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The Wall -- Survivor Testimonials A Cyberian Monument |
Updated: 11/15/98 |
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The idea for this monument comes from Kayjay who maintains an index of links to survivors, which she refers to as: "...a memorial wall, much like the American Vietnam Veterans Wall in Washington D.C. The biggest difference being, the people listed here have survived and are going on to take back that was ripped from them."I've always thought this an apt comparison. Survivors have lived through traumas not dissimilar in psychological magnitude and duration to the experiences of Vietnam vets, and in the most severe cases, right down to the fight for physical life. Unlike veterans, however, survivors of sexual abuse know that their experiences will, for the most part, go unacknowledged, their courage and will to persevere in the face unimaginable wounding unrecognized. This page is dedicated to abuse survivors far and wide.
Iphigenia. In Greek mythology, the daughter of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, who was offered as a sacrifice by Agamemnon but rescued by Artemis. She later became a priestess. -The American Heritage Dictionary, Third Edition. |
Warning to Survivors: Please proceed carefully. The following stories contain descriptions which may be triggering.
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Lynda |
Dear Ariana, As you know, I read your journal daily, and I understand so much of what you are feeling. Every time I read about you hurting, I hurt too, because you are so wonderful and precious to me. There is a store of beautiful things in my heart I want to give to you... I want to share with you something else about myself--I am a rape survivor. I was raped by two men in 1983, and beaten so badly that I lay in a coma for more than a week in the hospital. Twice I had to be brought back to life--and I wonder still now to this day where it was that I went before I was brought back. For weeks after the rape, because of the trauma to my head, I could not remember what had happened--and then it all came back. I still have recurring nightmares about that night. The dreams are worse than the reality, and that was bad enough. Since then my dreams are haunted by those hours. The nighttime helps to paint those pictures for me again so clearly, and at times I think I will never escape the horror I went through. I ranted and raved against fate and my warrior spirit battled to save me--what was left of me. I know all too well the feeling of curling up in a ball and wanting the world to go away. I know about wishing that you could go to sleep and just not wake up, so you don't have to deal with pain anymore. I begged God daily to let me die--I wanted to die. I was put into a psychiatric ward for a total of a month, for my own protection and had round the clock treatment. I spent the next months in court with lawyers, and the two of them glaring at me, testifying against them and reliving that night over and over again. Their lawyers turned everything around and made the two of them the victims. They were both eventually convicted on the counts of rape and attempted murder. I was very proud of myself because I thought I was recovering, when in reality, I had just disassociated and pushed everything further down. This theft of my innocence and body affected my life in every aspect. I hated these men with a passion until the very fabric of my life was eaten away with the bitterness of my hate. It wasn't until a few years ago that I began really uncovering the deep effects that the rape has left imprinted in me. I have been in therapy for all of these years and it has helped me turn my life around...I used to think "I could have stopped it..if only". The if-only’s would kill me if I had never talked about it. This past year, with the help of my therapist, I finally had the courage I needed, and I attended a weekend retreat for survivors of rape, and the connection I felt with these women was incredible. We were from all walks of life, but all shared the same shame which did not belong to us. The healing that came out of that weekend was beautiful. I have many very tense and irritable days. They are usually triggered when people expect me to be interested in the mundane and purposeless things that go on in life. Somehow in the great scheme of things, their concerns seem so petty and they fuss about them. It usually takes me a little while to remember that these things are important, too, but by then sometimes I'm too irritable to care. I get irrational, too. Sometimes I think I'm still going off the deep end... I may have told you this before, but I still look for the butterfly that used to make my heart ache with loveliness. I look for the stars that used to illuminate the blackest of nights. I look for joy in a world that is drab and without color for me sometimes. I have all the pieces of my life around me, and the desire to recover is the glue that will one day fasten them completely together. Lately, I look for two pieces that fit, so I can begin to weave my life together again. Ariana, we will learn how to make this a part of our lives, and break away from this dreadful thing that holds us and pulls us into the pit of despair. Part of what will do that is the friendship and caring we have for each other, and each other's pain and each other's stories. I read your stories that fill me with such sadness and pain...we are part of each others sorrow in different ways, because both of us have something to say that will help heal the heart of the other. That in sharing our grief, we can somehow, someday come to terms with it. Ariana, you are a SURVIVOR, you have already proven that, and you will get through all of these feelings that you are having now. You are a beautiful person, and I am here for you when you need to reach out. I know you understand...
