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Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

I was in an abusive relationship for 12 years. I met him when I was fourteen and we came together when I was fifteen. He was nice and lovely and I fell in love with him. I never thought that he could have a dark side. After a few month I began to realize, that there is something inside him. When we had our first fight, he screamed with me and I had so much fear. He apologized and I forgived him. But: It didn‘t stopped. He was verbal abusive. He said that I am a whore. He made me feeling small and like I am the worst person in the world. He said, that I am a psycho. He said I am a joke. He said I am nothing. He said, that he has to talk and scream with me like this, because I don‘t understand his points otherwise. He began to destroy things like my watch or a necklace. The walls had holes and he often grabbed me at my shoulders very hard when he got angry. When I cried, he became angrier at all. I locked myself in the toilet because I had so much fear of him. He also pushed me at the asphalt when he was drunk sometimes. I had bruises. One time he choked me. I never told anybody what happend, because I always forgived him and felt so fucking guilty. I tried to left him, but he always said, that he will kill himself, when I go. I went to therapy but even there I was so ashamed, that I didn‘t talk about the abuse. After two years of therapy I got stronger and stronger. I was ready to talk to somebody about the things that happend to me and that I want to leave him. Suddenly I felt free and was ready to go. He always said, that he loves me and that I am the love of his life. It never was love. I realized that I was in an abusive relationship. There were verbal, emotional and physical abuse. I didn't imagine any of it. I wasn't crazy. Whoever is reading this and is in a similar situation: You are strong! You are intelligent! You are beautiful! You are a good person! You can trust yourself! You can talk to someone! You can do this! You can leave him! You are a wonderful human being! I love you all out there and send you hugs. We have to share our stories and we are allowed to share them. Together we can change something.

I never thought I’d end up in a relationship where love turned into control. It started small checking where I was, who I talked to, and what I spent. Before long, I was isolated from my family, my finances were no longer my own, and I felt trapped in a version of life that revolved around keeping the peace. The control eventually became financial and emotional. I was pressured to leave my job, told what I could or couldn’t buy, and made to feel guilty for needing independence. Every dollar spent was questioned. My self-worth slowly disappeared until I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Then came the night everything changed. During an argument, he introduced a firearm not in defense, but as intimidation. In that moment, I realized how easily fear can silence someone. That silence almost became my prison. But deep down, something in me refused to die there. I decided to leave, even if it meant starting from nothing. Leaving was terrifying, but it was also the beginning of freedom. I had to rebuild from the ground up my confidence, my finances, and my sense of safety. There were nights I questioned if I made the right choice, but every morning I woke up without fear, I knew I did. Today, I’m learning that healing isn’t about forgetting—it’s about reclaiming power piece by piece. I still flinch at loud noises and double-check locks, but I also laugh again. I make choices for myself. I’m learning to trust that I’m safe now. To anyone who’s living in silence, afraid to leave: your story matters. Fear doesn’t define you, and control is not love. You deserve safety, freedom, and peace. You are not alone and you can survive this too.

I had an aunt who had a son here in America. We were pretty close since our families only had each other here so we would go over to their house often. I was around 5 so he was like 7 or 8. We would play around the house while our parents talked and I remember us being in his parents room playing with some dinosaur figures one day when he closed the door and told me to go into the closet with him. I did and he shut the closet doors and started to tell me to do weird things like licking his hands and he would touch my privates. I cant remember exactly what else happened that day but I remember knowing it was wrong but I couldn't bring myself to tell my mom because I had done the things he told me to do. To be honest, I had forgotten everything until I went to Mexico for the first time and when I saw him, I suddenly remembered this day. I hate that I cant remember everything that happened and if it had happened more than once on separate occasions. I also hate that I'm scared of him and I don't know if he remembers. I haven't seen him since that day but it didn't seem like he felt awkward around me. I resent him so much because I have become hyper sexual but I feel sad because I wonder how he even knew this stuff. Was someone doing these things to him? I have only told my ex best friend and current best friend... I want to tell my mom, I know she will believe me, but I feel like it's already been so long that it won't change anything. I am now 19 and don't want to start any family drama. What should I do?

My mother had a lot of mental health issues and still does. I haven't had any contact with her for two years. Beginning when I was 3 or 4 up until I was 10 or 12, she would regularly say she had to "check your bottom." She would have me strip, lay down on a towel with my knee up and legs spread, and she would touch me. I can still feel her fingers on me and inside of my vagina, scraping with her fingernails: I can feel this on a visceral level as I type this. She would always take my temperature rectally. And then clean me with cotton balls and cotton swabs. I don't know why she stopped and I don't know why she did what she did. For years I struggled with this and with memories of her touching me. I have spent most of my adult life dealing with anxiety, trust issues, sexual dysfunction, and shame. I finally told my therapist a few years ago and it was like a weight was lifted. I still feel alone and unable to talk about this with people. It doesn't seem like anyone talks about or has much research on maternal sexual abuse especially towards female children. It has affected my sex life, my body image, and my ability to trust other people. I am starting up with a new therapist soon and I know this is something I want to, that I need to talk about but it is stirring up so much anxiety. For other daughters out there, you are not alone. Mothers do this and likely with a higher frequency than we'll ever know.

The body remembers trauma. I didn’t know this until I experienced it myself. After a fun and rambunctious night with my husband (now ex) I woke up the next morning feeling particularly sore. As I sat on the toilet I realized that this soreness was something I had felt before. I then had a flashback from my sophomore year in college. When I woke up groggy after a night of partying with my soccer teammates. I headed to the bathroom. As I peed I felt that sore and ache-y feeling. I didn’t know what it was and wrote it off as cramps and hangover. I remember looking in the mirror and seeing that I wasn’t wearing my pajamas. Just a random top and shorts. When I got back to my dorm room my then boyfriend was just waking up. And that was the end of my flashback. I then realized my sexual history was a lie. I thought I had lost my virginity to my husband and he was my first and only partner. But this changed everything. I lost my virginity to my boyfriend who raped me and I had no idea. My sexual narrative and my identity changed in my late 30's because of this revelation. Who am I? What does this mean? Bits and pieces from the night returned. I know we drank a lot. I know he walked me home. Thats all I can remember because I blacked out. Is it better that I blacked out? That I cant remember the horrible thing done to me? I don't know. I just feel a bit lost and scared for the 19 year old me who was young and naive. She didn't know what to do. Now in my early 40's divorced and a single parent I'm healing the wounds that were invisible and hiding for so long. Im listening to my body now. And I'm going to nourish it.

This is the first time I am really telling my story and what happened to me. I was 6 years old and my abuser was 2 years older than me and briefly in the same Organization Group as me. It started off normal, we would hang out, play video games, play Barbie’s, etc. eventually though, and I’m not exactly sure when, she started to talk to me and coerce me into many different sexual activities. It went on for nearly 2 years and there were times when she would call and ask my mom if I could come over because she knew my mom wouldn’t say no. Then she would abuse me for most of the stay. She would assure me that my parents would be furious if they knew (I knew they would be) so I never told anyone. I just wanted this person who I perceived as cool to like me so I kept going along with whatever she said. I am now almost 30 years old and am speaking about this for the first time. I have struggled so much with whether or not I was a victim, if it was just normal curiosity, if anyone would even take it seriously or if it would be shrugged off as “kids being kids”. It has caused me so much pain in my life, but I am trying to do the work to process and let go of the guilt

