survivor stories

lipstick-feminists:

tw: rape

galesofnovember:

canis-latrans-thamnos:

mad-lynn:

fuzzytek:

The backlog of rape kits has put justice on hold for a lot of people. Back in 2009, more than 11,000 untested kits were found in a Detroit Police Department storage facility. Some were more than 25 years old.

Mariska Hargitay speaks on some of the issues surrounding the rape kit backlog in Detroit, Michigan. #endthebacklog (x)

It costs between $1,000 – $1,500 to test every single rape kit. There are over 10,000 kits left in Detroit’s rape kit backlog. Your donation can go directly to testing them. Donate to the Detroit Crime Commission’s backlog initiative by clicking here.

I am pretty explicitly anti-police in every respect. But I support Wayne County prosecutor Kym Worthy and her push to catalogue the egregious backlog of unprocessed rape kits in Detroit. 

Her work has already identified countless serial rapists in southeast Michigan, and will continue to identify these rapist pieces of shit as she moves forward.

Who cares if this process leads to conviction or not. Just give us the list. We can take care of the rest.

WHAT POLICE SHOULD BE DOING INSTEAD OF ENFORCING VIOLENCE

Just as some semi-relevant detail:   Before she was known as the woman who made it her mission to test a backlog of rape kits, Kym Worthy was known for two things:  1) Successfully prosecuting the cops who killed Malice Green, one of the very few times you’ve seen white police officers convicted of killing a black man 2)successfully going after mayor Kwame Kilpatrick for….well…lots of things but importantly the corruption in his “personal” police force, the Executive Protection Unit,  who were involved in a cover-up of Tamara Greene’s murder and may, though this has never been proven, have had something to do with her murder.

She’s also been a huge supporter of the work to get Michigan’s same-sex marriage ban overturned, and has done so from the framework of being an advocate for children in foster care, and the mother of an adopted special needs child. 

This is a woman a long history of using her office to stand up to powerful people.  She’s such a hero.

I submitted a story to you on September 14 of 2013 and it was never posted. It was titled 'I still don't fully understand'. Did you ever receive it?
Anonymous

It doesn’t appear so, I’m sorry it must’ve been a technical problem. Although I will tell you there are many stories yet to be posted and will be soon. I’ll be reaching out for assistance with running this blog as well to have more frequent posts.

What are the signs of emotional abuse?
Anonymous

mental-health-advice:

Abusive Expectations - Makes impossible demands, requires constant attention, and constantly criticizes.

Aggressing - Name calling, accusing, blames, threatens or gives orders, and often disguised as a judgmental “I know best” or “helping” attitude.

Constant Chaos - Deliberately starts arguments with you or others. May treat you well in front of others, but changes when you’re alone.

Rejecting - Refusing to acknowledge a person’s value, worth or presence. Communicating that he or she is useless or inferior or devaluing his or her thoughts and feelings.

Denying - Denies personal needs (especially when need is greatest) with the intent of causing hurt or as punishment. Uses silent treatment as punishment. Denies certain events happened or things that were said. Denies your perceptions, memory and sanity by disallowing any viewpoints other than their own which causes self-doubt, confusion, and loss of self-esteem.

Degrading - Any behavior that diminishes the identity, worth or dignity of the person such as: name-calling, mocking, teasing, insulting, ridiculing,

Emotional Blackmail - Uses guilt, compassion, or fear to get what he or she wants.

Terrorizing - Inducing intense fear or terror in a person, by threats or coercion.

Invalidation - Attempts to distort your perception of the world by refusing to acknowledge your personal reality. Says that your emotions and perceptions aren’t real and shouldn’t be trusted.

Isolating - Reducing or restricting freedom and normal contact with others.

Corrupting - Convincing a person to accept and engage in illegal activities.

Exploiting - Using a person for advantage or profit.

Minimizing - A less extreme form of denial that trivializes something you’ve expressed as unimportant or inconsequential.

