Community

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.

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 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.

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.

In my survival story, "Just Words, Dirty Words", I shared so much and I brushed over an experience with a male gynecologist. It was a much bigger deal that I let on because it had triggered my previous abuse as an adolescent on my first job. I wonted other girls and women to understand what is not okay for a gynecologist to do. It was not until after it happened that I realized the full impact. I realized I had let myself be victimized again without trying to stop it. I felt self-loathing and anxiety. I write this letter to that opportunistic predator. You broke your oath. You betrayed the trust. You are terrible! I have done research on what a breast and pelvic exam is supposed be like and understand you used the framework to sexually assault me. I was late for the appointment to get birth control at the university clinic when I had just moved for college. You let me in even though you had no nurse chaperon, it seemed that you might have sent them home after putting me in the room. You are a man and that is against policy. We shared our first eye contact and I ignored your lust and first glance flirtation. You saw I was vulnerable and needed something from you. You told me as a new patient you have to do a full first visit exam. Now I believe you may have lied. I nodded and put down my guard. When you returned I was undressed wearing a paper smock for a false sense of security. I was self conscious even though I had impeccable hygiene and grooming but worried I was not fresh enough so late in the day because you were a man and you made it sexual. You examined my breasts with no gloves. I said nothing. I knew you were massaging them for you pleasure. You went on for five minutes like that. I think five whole minutes while you kept talking. When my boss used to molest me just seconds was plenty to make me feel sick and used. He would sit on my torso, compressing my ribs to the point I could not take a deep breath and have sex with my breasts and he usually took less time than you. do remember you used the words “wonderful” and “amazing” when commenting on by breast health. We could both smell the musk from down below from stimulating me like that. I was embarrassed. You should have been the one ashamed! You mentioned the textures and gave some instructional anatomy to pretend it might be official. You asked random questions and you shared personal stories like it was a date. All the while you were groping my tits like a pervert. Both hands at the same time! I tried to cover for you by pretending like this was not insane and not a sexual assault. You were twice my age and your mustache was ridiculous. You finally moved on to the pelvic exam. You said the words, “Very nice” when you lifted up the paper drape to help my feet into the stirrups. That is not appropriate when viewing a patient’s vagina for the first time. You explained every step from “I’m going to touch your thighs now” to “take a deep breath as I insert the speculum”. That part was quick but then you explained the manual exam that you did for too long. You inserted two fingers to check for cervical motion tenderness but rubbed my clitoris with your lubricated thumb as you did so. That was wrong! You explained that you were going to move your other hand to check for tenderness of my ovaries to check for infection but kept working your other hand on my clit and inside me. You put what felt like three fingers in me! You were sexually assaulting me again. Breaching my trust. Ignoring you oath. As a last indignity you felt for masses in the space between my vagina and rectum. You left your thumb in my vagina while you put a finger in my anus and moved them both back and in and out explaining you thought you felt something for a second but it resolved on massage, meaning it was nothing to worry about. You raped me! That was rape! I looked it up and what you were doing is a real part of an exam but no gynecologist had done that before then or ever since! Instead of leaving the room while I dressed you stayed and helped by holding out my clothes! Totally inappropriate! You should not have a medical license! Sure I let you, and I cooperated, and even tried to endure it and put on a pleasant face. I was a different person then and you just continued my cycle of being abused by men. But the anus part was where I felt true terror and wanted to get out. You gave me a business card with your name on it and told me to call and ask when you were working to schedule next visit. Then you only wrote me for 1 refill on 30 day birth control! Like I would even come back to be assaulted again. You smug abuser of power and trust! I left with you thinking I enjoyed that and would see you again!!! You make me want to scream and pound on things! It was delayed, but my abuse anxiety was triggered that night, and days after. I will never see a male gynecologist again. Your lust and greed is not better than that of a rapist. You broke my trust in the medical system and I still get anxiety at any doctor visit. Just because a girl’s reaction to abuse is not instant, because of some survival mechanism, does not make it any less painful. Sometimes even more, because we feel guilty for not being strong and assertive. You were in a position of authority and abused it so badly. You should be ashamed, doctor! You should be in prison!

