Young and Gay in an Abusive Relationship

Young and Gay in an Abusive Relationship

My name is Zackary Coffman. I recently turned 15 in January, but this story takes place about three years ago, when I was 12. So after begging my parents for months they finally let me publish a Facebook page. I was excited for this was my first social network account (I later added Instagram, MySpace, etc.) I uploaded pics, added my friends, and all those things people do on FB. Then about a month and a half later a guy, let’s call him ‘Mark,’ sent me a friend request. Before I did anything, I went on his page to make sure he wasn’t fake or anything because he looked pretty cute in his profile pic. Turns out he wasn’t fake and he actually lived in my area. I accepted and we started talking right away. We became close friends and maybe more than a week later we decided to meet up in person at a park the next day. We did meet up and turns out he was even better in person then on FB. He was perfect. So perfect that shortly thereafter ‘Mark’ convinced me to become his boyfriend (Note: I was twelve, he was fourteen). So we were the perfect, cute couple for a week. Then his true colors started to show. ‘Mark’ was rude, disrespectful, mean, but worst of all he was abusive. I don’t know why (maybe because I was bisexual and I hung out with my guy/girl friends a lot), but he would punch and slap me. Regardless I was one of those stupid blind people — like in the movies — who didn’t leave him because I thought there was still good in him. But really he scared the living hell out of me. Then one day he made me have sex with him and that was the day I lost my virginity. It wasn’t rape since I actually wanted to have sex with him, because I thought he would change when I did. But he didn’t. Instead Mark started sexually abusing me and I was just terrified of him by then. Then the day came when he made the stupid mistake of punching me in the face and leaving a big bruise on my left cheek. My parents saw it right away. They made me brake up with Mark (it wasn’t easy), and then made me delete all my accounts on the Internet because they thought I might contact him again through some website. I couldn’t — no wouldn’t — go out, talk, eat, or do anything. I was 12 and depressed. I’ve been traumatized for life by an abusive boyfriend. The worst three and a half months of my life. But...

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Trust No One

Trust No One

My name is Lexy and I was a victim of sexual abuse. I was raised by my single mother, who is only 18 years older than me. My dad was in my life. I saw him every other weekend. My mom became a police officer when I was 7 years old, and that’s when she met a fellow officer named Esteban. They dated until he proposed to her when I was 12 years old. Esteban and I had a very strange relationship and it was very obvious that we did not like each other. He was very sensitive and acted like a baby when things didn’t go his way. After only a year of marriage and I was now 13 years old, my mom decided to go back to school to get her bachelors degree. This meant I never saw her because she worked during the day and went to school at night. Consequently I was left alone with Esteban. One day he decided to start “play-fighting” with me. At first, it was innocent until I realized with each passing day it was becoming more and more inappropriate. He would touch my breast and my butt. He would open the door when I was in the shower and stare at me. When I would get out the shower, he would “wrestle” me because I was naked. I was petrified. This man was so much bigger and stronger. I couldn’t fight him off and believe me I tried. Then he started walking around the house with his penis hanging out of his boxers and began to wrestle with me. He had a grip on my hair and pulled my face by his penis obviously to give him oral sex. I remember it was touching my lips and I was so disgusted that I bit it. He let go of me and screamed. I ran out of the house and went to a friend’s house. The next day it got worst and it was steps away from penetration. I had a play to perform and my costume was a bit suggestive. I had a very short skirt on and a shirt that showed my belly. Esteban was furious when he saw the way I looked. As he was yelling at me, I decided to yell disrespectfully back at him because my mom was there. I wanted my mom to yell at me so I can just grow balls and tell her what he has been doing to me for a month. But she didn’t yell at me. That night I slept over at my best friends house and told her everything. She gave me a lecture about him going all the...

