|
- AnIn 2019 I was sexually assaulted by one of my exes. I remember after it happened in the drunken and spinning state I was in, but coherent enough to understand what had just transpired, I called one of my friends. I was crying and telling him how it was my fault and I let this happen, knowing full well it wasn't. I thought they were a close friend but instead they told me I wasn't raped. They told me because I opened that front door and let him in that it was my fault. I didn't ask to black out in a drunken haze and have that happen to me. I didn't ask for the last few shots to be forced into me before passing out. I opened the door but I didn't ask for what was done to me after. Someone I thought was a close friend said I was victimizing myself. He would later go on to call me "slut" and "whore" as a joke, like it didn't hurt my feelings. He would call that incident a "sex escapade." Constantly telling me it was my fault. What he didn't know is that I isolated myself for months after it had happened. Any physical contact with anyone even family members, a hug, you name it could send me into a full blown panic attack. And it wasn't just him but other friends of mine I thought I could tell. Friends. People that are supposed to support you, be there for you, love you, and care for you. About 4 of my friends completely invalidated what happened to me. Saying drunken consent was consent. "Drunk words are sober thoughts." Like I wanted that. I felt invalid. I felt like my body and emotions had been violated. My trust in any and everyone was gone. If I couldn't tell those who were closest to me, then I can't tell anyone else. It's not fair. I know what happened. I know what was done to me. Regardless of what anyone says, no one asks for something like that. Drunken consent is NOT consent. - Anonymous
I was raped when I was 15 years old by two boys from another high school. They roofied me. They not only vaginally raped me but anally, too. They bragged to all their friends that it was consensual.
I was unconscious. I remember waking up naked with my clothes thrown everywhere, feeling weird but not knowing what happened. When I got to school on the following Monday, I was "slut" shamed by everyone at my school. When asked, I denied everything. I continued to be "slut" shamed. I had no friends. I ate lunch by myself every day. I never reported the rape because that would have been admitting that I had sex. There was no sex education in my school to teach us what consent was. I didn’t realize what happened to me until I was 20 and learned about consent. Then I started having flashbacks to that night. My life has never been the same since I was raped. I have serious rage issues and I dream of murdering the men who did this to me. I went on to be abused by other men. I have a hard time trusting anyone. I have hardly ever made a female friend. "Slut" shaming ruins lives and sets rapists free. -- Anonymous I grew up in foster care, so when the time came to leave my abusive ex-husband, I was left with no resources or family support. I started dancing as a means to support myself, as my ex wasn’t paying child support and doing drugs with my bio parents; just to isolate me more. I was alone.
I was always apprehensive about meeting men from my job, but he insisted I could trust him since he knew my boss and played on the club's softball team. I was pretty burned out from being a single mom and took him up on his offer of Sunday night line dancing. Since I expected an older crowd I thought it would be safer. It’s almost like he knew, I had a feeling he couldn’t be trusted. He apparently paid the bartender's car payment for getting me drunk. I woke up the next morning in severe pain from the waist down. I couldn’t hold my urine and I was unable to go number two for 21 days because of the bruising and pain. He had raped me. The next day I called and asked, “WTH happened last night, I can’t even sit.” His response was, “you said you wanted it, who’s gonna believe you anyway, you’re the stripper with crack head parents, that was the tv that fell on you anyway.” I was shocked at the audacity and scared for some reason. Me and my therapist decided against reporting it as I was already suicidal and the public shaming I would have endured could have resulted in suicide. He was later fired from his tennis instructor job for being too aggressive with a married woman and busted for sleeping with a bunch of women and being inappropriate. He was shamed so badly for that, he has since moved away so I don’t have to worry about seeing him. This happened in June 2017 I still haven’t been out drinking and I live in constant fear of seeing him, not knowing what all he did to me that night. I don’t even want to imagine what all happened. I have guilt daily that I can’t report him. I fear he will hurt another woman, but I won’t survive what they will drag me though if I report him. I’ll always live with guilt now for not having the courage to speak out. -- Anonymous in Lafayette, Louisiana After holding on to my virginity for so long I finally felt university is the perfect time to have a serious relationship (involving sex). I met this guy named Ahmed (fictitious name) to whom I entrusted my heart and my virginity. Was it worth it? NO. He turned into a monster with none of the Prince Charming fantasies he promised to be to me.
I dated this Muslim guy named Ashraf (fictitious name) and though he was everything I ever wanted, his family kept calling me "kaffir" and all sorts of racist comments were constantly thrown at me by his parents and his siblings. I was so tormented by his family because of my race and my religion, I finally said enough is enough and rejected his marriage proposal. He kept saying he wanted to leave his family and everything behind. He wanted us to relocate to another country and start a life together, he emphasized how much he doesn't want to shatter my dreams and wanted to pay my tuition fees so I can pursue my Law studies at the country we'll relocate to (any country of my choice). I loved Ashraf, but his definition of what's right was different from mine. To me, anal sex isn't normal culturally and religiously, but he kept insisting we should do that while claiming he was ready to risk it all for me but I couldn't do something so small for him. Well, I moved on to Ahmed who cheated countless times and when I confronted him, he kept "slut" shaming me. It really broke me big time. My head had these questions clicking constantly, "Why did he call me a slut while I'm only sleeping with him?", "Why is he cheating?", "Isn't being a virgin good enough?". My break up with him left me feeling like trash. I forgave him but I never forgave myself. I resorted to over drinking, intense alcoholism and a lot of times after that incident, I cried myself to sleep and tried to kill myself countless times. I kept calling my mom telling her to pray for me but I couldn't say what was eating me inside. I was a walking corpse for a long time after the break up. But I learnt to move on. I look at myself right now and I still can't believe I survived that. Imagine how breaking it was. I moved on to Bruno (fictitious name), and if I was a judge of a Monster Award Ceremony I would have given him the trophy. I endured his drama, his fists, him violently pulling my hair, him pushing me towards walls, his uncontrollable anger and jealousy, his cheating... I could go on and on with a list of more brutal things he did to me. One night he so violently pushed me to his bed that I banged my head and almost died. That very night I wanted to leave and he came to me crying and apologizing for mistakenly thinking I didn't answer his texts while I did, but the network was bad. He was a lawyer and yes he taught me a lot about being a better law student, and taught me personally whatever I didn't understand. His intelligence attracted me but no thanks, there's no room for intelligent monsters in my heart. I'm glad I'm in the hands of an amazing man who despite our misunderstandings, sees the good in me, respects the wounds I've endured and is trying his best every single day not to salt the wounds of my past. He's a brown skinned angel, always well-scented, kind, smart, supportive and most of all understanding. -- Maria Silvanus in Tanzania I have seen multiple confessions on my school's confessions page victim-blaming and slut-shaming women who have been sexually assaulted. These attacks are often 'justified' by the 'promiscuous clothing' the victims wore. Seeing these posts has made me incredibly disappointed in the people writing these confessions and the people liking them (some of which are my friends).
