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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.

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.

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.

A friend and I dated within the same friend group, and I used to hang out with the guys a lot--I considered them as my brothers. One night when we were altogether, I felt too drunk to take myself home and felt safe with my friends ex to get a cab and drop me off. He came in uninvited and kissed me, then all I remember are flashes of us being naked, him being inside of me, going down on me, etc., but I felt like I couldn't move. I woke up to shower, my bed was broken, and he was gone. I called him the next day to confront him about it, and that I don't even remember what happened. He said he thought "i enjoyed it" (I was unconscious half of the time), and only stopped because the bed broke. Although he apologized he had the audacity to tell me not to share this with anyone, and to this day only very few close friends know about this incident. It truly broke my trust even with platonic guy friendships.

I was only 6 years old when I was sexually assaulted. The first time I talked about it with anyone and said it out loud was this year. I'm now 22... that means it's been 16 years later. But I am so thankful to have the support system I do have - the support system who has been strong enough to give me the courage to finally speak up for myself ❤️

Being a girl is not fair I am a 32 year old woman abused more that once when I was younger. It was the first abuse that had the butterfly affect of leading me to the rest. When I was twelve I wanted to earn money. My parents did not believe in allowance for doing chores. I could not work legally until I was fourteen unless it was a newspaper route waking up before dawn. My Uncle--my Dad’s brother--hired me to work at his appliance repair shop. He was the only one we knew who had a business. Soon after I started, part of the job was letting him give me massages. He molested me a little more each time until he was using his mouth on my privates. He would masturbate while he did. I let him do this for weeks while he changed me and distorted me. Then he made me use my mouth on him. I did it ONE time. I vomited after. I reported him to my parents. The were caring and supportive, and angry at him. But not angry enough to do anything but let me stop working there. He apologized to me in the kitchen with my parents there. Me floating adrift in lava while the Gods decided my fate. I barely remember it. He stayed in our lives with almost no change. I went back to normal. On the surface. But I was not the same, and become more afraid of things. The dark, being alone, silence. In the coming years I fooled around with boys in ways I might not have. I may not have been that type of girl but felt compelled. I was fifteen when I had a boyfriend my age that I secretly had sex with almost daily. I loved him. He dumped me. More issues. Age seventeen. High school senior. Dyed blue-streaked hair down to my butt. Emo. Skinny. Flat chest. Was drinking and smoking put by then. But not THAT NIGHT. I Walked out of a Pink concert I had gone to with my cousin and her friends. Something upset me and I left. Night time. Part of the city I don’t know. No plans. Maybe go back to the concert after getting my head together. Walking past a strip mall a group of four guys came out of place, not sure what it was. I had seen that two of them were black. That scared me. I’m sorry. I hurried and turned right. So did they. It was something like an alley behind the strip mall and a big wall on the one side. Back doors of business, dumpsters, a few cars. Not well lit. Maybe I could have just kept walking and been fine but it was dark on the far side and seemed so far away. The guys were talking and laughing and behind me. I grew terrified of being raped or hurt or killed. I think I heard one of them say the words, “nice ass” in their chatter. Panic attack. I think I was trying to save my own life. Preemptive strike? I stopped, turned and said. “You guys can F--- me if want.” I remember the pause while some of them stopped but one kept coming. They laughed, maybe nervous. The one that kept coming put his arms around me and pressed his body to me. I forgot what he said but he pulled me in close, grinding on me. They took me to a dark area off to the side between two buildings. I did oral for the first one and the other black one, but not all the way. A show for them. Laughing. Shooshing each other when they got too loud. I tried but they got rough and I gagged a lot. Take you clothes off. Jacket, tank, jeans, panties. Onto my back. Asphalt. Legs spread. Trying to stay on top of my clothes to not get cut and scraped. All four of them took turns. With the first one it was a show they watched. With the rest they were turned around, talking to each other, trying to block me from view. I think someone walked by but not sure. Alcohol and cigarette breath. Guys probably in their thirties. Friends having fun. Boys being boys. Just pumping into me. Telling me I’m tight. My body a vessel. Legs spread. No resistance. My arms around them. Eye contact I don’t remember. I always looked at my boyfriend in the eyes. I always look in eyes during it, searching for a connection. I saw their eyes but not their faces. They just used me for friction. Quick and get it down. Except for the second to last. He wanted to talk. I told him my name. I told him about the concert. I told him I liked to be on top because he asked. I remember his face. The only one who was white. Crooked nose. Cauliflower ears. Blue eyes. A sense of hurry from the others. He blurs into the last one in my mind. The Arab/Persian? “Thanks a lot.” I know one of them said. They thanked me while I got dressed quickly and kept walking the direction they had been going before. By the time I walked back out they were gone. I went back the direction I had come from. I got back in the concert and spent the whole time finding my cousin. Sore and dripping. Back scratched up. I felt gross. I started crying but stopped when I drew too much attention. I found them. The final song was “Get the Party Started” We left together. The ones who were not driving drank wine but I was not allowed any because I was too young. I told nobody. Told my mom it was cool. Right away I became the girlfriend of a guy who had a locker near mine who had been persistent but I had always rejected. He was tall and no more than “okay”. I did not want to be alone. He fell in love. I did not. Prom and stuff. I broke up with him the last week of school. He was leaving for college anyway. I did not want to go with him. I cheated on him because I needed more sex that he could give. Then came the days of being passed around. I went to community college and dated my chem lab partner, got kind of raped by his brother in the shower and became the brother’s girlfriend. He got me into heavy drinking, party drugs, the club scene and I dropped school. I was an EDM/Metal/Trance princess and had so many “friends” in the scene that knew me as Sapphire. Sapphire was a nymphomaniac. People loved that about me. Some good, some bad. Quickies in dark spots in the clubs. Backstage. Back office. Cars. Secrets. Woke up in different beds. My boyfriend kind of “gave” me to his drug dealer and I lived with him until an older guy talked me into running away with him to Location. He was 39 (40 for a month) when I was 20 and we lived together for more than a year. It was a very sexual relationship but he cared about me. His house was a quick walk to the beach and I loved it. It was healthier. I started CC classes again and got my AA. He helped me through my panic attacks and I hid my depression from him. My parents met him, and accepted him eventually. We talked about marriage. But he was gone all day weekdays, I did not have a job, and I had a second life to feed my big hollow emptiness that had started after my uncle used me. Also, he liked to role play that he was my father. Just one of his kinks. The sickest part is that just like the eye contact thing, saying “F me daddy” became something I just do automatically. I cheated on him many times when he was with guys from the beach crowd he only knew slightly from our weekend beach trips. Girls too. I fell for a surfer and wanted to have his baby and even quit birth control. It all ended badly and I moved back with my parents. I was finally diagnosed with manic depression and talked to my mom about all the sexual encounters and abuse and started going to group. Five years after THAT NIGHT my mom was the first person I told about the four guys after the concert. That one still rips a hole in my sense of life and love and loving myself. I wonder if good guys don’t want to be with me because my breasts are small I take medication and I am functional. Like I said; BEING A GIRL IS NOT FAIR

