Frozen Tongues

"Healing takes courage, and we all have courage, even if we have to dig a little to find it."
~ Tori Amos



Healing. I think that is my main goal. To heal the wounds. I think it is the main goal of anyone who has suffered. I think the first step in healing is recognition. To recognize our own pain, and have it be recognized by others. So. This is the recognition. All of these women are simply amazing.

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This may be triggering.




I have arguments with myself, was I nine or ten, I'm not good with numbers. But that’s irrelevant. I was young, a child. I had a friend, Renee. We went to school together and I was going to her house to spent the night. Going to her house to play. I went to a state school even thought my parents were well off. Renee’s family were not. Her home had two bedrooms and six kids. Five boys and her. I felt sorry for her, having only brothers. She slept in the second bedroom with her two older brothers while her younger brother and the twin babies slept in her parent’s room. Her younger brother was growing up and was about to move into the second bedroom. There would be four of them. Two bunk beds. Renee was the third oldest, the last child of her mothers first marriage but she had adopted her step fathers name. The house was small with rotting weatherboards and old furniture. Going there was like going to another world, like an adventure. I was intrigued. Renee’s mother was out, shopping or visiting, doing what mothers do. The boys were over the road riding their bikes. The babies started to cry so Renee and I fed them their bottles while her stepfather watched TV. I thought it was fun but Renee grumbled the whole time. We spent some time doing what little girls do, locked in Renee’s bedroom listening to music on her brother’s tape recorder and talking about the people we hated at school. We hadn’t been hibernating long before Renee was called back to the loungeroom. I followed her out. Her step father told her to go over the road and get her brothers because they were "probably getting into trouble." I was going to go with her; I can’t remember why I didn’t. This is where I stop being me or I and become she. She, the girl who went to her friends house for a sleep over. She, the pretty, petite little girl. She, the girl who already knew too much. She, the girl who never came back.

She sat beside the man on the couch and started to watch the TV. He was a large, fat man with a stale smell. The scent of him merging with the beer on the coffee table and a musty odor which hung in the air. He got up from the couch and calmly closed the curtains. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was no longer blaring in, distorting the television screen. He went back the couch, sitting closer to the girl, putting his arm around her shoulders. She stiffened and squirmed in her seat but didn’t want to seem impolite. Without a word he leaned over her, guiding her body down to the base of the couch until she lay beneath him. She let herself fall. It was too quiet, with only the sound of the television, which seemed to become more distant, she thought that one sound from her would send the walls crashing down. She said nothing. He propped himself up on one elbow in the space between her arm and the side of her body, placing his hand on her forehead. His other hand moved down and unzipped his fly. He moved his body on top of her, outside her clothes and as he moved his hand pulled her head back and down into the couch cushion. She tried to look at his face, to look at his eyes but he looked away from her. He was only a weight that held her down until his breathing became heavy. She could hear it and feel it flowing against her skin. He leaned harder on the elbow, which had steadied him, and she sucked in a deep breath as his weight lessened. He reached his hand beneath her skirt and pulled down her underwear. The babies, in their bassinets on the other side of the room, began to whimper as they stirred and woke. The man grunted and puffed as he positioned her legs on either side of his body, bending her knees and pushing them as far as they would go. The silence had gone and she wanted to say something, to call someone or scream but nothing happened, she knew it was too late for that. He twisted and squirmed between her legs, manipulating her limp body. And the babies cried louder. She wanted to get up and go to them and take them out of their beds and onto the floor. She wanted to tickle their bellies and hold them but she was pinned, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to move even if she tried. She felt his dick against the inside of her thigh and she flinched briefly and felt a rising in her throat. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. His hand pushed down on her head as he tried to enter her, grunting with each failure. The girl held the pain in her stomach, in her chest and her throat until she felt him inside her. She winced and a yelp escaped her mouth. He slid his hand from her forehead to her mouth. He groaned and sighed as the tip of his penis entered her but almost immediately withdrew and slid his free hand down to masturbate, pushing himself onto her stomach. He released his hand from her mouth and grabbed a chunk of hair from the top of her head. As his movement quickened he pulled her head back jerkingly. Her breathing was shallow and occasionally she heard little throaty sounds escape her mouth which she didn’t recognise as being her own. The babies had begun to scream for attention and but she no longer cared. She heard them scream but imagined them dying in their beds. He pulled her hair back and held it down, her eyes tightly closed, he pushed his dick back inside her and came. He took her to the bathroom to clean her and smooth her tangled hair. He left her there, sitting on the tiled floor while he went back to the loungeroom for a moment. His movements slow and controlled. He came back to the bathroom with her overnight bag and ran a bath. He told her that Renee and the boys would be home soon, it usually took her a while to gather them and force them home he had explained then he left, closing the door behind him.