When I was 14 I met a guy in my class that I ended up liking. A shared friend of ours told me that he wanted to hang out with me more and gave me his number. We talked for a while and we were planning on smoking weed together (my first time) and I suggested going to a park. He was insistent on going to my house, and eventually, I said okay. I was just so desperate to like him. I accidentally fell asleep and woke up to sixteen missed calls from him, but he angrily agreed to still meet. When he got to my house, he claimed that he already smoked an entire joint and told me to smoke the one he handed me. I had never gotten high before and trusted him when I smoked the entire thing. I had stolen some of my parent's liquor and I had my very first sip of alcohol. It was disgusting and I told him that I didn't want to have anymore but he kept egging me on. I don't recall how much I had, but I don't remember him having any. I heard my dad wake up and told him to leave and he did. I was completely crossed and remember flashes of him asking if he should come back and me saying yes. The next thing I remember is he and I making out and it tasting like a fucking microwave burrito. After that, all I remember is A LOT of pain *down there* and then him leaving when he accidentally turned a light on. He told all of his friends and random people that I didn't know that we had had sex. My parents eventually found out and blamed me for it. I know I shouldn't have invited a boy over when they didn't know, but the slut-shaming didn't cease for several months. I started wearing more revealing clothes as a way to try to change who I was. When I came here, I've had my FAIR share of hookups and my friends, the guys especially, have repeatedly teased me about this. I always thought that my school was an accepting place, and while I love a lot of the people I've met here, those comments really hurt. Those same friends like posts similar to the ones I mentioned above. To this day, I physically can't have penetrative sex and I can't help but feel broken, especially when I tell the guys that and see the reaction on their faces. I'm not sure if it has to do with that night, but I just wanted to say it sucks. It sucks that assault still happens and it sucks that women have to deal with derogatory comments and it sucks that people are more focused on "what she was wearing." I'm just tired. While being in this support group has helped me process the incident, I’d be lying if I said I’ve completely processed it. Part of me still blames myself and believes I should have known better. Between what that boy told everyone in school, my parent’s values, and the posts that I saw, I can't help but feel disgusted. -- Anonymous in Berkeley, California I never liked going to school, not because I didn't like studying but because of all the bullying I had to put up with. It wasn't so bad in elementary grades, but got worse when I got to high school. I was always getting harassed by other girls about how I wore my school uniform. It was always the same group of girls preying on weaker ones. They were always making fun about wearing my skirt below my knees, not using make up and not dating boys. The bullying was clearly sexual and that's how got nicknamed "the virgin" I remember feeling mad because teachers knew what was going on and did nothing about it. They just viewed it as normal teenage behaviour and it was easier to turn a blind eye rather than dealing with it. What made it worse was knowing that their victims would never dare report them. I remember this girl asking me in the school yard if I was saving it for a blue prince, while flicking up my skirt to embarrass me in front of other students. I never told anyone that a few days later they sexually assaulted me in the school's stairway. I remember getting my panties pulled down and I was bent over the hand rail just for the fun of exposing my crotch in front of laughing boys. I felt so humiliated I just walked away and did nothing about it. I remember feeling so embarrassed I didn't even tell my parents. I thought of dropping out of school, but what excuse could I come up with to tell my parents. I was basically stuck between not daring to tell my parents, forced to go to school every day where everyone knew what happened and being called a slut. I convinced myself that I wasn't the only girl that had been sexually bullied in school and it was just a bad experience. What I never stop thinking is why nothing is been done about something that happens in so many schools.
Whenever anyone innocently asks, “When was your first kiss?” I make up a story or deflect and change the subject. I will forever remember my first kiss as being non-consensual, humiliating, and traumatizing. It was an experience that shaped how I would view men and relationships for a long time. I didn't realize what had happened until I graduated high school. I thought it was normal and that it didn't count because I wasn’t raped, no one who watched protested it, he was a friend, and I was wearing a Halloween costume with heels. I was only 14 and it was my first Halloween party at a friend's house. Unknown to me, she invited my recent ex-boyfriend who I had broken up with after he cheated on me because I would not be intimate with him in any way. The night was over and I went into her room to change into comfortable clothes. While changing, he banged on the door commanding it be opened so he can see me while I changed. I locked myself in the closet as my girlfriends held the door closed. He backed off after being unsuccessful and I proceeded to lay on her bed and relax since I was sleeping over. Some people who hadn't left came in, some were older and smoking or drinking. We all just sat around talking and relaxing. My ex came in and decided to sit on the bed next to me. I gave a concerned look at my friend as I moved to the opposite side of the bed and backed myself into the corner against the wall, getting as far away as I could. He moved closer and closer despite me telling him to stay away. He then started touching me and asking for me to kiss him. I denied him verbally and physically pushed him away. He became very aggressive and threw himself on top of me before I could get up and walk out. He pinned me down and started kissing me while ripping my jacket off and touching me all over. I quickly fought him off and got up to leave, but to my surprise some people in the room were just staring and others continued on in their conversations as if nothing happened. I glanced at my friend who was smiling while some even giggled at the incident. I then doubted myself and questioned whether or not this was okay after all. I ended up staying and just moving far away from him. Once again he aggressively pinned me down and did the same thing, successfully tearing my jacket buttons open and grabbing my breasts. I fought harder and ran out angry without my bag or shoes, frantically calling my mom to come pick me up. Of course I did not tell her the truth and just made up a reason for cancelling the sleep over. My friend ran outside after me begging me not to leave. He came after her, I don't remember what he said, only that I instinctively slapped him across the face and then stormed off into the street as I waited for my mom. After getting picked up, that night was never spoken of again with my friend or anyone else. It wasn't rape or a violent assault as I know many girls and women experience. It did however shape my view on what sexuality and intimacy looks like, which led to many relational complications later on in life. It also caused me to mistrust other women as I did not feel they would believe me, stand up for me, or have my back.
When I was 14 years old, a boy I trusted and cared for took advantage of me. We had drinks, then he brought me to his room, before getting touchy with me. He raped me. But because of the fact I was wearing shorts for pyjamas and had drinks with him, people blame me. Because I was able to walk to my best friend's house the next morning, what he did to me wasn't "bad". Because he was "creepy" and "weird", I should've known better. Everyone finds themselves able to blame me before they can even find themselves condemning him. That night, I feel like I lost a part of myself. I isolated myself and some friends dropped me because I was too depressed after what happened. But him? Even after I reported him to school, he's still top of the class, he's still dating girls, he's even assaulted some from what I've heard. He's friends with my ex-friends who know what he did to me. To this day I'm too scared to even speak about what happened because people might not believe me. People have so many misconceptions about rape, about what it's like, that the fact I didn't become pregnant, or that I didn't scream or fight back makes people think I wanted it. No. I said no, I told him no several times and he still forcefully penetrated me. The fact that I dissociated doesn't devalue what he did to me. It sickens me that the only people I can "breathe" around, who believe me and condemn him, are rape victims themselves. If all the stigma about rape and victim-blaming and rape culture was erased from our society, maybe others like me wouldn't go through what I did all those years ago. So god bless this project, society needs this more than it'll ever know.
