LIGHTCIRCLE: A group dedicated to bringing child abuse ( physical, sexual, psychological, emotional and spiritual) out into the light where the myths can be exploded and the stories can be heard. Bringing the tragedy of child abuse into the light (public and private), so that it touches the lives of everyone within the world to the extent that child abuse becomes something unknown and obsolete.

Readers: For your own healing and well-being be in a safe place before you read these stories. These are true stories of abuse and of the healing work each person is going through. These stories may be triggering. Lightcircle is not responsible or liable for anything written herein. These stories are property of the authors.

Hey All,

This letter is prompted by my therapist. She thinks it would be a good idea to venture out and tell my story. I must warn you to get out the no-doze, you are gonna need it. I am not exactly sure as to what I would like to share, I guess I may just start off from the beginning, so to speak and see where that leads. Who knows maybe this will turn out to be a best selling novel. NOT!!!! Anyway, I guess I should try and start. If you think this is something you do not want to read then please feel free to delete it and go no further.

My dad's side of the family is kind of large considering he has 4 brothers and they are all married and each have 2 kids. My dad's parents came from a large family, so the reunions and the basic get togethers are quite large at times, or at least they use to be. Anyway, the first time I can remember anything was at the age of 5 or so. We had a large family get together at my grandparents house. Relatives had come in from Virginia and SC. Two older cousins, Mike and Randy, who were around ages 15 and 16, took me into an old barn and had me fondle them and kiss them while they did the same. They told me to never tell or I would get into big time trouble. I think that just set me up for all the abuse that followed. I am just glad they lived in another state.

I grew up with a set of parents who were really weird. My father was a very angry man, and my mother had severe mood swings, so I never knew whether it was going to be a good day or not. I was told often how I was unwanted. Their actions only confirmed these statements. My dad lived very close to all his brother's and parents. we used to meet at his parents every Sunday for dinner and "family" time.

My grandparents were the most loving people I had ever had in my life.

The next time I can remember anything of that type of nature was with my sister, who is 6 years older than me. it was during the summer and she wanted to play house. I was to be her baby. She had me act as if I was breast feeding with her. Not one of my prouder moments to say the least. As far as I can tell though that was a one time event. My memory stays fuzzy though, but I really think it was just one time.

The next incident of abuse was far longer and more destructive than anything my parents ever inflicted on me I do believe. It started with a cousin, Brian, who happens to be a few months younger than myself. I think that makes it very hard to forgive myself for things that happened. It started when I was around 10 and until I was about 13 or 14 it was just him and the violence was some what limited. It is just the time I had to spend around Brian was unlimited. The summer months and weekends were the worst, the attacks were everyday, but during these times it would be 2 or 3 times a day at least. Brian was treated like the son my dad always wanted and never had. He was always around. My dad bought me a dirt bike so we could go out on trails together. he would chase me down and force me to stop, if not he would wreck me, and then the pain would be that much more. I figured the visible wounds I would have to explain to my dad and the others would just go away.

At about 13 or 14 another cousin, mark came into the picture. The episodes with both of them were many during the summer and the Sunday's at my grandparents. At least through the week I only had to deal with Brian. I paid dearly for it on the weekends though. The violence really went throughout the roof. I was dragged by my hair, had knives held to my throat and things like that. I would just space out because that was the only way I knew to survive. Only way I still know how. they use to call me a whore and maybe they are right. Maybe I was just a whore, except for one thing I never got paid. I always said I did worse things than a whore would do .\

At 17 it stopped because after one really bad Thanksgiving that year I broke down and told a friend and she didn't know what to do so she told a teacher, who in return told the guidance counselor who told the principal. yes I hated my friend at that time. The ironic part was the principal was Mark's cousin. They were both called and talked to about it, neither denied it, but it was never discussed again. I managed to keep my parents out of it then, because my father was in the hospital recovering from a massive heart attack. There is only one aunt and uncle who know to this day and that is because the principal was friend's with him and it came out, I didn't know for several years that they knew. It got stopped and that was all that matters I guess.

I joined the army right after school to get away from them. I thought the further away I got the better I would be, man I know now, a few years too late that running is not the answer. I met my hubby in the army. He came home December 19th, and we went to my parents home and got married Dec 23, 1986. December 16th, 1986 I was raped by an co worker at the base. he came to my room to borrow some polish and it was in my stand next to my bed. I flopped down over my bed and reached across to get it and next thing I knew he was on me, and that was that. I felt so alone and empty afterwards. I was sure my future hubby would find out. I kept my mouth shut about it though. I came up pregnant and I had no idea whose child it was. I was scared too death. I lost that one 10 weeks into the pregnancy. I still haven't figured out how I felt about it. When a year later I had my second miscarriage, I just knew I was being punished for all my past sins.

I have a beautiful 7 year old daughter now. hubby and I have had our ups and downs, but we are hanging in there. he does know about the abuse with Brian and Mark and that is it. I have been in therapy for I think 3 and a half years and sometimes it feels like forever and I wonder if it will ever end. I have a wonderful therapist though, who has helped me in a lot of ways, yet I know I have much more work ahead of me.

I think the time I spend online with my healing journey buddies has helped me alot also. I have always thought that there couldn't possible be anyone out there who has had to go through what I have been through. Unfortunately there are too many of us out there.

Well, I am sure that by now you are tired of reading this, just be glad it is typed and not in my chicken scratch. If you have gotten this far, thanks for listening. Hope you didn't have to take too many no-dozes to get through this. it took me 3 hours to write it, hope it sounded okay.

A Sister in Healing,

Lisa

There is a moment in time when we all need to open a door to let someone in. I know how hard it is to trust someone after you have had your whole world shattered like cheap glass found on the side of a road. I have spent so much time hiding behind fear rather than living my life the way that it is intended for us all to do. That fear stops us from experiencing the good things in life when we allow it to. Then when you least expect it there are people that can come into your life to show you a prism of light in all of the darkness. I have thought about writing this so many times. I know that it is time to write this story. Now, I feel like it is the right time to let myself open up to the joy of loving someone again. I hope that you all will lean on someone again to find what I have found. It is right there in front of you if you just reach out to hold it. There are people who will give you the love, patience, and understanding that we all need. When I open my eyes today the pain is still there and is surrounded by the beauty of all of you. There are people out there who will surround us like a safety net if we allow them to do so. That will try to keep us safe from harm.

When I was about five years, I lived with my parents in a house near Bowling Green, Kentucky. From what I can remember the house was made of brick, it was all one level, except the basement was underneath. We had to go out the back-door and down a set of stairs to get there. I can remember standing outside in the backyard and seeing a small white house that was off to the right of ours. There was an older boy that my mother told me to stay away from. I remember seeing him one day outside playing with what looked like a gun. I can remember standing there and him coming up to me. He asked me if I wanted to play with his squirt gun. I didn't hesitate to do so. He was so nice to me that day that I couldn't understand why my mother would want me to stay away from him.

A few days later I had slipped outside once again. I saw him standing in the same place as before. I walked up to him this time. He asked me if I wanted to see his secret place. I followed right along behind him. His secret place was made of tin that was used to cover the roof of a barn. I went inside like he asked me to. He told me that there was no reason to be afraid. I can remember him being so kind and thinking that he was. Well, after a few times of sneaking away and not telling my parents anything about it. He knew that he had me right where he wanted me. He had gained my trust blindly. I looked at him through the innocent eyes of a little girl then. Now, when I remember him it is with a cold, enfolding anger that covers my whole body. He used that simple trust to destroy my childhood.