Hello! I don't know how to go about this at all, but I know I need to put it out there. I am a lesbian over 21 years of age, and I experienced rape and sexual assault by my last lesbian partner. I apologize if this is long, but if anyone reads this, it's greatly appreciated! I met my ex last January, and we texted for about a month before we had our first date. the first date went well, nothing concerning. The second date, which was 2-3 days after our first one, was where it all started. I didn't mind that she kissed me first, but I got nervous when she told me she wanted to take it to the backseat. She started to grope me and to palm me through my clothing before eventually trying to get her hand in my jeans. I stopped her and told her I wasn't comfortable doing any of that yet. Her response was "Oh, but eventually you will want to, right?" and to that I said "yes, but not right now." She continued anyway. That's the moment I look back on and wish I had left. I stayed. Maybe a date or two pass without her doing anything concerning again before there's another incident. We are in her car outside her workplace for an event we chose to go to. There are people on the street. She starts making out with me, to which I feel icky about bc people can probably see us and it's not appropriate. This time she starts to palm me through my skirt again, and at this point I kind of don't remember much other than me saying that I was scared and nervous, and it doesn't seem safe, and her coercing me. Before I know it, she has her hand down my underwear and is raping me. we didn't go to the event. we left and she told me next time she could find a secluded place. she never did. and that's where it all started. over the next 5 months she would rape me in her car every single chance she could. every single time I told her I wasn't comfortable. I would wear tight underwear, but she would still do everything to do it. if she didn't, she would get mad and stonewall me. but there was never once where it wasn't attempted. the worst night was maybe a month after it all started. again, in her backseat. it was in a fairly public parking lot, she tried to cover the windows with clothes, but it was still obviously visible. she made me lay down and take off all my bottoms and completely spread open. it was so humiliating. she then proceeded to violently rape me so bad and painful I was crying and holding on my screams bc I didn't want to bring attention to the situation or possibly get in trouble. I told her I was comfortable and that I wanted to scream but she just threw a cloth over my face so I wouldn't focus on it. after I had to put my clothes back on and I ruined them. I was in pain for maybe up to a weel after or a bit more. now I wish I had gotten evidence of that night, but I have none. In total I think it happened around 14 times. the same care situations in public that I hated. during the relationship I was blinded to an extent, and I didn't realize it counted as rape until after we broke up. At first, I had accepted what happened but now I have a new partner. my new partner coincidentally works with my rapist ex. ever since finding that out I feel completely distraught and suffocated by what she did to me. Not only that. before finding out they worked together they sat next to each other and were becoming friends. so my ex told my current gf how I am a terrible person and that she's afraid of me. they don't speak anymore. I don't know I just feel suffocated by it all. she also has a new gf. I wish I could tell her new gf to be careful, but I'm scared. in my community there's so much stigma around rape and homosexuality. I don't think I could ever safely publicly come out with my story as much as I want to. she completely changed my life. it's like I don't know how to be myself anymore and I feel like I'm going insane.

