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i'm so nervous this afternoon, i'm finally going to the police to share my story about a guy at school who assaulted me over the summer (i live in the southern hemisphere, so around january). he's a school captain, and i'm vice-captain so he's already in a position of power not only over me but the entire school, and the teachers practically worship the ground he walks on (last time i reported verbal harassment from him, the teachers blamed me) so i'm hoping something changes. i'm terrified, and anxious, but i'm also proud. knowing that i'm doing something a lot of victims don't get the chance to do. i'm going to share my story, and i pray to god that he faces the consequences because this isn't the first time he's done bad things, and won't be the last. stay strong my lovelies, you can share your story too <3 if you wanna chat at all, you can dm social media handle on instagram (my assault awareness page) - a survivor

He and I met on date. I was 17 and he was 19. I had just gotten back to Australia after living in America for a year when I decided to text him that I was back. We had been talking on Snapchat for a few months so he invited me out for a walk to get coffee. Our first meeting went well and we started hanging out regularly. During the course of our year and a half relationship, moments turned 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. I felt scared when he did that because he hadn’t asked to slap me and he did it because I had refused him a kiss. 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. “Please?” He asked again. I shook my head as he puckered his lips. I kissed him everywhere on the face except his lips. He didn’t say anything after that, just looked at my necklace and grabbed it, ripping it from around my neck. We stared at each other for seconds before I laughed so I wouldn’t cry. He said something about it being cheaply made. 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. That shocked me. I was going to cry but I put on a brave face for him because I didn’t know what he would do if he saw me cry. I was scared when he reached out to grab it and he pulled me forward as I tried to pull away and it broke the necklace. 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. What was I supposed to say to that? I went along with it because I was curious and I didn’t expect it to go as far as it did. “Huh. Want to add more?” I asked, indicating the scars of self-harm on my arm. Stupid answer. Was I trying to impress him? Maybe I thought it was hot at the time? 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. “How about you?” He asked. I was staring at the TV and distracted from the conversation, kind of hoping if I disappeared into the video that was playing the conversation would end. “Huh?” I eventually answered. “What’s your weirdest kink?” “Similar to yours; I like knives.” Again, I was trying to impress him. I was thinking about the time a guy I hooked up with name gave me a hunting knife because I said I sold mine. “I have a knife.” He had a pocketknife that he opened packages with. “I know. Want to give it a try?” “Do you want to?” “Sure.” No. Why did I say that? 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. Maybe he asked where and I said hold it against my neck? I dunno, just not near my tits. That’s really funny now because I have my nipples pierced. He had his eyes closed and was focused on our lips and he accidentally poked the side of my neck. That hurt. I pulled away from his kiss to hold his hand as he held it. I was worried because I thought he should’ve been paying more attention so I wouldn’t get hurt. I didn’t mention it until the next time we hung out. The next time(date 2), 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 felt annoyed that he didn't move the knife when I asked him to but he kept kissing me so I was distracted by that. I think I asked him to put it down again after that. Perhaps not, I really don’t remember. I did try to push it away but he wouldn’t move his hand so it ended up being me pushing and him holding it in place. I stopped fighting against him but I kept my hand there. This was really frightening. I didn’t want the knife there and he wouldn’t move it. 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. Full on holding my hand with the knife in it against his throat. This was uncomfortable and disturbing because I wanted to put it down. I kissed him and told him I wanted to put it down and finally he gave in. When we were finished, I told him again that I didn’t want the knife near my throat because he poked me before. He shrugged and said, “oh sorry.” 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’. 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. He made me complicit by putting the knife in my hand. 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 didn’t want him to do this. I wanted to kiss, cuddle and watch TV. He continued to escalate. 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. Every time he asked again or moved so he was touching me it annoyed me and made me uncomfortable but I gave in because he kept asking and I figured I’ve had sex with him before and he’s not taking no for an answer so why don’t I just give it up to him? 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.” I did not want to have sex with him. I was just there for kisses and cuddles. I gave in because he wouldn’t stop asking. 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. I didn’t want to grind. I just wanted to get sex over with. But he kept telling me to grind and he started grinding so I couldn’t really do anything else. He started grinding so I followed 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. This was frightening because my body was like yes I want to orgasm but my mind was like no not like this. “Good girl,” he moaned. “Cum for me.” “But I’m wearing pants—“ Valid reason for stopping, again not sure why he pushed through. “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. I had which frightened me even more because I didn’t want to but the friction against my body forced me over the edge. “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. This was terrifying because I had just said I didn’t beg. I didn’t want to beg. I was stuck underneath him until he forced it out of me by rubbing my parts. He slapped me then he would say, “you’re such a desperate slut.” I replied, “only for you.” And then he kissed me. 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. This startled me because I was expecting him to have some maturity but instead he met me with a threat. 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 ‘channel’—a YouTube channel we always laughed at while we watched. I felt good inside when we had moments like this. That kept me coming back. I knew he could be decent and kind to me but he just chose his own desires over my comfort a lot of the time. 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. I didn’t want to lose him. I care about him so much and the thought of just because I didn’t want to do something like sex would lose him was too overwhelming. I didn’t want to lose him and him saying that put a lot of pressure on me to have sex with him. 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. This was horrifying. Why was he squatting over my face? I still have flashbacks about this where I can see everything going on up there. 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. This, again, was horrifying. I didn’t want sex that day. I was visibly stalling sex that day by saying we should go to the wall (didn’t work I was too tall) and then the floor and when I ended up on the floor I had one of the worst and most absurd sexual experiences of my life. 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. I brought a pair of handcuffs over to his house and he put them on himself and got stuck in them. I had to help him out. 