Having YOUR voice is the most important thing that you can have as an abuse victim. After going through abuse for multiple years at Location, I felt like everything was stripped away from me. My dignity, self respect, confidence, happiness, and strength felt like were taken by the age of 9. Summer after summer i went to this dark place that was supposed to be a positive experience. My parents thought they were dropping me off at a place to help grow my walk with the Lord. What they didnt know is that Name 2 told me that if I did the sexual acts he wanted me to do, he promised that I would become closer to God. He was a sick individual that constantly broke Location's guidelines and the law. The worst part is that Location had insight and knew these events were happening but did nothing. Leaving camp and going back home I remember feeling empty and depressed. You are not at a maturity level at this age to be able to grasp what has happened and how to process it. I went to child advocacy centers to get professional help and struggled to even talk about what happened because it did not make sense in my head and could not verbalize the events or the impact it had on me. As i moved into my teen years I became more depressed. Every night I would have a dream of Name 2 abusing me and I felt like every night I went to sleep, I was going to be abused again. The fear, anger and depression I went through weighed so heavy on me that I was close to not wanting to make it to the next day. After years of this cycle, I decided I needed change to be able to live a full life. I started to to work on my physical, spiritual and mental health. The biggest part of this is having your voice. You have to be able to share your experience so that you can get the help you need and to express the pain you have been through. That is why I am thankful for Trey's Law. This removes the ability for organizations like Location to silence victims after they put them through horrendous experiences. It gives the power back to the Survivor. Treys Law will save lives. It will allow for someone to stick up for themselves. It will allow for less criminals/organizations to get away with what is the worst crime someone can commit. If anyone is reading this and needs help, I am always happy to listen to your voice! Name

I have lived through many battles, some visible and some invisible. Chronic pain has been a constant companion, and alongside it came experiences of assault, grief, bullying, and being overlooked or targeted in the workplace. Each of these left scars that ran deeper than I could admit at the time. For years, I tried to hold it all in — the pressure, the pain, the silence through alcohol and substances. But it built until I couldn’t contain it anymore, and I crashed hard. My mental health episode was frightening, for me and for those around me. What has made it harder is the culture I grew up in. In South Asian communities, mental health is often brushed aside, stigmatized, or seen as weakness. Instead of compassion, I felt shame. Instead of understanding, I carried guilt. I believed I had let down the people I loved most. But I am learning that what happened was not my fault. Trauma is not a choice. Crashes are not punishments. They are the body and mind crying out for care. I am still here. I am learning to see my sensitivity and survival not as flaws, but as proof of resilience. Sharing my story is part of releasing the shame and reclaiming my voice. My hope is that others who have lived through pain and silence — especially in communities where mental health is hidden — can know they are not alone. Our stories matter. Our survival matters.

I didn't know what I was being asked to do. I was 6 years old. I didn't realize what had happened to me until recently. I tried to walk out of the room but I was manipulated into staying. He was my cousin. I didn't think he would use me. I didn't know what he did was wrong until about 1 year ago. It disgusts me to be around him. I have always felt for SA survivors, without knowing that I was one myself. I have taken the path of healing silently. Knowing my experience I know that there are children that are affected by this every day. I hope that by sharing my story, I can help young children know what is happening to them.