I remember everything perfectly. It was the beginning of my 6th grade school year. I was getting used to everything, and had moved far away from all my friends - we lost touch easily. At first, it was my classmates in Math. It was a whole group. I remember some names: Dominique, Serenity, Trey, and that's it. I got called skank, whore, slut, but then... he called me fat. I don't know why this one hit me so hard. It may have been from being so self-conscious of my weight. But from that moment on, I began my horrible path down the bulimic road. It's painful, and nobody should have to go through it. My second experience was in 7th grade, I was obsessed with the cello. And when I was practicing in the music room, Dominique walked in. He said he needed to talk to me. I probably looked like a demon, waiting to tear his throat out. At first, I was comfortable, a bit uneasy, but fine really. He said he was sorry for all the shit he did to me, and wanted to be friends. I accepted, because I needed that. I WANTED that. But later on, he attempted to sexually assault me. My parents were very quiet about sex and condoms, and what I should do - or how I would know. I knew a few things, but I hadn't been properly educated. He once pushed me into a stall and put his hands up my shirt and down my pants. From this point on, I was ashamed of myself. I BLAMED myself. I started cutting with my mom's sewing scissors or something - but they were very sharp. I told myself I deserved this and became very depressed. What truly helped me was Carson. (It's a girl.) She became my friend when no one else would be. She supported me, and comforted me. I love her so much :) And I got over my depression and bulimia. Please don't let anyone get you down, you're perfect and amazing in every way.
It started my first year of middle school. I dressed differently than others and I had different interests. People branded me as "emo" and "goth". After that started, people would make fun of me, ask to see my cuts (I wasn't even cutting), told me I was a psycho. It was annoying and aggravating. I was sent to the counselor to 'talk about my problems' because people would say I was suicidal. If it wasn't the counselor it was the principal. I got called to the office once because someone said they saw me with a blade (I didn't have one) and my principal didn't believe me. He let me go though, saying if I got caught with one it'd be considered a weapon. Things lasted all year, then I got a boyfriend. Things dialed down a little bit after that. He later told me he only got with me to see if he could change that way I was, he failed to do so and broke up with me. That summer my parents found a page I had made on suicide and self harm. That was a long talk, then they saw it on my wrist. I said it was the dog and they believed me. Told me that they could send me to a hospital to get help. I didn't wanna go, I answered no to all of their questions. The next year, I started losing everyone. My best friend had a new group of best friends, I felt secluded from my volleyball team (I play a lot of sports at school), my parents started living separately again, I felt alone. I've never been good at telling people my feelings. So, I didn't like to tell my parents what was going on. That same year I would still get called the labels, but they just kept seeming to add up. They'd call me a slut, whore, bitch, asshole, basically every name you can think of. People would carve mean things in the bathroom stalls like "[my name] is a emo fag that should die," "[my name] is a asshole," "[my name] should just kill herself." I would hate it so much. I didn't know what to do, so I reported it cause it was so much, they told my parents. It seemed to never end. After that people would pass rumors about me and guys at school would try to touch me. I gave up on reporting any of it cause it didn't stop anyone. It was here, in middle school when I started self harm and planned an attempt. I felt so lost with no idea what to do. School staff didn't do much, I was always in the counselor office cause people kept saying I was crazy and suicidal. They never found out about my scars or cuts, I hid them or lied. My new friend talked me out of all my bad thoughts. This year I'm in eighth grade. Nothing has changed. I still have the labels and names, and school just barely started a month ago. They never got my name off the bathroom door. I still do what I do even though I shouldn't. I keep everything hidden, I'm my own secret. People need to know, their words can hurt someone. Maybe they don't realize it, but they do. Not everyone survives, not everyone finds a cure. Do not let people label you, you are not defined by what people think you are. Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit Door of Hope 4 Teens and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
Yes I trusted the wrong person and I felt guilt when people found out, but I learned to not care.10/28/2019
It all started in middle school. 6 years ago I'll never forget. I was an antisocial nerd that just enjoyed video games and wrestling. I wasn't even sexually active. I only had one boyfriend but that relationship wasn't even serious. I was 13. I was in 7th grade. My story is probably one of the worst, I wouldn't wish this on anyone. So let's start off, shall we? I was bullied in the beginning of my 7th grade year for something completely unrelated to sex. I was bullied in my class because I was different. My uniform was nicely pressed and not trendy like the girls around me. They teased me because of how wide my pant legs were. They said I looked cheap. I was so depressed, everyday I had to brace myself for some more foolishness. Then another girl joined their little group. She went right along with them and she didn't even know me! Why am I saying this you ask? Because those same people "slut" shamed me and got the whole class to do the same. There was a kid in my class named Bobby (not his real name). He was mischievous. He always got in trouble at school. He thought that he was cool. One day I was in class and I bent over to pick up a book. He was gyrating behind me and I had no knowledge of it. The whole class called me a slut because they thought that I wanted him to do it but I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT HE WAS DOING IT! So the girl that I talked about earlier in the story, Alexia, was the first to shout out "Hoe" and the rest of the class followed through. It was a ritual for them to tease me daily. I didn't seem bothered but I was. Then my reputation was so tarnished that in April of 2010, a boy forced me to perform oral sex on him. His name was Johnathan. I didn't want to do it so he grabbed my hair and forced me. I struggled. He was then unsuccessful and threatened to tell everyone that I did it just because I didn't want to. On that day my life changed forever. Everybody including my big brother called me a slut. I tried to kill myself twice. Why you may ask? Because I told the guidance counselor and the teachers and they took no action! That was sexual harassment and it happened on school grounds. I was still a virgin. I wasn't promiscuous. I had no one to turn to. I looked in the mirror and said to myself that I can make it through it all. I went to school everyday. Slut was basically stamped on my forehead. So I wrote 4 books. These books were over exaggerated stories of how slutty I was. I made up fake sexual experiences since people wanted to believe it. I said that I fucked this guy and he didn't even exist (joke's on whoever believed it). I was entertaining the rumors basically because they wouldn't believe me if I denied it. In 8th grade those rumors stopped. Almost everyone that bullied me no longer went to that school. It was like a new life. I dated my long time friend (we lasted 3 1/2 years). Life got better. Until high school... In my senior year I broke up with my boyfriend that I dated since 8th grade. It was my choice actually. So since I was single I wanted to mess around so I slept with a long time friend that went to my school. He lied to me and told me that I could've trusted him and he wouldn't expose my business to everyone so I had sex with him. He told all of my ex's friends including my ex. My got into a new relationship and his girlfriend was spreading these rumors too, but she kind of added more to it. She said that I slept with all of his friends but it was only that one guy. I got into a fight with her over the rumors and ever since then, they ceased but I learned to never be ashamed of being sexual. Yes I trusted the wrong person and I felt guilt when people found out, including my ex, but I learned to not care. I am me. I am not really promiscuous but I love sex. We as women shouldn't feel shame for wanting sex. I was even shamed before having sex! When I actually had sex I was in my mid teens (16, 17, 18) and it wasn't with a lot of people and even if it was, I still wouldn't feel shame. I don't feel guilty that I slept with him because it felt great. I just wish that I could've trusted him. Please don't kill yourself. Please don't feel ashamed! Sex is a part of nature and both sexes are welcome to engage in that activity! Unfortunately for me and where I live I couldn't freely fuck guys without being shamed. It's my vagina, I don't need permission from society to use it. I don't need permission from society about how many people I can use it with. As for my ex, I am not sure if he actually "slut" shamed me but he was disrespectful for even telling his new girlfriend about a lie and allowing her to shame me. He changed as a person. He was such a gentleman when we were dating. Now he's just a horrible person. Never allow your ex or anyone to shame you! - Lynn Joseph
The first time I was raped, it was when I lost my virginity. I was coerced into doing it with a guy who I thought was my best friend. He was no friend. He was manipulative and cruel. I was told that your first time always hurts, you always bleed. It did hurt, and I did bleed - for two days in fact. I know now that that is a lie. Your first time doesn't have to hurt. If it does, you are probably not ready and willing. You are scared. And I was scared. I didn't want to do it. Looking back, I so wish I had said no. The second time I was assaulted, a guy at a party pushed me to the ground and forced oral sex on me. My crime? I was wearing a bikini and "let" him forcibly touch me in a hot tub. The third time, I was in college. I needed stitches after this encounter. And that is all I will say. The fourth time, I was drugged and remember none of it. I feel blessed that this time, this time I was at least spared the shame of remembering. Each time it happened, I shut off. I checked out. I day dreamed while it happened and cried in the shower after it was over. I have always repressed these memories. I did anything I could to convince myself this was all my fault. And I punished myself for it. I starved myself. I cut myself. I burned myself. I suffered crippling anxiety, to the point where I would rip out my hair and nails. It was only when I started reading this blog, and taking classes on feminist theory, that I realized it was not me. I was not the problem. We live in a culture where men see us as objects, where they feel entitled to our bodies. I was not assaulted multiple times because I was a slut or a freak or anything else. I have been assaulted multiple times because our culture said that was okay. And it's time for that to end.
