<![CDATA[ADKAN - Survivors Letters]]>

<![CDATA[ADKAN - Survivors Letters]]>Sun, 19 May 2013 11:27:05 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[From the Editors of Ad-Kan]]>Mon, 12 Nov 2012 15:20:05 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2012/11/from-the-editors-of-ad-kan3.htmlAs the letters of pain and anguish continue to pour into the inbox of Ad-Kan, and as we read the words of sorrow in the emails, our hearts go out to all those who bear this pain.
It is difficult to read and internalize the profound pain the victims are suffering. But we will continue to read and post all of your letters.
We hope that the sharing of your experiences may serve to ease some of the pain.
We admire your courage in reaching out to us and we are honored to listen and share your stories.
]]><![CDATA[Why?]]>Mon, 12 Nov 2012 15:13:25 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2012/11/why.htmlQuestions From a Survivor
By Sarah G.

During the time a person is abused it feels like it’s never going to end.
It’s confusing.
Why is this person who I know and trust doing this to me?
Why is this stranger who I don’t know doing this to me?
Why does it feel so wrong?
Will it ever stop?
Why does he/she seem to be enjoying it and I seem to hate it?
Is there something wrong with me? Do I deserve it?

After the time a person is abused it feels like it’s never going to end.
It’s confusing.
Why did someone I trust and know do this to me?
Why did someone I don’t know do this to me?
Why did I deserve to have it done to me?
Is there something wrong with me?
Why won’t anyone believe me?
Why won’t anyone take me seriously?
Why can’t they understand that I’m not trying to misbehave, but rather I’m trying to tell them that someone did something bad to me and I don’t know what to do?
Why don’t they understand that I dislike being touch because I don’t know what’s going to happen if I am touched?
Why don’t they understand why I would rather take the stairs instead of the elevator because an elevator is a confined space and anything can happen there?
Why don’t they understand my need to sit near the door so that I can be close to an exit if I feel the need to run?
Why don’t they understand I can’t get married because I can’t trust anyone?
Why can’t they understand I was abused and don’t want to be abused again in another relationship?
Why don’t they understand why I can’t sleep at night?
Why can’t they understand why I have nightmares?
Why can’t they understand that I have to sleep a certain way in order to protect myself?
Why don’t they see that I’m drowning and need help?
Why can’t they see that something is wrong?
Why can’t they do something about the fact they see something is wrong?
Why are they just standing around talking about it?
Why are they standing around and talking about me as if I did something wrong here?
Why do they pity me?
Why do they say they understand when they can’t possibly?
Why do they tell me to just get over it, do they even know what I’m going through?
Why are they scared to do something? I’m dying an emotional and physical death here.
Why don’t the adults do something? Why can’t they understand? Why? Why? Why?

Victims and survivors of abuse need support! The support they need may be through words, by your presence, financial help for therapy or to get away from the abusive environment. It may also come as legal advice, as well as legal support. Those who sit there and say it doesn’t happen here just makes the victims and survivors of abuse just feel worse. Those who say we don’t believe you or we don’t care enough to do anything make the victims and survivors of abuse feel horrible. Not only can’t they trust their abuser, they also can’t trust the people around them to do anything to help them get out of the abusive environment. They can’t trust that something would be done to stop the abuse. They need to see that people really care and are doing something to help them. This will bring their trust back in people! This will make the difference! We as klal Yisrael have an obligation to help our brethren in need! These victims and survivors of abuse are in need!

What are we as a community going to do to change that?

What are we as individuals going to do to change that?

You, my community, must decide.

]]><![CDATA[DEAR RABBI, WHAT DO YOU SEE?]]>Sun, 22 Jul 2012 14:58:18 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2012/07/dear-rabbi-what-do-you-see.html

DEAR RABBI, WHAT DO YOU SEE?
By G.S

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see my three earrings, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see my nose piercing, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see my tattoos, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see a girl with exposed skin, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see a boy with no tzitzis, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see a girl with a skirt too short, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see a boy with an uncovered head, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see a girl in pants, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see a boy with no peyos, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see my cigarettes, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see my physical scars, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see my emotional scars, or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see someone "off the derech," or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see someone "falling through the cracks," or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see another "lost soul," or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, What do you see?
Do you see "someone to be pitied," or do you see me?

