Highlighting A Survivor Story

suicide survivor

In this story, you will read about abuse by a stepfather to his stepdaughter. The phrase “My Story Will Empower Me” has stuck in my throat. As my heart was breaking for what this young girl had gone through, in the end, she knows Truth. What man used for evil, He will use for His glory. Somehow, someway, her story will give the strength to someone else to SPEAK UP and GET OUT. Her strength and courage leave me in awe. I’m so proud of this young lady.

A TRUE story of several years of abuse and the suicidal ideations this young lady had at a very young age. She is NOT a victim. This girl is a survivor and a child of the King. Please be mindful that I will not tolerate judgment or hateful things if I leave comments. All names have been changed to protect her.

Her Story

Donald,

Sometimes, I like to lay in bed and daydream about what my life would be like had you not abused me for many years. I want to think that I would be able to look at myself in the mirror and not be utterly disgusted with myself. Maybe I could undress in front of a mirror without cringing every time I see myself. Perhaps I would feel more comfortable around older men.

I Wasn’t the Only One.

You took a genuine interest in my sister, but you preferred to take pictures of her. You saved the majority of touching for me. One of the primary examples of touching I remember is when we would walk next to each other. You would put your arm around me and grab my butt. Sometimes, you would switch it up and rest your hand on my butt.

When It Began

I remember the abuse started when I was about nine, but I’m sure it happened well before then. Never will I forget you making us change in front of you. I remember my sixth-grade year when you made me and my sister rotate, who would change directly in front of you, and how you wouldn’t let us wear anything to the bed besides our underwear. I also remember when you were in a particularly good mood, and you would make us sleep naked so you could come into our room and stare at our bodies.

Innocence Stolen

What traumatized me the most was when you made me and my sister go into the little garage with you. You made my sister lock the door and told us to get completely naked. I remember how shaky my hands were while taking off my clothes. I was so scared of what you were going to do next. You called it “checking us for ticks,” but I know that’s not why you were doing it because you didn’t make our brothers do it either. I also know that wasn’t the real reason because I remember you waited until our mom left to do it. We couldn’t have been in the garage for long, but it felt like a lifetime trapped in there with you.

I vividly remember what it felt like when your rough hands traced every single inch of my body. If I had the choice to forget one day in my life, that would be the day. That was the day that you took my innocence from me. I was ten years old. No ten-year-olds should ever have to feel how I felt on that day. Ten-year-olds should be playing dress-up, not getting abused by their stepfathers. I trusted you. I loved you, and I thought you loved me too. What you did was not love.

Wanting Out

At night, I would lay in bed and think of ways to kill you so the abuse would stop. If I wasn’t plotting to kill you, I was planning ways to kill myself. I didn’t care what it took. I wanted out of the situation. It’s crazy to think about how much I wanted to die at ten. How many ten-year-olds do you know that want to commit suicide?

Anger Flows Freely

I’m angry that you took my innocence from me. You took my childhood. I’m mad you didn’t feel guilty for what you did to me. Also, I’m angry that you didn’t spend the rest of your life in jail. Honestly, I’m mad that you are still alive and my mother still loves you. I’m angry you guys got married. She chose you over me. I’m mad you locked my brother in his room for a week because you thought he was faking it. I had to sneak him food and water. I am so angry about that. I’m mad you waited so long to take him to the hospital.

Even after he was diagnosed {with brain cancer}, you treated him like crap because you thought he was doing it for attention. I’m angry I didn’t get to be there with my brother as he was dying because of you. I don’t know how you live with yourself. How do you sleep at night? I hope you are miserable. I hope the guilt about my brother eats you up inside.

Wishes for My Future

If and when I have children, I will do everything I can to protect them from people like you. I promise that I won’t be like you or my mother. My children will never have to worry about men watching them change or shower. My children will never look in the mirror and hate themselves because of what happened. Hopefully, one day, I will be able to forgive you. I hope one day I will look in the mirror and be proud of who I am and what I have overcome. I wish I could say that this won’t happen to other little girls, but I know many people like you.

My Story Will Empower Me

I hope one day soon that I will be able to publicly tell my story so that other women can speak up about their stories. You will lose your grip on me one day, and I’ll love myself again. Soon, I will love my body. I will no longer be ashamed of you, and my story will empower me. One day soon, you’ll die, and I will sleep a tad bit better at night. You will get what is coming to you and deserve every bit of it.