Wishing you great comfort
-Lynda
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Michael |
I survived...
His name was Jim, an older man and someone that reminded me of my grandfather. He was buying a computer and because of a handicap I gladly offered to help him carry his newly purchased computer out to the car. He was very friendly and after a few days I visited him at his residence. I played with his computer and we soon became very close friends. My parents were very happy that I had found a friend, and especially one that they thought would keep me out of trouble. The summer came and went and Jim had bought me all kinds of toys, and I surly thought that this was the grandfather had always longed to spend more time with. When the next summer arrived he wanted me to go to Minnesota with him, just to see some friends and to do some fishing. I quickly asked my parents and with some hesitation they agreed. They had met Jim and thought that he was nothing more then an old man appreciating the company of their son, and at this time so did I. I packed my suitcase with overwhelming joy that for sometime that I would be away from my parents and maybe forget all that I had left behind in Germany. That night I went to his house preparing for the trip that would last the rest of my life. Jim seemed very pleased that I was going to accompany him on his journey and he thought that we should celebrate. He opened up a beer and gave me a glass filled. This was not the first time that I had drunken alcohol. The beer took it's natural course and I became very happy. Knowing that my mother was never to know I indulged in this experience, and the happiness of going on a trip the following day only added to my excitement. When I became sleepy I laid on the couch and started falling asleep. Jim asked to sleep next to him in his bed. I thought nothing of it especially after the beer I had had. But Jim had other plans and me going to sleep was not one of them. He started touching me in my private area. I told him that I did not like it and that I wanted him to stop. But then he told me that he had bought the new car my parents had and that he would no longer help my parents with the financial heartaches. Feeling trapped I let him do whatever he wanted and so he did. He undressed me and proceeded to molest a 13 year old boy. The Vacation ended up an nightmare, day in and day out the abuse continued. The feelings of shame came in quickly and the only hope I had was return to my parents. When the vacation was at its end we returned to my parents house, Jim made it clear that telling them was no clear choice. And that if I let him have his ways they were sure to enjoy their lives much more. I kept this dark secret hidden for years, Jim continued to have his ways with me. Secluded from myself I spent all my days in my room. On the weekends the nightmare would continue. He showered me and my parents with gifts, and in the summers I would endure vacations that I would hate. At the age of sixteen I finally ended it, I no longer cared about repercussions. After telling him that I was planning on telling my parents what had happened over the year, but when I arrived my mother quickly told me to sit down and told me that my grandmother had passed away. I felt as though I could not lay this on my mother and maintained this secret inside. The next few years the damage started to take its toll. I dropped out of high school, began drinking very heavily. My parents could not understand how their child that was once so happy had turned out to be so mad and angry at such a young age. Life was something I did not care for and the shame and the guilt would take me to places I would never could have dreamed of. Countless suicide attempts followed by more binges of drinking. My girlfriend became pregnant and I was to be a father at age seventeen. I got arrested for driving drunk shortly before my eighteenth birthday. I continued for the next few years living anywhere I could and drinking at all times. I even tried LSD for awhile but for the grace of god I never died from it. My life still plagued with self destruction, I turned to masochism, taking knives and razors to myself. Then for some time I started covering my body with tattoos with needle and thread and some ink. I was completely out of control, the friends I had distanced themselves. I spent a over 30,000 dollars after getting my inheritance on maintaining this life. At this time I was nineteen and I was only sure of one thing... I wanted to die. This life had nothing to hold me, and even the my son was not enough to stop. I moved back to my parents who had moved to a small town, several hours away from anyone I knew. It only took six months to waste the money I had gotten. I had given my parents some money to start a store, and I would spend days alone in their house drinking and playing my guitar. My depression was getting worse and once again I turned to masochism. To this day the scars still show. Finally one night while sitting with my parents drinking the dark secret escaped