K
11-09-99




i don't have a complete account of much. this is what i know, and maybe later, i can tell it all. there are some words that i still cannot say/ write, and then a shame of saying this at all as if i am complaining that what happened to me is so bad, well, i know what it is compared to what i've read. but this is my story.

when i was thirteen, there was a boy. why should i protect him from anything? his name was Brad. i hate that name. even looking at it makes me sick. all of october of 1996, he would follow me around, and feel me up. up my skirt mostly, and sometimes he'd get in my underwear before i could pull away. and he'd always laugh. so i'd always laugh. a joke. nothing fits together right. there were some other guys in my 8th grade class that were mean too. 2 boys once pulled me into the bathroom yelling that they were going to rape me and pulling me into a stall while i was screaming and fighting back. one of those boys pushed me to the ground and said he was going to rape me, and noone did anything. i just remember he didn't. i don't remember why. there was a lot of face pushing. into their pants. saying hey baby, why don't you give me head or something like that. i don't remember. some of this happened when i was 12, most, though, when i was 13. the neck is not a very strong muscle on me at least. they'd shove my head into their pants, over and over again. all a joke. threatening to rape me. a joke that i've almost forgotten. forcing my hands places. my hands are so bad. i want to cut them off. the piano's saving them. they're so evil and bad i think sometimes. brad. he took money from me. i dontknow, 5$? and made me promise to give him a _ job for it back. i said no no no no no no i don't wanna brad, just give it back, and he said no, you gotta. no one else fusses as much as you. what the hell is wrong with you? i wanted my money back, so i said, fine, i will, not really meaning it, thinking he'd forget. i got my money back. he made me promise him 2 more times think. the next day. he said all day long, when are you gonna? when? and i said, brad, i am not doing that, you know it. and after school, he kept asking. and i said no! so me and my friend adam went into the hills. and brad followed. and he kept saying why won't you? everyone else does it. why not you? and he looked down my shirt, and was every where on me. and his arms were around me. like a backwards hug, but i couldn't leave it. i said no brad no, and he said, oh yesssss. and adam was still there to save me, adam was..... adam left me there with him, and rode his bike away and left me there. and brad kept touching me everywhere, and his zipper was going down. i can't hear it. i just hear him talking so lowly in my right ear right between my ear and my shoulder. and it was touching me everywhere, he was rubbing himself on me, adn i said no brad, please i don't wanna touch you, and he made me he made me..... and adam came back and suddenly remembered me. and brad was touching me. and adam suddenly remembered me. i just remeber the dirt ground. and i walked up to where i was before, and went to the bathroom, and wanted my hot water, but there was only cold. i remember thinking, is this what all those other girls went through? and i thought so. i tld my friend that i did it. my best friend that i did it willingly. and she told the principal of the school. the principal asked me if at any point i culd have left. i said yes, in the beginning before he had his arms around me. and she said it was my fault then. tell your mother, we're gonna punish you. i didn't tell my mother. she found out when the principal told her that i was a bad girl. bad girl..... and my mother..... why are you yelling at me so? it's not my fault. i couldn't leave. all those kids told me how could you blame him? it's all your fault. you slut. you whore. you dirty lying bitch.

k*a*
11-11-99




i am so afraid of what i have done to myself everytime i give in i give up one more piece of me he said i have no heart and god damnit he was right must have sacrificed that to the wolves years back when they held me under till mercy escaped my lips some people will always be victims some people will always be whores and i will always be both and what if he comes back for me what if he hears of what i did what if he knows i told them what if he knows all the details are in a filing cabinet somewhere and what if he comes back one day when she is not here to save me of course she was here every other time and she couldn't stop him how could i have told her the danger was within our walls not out on the streets she pulled me away from they took blood for this make sure all he did was take my pride and give me new wounds to heal not some creeping disease as a parting gift they take blood every six months and i am finding it hard to make more to make up i spread dark red on my lips and dark reds on my breasts match but those are imaginary missing bits of flesh smooth to the touch and he doesn't notice me cuz he knows i'm damaged goods, used and discarded and dirty and old and he wants a girl who will be only his and i can never be anything but everyone's come and get it boys i'm open for business nine to five and you can buy a bit of my time with a drink or a wink or the right kind of smile there is a swell in my belly from the food i forcwe myself to eat a swell in my belly that drives away the good boys he said i had a small mouth and was surprised that he fit and that he hoped to see me again and then when he saw me again he called me a bitch they all call me that bitch female dog animal get on all fours bitch and i'll take what i need and you better say you liked it it won't hurt it won't hurt it'll only bleed a bit and he was married and he had children and he wanted to me to scale mountains with him and he wanted me to hit the floor and now he wants to kill my only true friend and now he wants to leave me seeing stars and now he wants me and she told me if i ever touched him they'd find me face down somewhere i'm gonna shove this so far up your cunt you'll taste me in your throat baby i'm going to fuck you till you can't see straight and your legs don't work i only let you think you are the one in charge have another glass of wine sweetheart and let me hold your hand while you try to stand fall into my arms and then let me buy you dinner and then you'll owe me a hand job at least what kind of tease are you hands shove skirt up dirty tongue rotten teeth have their way with nipples raised against the sudden shock of cold and the thrusting the ceiling is white with little bumps like snowy moutains and in my mind i have climbed them all and in my mind i was such a good girl and i never asked for it and i never wanted him to wrap his death grip around my heart and this is my pain and i have a right to it i just wish i could tell him and them that i will never be the same girl again

