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I feel that I have never been able to be who I truly am. I was abused by my uncle from I think around 6 until 18. We lived with them and the reason I don't know the age I was when it started is that I remember nothing in my life prior to it. I know the exact story of the first time it happened and it then happened so frequently that I couldn't count. Many times a day, many days a week, many weeks a year etc. It has ruined who I am and my personality now is one of full compliance. I can't say no to people, i let people abuse me in many ways, not just sexually because I do what I have to to please those around me. I told no one of the abuse until 18, and have only told my husband. I have now found out that another cousin suffered the same and her life is absolutely off the rails. I think it happened to all of us, there are five girls but we simply never speak of it. He is still alive, I don't see him, none of us do as he is a drug addict. I want to seek justice but don't know if I am strong enough to survive that. He made my life a nightmare, he changed who I was, he destroyed me.

This is an old story but not an irrelevant one. I was fifteen or sixteen, swirling in all the chemicals and hormones of my age and intoxicatingly in love. Hanging out in school holidays with my best friend in her small home town (now burnt to the ground)and her group, which included her ex boyfriend, the man, four and a half years senior to me, who I'd fallen for. That was the dating. Fast forward to parental permission to stay with him in his family's farmhouse for a short time. During that time, we attended a party of his family and relations in a near by town. I was underaged but he was consuming alcohol into the night. We came in his car so we left in his car. I'm talking 1969, 70. Not far from his parents home he took a turn off. Parking at an old church or it may have been a hall, hidden by the night and the bush, he raped me. I fought hard against his intrusion but he was far stronger than me. I considered him a good man (strangely enough I still do because I see it as ignorance, alcohol and the behavior of a perhaps spoilt only son of Italian immigrants) That doesn't make it acceptable in any way. I was a virgin. There were more incidents to follow, though that was probably the worst. I was intensely shy and had a fear response of vocally freezing. Somewhere around this time I moved with my parents 100 miles north to the city. Somewhere around this time, he was conscripted for service into the army. Must have been early 70's. In between or after....the rapes continued in an unbuilt new residential area, close to where I now lived with my parents. By then I had given in to it. By then I was engaging in underaged drinking. I had parental consent to date him. I was in love and confused by the events. I had no self esteem, making me vulnerable to undeserved shame. In primary school I didn't usually vocalize school difficulties to my sisters or parents. Into my teens I was even less inclined to speak out. I moved out of home and into a house in an old suburb, with him and a few others-my best friend, the same friend from high school. In May 1975, we married. In 1983, a few years after separation, we divorced. He was my first and deepest love. Perhaps we'd have had a longer life together had he been considerate, restrained and sober. There is of course many details left unwritten here. Over many years I did regain self respect and dignity. I didn't regain trust. I had an innocent trust before that first rape. My father was a considerate, gentle and sober person. Over a long period of time with respectful behavior, some men have gained my trust. Like many, I had material losses. We had moved to the east, leaving many of my precious belongings with his family. Some of monetary value, some sentimental and most of almost three years of my artwork from a graphic design course I did. Rejected by his mother, I didn't return. I was informed items were sold and sent to the tip.

