I feel like having sex is the only way I feel attractive or worthwhile.


I feel like having sex is the only way I feel attractive or worthwhile.

I was sexually abused throughout most of my childhood by a much older friend of my brother. He spent years grooming and abusing me under the guise of being a "nice guy" and acting like he "loved" me. The abuse ended when I was 15 and my brother went off to college. My abuser wasn't around anymore because my brother no longer lived in the same house as I did. At 16 I met my current fiance. We have been together now for almost 8 years and he does everything he can to help me overcome my emotional issues that stem from the abuse. He has been wonderful support through even my ugliest episodes and anxiety outbursts. Over the years we have always had a wonderful sex life but I always find myself thinking that we need to have more sex. I become obsessive and I get extremely hurt and sensitive when we are unable to even if he just got done working a long shift. I try to tell myself my fears are irrational but I can't stop thinking that I am unattractive or that he doesn't love me anymore. The thoughts are becoming more frequent and more disruptive. I feel as though the only time I am worth something to him is when we are having sex. He always tries to comfort me and reassure me thoroughly but i always find my mind going back to the irrational thoughts. I desperately want to stop because it stresses me out and I don't want to risk pushing him away when he wants to help. Does anyone have any suggestions as to how to overcome these fears and intrusive thoughts?

Submitted December 01, 2018 at 12:36AM by Rum_BunnyX3
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An orgy just happened around me and I completely under shock went through with it. It was horrible


An orgy just happened around me and I completely under shock went through with it. It was horrible

Literally an hour ago an orgy somehow just happened. I didn’t want to do it but felt like a normal guy would be down for that and kinda just went into it. A tv was flickering and I kind of went into shock realising that I was in a room half full of strange women and my roommate who were all witnessing me low key having an internal meltdown.

I randomly left and just started cutting myself. While they were all fucking

Each meltdown I feel like I come to accept that I really was raped as a child, but after each episode I come out of it feeling numb again and full of doubt.

I just feel so abnormal and like I will always be alone

Submitted December 01, 2018 at 01:47AM by akdhsjskasn
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Abusive Parents and Stepparent, I want to move away forever.


Abusive Parents and Stepparent, I want to move away forever.

This is my first post here, my first real post. I’m 16 years old living on the East Coast (US) and I was raised in one town all of my life, I have never known anything different. I won’t go in detail about what my parents have done, but my father was/is the mainly physical abuser with emotional abuse attributes, my mother is mainly the emotional abuser but she’s been physical a couple times, and my stepmother is emotionally abusive, but only sometimes. Because of the abuse I’ve been really attached to inanimate objects (no attraction or anything, I don’t wanna screw a car) and I am attached to them because of the good memories they give. The biggest attachment is my hometown, and even traveling away from home I get extremely homesick, to the point where I’m physically sick. Sometimes it can happen just 3 hours after I leave town. I also have severe social anxiety, which leads me to be craving home. After I move out, I want to move away and cease contact with my family. I want to live in a town similar, with only about a million people, oak trees, hills, with a main-street with neon lights decorating the buildings, just like home, one of the only things that can make me happy. However, I don’t know where to go, or if it’s even possible to leave. I don’t know if I can live in a place where I can love it just as much as home.

Submitted November 30, 2018 at 09:26PM by calboyig
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My narcissistic step dad drove me to depression for three years. [vent]


My narcissistic step dad drove me to depression for three years. [vent]

Hi, so..I guess I’ll start from the beginning. But before I do this I want to put a disclaimer that things have changed since this time and I am now happy and in a good place. I move out in a year. I have never shared my full story to anyone. I hope this helps someone. When I refer to “ndad” it means narcissistic dad.