When I was 23, after having lost my father to cancer and moving into my first home as a single parent, I was "sexually assaulted" by my uncle who was now one of my neighbours. It was what was possibly deemed a harmless move by him, a drunken misunderstanding where he accidentally but forcefully stuck his tongue in my mouth while consoling me on my loss. The weight of him pressing me into the sofa of my new home. My new place of safety. He was a large man with a wheelbarrow stomach and a stench of unwashed flesh that lingers in the spaces long after he has passed through them. He never spoke a word I could ever understand because his native dialect rested somewhere between a brogue and the sound of someone clearing their throat. I always politely, on account of my aunt, nodded in agreement whenever he spoke to me. I pushed him away and apologetically resisted his advances so as not to offend him. It never occured to me to make a scene, others might have demonstrated greater revolt but I had just left an abusive relationship with the father of my child, a man who was given to dangling phlegm from his mouth over my face while pinning my arms down as a means of foreplay. Being sexually compromised was something that I had long accepted as normal. According to my mother I deserved it, people don't do things to other people unless they deserve it. He was just trying to be nice to me after all. I also learned quickly that if you did happen to discuss things with anyone that they had ways of silencing you. My new neighbours were informed of my single parent status and it's always better to keep girls like me at arms length. I thought I had been finally set free from an abusive relationship only to find myself thrust into a dynamic that set the stage for a lifetime of fear and resprisals from any man that wanted to really. A couple of weeks later my late fathers friend, an elderly gentleman with a family of his own, repeated the experience. A man of standing in the community, he had called to offer his condolances and suggested he could help me find work through a local employment scheme to help me get back on my feet. Once again I found myself on the recieving end of a sexual embrace, ending with him forcing his tongue into my mouth. I didn't get that job, in fact I spent the next twenty years resisting poverty and doing my best under the same kind of unemployment schemes while always being rejected for paid labour. It was on one of these employment schemes where I became the subject of one partcular mans obsession. He was the same age as me although very shy and reserved, maybe because he suffered from a physical disability. He worked in a different office to me and we would see him skulking around outside the building I worked in and often, waiting outside at clock out time. He would casually greet me and join up with our group and continue to follow along with us. The others made fun of him but I felt bad about that and tried my best to be respectful. As our work progamme ended everyone naturally went their own ways but he never left and for twenty years he remained, insisting he was just a friend despite my objections that I had no desire to be with anyone. Most people automatically assume that he was my partner now but in all the years I had known him, I remained single and celibate. I had never been able to consider being in relationship with another man. I never had the freedom to be even if I wanted to. My mother would tell people he was my partner and as it happened, he was very effective at "keeping me out of trouble". Instead, I turned to other women for relationship and in the hope that he, and others, might get the message and leave me alone. It was many years before I found the videos he had been taking of me on his phone when I wasn't looking. It turned out he was a prolific client of escort services too and apparently, acording to the man who's child I bore and raised by myself this meant that I was a paid whore also. It wasn't until I sought help that I learned how I was being portrayed. The first counsellor I went to called me a liar when I told her that my childs father had physically abused me. For three months I sat unable to speak in a psychologist office, being accused of things I had previously been unable to imagine. I lost the ability to verbalise. My nervous system shut down. My body would shake uncontrollably. I tried to kill myself but I didn't know how. I stopped trusting people, least of all the services you would nomally turn to for help. The gaurds, my gp, even the voluntary agencies in places of statutory ones. For years after I struggled to come to terms with this abuse and I was alone through all of it. I did everything I could to drag myself out of that place, yoga, meditation, exercise but none of it made much difference because I could never wipe away the pain on the inside. One day I listened to a story on the radio and in response penned a letter to a rape crisis center. I never considered what I had been through as sexual abuse so I never considered discussing it with anybody. I began to write. I met with a counsellor and handed her my letter. As she spoke the words of my story I heard someone else speaking but it didn't sound like me. I didn't feel ashamed, I felt brave. I didn't feel worthless, I looked at the woman in the chair in front of me and felt like her, like I had value and that my words had meaning. I didn't feel stupid or retarded, I saw a beautiful articulate woman, not a destitute worthless prostitute. After years of being silenced I finally heard the sound of my own voice. I think I slept for two days after that. My own voice has grown stonger every day since. It's kinder and more understanding, more loving and gentle toward myself. I no longer live with the same level of fear as before. The guilt and shame I was used to feeling and that others used to inflict upon me no longer controls me. Something was given back to me that was lost and now no one can ever take it away again. I'm still working on healing myself but I enjoy life in moments and even have goals again. I'm glad that this place can give people a voice too and that those who read these words might hear themselves speaking and will know that they are not alone.