My name is Survivor and when I was around age 3, my father started raping me. My mother helped hold me down. He was raping her, and she offered me up in her place. This continued until age 23, maybe 24, shortly before my wedding. By the time I was 6, he was raping other members of my family too. He’d come into my room at night and would throw my nightgown up into the headboard and then I’d have to wait my turn in fear and naked shame while others were raped. We had a large waterbed and I still remember the bed rolling up and down, up, and down, up, and down like on a boat. Once done, he wiped me down roughly with a red shop rag he used in cleaning the garage. It allowed him to keep the rag around to smell it and hold it close with no one questioning why it was so dirty with red stains. Most of the time, my dad was friendly and polite. But once he turned into the monster no one did anything to stop him. He never did these things when he was nice. Only when he was the monster. But he used the nice times to make it easier to attack. He would lull you into a false sense of safety and peace which really made you question your intuition and gut instincts that this was a bad man. This made it easier for him to sexually assault other children and adults. As I got older, my parents controlled the narrative of our lives, every aspect was carefully controlled. Like my mom knowing how to force miscarriages. The first abortion forced on me was when I was 15. I don’t know how I managed to make it to adulthood. I continue to remember more and more of the abuse by other family and church members. And other things my dad did within the church where he was pastor and then later deacon. But I still can’t talk about those memories. I think my dad felt like anything he did was inevitable, therefore, never his fault because he couldn’t control himself and when it happened God would forgive him, so it was all right. I know this because I overheard him grooming another family member to do the same things when he was 11 years old. Males in our family were groomed to be abusers too. I was groomed too. To always be the abused. Forced to keep silent, I learned quickly what happens to people who stand up to my dad. They die or get assaulted. As you can imagine, I had terrible anxiety growing up about being sexually assaulted and worked hard to fade into the background. I thought that might help. I thought it mattered what I wore, color of my hair, how much I weighed. It’s taken years and it will probably continue to take years to unlearn the lies I was taught. The worry made me constantly ill with one thing after another-- I got cancer when I was 32 and before that incapacitating vertigo and motion sickness. My parents met while working down in Texas for an independent fundamental Baptist preacher. Lester Roloff—an Independent Fundamental Baptist preacher who opened homes across the country for “troubled” children, teens, and adults. He liked to say he was saving dope fiends, whores, and hippies. I believe many of the children in the homes had already experienced abuse growing up and Lester Roloff homes should have been a safe place to heal. Instead, the kids met caretakers like my parents. My mom was in a charge of the 16 and older home and my dad flew around the country raising money and preaching the party line: men were akin to gods and women were lower than dirt—their only worth was in being a virgin and then baby factories once married. Very masochistic and minimizing of abuse of any kind, my parents ate up the evil rhetoric being preached from the pulpit My parents eventually took their brand of abuse from Lester Roloff’s out into the churches and communities where we lived-from Texas to Washington and eventually into Alaska. He disappeared in a plane over the waters near Anchorage in 2006. The events surrounding his disappearance were always very suspect but intense pressure from my family kept me quiet. Every day for almost three years straight, a family member called and reminded me talking about “our family issues” was causing generational sin to 4 generations. The pressure to keep quiet and do what my family told me to do was so significant I would have rather died than disappoint them. It wasn’t until I set out to heal from all the trauma, that I found out my dad faked his death. I had always been told since he was gone, there was nothing to be done for what I experienced growing up. But let me tell you, knowing he’s still out there perpetrating on other children and men and women really compelled me to come forward. I finally felt free to start talking. Getting past the pressure to stay silent was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder, even, than fighting cancer. I have spent many years in intensive CBT, EMDR and Polyvagal therapy learning how to process my wounds in a healthy way. I had pushed for criminal and civil suits against my perpetrators but the Texas statute of limitations don’t allow for justice to be done. So now, I spend my time now speaking on panels, podcasts, and community platforms about the intersections of trauma, faith, and advocacy. One of the biggest honors of my life has been sharing my story and advocating for Trey’s Law on the Texas Senate floor in Spring 2025. Forcing a sexual assault victim to keep quiet is what allowed people like my parents to continue their mistreatment for so many years. I will do what I can to make sure justice isn’t minimized by NDAs and Statute of Limitations. My efforts connect me with survivors, true crime audiences, mental health communities, and faith groups seeking to understand and confront abuse. I invest my time in mentoring survivors, creating resources for healing, and building digital tools to expand access to supportive materials. Because living a life whole and healthy is what I really want for me, all the victims and their families. We make our own opportunities to heal.