It all started when I was in about the fifth grade, I moved out of my grandmas and into my parents home. (Not by choice). My step dad has bipolar disorder, narcissism, and a fucked up past to boot. But I don’t think that makes his actions inexcusable. Over the years he would hit my siblings, (I have five) spank them with belts, scream at them, and me. I don’t remember getting hit. However one time I got in an arguement and he held me up to a wall by my throat. Over my little brother using my DS. Another he dragged me up the stairs by my hair to do chores before my homework. My mom just sat there. And said nothing. I love my mom, but I resent how cowardly she used to be. She wouldn’t stand up for us. My Nstepdad would steal money from my mom, but her, choke her, all unknown to me at the time. He was damn good at hiding it. Our house was deplorable. We moved about once a year but that’s all it took for our houses to get disgusting. There would be mountains of mildewed (and when we got pets, covered in shit) laundry. I had to sort through it and wash it. As if that would help anything. I had to do chores like any normal kid, which is all fine, until you would see the way our living conditions were. The houses always smelled like Rot and feces. There was a toilet that stopped working and caked with shit and bugs that nobody would clean. I got screamed at and had things taken away for “half-assing” my chores. There were times when I would get pulled out of bed at 2 am to do dishes. I lived in constant anxiety for doing something wrong. By this point I was in eighth grade. I was a fucking kid. And my Nstepdad expected everything from me. I was left to babysit five kids at the age of 13. My grades dropped due to depression and suffering the (abuse?) I went through. I never was allowed to go out much and they blamed it on my grades. But I was still miserable. I needed some sort of escape from that hellhole. If i couldn’t handle any of the workload put on me my Ndad would give me sob stories of how shitty he had it as a kid and that I should be “grateful”. I was hardly allowed to go see my friends or boyfriend. I would get one night over at a friends if I was lucky, then when I got back I would get guilt tripped for being gone. My Nstepdad yelled at me once over my friends death. He told me to get over it. He said all this because I was crying over her instead of cleaning. He made me feel guilty if I asked for rides anywhere. He got arrested multiple times for domestic abuse towards my mom. It was a fucking nightmare. This lasted until tenth grade. My dad missed my youngest sisters birth when he was in jail. When he came back a few months later..he changed. He no longer did any of this. He treats everyone better now, but still had anger issues. I am always still scared of getting in trouble for something. I jump when people open my door. I still feel scared to go out with friends for long periods of time because I don’t want to be guilt tripped. Although nothing has happened yet I am still fearful. I am in eleventh grade now. Soon I’ll be out of here. And somehow, I feel guilty for hating my Nstepdad. The years this happened it was hammered into me I was being treated just fine. I don’t know how to get over it yet. I still have trouble calling what I went through as abuse as I was never given bruises or marks. I haven’t had a friend to my house since seventh grade because of how our houses conditions always end up. Anyways, that’s my story. And I hope this helped someone. You’re not alone. It’s hard, but we can all make it through this together. Thank you for reading my story.

Submitted November 30, 2018 at 09:54PM by unidentifiedfornow
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I want to take control but my family doesn’t understand. Advise?


I want to take control but my family doesn’t understand. Advise?

I am having an extremely difficult time with my parents. I live at home and have always had a close relationship with them. I told them about my abuse three years ago. Lately, I have been trying to make my own choices and decisions to foster my healing. Their response, and subsequent treatment of me since, is upsetting and triggering.

My parents are not abusive. They love me and care for me. I think they are damaged themselves from their own childhood traumas and lack the emotional intelligence to understand what I am going through.

Going to college is very triggering for me. I was abused by a teacher in school. They yell at me, guilt me, and make me feel like a failure for wanting to take time off. They tell me "you just have to suck it up and go to school," even though I have had chronic pain since attending college and am nervous every day I have to go class. They tell me to take as much time as I need to heal and go to therapy, but then yell at me for trying to take control of my life. They also tell me to "not talk about certain things," which makes no sense if they want me to go to therapy and get better. It feels like they want me to "heal" so long as it fits into their life bubble. I am not saying I want to drop out, I just can't emotionally do school right now.

My PTSD is getting worse. I have started to exhibit symptoms of withdrawal and depression, two things I have never experienced before. It terrifies me. I was always a strong, happy person, and now I have to force myself to get out of bed. The lack of support and conflicting messages are hurting my emotional wellbeing. I don't know what to do. I feel like it's a reasonable response for someone who was abused by a teacher to take time off from school to seek counseling and healing. But maybe not if they think I am a failure and just "being difficult." Any advise? I appreciate anyone willing to respond.

Submitted November 30, 2018 at 08:47PM by rocker_chick1997
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Abuse and Illness


Abuse and Illness

This is going to be a touch stream of consciousness, I apologise.

When I was 10, my dad sat me down and told me he was going to divorce my mother. I only collected scraps of what was a difficult talk for him as I had previous metric for it with friends and happy family units, at least as far as I could tell. The sticking point from it was that my mother was “not well” or “sick”. She stayed in bed seemingly throughout days she wasn’t on shift an increasing amount, but I never got a name from Dad. Just Sick. Considerably later on, he’d call it paranoid schizophrenia.

What followed from the separation coming about was violent outbursts of shouting and smashing ceramics or glass, her taking me and my brother away while he was at work or grabbing dinner on one of his allotted nights respectively, and a cacophony of loud scary shit in general. When given the option at 12 as to which parent to keep with, I stayed with my mother out of emotional blackmail. Where her manipulation and my self affliction ended and began is hard to discern. The thing was she was rapidly running out of allies, family was starting to turn us away. I needed to stay so she had somebody.

A few times, she insisted my younger brother and I sleep in her bed with her. The only reason I remember being given one of the times was “little men on the roof”. Weird, but not seemingly abusive. Inside a horseshoe of increasing accusations and diminishing friends, it was just accepted. Come a night when I was 13, she might’ve believed I was asleep, I don’t know. I remember a kiss on the mouth with a tongue pushing and a weight across my groin, and very little else. I pretended to be asleep.

