My name is Celeste. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, have been recovering memories for about a year or so now (I'm 24). I am planning on starting a literary journal in the summer of 06, mainly containing short stories of trauma/abuse at any age, doesn't have to be childhood. I intend on creating more awareness about these situations in the publishing industry. I have a lot of experience in publishing and editing, as well as working at literary agencies, so I have some good connections in New York City (hometown) and Chicago. I shall try to assist with the publishing of the book that this community intends. I would enjoy reading your stuff, offering feed back, editing advice, what ever the case may be. You can email me a email@example.com if you would like my address for sending a submission. I will be accepting submissions from now til March of 2006.
That aside, I'm here if you need an ear, advice, etc. Most of my ramblings are in my journal. Things have been pretty rough lately, especially in therapy and life in general. Good to have this community though.
Strength to all.
Thanks to geminipoohsf for this... may be triggering
A lot has been said about how to prevent rape........
Women should learn self-defense. Women should lock themselves in their houses after dark. Women shouldn't have long hair and women shouldn't wear short skirts. Women shouldn't leave drinks unattended. Fuck, they shouldn't dare to get drunk at all.
Instead of that bullshit, how about:
If a woman is drunk, don't rape her.
If a woman is walking alone at night, don't rape her.
If a women is drugged and unconscious, don't rape her.
If a woman is wearing a short skirt, don't rape her.
If a woman is jogging in a park at 5 am, don't rape her.
If a woman looks like your ex-girlfriend, whom you're still hung up on, don't rape her.
If a woman is asleep in her bed, don't rape her.
If a woman is asleep in your bed, don't rape her.
If a woman is doing her laundry, don't rape her.
If a woman is in a coma, don't rape her.
If a woman changes her mind in the middle of or about a particular activity, don't rape her.
If a woman has repeatedly refused a certain activity, don't rape her.
If a woman is not yet a woman, but a child, don't rape her.
If your girlfriend or wife is not in the mood, don't rape her.
If your step-daughter is watching tv, don't rape her.
If you break into a house and find a woman there, don't rape her.
If your friend thinks it's okay to rape someone, tell him it's not, and that he's not your friend.
If your "friend" tells you he raped someone, report him to the police.
If your frat-brother or another guy at the party tells you there's an unconscious woman upstairs and it's your turn, don't rape her, call the police and tell the guy he's a rapist.
Tell your sons, god-sons, nephews, grandsons, and sons of friends it's not okay to rape someone.
Don't tell your women friends how to be safe and avoid rape.
Don't imply that she could have avoided it if she'd only done/not done x.
Don't imply that it's in any way her fault.
Don't let silence imply agreement when someone tells you he "got some" with the drunk girl.
Don't perpetuate a culture that tells you that you have no control over or responsibility for your actions. You can help yourself.
If you agree, re-post it. It's that important.
quick update. enlisted a new contributer i think - he said he'll see what he can dig up.. might actually end up posting in the other community... also meeting mark tomorrow hopefully if he is well enough so he'll have some contributers prolly, and can also help us out with publicity on lj. yay. hope everyone is well.
- Music:i believe that lovers should be chained together
I'm curious as to why you're doing a project on rape. It's a good idea, don't get me wrong, but what is the objective - a book/zine/website?
Maybe you can look at issues going on in the rest of the world, like the guy who's been acquitted over in England for raping a woman due to sexsomnia - basically like sleepwalking with sex involved - and is free to go home, with no charges against him. Or the security guard who walked/(dragged) the drunken student to her dorm room and raped her and left her naked in her doorway, who got off because although she never remembered consenting - she was passed out at the time - she was drunk to begin with and therefore it was possibly a lie. Gotta love our justice system huh?
Anyway, if you want articles like this I have thousands. Like the 15 year old girl who was dragged off through Redfern last week by 17 guys and raped and then held hostage for hours til they let her go. The article was 1 paragraph long, situated on page 12, behind all the interest on Bec and Lleytons new baby!
You definately have a broad scope to cover, though it's good someone's doing it. Too much shit is happening in the world at the moment and the last thing we need is to allow ourselves to get overlooked again; if we don't keep letting people know that it does happen, then the easier it will be to say things like "but they was drunk" or "but they didn't say no", and actually get away with it. I was raped by my first boyfriend. I stayed with him afterwards for too long and even now I often deny myself to believe that it really happened. It's stupid how we can con ourselves into believing what we want to so we don't have to deal with reality and the truth. I wish I'd ahd a forum like this when it happened.
I also thought about male rape. Although it's not as common, there is a lot of it going on still - especially at those north shore private boys schools - I have heard some vicious stories of boys being physically abused with items that don't deserve to go near anyone's rear, let alone some terrified 12 year old boy. A number of kids have been admitted to hospital with rectal tissue damage and other unimaginable problems. It makes me wander what the x-factor is to determine how hostile the act is going to be. To not actually do the act, but let something else do it for you? It's wrong for too many reasons.
I think you've got a good thing going here, even if at the moment it's just an outlet for people to grieve or share with others.
Never thought I’d be raped by someone who loved me
Never thought I’d accept it just so he wouldn’t leave
Just because I wasn’t fighting doesn’t mean I was free
Can’t believe I went back after he’d defiled me.
I can’t believe I went back after he’d made a whore out of me
- Music:we've all been pushed too far today
met someone today who said she'd be interested in contributing, and may have some more people who would be into it. so yay. starting to come together.
