A Thousand Thoughts

Here is my own personal account of sexual assault, something that I always thought happened to ‘other girls’. It was such a strange idea to me and I had no understanding of the impact it would have on my life, my relationships and those close to me.

I was 21 years of age and volunteering in East Africa. I had been living and working in this particular country for 9 months and was happily involved with an African guy who made me laugh. Our long term plans involved me moving to East Africa to be with him and one day to build our own house. My dreams were becoming reality and after years of bullying at school, my self-confidence was well and truely on the way up. With Abraham by my side, I felt invincible.

A friend of mine from the UK came to visit me and we had a lovely time together. I showed her my beloved East Africa. Her departure came and I found myself alone in one of the biggest cities in East Africa. Although I had been here several times before, this was my first stay on my own. But I felt completely at ease and never felt threatened.

The night my friend flew back home, I was alone in a guest house in a rough part of the city ( the accommodation was cheap, and volunteers can seldom afford to pay for ‘nice’ lodgings in the city! )

Two lovely and charming girls who worked in the café of the guest house motioned for me to sit whilst they poured me a coke. They spoke only a few words of English and I was too fatigued to conduct a conversation in Kiswahili, so I sat in silence with my bottle of coke, nursing it carefully and studying its contours as other customers glanced at me curiously. To them, I’m sure, I looked pretty miserable but at least my apparent misery gave me the solitude I required. Suddenly, form nowhere, the business man appeared, his charming smile and cocky swagger drawing the attention of the envious clientele. (( I had met this man earlier that day – we had arranged to travel together in the morning. I was returning to Abraham’s home in the north )). It was clear, from his manner, his dress, and his confidence, that Mohammed had spent time abroad and it was interesting to note how unpopular he seemed in the café. He was of medium height but very muscular, and wore expensive jeans and a tight t-shirt. Couples whispered and looked in his direction, their eyes rolling in mockery, heads tut-tutting, and eye-lids narrowing in suspicion. Some of the young girls working behind the bar giggled and acted out a mock faint, but I could tell that Mohammed was, indeed, the subject of both desire and jealousy. With a flamboyant gesture that I suspect was to draw attention to the fact that he was about to chat up a European, he pulled up a chair opposite me at my table, parked himself down and stared at me with a roguish grin, resting his face in his hands. He clicked his fingers at the girls, ordered a soda and continued to stare.
“Do you have a problem?” I enquired, crossing my arms over my chest. I didn’t want him to think I shared the same aspiration as the two giggling girls who were scrutinising us from behind the counter.
“Yes,” he grinned. “When are we going to fuck?”
His question didn’t take me by surprise but his manner caught me off guard. Rarely does one hear swearing in East Africa, especially swearing of that degree.
“Never,” I replied. “I’m with someone”. The thought of doing anything more than sharing a taxi with this man repulsed me. He was handsome, but his arrogance was sickly. His charming smile had been a ploy, for now he wore a deceitful sneer which reeked of concealed motives. I had been in this situation before several times, and was never shocked by the proposition.
“Nobody needs to know,” he offered quietly.
“I told you, I’m with someone. I have a boyfriend and we are in love.” I was beginning to get tired of this conversation already and longed to be in my bed. My head ached and I desperately wanted solitude.
“How do you know you love him?” he asked. “And how can you be certain he hasn’t cheated on you?”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this! It had been an emotional day, and I was already missing Jane’s company. Why was I even giving him my time? A long silence ensued. My expression clearly showed my anger, and I started to rise from my chair.
“OK, OK”, he pleaded, “Message understood, but can we at least travel together tomorrow? You said you were going to leave in the morning to stay with your family, and I’m going to the next town. I could help you get a cheap ticket. You won’t be ripped off with me next to you. I’ll even arrange a taxi to take us to the bus terminal. How about it? No strings.”
