Community

The first time I saw a penis I was 11 years old. A man flashed open his coat when he passed me by in the street and there I saw it, that odd fleshy bit hanging out of his open zip. I remember feeling panic, disgust and shame, as if it was my fault somehow. When I was 12 and on a holiday camp, one of the older guys working there invited me to his cabin to play some music and made me wait while he took a shower, coming out from the bathroom with his robe semi open. Again, panic and shame. In my first job, age 20, the boss became obsessed with me and I had to literally run around the conference table in order to avoid his hands on my body. Every time I was called into his office I asked my colleagues to interrupt the meeting after 5 minutes, so I could safely escape his harassment. I told my mother and she laughed it off, saying it was just classic men behaviour. I eventually had to leave the job cause he was becoming more and more persistent. I'm 56 years old and I personally don't know ANY woman of my generation who hasn't been through similar situations.

it still hurts. sometimes i feel like i am too harsh on myself. i only spoke up about waht happened when many years have passed. i knew i wasnt comfortable with what happened but i could expressed it, i kept it deep down and try to supress it from my mind. when i finally spoke up a long time have happened, i am hard on me because i knew it could have get better sooner, i am hard on myself because sometimes i feel like i am making a big deal out of something small. i try to remind myself that i am strong, that i am caring and this shall pass too.

I was raped by my uncle when I was 11 years old. Most of my family didn't believe me. That was really painful and prevented me from getting the support and help I needed at the time. I developed an eating disorder and started self-harming as a trauma response. I had no other way of coping. I wish I had known more about SA when I was younger. Not to prevent it because I believe that it's the perpetrator that makes the choice to harm. But to understand that it wasn't my fault, that I was a victim and to report it when I still had time.

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.

I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

I was used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

• Biography (including background): While growing up at home, I suffered physical and emotional abuse from my father, neglect from my mother (a cycle of abuse from my maternal grandparents), violence from my older sister, and had to care for my younger sisters. At the same time, I had a childhood hobby of reading specialized books, and I had a desire to pursue higher education and make the most of my educational opportunities to contribute to society, devoting all my free time to studying... However, at the age of 17, I reached my limit, my physical and mental health deteriorated, and I had eight chronic illnesses (10 types of medication), so I took a two-year break (I also dropped out of high school). After that, due to limited funds (using my own earnings), I applied to a university that I could apply to while still in prefecture name, and enrolled in university. While continuing my education, I left my hometown and, while undergoing treatment for my chronic illness, I actively volunteered and worked for non-profit organization (an NPO for people with Down syndrome).

I’m sharing here because I hope I can reach out to other women who may have gone through marital rape or may still be going through it and I want you to know you are not alone. For years I felt as if I was asleep as I couldn’t face up to what was happening to me, why I was losing weight and why I so depressed. I minimised everything, even to him. I would try and make him feel better afterwards. Most of the time it was as simple as me saying no to sex and him doing it anyway while I was completely disconnected, and it was so often, I would lie there and wait til he was done most of the time, but each thing built up to him pushing the boundaries further, sometimes when we were out in public, always after I went out with my friends, it was part of the deal. I always told myself he’d be in better form if I just went along with it. He was always so stressed and so angry. And I loved him and sometimes I enjoyed sex with him. It made things very confusing in my head. And I was eating barely anything, which he encouraged, he was constantly buying me exercise equipment and sexy outfits. I kept getting sick, I was tired and low all the time. My family and friends were saying I wasn’t myself. There were 3 incidents that I play over and over in my head that I couldn’t minimise (although I tried). And they led to me telling him our marriage was over. That was a year ago. I thought it might help me to write one of them down and maybe someone will identify with me and it might help them. It was at his best friends wedding and as usual, he wanted us to do something exciting sexually. So we went to the men’s toilets. We were kissing and we started to have sex. I was quite drunk. All of a sudden he turned me around and bent me over the toilet, my hands on the window sill. I started to say no. It came out in what sounded like a little girls voice. I don’t know why I remember that so well. I don’t know why I didn’t shout. He raped me anally in the men’s cubicle and I was crying looking at a dirty window sill and I could hear strange men outside commenting. Afterwards I kept asking why did you do that, I didn’t want that, it hurt me, you were too rough, I said no. But he he didn’t want to talk about it. He left me sitting with one of his male friends that I didn’t know to go outside with his best friend and have cigars. He saw I was in pain and bleeding for days after. I stayed with him for years after that. Other things happened after that too. I ended up feeling like his stress ball, a rag doll, good for nothing else. I was with him since I was 18 years old and we have children together. He was all I knew. He was my husband and I loved him. No one knew what was happening. Everyone thought we were a couple in love. It wasn’t until I told him I couldn’t share a bed with him anymore and I was starting ti have panic attacks that we went to a marriage counsellor and it all came out. I woke up. It was her face. Her reaction. I felt so stupid and embarrassed. And he tried to explain it away to her shouting at her that he was a man. I was sitting there thinking how did I let this happen to me? I always saw myself as quite a strong, intelligent, bubbly person. I’m in my 40s, I should know better. I was looking at the counsellors face and it somehow didn’t feel as if it was happening. I realised I was shaking and she was worried about me and he was shouting at her. I felt so embarrassed and helpless. And stupid in front of another grown woman. I was thinking what if this was someone I loved telling me this happened to them? But still in my head I kept thinking its not really rape because he was my husband, and I loved him and so many times I wanted to have sex with him so how could it be rape. But why did he want to hurt me? I kept thinking this couldn’t be happening to me. Anyway thanks for reading. I hope it helps someone. I feel it helped me to write it down.