This story, my story, started 25 or 24 years ago, when I was 7 or 8 years of age. I was sexually abused (once only but enough to make an impact) by my dad, the first person that's meant to protect you. I never told a soul about it, no one but myself knew it during those 25 years, and even I did not want to think about it. As the years went I learnt to put it at the back of my mind, it was to painful, disgusting and worst of all, I was ashamed, ashamed for something I didn't do, but something that someone too close to me did instead. I learnt to push back if that memory ever came back to me. I grew (somehow) very closed to my dad, and pretended that never happened; only last year I learnt that very action has a name, and it's called compartimentalising. It was only last year, when I started to have issues with anxiety to another level that I finally, when I was about to have a nervous break down, decided that it was time to say it out loud. Weirdly enough, I never had considered myself a victim of sexual abuse... and the words 'sexual abuse' were really difficult for me to mention when talking about what happened to me, although, over time I grew used them and more comfortable (it still hurts though). I was on therapy for over 10 months, followed by a 3 months of CTB course, I still have catch up calls with my therapist every now and then. The worst part of my therapy was, what my own body needed, and that was to seek my dad's accountability, the one which, after confronting him, still hasn't acknowledge, and let's be honest, he won't ever do it. But I learnt to move on not expecting that to happened and at least, my dad knows the big impact that one action that happened that one time, has badly affected my throughout these past years, and my present. I discovered that most people that has suffered this type of abuse tend to develop any sort of chronic pain condition, which I did at the age of 13, mostly from what it felt like, was eating me alive from the inside of my body. Discovering the condition I have had for more than half of my life, is there because of my dad, was no easy discovery and that's where the panic attacks started. As you can imagine, and like all of you, it's been a long healing process. My 4 most important things that really helped me through my healing process (unfinished healing process) were: - My support network (my friends as family only found out after and they still don't know who did it). - Exercising, the best thing I have done for my mental health. - An incredible manager at work who supported me throughout my journey - And (unfortunately) antidepressants to manage better anxiety, as it got really bad at some points. I know, my healing isn't over, I know I might never get what I really want which is that accountability, but at least I know that what ever I decide to do, I'm now (mostly) in control, not my dad or my fears. We all still have bad days, but at least now I know, I'm not alone.