When I entered his secret place as he called it. I would never be the same little girl that I was before. It was a four pieces of tin nailed and secured together. The top was covered by another large piece of tin that only allowed a few shreds of dim light to snuggle through it. I can remember that he treated me differently that day. His eyes were no longer kind. His whole appearance reminded me of dark shadow waiting to consume me. I can still feel his hands roaming all over that little girl. He molded her into someone who would fear tenderness. He took what I knew as unconditional love and changed it into something that I thought was dirty. It is hard to erase that kind of imprint when one person takes so much from you. This is the day that scared me for the rest of my life. I can remember other people who came along throughout my childhood since then that helped him validate those emotions. I have had other experiences of abuse that have left me feeling used or just as frightened to face the world. I just don't know how to place the others into words yet.

I created my own world after that. It was a place inside of my head that only one person was ever allowed to go with me. It was a vision of what one good man talked about. The only man that touched my soul enough to remind me that there is goodness in this nasty world after all. This man was Ernest Carter. He was my grandfather. I can remember every defined detail about his face. He was a large man by build. It was like looking upon a large mountain. His hair was as white as the frost that covers the windows in winter. His eyes were as clear as a shallow creek surrounded by a hue of color. They danced to some lazy little tune when he was happy. His hands were large, worn with years of working. They were never a threat to me in any way. When he held me in his large bold arms I knew that I was safe. I understood that there was nothing bad that could touch me or hurt me when I was with him. He always enjoyed the simple things in life. He told me before he died to remember one thing, "It isn't the quantity of what you own that is valuable, it is the quality of life you lead that is important."

I can remember him holding his hand out to me. I would wrap my small one in his and off we would go. There was a small corner of the world that was just ours. The ground was covered by a rich emerald green rug that spread as far as we could see. There were trees that surrounded us completely. The leaves whispered softly as we passed through. The breeze would follow him with a silent melody as we crossed a worn path that we always used. Then there was a large rushing river that always greeted us with a gentle lull against the rich banks. Then right in front of us both were a multitude of poppies that always filled the place with a hue of beauty. When the time was right we always scattered new seeds for mother nature to make a new wonder. He never asked me very many questions. It was like he already knew that I had suffered. I wish I would have opened my mouth and told him then. I never did. I didn't want to loose him to. He gave me more by being with me. I knew if I told him he would never come back. He would have given his life for revenge.

He is still with me even now. Even if I can't hold his hand. He still visits me in my dreams to try to ease my suffering now.

I can remember that there will be one moment in time that has changed my life even more. A man walked into my life long enough to turn my whole world into one large nightmare. I guess he thought that just because he was interested in me that I would want the same thing. I had never seen him before until he followed me to school one day. I asked him where he had seen me and he said that really didn't matter. I told him that it did. I asked him if he was a student and he told me that he was not. He even went as far as to confront me outside of one of the school buildings one day. I still told him that I was not interested in anything he had to offer. I excused myself and he ended up yelling at me right in front of everyone that happened to be around at the time. I thought that I wouldn't see him again after that day. I didn't see him until a few days later. He just appeared like he had before. He was always dressed in black and it seemed to follow him. I was attending college just one year ago. I went through my day like I always did. I got the kids ready to go to their grandparents house like I always did. We left for my mother's house at the same time that we did every day. I went to her house, dropped them off, kissed them good-bye and went to class. Then when I left there that night I had no idea that I was leaving the classroom that night and that I would look hell right in the face. I remember leaving the building, walking to my car, getting inside, and after that feeling the slim, cold blade of a knife at my throat. He told me to turn the car to the right once more. Just like I always did. I was told to stop the car, shut it off and turn off the lights. The image of him still fills my head. He was a tall, thin man who wore black like a cover of death. I struggled to find all of the locks on the doors. I will never understand why I didn't try to just drive my car right out of there. I didn't have time to think about much of anything except to struggle to lock all of my car doors when I had one moment to do so. I know that I tried. I never made it.

He moved faster than I did that night. He opened the one door that would change the rest of my life forever. He moved so quick that I never reached that lock. There didn't seem to be enough time to do anything except what he told me to do. He had me pinned to the seat with the threat of him cutting my life away in one instant. He pulled me from the car. He dragged me into a ditch. I can remember how it felt when he touched me. The bile just rose to the top of my throat. I knew that if I pushed him to far he might end my life. The only thing that I could think of was not seeing my children again. I wanted to watch them grow up and have children of their own. I wanted to live to love them for as long as God would allow me to. He seemed to rip and tear through everything that I had on. He didn't let anything stop him from gaining what he wanted. The more I tried to fight back the more he would have hurt me is what I thought. I can remember how that knife felt against my flesh. The cold blade pricking me until I bled. Then he took even more than the innocence that I already had lost. He filled me with his rejection. What he thought that I deserved for saying no to his offer of more than friendship. He appeared in my life one day and brought darkness with him. He just appeared like Satan would to greet me. Then when he got what he wanted. He disappeared somewhere into the darkness once more. He left me a reminder that he can appear at any given time to end my life. He could hurt anyone that meant anything to me. He could take what ever he wanted when he deemed it time to.

I crawled out of that ditch that night with crimson staining my soul. I knew that even if I had to create my own prison that I would find a way to stop him from taking anything else from me. I left my mark on him also. I had one moment of victory and took it. I did fight back. Even if it was with silent alarm. I did what I thought I had to do at the time. I thought that I had to do something to protect someone else from him. I didn't have the strength to fight back in what some people may think I should have. I went home that night and tried to wash away everything. I thought that I could just forget that it all happened. My choices may seem like the wrong ones.

I was still struggling with the emptiness of what my brother had left me with. Just a couple of weeks before he had tried to beat his girlfriend who was pregnant with his child. I had tried to save her from being hurt or loosing her child or my brother from dying. He let rage rule the sweet child that he had once been. He wanted someone else to suffer like he was. He carried the anger that he had against the whole world. He pushed everyone that loved him away. He was caught inside of his own pain. He thought that we all owed him something. What he failed to realize was he owed himself something. He didn't realize that she was carrying the one thing that could bring him more joy in this world than anything else. A small bundle of innocence that could love him if he would allow her to. I went to the hospital that day with the knowledge that even in this cruel world that there is something worth living for. Loving someone is the greatest joy in the world. I still believed even when wrapped in agony. I still wanted to experience the joy that life can offer. I still wanted to spread it all over to everyone I met. I wanted my brother to have the chance to feel it. Going to the police station to file a report was the hardest thing that I have ever had to do in my lifetime. I still didn't want him to suffer from the choices he made. I stood in that police station and listened to everything that happened as I told the story. I felt like I was the one who deserved to be locked away rather than the victim.

The imprint of all of this was stained across my soul. It was a reminder of what was taken from me. One man took more than just one thing from me. I will not allow anyone to take anything more. It is easier to forgive my brother for what he did. I can still see a moment of innocence in his eyes. I know that there is goodness inside of him when he talks about his daughter now. I hope he will find a way to put his rage to rest to give her the love she deserves. I think he should concentrate on keeping her safe rather than hurting her. I wish you all could see what a beautiful picture that she is. I would give my life without even thinking to protect someone I love. I would give my soul to Satan again if it meant keeping anyone safe. Everyone in this world should know the simple pleasure that living can bring. I feel like the only person that is guilty of a crime is the person that chooses to commit it. I know that I am not perfect. I am only human. We all make mistakes. We all slip and fall. There are moments when I still slip. I just don't fall as hard as I did before. There are still a few moments when I still make the wrong choices. One thing that I do not fear is being is standing up and being accountable for what I have done or said. I hope that when I have hurt someone they will take the time to remind me that I am not perfect. That I am human. I know now that there are people in my life that will let me lean on them when things are ruff. I am so sorry that I pushed you away. I am so sorry that I didn't treat you with the respect that you deserved. Most of all I am sorry that I took you for granted.