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

I was assaulted by a man, who was an acquaintance, in my apartment. We had hooked up once before, and it had been quick but fine. Things started consensually, but at one point it began to hurt me and I asked him if we could stop. At that point, he pushed down on my upper back, high enough that my mouth was half pushed into the pillow. I froze, and couldn't move at all. I just waited for him to finish whatever it was he wanted to do. The aftermath was extremely confusing. I first thought that it was just a bad experience. But as the months went on, I realised it was playing on my mind too much to be dismissed as that. Six months after the assault, I sought some medical tests. It was a year after, amid a particular run of sexual assault stories in the media, that I contacted rape crisis centre to get help. I also reported to the Gardai several years after my assault, and while they handled it well they also warned that if I was to pursue an investigation that the process could be very exposing and I chose not to take it further. My assault took place only six months after I had come out as queer, and so it felt like much of what I had worked hard to accept about myself and to go through as part of coming out was impacted -- the freedom to be who I was and to enjoy my sexuality was taken away for a long time. My assault was not the first time nor the last time I experienced non-consensual behaviour, although was by far the most serious and impactful occurrence.

You think your age makes you less to blame, But I carry the weight, I bear the shame. You crossed the line — no excuse to hide, No softer words can wash this tide. I’m not the one who should feel small, You built this cage, you made me fall. No matter your years, no matter your face, You took from me my safe, my space. But here I stand, I claim my voice, I break the chains, I make the choice. I won’t be silent, I won’t back down, I wear my courage like a crown. So hear me now, and hear me clear, Your actions caused this pain and fear. Age won’t protect what you have done— I am the survivor, I have won.

I need to tell someone this, I haven't told a single soul not my parents, friends, partner, no one and I need to get it off my chest. I want to start this off by saying I've never had a good family bond, my father was a stoner and barely there, my mother an angry drunk, 2 older sisters who hated me and a twin brother who treated me like a maid. I've had an eating disorder since I was 8 years old, I used to leave the house at 6am everyday, run around the block far too many times and then work out for 2 hours before returning home and starving myself. This went on for around 4 years. One Saturday morning when I was 11 I decided to change it up and ran to the park to run laps of it, I was running circles of the park for around 10 minutes before I was grabbed. A man dragged me into the bathrooms and forced himself on me, I was so malnourished and weak I couldn't fight back. I sat there and sobbed in pain as he did what he wanted, once he finished I thought I was done but I was unbelievably wrong. The man left the bathroom as I laid on the floor sobbing, he came back but with a friend. I was horrified I knew he brought his friend to have 'his turn' but I was also wrong about that. They ended up picking me up and carrying me into a car, they threw me on the backseat and told me to stay down. I complied, afraid of what they would do to me if I didn't. After god knows how long of driving in pure terror they parked and yanked me out. I didn't know where I was but they quickly dragged me into a house where they would then take turns raping me for a few days. After I was all 'used up' they threw me back in the car and drove back to the park and released me; I am still shocked as to why they would release me rather than killing me cause I could have told someone. My parents didn't even notice that I was missing for a few days, I stumbled in the door, bleeding, sobbing, and begging for help. My dad was out with some friends and mum just drunkenly yelled at me to clean the table. No one cared where I had been or what happened to me. Sometimes I wish those men had killed me, I began self harming at only 9 years old and attempted to overdose at 10. Many years later and I still self harm and my most recent attempt was only 2 months ago. I have caused permanent damage to my liver and kidneys from the medication I over dosed on. I wish they killed me.

