just-survivee

[just-survivee]

Last night I had a dream, not a nightmare, but a dream. I revisited my earliest trauma. In my dream I was being violated and something new happened, I yelled. I yelled so loud that my father heard me. I yelled so loud I pissed off and provoked my abuser. So much anger and pain behind my shouting that the rest of the family heard in the next room over just like when I was a child. The mother of my abuser approached me ready to go in on me for the false accusations in my shouting and I ended her silencing me. I yelled so loud at her as well as my abuser for ever being okay with any of it happening to me. I didn't deserve it. He deserves to be in the hot seat for touching me, abusing me, forcing me to watch him torture and sexually abuse animals. He deserves to feel humiliated for his actions. His mother needs to feel ashamed for ever silencing the victim of her child's disgusting actions. The rest of the family was mortified. Crying and looking at me with so much sadness and confusion. Looking at me for answers on how to proceed with life as a family after what had just happened. I then woke up and remembered, it's not my fucking job to clean up the mess my cousin made when he molested me.

[just-survivee]

To the highschool football player I worked with when I was 16,

I didn't like it. I left everyday we worked together with bruises on parts of my body there should never be bruises. It hurt, immensely. I didn't have a choice. You held me so tight I couldn't breathe most times.

When we crossed paths in the hall you ignored my existence, yet when you had me to yourself in 'private' you forced yourself onto my entire existence.

But don't worry, being called a whore by my peers took my mind off of the pain you caused me.

[just-survivee]

I still can't believe that when I first tried to come out about your abuse when I was 16, your family blew up my phone/social media calling me a lying whore. You had people from school calling me asking me if you abused me, while you sat there listening on the other end and would rip the phone from them and start screaming at me from their phone after hearing my response.

The funny thing is, everyone knew you were abusive. Everyone saw it. Your family saw it. My family saw it. Strangers saw it. There's no fabricating when there are over hundreds of witnesses. You actually tried to punch me in the face in our schools hallway as if everyone didn't see that? As if someone wouldn't speak up or step in?

You're abusive. You're disgusting. You're violent. And YOU abused me.

Fuck you, asshole.

[just-survivee]

No but really, shout out to you for coming up with that quick "we were just playing house".

Incriminating, senseless, and disgusting.

[just-survivee]

"There's a billion people on this planet that you could bother but for some reason, you chose me."

"I'm legitimately tired of being walked all over by these insecure babies who think that they're men."

"You're a sour little boy with a fragile masculinity."

[just-survivee]

You have a wife and kid now.

Does she know what you did to me? Does she know that you told me I wasn't aloud to be "done"? Does she know you told me "if you make a sound ill let my friend have a turn"? Does she know you forced me to lose my virginity that night?

Of course she doesn't, but I hope she will.

[just-survivee]

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Is possibly the worst thing you could say to a victim from any sort of abuse.

[just-survivee]

The first time you got aggressive was only the second time we hung out. My parents asked us to help them fix their shower head. I laughed because you messed something up, you balled your fist, started shaking and yelled in my face.

I actually tried to break up with you soon after and you smashed your phone on the lunch room table and screamed until I took you back out of embarrassment.

It began to get worse when you tried to hit me in school. You punched the locker next to my face, so close it pulled my hair. It dented the locker. People saw, and said nothing. You walked away and I cried.

You continued to do this to me for years. You would threaten me, you were convinced I was cheating on you when you actually had more than 3 girls on the side.

Everytime I tried to leave you, you would find me. At the gas station, in school, at my house, anywhere. You would try to sweet talk me, tell me how depressing your life has been without me, and when I denied you, you told the entire school and my family and friends disgusting lies about me.

You actually made me believe I was disgusting, used, a whore, and that nobody would ever want me.

From then on out, I was hated. Everyone thought I was dramatic, I liar, a whore. When all along, you were abusing me. I had to take your abuse, and the abuse of everyone else you convinced that I was something I wasn't.

Not anymore.

[just-survivee]

I tried to tell you, your brother had raped me. You told me I was a lying whore and that he could never do that.

"Why are you dating him if he raped you then"

You scared me out of going to the police. So I never went.

As adults you like my posts about feminism, women's rights, abuse, and being a survivor. When your brother brutally raped me more than once, and you silenced me.

[just-survivee]

Boys in the cafeteria taking pictures of me, from behind me, while buying my lunch in the 9th grade was just the beginning of many many more times men would treat me this way, publicly.

I did go to the male principal, and nothing was done about it. The next day I had my phone taken away and a detention for texting in class, by the same principal. The boys never got in trouble for the photos they had taken of me.

[just-survivee]

You were mad at me for 'possibly' having sex with a boy, when he had actually raped me that night, and he would continue to do this for the next year I dated him.

[just-survivee]

I used to identify my facial features with my biological father who has not, is not, and will not ever be anything remotely near being a "father" or family to me of any sorts.

I also used to identify the way I look with the traumas I've endured. The sexual assault, the abuse, the rape, the domestic violence. I used to absolutely hate myself and my existence. I hated looking in the mirror, I hated hearing someone say my name, I hated saying my name, I hated being me. I always felt extremely used and broken, like I didn't even get a fighting chance in this world. People in school made me feel exactly that. "Slut" "whore" "ugly" "waste of space". On top of that I had to walk by two of my abusers everyday on my way to class, on my way to lunch, riding the bus home, at school events, even in class, and thats just 2 of my abusers. I tried to come out about the abuse, but their families and friends shut me down immediately and told me, and everyone else, I was a lying whore.

The others were even worse. I have to hear their names being said to me anytime I talk to friends or family. Im reminded of memories that everyone enjoys with these people that were so painful and agonizing for me. I have to remember those times that were so painful and agonizing for me, when no one had a single clue what was going on, and still, nobody does.

I hated myself so much I couldn't bare to wash my body in the shower. I couldn't stand to see myself when drying off. I despised myself when getting dressed, but everyone had again, bullied me for being "sad" and never wearing anything but sweat pants and hoodies.

These past few days, I've been able to take 5 minutes, looking at myself in the mirror, and smile at how beautiful my features are. I love my weird little nose, my acne I always have on the side of my cheek. My small but not too small lips. My crazy hair, and my little hooded eyes. I wash my body and appreciate every curve, stretch mark, scar, and dimple my body has. I get dressed to leave the house and love thinking about how I can treat my beautiful body with adorable clothes for the day. I can let my husband love me. I can love me.

This is only the beginning for me. I haven't forgotten and I won't forget. Three years of intense therapy, 16 years of trauma and I'm ready.

This is only part one.