STORM

A Survivor

Hi - I am a survivor childhood sexual abuse, prostitution and victimization by a sexual offender. My father was a child molester who victimized about half of the little girls in our neighbourhood. By the age of about 10 I thought it was my job to try to protect these girls by catching him in the act and removing them. When I finally told my mother at a friend's insistence she made excuses for him, said he was a sick person who couldn't help himself. She had a nervous breakdown after this and was given drugs by a psychiatrist. After this she started drinking and eventually died of cirhossis of the liver.

I became very self destructive; used alcohol & drugs for years, had some bad overdoses and nearly died. I hated myself when I should have turned my anger toward the offender & his collaborators - I also blame the school system - a teacher called in some psychologist when I was 10 to do tests, he never asked what was going on in the home (the verdict was that I was emotionally disturbed but nothing more was done); and at 16 the family dr. put me on addictive drugs as I had a big problem with anxiety and insomnia. I was then sent to a child psychiatrist who gave me more drugs & told my parents to keep me in more and have stricter rules. No one asked me what was going on in the home. After I sobered up I realized they were the offenders/collaborators and I was blameless as a kid.

Prostitution was my boyfriend's idea; I started when I was 21 or 22. Prostitution was a continuum of the sexual abuse I received as a child. I got out when I was 24 - I went to a good treatment centre for alcohol & drug addiction in another city 3000 miles away (got away from all my friends who drank and used drugs and my family also). Luckily my medical insurance paid for my treatment.

I was 13 years sober before I dealt with the sexual abuse through counselling. I still have problems (developed as coping skills) from the sexual abuse. When I was I was unfortunate enough to become involved with a sexual offender I knew in AA. I knew him for a year and a half as a friend and thought he was a nice guy. He used this time to test my boundaries and decide whether I ould be a good victim. I was also vulnerable at this time as I had just been through a custody/access battle. Once I became involved with him I found out that he was sadistic. He started off by telling me things he had supposedly heard on the news e.g. about a professor who had abducted young girls and kept them chained in a cottage in the woods and abused them until they died. After awhile I realized that he was talking about his own desires. When he tried some of these things on me I realized that I had to get away from him. The only thing that turned him on was inflicting pain. I gathered up my courage to tell people what he was like. People I had known for as long as 10 or 12 yrs. would cut me off with things like "you know I think he is a nice guy" or "a relationship is something that should be worked out between two people". The police said they could lay charges but would never get a conviction. By this time he & some of his buddies were stalking & harassing me for trying to spread such "lies" and "gossip" about him. One time he was telling me about another guy we knew who is known to attack different women - I said, oh, that's the guy who attacked my friend - he asked me, well did she charge him - I said no, - so this way he found out that she would be a good victim too. Later he started stalking her. I feel bad about it - at the time he was acting outraged as if this other guy should be stopped; and at the same time he was finding out information about my friends. She said he sometimes just seems to appear out of nowhere, all of a sudden standing right beside her. Really creepy. A power trip for him I am sure.

I went to a sexual assault survivors' group at a woman's organization and they helped me. They put up posters (with his picture) saying that he was a sexual offender who was violent with women & to stay away from him. These women did not even know me & yet they believed me. After he was exposed he moved (true to type). His friends continued to harass me & I do not go alot of places I used to go because of this. I felt like much of this was a repeat of my childhood sexual abuse; if people believed what I was saying, most blamed me for the abuse. The stalking & harassment went on for a couple of years.

People who thought I was involved in the postering accused me of "revenge" or being "vindictive" - my answer was whoever did it was trying to protect other women. A woman I know was involved with him for awhile (she lived in the same apt. building he did) and then suddenly left town. He was also on probation then for threatening a woman at work with a pair of scissors (he worked with drug addicted prostitutes). He is a good con artist and convinced people he was the victim in this case also. Of course the problem was that he just moved somewhere else to start all over again. Because he presents as a "nice guy" and is good looking most people are not willing to believe he could be a sexual offender. Also because he targets women he knows, he spent a year and a half getting to know me first. Any guy who did these things to a stranger would receive consequences.

Now I spend most of my time involved in studies and women's groups trying help change things so other kids (I have two girls myself) will have a better chance.