When I was 7, I started being sexually abused. This wasn’t by a family member, it was my grans second husband. It all stopped when I was 12, when we moved a few miles away and he didn’t visit as much. When I was 17, I was having therapy for other things, it eventually came out then. They helped me decide how I was going to tell my mum. They also said I should prepare for family members to not believe me. I thought, you don’t know my family. They all stick up for each other. Well so I thought. My mum never wanted to talk about it. I understand now that was due to guilt, she had her own mental illnesses to deal with. My sister, well she turned against me for a few years. Saying I was lying, I tried to ruin my grans marriage with my lies, threatening to beat me up. My sister even tried to prove I was lying buy having him watch her new born baby whilst she went and done his food shop. When this man died, it got worse. My sister and aunt said they can’t grieve over him cause of the lies I said about him. Saying I’m evil and not wanting me near her child incase I do stuff to her. I had cousins asking “what exactly is it he did to you? My gran saying “he’s not a pedophile”. All this almost destroyed me. It was worse than the sexual abuse I had went through as a child. I decided I wanted away from my family. So I enrolled in college at 23, at 27 I was qualified and got straight into a job, I had been saving through college, so managed to move onto my own place pretty quickly. Now 33 years old and looking back I often think, did all that really happen. I’ve since moved further away from my family, Doing this has helped me stay away from their drama and only visit on occasions. They’re a lot better now, but I’d still rather keep my distance. I’m in a good place mentally. I’ve got great friends and built a good life for myself. My advice to anyone going thought it. Prepare yourself for family not to believe you. Only talk about it to people you trust and only when you want to talk about it. Don’t feel you need to explain yourself to anyone. The best thing my therapist said, no matter what you did or didn’t do, it wasn’t your fault. You were only a child.

It was a first date. It was my first first-date in years. A couple of drinks turned into a good conversation. A good conversation turned into me accepting an invitation to go meet his cousin. Meeting his cousin turned into another drink, and then the cousin disappeared. I tried to leave. He physically overpowered me. I struggled, literally begging him to stop. I threatened him that I had no contraception, and that I would ruin his life if I got pregnant. I said I would have the baby, thinking it would scare him. He wasn't scared. I covered my vagina with my hands, begging. He slapped me across the face. He forced himself into my mouth. Once he was finished with the assault, he just went to sleep. I laid there, starting out the tiny circular window he had in his room, seeing just the hue of a streetlight in the distance. I got home and showered it all off of me. Not thinking straight. Not thinking about how it would affect my ability to come forward. I just wanted to wash away the feeling of his hands. Physically, my face was bruised, my mouth cut open. Emotionally, I was ruined. I turned to alcohol to drown away any thoughts. I became distant from friends and family. I was angry. I went to therapy, they told me it wasn't my fault. I knew that. Logically, I knew that it is never the fault of the victim. Internally, I felt that it was my fault for going on the date and stupidly trusting him. I still feel guilt for not reporting him. I feel like I have let down other survivors, I feel weak. I don't know how to heal. I don't know how to be a survivor.

Betrayed When someone I trusted so much Took a part of me When I was living my best of life Breaking me beyond repair Forever changing me Altering me physically and mentally The pain I endured through the sleepless nights Linger even years later Indeed it has made me stronger person After years of struggle and perseverance But never would I want someone to walk in this path for strength

He would break up with me and then win me back. This went on for over a year. We were staying at a local hotel for the weekend to celebrate his birthday. We got into an argument in public so I went back to the hotel room by myself. I didn’t let him back in the hotel room when he first got back and instead, packed up all of his belongings. Once I let him in, he threw some of his things. I asked him to leave. He got on his phone. I asked him to leave again and he pushed me down onto my back. He proceeded to punch me over and over again in my eye and head. After the first punch, I said “I’m sorry, please stop”. His response was, “so NOW you’re sorry”. When he finally stopped, I immediately ran to the wall and got crouched down, as blood gushed out of my nose. I again pleaded for him to leave as he cussed at me. He did leave after that. He broke my orbital floor in my eye and my finger. I filed a protective order and was granted it for a year.

