Sexual Abuse Support Group
Sexual abuse is a relative cultural term used to describe sexual relations and behavior between two or more parties which are considered criminally and/or morally offensive. Different types of sexual abuse involve: Non-consensual, forced physical sexual behavior such as rape, incest or sexual assault, or psychological forms of abuse, such as verbal sexual behavior or...
It does not really surprise me somehow that my dad rented me out.
I got back a sequence recently in which I was taken to a party as the entertainment for the men there...me and an 8 year old boy.
This also involved the boy and I being raped on camera while I fellated him...and all the guys cheered and clapped. Later, the kid and I got passed around.
ANYWAY...
The guy whose house this occurred at came over sometimes after that. I remember my dad holding a large wad of grubby, tattered bills, probably small ones. The guy was an odd-job and handyman sort of guy?
So he came over when he had the money to take me out, I guess.
He had me in his car. My alter says he was gentler than dad. His thing was small. He liked to put his tongue in our mouth and stroke us all over. Getting stroked felt really good. He played with our nipples and bought us chocolate candy. His hands were big and scratchy and rough...
She liked the attention, she says, but he didn't want to talk about anything but sex stuff. Sex, Sex, Sex. It was BOOOO-RING...and STOOOPID.
She wanted to talk about school, and toys, and crayons.
He was nicer than Dad, but he didn't see us. He saw what he wanted to see.
This feels sad and empty. Not really disgusting or scary, this guy didn't scare me. Dad scared me, he could kill me.
This is just empty-feeling.
I got back a sequence recently in which I was taken to a party as the entertainment for the men there...me and an 8 year old boy.
This also involved the boy and I being raped on camera while I fellated him...and all the guys cheered and clapped. Later, the kid and I got passed around.
ANYWAY...
The guy whose house this occurred at came over sometimes after that. I remember my dad holding a large wad of grubby, tattered bills, probably small ones. The guy was an odd-job and handyman sort of guy?
So he came over when he had the money to take me out, I guess.
He had me in his car. My alter says he was gentler than dad. His thing was small. He liked to put his tongue in our mouth and stroke us all over. Getting stroked felt really good. He played with our nipples and bought us chocolate candy. His hands were big and scratchy and rough...
She liked the attention, she says, but he didn't want to talk about anything but sex stuff. Sex, Sex, Sex. It was BOOOO-RING...and STOOOPID.
She wanted to talk about school, and toys, and crayons.
He was nicer than Dad, but he didn't see us. He saw what he wanted to see.
This feels sad and empty. Not really disgusting or scary, this guy didn't scare me. Dad scared me, he could kill me.
This is just empty-feeling.
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I feel so dirty and used I was drunk and passed out at a party when I came around some guy was on top of me rapeing me he covered my mouth and told me to shut up afterwards he got up and got dressed and said I better not tell anyone I found my friend and reported that I had been raped after having medical checks and them getting DNA I've taken the morning after pill IAM just so depressed and...
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Upon his departure, he remarked, "I am in many people’s pockets; no one will believe you." Have you ever grappled with the silence that follows sexual assault, where the perceived impossibility of being believed necessitates self-censorship?
(((Hugs)))
Nothing hurt worse. It's because we loved him that he was able to kill us.
I guess I'm just sort of...darkly amazed at the amount of crap he got away with...I want to ask why, but I know the answer: because he could, because he wanted to.
I'm very glad I am not evil like him.
I am glad you and I are not like them too. :)
I understand what you mean when you say 'killed the original'. I went through a time in my healing process when I realized that when it was happening I couldn't understand why no one came to my funeral. I had been to funerals and everyone showed up. But no one came to mine. I little portion of me died every time the abuse happened - and no one came to my funeral.
I too am glad that none of us turned evil like the abusers did. That is a tribute to our strength and inner goodness.
She then told dad about what I had said with me standing in the next room, not seeing the blood drain from my face while she did so.
( more TRIGGER WARNING goodness...yuck...)
...So dad waited until she was gone, and threw me off the top of the staircase, after knocking my head into the bannister vigorously a couple of times.
