It all started when I was seven years old. My mommy and daddy both worked so they had to hire a babysitter to watch my little brother, who was two, and me. The babysitter they hired was Aaron. At first, he was really cool and I really like him. Then, for some reason, I became a really bad girl. I could never do anything right. My clothes did not math. I could not get the dishes clean. I did not fold the laundry right. I talked back to him. I do not even remember everything I did wrong. I just know that I was a terrible child and I was completely hopeless. Nobody could love someone so terrible. I tried so hard to fix things. I tried to be good, but I was just a bad girl. Nobody could love someone who was so stupid.

At first, he just yelled at me when I screwed things up. I know I was a bad girl. I deserved it. I never did anything right. After a while, that was not enough. I was not just any bad girl. I was the worst of all. He started to hit me when I screwed up. Sometimes he hit me in the arm, the stomach, or the leg, but if I was really bad, he would throw me in the sleeping bag and drop me on the floor. Well, as I said, I was not just any bad girl. I was terrible, so this was not enough. I still needed to be punished.

After a few more weeks passed and he said that he would not have to hit me anymore if I would do other things for him. I was so excited. I definitely did not want to be hit anymore. I would do anything. He told me to go in my parents’ bedroom and take off all of my clothes. A few minutes later, after he put my little brother to sleep, he came into the bedroom and took his clothes off as well. He picked me up and threw me on the bed. I was completely confused and a little scared. He grabbed my chest (well, what little I had) and he squeezed so hard I can even remember the pain shooting through my body. A few minutes later, he started biting me. How could I have been stupid enough to agree to this? Nobody could love someone so stupid. He did that for a little while and he also stuck his fingers inside of me. That did not hurt, but I was really afraid of what else he would do. This apparently still was not enough. I was a very, very, very bad girl.

A few more weeks passed and he said that I was getting even worse and he was going to have to have me do more things. I was confused and scared yet again. What more could he possibly want me to do. He put his penis in my mouth and made me perform oral sex on him. He ejaculated in my mouth (well, I thought it was urine). He made me swallow it. Then, he performed oral sex on me. It was disgusting. I felt so dirty. I just wanted to throw up. Actually, I did get sick a few times after this. This was not enough either because I was a very, very, very bad girl.

He started doing the same things again. He went to the top drawer of my daddy’s dresser and pulled out a condom. Being seven, I did not exactly know what it was, but he put it on. Then instead of oral sex, he tried too put his penis inside of me. I screamed at the top of my lungs because it hurt so badly. He stopped, but he was so mad at me. Well, he was more than mad at me. He threw me down the stairs. I just lied by the shower drain and cried. He came down after me and he was upset because I was crying. He told me that crying was the worst thing I could do. He was extremely angry with me. He hit me harder than he ever had before. I cried and he hit me over and over again. Why was I so terrible? Why could I not stop being so bad? This was not enough either because I was a very, very, very bad girl.

The next time he was really angry with me because I cried when my parents left. I knew I was in for a long day with him. For some reason he decided that he did not want me to scream like I had last time and he turned me over onto my stomach. He tried to put his penis into my butt. He yelled at me and told me that I was too tight. He threw me down the stairs again, but this time I was sure not to cry. He took me over to the playroom and pulled the horseshoes game apart. He took the pole out, put it in my butt, and twisted. As if this did not hurt badly enough, he pulled it out and put his penis inside of me. I was a very, very, very bad girl.

He did these same things for the next two years. I never said anything to my parents. I did not want them to know what a terrible little girl I was. I thought that they would start punishing me in the same way and I definitely did not want that to happen.

Well, just this past fall something happened again. It was not with my babysitter, but with someone else whom I trusted. Jon was like a big brother to me. We hung out all through high school and in youth group. It was never a romantic type of thing. Besides, he was three years older than I was and I did not really believe in getting involved with someone in high school who was that old.

On a Friday night last semester, Jon called me and asked me to come over to his house to watch a movie with him. I thought that it would be okay because I had watched movies at his house all the time. He came, picked me up at the dorms, and took me back to his house. He still lives with his parents.

Well, the lights were off in his room so we could watch the movie and his dad and his younger brother were upstairs, so I definitely felt safe being there with him. Well, he started to tickle me and I did not feel very comfortable with that, so I asked him to stop. He did for a little while, but then he started again. I must have asked him to stop three or four times. Then he did not tickle me anymore. He stuck his hand up my shirt and started to fondle my breasts. I completely froze and did not know what to do. I was screaming stop inside, but when I went to say it, nothing came out. I just laid there completely rigid. He continued to fondle me and then unbuttoned my jeans. I remember him sticking his fingers inside of me and wanting to cry out in pain, but I could not. He started sucking on and biting my nipples, which hurt too. I still do not understand why I could not do anything. He pulled my body on top of his and started to have anal sex with me while he continued to fondle me. I felt dirty yet again. When everything was finally over my voice came back to me and I could move again. I am diabetic and I told him that my blood sugar was low and I needed to go home because I felt dizzy. I was totally lying, but I needed an excuse to get out of there.