Stephanie Schultz
01-20-99




To Steven,

I wonder what you’re feeling as I write this. I’m not even sure how I’m feeling. This is the calmest I’ve been for almost a week. There’s other things though: pain, hate, sadness, rage, confusion, angst, fear. So what’s it with you? Are you still cocky, proud, self-assured? Do you have any regrets about the life you’ve tried to ruin and the resounding effects your actions have had on those around me? Because that’s the thing: in one night, you managed to violate dozens of people.

Or did the phonecall from my Guardian Angel have some sort of effect on you? Are you scared? Scared like I was/am? Can you sleep? Can you comprehend what you’ve done? Can you comprehend the thought of paying for your actions? I doubt it. Because I know what you are. Pity that you probably don’t. The question is: would you want to?

I don’t know who I am, I once did, but that girl is gone forever and I’m going to have to get to know her again. She’s changed; there’s remnants of her deep inside, but now I’m gonna have to build the puzzle again from scratch. Though I am lucky – you don’t even have one to build. You are not a person. People – whole, compassionate, empathetic entities – do not, would not, and cannot do to other people what you have done to me. The violation of another on a physical, mental, emotional and spiritual level.

I am a rape victim. And now I can actually say that. You raped me. I was your victim. But I’m damned if I’m going to stay that way. You’ve taken a lot, but there’s no way I’m letting you have everything for the rest of my life. Because at the end of the day I have a loving and supportive network of family and friends; a dream for the future; a passionate, loving spirit; and the will to be the best I can be. At the end of the day you have none of this. I seriously doubt you have anything. Nor do you deserve it.

So who suffers in the end? I have months of hardship ahead of me. You’ve wrecked things for me, but a power you don’t have and never will have over me is the power to say how long all this will last. As I have said, I refuse to be your victim. You made me become it, but adhering to other peoples’ agendas has never been a strong point of mine, so I’m damned if I’m going to start now.

I know none of this will have an effect on you; I’m not writing this because I think you have a heart. I’m not making excuses for either of us. I’m not forgiving you, and I’m never going to forget. I’m not letting you get away with this either: you WILL pay. Maybe not even anytime soon, but you’ll get what you deserve. That’s a promise.

You’ll never read this, it isn’t the point. I’m not even writing this for self-affirmation – as I’ve already said, I know I will get through this and my life will be what I want it to be. I know you’re not sorry for what you’ve done to me; if I tied you down and kicked you in the balls until you vomited up your own semen I wouldn’t be sorry either. So don’t think you’ve won. There isn’t even a battle. If there was, I would have already defeated you. I’m the conquerer, Steven. The winner. The victor. The girl who now knows what loss of innocence really means. And the girl who knows she will always go out fighting.

You’re the loser. In every way. I have no pity. It’s what you deserve.

Missy
02-12-99




Rape.

The word brings about visions of brutal violence and violation. Visions of unknown attackers. Dark streets and queasy feelings in the pit of the stomach. I wish mine had been so obvious. The subtleness of a steady stream of violations over years is not what is thought of by that one word. Rape.

My husband committed my rape. Someone I was supposed to willingly give myself to. Someone that was supposed to honor and cherish me until death us do part. It didn’t happen that way. As every year passed, 13 in all, I was slowly lost to his control. To what he thought I should be. After our first child was born, the slow break down of what was left of my self-esteem began. It was subtle, not obvious. And looking in from the outside, it was probably difficult to believe the horrors that I was beginning to endure. There was no physical violence, no beatings, just a steady stream of very small breakdowns of trust. It still couldn’t be called rape at this time. I was still willingly participating.

