Survivor’s Tales: Victims of Abuse, Come Forward

Tim Pylypiuk calls all victims of female abuse to share their experiences, hoping that those who’ve been singled out and bullied can now come together in common story.

“No more turning away
From the week and the weary.
No more turning away
From the coldness inside.
Just a world that we all must share.
It’s not enough just to stand and stare.
Is it only a dream that they’ll be,
No more turning away.”

—“On The Turning Away,” Pink Floyd

♦◊♦

Since the fruits of my labor were borne from “Bullied By Girls And Women: One Man’s Tale” and “My Guilt,” there have been traces of immense inspiration churning these creative juices. Both my contributions garnered praiseworthy platitudes, the likes of which I had never experienced in mainstream society. The flock has begun to congregate.

This got me thinking carefully about the next step to take. I had planned for just the right epilogue to my trilogy. But the comments these articles attracted gives a pause for consideration of something different.

Rather, for an idea that involves you readers. For when narratives shift to areas unexplored, it takes more than the moon alone to cause it. The tides, when influenced enough, are as vital in the waves they make.

Here’s your chance to jumpstart the light that’ll scatter the shadows that were used to loitering sans consequence. Give it full power from the energy of your experiences.

There are more survivors like me out there, recovering from and dealing with their trauma under the merciless haranguing wrought by female perpetrators or bullies. For those of you who fit that description, this will be your moment.

I’m going to end this article shortly with a cliff-hanger only you can complete that will involve one formula alone:

Your stories.

Everyone, emerge from your hiding places. Spin your tale, weave the fabric. “Give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to be free,” as the poem goes.

Anyone out there pining to exorcise the demons shackling their legs, do it below in the commentary section. Leave no hurt and pain inside. Let it all out.

Regardless of your gender, age, race, religion, ethnicity, color, creed, or mental capacity, whatever part of the world you inhabit, all are welcome to provide their tales of abuse, neglect, and hurt from any girl or woman who dealt harm upon your person either in the past or present.

Let’s show everyone that abuse from women and girls are NOT isolated incidences, that we are neither anomalies nor less of a priority. The sooner society hears us as one voice, the stronger a shift can occur.

That’s enough pomp and circumstance from me. I will finish with the following comments that have fulfilled their part in the inception of this haven:

From Jill:

I was a shy, socially awkward girl and I was bullied relentlessly by a group of “mean girls” through grade school and jr. high. One of my few friends was a boy who was picked on by the same crowd. To this day, I have a visceral dislike of women who remind me of the “popular” crowd in school (cheerleaders, sorority girl types, etc.) as I had so many bad experiences with those types of girls.

From Lori Day: 

I was also bullied quite a lot by both boys and girls. The bullying by girls was the meanest in my own experience. One thing I can say is that mean girl bullying–while crueler than ever due to the use of social media–is getting a lot more attention today. When Tim was a boy, there were way fewer resources for dealing with it and the culture of bullying was largely ignored by adults. When Tim was young, boys and girls were rampantly bullied by boys and girls in every combination, and there was little help available. Back then, female bullying was less recognized and chastised than the male bullying.

Today things are changing. Bullying in general is now recognized by adults as a huge problem, sometimes leading to suicide, and bullying perpetrated by both genders is seen for what it is, well described, and now legally reportable. Schools have strict accountability. It doesn’t take care of it all, but at least people are not willfully “not seeing it” as much as used to be the case.

I have never believed that childhood bullying was perpetrated only or mostly by boys. As a longtime school administrator, I saw it perpetrated about equally by both genders, but in different ways. The title and description of this article make it sound as if the author were only abused by girls, but in the text he makes clear that he was bullied by both genders. This is important. We must all recognize that bullying crosses all gender lines in terms of perpetrators, victims and bystanders. Neither gender bullies more than the other, and neither gender gets bullied more than the other. Unfortunately, there is plenty to go around for everyone.

And special thanks to Juliana Bjornsdottir of Iceland Review Online, www.icelandreview.com. “Bullied By Girls And Women” was partially based on a letter written to her from me in the letters section of said publication and whom I’ve had the honour of receiving a positive and inspirational response of support for my story.

She’s also a feminist, which proves that those who do care are from all walks of life.

Thank you, Juliana.

Note: This haven is intended to be safe, supportive, and validating for the survivors who comment. Any responses centering on patriarchy, male privilege, who has it worse, and excuses for the female perpetrators/bullies are not welcome. Take it elsewhere, please.

About Tim Pylypiuk

Tim Pylypiuk is an autistic writer and performance artist who has worked with autistic people of all ages for ten years.

Comments

  1. Just to add another few disclaimers:

    Before any survivor comments, please state whether they are male or female first.

    Secondly, while Men and Women are welcome to share their stories, I really am hoping that a lot of men come forward. So that way, we can not only shift the narrative that girls and women can hurt, but they can also hurt/bully boys and men as well. So any man who has been bullied by girls in the past or women, whether they’re being hurt now, I plead with you to come forward if there are no avenues of support you’re finding out there.

    Thank you very much.

    • I am a male who was raped by a live-in female maid when I was around age three. I hated her touching me and I cried and begged her to stop and she forced me to do things to her that made me sick. She said if i told that my mother would send me away for being a bad boy. I became so wounded from this I stopped eating and refused to let anyone touch me or comfort my crying spells. My mother took me to a child guidance center for help. At that time the therapist could not divulge sex-abuse so I was “treated” and sent home to the maid. Shortly afterwards, the maid left and I was left to suffer the trauma alone.
      This was rape, not an introduction to sex and I was not “lucky”. I still hurt from this. I know other men with unreported stories like mine who were told they were “Lucky” to have had sex so young. We are not lucky. We were tragic victims of sex-abuse.

      • Thanks for sharing your story, MBC.

        You touch on a very important point: People still want to believe that boys who are sexually abused by females should just think of themselves as lucky. It’s an old myth that refuses to die, along with the myth that erection equals consent.

        Luckily, this is changing.

  2. Vinka Jackson says:

    Thank you TIM for your heartfelt and wise call to share all those stories that let us grow, prevent, and try building a kinder world. All stories can be read as one, heard as one voice, act as one tribe with enough will power and resilience to testify that no more lives -of children, girls, boys, or women and men- can be torn by any kind of abuse. We need to care, and as matter of fact, I see that ethics of care pretty much as the only way out to a reality that has taken too many victims (even in this century, the fact that we must keep talking about abuse, is hard to believe). As a woman, a mother, a psychologist and a survivor of child sexual abuse, I am most grateful of your “invitation” to share our voices.
    Warmest regards,
    Vinka Jackson (from Chile)

    • Lisa Hickey says:

      Vinka, thank you for the voice from Chile. THIS: “all those stories that let us grow, prevent, and try building a kinder world.” That is what we must build, to end the cycle of abuse for everyone. Appreciate your reaching out and hope you can be another voice to help those who share their stories be seen and heard.

  3. I am now friends (FB and in real life) with a HS girl who bullied me once in HS…we started out friendly in 7th grade, but I think when she broke up with her BF after 9th grade she was really negative and mean…I tried to get into my locker and asked her politely to please move and she said “NO!”….I literally had to shove her aside to get my textbook out for class…Needless to say, I kept my locker empty after that….3 decades later she friended me on FB (everything long forgotten) as we have 35 FB friends in common…..I heard from a mutual friend, J., that the same girl, P., was mean to her after she dated her ex in HS , but P. reached out to J. after her divorce….I think people can change…hopefully, after 3 decades, people are more mature and forgiving….Maybe someone has bullied the bully in the past and that is all they know…my hope is that we can all get past that…

    • Actually Leia, stories like yours are welcome as well.

      It’d be also great to hear from former female bullies who have reformed just to get a bigger perspective.

    • Lisa Hickey says:

      I believe people can change also. I think that would be a powerful story — someone who has bullied in the past and can talk about it. I know that sometimes people are so hurt that they just want others to hurt too. Thanks you for being a part of this conversation.

  4. I am a male….

    I have always had a rocky relationship with my mother….

    She would always complain about how hyper active and poorly behaved I was.

    I remember when I was about 4 years old, she threw me into my room and slammed the door. I landed face first and was bleeding from my mouth. I felt little pain but was shocked by how much blood was flowing down my face. I remember cupping my hand and my hand filling with blood. I ran to my mother. She was still angry with me instead of comforting. She eventually took me to the emergency room where I was stitched up.

    I had more incidents over the years. I don’t consider myself a victim, that is just part of my life history now. Luckily I don’t live anywhere near my mother and don’t have to see her. For Christmas I sent her “Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us” by Robert Hare-it was only semi-ironic.

    • Lisa Hickey says:

      I am really glad you got to this: “I don’t consider myself a victim, that is just a part of my life history now.” It’s important for people to know that is possible. It is possible. Thank you.

  5. Scott Mclelland says:

    God this is a hard one … one of my earliest memories of my mother is laying on the floor and seeing her black 4 inch high heels kicking into me , Its something that now I am starting to put in a box and walk away from but my mother really , really disliked me as a child , between her radical feminist leanings ( the scum manifesto was quite literally a coffee table book in our home ) , to the fact i reminded her of my father I was bullied quite mercilessly and it impacted through my childhood , its the strange thing about a victim , they can attract bullies quiet easily in a school environment and male and female alike took great pleasure in maing my life hellish …… I dont know how to write about it in a comments box , there is a lot but i was lucky when i eventually hit bottom I had some good friends who managed to take me in ( was 22 when it eventually broke me ) and helped me get back on my feet , but the compassion i got from him and his wife stopped me from hating as a default reaction , I understood there was good and its something i try to hold onto in life now, if i didnt i have no idea where id be now.

    • A powerful story, I’d like to read more about it so maybe Lisa can set you up to write an article here if you would like? Truly sorry you had to go through that though.

    • Lisa Hickey says:

      Scott, I, too, would like to express my sorrow and sympathy at what you had to go through. As Archy mentions, I would be honored to publish your story, or anyone else’s. We will respect the stories, help edit only as much as needed for flow, spelling punctuation, grammar, etc. — and offer support in any way that people need. Stories can of course be submitted anonymously. Please only do so if you feel strong enough to write. There is no pressure to do so, it is only if you yourself would find it helpful. For some people, it is liberating. For others it is unleashes unexpected feelings of fear and anguish. But know you have a community of people who would support you — that is why we are here. I am glad you had friends to help, and hope you continue to find connections to support you.

