Rape Connections (Nonfiction)

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A young girl who's gone from place to place, new scars appearing on her heart each time she does... A real-life account of someone I know. She wanted me to get the word out about her story so here it is

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Rape Connections

After being raped by my neighbor, family member, and close relation, the traumatic event and tragedy changed my view on life, how I see the world, and my life in general.

I was five years old when my neighbor raped me, my mother was on the front porch and she was listening to music loudly, might I add. She was drinking her tea when it happened. I didn’t know any better. He told me he was teaching me things I’d need to know in middle school, high school, and even college. One day my Aunt Marie was talking about something and I said, “I know what you’re talking about.”

And she said “what?”

I said, ” S.E.X”

So she called the police and brought me to my mom and said, “Tell her what happened, Lyanna...”

I stayed silent. Afraid for some reason to tell my mother the truth.

She said, “Tell her or I will.”

Again I remained silent.

my Aunt Marie said, “Alright then, I will.”

So, that’s the end of that story...

When I was six years old we moved to Cedartown. The same town my Uncle Percy lived in. In fact, he was the one who took us there. A few years later I was eight years of age, and he started acting weird. I knew something was going on, so I, being as young as I was, decided to play detective. I followed him around observed his actions, expressions, and overall, the tone of voice. I told him I was tired and that I was going to take a nap, (on the couch where I sleep when I spend the weekend with him and my Aunt Carla.) He sat on the couch beside me. I pretended to snore because I was told I snore sometimes in my sleep. Next thing I knew he was pulling my pants down and then he started to pull my panties down. I sprung back up in a sitting position, pointing my finger at him, I said, “HA! I knew it!” I then pulled my underwear up and my pants and moved to a nearby recliner, away from him.

Then he asked me, “Did you like it?”

I asked, “Liked what?”

He said, “What you neighbor did to you.”

I said, “Maybe, I don’t know...”

He said, “You can tell me the truth.”

I said, “Sure...” Not really knowing what I was saying or getting myself into.

Then he asked me, “If you could would you ever do it again?”

Again I said, “Maybe. I don’t know...”

Then he repeated, “You can tell me the truth.”

Like a broken record, I said again, “Sure.”

Then, next thing I know, one thing leads to another and, it happened. He or We would do it every weekend I came over.

Then my grown-up friends, (Again) were talking about something, and I said, “I know what you’re talking about.” So they called the cops and that was that. (Or so I thought.)

We moved back to Moultrie with my family, and they had found us a place to stay. So we moved in. We received letters telling us we need to go to court, But we didn’t have a way to go, so we never went. My uncle Percy never went to jail.

While we were staying there at the place my family had found for us, the landowner would come and visit and me, not giving up on wanting a father, asked him to marry my mom so they got together. When I was eleven, my mom had to go grocery shopping and left me with her boyfriend. At the time I didn’t know what to do because sex, for me started to feel like a priority. It had happened to me so much I thought it was normal for a twelve-year-old to go through that, and I asked my mom’s boyfriend to have sex with me.

He asked me, “Are you sure?”

I said, “Yeah...”

He said, “You promise you won’t get me in trouble now, right?”

I said, “I promise.” and again one thing led to another.

When I was thirteen, I was so upset one day I just boiled over and went to talk to my Aunt Marie. I forget if I had said something peculiar or suspicious, but she began to ask questions, I had not expected her to ask. So the truth got out and the police were called. He went to jail, then got bailed out a few months later. All the while I was living in a group home for children and youth girls.

Then one day my mom called and said: “He’s been relocated to a psychiatric ward.”

I said, “Who?” having a brief idea.

“Bobby.” She said. (mom’s boyfriend)


A few months later momma called me again to update me (we talked every other night)


“Lyanna, his family got him out somehow...” Mom said.

“Oh God, I just hope that he learned his lesson!” I said.

I stayed there for three years, learning and observing things until I was “wise beyond my years”. Soon after two years and eleven months, I was adopted. Now I’m living a good life and for once, I’m truly happy.

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