I'm from the wonderful state of Wisconsin. I grew up in a town of around 2,000 people, and everybody knew everybody. Secrets were not kept very well here. I grew up around parents that were very accepting, and that was all I knew. Until I hit middle school. I went through puberty at a very early age, and I looked different. I had large breasts and I didn't understand why people would stare. To me they were just normal and nothing to look at. Upon entering 7th grade I began to get harassed and guys would ask me for sexual favors. When I would say no, they would spread rumors about how I was a whore and how I had STDs. This was really hard for me to cope with, so I began to cut myself to try to handle the pain. I would carve words such as 'slut', 'ugly' and 'useless' into my skin to try and survive the bullying. When it was the summer of 8th grade, I had found a boy who seemed interested in me. Much to my dismay, he was only interested in my body. The first day we hung out, he touched me in very inappropriate ways and talked me into having unprotected sex. I was too scared to say no so all I did was let him do what he wanted. The next day he told me I was a useless bitch and how I would never be loved. He then proceeded to tell all his friends what he did and I lost all my friends. His friends would contact me on social media and call me terrible names and tell me to kill myself. I went through a terrible patch of suicidal thought and began wondering what I did to be hated so much. Luckily, my parents found out and helped me pull myself together. Please, if you're ever feeling suicidal remember that somebody always loves you. There's always help and hope. - Liz Noeske
I was never called a slut or anything like that until I was in 6th grade. It all started when the boy I liked asked me out. At recess we would hang out with his friends and my friends. His friends wanted us to break up. They would say mean things to me like "You're such a slut", or "hey bitch", or "go f!ck yourself". Once one of his friends kicked me. My boyfriend would tell them to stop and try and punch them or something, and they would stop temporarily, but would just end up doing it again. My boyfriend stopped hanging out with one of his friends, I appreciated that, as that "friend" was the one who did most of the mean name calling. One day in class I was in a group with a guy I didn't like very much, but was fun to talk to. So when he said "move, girl", I said "move, boy", and he said "move, hot girl" and then started to look at my butt. I told him to stop but he didn't. He then tried to touch my butt, I slapped him on the hand but then he tried again. I again slapped him. When I wasn't looking or paying attention he succeeded in touching my butt. He eventually stopped. I didn't tell my teacher because it was embarrassing. I could barely tell my friends or my boyfriend. They all said it wasn't my fault, but for as some reason I felt bad. I plan on someday telling my parents but not before I enter 7th grade which will be this year. I don't know why I'm scared, I just am. I'm sorry if I wasted your time I just needed to get it out. Slut shaming and bullying is horrible. Don't do it, just be yourself.
I've always been one to stand up for myself. I'm so thankful for a strong, proud, loving mother, who taught me to value myself, that my words and thoughts are valid, and that my body is my own. In elementary school, I first encountered sexual bullying. It wasn't being directed at me, but one of my best friends, who had developed large breasts at an early age (around 5th grade.) Boys and girls called her a "slut," and talked about her body freely. It got to the point that she was afraid to even go swimming with me without wearing a big, opaque t-shirt. I experienced bullying in different forms at the time, so while I identified with the pain bullying caused, I couldn't identify with the type of bullying she was experiencing. It wasn't until I was in 8th grade that I started to, sadly, understand what she'd gone through. Boys began thinking it was funny to "snap" a girl's bra clasps and straps. One boy, who I considered a friend, walked by me in the very crowded hallway one day, and pulled back on my bra, hard. I instantly became enraged, and slugged him in the arm. I felt so violated, not just because of the physical and sexual nature of the act, but because it violated the trust I had in him as a friend. I started to develop a reputation as someone not to be messed with, due to my confidence and ability to stand up for myself and other people. Most people thought I was much tougher than I actually was in school, and it's a little sad to think that the negative side of that kind of reputation may have caused some people not to want to get to know me, because they thought I was a "bitch." In high school, I experienced unwanted touch, like an ambush kiss in the hallway, and the occasional sexually explicit comment. For the most part, the incidents were mild. I think it's probably because I wasn't a very sexual person at a young age, and wasn't necessarily "girly"; I was more focused on school work and art than relationships, and didn't even begin wearing makeup or styling my hair until my junior year in high school. It was that year that I had the most disturbing experience with a classmate, a boy, in one of my classes. He was a goth kid, shy, smart, and nice to me. I wasn't attracted to him, but I enjoyed talking to him, so when he asked me to a dance, I said I'd go with him as a friend. We agreed to meet there, and we just hung out for most of the dance, since he didn't actually have any interest in dancing. After the dance was over, he tried to kiss me, but I moved away. He asked if I wanted to go out on a date with him, and I, politely as I could, said that I wasn't interested. The next week at school, a friend came running up to me saying that he was telling a group of people in the courtyard that I was a bitch for rejecting him, and that he was going to slit my throat. No one, to my knowledge, had ever threatened my life before, and this boy was so angry that I wouldn't kiss him or date him that he was telling everyone who would listen that he was going to kill me, and how. I remember putting on a brave face, and telling my friend that I wasn't afraid, but I was. I believed that this boy would hurt me if he got the chance. I even wished that I had allowed him to kiss me, so that he wouldn't be so angry. I honestly don't remember which adults I decided to tell about his threats, if any, but, thankfully, he never attempted to harm me. It was the first time I'd ever really rejected someone's advances, and I found out instantly how dangerous that can potentially be. It was a turning point for me, knowing how far some people are willing to go when they don't get what, or who, they want. Later in school, I would go on one date with another boy who I liked, but after going out, didn't want to pursue a relationship. I turned him down when he asked me out again, and he told people that I had "led him on," and called me some names. I would think that it was hurtful, but that it could be so much worse. - Chelsea Keesler
I am 55 years old now. This has been in my background forever and I have never shared this with anyone but my son's therapist. I was the baby of my family and the only girl. I grew up with my brothers and their friends talking about "those girls", the "sluts" who were easy and had sex. I was first molested by a friend of my oldest brother when I was 5. He fondled me and performed oral sex on me. I was too ashamed to say anything to anyone as only those "sluts" had sex. It happened again when I was 12 and this time it was by a friend of my middle brother. Again I thought I was to blame as only "sluts" had sex. I became very promiscuous and found out that I actually enjoyed sex. I always felt bad I didn't tell anyone because I worried about others that were molested by these guys. I have two children and when they would speak of young ladies and start to refer to them as sluts, I told them just because someone enjoyed sex and determined when and where they would have it did not make that individual a slut or loose or a whore. Both of them, a girl and a boy, knew it was a woman's right to call the shots in her sexual life.
