Betty’s Story

TW: Rape, abuse, self-harm, drug and alcohol use

I was born into a feminist household. My dad stayed home and raised my brother and me, while my mom worked as a machinist. From watching my mom try and fit in by being as non femme as possible, I thought my body was wrong somehow. My home life was different, I grew up in a home where my dad was a drug dealer on the side. I remember going through DARE and thinking what this is wrong? But I don’t understand. I started going to church by myself at the age of 8 it was the one place I felt safe. The year I turned 11 my dad was arrested by undercover cops in our home while I was there. That is the same year I started drinking to silence the pain. I missed my dad so much, he did some prison time and 18 months in work release with Sunday home visits it was weird and I hated when he had to leave. By the time my dad got out we had a new schedule and I was drinking almost everyday. I was 14. I pretty much just partied for the next 2 years. I met a boy I really liked, once we started dating he had to know where I was always. I eventually broke up with him. He started stalking me, showing me pictures he had taken of me out of my bedroom window. I finally got the courage to report him to the police and I was told that they were really sorry that I had remorse for giving him the pictures but there was nothing they could do. The stalking just got worse until he had a shooting accident with a friend when they were screwing around with his dad’s gun. He survived but found other prey and left me alone. A few months later I went to a valentines party got a really good buzz going, a fairly new friend of mine took me to a basement bedroom and raped me repeatedly. I begged him to kill me while he just laughed saying whore over and over. Once I got dressed, drug myself home I showered and scrubbed until the water was ice cold. I remember thinking my virginity the only thing I have of worth is gone, no one will ever love me I am just a piece of filth. I started drinking even more and found a new love in cutting. It made me feel alive it brought back pieces of me I thought had died the pieces that could feel. I miscarried the baby that was the result of my rape, I had not told anyone of either thing the rape or the baby. Eventually I felt a click in myself and I just wanted to feel better, I sought out God again and I felt relief. I started to put my life back together it was hard and not all days were good but I was trying. I started dating my best friend I felt safe and happy and I was wrong. What started out as verbal abuse turned into physical and sexual abuse very quickly. I was his dirty little whore and he began to rape me often with objects or his hands because I was such a dirty whore he was afraid I would give him a STD. After the Valentine dance (one year after the rape) he drove me to a secluded area wouldn’t let me out and raped me with anything he could find over and over. Telling me exactly what I had to say and nothing else. He kept me here for hours before he finally took me home. I finally grabbed all the courage I could and broke up with him about a month later. I started starving myself because it was the one thing no one else could control, no one could make me eat. A few months later a good friend of mine started bringing me little gifts, calling me. I felt safe with him but knew that soon he was going to love me with the kind of love I understood, the kind with hateful hands. But that time never came he just kept loving me with gentle whispers. 2 years after my first rape and 1 after the last rape I told him what had happened. He held me all night reminding me it wasn’t my fault and that I was enough. It was hard but we finally had sex and it wasn’t anything I thought it would be. It was beautiful, wow I hadn’t realized how beautiful consent was. We got married, while my stomach was expanding from the life that growing from our love. I married a man who never pushes me, a man who let’s me process my way, that will hold me through my night terrors and flashbacks. We have 5 beautiful children together. And I survived. Even though my life is beautiful I have bad days, because my traumas are loud sometimes and you know what that is okay. My lover has loved me not just in spite of my baggage but because of it. He has reminded me I am no ones whore. I have flourished because I am loved.


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