Rape-Related Pregnancy and Pregnancy Loss

About Me - Second Forced Abortion, or Trick, Age 13

Warning for distressing content and graphic details.

I can’t say for sure when we visited my grandparents’ home town in this year, but in my memory I feel about a year older than in the other abortion incident – there had been almost that many more menstrual periods in between.

Mar 19 2009, 09:43 AM

I really don't know where to go with this ... it's just a fragment. A large metal cylinder, silvery metal but beaten up, with a black painted top and a screw-wheel valve. It smelt funny. I'm not sure how to describe the smell. Like ... natural gas? Like ... a bit sweet. Yellowish (don't ask me what that means!) I don't know what details are right or meaningful here. I had a lot of trouble last night putting on my sleep apnea mask. I was very scared ... it was then that I saw the bottle of gas. I was scared that the mask would pump gas in to me, not just air. I was really frightened but I don't know why or where this comes from.

Gas. Hard to breathe - weight coming through the mask over my face. Heavy weight ... weighing me down. All floppy. All faintly here ... almost not here ... kind of out of it. Mask strapped to my face. Collapsed on the floor. An older body ... 12? I was a teenager not a very little girl. I felt ... scared I wouldn't wake up. Scared of the sense of weight in what was being pumped into me. The doctor was adjusting the valve. He wore a white coat and pretended to be all scientific, careful and in charge. He thought it was an interesting experiment. I wasn't in the hospital ... it was a trestle table - cream, plastic topped - in a garage-type space. It was dark. There was some light for us but not much else. Floor was finished in concrete and with a little bit of carpet tile. I was on the floor first before I was on the table. Granddad was holding me tight, sitting up on the floor. He had his arms round both my upper arms. I couldn't move. He felt kind of hard behind me. Yuck. He was holding me while I got more floppy. I was very distressed and frightened and trying to get out of his arms, and trying to beg with him and the doctor but not being able to be heard because of the mask (or them acting that way anyway). Granddad let me flop onto the floor while they got the trestle table together. Something about - are you sure you can do this, to the doctor. From my grandfather? Bill was there. The judge was there. A group of people ... mixed ... I can't really say who. Not a very big group this time. Out of my sight a little in the darkness - besides I couldn't keep my eyes open. The table was very dusty, not that clean. Someone wiped it down with a rag from near the sink but that just made it kind of muddy and clammy to lie on. Something about stitches. Self-dissolving? Something about my stomach? ... It couldn't be a Caesarean ... could it? It feels kind of like that ... but surely I would have noticed ... other people too ... a surgical wound like that. Not so big. It wasn't very big. The baby wasn't very big.  No … this is what they were telling me, messing with my head, but it’s not possible as a real event.  I think I was trying to explain to myself why they’d use gas on me like that.  But they were using it for other reasons, not so they wouldn’t hurt me during an operation.  They didn’t care if they hurt me or not.

Feeling so frustrated.  NO - this can't be happening. Sweet-smelling, heavy-feeling gas. Zonked. Where they pretending or not. Another way to take a baby from me?  Someone digging in deep. Can this be true? I don't remember another pregnancy ... I don't know where this could fit in. Oh, God. Dug in but didn't take the baby out ... and miscarrying later ... could that be right? I don't know ... something to do with this kind of thing. Not drugged to rape this time. Surely it would show? A deep cut needing stitches in my stomach. I should have a scar, right? I am really confused. Maybe they just threatened to and I was out of it. Maybe it was just a little cut. Caesarean while I'm asleep and then the baby's gone. Me begging what had happened to it. But I wasn't really pregnant ... nothing this time ... just being told that's what was happening. Playing on my previous distress about something real. Me not sure, not understanding, wondering what they'd done with the baby - begging to see it etc. Being told it had been destroyed already. Not sure how or what that meant. Crying for it. Crying and feeling like I did when I was 12 and they took a baby from me. Them saying this was the easier way. Not so much pain for me. They were right - physically it wasn't so much pain. Just a cut and it healed. But ... I was doped with the gas, I think, and then I wasn't too sure what was really happening at all.

I don't know what to make of this ... it's just kind of spilling out between my typing fingers. It makes my heart hurt. They made me feel doubt about other times by doing this too. Not sure how that worked, but it did work that way.

I feel sick.

Can't write any more. Maybe more later.

Mar 27 2009, 12:25 PM

Hiding under a desk and squashed as hard as I could be into the corner of the room under the desk. Some people reaching in and putting their fingers inside me, even though I was trying hard to push their hands away. I don't know who it was. Feeling them inside me and despairing about being able to escape. No where further to go. No other place to hide. It was a cherry-wood kind of coloured desk, plain, maybe one drawer. There were carpet tiles under me - creamy-beige ones. It wasn't someone's upstairs study, but a downstairs home office - that kind of thing. Maybe at the judge's house? It was a separate room but just off the garage-space downstairs. I was naked. I was very, very frightened. I don't know how I'd gotten escaped from them enough to hide in the corner. I'd been near the desk and crawled under it as soon as I could. I wanted to snatch something to hide myself under but there was nothing. I wanted to back further away but the desk was only so wide. They could still reach in. Someone calling to me like I was a cat, "here kitty, kitty, come out ... and let me taste your meat". Ugh. They'd turned it round from coming out so I could be fed (as a cat) into them feeding from me. I was a young teenager, I think ... maybe 11? I had breasts, though ... maybe a little older? I'm not sure. This is still really vague. I don't want to be here. I can't think clearly enough. I don't know where this is coming from. I haven't finished the other stuff yet. Though I feel there's a connection with the gas cylinder. We were in that room. It was after this, though. First they felt me up down there and put some fingers in. They couldn't penetrate very far because of the distance, but it was still very icky. Then someone got my arm. I knew I was going to be dragged out then. They got my arm and a leg and I got some carpet burn as they pulled me out from under the desk. They stood between me and it then and there was nowhere to back away to, but into their legs. Black jeans-type pants. Holding my shoulders. I was desperately searching round for a way out but couldn't see any. Even through the door of this room was more inside the house and not a clear way out ... I was confused. I was hyperventilating. They said that I should try some oxygen and calm down. But it tasted like something ... it wasn't oxygen. I feel too scared to keep writing this I think.  Go to go for now.

Mar 30 2009, 07:05 PM

More stuff that goes with this but is still very disjointed ... I guess it will come together some time ...

When I realized I was being pulled out from under the desk I tried to make a run for it - well a crawl - to the door. I went pretty fast. I remember I used to practice leopard crawls with my brother who joined the army when I was 10. I helped him train up for his entrance tests to officer school. So I was pretty fast with my leopard crawl and I knew that they wouldn't expect me to move like that. I was already drugged and groggy and I didn't know what I'd do when I did reach the door but I felt I had to try. Someone caught me by the legs. And I struggled. But then someone else lowered the nearest filing cabinet onto my head. He was holding it up still a bit - pretty sure it was Bill - so the whole weight wasn't on my head. I'd turned my head sideways to see who'd grabbed my legs, so my head was being crushed against the hard floor (there was only concrete under the carpet tiles really ... not a soft floor, though it was a covered one). It hurt A LOT to have my head under a filing cabinet. They'd lowered it slowly - while my legs were being held - so it didn't exactly crush, but the pressure was very painful ... I cried and cried out and begged and was very still - not struggling with my legs any more, just trying to make it the least painful on my head as possible. Granddad told Bill I'd had enough and he lifted it and bent down and whispered in my ear at the same time that he'd been holding it up and if I wanted to feel the full weight I'd try to get away again. I sat up - they let me - a younger man (blonde hair) had caught my feet. He let go when Granddad told Bill to let me go too. I sat up and I felt very, very dizzy and my head was aching a lot. I had it pressed between my hands. So much pressure. I'd thought it would explode. It was making me see double and stuff a bit now. Or maybe that was the drugs. Granddad asked me why I'd tried to get away when they were there to help me. I was very confused. I hadn't liked those fingers inside me when I was hiding under the desk - how was that helping? I didn't like how they were joking with me and kind of playing cat and mouse - how was that helping? But, then, maybe that bit was my fault for trying to get away. I'd been dressed I think still when I was under the desk but my pants had already been pulled off before I tried to escape under there. I need to go back a bit ...

I'd been downstairs in my grandparents' house. I had gone to get Granddad for some reason - I think maybe Grandma sent me. Did she know what she was sending me to? I was so unhappy about going to talk to him on my own. But I went and he wasn't on his own. At first I was relieved by that. But there was something about the man who was with him ... I still don't remember who he was, but I'd seen him before, and something about that made me wary. A blonde-haired sleek kind of man, smooth and softly spoken, a lawyer friend, I think? And with them a man who looked a bit more like a thug - a policeman. He had dark glasses but he was holding them in his hand. I passed on the message to my grandfather - something about when dinner would be or something like that ... would he be ready for a certain time. Granddad was impatient with the message - as if Grandma was nagging him or telling him something he already knew. I felt dumb, but it was only my job to pass it on, not understand or get in the middle of them at all. Granddad asked me to come over to him. I did, wondering what that was about, but wanting to be polite and obey him in front of his friends. He said to give him a kiss and I got a bit embarrassed at being asked to do that in front of other people - I kissed his cheek quickly and made to leave as soon as I could. But he held my shoulders and he said he gave me a smacking great tongue-inside-my-mouth kiss. It was gross and I was really red with embarrassment and wanting the floor just to swallow me up with his friends looking like that. He thought it was a joke and he laughed and they laughed too but I was pissed off - red and hot with anger and not just with embarrassment. I think I glared at him and then I felt scared and looked down and just turned to leave the room. It was his study-type room downstairs I think. But as I turned to go the policeman said to me, "wait a minute, you forgot something, sweetie". Ugh - I didn't like being called "sweetie" - I was a teenager not a little kid and it felt wrong from someone I didn't know too. I was wearing my tan skirt with the white edge and a white henley-type T-shirt. I loved that skirt when I was ... oo, 13? I should check - I have a photo of me in it ... I think I might have been (mistakenly-fashion-wise) wearing a black and white striped henley shirt with it.

