This is fairly hard for me to write. Hard to read as well. Can be triggering. There are gaps in this story and things I just
can't really bring myself to say. If you know me, you may be upset by this. So please, I warn everyone in advance.
Even now, a lot of my memories are jumbled up inside my head and it's infuriating sometimes because I feel that I can't reach
them. I feel it there but I know that there might never be a time when I can piece it all together and attach labels and define
my experiences. Sometimes I think this is almost a good thing. My life was always a mess and only now in my adulthood have
I started to piece it back together.
When I was young all I remember is my parents fighting. They fought all the time and I remember my father screaming at my
mother to kill him. I don't think I understood any of their other words, I was much too young. But I could feel the anger.
I could feel the despair. It’s not a good environment for kids to grow up in. my parents were very young when they had
my sisters and me. They often partied and I remember as a young child walking down the stairs and finding broken glass everywhere
and not having any idea where it all came from. I remember my little clear jelly sandals and I remember worrying if any of
the glass would get stuck in my shoes. This was not a happy life for me. However it got much worse. My father left when I
was 5 or 6 and I only saw him a couple of times over the next year or two. Afterwards he's never contacted me, he's never
sent a card or phoned or a letter or anything. I don't even know if he has paid any child support... however. I do forgive
my dad, he was a survivor of abuse as well but it doesn't mean that I’m not bitter and angry about this period of my
life... or the problems that resulted from growing up in a single parent household without a positive, male role model.
For a period of years my life was relatively normal, my mom yelled a lot, I don't really think my mom was abusive but she
definitely wasn't very happy and I always felt like I was doing something wrong, she never told us what to do right. Never
asked us to do the things that would make her happy. She just assumed we'd do it. But regardless, despite everything I love
my mother dearly, she is a survivor as well. She has come through a lot and managed to raise us the best that she could under
the circumstances. For a few years things were relatively calm however. Until my mom started dating a complete sociopath.
I think the hardest part is that in the early days I defended him to my best friend who said that he was a loser and couldn't
manage his money. I said that he was an ok guy even though I didn't really like him a lot. I think that inside I desperately
wanted a replacement for my father but I saw clearly right away that this guy was not someone my mother should've been with.
He yelled a lot. They would fight and just scream at each other. In front of my sisters and me he would emotionally abuse
my mother every week if not several times a week. He would yell at us too, scare us. Trying to dominate us and show us that
he was now in control. He’d scream at me for being on the computer if there were dishes in the sink. Other things too.
We lived in his house for a few months and I remember that my sisters and I started to not want to go to school and we were
all depressed and scared. I remember my shy and 'fragile' sister. He was screaming at her and she was crying and he was just
yelling. I ran to my room and locked the door and he broke me door down and started yelling at me. This was when things first
started to get really bad with him. We moved out soon after and returned to our old house (thank god we were 'renovating'
it and hadn't sold it yet) but my mom continued to date him and they had a child together. I remember I’d hear them
at night having sex. It bothered me. I remember he made a comment about how they wouldn't have to worry about me breaking
my bed for a few more years yet when I was 12. My mom found a picture of him once with a young teen on his lap with his hand
on her chest and she asked me if he had ever abused me and I said no. I don't believe he ever did but there are inconsistencies
in my past, however, like any person, we forget a lot of our childhood. I went on vacation with him once and I don't really
remember that either. bleh. I remember one night I heard them fighting about sex and he started hitting my mom. I screamed
really loud down in my room and slammed my fists into the wall until they bled and I didn't hear any more from upstairs. When
he would yell from that point on I would come tearing upstairs and start yelling at him, telling him that he shouldn't scream
at us, that he shouldn't scream in front of children, that he's an adult and he should be the one to act like it. I was only
12 or 13... things kept getting worse and my mom had bruises all the time :( I was a child, I couldn't help her. I still can't.