      I am glad you found some good, and hope you will continue to seek out the good in others and in yourself.

  6. I am male.

    I remember being bullied at school if I sat near a girl they would tell me to leave. I remember never being able to play normal kids games at school if girls were involved they would tell me I’m disgusting and they didn’t want me to touch them even within the rules of the games. I remember crying and female and male teachers telling me i shouldn’t cry because I was a boy. They would tell me you can’t be a man if you cry that often.

    When i went home i would try to play by myself in the yard but i couldn’t when my sister was home. She was 5 years older and she loved to taunt me. Her bedroom window oversaw our yard and she would just stare at me. She would make fun of me for any behaviour I did. I never felt safe as a child. Sometimes she would yell at me for doing something, so i made sure next time It would “do the right thing”. Except next time she yelled at me for doing what she told me to do last time. Sometimes she would punch me and tell my parents “he looked like he was going to hit me”. I didn’t know what to do or what behaviour was appropriate for me.

    Later on I was diagnosed as having attention deficit disorder. When treatment started suddenly people rarely called me “zombie” any more. I even managed to do well in class without even trying much. When before I was failing every class. I still never felt popular or liked. I still felt like I was “disgusting”.

    What annoyed me then and still does today is that girls were never punished. when I told people that boys were bullying me there was empathy if a teacher saw it they would be told off. There were times when i told teachers or my parents that it was a girl bullying me they would always asked “what did you do her?”. All i could say at the time was “I don’t know”. When they saw girls bullying me they did nothing.

    To this day though, I sometimes think I am missing something that other people have, that I’m sub human. I don’t feel entirely comfortable letting even letting a fake name that I use be associated with this story. Sometimes I tell myself that is because I want only want my words and arguments to be seen without an appeal to emotion. That is partly true. Another part is that I’m just ashamed.

    • Lisa Hickey says:

      Leta, no one ever ever ever should feel they are sub human. I’m not denying your feelings, but just want you to know that I am as horrified as you that could be a consequence. The thing about talking about it — at the very least it helps others who have been through things like it also. I remember with my own abuse — it never occurred to me to talk about it. It wasn’t even that I consciously decided “I’m too afraid of talking about this” — it went beyond fear, into numbness. I simply didn’t have the words to describe what had happened. And then I became afraid to say anything at all. For years, I really didn’t talk unless I actually had to.

      I have heard what you speak of happens a lot — that when a guy has a girl bullying him, or sometimes in cases of domestic abuse — people will ask “what did you do to her?” Know that the people here believe you. Know that you are heard. Thanks you for speaking about this. It is my help that through helping others you — all of you here — will be able to regain your voice and get to the life you deserve. Thank you.

  7. I am male.

    It’s fitting that I wr

    • Pcarvious, you kinda got cut off there.

      Can you post your comment again?

      • Yeah, My phone was acting up. I’m going to write as a response.

        I am Male.

        The story I want to tell is going to be a bit different. It spans the course of fifteen years, or depending on who you look at, as many as fifty. You see, the antagonist in this story isn’t my parents, my aunts, my uncles. it’s my Paternal Grandmother. I begin by saying this because I have been told of stories of abuse from my father’s childhood, but he won’t speak of them to me directly. My mom has shared some of the dirty laundry, though I think there is more that I will never really know. My story begins when I was five years old. No, I wasn’t physically abused, at least to my knowledge. Rather, the kind of abuse I suffered through was much easier to hide.

        At the time I was being baby-sat by my Grandmother. Primarily because she was the only person my parent’s had that could actually do it. They were both working and I think on some level my Mom didn’t believe the stories my dad brought up, or perhaps this was before that bit of laundry was aired. In any case, I and my brother, were often up at my grandmother’s home for long periods of time. Some days were good. Others I was locked in a room, roughly three by three from the time I was dropped off until my mom came to get me. You see, my grandmother didn’t believe that I was my father’s son. So much so, that she even accused me of being in on it. A five year old in on adultery, go figure. I didn’t understand what it meant, what she was saying. I just knew that if I didn’t say anything I would go back in the room. I ended up back in that room more often than not.

        This went on for about six months. My brother eventually spilled the beans to my grandmother. I didn’t see her again for another five years.

        We had just moved back from North Dakota. This was when I first met my Cousins. They were a few years younger than me and my brother. My Father’s sister’s kids. She was separated from her Husband and living in with her Mother again. One has severe ADHD, the other isn’t the brightest bulb on the tree. I don’t know dosages for ADHD medicine well, but from what I have learned, my younger cousin was taking three times the dose she was supposed to. That’s all changed, but I’ll get to that.

        My parents were quick to move us out of that house and into our own place, but had to pay her back for helping them move back out to Washington State. I don’t know the amount, but the interest was somewhere in the range that Loan Sharks charge. Then again, given how my grandmother kept all of my Aunt’s Money from child support and work I’m not surprised. My Aunt showed me her check book once, before she’d cashed her check. The numbers never added up. My mom later told me some of the things she’d been told in confidence regarding the issue.

        When my Aunt was angry she would go bounce checks around town. Given that she was getting 1400 a month in child support, you would think that wouldn’t be doable, aside from her work check. She paid rent, I don’t know the number. However, all the money, save what was needed for gas, went to my grandmother to “Administrate”.

        I’m starting to get off topic, so I’m going to cut ahead. This last Christmas my Aunt died. She had congestive heart failure. In November she went in for surgery to try and fix some of the issues, or set up a bypass. I don’t know the specifics of the operation. However, I do know that for eleven minutes my Aunt did not have life support in the operating room. By the time they caught it it was already too late. By all counts she was brain dead, a body without a brain. She was kept in that state, for another four weeks. Then, on Christmas day the plug was pulled. Now, that’s a small part of the story.

        My Grandmother then refused to tell my younger cousins where their mother was buried. Moreover, she attempted to take custody away from their father after they reverted to him. She lied to the court on numerous occasions about living conditions and threatened many of the people that stood against her.

        It’s fitting that I’m writing this tonight, the eve of my Aunt’s death. It’s fitting that I get to comment on the sorts of horrors that people can be put through in domestic situations. I’m still learning about the beating my father had at the hands of his Mother. I’m still learning about the threats. The attempts to drive my mother out of my father’s life, and the attempts to make my brother bond with another woman that she approved of. I’m still learning of the abuse my younger cousins took, including being made to practice piano while extremely ill. (She threw up all down her front and was still made to practice). There was a debate for some time on if we would ever learn where my Aunt was buried. We found her, but with no help from my Grandmother.

        Recently, my Grandfather passed away as well. He died a broken man. My father, tonight, Demember 24th 2011, received the only keepsake of his father that he ever received. Not his tools, not his other possessions. Just a coffee cup that had been mispacked and sent to my Uncle’s house with my Cousin’s belongings.

        I don’t think I am able to convey the emotional maelstrom that these events were on me and my family. There are details I’m leaving out because I want to remain as anonymous as possible. I’m also leaving out information because it hurts too much to write it out. I will answer questions if asked.

        • Lisa Hickey says:

          I just want to say thank you for telling this — I was worried when you started to write on your phone but got cut off. I can see how tough the “emotional maelstrom” must be. I can see how hard it must be when patterns of abuse get handed down over generations. I cannot imagine exactly what you’ve been through, but through your words I can experience empathy to your situation. I believe that many victims of abuse feel so alone and don’t know who to talk to about it. How do you even bring it up in conversation? It always seems impossible. So I appreciate the courage it took for you, for everyone, to tell their story. As I’ve said to others, please don’t tell more than you feel comfortable with. But know you can tell as much as will be helpful to you, personally, and you will be heard, and you will be seen and you will be supported. Thank you.

  8. I am a male

    For the female bullying I suffered, it was the stuff that left me quite fearful of the opposite sex and pretty much killed off the chance of decent relationships for the first decade of my adult life. I have been groped on my “manboobs” (Overweight male), and I’ve had this happen from male students and a teacher saw one day and decided to call the police. Next day there was a student “parade” get-together and the police educated everyone on what sexual assault is, yet after this I didn’t get groped at school but I received a hell of a lot more verbal bullying. However after school I was also groped by a female friend, the experience was extremely humiltiating on many levels. Knowing if I reported it I’d probably get bullied, if I grabbed her I would get in trouble, if I hit her I’d get in trouble, all i could do is ask her to stop and can’t remember if I said it or just was stunned. It humiliated me because I had a member of the opposite sex groping and making jokes that I had the body parts of the opposite sex, as if I was half woman half man when I identify as 100% male. Furthermore it was painful as I had feelings for her.

    I’ve also been hit by women, slapped, punched, in the middle of everyone joking around and having fun. They’d slap or hit me because they misunderstood a joke that was not about them, not negative to them in anyway, and why is it ok to hit someone anyway? If it was a male that hit me I could have laid them out cold, or reported it with less fear of being treated badly over it but being a male we’re expected to take what women dish out because they’re “weaker” and can’t hit as hard?! It’s annoying to feel like you have no way to defend yourself, no way to seek help and have to “man up”, eat cement and harden up when being attacked especially by women.

    But the abuse that probably hurt me the most from women was the verbal bullying. Being asked out as a joke and laughed at by a few of them, being used as an insult, eg “He’s your man”, like the thought of dating me was an insult to their friends. The outcasting, being called creepy for simply not knowing what to say and being that silent guy in the corner at times.

    The effects on a man when in his teenage years by women can have lasting consequences and that coupled with my other abuse had left me with a social anxiety disorder, depression, comfort eating and extremely shy with the opposite sex in particular. I would walk as an adult down the street and not fear being punched, I would fear a laugh which hurt worse. Fearing teenagers in particular making fun of me hurt more than any punch I’ve ever had did. I am well over 6foot tall and quite large and “intimidating” looking, but small 100lb women can leave me feeling extremely bad even, goes to show that physical abuse isn’t the only damaging abuse and even the tiniest people can be vicious and cruel.

    I truly hope times change where male victims, especially of females, get the same respect and care as anyone else, aren’t treated like failures or weak, don’t have to listen to comments on how weak a female can punch, etc. I hope all victims get safety, love, and respect.

