Aohrodite Wounded - Support for Women sexually assaulted by male partners and educational resources for professionals
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SURVIVORS SHARE ACCOUNTS OF TEEN PARTNER RAPE

A NOTE
I get numerous accounts of rape from young teenage girls. Whether your story is about partner rape or not, I am incredibly concerned about the dreadful situations you face, and because the story forms don't contain email, I can't return contact. Some of you have never told anybody. Please, if you are a young teenage girl - whatever has happened, see this page and reach out to somebody for help. If you like, you can read my story about being an abused teenager here - please know that with the right support, the way you feel won't last forever xx


Survivor's Name:

Deirdre

Survivor's Story: I was 15, chubby, had glasses -- brainy but socially inept. My friend Kathy was seeing a guy named Mike, and Mike introduced me to Jim. I fell for him immediately. He was tall, had dark hair and blue eyes and a very seductive way about him. He was 18.

I was a sophomore at Roosevelt High School in Des Moines, Iowa, and he was a senior at the Catholic high school, Dowling.

In early 1968, Jim picked me up at my house and said we were going to go bowling. I wasn't crazy about the idea because I was a poor bowler, but I would have gone anywhere to be with him. If I remember right, he drove a Dodge Dart, but I could be wrong about that. Anyway, we never got anywhere near a bowling alley. He drove to a dark road somewhere near the edge of town, or in an uninhabited area, and pulled off into a cleared space where several other cars were parked. Later someone told me this place was known as "Cherry Hill" because of all the virginities that were given up there. I wish I had known where I was-- things might have gone differently.

We kissed a long time, and his hands kept going under my clothes, and at first I tried very nicely to move his hands away, but I thought he loved me so I didn't want to make him mad at me. I figured as long as I didn't go all the way with him, everything would be okay.

But he pushed me back so my head was wedged between the steering wheel and the driver's side door, and he was on top of me. I kept telling him NO, but he didn't care. He just kept yanking at my clothes until he could rape me. I even hit him on the back but it didn't faze him one bit. He just kept at me. He hurt me bad.

When he was done he got out of the passenger door and came around and got in the driver's seat. I was trying to rearrange my clothes with shaking hands. I was trying very hard to keep from crying. I was in a kind of daze.

We drove around for a while. He parked the car again a while later, in another dark place.¬ He opened his pants and said "Kiss it." I didn't want to. He pushed my head down. I did what he wanted me to do but I felt sick, disgusted, but I couldn't think of anything except "get this over as quickly as possible so I can go home".

When he pulled up in front of my house he told me to wipe the blood and semen off his upholstery, so I did. As I got out of the car, he said, "I'll call ya." He didn't, of course. It hurt then, but today I'm glad I didn't let myself in for more abuse.

I ran into the house and up the stairs to my room. I washed myself. I remember clearly looking in the mirror and my eyes looked like I had a high fever. I just stared at myself for a long moment.

I didn't tell anyone about it for YEARS. The things he said to me that night were humiliating and accusatory. He called me a dicktease. He made fun of my underwear. He was a monster.

I have been in therapy most of my adult life, suffering from major depressive disorder. I have never had a healthy intimate relationship with a man. I finally had to make the decision never to try another relationship because they all ended up hurting me badly in one way or another. He gets about 90% of the blame.

I don't know what he has done with his life since then. I don't know if he's ever felt bad about what he did. All I know is, I need to get the word out to the world that James H is a rapist. He's 55 or so now, but he's still a rapist, even if I was the only victim. However, statistics show that if a guy rapes once, he'll rape again and again.

I want him to suffer. I want him not to have a moment's peace the rest of his life. I want him to rot in hell.

I found out this week that he now lives about 2 hours from me. Keep in mind, I moved halfway across the continent. Turns out, he did too. There's nothing to be read in that -- lots of Iowans defected to California. Anyway, knowing he was alive and not far away brought up huge wells of rage and fear that made me want to do him major harm. Which, in turn, made me feel physically ill to the point where I could not drive to my therapy appointment. I called Gauri (my therapist) and after I told her what was¬ going on we had our session on the phone.

She asked a lot of diagnostic questions and said it sounds like PTSD. After doing a lot of reading on the web about PTSD yesterday I completely agree. Since the rape, I have had major depression, occasionally suicidal (not for many years, I'm glad to report), compulsive overeating, substance abuse, my tendency to be quickly startled or angered, and a long line of unhealthy relationships. And, of course, the increasing anxiety over the last couple of years. My history, plus my detailed memories of the rape that, once remembered play over and over in my head, plus my terrible reaction to knowing where he is -- all lead to the diagnosis of PTSD.

Gauri and I will be using a new kind of CBT based on a book called "Seeking Safety". What makes this new as I understand it, is that PTSD and substance abuse used to be treated as separate problems, and this therapy treats them together. I haven't done any dangerous drugs for many years, but the fact that I went through years of it means substance abuse is in me.

This is not a situation that will go away in a short time. It pisses me off that something that happened so long ago is now disrupting my life. I thought I had worked it all through in therapy in the last 10 years or so. But the rage has been bubbling just under the surface for a long time, and now it's coming out and I'm trying very hard not to be a pain in the patootie to people around me. I didn't want to tell Mom about this current upsurge, but she was worried so I emphasized the optimism I feel about therapy.
Submitted November 21 , 2010 4 : 58 am

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