Dear Rabbi, Have you ever asked yourself why?
Why can't the police be told of suspected crimes, and to us you turn a blind eye?

Dear Rabbi, Have you ever asked me why?
Have you ever asked me why practically every night I cry?

Dear Rabbi, Have you ever asked yourself why?
Why do you protect sexual abusers, but the victims you terrify?

Dear Rabbi, Have you ever asked me why?
Have you ever asked me why I'm not a "good" girl or guy?

Dear Rabbi, Have you ever asked yourself why?
Why do so many horrific evils occur, and the perpetrators crimes you just cover up and deny?

Dear Rabbi, Have you ever asked me why?
Why would I, the victim, make up stories of sexual abuse? Rabbi, Why would I lie?

- A Jewish survivor of sexual abuse in the Orthodox Jewish community
(The last section of this poem was sadly inspired by the Weberman case in Williamsburg.)

* *

]]><![CDATA[Invisible survivor]]>Sun, 24 Jun 2012 05:16:51 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2012/06/invisible-survivor.html

Invisible survivor
By Ben

I am in shul in my new home town.

There are only fifteen men present.

Day after day, no one talks to me.

No one says 'hello'.

I am invisible.

I am alone.

Can you all tell that I am a survivor?

Is it written on my forehead?

Does my very presence remind you all of something you would rather not know?

Am I guilty of something?

I thought only my perpetrator was guilty.

When will you see me?

]]><![CDATA[Its a cruel, cruel world!]]>Fri, 15 Jun 2012 14:32:57 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2012/06/its-a-cruel-cruel-world.html

By Anonymous

Dear world,
Cruel, evil, malicious world.
A world that seems merciless.
A world that seems horrible and daunting to endure.

I am a 16 years old and I go to a Bais Yaakov school. Ever since I was little I thought I was inherintly bad.

Just cuz I am. Just cuz I always will be. I accepted it as a fact of life and hated myself for it. That was normal up until about a year ago.

One night I broke down in never ending cries for hours on end. I immediately realized something wasn't right. Yes, my life was difficult but was it normal to be unconsollable to such an extent?

I looked up online what the symptoms of depression are. I recognized all those symptoms in me from the last day. I told my mother I wanted to see a psychiatrist.

I went for a blood test to see if it was physical and then to the psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with depression but said it wasn't necessarily something long term. He said it was likely to go away after a short time of therapy and I'd be fine. When a few months of therapy went by and I was still dismal and suicidal, the psychiatrist prescribed medication. I assumed my depression was just a clinical thing that must be genetic in my family and maybe as a result of some of my difficult life circumstances.

That was until I read a girl's molestation story. When I finished reading the story, I realized in shock that I was molested. I mustered up the courage (it took months to do this) and told my therapist what my thoughts were. She said she thought that all along and was waiting for me to feel comfortable telling her about it.

That was where the healing process began. Upon tweaking of my medication to stabilize me and in depth discussion in therapy of the molestation that occured, I began to recognize who I am. There are many other things that I suspect happened before an age that I can remember by people who I'm unsure of.

One things for sure, I will do anything to protect those I love from molestation. Honestly, I don't understand how molestation affects a person so much but one thing I must say: it destroys lives. Many times I have attempted suicide which to my disappointment didn't work. I struggle to accept that I'm alive every day.

I curse Hashem sometimes. I don't believe in him other times. And sometimes I curse myself. Please world, do whatever you can to protect your children. And dear teachers, don't judge your students. I didn't do my homework and failed my test because I was crying myself to sleep after a failed suicide attempt. Fellow teenagers, the reason I'm not a cute popular girl isn't that it isn't in me. I wish I had the confidence to get up there and cheer. But I don't. And don't judge me for that. Please don't!