I stopped to find out what I'd forgotten, thinking maybe I needed to take their tea-cups upstairs or something. But when I turned around what I'd forgotten was that he had a gun pointed in my face. Oh, God! That terrified me. It was a real gun. I paused breathlessly and ran through options. It was real. He was holding it like he knew how to use it. He'd never use it here, would he? But then I got the impression they were all so squeaky-clean that it would be covered up as an accident or something if he shot me. I thought - some memory giving me clues there - that I was really in bad trouble now. He came closer and held the gun right to my head, enjoying that I was trembling and sweating. I felt like going to the toilet too but I tried not to - didn't need the added humiliation. I really, really wanted my mum. I thought she could stop them mucking round like this. But ... I was scared too she'd be hurt instead. I was just scared. I called out for her ... I called for help ... but I couldn't make my voice call loud enough - it sounded all weak and pathetic and I was shocked and embarrassed to hear that coming from my mouth - I called but I was in two minds about her coming to see or help me, or anyone else - what if it was my sister who came? - so I just couldn't overcome that inhibition enough to really call.

The policeman said we'd be going for a little drive. The blonde-haired sleek clerk-type guy acted a bit as if he was acting as a chaperone or something - a messenger - making sure I was delivered neatly and on time - he kept looking at his watch. Granddad walked next to me. The man with the gun walked behind me. None of my family came out of the house as we walked up to the street. I wanted them to, but I was also scared they might get shot if they did. Again, I was in two minds. I didn't struggle very much because ... well, I didn't want to get shot. I wasn't sure what the right thing to do was but maybe there'd be some better opportunity later. I got into the car - it was a mustard yellow car - smallish make, squarish in style. The seats were pale fawn leather. It was a bit old and small even for that year in history - it was a contrast with my grandparents' fancier car. It didn't belong to the policeman. A dark-haired younger man was sitting in the driver's seat. He complained about having had to wait for them. The policeman with the gun told him just to shut up and drive. He turned the car around, grumbling and we drove back past my grandparents' place. I really, really, really wanted him to stop, or someone to come out and yell stop and ask where we were going or something. This was my last chance and I thought about trying to yell again. But the policeman now had the gun jammed up against my ribs. He was sitting on my right and my grandfather was on my left. Granddad was holding my hand and saying soothing things - well things in a soothing kind of voice, about how we'd be back in no time and didn't I want to come on an adventure. I thought that he must be nuts to think I would! Curiosity had got me in many times as a child, but not even any of that could overcome a gun in my ribs. I was terrified that we'd go over a bump and it would go off. Surely they wouldn't do that - they'd be more careful, right? I thought that but I couldn't stop being scared all the same. The policeman had his dark glasses on again and he wasn't even looking at me but if I moved he moved the gun - jabbed it in a bit more. We were driving too fast. And, for once, it wasn't Granddad who was driving like a maniac. Actually, it wasn't that bad, but it was still too fast, especially up and down hills and we moved about and the policeman told the man driving to slow down and asked if he wanted me to be shot. He shrugged but he slowed down. I wondered if I could jump out. I wasn't tied up. Maybe I could get over Granddad in time to open his door (which he'd locked - a black push down nob lock in the top of the door) and jump out before he stopped me. But I thought no, we're going too fast. I couldn't have pulled it off and even if I did jumping out of the car at this speed I'd hurt myself too much to run away fast enough and they'd just come back and get me.

So I kept my mouth shut and I didn't look at any of them, but out the window, trying to work out where we were going. I didn't recognise it. Granddad took out a thermos flask once we were driving away fast enough and he poured out something for me to drink and went to hand it to me. I didn't want to drink anything. But the policeman said that I had to. He said I'd pay later if I didn't do it now. I didn't know what he (or anyone else there) would but I thought that could well be right. So I drank it. But I was scared and I was not sure I'd done the right thing. I started to feel sick in the stomach almost straight away - fear I think combining with putting anything in my stomach. But I also started to feel sick ... pink-sweet-wrong-tasting not too thick but sickly sweet a bit like diarrhea medicine used to taste ... only not as creamy in type. Not sure that description really makes sense to anyone else! Sorry! Cherry flavour maybe? It was nasty. I didn't want to drink it at all. Anyway, tasted medicinal.

I started to get groggy. I leant against my Grandfather a bit and then recoiled when I woke up a bit more and then leant on him again. After a while I had my head on his shoulder and my eyes closed. I was just feeling really drained and sleepy. I could open my eyes, but I didn't want to. I'd tried to before but now I was just feeling kind of out of my body and like the effort was too much. We stopped. I don't know why it was all dark - it wasn't night time - but I don't remember seeing anything as we went inside. I was fighting myself hard to wake up and pay attention - to make myself look at where I was, to make myself try to think of ways to get away. But the rest of me just wanted to give in and go blank and dark and forget it ... stop trying. I didn't open my eyes when they sat me down in a lounge chair. I'd been helped to walk in - I could walk but I was all dazed and still had my eyes closed. Then the judge came down from upstairs and he was very polite to me. I thought I should open my eyes and be polite properly back. After all, maybe Granddad had just brought me to meet his important friend. He said something about how not everyone had this kind of opportunity and I should make the most of it. The judge seemed to think that he was being teased. I didn't get that. Not at the time. I looked from one to the other, confused. And asked if I could go home now.

Granddad had said in the car, "you see, it'll turn out for the best". He'd been saying that it would be better if I cooperated, that everything would "work out fine". I wasn't sure what that meant. Maybe it meant I could go home if I asked, when I asked? So I tried that. Granddad said that he was worried about me. The judge said that he'd been worrying too and that Granddad had confided in him. I wondered what he could have confided or why anyone would be worrying about me. I was fine. I didn't like being here in [state] much and I'd had some stomach upset here and leading up to it, but otherwise I was fine. I'd been very tired too, come to think of it - but I was scared and stressed and I'd put it down to being stressed about school and about going to my home town which I wasn't that keen on, also picking it up from my mum and my sister who weren't happy and who'd been arguing with each other a lot lately too. I thought I was just stressed by that and sick because of being stressed. But Granddad said he'd heard I'd been sick lately. I don't know where he'd heard it! Oh, maybe I told Grandma when she asked how I'd been - sitting at the dining room table - and I said I was OK mostly in the afternoons but it was really hard to get up and I'd been feeling a bit sick. I'd said it half-casually. I hadn't wanted to tell Mum and maybe worry her about it at all but I wondered if Grandma might be able to help somehow by telling me what was wrong or what I should do about it. This is weird - I haven't remembered this before. I guess I was just fishing in case Grandma had a good explanation for it. I'd been feeling crampy too and my period had been a bit irregular. Oh, no ... Oh, no ... Oh, no ...

I'm really worried that I'm just mixing this up with another time. But ... I wasn't feeling well. Anyway, I didn't say any of that to the men. But Granddad said Grandma had told him I wasn't feeling well. I thought that it sounded kind of inhospitable to not be well when I was staying with them ... like I wasn't being a good guest - kind of like complaining about the food or something ... and I said that I hadn't been for a while, that it wasn't just here. I also said that I was OK really and would be fine. Granddad asked if I'd told Mum and I said no, I hadn't. That it was nothing to worry about and would just go away I was sure. He said he was sure it would too. But the judge said he'd asked his friend, who was staying with them, who was a doctor to come and have a look at me just to be on the safe side, as a favour to Granddad. I said I was OK, thank you, and didn't really need to see a doctor. I felt it was overkill and that I was acting like a wimp, besides I was a bit embarrassed about the period side of things and didn't want to talk about that with a male doctor in the presence of all these men. I said, "no, no really, it's fine" and went to get out of the armchair. I was more awake there again. I'm puzzled a bit by that. I guess I was still feeling dopey but making a big effort. I'd made an effort at first in the car but I lost the sequence of where we were going and I knew that I couldn't pick it up again - after I tried a bit - and so I stopped trying and figured I should get whatever rest I could, since I couldn't get out of the car and fighting the sleepiness was only making me more scared of the policeman with the gun. He wasn't in uniform or anything I should explain - I know he was a policeman from meeting him other times later on ... I think I was just picking it up from his build and manner when I was saying that this time. He was the older policeman who played Russian roulette with me when I was 14. I feel younger than 14 in this memory. But my periods weren't totally new so I must have been at least 13, I think. That's when I had that skirt too, I think.

I got out of the chair but that made me dizzy and I had to hold the edge of it not to fall over. Everything was very spinny. I wobbled a bit and Granddad caught me. He said why didn't I come and lie down. I didn't want to do that - I wanted to go home instead. I asked if Mum and Dad knew where I was and he said they were OK and wouldn't be worrying about me. I thought he was right that they wouldn't worry for a while - it was a time of day when everyone was doing their own thing, pretty much, and I think Mum had been talking to Grandma and Dad reading a book. My sister was reading something too. No one would be missing me for a while probably. What if they did miss me? What would I do? I didn't want them to know or be worried - I couldn't tell them what was going on or they'd get hurt. My head was all spinning with thoughts and confusion as well as just spinning. I don't know quite how I got from one room to another. I think I thought that I was going to a bedroom, but found that I was being laid down on the floor instead.

It was a dark green self-inflating mat that I was laid on - a desk was going round the corner of the room. I could see its legs. Everything was a funny angle when I looked up because I was so low down on the ground. Everyone looked just HUGE standing above me. They were like trees or something. I closed my eyes because it was spinning again. But then they brought someone new into the room. I opened my eyes to see who - maybe the judge's wife or something? Maybe someone I could ask for help. I think I was just wishing for a female at least, thinking that I'd be less embarrassed and feel better with them somehow. But it wasn't a female. It was the doctor who'd be in earlier incidents. I didn't recognize him at first, but something made me feel scared. I didn't understand that. Then Granddad pulled my pants down. What the hell? What did that have to do with anything? I had been feeling sick - sure - but sick in the stomach and anyway what was there to examine etc. there???? I was hugely embarrassed to have them pulled down in front of all these men. And I was feeling very, very threatened lying on the floor under them with Granddad pulling down my undies. He said it was all for the best and to stay calm that they only wanted to help me. I figured it would be better to go home and to go see a doctor sometime - OK, as soon as possible, no more faffing about but ... this was not the best way to deal with being sick!

