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RavenclawDancer
3,443 M Seeking Light 1
PathStep 12 Compassion hearts107 Forum posts14 Forum upvotes18 Current upvotes18 Age GroupTeen Last activeAugust, 2023 Member sinceNovember 3, 2020
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The Day I Almost Got Killed (TW: Child abuse, domestic violence)
Trauma Support / by RavenclawDancer
Last post
 December 10th, 2021
...See more This happened in 2014 or 2015, when I was around 7 or 8 years old. It started off as any normal day. I stayed at home (which was never my favourite thing to do, because of my familial issues and struggles with toxic and abusive parents) and hung out with my sister, trying to distract her from the chaos that was now our family. We played games, ate food, etc. Then night time rolled around. My dad was a heavy drinker, so I wasn't even sure if he was under the influence or not when this happened. Me, my parents, and my sister were sitting in the living room, when all of a sudden I had a panic attack. I have generalized anxiety disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, and now posttraumatic stress disorder, so it was no surprise that I was having a panic attack. My dad, for some reason, get very angry at this. It was around dinner time, so my dad told my mum, "Psychopathic children don't deserve to eat," but my mum fed me anyways, which infuriated my dad. He yelled and screamed and threw things. He and my mum got into this huge argument, which resulted in my mum crying and my dad trembling with rage. I never understood why he got so angry when he did, but I chose to wait it out, as we always did. But this fight was different. He had never yelled like that before... mum had never cried like that before. My mum went upstairs and locked herself in her room, and my sister and I followed her. My sister (who is 2 1/2 years younger than me) went to go check on my mum while I went to my bedroom to calm down, because the fight had not helped my panic attack in any way. Suddenly, we heard my father's angry footsteps as he stomped up the staircase. My mum told me to go into my bedroom and "sleep." My sister and I dashed into our respective bedrooms and I dove under the covers, fully clothed, and fake slept. I was shaking with fear and anxiety as I heard my dad burst into my mum's room. I heard mum scream a horrible, bloodcurdling. scream. To this day, I still don't know what he did to her, but to be honest, I don't want to know. I pushed harder into the pillow, willing myself to unhear that scream, when I heard my sister scream next. That shook me to the core. My sweet, kind, loving little sister, screaming as if she had just gotten stabbed. I knew I was next. My dad slammed my door open and stomped into my room. He pulled me up by my hair and sat me down on my bed. He pushed my sister onto the bed next to me. My mum followed close behind, and she and my sister were crying. My dad screamed profanities at me and repeatedly told me how worthless I was. I cried and yelled and did all I could, but he kept yelling, going on and on. Then he slapped me. I cried out in pain, and he repeatedly said "shut up, shut up, the neighbours will call child protection services" I just sat there, in shock and in pain. It was not like he had never beat me up before, but it was his words that stung more. Then he left. My mum quietly sneaked my sister back into her room, and my mum went back into her room, leaving me there alone. When my dad came back a few minutes later, he was angry. Angry is not a strong enough word. He was wrathful. I waited for the words to come, but they didn't. Instead, he dragged my mum and sister back into my room to watch. He placed his hands on my neck and proceeded to attempt to wring my neck. I chocked and screamed and coughed but he was squeezing too hard. Thankfully the pain didn't last too long because eventually, I blacked out. I woke up the next morning sore and covered in bruises. I used some makeup and baggy clothing to cover up the cuts and bruises, and went to school. I kept my head down and didn't attract any attention. And I never spoke about it until today. I don't know what made him stop... What made him decide that it was enough to leave me crying and in pain. Maybe death was too merciful. Maybe he wanted to see me suffer, see me cry out in pain, begging him to stop. Maybe he found that all amusing. I am currently 14 years old and still living with those same parents. The same dad that tried to kill me, and the same mum who just sat there and watched. Thankfully, I can escape to school and spend time with friends most of the time, but there is not a day that goes by when I don't feel the pain of what happened. Yes, the physical pain was bad. The emotional and psychological damage was even worse.
