I am 27 years old, yet when i think about all of this I feel like a kid. Last year I tried talking with a therapist about it but I quit after one session. I found another therapist and had a few sessions with her but I never did truly talk about it and ended up “running” away from her. I think I didn’t want to talk due to the fact that I wasn’t sure if one of the therapists would end up reporting it. I am not sure if they could have, but it was on my mind.
September 12, 2002 is when it happened. I was on a mini-vacation with my sister who was 17 and her boyfriend who was 19. Everybody loved “him” including me. I knew him for nearly 4 years, never had any problems with him. At the time he was a college student, working on becoming a firefighter and was currently a volunteer firefighter for our community (everybody loves and trusts firefighters).
he wanted to go to New York for the one year anniversary of 9-11 and wanted my sister to come with. I wanted to come with also and my mom and my sister were okay with it.
We ended up staying the YMCA hostel near Central Park. We had two rooms, one for him and one for my sister and myself, but of course that didn’t happen. I ended up having my own room and they slept together in the other, I had to swear that I would never tell my mom about it.
New York was great! First time I had ever been to a BIG city before (I lived in a little town of pop. 500 in Oregon).
The night of September 12th was the night. I was sleeping and I felt somebody get in bed with me. just typing out that one line was not easy. I had just turned 13 back on August 25th. I had never done anything with a boy, didn’t know much, but I knew what was right and wrong.
I acted like I was asleep. Like everything would be okay if I didn’t move or make a sound. I guess I knew who it was, all he had to do was get an extra key from the front desk as the room was in his name. But I did trust him, I wasn’t terribly frightened, but I was seriously worried! I know I was shaking uncontrollably, I know I was breathing hard, I knew i wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of my room!!!!!!!!!! But I did nothing.
part of me thinks I let him do it. I know this isn’t true but the fact that I did nothing makes me sometimes think that I let him do it.
It was when he reached down between my legs that I started crying. He started whispering in my ear, I don’t know what he said.
I did nothing. I did nothing. Should I say I did nothing again?
He eventually penetrated me with his fingers. From this point on I know that he had no doubt in his mind that I did NOT want to do this! My body reaction from what he did told him that I did NOT like it!
So. a guess a minute or so after that he got on top of me and raped me. I cried. I know I screamed from the pressure and pain, but he didn’t stop. He ended up covering my mouth with his hand.
After a couple minutes it was over.
He told me a few things after he was done. I know he told me that my sister would be mad at me if she ever found out, but I don’t know what else he said. he got dressed and left the room.
I didn’t get out of bed for hours. Eventually I did get up, got my sweat pants back on, and left the room to get a shower (the YMCA had public showers on each floor). I was in that shower stall for hours.
my bed sheets had blood on it. I should have gotten more sheets but I didn’t want the front desk to find out, so I ended up tossing them on the floor and sleeping on a bare mattress.
The next morning and I had to pretend that I was okay. I never did tell my sister. What hurt the most was the fact that I had to hang out with HIM for the next few days as we toured New York City.
The night after I ended up moving my bed over to the door and blocking it. I knew I would be okay, but I never did get any sleep. Every time I heard somebody walk down the hallway I was thinking he was coming back.
Next morning and I found the condom that he used on the floor. I cried. I tried to tell myself that it was over, that it wouldn’t happened again, that I should get off the floor and go have fun, that is was not that big of a deal, that it was only the one time, that I “eventually” would have had sex anyway and that i should be okay with it.
Got back home to Oregon. Told my mom that I had a wonderful time.
Over the next few weeks My mom noticed that I was staying away from HIM and not talking with HIM. My mom finally did ask me if everything was okay, I told her yes. It was my one true chance of telling her the truth, but I said nothing. Stupid me.
My sister and HIM ended up calling it quits several months later.
When I was 15 I had my first real boyfriend. I was with him for just a few weeks when he wanted to have sex with me. Me being stupid I knew I had to let him otherwise he would find some other girl. He took me behind a shed near the baseball diamond of the school and had sex with me. I didn’t enjoy it. All I did was lay down and let him do it. he was happy. That relationship lasted only a couple weeks.
It would be 8 more years before I had a relationship with a guy that I truly loved! Sex wasn’t easy for me, and he knew that something had had happened to me in the past, but I never told him anything. That relationship ended after a couple years.
I am 27 now. I sometimes feel like I am still 13. I don’t drink or do drugs or anything like that so I am happy that I take good care of myself, but I do have my moments of depression and guilt. I sometimes think I should tell my sister, but what is the point in telling her now? This was all nearly 15 years ago.
I know I am not alone and I am sorry for everybody who has posted a story on here.
— Mikaylaa, age 27