There are many types of abuse. It seems that I have more than one story that I could tell you. I just feel that I have taken one of the hardest steps in healing. That is facing what was done to me. I have physically returned to some of the places where my darkness started. The best part of the whole experience was having someone to hold my hand to support me through it all. I am still surrounded by fear and slowly it is beginning to dim. By sharing this with someone it has made the fear so much smaller. I am the one who will have to choose when to let go of the rest of it. Even if I speak out in silence. They will not win. I worked on creating new memories with others that will always make my heart sing. I am so thankful for all of you that have cared enough to hold me up when I had no idea what to do next. Healing Journey is where my healing has began. Even if one man walks out of the darkness again. He still cannot touch the light that is shining upon my soul now. He can end my life not possess my soul. Surrounded by love and kindness the world can become a vision of light. All of you know who you are. Thank you for the gift of light. I hope that each one of you out there can find your own path to take towards the light that is out there.

KCshadows

I want to tell why I am the way I am. why I fear everything and fear nothing. I want the ones who hurt me to feel the fears I have. To see the damage they cause to our lives and our souls. She was born into this world as one and now she is many, because of what they did to her and others like her. As you might have guessed yes she is DID/MPD like so many others out there. This disorder as they want to call it is not as glamorous as Sally Fields was in Sybil , I wish it was. This disorder to me is hell , but it kept us alive. We get used to the constant upheaval and chaos that goes on in this head with so many being in there, but would like one day to be " Normal" Just like everyone else. We have 30+ personalities in this body. Could you imagine what its like to have to deal with 30+ different people a day, 24/7 . I'm sure you could but would never come close to the tip of the ice burg unless you are one of us, another DID/MPD. We hurt like all of you . We feel pain, well some of us do. We cry and we even love, but we also have some who hate us inside, who want to kill us and cut us and to just make our lives hell. Ok, now that I have told you a lot about us I want to tell you why we became DID/MPD. Our abuse is classified as SRA, Which stands for Satanic Ritual Abuse. If you still don't know what it is let me explain more. This type of abuse is associated with Satanic or Devil Worshipers, people who pray to the Devil or Satan. It is also called a Satanic Cult or just plain Cult. The abuse did not start with this Satanism but was started at home with the father and the mother. Somewhere down the road around 4 the abuse started to happen with the Cult. By the time the abuse took place with the cult at least 2 alters were made already. The mother who had left the father had to get a job and decided to put us in the care of an old lady, her name is still silent behind our lips. This woman we will call "M" lived in a secluded part of the country in a wonderful state, cant say that name either yet. The mother only knowing this lady because of others who had taken there kids there, which by the way is 1967, the mother felt it was a good thing for her to leave us there. The mother would drop us off on Sunday night then pick us up on the Friday after. This gave her a BIG weekend to spend with us and made her feel better I guess. The only think I don't understand is why the mother never asked about the bruises or the broken arm one time or the cuts and the other numerous injuries to the body of us. She never asked why we never smiled anymore or why we were afraid all the time, why we never showed any emotions when she hugged us and kisses us goodbye sometimes think she did know but she says to this day she never did, but she also says it never happened ,so go figure. The abuse started out slow like, shutting us up in the cellar all night in the dark. Then is escalated to the Rituals and the sacrifices. It was a slow process but it was ok because we lived with lady "M" for 2years.Her and her followers as I would find out later. We were tortured and raped repeatedly cut and burned. We got hung from rafters or floorboards I could never figure out which. What do you call them in the cellar? Oh well I guess it doesn't matter now. When you think about Satanic Cults do you think about the Robes and the gatherings? Yes they had that ,they also had the sacrifices and the pentagrams. It wasn't as well though out as the movies but it was close ,in fact it was real, very real. I know that I have talked a lot and I'm sure I may have even triggered a few people with this If I have I'm sorry. I want to say just a few more things and I will let you go on with your daily activities OK? I want to talk about how it is now for us. How we are making out cause you usually never get that much after a movie and like I said this wasn't a movie. We are 34 now and have a daughter. Some of us are lesbians and others straight. We have males and females . Biggers and littles. We are called a family and others call us a company. It doesn't matter it means the same to us. The outside family still doesn't believe that we are DID/MPD and I'm sure they never will. The have this opinion of us that we are crazy and need help, that we are playing a sick game online. They mother follows us to various rooms online and copies down the things we say to show others in the outside family. We have been pretty much disowned by all. Like we said the mother will never admit it. We have days were we feel like we are lying and realize that we are not. I guess it would be easier if that was the case. We have very good friends online who trust us and believes, Which is all we ever wanted. We also have had the opportunity to meet a wonderful lady who has now made a family with us and the daughter which like we have said never really had. I want to Thank Ms she knows who she is. She has brought us through some very tough times. I also want to tell all who are out there that yes its over even though we still have the flashbacks and you know what? WE SURVIVED!!!!

bye Tammysgirl and Co.

This is the story of a little girl who only wanted to be loved and allowed to love others. once a little girl was born, she weighed about 4lbs.she was a tiny baby. Things started when she was 1 year old, her mother met a man and wanted to be with him as his wife, little did she know just how sadistic he really was. Once his beating started with the little girl he would make it a daily thing then it became hourly them every moment he took a breath. This was how she will learn what love is as she grows,it was just like Cinderella story with 3 kids added to raise,but even though the house was always a place of terror she would stay to protect the others. At age 8 she learned the hard way about sex from the one man she thought loved her and she adored him greatly her dad. After he was done he said something she would always hate to hear,he said daddy would never do anything to hurt his little running deer. She had noone to tell,she was scared and blamed herself.

If her stepdad or her mom found out her stepdad would bust her little mouth or kick her or bite her or pull all her hair out. So she made herself forget about the incident,she cried inside because she knew she wasn't allowed to cry out. As she grew older and breast began to grow she found out that slime is in the genes of her stepdad for his brothers wanted and some did succeed to make her life a living hell for as long as she was able to breath,she wasn't even 10 and fought to stay a virgin,them inside of her she had a friend to take over from time to time,her friend Marie was the one who would fight.

Marie is the best friend she had,she was the only friend she was allowed to have. This girl turned 12 and met a boy he was 11,they became best friends then a year later they wound up in bed. At 13 she knew what real love was,this boy taught her as he learned to,that life was easier to deal with when you have two. they did have their bad times and breakups,but he was always there to pick her back up. at 14 she became a mother because of a boy who slipped her a mickey then took advantage of her,her friend was there once again to hold her tiny hand as she always knew he would.

Yes he has a name it is frank.

Time went by and she had a boy,then when she finally spoke to children services they talked to the mom and she said it was a lie so they was going to put the little girl in an institution and take the baby and give him to her stepdad. The girl was told she would be drugged and raped in that god awful place,she was terrified and ashamed,she felt she had failed her baby son and she couldn't protect him anylonger,so she had to go to Kentucky for about 6 months,her mom told the judge she had no ideal where the girl was,but after the mom got the baby,she called the girl and said to come back home or you will never see your baby again. Being a good mother she came back to a life of terror. only good things there were her frank and her son,she took the beatings and once it got to bad she would run,but the baby always drew her back it was the only love there and she knew he needed her love to be there so he wouldn't always be sad. When she was on the streets she learned what to expect so much to deal with in the home and outside,brutal rapes and held prisoner for 4 months,she was ready to die when she was held prisoner for the 4 months she found out she was preg. with her baby son,the man was a doctor I'm sorry to say,he threatened here with an abortion every single day,he liked Russian roulette and she was hoping each time that this was it. she would pray for god to take her and her baby.

