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This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.
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Survivor story
#1017
Original story
Message to a Survivor
The aftermath of assault is hard. Indescribably hard. Especially right in the first few days or weeks. But I promise, over time, it can. Get. Better. It’s a long, hard process, and it’s different for everyone. You’ll have your ups and downs, your good days and your bad days, the easy times and the difficult ones. But we, as survivors, were strong enough to survive, and are strong enough to carry on. However fast or slow that process goes for you is just fine. You’re allowed to take the time that you need to build yourself back up, breathe, and take in what the actual heck happened. You’re allowed to rely solely on others for a while. I swear to you, this isn’t the end. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and you will reach it.
Message of Healing
Healing to me isn’t being able to think about being assaulted like it was just another day. Healing to me is being able to think about it, see the person (unpleasant as it may be, sometimes we have to), go to the place (see above), go through the anniversary, and not necessarily want to fall to your knees from the memory. The memories of assault will never be happy ones. But I hope that for me, they aren’t always going to put me right back in that day in sixth grade. I’ve gone back to therapy since I’ve remembered, and it’s helped so much.
I was eleven when it happened. It was Wednesday in September of sixth grade. The boy who assaulted me I had only met on Monday of the same week, when he’d asked me if I had a boyfriend and/or any romantic interests (to which I responded I was gay), told me lesbians shouldn’t get married (to which I responded with the question why), and told me he knew this because he watched pornography. The day he assaulted me, he got uncomfortably close to me, and whispered in my ear that he liked me and wanted to kiss me, before placing his hand on my left thigh and moving it upwards, stopping briefly in the middle. I forgot for over a year, and when I remembered it triggered a relapse of self harm.
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