Rape Culture Needs to End

I am so sick of hearing that she was asking for it. Or that she wasn't raped because of her reputation. If s(he) says she was raped than she was raped!

And it makes me even more sick that if someone is a celebrity, that they can do no wrong, or she was lying.

Or in the church, people from "good" families do bad things. And it's not the victims fault. It's the rapist. The only one to blame is the rapist. Put the blame where it belongs.

Thanks to rape culture and all that other trash, I have days of still believing that I asked for it, that I somehow wanted it, or maybe if I had done something different it wouldn't have happened. Truth is, my rapist wanted what he wanted and he would have done anything to get it.

I was raped 6 years ago by someone I thought I could trust. I've only been healing from my experience for about two years now.

It's something I'll never get over entirely. may heal, but it may never fully goes away. He took so much from me. My ability to feel safe and to trust people. It makes me feel dirty and that what is supposed to be pure and special someone never will be and that some how maybe if I had done something different it wouldn't have happened.

I'm in the process of learning to forgive myself and find healthy ways of living myself and putting this in the past once and for all.

I'm blessed to have my Lord, Jesus Christ and some dear dear friends to help me through this journey. I'm not where I need to be, but I'm not where I was.

Fearlessly,

Katie Bug

Comments

Tara's story.

" Here is my story of how I grew up in a home that was surrounded by domestic violence. Growing up was crazy for me. My parents always argued. Before I was born my mother and real father used to fight always according to what my mother told me and what my sister and brother witnessed. But after I was born my father stuck around until I was like 2 or 3. That's when my stepfather began raising me. After that my mother and he would always argue. They got physical with each other. They got to the point where my mother would get a knife and try to hurt my stepfather. I remember one time she chased him down the stair and in order to escape from her, he jumped out the window and broke his leg. This happened when I was younger. She has had so much anger in her we didn’t know where it came from. There were other times where she got angry at me and threw figurines at me. One Thanksgiving Day I wanted to spend it at my sister house, this was when I was in middle school, and my mother wok...

Ashley's Story

Thank you Ashley for being so brave! Love you. " Hello, my name is Ashley and I am 19 years old. I am writing to you all today to tell my story, thanks to the wonderful creators of this page. One of them happens to be my best friend :) My mom has always been verbally abusive. As I was growing up I struggled with learning how to respect my mom because she would always say things to hurt me and my way of defending myself was talking back. Others found it offensive and still do. They believe that every child should respect their parents. I do agree with that but it is hard to do when you are a victim in the relationship. Sometimes some people are opinion based on the old fashion morals and beliefs that every child should respect their parents. Those same people either blind themselves from witnessing a verbal attack or they don't care. My grandmother, my father’s mom, lived with us until she got sick and had to live with my aunt in Reno when I was 8. She raised me more than my ...

Stephanie's story.

" When I was in my mid-teens, I was sexually assaulted. When I was in my mid-teens, I was taught my sole purpose on this earth was to be of service to men, to be a sexual object, not a human being . After being assaulted, everything I thought I knew about myself crumbled. I became an object, not a person . The deep seeded shame society taught me was mine to bear crippled and silenced me. I was taught that what happened to me was my fault. I walked the hallways at school with my head tilted to the floor and my books tightly wrapped around my chest. I didn’t have to look up to know everyone was whispering to each other about me as I walked by. “Did you hear, she cuts herself, what an attention whore”, “Did you know she was drinking the other day in class? She’s crazy”. Little did they know about the pain I was feeling inside, how every day I would wake up hoping it would be my last. After my assault, I felt so alone and the only way I could release my pain was to wage a war a...

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