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Still Terrified

I was scared to write this. But, since I cannot settle my mind, I thought I would just go ahead and write so that I can clear my head and hopefully ease this pressure off my chest. You should know, if I may say, this is not easy, actually it is really very hard. I find myself still waiting for that place I was told comes with time – where you could discuss the bad things and your feelings not be so wrapped up in them to the point that you cannot function or breathe right, or it no longer holds you bound. A time when a thing can just be a thing – I guess that is the sentiment anyway.

Nevertheless, here it goes… I was born in Baltimore MD. I was raped by my father starting at 18 months, which is when my mother left, according to her anyway! She said she left because she walked in on him on me and couldn’t handle it. She says she left me with my grandmother. My earliest memories of him touching and raping me is 4. I was also abused by my grandmothers boyfriend (he didn’t go all the way), and multiple cousins – Tony (one of my cousins) forced me to have anal sex with him (he use to say he was getting back at my father for hurting him that way) Robert (another cousin) would force me to go down on him, and sometimes he would make me watch porn with him and we’d have to do everything that was done in the video. When I was 7 I learned that I wasn’t worth anything, because one day my aunts came busting into my grannies house and stated choking Robert; everyone tried pulling her off but she wouldn’t let go, then she said she knew what he did and if he ever touched one of her children again she’d kill him. I felt… why wasn’t I important enough for someone to stand up for me. I figured it was because I was bad or didn’t matter, and then there was Bruce who would have sex with me. Night after night was torturous for me and some days. I never felt safe (I still don’t), whether at my grannies house, many of my aunts houses, or at the home I stayed in with my father. I felt like I was always under attack and someone was out for my demise pawing at my skin constantly. My father is also the father of my daughter, of which I became pregnant when I was 11, and gave birth to when I was 12. As a child, and sometimes still today, I felt like I was being swallowed by a black hole – the deepest abyss. I felt – mostly still do – lonely, sad, ashamed, and guilty from what they did to me. I like to think that, like Joyce Myers and many others, I can reach a place of pure forgiveness, I understand that the forgiveness is supposed to be for me. But I struggle with whether or not I can even feel. I mean can I? I have never been overly angry (if at all) with those that hurt me, but if asked the question, do I ever feel angry? I would have to say it is very misplaced. Between being extremely Sarcastic, to snapping at store clerks, or people on the phone (that always seem to get under my skin), I would have to say somehow anger comes out. Tears, well they won’t come, I mean I feel like breaking down inside, yet instead, I am tightly wound ready to erupt inside, like a shaken up soda bottle ready to explode, but the lid won’t come off to provide room for air. Slowly I suffocate, I’m stuck, and feel so alone.

I have my entire childhood file from my time in D.C.F (department of Children and Families/in Connecticut),

***I ended up in Connecticut because when I got pregnant my grandmother sent me away to live with my birth mother, who I didn’t know. She was psychically abusive really bad and we got taken by D.C.F. Where I ended up living in a foster home, where my foster mother molested me saying she was teaching me to masturbate. I felt so worthless and low that I tried taking my life a few times. I ended up losing my baby and going to a long term residential.

and as I was reviewing it looking for some kind of solace, I noticed one of the therapist (whom I never talked too) stated that I did not seem to know how to place my anger onto the right situations or people to whom it belonged and she put my father ‘s name in parentheses. I often wonder if this is still true. I just do not know how to change this. I mean can I? What would it even accomplish… I really cannot place any other feelings or emotions. I mean I do get really sad, but I feel like I just want to scream or cry, yet those actions never come out. Instead, I feel this pain in my stomach and this overwhelming weight on my chest. For me, all of this is like a anchor holding me under water, and I am watching myself slowly drown. I do sometimes wish I could feel a positive noninvasive touch like a good long and supportive hug or being held. I guess I never will get this, a therapist once told me to try a warm bath or get into a relationship, but my question is, if I am afraid of hands hurting me how can I get into a relationship and also I tried the warm bath thing but I still feel so lonely. I hurt inside all the time. I try to keep busy and do for everyone else and focus on them, but at night when it’s just me the hurting, the emptiness and the loneliness begins drowning me. And my stomach hurts so bad… I feel it’ll be less painful to cut it out. I don’t know. I guess I’m just destined to be this way.

Moreover, am terrified, so terrified all the time, I want to talk in therapy but I am so afraid… for the last 2 years I have shut down, I get so anxious and hot, my stomach starts hurting, and I literally feel like there is a knot in my throat. I mean I want to talk I want to connect but I am so scared I feel like I’d rather hurt myself (pull my skin off). I trust my therapist and I’ve tried to do her suggestions but I freeze every time. I have dissociated and I don’t know how to reconnect. I don’t know how to not be terrified. I really could use any help/advice.

I want to love you, maybe just forgive you
Inside that little girl still looks for you
She’s scared sitting all alone, wanting you to
Rescue her, save her from all the monsters
Instead she fears you and resorts to hiding under the covers on the bed.


At night I heard you walking: so under my covers I hid
Then I felt you, your hands slid into my underpants,
In-between my legs I felt you,
Rubbing and then you started pushing
Your fingernails cut and hurt me every time you did it…
Alcohol on your breath, I smelled it; It reeked from your pores
My name: I heard you calling:
Pretend: I tried but couldn’t fake it
Awake my eyes popped open
Between my legs I felt you rubbing, this time not your hands
My body hot and quivering
Inside: I begged you, please stop, can you hear me?
I feel you: then the push that stopped my breath
My insides you tore
I screamed, tears pouring from my eyes
I asked you to stop
My thighs they burned, between my legs on fire
Still you pushed. Please… I yelled, kicking, scratching at your arms
The pain the burning,
Tears falling from my eyes
My breath you take away, my face you covered with the pillow
It’s my screams you’re trying to suffocate
Shaking with terror, my body’s hot and sweaty
Inside I wished you’d stop
Instead I heard you say… “I have to finish before it’s too late”
My stomach is in knots, my voice harshly silenced…
My legs grew week and lifeless, my arms limp and still
My body giving up the fight
That’s it; you win…my body’s yours to take
This time, this fight, tonight I’ve lost

By: Jessica M., age 35


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