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. One time he just stood in the corner, pointing the knife at me and smiling. I told him he was being creepy and he put it away after standing there for a few more seconds. His ex called and he stepped out of the room, coming back to tell me that her dog had humped her leg. He showed me a video on website of a vagina turned into a crack pipe and asked if he could do that to me. I made a deal with him that if he got sex, I had to get at least 10 minutes of cuddles afterwards. Sex usually lasted about an hour. Sometimes when we cuddled he would fully wrap me up in his arms while I laid on his chest. Other times he would throw a lazy hand over my waist. Most times he would get me to spoon him (him as little spoon). Although, one time we were half asleep and I was cuddling him when I rolled over and he rolled over to spoon me and I don’t think I’d ever been happier with him. The third time we used the knife he wasn’t responding to any of my texts so I texted him, “fuck me with a knife against my throat.” He finally responded and told me to come over. I did and he told me to go get the knife while he stepped out of the room. I did and it wasn’t in the spot he kept it. I climbed back on the bed where I was before he left the room and felt a hard object under the pillow. I looked and there was the knife. He slid it under my pillow before he had left. That confused me. Why ask me to go get it? He got two bottles of cold water and brought them in, giving me one and putting a pill in the other right in front of me before shaking the bottle and drinking it. He put the bottle next to mine and I don’t know if they got jumbled up while I wasn’t looking. I asked him for a brush when I was at his house. He got one and tried to brush my hair. He messed with my part so I got the brush and told him he ruined it. Silly moment. He liked choking. Sometimes he would direct my hand to his throat. I asked him once if he’d like to choke me to see how long it would take me to black out. He agreed and his hand was wrapped around my throat for about five to ten minutes before he stopped because his hand started cramping. I was trying to be someone he’d accept. Early in our relationship, he mentioned that he had a stalker before. A girl. I wonder where she is today. Once he wanted to have sex while I was on my period. I didn’t have tampons so we agreed that the next day when I came over I would bring some because I was staying the night. I got to his house but I forgot the tampons and my pajama pants. I called Mum and she brought them down for me. name and I had sex after he put towels down. It was normal I suppose, a bit drier. We showered after. The next time I was on my period he didn’t want to have sex again. I sucked him off and that continued until one day we had period sex again and he got two garbage bags for my tampon. Another time we were at my house and he wanted me to make out with him while he jerked himself off. Usually I swallowed his semen when he was about to finish and he’d let me know. That time he didn’t tell me after I asked him to and instead, cleaned himself up with toilet paper and didn’t give me an explanation. Later into our relationship, I asked if he still saw a future with me like he said he did. He said, “not really anymore.” I asked why. He replied, “you’re not my type.” I asked what his type is. He said, “alternative.” I tried to leave him. A lot. I left his house and said, “see you never.” He replied, “that’s what you said last time.” On my bed, watching the TV that I bought because he made a comment about my lack of one. We were making out and his arms were around me. He trailed a hand up and down my body. He kept asking through kisses, “sex?” I kept saying ‘maybe’ at first and then I said, “can’t we just hang out and not have sex?” He kept asking. I didn’t want to have sex with him, I just wanted to cuddle and watch TV. He replied, “but you make me so horny.” “We have sex all the time, I’m trying to just be friends here.” “But sex would feel so good right now.” He continued to pressure me in subtle ways like that, asking over and over again. We kissed. His hands explored my body. My hands stayed in his hair mostly. He kept grinding himself against me, pushing his boner against my thigh. He rolled over, positioned himself between my legs and asked me to grind with him. I caved. Feeling him against me made me aroused and I gave in. I didn’t want sex in the first place. This hurts to think about because I always gave in after he continued to touch me. I liked kissing him and I tried asking him to keep his hands still but if I moved them to my thigh he’d trail them to my butt and if I moved them to my hips he played with my boobs. I just wanted to watch tv and kiss. But because he was now on top of me and his dick was pressed against my privates, I gave in. We did and afterwards we pulled our clothes off and went back to making out. We had sex. It was lasting a while. name said he was going to finish and then didn’t twice. I suggested that we take a break. He didn’t listen and kept going. “Should we take a break? It’ll be ten minutes, baby, and we can go back to it.” He shook his head. “I’m almost there.” I waited like twenty more minutes for him to finish, watching the tv over his shoulder while he thrusted into me. Luckily, I asked him to move his head and I positioned my deaf ear to face it towards his moans while my good ear was positioned towards the TV. “Have you finished?” I asked. A few times. He shook his head and I asked again. “C’mon, let’s take a break. Ten minutes of watching TV then we’ll go back to it, I promise.” He still didn’t agree, I had to ask a few more times after that. When he reluctantly agreed and climbed off, he laid next to me on the bed. He started stroking himself while I was watching TV and he told me to touch myself. I asked ‘why?’ And he responded, “because it’s hot.” I did it for two minutes and then stopped. He started touching me. I pushed his hand away after a little while. “Do you want head?” He asked. I nodded and he pulled me down to the end of the bed. He was alright but I pulled him back up to get him to fuck me so it would be over with. He positioned himself as we made out back on top of me and we continued having sex. He finished and without bothering to pull out he fell asleep on top of me, taking a nap and drooling all over my hair and cushion. I asked him to come to the town’s show with me. He called it a shit show. When I asked if he’d come to the local event with me, he said that it’s even worse than the show. He wouldn’t go to lunch with me unless I begged and paid for both of us. He refused to meet my parents and he’d sneak in and out of my house, one time even hiding under a blanket when I was saying goodbye to my aunt. He used to drop tissues on my face when he finished, telling me to clean up. When I was on top, I did the same to him. He just smirked and dragged the tissue across his face, making a funny face every time the tissue passed over it. That made me giggle and he told me to keep doing that because it felt good. Mind you, he was still inside me at the time. He never said we were dating, always that we were ‘friends with benefits’ or ‘a situationship’. He swiped right on my sister’s social media handle and pretended it was a joke. He hooked up with my friend while we were seeing each other. We walked down to restaurant once because they forgot his drinks so we walked down. Sometimes he would be getting a tissue or passing me something and he would randomly thrust into me to see me gasp. I called him handsome and he said ‘actually I prefer pretty’. So I started calling him pretty boy. He sniffed his fingers after fingering me and said he was testing the pH levels. He said his ex had BPD. Later said he got diagnosed. When I was on my period he asked if he could touch himself and i said yes then the next time he’d just whip it out without asking. He asked me to sit on his face. I giggled and said no id crush you. He says I wouldn't and stuff I refuse again. He tells me he’s not gonna come around much anymore. We kissed and I asked him if he just wanted a break for a while. He said yeah and I asked him if he was gonna come back. He said maybe. He asked me to sit on his face again. I again refuse. He used to blow vape smoke into my open mouth. I asked him why he kisses me if we’re just friends he said because it’s fun. I told him he was good at making out and he said I was average and I have thin lips. He made these funny noises the first time we had sex and he just came and I started laughing and he’s like you’re the first person to laugh at that. He stopped during the middle of sex to watch his dick go in and out because “it looks like a piston.” We were listening to song and he came over, kissed me and grabbed my arms saying “your arms look like little cigarettes”. I started singing the next part of the song. We laughed. I was high on weed most of the times I went down there. He knew, we brought it up occasionally but he didn’t slow down when it came to sex. 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 can’t talk to him to ask him to explain this even though I want to. I tried to contact him before and he reported it. I just need to understand what happened because this is really overwhelming me on a daily basis.