I landed on the dining room floor. Then I think he dragged me upstairs and...Toby had to come out for what he did after that.
Toby's the alter with a very high pain tolerance. He's a boy because he doesn't want to have a vagina to be raped with. Toby mostly took the beginning rapes, those were just...drag upstairs, shove face down on bed, bite mattress so as not to scream from the pain, because dad would hit us if we did.
We started going to him, it made him less brutal, you see? Plus it meant we got to sleep in there, and not wake up screaming alone from all the nightmares.
Pottymouth...came out for later stuff, and she liked...well, sort of, what was done to her. I couldn't take the shame of being forced to orgasm.
So somebody else came out to take the shame of being forced to orgasm...Pottymouth.
( She refuses to let anyone change her name- my therapist, my fiance, nope... That's her name. The whole secret of her existence was about what she did for dad, and dad liked being orally serviced...We thought he was peeing in our mouths, or inside us, using us for a toilet. We loved him sooo much and he was using us for a toilet. Because we were a human toilet, a truly disgusting thing. And even more so because we liked it.)
Anyway, she/we involuntarily had orgasms, a lot.
That's why the guys at the party found her to be so fun, she could not help having orgasms, could not stop.
So they kept making her have them. The orgasms stopped being nice after the first few times and started to feel more like getting hit with an electric shock. They hurt. The guys kept going and going and going, all night long.
She says she was all hurty and slimy and so, so embarrassed.
They took the pretty dress. They took my pretty dress...they cut it in pieces so they could wipe the pieces on my coochie. My underwear was all slimy and had a little blood in it. There was sticky slime and crusty stuff all down my legs and on my belly and I felt SOOO gross!Daddy slapped us all the way home and called us a filthy whore. He was so mad. I don't understand. What's a whore? I'm a good girl, that's what the guys said when they squirted and pounded and made a mess in me. Why why why? Daddy made us wipe all the slime and blood off his car seat with a towel while he was smacking us. We couldn't help it was all over us.
They hurt William bad. They hurt his butt. They stuck their things in his butt, like they did with my privates. When the slimy stuff ran out it had more blood in it and it had Williams's poop. We were really embarrassed for William, because his poop was running down the back of his legs in little chunks. William didn't scream, but he was shivering the whole time. He was so cold. His skin was so cold.
He was crying too, he kept his head down so they couldn't see, but his tears ran on us. We aren't allowed to cry, if we do daddy hits us until we stop so we were afraid they were gonna kill William.
He wasn't allowed to scream. We know that. They don't like to hear you scream, or cry. Nobody does.
William was hurt bad. They wouldn't let me hug William. I wanted to pick him up like a baby and hold him, to wrap a blanket around him. I didn't care there was poop and slime and blood leaking out of his butt.
I didn't care.
(grownup me/front):
We had always been abused alone, we were an only child for the first 10 years.
I...we feel a sort of solidarity to W that we can't explain, but is very deeply felt.
We are intent on finding him...alive or dead.
Ack! We've worked ourselves up into a gods'damn tizzy, we have crap to do...time to go be a grownup...
Ignore me, I'm a piece of filth and surely deserved to get f*cked by a bunch of nasty strangers anyway, if it really happened.
I'm bad. I'm bad. I'm bad. I'm bad.
I don't know what else to say..... except to say you are not an asshole or a piece of filth or deserve what happened to you.. none of it.... you are a survivor... a person of real strength.. please please don't see yourself as a bad person for what happened to you.... the blame does not lay with you
Here's a quote from someone I greatly admire - a quote that haunted me when my own issues made me want to place blame on my daughter, and supports me when I think of my own childhood:
"The child is always innocent".
We should all have that tattooed (in reverse) on our foreheads so we read it every time we look in the mirror!
The child is always innocent.
The child is always innocent.
The child is always innocent.
You were innocent. None of it was your fault. None of it was deserved.
Those howling demons lost their humanity somewhere along the way, buy you have held on to yours. You say that you died at your father's "hands" but even so you have remained human, with a human heart full of kindness and compassion. How great you are!