The man even held her hand so his dog could bite her and then after again he would rape her. when she was 17 frank took her to be with him forever and his family helpped to keep her. she was loved by frank and his brother and dad were as great. her son had to stay with her mom but her stepdad was warned that if he harmed just one hair on my son's head I would gladly shoot him dead. at 19 me and frank were wed,we now have 3 other loving and adorable kids. some of you know me and now some of you have just met me, I want to say hello call me Vera{vzuern1}. I want to say thank you to my loving husband frank he is the reason I survived the hellish terrors of my life.

Love to all

Vera

At age six.... walking by bathroom to get shoes from my room. Father: " Come in here 'Bo, Bo'." I feel my heart begin to race and my stomach tightens and my hands become fists.... I struggle to lift my eyes and face him. It's expected, so I will. I walk, as if on a narrow balance beam....wishing I were wearing pants.... It's only 3 feet away, but seems like a long distance.... I imagine running... running so far away he can never catch me; fast like the wind so no one can ever catch me. "Yes?" I look up, head tilted to one side. He's shaving... [pausing......I'm trembling too much to type....here and now, in the present. I need to talk.....need to finish this.] The sink is full of foamy water and his face still has shaving cream on it. The razor is in his hands. "Close the door." He smiles. It's a gentle smile....but not a safe one.

I turn and close the door. He's the only one who can close doors in the house and not be questioned. My hand lingers on the knob....last anchor before the storms....

I know what will happen....... hands lift me to the counter. He puts his face close to mine. I can't see his eyes. He's so much bigger it's hard to get his face at my height. I can't bring myself to look up into his face. I flinch and throw my head sideways....I haven't been listening. What a ~bad~ girl am I. "You remember the rules.....no sound." I look up... it must have been disbelief or maybe just fear in my eyes...pleading.

Our eyes meet for a moment and he turns away...

Before he's abused me facing him just sitting there like I was, facing him, sitting on the edge of the counter.......today, he doesn't want to see my face. No sounds...remember...no sounds...

He motions for me to roll over and begins to turn me on my stomach....legs dangling off the counter. It never occurs to me to scream or cry.......that response was destroyed long before this. I just feel the pressure building, inside my head....can't breath....pressure inside my chest. Seems like if I breath....I'll feel it..and I ~can't~ feel it...not today, not now. I feel tears welling up....tears that won't come.

Father is trembling.... I can see him in the reflection of the chrome edging on the mirror... PAIN.

In his room, my hands would have been tied above my head. I feel silly, don't know what to do with them. I hold the edge of the counter. ...no noise....No Noise!

I have to breath and I want to scramble away, into the mirror, and out of existence.... "NOoooo! Daddy, no.......please....no." The words don't make it to my lips.....they just echo in my mind. Pressure in my mind....loud. I try to move away from him. PRESSURE...my mind feels like it will explode.

No noise..... Please, hurry...please.... I can't take it much longer...please hurry, Daddy. My eyes are pleading...but he can't see them this time.

I look in the mirror and his eyes are closed, enjoying some secret world. I want to close mine too, but am afraid I'll die if I do....get lost in the blackness and never want to come back..... I know others (inside) did that.... I want to LIVE ....I want to ESCAPE..... Is anyone there who can help?!?...... The answer comes no.... It's almost over, you'll have to wait.....if he does something else, we'll come, but this part is yours..... [We had been multiple for a long time already.....]

My eyes tighten closed.......I breath through clenched teeth....careful, no noise.

My cheek is beginning to ache from being pressed on the counter....body hurts.... I hear the lace in the dress shifting. NO NOISE!!!! ...And then a sharp sudden pain....and it's over. I feel his breath on my back.... I'm afraid to move... He's still there. If I move will he be angry...smash my face. Will mom understand....put me in the cellar. I don't' like the cellar. She will understand and put me in the cellar again....until I'm a good girl...with no marks.

He washes his hands in the soapy water......dirty water. I look back at him.... "Better get ready.....remember, ~no sound~." He looks into my face, but I can't meet his eyes. The threat was understood.

All that's left is telling Mother why I ruined my new socks by getting them all wet.....and that uncomfortable feeling between my legs today...sitting on the pew...wanting to jump out of my skin. Father resting his hand on my leg, listening to a sermon about love thy neighbor. I hate pink...won't wear it again.

At age 8 it's the same except over the sink, trying to keep my head up so it's not plunged into the water....drowned. He's angry that time...I winced and a small cry escaped. He strikes my head and my face impacts the faucet. This time I don't feel it when the bones crunch against the chrome. Then I see blood in the water. No sound....I followed the rule. It's just teeth bleeding, but nothing came loose.

It scares him.... I think it scares him that I didn't make a sound when it happened...when he smashed us. He tells me to go play outside.... I'm free....I escaped early....it's a good day........it's a good day. I look back.....he's leaning over on the sink, heavy..... Is he capable of remorse? Or is that sad.....or something else? I can't think about it and escape to the yard... (The insiders come.... I can't go to church today....need escape...they understand. There are more of us to share the burden now......and the birds are singin', the sun is shining. It looks hopeful -- if you haven't been in the body yet today.)

At 12, I struggled...new house, no counter, just a sink. I couldn't get free.....

No Sound.....no sound. I tried to cry out, but my throat won't release...

No sound. "You're for me.... hold still." He's clenching his teeth as he speaks...he's angry.

"NOOOOOOooooo"...and pain....again. The screams stay inside... No sound. My face contorts.

The girls at school say it's not supposed to hurt, I don't know if I'm supposed to know that...... I relax, I know it'll be over soon.....but then, "NOOOOOoooo!" "Stop.....please.....stop." Pressure and screams inside my head. I can't take it anymore.......I know the rules, but I have to make a sound.....

I whisper "Dad..." {tentative...pleading} and see his fist rise toward me. I close my eyes and try to flinch away. I try to move so my head won't hit faucet......

Too fast, too hard..... Smash. Face!!! My face.... I spit blood. Lands on the carpet by the door. "You little cunt!!!"

Now I've done it....he's angry...raging. I feel calm somehow....resigned. The worst has happened.... He strikes again and again....feel bones becoming soft. I think I could've been pretty once. Now I wonder if it will look like a face.

He's making noise! Violating the pact!

I smile ....I thought it was inward, but he sees it. "You think it's funny! I'll show you funny!" He's self conscious for a moment, pulling his pants up, but still pinning me down with one arm. I hear feet coming.

He grasps my neck and squeezes with both hands....I'm still face down, looking at the water....escape!...escape!...the world getting darker. Feet are coming....

Then awake....under water. He's holding my face down, can't breath!.... splashing, trying to get up....can sense (hear?) others in room... Please, Richard...." it's mother pleading. She's scared, hysterical. Doesn't know why he chooses me, but knows that he does.

Air...Air..AIR!!! My jaw hits the side of the sink....feel dazed. Head hits the sink.... seeing stars. Still splashing.....eyes burning from the shaving cream in the water.

He lets go and I gasp as I fall back, onto the floor. There is blood in the tub behind me...mine. How'd it get there? My mind hold onto the question for a moment. I can't think about it just now. My eyes burn and I close them against the light.... I can hear birds outside the window. It's spring.

I'm sitting in a puddle....he stormed out... Mother cries and turns away. "I'm sorry" in her face, but no words. My shirt is covered with water and watery blood dripping from my mouth. It's sticking to me.

No noise....no words. My throat is raw and hot, but air..... Air feels so fresh.... The noise inside is so loud....but outside it's so quiet. Except for the birds.