The first time I ever laid eyes on T was in algebra class. He was a senior, and I was a junior. He was this cool, popular boy covered in tattoos, flirting with our algebra teacher, and she was totally eating it up. I didn’t talk to him. I thought he was hot, but his obnoxious popularity contest, center of attention behavior annoyed me. So I kept my nose down and intentionally gave him no attention not even a glance in his direction. One day he stopped coming to school. He dropped out to work at this tattoo shop, and I didn’t see him again until that summer. I went to a concert with my cousin that summer after junior year. We were outside getting some air because it was so packed and humid in there. It was an underground rap artist concert, so it was small. I heard someone call my name: “Hey C, hey girl!!!” I turned to see him. I must have had a confused look on my face because he said, “It’s me, T from math.” After a few moments, I was like, “Yeah, I know who you are, what’s up.” We spent the rest of the concert together. He told me how I was the only person who never paid attention to him, how he thought about me a lot. I guess it made me stand out from all the girls who were all over him all the time. He even said it made him Mr. Popular scared to talk to me. He made me feel so special. He said all the right things, like I was already the center of his universe, and he’d been hoping and wishing he would get the chance to see me again. And that if he did, he wouldn’t miss his chance. Looking back, he had started his manipulation from that very first day. The love bomb dropped, and I was hit hard. I was in love. Over the summer, we were together every day. He did everything a boy in love should do he treated me like a princess, opened doors, met my mom, and shook my dad’s hand. He was already doing drugs then, but he was still able to hide it. Other than the weed he was a huge pothead, but hey, this is California, everyone smokes pot, we don’t see it as a drug. I didn’t care about that. But there was more happening in secret. I just didn’t know it yet. After this fairy tale summer, I went back to school. It was my senior year, class of 2009, and I was so excited. But it was short lived. I had this white binder with a clear cover back then it was the thing to do, to put drawings there, pictures of you and your friends, pictures of you and your boyfriend, and carry it around for everyone to see. So of course, I had mine covered in pictures from the summer of me and T. In second period, a girl I kinda knew looked at my binder and said, “Hey, is that T?” I was proud yeah, he’s my boyfriend, we’ve been dating for months. But she said it not in a bitchy “girl that’s trying to make you jealous” tone, but in a concerned, soft tone. She said, “Oh, I saw him at a party last weekend. He wasn’t acting like someone with a girlfriend. Did you know he does drugs?” I said, “Yeah, weed, I know.” She replied, “No, not weed worse.” My heart broke. I didn’t know exactly what that meant what was he doing at the party and who with, and if not weed then what? My mind came up with every hurtful thing, and I didn’t want to know more, so I didn’t ask. And she didn’t say. Later, when I asked him about it, he told me they were just jealous and they were just trying to get between us. And I believed him. I never mentioned the drugs something told me I shouldn’t. After that, it was constant. I always heard he was cheating or lying, and I didn’t believe anyone. Until one day. I was in computer class, and I got a text from a number I didn’t know, with a picture of a tattoo. I asked who it was. She told me, and I knew her. She told me she went to get a tattoo from T she didn’t pay money, she had sex with him in the tattoo shop bathroom and got it for free. I knew she wasn’t lying. I felt sick to my stomach, tears in my eyes. I wanted to run out but I couldn’t. I was stuck there hurting. I don’t remember what he told me, exactly. I remember the intensity of it. How he seemed to mean it when he’d say he can’t live if I am not with him. I am the only one for him and if he can’t have me he’d kill himself. He makes mistakes an no one could ever love me like he does. Like no one could ever love him like I do. I was not just wanted, I was needed. That’s how I felt. Being abandoned by my bio dad, I probably had some trauma.. have some trauma. I wanted to be wanted. And he seemed to know that some how. And use it. So I stayed with him. I always stayed. I remember the first time he hit me. I’d been surrounded by substance abuse most of my life, and somehow I still didn’t see it in him. I was still in high school, a teenager, dating this boy who I thought was so cool. He worked at a tattoo shop, covered in tattoos, this amazing artist, everyone knew him, all the girls wanted to be with him, but he wasn’t with them, he was with me. I was supposed to be spending the night at W’s house… but I was at his. He was trying to play this song on the guitar, struggling on a few notes for over an hour, and I was getting bored sitting there. I told him I was going to go sit on the couch and watch a movie with his younger nephew so he could keep practicing. He told me no, which I didn’t see as a demand… not yet at least. So I laughed it off and was like, I’ve been listening for an hour. He was so obsessed, doing the same thing over and over and over like he was in some kind of trance. Looking back, he was high. At the time, I just thought… well, I don’t know what I thought, but not that. I turned to walk away, and the next thing I knew, he was behind me, grabbed me, spun me around, and slapped me so hard on the side of my face and ear that my face was burning and my ear was ringing. I faintly heard him say something along the lines of, don’t ever walk away from me again. I looked around, his nephew had seen the whole thing, I could tell by the look on his face, but he didn’t say a word. Looking back, that was the beginning, the makings of the idea that would be drilled into my head for years after: “no one cares, it’s your fault, and did this even happen or am I crazy?”. At that point I was madly in love with who i thought he actually was. I thought the person that hurts me isn’t really him. I just need to help him, he loves me. He’ll die without me. It’ll get better…. It never did. This was just the beginning. He just dropped off one day didn’t answer my calls, blocked me. For days, I was in a state of desperation. I called and I called and I called. Until finally, not him but a friend answered the call. He told me T was with a girl in City, he didn’t want me anymore, and to stop calling. I asked why, I asked what I did, I told him I thought we were fine, I don’t understand. He just laughed and hung up on me. And yet again T always found a way of making me feel like I was the center of his universe, no matter what he did. He would die without me, I make him a better person, he’s so sorry he hurt me. He’s just doing it because he’s never loved anyone like this and it scares him, and he self-destructs before I get the chance to hurt him because he couldn’t stand it if I ever did. I don’t know why this worked on me but it did. I always believed it. After City didn’t work out, he came back and did just that, and I fell for it. And I took him back. It just became normal after that. He would block me, I would freak out, search for him, call him and drive around hysterical, and then he would unblock me. Call me, tell me how it was because of something I did that it was because I don’t have the same freedom he did, because I lived with my parents still and I had rules or whatever else he came up with, and that I needed to not do anymore because it hurts him more than it does me to do this because he’s never loved anyone like he loves me. And I fell for it every time. Now I know what he was doing all those times: hard drugs and cheating or both. The next time he hit me, was at my house, and that’s when the drug use became impossible to ignore. He showed up incoherently speaking, not making sense I hadn’t seen him in a couple days, he had just unblocked me again. He passed out on my bed. I woke him up, told him he couldn’t sleep here, my dad would be pissed, I wasn’t allowed to have boys asleep in my room. He got up, flinging his arms around wildly, and punched me. I started crying, asked where he had been, demanded his login for his MySpace account. Who are all these girls on your page, why are they all talking to you like that? He gave it to me, I logged in, and it was an uncountable amount of messages girls he was flirting with, girls he was cheating on me with. I had to stop looking, it made me sick. I asked him about them, I asked why he was doing this. He then picked up his phone and threw it at my face and left. At this point he must have realized he could get away with hurting me and I wouldn’t leave. So he stopped trying so hard to make me forgive him. He didn’t have to. To him I was never going anywhere. But I did, I broke up with him and I meant it this time, for the first time. I drove to his shop and saw him with another girl. Seeing it with my own eyes, it was impossible to ignore. I told him I was done, I screamed I cried “why do you keep doing this to me, why do you keep hurting me if you don’t love me let me fucking go”. I started driving away he ran after my truck, jumped on the side, and started punching me through the window until he fell off. I guess he was embarrassed in front of her. I broke it off, I blocked him this time. And I started to move on. I was done with T for real this time, or so I thought. I’d broken it off, blocked him, and started moving on. That’s when I started seeing B oh, B. It wasn’t official yet but I wanted it to be. We went to high school together, and I’d had this crush on him for years, watching him ride around on his street bike, all confidence and smiles. He was just… normal. Still in school, kind, with these loving parents who actually showed up and cared. On our first date, he took me for a ride on his bike, and when I drove up to his house later, his dad teased me, calling me “lead foot” for how I pulled in playful, not mean at all, just warm and welcoming like they were pulling me right into their family. It made me laugh, feel included. He was sweet, handsome, the type who saw you without any bullshit games. For the first time, I felt this spark of something easy, like maybe I could have a real shot at a boyfriend and happiness without the chaos. But T always thought he owned me, like I was his no matter what, even if he didn’t want me right then. He heard about B and couldn’t handle it. Called me from some other number, whispering all that sugar, begging me to come see him that night. Said he couldn’t eat or sleep thinking of me with someone else. He pleaded, and I gave in, like an idiot. That’s the night I got pregnant. I went over to “talk.” He was all kind and sweet at first, heartbroken, asking me to stay. I said no, but he begged just cuddle, nothing else, he promised. I was still seeing B, didn’t want to mess that up by sleeping with T. I needed time to think. He acted like he got it, respected it. The night felt okay, like maybe we’d figured shit out. But once everyone was asleep, his eyes went black. He forced me to have sex with him. I cried. I said no. I said it again and again.He was 6 foot and I’m 5’4 he was bigger than me in every way. I couldn’t even budge him. Nothing I did made any difference. He held me down, covered my mouth so no one could hear me, and didn’t care. “I am going to get you pregnant whether you like it or not,” he said, “and then no one else will want you.” And he did. It hit me hardest with B. I ghosted him after that, I was too ashamed to even tell him how do I explain I was forced and how do I explain being pregnant with your ex’s kid? What teenager wants that? I never gave him the chance to know what happened. I thought…It’s understandable no boy that age wants a pregnant girlfriend, especially when it’s not even his I wasn’t going to bring this into his life. But for me? Devastating. Years crushing on him, finally getting this chance at normal kindness, stability, his cute family that welcomed me and T ruined it all in one night. Snatched my chance away. I’d never get it now, everything felt so ruined…. I felt ruined and my body felt used up. Who’d want me like this? I just stayed with T, accepted it like that was my life, this was my fate. By the time I got pregnant, it was the end of my senior year, and I was about to turn 18, right after graduation. I never told my parents. He said once I turned 18, he would have a place for us and we would move out. And that’s exactly what happened on my 18th birthday. I thought this could fix everything, I thought we would get better. I was so wrong under his full control now. It got so much darker. Ripped jeans with holes in the knees were popular. I was just 17 when I found out I was pregnant, a secret I buried deep because I didn’t want to tell my parents, even though they would’ve supported me without question. By the time everything unraveled, I was 18, hopelessly in love or what felt like love and carrying this new life inside me, all while feeling more isolated than ever. The house we ended up in belonged to someone who’d passed away, an old woman whose grandson had been living there and stuck around after she was gone. He was a lot older than us at 18 his 30s seemed really old. This guy was friends with T’s older sister, that's how T knew him. T, spun it like a great opportunity: “We can move in there,” he said, and just like that, we did. T did tattoos for a living, or tried to, he’d gotten kicked out of the shop he worked at, probably because of the drugs creeping in, though I never got the full story. So he started doing them on the side, he was getting paid mostly in drugs when he was doing these tattoos. He mainly did them at a trap house around the corner, where all they did was do drugs and sell drugs. People were in and out all the time. Sometimes he did them at our house. As soon as we moved there, I really saw the extent of his drug problem. He wasn’t paying rent and the roomate didn’t hold him to it. He just treated me like shit because of it, like I did something wrong or somehow it was my fault T didn’t have money. No one around him ever held him accountable for anything ever. No one. Me? I’d just graduated high school, pregnant and clueless about the real world. I'd never held a job in my life and never planned to jump into one, especially not like this. I was confused, did they expect ME to have money? Get a job? I was a kid I was pregnant I didn’t understand. But from the second we moved in, everyone made me feel like an intruder, nitpicking every move…. I did the dishes wrong, used too much soap, didn’t clean enough, accidentally ate someone else’s food. I was just navigating adulthood for the first time, and no one cut me any slack. One night he did a tattoo at our house, but it went on for so long. Finally at 4am I asked him if he was coming to bed. This is not normal behavior. He yelled at me “ don’t ever question me in front of people, don’t ever ask me questions at all, it’s not your place”. He never slept that night. I cried myself to sleep. Something I would do every night. After that everyone around the house wouldn’t talk to me anymore, they would talk AT me or about me like I wasn’t in the room. “She’s crazy “ “he doesn’t even love her he’s stuck with her” and T would laugh and agree. He treated me like I was property. I didn’t get an opinion, I didn't get to speak or make decisions. I was his regardless of whether he wanted me or not no one else would ever have me but him. I’ve never felt so lonely in my entire life like I was on a planet all by myself. Like I was screaming but nothing was coming out. It was a living nightmare I could never wake up from. I was invisible. T was 19, already deep in the clutches of meth, his addiction fueling rages that turned him into someone unrecognizable abusive in ways that left marks on more than just my skin. And then there was her, the neighbor in her 40s she was awful to me. I could see her front door and kitchen window, a kids room from my side door. The driveways connected there with no barrier in between, no privacy wall. It was almost like one giant driveway but they were just separated by a space between down the middle. She tried to play some weird motherly role to T. I couldn’t tell if she was in love with him or was playing “mom” to her little baby that was not even her son because they did drugs together. Either way. It wasn't real care, it was the kind where she’d do drugs right alongside her “kid,” excusing every violent outburst, every cruel twist, even when it played out right in front of her. In her eyes, he was this flawless little angel, pure and blameless. Me? I was the liar, the crazy creature hell bent on destroying him. Her voice was always heavy with hate when she talked to me, like every word was laced in venom, a poison brewed just for me, dripping with false accusations that it was all my fault. One day in the driveway, things just got bad. I was sober unlike everyone around me, super hungry. My stomach hurt 18 and pregnant, with T having snatched the food stamps card again running off with it for hours, sometimes days, leaving me without the basics. I was trying to stop him from bolting down the street to chase more drugs, my hands clutching at his arm begging him. But he shoved me without a second thought, throwing me hard to the ground like I was worthless. The rough pavement tore into my bare knees through those damn jean holes, pebbles and dirt grinding deep into the skin, blood welling up in a gritty, stinging mess mixed with the grime.I was looking around for anything or anyone to help get me out of this. That’s when I saw them right there in plain view: her two little boys, fat faced with freckles, their red hair dirty and unbrushed. They had seen everything through their windows and were running out. They weren’t rushing to help or even looking shocked; they were laughing, those sharp, cruel giggles that hurt worse than the fall. Little red headed sadistic freaks. That’s what I thought then. I was too young to realize they were just kids and they were a product of their mom. She wasn’t there in that exact moment, but I could feel her there anyway the enabler who’d whisper blame in my ear, who’d defend him no matter what. The boys didn’t hang around they burst out their front door, still laughing and yelling to anyone who could hear: “She hit him! She hit him!” Twisting the truth into a flat out lie before I could even stand up. When I got up, the embarrassment hit me hard. I felt like I’d done something terribly wrong. I was embarrassed that everyone could hear those kids screaming their lies, knowing that they’d believe them and hate me even more than they already did. Thinking why had I even tried to stop him? I should have just let him go, stayed hungry, and hoped he’d come back soon before I starved. It wasn’t anger I felt right then, but this deep embarrassment, like the whole world was judging me for being in this mess. I picked myself up, blood trickling down my shins, hungry, scared, and so alone. “No, look,” I tried to say, pointing to my jeans where the ripped hole had closed when I stood, trying to open it to show everyone. “He pushed me.” But no one would look. They didn’t care, they didn’t want to see the truth. Soon after, T’s sister moved in with two of her kids, and the drugs got worse. The 30 year old we rented the room from was using, she was using, T was using. All their friends and everyone around in the neighborhood was using. I was the only one that wasn’t. Every time he hit me, they said it was my fault. I’d been knocked on the ground, and then they would just walk over me like I wasn’t there. He invited people over, and it’s like they came over just to be cruel to me. No one was kind there. They said that I lied about him hitting me and I was crazy. If they saw him do it, they would say “well you shouldn’t have tried to stop him from working” and I tried to explain that he wasn’t going to work, he was doing tattoos for drugs. He took my card, I had no food, I had no money, I was always hungry. It didn’t matter to them they didn’t hear me, they didn’t see me. I thought I was losing my mind. I was starting to think I had made it all up. I had friends that loved me, I had parents that loved me. I didn’t turn to them, I don’t know why. But I do know it wouldn’t have mattered then, I probably would have never left until I was pushed out. My friend came over and she was worried about me, she needed to see me. I told her everything. I told her earlier that day I begged him to stop doing drugs, to stop leaving me alone, and he grabbed my hair and pulled me across the house on my stomach and everyone saw, no one stopped him. And I was pregnant, they all knew this, they didn’t care. She told me I needed to leave. I didn’t listen at that moment. Since I met those girls J and W, I’ve loved them, they always tried to protect me, they never abandoned me, to this day. That day it was W that came over, she could not force me to leave and she knew it. But she would be there no matter what, and when I was ready, she was. They both we’re The next day, he started off to the drug house again. I followed him, begging him please don’t leave me alone, please stop doing drugs. And he ignored me until we were two houses down. I guess he didn’t want to bring the drama there. He grabbed me, threw me on the ground, and kicked me in the face. There just happened to be a guy working on his roof the first time in this entire time someone tried to help. He yelled at T to stop, he called the cops. The police showed up… and I refused to press charges. This officer knew me, he had been there before. One time when we were arguing in a room, T wanted me to leave him alone so he grabbed a metal bed frame, threw it at me, and started screaming that I threw it at him and to call the cops, so someone in the house did. They showed up and he forced his foot under it and said that I threw it at him, to arrest me. The officer took me aside and I told him what happened. He asked if I had anywhere to go. I told him I could go to my mom and dad’s. He said he believed me but they couldn’t prove it and I would not press charges. He told me to go home and never come back. He said that if I came back I might not make it out alive and he said to stay away from T “he is no good”. I went home that night but I came back. This is the same cop that showed up that day. Again I won’t press charges. I can see the concern in the officer’s face. He’s scared for me. He finds an illegal knife on T and takes him to jail. He tells me to go home again and not come back. T was on the way to jail. I walk back to the house, everyone already knows what happened. They started ganging up on me saying if I wasn’t pregnant they would beat my ass for bringing the cops around. Because they were all doing illegal activities. And for T getting arrested in the first place. At this point I am scared. I know I need to get out and get out fast, so I called W, I called my mom, and they made it there in record time, packed up all my shit and took me home. I never went back to that house. But that wasn’t the end of T and I. It had been a couple months since that day. I finally told my parents I was pregnant. And they were every bit as supportive as anyone could imagine. They loved me no matter what. I can’t say why I was so scared to tell them. They were always loving parents. They had their flaws, they weren’t perfect but they were good parents. W was over every single day. J always checked in on me. They were my rock, I didn’t feel alone anymore. I don’t think I’ve ever told them just how much they helped me, how much I love them for that. How I can spend a lifetime trying to repay what they did for me and I would never come close. But I think they know. I never told them EVERYTHING until years later and I probably still haven’t said everything. I didn’t need to, they could see I was broken. We could talk when I was ready. Finally I am happy, I am getting better, I am healing. And I am a couple months away from having my baby. Then T comes back into the picture and I let him. He happens to move into the neighborhood behind my parents house. I don’t remember how he got ahold of me. But he did. He always found me. He wasn’t allowed at my parents house at all. I hadn’t told them much of anything that happened but they knew something happened. He kept calling me, kept begging me to see him. Over and over and I gave in. One night I met him on a street in between his house and mine. He was high, I’m not sure what his intentions were that night other than evil. He jumps in my truck and starts screaming at me, hitting me, punching my truck, breaking the plastic on my dashboard. Saying that he owns me, that he’s forever attached to me, I can never get rid of him and that I am never allowed to move on in life without him. Then all the sudden my passenger door opens and he gets ripped out of the truck.The man he was living with must have seen him leave and I don’t know what made him do it but he followed him. Saw what was going on and saved me that night. He told me to never go back. He told me “he’s going to kill you don’t you get it!!” It was harsh but I think he was trying to help. Of course I didn’t listen, not yet. I started meeting him in private, taking him to my doctors appointments in secret. He held it together for a while, there were a few parking lot arguments, nothing too crazy for a while but it didn’t last. I was going to do one of those 3D ultrasounds and he wanted to come. When I went to pick him up, I knew he was high. But I took him anyway. In the parking lot I asked him to wait in the car I wasn’t going to take him in there incoherent, it was embarrassing. He lost his mind and started punching me in the face in the parking lot and didn’t care who saw. So many people saw that they called the cops. I tried to lie but I was told there were witnesses and they are taking him to jail. They wanted me to press charges but I would not do it. He got out shortly after. I only saw him two more times after that day. But he was outside of my house every night stalking me. Watching me come and go, watching who came over. Waiting for me to be alone but I never was. If my parents were not there, W or J were. The night I went into labor, he saw. He was there watching. He showed up to the hospital high and drunk with a bunch of drug addict friends. He was disrespectful to my family and friends at the hospital. I was so terrified. I had the nurses kick him out but he and his sister kept calling my room so I had to be moved to a private room. You walked in the first door and were met with another door. The second door led to my room. That way no one could look into a window and see me. You had to have a specific password to be let in, and if anyone called they gave them no information on whether I was even there or not. I have more kids and I love them all the same but that morning at 3am it was only her. I had my baby, and the second I looked into her eyes, it hit me like nothing ever had before. No one else existed but her. In that instant, I finally knew what real love was this overwhelming, fierce thing that changed everything. From that day on, nothing has been more important than her. She’s the love of my life, period, all that matters to me. She saved my life that day, pulling me out of the darkness and giving me a reason to fight for something good. She was the first to open my eyes and gave me the strength to break free. I knew right then I’d protect her by any means necessary. I knew I’d never go back to him. She deserves love and peace and protection, and I’d make sure she got it. I never ever went back to T after that. Though he was awful, he was still her father so we tried visitation once. He only wanted to speak to me. He showed up high and talked about his wants to be a family and his obsessive possessiveness of me was so clear to me then, when I turned him down, told him I would never be with him again he started to insult me. Calling me a bad mom I made him leave. He held her for 5 seconds that day. That’s the last time he ever saw her that close. I told him if he wanted to be in her life he needed to get help and he needed to get clean, he never has. He stalked me for many years, would track me down, send videos and pictures and songs threatening me, threatening whoever I dated. Until he moved out of state and so did I. His stalking became less and less until after many years it stopped. As far as I know. But the trauma of what I went through still hurts. I can still feel it on my body. I still have to work every day to reprogram my brain. I know I wasn’t crazy, I know I was abused. I know it wasn’t my fault. And maybe one day I will actually accept it. To this day I don’t know why I stayed. I don’t remember everything that happened to me. I don’t know why I remember what I do, maybe they left the biggest scars. Or maybe it was so much that my brain has forgotten some to save itself. I don’t think he was purely evil. I think his popularity and attention seeking was because of something he didn’t get as a child. He shared bits about his parents abandoning him, but always acted unfazed, like it was nothing. Surrounded by people the tattoo shop crew handing out pills and a place to sleep but no real home, no bedroom, just drifting. He held up this cool guy act like he owned the world, never admitting the voids, but I saw through it. I wanted to be the stability he lacked, love him for real, not the facade. He used that against me, twisting my empathy into a way to control me. I don’t know where he ended and the walls he put up to protect himself began. I refuse to make excuses for him. His dad abandoned him and his mom a few years later. His older sister tried to raise him, but she was a drug addict herself. He never had a real home. He never had a good role model in life. He seemed to be constantly surrounded by awful people with bad intentions from before he was even an adult. Maybe he never had a chance at life. Maybe one day I can accept that. I’ll never forgive, but maybe I can move on. I was so hurt for a long time, but now I am just left with intense anger. I want to find all these people and force them to face what they did to me, what they allowed to happen. But that is not possible, so I will continue to work through it, and maybe one day I can let go. Fully. Writing out is my last ditch effort. It’s been 16 years and maybe finally having my story in a physical form I can hold it, read it, share it and know it was real. It was wrong, I’m not crazy this did happen to me. Maybe this will help