I got up from my chair. He must have sensed, from my hesitation, that I was considering his offer. He did appear, at the time, like all the other men who had tried the same lines and gotten nowhere. At least I would have company on the long boring journey to, and Mohammed would buy my ticket on my behalf which would save an enormous amount of stress and hassle at the bus stand.
“See you at seven?” he asked.
“Seven, no strings.” I replied abruptly. And with that I made my way to the stairs, my key firmly in my grip and the thought of my bed in my mind’s eye.
With heavy feet, I climbed the stairs. Mohammed appeared suddenly behind me.
“Let me give you my number,” he said. “My room is on the second floor”.
For goodness sake, I thought to myself. When on earth will I get any peace?
Hoping that taking his number would finally get rid of him for the evening, I followed him up the stairs, noticing his polished shoes and careful step. Unlocking the door, he disappeared into his room and I heard him rummage in his bag. Curiosity caused me to step into the doorway, and I marvelled at all the cash lying about, the gold watch, the smart clothes hanging up deliberately around his room.
“There,” he said, handing over a slip of paper with his mobile number. He asked for mine, but I was reluctant to give it. I opted to share my email address with him, which I thought, if necessary, I could change if he made a nuisance of himself.
“See you at seven then,” I said, and left him standing there.
With a sigh of relief and my long-awaited bed only a few minutes away, I descended the stairs to my own floor, reassured that Mohammed would be satisfied with our agreement. The stairwell was deserted as the majority of the guests were present at a wedding party which was outside and spilling into the street. Without warning, my upper arms were held tight against the wall and Mohammed’s face was obscuring my view.
“One kiss,” he whispered threateningly, and with that he forced his lips onto mine, his stubble digging painfully into my chin.
A thousand thoughts flooded my brain and I wrestled with the panic that was quickly boiling inside me. My heart raced with adrenaline. I didn’t want to anger this man, he was clearly capable of doing harm and he was adamant that we were going to spend the night together. The wedding was in full swing outside. The guests were gone. Not a soul was to be seen. No-one to witness this. No-one to intervene. If only I could get into my room and lock the door. I would be safe there. I needed to be cunning, I had to play him at his own game. Three steps to my door, no, four steps. In. Lock. Safe.
“Listen,” I bargained. “We have an early start in the morning. Why don’t we discuss this issue when we have more time? Let’s get some rest and see what tomorrow brings.” I smiled at him to reassure him that all would be well, that there was no need for this behaviour.
He shrugged, smiled and turned to climb the stairs to his floor.
Quickly, I interested the key in my door, and fumbled as my hands were shaking and my grip on the key was weak. The very instant the lock unclicked in the door, I was thrust violently into the dimness of my room and the silhouette of Mohammed dominated the doorway. My head reeled back, hurting my neck. I was stunned. Silence.
I remained quiet. I had no idea how to deal with this situation. I was twenty one and possessed no knowledge of how to negotiate with him. He didn’t speak. Using his foot, he pulled a small chair that was near the door towards him. Sitting on the chair and away from the doorway, he glared at me. No smile.
“If you be a good girl, I won’t hurt you,” he spat. And with that, he slammed the door and reached to turn the key.
The wedding party became deafening. People cheered outside my window. Children laughed. The band paused, then resumed, even louder.
“Nobody will hear you if you shout,” he promised, eyes fixed on his quarry.
I was motionless, frozen to the floor. I couldn’t find any words. And, if I could find the words, what would I say? How would I convince him that hurting me would not give him the satisfaction he wanted?
“I am seeing someone, we can’t do this, please, I’ll see you in the morning,” I begged.
He reached for my arm suddenly and pulled me towards him. With him sitting, we were at eye-level. His face was filled with hatred, with malice, with determination. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscles in his face contracting. His nostrils flared and he breathed hard. His grip on my arm tightened painfully. My head spun with the realisation of what was about to happen and my heart sank.