I was 14. I fell in love with a boy who was 18. I was young and blind to the age difference, I’ve never felt love before, I grew up in an abusive household. The first bit of attention I got, I fell Inlove. I would lie to my parents about where I was and stay with my boyfriend. I stayed one night & he suggested we drink alcohol. I said yes & we started drinking, he kept feeding me alcohol until I was puking. I remember passing out and waking up to him and his 3 friends sitting on his bed with me. I fell back to sleep & I remember going in and out of consciousness to him and his friends raping me. I remember laying on the bed peeing myself while they took turns, crying. I was in and out of consciousness the whole time. One of his friends laid with me while the other bragged about “finally losing his virginity” and the friend laying with me was playing with my hair apologizing and telling me everything was going to be okay. It’s been 11 years. I am not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. I never got justice. I was so scared to tell anyone, couldn’t tell my parents because my dad would have quite literally killed me. I still find myself stalking their social medias. They all have atleast 1 daughter. No remorse for what they did to me. Married with children, and I can’t even have sex with my husband without crying afterwards. I can’t enjoy sex unless I’m being harmed during it. I have so much trauma I can’t stop thinking about it and crying. I suffered with drugs and alcohol & still suffer with alcohol even after being clean from drugs. I now have a daughter and I promise if anything ever happened to her I would make sure she could come to me and we can hold those responsible accountable. If I stayed home that night & didn’t go behind my parents back I would have been okay. I blame myself. I feel like I should have known better. My innocence was stolen from me & so was my life. They took my life from me. I’ll never recover.

Many times I've wondered how to begin narrating my story, whether I should start from the beginning or when "love had arrived." I could start by saying that I fell in love with the person I thought was my best friend. Wow, it’s supposed that when there’s a friendship of that magnitude, love should be great. Time passed, and years later, that friendship turned into a relationship, which, for my heart, was one of the most beautiful things that had ever happened to me. I flew 1,295 miles from my country to the United States for him, believing that finally, my true love story would become a reality. I knew he had a strong character and was a bit egocentric, something that bothered me, but I always tried to ignore those thoughts with the "sweet gestures" he could have with me. In the third year of our relationship, after discovering an online affair (they were only chatting because they were in different countries), he proposed to me. Shortly after we got married, we bought our first house together. Wow, if we weighed it all out, there were many wonderful moments that turned into sad endings because, according to him, I didn’t do something right, and many times I would repeat to myself, “I need to be better for myself and for him,” but for him, I was never good enough. Little by little, I started to fade. His words and actions took me to the darkest places—depression and anxiety. From there, it got even darker: a fight in the bathroom where he was the only one talking, and I had long ago decided to remain silent to avoid making the problem worse. I remember that night we were sitting on the bathroom floor arguing, and when it ended, we decided to leave the bathroom. I was walking behind him, continuing the argument, and that’s when he decided to push me, making me fall back several feet. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life. Among the physical pain I felt in my body, the pain in my soul was even stronger. He apologized and insisted that he thought I was coming after him to hit him. I insisted that I would be incapable of doing something like that, but once again, I was blamed. Shortly after, the problems in the relationship intensified, and there was more crying than laughing. I blamed the depression, but deep down, I knew it was everything that was happening there. I decided to seek professional help and started working with a psychiatrist. For more than a year, I was in therapy and on medication, and that’s when my awakening began. I’ll never forget the day my therapist said to me, "I want you to do an exercise that I know I shouldn’t ask of you." I forgot to mention that I earned my psychology degree in my home country. She continued, “We’re going to make a diagnosis, but it’s not for you. If I’m right, our therapy is going to change drastically because you’ll have only two options: divorce or couples therapy.” Although she didn’t say it, she was leaning more towards divorce. Her request was, "Let’s diagnose, based on observation, whether your husband is a narcissist. You’ve given me many examples that are raising red flags for me." She managed to get an interview with him, and in the end, we reached the diagnosis: I was married to a narcissist. I had been too ashamed to tell her that a week earlier, I was not only a victim of his physical aggression when he pushed me, but he had also pulled my hair. I had never felt so ashamed of myself until I had to talk about it with my therapist. Her only words were, “Run from there; there’s no turning back.” How grateful I am to her for those words. Today, almost a year after our legal divorce, although this path hasn’t been easy, I feel that I’ve become a much more resilient woman. No matter how difficult the situation is, no matter how much pain you may feel, love doesn’t have to be the excuse to push your limits. I knew for a long time that I needed to leave, and it’s not easy. Finding that strength is not easy, but today I can say that when your love for yourself grows every day, it’s that love that helps you move forward. Losing everything and losing myself to find myself has been the most beautiful experience life has given me. NO MORE. Only you have the power to break the cycle.