The Survivors Project
Excerpts from ebook that gives sexual-abuse survivors a chance to tell their stories
Published: May 22, 2013
There was an incident in South Philly where I was out late copping drugs. I was always worried about North Philly and all the stories I was told, but never thought it would happen in my newer, nicer neighborhood. A Spanish guy from the house where I was getting my drugs from was going to drive me home because it was like 3 a.m. and I was so paranoid from the coke that I thought a cop was coming down the street. The guy had to go inside his house to get his keys anyway, so I went inside and he forced me upstairs on his bed and tried to fuck me but settled for a hand job when I told him I had AIDS. My fucked-up head didn’t even report the crime. I guess I didn’t think anything would happen because I went home and just tried to forget it ever happened. You don’t forget though; you just have to stuff it away and go on with life even though you have something that others haven’t experienced – and I wish they never do. My doctor even accepted blow jobs, talked shit about how he wants to fuck me in my ass in exchange for payment.
Sex is not the same. It never will be. The only way to fix it is to talk about it and spread the word and maybe it will help others who have been molested and abused. Self-esteem is a big issue, and I believe if I had a chance when I was younger, if my brother didn’t take my innocence at 5, I might have had a chance and not have wasted so much time, money and energy living life the wrong way. I don’t speak to him really. He has apologized, but in a condescending way, like, “What are you going to do about it now.” I just think he’s sick and I don’t go home except on holidays, if that. I just recently told my sister and she doesn’t really talk to me like she used to. She and my mom just don’t know what to do or how to help.
I have done some therapy. I have a pair of shoes with red around them and I was told every time I wear them to imagine to take all the pain, suffering and anxiety like it’s in a glass and I squeeze the glass and break it and the red ring around the shoes represents the blood and tears I’ve lost, and now I’m walking away and stepping on all the hurt. Little things like that do help. I’m sure I could do more to help myself, but I guess I’m not there yet. I know they have support meetings, but I’m not much of a talker. I’m learning, I’m just not there. All my innocence was taken and I wasted so much time and energy keeping my secret, which kept me sick. It has caused so much anxiety and I think I’m crazy often, as well as getting stuck not wanting to even leave the house. It’s sad that after all these years it’s still there, and it will always be in my mind. I just have to find a better way to cope. Even though my brother abused me, I still took up for him. I have always felt the need to protect and make sure everyone else is OK – even at my own expense. The abuse led me to my relationship with females because of my disgust in men. It’s still hard for me to even talk to people due to trust issues.