and for the first time in my life a ray of light came into my blackened and empty soul. They were enraged and tried to comfort me the best they could. But all the anger and rage that had built up over the years came to light, and that night I stole my parents car and drove 3 hours in the middle of the night, being very drunk to confront my abuser. But what I thought would help ended up only to hurt me more. I told Jim how I felt and what I had lost. He was cold and uncaring, nothing I said made him shed a tear. I ended up forcing him to help me get on my feet. A few thousand dollars, my drivers license, a car, and insurance was all he ever paid for the nightmare I had to live through. My parents decided to move to Florida, but I decided to stay behind. Once again having money and a car it was time to return to my well founded life. Drinking and partying was a full time job, and it would not last long--my body was hurting from the damage I had done. And eventually I would rely on my parents to help me up. When I got to Florida I started working but now I had no bills and I drank once again. My life became a marathon--always running from myself, always trying to out run the memories and the feelings inside. This kept up for years, the countless suicide attempts, Dues, scars and scared parents, friends, and spouses. Now I am twenty-four and for the first time really dealing with the problem...ME !!! I no longer have anywhere to run, and I no longer want to die. I am sober and drug free, but every day I have to work on the image that this man built for me. I am not at fault, I did nothing wrong, and no matter how hard I try he will never feel the pain that he gave to me. I am in counseling and am slowly getting my life back together and with the help of God I find some happiness for me. I am a recovering alcoholic and a survivor, but today that does not stop be from loving myself. For I am no longer a victim, but rather someone that will no longer allow someone to run my life, nor my emotions. I won't say that it is easy but it's much better than the life I had before. No one can explain what it is like to have everything you believe in, everything you're made of, torn away, but I feel it. Now I am left with the long road of reconstruction. For the countless others that have endured this type of abuse I ask only one thing, only one thing that I need today... To Know I am not alone...
Michael Chasse |
Megan |
My name is Megan. I am a survivor of incest. In my mind I have done more than survive- I have thrived despite the dark legacy that I grew up in. It has been a long road for me- the trip has not always been an easy one. I have stumbled many times but by the grace of a higher being I have moved forward. I am at a better place now than I have ever been. My story starts as the youngest child of three. The ages of my siblings vary from 8 to 15 years. I barely knew my brother- he was off to Vietnam in the middle 1960's when I was starting school. He left the abuse at 17 thinking the army and war zone where a better alternative than home. My sister choose to be introverted and without emotions- as strange as it sounds the personality of Mr. Spock from "Star Trek" was her hero. I lived a great deal of my life in a sort of fantasy world. I remember thinking the angels were always around me to protect me. I would withdraw into a white light. I could "fly" in my mind to many places. One dream that reoccurred frequently for me was flying to a mountain in the desert that would open up into a beautiful world. In times of extreme stress I could see the black wrought iron fence circle round me and the angels stand guard. I always had Aaron and David with me-into my adults years. I am 36 years old. My conscious journey started in the remembering of abuse and incest at age 25. I remember feeling that the world was closing in on me that fall day. It was in the bathroom stall at a Country Buffet. My lover had pointed out some valid things to me that made me realize that I had some experiences that weren't normal. I can feel the losing of my breathe and the spinning that I felt at that moment as I pen this now. My partner was also a victim of incest and had dealt with it to a certain extent. I am amazed to this day how we find each other- us children of the shadows. I am struggling at this moment to go on. There is so much to tell. I feel like I could write a thousand pages of my experiences. I had spent a fair amount of energy and terror on the thought that in the world of incest I occupied a place of more horror and darkness than anyone else. I write this because my mother was my abuser. It is hard to say that because your mother is suppose to be your protector, the one to nurture you, to help you become the best person you can be. My mother. Emily Louise. was the antithesis of this. I have looked through my writings to find these poems. I frantically tore about the hall closet to find them. I want to share them with any reader of my story. It best says where I have come from, what I have been through, and where I am now.