I don't know how to start, it's just I am having pms rn and I can't help but feel disgusted. It was my cousin brother. We have been close since childhood. We used to do all kinds of things that you would usually do with your brother. I used to live far, I with my fam used to visit their fam. I still remember the last conversation we had when I last visited him before covid, we were talking about him getting a gf and Me getting a bf just normal conversation. After covid, in 2022 I moved. It was near where he lived. He came to stay naturally, just like we would hang out daily and eat out and had fun. One day, I was laying down with him. All the days, he stayed with us. I used to sleep with him in the same bed. But that it was a nightmare. Out of nowhere he started putting his hand on my stomach. He started touching me over my underwear and in between my thighs. I froze on place. I couldn't think anything I was begging God please don't let him go further. He was trying to open my underwear and touching around it. I pulled away his hand. He still brought it again in between my thighs. Then after sometime he stopped. I continued sleeping there..ik it was the dumbest thing but yk how it is, you freeze in a place, you can't think right. I didn't shout or anything. I was just stunned and didn't know anything that I could do then. Next day, I woke up I literally felt it was a dream but I had a clear memory. Very clear memory Long time, it felt like I was at fault.. for sleeping in bed with him, for not shouting, for not reacting enough, for never speaking up about it to me. I was just disgusted and decided to talk to my friends. They made me understand it's not me, it was him. It was not something he could do without any intention. Its been 3 years, only my closest friends know, my parents don't know. I don't know whether he remembers it or not. It doesn't matter. It was something so disgusting and it stays with till today. It doesn't matter what he thinks. I stay away from him and made sure to never have a good connection with him ever after that. He once blackmailed me with something I didn't know. He just randomly started telling me he knows what I did. And called one of his friend saying that I will give 500 rupees and you give me that thing. I don't even know what it was about. But he is the most disgusting person to ever exist. His idea about woman disgusts me and how he keeps his gf too. I wish the old me would have done something then But I am so glad I understand myself more than anything and bring that up will only cause harm in my slowly healing life

It was a cold snowy winter night just before the COVID shutdown spread across the country. I was attending the second-year graduate school class reception with a group of friends from the second-year graduate class. My "date" as my invitation to attend that class's event was really someone everyone knew was in a committed long-distance relationship and just using the extra ticket as a fun excuse to invite me as friend. It was a fun time to explore a historic mansion while having food and wine. An hour later, as it was about to conclude, one of the second-year's partners turns to me and tells me she would really like to meet me at a bar, and a group of people from that class are planning to go there. I turn to my "date" and we both agree to go. We drove to the vintage bar, one I never had been to before. I walk in through the snow and ice in my black high heels in a cocktail dress covered by my winter jacket, trying my best not to trip. A cocktail and a few conversations among classmates of my "date" later, I find myself in the corner chatting with the person who invited me to the bar from the reception. Something seemed off from the start of the conversation -- and it only got worse. The 30-something-appearing cis woman was a faculty member, yet seemed to serial date younger, new students at the same professional school -- a fact a classmate mentioned in passing with an eye-roll earlier. The one-to-one conversation with me appeared to go in circles, with her repeating the same stories over and over again without realizing that she was doing so. Awkward conversation, but it would just be a temporarily annoyance, my thought was. Yet it took an even more bizarre turn. She kept getting closer to closer to me as she was talking. At one point, she touched my shoulder, ostensibly to make a comment about how she liked my dress. She was mentioning her professional expertise and connections in the field I was, and still am, most interested in entering. She then started asking me awkward questions about how I was visibly trans, and then mentioned as a complete non-sequitur how she was the dominant "masculine" partner in her relationship. And then, to my horror, I noticed her abruptly lifting the bottom of my dress up and reaching underneath my dress to attempt to grope either my inner thigh...or worse. This wasn't just a slight motion; her hand was fully underneath my dress and moving fast upwards, from what I could clearly see from the brief glimpse I took. I immediately stepped backwards with a wide-eyed look on my face, in total disbelief of what just happened...and what did not happen that was mere seconds away from fully happening. She turned away in a hurry and walked back to her partner at the bar -- who was oblivious to what just happened -- grabbed him by the arm, and made an excuse to request to leave. This was not the first time I had experience attempted or completed sexual assault. Just like when I experienced rape the year of my college graduation, during a different cold winter night years earlier, I remember feeling puzzled, confused, and very much *not* wanting to put a label on what just happened to me. The events of each night leading up to the sexual assault always seem so random and not predictable as they are happening, but in retrospect, it is so easy to attempt to scrutinize every detail as a possible warning sign of what was to come. Yet I do not even want to think about the likely reality that the attempted sexual assault I experienced that night seemed to happen due to being visibly trans. When people think of post-traumatic stress disorder from an evolutionary perspective, it is typically thought of as an adaptive way to avoid situations of future danger. But when you're scared of social events and comments about personal identity, just think of how unpredictable the healing journey is.