Then the pounding of far away horses comes....stampede coming. My face already pulsing with each heart beat. The breaks aren't bad...will look normal.... My neck...feels small, fragile like a twig......can feel bruises already. The others are coming to take me away.....time for a rest inside.

I remember standing...but the rest goes blank. I don't know if I fainted. I can't think they would have taken me to church that day....but I don't remember rest. Hearing still echo's "No noise....no noise..."

Terri N.

I don't have anyone to share this with in my life outside the puter, so I thought I'd pass it along.....just so I know someone reads it....and someone else knows. I'm tired of secrets.

I remember going.....somewhere. I'm familiar with it and the people there. It's after school on Friday, and I'm happy to be out. I'm probably just 14....based on the time of year and the approx. setting. If not...it would have been a year earlier, and I'd be about 13.

I don't remember going there, but I remember walking into a large house. I don't remember the interior until I walk into a study or small living room. I see two men there. They smile and say hello. We great each other like you would in an office. Pleasantries, casual, but nothing personal. One is standing w/ one foot up on a chair. The other is sitting at a table, near a phone. There's a television on the table, but it faces away from me. Small one, maybe 13 inch. It's a black box.

The two men glance at each other as I enter. They smile, like it's an inside joke. The one who's seated doesn't speak to me often. He seems to avoid looking at me accept when my back is turned....but I've seen him look. One of them asks me about school and I respond vaguely. I have school books in my hands. They tell me to leave them on a chair near the door. Then one of them strides over to me and leans close and touches my hair. He strokes it and pushes it behind an ear. He tells me _______ is coming and I should get ready. (Name still blocked, but I recognize it....at the time.)

My stomach tightens slightly and my mouth goes dry for a moment, but it passes quickly. It's an old fear that has grown smaller with age and familiarity. I do my best non-chalant, nothing-bothers-me attitude. I smile and shrug, "okay". I'm thinking about my mother and father. I don't remember what about them I was thinking then, but their images pass before my eyes as I write this.

I go inside a door and am standing in a white room. There's a closet on my immediate right and further down the wall is a door to a small bath. I disrobe and place my clothes in the closet. I take a deep breath and force a smile.

I hear a sound above me. It's a camera, security type, focusing on the other corner. I know this room well. I don't have to look to see where the camera is looking. I've been here many times before...too many. I avoid looking that direction. The sound is caused by zoom adjustments and by the small motor that changes the direction it's looking.

The corner the camera is focused on has a large bed with a wooden frame and a short 4 poster head and foot. The sheets and covers are white. The only other furniture is a chair along the wall opposite the bed and a small chest of drawers that has only linens in it. I avoid looking at it. I go into the bathroom and shower....all my makeup washing off. I've just started wearing it, but I feel like it hides ~me~ from the rest of the world. I shave.... wash nicely.... Get ready. When I get out, I comb my hair and blow it dry. Brush teeth...and check body out... everything right?

I go to the bed and sit on the edge and wait. Naked....alone and peaceful except the feeling in my stomach. It's not bad.....but enough to remind me I'm not on vacation. I don't look at the door, but I know the lock has been tripped. I'm here until they're done with me. I feel a sense of despair wash over me.

After a while (not too long) a man comes in. I smile generously. He knows me and asks how I am. I answer without saying anything of substance. He puts down a brief case and takes off his jacket. It's late spring and warm outside. Sun on the window is lighting up the room nicely. The sun is on a downward slope but it's some time before sunset. It seems like a "happy" day....with all the light in the room, but I'm feeling empty and dark, like I'm descending. I smile, but close my mouth. My eyes slowly make their way to the floor. I don't feel like I can meet anyone's gaze while I'm in this room.

He talks as he takes his cloths off. I can't remember his feet. I look at his eyes and his neck. I remember some of his words...but not what he says. They just fill the time...

He walks toward me, ready now. His hands are warm and he looks like he's been anticipating this. He's silent now. The Inside-outside show starts now. Outside is happy, smiling, excited.... relaxed. Inside is numbing, quite, sad, empty......alone. He puts his hands on my thighs and pushes them apart. I'm still getting used to having pubic hair. Don't have much, but some. Started developing after my sisters....

"oh my, don't you look good today...." and he begins to touch me. My hands are behind me holding me up as I lean back on an angle; feet off the bed. He performs oral sex on me. It feels good, but I'd rather be riding my bike....or be in a million other places. My mind wanders to dark places......have to bring it back...smile, he's watching.

He looks up and smiles back at me....anxious, proud of himself. He stands, and drops his shorts. He moved in closer and penetrates me. I arch back.... It hurts mostly, but I've learned this is the response he likes....and expects.

I hear the camera change focus....noisy zoom lens. Here, in this room, I don't have to watch my expression or sound, so I can respond as I want...as long as it's "happy". (Father demands silence when he does this.....here some noise is okay. It's easier this way.)

"Now there, little girl..... before we go too far.....". It occurs to me that he has know me since I was a little girl....I think. He smiles again and pulls away. He motions for me to turn and I place my hands above my head over the pillow. I'm now laying now on the bed length wise. [The same direction you'd sleep on it.]

There are leather straps already attached to the head board post near the center of the cross beam. He climbs over me, straddling me, and secures the hand straps to my wrists... These are padded slightly, like what you'd see at a mental hospital, and they hold my hands well. No marks, but hard to get out of.

His hands return to my groin. I close my eyes for a while....it's okay until he notices... I should feel something, but I'm drifting inside of my mind. I know enough to react as though I'm enjoying this.....in some ways I do. I feel embarrassed about that.....like I'm doing something wrong. He lowers himself on top of me and rubs my face with his hand. He doesn't see my face....just feeling it. He puts his fingers in my mouth. Then I feel him drop his weight onto me again. He closes his eyes now. But it's a chance to see him when he's not looking at me. A chance to look at him when I don't have to smile....and see who he is. My features flatten to the sadness I feel.

Over his shoulder I can see the camera. I wonder how I look. I wonder who sees these. I wonder if he realizes he's on film. I don't think so. He's a teacher...somewhere.

He's concentrating now.....time to breath hard and be "excited"..... I feel almost safe with him. He's fun and he doesn't hurt me. Sometimes we get to laugh and he doesn't always do very much. I smile and try to enjoy it. Some of it feels good.....intoxicating, like a drug.

Inside, I feel myself starting to cry. By tomorrow, I'll be bruised down there..... Then he collapses on me. I nearly snicker....he seems so exhausted.....

I feel like masturbating, but only if I was alone. Feel pressure inside my abdomen.... want the release. Suddenly.....like a need. If I can get that feeling, the bad one inside stops for a few minutes.

He's breathing hard and I can smell his skin. He rest his head on my pillow above my right shoulder. Hot air on my neck. He talks softly, about how I remind him of someone....and how he enjoys visiting me.... he tells me I did good..... I blush, feeling complimented. It's rare to have anyone say anything good to me. He doesn't use coarse words, maybe he teaches English.

My arm is feeling numb, and I shift.... he asks me to stay still...he wants to rest. My wrists feel pulled tight from the restraint. His weight pulling the tether tighter than usual. If it were me alone, I'd move up on the bed, and give it more slack. I wait, immobile until it's okay to move....feeling the blood be cut off to my hand.

He sleeps softly for about 10 minutes, holding me close, laying there mostly on top of me. I guess he pays for extra time. The light goes off on the camera.

I let my face fall again. They don't like it when I look like the real me...they just want to see the same girl he comes to see. It's just me now because he's sleeping and they're not watching). I feel sad, but comfortable and safe.

I don't want to move, he is part of the familiar routine, but the rest of the night won't be like him. When he wakes up, he'll leave and the others will come.