I was first a victim of child-on-child sexual assault when I was 4 years old, my abuser was 9. She was a family friend, her and her family were always very close with ours. She would sexually assault me every time she saw me. A few years into it when I was 7 her younger brother who was 8 had begun sexually assaulting me too. Neither of them knew the other was doing it to me too so they would end up making 'accidental hand offs' of me. One would finish with me and send me off to go hang out with the other. This cycle continued until I was 13, it was my last time ever seeing them again as I had moved to the other side of the state. On my way home from that visit I blocked them completely. The last time they did it the older sister was 18 and the brother was also 13 as his birthday was later in the year. They sexually assaulted me countless times for 9 years straight and nobody noticed. My mother confronted me about it when I was 14, I had accidentally told a school counselor and they called her, she had multiple weeks to confront me about; However she chose the best time to talk to me about it was whilst I was dying in a hospital bed due to a suicide attempt. I am horrified of sleeping, every time I close my eyes all I see is what they did to me, I force myself to stay awake for multiple days in a row simply to evade the night terrors and memories. No matter how hard I scrub or how hot the water is it feels as if I'll never get their hands off of me. I can always hear what she said to me in the back of my head "Be quiet, they'll hear you". Both of our families were in the next room over. I still sleep in the bed they violated me in so many times, when I was 8 I would crawl under my bed and draw a little tally of how many times it happened; I gave up shortly after starting because it was getting too difficult to keep track of. I want to feel safe. I want my body to feel mine again. I fear I may do something to myself.