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.

I was 19, I think. I can't remember much of it: my memory has been shattered after, not just of the event, but of all my life before, during, and after. I was gaslit out of my mind. He told me I wanted it, he told me I was begging for it. He made my body react to him – and despite the fact that all the time there was this voice in my head, telling me to get away, telling me this wasn't right, I listened to him over myself. How could I not? He was my whole world. I was isolated, completely emotionally dependent on him. He undressed me carefully, he told me "Oh, so that's what you wanted all along" after my body reacted to his touch. He asked me if certain things had been done to me before. I said no. I remember, even through the haze clouding my mind, he was ecstatic at the thought. He was tender. I was convinced that we were in love, that we were meant for each other, that our very souls would always be driven to one another, like two halves of a whole. I didn't know at the time that actively distracting myself and dissociating throughout the whole process was not usual, was not okay. I didn't know feeling like a doll in someone else's arms was not okay. He was a guy in a female body, and I'm only attracted to female bodies, so it all became okay in my mind at the time. But it wasn't. It was my first – and only – sexual experience. I couldn't let anyone else touch me after that, I still can't because it feels like I'm trapped again, like I'm dehumanized again. The morning after, he asked me if I was okay, he said he was worried. I reassured him that it was. What else could I do? It wasn't, though. I felt even at the time that it wasn't, but I dismissed the thought because – How could it be rape when I felt like I couldn't say no? But it was. I realized what happened years after it did. Six years, to be precise. And all the while I thought I had no right to feel like there was something wrong. I don't remember it, but I'm told by a person I trust that I cried for two months after that night, every day there were constant tears in my eyes. We both thought it was okay because we believed it. But it wasn't. Even saying that out loud, of writing down, feels liberating in its own way. I still want to claw my skin off sometimes, when it feels particularly bad. I still hate my body. I suffer from PTSD which had gone untreated for seven years because I had been battling the thought I don't deserve to heal. It was hard, but in the end, I won. What happened to me was wrong, and so hurtful, but I'm a survivor. I can heal. I will heal.

I was 9 when it started. I mean it really started. There was a boy in my class who openly liked me. It didn’t bother me too much, except when he’s chase me around the field telling me he was in love with me. We were 7. It was ‘how kids were’ said my school when I said I wanted him to stop. But then later on in the years he got obsessed. Taking photos of me around school. Following me home. Getting in calls with me online (we were somewhat friends) and asking me to take my shirt off. Asking me to take my clothes off so he could screenshot. We were 9. It’s just how kids are? Right? Well that’s what I told myself. And still do. Then he got aggressive, telling his friends about how ‘sexy I was’ I didn’t know what sexy meant until he told me: “it means I want to take your clothes off and feel you” I remember his words so clearly. After that his friends got weird around me too. Especially another boy. I always thought we were friends until a girl ran up to me at break saying “—— HAD A DREAM ABOUT YOU” I didn’t know what she meant until the boy whispered in my ear how he dreamt of me giving him a blow job. That’s the day when I found out what blow jobs were. 9 fucking years old. He told me in detail and I sat there and cried. I wanted to run away. I wanted to scream. But I froze. Instead I fucking froze. I hate myself for it. But I know it’s ‘normal’. The main boy started to grow more and more aggressive. Grabbing my arm, hugging me and never letting go. And more and more pictures. More following home. More standing outside my house pretending to read when he watched me get changed. But for some reason i forgot to shut my curtains. Why? Did I like him? Was it all my fault? Did I tempt him? Those are questions I ask myself every day. He did bad things to me. Until I left primary school. Free. I was away from that horrible boy. And then we had a school reunion last year. I’m not going into detail. Mainly because I can’t I just can’t. He didn’t rape me. But he made bleed in the wrong place. He groped my chest. I still have a scar. And the at was the last time I saw him. I hate him. I pity him. I love him. No I don’t. I don’t. What if i did? What if it’s all my fault? Fuck, did I want him to do those things! I was only 12! I was only 9! and I had no one. no one helped me. No one saved me from that nightmare. I still look back on my younger self. My memory is hazy. Traumatic response my therapist says. But what if it never happened. Am I just like those people I see on the internet who lie about SA? I don’t want to be. They make me so angry. I still am not okay. No one sees me. I hate him. I hate all the people who made people suffer like I have. If you experienced COCSA I’m so sorry. I love you. You are more than them. You are braze and special. And I love you. Stay fucking safe.

I was sexully encouraged by a babysitter when I was 9,too inappropriately bathe her and my sisters. None of us felt it was abuse, but just bath time fun. My sisters both bathed me to a point of inappropriate excitement. Confused but not feeling anything wrong,we just carried on,I was going through puberty and I was orgasming every bath time. I still see the woman to this day we talk like nothing happened and my sisters don't mention it.