I feel on the verge of tears and look toward the window. "Remember the light, Terri. Go to the light." I feel totally relaxed as I imagine myself surrounded by beautiful light in a magical world where nothing can touch me.

A world where the ugliness can't reach me....and there are no mirrors. I feel fluid dripping off of my legs. I don't like the smell....reminds me of swimming pools. My hand is on fire, and the pain is moving down my arm. He wakes and kisses me on the lips.... I hate kissing. It's right up in my face, can't get away from it..... Then he goes to the bathroom and changes. The camera comes on again..... I guess they're watching me. I look at them.....naked legs apart, laying there comfortable and relaxed. I'm not doing anything they could mind....except I'm not smiling.... My face is empty. "Go to the light, Terri." I say to myself. I look at the window, but I can't stand the light.... I turn my head and look at the wall. My face against my biceps....hands feeling better now that he's not stretching them against the tether. Hands are numb though.....ready to have them loose again.

I used to fight them, but they liked it.....so the best I could do was to relax and submit. At least that way, they don't have a reason to hit me too....and the ones outside don't come in here and...help themselves....as often.

He leaves, and waves goodbye, almost sheepish. I lift my head and say something....something about next time.... I almost look forward to it....but sadness has already overtaken me. I'm alone.....not just in the room but .... I just feel so alone inside. My hands feel better now. Then the one from outside come in. He tells me someone new is on his way. I'm warned to "make him like it". I'm told that he's asked that I stay tied and says they don't need to wash me, so I stay there...and wait. Drifting is easy to do...passes time quickly. From outside, they move and refocus the camera some. I hear the electric buzzing of small dials and motors moving as it shifts on it's pivot and changes zoom settings. Finally I roll on my side, back toward the wall.... It's been longer than I expected. I don't usually get time alone when I come here. The room is slightly warm, nearly 80 probably. Will be hot if the sun stays up too long. Like a lazy summer day....except for being locked in....and the ties on my hands....and the fact I'm laying naked....with slime between my legs.

I close my eyes and try to escape....somewhere else. I dream about a trip to the Oregon coast.....and then running...running from something black and horrible that's chasing down the cliffs at night. I hate dreams. The door opens. I sit up, partly (as far as I can with my hands tied). My arms are pulled across by chest by the tether. I'd moved up on the bed, but as he comes in I slide down into the position that I'd been in with the man before. He says "No!.... I like you there." I can smell sex on him already. He smells like sweat, alcohol, and sex....like he's already had it. He's got sawdust on his pants.

I stop moving afraid...immobile for a moment. He puts down ...something...it was in his hands. He takes off his tie and walks to the head of the bed. He unzips his pants and pulls my head toward him. He rubs my face on his skin, enjoying the feeling of someone down there. I don't like being crushed into anybody. I feel his sweat on my face, curly hairs in my eyes and nose, and stench of him. He doesn't see me as a human......feels so degrading.

He pulls my face toward him again and I focus on remembering how to avoid gagging. I try to do this...but I'm not very good at it. I taste someone else on him... I'm repulsed.....but "You ~do~, Terri -- you just ~do~ what you have to." I say it to myself and hear a woman's voice say it with me inside....whose? Mother?

He knocks my head away....not to hard, but enough I know he could be a fighter. he's strong. I wouldn't want him to really hit me....not like this where I can't get away. He takes his shirt off and I see some scars ..... he sees me look at them, he doesn't like it.

He tells me to turn over on my belly. I do, but I look back to see what he's doing. He finishes taking off his pants and climbs on. He claws at my breasts (or nubs -- just out of training bra's). He twists me sideways.... Why is he even keeping the ties on my wrists? He keeps making me contort so he can reach what he wants.... Then I feel him push my pelvis flat as he inserts himself from behind. My back hurts from being twisted. He feels....mean, violent.....like I'd better take care to make this as easy for him as I can. He could hurt me....and he'd like it. I don't like the way this must look....part of me aware of the camera. He lets lets me lay flat and proceeds to "business". His hands roving.... Touching some things that feel good, and some that don't. Grabbing skin.... biting me, but not so hard as to draw blood. Sometimes grabbing hair. He seems excited as I begin to sweat....and tremble. He likes fear.

When he's done, he holds my head down, telling me not to look at him. He puts on his clothes and I hear to door close. I turn again onto my side. Back toward the wall. I feel the empty again. I don't like this.....but at the same time, my body feels full of ....something. I feel like crying....but there are no tears left. They were dried up a long time ago. I wish the first one was back....I want to have regular sex again.....but without my arms hurting. I want to feel connected and distracted and have that feeling - the one where I don't care about anything. I gradually curl into a small ball. They don't come in, so there must not be anyone waiting for me. My hands are tied, and I could get out, but where would I go. They'd just come get me.....and.....well, I don't want to think about what they do to you when you try to leave.....and Daddy would be angry. I drift off. When I wake back up, the one who doesn't normally talk to me has come into the room. (One of the two from outside). I awaken as he lifts one of my legs. I'm still on my side, so they're on top of each other. I didn't hear him come in.

He has a dog with him. He has left the door open and is talking to the one outside about camera stuff. I start to roll onto my back again, and he motions me to stay still. He says he thinks "it" will work to the one outside the room. He lifts the dog onto the bed. It's medium sized, like a golden retriever, but with shorter hair. I like dogs, but I don't like what this feels like..... I've had this happen once before.

The man spreads my legs apart so I'm on my back again and lifts the dog to the bed and points the dog toward me. I flinch and shoot my head away in disgust. He grabs my face in his hands and tells me, "You'd better enjoy it" and slaps my face lightly .......the "or else" is heard. I've resisted before....it's not a smart thing to do. You always regret it.

The dog starts licking me on my private parts. His tongue is rough. How do you look like you're enjoying sex with an animal?!? I want this to stop!! This isn't what they do here..... My mind cries out....but no words..... "No!" Finally.....my mind forms..."No!" My face is contorted......I want to escape.....I know better than to speak what I'm feeling. The camera is watching.

The dog tries to mount me, but with me on my back, he misses. I'm still tied....but I ~want~ to get away.....anywhere but here. I know better than to move. The camera..... Then the man comes back and he tells me to turn onto my stomach. Then the dog mounts me. I feel...... It begins to hurt. I can't talk more about this now.

Eventually the dog jumps off the bed......finished. I slump down and lay there face down. I can feel tears hot in my throat, but my eyes won't release them. I feel suffocated, but I can't bare to lift my face.... I can hear the dog licking himself. Then he comes over and starts jumping up on my arm.....

"He likes you...." the man says as he comes back in, chuckling. I jump...started. I didn't hear him come in. He must not have locked the door that time. I'm used to the way the spring sounds as it opens. He calls the dog and it goes out.

I roll over to face him. "Why'd you do that?!" My anger flashes for a moment, but I said it ~too angry. I regret the words almost before they're out. The humiliation is unbearable....but pain doesn't help that. He's hit me many times before. Out of reflex I flinch as I see his face change. "I do what ever I want" he replies, face taking on an angry smile. "Besides, you ~like~ what ever I tell you to ~like~." He steps closer. His fists relaxing now. He reaches for my right thigh, tossing it and causing me to roll flat on my back. Then pulls my left leg closer to him. He puts a couple of fingers inside of me.

"Come one, Sweetpea, I know what you like....maybe you don't want to, but I know what gets you off." He snickers. I feel blood rush to my groin. I don't want to feel aroused, but I do... I respond, against my will. He laughs as he sees me struggle with my own response. He wipes his hand on my face. I shut my eyes against it....

I think he'd come in to release me and get me cleaned up, but I changed his mind because of my "poor" attitude. I don't know how long he'll leave me here now.

