MY STORY

My story is no different from others that you have read. I am a survivor. My father died when I was only 5. My mother had 7 children. Two of us were very young at the time of his death.

After my father's death, my mother visited her good friends often. They helped her tremendously. The couple that my mom visited most often is where I remember my abuse beginning.

I would go with their daughter to visit her friends down the street. One night, one of those friends asked us to go outside to see the chickens he had in his backyard. This friend was about 16. I know we weren't alone, but, I remember him unzipping his pants and showing me his penis, which at the age of 5, I had never seen. He started talking about it. I don't remember what he said. The next thing I remember is him putting his hand in my shorts and rubbing me. I also remember how horrible I felt about it. I eventually heard my mother calling for me. Before I left, he gave me a fifty cent piece and told me not to tell. I didn't.

I recall running down the street to show my mom my money. She asked why he gave it to me. I replied, "I don't know." What I didn't know is that would only be the beginning of years of abuse.

The next incident, or should I say, abuser, that I remember, was actually the friend that my mom visited so often. He was married with several children and even grandchildren. My mom and his wife would go shopping together and leave me with him to watch football. They thought it was good for me to be around a "father figure." I suppose I was about 7 or 8 at this time.

He decided one day when we were alone to call me to his bedroom. It was dark when I went in. He was lying in bed with only a rag covering himself. He proceeded to ask me to massage him. He took my hand and rubbed it on his body. I don't remember how long that lasted.

A few days after that, they came over to visit. I felt afraid that he might say something to my mom. I remember calling my mom into the bedroom to tell her. I told her what happened. I told her how he only had a rag covering himself. I don't remember getting a response from her. She went back into the room with them.

He would continue to do sexual things to me every time we were left alone. He would rub my breasts and ask me how it felt. I can remember when he saw me in the bathroom and tried to teach me how to french kiss. I felt totally disgusted. Then there was the time when we were both naked somehow, and I was telling him to have intercourse with me. He couldn't get hard enough. He was too nervous that someone would walk in. He tried, though.

When I think of these memories, I get totally embarrassed. I acted as though I was experienced at it. Now I know it was true. I was being abused by others at this time of my life also. I felt like I had a sign on me that said "molest me." This went on for several years.

A couple of minor incidents that happened in between were with an uncle and an old boyfriend of my mother. All of this seemed to be happening at the same time, so I would guess that I was 10-13 years old.

My mom's old boyfriend came down to visit from New Jersey. We got to be very close. He was a teacher, and I wanted to be one when I grew up. We were so close, he told me to call him "Pop"; yes, another father figure.

We would all sit together in the livingroom -- my mom, her old boyfriend, and I -- to watch television. One night, I could feel him putting his hand under my nightgown. He started to rub me. I remember that felt familiar to me. I was so afraid my mom would see. She was sitting close by. I acted like I was sleeping, and he would eventually put me into bed, and give me a kiss on my forehead. He did this almost everytime he came over.

The incident with my uncle was a one-time thing. I went to the retirement home where he was living to play pool. For some reason, he pulled out his wallet, showed me money, handed me a 20 dollar bill and started rubbing my breasts. I recall wondering why this kept happening to me. I was afraid someone would walk in, so I left. (With the money).

The most vivid memories of abuse I have are those with my brother-in-law. My close relationship with him started after my father died. He became another "father-figure" in my life. He would take me swimming, buy me presents, and was always a source of encouragement.On the way home from his house one night, he told me that he and my sister felt that they should tell me about the birds and the bees.

Well, my sister wasn't even with us. He told me how much they cared. He also said that they would take me in if my mom died. That was a huge fear of mine. I would cry to leave my mother, always afraid she wouldn't come back and I would be without both parents.

The first incident I remember occurred on the way home from swimming at his friend's house. I guess I was 9 or 10. It was nighttime, and he pulled over in a wooded area to "check on a boat launch." There actually was one back there. After we got back to the truck, he asked me to sit on his side. He reached into the truck and got out a small flashlight. I can't remember what he said to me, but, somehow, he pulled my bathing suit over and put the small flashlight inside of me. He acted as though he was looking for something. I guess he was seeing how big I was.