Everyone believes them and that's it. Period. There's no asking me. My answer doesn't matter.10/23/2019
During my whole high school career I had tried to avoid being "that" girl. The girl who puts out easily,who everyone hates because of how many guys she talks to and for some reason people think she has slept with everyone. Going into my junior year of high school, I started to go out and become more social. The first week of the school year I had gone out and got a little bit drunk for the first time. One of the guys there came up and started talking to me and asked if I wanted to go to his car. At the time I didn't know that that meant he wanted to do other things so I agreed. While sitting in his car I started to get sleepy and close my eyes. All of a sudden I felt him get on top of me and start kissing me and touching me. I remember that I didn't really know what was going on because I wasn't completely sober. Fortunately, he did not force me into sexual intercourse. The Monday back after that weekend, a particular guy in my grade who was there at the party and who I think at the time liked me, told everyone what had happened between me and the other guy. I have never felt so ashamed of myself while walking to my other class while this guy and a group of other guys looked and even pointed at me. It was the worst feeling ever. After that time I had gone out with other guys and it was a one time kind of thing, but they had always encouraged the idea of us having sex. I was still a virgin and they knew that. Of course I would say no, and they wouldn't force me into anything, but after a couple of days, there would be talk that I did have sex with them. To me, it was incredibly unfair. I had tried so hard not to give them what they wanted but in the end it was their word over mine. I also felt slut shamed because I didn't do what they wanted me to do, and for that they said that I did do these things. After a while I finally found a guy that I respected and I felt he respected me. We weren't going out for a long time when I decided, at the age of 18, to have sex with him. It was something I chose to do. I knew we weren't in love but we respected each other and that was more important to me. Before having sex, I knew that he heard the rumours of me sleeping with other guys, but I had told him that I was a virgin because that was the truth. When having sex, I didn't really act like the stereotypical "virgin". I wasn't scared of the act and I felt ready for it. After that we stopped talking to each other and I had found out that he had said that he didn't believe I was a virgin, especially after us having sex. It was another moment where I couldn't believe what was going on. Because these other guys just say that I had sex with them, everyone believes them and that's it. Period. There's no asking me. My answer doesn't matter. I want this to stop because it is very unfair that I get blamed and I even feel bad for things that I didn't do! It is an unjust world where in this specific topic, the girls are to blame. - Daniella
When I was 13 I moved from Massachusetts to New Hampshire and for some reason it was made very clear from day one that I was unwelcome by everyone, especially the girls. Suddenly boys started noticing me and they would ask me out, which had never happened before because I was always known as the "bookworm" and for some reason the term "freak" started circulating the school. I was fighting off girls everyday for no reason and one got pissed when I won the fight and said, "It doesn't matter, everyone knows you are a stupid slut anyway." I never understood why she said that because at that point I had never even been kissed by a boy and she didn't know me anyway. That is when the boys started asking me out and I didn't put two and two together until later. It started getting to the point where I was having to fight off being groped in the hallway and three girls at once (because I had no trouble with two, thanks to my father teaching me how to fight, but that is also when I got myself into martial arts). It got so bad with the slut remarks that I went to my counselor and told her I was very depressed and couldn't take much more. Unbeknownst to me right across the way was another school, but it looked like a house, and it was a boys' school but it did have one other girl in it, and I guess it was supposed to be for the kids who had trouble in school for one reason or another. The other girl and I became best friends on day 1 and still are to this day. Unfortunately we had a few friends die for different reasons and one of them was a suicide. The person who had killed himself actually lived with me for a little while and my parents to help him out, because him and his parents were not getting along. They were like my dad and considered the school a failure and both referred to it as a school for "sweat hogs". A few days after he killed himself and after the funeral a bunch of us got together at his parents house and had a party in his honor. Let's just say his dad didn't care we were underage and we did drink and smoke at the time. There was a boy there I didn't know very well but I always had a crush on, but he was with one of the girls who had bullied me beyond belief when I was at my regular high school. He motioned for me to sit on his lap and before I did I asked him, "What about Ellen?" and he had told me they had broken up and I told him thank goodness and did sit on his lap. That night we all told stories about our friend and try to remember the good times and the whole time he was stroking my hair and a few times when tears came to my eyes he wiped them away so gently and I guess I just got swept up in it all. I hadn't even thought about a ride home and because I had been drinking and smoking I did not want to call my parents and he offered me a ride home. To be honest I wasn't really ready to go home, especially when he offered for us to sit and talk at this very romantic spot that everyone went to when they wanted to chat or do other things. We talked for a little while and he was holding my hand and stroking my face and I guess I got caught up in the attention because things were not great at my home, and anyway we made love in the car. I thought it was special and I waited for him to call me but I knew there would be another party celebrating our friend the next day at his girlfriend's house and I knew he would be there. We were all having fun, there was loud music and we were drinking... again... and I remember looking for him all night waiting for him to show up. All of a sudden the room went quiet because someone had turned off the music. I turned my head like everyone else did to see why and it was Ellen! I just remember my heart sinking because she was the one who had started the "slut" rumor and she had tried to fight me and when she lost she would bring another girl with her and then another girl until I couldn't fight so many. She would trap me in the ladies room and call me a whore when I was at the other high school, amongst other things, and to be honest I only had a few friends at this party and the rest of them I did not know and there must have been at least 50 people there. Suddenly my eyes caught the boy I was with the other night standing on the stairs, but he was looking down at the ground. Then she started talking to me so everyone's heads whipped around and were staring at me. I will never forget what she said to this day. I should probably mention that I made the mistake of telling my best friend's friend what had happened with him and I just had a feeling it was a bad idea. It turns out she was Ellen's best friend. Ellen began with, "I heard you are telling everyone that you fucked my boyfriend." Believe me that is not how I worded it to the girl and my best friend, who had been there, since it was her house, since if you have been paying attention there was a reason why it was very special to me. She continued on with the words, "Why on earth would he waste his time with an ugly, disgusting, repulsive, scumbag tramp and slut like you when he has someone like me?" I remember turning to look over at him my eyes pleading for something to come out of his mouth in my defense, and he was still looking at the floor. My best friend was somewhere else in the house or I know she would have said something, so I was pretty much on my own with all these people staring at me and I felt like I had been used, and with everything she had called me I felt like nothing and a fool. Then my eyes caught the girl who I had told and she had a smirk on her face. I couldn't take it because I was so humiliated in front of so many people. I ran up the stairs into the main level of the house and found the master bathroom. I looked through the cabinet for any kind of pills I could take because I knew this girl's mother was on things and I found a bottle of something that said "Take one each night for sleep." From my estimate the bottle was almost full. I took the bottle and put it in my pocket and went into the kitchen and drank as many beers as I could fit into my stomach as fast as I could. I went looking for my best friend but I could not find her. I then began looking through the kitchen drawers for a sharp knife and I saw the kitchen block and grabbed a big knife from there. I went back into the master bathroom and with the beer that was in my hand I took the bottle of pills and began running the cold water in the sink and a slit both my wrists. I then went through the other door that went straight into the girl who owned the house's parents' bedroom and I crawled under their bed. Darkness came pretty quickly and I do remember thinking, thank goodness this will all be over. When I came to in the