My Difficult Road to Recovery

I want to thank you all for your love and support through your messages and comments, you don’t know just how much they mean to me. Your message and comments have inspired me to continue to share more of my story with the intent that it will continue to inspire and hopefully heal those who may need some healing. Here is my story to the road to recovery after being raped.

Strength doesn’t come from what you can do. It comes from overcoming the things you once thought you couldn’t. Sometimes you have to get knocked down lower than you have ever been to stand back up taller than you ever have were. When something bad happens, you have three choices, you can let it define you, let it destroy you, or let it strengthen you. After spending weeks in isolation, I finally was able to find the strength I needed. I told myself that he wouldn’t own me for the rest of my life and I set a determined goal to put him and all the memories with him in the past. I had to turn the pain into power.

Most people don’t understand all what sexual abuse does to someone. It affects you mentally, physically, socially, and biologically. I wanted to spend every day of my life locked up in my room, hidden away from the world...hidden from my fears. I was afraid to go to work, afraid to go out with friends, and I was afraid to go back to school and see my abuser walk the same halls as me. In the time of my seclusion, my little “therapist” helped me discover myself. I focused on my personal health and I devoted even more time towards singing, writing songs, journaling, fitness, and becoming a better person. This is where I developed writing as a hobby. I used to write all my feelings in my journal, sketch pictures, and even write a few dark poems, that’s why it hurt me when I lost my journal. It took me a months to actually regain my life and become that free and joyous person that I once was. I began socializing with more people than just my friends, I began going to parties again, and I began devoting my time to my studies again. And after months, my social life was finally back to normal. But I feared that my love life would be forever changed.

Towards the end of my senior year of high school, I began talking to boy who I had met at a math meet. It was the first boy that I had actually fully engaged with since being raped and little did I know, it would be a whole new experience. I had to learn to trust him. I was scared to do anything with him, scared to hold his hand, scared to hug him, scared to go on a date with him in fear that I’d end up back at his place, curled in a fetal position on his bed crying. I had always been a very open person. I was never very shy, heck, I could go to the mall and hold a conversation with a complete stranger for an entire hour but after being sexual abused, this completely vanished from me. I was shy, nervous, and timid around him but he was wonderful. He reminded me that men could be patient and kind, and he treated me with dignity and respect. I couldn’t have found a better man to be with. I refrained from telling him anything about my past and he never asked, he must have just assumed that I was just a really nervous, shy girl. We took things slow...like really slow. It wasn’t until a few months passed that we had our first kiss, and even the smallest gestures of affection were extremely difficult. That one kiss, to me, was a small victory towards regaining my sexual confidence...and it was a huge step.

Our relationship began to grow. I had developed enough courage to spend time at his house, with just him. We studied together, I helped him with work on his parent’s farm, we watched movies together, we went on numerous dates, and cuddled. Cuddling was the second biggest step towards finding my sexual confidence again.

My first time attempting to have sex was awful. As soon as I slid off my pants, I broke down and cried. You don’t understand just how embarrassing that is until you feel it yourself. We were about to have an intimate moment, and here I was crying after just taking off my pants. He comforted me and thought I was crying from something he had done but I couldn’t give him an explanation on why I had been crying, which just made the entire situation more embarrassing. We would try again a few more times, all ending the same way, my head scrunched into a pillow crying. I hated myself for it and it actually only worsened my depression. Eventually, with some practice from masturbating at home, I had built up enough courage to have sex with him. Now, I’d like to say that my first time with him was magical, empowering, and perfect, but I’d be lying. As a young teenage girl, I remember dreaming about how magical my first time would be. I pictured that it’d be breathtaking, intimate, connection with the love of my life where my body would explode in pure ecstasy, like I saw in the movies and that I had read in the books. I never imagined that my first time would leave me curled up in a fetal position in the corner of a bed, sobbing hysterically. And though this wouldn’t be my first time, I tried to allow my mind to think that this was my first time, but it wasn’t that easy. I probably was the worst sex partner in the entire world. I just laid motionlessly on the bed, dissociated from my body, letting him fuck me. Every now and then he’d ask me if it felt good and I’d only nod. I was unable to find any pleasure from it and it hurt me, but I enjoyed the fact that he seemed to enjoy it. I wasn’t able to close my eyes. As soon as I closed my eyes, the disturbing images would flash back into my head. When we were done, or I should say when he was done, I found myself vomiting in the toilet, crying hysterically yet again.

But things got better. I continued to masturbate by myself and try to find myself. I don’t think many people realize just how hard it is to find pleasure after being sexually assaulted, most people don’t, I am glad that I was able to find. I tried to teach my body to love itself and love the pleasure that I could give it and, through practice, I found it. I was finally able to have sex with him and the enjoyment was amazing. I was finally able to feel pleasure and the pleasure was overwhelmingly empowering towards my sexual confidence. We would discuss our sexual boundaries and he always respected my request to be as gentle as possible, though there were always certain things that would trigger me into a sobbing mess.

It wasn’t until I stumbled across getDare when things changed. getDare intrigued me and I was determined to join and use it has therapy towards building sexual confidence. I had stumbled across the website when I was seventeen, so I had to wait a few weeks until I had turned eighteen to join. I will be 100% honest here, admittedly, I didn’t enjoy most of the dares I had done in the beginning. I told myself that this was a way for “healing” and I treated it as though it was rehab. Even the dares I didn’t like, I forced myself through them with the intent that they’d make me better. I probably did more damage than I did healing. On the occasion, I’d alter the dares to make them more suitable but I still forced myself to go through with them. On some dares, I’d cry and I’d have to tell myself that this was making me better. I’d lie in my reports to make it seem as though everything was enjoyable, when in fact, it was challenging and mentally destroying. I even got into a relationship as a submissive, thinking it may help me out, but it only destroyed me even more but I was too scared to say anything. So, admittedly, getDare probably wasn’t the best choice I’ve made but I do think it has helped me. Thankfully, my relationship with Sammie has opened my eyes and shed light on me and I have never been happier with myself. I have finally come to terms with my love life and I couldn’t be happier! There is no freedom like the freedom that comes from accepting yourself!

I’m not sure if this is much of an inspiring post and I’m not sure just how much sense it makes, but I thought I’d be truthful.

I love you all,
~Lia