    • Archy: “I truly hope times change where male victims, especially of females, get the same respect and care as anyone else, aren’t treated like failures or weak, don’t have to listen to comments on how weak a female can punch, etc. I hope all victims get safety, love, and respect.”

      I hope so too, Archy.

      But, as I said in my article, the more male survivors like you, and I, and many others, speak out in this commentary section, the better chance we have of affecting a narrative shift so that girls bullying boys and women bullying men can be added to the mainstream lexcion of awareness.

      Plus, you have good company with the female survivors who have spoken out as well.

      • Totally agree, I think when female survivors realize how bad some men have it they may not fear as many men, and vice versa. I thought all YOUNG (over 40’s were nice to me, even called me handsome?) women were *insert bad language* because I was treated badly by a few who were very influential in my peer group. But after learning that other women and men have been through good, bad, happy, sad, love, heartbreak, it makes you realize you can’t assign blame to an entire gender but only the individuals. It’s why I hate the Abuse industry for painting it in a very specific manner, when abuse isn’t specific. The male that might abuse his wife (for stereotype’s sake), could have been viciously abused as a child by a woman and he grows up hating women for instance, but if we don’t talk about this we don’t allow the public to believe it can happen and more suffer in silence and either live in pain, hurt others, and/or hurt themselves.

        Every article I usually see on abuse is always mainly men as the abuser and whilst I have been abused by men, it’s only half the picture to discuss that. Thank-you for opening this line of communication for us guys and girls who suffer from women.

    • Lisa Hickey says:

      Archy, I too hope all victims get safety, love, and respect. I know that you have earned that here from many people who know you though the comments. I can’t imagine how horrifying some of things you describe must have been, but I believe you. For whatever reason — much of what you describe may be worse, but the part that got me was “being asked out as a joke”. Imagining that makes me want to throw up. I hope you come to see how very much you have to offer the world, that not everyone is like that, that there are people who care about you — as an individual, a human, a man. I wish you all the best, and thank you for sharing and helping us here through your words and ideas and connections.

      • Thank-you Lisa. Means quite a lot to have support and especially RESPECT.

        The one positive I gained from the experience was to take women off the pedestal. In my early teens, I had thought of women as innocent, pure, angelic even without fault but after going through that it became clear they’re just like all humans, some good and some bad. My biggest wish like the OP is for people to drop the pedestal view of women, and drop the demon view of men. See people for individuals so that stereotypes never hide abuse again.

  9. I am female.

    Last night at my family’s Christmas Eve dinner (we come from a European tradition and so celebrate the holiday on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day), I joked about how one of my rules for myself when growing up was, “If you make him cry, make him laugh before Mom hears him.” That was in reference to my younger brother, whom I did bully sometimes. I say sometimes because we were very close and got along well for the most part, but there were times when I used my strength to subdue or even injure him (not ever intentionally, from my memory), or at my worst, humiliate him in front of his friends (I remember one instance of de-pantsing him). If I did make him cry – through rough play, mostly – I tried really hard to make him laugh again before Mom could find out. Last night I looked back on that memory and laughed. Now, after reading this article and these testimonies of abuse, I have mixed feelings. Nostalgia, and shame.

    I was also the recipient of bullying. I was one of those straight-A’s kids, and thus earned the social status of a nerd (though I can’t recall ever being called that in a malicious way). Through most of elementary school and junior high this was innocent enough – I was too nerdy to penetrate the ranks of the popular kids, but I had my own friends too and that was fine. I sort of blended in. Then in 8th grade, I decided on impulse to run for Student Council, and put up posters around the school with my name on them. My maiden name was Head – at the time, at the age of 11/12, I had no clue that head was a euphemism for oral sex. But by putting it on posters all over the school, I suddenly brought my name to the attention of my classmates, some of whom had older siblings and knew the alternate meaning of the word. I didn’t win Student Council – I did “win” a lot of unwanted, confusing attention, from boys and girls alike.

    We took a class trip to Washington, D.C. that same year, very shortly after the harassment over my name had started. I was still in the spotlight. People kept asking me if my middle name was “gives.” I had no idea how to respond, the insult didn’t even make sense to me, so my ignorance made me even more of a target. Then, on the bus, I happened to turn around in my seat at an inopportune moment when one of the stars of the basketball team was changing his shirt. One girl, who would go on to be the closest thing I had to a consistent “bully,” saw me and immediately started the rumor that I liked this boy and wanted to date him, and before I knew it I was totally roped into it. Somehow (the memory is fuzzy now) I was made to sit next to him on the bus. I was aware I was being bullied – and that the other kids were even using ME as a way to humiliate the popular kid – because I do remember saying to him “Just let them have their fun, it doesn’t mean anything.” He was turned away from me, trying to hide his face. He spent the rest of the trip trying to avoid me, while the bully girl and her cohorts spent it trying to herd me towards him (literally – I remember being pursued through the Holocaust museum in such a way as to keep the bullies always behind me, and the boy always in front). I was powerless, a pawn in their game. Luckily, the D.C. trip had to end at some point and back at school, it was easier for me to avoid such a focused attack on myself.

    Most of the rest of my bullying experience was at the hands of boys who still couldn’t get enough of the jokes about my last name – by my senior year, I had gotten so used to it, it annoyed me more than anything else. But I remember instances of seeing girls bullying other girls. One girl was rumored to be bisexual, in 7th grade for crying out loud, and was targeted heavily by the girls in my class – including the one who would become my bully. I remember feeling terribly for her and writing her a sympathetic note, but she never responded – her parents removed her from the school. Another girl was a new student to our class in 8th grade and was from Tibet. Her name was Pragya. She too was teased mercilessly, for her name (they nicknamed her Prag-dog), for her imperfect English, for the many ways she seemed different to us. I felt sympathy for her and defended her once – only to recoil when she tried to “latch on” to me and become friends. I didn’t want to be friends with her, I just didn’t want to see the other kids being so vicious. I didn’t know how cruel my own rejection was.

    I don’t know if these stories are really in line with the kind of abuse talked about in the article and comments. From a distance, they seem like typical tales of junior-high hell, the kind of bullying that’s almost a rite of passage through pre-adolescence. I’m sure even my bullies could share stories of being bullied themselves. No one is immune. I am personally glad to see more media and social attention on the problem of bullying, and more people stepping up to say it is a real problem and not just playground mischief.

    • Lisa Hickey says:

      All stories are valid KKZ. It’s only when we all can actually “see” them that we can hope to have change. Thank you.

    • KKZ, I just want to talk about the rite of passage thing.

      Being made to feel bad about yourself by complete strangers you don’t know, have no beef with, is not a rite of passage. I know our culture likes to believe that bullying toughens you up and prepares you for the real world but as you can see from other testimonies there are serious consequences with this approach to child rearing that can actually have a detrimental affect on adult self-development.

      Yes, sometimes life has to throw you curve balls. People aren’t perfect. But there needs to be a limit to the “bootstraps” philosophy permeating in society that is passed down to children and teens. Even adults as well.

      What you went through you didn’t deserve even if it was light bullying in some areas. It’s great you came forward.

      I’m just curious, are you still connected with your brother? Or have you lost contact or drifted apart?

      • Amen to not being a rite of passage, the bullying that goes on in schools is more severe at times than many adult’s experience in their life. Thing is, adults have a fully developed brain and especially the emotional reasoning part of the brain which can handle much more stress, so giving children a stress like an adult would face isn’t toughening them up but instead it’s just harming them. If it was a very small stress like simple homework or assignment deadlines it may fly, but not bullying. The things that go on with kids, if you did them as adults you would be charged for assault, harassment, etc and probably get jailtime yet for too long society has looked away, “Kids will be kids” except kids seem to be vicious and evil, with very little punishment these days to stop it.

        Much more needs to be done to stop what is often the first abuse we face in life.

  10. I am still connected with my brother, although not as close as we once were. Drift happens – we were three years apart so I entered college when he was a soph in high school. I am very proud of him and feel a lot of affection for him, and I try to tell him so often.

  11. My first experience with female bullies was in elementary school. They often called me names like “retarded” or encouraged the boys to shove me. My teachers would always punish the boys who bullied me — on the rare occasion when they were caught, or even rarer, when they believed that I wasn’t lying — but the girls ALWAYS got away with it. Maybe it’s because they were never thought of as a serious threat? But they were still bigger than me. (I was VERY small up until late in high school.) And so I often got slaps that I couldn’t retaliate against. If I called them names back, they’d cry, run to a teacher, and *I* would be the one in trouble.

    It was frustrating, humiliating, and taught me very valuable lessons growing up.

    But one of the worst hurts I’ve ever suffered from a woman was when I was 18. She was 16. We were dating. We had a lot of friends in common from high school — in the marching band program — and I guess she got a crush on me because I seemed like a “cool older guy”, haha. But honestly I have no idea. Either way we started dating a little, but after a while I realized she was very aggressive, confrontational, and kind of mean. So I broke it off.

    Apparently this was unacceptable to her. She started stalking me, calling me at all hours of the day & night — even going through my trash! She would call my friends to find my location and show up there, either to try “seducing” me back to her in inappropriate ways, or starting a very public fight.

    Then one day she came to my work while I was on lunch and began insinuating that her Dad owned lots of weapons (guns, knives, etc.), and that he’d taught her how to use them. She then said if I was smart I’d get back with her before she practiced some more with me…

    But that wasn’t the worst of it. A week or so later I got a letter stating that she was filing a lawsuit against me for statutory rape and sexual assault! We’d never even got to 3rd base, let alone had sex! I got really scared and asked my Dad for help. Luckily he is/was a lawyer and was able to help me understand the law so that when we met to discuss things she realized her lies wouldn’t hold up, causing her to drop the suit.

    Lucky me, right!? Otherwise I could’ve ended up in a VERY bad situation that would’ve followed me for the rest of my life.

    Funny thing is, she still lives in my hometown, and my old friends tell me that she’s become something of a slut, sleeping with so many guys she got kicked out of her parents house, and lost her job. Not sure if it’s nymphomania or whatever, but I’d feel bad for her if I wasn’t already disgusted with her for how she treated me.