I felt I had to get the incident in writing, but also try and frame the disorder surrounding it. She’s since passed away, and I have opened up to my best friend a little bit ago as I figured it can’t hurt anyone anymore. I had this idea ingrained that there was, drawing from earlier and better memories, a loving person buried underneath disease. And I don’t know whether that’s a healthy ideal to hold. I’d thought I’d see what people here thought. Even if you don’t have the answer, thank you for reading. Certain feelings came rushing back tonight.

Submitted November 30, 2018 at 06:42PM by dimefable
via reddit

Abuse and Illness


Abuse and Illness

This is going to be a touch stream of consciousness, I apologise.

When I was 10, my dad sat me down and told me he was going to divorce my mother. I only collected scraps of what was a difficult talk for him as I had previous metric for it with friends and happy family units, at least as far as I could tell. The sticking point from it was that my mother was “not well” or “sick”. She stayed in bed seemingly throughout days she wasn’t on shift an increasing amount, but I never got a name from Dad. Just Sick. Considerably later on, he’d call it paranoid schizophrenia.

What followed from the separation coming about was violent outbursts of shouting and smashing ceramics or glass, her taking me and my brother away while he was at work or grabbing dinner on one of his allotted nights respectively, and a cacophony of loud scary shit in general. When given the option at 12 as to which parent to keep with, I stayed with my mother out of emotional blackmail. Where her manipulation and my self affliction ended and began is hard to discern. The thing was she was rapidly running out of allies, family was starting to turn us away. I needed to stay so she had somebody.

A few times, she insisted my younger brother and I sleep in her bed with her. The only reason I remember being given one of the times was “little men on the roof”. Weird, but not seemingly abusive. Inside a horseshoe of increasing accusations and diminishing friends, it was just accepted. Come a night when I was 13, she might’ve believed I was asleep, I don’t know. I remember a kiss on the mouth with a tongue pushing and a weight across my groin, and very little else. I pretended to be asleep.

I felt I had to get the incident in writing, but also try and frame the disorder surrounding it. She’s since passed away, and I have opened up to my best friend a little bit ago as I figured it can’t hurt anyone anymore. I had this idea ingrained that there was, drawing from earlier and better memories, a loving person buried underneath disease. And I don’t know whether that’s a healthy ideal to hold. I’d thought I’d see what people here thought. Even if you don’t have the answer, thank you for reading. Certain feelings came rushing back tonight.

Submitted November 30, 2018 at 06:42PM by dimefable
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Questioning my childhood experience? PLEASE help


Questioning my childhood experience? PLEASE help

So, this has been on my mind a lot lately and I was wondering if anyone had thoughts… For a while, I used to wonder if I'd had some form of childhood sexual abuse that I'd repressed (even though I've read that that's kind of a myth). I have a HORRIBLE relationship with sex, am terrified of it, I am an adult and while most of my friends are getting married, I am a virgin who is terrified of sex. I hate when people talk about sex around me. As a kid, I was also terrified of men (I wouldn't let my mother leave me alone with my Uncle, who I now know is a gay man and who I seriously doubt would have hurt me). Other men as well, male teachers, everyone. I still am, not so much afraid but I don't really like men very much.

I've started thinking about this other thing too. When I was very, very young (like as long as I can remember) I was really turned on by the thought of people peeing their pants. Fine, whatever, it's a pretty common fetish.

The thing is, from the age of like, 4 to probably 7ish, I would always fall asleep in bed with my dad, and I would ask him to tell me stories about people peeing their pants. This was totally my request, I don't think he encouraged it at all, but he was happy to do it and had an endless bank of stories he would make up. While he told me those stories, I would masturbate until I finished, and then go to sleep. It makes me really uncomfortable to think back that I would masturbate to stories my dad told me, but I'm not sure if he knew that's what I was doing. I think he must have (I used to also masturbate sometimes when my mom was in the room, and she would always tell me "please don't do that while I'm in the room, it's okay when you're alone," and once I asked her how she knew I was doing it and she said she could hear it. SO, my dad must have known that's what I was doing, right?).

It's worth mentioning my dad is also a (now recovering) sex addict… He's an amazing man and I've always had a great relationship with him so I hate thinking of this story, but it makes me uncomfortable… Sometimes I wonder if he knew exactly what was happening and enjoyed it… Which is really devastating. But I have no way of knowing.

What do you think?

Submitted November 30, 2018 at 04:53AM by thatnaggingthought
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Project for Survivors of Sexual Abuse/Assault


Project for Survivors of Sexual Abuse/Assault

Hi. I'm a writer. I write mainly poetry and fiction but lately I've been writing a lot of personal essays about the assault I endured when I was 10. I realized that I really want to put together a collection of anonymous personal essays, written by women who survived sexual assault and abuse–me and others. The purpose would be to let other survivors know they're not alone and to give those women a way to vent and heal, as sharing my story helped heal me. I guess I just don't know where to start, you know? Like, where do I find people who are willing to help out with this?

I want to eventually get it published in book form, and I would donate a portion of the profits to organizations that help survivors of sexual assault, especially little girls. But that's a long way away.

Submitted November 30, 2018 at 01:41AM by sara_exe
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