To the man who exposed himself to me when I was 5 years old and the mother who didn't believe me , the man who stole my first kiss without my consent when I was 14. The man who groomed me when I was 16. The man who told me " I have been nice to you all day I deserve something". To the man who refused to wear a condom, held me down by my neck and finished inside me without my consent and justified it by saying he wanted to have children with me. To the man I worshipped who pulled up my dress at the washing machine, used me and tossed me away like I was his play thing. To the guy who pretend to comfort me and used my sadness to attract me when I was at my weakest. To all the men who touched me, objectified me and all the women who justified it, ignored it, allowed it...... Fuck you.

I don't know the majority of my surrounding family, just my parents, siblings, a few cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents. My sister had her wedding a while ago. I was her maid of honour. All the bridesmaids were wearing simple non-revealing dresses that were a pretty blue colour. During the reception, everyone was obviously drunk, as you'd expect, when it came to the end of the night guests were coming to say their goodbyes. This relative of the groom, I believe, had come over to say goodbye, I'd never met this man before and I wish I never had. As I was standing with the other bridesmaids laughing at their drunk conversations, he came up behind me and another bridesmaid and slapped and shook our butts. He was very aggressive and it hurt, I was shocked and didn't know how to react so I just ran away to the bathroom and cried. I'd never been touched or violated in my life and I never thought I would. Since this thing I've never felt comfortable standing around men or boys, I don't like standing in lines alone with guys behind me. I've become overly aggressive in order to make guys uncomfortable and want to stay away, I isolate myself from the opposite gender so that I can feel safe. Now I only ever feel safe with the female gender. This event that changed my life happened when I was thirteen, I'm older now and have never recovered from that feeling of fear and dread and have only recently told my mother of these events and revealed a wedding photo of the man who violated the other bridesmaid and me. My sister and her husband have dropped all contact with him and are disgusted by his behaviour. The other bridesmaid was so drunk she didn't even know he had violated her. I know this story is relatively minor compared to some, but this thing has changed my whole outlook and view on life. Thx you for giving me this platform to share my story.