My basic story is that my mother was a druggie and hung out with biker types when I was 10 or so. About a month before my 11th birthday, I was gang-raped by some pals of hers, and after that was taken to parties and left with people, whom I had to be nice to so mom could get her dope and crank. My brother was 6 years younger and went through some of the same crap which is probably why we like to blow stuff up so much). I was basically his mom from the time he was born, which is why he's screwed up, I guess. but he's a good guy, he just gets dumped on a lot, and can't deal with being on his own....

Anyways, this went on for about three years, until I came home and found something happening to my brother when I was fourteen. I nearly beat my mom to death. She still has crooked teeth from that, and I have a stab scar on my thigh from where she stabbed me. I stopped just in time, and grabbed my brother and ran to the neighbors to call an aunt. I ended up sleeping at friend's houses and at various aunts for the next three years, and my brother ended up in foster care. Occasionally, we got to stay with my dad, but he traveled a lot, so it was kind of hard.

I was very lucky in that I trusted absolutely no-one, because there were times when I was at parties and guys were scoping out girls (and boys) to pimp them out. I was way paranoid by this time. My dad was supportive, although I don't think he really believed everything until just recently. He knew about her cruelty and physical abuse, though. He had kidnapped us away from my mom when I was 8, and my brother was 2, because my mom kept abandoning us and leaving us in various places for days at a time. I think the worst thing he ever did was take my mom back in when she came out the next year.

So I managed to get into a good college, because school was the only constant, and I was too paranoid to actually have much of a life outside of school. I even got scholarships, because of good grades and acing my SAT’s. I guess that is a big survival thing, perfectionism. I like rules. School was the only place where there were rules- you did the work and you could get away with a lot, skipping classes, vandalism, fights "but she gets such good grades- she' so just not challenged enough..." So I got a little obsessive. It was the only place I ever got told I was good at anything but sex, and I had the grades to prove it.

I went to a good college for three years, was an activist in the rape awareness movement, the gay and lesbian thing, and the South Africa freedom thing, among other things. I worked 30 hours or more a week, was in a band, and maintained a 3.75 dean's list average. I just never slept, having developed a sleep disorder. I always thought it was normal, that sleep was a joke. I thought that everybody just needed quiet alone time for eight hours or so... when I was with my brother, we'd watch everybody go to bed and sit up watching old movies and doing homework and talking all night, then take a nap in the afternoon or fall asleep in class.

So I was on the way to burn-out city when I got really sick. Because of the damage done in my pre-pubescent years, I had never had a period, and I never thought about it and my mom never said any thing about it. It turned out that my uterus and ovaries had so much scar tissue that they pretty much atrophied and I found out I had tumors throughout my urinary and reproductive system. Most were benign, but as few were in early cancer stage, so I had to go through chemo at 21. I lost my scholarship because I couldn't keep up with my classes or even attend after surgery and when the treatments started. I couldn't work and summer was coming, so my friends were all leaving town. My girlfriend left because the chemo effects really grossed her out, and her mom had died of cervical cancer, and she couldn't deal.

So my mom talked to me and said she was sorry that we had fought so much and would I please come home to rest and get better. She was clean and sober, she claimed, and this was more important than any silly disagreements we had. So like an idiot, or rather like a person without any other options at the time, I went back home.

She kicked me out in about three days, because she had assumed I money or at least stuff to sell to give her money to buy drugs- what a surprise. I was in shelters for a few weeks, and was planning to start up at a local college in the fall, and trying to get on disability or some kind of assistance to recover and start over.

She invited me over, all apologetic and ending up dragging me to a party, where this guy came up and starting saying all the right things, pushing all the buttons of how vulnerable I was. I was paranoid but I wanted to leave the party. My mom wasn't ready to leave, and it was past curfew at the hostel I was staying at. This guy offered to drive me back to my mom's house, and I was tired and sick and so I said OK.