The Day I Almost Got Killed (TW: Child abuse, domestic violence)
Trauma Support / by RavenclawDancer
Last post
 November 29th, 2021
...See more This happened in 2014 or 2015, when I was around 7 or 8 years old. It started off as any normal day. I stayed at home (which was never my favourite thing to do, because of my familial issues and struggles with toxic and abusive parents) and hung out with my sister, trying to distract her from the chaos that was now our family. We played games, ate food, etc. Then night time rolled around. My dad was a heavy drinker, so I wasn't even sure if he was under the influence or not when this happened. Me, my parents, and my sister were sitting in the living room, when all of a sudden I had a panic attack. I have generalized anxiety disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, and now posttraumatic stress disorder, so it was no surprise that I was having a panic attack. My dad, for some reason, get very angry at this. It was around dinner time, so my dad told my mum, "Psychopathic children don't deserve to eat," but my mum fed me anyways, which infuriated my dad. He yelled and screamed and threw things. He and my mum got into this huge argument, which resulted in my mum crying and my dad trembling with rage. I never understood why he got so angry when he did, but I chose to wait it out, as we always did. But this fight was different. He had never yelled like that before... mum had never cried like that before. My mum went upstairs and locked herself in her room, and my sister and I followed her. My sister (who is 2 1/2 years younger than me) went to go check on my mum while I went to my bedroom to calm down, because the fight had not helped my panic attack in any way. Suddenly, we heard my father's angry footsteps as he stomped up the staircase. My mum told me to go into my bedroom and "sleep." My sister and I dashed into our respective bedrooms and I dove under the covers, fully clothed, and fake slept. I was shaking with fear and anxiety as I heard my dad burst into my mum's room. I heard mum scream a horrible, bloodcurdling. scream. To this day, I still don't know what he did to her, but to be honest, I don't want to know. I pushed harder into the pillow, willing myself to unhear that scream, when I heard my sister scream next. That shook me to the core. My sweet, kind, loving little sister, screaming as if she had just gotten stabbed. I knew I was next. My dad slammed my door open and stomped into my room. He pulled me up by my hair and sat me down on my bed. He pushed my sister onto the bed next to me. My mum followed close behind, and she and my sister were crying. My dad screamed profanities at me and repeatedly told me how worthless I was. I cried and yelled and did all I could, but he kept yelling, going on and on. Then he slapped me. I cried out in pain, and he repeatedly said "shut up, shut up, the neighbours will call child protection services" I just sat there, in shock and in pain. It was not like he had never beat me up before, but it was his words that stung more. Then he left. My mum quietly sneaked my sister back into her room, and my mum went back into her room, leaving me there alone. When my dad came back a few minutes later, he was angry. Angry is not a strong enough word. He was wrathful. I waited for the words to come, but they didn't. Instead, he dragged my mum and sister back into my room to watch. He placed his hands on my neck and proceeded to attempt to wring my neck. I chocked and screamed and coughed but he was squeezing too hard. Thankfully the pain didn't last too long because eventually, I blacked out. I woke up the next morning sore and covered in bruises. I used some makeup and baggy clothing to cover up the cuts and bruises, and went to school. I kept my head down and didn't attract any attention. And I never spoke about it until today. I don't know what made him stop... What made him decide that it was enough to leave me crying and in pain. Maybe death was too merciful. Maybe he wanted to see me suffer, see me cry out in pain, begging him to stop. Maybe he found that all amusing. I am currently 14 years old and still living with those same parents. The same dad that tried to kill me, and the same mum who just sat there and watched. Thankfully, I can escape to school and spend time with friends most of the time, but there is not a day that goes by when I don't feel the pain of what happened. Yes, the physical pain was bad. The emotional and psychological damage was even worse. (sorry for any spelling or grammar errors, I wrote this rather quickly)
My Story (Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault)
Trauma Support / by RavenclawDancer