Hi everyone, I am not really sure where and how to start. I am now 65 and have been a survivor (and I hate using that word as I feel weak) of sexual abuse by a neighbour when I was 12 years old up until 15 years old, so I should start at the beginning and move forward. I did not grow up in a poor family, I was not treated badly all the time and I did not want for many things (apart from the general things a kid wants at 12 growing up in 1968). I was the youngest of 5 boys and grew up in Melbourne Victoria Australia. At 8 my family consisted of two brothers at home and two brothers in the navy. We had the opportunity of going to the USA when my father was posted there for work. We stayed there for 3 years and we all loved it, from there we were headed to France but my mother kicked up such a racket with my father we headed home to Australia, at the time I was 11. When we got back my father started on the alcohol and become increasingly distant, angry and abusive. My brother above me was 16 months older and above him 24 months older. We all began to hate my dad (something I am not proud to say even now), he would come home and walk into the back of the house, if mum said nothing then he would mumble and go to bed, however, if mum said (which she usually did) something then it was on. Being 11-12 I was fairly tall and my only thought of my dad were him wailing on me for doing something wrong, he would start at the dinner table and on weekends force me to do stupid tasks like weeding between the bricks on the back patio, when it was not done to his satisfaction then he would usually drag me into the bedroom and hit me with a belt. My brothers did not help the situation by trying to make me laugh, just got him madder. At 12 I was starting to get into music and the neighbour across the road was a band manager and had a band that regularly came around so I started to spend some time with him and my best friend (also into music), I am not completely clear what date it happened but (let call him AM, who was a man) AM was over at my place on a day when I was home from school not feeling well, my mum and dad both new him so no problems, on his way out of our house he put his hands down my pants and fondled me, not an unhappy experience to a 12 year old, and said I should come over later to see him. I did this and that is when the sexual experiences started, first it was to fondle me and then he wanted me to fondly him, it was never nasty, hurtful or unpleasant, but it did screw with my head a little. I came over one day with my best friend and AM was all over both of us, I found out later that he was already playing with my best friend. He gradually started to play with both of us at the same time. This happened for a couple of years and the effect was (looking back now) different for both myself and my friend, I started to expose myself to girls and my friend started a risky life of going out with older men, they would pick him up (even when I was at his house) in flash cars and take him for a drive. I spoke to him one day and he told me he as the best c--k suc--r around, he never came onto me and he as gay for 10 years after that. I could go into more details but I wont, except for the impact on me, from 13-60 I was (when under stress) finding a control base by exposing myself to girls, my many psychologists all came to the conclusion that I was trying to control my surroundings by this action, somewhere along the way I started to enjoy it and it became a habit (a disgusting habit and a harmful one), I never really realised what harm I was doing to these girls until I read the 'impact statements' only then did it hit home really hard. I have been convicted on a number of occasions and recently put on the sex offender register. psychological help is ongoing but the ramifications even before being put on the register was depression, thoughts of suicide and dark dark places. The abuse had another affect also, I became a very good sports person, the reason is, I did not mind pain both on myself or inflicting it on others, I would hit contests hard all the time. I was prone to rage (and I still am), I still suffer from the long term affects even today, I have to work really hard to not get angry at my wife and kids (all grown up now and all know what has happened). What I did not do is tell anyone, that was a mistake, talking is good but extremely hard, my wife said to me "if you new it was wrong (talking about going over to AM) then why go", typical question from someone that does not realise that sexual abuse is not always unpleasant. What compounded the situation is that while AM was abusing me my next door neighbour (a women) was also getting me to do things to her, once again not an unpleasant experience, she was nice and kind to me and I lost my virginity to her at the age of 15, funny I hold no animosity towards her at all and I hate AM with a passion. This next part will interest some; So far I have told 9 police officers of the abuse in the interviews and the many court cases I have gone to and so far, 'guess how many have asked me to expand on it', ill give you 2 guesses but I think you will only need one. Police see me as a nothing more than a sex offender, plain and simple, put him in the box, that encapsulates you period, they don't see the many many things I have done right and I have not lost my identity, I can not longer be me, and maybe rightly so. Not sure if anyone want to comment or even care but this is only a snap shot of my lift.

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

I never thought I'd be a survivor to my own mother. It was shocking to learn at 15 that everyone else's mum weren't pressuring them to show their bodies, specifically nude bodies to them. Also the butt grabs that I never liked weren't going to stop till I disowned her. Yet here I am now at 18 having the best time of my life without her as continues to believe she never did anything wrong, she never will but she's gone and that's all that matters.

last night. i made the dumbest fucking decision ever to sneak out and go on a walk at 1am. I live in a safe area, I thought I would be ok. This is genuinely all my fault. I went to the gas station to buy a Cola, and then went to the bathroom. I'm so mad at myself, I usually go into the disabled single stall because I know this shit kind of happens often, and I'm also on the thinner size for guys. But I didn't this time. His breath smelt of weed, his voice terrifyingly deep. Almost robotic. "If you tell anyone Ill fucking kill you" My youth taken, I feel so incredibly dirty. Every part of me aches. I can't get his smell off of my breath. I can't get it off my mind. I can't help but think that if I just stayed home none of this would've happened. Why does bad stuff keep happening to me?