Finally when I was 15 things exploded and we had to leave our house and call the police to get him out of the house and he
threatened our lives several times. This was a couple days before I went to Montreal to visit friends and my boyfriend that
I knew over the internet (the internet had really just become my window of escape) but the drama of this still continues today.
This man calls all the time and sometimes I honestly suspect that my mom is still with him but I just can't imagine why. When
he calls I feel the anger inside me, it burns and I hang up the phone abruptly, in defiance, to let him know that he isn't
in control of me anymore. His daughter (my sister) however. Has to see him. She refers to her father as 'the freak' ...
anyways. Enough of my mismatched childhood.
Shortly after the police/threat incidents, I went to Montreal for two weeks. At first I thought the trip would be a godsend
considering my turbulent life at home. It was summer, July 1997. I was finally with some guy who I thought would love me and
I was glad to be away. At the time I think I thought I loved him, but I really just don't know anymore. The first night we
were together we just sort of ended up sleeping together. I don't really know what to say about it. However, I started to
realize that this guy wasn't really who I thought he was, he had control issues and serious delusions. He also did a lot of
drugs. I started to feel less and less attracted to him as time moved on, it was pretty immediate and I regretted sleeping
with him (we had intercourse several times within the first few days I was there) and I didn't really feel comfortable with
it. I remember he'd be pressuring me to and I’d try to tell him that there are things that are better than sex, or just
as good as sex and I’d try to tell him in a subtle way, I didn't want to hurt his feelings after all. But he'd always
push and push and I think at first I’d just let him, not say yes, not say no, and just lay there like a machine I suppose.
When he started to get physically/emotionally abusive with me the warning bells flashed. We had an argument over a mutual
friend (he wanted to wreck her computer and I didn't want him to) and he slammed my to the ground several times and I let
him. Later that night he snuck into where I was sleeping and had sex with me while I was half asleep but I didn't protest.
He pushed wrong and started bleeding and he stopped. The next night or a few nights later I woke up to him crawling in my
bed and he started making out with me. I wasn't wearing a lot and soon my panties were off and he was in between my legs.
I pushed him away and told him I didn't want to right now. I said no. Repeatedly before he pushed himself between my legs
and penetrated me, I was in such shock at the time, I don't think I really understood at the time what was happening to me.
He kept going and it hurt and I remember that I started crying and then after awhile he stopped and kept asking me what was
wrong. The rest I don't remember. The last few nights I don't remember much except that I think I might've blocked the door,
but I repressed this incident completely so I don't know. I remember having to stop him from 'trying to kill him' several
times because he thought I was going to leave him or something.
And well I did leave him; I went home to my city and forgot everything that had happened. I just knew that I didn't want to
talk to him anymore, so I didn't and I started dating my first boyfriend who had taken my virginity a few months before. (This
was sort of sketchy in it's own right, he used me completely both times) I was cutting myself and drinking. Doing drugs and
feeling miserable. Especially with my life at home and how bad everything was. For about a month everything was just completely
fucked up. Then the last week before school my Montreal boyfriend had scheduled a trip to my city through my mom without even
asking me. I didn't protest, I just figured I’d deal with him. I didn't remember the rape at the time. He got here and
the first night I was so scared that I had two of my friends stay over with us, I didn't yet remember what happened, it was
just instinct I suppose. I made it very clear that I didn't want any physical contact when he first tried to kiss me. I told
him no and I moved away. I went to sleep that night and I woke up with him beside me, feeling my body and rubbing against
me. Touching me and smelling his fingers. I was horrified and I just pretended to move away in my sleep. He froze still for
a moment but then continued. I remember nothing else. This happened several times. Each time I just couldn't move, I was paralyzed,
just like when he raped me. I was frozen and I couldn't move. I couldn't rip his hands off of me. I couldn't bring myself
to do it... as a result of this I think I’ve really blamed myself. Because he was someone I trusted. Someone I 'loved'
someone I let down the barriers to and he completely used me up and abused me for everything I had that he wanted. The second
last day he was here I was swatting his hair and insulting him (I really hated him at this point) and I guess he got fed up
and punched me straight in the jaw several times. My friend (boyfriend) had to pull him off of me and I flipped out, I screamed
in a way I hadn't heard myself scream before. I started punching and kicking him (I’m a black belt in teakwood and I
was later told that apparently I broke his nose - I don't buy that though) and my grandmother came down and was freaked out,
asking what the hell I was doing. And I just screamed 'you don't know what this bastard has put me through' and I ran out
of the house. Without my shoes on. I ran to a school yard nearby and sat on the play structure until my vision had corrected
itself and I probably would've stayed there forever if the mosquitoes had not been eating me alive (I live in Winnipeg, they
were BAD) and so I started to head back and I ran into my friend-boyfriend and he hugged me and was just in complete shock
about what had happened. We walked back to my house. My mother talked with him and me and I slept at my best friends house
that night and he left the next day. I went to my first day of high school the next day as well. Like nothing happened.