    That’s my story. For what it’s worth.

    Cheers

    • Zek, for what it’s worth, your story has enough value as any gold plate in fort knox. Especially for places like this.

      Your tales of being bullied are a mirror reflection of my own. Only I never really told anyone about them much. Just took the punches because I believed no one would listen to a boy with “Behaviour Challenges”.

      As far as the False Accusation story, you’re not alone Zek. False Rape Accusations are another way that unbalanced women can use against men like you in order to get what they want. People like to believe they’re no big deal but being falsely accused of rape has sever consequences for the person accused even when the charges are proven to be scrutinized.

      You were lucky you had a dad who loved you and supported you enough to help understand the law and fight back. Not many men in your position can say the same thing. That’s a blessing, indeed.

      Thanks for telling us your story.

  12. Thanks to Tim for writing this and to the editors of GMP for ensuring it was a safe space for people to share.

    I won’t go into extended detail as I’ve hashed this out pretty extensively on my own blog:

    http://jameslandrith.com/content/view/3148/79/
    http://jameslandrith.com/content/category/8/181/79/

    The short of it is that I was drugged, raped and then blackmailed into silence by a female friend of a friend. Once the drugs wore off in the morning, she also used her fetus as a human shield to keep me compliant. Obviously, this is somehow my fault, given how many well educated people still want to believe that some women don’t ever behave in such a manner.

    I lived it. I’m done tolerating those who enable such predators via their minimizations and distortions.

    Either you care about ending sexual violence – ALL forms of sexual violence without regard to the gender identification of predator or victim – or you don’t. It is time to make a decision.

    • Yes, James, I know all about your story.

      I was hoping you would add your contribution as well and thanks for doing so.

    • I am so sorry that happened to you, it’s so terrible. I hate how helpless we feel after abuse by women, in the day and age where abuse awareness is so high we still have so many men so afraid to speak up, feeling so trapped that they won’t be believed by even the anti-abuse industry. Reading through your site it made me especially sad to see people try to minimize and deny female led abuse as not statistically significant. Some people seem have a view that only women can be victims, or that abuse against women is such a major crime compared to abuse against men and sadly I see this quite commonly by so called “feminists”. I’ve tried to discuss on feminist pages about male abuse and a few awesome ones will listen, but quite a few seem so keen to silence you and seem only interested in the females that are harmed.

      I, as a male, care about your story and hope it never happens again. Hopefully more will join us in being against all abuse, regardless of gender, race, creed, status, etc.

  13. I don’t know if my story qualifies as “bullying”, but several psychologists have told me that it is definitely “abuse”. The fact that I don’t even know what to call it, and need others to tell me I was victimized, is the consequence of my reaction to it until this day: I “toughened up” and ignored it. That reaction has had seriously negative influences on pretty much every area of my life, especially my relationships, and especially my relationships with men. (But I was abused by a woman. I’m getting there.)

    My mother is a lifelong co-dependent. When I was 4, she divorced my father, claiming that he had been unfaithful. (I don’t know if he actually had been: I never asked my father, who I am sure would tell me the truth, but my mother has a strong penchant for exaggeration and spent most of my childhood bashing my father, so I’m skeptical about anything she says about him.)

    Shortly after the divorce, my mother, thinking she was unable to make it on her own, began dating whatever man would hook up with a woman with two small children. The first was some thirty years her senior, though a generally good man. The second was a drug addict who she says physically abused her (I never saw it, and as I said, she’s prone to exaggeration, though I wouldn’t have put it past the guy). The third was latently abusive: He never completely let loose on me (or her, so far as I know), but his temper was violent and he squeezed much too hard when “disciplining” me. The third turned out to be a closeted cross-dressing homosexual and pedophile. This one she married—twice. She had divorced him after discovering some very inappropriate pictures he had taken of his 7-year-old daughter. But then she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (which she likely doesn’t have, but I’ll get there), so the fear of being alone returned, and she married him again—despite having a 12-year-old daughter herself. That was me.

    How do I know this? During all this time, I was my mother’s forced, pre-teen confidante. Rather than telling a girlfriend—of which she has only ever had one at a time, possibly because only men can make her feel loved—she would take me out to dinner after every psychiatric appointment she forced me to go to (I’m getting there, too) and tell me all about the shocking things this man had done in bed in the past week, the pedophiliac photos she’d found, etc. I was 12. He was living in my house. And though she had placed a padlock on my brother’s bedroom door after he had complained that I was going into his room when he wasn’t there, she had removed both the lock and handle from my bedroom door because I often locked myself in there. As I perceived it, she was inviting him into my bedroom.

    He never touched me. In fact, I realize this story is beginning to sound like more man-on-girl abuse. But I don’t see it as that. It was my mother who put me at risk. And not only did she put me at risk, but she refused to protect me even when I was actually being physically abused. My brother, justifiably angry at the situation at home, took his anger out on the only person around who was weaker than him: me again. He did this both verbally and physically for years, both in private and in front of his friends. He knocked the wind out of me, bruised various parts of my body, strangled me, threw me down stairs, and threatened to kill me. His closest friend threatened to kill me if I told anyone. I always told my mother, but despite bruises, she punished me instead of him, for “instigating” it. When I finally, during one conflict, ran to the kitchen to get a (butter!)knife and chased him with it, my mother took me to a psychiatrist.

    Ironically.

    And also abusively. For about five years, we hopped from one psychiatrist to another. In a first meeting, she would explain how unruly and depressed I was as I sat there in silent, visibly pissed-off protest. The psychiatrist would give her prescriptions for me and schedule weekly appointments. In the beginning, all the psychiatrists would meet us together. But after a few weeks or months, they’d insist upon meeting with me alone. After a few weeks of that, they all figured out that there was a lot more going on than just “my illness”, and they’d suggest family counseling for all of us to my mother. That’s when she’d look up a new psychiatrist to keep the drugs coming, and to keep the blame off herself.

    By the time I was 17, I wanted nothing more than to get out of her house. I got engaged and moved in with my fiance’s family. I now realize that I learned that approach to the problem entirely from my mother: A man would save me.

    But it took years for me to see that myself. Years of my own co-dependence, of my own reliance upon men to allay my fears of being alone. I would, like my mother, take the first willing man who came along. Men who were completely wrong for me, or men I thought cared about me but really only wanted sex, which I couldn’t see, because I had learned to equate sex with love. Thankfully, though, all of my long-term relationships were with good-hearted, kind men who were just very wrong for me. I suppose you could consider the men who used me “abusive”—I see it as self-abuse, or at most, mutual abuse. In fact, when I was raped by an acquaintance, I took most of the responsibility for it myself: I could have easily kept myself out of that situation. At least, I could have if I hadn’t learned my mother’s way and been so damn desperate for “love”.

    After 14 years of that behavior, I still struggle with the “man solution” to my loneliness. But after all those years of my mother’s lackey psychiatrists telling me that “depression is like diabetes, it’s a chemical imbalance, and antidepressants are like insulin”, I did finally find a Jungian psychiatrist on my own. He refused to treat me with drugs and insisted that there was nothing chemically wrong with me. It was a hard thing to convince me of. I thought that, after three hospitalizations for suicide attempts, I would instantly become suicidal if taken off of anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. That’s why I continued seeing psychiatrists even after I left my mother’s house, to keep the drugs coming still. I had been brainwashed into believing that the problem lay in me. This belief was only strengthened by psychiatrists who insisted upon the fad at the time, which was to get patients to accept personal responsibility for everything and never to blame others, since one can change one’s own behavior but not the behavior of others, and who applied that technique blindly to all situations without the slightest regard for the details of any given situation. Thus, when my first Jungian psychiatrist took me off the drugs, I was still depressed, but I was shocked to find that I was not suicidal (I was no longer in my mother’s house…). We worked on it. I’m still working on it. But I haven’t been on any drugs since (I am averse even to the consumption of aspirin, and see a medical, non-Jungian doctor only when I am convinced I might die if I don’t). I continue to see a Jungian psychoanalyst, and generally speaking, I’m pretty happy.

    Except for when I see my mother’s face, or hear her voice. For some reason, her emails don’t bother me. The baggage is in the sight and sound of her. I close off, become cold, and can’t talk to her. I’ve tried to get past this on multiple occasions by talking openly and as gently as possible with her about how I feel, but she instantly goes on the defensive and gets that whiny, accusatory tone in her voice: It’s still all my fault. I was an impossible child.

    I used to think that my mother’s abuse was purely misogynistic: She abused me and herself, but she idolized men and, so far as I remembered, treated my brother like a saint. I didn’t speak to my brother for 7 years, because he had verbally and physically abused me even into my early adulthood, so I didn’t know until recently that she took him to a psychiatrist, too. Only then did I begin to see a pattern: She drugged us both up and had me, at least, diagnosed with everything from anorexia through bipolar disorder to Tourette’s Syndrome. She had a dermatologist prescribe the strongest drug on the market (which has probably now rendered me infertile) for an acne problem that I now know was caused by my diet. I was a drug addict, too: She accused me of snorting Kool-Aid to get high when I had only stashed away a few packets to dye my hair. Of course, drug addicts need (more) treatment. She had my brother diagnosed with ADD (which, now as a doctor of Chinese medicine and acupuncture, a nurse of Western medicine, and a daily meditator, he insists was never the case). As we got older and began to resist diagnoses more, she got herself diagnosed: First with chronic headaches, then with Lupus, then with MS, and now she takes a host of drugs for the side effects she perceives from the MS medications. When we moved out, she got dogs. “Coincidentally”, those were the sickest dogs you’ve ever seen. They racked up thousands and thousands of dollars in vet bills.

    My current psychoanalyst feels quite certain that my mother has Muenchhausen by proxy. I’d agree with that. I just hope that her neurologist is giving her placebos. She shows no outward signs of actually having MS, despite being almost 60 years old. (The series of boyfriends continued, too. She currently lives with a man who does nothing but sit on the sofa and drain her money away. She poured money into all the men in her life, just to keep them with her, and despite earning over $100,000 a year, is heavily in debt from all the “love” she has tried to buy from men and all the excuses she has tried to buy from doctors.)