Granddad gave me another drink, this time with a couple of tablets, which he said would help me to calm down. I didn't want to take them. I tried to just hold them in my mouth to spit out later. But Granddad said he'd known me all my life and wasn't falling for a trick like that. He held my nose and my mouth till I swallowed and then let me breathe again. I was sobbing by then. I was really scared. The doctor had gotten down on his knees and I still didn't know who he was but this situation was TOTALLY panicking me. I pulled away as soon as Granddad let me go and tried to crawl under the desk. I pushed myself right into the corner. But the desk was too thin to keep me far enough away.

I got pulled out (like I said before) and then trapped under the filing cabinet near the door. The policeman with the gun wasn't in the room at that point ... Bill was, Granddad was, the doctor was, the blonde-haired clerk-man was and the judge was standing just outside the door talking to the policeman and the driver. If I'd just got round the corner I would have ended up at their feet. It wouldn't have worked. They were in the garage - concrete floor - I think. I think they were working out how to bring in the mustard-coloured car and hide it better and for more time in the garage. I got settled back onto the mat by Granddad and by the blonde-haired clerk guy.

Granddad was still trying to be reassuring and telling me to just stay still and everything would be OK. I don't know how they knew ... if they knew ... the doctor did some kind of test then. It was like he swabbed something and then tested it somehow. I don't know how that works. But he showed it to Granddad and Granddad raised an eyebrow. Then he handed whatever it was - a strip or something - to the judge. Bill just laughed and rubbed his hands and said, "let's get on with it then". Oh no ... I don't like to think this can be true and I wonder if I'm reading more into it than is real ... I am scared I am and I'm also just worried about it all ... it's hard to express myself properly here ... sorry.

So then what I remember is having a mask - a plastic mask - put onto my face and connected to a tube that was connected with a gas cylinder. I remember that the policeman and the dark-haired driver carried it into the room. They set it up just in front of the door and I felt even more despairing thinking that I couldn't get round that. The room was a bit crowded with Bill, Granddad, the Judge, the older policeman, the dark-haired driver and the blonde-haired man from the judge's office all there and me lying on the ground, looking up at them all. I didn't have my pants on and that was really upsetting me. I had my skirt lifted up - you could see my pubic hair ... so embarrassed. I wanted to pull my skirt down but my arms felt really heavy and I just didn't seem to be able to make myself move, to make my body respond to what I was telling it to do. I wanted to talk too butI just couldn't get it together enough. I was making noises but making no sense. Granddad was kneeling beside me and stroking my hand. He said not to worry that it would all be much better when I woke up. I thought ... am I going to sleep? HELP!!! It's wasn't safe to sleep with these people, in this situation ... I started breathing faster and tried to knock the mask off. The blonde-haired man stepped over me and behind me and lifted my hands behind my back and tied them both behind me with a black piece of cotton/leathery stuff - thicker/tougher cotton ... not sure how to describe it - and tied them to the leg of the desk. I couldn't move my hands down. I couldn't move my body. I started to breathe more slowly and I didn't understand that because I was still so scared and wanted to fight ... The air got kind of thick and heavy and hard to breathe in and out. It had a funny smell too - kind of sweet and yellow? Again, hard to describe.

I started to fall into a blankness. Bits and pieces now ... feeling really bad... someone scraping me inside with a curvy metal set of ... tongs? It hurt. Scraping the walls of my insides, inside my vagina ... my cervix? It was being opened up with some tongy-things. Someone was down there helping the doctor in what he was doing. He was a young man. Another new one ... I didn't know how he'd got there. He had blonde hair that was a little bit curly. I couldn't really look at them. I wasn't that ... awake. It's hard to describe how vividly I felt deep inside me and the strength of the pain there while I was at the same time feeling so detached from everything and so ... lost, dark ... confused. I just couldn't find myself. Drifting in and out of feelings. Coughing and then getting blanker again. I think someone must have been adjusting whatever it was ...

Feeling a lot of wet between my legs. Gunk. Gluggy. Bits ... Blood will jelly-type bits in them. Feeling a rush of wetness and feeling my thighs with wet and gunk on them. I wondered if I'd been raped and ejaculated on and then wondered why I'd think that! I couldn't remember having been before, you see ... except that I started having a flashback then and was remembering in the dark being raped by my grandfather - I think in my home town - having to keep very quiet. Dark room. My parents room. My parents bed. They were not there - watching TV? I'm not sure. His hand on my mouth. Me wanting to scream and my saliva making his hand slippery and gross on my face, but no sound, having to be completely silent. Wanting to bite on something to keep quiet because he was so hurting me. Pushing inside me. Grunting. Would someone walk in? What if they did? Mixed wishes there too. Oh, that was very nasty. No break in the TV show. I wasn't interested in it. I wish I had been. I wish I'd stayed there anyway. So ... suddenly remembering that. Extra confused. Very, very confused now.

Then choking, coughing, gagging. Someone took the mask off and I was sick next to myself. I hate how often I've written that phrase. It went up my nose a bit and was just nasty. Granddad handed me some tissues from the desk and I wiped my face and blew my nose and tried to get together a bit more. I was still very groggy and confused. Then I looked down. My skirt had been taken off and my shirt was pulled right up. There was blood on my belly-button ... a little smear ... but mainly there was lots of wet stuff between my legs and it wasn't semen ... it was blood and little chunks and things. I felt just scoured inside. So much pain there. I was cramping very badly and blood was still coming out. It was quite dark I think ... I don't understand that ...

And ... I can't write much now. I got hurt more after that but I can't yet remember and it's a lot to take on in one go. But ... I remember now and don't know if it's connected with this or just with other times. It just happened very suddenly - not a slower transition with this - not a transition-experience I could really remember - so it seems like this is what it fits with, which scares me a lot ... but

I felt pregnant
and then I felt I wasn't.

Oh, man - I so so so hope this isn't #7. I just don't know what to make of everything. I might have been told that I was and then told that I wasn't but ... that's not what I mean. I mean that my body was different ... I felt pregnant feelings (I recognize them from the other times, especially when I was 12, which I recognize and understand now - I was repressing it and too confused and unaware at the time, but it's those feelings and I know them now) and then I felt ... it was gone. I felt kind of empty. Does anyone understand? I feel weird writing this.

I think that maybe I was pregnant that time too and then had that forced abortion ... I'm not sure about it yet. I'm not sure partly because I don't know how to fit it into times I saw my grandparents etc. Pregnant ... then not. Some kind of vacuum thing?

Oh, God, I don't know. I'm going to leave it for now. Thanks for listening,

Mar 30 2009, 07:20 PM

That swabbing kind of bit. What was that for? It doesn't make sense! I'm confused ... and if I was pregnant, how did they know? Why did they do that?  I’m confused.

I just don't know if this can be right. I feel so distanced and detached from it all. I feel weird ... the actual time they were doing this ... well, maybe it's just that I have the 'flu right now. I don't know. It's so hard to make sense of everything.