Over the next few weeks he tried to email me a few times and I just didn't reply. He came to the chat room I hung around in
and stated that he was going to kill my whole family and me. This was really the last I’ve ever heard of him. I never
pressed charges, I wish I had.
There’s like so much.
Three months before I met my current boyfriend I met this guy at a party. I liked him and we went back to his place (he was
like 19 and I was 16) and we made out in his complex pool, which is cool. However later on he like pulled me to the bed and
was pretty aggressive, I was totally 'triggered' by it and immediately turned off from the whole thing. He tried to pull my
hand to his penis and I pulled away several times and told him no, he tried to pull me towards him and said something along
the lines of 'fucking come on' or something. I think I had a panic attack. But he didn't rape me. However he was very forceful
and I didn't like it. Then about 4 or 5 days after I met him my friends saw him with his actual girlfriend and let me ramble
on like an idiot until one guy finally said 'look he has a fucking girlfriend jasmine' and well that was that. I felt like
a complete idiot.
That’s all I really care to say for now. I guess the next step of the process is just. Recovery.
Today is July 5th, 2004. Roughly around a month ago I had a traumatizing dream about my youngest sisters father. The crazy
one who tormented my family. It's hard for me to think about and I haven't really been myself over the past few months. I've
been probing my brain endlessly. Trying to figure out why I would've had this vivid and terrifying dream. There are a lot
of fears in my head. A lot of things. I doubt myself and I worry. I can't really understand certain things about my life and
I want to be skeptical about believing that anything happened to me while I was a child.
Finding out that I might have been abused sexually on top of everything else was and still is really just too much for me
to deal with. My memories of the nightmares I used to have as a child came back. My intense fears. Little flashes of memories
come back now and then. However nothing that definitively proves or disproves that anything happened to me as a child. I desperately
cling to the fact that I don't remember anything. I pray and pray to whatever god there is or isn't that it isn't true. That
there is absolutely no way that I ever could've forgotten something that insane. Then I learn about memory repression and
PTSD and all these other things. I think about my life and I start to wonder why I have all these feelings.
In the end it really comes down to me thinking too much about something that could or couldn't have happened. It's insane.
I think about my youngest sister and her nightmares and fits and her screaming out in her sleep almost on a nightly basis.
These triggers have subsided but I desperately want to be sure that nothing is happening to her as well. I want to help if
I possibly can and I'm so worried and upset that I won't be able to help her. I'm scared someone hurt me deeply as a child
and it caused a lot of my reactions as an adolescent. I'm worried that there is more. More memories that need to be uncovered.
The worst past is probably my complete inability to talk to anyone in my family. We're all so fucked up from everything that
happened. The relationships that used to be so strong are basically in tatters after years of abuse and years of neglect on
all our parts. We are all partly responsible yet so helpless at the same time. I want to know why my mother would as me if
he had ever hurt me. Why? Why the hell does it have to be that way? Me having to fucking worry about some asshole raping me
when I was young. Or him hurting my sister. It just isn't right. It's not fair. I hate it. I will write more when I am ready.
X (for now)
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