    It’s hard to say how I feel about her today. Hatred and anger at what she did, and frustration at her refusal to this day to accept any responsibility for it, isn’t all there is. As I grew older, I began to see that a woman in her generation wasn’t likely to try to work out marital discord with a husband she perceived to be unfaithful: In her world of third-wave feminism, that was immediate grounds for divorce. I also began to understand, as I saw friends and acquaintances marrying, bearing children, and divorcing around me, that being a single mother is a damn hard job—and a scary one that might drive even the strongest woman into a desperate relationship. Through volunteer service to migrant workers, I met many Asian women who married Western men not out of love, but out of need, and coming to feel compassion and understanding for those women had a minor ameliorating effect on the anger I still harbored over my mother’s relationships with men. But I also began to see that my mother was just sick. Very, very sick. That perhaps she had never felt love and so convinced herself that if a man stays with her, he must love her, not just want her money or her sex. I began to see where my own co-dependence had come from. I thought that perhaps she had never been given any scrap of self-esteem by her alcoholic parents, and so thought that she couldn’t make it without a man. And that perhaps all of these things were way too much for her to admit to herself, so she denied them all and blamed her troubles on her children, which scapegoating of the most innocent the modern psychiatric industry was all too willing to support her in.

    At the same time, as I saw what was happening in her sisters’ families—those two sisters who grew up under the same alcoholic parents—I began to think maybe she hadn’t done such a bad job. All of my cousins on my mother’s side were either pregnant or had gotten someone pregnant by the time they were 17. Two of them have been in physically abusive marriages (one male cousin abused by his wife, and one female cousin abused by her husband), and the two youngest ones have been addicted to drugs for years. In fact, one of my mother’s sisters is herself heavily addicted to drugs. My second-youngest cousin is now in prison for manslaughter of his girlfriend’s infant. Drugs were involved. My brother, on the other hand, is as I said above, a doctor of Chinese medicine and acupuncture, a nurse of Western medicine, and an avid meditator (and jujitsu practitioner, incidentally). I am a graduate student, and an unusually promising one, according to my professors and advisors. As I saw these things happening in her sisters’ families, there were a few moments here and there when I believed we hadn’t actually had it so hard, that we turned out alright despite it all, that she had done her best—but I find that a hard belief to maintain for any enduring length of time. Mostly, I feel she was, and still is, a model of selfishness and weakness.

    My own relationships are straightening out, thanks largely to positive mother figures I have sought out for myself, and to my Jungian analysts. But as for my biological mother… truthfully, I still hate her. Not because of what she did then. I think I’ve forgiven her for that. I am angry because even now she refuses to take responsibility for it, to apologize, or even to talk about it without blaming me all over again. Is this more “abuse”? I don’t know. Can she help it? I don’t know. She lives in a world of denial, illusion, and misery, and won’t listen to anyone—least of all me—long enough to allow them to help her out. So mostly, I just avoid her.

    At the same time I hate her, I feel sorry for her. I absolutely agree with Archy—whose story moved me to tears despite my years of deliberate “hardening”, and inspired me to contribute my own—that all victims of abuse, regardless of gender, should be listened to with compassion and encouraged to healing. But I also think that all perpetrators of abuse, regardless of gender, should be encouraged to compassion themselves. They need as much help as their victims. While I absolutely refuse to deny my mother any responsibility at all for her abuse and to lay it all on illness—that would be her approach, and I learned not to take that easy out—I do think that she is mentally ill. Had the medical establishment listened closer, or been more proactive, we all could have gotten the help we really needed, instead of the quick prescriptions that only made our lives worse by postponing genuine healing. That being my experience, I am convinced that social institutions enable, and even encourage and themselves perpetrate, abuse.

    Furthermore, some of the ways in which my mother abused me (and in which I later abused myself) relied not just upon institutional collaboration, but upon the collaboration of men. In such instances, I think it’s important to recognize that abuse is not gendered. Men and women participate in abuse together, both actively and passively, both of others and of themselves. But I think that the good people at this website already know that.

    Thank you, Archy. :-*

    • Wow, reading that I felt so sad at the abuse, and then totally surprised my experience moved someone, Thank-you for allowing me to feel that sense of honor that I’ve helped someone open up, it was the goal of why I spoke up. I even felt that shock and surprise feeling inside my chest when I read that line, it moved me a lot. So thank-you again. :-*

      I totally agree the abusers need help too, as much as I want to hate my abusers or the abusers I saw I feel sorry for them. I know of people who abused their children badly, but the parents of these abusers heavily abused them, and their parents, and so on and so forth probably since the dawn of time. That cycle, if it can be broken, if help can be found for the victims and even the perpetrators will directly lower the levels of abuse in our world.

      I personally believe our prisons are full of people society failed to protect, I truly wonder how many had been abused themselves. I recall seeing quite a few male rapists (with female victims) had recalled being sexually abused by women, would they have gone on to harm others if they received help? Even after the first rape or abuse, would they have continued if they were given the support and care needed to try remove whatever is causing them to commit such a crime?

      Society at times seems quite vengeful, prison rape is thought of as deserved by many but the sexual and other forms abuse suffered in prisons I truly do believe simply helps to create more abuse later on. So when they do get out do we really expect them to be civilized, happy people if they were treated like dirt and no one cared? Our prisons through inaction (either ignorance, willful abuse, or simply no idea how to handle it) are helping to “breed monsters” because growing up in a highly abusive environment can truly cause that cycle of abuse to continue. I think you spotted this with your brother, like my bullies were probably abused badly at home and needed someone to feel “strong” again. Or maybe they felt jealous I had traits that were desirable, and they couldn’t handle it (I’ve heard many theories by my various shrinks).

      I truly do hope many get to read these experiences because they’ve been under the rug long enough.

      • Archy: “I totally agree the abusers need help too, as much as I want to hate my abusers or the abusers I saw I feel sorry for them. I know of people who abused their children badly, but the parents of these abusers heavily abused them, and their parents, and so on and so forth probably since the dawn of time. That cycle, if it can be broken, if help can be found for the victims and even the perpetrators will directly lower the levels of abuse in our world.”

        The one thing I should caution about this, Archy, is that we can’t be too sympathetic to the abusers.

        Yes, some were likely abused as kids themselves, both genders. However, they also have to be willing to accept the help offered to them. In addition, they also have to know what they did was wrong, regardless of their past demons. Take full responsibility for their actions.

        There are some abusers out there who do none of those things. Keep that in mind.

  14. DavidByron says:

    Don’t know if I was bullied by girls or not. I recall almost nothing of my childhood. It always amazes me that anybody else can, but it seems very common so I suppose I’m the odd one out. So I don’t recall being bullied (except one unusually bad incident when I was held down and kicked briefly) but I do recall having the opinion that being bullied was entirely normal as an experience.

    Later in life I wondered if perhaps it was not normal but I still tend to think it is. I do recall that all the various stats feminists used to report breathlessly “so and so percent of women are assaulted before the age of X”, well they all seemed unimpressively low like 30% or 40% instead of the 80-90% figure I would have guessed. Perhaps for women being bullied isn’t normal but for men it is?

    I have a little more memory of secondary school (ie twelve years old and up) but they were both boys schools.

  15. I was 19 years old and still a virgin. I visited a friend and were at a party in a shared flat with him and several of his friends from the college he attended. A girl who was at the party found me interesting and as the evening progressed and we went out to a disco (yes, this is some years back) where we started making out. When the disco closed several people went back to the flat to party on there. We retired to a bedroom and made out some more before she said “let’s just sleep”. “Ok” I answered being relieved. Next thing I remember is waking up on my back with her on to of me and me inside her. I just froze, I don’t know for how long. I thought I didn’t want this over and over. She continued grinding and grinding. I just wanted it to end so I made a few thrusting movements and faked an orgasm. Then she got off.

    The dissonance between how I felt (violated) and how I was told to feel (lucky) messed me up a long time and also made me wary of women. I were for example unable to orgasm with a woman for several years after this. I also had much of the same problem as Tim with just about all discourse around rape being about male rapists and female victims. I was accused of being a derailer, an anomaly, even a rape-apologist (somehow my story were thought to be an argument for less protection for women/a narrower rape definition because that’s what all men want) when I tried to mention it online on the fora I found where rape were discussed. This has gotten better, but for instance recently on this site I were called a tinfoil hat-wearing conspiracy theorist by another commenter for claiming that being made to penetrate someone else is rape as well and referring to the “last 12 months” prevalency numbers for being made to penetrate someone else in the NISVS 2010 report from CDC.

  16. Jean Valjean says:

    Is bullying a big deal now? It is if you are gay or a female. The bullying that happens to boys and has always happened to boys rarely makes makes the news. When people think of Internet bullying they think of the poor wittle wyminz on Facebook who dished it out but couldn’t lap it up.

    Am I being insensitive? If so then let me remind you that if the suicide rate for girls was 6 times higher than for boys we’d never hear the end of it and there would be a national crusade (with ribbons of course) to improve the condition of girls. No doubt it would involve punishing/blaming boys some how. “Surely the reason girls are so unhappy is because of the PATRIARCHY!”

    Given all this you’ll excuse me if I’m a little doubtful (read–cynical) about your intentions to hear men’s stories. Every time a woman asked to hear my story it was to judge me, shame me, or use it as ammunition against me later. I have never been “accepted” by any woman. EVER.

    Where shall I begin? How about the whore mother who produced 3 children by 3 different men and then passed them off as her husband’s. Then abandoned those three children to live with her boyfriend because he didn’t want kids (even though at least one is his). Then when he dumped her because he didn’t really want her either she tried to get those kids back but by some stroke of good fortune had changed her mind a little too late in the custody proceedings. (In 1973 this was unheard of but she had acted so indifferent and irresponsible that even a mangina pussy whipped judge couldn’t give her custody).

