Just Get Over It

“Just get over it”, this is the refrain that many survivors of male violence hear all the time. Just forget the past.

Forget the past when it is in every cell of your body. Forget the past when it want desperately to be heard and seen.

No, I say it is not about forgeting the past. When that only serve to make male violence invisible.

Once the male violence is made invisible, it does not make the world safe.

It most certainly does not make the survivor happy.

I thought I would write of my reality. I show it to say if I forget, then I will lose who I was.

I am now trying to see with a clear eye my years of sex with strangers whether paid or unpaid.

I saw my stepdad with a clear eye, and it made his violence smaller. It still matters, but it is now in a place where I can control how I view his abuse.

He is nothing to me. Nothing than a person I used to show the damage of sexual and emotional violence.

He is afraid of my writing and so he should be.

This is my long-term purpose of writing about my years of prostitution and sex with sadistic strangers. I want to show their hate and violence up for what it. I need to have a clear eye.

When I view the beginning, I know I entered the world of the sex trade already knowing I was worthless.

I could not know I was worth more than pain and being a f-k  object for any man. I entered the the world of prostitution, knowing I was a “whore”.

But I did not know the cold hate that men had for prostituted women and girls.

The violence I was on the receiving end was cold, slow and silent. It ended with losing any hope that I had imagine that I could reach.

It was in flats. Always I saw little, only a bed. From my stepdad I know to undress without speaking. I know to lie on the bed and wait.

Then I enter a world I did not know.

I remember seeing men standing round my bed staring at me. I felt fear, but know not to move. They seemed just to stare for hours, I could not understand.

I felt every centimetre of me was being analysed. As I felt their eyes boring into me, I felt a terror that I could not name. I was frozen.

Then when the first had sex with me, it was a relief. This I know. Only I didn’t.

It was not just sex, it was strangling, it was bashing me in the head and stomach. I was screwed in vagina, that I know. But all my other holes were stuffed with penises.

It all so unclear as my mind doesn’t want to know the reality. It want to shut down, But I won’t let it.

I was f-k by one man with the others watching. I was gang-raped till I didn’t know how to breathe.

All I know everything they did I had seen in hard-core porn. I know it was a planned rape.

I survived by shutting down. I made it into nothing.

I had injuries on my body, but I was so disconnected I could not remember where they came from.

That was my introduction to the sex trade.

I see it now it was a test to see if I was suitable fodder for being prostituted.

Well, I was as I let my self-hatred tell that all I deserved was the hate that men put into me. I was just a “slag” after all.

I try to not hate myself, but I had been poisoned by too many years of male violence. I believe I “chose” to have sadistic sex, I “chose” to let myself be tortured.

I had fallen into a world where I had no sense of personal safety. I was suicidal, so I wanted men to kill me.

And they were careless whether I lived or died. They played “killing the whore” games. Sometimes the pain was so sudden and vicious, that it slams stright into my heart, making me almost have a heart attack.

One man who raped me for six hours, it made me stopped breathing.

He was angry that I would dare to die on him. He was not a murderer, he was not a criminal after all.

He force me back to life, only to continue his violence.

I cannot forget as the pain they force into me is coming out through body memories.

I cannot forget the forcible anal sex as I find hard to lie on my back, as I can still feel fear on the toilet.

I cannot forget being strangled, as I can feel anger if someone touches my throat.

I cannot forget being manipulated into place, as when I try to have loving sex I always think I have to perform. I have to forget myself and try and just the other person’s fantasy.

I cannot forget until I have the few occasions I can just lie in bed with someone and relax. Not perform, but sleep.

For now, I am not wanting that form of connect coz I cannot trust myself to not go dead inside.

I write because the way I was used is not unusual, there are many worse tales of prostituted women and girls.

I write for the male violence I lived with has left me with trauma.

I try very hard to advance to a future, but truama does hold me back.

I feel I have no choice but to remember, for my past is forcing itself to the surface. My mind is now able to see and hear.

I can now accept that I was tortured on a regular basis.

I was not a willing partcipant in S/M. It was not rough sex gone wrong.

It was rape.

It was torture pure and simple.

I see now why I had to blame myself. For see the reality that men that were torturing me did it as a game. To see all I was to them I just was holes to be filled. I was nothing but a body to manipulated into their image of the perfect f-k object.

This I could not see. So I turn to self-hate instead.

I will remember then as it was. Not how I would of  liked it to have been. Not by shutting out the reality.

I will remember for I know there are women and girls now being tortured as I was.

As I remember with fear, sickness and come to a fury. I know as I can see me, it make me want to build another future.