While working at my long-time job, I met this guy. He seemed friendly and after we started talking, the one phrase he kept saying was, "we're just friends." I know now that that phrase is not real. He started by stalking me while giving the quick little "hi, how's it going?" Then the stalking got to be more, like watching my schedule, where I would be and when. But it didn't feel like stalking, because we were "just friends." Small conversations started to get to be longer conversations. Eventually, we were talking every day. And soon we began texting after work. He inserted himself into my life. Then the sexual flirting started. Of course I did join in, because we were "just friends." At the time, I was helping take care of my elderly grandmother and my mom, that had cancer and was an alcoholic. My father could only do so much on his own with my mom. I was also married with a toddler grandchild. Life was busy and stressful. He was easy to talk to. He let me say whatever I needed to say. I would ask him questions about his life and the answers were short or unbelievable. I thought he was always being sarcastic. It never felt like a real answer. When I would question him, he would simply walk away. Now, I do need to say, I am not innocent in all of this. I could have simply walked away, told him to leave me alone. But I didn't...that's where I went wrong... He would say comments to me about bathing my grandma or mom or cleaning my parents' bathroom. The comments I will choose not to put in here because they are disgraceful and disgusting. Nobody should ever say those comments. When he would say these things, I would tell him to stop. He would smile and repeat them. I, again, asked him to stop saying them. Then he would drive away on his forklift. You see, he was a different department than I, so we both had to make time to talk to each other. He would call me princess. I asked him to stop. I would be walking weird one day because of the arthritis in my lower back. He would ask if I had my "John Wayne" walk going on that day. I'd say no, I'm in pain. Please stop saying that. He would say he worked out every day after work. Then proceed to make a muscle with his bicep. He would say "feel that, I know you want to." Because we were "just friends" and flirting, I would. I would ask him for hugs, because we were "just friends." He would, but only if nobody was around. He would constantly tease me, or "raz" me as he said in the injunction hearing. I would ask him to stop on many occasions. I never reported him to my HR department, because we were "just friends." I should have... There were two occasions that he sexually assaulted me as well. To touch him, remember I asked permission. He didn't have permission to touch me. I had to wear a walkie talkie as part of my job. It was hang on my right side back pocket. Once, he came out of the receiving office (his department) and said "it was too loud to yell to get my attention" so he smacked my radio antenna. I turned around and said "what he hell!" He then proceeded to start up a conversation. The second time, I was walking away, after talking to him, I was pushing a large dumpster, and he went to hit my ass, but got the antenna again. I turned around and gave him a dirty look. I had talked to him for almost 3 years. The last comment that made me finally break came shortly after my car accident. I was hit in the rear corner panel of my husbands' car. The accident was my fault, I know this. The air bags went off. I was simply not paying attention and wanted to get home. I injured my right hip, whiplash, and my pride was very much damaged. But I went to work the next day. He knew about the accident because I texted him a few hours later, because we're "just friends." Of course, I'm limping around and trying to take it easy. I had a physical job at the time. At one point during the day, while taking the garbage and cardboard to the compactors, he said to me, "your ass have a cute wiggle when your hips hurt." I turned around and gave him a dirty look and kept walking. I didn't ask him to stop. There was my second mistake... That was October. Little by little after that I started to limit talking to him. He wouldn't stop saying the crude comments, even though I did participate in some admittedly. I did ask him to stop repeatedly on several other sexual comments. By the end of November, I was no longer talking to him. He had cornered me at one point towards the end of us talking, after my car accident, to say "he did nothing wrong. Why aren't we talking as much?" I told him "I'm working on my marriage." He then proceeded to say, "whatever. You know where I'll be. You know how to find me." We didn't talk or text anymore after Thanksgiving. By the time January came, I couldn't take it anymore. I felt scared constantly, I was in fear for my life (he said some comments about taking his "wife" if she won't give him sex), I was having anxiety attacks driving to work every day. I simply couldn't be near or around him anymore. I finally reported the ass wiggle comment to my supervisor. For the next 7 months, my life got turned upside down. My employer only made the perpetrator be off for three days while they investigated. Nothing was done, except we were both told to stay from one another. The whole time talking with the perpetrator, I was drinking very heavily. Many conversations were forgotten. I would remember details periodically. I would tell them to HR. Nothing was done. I wanted him moved to another plant or fired. My employer refused. I was so scared of him that I got a restraining order. It was granted. My employer then moved him to a different department, but still in the same building and the same hours. I still heard his name constantly. I was starting to develop PTSD. After telling HR the many comments he said, the times I said no, stop it, knock it off, and all the information I gave them, they still wouldn't protect me. I was missing work because I was afraid of him, my marriage was falling apart, and I felt like my employer just wasn't on my side. Finally, 8 months after I first talked to my supervisor, he was fired. But by then, I was a complete wreck. I was being watched, I didn't feel comfortable, and my work was suffering. I had to leave my job. I worked for this company for one month shy of 23 years. My father retired from there after 46 years. I had been a part of this company since before I was born. It was where I was supposed to retire from... But I couldn't let my mental state of mind get betrayed and feel like I'm a nobody. I got a different job and quit. To this day, I still have PTSD. I don't like crowds. Men scare me. And we're still working on our marriage, 3 years later. I'm still going through hell, all because "we're just friends..."

