Just a note: this may be a triggering post for anyone with abuse trauma
I've wanted to tell my story for a while now. I've told my mom, my therapist, and my doctor, but I'm afraid to tell anyone else. My therapist says it would be good for me to write about my experience, let out some of the feelings I have pent up, so I figure, why not kill two birds with one stone?
I was nine years old when my mom remarried. She married the lawyer who helped her divorce my biological dad, after she caught him in bed with another woman. My new stepdad, Greg, had a son named Brayden, who was fifteen. When my mom and I moved in with them, he was like the brother I hadn't known I'd wanted. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to fish, helped me with my math homework. I thought Brayden was perfect, and I soon came to love him as a brother.
A year passed, and my parent's anniversary came. They went out for dinner early in the evening, leaving Brayden to babysit me. It was summer, so I didn't have a set bedtime, but I always fell asleep around eleven. We were watching TV in the living room when my eyes started to get heavy, so I laid down on the couch to sleep. I must have fallen asleep for awhile, because when I woke up, Brayden was on top of me, stroking my hair. I tried to squirm away when his hand was under my shirt, but he kept me pinned in-between his knees.
Years later, after I learned about rape and abuse, I would wonder why he just suddenly attacked me out of the blue. But thinking back on it, from what I can remember, he was always touchy with me. He sat close to me when he helped me with homework, his hand on my thigh. He hugged me tightly everyday after school. I've wondered why I never remembered this before, and why him touching me had never bothered me.
I remember a lot of things about that night, though--all too clearly--but what has always haunted me was how he smiled when he said, "Let's go to bed."
In HIS bedroom, it was dark except for the glow from the streetlight outside the window. I lay on Brayden's bed, my shirt half off, scared. I was only ten, I didn't know anything about sex, except for the fact that it was called sex. But this wasn't sex, I later learned. This was rape.
Brayden pulled off my pants and underwear, tugged off my shirt the rest of the way. I remember feeling embarrassed, being naked in front of him. Nudity had never bothered me before, although I'd only ever seen my younger cousins naked. I tried not to look at Brayden as he got on top of me, also naked. I remember crying, and him shushing me like I was a baby. I suppose I felt like a baby. I wanted to be small, insignificant. I wanted to sink into the gray comforter on his bed and disappear.
He touched me for a while, putting his finger in me and making me cry harder. It hurt worse than when I broke my wrist falling off of a jungle gym. And it felt wrong--dirty. I asked him why, why was he hurting me? Why was he being so mean? He told me that this was what brothers and sisters did to show they love each other. He asked me, Don't you love me? And I cried some more, yes, yes I do. And I did. I loved him, maybe more than I loved my mom. He told me he loved me, too. But if he loved me, why did it feel so wrong. Now I know that it was the wrong kind of love.
He made me touch him, too. I didn't want to, I told him it felt gross, but that only made him angry. He said, Fine, if you don't want to touch it, then you can taste it!
The back of my throat was sore for three days.
After what seemed like hours, I thought that we must be done, now. Mom and Dad should be home soon, shouldn't they? Once again, though, he laid on top of me, and kissed me so hard it hurt. He rubbed me some more, and before I knew it, he was inside of me. I screamed so loud I thought that maybe God could hear. He raped me until I no longer felt the pain. I was numb, inside and out. He came, crying out in a different way than I had, and lay in top of me, until I thought I would suffocate. Then, he got up, went to the closet and put on a pair of pajama bottoms. Then he left for a few minutes, and came back with a towel and my own pajamas.
He made me sleep in his bed that night, and he fell asleep holding me. The pain came back, so badly I wasn't able to sleep very much. The next morning, he told our parents some lie about me having a nightmare, and that I was so scared I had to sleep in his bed.
I never told my mom about what had happened. I was too ashamed. I thought she would blame me.
The next three years all blend together, but basically it was the same as that night. The only nights that I can actually remember are the ones where he either tried something that left me hurting for days, or the days that he didn't rape me. Those days, I almost felt normal. But the rapes became worse as I hit puberty, and my body started to fill out. My legs became longer, and my hips wider. My breasts started to come in. I've had people tell me I'm an attractive girl, but back then, I only knew that he liked these new changes, so I began to hate them. I still hate my body sometimes, when a boy at school stares at my chest, or when someone comments on how long my legs are. I haven't had a boyfriend, even though boys ask me out. I'm too afraid that they'll see how dirty I am, that they won't understand that it was rape, even though I didn't know it. That they'll call me a slut, a pervert for having sex with my stepbrother. Teachers at school often see my last name, and they smile that smile teachers use when they're talking to a student who couldn't be more perfect if they tried. They'll say, Oh? You're Brayden's little sister? And I just want to scream, No! I'm not his anything! I never want to hear his name again! But instead, I'll smile. I'll tell them, Yeah, he's in college now, majors in Physics or something like that.
I've never understood why he did it. Brayden was handsome. He was popular, judging from how many friends he always had over. He was great at basketball and pretty smart, too. He had plenty of girlfriends. Whom he had sex with. I know because he only slept with them on nights our parents were out, telling them he and her were the only ones home, so I had to listen to them have sex through the thin wall that separated our bedrooms.
I just finished my Fresham year of high school, and Brayden has been away at NYU for a year, now. The few times he came home for winter and spring break, I made sure I was at a friends house, or with my grandparents. But now he wants to come home for summer. I told my mom some, but not all, of what he did. I don't think she could handle some of the worst parts. I begged her not to tell my stepdad. I don't want this to destroy our life together, because I love Greg, and my mom, and sometimes, I think I love Brayden, too. But make no mistake... I love the brother that taught me how to build a stink bomb, who made me ramen noodles on the stove because I always burned them, and who helped me write an essay that won an award in eighth grade. Not the rapist who made me suck him off in the bathroom at Thanksgiving, who tore my favorite Beatles shirt as he ripped it off of me when I was twelve, and who stole my innocence from me before I could even value it.
[ 06-08-2011, 02:43 PM: Message edited by: Alice ]
-------------------- Und nichts zu suchen, Das war mein Sinn. Posts: 1 | From: Illinois | Registered: Jun 2011
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I am so sorry that this happened to you! Your family should be there to support you, not hurt you. I am sorry your innocence was taken before you even knew what it was. But it is also great that you have gained the strength to talk about it and in the long run its better to talk about things and express feelings than to keep it all bottled up.
Posts: 11 | From: British Columbia, Canada | Registered: May 2011
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Liebesleid, welcome to the boards. I am so, so sorry that you've had to live with this happening.
I'm just heading out the door, but I'm going to send the other volunteers here a link to this thread, and I'll be back around tomorrow.
It's good that you've spoken to your mom, and a therapist - where are you at with therapy? Do you know anything specific you need at this stage, such as information, support, or advice?
Know that this doesn't make you "dirty", or a "slut", or a "pervert", at all. And we're all on your side here, for sure.
-------------------- “In a strange room, before you are emptied for sleep, what are you. And when you are filled with sleep you never were. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know if I am or not... how often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.” Posts: 1269 | From: London, UK | Registered: Jun 2006
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Hey Liebesleid, welcome to Scarleteen. I'm so sorry you've had to go through all this, and I second everything patrickvienna has said.
I also wanted to ask if you feel like maybe you could talk to your mom a bit better about this guy coming home for the summer with your therapist present? I don't know whether that would be an option for you, but it may help to have that discussion and find some sort of solution with someone there who supports you to sort of mediate that conversation.
-------------------- "Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing." -Arundhati Roy Posts: 5514 | From: Canada/Australia | Registered: Sep 2004
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