After the birth of our second child, my mother became terminally ill. I wanted to go home with the new baby. But it wasn’t to be. He was in total control by now and I couldn’t seem to find a voice to cry out that he couldn’t do this to me. I shrank back away from my true nature, allowing more and more control of my every thought and desire. I stopped becoming the willing partner. Instead, I just lay there. My mind and soul crying out to make him stop. I never once told him no, he was my husband after all, I had no right to deny him. I never fought; I never had a scrape, tear or bruise. But my soul screamed. Soon, I was able to not even have him want to do that. It wasn’t too difficult. I raped my body with food. I tried again to make the relationship work, to become healthy. I have a third child who is the star in my eyes as a result. But again, the control began. The need to have me be something I wasn’t. I don’t know the motivation behind it. But do any of us know what motivates a rapist? I still wasn’t thinking of it as rape. How could I? I didn’t fight, I didn’t tell him no. I allowed the violation. I became angrier and angrier. Then in October 1998, shortly after visiting a friend in another state, he raped me in a way that was easier for my mind to deal with. I still hadn’t fought him, I did try to push him away, but to no avail.

I was getting ready for work, in the early afternoon of a Saturday. He came into the room and started fondling me. I turned and pushed. I told him I had to go to work. He told me I never wanted it anymore. My mind was crying to make him go away. I had no desire left to even be married to him and my brain was wrestling with how to get out of the marriage. He pushed me to the bed, and again began fondling me. I tried to get up, but he just pushed me harder. My mind closed as it had over the years, and I just laid there. When I didn’t respond, he turned me over and entered my anus. I could feel the tearing, not just of my body, but my soul. Ripped in shreds, held together by threads. He finished minutes later. I numbly got up and finished dressing for work. I then proceeded to go to work. My mind screaming at me to report it. But how could I? It was my coworkers in the ER who would perform the exam. I had only been working there one month. My mind cried as I decided that that would just be another small rape I couldn’t bear.

It wasn’t until January that I was able to tell my supervisor what had happened. As I was being counseled for being "rude and uncaring" to my patients. The first few weeks following the rape, I didn’t have my mind where it should have been and there had been a few letters to my supervisor about my apparent lack of caring.

As the divorce closes, I have been told that I have no proof. That it is all in my mind. But isn’t that what rape is? Isn’t it in the mind of the victim? And to be violated by the one who is supposed to care for you as no other?

I am going on with my life. My children do not need to see their mother in this way. It kills me that I am having to share custody with him. But he is right; there is no proof. No exam was ever performed, no call to the police, nothing. So, instead, my children will spend half their time with him and half with me. Hopefully, I can teach them that they have a right to say "No", and above else, that when someone says "No", however subtle it may be, that it must be respected.

Iris
06-18-99




i hate what i am. i hate what i look like. i hate that i blame it on what has happened to me. i hate what has happened to me. i have started to admit to myself some of the things i remember but it has gotten worse. i hate that i keep remembering more. i hate that i can't turn back time. i hate that i can't ignore it anymore. i hate what i am going through. i hate that i can't make love to my boyfriend. i hate that it doesn't bother him. i hate that he doesn't get upset with me. i hate that he loves me. i hate that i can't tell anyone beside you guys and my boyfriend. i hate that i have hidden it. and let my abusers and attacker walk away. i hate that i still have to see my uncle everyday. i hate that i act like nothing ever happened. i hate that he ignores what happened. i hate that that i feel so alone. i hate that i never open up. i hate that i can't tell. i hate that i usually just lurk. i hate what i have turned into.

jupiter519
06-18-99




Hi, um, I went to your page cus you listed the sites addy on Ripple Back to Me. I am a list member, but I rarely write. I am more of a lurker. I find it hard to talk about my feelings, I don't really feel that they are worthy of anyones time. So, I am going to give this another shot. My story changes so much because I remember different things in different orders so I find myself going back to the site "Barbados" often redoing my story. I do this because I need to get it out. If I keep it inside it eats away at me and pushes my soul even further away.