Mar 31 2009, 12:00 PM

I feel weirdly detached about this ... maybe because I was just waking up. I felt distanced from my body very much at the time. But I remember what things looked like. Images in my head. Gel-blood-bits between my legs. It's chunkier than a period. It's also more bloody ... more of it at once. It's not like the times I've lost a baby at a later stage ... but it is a bit like the 2-3mth ones ... I don't know. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it was just damage from them scraping me and maybe they were just trying to trick me. But ... where does that feeling go about being pregnant and then not. I was lying there with my breasts kind of falling back from my body and they felt ... like I was pregnant. Maybe it was just my period time of the month? But ... it feels different. I can't explain how. Does that make sense to anyone? That you could tell it just feels different? I didn't know I was pregnant before this ... it was all blocked out, but remembering now I think perhaps I was. Oh, God - how am I e ever going to know? What should I believe? Is this another little one I should love and mourn? Or is this nothing but a trick to hurt me? I don't get it ... Crying.  Can anyone suggest anything that might help me work it out? I was really out of it when this stuff happened. I don't know what to make of it. I had really nasty cramps. They were breaking through the dopeyness - sudden, deep, stabbing, making me bend over and hold my stomach. I felt so sick. I threw up again. I kept throwing up. Then the doctor pulled me away from the vomit by my legs. He picked me up by the arms - they'd been untied. Granddad had untied them. The doctor had felt my wrist for a pulse. He picked me up into sitting position by my arms and shook me a little - he laughed and said I was like a rag doll. I was still all floppy. I was terrified. I couldn't respond properly and I was very dizzy. He asked me whether I was sorry ... and I didn't know about what. Then I kind of did - stabbingly, made me catch my breath, hurt my heart - I felt about losing the baby. What baby? What the hell was going on? I was so confused and distressed. He asked did I feel sorry that I'd made it into nothing but these lumps. He picked up a bit of the mess and rubbed it on my mouth. I couldn't feel much ... I was numb ... but it was wet and it was horrifying - blood and ... sorry ... this is really hard to write. He did that with the baby when I was 12. I think it reminded me. Was that a trick, then, or was this really another time? I felt emotionally a stab of what I'd felt then and it was horrible. I was so distressed that I can't really describe that feeling at all. But I was still all numb and detached from the situation and drugged out. Granddad said that maybe I wanted it all put back in. Excuse me ... I feel really sick. He said that I'd wanted it put back in last time. That really wasn't true. I'd wanted them to leave the baby there, but not put her back in when she came out - I just wanted hold her then. He started to get the tissue and push the mess back inside my vagina with his fingers. I was spasming and cramping there and it was very painful. It was also really grossing me out and upsetting me. He was smearing it around the entrance to my vagina as well. I felt so very icky. And I threw up again. It was so hard not to throw up. I was running out of anything to be sick with by then. Acid and pain. Bitter. Very bitter. The doctor thought he'd make it more interesting. He took the tie that had been used on my hands and put it round my throat. Bill and the dark-haired man took an end each and pulled. I choked. I coughed and choked and gasped and cried. I feel so sick. I felt so sick. I couldn't breathe and things were going a bit black. I felt dizzy. It was all kind of spinning and whirly. They laid me back down. I spluttered. I was close to the vomit on the floor again. I recoiled from it and there wasn't enough room for me to pull away from the blood between my legs and the vomit near my head at the same time. I managed to move sideways and kind of cram myself into the filing cabinets and the bit under the desk on that side. But there was very little protection. I curled up in a ball and cried very softly. Gulping for air still. They got something like a stick ... I'm not sure what it was ... and poked me with it like I was an insect or an animal. The judge said that we should wake me up. I hoped that meant it was nearly time that I would be taken home. But he prodded me with the stick (a stick for locking windows, maybe - you know that kind of piece of dowel to hold a window open?) There was a window to the study above the desk but it was at a low level in the garden and you could only see tropical palm leaves out of it, close to the window. It was quite covered in and dark. The judge prodded me with the stick. I curled up tighter and tried to pretend I wasn't there. Then ... they raped me with the stick from behind (in the vagina). The blonde-haired man helped position me by putting a finger inside my anus and pulling, which made me move up a little, which gave more space for them to put the rod. It hurt me so much. I was screaming. I couldn't help it. I was trying to tell "her" to stop. I was trying to breathe and be calm. I had that voice inside me saying to stop it and calm down ... but I was detached from that and had really lost it. I was scared they were hurting the baby too. I don't know why ... it wasn't inside me then, even if it had been. But I half-hoped that it was just as it had been. Was I remembering the last time? Or was this a new time? I don't know ... dismayed.  I think I begged them not to hurt it. I begged again and again. Granddad kind of deciphered this. He said that he could cut me free from that worry. He got a pair of scissors and the others pulled me over so I was facing up again and he raped me with the scissors and cut me a little and sort of pulled with them. He said he'd get the last remaining bits out of me and wasn't that what I wanted. He was acting like I'd asked them to get rid of the baby. I never did. I didn't! But he made me feel like I was asking for them to complete that when I was asking them not to hurt the baby by raping me with the rod. I begged and begged and cried and asked for Granddad to stop. I told him no, that that's not what I'd said. He acted like he couldn't hear me. He said, "what?" and acted like I was screaming too much for him to make sense of what I was saying. I knew I wasn't being very clear - I was all slurred because of the drugs too. I begged him to stop, though. Stop was clear. He said - yes, I'll stop you from having to have this baby. It's OK, we'll deal with it. We've dealt with it. I was so scared and upset ... I felt like he'd tried to do something for me but I hadn't asked or wanted it. He was acting like it was a favour and would be all for the best this way. They were all laughing. I don't know if they were laughing because I was so upset or if they were laughing because the trick was working and I believed them ... I don't know. I hate not knowing ... my own child ... shouldn't I know? Granddad finished with the scissors and got a towel and wiped me up, wiped me clean down there. He was gentle in how he touched me then. It was weird and confusing. He gave me back my underpants and my skirt. I couldn't put them back on - too uncoordinated. Bill and the dark-haired driver put my pants on while Granddad held me up. Then Granddad lifted my skirt over my head ... it had a hook as well as a zip. It was a bit tricky to do up. He did, though. I was all dressed again. They'd packed some stuff into my pants ... it felt weird ... cottony ... like dressing. It was getting wet from bleeding. But it was absorbent stuff. Just felt a bit sticky and heavy here and there. Granddad said to the doctor that he should wake me up because we needed to go home and I was "no good like this". I felt like a completely useless rag doll. It was awful. The doctor said that he didn't want to give me too much stuff. He said coffee was as good as anything. The judge sent the blonde-haired one to get a really strong straight coffee for me. He brought it back and they forced me to drink it. Very bitter. I woke up a bit. Then my heart was totally racing and I felt very panicky. Granddad said it was pathetic. Granddad said that they needed to do better. He told me, sternly, he couldn't take me home till I stopped slobberingh/blubbing and pulled myself together. He said he didn't want to worry Mum and did I want her to know that I'd been such a slut, been pregnant, been so ... promiscuous was what he was implying. He was acting like I was pregnant from my own choice, from someone else. He was acting like she'd be really disappointed with me. I didn't want to disappoint her. I didn't want that most of all because I really needed her love and approval after this, even though I couldn't tell her about it or why ... Crying.  I needed my mum to love me and I was scared she wouldn't if she knew all this gross, wrong, confusing stuff. I felt like I must have been really bad to get into that. I didn't know what to make of it. I wasn't even sure it could be true it was all so bizarre. There we were now in the darkness of the garage and the car was there. I stood up. I pulled it together. I let some other part of me take over and act like everything was OK. I ignored the pain. I detached from the emotional stuff too. I just ... put that other me in charge. Granddad said that was better and we got into the car. I even got in myself with no help. He held the door open. It was all very polite and civilized. I sat there and stared through the seat in front of me and thought of nothing with all my effort, with all I had. We drove back ... but I don't know where. I feel bad now that I didn't look, but I had to pretend there was nothing at all going on in order to act like I was OK. I just stared and hoped it would all end soon. I was still in that mode when I got home and I just ended up acting "normal" and it drifted into the past somehow. I really don't know what to make of this.

Apr 6 2009, 11:09 AM

I'm here to write more today. I'm still surprised at what I've already written. I feel short on words and clumsy with them but I'll try anyway ...

Not last night but the night before I had some very painful body memory flashbacks with this and remembered some new things about it.

I had some delay with my period and was worried about it. I didn't want to talk to Mum - it seemed silly and probably nothing, and I was also scared to tell her (though I had no idea why) and my fear that I might be pregnant seemed to make no sense at all, since I couldn't remember being raped (though I do now) and since feeling like I'd been pregnant before just made no sense either (where was the baby, then?). But I was worried and I couldn't say anything to my sister or my mum or friends or anything ... for some reason this worry was all inside. My grandfather, though, was able to trick me into saying that I hadn't had my period and that I felt strange. I don't know how he winkled it out of me, but he kind of tricked me into him knowing the truth by my not telling him. He was a very good lawyer and it was his job to trap people in their own words and thoughts like that. A frightened, traumatized, 13 yr old was no match for that, even though I was a bright child. I feel stupid for telling him ... but really, how could I out-think him in the circumstances! I should be a bit more gentle with myself on that front, I think.

So, he knew that I was worried and it was a little secret between us. I knew he knew and it was upsetting me. I felt that he was watching me while we were staying with them, waiting for my period like I was, just generally aware that things weren't all well in that department. No one else knew and I didn't like it that he did ... it felt wrong. But I didn't know what to make of it. Then he decided to do something about it. I've written how I ended up in the car already, I think. I think that maybe my grandmother had mentioned to my grandfather that I didn't seem well, and that started our conversation where he kind of got it out of me, indirectly, in what ways I wasn't feeling well. I think Grandma had noticed something, but didn't really work out everything. I didn't feel that I could tell her. I didn't feel she was really paying attention to me either, whereas he was in a creepy kind of way.

So skipping forward ... I ended up on a olive-brown towel on a green self-inflating mat. I didn't understand the order of things before but I think I get it now. I couldn't figure out why I remembered feeling that I was being raped before I remembered being scraped inside with that instrument of the doctors. I thought ... why would they go to the trouble of making me unconscious with the gas and the pills to stop it hurting me when they never seemed to care about that before, and certainly didn't afterwards. But I get it now, I think. I woke up slowly from the drugs and the gas to the feeling of someone raping me with their penis. It wasn't the doctor, or my grandfather. It may have been the judge, but I think it was the blonde-haired young man. I recognized the feeling of the penis as someone who'd raped me before. That makes me feel horrified to write, but it is true. I didn't have my eyes open. I don't know who it was ... but I can rule out some people that I knew the feel of well ... that makes me want to cry.  Someone was taking photos again. A dark-haired younger man. Possibly the one who'd been driving. I think they were trying to get photos of me being raped when I was completely unresponsive ... they wanted it to look like I was dead, I think. It was a kinky to-order photo thing again and I think too something that the doctor wanted to try, in contrast perhaps to raping me when I was spasming, which was a thing of his. I don't know how many people or what they did to me while I was asleep. When I started to wake up there were other possibilities in the way of torture that they wanted to try first. And also the "business"-end of the "job". It felt like that was what they'd brought me there for but the rest had been planned before I got to that my home town as the next thing that would happen. Granddad always knew ahead of time when we were coming to stay, of course, and he used that time to set things up with his "friends".

I was raped. Then I had the scraping and blood etc. stuff happen. Then Bill made sure that everything was out of there by raping me with a screwdriver and asking me to tell him did I feel any more that needed to come out. Then Granddad with the scissors, like I wrote about before. But then also ... the policeman had the gun to my forehead. He was talking about the best places to shoot me. He moved it over my face in different ways. He said I'd want to cover up what had happened, that I'd killed a child, and the best way to do that was to not come back myself. He put the gun in my mouth and between my eyes. I was completely frozen. He told me I needed to promise not to tell anyone. I said over and over that I promised, that I wouldn't, please would he stop, please would he let me go home, I wouldn't tell etc. etc. He said that he needed to be sure that I understood it was serious. He made each person stand in front of me and asked me did I know who they were and I had to say, no, I didn't recognize them. He told me stories about how I'd met them on the street and that's why I seen them before ... that they lived around my grandfather, or something like that. Alternatives for only my own mind about why I might have any spark of recognition there. He told me that the judge was famous and that's why I thought I knew him. He made me repeat all that with each of them standing in front of me. I was learning what to say and what to think if I was ever asked about any of them. I had to repeat it over again ... it was hard to talk. It was so hard to get through the words. And in between I kept just begging him and sobbing for the baby, and cramping very badly and feeling dizzy and being sick and it was very intense. I kept having to pull myself together with the threat of being shot and shut up. I was told to shut up or I would be shot and I froze up and went very quiet when he put the gun to my head, between my eyes, in my mouth. I answered very quietly and calmly then whatever he told me to. Then he said to "seal the bargain" and to make sure that I knew how serious my promises were there was one last thing to do. And he took the gun and raped me with it. I remember the feel of its metal shape inside me very well. I was so scared it might go off inside. I didn't know if it was loaded but I was scared of it like it was all the time he had it pointed at me, and all the time it was inside me. I was sick again. This was after the scissors. I missed it ... it was a kind of blank spot before ... but Granddad finished with the scissors, then the policeman did all that with the gun, then Granddad came back and wiped me up gently and they put me back into my clothes etc. The policeman had started with the gun when I couldn't control my screaming, to shock me into silence (which worked). I hope this all makes sense - I know it's a bit fragmentary. It was very intense and I was drugged and confused about the order of things, though I remember each experience very intensely.

