rape

Heaven is comfort, but it's still not living.

A while ago?_ Anaxantis asked. __es, he raped me a while ago. Exactly nine months and two days ago. What's that? Nine months or nine minutes. It's the same. And it is in the past, you say? Then why is it still happening, every day, every time I close my eyes? Every time I hear someone behind me, and I don't know who it is? How is it that I get an almost irresistible urge to kill anyone who happens to touch me unexpectedly? Tell me, Hemarchidas, how do I forgive, let alone forget, something that is still happening, that keeps happening over and over? How? How do I do that?

You save yourself or you remain unsaved.

Making someone feel obligated, pressured or forced into doing something of a sexual nature that they don't want to is sexual coercion. This includes persistent attempts at sexual contact when the person has already refused you. Nobody owes you sex, ever; and no means no, always.

Be an empowertarian. A person who empowers their own life and that of others.

Religion allows people to feel justified in acting out their primal instincts, that is, to assault, destroy, rape, and murder others, who they judge as being different and inferior to themselves.

War can condition a person to be resilient, tolerant, dependable, strong, and capable of so much more than one who had experienced nothing of it; it can bring out the very best in us, but also the very worst. Where is it, I ask, the proper conduit through which a soldier should be raised from whence they would become an upstanding citizen of the world, instead of a single country?

Don't plant a seed just a day before you need the fruit. ~ Aarush Kashyap

She looked at her hand: Just some hand, holding a cheap pen. Some girls_ hand. She had nothing to do with that hand. Let that hand do whatever it wanted to.

Please God, when I open my eyes, make this nightmare disappear.

Oh,' she says, 'the Vat prints nothing but rapes. You know what a rape usually is? It's a woman who changed her mind afterward.

She says, "I'll swear by the rose tattooed on my ass, that old man raped me."Here, the funeral parade stops. At this point, Comrade Snarky is a victim among victims. The rest of us _ just her supporting cast.Mrs. Clark, leading us, she looks back and says, "He what?"And from behind his camera, Agent Tattletale says, "Me, too. He raped me first."Saint Gut-Free says, "Well what the hell...He poked me, too."As if poor skinny Saint Gut-Free had enough ass left to poke.And Mrs. Clark says, "This is not funny. Not in the least.""Tough," the Matchmaker tells her. "It's wasn't funny, either, when you raped me."Shaking his ponytail, the Duke of Vandals tells the Matchmaker, "You couldn't pay to get raped.

Two-thirty comes during Testifying. It's Janine, telling about how she was gang-raped at fourteen and had an abortion.But whose fault was it? Aunt Helena says, holding up one plump finger. Her fault, her fault, her fault. We chant in unison. Who led them on? She did. She did. She did. Why did God allow such a terrible thing to happen? Teach her a lesson. Teach her a lesson. Teach her a lesson.

Finally, another large-scale study [of false rape allegations] was conducted in Australia, with the 850 rapes reported to the Victoria police between 2000 and 2003 (Heenan & Murray, 2006). Using both quantitative and qualitative methods, the researchers examined 812 cases with sufficient information to make an appropriate determination, and found that only 2.1% of these were classified as false reports. All of these complainants were then charged or threatened with charges for filing a false police report."Lonsway, K. A., Archambault, J., & Lisak, D. (2009). False reports: Moving beyond the issue to successfully investigate and prosecute non-stranger sexual assault. The Voice, 3(1), 1-11.

I found I could not not let the words flow.

I had spent so much time secretly scared of rape that in that moment I was hardly even afraid anymore. Or rather I had moved on to my next fear__hat happens when it__ over? Would I be left there, alone? Injured? Or worse?

There, alone in the sterile room, sitting on a pink vinyl chair that boasts many cracks in its once nice upholster, you wait. You think to yourself , who would have thought I would be ringing in the New Year by urinating into a cup to see if I have chlamydia?

My goal in going public was not to put my extended family to shame, or to get back at Brian for abusing my sister and me; rather, my mission was to give a face and voice to an epidemic that society stays hushed about.