hospital the doctor told me he had no idea how I had survived. I guess my friend went looking for me and found one of my feet sticking out from under the bed. When she told someone they all panicked and I guess instead of calling 911 they threw me into the back of someone's truck and dumped me on my parents' lawn and took off. They would not let my friend call 911 so she went into the back of the truck and when they dumped me on the lawn she jumped out and began punching and kicking my parents' door and pointed to me on the lawn. I guess the only thing that really saved me was that I didn't manage to cut into my wrists deep enough, so they bled very slowly, but the doctors still said they did not understand how I lived between the pills and the alcohol and my wrists, because they drove right past the hospital to dump me on my parents' lawn. The doctor told me I must have had a guardian angel and at the time I remember laughing and thinking that if I had I would have died. I was in the hospital for a long time between healing and the psychiatric part of it but to this day it still hurts. No one said anything when I went back to my new school but the people who were there, there was only a few of them at the party and those were the ones that were my friends. I just remember to this day the names she called me and all the things she did to me and more than anything that when I looked over to plead with him to help me, he couldn't even look at me or anyone else in the eye. I am sharing this because I regret not being stronger to this day and I don't want this to ever happen to anyone else. I also hope if anything like this does happen to someone else that they don't make the same mistake I did and they do what I should have done and stand up for themselves right when it all starts like I tried to do when I was at the regular high school. When it became too much I feel a little bit like I ran away from the problem when I switched schools but that did help me because there was only 38 of us in the school and none of them treated me like that. I let them call me names and I let it circulate that I was a slut when I wasn't and now, I would have found a way to be a smart ass and own it even if it wasn't true, just to make them shocked and have to figure out something else to call me or leave me alone. I can't say for sure that would have worked or if anything would have worked, and I can't say I don't feel like I ran away when I changed schools but I can say I gave her too much power by doing what I did that night and I bet to this day she doesn't even remember any of it or even me, but I can say I remember her name and I will never forget it. I let the word "slut" make me do one of the most stupid things in my life and I let that simple little word wreck me for a long time. All it is is a word and even if it had been true I should have never let it have the power that it did and neither should anyone else. Thank you for listening to anyone who has read this to the end. - Calissta
When I came back from being in the hospital to high school, I was not welcomed with opened arms.10/21/2019
It all started when I was 5 years old. I was in kindergarten. Kids would tease me because I was so different, calling me retard, stupid, I would just lash out and hit one of one the bullies because I did not know how to control my anger. So I was put in a private school. The school could not handle bad behavior so I was kicked out. I was a loner and did not have many friends! My dad abused me as a child with a belt at age 5 on up until I was 11, and with no dinner. As I was growing up I was out of the one private school and put back in regular school when I was in 4th grade to 5th grade and I was 11 and 12 yrs old. My next door neighbor molested me at the age of 11 for about 6 months and was never convicted of it. I never told anyone about it until years later. While that was going on I would mutilate myself with a razor blade. When I was 13 years old I was molested by my stepfather from 13 to 16. He never was convicted. While that was going on I tried to kill myself with a knife. I was kicked out of 6th grade because I beat up the bully and I tried to kill myself! When I was 14 years old I was date raped by two guys. One guy I knew of, the other guy I never knew at all. The one guy hit my head in the back seat and knocked me out and that is all I could remember. They both were not convicted! I was 18 years old when my ex boy friend abused me. He was a lot older than me by 13 years. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the floor, and took his head and split my lip, and took out his 37 and put it to my head and said, "You're mine." To this day I have a restraining order on him for life. In the same year I was going back to regular school (when I was 17, that is when I went back). I was doing okay, did not make friends well, I was a loner! I went to my junior prom in 1991. So in 1991 to 1992 as I was in my senior year, I just lost it. I was put in a mental facility for teenagers because I was still going to school. I just one day snapped, as I was out of control of what happened to me in the past and what was current at the time. When I came back from being in the hospital to high school, I was not welcomed with opened arms. I was bullied so badly I came home just in tears. It was so bad, sexually and other things, they called me Hotdog Girl: "I heard when she stuck it up there it broke off and she had to be rushed to the hospital to have it surgically removed," over and over again during my high school senior year in 1992. I had to be home schooled from November to May until I was at my senior prom. After that I went back to high school but that did not last long. Mind you, I was petite. I was skinny with big breasts. I was 109 lbs. On June 18th, 1992 as my name was called as I was getting my high school diploma, some guy called out and said, "Hey Hotdog Girl!" and everyone just clapped and cheered. I was so embarrassed, humiliated, and upset about it that I just decided that I will never go to a high school reunion. And I am now 41 years old! Only 3 people said they were sorry but the rest, no! On July 28th, 2010 I was getting bullied by a 30 year old female. Calling me all kinds of names, she struck me on the side of my neck with a closed fist and damaged my neck (called a brachial plexus injury). I will wear a splint on my left side of my wrist for the rest of my life. All because I was sticking up for myself and I was avoiding a fight to walk away! And justice was never served. - Jen
Let me start by divulging my age. I am 60 soon to be 61. I saw your story on The Doctors and it struck a chord. I suffered from the damages of the "slut" label while growing up in a southern California resort town, with little supervision, really no supervision. I was pinned down on the beach and groped by boys multiple times; I was 12. My crime was developing too fast, and my other crime was befriending a severely psychologically damaged, obviously sexually abused 12 yr old girl who was gang raped by older boys or as it was called pull the train. I was actually on a boat with her and my 12 yr old boyfriend when it happened. I panicked and one of the older boys took the two of us back to shore but left my friend behind. I have know idea how many times this scenario played out but it was many. What a sad creature with the dead look in her eyes. It was rumored she committed suicide. This event as well as the sexual abuse inflicted upon me by my father from age 6 to 9 shaped my self image and my behavior. I've never really recovered and have had many disastrous relationships but now at this age I am finally free, I don't need sex, I don't want sex, I'm free to never tolerate abusive behaviors that I used to tolerate because I was searching for love in all the wrong places. Now after raising five children and just starting grad school in marriage and family counseling, I'm not only taking control of my own life but reaching out in the hopes of making a difference in women's lives who have been there and are struggling to get back into life again. Being labeled a slut in middle school when girls are at their most vulnerable is a devastating thing to happen, even more so in today's digital world. I hope my story puts a different perspective on the topic. This is not a new phenomenon. - Allison Greer
I was slut shamed when I was 13-15 years old. I am now 35. I overcame it. When I was 13, I wanted to be liked because I didn't get the attention from my parents that I needed. A boy acted like he liked me and talked me into meeting him. When I meet him he had his best friend there and talked me into sleeping with both of them. After that the entire group slut shamed me. I was never the same. I became very depressed and lost many friends. Eventually I became very promiscuous, trying to prove to myself that I wasn't a slut but that I could be sexual and it wasn't a bad thing. I love what you are doing! I have 3 daughters and I don't want what happened to me to happen to them. - Regina