He was my boyfriend. We had just had sex and he wanted to go again. I said “no”, he said “but I want to”, and he did. Those words ring in my mind so clearly. It wasn’t violent or aggressive, but it felt like something broke in me then. I carried that with me for a long time, and still do. Part of my shame was that I didn’t leave. Months later, I confronted him about it and he was so angry and not open to hearing me. That is not how someone who loves you, cares for you, or respects you acts. That is not how someone who respects women acts. It took me a long time to see that. Years later, I am seeing someone who is kind and safe. He doesn’t know this story but he cares for me and wants me to feel safe regardless. He has never been angry or upset when I didn’t want to have sex, if I wanted to stop or pause or talk about it or if there was something I didn’t like or wasn’t comfortable with. He listens when I explain a boundary and is always open to changing his behaviour to make me feel as comfortable and safe as possible. That is someone who cares, who inherently respects other people and wants to be a safe space. That is normal and the bare minimum. Abusers, perpetrators, and predators can warp your sense of reality but I promise you, people who are kind and good exist and there are so many more than you would think. You deserve to be treated with respect, kindness, and gentleness. That is never too much to ask for, that is the bare minimum.

I am not even sure where to begin but I am struggling lately and have come to realize that although my main abuser might be dead, I haven't dealt with a lot of feelings. I feel like I was always a target. I had no self-confidence as a child. I was painfully shy. I had a speech impediment and was always bullied in school and moving to 10 different elementary schools didn't help me make friends. I had a critical, narcissistic mother I could never please. I was first sexually abused at age 8 by an older teenage cousin. My mother allowed me to stay the night knowing that his father, my uncle, was a pedophile and molested many children. I didn't find this out until years later. He was my favorite cousin of course. I looked up to him. Went to all his track meets. He was grooming me of course. Why else would an 18-year-old male cousin want to spend so much time with his 8-year-old cousin? Back then no one spoke much about sexual abuse. Or sex at all. At least in my household. It was dirty and you will go to Hell. That is all I was ever told. I thought it was a bad dream for many years. Except it was so vivid. I could hear the music playing. Open Arms by Journey, I could smell and almost taste the round, white, powdery almond cookies my aunt served me before sending me to bed in a room with my male cousin his friend name (also male). To this day I still cannot fathom why my aunt would put an 8 yr old little girl in a bed with 2 teenage boys. It haunts me. Was she just as sick as my uncle and my cousin? All I found out later as an adult is my uncle molested all 3 of my male cousins. One turned into pedophile, one fought those urges his whole life and lived a sad, lonely life, and other one killed himself and died alone in an alleyway at age 40. I laid in that bed that night and my whole life changed. I woke up to my cousin fumbling around with my pants. I kept moving away as much as I could. I tried to pretend I was still asleep. I knew he knew I was awake. He didn't care. He did what he wanted. I just laid there. Tears silently rolling down my face. Then I forgot about it. Pretended it didn't happen, but it kept popping up in my head. I kept telling myself it was a horrible dream and dirty. When I was almost 17 I confided in my cousin. Girl cousin. She told me the same thing had happened to her while she was watching TV with him once. I decided I should tell my mother. That was a mistake. She didn't do anything. All she did was make me feel worse. Like it was my fault and she told everyone. He was still allowed around. To every Holiday. One Thanksgiving when he was at our house, he cornered me in my room. I thought I was about to pass out from fear. He said, " I am sorry about all the times I did things to you." That messed me up more. I had thought it was just one time. So, then I realized I probably forgot or blocked out other times. I could not stop playing things over and over in my head trying to remember. I could not wait to get out of my house and away from my mother. I never dated in high school. Never even kissed a boy until age 19. Yet my mother always called me a whore. When I moved out and started working, I felt free for the first time. I was saving myself for marriage, but every boy I dated and told that to would dump me. By age 22 I started thinking I would never find anyone. Stupid. I wanted to get far away from my mom and then I met a guy who was in the military. There were a million red flags. I ignored them. He drank. I didn't. His parents were both alcoholics. But he lived in state. So I wrote to him a couple years while he was in Japan stationed. Then he suddenly got out of military early. Wouldn't tell me why. I didn't care I just wanted to move. So I packed up and moved from California to state. I almost didn't when right before I was to leave he got a DUI. He was only 20. I was 22. He had also lied about his age. As a Christian the DUI really worried me and the lying about age and an almost 3-year age difference. Long story short, I of course ended up pregnant a year later. Twins. My parents didn't meet him until the day of the marriage. They didn't like him. Once married the first strange thing was when I was pregnant with twins and about 7 months along. I woke up and he had a flashlight and was between my legs doing things to me. I was horrified. I had no idea what to say. Through our marriage the main issues was drinking. I never allowed any alcohol in the house. Well, he took a job on the railroad. He was home once a week. I thought all was fine. For seven years he was home once a week. Apparently, he was drinking daily. We had 2 more kids in those 7 years and raising 4 kids alone was hard with no family around. We moved every year or 2 also. Finally, he went into management and was home every night. Thinks took turn for worse then. He could no longer hide his drinking. He was getting abusive. Emotionally to me. He stopped wanting sex most of the time and then I found dating sites, porn sites. Then he started raping me. He would wait until I was asleep. Then I would wake up to him having sex with me. I freaked out the first time. He acted like he thought I was awake. Next time he told me I am his wife, and it isn't rape. I told him don't ever do that again he knows I have been molested in my sleep and how awful that is to do to someone! He just didn't care. I finally said I was leaving if he didn't go to rehab for his drinking. that got him into marriage counseling. They told him he was raping me. That was the end of that. He didn't like to hear it. Then he got a girlfriend. I am disabled and he blamed me. Said he was sick of extra work. He was the laziest person. He was spending money from our retirement. I had always been a stay at home mom and had recently had spinal fusion and because he was spending our money on drugs and alcohol I went and drove a schoolbus in pain! I was not extra work for him. I took care of everything including children with kidney disease, and genetic conditions and chronic health issues in and out of hospitals all their lives. I filed for divorce. The abuse was enough. I was so shocked when after 21 long years of marriage he walked away and abandoned his 4 kids. No support, no visits, nothing. Due to his alcoholism I was grateful but sad for my children. THEN 2 years after my divorce was finalized my youngest baby girl confided in me something that broke my heart. She said, "Mom I have to tell you something disgusting" my heart sank. She said her dad molested her when I had been out of state for my friends funeral. She was 8 years old. We cried. I couldn't believe this horrible thing happened again to my baby!!! The guilt. I immediately reported it. Nothing was done. That was more devastating. I had prepared her for what would happen and then they did nothing. Karma in the end took care of that evil man. He died at age 46 from abusing his drugs and alcohol. He died alone. Like he deserved. My kids are Doctors, Nurses, and a Businessman. They didn't let that evil man define them. I didn't let him take my happiness. I had a very hard life. I can't even write about most of it. I never let my hard life or an evil person steal my happiness. He didn't determine my happiness I made my own happiness. If I had let my difficult life make me unhappy my children would have had a unhappy mom and had an unhappy childhood and not have turned into successful adults probably. I have bad days. Bad weeks even. Like this week. However tomorrow is a new day and I get to try again. I feel better sharing some of what I experienced. Thank you to anyone who takes time to read it. Sorry it is babbling in places lol..

