Abused.

I’m a mother of 3, the wife of a physician, and a survivor of rape. I was sexually assaulted by multiple male members of my family on a regular basis.

I never spoke up about it, for several reasons I suppose, but the biggest was that I experienced my first orgasms during these encounters. It made me feel ashamed, like somehow I must’ve secretly wanted it, and if I came forward to another relative, or a teacher they would think I was disgusting for having LIKED what was done to me, so I stayed quiet. When it was just the first man raping me, I tried to avoid him, and sometimes I could do it for weeks at a time, making sure we were never alone together. But eventually he figured out ways, and it seemed there was never a day that I wasn’t at his mercy.

Assaulted is the best word to use for those first few months. I was hit, pinned to the wall or floor, and choked, all to get me to be compliant and let what was inevitably going to happen, happen. Ultimately I gave in. I was vulnerable, powerless, and alone. Nothing I did was going to stop him, but fighting it made him hurt me, and allowing it made him… well, for lack of a better word, gentler. Letting him fuck me in the bed meant I wasn’t on the floor… and letting him slide in meant he wasn’t forcing himself in.. When I think back on it I feel like I was being weak, but then I remember how physically weak I really was, it was just a means of making it through and surviving a difficult situation. It was sometime after I stopped fighting that I had an orgasm with him, and then another, and then I was having them every encounter. I began to almost look forward to when he came to me. I feel sick thinking about it now.

This lasted for multiple years, and through multiple abusers. Some were much older, some weren’t related to me, and some were nearly the same age I was. Sometimes they knew about each other, sometimes they didn’t. But I just let it happen, maybe that’s why they all tried, maybe the first guy told the rest that I wouldn’t fight back, I don’t know, it doesn’t matter anymore.

I don’t know how to explain it to someone who hasn’t been abused like this, but I hated them all to the point where I contemplated trying to kill them, but also, I looked forward to when one would approach me and start undoing his pants. I’d get a rush of fear and anger and it turned me on… I secretly hoped each day that one of them would come into my room and push me onto the bed, sliding their manhood into me. This disgusting anticipation made my orgasms fast and powerful, though I did my best to conceal my pleasure from them.

I was used for sex when no one else was around, like a dirty habit, until one by one, they all lost interest. Some moved, some just didn’t have the time, whatever the reason, I hated them… But having them toss me aside made me hate them more. After years of being the object of sexual desire, I found myself going to THEM, to the ones that were still around, me coming on to them! Trying to get them to fuck me, actually offering my body to them.. which made me hate myself.

I eventually went into therapy and began dating the nicest guy in school, we became sweethearts and after graduation we stayed together. I followed him to the university of his choice, which coincidentally took me far away from my home town, and I have yet to return… We ended up getting married in our sophomore year… I should say we got pregnant, and thus married, but it wasn’t a disaster, we were going to anyways. I never told him about the abuses I survived. I knew he’d ask the question that I always ask myself, “why didn’t you tell someone?.. The authorities!”.. And then I’d have to tell him more details and he’d find me appalling and the life I’d built would be over. I figured I didn’t matter, and to this day he doesn’t know about any of it.

After med school we moved to a big city on the east coast. Lots of hospitals and a high demand for doctors. With the exception of moving into a bigger house when we became pregnant with our third child, we’ve been in the same city ever since. I was now a happy stay at home mother. We had 3 children, the oldest Jacob, the middle Stacy and the youngest Jason. We lived a very pleasant life. Safe neighborhood, good school, nice neighbors. My husband didn’t have the best schedule, working weekends, and constantly on-call, but that was tolerable. My life was going very well, all thoughts of my dark past had but faded away when I again became a victim of rape.