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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.

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

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.

I was sexually assaulted physically and verbally by several of my older sisters boyfriends. She never stood up for me or objected to their comments. Why? I feel so scarred because of this and often cover up parts of my body in public with an intense fear of being verbally assaulted again by men.

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 experienced coercive rape by my ex-boyfriend over the span of some months. After not only sexual but also emotional abuse I was able to leave the relationship two years ago. Since then it has been a confusing journey....it took me a long time to understand what happened and to acknowledge my trauma. Sometimes I still feel very confused. Adding to the confusion, a few days ago, I had sex for the first time after the abuse. I didn't know what to expect. I thought it might be fine and ill have a great time or it is horrible and I´ll finally have the strong emotional reaction I was kind of always hoping for so that I can validate my trauma. Somehow it was neither...but it wasn't really enjoyable. I felt like I was not really present but I also couldn't act to stop it. In the moment I also didn't feel like it was so bad that I needed to stop it. The person I was with was also very respectful and felt safe. Im not sure how to feel about it...I was hoping it might help me on my healing journey but I feel like I am still facing the same confusion as before. It was not nice or enjoyable, I was kind of dissociated and couldn't do anything to stop it....still I have this feeling that it was all not bad enough. At least not as bad as I always expected it to be after experiencing sexual trauma. Maybe someone had similar experiencs...?

Is it considered sexual abuse if I consented? I got sexted when I was 12 but I consented and wasn't forced. He was 17.

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

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.

when i was 5, my parents divorced. one of them moved out to live with a friend. this friend had an adult daughter, who had one son my age and a son who was older. whenever i would visit, i would play games with the two boys. one game we played most often was 'mums and dads'. i was always forced to be the mum because 'i was the only girl', the older boy was the dad and the younger boy was 'our baby'. one day when i was 6 or 7, the older boy asked if i knew how babies were made. i had no idea, so i said 'no'. he proceeded to tell me what sex was. now, me being 6 or 7, i kind of just nodded and said 'okay'. he then said 'how about we make the game more accurate?' he was older and i looked up to him, so i said 'sure'. he then made his brother hide under the bed, made sure the door was shut and laid down on the bed. he pulled me on top and took off his pants and underwear, before taking off mine. he then proceeded to,,,,,,,,,well you know. we heard someone coming soon after, and he made me hide in the closet. i remember feeling like something bad had happened and i hadn't liked it, but i was too young to understand more than that. we played mums and dads a lot after that day. i haven't seen him for years now, but even when i hear his name, see pictures of his face, i panic. it's like i'm 6 years old again. sometimes i feel permanently broken. forever tainted. sometimes i feel disgusted with myself, like it was somehow my fault. i hold myself accountable for something i definitely didn’t want to happen. i think to myself ‘what if i had done something differently?’ but what could i have done? my skin crawls. i get this feeling in the pit of my stomach. a weight, a heaviness that pushes on my lungs and makes it hard to breathe. i invalidate myself. tell myself that i shouldn’t be so triggered by it. so affected. it was so long ago that i shouldn’t even remember it. after all, we can’t change the past. i hear his name, see his face and i feel like i’m about to cry. i scream, claw at my face, dig my fingernails in, but on the outside i am silent. still. i plaster a smile on my face and act like i’m okay. like i’m not broken. i found out he has a baby daughter and i cried all night. i felt terror and anger. because he's living his life not even thinking about me, when he's all i can think about i'm a survivor, not a victim.

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.

It ended with me. I remember the day my mother slammed my head into the floor until I bled, I was 9. I remember her nails digging so deep into my arm that I hid the cuts and bruises they left, I was 12. I remember my dad protecting me as soon as he understood, I was 14. I remember it because I live it every day, even though it hasn’t happened in 6 years. A survivor is a survivor for the rest of their life, no one gets to take their strength away from them anymore. They know how much it’s worth.

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?