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The Sabotage of a Spider

The Sabotage of a Spider

I remember my 7th birthday. People came over to celebrate. They would say, “Hey spider, happy birthday, Princess”. But every time I would begin to have that feeling of happiness, something would tear it down. My brother, who was 15 at the time, would take me behind my closet door when everybody was partying, and fuss at me. He would grab my arm and twist it, then grab my face and twist it, then turn me over and slap my butt — hard. I would scream but no one heard or cared. Every day my brother would come at night and twist my leg to make me open them so he could do some. When I told my dad, he got a pressing comb, heated it up and pressed it against my bare chest. I was screaming and no one cared. From the age of 8 or 9, if I didn’t flush the toilet, my dad got a skillet, heated some water to boiled point, told me to open my legs, and poured it right in between. There was blood of course, and I screamed. The same routine happened every day until I was 13. My aunts and uncle would stick needles and pencils in my buttock as they sang, “Isty bitsy spider made a stupid cry, down came the tears and washed up all the day, the itsy bitsy spider went up and down again, and the itsy bitsy spider, bled and bled all day.” YES, I REMEMBER THE WORDS. When I turned 15, I ran away to a local foundation that was known for helping abused children. I got help and I was safe until 2 women and 3 men from the system wanted to see what an abused spider looked like and they began raping me. I ran away again until I finally found a Christian Society where I was healed and became empowered by Jesus. Thank God for saving me. I thank him now at age 18....

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Life as a Victim

Life as a Victim

My name does not change the content of the story so I will leave it out. I will start out with the basic facts of myself, I am a 21 year old male, I was abused by my older brother, who is 6 years older than me, when I was roughly 8 or 9 years old. I am not exactly sure other than the fact that he was old enough to babysit me while my parents went out. The first time he molested me was when he was babysitting. It was later in the evening, because it was dark out. He sent me to my room because I had been “bad.” I went in my room and he followed a few minutes later. He shut off the light and told me to be quiet and he spit the words, “You can’t tell anyone about this.” He then started to feel me up and get aroused. He then started to have sex with me, he would always remind me, “Don’t tell anyone.” I lived in this fear and didn’t dare say anything about it. This went on for probably about a year. When he wanted to do his thing he would tell me go wait in my bedroom, which was at the end of the hall. I would go hide behind his bed and he would come in do his thing and leave, then I would come out a little while later. He did this when he was babysitting until one summer when a relative, who was just a few years older than my brother, asked me a question about performing oral sex on a guy. I said, “No,” but he sensed that I was lying and somehow got it out of me. I then told him that I did to my brother. I’m not sure if he talked to my brother or not. It was after this that the physical part of the abuse stopped. I am unaware if my brother has gotten help. As for me, I have not. To this day I have not told anyone about my experience, but I feel that my brother has some sort of pull on me. That is to say, if he wants me to do something, I somehow end up doing it. I have mentioned to a few close friends that a family member abused me as a child. They do not know that it was sexual abuse. I am not sure if my parents would believe me or not. My brother now lives in a different state than I do, but I still live with the emotional scars of being abused. This is the first time I have ever...

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I’m Not a Whore for Being Raped!

I’m Not a Whore for Being Raped!

I grew up being called a whore according to my other 2 brothers who didn’t know what the 1 brother did to me until last year. So why did they tell me daily that I was a whore, a slut, and a bitch, multiple times a day. Why did they tell all their friends that I was just a stupid little whore, a stupid little slut, and f’ing little bitch. Why did they hate me so much? Why do they tell me now that they care and then completely abandon me . . . again? I have so many questions, but very few answers. I am angry and hurt. My mom blamed it all on my dad, explaining that he wouldn’t let her take me to the doctor so that my brother didn’t get into trouble. She said that he wouldn’t let her protect me. Why then, when I was raped by a neighbor in Alaska, did she not protect me? As a mother, if my 12-year-old daughter came home from hanging out with a much older, twice her age, neighbor, unable to walk, puking all over, covered in blood, with bruises all over her body, I sure as hell wouldn’t just do nothing! That’s what happened to me. She even let the guy’s mom come over and tell me that I was a whore and tell me it was all my fault. He took me out snowmobiling, got some wine coolers and I think he put something in mine. I don’t remember most of the rest of the day except that I was on my period, he had put me over a stool so that I could pee and then left me there to fall into my bloody urine. I remember him kissing me and touching my vagina, I remember trying to run away from him and kicking over a garbage can that he had started a fire in. I wasn’t able to drive my snowmobile back home. He had to drive one and then run back and drive the other in front. I wasn’t taken to the hospital the police were never called. All I want is justice and support. I want to stop feeling so angry. After I came back to Washington I just stayed away from my dad’s house and stayed with friends. One friend in particular lived with her father. He always treated me like I was special, he told me that I was his favorite, he made me feel really special, something I had never felt before. He was the best father figure I had but at some point or maybe it was gradual and I couldn’t see it, he began making comments...

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