This happened back in 2023. I had met this guy through my sister because she had told me that he had seen my picture and had asked about me and wanted to talk to me. At the time I was living out of state, so we were talking and we got together a couple days later. During the time that I was living out of state I had to be on the phone with him 24/7 if he was home and I wasn't at work which should've been the first red flag, but the second red flag should've been when he didn't let me go out drinking with my parents on my 21st birthday and told me I had to be on video chat with him during my birthday party. A couple weeks after my birthday I moved back to my home state to be with him and things were going fine at first. But then things started progressively getting worse, the first job I got when I got back he also got a job there because he didn't trust me being alone. I couldn't go to my therapy appointments alone, I couldn't go to the store alone, I wasn't allowed to have friends but yet he was allowed to talk to other girls, I wasn't allowed to go to work alone when I got a new job even though it was an hour away from where we were living. It eventually got to the point where he had introduced me to a few of his friends over video chat and one night he had gotten drunk and accused me of cheating on him with one of his friends when I was in the other room making a Tik Tok video, we got in a fight and when I was trying to leave he grabbed ahold of my bag and shoved me into the bathtub. As I was trying to leave after that he took my phone and wouldn't give it back to me, he tried breaking it and was doing everything in his power to keep me from leaving the house. When I finally was able to leave and just go for a drive he was blowing my phone up trying to call me and when I went back to the house and decided to sleep on the couch until his mom got back from work he knew I was talking to a friend and he told me to choose between him and the friend. When I went into the bedroom to sleep for the night because I had given up with the fighting he took my phone while I was asleep and blocked that friend which I didn't realize until I left him 2 days later but the following day acted like nothing was wrong except wouldn't offer to buy me anything at the mall even though I was the one that drove us there and paid for gas to get there. When I finally got the courage to leave him it was because I had to go to work one day and as always he forced his way along. When we got to my work I was told that I wasn't needed that day which meant I was able to go home, the only issue with that was that I didn't have enough gas in my car to get home and not enough money to put gas in the car. So I called my mom and stepdad who live in another state and asked for help but told them what was happening and decided that day that I was done with everything. My mom told me that she would only help me if I left him which with the help of her I was able to. After I dropped him off I made my way to a safe location in town and locked my car waiting to be able to go get my stuff, while I was waiting he walked from his house to where I was parked and tried to get me to talk to him. After I finally left for good he was blowing my phone up calling and texting asking if I was seriously leaving.

Living in Fear of My Perpetrator Part1 In Date, I joined S Company as a temporary employee. In Month, Year, my supervisor, A, requested my LINE contact information, which I provided, thinking it necessary for work. From Month, Year, A began sending me messages unrelated to work, asking questions like, “What do you do when you don’t have a boyfriend?” and expressing a desire to visit my home. On Date, A called me saying, “Let’s get closer in private.” At a company farewell party, I drank only one drink due to my alcohol allergy. Afterward, A invited me to a manga café, where he kissed me and asked to go to my house or a hotel, which I refused. Upon arrival at the café, A embraced and kissed me, groping me under my bra and over my skirt. On Date, while working with Supervisor B, a new employee, D, tearfully said she couldn’t continue. A suggested that if D left, I might need to stay. That evening, while working late, A forcibly hugged and deep-kissed me, groped me under my clothes, and inserted his fingers into my vagina. I had no prior sexual experience due to past sexual abuse, and A exploited my vulnerable employment situation to coerce me into sexual acts, making it my first encounter. In the company car, A undressed and assaulted me, demanding I verbally consent to intercourse without a condom. Afterward, A threatened me, saying, “I value my job and family and don’t want to be in a position to pay damages, so keep quiet.” I couldn’t go to the police immediately, feeling ashamed and blaming myself. In Japan, victims often face blame, making it hard to seek help. I was overwhelmed with tears and suicidal thoughts. I left the company in Month, Year, but A continued to suggest we date, falsely claiming our relationship was an affair, despite me being physically a virgin. I never dated, received gifts, or had any personal connection with A, yet he used the concept of an affair to threaten me. Cultural Context in Japan Japan is perceived as a developed country, but its legal system regarding sexual crimes is inadequate. Women’s status remains low, with seniority-based systems and male-dominated workplaces prevalent. Victims of sexual crimes and harassment rarely speak out, often facing blame. This social backdrop made it difficult for me to receive adequate support after my ordeal. I have faced secondary victimization many times and have not been able to receive proper support within Japan. I am isolated and seeking objective advice and support from the international community. I am sharing my story through ChatGPT to reach out for help. My story continues, and I will post it in parts.

Hi all. My story with abuse begins 2 years ago. My assaulters are my ex boyfriend and his cousin. When I first met my ex boyfriend I was a teenager and had never been in a relationship or done anything beyond just kissing someone. Very inexperienced. Conversations regarding relationships and intimacy were unheard of in my family, so I didn’t know anything about what was normal or not. A few months after I met my (now ex) boyfriend, he asked me to have a threesome with him and his “close friend.” This was maybe a week after the first time we had sex together. He told me that the friend was my age and was interested in me. I told him that made me very uncomfortable and I am not interested. He seemed to move on so I didn’t think any more about it. At this point he seemed like a very kind, understanding guy. Fast forward another month and it’s New Years Eve. Boyfriend came to my house (I lived on my own) and asked if he could bring some friends. No problem, sounds fun! He shows up with one friend (that I’ve never met) and says the rest cancelled last minute. I continued thinking it was innocent and the night would go well. We were all drinking and snacking and watching movies together, which was fun for me! It wasn’t long before I realized that they kept passing me shots and I was almost black out drunk. Completely incoherent which was not my intention. I don’t remember much between now and waking up, other than the worst part of the night. I vividly remember laying on my bed, pretty much unable to move or talk I was so out of it, and my boyfriend coming in and having sex with me. Then his friend walked in and did the same. I couldn’t move or speak or even fully comprehend what happened, but I know I never said okay to this. I would have never said yes to this no matter how much alcohol is involved. I woke up the next morning and had no clue what to do other than just continue on. I didn’t remember enough or have the guts to say anything. They left that morning like nothing happened. My (now ex) boyfriend turned out to be a narcissistic sociopath. I was I was exaggerating or joking. He made me believe I agreed to that and had fun. Not true. Almost a year later that friend reached out to me and clued me in on the situation (I think he felt guilty). He told me that my ex told him that I was his friends with benefits and was excited about this “threesome” idea. We were dating, or so I thought. I also found out that my ex set up the situation so this friend could lose his virginity. And the next fun bit of info, this “friend” is my ex’s COUSIN. I lapsed in sanity apparently and refused to believe this and continued dating “the love of my life.” The sexual, mental, emotional, and financial abuse continued with my ex for 2 whole years before I reached my breaking point. The trauma I’m having to work through now is something I wouldn’t wish on the worst soul on the planet. Please learn from my mistakes and DO NOT ignore red flags. They present themselves for very important reasons. Listen to them.

