and he left his boxers on and started to pleasure himself, basically dry-humping me. I finally had some strength to move a little bit, and he automatically stopped and went to the restroom. After 5 minutes of being shocked by what happened, I got up and started packing my backpack and got in the car. I drove to a hotel and showered there while crying. He texted me asking where I was and I told him I knew what he did. He apologized and asked me to come back so he could explain but I didn’t trust him. So I didn’t respond and blocked his number. I checked my social media and saw he blocked me.
story about neurodivergence, bullying, suicidality, and finding treatment
I’d like to share my story. Not for fame, or recognition, or sympathy, or anything like that. Purely to tell other girls that they aren’t alone. I was diagnosed with Autism at 3 years old and ADHD at 7. These 2 conditions have shaped my life since. When I was 11, I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression. When I was 12, entering into a new year at school, inappropriate rumors were spread about me, lowering all the confidence and self-worth I ever had. At that point, I had built walls all around me, preventing anyone from coming in to support me. Shortly after I transferred to a different school, hoping that it would go ok and I would make some friends, and have a good time. Unfortunately it was the opposite. It was ok for a while, I was sitting with a group of people, I still felt lonely but I brushed it off then. Several days later I was playing a game of Truth or Dare with a couple people who weren’t very nice to me, but I ignored them most of the time. In the circle of kids, One of them, who was one of the mean kids, said to me “I dare you to go up that tree (A big tree in our field) and get a rope and hang yourself.” At that point, I was actively suicidal and self-harming. I was actively thinking about acting on what those kids had dared me to do. I reached out to my parents who took me to the hospital as we couldn’t get a doctor’s appointment. Due to the mental health crisis in New Zealand, I waited for 5 hours before eventually being seen by an adult psychologist. In that appointment, the psychologist didn’t understand me and went on and on about the wrong things, making me feel worse and worse. After that appointment I was referred to a mental health clinic, which shortly turned me down after saying “I wasn’t suicidal enough.” Those words broke me, and my family. I eventually went into private care, where I slowly recovered from my trauma, shortly after being diagnosed with PTSD. Currently, I’m feeling great, and looking to do a career in Mental Health advocacy. I want to encourage anyone who’s reading this who is struggling right now. You are worth it. You make the world a better place. You are loved. You have hope. Best wishes.
story about family inflicted abuse and childhood trauma and healing
My brother introduced me to a game when we were younger. In this game, we hid in the basement, fully equipped with pretend weapons, hiding from whatever lurked outside. I'm not sure how this began or the purpose, but we spent hours on end in our creative minds. Imagine the golden glow of looking back on your childhood memories; this was one of those golden memories. Quickly, the golden light stopped glowing and faded away. I learned the truth about the abuse that occurred and the reason behind my parents' divorce. The basement was a safe space, a room full of potential imagination. It was the room I could escape from my parents' control. As the typical 3-year-old, my mind could see a dark, expressionless basement and make it into a magical wonderland where anything could happen, as almost everything did. At the time, I was hidden from the truth. The only thing I saw was the typical childhood nostalgia; not the trauma. This is one of the only memories I have with my brother, other than times that also don't represent what I wish my childhood would've been. For the past years, I've viewed my brother as a shadow. He has always been my brother, regardless that I had few to no memories of him. We were driving in the car, my dad and I, and he was in a rage. He was angry with me, I don't remember why, but it escalated. To the point where he told me that for years on end, my brother was assaulting me, and nobody knew. The light turned dark and shock overtook my body, I didn't know what this would mean. I'd never heard a word about this, not even seen my dad like this before. This wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to tell me, at least that's what I think. He waited 16 years to tell me, who knows if I ever would have found out? After his fury-filled speech, I got more answers from him, including details and the story behind my parents' divorce, which was because of my shadowed childhood. After this, I wanted to forget. I wanted to push it away and pretend it wasn't like this. I could not grasp the fact that I felt as if I'd been lied to and as if I didn't know myself. The open space that once withheld my childhood, was now burdening my thoughts; it was an inescapable prison. I have always been hyper-aware of my past. I find it interesting that specific events in your past shape who you turned out to be. But mine never added up. I never understood why I grew up so shy, and why I closed myself off from the world at such a young age. Now I understand, I felt vulnerable and ashamed of what happened. I try to look back on my childhood, as one naturally would, but I don't want to. I don't want to remember the undeniable fact that there's a gaping hole where comfort and love should be. There will always be a part of me that wishes I could text my brother; I still can, but what about the guilt? What would my parents think? What if I regret it? I wish there were a stronger relationship. I wish his 10-year-old curiosity didn't take over, I wish he saw me as his little sister, but above all, I wish he could see how I've grown from this. The basement isn't something I should use to trap my feelings in. It's a place where I should use the open space and take the opportunity to build off that. Now, I'm 17, and I've only known for a few years. As it stands, I haven't talked to my brother in years. We say our biannual, "happy birthdays!", but that's all it's been for a while. Despite all of this, I'll admit that I do miss him, I do still view him as my brother, and I choose to forgive. I stayed mentally in that room for years, it imprisoned my thoughts, but it shouldn't have. I've learned that life is so much more than just your problems; I mean that in a good, optimistic way. To add to that, I'm not writing this for pity or empathy, I'm rather writing this for growth, for the audience who may be reading this, for any reason. I'm aware that your past is a huge factor in your present, but what I've learned is that it doesn't have to affect you as much as it's able to. I try not to let my past define me, I strive to move past it and create a new present.
story of depression, self harm, suicidality and survival
I was 13 years old when I got diagnosed with depression. The anxiety followed shortly after. During this time I would call myself nocturnal. I was on a strict sleep schedule of wake up at 6pm, eat “dinner” that was actually my breakfast, stay up all night, and once I heard my mom wake up at 7am I would go to sleep. My depression started getting worse and I eventually stopped going downstairs for those dinner meals, and soon I stopped leaving my bed all together. I started to feel so numb and to feel anything at all I started to self harm. I hated what I was doing and knew I should stop but I just wanted to feel anything again. After months of this happening I felt one single thing. The pain of my mom. I thought about how my mom would feel if she knew I was hurting myself. The thought of me bringing pain on my mom was enough to stop me, and of course it wasn’t really that easy. I relapsed and craved and struggled but in the end I came out on top. I thought that was it but what I didn’t realize was depression is a life long illness and while I had almost made it 1 year self harm clean I started to slip into the worst depression of my life and one night I wrote everyone a cared about suicide notes. I decided to swallow pills, but I guess it wasn’t enough because I woke up the next morning. For the next 2 weeks I was drowsy but alive so I never told anyone about that night. Now looking back a year later and almost 2 years clean of self harm, I still feel my depression and anxiety all the time but I am so unbelievably proud to say I am alive. I am living and there is so much to my story but at the end of the day something has kept me on this earth so whatever it is I’m taking it as my second chance.
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