I can hear them laughing outside.... It was a big joke to them. I feel disgusting..... I want to shower.....I want to crawl under the bed and die....

They leave me there to ~feel~ it....and remember they ~own~ the show. They call the shots. Time for Terri to calm down....I do....but I feel too calm.....like there isn't any fire left. No more energy to fight....it's just know it was wrong to do that. That's not part of the game, not part of the ~rules~.

I roll back to face down....and try to loose the feeling of the dog. I want to fade... I sleep again. I fight to loose consciousness.....escape this place. I dream of father.....awake with the memories/feelings lingering on my body is better..... The sun fades and I'm left in darkness..... My finger tips feel cold.

The one who brought the dog comes back in, flipping on the lights. I don't know how long I was out. I startle and then try to sit up before I realize I'm still tied down. The room smells bad. He's smoking a cigarette. "Time to get cleaned up, little b*tch."

He unbuckles the wrist straps and walks out.....door not locked. "Bob wants to see you." He says it off handily before he leaves and throws the cigarette at me.

I feel a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. It spreads until it covers my whole body. I don't know where my parents are, but I know Bob is somewhere in the house I'm in. It's either "boys night out" or time to pay for my "insolence".

I shower and dress.....my groin is tender. I still feel the stretching inside.... hate this feeling when it lingers. It was a short night.....so I figure something is planned. It's early yet. In my mind I wonder how many more times......and how many already. I feel tired. Not the kind you can sleep in a couple extra hours and fix....but the kind that you drag with you for years. I don't want to go there, to Bob's office. But I "do". So I walk.

I don't remember what happened next....but I have an idea.

That's what I've got so far. For this memory, that seems to be the important part.....at least for right now. Thanks for letting me share it.....

-Terri

Let me tell you a story about a seven year old that once attended your church and school

It was the year 1970 and I was seven years old. I was in second grade in the Christian School the church was running on Valley parkway in Escondido. My mother was a teacher at this school. We attended church every Sunday morning, evening and on Wednesdays. I really listened to the Word of God and wanted to go to heaven. I was taught of heaven and of a hell. If I was good I would enter heaven. If I was bad I was bound for hell. I remember some happy times at the school. But what I really member is the evil that occurred to me in the church.

I would have you know that the church you built, was built upon the blood, sweat and tears of the children. Yes, that wonderful Cathedral of the Valley is built upon the lies taught to children in order to lead them to a God they could not understand. I was hurt in this church, along with many, many other children. Our love of God was tested by people who had no right to test us. I wonder what would have happened if your God had done these same things to the ones involved in these rituals.

One by one we were called upon to bear witness to our faith in God. We were asked if we believed. And we answered yes. We had been taught to be sons and daughters of God, so this is what we were taught to want. We did not know the price we would pay would be so high. Our dignity, our self esteem, our memories, our God was stolen from us. On that day I lost a piece of my soul.

I remember being in the church dressed in a baptismal robe with nothing on underneath. Brought into the church with several other children. We were told to sit in the front pews of the church. In front of the church was an altar made of wood. There were candles lit throughout the front of the church. The men who were there led us in a round of prayers. We were told to sit down and be silent while the ceremony was conducted. The first child was called to the front of the church.

"Do you believe?" the men asked the child. "Do you want to be a child of God?"

"Yes, with all of my heart." The child replied.

The men anointed the child with blood from a can on the four cross corners on the body. Then they laid her down onto the alter, holding her hands down to the floor, legs spread on either side of the altar. The men held her down and proceeded to rape her in the name of God.

I was one of these children. Raped in the name of God. I cannot forgive the men who stole a piece of my soul on that day. All I can do is pray for me, that one day my healing will be done and I will once again be a whole human being.

By, KSoto58568

This Month's Answers:

"One Second at a Time!"

: )

Hi, I actually just started therapy last week, but have been going through the healing process for close to 10 years now. I usually am a very independent woman but when the thoughts and feelings come flooding back, I need someone. I have to talk my way through it and sometimes I can just write down everything. I have some wonderful friends, some are survivors and the most caring husband I could ask for. They are all willing to listen and let me cry for as long as I want.

Unfortunately, I don't always notice I'm dealing with emotional stuff until I bite my husband's head off or snap at my 2 and 3 year old. I'm still trying to bring that wall down that I hide behind when I'm feeling vulnerable. I can cry the hurt out, but what to do with all this anger? I have resolved that it will not come out on my boys and I have asked my husband to calmly ask me if I'm really snapping at him or just hurting and lashing out. Just because I was raised in a dysfunctional family doesn't mean my current family will be too! I am too strong to allow it. I will continue to search for ways to deal with my past and am hoping this newsletter will provide some suggestions.

Jax

Most of the time I feel like I don't deal with the emotions very well. Struggling with DID is difficult. I suppose the best coping skill I can use is actually using dissociation to my advantage. In my process of healing, I must choose daily to do my therapy at certain times and do life the rest of the time. One cannot wait to function while they do therapy. Life does not wait for us - we lose every moment that we don't put into it. It is so healing for me to give to others. I work with extremely dysfunctional children and adolescents. When I read their charts and document their progress, it gives me some relief of my own pain. I know that I wasn't the only one. I know there is always someone behind the face of this computer. There's some comfort in that. I try and get to therapy a little early and allow a little time to wind down after. As a part of a bigger system, I implore my parts to help me function. I am constantly trying to compromise - giving them time so that I can use them to get through life. After all, that's why they are here, to get me through this life. When I find myself trying to "function" too much and trying to be perfect at it, my parts begin to shut down and put obstacles shielded as crises in my path to "wake" me up. They remind me that it was they who enabled my survivorship. The very fact that I am in the place that I am in is a supreme act of valor. I heard that once. The emotions are hard - sometimes I cry for hours and wonder if my fragmented mirrors of myself will ever mend it's cracks. I anguish over the why's and wonder how God could let this happen. But more than that, I anguish over how could the One so Magnificent watch? If my daughter were being abused, I would turn my face away. I struggle with feeling worthy and I deal with shame daily. I generally don't ask "Why Me", rather my shame asks, "Why not Me, who else deserved it more than me?". There are times when I can't put one more step in recovery's path. But all in all, I guess I know that the one thing they couldn't take was my inner strength. How do I deal with the emotions? The grace and love of my therapist and treatment team that help me let it out slow - they help me pace and contain it. I suppose the grace of God in His own way. Compromise, Communication and Continuity. Anger motivates me - a part of me doesn't want to let those b*st**ds win. I look at the light of the promise to heal directly and hope that it will show me through this valley of darkness. I look to the children - they cannot let intellect and rationality shield their pain and innocence - they demand that I honor it. And so I try...

Mindful

e-mail responses to: anon-15738@anon.twwells.com

What I do that seems to work is to PRAY!! Prayer is the best therapy I know. I read Psalms 18. Of course this doesn't help everyone but it helps me a whole lot. I also turn to friends and family for support as well! Chrissie Nixon

Michaela a survivor still struggle, as I have forever, it seems, to deal with the emotions in a non-destructive way. What I try to do is a number of things: I journal, I write poetry, call my therapist when I can't handle it any more, talk to friends--locally and on-line, get involved with a craft, or read. I try not to stuff all the emotions inside of me because then they surface in a destructive way. I also work hard not to over-eat or do any self-destructive activity but I don't always succeed. I have also chosen not to have knives and razor blades around my home when things are especially difficult and I am feeling like acting out. This puts an added step between me and hurting myself.

Wendy
Wendy@zzz.com

This is a real timely question for me since things have been bad lately with lots of memories and nightmares. When I feel the emotions from the abuse, I either get real quiet and withdrawn and then want to just RUN AWAY or when I am thinking better I grab my bear and then go and find my friends either in person or online. If its especially bad, I'll take my anxiety meds and wrap up tight in a blanket.