It was my yoga teacher. He said that he wanted to try this form of yoga that was very intimate, but it wasn’t sexual, apparently. But as it went on, he asked if it would feel better if I take my top off. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do anything, but I said yes to that. I feel like I betrayed myself in doing so. And then he started taking my yoga pants off, and started fingering me. The entire time I was just so confused, I was like, is this supposed to be yoga? Or sex? When he took his dick out and put it in, that’s when I realized it was sex sex, said no. And tried to leave as soon as I could. Thing is, to this day I’m still not sure if this counts as rape. I didn’t say no, did I? But he didn’t ask for explicit consent either. It was just so murky. And the result is that I felt like I wasn’t able to make a conscious choice in what I wanted to do with my body. I trusted him because he was a yoga teacher. I lost trust in myself, in my judgment. I started hating myself for not standing up for myself earlier despite the overwhelming discomfort that I felt. He must have known I was uncomfortable. I told him a few times, actually. I distinctly remember just wanting it to be over so I can leave. After I said no, he asked if it’s cuz I was too ‘sore’. He DOESNT KNOW WHAT HES DONE. i called him afterwards being like, I didn’t expect that. I’ve never had sexual encounters without any explicit communication about it. He said he was just following what felt natural, and I can’t believe I tried to justify his reasonings too. I couldn’t stop crying the day after and I couldn’t understand why. I thought it was cuz I thought I’d lose my first time to someone special. Later on when I got high with my cousins that’s when I realized that it was not exactly consensual. But still to this day I get so confused. I know that ideas of consent differ in different countries, and the fact that this occurred when I was in Hong Kong made it all the more confusing.

I met my abuser Month, Year at a indinginous pipe ceremony. The community met often. I would speak to him and his wife on occasion. I realized later that he was there to recruit people for his medicine retreats, his tantra events and he would search out his victims. What a better place where there are impressionable people wanting to heal, looking for something to help. He would tell me I needed to try mushrooms, to help with my depression and anxiety. I did stop taking my antidepressants on Date cause another person of “good standing” in our community was offering iboga and also was promising that would help me. I never did an iboga ceremony with that group but in Month, Year, I could not go to a retreat that my abuser and his wife were offering. the retreat was out in City, State and they thought they would include me by offering me my own private journey. my abuser offered to come to my house and he would hold a mushroom ceremony for me.. 4 people including my abuser showed up at my house one Friday night. I remember I was so excited cause these people who seemed so knowledgeable and respected were singling me out and I felt special. Except when they showed up it felt weird. I took a small amount of chocolate and a couple of hours in I still did not feel much. He offered me more. The night was uncomfortable but I kept thinking, these people know what they are doing, they have my best interest in their hearts. I’m not sure they really did. They left me around midnight that night. The medicine hit me just as they were all leaving. I was completely alone, tripping out. It was a long night. The next day, no one texted or phoned to check in with me. I just went through the next few days feeling pretty lost. My abuser, his wife and I continued to do indigenous ceremonies together, Hapey, pipe ceremonies, sweat lodges. By 2018, we had been hanging out socially a lot. My abuser started to offer psychedelic meetups at his house. I could not go to the first few because of work but my work schedule changed in the spring. I could go to the meet ups. I started to learn about the psychedelic movement and all these medicines had to offer. Name of Organization was steamed into one of our meetings, he had this vision and I wanted to be part of it. I found out my abuser was teaching Tantra. What’s that? I was curious. Another way for me to explore who I was. I started to go to his tantra events. It was fun, I was hanging out with the abuser and his wife and they knew how to have fun. It became my life. My abuser started coming out to my town. Asked if I wanted to meet for beers. He was paying lots of attention to me. I heard about the struggles he was going through with his marriage and how psychedelics and the lifestyle, being polyamourus was helping my abuser and his wife. I’m not sure where the offer came from but My abuser was telling me how he help break me open sexually and we could do private sessions. The first meeting, We met for super and a beer. He came to my house. We undressed and I sat, facing him. We hugged and did circular breathing exercise together to calm down. We talked about our desires, boundaries and fears. I remember him telling me he didnt want to get an erection because in the teaching he should not have one but he did already. I laid down and he did a youni massage on me. All the attention on me. I could not believe someone wanted to give me all this attention. I must be pretty special. We had been meeting every other week for a few months for sessions. He came for a session one night. He asked me if I wanted to be involved in his business of selling microdose online. Hell yes I did. Out of the all the people in the community, he picked me to help him. I felt special. That night when we did our session it was different. Up till that time he only massaged me, no penis vagina contact. That night I felt him insert himself. We did not discuss this. I froze for a bit but I continued to let him do what he wanted. If I said no I lost what he was offering. I remember thinking I’m selling my soul to the devil! I remember feeling confused. I was excited cause I was going to be part of something big but I felt violated. We continued our sessions but they just turned into sex. He wanted to have a relationship with me but not be a couple. I was so entwined in his life. I did everything with my abuser and his wife. Month, Year, My abuser and his wife were going on vacation and they needed me to do the mailing and keep the microdose business going, he was letting me into his very secret life. I killed that job will they were gone. I showed my abuser that I could handle his business. That was his baby and he was proud of it. It was one of the 3 most successful microdose businesses online at that time in Country. Abuser Name, my abuser was one of the companies selling the stamets stack that Abuser Name would eventually send a legal letter to to stop selling the stamets stack And you continued to support him through speaking at his conferences and I see you are coming to his conference in may in City along with Name. The site was Website. It’s been taken down in the last year. We continued to hangout, sell drugs together. I realized that I was helping to support him and his wife’s life. She was a tantric(sex worker) And between her And I, I'm sure we paid the bills. I helped over years with the psychedelics meetups, retreats, helped start and run his conference and did lots of work to make that happen, did medicine with him in group settings and in private and helped start his business plus many other things. I helped at the community events that he created. He was from a very religious background and had since left the church and claimed he needed community. He started these communities to find his victims. He picks people who are vulnerable and uses their skills or their connections. He then drops them especially if they do not agree with him. Over the years he would sometimes treat me very special as long as I conformed to his rules, he needed me. He would one minute be very attentive to me and then next he would punish me for talking to someone about us or speaking out of line. He would take away sex, medicine, eventually he took the microdose business. He was starting to gain moumentum in the legal psychedelic world. He started a businesss in Year that trains therapist to hold psychedelic space here in City . Then he stared to get exemptions from the Country government to give people psilocybin for their end of life distress. Now he is being given clinical trails to give front line care givers medicine. His dream was coming true. He wants to run retreat Centers. He found an investor to buy a resort in Country. That was short lived as business went bankrupt and he had a incident down there with a shibo hitting on clients. During the time of his start up he started to really distance himself from me. He only contacted me when he needed help and tried to keep me just involved enough. I ran Facebook pages for him and still had the microdose business. In Year, he asked me to take a bigger part in the microdose business because he had to distance himself from the ilagel business. That changed. He came out to my place one day and said he sold it and I was done. I called bullshit. That was his pride and joy. He sold it to his son. I was a threat. He still talked to me and we met for beers once in awhile. I was even invited to some social events at his house. Date Year, I went to a party at his house. It was a bit of a weird feeling going on. He dropped his wife while dancing. She hit her head pretty hard. An hour later I was looking for him as it was almost midnight. I walked in on him and his newest victim finishing having sex. He ran out the room. I looked at her and told her she should run from him. He’s dangerous. She is part of the community he started. She has money, is indigenous and has connections in that community, he needs her to get with the indigenous community. Midnight hit that night, he was still friendly, even tried to kiss me. We were suppose to go out in the new year. One day he sent a message that he could not meet and blocked me on all social media. He never did give me an answer why. Probably cause I found out about him and the other women. This is when the universe started to show me who I was involved in. Actually the universe was talking to me all along but I was not listening. I would have mushroom journeys facilitated bu my abuser and his wife. In those journeys, I would get messages from the medicine. The medicine was yelling at me to get away from him. I even I had a journey where I had snake coming out of me and then later actually seeing him as a rapist. That journey I sat up on my mat and he was sitting in front of me and I was freaking out but could confide in no one. No one was safe. I started to open my eyes after that. What has unfolded over the last 11 months. I was going to integrations circles with a lady. She would travel with me. We talked. I found out one day, she wanted to end her life because of a relationship she had with My abuser in the summer of Year. She had heard stories of a lady who caused him lots of stress.She did not know it was me until I shared my story one night with her. That was the first lightbulb moment. I heard another story about more emotional abuse from another lady, who pointed out he’s a predator. He likes to find women in vulnerable positions in communities he develops and then he takes them sexually and mentally. vStories kept showing up to me. I wasn’t looking for the stories. He contacted me in Month to have a mediation meeting. The mediator was a lady who is a therapist and knew both of us. I did not feel comfortable so I asked my support person to come. I’m glad I did as I will tell you some info about the therapist in a minute. We had the meeting. I did well speaking for myself. He eventually admitted the meeting was not to apologize but make sure that I stay silent. Nothing was solved. I find out he recorded the meeting. Next came a letter of cease and disest. It was a threat. He had his conference coming up in City, Province, and he was going to the government to talk about clinical trials. he did not want me speaking, cause I know to much. That proved to me my story is worth sharing. I have recently found out that the therapist that mediated the talk we had in Month has had sexual relations with him in the same way as me, through tantra sessions.. I used her as a therapist 2 years ago. I could not go deep enough with her for some reason, I did not understand at the time. She also writes for his therapist training program. That one hurt deep. Over the years of being involved with my abuser. I have suffered. I lost about 70lbs in a short time, my anxiety was so high as I never knew from one minute to the next if he was going be hot or cold to me. I did not know who to trust as people in the community would go back and tell him what I said. He always seemed to know what I was doing, what I was saying. He would talk to me and then ignore me for periods of time. This is a common thing with the other women I have talked to. They felt like he was following them, watching them. He always knew what we were doing I was vulnerable with trauma. He made promises to heal. He used that promise as a position of power and exploited it to get me into a sexual relationship. He broke me down and got into my psyche, he used substances to heal me to break me open and worm inside every aspect of me: body, mind, heart, soul, even financial survival. He is sneaky and manipulative and good at it. Name's desire to develop acronym stems from personal experiences with psychedelics that “brought him to his knees” and forced him to face his ego. He aligns himself with people such as Name,who wrote some material for his company. microdose, and a few others. I never understood why he picked me. Maybe cause I was well liked and respected in the community. I showed up. I lost my self. Hard to trust anyone when everyone’s connected in the community. 10 minutes is not long enough to share this story but it is a start. It took a lot to get here. I’m grateful that I found somewhere to share my story and I feel like I’m just beginning to share. I struggle with relationships. As soon as one little red flag comes up, I sabotage, it’s hard. Update. I told my story publicly, Month, Year at the Conference Name conference. Since then I recorded a podcast, took part in a documentary, to be released next year, and had two articles written about my abuser and his company. My story got some attention and in Month, Year he was arrested for sexual assault. The trial will be in Month, Year. He stepped down from his company as CEO and Company Name does not exist anymore.