    So instead of owning up to her misdeeds she spent the next 30 years indoctrinating her young son in how awful men are. How his father abandoned her. How she was the victim because the drunk judge didn’t give her custody. How she was sexually abuse. “Here let me take you to my child hood home and I will show you the very apartment I was raped in”. “You know all men are rapists and abusers” “but I’m a man mom” “Oh I don’t mean you. You’re my special boy”. “Oh and by the way your father was abusive. He was financially abusive to me” Yeah? Because he wouldn’t let her spend and spend and spend. So she got a bunch of credit cards in his name and spent anyway and then made the minimum payments. My dad paid them off anyway after the divorce. How it was unfair that she only got to see us two weekends out of the month. My dear mother loved us sooooo much that she plopped us in front of the TV with a grocery bag of junk food and went out drinking and whoring until all hours of the night. When my mother came to pick us up, if she didn’t get her “child support” she would get back in her car and drive away. –THAT’S RIGHT! MY FATHER HAD TO PAY HER CHILD SUPPORT WHEN SHE GOT VISITATION. HE HAD FULL CUSTODY BUT HAD TO PAY HER TO TAKE US. Imagine being a boy who rarely sees his mother and watches her drive away because she didn’t get her fucking 20 bucks? We were fucking beer money to her.

    After decades of sob stories, emotional manipulation, repeated attempts to turn me against my father I was about as pliant as a son could be. At 29 I was working as an over the road truck driver and living in my tractor (avoidant personality disorder, chronic depression, suicidal ideation). I had no house, car, property and I got my mail from a P.O. box. I had nothing but a decent income but I was so screwed up that all I could think to do with the money was to help my mother buy a new car so she would love me more.

    So I made the down payment and told her I would pay half of each month’s payment and she would pay the other half. Fine right? Only I didn’t like debt so I paid in more each month. Instead of sending her 200$ I’d send her 1000$ or two payments of 600$. After about a year I inquired about how much we still owed. I figured it should be paid off by then. Nope. We still owed almost the full amount on the car. Why? Because she wasn’t making her payments and using the money I sent her to make the payments and then spending the rest of clothes, furniture and other things to spruce up her home.

    When I asked her why she was doing this she said, “I thought you were giving me this money as a gift”. No remorse, no apology, not a hint that she felt she had done anything wrong. Nothing but a sense of entitlement. And me, being so whipped and alone and pathetic said nothing more about it and continued to work and pay her money until it was paid off. My mother did to me what she had done to every man she had ever known. Used love and affection to exploit me for cash and gifts. I was a mark to her.

    A few years later on my birthday she offers to take me to lunch. On the way there she springs on me her master plan to get money from my father (divorced for 30 years now). She claimed he had chemical stocks when they were married and she was entitled to them and asked me to find out if he still had them. How long this bitch had been thinking and stewing on this information is beyond me. This cunt never paid a dime in child support, never paid for college tuition, but somehow felt she was cheated in the divorce–a true feminist she is.

    I told her I wouldn’t do it which for me was a real feat of strength I had never had.

    About this same time I asked my father (once again) why he and my mother divorced and he suggested that she might have been unfaithful by mentioning that he found my mother’s bicycle in another man’s yard. My father was always reluctant to say anything bad about my mother and no doubt was conditioned to be pliant just like me.

    So my mother came down to visit me and instead of asking her why they divorced, instead of asking her if there was infidelity (both questions which I had asked previously and both were answered dishonestly), I simply said, “Why did you cheat on my father?” In the moment– she began to answer the question in the affirmative whithout realizing she was undoing 31 years of lies, manipulation, guilt trips, and propaganda. Turns out she had cheated, she abandoned us kids alone at home and ran off with another man. She continued to date this man on and off for years and passed him off to me as an old friend and always tried to get me to like him. I never did. There was always something uncomfortable and creepy about the whole thing.

    At that very moment, at age 34, I told my mother I loved her but I didn’t like her. That I didn’t want a relationship with her anymore. That if she had an emergency she could call me but if she wanted a son, confidant, or friend to look elsewhere. She would always be my mother but I was no longer her son. That was in 2003 and I haven’t spoke to that cunt since and I’ve never had a momen’ts regret for doing so.

    What other stories can I tell you? How about the young woman who had a one night stand and called me up claiming she had AIDS and then threatened to tell everyone I had raped her. How about the woman who convinced me she loved me, married me, then ran off a month later and emptied my checking account? Fortunately for me the marriage turned out not to be valid so she couldn’t get more from me. Aren’t I lucky? How about the time I was fired from a job because they wanted to hire a female? I was homeless at the time and living in a tent and trying to get on my feet. It didn’t matter that I had more experience and skill at the job and she had absolutely no experience or skill. Oh yeah they fired her two weeks later because she couldn’t do the work. They said they looked for me. Gee thanks. I had to move on to another town 90 miles away to find work. But that’s OK because I’m just another disposable male.

    There is so much more to tell. Maybe you’ll hear it some day but this has already been more than you will probably want to hear.

    • That’s a truly horrific experience, no words I know of can make you feel better but I truly do hope you find happiness. It’s scary how some people can be so selfish, thank-you for sharing it.

    • I assure you, Jean, my intentions are honest.

      The goal of this haven is to make sure that every survivor, male or female, of female abuse is treated with dignity and empathy. Something you hardly get out there since the mainstream has trouble imagining girls and women as capable of hurting people.

      In fact, if you read my story called “Bullied By Girls and Women: One Man’s Account” on this very site, you’ll understand more about why I’m doing this. Believe me, my reasons are not fabrications.

      Thanks for your story. It was very harrowing yet also a relife to read since the more I find out about other men abused by women, the more I feel I’m not alone in this world as a survivor.

  17. Male here.
    Been abused plenty,but conditioned not to talk about it.

    Worst experiences have been at the hands of
    police and courts on false accusations made by women.
    Found out there is no due process in these proceedings.

    The personal abuse I can deal with, the betrayal by the judges and courts I cannot.
    Every person should have access to due process,protection by the Bill of Rights,and access to legal recourse on false accusations.

    It is my perception(by first hand experience)
    that men are presumed guilty and must somehow prove their innocence.
    (prove a negative)

    This must change,and change now.
    The VAWA funding corrupts judges and courts.
    It is a money making meat grinding machine.
    Men are grist for this mill.
    Women get free legal counsel and coaching/protection from the VAWA funded womens shelters.

    It is a 1 way street in those “administrative law” courts.

    Real law is not admitted in them, I have taken to calling them “insane star chambers” because that is what they are.

  18. Amid such sorry stories, I was reluctant to tell you mine, but if nothing else, my story is that of the conditioning of men, to ignore the actions of females in situations that, were they reversed would likely be vilified.

    I am male and in truth, I don’t consider myself a victim of abuse, I still don’t know what to call it.

    A few years back I was rebounding after a long term relationship ended and I met a young woman online, let’s call her ‘Kate’.
    Kate and I, after a few emails, met up for drinks, I had a nice time talking to her but I wasn’t very attracted to her so I was undecided whether or not to see her again. A few drinks in and I drunkenly kissed her goodnight and declared that I’d like to see her again.

    We met up a few days later, caught a movie and she came back to my place for some food, one thing led to another and we ended up making out in my bed. I don’t remember too many details for the rest of the night, young and horny as I was, but I remember her taking off my pants, and me suddenly realizing I didn’t want to sleep with her, I remember saying no, telling her it want going to happen, but someone she ended up on top of me, sans condom, which has always been a no-go for me.

    I never thought much of it, until a year later, being questioned about my sexual history for a job, and I remembered Kate.
    Was I raped? I don’t know the answer to that question, I definitely didnt want to have unprotected sex, even if there were no long term consequences to it.
    Was I abused? Again I don’t know. The only thing I took away from this experience was that I didn’t trust Kate, and I didn’t see her again.
    Today, following the debate of rape culture I wonder whether if I was a woman, I might have cried rape the next day, or if kate would have backed off after I said no.

    I don’t know, I remain confused and I’m not sure if I care to quantify the experience

    • I don’t want to force you to believe it’s rape, your experience is what matters and you are free to feel whatever you want about the incident. I will say if she continued after you said no, I personally consider that rape, I feel it’s important to point that part out especially for others who read it. I believe that unsure feeling is very common amongst victims of sexual abuse or even harassment. I was unsure of my own experience of sexual harassment but I feel acknowledging it for myself is important to give it the severity it requires.

      “Today, following the debate of rape culture I wonder whether if I was a woman, I might have cried rape the next day, or if kate would have backed off after I said no. ” A very important thing for people to read, I feel our culture accepts women speaking up on sexual abuse more than men. It’s extremely important people read these experiences so they can understand it’s not some rare, out of the blue moment but it’s happening quite often and it’s quite wrong for it to continue without being spoken about.

      Thank-you for sharing, I hope something here helps you feel better and that society changes for the better.

      • I agree, Archy.

        L, what you describe is, in my opinion as well, rape. If this girl had a sex with you when you clearly didn’t want it yet continued anyway, it’s without consent which is pretty much the basic definition of rape.

        It doesn’t matter if you were a man and she was a woman. Both genders are capable of having sex without the other’s consent, forcing them into a situation they’d rather not be a part of.

        In the end though, it’s up to you. Your feelings toward the incident are your own.

        Thank you for visiting the haven today.

  19. Searching for Peace says:

    I am a male.

    I was married to and lived with my wife for 16 years. We had dated for 2 years prior to marriage.

    My wife was abusive and violent. There are more stories than you can imagine.

    I was raised by a strong feminist mother, and around strong feminist women. I still consider myself a feminist. I have just taken women off the pedestal I put them on.

    You see, I learned throughout my childhood that women were saints and men were abusive userous jerks. Most of the men I met were jerks. This wasn’t some trash of society circle either. The women were well educated for their era, and the men pretty much all had multiple degrees – this was the cream of progressive politics. Some very progressive people who did many admirable things and changed society for the better. But they taught me by their words and actions that as a male i was only one step away from being a violent rapist – the men by being jerks, and the women by being bitter and man-hating.

    Long story short – I was determined to be the perfect male.

    I would be the man every woman dreamed of – sensitive, romantic, caring, nurturing – all the while projecting a strong masculine presence – no metrosexual wimpy guy for me.

    And I married my wife.

    And she was emotionally a bit shaky. And it got worse – especially after she realised that no matter what she did, i would always try to find a reasoned way out. Never yelling, never fighting, always being sensitive, always looking for the “underlying emotional discord” that brought her to where she was.

    Over the years, as she realised i would never fight back and would always strive for reconciliation, my wife got bolder and grew more abusive.

    There are many stories of her abuse I can share, but I thought I would share one that straddles a number of icky lines. A story that if it happened to a woman would likely be more recognised as abuse or rape – or rather – sexual violence.