So here it goes, another sorry attempt at telling my "story" I am a sexual abuse victim/survivor. My abusers were my cousins, and my aunt. My cousins are Mindy age 19(now) and CJ 16(now) I am 15 years old. Things began when I was 3, or maybe younger. I have been diagnosed with MPD/DID, and my youngest alter that we know of is 3. Things began with fondling by my aunt, and then it turned into more sadistic rituals. It went from kissing my genitials to pushing hair brushes inside of me. When I was about 6, my aunt stoppped abusing me and that role was filled by my female cousin Mindy. She was more into hurting me. She liked to threaten me with fire and guns. All of that was accesable in there house. Mindy liked to stick her fingers in me when she had long nails, scraping my insides. When I was about 10, she stopped and it picked up with CJ. My only male abuser. He liked to fuck me hard. That was his favorite thing. But his passions included sticking a gun inside me and fucking me with it. He also liked to play, guess where the bullet is. Luckily he was stupid and he put the bullet in the same place everytime and spun it the same amount of times so I always knew where it was. He also liked it when he put the gun in my mouth and had me suck it sensually. Then he would make me fuck him with my mouth with a gun to my head. Things like that went on until I was 13, and I finally told. I told my principal because CJ had impregnanted me 2 times and beaten me so I would miscarry. On February 1st, 1997, I gave birth to a stillborn girl in CJ's bathroom. I named her Kaylie elizabeth. She was more beautiful then anything I had ever seen. More beautiful then the baby boy I had a year before. She was big, well, bigger then my Son Issac, he was only 2 inches long. But Kaylie was 4-5 inches long, and she had blond hair already on her head, just like me. Because of the death of my children I told 5 days after Kaylie was born. I was believed, but I would not submit to a physical exam. i felt that I had been abused, poked and prodded in my vagina that no one else was needed to do that. My case is still open, and if they ever fuck up again, they WILL go to jail! They will pay! Well, I guess I have done enough emotional damage to myself for the day. I guess I will talk again one day....




Ive decided that i am strong enough to tell my story in detail, that i am no longer afraid or ashamed...it is time.

I remember little about that brief span of time that haunts me. I do not remember his thrusts or his entry. i do remember fear, fear itself is such a powerful emotion. i remember the metal handcuffs biting into the flesh of my wrists, the burning of my broken skin. i do remember crying no over and over again as if it, the word itself could save me from the savage look in his eyes. That look that brought fear into me before. I had only seen glimpses of it before whenever rage filled him, during arguments or plain physical aggression. My limbs shook with fear, as i was shoved forward onto his bed, my hands powerless, this shaking consumed me as much as the fear had. Oddly enough i remember it was a bright day with a beautiful sunset later, as though to remind me not everything is evil. I distinctly remember how his room was lit and at that time it was filled with shadows, yet everything outside remained hushed and tranquil. Was it possible for anyone outside to realize that someone's soul was being destroyed. The dress i wore that day was a summer one with brown, tan, and white patterened flowers, with a cream fuzzy sweater to over it to keep me worn. i recall the sweater being taken off before the handcuffs, my dress being roughly lifted, my panties being ripped from my body. Then pushed forward onto the bed, there is little else to be remembered, somehow my memory fails me. i know later that night i called a friend, who i thought would help me, only to later recieve a phone call from him saying i was trying to make her jealous (though she was a good friend they had dated before). Precious friend she was. Later that night i was filled with rage and guilt and expressed it with a razor blade. From my breasts to my pelvis hundreds of slashes. For a long time i allowed him to manipulate and torment me because of what i thought was love. What did i really know of such a concept? That day i had no word for what had taken place, he was my best friend, my lover. He changed me. He was the final close to my childhood and girlish romantic notions, i was never going to be the same. It took me years to throw away everything that i totally connected to him, everything that i could no longer tolerate to look at. Letters, tokens of affection- gone. i wish now that i had burned them. It took me years to cut all ties with him. From him, i recieved all that i thought was love, something missing from my childhood i guess, but along with it came being punched, kicked, strangled and shoved. The ironic thing is, occaisionally a mutal friend or friends would witness such an event,yet none of them belived me that such things occured...let alone that he raped me. After i left him, my final year of high school was filled with nasty letters and all sorts of events that pushed me quite far into isolation. For example one day, after he had found out i basically accused him of stalking me to someone, he walked behind me in an empty hallway whispering im stalking you, im stalking you than once the hallways filled he continued to follow me and started screaming at me that i was a whore and a bitch, people in my school just watched. For anyone reading this i want you to know you are not alone, despite what so-called friends say. Most of mine said i that i was over reacting or i provoked the way he treated me (he actually told me that once himself), or i was crazy because he was so nice to everyone else. No one could imagine him acting in such a way. No one is alone, no one deserves to go through this shit alone. NO ONE asks for this and no one deserves it. i believed those lies for awhile and i want to try to prevent someone else from believing them as well.

HEAVEN26@aol.com
06-18-99