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TW // r*pe
I thought I’d recovered - I didn’t think I’d still be so afraid just seeing that name. I never could have predicted that the sight of a penis would send me into a panic, or that I’d still be losing sleep over it a year later. There are so many subconscious effects.
I thought I’d recovered - I didn’t think I’d still be so afraid just seeing that name. I never could have predicted that the sight of a penis would send me into a panic, or that I’d still be losing sleep over it a year later. There are so many subconscious effects.
A word of advice to anyone who’s experienced what I have - don’t try to force yourself to recover, or deny the hurt, or pretend it isn’t there. You’ll only add fuel to the fire and become so much more disgusted with yourself, afraid and hurt. Don’t keep it to yourself, either.
I want so badly to forget, to undo my mistakes. I wish I’d never taken that stuff he offered, and I wish I’d never tried to pretend I was okay afterwards with others, attempting to force a recovery. I still feel so unsafe. I still feel so disgusting. I still feel so terrified.
Another word of advice. Reach out - seek help. Don’t let anyone tell you they’ll cure or fix you, that’s untrue and manipulative and personally made my trauma so much worse: Seek help but do it on your own terms, choice and consent are vital, especially when it was lacking before
Another thing: the effects may not all come straight away. Some people completely shut down, but some feel almost normal. I personally felt afraid in public and disgusted with myself, but I didn’t process that it was r*pe until later - I thought it was just a bad decision.
I took the offered substance, I didn’t even think about how it could be laced, but (even though I couldn’t move and could hardly think) I thought that because I didn’t protest, it didn’t count. That’s not true - don’t ever think that or let anyone else make you think it.
Remember, too, that recovery is slow, and different for everyone. You’re valid whether you shut down and avoid further encounters or whether you seek memories to replace them. Just don’t hurt yourself further, and don’t be ashamed of how you cope.
Please, please reach out:
National R*pe Hotline UK: 0808 802 9999
The National Association for People Abused in Childhood (NAPAC):
0808 801 0331
The Survivors Trust: 08088 010 818
Even if you don’t talk to them, talk to someone. Stay safe and don’t suffer alone.
National R*pe Hotline UK: 0808 802 9999
The National Association for People Abused in Childhood (NAPAC):
0808 801 0331
The Survivors Trust: 08088 010 818
Even if you don’t talk to them, talk to someone. Stay safe and don’t suffer alone.
I also feel desperate to get this off of my chest:
I was attacked because I’m trans. My brother told me after it happened (he doesn’t know) when we were walking home that he was glad I was okay because the assaulter supposedly has a tr*ns f*tish.
I was attacked because I’m trans. My brother told me after it happened (he doesn’t know) when we were walking home that he was glad I was okay because the assaulter supposedly has a tr*ns f*tish.
The first person I confided in was someone I’d met at a cadet camp. He manipulated me, he told me his far worse experience and said he could help me. He... I let it happen again. I was afraid, and I broke down, but I said yes because I didn’t think I could or should say no.
Unlike the first person, I had thought he meant well. I’m sure he did honestly. But his trauma had turned him hypers*xual. It had been less than a month when it happened again, and I’m honestly more disgusted with the second time because I was coherent but still let it happen.
I know I was vulnerable and I can’t say it was my fault, but I feel as if it was the first time, too. I saw the red flags. I knew it was wrong - all of it - but willingly chose to ignore the issues. I shouldn’t have flirted and been so open, though it’s my personality.
My experience has changed my life in so many little ways - I can’t stand to hear Hips Don’t Lie anymore. I can’t stand that name, it panics me. I can’t stand the smell of weed and never quite feel safe. I’m scared of dicks and don’t feel comfortable trusting others anymore.
A piece of my open and honestly friendly to a fault personality died that day. I can never get it back and it only made my existing fear and anxiety around adults and men worse. Having a delivery driver at my now ex-work try to get with me made it worse still.