It started in high school, NAME was a friend of friends, so I had met him and seen him around school. But we didn't interact much but I discovered he lived on the same street. It's complicated at this point, but I was bullied a lot for 'being weird'. I was told by classmates I was pretty, but it was weird that I didn't date. Honestly, I wasn't attracted to anyone. One night, my house got egged; my much younger little sister was terrified because it made such loud bangs. I ran outside and but didn't catch anyone. I thought NAME was involved, and I knew his number, so I called him and yelled at him then hung up. I found out later who was involved and it wasn't NAME (but it was his friends), so I offered to take NAME to the movies as an apology. While we were watching the movie, he tried to kiss me, but I moved my head away and said 'no'. A few months later, he rang me asking me out (we hadn't spoken much since the movie), I said I'm not interested in dating, I want to finish school'. A few months more and I graduated high school, he left me letters at my house, I ignored them. Then he rang me asking if we could go for a walk that night as he was in hospital. He had tried to commit suicide and wanted someone to talk to... I didn't want to be the person that turned my back on someone needing help so I said yes. He met me at my house at night and we went for that walk, he had bandages on his wrists, I can't remember what we talked about exactly... Him being sad, lonely, ugly, etc and before I went home he asked me out again. I didn't want to make him rip open his stitches again to kill himself so I said 'ok'. I don't know what my eventual plan was, I just couldn't be responsible for someone's life. We started dating, and eventually it felt nice, I didn't get a lot of attention from my parents and looked after my sister a lot, so I was surprised that someone actually seemed to love me. We moved in together and I left my parents house. We were together for five years and got engaged in the last year. During those years I would cook, clean; worked full time and went to uni full time. He barely worked. He would vent his frustrations about me and at worst hit me. He would ask for sex, and wouldn't stop until I said yes. When I was too tired, and refused to let him pester me into having sex, he would say things like 'you can sleep through it' and I would let him have sex with me. A few times, I woke up with him having sex with me. The worst time I have spent the last 13 years trying to forget. It was about halfway in our relationship. I was on the phone to my mother, sitting on the bed, and he started trying to grope me, I pushed his hand away and walked into the walk-in-wardrobe and sat down. I was still on the phone He followed me, and pushed me flat, then pulled my underwear down and began touching me. I kicked at him and slapped him with my free hand, but I felt ashamed and didn't want my mother to hear, so I wasn't very strong and kept listening to her like nothing was happening. He had sex with me on the wardrobe floor, and I just continued on the phone as normal. I said goodbye to my mother, hung up and just couldn't move. I remember he said, "admit it, you liked that". About three years ago, after therapy, I've wanted to tell someone about this time. I've thought about telling my mother, but I don't know what to say... she was on the phone with me and never noticed anything was wrong. Happily I got out of that relationship, but he stalked and harassed me. I got the police involved, but it took months for him to stop because I didn't have evidence and his stalking 'wasn't that bad'. I didn't tell them about the sex stuff, because if I didn't have enough proof that he was stalking me, I had absolutely no proof that he touched me.

I struggle with thinking what happened was bad enough. Self invalidation and external invalidation have really not helped. But now I want to talk, even if no one will hear or read this. I was a child, not even 5. My pre-school teacher put everyone down for afternoon naps. She sat at the foot of my bed, and she took off my clothes, she put her finger in me, she put cotton tips in me. Her hands, I spend hours a day trying to was off of me. I told my mother, she told me it was just a dream. I told my (now ex) gf, and she harassed me for audio and photos of me to gratify her. Hypersexuality now was never my choice, it disgusts me how part of me would give anything for another chance at contact, but I hate them. They're horrible. I grew up on the internet, with people asking for and sending nudes. I was just 13. No one needs this much exposure to sex as a child, it wasn't fair. But my body is still mine. Though I can't control how others treat it, I can control my own. I won't hurt myself for what they have done to me, it was nothing I said or did. No way did I provoke anyone into this. And I never will. I won't forgive them, I won't forget them. But this is my life, not theirs, and I will live how I want to, it was never their right to take my childhood.

Coercion, Abuse, and Feeling Alone in My Struggle I’ve been coerced into sex by someone who I thought was a mentor and a leader in human rights. He’s a researcher, a women’s rights defender, and runs a civil service organization. He approached me romantically and coerced me into sex, making me feel trapped and confused. We were in a relationship, but the whole time, I felt pressured and controlled. There were some times I was sick, intoxicated, or under his influence, and he used that to manipulate me. I initially resisted even his kiss,but it felt impossible to escape later days because of his repeated attempts and influences. Looking back, I now realize that what he did was wrong, but at the time, I didn’t understand it fully. What hurts the most is the disbelief and blame I’m facing from others, especially on social media. People don’t understand coercive control and rape, and it feels like no one believes me. He kept reaching out to me online, using me as a sex object, and I’m devastated by how he used me for his own purposes. I feel worthless, like I’ve lost my dignity and self-worth. The trauma, nightmares, and pain are overwhelming. I’m seeing a therapist almost every day to try to make sense of it, but it’s hard to cope when society and the connections he has make me feel so alone. I feel like no one understands what I went through. I don’t know if I can handle this trauma anymore. Advise me what I can do, or I am so tired of being hurt. … Please Name