The first time my dick was in someone's mouth was kind of strange. It was a guy, twice my age, and I'd never been with a guy before. I would've rathered my first blowjob was by some nice girl, but no, it was a seedy guy twice my age. I was lying back in his car. He'd adjusted the seat for me, made it go the whole way back. He'd told me to get comfortable. He'd tried to ply me with drugs and gay porn. What was I still doing here I wondered? He'd approached me at a bus stop and offered me a lift home. I'd hesitated and half considered it. Eventually I ended up going with him, but he turned off before we got to the bridge. Now we were parked in some enormous deserted shipping yard, and he was my only way home. He kept reaching out and touching me. I pushed him away. 'Just a little,' he kept saying. He seemed so pathetic, and needy. I could understand how he felt, a little. He kept touching me. 'No,' I said. 'Can you just take me home?' 'Just a little,' he said. In the end I just lay back and let him do what he wanted. I remember the feel of his stubble on my thighs. He got down in the legspace in front of the seat and sucked my cock. It felt strange, that this stranger was going to so much effort. Everytime he scratched me with his teeth, he tried extra hard not to do it. It was strange, that this strange guy who I didn't know was doing this. Everytime his head went down I remember feeling his stubble. I even let him suck my balls. His stubbly face seemed to violate that private part of me. He was the first person ever to have his face that close to that part of me. But once he was down there, once he had started doing it, I felt like I couldn't tell him to stop. Like some big thick blanket had descended on me and was weighing me down, stopping me from doing anything. I just closed my eyes while he went about his business. I thought about what my friends were doing right now. I thought about school on monday. In the end I felt like I was doing him a favour, but he didn't get satisfaction. 'I really want you to come,' he said. But I didn't. I couldn't come. Sure, sometimes it felt pleasurable, but I didn't want to, and some part of my body held back. I didn't want to give that to him, and I'm glad that my body agreed. 'I'm too drunk,' I lied and he seemed really disappointed. He drove me home. I lied about where I lived and walked the rest of the way. I didn't want him to know. As his car pulled away, I felt really, really nauseous. I felt sick with myself. I remember holding onto a tree branch and puking all over the pavement.
When I got home, I had a long shower and washed all his saliva off me. Then I masturbated and I came. Something about myself making me come because I wanted to erased a little bit of that weirdness. I felt sick with myself, and so tired. I couldn't believe I had let him do that. Where was my dignity, my self-esteem? What was this strange thing called sexual desire that half wanted to and half didn't? I felt pretty sick, and weak. But also in some strange way, I felt proud of what a grungy, unusual experience I'd had. I felt like I'd got one up on all my conservative friends. It was only a couple of years later that I really regretted it, and didn't really care about having grungy, unusual experiences.
A couple of years later, I was at the same bus stop, and the guy came up to me again. Same guy, same car, same scenario. This time, however, I was prepared. He started talking to me. I looked at him, then looked away. 'No,' I said. He hovered for a few seconds then walked away. I felt some long lost self-esteem come rushing back to me. By rejecting him I was getting back my power to say yes or no, to choose who I wanted to be with. However much of a symbolic gesture it was all that time later, it still felt good. Although, my body took longer to recover from feeling sick at itself and not trusting. I never really enjoyed getting sucked off by anyone for a long time after that. I'd shy away from it, so to speak. I couldn't come, and I felt ashamed, like I should get over it, disappointed in myself. Even when I explained it to partners, it was hard for them to deal with it. They couldn't help but feel offended, like it was their fault. 'You'd come if you loved me,' kind of thing. My body and mind were afraid, like I couldn't trust the person I was with, even though I did trust them. It took quite a while before I could enjoy getting head again. It took time, and lots of blowjobs.
There is a happiness in being insignificant. There is a comfort in being nothing.
You see me as you see yourself: a waste, pathetic and utterly complacent.
How could I have been so complacent in an act that was, in essence, so violent? If I had fought back I don’t think I would have saved myself.
Later on he taught that to me. He did more damage than if he had succeeded. He proved my weakness. He proved I could not fight off any man who wanted my sex by force. And that has hurt more than any other rape I have experienced. Crying in the shower is nothing compared to having a man on your back, forcing you down.
I have been doubted, ‘he couldn’t be that strong’. I don’t care if you don’t think he had the strength to hold me down. I don’t care if you believe me. All I have is the knowledge. I did not have the power to conquer him. His proof of strength left me shaking. He did not ‘violate’ my sex, but he violated my comfort, my faith in safety and my belief.
I tried with everything I had to break away. Yet, the struggle was anything but obvious. To someone watching he did not show much. But to me it was everything. I could not protect myself. And if it happens again? I’m not sure if I will try.
He was lying on my back, pushing me into the bed. My legs crossed, he forced my head towards my feet. I pushed against his hands, his chest. I told him to stop.
When he was satisfied with his display of dominance he let me up. If he had not let me up I would not have gotten up. He could have done anything.
And proving to me that he could was enough.
Most of the time I hate him. Most of the time I shudder.
But I cannot talk much about his force, because I cannot prove he did it, because he denies it, I do not bother with convincing. I have stopped trying to prove my point. I fear men now in a new way, a way I had only glimpsed before. Being raped did not do that to me. It was the threat of rape, the inability to run, which has left me fearful.
Tightly bind her legs together.
She cannot walk nor
Is this the only option that we have?
Wrap her breasts and hide her sex
She is no longer female,
Nor a person.
Is this the only way?
She cannot scream
Nor be misunderstood.
Is this it?
Gag and bind, wrap and hide,
The only way to survive
Is to not exist.
ok. so we need contributions... personally i'm looking for rape/abuse/consent fiction/non fiction. i have a few contributors already which is great, but i need more :) as a group we're also looking for anything about sex, life and/or beauty. so get writing people (hehe as if anyone's reading this yet)! i shall post le poetry i have recieved already.
- Music:fuck and run.. even when i was twelve