After that episode, he really started. I was unable to get money from my mom, so I would go to his house and cut grass, or do other work. I just wanted money for haircuts or something like that. My mom usually didn't have any money. He always had something for me to do. I always trusted him to help me with problems at school or with friends. I would also tell him if I had pains of any kind, because my mom didn't seem to care. She had her own set of problems.

I started having trouble with my knee, so I mentioned it to him. He made me lie down on the floor so he could feel my knee. From there he just kept moving up. Eventually, he had his finger inside of me, explaining to me that the tendons in there were somehow related to the tendons in my knee. After the rubbing, I could feel something very wet. He was licking me. I remember thinking about how things like this had happened to me, I remember thinking that my sister would hate me, I remember hating myself because I enjoyed it, and I remember I was too young to have this happening to me. But it was.

Each time I went over, I had to do work. My sister would be at work, so we were always alone. It would start with rubbing my knee. Then he would have me get on my stomach. He would put his finger inside of me, and then I felt something warmer. It felt good to me, and I felt bad about me. It never seemed to last very long. He would ask me if it felt good, and tell me how he liked my body. Afterwards, I would cry because I knew it was wrong. He would sit me on his lap and tell me that my sister wouldn't mind and no one needed to really know. He kept reminding me how much he cared and wouldn't hurt me.

This happened many times. I started to memorize the color of the carpet because I was usually on my stomach. Sometimes he'd have me lie on my back on a bed. He would always perform oral sex first. It would always lead to intercourse. He called it the "Queen treatment."

One night I remember calling him, afraid that I was pregnant. I had no idea what it took to become pregnant. He tried calming me down and reassuring me. From then on, he would always show me on the calendar according to my period, when my fertile time was. So it was o.k. to do it on other days. He would hide condoms in a closet. I could sometimes hear him going into the room to get one.

After years of this, I started to try to remove myself. I became numb when he was on me. I started leaving my body and seeing myself with him. I can recall only one time when I tried to tell him to stop. After he had begun intercourse with me, I had what I now know is an orgasm. I asked him to stop. He told me he knew I liked and wanted it. The times I would tell him that I didn't like it, he would tell me that I was a lesbian. I hated that, because he made me wonder. He didn't stop until he finished his business. It was from then on I tried to stay away from him. The abuse with him went on for years. I was about 9 or 10 when he first had intercourse with me, and it stopped when I was about 16 or 17. He was angry with me. He would tell me that I was fat, and find other mean things to say to me. No one ever knew, or so they say, what was going on.

I didn't tell a soul until I started to get serious with my boyfriend. I was in college, and couldn't function. It took me a while to figure out what was causing the major depression and anxiety.

When I told my boyfriend, he had a hard time with it. He wanted to know why I did it. How I could have done such a thing.

After graduating from college, I did, in fact, become a teacher. It is there that I met supportive friends who eventually convinced me to seek help.

Therapy was not successful. I did eventually tell my family. But not until my sister divorced him. They divorced for other reasons. It was very difficult. My mother was angry. My family is supportive but, they do still speak to him when they see him. This makes me sad.

I have tried to confront my ex-brother-in-law. He denies it. He did admit to my brother that it happened only once and when I was 17. Well, we know that is a lie. I had to be hospitalized for abusing prescription medication for my anxiety. It was a mental hospital and I was classified as having severe depression. It was not a good experience.

Since then, I have married that boyfriend. We dated for 9 years before our marriage in 1993. We now have a beautiful two year-old son.

I still suffer from depression and anxiety. I am becoming more insecure and have fears that have obsessed me lately. I am still trying to heal, and I realize that it is a long and painful process. It has caused me to have problems with intimacy, which of course, causes a strain on a marriage.

I had 5 men abuse me in some way. Of these, 4 have passed away. My ex brother-in-law is the only living abuser. He lives on to haunt me. Even if they would all die, the pain that they have caused will live on.

I have been working on healing for about 8 years. At this point of my life, I can see all of my problems stem from the years of abuse. I am now 31. I feel so lonely. I have always had problems showing emotions, and was taught not to. I have trouble believing that I have a problem worth discussing. I don't think that I have actually dealt with my feelings, as I am unsure of them. I am so unfeeling when it comes to myself. I wish I had someone that I could talk to who could sit with me, allow me to cry, and hug me. I have longed to have a sister-like figure in my life. I have 3 real sisters, but my family is not close, and if you mention a problem, their problem is worse.