My first time was sexual assault by a stranger. I have done a lot of work since then and recovered. It's been years since then and more recently I had a crush on a friend of mine. I ended up back at his house a month ago and I told him I don't want to have sex with him. Throughout the night he continued to try, degrade me and make me feel bad for not having sex with him. I am confused because each time I said stop I don't want to have sex he would keep stopping and say he respected that. But then we would start kissing later and he would try again. After trying a few times I got angry and said why do you keep trying after I've said no so many times. He said "what do you expect I am going to do when you're on top of me like that". I later had sex with him because I felt so guilty and I believed what he was saying. I feel sick and stupid about it. I have avoided seeing him. Recently someone we mutually know passed away and I have had to see him again. I avoided him and then I felt so guilty for avoiding him. I feel bad for him and I don't want him to feel bad. I don't like that I care so much about how he feels but a part of me thinks he just did not realise what he was doing and that it was wrong to keep trying after I'd said no. I don't know how to deal with this as I keep fluctuating between hating him and getting angry at those around me being nice to him and wanting to be nice to him myself.

Not really sure where to start this. I guess by saying that I am in no way trying to absolve myself of blame or guilt. I have just never said it aloud before. When I was maybe 10-11, my step sister and I use to engage in activities that we really shouldn't have. I guess I always just thought we were trying to experiment. We always had clothes on and I know it could have been worse. I can't help but feel such guilt for it. I am older. I should've know better. I think it was maybe a way for me to process my own sexual abuse. But how do I live with that? That I contributed to COCSA.

Not 100% sure if COCSA, still healing and navigating. I am currently 21, turning 22 later this year. I’ve spent years trying to fully grasp this ever since I was 7 and have only spoken about this with a counsellor from my high school and two other people. I’ve constantly pondered whether it was a case of playing doctor gone wrong or COCSA along with these events having a big bearing on me, I’m in a far better headspace mentally but I still ponder this and still feel I haven’t fully healed so I’m just simply going to share my story from here. So me and my older brother(3 years older) had a pretty standard dynamic of him being “cool” and good at everything per se whilst I was essentially second fiddle and felt like I was in his shadow, very up and down relationship due to me being neurodivergent which neither of us really understood at the time. It started when I was around 6 in which he’d(Age 9-10) randomly start masturbating or rubbing his penis in front of me, I didn’t think much of it at the time as obviously I was 6 and didn’t understand what was going on, we did share showers a few times but that was primarily innocent, eventually in 2009(8 years old now, him 11) as we were moving into a new house, as we were preparing everything, and on the bottom bunk of a newly put together bunk bed, he “invited” me to masturbate him(The words masturbate, etc weren’t used, I don’t remember the exact terminology used but it was about making it “grow bigger”), I remember being complacent which I don’t know why I was, perhaps it was because it was someone I genuinely loved and looked up to, I remember even saying that we’d pretend to talk about something else if we heard anyone come towards the room, I don’t know how long it lasted but I ended up stroking him after the aforementioned stuff of him talking about “making it grow”, etc. I remember at the time enjoying it and it didn’t feel weird, I remember him moaning and telling me not to go too fast, etc, I don’t know how long it was but he didn’t ejaculate from it. After that, nothing really ever happened apart from a few occasions from 2010-2011 in which I’d either see him casually pull out his penis and wiggle it around while lying down and on one occasion rubbing it on my legs when I was 8-9 and he was 11-12. The events in 2009 led to a whole spiel of me discovering and becoming addicted to masturbating myself, I remember feeling increasingly socially awkward as time went by, wondering if this was something normal for siblings, etc. I remember in 2012-2013 masturbating over the handjob from 2009 which in hindsight was a means for me to cope with what had happened and try and have some degree of control over that situation, I would have breakdowns over it and feel disgusted with myself every time I thought about it in retrospect. I had also felt conflicted as I was increasingly breaking down due to my depression developing at this time from various other circumstances as well and an existential crisis essentially, well at least for an 11-12 year old. I remember in my head blaming him for being the reason why I “wasn’t cool”, etc. After primary school and by the time of high school in 2014 I’d come to stuff it in the back of my head, at this time I got into porn and masturbating continued to be a habit from then and many years to come, I remember coming out as asexual and believing I really was at the time from 2014-2016 which part of the reason I’d attribute to all that had happened with me and my brother. I’d have further breakdowns about it in 2015 with my depression escalating and me and my brother arguing much more(I did not bring up anything about all that had happened apart from a “throwaway” remark in which I told him that he “traumatised” me around 2014, our arguments were seperate from this). 2014 was around the time I began to hold bitterness towards him and felt that he was the catalyst for me being who I was, and I hated everything about myself, by 2016 our relationship would begin to improve though. From this point it’d be very on and off until 2019 in which I finally opened up to my high school counsellor(Though in not as much detail as I am sharing here, mostly emphasising the handjob), she said that I had been sexually abused and we’d have sessions in which I’d navigate through it albeit at this time it was very difficult for me to talk about, it was the first time a label was put on it per se and the first time I had a firmer grasp on what had happened, eventually I opened up to my brother about it who had also brought up that he had a bad circle of friends through primary school though never went into any further detail than that and was exposed to a lot of things. So right now, I’m at a point now having done my own extensive research on sexual abuse, CSA, etc, etc where I’m doing far better now but still healing and still navigating everything. So I’m just gonna leave it at that, I know this is extremely long but thanks for listening.