I'm on the path to recovery however I'm not close to finished.

I want those out there in similar situations to know that they are in my prayers and heart.

]]><![CDATA[ -Bear Hug-]]>Tue, 05 Jun 2012 19:16:17 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2012/06/-bear-hug.html

-Bear Hug-
By T. Behr

I wish I could go back in time, as I do now, in my night time dreams; and give my child self a bear hug.

I would give her the encouragement to know, that she has the strength to deal with her past, present and future pain; and to know she can be okay.

Oh, I wish I could have warned her of the dangers ahead.

No,it’s not only strangers.

Time has passed, I’m now ending my teenage years; pulling myself together,and finally thriving.

If you are hurting ,I want you to know, You are not alone.

Please stay strong,and Always remember you are precious !!

I’m sending you all a huge bear hug! You’re in my thoughts and tear-filled prayers. Beware, Take care, Share and have the courage to heal.

P.S.

If this is not you, you should know, this could be your friend,neighbor,sibling or even child.Please be attentive and sensitive to those who may be reaching out to you.

]]><![CDATA[Dear Sexual Abuser; I hope you go to hell!]]>Sat, 31 Dec 2011 23:12:08 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2011/12/dear-sexual-abuser-i-hope-you-go-to-hell.html

Dear Sexual Abuser,

I was having a hard time at home. Abusive parents I was a broken soul. You approached me, promised to help me. I opened up to you. Confided in you. You told me I could trust you. I believed you.

I vividly remember the first time you touched me. We sat on that living room couch of yours and I bared my heart to you. You said you felt so close to me. You wanted to show how much you loved me.

My mind refused to acknowledge the abuse. I felt nothing. I was numb. I went to a place inside myself that you could not reach.I was young and naive. I let my guard down. I thought I was safe with you. You preyed on my vulnerability. You knew I had no one else to turn to.

Sometimes at night I lie in bed and I think about you. I wonder if you ever lie in bed and think about me? Have you once thought about the consequences of your actions? I have spent years ashamed and embarrassed. I feel guilty, I believe it is my fault. I looked up to you. I respected you. I blame myself for needing you.You stole a part of me.

The little bit of trust I had left you tore that from me. School was my only safe place and you ruined it for me. Why did you do it? Why me? Do you know how much pain you caused me? Did you enjoy the power over me? Did you want to hurt me? Did you ever care about me? Was I just someone to be used? Did I mean anything to you? I spend a lot time seeking answers, digging up suppressed memories buried deeply in my mind. I am still searching.

But I want to tell you something sexual predator. I may be having an extremely hard time right now but although you have tainted my past I will not let you hold me back from my future.

One day I will get past this. One day I will heal. One day all this pain will be a distant memory. But you - you will forever remain a sick person. A sick person who preyed on innocent defenceless children.

I hope you go to hell!

]]><![CDATA[Dear Teacher Why Did You Sexually Abuse Me?]]>Fri, 23 Dec 2011 02:35:20 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2011/12/dear-teacher-why-did-you-sexually-abuse-me.html

Dear teacher,

I came to you seeking something like a flower seeks the air to grow.
I came to you yearning for the connection and the trust one can have with a teacher as trustworthy and clever and warm as you. A trust I couldn't have with my own parents.

I came to you, blind to your many faults and wearing rose tinted glasses because I believed you were my savior and could be there for me no matter what I told you, no matter how much I needed you...

You did all that, you were warm and caring, yet our journey was rocky.
I was more strong willed than you thought, because I didn't yet trust you so you pushed me away. You made sure to pointedly ignore me, be mean, manipulate my friendships and destroy my sense of self and self esteem. I didn't want to be pulled back in, I was my own person, I didn't like you any more, I saw from a different angle how you lied and used people for your own benefits. (little did I know yet how bad...) So I resisted and we traveled on a path of close, not close, close, not close for 3 years on and off, till the year I finished school.