It started freshman year of high school. I was fourteen at the time and like most fourteen year olds I was a little bit naive. So when a boy in my class started talking to me and wanted to hang out and maybe fool around a little bit, I thought it seemed like a great idea. In my mind fooling around meant kissing and maybe him going under my shirt. To him it meant something completely different. He also persuaded me to send him nude pictures. We ended up hanging out and it escalated quickly. He told me I should give him oral sex (he didn't call it that), and when I said "no, I've never done that before and I'm not ready to do that" he thought what he wanted was more important than what I wanted. He guided me to the ground (as I was saying no), put me on my knees and pushed my head on to his penis and held it there. I couldn't breathe. I started to cry, he told me I was horrible at it. Then he pushed me against the wall as he fingered me while I cried and said no. It was incredibly painful. A few days later people at my small high school found out we had "hooked up". Overnight I had become the school slut. People were coming up to me in the hallways, freshman through seniors alike, saying how much of a slut I was, or that they heard I had done this, that, and the other thing, and if I could do it for them too. Horrible rumors were spread about me. It wasn't just at school either---it continued online even after the school day was over. Before I knew it kids from other local schools were saying things as well. Guys would start talking to me and I thought they liked me...after a few friendly texts back and forth, they stopped trying and flat out said "so are you gonna send me a picture of your tits now or what?" This happened over and over again. It deflated my self esteem----and fourteen year old girls typically don't have the highest self esteem to begin with. I doubted my own self worth. I blamed myself constantly for what happened. How could I not when every single day I received comment after comment about how much of a slut I was and how no one will ever want me. The only reason guys talked to me was to get pictures. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and didn't have the energy to fight back or to try to prove any of them wrong. They believed what they wanted to believe anyway, so I didn't see how I could change that. Why would they want to believe what actually happened when the story they heard was way more interesting and scandalous. I started sending guys pictures whenever they asked.
I didn't really hook up with another guy until two years later. I was extremely uncomfortable and didn't have enough self confidence to say no to things that I didn't want to happen. The first guy didn't listen so why would this guy? I wasn't into what we were doing. I wasn't even mentally in the room. My mind was somewhere else. It was an out of body experience. I was watching him hold my head forward as he put his penis in my mouth, and as he fingered me while he had his hand tightly around my throat. The the next time I hung out with a guy, at 16, I thought we were friends. I didn't think he was ONLY after me for sexual things. But once again I was proved wrong. We had texted about some things we wanted to do to each other, but we had also texted a lot about non sexual things. So when we hung out he expected we were going to do what we talked about, and when I said I realized I wasn't comfortable with it and I really did not want to do it, he told me "sluts can't change their minds." He pushed me on the bed, took his pants off and took my clothes off. I kept saying no and trying to change the subject. He put a condom on, told me I would like it. I protested a few more times, started crying and then just laid there like a dead fish staring blankly at the ceiling while he went inside me. I didn't move my body at all. This frustrated him and he put his hand under me and started to move my body into his. He finished and threw my clothes at me. I left as quickly as I could. A year or so later I met a guy and we started dating. It was a real relationship. A month or two in I told him a little about my past and he still wanted to be with me. Eventually I told him everything, and that was the first time I STARTED to see that it wasn't my fault what happened to me. I still was not ready to face it all though. Things were great with him. We fell in love and were in a relationship for three years, mutually ending things when we realized we were on two completely different paths. But there was a major problem in our relationship, although we both tried our best to pretend it wasn't there and that we could overcome it: anything related to sex. Sometimes I was completely okay with things and 100 percent into it. Other times I wasn't but I never said no. I didn't know how to say no. I didn't think I deserved to say no. So it became a constant fight because he could tell when I wasn't into it. He told me I needed to say no if I didn't want to do something. So I started to...and I felt empowered for the first time. So I started saying no more than I was saying yes. At the time I didn't really understand why I was doing that...but upon further self reflection and maturity...I now know that I was so deeply uncomfortable and squeamish about anything related to sex, that it was easier for me to avoid it altogether. I didn't want to pretend that I was enjoying something and I was tired of feeling uncomfortable. It was extremely frustrating for me to be turned on and to want to enjoy being intimate with my boyfriend, but somehow I always ended up going back to being fourteen and being the school slut. Certain things were better than others, and I preferred to do things to him rather than risk having him do something to me and losing any sense of control. It wasn't until shortly before our break up this past year that I started to understand and was emotionally ready to reflect on what happened to me. I realized that I was sexually assaulted, that it was not my fault, and that even though I didn't physically fight them off of me and after a while I stopped saying "no", I never said or SHOWED any signs of saying yes. Crying, turning away, passively lying there, not kissing them back, not looking at them, not helping in any way.....those all say no. They had no right to do the things they did to me. The things they did and the backlash I received all four years of high school and occasionally still today--- it all deeply affected me and my life. I still feel shame talking about or doing anything related to sex. I'm still afraid thats the only reason a guy is talking to me. I'm scared to show that I'm interested in something sexual because I don't want people to think I'm a "slut". My reputation was destroyed because of things I did not even want to happen. I have recently started working through this with a counselor and it has helped immensely. But I'm still constantly afraid I'm going to be uncomfortable in sexual situations for the rest of my life. I am just starting to talk to guys again after my break up, I spent the past 5 months focusing completely on myself and finally confronting the trauma I experienced. And as far as I have come in the past 5 months, I know I still have a great deal of work to do to get to the point where this is truly a part of my past and not a part of my everyday thoughts. To those boys who took my innocence and made my first sexual encounters deeply traumatizing and to the hundreds of people who made comments about how much of a dirty slut I was; I want you to know I forgive you. Even though you probably have no idea what you did wrong (gotta love rape culture), I forgive you. And I want you to know that you didn't BREAK me. You cracked a few pieces of me, but you never broke me. And you never will. I am a million times stronger because of the horrible things you did to me. I am a kind, compassionate, genuine, smart, considerate beautiful person. You can't ever take those things away from me. You never did, and you sure as hell never will. I was a happy 12 year old. I was overweight and I loved myself. I had everything - adoring parents, a great hobby, and a sustainable allowance for everything I could have asked for. He was not a bad person. I knew it. His mother had cancer and passed away, and he didn't have a penny on him to eat. We were friends, we liked teasing one another, we hung out... until one day, he asked me to meet him at the lift lobby. He said something about giving me a gift and wanting to show me something, and I thought nothing of it. What would a twelve year old child do with me anyway? I could take care of myself, or so I thought. I thought nothing of it. I left my classroom curious about what his gift could be. I wish I had suspected something was amiss. The boy who barely had fifty cents for a plate of noodles wanted to buy me a gift. I did meet him, and he said a string of horrible things that all fade into the words "whore" and "prostitute" and then he touched me. My confidence was shattered. I went home and showered until my skin was raw, and I felt dirty. It was as if I got a layer of grime on my skin and a sticker on my forehead that screamed "dirty" or "prostitute". I believed every single one of his words. I told my mother a few days later and I remember her laughing about it with my dad. I did not understand what was going on, and I thought that it was all just a phase I was going through. The next day at school people called me a slut. My friends left. My team turned on me. People said I had sex with him for cash. The teachers who knew warned me against saying anything, intimidating me into silence and hoping that things would blow over, but the scars are still open and have been for a while. I am suicidal. I then got depression, anorexia and insomnia. I left the school for a new one and the lies followed. My relationships with my parents are in the gutter. I've been depressed and anorexic for three years and things are not looking up. I've been touched so many times in my new school I've lost count. This has been going on for three years and I am on my last legs, and it is not going to stop soon. Please share my story so people understand the horrible consequences of slut shaming. - Katrina North Note to the Katrina: You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please call 1-800-273-8255. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily.