A future where men cannot not just buy girls and women to be real-life porn objects. A future that girls and women are given space to say their self-hatred, then maybe not go towards male violence.

This piece is much rawer than I normally write. But I would say it the spirit of that time shouting out.

Yes it is very ugly, but to make real change, it is sometimes important to look at that past with it’s pain and degradation straight in the eye.

Then we can say there must be a change for the better.

8 responses to “Just Get Over It

  1. Dear, Brave Rebecca,

    By reading this piece and a few other of yours, I feel you are very dear to me. Excuse me if this is too forward, but I too am a survivor of incest, repeated rape and all sorts of male violence and your writing gives me words, sentences, expression for silent places in me. I want to thank you and I hope you can feel the depth of my gratitude. I want to say that your survival, your voice, your fight, your amazing courage matter and have helped me in my fight for survival.
    Just get over it!?!? Just get off of us!!!
    Their “cold, slow and silent” becomes our fire, our quickness, our screams: NO MORE!!!!
    In Solidarity,


  2. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this: Just get over it! Just don’t think about it! As if this were even possible.

    My grandfather took pornographic pictures of me as a kid. Somehow, I’m supposed to just not worry about that. Not worry about who has seen those pictures, not worry about my grandfather continuing to get off to my little 7 year old self. Gee, ok, that sounds easy! I’ll just get over it! I’ll just not think about it, I’m sure that will make me feel so much better. Blah. My sister tells me this- that I’m letting him have too much power over me, by worrying about this. Um, what? That makes no sense.

    People don’t want to hear our truth, but we are going to keep yelling it out, like pisaquaririse says, from the top of our lungs!!!!!

    You rock, Rebecca 🙂


  3. ‘Get over it’ threatens that you better stop resisting the pain if you know what’s good for you.

    Don’t get over it, get on it and make it change.


  4. Rebecca reading this made my throat hurt (maybe I identify too much). Not only that, my heart too. It’s horrible how someone can tell you you’re an object and when you’re young you can believe that and play that role to others who choose to see women that way! Personally, I think it’s wrong to treat anyone, man or woman or animal for that matter, that way and it makes me crazy when I see it or read about it. I’ve been on the receiving end of it too and know how hard it is to overcome the memories, but I also think you’ve gained so much wisdom and strength through this, and are an exceptonal person to be able to write your blog. Not everyone could be so honest. Yeah, I can see why it scares your stepfather! He’s lucky you have the generosity of heart and spirit not to mention his name. You’re a great soul, Rebecca, and I do think great souls seem to have to go through a lot, but there will be a gift for you at the end of it. I don’t know if the world will ever change in the way you wish it would, and I wish it would, but you lighten the loads of others with your honesty. xx


  5. Thank you Rebecca, for this and all your other posts. I am a survivor of sexual abuse and domestic violence and I know the feeling of being silenced. Even people who are supposed to love me, like family members, have made it clear they don’t want to hear it. I’ve even been told flat-out “shouldn’t you talk about this with a counselor or something”. I.e., “can’t you go talk to someone else about this”. It is very depressing and distressing.

    I commend you for your refusal to be silenced. I am working on finding my own voice to express my experiences. Your voice is very important to all victims, please know that. I do not have the words to properly express to you how much your blog and your words, your voice mean to myself and to, I am sure, many other women.

    Thank you from the bottom of my heart,


  6. Rebecca, have you ever read “Trauma & Recovery: From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror” by Judith Herman? It is a wise, humane and very readable account of the psychology of trauma, making sense of the mental survival strategies that a child or adult develops in order to cope with traumatic experiences. Her account of these coping mechanisms and of the process of recovery fit so sadly well to my friends who are survivors. She makes insightful political points too – e.g. freed political hostages or prisoners of war are welcomed publicly, their release is a matter of huge relief for the wider community, but domestic hostages, women or children who are abused day in day out in their homes, their survival and endurance and their escapes are no less heroic but they are not celebrated and welcomed. If more people read this book they would not be so quick to say “get over it”, they would instead understand exactly why rape and abuse, whether as a single incident or an ongoing ordeal, damage the victim so deeply, and want to take action instead.

    One of the most powerful things I took away from that book was the understanding of how vitally important it is that the survivor gets to tell her story, and to have her words heard and believed. We can’t bring about if we close our eyes and ears to evil, and silence or dismiss those who witness to it. Thank you so much for speaking your truth.


  7. Maria, that book has been one the most important books of my life.
    I have always felt a connection with other survivors who are living with PTSD.I have listen and heard people who have survived political torture, and understood their detachment and inability to found their authentic selves.
    I feel that multiple abuse from men left me with PTSD.
    This book help me to have a language for why I had to be dead to survive.


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