I never liked yoga. It was hard, it hurt, and I especially hated the woman who forced me to do it. Ah, stepmothers. As if my own father wasn’t shitty enough. As if he hadn’t already tried to kill me when I was 7. As if he hadn’t done enough to traumatise me, he goes ahead and marries her. She was obsessed with natural healing. She came from old money, and was an ‘earth healer’ as a full time job. She believed in meditation, yoga, essential oils. So when I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety and a few other things at age 9, she decided she was going to fix me. Thus began the weekly yoga classes. I went to each of them. I only faked being sick once or twice… or seven times. I hated it. It hurt, my body would pop and hurt and do everything it wasn’t supposed to. So she decided to start yoga classes at home. She decided to train me to be good at yoga. Meaning, she decided to get me in tights and no shirt, despite my eating disorder and gender dysphoria, and she decided to get her hands on as much of my body as she could. No one believed me, of course. No, I was just an attention seeking little ‘girl’, who hated his stepmom and was being brainwashed into thinking he was mentally ill (yes, they actually said this). I gained my father’s attention for it one time, and one time only. I must have been 12 or 13. This had been going on for years. At the time, they had implemented a strict diet and exercise regime, meaning I was severely underweight and couldn’t stand up without feeling faint. I’m currently in the process of being diagnosed with EDS. Just to give you an idea of how particularly bad that is. Anyway, I finally gained my father’s attention, because I kicked her. In the stomach. She was pregnant. “Why did you do that?” He asked. He was being surprisingly calm. I should have noticed. “Because she was trying to touch me, and I didn’t want her to.” I replied. Not long after, they dumped me on my mother’s doorstep and told everyone else in the family that my mother was a psycho bitch who tried to keep me from them. I feel disgusting.

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.

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?

When I was a child, I grew up being regularly sexually abused. By the time I was 10 I fell pregnant. I didn't understand fully what was happening to me, I knew I was going to have a baby which terrified me, though at the same time I have never felt more love for anything than I did for my daughter. my family and the people i was around at that age never noticed I was pregnant or if they did, they ignored it. I was somewhere in my third trimester when I was assaulted by multiple men at the same time and went into labor as a result. I gave birth alone at home and she came out sleeping. I buried her myself and could never bring myself to speak of her for over a decade because of fear of other people's reactions and because it hurt too much to say out loud. though now I am finally healing enough to be able to say her name and talk about her. I have a lot more healing still to do and losing her is a pain that will never go away, but now she doesn't have to be a secret. this year she would have turned 14. her name was Emilia

So I was sexually assaulted last night and I feel nothing today. Nothing at all. I was grateful when the guy let me go this morning. He didn't care that I was crying, or how I was feeling or that he was causing me a lot of physical pain. There was no way to get away. He was a foot taller than me and so much stronger and he had his hand around my throat. I was afraid he would snap my neck or choke me out because of how his hand was gripping my neck and how much of my neck his hand covered. He told me he was glad I was very small, and how size matters when it comes to strength. I felt like a mouse in the jaws of a lion. I struggled to breathe. I was afraid I was going to die. He was upset with me last night because I started bleed a lot while he was assaulting me. He was fucking mad at me for bleeding on him. He was mad at me this morning because I was trying to sneak away when he fell asleep. He started assaulting me all over again and for some reason decided to stop and let me go. Maybe because he was tired. As soon as I got away I was walking and walking and called an Uber to take me home. I felt so numb. All I knew was I had to get home. I had to go celebrate my friend’s birthday with her this morning and smile and pretend I was ok. Then I had to go to work. I'm home now, and I just feel so numb and like I don't care about anything. I just don't care anymore. I don't care about me. I don't matter at all. That's how I feel. I just feel like I'm nothing. And I don't want to see my friends or anyone. I just want to lay in my bed forever and sleep. I have to go to work tomorrow. I have to keep going about my life like everything is ok. I have to be normal and not fall apart. I haven't told anyone apart from here right now. I won't tell anyone. No point. People will be like it's your fault. So I'm just going to pretend I'm fine. I'm not fine. I hate myself so much for having put myself in the situation where that could happen. It was a date. I should know better than to trust any man or ever try to find love. It doesn't exist. I am not a person, I'm just an object. I'm going to ask doctor tomorrow (they aren't open today) for meds to prevent pregnancy and treat any possible stds. I won't tell him what happened because I don't want to talk about it with anyone I know personally. I just want to forget about it.

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.