I need to talk and I think I finally have it in me to talk. There’s a lot so…

Everything snowballed these last few weeks and it all just kind of hit the bottom this week. I have BPD, PTSD, Bipolar, am in weekly therapy sessions with CBT and DBT along with two meds.

I’ve been beaten, raped, prepped for trafficking, enslaved, tortured, and imprisoned for the first thirty years of my life. I’m doing well and can definitely see where things are going. I’m going to be okay.

***TRIGGER WARNING*** GRAPHIC SEXUAL ABUSE

While at my child’s holiday concert last week I was reading a book that suddenly jumped into rape. The writing surfaced a violent memory that I am still trying to deal with.

I was raped, imprisoned, and prepared for trafficking for five years by a pedophile who had a way of making me feel like the 45 year pervert preying on a 10 year old boy. It was hell. Whatever I said no to was… it was hell… “No” was a trigger for bad things happening. Ever “no” was followed up with him convincing me that I had said “yes.”

But hey, he would acknowledge me and “accept” me so it was good, right?  **sarcasm sign as I mock my own BPD**

It was common for him to suck my vagina until he burst my blood vessels. But he didn’t stop there. He would suck until he pulled the blood into my skin leaving blood blisters on my vagina the size of marbles. I could feel the two layers of skin holding back this massive blister from bursting.

Naturally, I freaked out. This fucktard mutilated my vagina however temporary. This deformity took two weeks to heal. He laughed and said, “It’s an engorged vagina.”

I want to vomit. A month later, he would come up and do it again. And again… I remember terrified of moving all that time because the skin was so thin, they would burst.

***END TRIGGER WARNING*** END GRAPHIC SEXUAL ABUSE

I’m telling you because my therapist said the more I talk about it, the more I empower myself. The pedophile who raped me thrived on the secrets he made me keep. By sharing those secrets, I take his power away. I regain my own power. They aren’t secrets anymore.

My therapist said this was the power of a serial rapist (one of them anyway as there are many kinds of rapists). And with the kind I had, the power was in the secret. So this is me telling you what he did to me just so I can take his power and give it back to me.

 

I suddenly want to tell you everything he did. Everything I remember. I want to take it all back. Every secret. The abortion he made me get a week after graduation because that child would prove statutory rape in the least. I want to tell you how he used movies and media to condition my body and mind to sexually respond to all sexual stimuli so he could turn on the TV and arouse me. And he did. I want to tell you how I wasn’t allowed clothes while I sleep. And how he made me sleep with him inside of me. He raped me in my sleep. I want to tell you how he urinated me on, how he tried so hard to convince me to be into a group cult where I would be passed around. That was one, he never could break me. How I wasn’t allowed to shower without his permission. I wasn’t allowed to go to college, or drive a car. I wasn’t allowed to go to my prom. I wasn’t allowed to get a job. If I did, Oh my god… the consequences. Oh my god oh my god oh my god. I wish my father could understand the consequences if I did. How he took me by the hair and dragged me across the room to throw me into the hotel hall naked. How he slapped me when he learned I was trying to escape. How he used books to control me and manipulate me. Books meant rape to me. Books were the “reward” he gave me, the “payment” he gave me for raping me. He was careful to never call it that. But while I laid there naked, he’d throw the books at me like cash before he even pulled his clothes back on. The sick thing is, those were the only books I could get. Without those books, I had none. The number of rocks and trees he threw me down on, threw me against, and raped me. And if I said no, every time I said no, he contradicted me and told me I meant “yes.” And then, if I insisted, he would ensure we did that very thing when next he saw me. How I wasn’t even allowed to lock my door and escape him. I wasn’t allowed to discourage him from coming to me. I wasn’t allowed. I wasn’t free. He was in my head. He had learned my greatest fears, and used them against me. Imagine your greatest fears. What would you do if someone said, “Do as I say, or I will realize your fears.” I listened to the towers fall on 9/11 to escape the fact that he was raping me.

This is what he did to me for five years. Those are some of the secrets he made me keep. And this is me stripping him of those secrets, taking back my power, and leaving him with none. I’m angry now. I want my swords. But this time, it’s to fight and not to protect. I think I’m getting better. I do feel stronger.

Thanks for listening.