My name is Amy. I am a survivor of many forms of sexual assault, but the one I'm going to talk about today involves slut-shaming, and still to this day rattles me whenever I overhear a certain movie. My co-workers at the time, who I'll refer to as J and A, decided to invite me to hang out with them and their good friend, G. We were going to watch movies and relax after a long, busy day at work. I agreed since I'd been stressed out that day. We got to G's house and decided to watch The Crow and The Crow 2 since it was all we could agree on. We started the movie and J realized she needed to go home to feed her animals. A decided to go with her. We were about halfway through the first movie when G decided to move closer to me so we could talk. "So you're a lesbian?" he asked. I nodded and said "My partner C and I have been together for about three years and are pretty happy." He moved closer and asked if I'd ever been with men. I didn't realize it at the time but now know it was a red flag and I should have tried to get away from him. Then he pushed me down into the couch and pinned my wrists over my head. I tried to push him up off of me. He smirked and said "I'm going to make you never want women again, I'm going to turn you straight." Then he pushed up my skirt and pulled my underwear down, and I disassociated, and didn't really remember what happened next until recently. (I knew I'd been raped, just didn't remember details.) I ran outside sobbing, and waited for my friends to return. They showed up within ten minutes, but it felt like I waited forever. A asked if I was alright. I told her I wasn't and whispered "He raped me." She told told me she'd take me to the hospital right away. J looked as if she wanted to laugh. "Oh, like it was rape, you've told us you haven't gotten any from C in ages, I bet you really enjoyed it." I wanted to punch her but I didn't have the strength, instead A and I got in her car, and I decided not to go to the hospital. I got home and immediately hopped in the shower, scrubbing my body so hard that my skin felt almost raw. I knew that now I couldn't report it, but I didn't care. I'd felt so dirty and had to wash any traces of him away. Sometimes I wish I'd reported him, and I know I still can but I most likely never will. Since it was late, I decided I would wait until the next morning to call C since we both had to work the next day. Since I'd decided to take the day off and I knew she went in around noon, I called her. The conversation went like this: "Hey babe I need to talk to you about something important." "Okay, go ahead." "Uhm, I don't really know how to say this, but... uhm I was raped last night." She began to laugh, "Right you were raped, I'm sure of it. Even though you and I haven't had sex in ages, you have a high sex drive, I bet you begged for it." I hung up and immediately felt ashamed and like a slut. It felt like that night all over again. We broke up shortly after that conversation. For a long time after that, I constantly questioned my sexuality. I was a lesbian who liked it when someone used a strap-on, so did that mean I had wanted it that night? Since I'd been denied sex, didn't that mean I had wanted it? I felt like a slut, even though I logically knew I wasn't one. I'd been slut-shamed. I want those reading this to know that your sexual orientation doesn't matter when it comes to sexual assault. Neither does having a partner or being single. Just because someone doesn't believe you, I do, no matter what your story is. These days, I've reclaimed who I am, and no longer question my sexuality. I'm proud to be a lesbian, and proud to be a survivor. It's been a long, hard road but thanks to people like my survivor sister Nicole, good friends, and an amazing former therapist, I feel good about who I am. I'm hoping that by writing this, I can help others and finally put this completely behind me. - Amy M
Once when I was 17, I used to be really into drugs. I would take any offer to do them no matter how sketch the situation seemed. One thing I never did do, nor will ever do, is sexual favors for drugs, but back to my story. I got a call at 3:00 am from one of my guy friends who told me he was at the end of my street and to come down to smoke a bowl of weed. I woke up and went down the street when I got there he handed me a bong and some weed and then I took a couple rips then he took the bong away. He asked if I wanted to have sex. I said no and that I was just here to smoke. He said that the weed wasn't for free and I had to return the favor, and I didn't have a choice. Then proceeded to grab me and push my body over and rip off my dress, literally rip my dress off. I tried to get up and scream for help and he pushed me back down over a brick wall so I hit my head on the bricks. I got scared that I was going to start to bleed out of my head, and because I have a bleeding disorder I could bleed out very quickly if I got too bad of a gash. So I just laid bent over and took it. He anally raped me for what felt like forever. When I felt like his grasp had loosened, I jumped up. It startled him, causing him to push back. I ran as fast as I could back home, leaving my ripped dress behind but pulling the shirt I had over it all the way down. I was in shock for the next too weeks. He had torn my rectum and I bled for three days after the incident. I convinced myself that it was my fault and I had asked for it. It got to the point that I was even trying to convince myself I wanted it. Then one day I learned about a thing called feminism, and that it's not okay to do that to humans. We need to be treated equal and it doesn't matter what I wore or did, if I said, "no," then I meant no. There's no pressuring me into saying yes. There's no threatening or bribing me to say yes. Three no's and one yes doesn't make consent. I've realized that we should teach others not to rape instead of teaching people to not victimize themselves so they get raped. It has been four years since the event. I am in a drug program. I attend NA meetings, I go to college and am studying to be a school psychologist, and I have a job at TERI Inc. which is a center for developmentally disabled adults and children. I go to therapy once a week and work out my sexual assault a little every time. I do suffer from PTSD, but I live a better life now. I don't let my rape hold me back today. Stay strong everyone! - Katie
|