Was it really that bad? Healing after getting out can be a rollercoaster of emotions and self doubt. You're not alone, sharing your story helps others to stop being silenced out of shame. Sometimes the healing process is hard because we remember more, or feel what we tried not to feel. You don't have to worry about being believable, focus on your own healing journey because you lived it, and need to trust the process. Your story, and what you lived, is testimony enough.

She mounted me. The hotel room was dark, isolated. I'd volunteered to share the room with her. Volunteered. Dad and my brother shared an adjoining room, but the door was locked. Their room was quiet. She was quiet. I was quiet. I was twelve. She was eighteen. She'd been doing this to me for six years. No one was there to stop it. Or no one cared to try. I submitted, as always, but there was something different this time. She stopped. Eventually. She cried. Eventually She rolled off me, faced away. Cried, eventually "I'm sorry," she said, her voice hitches, moans, and (maybe) regret. "That's okay," I said, my voice confused, hurt, and neglected. She'd given me the attention no one else had. She'd taken the meager childhood joy no one had bothered to give. Years later - decades, a lifetime - she told me she realized then that she didn't want to be that person. But she'd left me there, twelve, scared, confused, neglected. She changed, but she never put the hand down to help the drowning boy she'd left to her negligent father, her narcissistic mother, her dysfunctional family. The boy she'd left dying in her abuse. That last time I'd told her, "That's okay," but I've spent a lifetime learning to tell people it's not okay. Not okay to control people. Not okay to hurt people. Not okay to leave the broken and bruised in the dust of history. It's not okay, sister. It was never okay.

I remember the morning after. I don't quite remember the night before. Or really just hours before. But i remember waking up and not knowing why I wanted to stand in the shower for hours. Letting the hottest setting of water i could handle turn my body a deeper shade of red than your hands left it. I remember wanting to scrub myself so hard, until i left bruises with my own hands, next to the ones yours left. I don't quite remember the morning before, but i will always remember the morning after. this is just something i wrote trying to describe the way i felt. Not the story, because i cant say that part yet.