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

I was 17. At the time, this kid was just released from jail for about the second time since I met him in high school art class. Everyone was scared of him, but somehow we got along. I met him, his little brother and his two friends for a night of drinking. My friend was supposed to come, but she never showed up, so it was just me and the three boys. We all started drinking and the boys were also smoking. Having a good time. Everything was fine. It got late and we all made our way downstairs. Suddenly, it was just me and him in his room while the other guys were out watching TV. Then it happened. Idk exactly how, but the first thing I remember is him shoving my head down at his crotch. He wasn't clothed but I was. He grabbed me by the back of my neck, forced me down and told me to suck him. Repeatedly I said "please don't. I've never done this before. I don't want to" But it didn't matter. He had his hand around my neck. Next thing I know he's ripped off my pants and lifted me on top of him. I started crying. Uncontrollably. I begged him to stop...but it didn't matter. The pain was excruciating. I was virgin. And he was my first time. I wanted to fight back but I knew he had a history of beating his ex-girlfriend who went to school with us and he just gotten out of jail. For better or for worse, I didn't want him to hit me. The guys outside the room could hear me crying and begging for it to stop. His little brother came into the room, yelling at him to stop. The kid said "get the fuck out of my room or I'll kill you" And that was it. I was just there. Crying. Praying for it to be over. Waiting for someone to save me. But it never came. My mind was blank and scared. I didn't know what to do and my body was just taking the pain. By the end I was sobbing even more uncontrollably, grasping in between my legs, thinking I was bleeding. I put on my clothes and ran out to the other boys. They all sat up and stared at me. Each saying sorry. I asked the friend if he would sleep on the couch with me to keep me safe the rest of the night until I could drive home and he did. I couldn't wrap my head around it. Why didn't they help me? Why did it happen? What should I have done? What will happen when I see him at school and sit next to him in class? Morning came and I drove for hours. Just crying. Thinking there was some way I got pregnant because he didn't use a condom. Crying because I was somehow ASHAMED that it happened. I told 3 of my friends the following Monday but we had no clue what to do, and more than anything, I was ashamed and embarrassed of what happened, especially with this kid who everyone hated and was terrified of. It wasn't until August 2022 (10 years later) that I finally reached out for help with a therapist. I am now working through my trauma and hoping to connect with others who know what I've gone through and can understand what I felt all this time being alone. For me, my story hasn't ended just yet, but I'm trying to make it a powerful one. Thanks for listening.

Help me please I found out i was assaulted when i was ten or so by my older half brother. I woke up to him in my bed, and i was a child so i didnt think much of it, but i always had this rule where i didnt want anyone in my bed because it was mine and blah blah, so i told him i was gonna tell on him later and he ran back to my brother bunk bed where he originally slept and didnt say anything. I ran over to tell my parents, and in the morning yhey obviously knew something was wrong so they asked him why he was in my bed and he admitted that he been using my ass to masturbate for months. And i got memories to when i would wake up in the middle of the night where he’d be walkong back and forgh with paper tissues and my butt would feel wet and i always thiught i was just seeaty and stuff but it then clicked and i remembered all the tomes he would grind against me randomly but again i didnt think anything of it and he got beat for three days and he had to applogize to me and i saw him pleading for forgiveness cause they forced him too and i was so scared but i always thiught it wasnt that deep cause it wasnt actually rape and i was jever conscious for him doing that and now im much older now but this week has been really hard and even to this day it turns me on so much to think of me being assaulted like i hate it when i hear of of others getting hurt in that way but it arouses me so much and i thiught it made progress but during this period it turned me on so much and its terrible and i dont know what to do its still haunting me when i didnt even really go theough anyrhing and ive been telling myself that im fine for the longest time and that everything is okay but this is jsut revealing that in not okay and that im judt some sicko who gets off to other people hypothetically assaulting me whats wrong with me i dont know what to do please help me llease validate me please do something i dont like feeling like this what should i do