Unpredictable Responses - Gets angry and upset in a situation that would normally not warrant a response. You walk around on eggshells to avoid any unnecessary drama over innocent comments you make. Drastic mood swings and outbursts.

Gaslighting -A form of psychological abuse involving the manipulation of situations or events that cause a person to be confused or to doubt his perceptions and memories. Gaslighting causes victims to constantly second-guess themselves and wonder if they’re losing their minds.

Love, Salem

I know this deviates a little bit from regular postings but I thought a few people might find this helpful!

"she’s your sister!"
"what exactly do you mean, abused you? what should she have done?"
"*smiles*"
"it was just playing around."
"every kid does this. she was just a kid, too. just 1 1/2 years older than you. she couldn’t have hurt you."
"there’s no proof."
my mother

[upon me saying that i don’t feel safe with her living in the same house] “what, you think i’ll come for you at night? *laughs*”
”i don’t have a problem, this is your problem.”
”if this was a true story, you would’ve behaved differently around me in the past! you would have acted like you felt inferior to me.”
”why didn’t you say something for 10 years? why does this come to your mind just now?”
”even if it happened, it doesn’t involve me. go to a psychiatrist and solve your problems.”
”i don’t remember any of that! i could accuse you of the same!”
”you just hate me. and you’re the innocent, poor, beaten angel, right? and i’m the evil one who traumatised you brutally!”

my sister

(the only two people who know)


i feel so alone. i feel that i may be the only one out here. my story is not heard, it is not shared, it is secret, filthy, a mistake on my part, unreal. is forgetting all i could do? what should i do, because i can’t forget it, and i can’t reject the huge impact it has on my soul, life. i’m hurt.

I was too drunk to say no. Didn’t remember how. So when my (now ex) boyfriend suggested I let his friend watch, I don’t remember what I said. But I am shy. And I know I would not have agreed.
So when after a few minutes his friend decided to push himself in my face and demand attention as well, I am equally as sure that I did not do so willingly.
Afterwards, when I woke up, the first thing I remember was my boyfriend calling me a slut. Saying how he enjoyed the show I had put on. His friend said ‘I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner’. Neither understood why I left later that day and didn’t come back for a while. Both were angry at me for leaving them in a state of ‘wanting’. And the last words I heard from either of them was how I would never be as satisfied as having either one of them.

when i was 6 years old my parents divorced and i mostly lived with my dad at the time. my cousins basically moved in with us…everything was great, one of my cousins was my best friend. most of the time we would all share a bed since it was a full house, i was sharing the bottom bunk with my best cousin. one night out of the blue, in a room full of people sleeping, i woke up to my cousin kissing my forehead. i heard “wake up” and felt his hand grab my butt, then he made his way towards my chest. i acted like i was asleep but he turned me over and pinned my arms down. he was trying to kiss me but i was fighting him off. he kept trying to pin my arms down but i was punching and punching, i could barely see because i kept my eyes mostly closed…i couldn’t believe what was happening to me, and i wanted to believe it was a dream. i believe he tried to rape me that night, i kept fighting but he eventually stopped when he heard someone walking around. i was 7 years old. the next incident was soon after, with my older cousin. i woke up to being fingered/rubbed, i looked up and it was my other cousins face. i shut my eyes as fast as i could. it was happening in a room full of people, not paying attention. i was 8 years old. i spoke out when i was 9, after having recurring nightmares of the incidents. the news split my family apart. some didn’t know what to believe, but most didn’t believe me. i was looked at as crazy or wanting attention. my parents never put me through therapy, for years i believed it was all of my fault.