We started seeing each other and things didn’t feel bad at first. We spent time together regularly, and I developed feelings quickly. Over time, things began to change in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. Moments that once felt normal started to turn sour. “What else are you into?” he asked while we were having sex. “I don’t know. What about you?” I replied. “Slapping.” I was taken aback, but since I had feelings for him I wanted to impress him. Big mistake. “You want to slap me?” I asked hesitantly. “Kinda.” “Okay. We can try it.” So he slapped me across the face. It stung but I didn’t show it. “You like that?” he grinned. “Yeah.” I didn’t but I was too caught up in my feelings to say that. “You can slap me too if you want.” I never consented to slapping again; he never asked. Some time after, I refused to give him a kiss so he grabbed my hair and pulled me towards him. I pulled away and he slapped me. I kissed him so he wouldn’t do it again. Similarly, another time he was asking for a kiss when I was on top of him. I laughed and pulled away. “Please.” He begged. “Nuh uh.” I giggled. He looked at my necklace and grabbed it, ripping it from around my throat. We stared at each other for seconds before I laughed so I wouldn’t cry. He offered to buy me a new one but I said I’d fix it at home. I learned later that it was too damaged to be fixed. Another day we were curled up in front of the TV when I blurted out: “What’s your weirdest kink?” He thought for a moment before answering. “Blood,” he said. “Huh. Want to add more?” I asked, indicating the scars of self-harm on my arm. He chuckled. “Don’t have a sharp enough knife, I’m afraid. But when I get one, would you like to add some to me?” “Only if you want me to.” A moment of silence broken only by the TV. I didn’t know how to respond to that. “How about you?” “Huh?” “What’s your weirdest kink?” “Similar to yours; I like knives.” Again, I was trying to impress him. “I have a knife.” “I know. Want to give it a try?” “Do you want to?” “Sure.” He got up, retrieved his pocketknife and returned to the bed. We made out, got undressed and soon enough, he slipped inside me and brought the blade to my throat. He had his eyes closed and was focused on our lips and he accidentally poked the side of my neck. I didn’t mention it until the next time we hung out. The next time, he begged to cut off my underwear. I said okay, as long as he didn’t bring the knife near my throat again. He started hacking away and once there was a giant hole, he gave up and pulled them off before positioning himself between my legs and thrusting. He brought the knife to my throat. Thinking he had misheard me, I asked him to put it down. Through kisses, he asked why and I explained that he had poked my neck last time and I wasn’t interested in that happening again. He promised it wouldn’t and we kept going. I think I asked him to put it down again after that. Perhaps not, I really don’t remember. He asked if I wanted to top and I said sure so we switched positions and when I was settled, he handed me the knife. As I went to put it down beside us, he took my hand and assisted me in holding it against his throat. I don’t understand why he didn’t respect my initial no, I figured it was because of that old saying that everyone thinks at one point or another. ‘Boys will be boys’. Now I know that it’s boundary violations and coercive behaviour. When I asked him to stop, he should’ve stopped. Instead, he put me in an impossible situation where I had a knife at my throat and a man on top of me who refused to remove it. At that moment, I froze. I went to his house again after that and his hand tried to go up my shirt but I stopped him. I said, “No sex; just kisses.” “Just kisses?” He asked. I nod. “Okay.” He said. We kiss every few minutes while taking breaks to watch TV. His hand kept running up and down my hip and thigh. I took his hand and placed it on my thigh, telling him to ‘stay’. We kept kissing and his hand slowly trailed along my thigh and down to my butt, squeezing and stroking gently. I moved it back to my thigh and told him to leave it there. He tried to put his leg between my thighs like he’d do when we were naked before sex and doing a bit of foreplay. “Move your leg.” “Sorry.” He grumbled. His hand kept moving so I rolled over and put his hand on his thigh. “Stop touching me.” My turn to grumble. He asked, “Why?” “Because you’re making me horny.” “Good; be horny with me.” He said as he started kissing my neck and pressed his erection against my butt. “Not today. Don’t feel like it.” I moved my legs up and wiggled forward so my butt and his erection were inches apart. He stretched and moved his thighs so they were pressed against the back of my thighs and his erection was back against my butt. I rolled back around to face him and we kissed again. “Please, I need you.” He begged against my lips. I’m sure his boner wasn’t comfortable. So, I gave in. “I need you too, pretty.” “Can we fuck?” He asked. “Okay.” His hand went under my shirt and bra and he pulled both up. I removed them for him and he removed his own before settling back down with his thigh between mine. “Grind for me.” He commanded. “But I want you to fuck me.” “I will. Grind first.” I tried to protest but he started kissing and sucking on my nipples and instead, I moaned. He started grinding so I did as instructed and grinded against his thigh as we made out. As I got closer to orgasming, I said, “Please stop.” He paused and asked, “Why, baby?” “‘cause I’m gonna cum.” He continued to grind even though I had stopped. “Good girl,” he moaned. “Cum for me.” “But I’m wearing pants—“ “Shhh, that’s okay.” He took hold of my hips and guided me along his thigh, causing me to orgasm. My face was hot with embarrassment and I hid in his neck. When he stopped, he asked, “Did you cum?” “Mhm.” I nod against his neck. “Good girl.” No break, no warning; his hand wormed its way into my pants and underwear and he began to finger me. This is another example of how he refused to respect my boundaries and coerced me, wearing me down until I said yes. He would play games when we were done, logging onto Discord to voice chat with his friends. When he was in the middle of a