After he dropped me off, I went to the bathroom and took a super long shower. I still felt dirty. Actually, fifteen minutes later I went back and took another one. I cried myself to sleep that night. Everyday I wish I could have said something. I wish I could have made some type of movement to resist.

Since everything happened, I have struggled with bulimia. I feel so dirty and disgusting that I do not know what to do. When I throw up, I feel like I am a little bit clean. In addition, I have a problem with masochism. I feel like everything I do is wrong and makes me a bad girl. I feel that I need to be punished, but nobody is punishing me. Hurting myself is the way I have found to punish myself. I have taken my diabetic needles and carved into my legs and my stomach, even my wrists on occasion. I have also clawed myself with my fingernails.

This probably sounds like a super depressing story, but it is not completely depressing. My freshman year of high school I went to youth week at Camp Okoboji. Every night the entire group went to the point, which is a campfire up by the lake, to pray and meditate on the things that happened during the day. Every night I sat there, past curfew, and cried because I could not stop thinking about the things of my past.

I came back to the cabin one night and my counselor asked me if everything was okay. I told her yes, but she kept asking me. She asked me three times, but it was not until the third time that I finally told her no. It was really hard for me to say that because I was a little afraid that she would hurt me for crying. I talked to her quite a bit throughout the week and she showed me a few Bible verses to help me get through the tough times. She was completely reassuring and let me know that she would be there for whatever I needed and that God was always there for me. She told me that it was not my fault and that I was not a bad girl. If it were not for her, I may not be the Christian I am today.

I know that God is not happy that this happened, but I also know that He has helped me to get through the emotions and He has given me the courage to write this letter. I still struggle with bulimia and cutting, but without God and the help of my Christian friends, I would have committed suicide by now. Sometimes I fall back into my irrational thinking and getting sick, but I know I have friends who remind of God’s love and reassure me in every way they can.

I would be willing to talk to anyone who needs help, just e-mail me at camp_rocks_21@hotmail.com and I'll get back to you.

-Beth

I believe I was 9 or 10 at the time. I was liveing with my mom and two older brothers. My mom worked and was going to college at the same time, my oldest brother was gone alot also, he worked and was in high school. That left me home alot either alone or with my youngest brother who was a few years older than me. We did not exactly come from what you might call a normal household. My mom was alway's broke, she was on welfare, there was hardly ever any food in the house, we went months sometimes without electricity, and our mother was physicaly abuseive. The sexual abuse came from my youngest brother though. I only clearly remember a few incidents, but im sure it happend more offten. I developed breast at a very young age and he would take every opportunity to touch or suck on them. He would make me lay down on the couch and perform oral sex on me. He would try to insert his penis in to my rear end. He would make me perform sexual acts on or with him for candy bars or chips, whatever he would have stolen that day from the corner store or else I may not have eaten. Alot of this occured while my mother was at home, she would be upstiars sleeping. She never did speak to me about sex, so I had absolutely no clue as to what he was doing to me, as far as I knew this could have been going on in everyones home. I just didn't know! But that did not keep me from blameing myself. He was only a few years older, why didn't I say no? Why didn't I cry or scream? Why didn't I tell? Now that I think of it I do blame my mother a great deal, by her not explaining sex to me she took away my ability to say no. Alot of things I was feeling at the time I did not know was because I was being molested. I would lay sleepless in bed scratching my hands until I almost blead, I would have night terrors, that I still have off and on. I am now 24 and still don't like for anyone to touch me in my private areas, sometimes when I orgasm I cry or feel nautiouse, I feel dirty after sex. I have no ability to say no, there are times since I have been an adult when men wanted to fondle me or have sex when I din't want to but I didn't feel as though I had the rite to say no. I was also molested by my grandfather at around the ages of 6 thru 9. He would also fondle me. I am now in group therapy, and private counseling. I am also takeing anti-depresents for being suicidal over this and a number of other things. I am doing ok, although almost everyday I have flash backs, I struggle with it everyday, I don't even like to touch my vagina in the shower to wash. I can't go braless because I hate the feeling of my breast rubbing against anything, and it's realy hurting my sex life with my fiancee. My brother and grandfather gave me something I will probably be struggling with for the rest of my life, but I guess I have to take it one day at a time. When you think about it what other choice do we have

-Niki

Victim's Story