Hello, my name is Name, and my entire childhood I was sex trafficked. In the beginning of my childhood, my home life was seemingly perfect. My mother was very motivated in holistic healing and teaching me and my younger brother mindfulness, she was sweet and caring, though she was in the middle of starting her own business and was constantly busy, not noticing when me and my brother needed help, she was also an alcoholic. We were often left unsupervised and were physically punished. My father seemed very lighthearted and innocent most of the time, though I didn't know at the time deep down he was the opposite. My grandparents were also very involved in my upbringing. We would stay with them or they would stay with us every 2-3 months, and then me and my brother would stay with them for a couple weeks to a month and a half. The first time I remember being raped, I was only 4 years old. My grandfather was staying at my house, I don't remember where my parents, brother or Nana was. This memory is very fragmented for me. I remember crying very hard, and I remember bleeding everywhere. I can remember how painful it was. I was so scared. There's a gap in my memory, the time from when it was over, and then the next day. Next thing I knew the memory had repressed itself inside of my mind, there was a sudden split in my consciousness. One part felt the pain, the other was oblivious. My grandparents left afterwards. A couple months later I was registered into a preschool, owned by a puerto rican woman and her family. Because of how young I was, I do not know how to full narrate this part of my life. My memories are scattered. I do know that at this daycare there was a woman, she was the owner's daughter's boyfriend's mother who often helped out there. And a man, the owner's husband. Let's call the woman Name 2 and the man Name 3. One day early on in attending the day care, I was taken into a room with both of them alone, and again I was raped. I remember the fear and the confusion, then I remember the numbness that again took over my body and mind. I remember the split of my consciousness happening again. After this I have scattered memories of it happening again and again. Sometimes I remember other children being involved, but I'm not sure if those memories are accurate. They often took photos and videos of me. Half of the time, my life felt like a horror show, and the other half I was completely oblivious to it. Though, the oblivious part always knew something was wrong. She would often take things out on dolls, destroying the space between their legs with whatever she could find. She would often rehearse exactly what had happened to her onto the dolls, not knowing where these horrible ideas had come from, and what they meant. She also often took these things out on other children, trying to initiate sex with anyone she knew. The rape continued, until Name 3 murdered his wife, the owner of the daycare. He had been physically abusing her for a long time. Her death was sudden and was probably caused by a head injury, but nobody said anything about it. Name 3 was not persecuted. So, my parents registered me to another daycare. I was safe from being violated for a year. Until Elementary school started. My grandfather started molesting me again. My kindergarten year went by fast, and in the fall of my 1st grade year my parents divorced. They had been fighting every day on and off for a long time, my Mother decided to just leave. I don't remember how long I went without seeing her. She was now struggling on and off with homelessness. My father took all the money he could get his hands on. This is when the abuse from my father started. He beat me and my brother until our backs were covered with black and purple bruises. He'd pull me out of bed by my hair before school every morning. He was constantly irritated. He hired babysitters to watch me and my brother after school while he was still at work, some of them were from the daycare where I was raped. Soon after my mom started coming over twice a week to see me and my brother. One night, I believe my Dad had gotten drunk, he told me to get ready for bed. I did and went into my room. He followed. My memory gets spotty here, my father raped me. He was angry, he wanted revenge on my mother for leaving him. I couldn't do anything against him. Afterwards, he buckled his pants back up. And he left me. I had an accident and my mother came in to help me, not aware of anything that had happened. After that I had many more accidents. Nobody suspected anything. I had nightmares of monsters eating me alive, ripping apart my insides, wolves tearing me to pieces, bears chasing me, being forced to touch my family members inappropriately. Still I was mostly oblivious. The abuse went on, there were times when things would be good for a couple weeks and then it would go back. I started going to my moms apartment on weekends. Later that year, my grandfather started raping me again. My Nana was working, and he was a trucker. He was off most of the time we were together. To keep me quiet about it, he often attempted to murder me. He would hold me by my head and tell me he was gonna snap my neck, he'd choke me until all I saw was darkness and I couldn't speak, and when he'd bathe me, he'd hold the back of my neck and push me under the water until I stopped struggling. He'd slap me across the face so hard my ears would ring so loud, when I fell over onto the carpet he'd kick the shit out of me, and sometimes he'd whip my back with an extension cord. He told me no matter what if I told anybody I would be dead. And that I would go to hell. My family was baptist. Soon after men would come over and pay to rape me as well, sometimes in the privacy of my grandparents bedroom and sometimes together right in the middle of the living room. Some were from the church, some were family friends, and others were truckers my Grandfather knew. I remember my grandfather leading me to the bedroom with one of the truckers. He paid my grandfather, looked at me from outside and then he closed the door behind him. The lights were off and the dim light of the sun was shining through the sheer curtains. He forced my mouth open and I choked on him, i ran to the trash can and threw up. As i was leaned over, he raped me. I couldn't stop throwing up, when that was over he moved me and forced himself into my mouth again. His legs were pinning my arms down onto the carpet. I couldnt move or struggle. I could look over and see myself in the closet mirror. After he was done, there was throw up on my face and neck and semen stuck in my hair. He left the room and my grandfather told me to wash myself in the bathroom sink. I was crying and sniffling and trying to brush the fluid out of my hair. I tried to scrub my tongue with my hands. Everything stunk. When I wasnt with my grandparents, I was at home. Name 2 started babysitting me, and one day she told me and my brother we had to go with her to a doctors appointment for her feet. We went with her, as me and my brother sat in the room with her the doctor kept injecting things into her toes. They laughed and smiled at me and my brother as it was happening, we were very uncomfortable and confused. After that she told my brother to go sit in the lobby. We were alone in the doctors office and she brought out a video camera. The doctor laid me down onto the table and raped me while she recorded. I struggled as much as I could but again I was powerless. Afterwards I was numb and repressed again, I remember she told me to go pee afterwards and I did. I was disoriented and confused, not remembering how I got there. A couple weeks later I had told my mother that I got raped by a doctor. I had acted out what he did but I didn't have the words to say rape or assault. My mom told my dad and they sat me down and told me that what happened to me was wrong, and that I needed to tell them about it. At that point I had forgotten even mentioning it, i had completely forgotten that it happened, so I had nothing to say. Life moved on, they asked Name 2 about it, and she lied, saying that I left the room with my brother afterward. I continued being assaulted and trafficked by my grandfather for the following years. Constantly forgetting. When I was 11 it ended. I assume he was no longer interested because I had started puberty. I spent the next years living with my mother. She was neglectful and constantly drunk or high. I was constantly starving and underweight, when I saw my father on the weekends we fought but I didn't remember anything that had happened. Every part of me became depressed and confused. I dropped out of school in 8th grade. My mom told me that I had told her about the doctor that year, My entire life changed. At that point I didn't even remember being raped once. I went into a state of bipolar mania and psychosis. This went on for 7 months, then I went to my grandparents again. They were moving far away and there was a family reunion before they left. I remember being alone with my grandfather on the couch, he caressed my thigh with his hand. I was oblivious to everything that happened. I kept looking at things on my phone and ignored him. He said something odd, which I can no longer remember. I looked at him with confusion, and he sighed and left me alone after a prolonged silence. It didn't sit right with me. That month, after I went back home, memories started coming to me. I didn't know that starting then, I would spend all of my highschool years in a cycle of recovering memories, getting used to them, and then recovering more. I lost every friend I had. Except for my boyfriend I met online when I was 13. He was the only one who cared about anything that happened to me. I told him almost everything. He was a survivor of constant sexual abuse throughout his childhood as well. We understood each other. Now, I have just turned 18. I start college in the fall. I've gone no contact with my father. I've told my mother about everything, she told me my dad had sexually assaulted her and other women as well. And that they found money in my grandfathers mattress, also that he was probably selling drugs as well. Though she has not given me an apology for her neglect, and shows that she doesn't feel sorry for me at all. I'm dedicating every day to nurturing myself, since my parents can't. My journey isn't over, there's so much I don't understand still, but I know now that I will be okay. Most days I feel this awful shame. Like Im not meant to be alive. Like my body is all I was ever good for, like nobody cares about me at all or will ever understand. While most people couldn't understand the pain of what I've gone through, that's not what's important. I'm here for myself and I'm soon getting engaged with my boyfriend that I mentioned earlier. Things get better every day. I will not allow myself to feel this shame anymore. I'll share my story until I physically can't anymore. As soon as I submit this story I will not let it control me any longer. Thank you if you read this far.