I was five years old when it happened. My abuser was also a five year old girl. I remember thinking that my story isn't valid because she's exactly the same as me. Over time, I did research and started to realize and recollect more and more about the memories of my abuse. If you get triggered or have triggers related to sexual assault/abuse, I advise not reading this next part. At first, I forgot the entire event ever happened. I remember being about 11 when I realized what had happened. The memories started gradually coming back. She was my friend. We were normal five year olds, I'd always have playdates at her house. At every playdate, she'd take me to her playroom. She'd lock the door and draw the blinds. Then, she'd make me lie down on this small mattress on the floor. She called it a game. She said that she was the doctor and that I was the patient. Once I'm on the mattress, she'd get on top of me. She'd touch me under my clothes. She'd look under my clothes. She'd take off my clothes. I remember just hoping, wishing, and praying that it would soon be over. If you're wondering, I was wearing a school uniform most of the time whenever this happened. This went on for almost the entire year when I was five. When I remembered and realized what had happened to me, I didn't believe it. I thought I was overreacting. I thought I was making it up. How could someone the same age and gender as me sexually abuse me? I'd only seen cases of young girls getting abused by older men. So how could a young girl be assaulted by another young girl? A few years have passed since I first remembered the events. I've gotten wiser, and discovered that there are many forms of assault. When I first found out what COCSA was, I felt so accepted. It was so validating, knowing that these memories that have destroyed me for years and years... they're real, and they're valid.

I was in location and I had been seeing another guy in the friend group casually. The guy who ended up assaulting me was in that same friend group. We were at a party and this guy said a few of us should go to his for an afters, encouraging the guy I was seeing to go home instead and I didn’t think anything of it in the moment. When we were at his house and it was just me and him alone, he said he wanted to kiss me and I initially said no as it’d be a bit weird as I was seeing one of his friends. He then told me that the guy I had been casually seeing had a girlfriend, everyone knew and didn’t tell me. I felt terrible. So while I’m crying he starts kissing me and things escalate. He starts choking me hard, hurting me physically, restraining me, twisting my nipples really hard, and covering my mouth. I just froze up. After he was done I went upstairs to my friend and asked to leave at like 5 in the morning. The next day I called the guy I was seeing at the time asking him about the girlfriend and apologising about getting with one of his friends. He told me not to apologise and none of it was my fault and also the guy who assaulted me had lied about this whole girlfriend scenario. I didn’t want to think I was assaulted or coerced, I kept blaming myself. I couldn’t get out of bed to the point that I pissed myself. My family didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was so very fortunate to have friends who were with me to help me come to terms with what happened. My friends who had to tell me that wasn’t okay, that was assault. There was one “friend” who was very much a well it takes two, and it was bad out of me to “get with” him when I was seeing his friend. Then informing me the guy who assaulted me tried to kill himself. And I felt so evil but I wish it had worked. The friend group cut him off once they heard what happened, it was also found out he had assaulted someone else in the group too. I eventually texted the guy who assaulted me telling him what he did was wrong and I didn’t consent to violence, he said sorry that he tends to take his problems out in the bedroom and that I wasn’t the first girl to tell him this. I felt so sick and so guilty for not realising sooner, for not saying anything to him sooner. This was a few years ago, I recently saw the guy who assaulted me on a night out, he looked like he saw a ghost but I froze again and just asked my friends to leave, it’s not fair. It’s just not fair. I feel so much anger and it’s not fair. He is not the only man who has assaulted me but he fills me with the most anger and I don’t know why. I hate feeling this anger, I hate feeling frozen, I hate wishing bad upon a person the way I wish bad upon him. I am not one who runs from confrontation usually but I had to run from him, I had to leave and cry on the phone and gulp water. Then walk past him again in the smoking area wishing I could shout that man is a rapist, but instead I walk past not looking back in case he sees me again, I swallow my anger. I worry that I don’t fit the bill of a “perfect” victim but I know now none of it was my fault, it was all his. I feel hopeless sometimes, but I guess getting to talk about it like this helps, it really helps.