The cook, too, said weird suggestive things about my body and many times tried to get me to sneak out of my house and spend the night at his. I hate it. I hate it all. I’d sooner crush my bones, be ugly and deformed, then be this thing that adult, older men seem to lust after.
It will get better eventually, I know, but my life has been a constant string of traumas like grief, constant death, witnessing illnesses take my loved ones, mental illness, and now this, since I was just 12. Somethings got to give eventually, and I’m so afraid.
I want to tell, but as a minor it would be swept out of my hands. I need control for once. I tried to seek help and it got taken to the police - had it been thoroughly pursued I doubt I’d still be here - that time when they tried to get me to report it was a constant slew of fear
Even still, I don’t know how to handle and approach people - I never have. When my therapist asks how I’m doing, I automatically say I’m fine. I’m so used to bottling everything up and hiding - such darkness is familiar and therefore comforting, safe. Except it’s not.
To anyone dealing with such traumas, or anything that plagues them, please reach out. If there’s no one in your life you feel comfortable or safe doing so to, DM me. It’s so scary and daunting, and it’s hard to know what to do. Even an ear to listen helps. Don’t be afraid.
You know, I haven’t been forgiven for that night. I couldn’t move or think, I wasn’t aware of the time - it happened on the beach and we were gone for almost three hours. My brother and his flat mates blamed me for ruining his birthday party and worrying him.
I’ll never tell them the truth - I don’t think I ever could. It’s not the first time I’ve made myself vulnerable at a party through stupid decisions and faced the consequences. I think, too, that my brother would only feel worse if he knew the truth about that night.
A part of me always romanticised the idea of being fucked on a beach, of randomly hooking up at a party. Because of that mindset, I romanticised and denied my own rape. Because I didn’t explicitly say no, even though I couldn’t, I thought I was being dramatic.
Because I didn’t stop the wandering hands, not even when they got into my binder and between my thighs, due to the fact my mind was so foggy and my limbs so heavy I couldn’t even lift a finger, I blamed myself and told myself I was lying. I still blame myself.
I wonder if the drug had tranquilliser in it. It had never prior rendered my unable to move or unable to think. I could hardly feel a thing, except for the fact that feeling had started to return when... you get the idea. God I’m fucking stupid.
he didn’t even commit the act the first time I took it. I should have known it was bad news - I assumed it was just strong. I assumed his comments about not caring who he fucked were casual and off-handed. I assumed he was a chill dude even though I know the signs of grooming.
I danced around in my usual stupid way to Hips Don’t Lie without even thinking about the way he watched. I hate the way I dance. Too much swing, too much provocation. Of course he made assumptions - I don’t even think he thought it wasn’t okay, even if I was 16 and he was 21.
I can never forget. It’s been over a year and here I am still unable to sleep and unable to quell my racing heart at eight minutes to three in the morning, all over my own stupid mistakes. I wonder if I even deserve to call it trauma?
This is quickly growing self-pitying and toxic. It’s a vent, a way to collect my thoughts. If you’ve been through something similar PLEASE reject these thoughts and don’t think about it. Please. Accept it for what it was and seek help.
I keep trying to abandon this thread and go the fuck to sleep - I have to be up and functioning tomorrow. I shouldn’t still be losing sleep over this. I wish I hadn’t packed my comfort moomin away.
I wanted to go to a survivors group - I’ve never said out loud what happened to me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever pluck up the courage. I tried to go to a survivors group, but my mum wouldn’t let me out so late into the evening and I didn’t want her to find out the reason.
My mum, too, knows all that my brother does - that I took drugs and that I disappeared for three hours. I think they think I fucked him willingly. She brings it up a lot and teases me about it - it makes it hard to shake it when the memories get torn right back so often.
I should tell the truth, but I can’t do it. My mum and I keep more secrets from each other than I’ve seen anyone else keep as a parent and child. We’re quite surface-level and impersonal. I kind of prefer it that way and I like things to be in my hands, not hers.