This guy was a buddy of my mom's and he had basically bought me. He drove me to a hotel where I was kept for about two or three weeks, until I would have done anything he said to be able to stay alive or sometimes in the hope that I would be killed quickly. Of course, I tried to run away at the first opportunity; after he turned me out as a prostitute,] when he broke my ribs and someone called an ambulance. I called my mother from the hospital, because I still didn't know she sold me out, and because she was the only person I knew in the city. She came, all right, but she stopped by the hotel and picked Bob up . They made me get in the back seat of a cramped 2-door car , and laughed in the front about how hard it was to keep me in line and how funny it was that someone as stupid as me could be so uppity and think I was worth anything.

I tried and tried to escape several times, but the shelters would take me because I was not a battered woman, even if I my arm in a cast, or stitches or broken jaw and cheekbones and nose. I was not a victim or survivor, I was a prostitute and a riminal and they couldn't give up precious bed space to criminals. If I had a problem, I should just find another job....( which is why I now do trainings at area DV shelters, so other survivors won't face this bullshit and can find a place to escape to) It does you no good to just ESCAPE, you have to have somewhere to escape TO! And I didn't. Finally, after nearly two years of horrifying captivity and terror and abuse (like living in one of those Nightmare on Elm Street Movies , I just decided to kill the bastard. I found a knife and hid it and was going to wait until he fell asleep.

Unfortunately, I fell asleep first and woke up with that knife-- an 'old hickory' butcher knife, 2 inches wide at its widest point, and 8 inches long- stabbed into my vagina. I was nearly killed and another woman was in the room, I still don't know how she is or what happened to her later. I think she was going to be my replacement, or maybe she came down to check on the screaming.. I don't know, except she had long hair and her name was Kristen. I was in the hospital for a few weeks because of many stab wounds, and a dislocated shoulder that had never been set.

But somehow, my father was called and really was in shock that I had never called. I guess I thought he would hate me for being a whore, so I was ashamed, or that I had tried to call but could not get in touch and gave up.

Anyways I was in hiding for a while, which is why I was homeless. I was found a couple of times and was afraid to get a job, to put my name on a lease, to get help because that would lead a trail. At least now I know he's in prison. But my biggest regret in life is that I didn't kill him when I had the chance, because he got out of jail after serving only three months of a three year term form what he did to me and the other girl mostly what he did to the other girl because the DA did not want me to testify because I had a history of prostitution!!! And he got out and raped and beat more women, a few months and did it again and again, and finally broke into the apartment of a college student whose keys he had stolen in a bar. He raped and beat her and her room mate, not nearly as bad as he did me or other women he pimped, but they were good girls, smart, pretty college students, and the new three strikes law was passed, so he will be in until he rots, I pray and hope.

But there is always that fear, because I was never notified when he was released those other times and he always tracked me down:. I had to change my name twice and my appearance and leave town for a while and lose any contacts I had with work or family or friends...

SO, I cannot tell you about where I am, what I do for a living, or my real name. I can tell you that I am an honored professional now, that I went back to school, and that I speak out on prostitution as violence against women at every opportunity, albeit anonymously. I can tell you that 10 years later, I still have health problems, internal and external scars, and nightmares. I can tell you that I still live in FEAR: fear of being found by my ex-pimp or his friends; fear of being identified as a survivor and losing my job; fear of never being able to trust again...AND fear that somewhere tonite, amother woman will be living my story and she may not be able to get out before she dies...]

It began as a normal day, or as close to normal as could be expected in my home. It was a Saturday and we were going to visit my step Grandfather who lived in Alabama. I never liked going to his house because the looks he gave me made me feel bad, strange looks that would confuse a child. The meetings for the satanic cult they belonged to were held at his place. I believe that their prostitution of me was a part of the cult activities, because some of it occurred during their group meetings. At one of the meetings, I was forced to have sex with a man draped in a black hooded robe, who I was told, was the devil himself. I was to be the chosen one. That’s when my life as a child truly ended.

By then, I had already been introduced to the adult world of sex. It was something I had been living with from the age of 8 years old, at the hands of my Mother, Step Father and later in life my older Brother. What was about to take place was nothing new to me, but this would be more than a child of 12 years old could handle. My mother explained to me that I was to do whatever these people asked of me, and that if I didn’t, there would be hell to pay. The first time, they brought in only 3 men, I say only, because in the years to come, it would grow to 4 to 5 men and or women. I would watch, as these people would hand over an unknown sum of money to my mother. She would then take me into that dirty old garage, where there was a single size mattress lying on the ground. These people were unlike any I had ever had contact with. Their eyes were like balls of steal, no emotions, and no compassion; their touch was a rough one filled with anger.

