I am a 14 year old supposed survivor. I guess I must be still alive, whatever my alternate says to me. My abuse started at the age of 7, when my natural father was jailed and my mum divorced and remarried.
This man, whom I was expected to call father, raped me at least once a night for months and months, until my alternate, Ariel, first spoke to me. She told me to swallow the drain cleaner and I did. My stepfather couldn't touch me while I was in the hospital, but as soon as I was home again, it continued.
I was sexually abused off and on until my 8th grade year, when things suddenly began getting better. I made friends; I played on the soccer team. One night, when a friend's elder brother was giving me a ride home from a game, he pulled into a dark alley and raped me. From there, I was downhill.
The summer between 8th grade and freshman year, I worked at a camp, where I befriended an older counselor who was a budding alcoholic. One night when she had time off, she took me to a small club. She got drunk, and while she was in the bathroom, I was *escorted* out of the club and into another dark alley by five college guys, where I was raped repeatedly. The next day, I took two boxes of Benadryl.
My freshman year, a boy at my church dragged me into the bathroom at a youth group meeting and forced me to have oral sex with him.
I am now a sophomore. I am anorexic, depressed, DID, an insomniac, and I am HIV positive. I am lost. I still wonder, most of the time, whether I really did survive.