And I remember feeling empty afterwards. I remember feeling full before it - full inside ... worried that there was something there like being pregnant. And afterwards ... a growing sense that there was nothing there any more. I didn't have my period still ... but I stopped worrying about being pregnant. My period came later and I didn't remember having missed any. But I remember it now. I remember the concern I felt before this happened and the feeling that Granddad knew and he was someone I could freely tell but that I didn't feel comfortable about that at all.

I don't know if I was actually pregnant, or if I only thought that I might be. There's no clear test in this like there was when I was 12 and no memory of the baby itself because it wasn't intact or shown to me when it came out (if it came out). There's also no memory of miscarrying, like I did with some of the others, because this wasn't a natural miscarriage but torture instead and I was unsure what would normally have come out of me with them doing what they were ... but I think that there's a good chance too that I was pregnant and that this was a forced abortion. I feel so bad about that ... I have to keep trying hard to remember that I didn't have any choice in it whatever they were telling me about me wanting them to do it. I never did. I guess I'm feeling bad in case in wishful thinking about dealing with the possibility of being pregnant, I wished that I wasn't and then they did what they did ... but it was not what I wanted or asked for. I have to work hard to remember that and not blame myself. I had no choice in becoming pregnant if I was (I remember a connected rape now, which is usually something that goes with remembering a pregnancy for me ... not just the many times I'd been raped, but one that comes back with the memory ... as if I knew somehow and I don't know how ... weird ... sorry). I had no choice in what happened to me or to the baby in any of this either. I fear that there was more tissue than normal and that it was like tissue I've seen in miscarriages I had, but I can't be sure and I guess I never will be. I am so very sorry, my little one ... if you existed ... I am so sorry.

The policeman with his gun and his test about not knowing anyone ... that is painful to remember. I feel scared and ashamed for breaking a promise any time I think about telling the police this now. But I will. It is the right thing to do.

That's all I can write for now. Please can I have some more hugs? I'm sorry this is a bit jumbled. I am so scared no one will believe me because I can't be clearer. I am finding it hard to believe myself because I don't want it to be true. I don't want there to be another little one I've lost. But I am leaning that way in believing it because of how I remember about how I felt. I didn't make sense of it clearly then in my conscious mind, but I still remember how I felt and that seems to me like adding to the things that make me believe that I was pregnant, or certainly that I believed I was at the time and during this torture-session, even if I wasn't. My heart hurts.

May 3 2009, 5.54 PM

Flashbacks last night. Very painful. Body memories.

I remembered before I went to bed, just a fragment on its own, how it felt to have a baby moving inside me.

I think I kind of knew. But I was so in pieces. I said that I'd been playing "what if ...? " games in my head. I'd decided on Chris because it could be either a boy or a girl. I've always liked mucking round with baby's names, but this was ... particular. And at the same time I didn't know consciously ... I felt full inside, heavier, and part of me registered that too. I should have had my period a while back by then. My grandfather tricked me and trapped me into telling him stuff that I wanted to keep to myself. I never seemed able to prevent myself from falling into one of his verbal traps. I wanted to be polite and so answer him. He was my grandfather - I ought to be polite to him and friendly too sad.gif I could often see his traps coming, but could think of no way out of them except to keep my mouth firmly shut and never say anything to him, which I couldn't do ... too rude ... would be noticed as well. Ugh. He found out that I was scared, that I'd missed my period, that I felt "funny". I didn't tell him exactly how "funny".

I woke up from being very sleepy, then having a mask on my face. I tried to take it off. My grandmother felt inside me with her finger ... I've never remembered this before bawling.gif It was like she wanted to see if it was true and could somehow that way? But she did that and she told me I was a whore and a slut and deserved anything I got ... that I'd been very sinful and done some very, very wrong things. She told me she wished I'd never been born and that I'd been trouble from the start. She told me that I was a bad girl. She was full of contempt for me. She did that with her finger, said to Granddad to just get on with whatever he was going to do now ... contempt for him too. I was struggling - someone was holding me down with pressure on my chest while this happened. I was wild to get away. I wanted my pants back for a start. Then Grandma left, with another woman ... I think it was Bill's wife. She'd been there - both of them kind of watching while I was tied up. I'm not totally sure it was Bill's wife - just a feeling. It may have been another woman. Shadows. It felt (was?) dark where we were. She and Grandma went inside up internal steps. I felt so deserted, even though they hadn't been kind to me. The only women - maybe they'd understand because of that, I thought? - but they'd left me with the men.

Gas. Sleep. Woke up with a kind of scraping going on, and vacuuming cleaning. Sucked inside. Pain. Cramps. Hard to breathe - panicking. Granddad noticed that I was awake. He made them stop for a moment. He gave me a screwdriver and he told me to put it inside myself and scrape so I could be "cleaner" and "free of all that waste inside you". I didn't want to. But by then I had my head stuck under a filing cabinet ... it hurt so very much. I thought it would explode. The weight and pressure was so painful. And someone held a knife to my throat. On the right hand side of my throat. It was sharp - they pressed it in a bit. Talking about my arteries and which one they should cut if I didn't obey them. I was tied up ... did I say that? Grandma tied me up - my legs - before she left. She tied me up while she told me I was bad - like it was punishment, like I needed to be restrained ("especially with men about"). She was treating me like a "man-eater" but I was just a confused 13 yr old. So hurt.

I needed them to take the filing cabinet off my head. So I did what they said with the screwdriver. Painful and disgusting. I felt so very low. They told me to act like I liked it and someone took pictures. They made me pose with it inside me. Pictures from different angles. Wanting to hide more than anything.

Another fragment of me very scared that I'd hurt the baby. I didn't want to do that. That would be really, really bad, I thought. I was scared my sister wouldn't approve because I love her a lot and her opinion of me matters to me. But they were preaching all the time against abortion - at mass, at school. We took them seriously - not always agreeing, but definitely listening hard. We went into the church each morning on the way to school together to pray, together with our two friends. I didn't want to do anything that would be so bad. I was very scared that, hearing that all the time, my sister would think I'd done something I shouldn't have, and disapprove of me. I love her. I was scared of her disapproving. I don't think she would have. She would have been just full of care for me ... other people seem to see that knife to my throat, the drugs, the filing cabinet pinning me down, being tied up more clearly. My husband said that I had no control over the situation - that I was about as trapped as you could be. Other people see that I was a child more too.

After the screwdriver they went back to what they were doing with a scrapey thing and vacuum. Blood. Fear. Overwhelmed. Distancing ... going. Up to the corner of the room - white. It's amazing how you can transport yourself like that, up in the air, I thought. I felt like I had special powers or something that I could fly/float like that. A lot of pain. I knew that the baby was going then. No more full. No more flutters. No more feeling so nauseous. All those things changed. I was very tired. But I started to feel less tired instead of more. My head hurt a lot - migrainey. Hormonal? I felt very, very fragile. I remember going to school - putting on a happy front - but feeling so shaky inside. I was so very scared of not pulling off the secrecy well enough and of showing what had happened somehow and I felt so ashamed and so scared I'd be judged. I thought that everyone would think I was really bad for the abortion. But, at the same time, I knew how trapped I'd been and how little choice I'd had because I was feeling the frustration, despair, pain and desperation of that. Trying to struggle so they wouldn't do it with my head under the cabinet. The knife moved round my throat but didn't go. Bill got absent minded and wasn't looking at me, though. He was holding the knife, I think. He was watching what the others were doing. I thought maybe that gave me a chance, but I couldn't move my head - it was trapped - so it didn't really matter if I had my legs free (they untied them before they did the sucking thing and made me do that with the screwdriver. I could struggle all I liked with my body (and I did try) but I still couldn't get away and, oh, the pain. My poor head. I thought it would be squashed after that.

I think it was real. There are split up bits and pieces of how it felt beforehand and afterwards that make it seem real after all. Memories of how I felt inside. Memories of thinking about my period and being concerned (at some level) and trying to make it a game, something not real, about choices - like its name - something that would all be OK - no darkness ... just a baby. Chris.

I wish I could have stopped them, Chris - little one/idea of little one. I wished I could have stopped them. I wish I hadn't blamed myself and taken in what my grandmother said. I wish that she'd helped me and believed I was good. I wish that it hadn't happened. I wish I could get more sleep - un-interuppted by this stuff. I wish I didn't feel so guilty, especially asking for care here.

Thanks for listening.

June 25 2009, 6.33PM

Thank you everyone. You're all so kind. Reading your replies today's made me feel like crying. I'm holding the hugs to me and so thankful for your love and kindness.

I've got more to add ... I'm not sure what to make of it.

