Would you like to Share Your own Survivor Story?
It’s been 22 years and I still have flashbacks about that night. I couldn’t tell you what season it was, the day or even the year. The thoughts are like Polaroid pictures that I had to piece together one picture at a time. Even today, most times it’s out of nowhere that a memory just pops into my head that I hadn’t even remembered until that very moment.
Hey, it’s Laura. Laura from high school. You are probably wondering why I am reaching out to you and perhaps you think I want to reconnect. But you’d be wrong. You see, lately I have been doing a lot of thinking of what you did to me back in our senior year in high school when we went to the out-of-town basketball game with Jean and Charlie.
I think there is healing power in publishing stories, even if they are anonymous. Right now, most of my stories lack how it ended. I am not sure why. These are the things I remember. I cannot place exactly how old I am. It was either third or fourth grade. I was at my Aunt’s, left in the care of my cousins. I remember being scared.
I can’t remember the first time he raped me, or how many times during our nine year marriage it occurred. What I do remember is the last time it happened. In January of 2012 my then husband asked to return to our home to retrieve a few items and spend some time with our kids before leaving for his trip to the Philippines.
As a child I had learned to silence my intuition. When I was five, I did not tell anyone about a the inappropriate advances of a teenage boy who tried to make me sit on his lap and french kiss him whenever he could get me alone. His parents were close friends with my...
My mother never taught me how to take care of my most vulnerable body part. She never taught me to wipe front to back, or to not wear my swimsuit for 24 hours straight, or that it was mine and mine alone to make decisions about. She never taught me to make sure it was...