    My wife’s behaviour followed classic cycle of violence patterns – rising tension, explosion, honeymoon period – and then would repeat. The cycle getting shorter after each time – at first weeks separating the cycle – by the end – as little as hours. By the end, she was pretty much abusive to me all the time.

    Also, like the classic abuser she was, she had also used her “gentle arts” to cut me off from family and friends.

    One of the things that humiliated me the most during my marriage was when my wife would spend hours (sometimes days) excoriating me for my various failings (real, imagined, exaggerated, and just plain made up). I would have to stand, sit, or lie there and just take it. If i tried to argue or defend my self it would get worse. I had a terrible private self-image (even though I came across as capable and confident to most people). In my heart I mostly believed what she said about me.

    After she would spend all that time calling me down and humiliating me, she would suddenly get all lovey dovey and kissey.

    And want to have sex.

    I didn’t want to. I was emotionally crawling, and emotionally beaten. But I knew from experience, that if i refused to have sex with her I would suffer all the more.

    So I would comply. I would dutifully get an erection and play my role as a hairy dildo while she got her rocks off. Some times she would let me orgasm, other times she would concoct a reason to be mad at me during sex and would stop things after she had orgasmed.

    There were enough times when she would begin to hit me or scream at me during sex. To this day I have PTSD flashbacks about a woman on top of me – that was the position that she would throw a fit on me from the most.

    —-

    I am in counselling and have been for years. My fiance is also counsellor and is kind and gentle with me as I work through the variety of flashbacks and issues i have – though it can be tiresome.

    My counsellors have told me that the reason she would want to have sex is because after humiliating me she would feel powerful and would want the gratification of sex.

    They tell me it is little different than a man beating their spouse and then raping them. Just because i got an erection does not make it fully consensual.

    —-

    As I read my words, it doesn’t have much punch.

    I would ask you to try to understand how it feels to be abjectly humiliated by a recitation of everything you have ever done wrong, or that can be twisted into being wrong – for HOURS.

    And then have then person who has hurt you totally, and pushed every button you have – demand sex. And then cut that off in the middle lots of times and begin to scream at you or cut you down again.

    —-

    Yeah – women can rape

    Women can abuse

    Women can sexually assault

    Women can commit acts of sexual violence

    Even when the male is much larger, twice their weight and is skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

    • Sarching For Peace, your name couldn’t be more apt. From the story you told me, it certainly fits the description of someone searching for peace after hardship.

      A comment on the feminism your mother et all taught you. If this is what they were preaching in your description, then it’s nothing more than prejudicial gynocentric feminism, where women’s priorities get top billing over men’s struggles while making equating every man in positions of power to men like you who have little to no power. What gets my gall is they did this to you as a child!

      This is what likely gave you a poor self-image later: if you’re taught women’s priorities matter over your own along with feeling the scapegoat for women’s struggles, it’s only fair these surface into personal issues with identity later on when not dealt with.

      There are equality minded feminists who don’t believe in making every man the scapegoat and would jump at the chance to hear your story, just as many later on accepted my story as well. Unfortunatly, they’re so drowned out by the gynocentric strand. Judging from what you’ve told me about not putting women on the pedestal any longer, sounds like you’ve accepted being a feminist focused on equality for both genders instead of one. So you’re moving far away from the damaging philosophies your feminist mother and others exposed you too as a boy.

      I’m just saying that this gynocentric strand of feminism, when taught to little boys, it fails to realize how much damage it can do later on.

      Also, your problems with your former wife are shared by others here as well. They know what you’re going through and know what you list towards the end is like. Some have even faced it head on, had no choice.

      You’re not alone. Thank you for visiting the haven.

    • A very moving piece, thank-you. The more people that read stories like these, the more awareness and help we can all get.

      ” I would dutifully get an erection and play my role as a hairy dildo while she got her rocks off. Some times she would let me orgasm, other times she would concoct a reason to be mad at me during sex and would stop things after she had orgasmed.”
      “Even when the male is much larger, twice their weight and is skilled in hand-to-hand combat.”
      These 2 parts really stood out in power, I wish everyone could read it. Thank-you again.

    • “As I read my words, it doesn’t have much punch.”

      As I read your words, I find they have a lot of punch. What you describe is rape…long standing and repeated.

      I understand the feeling of being tired of healing. I want you to know it gets better and you won’t always be plagued by flashbacks and fear. Thank you for honouring us with your truth

  20. RevSpinnaker says:

    I was sexually abused as part of a larger dynamic of maternal abuse. My mother selected me as the victim of target abuse. I’m five years younger than my next brother and he has been insanely jealous my entire life. He maliciously teased me, constantly, and he could be extremely violent. He’d hit or throw me till I’d see stars and/or have the wind knocked out of me.

    My mother did nothing. By her obvious tacit approval, she deliberately condoned his daily torment and violence. My next brother, older by seven years, protected me against the mean one, the tormentor. And I truly believe loved me as a brother in his defense of me. I trusted him. He’s also the one who sexually abused me.

    But it was my mother who set the tone for my abuse with her obvious disdain, emotional abandonment and physical isolation of me from a very early age. Yet women like Joy Behar make jokes about “mothers who pick out one of their kids and just hate them.” And women accept that. C’mon, what conceivable humor can be found in target abuse. That describes my mother, and I was the target. She sent a clear message to her other children that I didn’t matter.

    I thank God for my father. My mother did everything she could to hurt my Dad and turn his children against him. That included hurting me. She never forgave him for cutting her off from the charge card at Field’s. He made her work (she taught piano at home) and pay for her own spending sprees. Dad continued to pay for everything else, including college for all his kids. But she still wanted a divorce and to take him for everything. I know for a fact that was the source of her insolent rage.

    But Dad always came back with more love than she had hate. When Dad was home there was peace in the household. Unfortunately he had to travel a lot for business. When he was gone all Hell would break loose. I saw my mother break her hand hitting my bother. Then she taught us all a lie to tell the neighbors. She and my tormentor fought like mad just for sport.

    The same thing happened when my Dad passed away in 1998. All Hell broke loose. I had begged my sister for “no fighting” with hope she would help keep peace at my father’s funeral. The arguing started the night he died and exploded the day of his funeral, with the tormentor and my sister blistering my mother with a finger-in-the-face, profanity laden verbal assault. It was just so ugly.

    Ironically, I was left to defend my mother and console her, which was my undoing. Dad was gone and I was iced-out of my family just like when I was a kid. I could feel the seething animosity when I’d enter the room. They stole my inheritance. I trusted my sister, who is a probate lawyer and took charge of Dad’s estate back in the late 70’s. She’s a misandrist feminist, card carrying member of N.O.W. What was I thinking?

    Dad once told me that if someone wanted to “clean-out” his file cabinet before my mother died, something was wrong and find a lawyer. After the tormentor and my sister “cleaned-out” the file cabinet I went to a lawyer. He said my sister should be able to show me how much was in the trust at the time of Dad’s death. She refused. I never went back to the lawyer.

    I was just too afraid, and at the time didn’t know how wealthy my father was. Dad never flaunted it. My sister claimed she “wanted out from the responsibility” of the trust and talked me into signing off on it. I realize now that the day the money was transferred from the Harris Bank to Banco Popular it went from there to, most likely, off shore banks to avoid tax.

    And my mother conspired all along, just like when I was a kid. I guess I couldn’t face that at the time.

  21. I’m female, Hi
    I wrote a reply and it got eaten up or I managed to somehow cancel it :/
    I was 17 when I was raped by a woman. I was at a hospital receiving treatment for a rape-related complication and a nurse violated me as I lay in the stirrups. I’ve told this story maybe 3 times because I still feel so ashamed. So much so I am writing under a pseudonym for the first time on this site.
    It was out of the blue and so surprising. I remember thinking that maybe I was mistaken and so I waited for confirmation that there was a reason to be scared. That confirmation never came and it took me months to truly label it correctly as rape.
    If a male nurse or doctor had started running his hand up and down my leg, it would have set off alarm bells but, somehow, a woman doing that didn’t. I blamed myself for not saying anything, for not resisting. I guess the reason I feel shame is that I still do, deep down. She kept telling me I was making her do it and I believed her.
    I keep it a secret for a number of reasons. I think people wont believe it could happen. I think they will blame me for not doing anything about it. I think they may think I invited it because “women don’t do that sort of thing”.

    • Ibethy.

      You don’t have to fear disbelife here. Your story counts.

      If you read all the other comments and stories, you’ll also find a lot feared disbelife as well.

      I assure you, you didn’t invite anything. You were abused and violated, pure and simple. Whatever support you’re lacking, you’ll find it here.

      Thanks for visiting.

  22. HidingFromtheDinosaurs says:

    I am male.

    I also have autism. It was diagnosed when I was in elementary school, but my parents, the school system, and the psychiatrists who evaluated me all abdicated the responsibility of explaining my condition to me in the belief that someone else had done or would do it. I always heard the name, but no one ever gave me the tools to learn more. I only came to understand my condition a year ago (I am now 22), having it explained to me by other people on the spectrum when I attend a convention.

    Because of my inability to integrate into social environments, I was bullied a lot all through elementary and middle school. I was bullied by both boys and girls, but the girls were a lot worse. The boys weren’t consistent about it: The same guy who beat me up with his gang one day might sit down and play a friendly game of chess the next. There was no real malice to their actions, and while they often went to far, most of them had an understanding of what was really dangerous and never came close to doing me serious injury. The girls didn’t have that understanding. Gangs of them, sometimes including a boy or two as well, would go after me physically as well as socially. It was not uncommon for a group of them to throw me to the ground and stomp and kick me until I bled and my clothes tore. If I brought a toy to school, they would steal it. They would spread rumors, make false accusations and ostracize me from group activities.