My ex is abusive. He's very narcissistic, spiritually abusive, mentally abusive, emotionally, sexually, and as of now physically abusive. I was with him for four years. He was my first love and first long-term serious relationship. The night I lost my virginity to him he had convinced me he and his pregnant actual girlfriend at the time had broken up. He gave me the sob story, played the victim, and cried crocodile tears the whole 9 yards. I didn't see any of the red flags. Before I moved in with him the first time, it was a trial run. I didn't bring many things but did provide some things for the apartment his best friend was renting. They were just moving in. My ex didn't have a bed so I had my mom bring my granny's bed to the apartment *come to find out later after leaving he had sex with his ex in that bed. I took it back, he cried*. Things weren't going well, to say the least, but were still blinded by love and trauma. One night I decided to leave. I cleaned up the bedroom, packed my things sent my friend my location who was aware of my situation, I belongings into the living room as my ex was trying to argue. Note: I am shy, timid, non confrontational. In fact, if anyone tried arguing with me I would cry, and shut down to the point I'm not able to respond. My ex would continue to put me in this "shut down" state multiple times later on. I was waiting in the living room telling my ex I was leaving and my friend was already coming to pick me up. My ex then pinned me against the wall with black eyes forcing me to tell my friend to turn around. So I did. I was so afraid and had never seen anyone's eyes look like that before. I stupidly stayed until I finally had it. And again stupid me went back and moved in with him a second time. There is so much that happened in that relationship with him and two of his ex's that he has kids with. He doesn't have anything to do with, he still hasn't told his parents about his firstborn. His exs bullyed me so bad. The older one finally stopped but his second ex continued to harass me until I filed a restraining order the second time I moved in with him. This is all I'm able to talk about at the moment. The abuse I endured from him has caused so much trauma which lead to me getting psychosomatic lupus, which still is causing me so much trouble to this day. My ex has silenced me with fear for years, but now I'm no longer held down by him or his control and I am ready to start slowly speaking my truth and telling my story a little at a time. Thank you for listening and my heart goes out to all of you. May time heal you and karma do her work.

Number years since what happened to me. There has been so much pain and hurt. One of these men was constanty asking me to sleep with his friends but my answer was always no , never, not a chance , You see i found it so hard to accept what had happened because i had to much to drink . I do believe that something was put into my drink as i had no more to drink than what i normally would . I was a at party with these two people. I dont remember leaving the house but i do remember getting sick out of the taxi on the way home. Both of these animals took turns to have sex with me . I remember just lying there with no clothes on and been unable to move unable to fight them of . Both of them went outside and i remember the strong smell of cigarettes and could hear them both laughing . Shortly after both of them left and i lay there confussed , helpless and alone. I must have fallen asleep because i remember it was bright out and one of these men came back to the house. No accountability has been taken from either of these and this is what makes healing so hard for me. Im trying to take back my power but some days are just so hard. Both of these men took adavantage of my vunrability. Learning to tust myself and love myself is my main goal for now and knowing that i did nothing wrong,