game, I overheard him say, “how to give a bitch Stockholm Syndrome”. Again, I brushed it off as him being edgy. I realise now how disturbing his mindset had to be to say something like that. I told him I don’t beg for anyone. The next minute, we were undressed and he was rubbing himself against me, instructing me to beg or he wouldn’t put it in. I tried to resist, but he pinned my hands until I gave in. He would say, “you’re such a desperate slut.” Once he even told me that he was researching psychological warfare, and when I asked what that was, he said, “manipulation tactics.” Which truly highlights his mindset. I thought I might be pregnant and I sent him a text about it, expecting comfort and emotional maturity. What I was met with was a photo of a gun and cleaning supplies. Before I went to university, I joked about him getting together with an old lady to keep him company since our town is basically a retirement village. He said nah, he’s going to scout the high school for a 17 year old. With all the bad times stacked together like this, it’s easy to see the toxicity. However, it wasn’t all just bad times. He drip-fed me affection to keep me hooked on him, so that every time I tried to leave, he knew I’d come back hoping for the good version of him. We were watching a show when a scene depicting criminals getting shot at when I had a thought of what if one day it’s late at night and I’m at home with our future kids and he’s out somewhere and something bad happens to him but I can’t help him? A tear fell down my cheek and landed on his bare chest. I froze. I knew he felt it but I wasn’t sure how he’d react. He gently kissed the top of my head, changed the channel to ‘Cold Ones’—a YouTube channel we always laughed at while we watched. We were at his house in his new room and he kept trying to engage in intercourse with me. I told him no, that I just wanted to cuddle and watch TV. He got grumpy at that and told me “if you’re not going to have sex with me, you can leave.” I got up, started grabbing my stuff and he asked where I was going. I said I was leaving and all he said was okay. That response was so dry that I decided to stay. I climbed back onto the bed and he kept asking, “can I touch you?” I kept repeating, “it’s probably dry.” Without warning, he shoved his hand down my pants and started rubbing me, moaning about how wet I was. We started having sex because he wanted to and I didn’t want to get kicked out. His bed was too squeaky so we moved to the floor. I asked him to pass me a pillow and he dropped it on my face. Then he came over, stood above me and started waving his dick around over my face and squatting lower. I asked him what he was doing multiple times and he was just grinning without responding. Finally, I crawled out from under him and asked if he was about to take a shit on me. He replied that he was just going to get me to suck him off. I didn’t agree to any of that. Again, it wasn’t all bad. We were eating Domino’s BBQ chicken in bed when a drop of sauce fell onto my breast and he pointed it out. “Lick it up.” I grinned. “Ew, that’s gross.” He grimaced. “You weren’t complaining ten minutes ago.” He nodded. “True.” He licked it off. Some time later, he made a joke about getting me BBQ sauce for my birthday. Another time I was tickling his feet and he grabbed me and put me in a headlock with his legs and tried to fart on my face. This happened more than once. Christmas came rolling around and he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. Excited, I told him to surprise me and I went shopping for him, buying a bunch of items I thought he’d like including a music note necklace, a dragon-skin bauble, dice, fidget toys, incense and an incense stand. Of course, his favourite expensive chocolates too. When I gave him his presents, he had nothing for me. I saw a cat statue on his desk and he said it was for his ex-girlfriend. He never got me anything. He finally left me after I tried to commit suicide, told him I went to the hospital when really I was scared and hid in my room. I told him I lied and he freaked out, sending me a message that said, “my point is whilst you were idealising your own death I was stressed like a mf and everytime you declined my help it didn't make me feel really all that good, then you lied to me about getting help you made me feel like shit.” I wouldn’t stop messaging him, trying to get him back and understand why he treated me the way he did. He got an AVO and is actively using it against me.

I was a shy 17 yr old at my sister's house party on new years eve. I found myself alone on an outside couch with one of her friends who she worked with. he was in his mid-30s and I felt pretty cool hanging out with him cause he was older. we chatted for a bit and then he mentioned he had some coke. I was pretty new to the party scene but was excited to try it out. he led me to the laundry and closed the door then leaned up against it. we had some and went back out. it was fun but a lot for me so I didn't want any more. he kept pestering me, asking if I wanted more, and I didn't want to say no so I said "not right now". I ended up saying yes. we went back to the laundry and he leaned back against the door blocking the exit. I didn't want any so I just had a little, he kept getting me more so I tried to distract him by kissing him. he was trying to undo the button of my jeans but said that the kissing was enough. he tried again and I didn't say no. so he did what he wanted then we left and I felt sick. people started to leave and I wanted to get away too. so I told my sister I was walking back to my friend's house nearby. she wouldn't let me go out alone in the dark so I was set up in the spare room. he stayed on the couch. I couldn't get to sleep from all the drugs so I just lay there. I heard the door creak open and he crept in and then into the bed I was in. I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I'm not sure how long it went on for but it seemed forever finally I spoke up and pretended I heard someone and got scared so he had to leave. I didn't get to sleep. he texted me the next day and said we should meet again. he still believes he did nothing wrong but I didn't tell him that he did.