The next two hours, in the hands of Mohammed, are now a collection of flashbacks, a series of unpleasant and humiliating memories in no particular order. I can recall the things which he said, the smells, and the sights. I remember intense pain, shame, the feeling of paralysis and helplessness. He pushed me onto Jane’s bed and raped me repeatedly over the duration of two or three hours, maybe more. Time ceased to exist. Before raping me, he towered over me and put on a condom, saying that he didn’t want to catch any infections. Not only did he take my body by force, but the implication that I was some kind of dirty creature, something that was contagious, further added to the humiliation and degradation. The threat of being killed was very real…. The paralysis an obstruction to fight. In my head, the best option I could think of was to lie as still and quiet as I possibly could and simply allow him to do his bidding, to move me about as he wished and to concentrate on the nearest thing in my view in order to block out what was happening. For what seemed a very long time, whilst lying on my stomach with my upper body pushed over the side of the bed, I could see a pair of flip-flops under the bed. One was blue and the other was red. Different sizes, I noticed. I stared at them, studying every detail my eyes could find. The grooves, the imprint of the previous owner’s foot, the way the soles had begun to flatten with the passage of time. I stared so hard that everything surrounding the flip-flops became non-existent. I tried to visualise the owner, what they looked like and what they said when they got home, realising they were missing one flip-flop. I was crying, and the tears fell silently onto the dusty floor, creating a clean circle where they had landed.
Mohammed threw my body around like a rag doll. I seemed weightless in his grip. His anger was frightening.
When he was done, he casually walked over to the shower, unrolling and depositing his condom as he passed the bin. I could see him under the cold water in a cracked mirror adjacent to the bathroom door. He hummed as he washed himself clean, taking in his muscular frame and smiling to himself. He lingered under the cool water and caught me looking at him; he beckoned me over with his finger. Like an obedient dog, I got up from the bed, and my knees sank momentarily but saved me from falling. I inched my way to the shower – the need to be clean, even if it meant being next to him again, was immense. A primal urge. I urgently wanted to wash, to scrub, to scour my flesh red to rid myself of his touch and his smell. If it were possible, I would have removed my skin entirely. He moved over to make room for me. I stood under the bitter cold downpour and watched the water turn pink around my feet…my blood, my blood.
I washed and I washed. Mohammed picked up his clothes and dressed hurriedly. I washed and I washed.
“See you at seven,” he said, avoiding my eyes. With that, he left.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I ran, dripping, to lock it. I turned the key, shifted the bolt and wedged the chair on its side between the door and the table. Falling onto my knees, I cried and then began to laugh….. I laughed hysterically for about a minute before I realised what I was doing. And then I recognised that I was laughing because I had survived. I was alive. I was in pain, but I was alive. He was gone.
My groin burned furiously, my arms hurt, my head was spinning. Gently, I lay myself down on my own bed, the one which was crisp and clean, and fell into a feverish sleep… the shower still on in the bathroom.

The next day, Mohammed was waiting for me outside the door. He was quiet and withdrawn. I was in shock. In silence, we sat in a taxi together and made our way along dusty streets to the bus stand. In silence, we sat on the old bus and travelled north. I wanted to be with Abraham so badly, and wanted to be told that it was all a bad dream. I had no energy to fight Mohammed.

My relationship with Abraham came to an abrupt end. I told him what had happened to me in the city and he accused me of encouraging this stranger into my room. As I had no-where else to stay, I remained with Abraham and his family for a week, keeping quiet, and then it was finally time for me too to return to the UK. Again, I found myself sitting on a bus, this time looking out at the sad face of my once-beloved Abraham. I’m not sure of his thoughts but I was quite ready to walk away from him…. I deserved better. My bruises were fading but my heart would take longer. I had no intention of reporting the rape – I simply could not face the interrogation in this harsh place, the questions and examinations. Even now, I believe it would have finished me off.

Once home in the UK, I faced the daunting task of telling close family and asking for support. My final year at university was ahead of me and I struggled to cope with the work-load. My mother was a rock to me and came with me to appointments at the hospital ( STD tests and HIV ). I would not let the nurse conduct a physical examination; it would take a long time for me to regain any kind of trust. Gladly, all results came back negative, but my family and circle of friends came tumbling down around my. My father was shocked by the news – he grieved for his little girl that he could not save. I became anti-social, withdrawn and addicted to smoking cannabis and drinking heavily. I self-harmed, engaged in promiscuity ( with men and women ) and felt that the only option was to end my life. Luckily, a firm friend gave me the ‘slap in the face’ that I needed and I began to see what I was doing to myself. I was in denial and grabbed at any opportunity to forget and get wasted.

This event took place eleven years, and seven day ago. It still hurts but I have now embraced full acceptance of what happened to me. I did manage to complete my degree, and eventually began to trust again.

Years on, I am happily married to a wonderful and sensitive man who will cry with me on the occasional ‘bad day’ that I have. I have visited East Africa several times since and am even preparing to move there on a permanent basis in 2 weeks’ time. My Buddhist faith and a handful of close friends have pulled me through.