I can't run and hide and so I eventually end up having to deal with the feelings anyway. Sometimes journalling helps but I guess I'm usually too lazy for that. Also body work with my massage therapist friend and, of course, telling my counselor everytime I see her helps too (even though I sometimes don't).

Peace and Love to All--

Frey1991

I'm the twin sister of a struggling survivor who is currently in crisis. Sometimes I don't deal with my emotions but just let them happen. I do a lot of writing and sometimes let myself pretend we were both always safe. That way I don't have to feel guilty about being safe at 5years old when she wasn't. I write to her, trying to bring back the memories before the bad times. But we also have to deal with the bad head on. We scream, cry and laugh a little too when we can't cry any more. Sometimes I have to withdraw to regroup so I can be there the next time. I have a hard time dealing with my anger over this and am jealous that she can afford help and I have to struggle with things myself. I really want her to have help but I guess I'm still jealous.

I deal with all the emotions of my healing through prayer.... and the loving support of my husband... he is one in a million....

thanks, Melanie

I suppressed all of my emotions for most of my life. My sister, if she still remembers, called me Spock. I was known in college as a rock as nothing emotionally could sway me. I rarely smiled and laughed. I never showed fear. I worked hard to suppress all my emotions and found them bothersome and hurtful. I had to suppress my anger, rage, fear to protect myself but when I packed them away I decided that I did not need any emotions, so I put all of them away including happiness, joy, love, peace, etc.

Now in my process of healing I have rediscovered my emotions. The first emotion was anger. Anger at my parents who sexually abused me. Anger at the church who participated. Anger at everyone else because no one saved me from this. (I know now that I was supposed to save myself and I have.) I was afraid to let anger out as my father was a very angry person. I did not want to become like him. I found out that anger directed at my abuser was the way anger was to be expressed. By this I do not mean I called my parents up and yelled and screamed at them, but in my inner children therapy they were able to express their anger and rage at their parents.

Early in my therapy process I bought a punching bag. I use it when the anger gets too great. I go out with a baseball bat (if I hit with my hands even with gloves on, it hurts too much) and I hit the punching bag. This allows me to get the anger out of my cells, muscles and body, because they remember.

The second emotion is tears and sadness. I feel like I have cried more in the past year than I have cried in the past ten years. The tears would just flow, but when I cried it felt like they cleansed another memory for me and it actually helped me feel better. But I found that I could not allow myself too many tears of pity for myself and what my inner children were telling me. Pity did not serve me well.

The third emotion I found was fear. I suppressed fear all my life and just did it anyway. But when I did not face up to that fear it just came out in different ways.

The biggest thing for me was for me to release those 'wild' emotions of fear, anger and rage so that they could protect me when I need them. They are not emotions to hide and suppress, they are there to protect me when I need them.

I found that as I release my anger, fear and sadness the other emotions were coming back - happiness, joy, peace, love, etc. One day I went into see my therapist upset because I was not feeling anything. I told her "My emotions are gone and I want them back." What a change for me!

Emotions are good - at least for me. I allow them to come up, but not to rule my life, they are a part of my life now. There is no shame in crying or getting angry when I have been wronged. There is no shame in being happy or smiling.

Christy

Writer's Retreat- Poems

When the world seems to be passing you by
Seek out the rainbow with your eyes
You are sure to find it in the sky

When all is dark and dreary
Do not worry and become weary
Inside your heart you will see
What a friend you used to be

When all seems lost
Total up your cost
You will see that it wasn't everything
So think about it and sing

All that you lost, really doesn't matter
Keep your heart from getting sadder
Look at what you have remaining

All that was lost was merely one friend
In the spectrum of life that isn't a big cost.

I came upon an open clearing
I gazed at a stranger nearing
The expression on his face was searing
Come a little closer he was daring
My fear was not something to be sharing
Was it evil or was there to be caring....

As the stranger came nearer
My fear was even clearer
It took awhile, but then he smiled
As he gazed upon the child

You have nothing to fear
As he held the child near
He came to protect her!

Hands

Hands on my ankle hold my legs apart.
Hands on my throat hold my voice silent.
Hands on my wrists hold my fists down.

Hands on my face try to erase the image of me.
Hands on my body don't see me...but touch me.
Hands between my legs....
...struggling to escape the hands.

- Terri

Writer's Notes: I have several memories of being tied down during abuse....this is about that... I'm afraid a little gallows humor is in this....it's kind cynical.

ropes on my wrists -- anonymous pain
cloth on my eyes -- images not blocked from my mind
straps on my ankles -- "nothing personal"

- T

Writer's Notes: Same theme in this one......sorry if too much of same....or too graphic. Hope you don't mind.

Laying here
alone
in the dark.

I still feel the
heat
between
my legs.

My arms ache from
the rope
you hung
me by.

I want to curl up
but
your rope
holds me
ready
for next
time.

When will you come back--
I wonder if the pain
in my
arms
out weights
my fear
of you
on my body
again.

-- Terri

The Journey

I was an unhappy child....
roving hands in the morning,
visits in my bed at night.

As a teenager
I sought love and acceptance in mens' arms.
I never found it.

As a young adult I became self-destructive.

Today a survivor writes these words to you.

You can survive!
The journey is long and emotional,
with obstacles at every step.

Keep traveling...
you will find the happiness you seek.

Each obstacle or wall you break down
will give you a feeling of accomplishment.

Every day may be a struggle,
but the struggles will become fewer,
and the days brighter.

Don't let your past overtake you.
Instead let your future sweep you up
and bring you the peace you deserve.

Watching Katelynn

I look at you with your bright face and blond curls.
At two, you're learning to count and to speak.
When I was you, I learned not to cry and how to keep secrets.

Could I have been you...
if times had been different?

The sad little one inside looks at you with wonder.
There is joy in your face when your daddy takes you into his arms.
She only knew fear and pain in her father's arms.

Could I have been you...
if times had been different?

The sun is bright and flowers fill our view.
Today, you see the light and beauty -- it surrounding you.
Then, I saw the world, dark and ugly -- it suffocating me.

Could I have been you...
if times had been different?

Sometimes I wonder...
what it might have been like to ~live~
childhood
instead of ~surviving~ it.

-- Terri N.

Silent Voices

Silent voices
the ones in my head.....

crying
screaming
praying
pleading

Silent voices
the ones in my house.....

weeping
moaning
aching
bleeding

Silent voices....NOT silent anymore.....

-- T

Writer's Note:This is a collection of three "dad poems"....feelings about dad. Hope you don't mind the anger.....he earned it. They repeat the same themes...but it helped to write them separately. -- T

Why am I angry?

Dad....
You laughed at my pain
You smiled when I shook
You reveled in my fear
You chuckled when I winced

You hit when I cried
You tacked when I ran
You pinned when I struggled
You kicked when I ....~couldn't~

What do you expect? Forgive and forget?

- Terri N.

Memories of You....

You leered at me -- and my body shuddered....
You touched me -- and my skin crawled...
You kissed me -- and my mind screamed....
Your breath hit my face -- and I wanted to die.....
You pinned my hands -- and I wanted to fight....
You laughed at me -- and my soul ached...
You hurt me -- and I shattered inside....
I remember you
Dad.

- Terri N.

Survived?

I survived your deviant nature.
I survived your violent temper.
I survived your favorite parties.
I survived your sadistic streak.
I survived your perfection standard.
I survived your sick friends.
I survived your hopeless world.
..... so why can't I find peace?
Haven't I earned it yet?

- Terri N.

Editor's Corner

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