Child Abuse Story From
Lana

This child abuse story from Lana page was created April 5, 2007 and was originally posted on March 28, 2007 as story #98.

Lana is from London, Ontario, Canada

The following child abuse story from Lana depicts ongoing sexual abuse at the hands of her classmates.

The child abuse effects on Lana: low self-esteem, despair, fear, slipping grades, no friends, victim of bullying, nightmares, crying spells

Child Abuse Story From Lana:

I am happy to say that my child abuse ended last year . . . but I still get some nightmares of being in grade 6 and I hate it . . . I always wake up crying by my mother's side and it hurts.

I'm nearly 14 and a survivor of child abuse.

It started when I first entered grade 6 . . . everything was technically the same--no friends . . . good grades . . . bullied, etc.

Everyone made fun of me because I was really shy. If I was in a group for a class project, I would talk when someone talked to me. It was really bad.

I got higher than B's every report card because I would try my hardest. When I was working in class, it felt like I was more powerful than anyone in my class and that I had more friends than anyone. But when I got home on the first day of school, my parents surrounded my little sister Sara, who was in grade 4 at the time, because she had tons of friends and she was telling about what her and her friends did at recess that day and that she made more friends than usual. I wanted to be like her because my parents were sooooo proud of her. I started crying, and immediately, Mom and Dad hugged me and told me it was ok and that everyone is different.

The next day at school, I went up to a bunch of popular grade 6 guys. "Can I hang with you?" I said.

They all laughed. But then, they took a look at me and whispered to each other. "Ok . . . why don't you come with us behind the school and hang," they said.

I was sooooo excited. I walked with them and when we got there, we talked and I felt un-shy. I talked a lot too. They told me if I really wanted to become one of their friends, I had to do things with them. So I agreed.

All the guys--the 4 of them--unzipped their pants and showed me their penises. I was shocked. I thought they really liked me, liked me as their friend.

"You have to touch them and suck on them to be one of us," they said.

I finally agreed and did as they said.

Nothing happened that day. We talked and had fun, and nothing bothered me. I told my parents about how I had 4 friends and they were glad, but they seemed shocked.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," they replied. "We're just surprised you made friends just like that."

When they said that, a picture of what happened at recess popped into my mind, but I tried to forget about it.

The next day, the boys started to each touch me everywhere. It felt wrong, so I told them I just wanna be your friends. They all laughed and continued.

They would wait for me after school and take turns raping me. After, they would yell, "If you tell anyone, you're not our friend." That's how they convinced me to keep letting them do it . . . I needed friends pretty bad.

Months of this torture kept happening. My grades slipped on my second report card. My parents were very shocked. They tried to get me to tell them something, but I didn't say anything, only said I was fine and left them alone, pondering.

It was the first day of grade 7. I was nervous. I was scared of all my 'friends' and what they would do next.

Months and months and months went by. I couldn't stand it. I was sad every day. I hated seeing my parents. I hated school. I hated the boys. Everyone.

One day, I marched right up to those boys. "If having to be your friend means having to do that stuff with you . . . then I'm not taking that risk anymore," I said. I was about to walk away when they tripped me and held me down. and touched me and kissed me everywhere. No one saw. The bell had rung. We were behind the school. Behind the school where you can't be.

Seven weeks later, 3 of them raped me. I was crying. I had bruises and I was bleeding from the cuts on my legs. I kept saying no. I heard footsteps. "Hey Caral, help us make Lana bleed all over!" one of the boys yelled, laughing a laugh that I'm so dearly afraid of.

But then, they were all pulled off me by a grade 3 teacher. They were sent away, somewhere I never wanna know of.

I'm safe now. My grades have not nearly raised up yet. I cry in class for no reason. I have no friends (AGAIN). Everyone tries to be my friend, but I'm too scared to be their friend because of what happened, even though it was 2 years ago--I'm afraid of what'll happen if I do.

My parents cry when I cry. "It's all our fault!" they yell. "We should have took you to a new school! We should have known!"

But . . . anything than being those boys' friends is better.

I'm happy though. I try to keep up. I see a special person . . . my parents won't tell me who she is, but she helps a lot and I talk and she writes.

Thank you so much for listening!

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References

NOTE: Information pages on this site were based on material from the
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Child abuse story from Lana was re-formatted June 3, 2015