To all those still struggling
So I’m following project unbreakable here on tumblr and it’s bringing back a lot of my past. These brave women are holding up these signs right next to their faces and admitting what happened to them.
Now I’ve dealt with my past, including some counseling that made a world of difference. But I would never be brave enough to do what these women do. I couldn’t put it out there in the public. What if HE saw it?! That still scares me, which is pretty sad. Not to mention my story is not near as sad as some of these girls.
But these words on these signs that people said to them hit home because some of the same things were said to me. For the longest time no one believed me, even someone I considered my best friend, she said I was being a drama queen and I needed to chill out.
Yeah, I chose to date him in the beginning, I didn’t choose to have sex with him when it happened and I didn’t choose to be called a stupid bitch and yelled at every day. I didn’t choose to be hit when I hadn’t done anything wrong.
We talked for two months before we were actually in a relationship. Talking meaning text messages and phone calls because we were in different states. I had met him at my college orientation and just thought OMG this is fate. Boy, was a wrong. The only thing that was fate was learning what I don’t deserve and learning I am a survivor not a victim.
We dated about five months. After that first weekend, the bumps started cropping up and I was so alone being at this school so far away that I didn’t do anything. I was a virgin until him. I kept telling him I wasn’t ready. And one night I guess he had enough. I told him no and he said if you don’t let me do this, I’m calling your dad and telling him all sorts of bad things about you. And then I’m going to post it all over this campus. I should’ve realized at the time my dad would’ve just realized something was wrong but I was so scared all my good brain cells just shut down. I was also dealing with some really bad roommates and could only handle so much at a time. Once I got a new roommate, I realized just how bad things were. That was right before thanksgiving. I came back and knew what i had to do. But, I was too scared to do it in person. So that christmas break a mere two weeks later I ended things. And he’ll try and tell you I didn’t but he tried to get me back and when I didn’t he tried to threaten me again and i slammed the door in his face and told him if he ever came near me again, I’d call the cops. He left me alone for a long time.
Then I had nightmares when I found out he was working for university police. Thank goodness nothing happened. Last year was my senior year, I had to work on a project with him. So I faced him and while slightly scared in the back of my mind. I didn’t let it show. And I was never more proud of myself than in that moment. I had faced my biggest demon.
And it just re-affirmed I wasn’t all the things he said and I damn sure wasn’t a victim because I looked him in the face and was able to smile and say I’m doing great. Graduation summa cum laude and headed to grad school thanks. While in my head I’m just thinking “how about you suck my dick instead you bastard”.
FYI: I don’t have a dick unless someone decides I’m being literal.
I’m sharing this because not only did I need to face the memories again and remember that I’m okay but to let others know I am not a victim. I am a survivor. This is also for all those girls and guys out there that don’t think they’re a survivor. Sweetheart, you’re a survivor. And you can pull out your sword and slay that dragon too.
Much love, to all those in project unbreakable and all those fighting back.

I was 5 years old. My mother, a generally sane and wonderful woman, made a terrible decision and sent me to live with my adopted father, an alcoholic. My father was drunk most of the time and didn’t properly care for me. He ignored me, he wouldn’t feed me, he expected me to make my own food, and he would leave me alone when he worked. The only time I felt loved by him was when he put me to bed at night, when he touched me and made me touch him. He told me that this was love. He told me not to tell, that other people thought this was bad, but that it really wasn’t. He made me feel like we were a team, like we had a secret. This was the only time I felt loved and I didn’t know that I was being hurt. It felt good. Some of the stuff he did hurt and some made me feel gross but some felt good, and I was too young and innocent to understand the subtle and powerful way he was damaging me.
My father also left me in the care of a friend of his, who had two daughters around my age. This friend and my father made child porn with me and the friend’s daughters. The friend told my father that it didn’t really hurt us. The friend told my father we wouldn’t remember. The friend tried to make sure I wouldn’t remember by brutally traumatizing me. He was as violent and horrible as my father was subtle and twisted. The friend threatened to kill me. The friend told me no one loved me, and my parents knew what he was doing and wanted him to do it because I was bad. He threatened to kill my mother if I told. I will not write what he did to me because it would only spread evil, but it was brutally violent. My father pretended not to see. The friend possibly arranged to prostitute me in a nearby city as I was being returned to my mother, but my mother stopped this by refusing to allow him to accompany me.
Eventually my father and the friend had a falling out and my mother took me back to live with her, deciding that it was better for me to stay at one school. I never told anyone, I was too scared, too little, too confused. I repressed the memories. As I grew older my father abused me less, and I repressed any new memories. I didn’t remember anything until I was 21, and then little by little it all came back. I started counselling and took the steps I needed to heal. I still struggle with suicidal depression, but I have more control over it every day. My life has moved forward, I am working through my issues with men, my issues with my body, my issues with God, my issues with trust. I became strong, I became a warrior. I know now that nothing can hold me back, nothing can destroy me. I have lived through hell and I have survived. I still love strongly, fiercely, wildly. I stand up to abusers and speak openly about my past. I am myself completely. I am gaining confidence every day. I am the voice crying out for justice, I am light in the darkness, I am love shining through a broken vessel. I know that every challenge in this lifetime is an opportunity to create strength. It is possible to heal. It is possible to survive pain. It is possible to create a new life according to what you want to be, not what happened to you. I am sending love and strength to all the women and men worldwide who have suffered through this, and lived through it. It is possible to change. Speaking out is a way to break the chain. Healing is the most important work you can do in the world. Because by healing you stop the perpetuation of abuse. My father was molested. He never dealt with this, he only drank his sorrow away. I truly believe that if he had dealt with his abuse he would not have abused me. I have compassion for the child that became my father even as I know that I am infinitely stronger then him, and he failed me in the most horrible way.