COLORS- written 10-31-97 235pm
Thinking back through childhood years
I wonder about colors_
Where were the rainbows?
There were none.
All I remember was gray and black.
Shades of grey all around me
Breathing through my skin, my mind, my soul.
Suffocating my life force.
Then there was a blackness there
Constantly enticing me and repelling me.
Raping me in every dimension-
No possible area left unturned-
emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually,
psychologically, socially.
I remember my color, still my color, white.
I hide in it
I breathed in it
I thought in it
I survived in it
I permeated all of me in it
It was my protection
It is my protection.
Today I totally emerge from the gray
Today I renounce the blackness
Today I begin the journey to join the white of all
Today I began to travel fully to the white light
Today I walk to shine
My journey to join the rainbow has begun
MAPB
The next writing was from 1991- published in a local newsletter in Arizona for a Women's Shelter. It is the place I have reached. I think it best shows my struggle and victory. It is an untitled piece.
In a moment of time
I stop- step into another place
My eyes look outward
Past this reality
Seeing into another dimension
I stand among the stars
Glittering flashes of light surround me
There is no noise there
There is no threat there
It is a safe peaceful place
I lift my hands upward
I am able to spin, to float, to fly
In the distance I see something
I become still
I look intently
I see procession of events
A small baby lays in a crib
A blanket drops over her head
Hands from a darkness reach in
They reach for the diapers
The pictures freezes...
A four year old girl stands on a dresser
She is wearing nylons, a fur wrap, her face is painted
She wears nothing else
Pictures are taken
A voice calls out to make pouty faces
The picture freezes...
A six year old child is clad in a white robe
She is on an army base in the showers
The water is turned on, the robe drops
She steps into the hot water
A washcloth approaches
The picture freezes...
An eleven year old girl and her friend are on the couch
The mother sits down on the couch
She takes her toes- she rubs the girls' vaginas
She makes taunting remarks about wet pants
The picture freezes...
A thirteen year old girl is caught touching herself
The voice tells her she has ruined her body-
she's pulled the inner lips longer than the outer lips- the voice laughs
The girl spends time trying to pull the outer lips over the inner lips.
A fifteen year old girl is reading pornography
The mother gave it to her
The mother tells the girl that all boys want to do is squeeze her tits,
fuck her and make her cry for more.
The twenty year old woman has a book shown to her
It shows women licking each other
The mother screeches "Is that what you want to do?"
A twenty three year old watches her mother
show bloodied underwear to her male friend
She tells him that this is from a SLOB
The procession stops--
I have watched the events.
I know the baby
I know the four year old
I know the six year old
I know the eleven year old
I know the thirteen year old
I know the fifteen year old
I know the twenty year old
I know the twenty three year old
They are the same person
They are me.
I see the baby picked up from the crib by the four year old child.
The four year old child carries the baby while the six year old takes her hand.
They walk to the eleven year old who takes the six year old's hand.
The thirteen year old puts her arm around the eleven year old.
The fifteen year old continues the chain to the twenty three year old.
The group- Me at many ages- stands among the stars.
I walk towards them
I step into them
I tell them that we are all alright.
I turn and walk forward
Towards a path of stars.
MAPB
I have changed a lot since this was written. I am able to love myself and others. I am with a man who makes me happy and is a wonderful support. I thank heaven for Tom. I also thank Genny for being on the trip home with me when I confronted many places. She was the first person to share my pain in such a personal way. I go to the place my mother calls home to close up her belongings. She can no longer hurt me. This is part of my story for the wall. Blessings to all fellow survivors and those who are in the struggle with them. Megan Pfund |
If you would like to help others by sharing your story, please feel free to submit it below, and I'll add it here to The Wall. Thanks for reading.