I did try to put up a fight a few times when the pain became too much to for me to bear. But after seeing that my struggles were in vain and only made things worse on me, I would just lay as still as I could as the tears rolled down my face.

On our trips home, I didn’t know much about God, only what I had heard other people talking about, I knew that they prayed to this GOD and he was supposed to help and protect his children. I spent my time laying their asking God to help me, to take me in his arms and fly away with me. After each visit to this unforgettable place, I would lie in the back of our station wagon feeling so alone and broken, often bleeding, wishing for my mother to help me, to protect me, to love me.

I remember when I was somewhere around 13 years old; I guess I was pregnant, because my Mother and Stepfather performed what I know now as a home-abortion, using a mild type of acid. During my struggle with them, the acid spilled on my arm. They took me to the hospital for that. I guess it was because it was on an area of my body that visible. I wanted to so badly to tell the Doctors that I was burned even worse in other areas. My mother told them that I spilled the acid on my arm myself. It would not be until years later that I learned of the internal damage this caused. After being married and pregnant with my next child, the doctor accused me of performing a self-abortion on myself during my initial visit… I didn’t have the courage to tell her any differently.

In between the age of 13 to 16 I tried to run away many different times, always being returned to my Mother for her to continue with the business she and her husband had built, along with his father. I didn’t dare try to tell anyone what was going on, out of fear. To the outside world these people looked like model citizens. I have this memory of one woman, who did come in the garage one day. I don’t know what it was that made her change her mind, but we made eye contact she only spoke a few words to me, which was, “I am sorry” and she turned and walked out the door. I got a beating for that, my mother was sure that I had said something for this woman to demand her money back. That was the only time I can remember receiving any mercy from anyone.

I started to pray almost constantly from that point on. I started out asking for help to get me away from what was happening to me. From that simple prayer, I went to begging God to take me from this world. At that point all I wanted was to die. But nothing changed; after all I was in a family that worshipped Satan. I was only a child and felt alone. I knew that what was happening to me was wrong, but still I loved my mother and in some sick way I also wanted to please her, I so needed her acceptance. I missed a lot of school due to being sick, and or not being able to cover up the bruises from the abuse.

I tried to hide a few times. My step grandfather had a farm and after one person was finished with me, I was hurting so much I needed time, so I would run and hide in the chicken coup. That hiding place didn’t last long before they knew right where to look.

At the age of 15 I finally was not able to go on, and I tried to comment suicide. A friend found me, I’d passed out. I was almost free, till she rushed me to the hospital where there they pumped my stomach, my mother was called to the hospital, but told the doctor she could not make it there. When I returned home, I was told by my mother that I couldn’t even do that right, ‘how I wished I could have’. The Prostitution lasted till I was 16 years old. I have no idea why it stopped when it did, but was very thankful that part of the abused ended.

The after effects of these actions still haunt me to this day. I did press charges against both my mother and stepfather, and after many court appearances and cross-examinations, I was told I didn’t have enough evidence to prove my case. I had to see these people up close up in the courthouse, as well as receive death threats from them to drop the charges. It was once again too much to handle, I may have been an adult at this time, but they still held a huge amount of control over me.

Being in therapy and working through the Child Prostitution issues was too much for my husband and my marriage. I began to shut down emotionally, having to be hospitalized about 4 different times, finally undergoing ECT (Shock Therapy) on the last inpatient stay, that only seemed to wipe out most of my short term memory and some of my long term. It left me with all the horror of the memories of the things that no child or adult should ever have to remember.

I have been in therapy off and on for the past 10 years, and have had no contacts with my family. I don’t think that I will ever understand how the minds of these abusers work, and if I did it would not justify their actions. I don’t think this is something I will ever overcome…we learn to grow, and become survivors, but do we ever overcome? I have accepted this as being part of who I am today. I have crossed paths with some amazing Survivors who I feel blessed to have in my life.

I am now married with 3 beautiful children I am a stay at home Mother, enjoying my children, I run a support forum for other Survivors, I am proud to say that today I live my life as a Survivor.