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About Kaley426

  • Birthday 04/26/1989

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    New York
  1. I understand your anger, but at the same time I sort of understand where they are coming from (not the whole more likely to sexually assault other people thing). I kept my SA a secret for a number of years, and did the whole self confidence group thing, and if I were there and the group leader had shared a similar SA experience, I probably would have been extremely uncomfortable. And with regards to asking for your medical records, i'm sure its just to make certain that your SA wont be an issue with your work performance. That being said, it sucks, and no one should have the right to force you to disclose medical records.
  2. oh no

    I just found out that my best friend of four years was molested by her fathers best friend at the age of eight. she's never told anyone, until me. I dont know what to do.
  3. rough night...

    tonight was pretty awful... The boyfriend and i got into a big fight, which was awful. He got angry that most of my friends are male... which is understandable, he's allowed to be jealous. We worked everything out... but then, when we finally had time to be by ourselves without interruption, I had a flashback shortly followed by a panic attack. It was the first one I've had in over a year. I had forgotten how awful they are. We were in my bed, not having intercourse, but just laying next to each other. and I closed my eyes, but when I opened them I didn't see his face anymore. I saw my rapist lying in bed next to me. Then I started freaking out, and the panic attack came. I definitely scared him, He had no idea what was happening... He covered me with a blanket and hugged me while I was shaking, but he didn't know what was going on. The only thing he said about it was "I will never forget this."
  4. i dont know the answer to your first two questions... but every anniversary has been extremely difficult for me too. this year i decided i was going to do something to make me feel better about my situation, so i spent the day volunteering at the women's shelter. it made me feel like i was doing something proactive so that other women can get help, and it kept me busy and helped me to get out of my own head... i dont know if this will work for you, it might be triggering, but its a suggestion.
  5. race...?

    The man who raped me was black. I have never had issues with anyone of a specific race before it happened. I try to distinguish between people... but for a certain number of years after it happened, I was triggered every time I looked at an African American man. Now that I have gotten through the toughest years, I am mostly over it. I am rarely, if ever triggered by people of a different race, and I consider myself colorblind when looking at people. The last man that I dated, and the man i am currently with are both black... My parents told me yesterday that they think I am trying to "overcompensate for being afraid of black men for so many years." I don't see it this way, but of course, if it is true, it's a subconscious thing. Now I'm nervous that what they think is true, and I'm kind of scared. If anyone has ever been in a similar situation, please give me some input. I think I could really use some guidance.
  6. An overview...

    This is the first blog I've ever written, but I think it's time for me to start talking. Here it goes... I am a survivor. I was raped at the age of twelve, and it took me exactly five years before I told anyone. I can't really explain why I never said anything. The only way i have come up with to explain it is this: I was a child, and just like with an imaginary friend, if no one else sees it, it never happened. So I pretended "the incident" never took place. Shortly after, I began having issues with self-mutilation. I did not understand what was happening to me, and I was frightened. That was the only escape I knew. I was unaware that I was going through PTSD, and instead of seeking help, I pushed the thought of what had happened to me farther away. Then Highschool came. I had to transfer out of my sheltered Jewish private school into a larger preparatory school, where I was first introduced to marijuana. I began smoking frequently, and with that, i began lying to my parents and friends. The summer before my Junior year, I convinced my parents to take me out of the Highschool and put me into a public school. This worked out horribly. I went from being an A student at one of the top schools in the country, to a D student at an awful public school. The PTSD had gotten so horrible, that I could not sit and focus in a class without thinking of what had happened to me, and as a result, I nearly failed out of school. For Senior year, my parents and I decided it would be a good idea to get away from the Highschool scene, and I was admitted as an early admission student to a junior college close to home. However, after the first week of classes I stopped attending. I failed all of my courses, and my parents had no idea. I would leave the house in time for class, and come home when it was supposed to be ending. When they eventually found out, they took me for a drug test, then a pregnancy test, and HIV testing. After finding nothing, they did all that they could and put me in a day program at a psychiatric hospital. By this time I was 17, having panic attacks, night-terrors, flashbacks, and self-mutilation had almost ruled my life. And still, not one person knew of what had happened. It was the 5 year mark when I finally told my story. I was in a group session at the hospital, when one of the therapists pointed out that I was having a rough day, and she wanted to open the floor to me. I said something along the lines of "today is the 5 year anniversary of the reason why I am here, and I have never spoken about it before, nor do I want to." A few of the other kids gave some comforting words, and then my close friend from the program, Chloe, said "I want to help you, but I don't know how, because I don't know what happened to make you this way." That was all it took. I told my story, in group, with seventeen other adolescents, three therapists, and two interns listening in. By the time I had finished the only two people not crying were one of the interns, and a schizophrenic boy who had fallen asleep due to his medications. It took me about a year of intensive therapy and Partial Hospitalization Programs before I was functioning enough to go back to school. Now I am 19, fully functional, and back to an A student at my University. If you managed to get all the way through this, thank you. Although I am doing much better with coping, it still helps to know that there are others out there like me.