My advice to a rape victim??? ( And I use the term victim because what happened to me was a crime, a terrible crime. I know that some prefer the term ‘survivor’ but we mustn’t forget the nature of rape. ) …. my advice is to keep going. Keep going because in giving up you allow the rapist the final triumph. Keep going to show him ( or her) that you are strong. Keep your head up, and allow each day to pass. Bad days will still occur, but with time they do get better. Keep going……….

I hope my account will give some understanding of what it really means to be raped. Most people have a misconception that it always occurs down some dark alley way and the girl is wearing a short skirt. And, I wish to thank Being Feminist for raising this issue and bringing it out of the darkness and into the light.
Many blessings, J

If you want to contribute as well, mail us at beingfeminist1@gmail.com. We’re also looking for scriptwriters for the YouTube channel we might open


@being_feminist on Twitter

This was in response to a status we posted asking you to share your stories of sexual harassment/assault/rape/domestic violence (or any sort of violence) and how you dealt with it. Your story may help someone.

Categories: feminism, rape | 40 Comments

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40 thoughts on “A Thousand Thoughts

  1. Gabriella

    Many thanks for your brave testimony. Stories such as yours are vital to understanding the circumstances rape so frequently occurs in – where a betrayal of trust happens, where the victim / survivor knows the perpetrator, and where the survival instinct is to simply remain motionless, both out of fear of further harm, and the devastating acceptance that the attackers physical strength is too much to fight against. All best wishes to you.

    • J

      @ Gabriella, thank you indeed for your positive feedback. I thought very hard about sharing my experiences so publicly, and ( apart from one lady on this page ) have received such support. Thank again. J

  2. This story makes me angry, not just because of this man’s actions but because there were many opportunities for you to get away and fight back. Any man who tried to violate me would rue the day! You could’ve screamed, kicked him in the balls but you submitted and didn’t try to fight. Rapists do not attack women who viciously fight back. Like I said, I would destroy any man who even tried to lay an unwanted hand on me!

    • vaenya

      Fantastic! Such encouraging words! *slow clap* And then we wonder why the victims are silent. Listen. She was 21 at the time. Not too worldly wise i’d presume. She was not you. You are not her. You haven’t gone through what she underwent. So please stop your condescension. Stop it even if you have been in that situation. Did you even read what she has written? So you’ll never be raped? Good for you. I wish i could say that about every single person in the world. Jeez some people!

      • J

        @ Vaenya – thank you for your support. It is very sad that people are so misguided and believe themselves to be invincible in the face of a violent attacker. I have received such comments in the past, mostly from women who have no experience of sexual assault. But, in playing dead, I lived. Thank you once again. J

    • Meryt

      Fantastic theory. Except for the fact that rapists DO attack women who viciously fight back, and that this action can sometimes aggravate them to further action. Bravo on your victim shaming.

    • herbsandhags

      How dare you. You haven’t’t got the slightest idea what you’re talking about and by posting that, you are showing rape victims everywhere, that you are not on their side. And if you’re not on their side, you’re on that of rapists. Just like most other people, which is why 85-9 0

    • herbsandhags

      How dare you. You haven’t got the slightest idea what you’re talking about and by posting that, you are showing rape victims everywhere, that you are not on their side. And if you’re not on their side, you’re on that of rapists. Just like most other people, which is why 85-90% of rape victims don’t report it (so the rapists get away with it) and many victims blame themselves. Well done, you’ve just added to the rape culture in which this sort of thing happens to 25% of women. Proud of your contribution?

      • J

        Thank you Herbsandhandbags, your comment was very much appreciated. Society, sadly, will condemn the victim before the rapist. Rather than giving out the message of DONT GET RAPED, how about we shout DONT RAPE. Again, thank you for showing your support. Blessings,J

    • G.

      Alice, I take offense at your comment. You have no idea how you would react if you were faced with this situation. You may hope that you would fight back but the reality is that shock kicks in pretty quickly and you do whatever you need to do to survive it. I greatly doubt that a man as brutal as this one would have hesitated in hurting J even more in order to subdue her.

      Victim blaming is the reason why women don’t report rape and why rapists don’t get put into prison. As for ‘this story makes me angry’, direct your anger at the men who deserve it, the ones who carry out the crime, the men who try their best to destroy our lives, to cause unbelievable damage, the ones who put us through this hell. Blame them, not the victims.