In March, I met someone. By summer, we were friends—the kind that share meals and watch anime on weekends. There was never any hint of more. Then, one night in August, a bottle of bourbon and a game of truth or dare blurred the lines I thought were solid. The conversation turned intimate, and the dares followed. What started with a kiss escalated into something I did not want. I remember saying "no," many times, my hands holding tightly to my clothes as a boundary. I was told "no means yes." In my intoxicated state, my resistance was overcome. I held onto one clear thought: no penetration. That line, at least, was not crossed. In the days that followed, I did everything I was supposed to do. I reached for every lifeline. I took the emergency pill. I made the calls to 1800RESPECT and SARC, navigating support systems in a language that isn't my own. I am awaiting medical screenings. I devoured Chanel Miller's "Know My Name," finding solace in a story that mirrored my own confusion. I talked to AI, tirelessly analyzing every emotion, trying to logic my way out of this pain. I found the courage to call a friend and speak the words aloud, and her belief in me was a anchor. And yet, a persistent voice still circles in the quiet moments: Did I overreact? Was it really that bad? He was nice once. This doubt is a ghost, and it haunts me alongside the heavy grip of my history with depression, which makes everything feel so much heavier. I have made a decision that brings both a sense of relief and a profound sadness. I will likely make a report, but I do not think I will request a full investigation. I have come to the quiet, painful understanding of how difficult it is to prove a violation without concrete evidence, of how the system often fails to deliver justice. My heart breaks for all my sisters who have stood in this same place, who have chosen to prioritize their own survival over a fight they know they cannot win. So, for now, I am choosing to fight for myself instead of against him. My act of rebellion is not in a courtroom; it is in my own healing. It is in believing myself when the world teaches me to doubt. It is in acknowledging that even without legal justice, what happened to me was real, it was wrong, and my pain is valid. I am choosing to care for the person who matters most in this story: me.

Before moving to California, I had lived in Pakistan. This story is from 2008. My mother had convinced me to marry a man who was well-settled despite I wanting to marry someone else that I had liked at university. The man I married had a very kind demeanor and was respectful. I told him the situation but he told me that I would fall in love with him if I gave the relationship time. I agreed on the condition that he would sleep in a separate room and there won't be any intimacy while I choose whether to accept him or divorce him. He gradually tried to charm me. At first, by requesting to kiss my feet, then by massaging my legs and shoulders. One day, as usual, he asked to kiss my feet while I was watching tv. I caught him looking up my nightie from down there. I got annoyed. He apologized but then asked to massage my shoulders. I agreed. While massaging shoulders, he raised my arms and licked my armpits. I got really upset. pushed him away and ran to he toilet. When I came out, he grabbed me, pushed me into the bedroom, forced me onto the bed, tied my wrists together and attached the rope to a chair near the bed. I begged for him to stop and resisted with all my strength, but he penetrated. I started crying. He apologized, asked for forgiveness but there could be no forgiveness there. My aunt (in police) arrested him. I asked for maximum possible punishment for him. He was given 10.5 years of rigorous imprisonment, 200 lashes with the whip, and paid a large monetary fine to me as well. I personally participated in whipping him. I later forgave him and his sentence was commuted to whipping. We eventually divorced but I felt satisfied that justice was done in this case and I finally married my university flame.

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.