The first time I was raped I was 7, it was my next door neighbor. I trusted him naively. I trusted him like I trusted everyone I met. I didn’t know what some people were capable of, I didn’t understand.
I went next door, I wanted to see his sister, she was around the same age as me and we were good friends. I knocked on the door and he came, I asked if she was there and he said no, but she will be back soon so I could come in and wait if I wanted. I agreed, I’d been there many times, I felt at home there. I went in and he told me I could wait in her room. I walked down the corridor and he followed. He grabbed my shoulder and took me into his room. He told me I was special, he’d had his eye on me for a while, he was finally getting the opportunity to show how much he wanted me. I didn’t understand what he was doing.
He took my clothes of, and was touching me then he took of his pants and he raped me. He would rape me then take me to the shower where he’d clean the blood off of me then rape me again. He did it more times than I care to count. I was crying and I told him he was hurting me, I was scared because I was bleeding. But he said it was ok. He said it was normal, that it was how he showed he loved me. All people do it. I didn’t know any different and I believed him even though I knew it wasn’t something I wanted. I didn’t remember until much later about a lot of the things that happened.
The next time I was raped/sexually assaulted was about age 11. This time it was the first guys sister. She was about 14. We were playing and I don’t remember how it came up but she ended up giving me oral sex. This happened a few times and then she started to put things inside me and ask me to do it to her. I remember being uncomfortable about it. I remember her asking me to do it, telling me it was what friends do. I don’t know whether to call this rape or not. I don’t know whether it was inappropriate. I don’t know if I was responsible. I think of it as an assault of some sort. It definitely feels like it was wrong and I hate that it happened but I don’t know if the age difference is enough or whether it was me that was doing those things. I don’t trust my memory.
The most recent was when I was 15. I was in a park and a man came and talked to me. I didn’t trust him but he told me I had to go with him and I was scared, I just went with his because I was terrified. He took me to a house where there were three other men. Each of them took it in turns to rape me. They forced themselves in my mouth and they kept touching me, telling me I was a whore and a slut and other things. After they were done with me, one of them took me back to the park and left me there. I went home and got in the shower, threw out my clothes and cried myself to sleep.
I had never told anyone about any of this until a little before the end of 2014 when I told my psychologist about the first rape. I haven’t told anyone about what his sister did though, mostly because I don’t know what it is and I don’t think she is to blame for any of it, for all I know her brother did exactly what he did to me to her. The last rape came out unintentionally. I told a friend about it and she told the psychologist at the eating disorders program that we were both involved in and then they told the child protection unit and my parents and the police. I had to go through a pointless and re-traumatizing process where I was coerced into telling the police every detail of the rape. They told me there would be consequences for not telling them what happened. Then my statement got handed to a detective who made out like I was wasting her time and I was lying. Then told me there was no way that the evidence I had given them was going to get anywhere and it is still hanging like that.
I have been struggling with ptsd, anxiety, self harm, dissociative episodes, depression and an eating disorder for a long time. I’ve tried to commit suicide. I’ve been hospitalized because of the bulimia. I’ve had stitches for the self harm multiple times. I hate myself and my body. Everyday it’s like I experience over and over again. It has gotten better though, I have fewer nightmares, I sleep better most of the time. I feel as though I am slowly, very very slowly getting better. I owe this to the intensive therapy I’ve been receiving, I am at the hospital more days than not. I see psychologists, psychiatrists, body awareness therapists, family therapists and so many other things that have helped so so much.
It is still incredibly hard and for the past while it’s been getting harder and harder. I feel like I’m relapsing and I hate it. I hate the control that they all have over me. I have no boundaries between myself and others, I sleep with guys because I am desperate to change the memories I have but it doesn’t work. I feel like I am living my life through other people because being me is too painful. I wanted to write this in the hopes that it might help me in my recovery. I haven’t been able to tell anybody the details of whats happened and I’m hoping that this will let me start to express it and move on. This is really really long, but I’m glad I wrote it kind of. To anybody who read this far, thank you for taking the time to do that.