I was lying on the floor looking up. Cold tiles. We were in a bathroom. Upstairs? Was there an "upstairs?" here. It wasn't the pink bathroom. I don't think it was ... not such a feeling of pink, but I had my eyes closed mostly. The orientation feels different but that might have been how I was lying. I had my head towards the door and my legs were next to the bath. There was a shower too ... I think it was nearer my head. I'm not really very sure. What I'm seeing is in brief flashes and then it blurs up a bit and goes blank again. She was above me - dark brown hair, maybe shoulder length, dark eyes. Her hair was all hanging loose in my direction. I was struggling a little. She had a face washer and she was washing my genital area with it. I was bleeding. She was washing off the blood - sponging it up for a while, then turning and washing out the washer in the bath, then pushing it into me again ... the towelling felt rough and hurt. I was very tender inside. She didn't push it in very far, but far enough to hurt. I didn't want her to do what she was doing. I didn't want to be touched down there. I'd clean myself up ... in a minute ... in a minute ... I kept kind of going limp ... I was so exhausted .. so little energy. I just wanted time. But I was also terrified of every passing minute. What were they thinking back at Grandma and Granddad's place? Would they discover I was gone? What would I tell them if they asked. I had to get back there and soon. But I wanted just a bit more time to get it together ... to be hurt in. It was a huge, huge effort and I was finding it very hard to stay with. I tried and I tried to struggle and sit up, but I lost focus and I lost energy too. Losing focus was so easy ... I think maybe I was still drugged. I wanted it not to be my job anymore. But it was. It was! I had to get it together as soon as I could. I was bleeding and hurting so much inside. She was helping me but she seemed angry at me, not really kind. She was frustrated. She was swearing under her breath - at me, I thought, but maybe not. Her face upside down was all distorted as she dragged me into the bathroom by my arms, then started to wash me.

Going back a little. Looking up at the group of people round me. Lying half on and half off the green mat on the floor. I could see Bill's legs in his black jeans. She was there then too. I'm not sure who she was. I think Bill's wife, then I'm not sure. She was standing at my head. The men were all around me lower down. There were no other women there that time, I don't think ... maybe a blonde woman, older, near my feet. She didn't stay, she went back upstairs once they connected me with the gas. I'd tried to plead with her for help, but she wasn't listening to me, only them. I think she was going upstairs to make dinner for a bunch of them? I'm really not properly sure of this. It's only just coming back as I write. I see her there at my feet, though. And I see how cold and non-reactive she was. I don't know if I managed to plead out loud. I was trying, but I didn't know her name and I was really groggy.

I feel bad ... I feel sorry for him ... I'm not sure how to write it ... but the blonde haired boy they made me have oral sex with when I was a couple of years younger was there. They were telling him, teaching him, this is something you'll need to know how to do, as a man. Teaching him how to be thorough about giving me an abortion, because he'd need to know if he did what he "should" and grew up and raped people too. My heart aches for him in this group ... and I don't know what to think or how to react. He was scowling but taking it in. Someone (Bill?) had a hand on his shoulder, keeping him there or maybe just resting there. I know it would have kept me very still. I was deeply embarrassed and humiliated that he was watching and that I couldn't behave more normally in front of him. He was almost my own age and I didn't think of him as part of the group, though they were treating him that way. He was outside it in my mind .. . another victim, maybe ... both of us outside it, I was convincing myself it wasn't happening. So why was I lying on the floor and all drooly and slurry in my speech and unable to get up and say hello? I was asking myself that, while they scraped and hurt me. I was kind of cutting myself off from that. But I was embarrassed about him. He wouldn't make eye-contact with me so I could somehow apologize - I had no words but I thought he might see in my eyes that I didn't think this was OK, that I wasn't "normally like this".

I hate to think what happened to that boy. What did they do to him? I wish I could have helped him somehow. And then I feel ridiculous for wishing that.

They were telling him what they were doing as they did it. I felt like a classroom exhibit for all of them. The horror I was feeling was out of place with the calm, class-like attitude around me. It was my baby!!!! I desperately wanted them to stop. Was this a dream? What was going on ... I felt so totally lost and confused ... nothing seemed to make any sense. The world felt all turned-upside-down. My baby, my baby ... my own little one, my responsibility ... I am so very sorry ... I don't understand ... I'm sad ...

Sorry ... got to stop and go get dinner for my hungry husband.

Can I please have some more hugs. I feel bad about that boy. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. And I feel in pain inside where all that blood was coming from ... a very deep sense of loss I can't quite process or feel ... kind of behind glass or something ...

OUCH. weep.gif

Jul 3 2009, 6.55 PM:

I need to try and write this more I think ... I've been having lots of flashbacks at night, very painful and not good for our sleep.

I'll start from the floor. I woke up there. They'd had the mask on my face and were giving me some kind of drug through it. A sleepy-drug. They'd been using it so they could make me look dead for their photos. Put me in different positions etc. They showed me the photos they'd taken. I looked ... willing in my own eyes, despite being out to it. I don't know how I did, but I did. They told me I was. They talked me through my expressions of ecstacy (how do you spell that?) I wasn't looking ecstatic, I was looking very drugged/unconscious/semi-conscious sometimes ... lips parted because there was no expression really. I can't quite understand how they could interpret that as ecstacy ... maybe because I had my eyes closed and head thrown back in the positions they'd put me in? They talked me through that and I was confused because I couldn't remember it happening, but it was definitely me. Very disconnected. They also talked me through how I obviously wasn't fighting them and said I'd never complained either. Granddad was holding the photos and he asked me if I remembered complaining - no, I didn't ... I didn't remember it at all. No - that's not quite true ... there are little flashes ... I'm not sure what of. Someone's penis in my mouth. Being held upside down by my feet, like a fish someone had caught. They were standing on a step, I think. I was pretty short at 13, but not that short. I remember now that they were lying to me about me not fighting because I was trying to swing a punch when I was upside down like that, to punch the person holding me in the stomach and make me fall and be let go. But, actually, I think I was just thinking it and couldn't get my body to work. My eyes were open in that picture ... but all glazed over. They didn't just gas me once, I realize now .... back and forth, back and forth. As I started to wake up they'd do it again. I don't understand this very well. I don't know why they were doing that ...

Anyway, they wanted me to be awake for some of it. They wanted to hurt me and for me to know it. I woke up properly on the ground, on the mat, with a tape over my mouth instead of the mask ... or maybe it was a tape holding the tube/mask in place? I tried to tear the tape off. It hurt my mouth and my hands were too weak to keep it up. The doctor pulled it off and he kissed me on the lips, then pushed his tongue between my lips and kissed me more deeply. He said they were going to relieve me of a burden. He meant my baby. I didn't want him to do that. I don't know how I knew that he meant that ... but he put something inside me and scraped and I've written about that already. It hurt a lot. And I knew I was losing my little one, though I was still confused about whether I really had been pregnant. I felt like I was, then I felt like I wasn't - that was all I had to go on. And when I say I felt like I was ... I mean that I felt things I can't explain another way, though at the time I was still trying to, since I didn't remember having been raped. Not until I was in that situation again. Then I was having memories and flashbacks of the time before, when I had a forced abortion, when I was 12. Not again ... I kept thinking and then wondering why ...

He took the little one inside me (not very developed yet ... maybe 9 weeks or so? And I bled and cramped and felt awful ... all scraped up inside ... no anaesthetic. They didn't use the drug on me while they were doing it or afterwards, only before.

It's a bit of a muddle what happened next. They took turns - one at a time, two at a time, three at a time - in my vagina, my anus and vagina, my mouth and anus and vagina - with their penises, with their fingers. I had the handle of a screwdriver stuck up my anus. It hurt a lot. Anything inside my vagina hurt. I was still bleeding heavily ... miscarrying, I guess. I couldn't breathe for being orally raped, or kissed, or just squashed. People hit me if I didn't "do it right" - suck how they liked, swallow, stay present, move my hips or body in some way. They called me a whore and laughed at me. They said I must like it, I was doing so much of it. I felt ... all fragmented ... in tiny little pieces ... and desperately trying to find a central me somehow to work out how to deal with this, to escape, to get away. Granddad left for some of the time this was happening. I was terrified he was just going to leave me with them, to keep hurting all they liked and maybe kill when they were finished. I needed him to get home again. I was desperately hoping for him to return and feeling so abandoned. I was so grateful when he came back, even though he raped me vaginally when he did. He whispered in my ear that he would protect me, that I had to do what he said. He acted like he was being forced to do what he was doing to trick the others so he could get us safe again. It didn't make proper sense to me, but it fitted my sense that he was my rescuer. I knew too that you could be forced ... I'd been forced to have oral sex with that boy to stop him (and me) being hurt worse. The boy ... Oh, God ... that was the worst ... I ... don't know if I can write that yet.

They made him spit on me. He was also one of the first to take the blood and tissue that had come from me and smear me with it. Others followed. I was covered in the little one I'd lost ... I felt so wrong, so sick. I so desperately wanted to be clean again ... but I didn't want to lose my child (already lost ... lose her/his remains? Have them just washed away and not saved and reverenced somehow OUCH). They smeared me with the blood and tissue. But then my grandfather did a big poo and they smeared me with that too. I smelt horrible. I was tied up again on the ground. Tied tightly so I couldn't move or escape. I remember trying and ending up half-off the mat, clutching at my Grandfather's shoes (or I thought they were his - shiny after church and black ... but I'm not sure whose they really were because I couldn't look up and was so hurt it was confusing.) I couldn't quite reach them because he stepped back and I couldn't move more. It hurt so much to move. I was so exhausted (and still groggy from the drugs, I think). I just sank half off the mat and tried to pretend it wasn't happening till it stopped.

They pissed in my hair and all along my body. They took turns and they lined up to do it all at once together. My hair was all sticky and gunky and horrible. One or two of them masturbated and ejaculated on me. I was all covered in gunk - piss, shit, blood and tissue. And they were all mixed up now ... I couldn't keep or look after my child's remains because they were all mixed with shit and stuff ... weep.gif

I was dragged by my ankles up the stairs and my head went bang and some people clumsily helped but then they dumped me on the bathroom floor - smooth smallish tiles in one dark colour - blue or dark green, I'm not sure ... it was a white room. Not the pink bathroom I'd been in before. It was ... smaller? I'm a bit confused about these details ... I remember how the floor tiles felt, though. I'm more sure what size and shape since I could feel that on my back but I had my eyes shut a lot, or focused at a point on the ceiling - trying to compress myself into it and disappear from here.