I began to teach and I reached great heights but for some reason you couldn't even compliment me. I felt as though I had offended you by my success at becoming a great teacher.

But I still came to you for help and confided in you.

I wasn't coping at home, life was hard, my mother was mentally ill, my father a bystander, and I the peace maker between everyone. School was my refuge, my safe place, where I could be myself, where I could smile, where I could shine and feel the love of my students.

But I was extremely stressed which you knew. You knew how hard I found it to connect to others yet you managed to get into my heart despite any earlier misgivings I had. You managed to stick yourself inside my head and my heart.

And then the horror began. You slowly began to touch me, casually, so it seemed. I would come to you for help in preparing a lesson and you would sit close and make sure I felt your hand. I didn't realise what you were leading up to, what I was getting myself into.. I thought it was all your way of showing love, as you said over and over.

I was naive, I hadn't experienced much physical love from my parents, I associated touch negatively in the form of slaps, pinches and the like so I generally resisted touch. And you knew that.

It was 7 weeks before my wedding, I came as a young teacher to a camp for the high school. I was so excited to get away from home yet so stressed because of all that was going on. I really needed the break.

You somehow maneuvered the set up so that I should share a room with you. I was wary but didn't have a say in the matter. I went into our room to rest when I was not needed at my job, and in you came. You claimed it was a massage for my stomach because you could feel how tense I was.

I resisted with my hands but you were stronger.

And from then on I was yours..because I couldn't say no..

All these incidents flying around in my head until the day I came to visit you when I was 4 months pregnant...to this day I don't know why I came but i did.

You knew I was pregnant but you still lay your big fat body upon mine, you didn't care for my unborn baby, I was shocked, you were harming it with your weight.. I realized then you don't care for me at all but for yourself.

I am dying to ask you, why?

I am dying to ask you how?

I need to know so badly how you could destroy peoples lives so, and not think of the blind trust they had in you, how could you do it?

But instead I am left with questions and tremendous guilt that I couldn't help my vulnerable sister not get tangled in your spiders web, huge lack of trust, and memories that will never ever fade.

]]><![CDATA[Fourteen Year old Frum Rape Victim]]>Fri, 16 Dec 2011 08:06:59 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2011/12/fourteen-year-old-frum-rape-victim.html

Reaching Out
A Fourteen Year Old Frum Rape Victim Shares Her Story
By Anonymous Published on Chabad.org

It's weird to be telling my story. I'm only sixteen so it's not like I have a lifetime of things to say. It's also strange to know this will be published for everyone to see. I've always kept everything inside. No one ever knew about the conflict raging inside; people always described me as bubbly and upbeat.

To be raped is one the most horrifying experiences, especially for an already confused fourteen year old. After the rape my brain shut down. I felt numb, I felt like a shell. All my feelings – the hurt, shame, anger, guilt, sadness, and confusion were all locked away.

I felt like I was seeing myself as an outsider. I watched myself smile, laugh, and have fun, but I didn't feel any of it. When I looked in the mirror I didn't know the face that stared back at me. That's when I started cutting. It allowed me to feel my existence, and feel pain, but a different kind of pain. A controlled pain that I was in charge of, I had some sense of control over my out of control life.

My parents found out about the cutting and were shocked and confused. I refused to talk to them about it or tell them anything. I couldn't talk about the rape. If I talked about it I would feel it, it would be real. I wanted to pretend like it didn't happen, and if no one knew it was easier to pretend.

They took me to a therapist who I hated. I decided a therapist wasn't the solution, I decided the solution was to leave. If I left my city and went to a boarding school I would be away from all my problems. That, of course, didn't work. I couldn't run away from my problems because I couldn't escape myself. When I realized that I felt like I had hit rock bottom. By this time I had been through countless therapists and social workers. I wouldn't talk to any of them. I was still cutting and starting to get really depressed. I skipped school almost every day and my grades dropped drastically.

