My story is fairly simple, nothing too extravagant, well nothing until recently. My original birthdate, or my first was February 28, 1981.  I grew up in a wonderful home, with wonderful parents, who are both still together.  I love them both dearly and we as a family have come a long way.  growning up my father was a "bad" drunk.  i constantly feared him when he was drinking.  i don't think my parents gave that enough credit for my "problems" as i continued to grow.  I began cutting at the age of 12, i was in the sixth grade.  i would use a push pin to scratch at my arms and draw minimal blood.  i attempted suicide three times, all by overdose.  while i am still "suicidal" so to speak, i have not made any active attmepts in the past 7 years.  i began treatment for depression when i was 14 and was hospitalized at the age of 15.  it was in the hospital that i finally told someone about my cutting.  the hospital was a turning point for me.  it taught me a lot of things about myself, my family and others.  i continued treatment and cutting until my senior year of high school when i went to alabama to enter college.  my freshman year here was interesting to say the least.  i was determined to quit cutting cold turkey, but had no sucess.  one evening i had made such a deep cut that i had to go to my neighbor for help to control the bleeding.  my friends made me promise that i would re enter therapy, and i did for a few weeks but decided that it wasn't worth it.  Sophomore year i continued to cut, made my roommates aware of my "problem" but did not recieve any help professionally.  there was a time in my second year of college when i became empowered (mainly from victor, my boyfriend) and i threw away all of my glass (my number one method of choice).  it was a huge triumph for me.  and this lasted for about three months.  after a particulary stressful time this fall, i resorted back to breaking glasses to cut (i was using blades priort to that).  i once again entered treatment.  linda is an incredible therapist.  she truely understands where i am coming from and has been a wonderful means of support.  i stated earlier that i had an original birthdate... the person i had been for twenty years died on November 17, 2001 when i was raped.  it was by no means a brutal attack, but nevertheless it has changed me in only ways that one who has been assaulted can understand.  i am hoping that through this newly constructed page i will be able to explore my thoughts on the rape as well as the Self injury.  My rape occured after a football game when i met an alum named Ken Davis.  he seemed like a great guy.  intoduced me to his friends and parents.  after my (male) roommate and i spent a few hours with him and his family, we had no objection when ken asked to return to our apt. complex to continue partying.  he came home with us, and i had entered my room to check to see if victor had called (my boyfriend).  ken followed me into my room, and kissed me.  i didn't mind it, infact i thought it was nice.  he then proceded to take off my cloths, which i let him do.  i told him to stop because i didn't want to be a "tease" i had no intentions of having sex with him.  he didn't object, but also said i wasn't a tease.  instead of putting my cloths on i put on my ratty pajamas because i was ready for bed.  ken crawled into my bed with me and took of his shirt and pants, i didn't care if he spent the night, but i was going to bed.  he began kisisng me again and took off my cloths.   i was still comfortable because i felt i had set a boundry when i told him that i didn't want to be a tease.  when he got on top of me, i knew what he had planned.  i asked him to knock it off and get off me.  he acted as if he couldn't hear me.  i said, please stop.  he continued.  i began begging.  please, stop, no, knock it off.  no, no, no, no.  nothing seemed to work.  i grabbed his shoulders and tried to push him off, nothing worked.  finally he rolled off of me, immediatly sat shocked then proceeded to get dressed.  i remember him saying "cass, whats wrong? cass, don't clam up on me. " then in a completely different tone, "we didn't do anything."  i left my apparment and ran to a friends.  its kinda wierd, ken acutally stayed in my room waiting for me to return.  i proceded to leave the apt. complex, and my friends called the police.  the dective in charge of my case is the worlds most foolish man.  i am currently (a day ago) deciding that i want to insist on charges being brought (dective armstrong told me not to bother because i have no case).  i feel the need that i must do something with the energy this rape has left me.  i can no longer sit here and cry about it, re live it every day. ken, what you did was wrong.  you violated me and took something that i hold very dear to my heart.