  3. anna

    I really admire your courage to write this story. I was so touched and moved reading it. Sure, I’d love to think that I would have fought, that you should / could have fought him off. But I also know, deep down, why this story could be me.
    I can’t believe what happened to you, it is so awful, so painful and I feel your pain when I read your story, because you really write incredibly well. I feel so incredibly grateful and privileged that you could share this story with readers. So thank you. Thank you so much. Know that your writing has changed something inside me.
    I think you are brave because you are honest about what really happened and honest about not fighting back in the ways that was expected of you. We never know how we will respond in these situations, because we haven’t been in these situations before or because we have and we deny and repress the fact that we didn’t do anything about it.
    I was pretty reckless in my 20s, I lived in South America and then in London in the UK and did lots of partying, drinking and going out. It was great. I had a great time! But I did all sorts of things I didn’t want to do sexually because I thought I had to, or because I didn’t know how to say no, or because I thought I was being stupid or prudish for saying no, or because my friends were doing it, or because of many other reasons that meant I never called my body mine. I read your story and thought, this is me, this could be me. I want to be the girl who fights back, who is strong, who escapes, who doesn’t let it happen, but I know that in real life, it is never so easy. I know that in real life, I am scared when faced with imminent danger. I freeze when I dream of fighting or flight. You are not alone. Do not feel shame. Do not listen to those who tell you that this would never happen to them because they would have fought him off. They don’t know. They don’t know what it’s like.
    You are awesome and strong and brave for writing this. I am so grateful to you. And for today, I feel less alone and I hope you do too.
    Good luck x

    • J

      @ Anna, yes it’s true that society measures how much a victim is ‘deserving’ of sympathy by her attempts to fight off her attacker. ‘What? You didn’t fight him off?’ – is commonly asked, and not at all helpful to girls/boys/men/women who are trying to pick up the pieces. I used to think that I would be able to handle a situation like this, and even more so as I studied karate for several years. Being only 4ft 11, I’m quite small but always believed I could tackle anything. But when it came down to it, my body froze and I was powerless. People who say it will never happen to them are so misguided. I agree, they just don’t know what it’s like.
      Yes, I do feel less alone having shared this. I guess it’s always easier with the anonymity of the internet ( which works the other way too and allows others to write cruel words ). I hope you too find peace and strength. Many many thanks to you and all the best, J

  4. You are a survivor J. Not all women have the audacity to testimony, just for the betterment of women and send a strong message that rape is not the end of the life. Kudos to you. In solidarity.

    Arpita Sarkar, Mumbai. India

    • J

      Heartfelt thanks Arpita, it was a difficult thing to write but I hope it raises awareness. Thanks,J

  5. Suvo

    The article was suggested to me by one of my friends. After reading it I had to pause a while, close my eyes, and gather my thoughts. It was graphic beyond any means, and probably that is why it projected the image so purely. Rape, in any form, is a vicious crime, and this article does serve as a kick in the chin for many. Being a guy I might not be able to feel what J had felt, but indeed the words made me shudder and shiver in horror, disgust and what not. The whole animale intensity to the crime made it even more horrifying. But it is more about J, who had the courage to stand up, fight, and survive. Brilliantly written piece ~ and J, you deserve all the credit for this resurrection from nowhere. Respect!

  6. You write beautifully. I felt every word of it and I think you are a beautiful and strong person. I’m so glad that you survived this terrible ordeal, I am proud of you. You shouldn’t let anyone make you feel bad about what happened, I’m sure you know that it was in no way your own fault.

    • J

      @ Violetparks – many many thanks. I have battled with feelings of guilt for a long time but have finally come to terms with it. And I don’t give anyone permission to put me down anymore, because they were not there to witness what happened. Thank you once again for your support.

  7. dexi chaos

    i dont know if i have the strength to tell the world how stupid i was to get myself in the situation that got me raped. your have courage to do this. i can only admit it happened to me and that i was not the only one he raped.