When they dumped me in the bathroom, they all left and left me with the brown-haired woman. She'd been there downstairs but not actively involved with what was happening, though I remember her smearing blood etc. on me when they were taking turns. She hit the boy for looking at her and said she'd deal with him later. I was scared for him. He was angry and not looking at me, though. I couldn't help him. I couldn't think of any way to. I wasn't sure he still didn't want to do it because he wasn't complaining or anything (but then I wasn't either and he probably couldn't at all). I thought he hated me for what I'd done before, but I expect I was projecting my guilt there. Anyway, they left me with the brown-haired woman. A red-haired man - maybe Sam? - stood guard outside the bathroom door. I saw him taking up his post there. The others laughed as they went back to the rest of the group downstairs. No Granddad. I kept trying to track him, to track my best route home. I could hear his voice, laughing and talking with the others downstairs. There was a bit of chaff/banter between the men who'd carried me - one rather young man with dark hair, another older and greyer - and the man on duty. I gather he was there to "fetch and carry for Queen B in there".

She shut the door. I thought she was going to help me. Some privacy at last and a nice hot bath and sympathy maybe too. She didn't seem to be so ... rough. I hoped she'd help me get sorted out so I could go home. She ran the bath while I lay on the tiles, feeling very sick and bruised after all those rapes. There would have been 10 people there or so. Plus the boy and the brown-haired woman. 10 other men, including Granddad. But at last it was just me and a woman and I hoped she'd help me get clean. She helped me into the warm bath and I was very grateful and about to say so ... but she pushed me down by my chest and I was under the water, unable to breathe. I didn't understand ... but ... I could see bits of bloody tissue, swirls of blood, shitty bits and brown water, a little yellow-brown discolouration all around me. I was in the middle of it all like it was in the air. It was in the water around me and I was feeling like I was in another world. Maybe you didn't need air to breathe, here, I thought hopefully. Things started going grey round the edges and closing in. My throat hurt a lot. My chest hurt a lot. I was holding in the air and not wanting to swallow that crap. I couldn't hold it any more ... a great big gasp of water and it was filthy ... and then she fished me out and I coughed and coughed and coughed. I felt so sick too - I wanted to throw up, but I couldn't stop coughing first and then, though my stomach was burning and jumbly, I thought I could keep it in. I didn't want to add to the humiliation. She acted like I'd slipped because I was still dopey from loss of blood etc. She said that she wouldn't have made that choice herself. I didn't! I didn't ask them to! I didn't want them to! She said she thought it was an evil thing to do. But I didn't ... I didn't mean too! But she said she was a very forgiving woman too. She said she'd help me out of the bath and help me get clean. She said I'd need a rinse under the shower. She helped me stand up in the shower and soaped me down. I felt clean again. I was still very, very hurt inside and bleeding. I felt hurt at both ends. I felt like I really needed to brush my teeth too because my mouth had been .... ejaculated into, and I'd swallowed that water.

It's hard to explain how at each stage I was also tracking the earthly remains/the place of my little one. It was agony to see it washed away, to see it mixed with such horrible stuff, to be grateful to be clean and desperate for it, but to know that was wishing the end of my contact with my child ... this is hard to explain. I'm sorry. She let me swirl some of the shower water in my mouth and said, "there, is that better?" I thought it was and managed a thank you. She guided me out of the shower. She'd got all undressed to be in there with me. I'd hardly noticed and then thought she just didn't want to get wet. She seemed to be helping me. And it looked like I needed it if I couldn't stop myself "slipping" in the bath. I got out of the shower and felt so dizzy I sank to my hands and knees. She put her finger into my anus from behind. I was so shocked, but also kind of stunned beyond reaction by now. It hurt from where they'd put the handle of the screw-driver. She also stuck a toothbrush in there. The bristles really hurt. She washed it clean with hot water then stuck in my vagina too. She said we needed to clean me thoroughly. I was starting not to trust her. I was scared now. I called for the guy outside the bathroom. He put his head in and she told him off for wanting to perve on her naked. She had a towel on then. I was still completely naked but it was like that didn't count.

She used a washer to help the bleeding stop - I was still bleeding through all this. She pushed it in too far and it hurt. Then she lay down on the floor next to me and started to kiss my mouth. I was very confused and grossed out. She took her towel off - it had been knotted between her breasts ... a middle aged woman - some freckles. She rubbed her body all over mine. She told me I was beautiful. She said that the men were beasts and she'd protect me from them. She said that a beautiful prize like me was much more suitable for her. She rubbed her hands all over my body, fondled my breasts. She put her fingers inside me. She wiggled them round and made me feel all hot and shooty and gasp and ... I don't know if I actually had an orgasm but she really aroused me. I was terrified and confused by that. I just wanted my little one back. I just wanted to go home. I wished I'd never told Granddad I was late. I was beating myself up, asking myself why I did, how I did ... I was trying to replay the conversation where he'd got me to explain it. I'd been verbally tricked somehow. I wasn't too hard to trick like that sad.gif Not with him especially - my brain just seemed to freeze up in terror. She said she'd ask Granddad if she could keep me here. NOOOOO! I knew for SURE that I wanted to get home ASAP.

She rubbed me down there, she licked me too. She made me lick her ... she crouched over my face and told me to do it. I wouldn't. I didn't really know what she meant for me to do either. She picked my head up by my hair and let it fall smack on the tiles. It hurt. I was dazed. She forced my mouth open and then put her vagina/genital area on it. She told me to lick. She told me just what to do and hit me if I didn't do it. Meanwhile she was putting fingers in my own vagina. She was moving around and gasping and then she was shaking a bit and then she was telling me more complicated instructions about what to do next, that I found very, very hard to follow.

She cuddled up to me, held me to her, put her fingers inside me and looked me right in the eyes while she did. I couldn't look away because she had me pinned and if I closed my eyes she jabbed me hard inside and hurt me more. I had to look at her. She had grey eyes I think. They were really penetrating and I felt I had nowhere to hide. She made me taste her fingers, which were bloody. I can't really explain well how distraught I felt about being made to taste/eat what I was still thinking of as my child ... I didn't know where he or she started and finished ... I just didn't know. She made me taste her fingers, then said, see, you're still bleeding and pushed the harsh cottony washer even further up inside me. She kind of scoured round with it. Then Sam? knocked on the door and said Granddad wanted to go soon. She got serious about cleaning me up then. She wiped me down, applied some pressure on my vagina and put some cold water in the washer. The cold hurt, but it was better at stopping the bleeding, or slowing it anyway. She got them to bring me up my clothes. She put a pad in my pants and made me stand up and stand into them. The she tossed the other clothes at my stomach and said I was a cry-baby and much too old to be dressed by someone else, or undressed either. She said she was disgusted with me, that I hadn't even been "much fun". She spat at me and told me I could wash that off myself - my face. Then she left the room. I was hurting and dizzy and confused ... but I put those clothes on as fast as I could. I looked into the mirror but couldn't work with the image there ... I wasn't sure who that girl was. So I just washed my face and put my ... jeans I think ... back on, and my shirt (T-shirt my friend made for me). I was worried about my jeans getting messed up with the blood but hoped the pad would hold for a while at least. And when I thought I was more presentable ...

I sat down on the cool tiles for a moment. Trying to get the courage to face those people again. Hoping very, very hard I was going home. Confused about where home was and who I was and what was going on and whether any of it was real, or I was in a dream or imagining it, wishing I was imagining the cramps, wanting to just lie down in the room I was sharing with my sister at my grandparents' place. But not wanting to see any people. Conflicting feelings and I felt all stuck ... But I managed, after a while, to get myself going again and to open the door.

I think someone had figured out that it would be scary for me, because two of the bigger guys were there and straight away grabbed me under the arms and dragged me along the corridor. I was pleading with them not to hurt me, please don't hurt me, I'll do whatever you like, please don't hurt me. They thought that was funny. They didn't take me downstairs but through the house ... I was so scared I was going somewhere else to be hurt, but then they got to the front door and dragged me out of it and pushed me into Granddad's arms. They were all laughing ... especially when I snuggled into him and tried to hold onto him for safety. "Enjoy" one of them said. And they went back into the house. Granddad asked, "what's kept you so long?" as if it had been my idea to go there and as if he hadn't been there too. I just was ... dumbfounded. I had no idea how to answer that and was even more confused. He said, "look at the state of you" ... I felt very shocked and pale and sick, but I was worried I hadn't cleaned up properly and that he wouldn't take me home if I was still messy. But he said "I suppose you'll have to do" and he took me to the car.

There were other people in the car ... yellow? It's hard to remember details perfectly. Bodgy seats in the front ... not much matting on the floor, you know? A squarish kind of car. A young man driving. The dark-haired young man, I think. Me throwing up out the window as we drove off. Deeply ashamed and messy again. They wiped me up but gagged me with gaffa tape - silver, sticky, very sticky - painful to pull off later. I was so so scared I'd throw up like that and choke. That was the idea, in a way. It was a don't throw up again message. I hadn't meant to. I was going to again, though. I was in the back of the car and the motion of it with my drugged out stomach and the pain etc. I just couldn't cope ... I tapped on the back of the front seat - Granddad was sitting in front of me, not beside me - passenger seat. I tried to ask to have the tape taken off. But Granddad laughed. Then he saw how ... green? not sure what he saw ... I was and made them stop the car and took the gag off so I could throw up in the gutter. They stopped where there were some big trees by the side of the road - big and green in that way trees grow only really in the tropics. It was shady and a bit hidden, round the bend off a larger road, then round another bend into a suburban street. I just got out and threw up. They had to untie me so I could. I was tied up when they put me in the car. I'd struggled briefly when I realized Granddad wasn't driving. I wanted to go home not where someone else might take me. So they tied me up. Black leather belts - hands together, feet together (once I was sitting in the back seat). I asked them not to (wondering if I might be able to undo the door and get out of the car that way if I had my hands and feet free) but maybe they had that in mind too. God knows what I would have done if I had been able to get away ... I had no idea where I was, no money, no telephone number for their house (Mum and Dad always knew it - I'd never needed it ... well, I had, many times, but not in my conscious memory sad.gif ) They tied me up. They untied me to be sick in the gutter. Then they tied my hands behind my back and it was painful. "Punishment" for my lack of control. They'd tied me up in all different positions in that big rape session after the abortion. It had hurt and been humiliating. They tied me up tightly and they put the gag back on. I had some dodgy moments on the way home still and I couldn't hold my stomach, which I was hunched over and feeling very hurt in ... hurt in my middle. I couldn't take the gag off myself either, so I was hoping very hard not to be sick again. I didn't want to be sick again anyway. We stopped at a service station. I didn't know why.

