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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

As a child i suffered sexual abuse by the neighbor next door. Also through school was bullied , teased , . My Parents were christians . But both were controling of my decisions . It was very difficult growing up as a child , teen and then youth. I eventualy had the confidence to leave home and live on my own .

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

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.

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.

Most of the time I feel like I have overcome his touch. But sometimes, I still feel the warmth of his embrace. Apparently “all boys aren’t the same” so I get close and touchy with them, tease them, and sometimes even kiss them. I think I do it on purpose. I try to convince myself that I'm over it, I'm over the fact that I've been marked by the wrong person. I'm over the fact that I can’t be alone in public. I'm scared. No, not scared, terrified. I'm afraid of loving another without knowing their intention. I’m terrified that someone is about to take another piece of my soul, I'm afraid that even if I say “please stop” it’s liable to be another 2 words that were misunderstood, I’m afraid of it happening all over again. This is like someone expecting to be burned when they touch something hot, no matter how many times they've been reassured the object is now cool. The fear is still there, even if the danger has passed. I want to be loved but my fears push everyone away. After 2 years of being in an abusive relationship, I thought I could get back out there and move on, but I moved into the wrong person. I was fifteen years old when the phrase “please stop, I'm tired” came out of my mouth. I wish I would never have to say it again. I'm sixteen. It’s almost been 5 months since it happened, but it somehow feels like it was just last week. The thought of his hands on my neck, blurry visions and the sentence “I know you want it” makes me want to curl up in a ball, cry and tear off the layers of my skin until I can no longer feel his touch. ‘PTSD’ they call it. Triggers that bring you back to your trauma. I walk right by my triggers every day; they think you're weak because you can't face them and always find other ways to avoid them. I'm not weak; I just can't bear to feel him on me every time I see that jacket. This is like the feeling of plunging into icy waters; the shock is so overwhelming that no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to swim back up to the safety of the shore. No matter how much time passes, the trauma still lingers, and triggers bring you right back to that moment. 2 months passed before I spoke up about what had happened. "Why didn't you say something sooner? Now it sounds like a lie" I wish I could, but deep down I was ashamed, scared and hurt. Every time I hear someone mention his name, my heart starts racing, my palms get sweaty, and I feel a sense of panic rising in me. Everyone says it will get easier, but when is that? As the Greek writer Vasso Charalambous once wrote: “The pain you feel today is the strength you feel tomorrow.” I’m still trying to find my strength to be able to trust another man without needing to stress if I need to tape my clothes to my skin I was a victim of rape and have been dealing with its aftermath ever since. The sense of fear, insecurity and vulnerability that I feel every time someone mentions his name is something that I struggle to shake off. While I cannot speak for all victims of rape, I can say that in my experience, the healing process has been invaluable. Through therapy and the support of my loved ones, I have been able to work through my trauma and come out the other side a stronger person. As of right now, I am still trying. I want to use my story to make sure that no other survivor feels alone in their experience. I want to be a voice for those who have been silenced, and I hope to show them that there is still hope, even after the darkness. Being strong and resilient, and having the strength to move forward, are things I'm proud of about myself. I will not let what he did to me define the rest of my life. I am more than my trauma. I am more than my pain. I am more than what he did to do to 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?

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 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...?

Numb. All I felt was numbness, this blind feeling of constant knives scraping, stabbing, swallowing me whole; the time I felt like this is one I’ll never forget, the time I lost my home. Home. It could be a place, a feeling or, in my case, a person. This person, you may ask, is it a friend? A lover? Or a family member? No, she was my world, she was my light, she was my everything, she was my sister. So, you may be wondering what occurred for me to lose my sister, well she’s not dead if you’re wondering, but rather her nature, her personality, her character is lost to me. The person I grew up looking up to, admiring, my inspiration, my muse. She is dead, and an imposter was born. Looking back is torture, a constant reminder of who betrayed me, but why is the question I will never know the answer to? “It’s a misunderstanding,” that is all it took to shatter me to pieces. From sister to stranger, that’s all that took. Now you maybe wondering ‘that’s it’ a misunderstanding, well it was not…. The night before my sister engraved those words in my brain, my ex-boyfriend assaulted me, he struck down, pinned down and consistently asked ‘but don’t you love me?’ ‘don’t you care?’ Every time I said, “Yes, but not like this!” But why didn’t I escape? I tried with all my might, but I couldn’t. He blocked me at every turn. I tried to go under the bed, sleep on the floor, and use my phone and play games to distract me, but I couldn’t think straight; my mind needed a distraction, needed an escape, but I couldn’t. He watched me like a hawk, waiting for another opportunity to catch its prey. So, as he left the room, he apologised, and his words of ‘I’m sorry that I assaulted you’ and my response of ‘blame it on the Viagra’ will live in my head for eternity. But how does this connect to my sister? Well… I spoke to her on the plane ride home as she sat next to me and opened up to her, and for the first time this year, I thought I had her on my side… But I was wrong. As soon as we had food, we confronted him on the phone, he said, and I will never forget ‘I didn’t know’ on what planet was he living on that he somehow in a span less than a day, he forget that he assaulted someone. Then, the gaslighting begins. He said we had a safe word, and we did, but at the time of the assault, we had broken up, hence ex-boyfriend. But no, that turned the tide, and the numbness of betrayal from him was enough for me to spiral, but no, that’s not all. My darling sister said, ‘that’s it’s all just a misunderstanding’ and it’s a miscommunication, on what planet does “NO, STOP and DON’T’ not define the lack of consent, clearly, I missed that cue. But she chose him. His side, not mine, the one who was assaulted, his: the instigator, the monster, the perpetrator, not me. She has known someone for less than a year and, at that moment, less than 6 months. My world shattered around me, numb from betrayal, numb from heartbreak; all I felt was numb. But that’s not the worst of it, not even close to, oh, you thought the assault and the betrayals were enough, ha not in my life. The car ride home was deafening; the silence outside was quiet, but my mind was a war and storm raging. She told me to ‘forgive’ him even though I don’t so that his mind could be eased that it was all about him and nothing about me. I felt like a pawn on a chess board that I wasn’t the queen I thought I was but merely a peasant at the hands of others to use; no one could prepare me for the betrayal, no one could prepare me for their admission of guilt when they begged me not to take legal action, begged me not to tell anyone. But as time progressed this year my silence spoke louder that most, when people asked if ‘I was okay’ I replied “yeah, just tired, or I’m okay, I’m fine” When in reality. I was losing sleep, nightmare-consuming at every point in time, restless sleep, haunting nights until his demise. To say I was thrilled would be an understatement; I was relieved that I never would have to face him again; the only problem I face is masking my true colours around her. ‘Karma’s a bitch’ and you reap what you sow; he was the death of me, the old me, I have a long way to trust another, mostly to love another, but my progress is there; I’m not a victim, I’m a survivor, I’m not a pawn, I’m a queen because just like phoenixes I rose from the ashes.

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.

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.