I don't even remember how old I was. It was around the time when my parents got divorced, I might've been around 6-8, and this happened over multiple years, that's why it's such a blur to me. I used to go to my auntie's house in the holidays on Thursdays, sometimes Fridays too. Every time I would go, my cousin, who is 2/3 years older than me, would do things to me. I think the first time we ever did anything sexual was just kissing, with tongue of course. But as time went on, she began to just eat me out every time I went, I definitely didn't enjoy it, I was just frozen. I tried to tell her to stop so many times, but she would never listen. We would go to the guest bedroom on the third floor, away from everyone and she would ask to play families, where she would be the dad and me the mum, or she would beg me to role play as 'celebrities' with her. She always said she would be the male and me the female. One time, we went to my nan's house, and she dressed me up in scarves, role playing a 'wedding' with me. She even made me kiss her in front of my nan. I don't see how this was so normalized for my nan to not question her forcefully snogging me and picking me up. She even tried to assault me in front of my brother when he was a toddler once. It was terrible when my parents divorced, when I was with my dad, we stayed with her and my auntie. Of course they made me and her sleep together, because they thought we were close. That's when my world caved in, those were the worst years of my life that I can't even remember much of today. I lived in fear of her for years. One day, I just forgot. I forgot about her, I lost most of my memories of what she had done to me, and we grew close again. I was naive, desperate for my older cousin's attention. So, when I was 10, it almost happened again, and I've not been the same since. It was my birthday yesterday, and she came round, acting normal as she always does. It makes me feel sick. She's moving out from her stepdad's house with her mum, and asked if I wanted to sleepover. No. Never again. I don't think I'll ever tell anyone in my family. My best friend and my ex know but, I genuinely think it doesn't even matter because it happened ages ago and nobody would believe me anyways. So much of my childhood is a blur now and I can't help but feel terrified of intimacy yet I think about it so much. Thank uou for reading.

when I was younger I was assaulted by a 15 year old boy, this led to me being very hypersexual at a young age, because of the emotion I had associated with my assault . He had told me it was a "game". This led to me assaulting my younger brother at the age of 4. I feel so guilty and I can't stop reliving the past even going to the extent of looking at my past mistakes and reliving them. I feel immense guilt and I have paired it with this feeling. I don't know if it is arousal or if I am just very aware of my private parts but every time I even think of me being aroused that way I feel like a pedophile, and I want to vomit is this a normal reaction???

raped and sexually exploited in a cult, by a bishop. After 10 years, while he had also occasionally sexually agressed other women, the organization received an official complaint by the daughter of a high ranking member, (so she was believed and acknolwdged - not like others before her) and the organization held a meeting to talk about it for 1 hour, many women came forth. and at the end of the meeting we were told not to talk about it to anyone, to protect the cult's public image! 8 years went on and I had no symptoms, although I was on anti-depressants. Then I began a romantic relationship and gradually went of the medication. I then also lost my mother to cancer. I started to have anxiety reactions and insomnia but my partner didnt see a need to talk about it. I was not sure what I was experiencing, and it made no sense that it was related to the previous long term abuse. My partner knew I had endured a lot but didnt want details - repeating that it was in the past. I pushed through, didint want to be handicapped by my past, didnt want to be damaged or limited. But after 5 years, my partner started another relationship with someone in another country, without fully disclosing their relationship. The culmination of his behaviour, my gut feeling that something was off, the fact that I wasnt sleeeping well for years, the increasing sexual intensity and high chemistry with my partner, and the fact that He also abused me (tying me up ordering me to silence, and sodomising me, and other abusing acts the last 19 months of our relationship) ... I lost my mind! I concluded I was deserving of abuse, that I was an horrible person, etc. Since then, 8 years have passed. I denounced the bishop rapist 5 years ago, nambe witnesses and 20 other victims and a trial is coming up where I will have to testify. Terrified. Alone, no family or friends. I have contacted over 100 therapists to seek support. 60% do not reply, those who do are often not qualified in trauma, or do not offer services covered by the indemnisation for victims. And the rest have waiting lists that I never get any news from. I have contacted all the women centres for victims of sexual assault in my city, without success. I have read, watched, healed best I could by myself. Rebuild from shame and the conclusion that I was deserving of abuse since my chosen romantic partner abused me while knowing I had been abused and not abusing his new partner. I am surviving, still chest pain, still isolated and only going to grocery stores. not confortable with cashier. I dream visualise, hope, write, that I will experience a healthy, supportive relationship before I die (I am 53) but time is passing by without much improvement. Alone. Watched documentaries like NXIUM, Playboy secrets, Scientology, etc and so much similitudes.