We stopped in the parking bit, not in front of the bowsers. Granddad asked them to untie me and said we'd just be a minute. I think they thought he was going to rape me in the toilets. I thought so. I wondered if I should make a run for it. But Granddad had thought of that. He was holding me so no one else could see it, except the people in the car we'd just come from, but he had a knife to my back and he said it was just near my heart if he shoved it in. I didn't quite believe he'd kill me where people could see. But he said it wasn't his car if they needed to make a get away and it would be very quick. I was terrified. I did exactly what he said, which was to go with him to the toilets round the side. They were just one person toilets - one for men, one for women, like they often are at service stations. Metal sinks. He came in, not just into the little room, but into the cubicle too. He locked the door. I was squashed and I was very scared. It would be even easier to cut my throat or stab me in the back here, leave me locked (I wasn't thinking clearly to work out how he'd get out if he did that) and bleeding to death and just drive off without anyone noticing. No one would expect me to come out with him anyway, since we were one man and one woman - different toilets (though we'd gone into the same one). It was the woman's toilets too, so less suspicious. I thought he was going to kill me and he knew it and played with it a bit - he put the knife to my throat. But what he said was that the doctor had left him one last thing to do. He'd wanted to do it inside (not in the gutter - too obvious - he'd only done that because he had to and wanted to move on as soon as possible). He had a mixture in a thermos flask (White with brown checks) that he made me drink. He put it to my mouth and keep pouring it in and I was scared of the knife so I didn't struggle. I wondered if it would kill me in some different way.

Then he said we just needed to wait a moment. So he leant back against the side of the cubicle and I sat on the toilet because that's all there was room for. I felt really powerless like that too and disgusting even though my pants were up and all clothes on now (even my bra). My face went really sweaty, I felt really crampy and then I felt really, really sick. I was only just in time getting to kneel in front of the toilet. I threw up and threw up and threw up - until there was really nothing coming out, just foamy white stuff and mucus. I threw up so hard - every muscle hurt. We waited till I'd finished. Granddad kicked me in the stomach and I retched but nothing more really came out and he said, OK, clean myself up and we'd go home. He left me in there and went outside and shut the door. I was shaking a lot. I cleaned up and washed my mouth out with the push-tap that only gave a bit of water at a time and then I started to think maybe he'd gone back to the car, and if he had then maybe I could go and ask for help somehow at the service station. I wondered if I'd have time to explain before he saw what I was doing and caught up with me. Rinsing my mouth and trying to calculate relative distances from the car to the counter, from here to the counter plus explanation time. Or maybe I could just lock myself in here till he got sick of waiting. I didn't think he would, though ... and it smelt awful in there and was cold and a bathroom and I didn't want to be near water or a bathroom at the moment. So I ventured very quietly and carefully to open the door to the outside world and everything just went flomp, because he was right there waiting for me to come out. I couldn't be fast enough, I knew. And he knew it too and just grabbed me by the arm. I knew that if I struggled I'd still end up in the car, but he'd get me for it later, or maybe they would all punish me by raping me again (4 in the car - driver - dark-haired young man, Fred? Another man - maybe Sam? - in the middle of the back seat and Granddad, plus me) I didn't think, measuring my strength carefully, no, I couldn't handle that ... "Do what they say" said a little voice inside me and I agreed to it. (my own voice - I felt all splintered into different forms of "me")

I got back into the car and the person in the middle tied my feet up again, reaching down. They didn't tie my hands or gag me after that because it might have been noticed. I don't know why they weren't worried about me having a gag before ... but I think it was because we were still on quieter suburban streets, no traffic lights, no stopping next to people who might see etc. But now it was main roads for a bit and only my feet were tied. I felt so weak from throwing up, though, and I really, really, really didn't like that doctor. I was angry, I realize. I was really angry ... and also felt like apologizing a million billion times to my baby, blaming myself for not keeping my mouth shut and for Granddad knowing I was late. It felt like they'd chosen something that was meant to help me - because I had no idea how to deal with being pregnant. But I *hadn't* asked them to. I hadn't wanted them to (not like that ... no, I really hadn't). I had been scared and wanted an end to the problem, if it was one, but I hadn't wanted them to do what they did. I felt like somehow I hadn't made that clear enough - like they'd been trying to help me but not listening to me. I still find that very, very triggering to feel that way, especially with doctors. Hm ... that's kind of illuminating.

I am very scared of not being listened to and someone just doing what's best for me without really giving me any chance to disagree, or work something else out, or decide something differently, or just say no. I was kind of supposing that it was "best for me" to not have the baby - but not like that ... not taken from me. I never asked them to do that. I never did. I keep feeling I have to repeat that over and over. I don't know what I would have done, but I mourn this loss. I feel horrified and sick when I think of what they did and being smeared in the blood and tissue, swallowing some, having to wash more off with such nasty stuff - mixing it. Such a NOT sacred way to deal with what I felt was sacred, even if I didn't know how or what I'd do ... no chance to honour you, little one. I'm trying now. I'll tell your story here and to the police if it's something they might find useful to hear. I don't know what else I can do for you ... but my heart aches thinking of this. I am so so so sorry, little one. I am so sorry I told Granddad I was worried. I am so sorry I couldn't protect you. I am so sorry for the way your life, if it was a life, ended, or your potential, the house-for-your-soul that was growing was so trashed. I am so sorry. I would have loved you if I could have. I really, really would have. I'm so sorry.

I am very angry at my grandfather and the doctor and the other men there, and the woman too. I am worried about that little boy, being taught to be a monster. I hope that he could find it in himself somehow to resist and recover. I am sorry that I could do nothing for him.

I am horrified by my grandfather's evil choices. I loved him. I cared about him. He should have been a better man.

I don't know quite how we got home but I am so very tired now. I might need to write more later. I hope at least this lessens the chance of having flashbacks tonight - we so much need some sleep. Will you please send good wishes for that?

Thanks for listening. I can't help myself ... sorry, sorry, sorry ... weep.gif

Jul 5 2009, 6.28 PM:

Really, really hard morning this morning. Flashbacking ... lots of screaming sad.gif

So very tired. I was drugged in some way when this happened, I'm pretty sure. It was before the abortion. I was very floppy - able to feel, but not able to move - pretty out of it. They took pictures and showed them to me later and I could partly remember ...

the feeling of someone's penis going in and out of my anus
the choking feeling of different people ejaculating into my mouth
being propped up so I was giving someone oral sex at the front while someone vaginally raped me from behind
having someone use their fingers inside my anus while they raped me vaginally from behind
being draped over someone on a green couch
a trophy picture with about 5 people - one raping me from the front, one in my mouth, one for each breast and I was lying on someone who was raping me from behind
I look like a doll, frozen, expressionless - the people who were fondling my breasts and the others who were visible had their thumbs up. It was unashamed - not faces hidden in this one. I wonder where it is now.
throwing up, the sick-tasting cough at the end of it, wishing for water
my grandfather raping me anally, me begging him to stop
the sound of me crying (which feels like its from a great distance) - feeling helpless and not knowing how to help "her" (the me who was crying), not knowing what to do, wanting my parents, wanting to go home, wanting to be rescued somehow, and trying to be brave and just get through it, to breathe, to comfort myself by patting my own sweaty-sticky hair

And this bit ... very painful. There was a cotton-bud stick. The doctor put some kind of paste on it. He rubbed it just inside my anus and around it a little. It didn't burn straight away but it developed. It was all raw. It hurt a lot. I remember that going to the toilet afterwards was agonizing, and that I found it very hard to sit down and act like I wasn't hurt at all (which I did). It started to really, really hurt with the burn. They used some water - a pressured hose - cold - painful in the flow - to wash it off. They stuck the hose into my bottom and flushed me out a bit with it. I was trembling, out of it in pain almost - whimpering etc. The water didn't really help the burn - it was too long after they'd put the paste on to work for me for that. They did that bit for themselves, because after that one after another raped me anally with their penises. I can remember how each felt, but I kind of lost count and I wasn't looking (I was lying on my face and my bottom was propped up with a big cushion, or maybe an ottoman ... it was very uncomfortable but I felt too weak to try to rest up on my arms so my neck wasn't so twisted).

They just kept coming. I thought after the first one maybe that'd be it - but another one took his place. A brief respite while they changed over. Trying to get my breathing to slow down, to stop myself crying, to stop myself screaming out in pain. I wanted to ... I tried not to scream - I figured they liked it - but I just couldn't help it - it hurt so much. I was all small and tight there anyway, let alone being so burnt and raw. I felt tears. Someone used a knife and cut the skin inside my anus a bit too. It was bleeding and it hurt even more - cut into the burn. I threw up. They laughed. Someone else just replaced the man inside me. I passed out and woke up ... and they were still raping me. It seemed like it would never end. I don't know how it did yet. I guess it just did.

Be brave, keep breathing, just get through it ...

That's what I told myself then and I guess the same applies now.

I am so hurt. sad.gif

Can I please have some hugs? I feel really disgusting too - for the poses and the things I remember seeing myself do in those pictures, as if I wanted to - and for being raped liked this - shit, blood, semen, burnt skin peeling off ...


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