    The worst bullies of all were the teachers. They were all female. Once I was diagnosed, I was given an ed plan to help me cope with my condition in the classroom environment. They were legally obligated to honor everything written on that plan. It said, among other things, that if I felt unable to remain in class, I could leave and sit by myself elsewhere while I calmed down. They wouldn’t let me do that. They would keep me in situations I couldn’t handle until I exploded and acted out in fear and confusion. When that happened, they would beat me, drag me away, hold me on the ground in a four point restraint. Sometimes for hours. Once, I calmly walked out of a lesson and sat on a bench in the hall taking deep breaths. Five of them leapt on me and held me down in an extremely painful position, then they called the police. The police laughed it off. They justified their abuse by saying that they were afraid of me because they were women and I was not. After all, don’t women have a right to be afraid of a violent man? I submit than when the man in question is eight years old and they are four or five trained women in their thirties and forties, they do not. The administration (also all women) bought it though, so every time it happened I would have to write them all letters of apology, saying sorry that I had scared them, before I could return to school. They constantly pushed to put me on more and more medication. I was on a different pill every six months for about four years. All of them made me miserable. They made me go to psychiatrists, but they treated me for the anger issues I didn’t have, not the autism I do. Everyone told me to control my anger, to keep it locked inside and bow to authority with a smile on my face. To suck it up. No one cared if there was a reason for me to be angry, no one listened when I looked for help. In all quarters, my pain only earned me bored disbelief. No one believes a “problem child”, after all.

    When it came to dealing with my bullying by other students, I was always to blame. I learned quickly that I would face disproportionate punishment if I attempted to defend myself (my attackers might have to say “sorry”, I would get a weeks suspension, despite the fact that I never so much as bruised one of them), and if I didn’t defend myself they’d say I had “started the fight”. This was especially true when it came to the girls. Tell me, if you saw six or seven girls laughing and jumping up and down on top of a boy of the same age who was covered in cuts and bruises and lying face down in the mud trying his best to breath through the blood pouring from his nose, what would you assume had happened? If you were an adult in our society, it seems you’d say that the boy had been bullying the girls quite badly and was very lucky to be allowed to remain in school. They’d tell me how strong I was, how careful I had to be not to hurt anyone because I was a man. I was short and always came in last in gym class. I internalized their words and stopped exercising, stopped participating in physical activity, gained a lot of weight. My body image went down the toilet, but no one cared. There was a counselor to deal with body image issues, but only for girls. In middle school it was the worst, so bad that I eventually did drop out for two years. I had to fight to be allowed into public high school, against my parents as well as against the administration.

    Strangely enough, in high school the other kids were a lot nicer. I went to a school where people knew every member of the drama club on sight and no one cared about the sports teams except the teams themselves. The kind of place where there were more people planning pride parades than parties. I suppose it was a more welcoming environment to a socially crippled bibliophile than the stereotype we’ve all come to expect would have been. There were still jerks, sure, but nothing organized, nothing more serious than a one time prank and even those were pretty mild, nothing that could really hurt someone. The teachers were great too, they were experts in their subjects and some of the classes were taught close to university level. The social workers, on the other hand, were still just as bad. The special education program was run by two of the nicest and most understanding women I’ve ever met (the school administration was always doing everything in its power to get rid of them), so they couldn’t do much, but they got their jabs in all the same. They would put pressure on all the kids in the program, force them to act out and then punish them for it. They got very adept at pushing people’s triggers, but they never found mine. I’d gained a lot of maturity spending two years in a special education school. I’d been the oldest kid there and that forced me to do some growing up on my own. I tried to shield my friends in the high school program as much as I could, taking time to tutor them in subjects where they were struggling and trying to help them to calm down when they were being pressured. The stress got to me sometimes, but the worst I ever did was shout at someone and even that went away over time. I think the worst thing they did came when I was 18, in my senior year. I walked into the program room during my free block, just like I was scheduled to, and found a pair of them shouting at a friend of mine with autism and ADHD. They were giving him long strings of orders over and over again, and I knew he couldn’t process them or keep up, and that if they kept doing it he would either lash out or shut down completely under the pressure. I said, calmly, standing in the doorway on the opposite side of the room, that I would like them to stop shouting, that my friend couldn’t function in that environment and that I had work I needed to do as well. They turned around and flew at me, putting their faces right up close to mind and screaming incoherently. They started to hit me, and I retreated, knowing what would happen if I hit back. They chased me all the way out of the building like that. Later, the dean told me that I needed to be more careful, that I should be mindful about how threatening I seemed to women (I had shed my fat for muscle by this point, but they both knew I was a pacifist and they were still taller than I am), that people were scared to be around me, that I was, once again, lucky to get off with just a detention (that was my first and only detention, so I don’t know why he acted like I’d had disciplinary action in that school before). No one cared that I was the one who felt hurt and afraid, that the “victims” who assaulted me were in fact being paid to help me deal with feelings like that, I just had to suck it up and get on with my life (after writing a letter of apology, of course).

    More than the abuse itself, the way everyone in my life marginalized it, told me that it didn’t happen or that it was my own fault, really left scars in my mind. I still don’t have anyone I really feel comfortable bearing my soul to. My past experiences have just about destroyed my ability to trust or get close to others, and even professionals have been unable to help me find any kind of healing. Part of that is probably the case history the schools left me with, hanging like an albatross around my neck. No one wants to hear that I don’t have anger issues, that I never did, that I just need some help to work through what’s happened to me and some advice on how to connect with people again. They just want to sit there and try to trip me up with their little word traps, their disagreements on minor points with circular arguments designed to aggravate. How many years do I have to spend never rising to their bait, never screaming or throwing fit, to make them believe me?

    • HidingFromTheDinosaurs, thanks for your story.

      I am autistic myself and am delighted with all my heart to hear the tale of an autistic abuse victim from women and girls. Just like I was as well. So let me tell you, I share in your pain two-fold.

      Also know, being autistic isn’t a disorder or a mental issue. It’s only a processing system, brain wiring. There’s nothing good or bad about it. It just IS, that’s all. The challenge comes in finding the right supportive environment that accepts your way of thinking. Unfortunatly, you didn’t receive it at all in elementary school. High school, according to you, was a little better. For me, I hated high school with a passion.

      That said, everything you went through with regards to everyone labeling the abuse your fault is something I also find myself struggling to avoid thinking at times with my own pain. Especially when looking at the torment I received from girls and women.

      With little resources on this, how else was I going to think? Everyone seemed to be rushing to defend girls and women, absolve them of any agency or responsibility for their actions whatsoever and blame it on some outside force or mental health issue. Blame it all on “The Old Boys Club” or whatever and put more effort into fighting bullying done by boys alone. No articles on the topic whatsoever.

      That’s why I wrote “Bullied By Girls And Women: One Man’s Account” on this site. Please read it for you will find many incidences you’ll likely identify with as an autistic man as well as a human being. It’ll also help you feel you’re not alone. And that’s more important at this stage in your life.

      It’s something I had to do. No one else bothered to examine the issue, so I had to get off my rear end and do it myself.

      Thanks again for visiting the haven and letting yourself be venerable. Society likes to tell us we autistic people lack the ability to be venerable which as a load of hogwash at the end of the day.

  23. Searching for Peace says:

    This is my second comment on this thread.

    I am male.

    When I was in grade school the girls would bully as much as the boys. The girls would tell me to “go away” constantly. Even if I was only in their general vicinity, just like all the rest of the kids standing around the same area of the school yard, I was the one who got told to “go away”.

    Many times they would scream at me for even looking at them. If the girls started bagging at me, the boys were only moments behind in beating me up. It was a bit of a game to see who among the girls could get me beat up. And the boys would curry favour with the girls by doing it for them, even though the girls would do it themselves sometimes.

    I hated recess and lunch hour. it was a game among the kids to see who could get my nose to bleed first by whacking it.

    But, back to the girls – they wouldn’t even let me look at them. For years I had to keep my eyes averted in some manner – usually looking at the ground for fear they would yell out “don’t look at me” and the beating and slapping would start.

    One of the problems with not looking up much is that it also presented many opportunities for the boys to do cruel things – like kneel down behind me on all fours and then have someone else push me so i would topple over instead of just stepping back. I wouldn’t see it coming when they would come for me because i would be looking away.

    The teachers wouldn’t intervene (except once in gym class in grade 8). They just told me to fight back and that if i did they would go easy on me for punishment.

    I am a gentle person and didn’t want to fight – and my parents had a no fighting rule that i had to adhere to…

    —-

    Yes – girls can bully

    Being forced to avert my eyes and be less than human was in many ways worse than the beatings.

    The humiliation was much worse than physical injuries. Being systematically ostracised was awful. And in grade school, especially grades 6,7,8 when girls are becoming extra important to boys… being that kind of target for girls was and is highly injuring to this day.

    —-

    I suppose I should note that I have Asperger’s. I was diagnosed when I was in my 40’s. I don’t show it very much – the clinicians involved in my assessment were astounded at my positive result because i do not “show” much, other than being a more nerdy than average.

    I don’t want that diagnosis to colour the situation(s) i have found myself in throughout my life. The diagnosis makes it easy to pin the blame on my “lack of social skills” – which really hasn’t been the case. I am funny and relaxed in most situations – non-typical/stereotypical Asperger’s (I am not the “Sheldon” type).

  24. Some of the stories on here are horrific. I appreciate the courage of those sharing them.

  25. As do I, Big D.

    But we need more survivors coming forth. Come on everyone, let’s show that female abuse and bullying is not to be taken lightly.

  26. @ Eagle33

    It shouldn’t be taken lightly regardless of the number of people who tell their stories on this thread or any other.

    Also, this is a rough time of year for internet-related participation. Remind people again about this post after New Years. :)

  27. I wish I could contribute, Eagle, it’s a good thing you’re doing. The worst I’ve suffered from women has been the usual everyday stuff–rudeness, insensitivity, selfishness, etc. Nothing that reaches the level of actual ‘abuse,’ I’m happy to say.

  28. Yes, Typhone. I will.

    The beat goes on, as always, no matter what year.

Trackbacks

  1. […] this link : Survivor's Tales: Victims of Abuse, Come Forward — The Good Men … And, oh yeah, the A’s way undersold on Trevor Cahi…The Padres just dealt a 24-year-old […]

  2. […] Pylypiuk, AKA Eagle33, has a post up at Good Men Project about females bullying males. He is soliciting stories from survivors male […]

  3. […] Tim has had another article published as well, called Survivor’s Tales: Victims of Abuse, Come Forward. He is now opening the door for everyone to tell their story. If you have a story to tell, please […]

Speak Your Mind

*