I couldn’t run away from my problems because I couldn’t escape myselfThen I started to have the dreams--horrible frightening nightmares, vivid replays of the trauma. I couldn't handle it, I felt like I would explode. I finally called up a close friend who I trusted one night and told her everything. She was so nice and loving about it. She encouraged me to tell my parents, but I was too afraid. I was afraid of how they would react and how they would treat me. I was ashamed by what had happened. I was afraid it was my fault, that I was guilty, and would be blamed.

I talked with my friend a lot. There was so much I had bottled up inside all this time, once I opened up, it all started spilling out at once. It was hard to deal with all the emotions that were overtaking me. I got very moody, and spent a lot of time in bed. Everything was so overwhelming. I had no motivation to do anything. I didn't shower, change my clothes or clean my room. I was thinking about suicide a lot. Thinking about all the years ahead of me made me panic. I had to kill myself, I didn't care if I went to hell, anything was better than the hell I was going through. I decided I would tell my parents about the rape, so they would understand a little after I was dead.

I stayed up a whole night writing my will, and I wrote a suicide note and goodbye letters. I picked up the bottle of pills I hid in my dresser, but I didn't take them. Instead, I don't know why, I called up my friend crying and told her what I was about to do. It was late, past midnight, but she drove over right away. She sat up with me and talked and listened. She coaxed me into putting the pills away and going to sleep. She promised she wouldn't tell anyone, but the next day she told my parents. I was so angry at her. I know now she was doing what was best for me, and how hard it was for her to betray me like that, but then I hated her and cursed myself for ever telling her anything.

I had to kill myself, I didn’t care if I went to hell, anything was better than the hell I was going throughMy parents drove me to the hospital that night and I was admitted into the psychiatric unit for intensive care. They diagnosed me with post traumatic stress disorder and major depressive syndromes. That night was one of the worst nights of my life. I felt violated, like I had done something horrible wrong and was being punished for it. They took away everything – my jewelry, my I-pod, my phone, even my clothes – I had to wear hospital scrubs. I felt so uncomfortable being there.

There were doctors, nurses, and physiologists everywhere. About fifty times a day someone would as me, "What are you here for?" and "How do you feel?" I'm not a straightforward person; I'm always beating around the bush. I hated the blunt questions and having to say things, if you didn't talk about your feelings you had to stay longer.

It was also very hard for me being a religious Jew there. I had to wear pants, there was no kosher food, the guys and girls were mixed, and I grew up going to an all girls school. I cried my whole first day there. Eventually I got used to it. I even got used to the real annoying stuff, like not being allowed to use a fork or pencil and having to have a nurse go with you to the bathroom. There were even some parts I liked about it. I really liked the group therapies, it was so cool to talk to other kids who were going through similar things and understood you. I also like how safe I felt at the hospital. At home I had a constant fear that someone was after me.

After a week I was released. I felt more comfortable talking about what had happened after being so open with everything at the hospital. I was seeing a follow up physiologist who specialized in trauma, and I went to a group therapy once a week. Things weren't really getting so much better though. I still felt depressed and suicidal. I overdosed on pills twice, and my parents wanted to send me back to the intensive care unit. They ended up taking me to a psychoanalyst who prescribed anti depressants. I didn't want to take "happy pills" but she explained to me that the pills were there to stabilize me, and help me in my down times.

The other week I put all my razors, pills, and negative things in a box and got rid of itI switched to a therapist I like better than the doctor, and started getting closer with my group. I really was able to open up and talk to them. They became like a second family to me. I look forward to group, it's such a great place to talk about things and get support. I still have a lot of things to work through.

My parents are constantly getting frustrated with me because I have trouble communicating and being open with them, but we both try to understand each other.

My friends have been incredible. They've helped me, loved me and supported me the whole way. My therapist is helping me put the puzzle pieces of my life together, patch up the relationship with my parents, feel good about myself, and work hard in school. The other week I put all my razors, pills, and negative things in a box and got rid of it. It felt so good, I felt so strong.