Last post
 September 3rd, 2021
...See more The first time it happened to me, I was 10 years old in the 5th grade. Me, my two guy friends (we'll call them Max and Grey) and my two girl friends (we'll call them Jay and Elle) were playing 'tag' at recess at school. School... A place where we're supposed to feel safe. Before I even start, I'm going to tell you what I was wearing because I know people are going to ask "well, what were you wearing?" I was wearing a purple t-shirt and blue jeans with sneakers. Just the typical 5th grader outfit. My hair was in two braids or a ponytail (I can't remember). So we were playing tag near the portables, which was kind of partitioned off from the rest of the school because it was on the other side of school grounds, so teachers didn't monitor there very much. So the five of us were playing 'tag' when all of a sudden Jay and Elle needed to go to the bathroom. I didn't think anything of it, because humans need to use the bathroom. So Jay and Elle left, leaving me alone with the two boys Max and Grey. I thought we were going to continue to play tag, but they had other ideas. They pushed me against the portable wall where I hit my head and became very dizzy. Grey held me down against the wall while Max touched me and gr*ped me wherever he wanted. I tried to scream, but Grey's hands were over my throat and I was choking. I have been a dancer my whole life, so I was sure I could have kicked them if I felt like it, but they were both at least half a foot taller than me, 15-20 pounds heavier than me, and several months older than me, so I felt pretty helpless. All of a sudden, Max slipped his hands under my shirt and touched my chest and then touched my pants area, and that's when my body went into shock. I couldn't breathe and I stopped fighting. I just lay there, numb, while the boys did whatever they wanted to me. Thankfully, around 7 minutes later, the school bell rang, and the boys ran away to class, leaving me there outside. My elbows and knees were scraped up pretty badly and my head hurt so bad. I blacked out for a couple seconds. Maybe I had a concussion, but I will never know because I never got it checked out after that day. I finally went back inside to class, and the teacher asked me what happened. I told her I fell down and I needed a bandaid. She gave me one without question. I tried not to cry for the rest of the day. The second time it happened to me, I was 11 years old in the 6th grade. I was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans with sneakers, and my hair was down. So me, my girl friend (we'll call her Jasmine) and these two boys (we'll call them Nik and Andy) were sitting together at the same lunch table. So my and Jasmine were talking about something, I don't remember what, when all of a sudden I feel Nik's hands in between my legs. I squeal and my eyes get really wide. I go into shock, just sitting there, unaware yet hyperaware of everything that is going on. All I can feel is this guy's hands in between my legs. He was rough, his cold, pointy fingers and long nails just scratching me. Then he ducks down under the table and puts his face in between my legs and pretends to be doing something to me. I wanted to kick him, but my body had turned to stone. I. Couldn't. Move. Thankfully, Jasmine reacted fast and slapped Nik away from me. Andy was just laughing in the background and calling me a s*ut and a w*ore. I finally stood up and ran out of the lunchroom and went to the bathroom and cried there for the rest of the day. I remember feeling disgusting, like I was no longer pure or innocent. It's been three years since the incidences, and I still remember the feeling of sheer helplessness when they touched me. For the first two and a half years, I had no memory of the two days. Somebody would ask me, "hey what did you do on (insert the date when the assaults happened)?" and I would just go blank. For two and a half years, I hated myself. I could barely look at myself naked because all I could think of was those guys' hands on me. I still get shaky thinking about it. I still get nightmares, flashbacks, and periods of time when I feel dissociated from life. I now have PTSD, and my GAD (generalized-anxiety disorder) has gotten so much worse. I can't even be in the same room with a boy/man without overthinking all the possibilites of what could happen, or looking for the nearest exit in case I need to get away, or look for things that I could potentially use to defend myself in case someone were to sexually assault me again. I have never told my story to anyone before, but I will no longer be silenced. Thank you for reading.
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