It was recent. I was out clubbing with friends, drinking no more than I usually did. I was having fun, our group had separated but I was always with someone. Out on the smoking terrace we discovered we had lost one of my friends, so I decide to go back in to find her. Blank. My memory returns briefly as he leads me to the seating area. We made pleasant small talk; he was 6 years older than me, he’d just graduated, that kind of thing. Then we went to the bar, and I saw someone on my course, and we chatted while he gets the drinks. I drank a bit at the bar then sit back down. We start kissing. Blank. We’re out on the street. We’re in a taxi. Blank. We’re at his apartment. I’m tired, I don’t feel so good, so I lay down in his room. Blank.
All I can remember are flashes of him forcing me to suck his cock, asking me to do things I didn’t want to, and immense pain while he forced sex. I remember waking to the sound of his snoring, still somewhat intoxicated, trying to remember what happened. I felt sore.
He woke up around 9 the next morning and he was acting normally. As if we had spent the night playing board games. He makes me do more things. I don’t know what to say, I hadn’t remembered everything by this point, so everything’s a bit awkward. He called me a taxi, but it never showed up. I stood outside shivering in the rain with no jacket, and I end up taking the train back, still dressed in my crop top and leggings.
I don’t know how to feel about it. My friends keep bringing the night up, and I don’t have the guts to tell them. They think it was just a regular one night stand, and by avoiding the subject I simply regret it a bit. I wish.
I feel embarrassed and used. I know I’m not as unfortunate as victims who have been attacked more violently, and I am inspired by those who are strong enough to carry on. As I was drunk I feel like I’m slightly to blame; I let my judgement slip, I was stupid, and I paid the price. I just want to talk to someone about it.

We first met when I was twelve. He was twenty, I think. I only remember that he was twenty-one by the time I turned thirteen and we had sex.
I had just come back from a field trip birthday.
When I was fourteen, I tried leaving him, but it didn’t work out. I ended up going back to him, like an idiot. When I finally cut off from him, I was fifteen.
All of this happened online and on my phone. I’m terrified to tell anyone. When I first tried, I cut out the part that was about it being online and that he was 21. I was crying when I did. It happened online.
The first time I told the part of the internet being involved, it was to my classmates. My temperature was going up and my voice was shaking. I was so scared of what they would think.
When I sat back down, one of my classmates said, “If you need anyone to talk to, I’m right here.”
Later, the teacher of the class I told that in was having one-on-one meetings with each of us. When it was my turn, I gave him more details on what happened. More on who the man was.
I could tell he didn’t like saying it when he told me it made me strong.
I appreciated it, though. Because I am strong. That man only has power over me for one second at the most per day. I’m still working through it, but I am making my way out of it.
The only thing I’m still terrified to do is tell my parents.