    • J

      May I say that you were not ‘stupid’ to put yourself in any situation. The only blame should be put into the lap of the rapist, not the victim. The victim, no matter where they were or what they were wearing, is in no way responsible. There are so many complex feelings in the aftermath of an attack, and everyone feels things differently. I hope you find peace. Blessings,J

  8. herbsandhags

    Incredibly powerful description, thank you for posting this

  9. Eve-Francesca

    Oh, my gosh!!!! Your story nearly caused me to cry. Like violetparks said, I am also proud of you for getting through this and I see you as an extremely brave and strong person. You made it through something beyond horrific and that’s really saying something. As others have already said, don’t let anyone shame you for what occurred. No one ever knows what they would do in that type of situation unless they actually experience it. Also, I understand why you took the actions that you did. You may have lost your life had you chosen to fight back. The best way of fighting back was to continue on with your life and you did just that.

    Props to you, J! I wish you nothing but happiness and a wonderful life with your sensitive husband! <333333

    • J

      @ Eve-Francesca, thank you so much for your comment. It was difficult to write, as you can well imagine, but it had to be done. It happened to me, and now I want to help others who are going through similar experiences. The longer rape remains a taboo subject, something dirty that is the fault of the victim, the longer women ( and men ) have to suffer alone, silenced by the rape culture and cruel comments of our society. I have found peace with my past after many years of struggle, and hope that my ordeal can be used in a positive light. I am certain that one day, the question will not be ‘why didn’t you fight back?’ but rather ‘how can I help you?’ The message we should be giving out needn’t be ‘dont get raped’ but rather ‘dont rape’. I am now looking forward to a happy and bright future with my husband! Life is, finally, good. ❤ Blessing to you and all the best. J

  10. Tripti Tayal

    really moved by ur every explanation of mishap with you..how could people b so harsh..sometimes its unbelievable how rude can people b to humanity…they really do not deserve to be human…why are they alive on this..a man who rapes must b hanged or shot…i know u would have a gathered a whole lot strength to face people after that incident..but i am really in question that why didn’t u report him to police…other girls can also be his victim..he shouldn’t be left like this…i am really sad about the incident happened with you…and your lover..his question made me furious…instead of understanding he blamed you..sometimes destiny,people and god all together seems to b on the opposite side of you..*but i was really happy that you’ve moved on now..n you have a happy life and the best part of it is your supporting husband * really you are very very strong that u shared evrything…hope life shows you the most beautiful colours of it…:) 🙂 🙂 🙂

    • J

      @ Tripti – thanks for your comment. If you read my account again, you will see that I had already explained my decisions why I didn’t go ahead with reporting the crime. As well as being very scared, I was far away from home and knew the police in that country would not treat me well. I knew that I would have to undergo examination ( physical ) and be questioned. Understand, that in East Africa, rape is viewed very differently and the law isn’t always on the side of the victim. I just wanted to get back to somewhere safe. Of course, 12 years on, and much stronger, I would do things differently, but at the time ( being only 21 ) I made those choices and didn’t report the attacker. And I live with this daily.

  11. andrea

    I’ve had police officers who have advised people to be compliant. Sometimes if you continue to try to fight a person who obviously can easily hurt you far more than you can hurt them is a mistake. If you make them mad, it will encourage them to fight you harder. They’re in control, not you. If you’re compliant, keep your voice down, and calm, it can be over sooner, and with you less hurt. By the way, I’ve found this to be true, as a call girl, and stripper, and also being abused in my family. If I didn’t remain calm and pleasant, I’d I know be dead.

    • andrea

      Also, people like that enjoy torturing people, so remain calm (if I can do it I Promise you can), breath. If you react too much, they’ll get the joy and entertainment they’re looking for. Some people enjoy being entertained by hurting others, so remain calm, and keep your voice calm, pleasant, and that will help. Don’t talk fast or loud, they want you to do that, and if you do, it will egg them on. It will encourage them to keep it up. Remain pleasant, mild mannered, and it will eventually end better for you. Dont be defiant, just be pleasant, mild mannered.