You will have to answer for what you did to me one of these days. There is nothing you can ever say or do to make up for what you did to me. One of these days, I will be doing better than ever. Your abuse never has and will never define who I am or where I’m going. I hope you are happy with the choices you’ve made in life. I hope that it was all worth it in the end.

Yours Truly,

Nicole

Resources

If you or someone you know is being abused, PLEASE reach out.

ChildHelp Hotline

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Circle of Hope Counseling Services, End the Stigma, Guest Blogger, Suicide Awareness and Prevention

What Fireworks Means to a School Shooting Survivor

July 5, 2021May 11, 2025 Brandi C

What Fireworks Means to a School Shooting Survivor

I despise fireworks. Some of them are so pretty, but the sound triggers me. I can feel it in my chest whenever a firework goes off. The breath gets knocked out of me, and I freeze. At that moment, I am transported back to school. I am back in the classroom with my teachers and fellow student.

At that second, I could see the fear in my teacher’s eyes as he looked down the hallway at the commotion. “Run,” He says with complete fear in his eyes. The look in his eyes will forever be etched into my brain. Confused, I run down the hallway watching as a freshman falls and slides into a locker. I can’t bring myself to stop and check on her, and I’m pretty sure that makes me a bad person. I’m doing what my teacher said. I am running, from what I don’t know.

As I Get Outside

As I get outside, I stop running. I assume that it was a fire and that I am safe outside. The fire can’t get me here. “Someone brought a gun to school.” A stranger says behind me. At that point, I couldn’t think. I take off sprinting. I almost got hit by a car. It was centimeters away from hitting me. I can hear the teacher yelling at the students to get into a classroom in the tech building because it’s safe and I sprint into the building.

I almost enter the first room as soon as you walk in the door, but I decide that that classroom would be the first to get shot if the shooter comes up here. Then, I run a few classrooms away, sit against the wall, and wait for any information. Students and teachers start piling in. I look around and realize I can’t trust anyone. At this point, no one knows who the shooter is. Finally, the teachers shut and locked the door.

Calling my Brother

The first person I can get a hold of is my brother. He tells me that there’s been a school shooting and someone has died. My heart sinks, and all I can think about are my friends. Fear courses through my veins as I struggle to get a hold of them. Luckily, they’re all okay. I go on Twitter and desperately try to find some information. Someone sitting close to me tells me who the shooter is. I am completely shocked and In denial. I’ve known this kid since seventh grade. There’s no way he did this. I was wrong. He did do it.

We are sitting and waiting to be told what to do next when a student starts banging on the door. He was banging on the door hard and asking to be let it. Fear overcomes my body. I remember begging God that they wouldn’t open that door. Luckily, they didn’t. We sat there until like 9:30, and then we were told we must get on a bus.

SWAT

They let us out of the room, but we all must go in a single file line. Teachers and Swat line the walls and make a pathway to the buses. The look in the eyes of the swat member will be in my head forever. We get on the bus, and we sit there forever. I remember looking out the bus window and seeing a news helicopter flying over us and I remember being angry that they were already swarming. I mean, people just died to show some respect. It was insensitive.

Transporting Us

At around Eleven, they gave us a police escort to the nearest middle school. We took the back roads there. They piled us all into the gym and waited for our names to be called so we could leave with our parents. I remember getting home at noon, and my family had the news on the television. Sadly, I hear them reporting things that didn’t happen, so I go to my room. I couldn’t sleep that night. My adrenaline was pumping. My friends can’t sleep either. We all stay up and talk.

Going Back to School

I was battling anorexia at the time, so I didn’t eat anyways, but at this time, I go the longest I ever have without eating. Daily, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I was terrified. Going back to school was horrible. We went back on a Friday. We all met in the gym. Going to the gym was for a moment of silence, prayer, and hearing about all the available resources. The school was never the same. We jumped at every dropped book and we were constantly looking over our shoulders. Also, we were all wary of strangers. We enjoyed the service dogs that came to the school. That was the best part. We played card games to pass the time.

Fear

I always told myself that If something like that happened to me, I would never go back to school, and I finished my year out there and then became homeschooled. Honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to sit down in that school and worry about who was walking through the door. I couldn’t sit there and continue to jump at every dropped book. I’ve only been to the school twice since then, and I still struggle with going there.

I kept in contact with the teachers I was in the classroom with that day. You will hardly ever catch me in sandals in public because they aren’t good running shoes. Every year, I plug in my headphone and blare my music, so I don’t hear the fireworks. I can hear gunshots and shoot guns (I’m a pretty good shot), but there’s something about fireworks that I can’t handle. I wish people would be more considerate of people like me every year.

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