Looking ahead still has me scared, but I lift up my head and stare down the long road.

I know there is a bright future ahead of me. Because if I can get through this, then I can do anything, there's no stopping me. G‑d will be with me every step of the way. I have faith in Him, He won't let me down. I know G‑d has put me through all of this because He has faith in me too. He believes I'm strong and capable and I can do it. I won't let Him down, and I won't let me down.

I don't want to let this evil control what I become. Every day that I let this ruin my life, the more horribly significant it becomes. So that is why I wrote this. To share my story so that others going through it know that they are not alone. I know the article I read gave me strength and I hope this does the same for some other girl out there. So if you are reading this, my message to you is: Don't let someone else control what you become. You can decide, take every situation and make it the best. If I can do it, you can too.

]]><![CDATA[Open Letter to Daddy Dear]]>Fri, 09 Dec 2011 05:39:51 GMThttp://www.adkanenough.com/3/post/2011/12/open-letter-to-daddy-dear.html

Dear Daddy,

I wish I had the courage to actually send this letter to you. I wish I had the courage to say these words face to face, but I don't so instead I write anonymously.

I have spoken to you before, but only in my head. I have things to say that I have never verbalized. There are words rushing around inside me, words which I have tried so hard to suppress, words I wish did not need to be said, words which cause my heart to stop just by thinking of them.

But today, they must come out. I will no longer allow these words to stay stuck inside like a festering wound.

This a long introduction, and I wonder if its because I am really loathe to put my feelings out there. Black and white. I am scared. I am frightened of how I will feel when I say these words to you. But I will. I will do it for myself. I will do it, because it must be done.

I will do it, because you can't hurt me anymore.
I am an adult. I have control, and I will not let you hurt me.

This is really difficult for me to say. But I am strong and I will say it.
There is a terrible rage deep inside my heart. An anger so profound that its intensity frightens me.

When I first recalled that it was you, I refused to allow my mind to believe it.
I called my therapist and told her that I cannot live and "know" at the same time.
If I "know" I die.
But I am alive.
And I "know".
She cared, and so I am alive.

She cared. A stranger.
You didn't care. My father.

As I write these words, a great tide of emotion wells up inside. Sadness.
Deep sorrow for the daddy I never had.
When I first remembered what you did to me, the worst feeling was the sense of betrayal.

I always wanted you to love me.
I wanted to be a little girl whose father cared about her.
But you didn't.
You couldn't.
And you wouldn't.

You wouldn't get the help you needed so that your daughter could survive.
I thought I was special.
I believed that when you crept into my room at night that I was daddy's special little girl.
You loved me. Daddy you really loved me. Just not in the right way. and that bad love destroyed me.

I never had a chance after that.
You destroyed my Neshomo, because you couldn't control yours.
I was only five years old.
An innocent child.
You were a man.
And you destroyed me.

Your few moments of selfishness are my endless years of suffering.
You stole my childhood.
Every child deserves to be one, don't you think?

I believed I did not deserve even the most natural thing.
To be a child.

You took that part of me, and you can never give it back.

Why Daddy?
Why Daddy dear?

Why did you hate me so?
I was your baby daughter.
Don't you remember?
You said you loved me.
Don't you remember?

But you lied.
And you continue to lie.

I am nothing to you am I?
you don't even bother calling me anymore.

Why?
Is it because you are ashamed?
Are you scared I might tell someone?
Are you afraid of Hashems anger when you die?
Are you thinking of the punishment you deserve?

It is not too late Daddy.

I still love you, do you know that?
For all the pain and suffering you have caused, stupid me still cares about her selfish father.

I HATE myself for still needing you.
I am stupid and wicked for still wanting a daddy.

But I do.

I am full of rage, yet I still care about you.

There is still time father dear.
As long as you are alive there is time for forgiveness.

Don't wait.
It might be too late.

I don't want you to be punished in Olam Haboh.

Please .
Don't wait.
It might be too late.

]]>