  12. J

    @ Andrea – I am sorry about your experiences, I hope you have been able to heal. ❤ Yes, sometimes ( depending on circumstances ), fighting back can have consequences. I know I did the right thing in not fighting back. I told him clearly NO NO NO, but he was insistent. I was quiet because I knew it was the only way to stay alive. The wedding party insured that my screams would not be heard anyway. And where would I have run to? I live with my choices, and I am glad to be alive. I don't allow it to dominate my life – the attacker hasn't won the battle – I am alive and have a great life now. Don't let the bastards get you down – show them how strong you really are ❤ People will always judge you for not fighting back, but then they were never there to experience the nightmare. Stay strong Andrea. x

    • andrea

      Yes miss, you’re right, it depends on the circumstance. I apologize it took me a bit to respond, and I appreciate your story and input. Thank you baby

  13. Many thanks for applying free time to post “A Thousand Thoughts Being
    Feminist”. Many thanks for a second time ,Cherie

  14. “A Thousand Thoughts Being Feminist” ended up being a
    remarkable blog. If solely there was even more weblogs similar to this excellent one in the
    internet. Anyways, thanks for ur precious time, John

    • andrea

      Well great. Good news

    • Jennifer

      Dear John,
      It’s been some time since I posted on here. Thank you for your encouragement. I am pleased to say that I am now settled in East Africa and doing just fine! I would very much like to continue ‘blogging’ in order to make something positive from this awful experience.

  15. Jennie

    I am in the library at this time and it is very difficult for me to hold back tears after reading this. It’s hard to put into words how sad-disgusted-horrified-angry and homicidal (just a fantasy) I feel right now. This guy is a nightmare to me. from his cocky composure to his treating you as if you were “a rag doll.” Unbelievable. No-the sad thing is that it IS believable. I am a rape victim/survivor as well and always minimize what happened. I guess I do it to cope with the past. For years I have been angry-enraged so much that I am on meds now. I am still honestly a misandrist who will never be alone with a guy again. The line I love is “oh you can trust me.” Trust needs to be EARNED. Men are dangerous. There is no denying that. I am sorry this happened to you. Sad reality is that it’s happened to alot of women and men who I have talked to in my life. I wish you a good-happy-fulfilling life. You deserve it. Don’t let this fucking evil misogynistic creep steal your good soul. My heart goes out to you…..

    • andrea

      Jennie; don’t let him win. He does not deserve to control your feelings. You are a sweet, sensitive, and thoughtful lady. Congratulations, on being such a sweet fine lady. I myself, have felt how you feel, and sometimes I still do. Do all you can though, to not let what this cretin did to you have precedence over your feelings. He doesn’t deserve that kind of power over you. And you young lady, deserve and need to flourish. You deserve to be happy, healthy, and safe.
      Also, yes many men are bad, and also women too. Please know, that you deserve to be treated well by anyone. And be good to others. I’m sure you already know this. But anyhow, there are some good men out there. Be a great lady, so that you can attract a great man. I have been through some counseling myself. I know I need more, but anyhow, it has significantly helped.
      Remember, be a great lady, so that someday down the road, you can be ready for, and attract, a great man. It is so wonderful that you are a sensitive and sweet lady. “Remember the compliments you receive, and forget the insults….if you succeed in doing this, tell me how…”. Mary Schmich in her book “Wear Sunscreen”. (You can buy it on Amazon still (I hope), and/or watch videos of it on youtube). But I’d buy the book, because you can refer back to it.

    • andrea

      I know that’s a longer message, but I felt very compelled to tell you those things. I don’t want a nightmarish experience to ruin your life. It’s not worth it. He will win, and that horrible experience he created, will dominate your life if you aren’t careful. He doesn’t deserve the power over you. I feel hurt at times by my life experiences and childhood too. But all those bad people I have come across that have hurt me, don’t deserve to have control over my success and happiness. I should never let them win. Its my life. They can screw their own lives up. Not mine

    • andrea

      hopefully you saw what I said. I know it was a mouthful. But I just want you to understand that you are a very fine, sensitive and sweet lady with a ton of potential. Maybe even read it aloud until you understand it. Please know this. Also, don’t ever let a bad person ruin your life, because they don’t deserve the power to do so. They don’t deserve to hurt you.

    • Jennifer

      Dear Jennie,
      Thank you for your response. Yes – it still brings forth strong emotions in me, but at least I am now able to vocalize my experience and discuss fears. For me, at least, time has helped a great deal. I wish you the best.
      On a positive note, I am settled in East Africa ( for a while at least ) and am doing very well indeed. The ‘fight’ in me has returned, and I face each new day with vigour.
      Blessings and abundant love to you.

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