This is my life story, well, at least the major events that come to mind. There are aspects of my life that I have either blocked out or chosen not to remember. When I was about 5 years old, my grandfather on my mother’s side started molesting me. It went on for a while, and I vividly remember crying to my mom, begging her not to make me go back there one weekend. In response, she looked at me and asked if my grandfather was touching me. I mustered the courage to say yes, hoping for support. To my dismay, she told me that my grandfather was sick and that I needed to support him. She continued to send me to his house every weekend until I turned 8, when he passed away. At the age of twelve, a traumatizing incident occurred. I was raped at a school basketball game by a high school student. My mother’s solution to this was to move us to another state. Unfortunately, that didn’t shield me from more pain. At 14 years old, I was gang-raped at a party and ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Thankfully, the police came, and the men responsible were arrested and charged. However, on the day of the court hearing, before I took the stand, something happened. I can’t recall the specifics, but my mom said something so terrifying that it coerced me out of testifying. Because of that, the adult perpetrator walked away free. I distinctly remember the furious look my dad gave my mom. He was so angry, while she callously said, “what would the people say.” It was a devastating blow. Tragedy struck again when I was 15 years old. I lost my father to suicide. Shockingly, my mom and sister blamed me for his death and gave me up to the state, making me an orphan. From that point, I bounced from foster home to foster home, eventually ending up in a group home until I turned 18. Desperate and lost, I fell into a dangerous cycle. I became addicted to drugs and involved in drug trafficking. My relationships were plagued by violence and abuse. In a desperate attempt to find a sense of belonging, I got involved with a Cartel Name. I immersed myself in their world, learning fluent Spanish. Tragically, I ended up being kidnapped and remained missing until the FBI located me eight months later. They discovered me chained up to a bed, on the brink of death. After spending five months rehabilitating in an State hospital, I was finally returned home. Throughout all these experiences, I encountered domestic violence, battled drug abuse, and confronted countless challenges along the way. Yet here I am today – resilient and determined to create positive change. My life has been a series of unimaginable hardships and painful experiences. From the abuse I suffered as a child to the trauma of rape and the loss of my father, I have faced more than anyone should have to endure. The path I walked led me down dark and dangerous roads, filled with addiction, crime, and violence. But amidst the darkness, I found a glimmer of hope. I made the decision to break free from the cycle of abuse and rebuild my life. With sheer determination, I ventured into the unknown, finding solace in new places and pursuing education to empower myself. Now, as I share my story, I am studying for my Master’s degree in human services, driven by a deep desire to help others who have faced similar struggles. I refuse to let the past define me, and I am committed to making a positive impact in the lives of others. My journey has been long and tumultuous, but it has also shown me the strength and resilience that resides within me.

I was sexually assaulted between the ages of 18 and 19 by my then-boyfriend. I remember when it first started, I didn't even think of it as sexual assault, only that I knew I didn't want to and always felt upset after it happened. There was one specific event that made me realise what I was experiencing was not normal. I remember repeating "no" to the point of almost yelling and trying to push him off me with all my strength. He had a grip of my jumper which ripped when I eventually broke free. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I went to dinner with his family that evening and cried in the bathroom. To this day, I still haven't told anyone and I wonder if he even understands the gravity of what he had done.