I am an independent woman who did not grow up in a loving home, but had nonetheless moved from the UK to Australia, and had managed to live a reasonably productive life by hard work and paying my bills on time. I enjoy solo travel, exploring new courses and film and am not afraid to try new adventures. It is important that I set up my story this way, in order to show that I have a lot of resilience and self reliance - however, this would not protect me when the unthinkable happened. 10 years ago, I was 51 years old, and managing stress, mortgage repayments, and looming and unpredictable menopause symptoms which I hadn't yet fully processed or mastered yet. During this 'transition' I remained productive, working, going out, going to the gym, believing that I was doing the right thing - and had no idea that my struggle with symptoms and stress overwhelm had set me up to attract a most sadistic, predatory abuser. I barely knew him, he was a personal trainer at my gym. I recognised his behaviour as kind of perhaps that of being offended by me. He was a dominant male, with lots of people vying for his attention and unfortunately, with my menopausal symptoms being new to me and unpredictable, I chose to keep a low profile, get my reps over and done with, then exit the gym, though remaining polite as I went about my routine. The personal trainer began a smear campaign, and it became obvious from the behaviours of other staff members that something was brewing. I chose to come to the gym at odd times or alternative days and downplayed what was happening. Finally, I was pushed into taking action, having been ambushed by some members (who physically sandwiched themselves front and back by members) as I coming into the gym. The personal trainer had pushed his campaign to becoming almost physical, and at this point, I left the gym, but not without putting in a written complaint to management and a detailed explanation of what had happened. I thought that would be the end of it. Little did I know, it was just the beginning. This personal trainer was psychopathic, a very very clever abuser, with a range no doubt of extreme level personality disorders. Within 2 months, he had moved into my apartment complex, and began recruiting my existing neighbours to carry out abuse by proxy. Ceilings and walls were banged, synchronised events - and I was now under siege. I had street theatre out side of my window, right around the clock and relentless, death threats, gang stalking and noticed that my contacts on Face Book and my work place relationships were all changing, and were replicating some of the phrases and behaviours of those already recruited in the smear campaign. This man, had thus, infiltrated every corner of my life, and recruited all people who were closest to me. This is a common scenario when being abused narcissistically. Eventually, I had to let the people go, it was too toxic and unhealthy. My now ex mother and ex sister were also recruited by him, and to this day, have dropped contact with me, and stand firmly with his dominance in this situation fully supporting him. The smear campaign was long term - and although the shouting has subsided, what remains is his dominance in the community, he gains entry to people's dwellings, and is constantly inside my devices, tracking, monitoring and controlling for new alliances that I may form which he is paranoid about. I had reported frequently to the local Police, and unfortunately without anyone to corroborate my story and objective evidence I was not able to prove my situation to them and all they did was to send me to acute care with a complete misunderstanding of the situation I was dealing with. Almost 10 years passed. I had stood my ground, and had survived, and wasn't pushed out of my home (which he had pressured me to do so). I stayed in resistance to his 'game' of trying to make me less financially secure, or have homelessness insecurity. I had withstood his attempts and remained solid, thanks really to my self reliance as a person. Me, an almost senior aged single woman now, and him, in his prime, with powerful allies, with enormous support and resources and the benefits of having taken all of mine now his. The crux of the story is actually not about this psychopathic person. But rather, how our leaders in our community are afraid to "judge" and he was permitted to stay and had the OK from my now ex-mother to engage me by acting out as part of his "therapeutic" process. To this day, he has never accepted an invitation to 'communicate' with me as an adult and explain himself and try to work out an outcome he would be happy with. I stood my ground, but with his current dominance and tracking, i am not able to pursue "fair go" relationships, and the social isolation he has created is a common trait with abusers. This is why I am using my voice and to share my story. This is every bit about him as it is the character of those who can make a difference in the face of extreme abuse, and choosing the path that was easiest, rather than what was right. Thank you for hearing the intro to my story. I am wondering if I will use what has happened to write a book?