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Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

I live in a home with someone I wish great harm on (even death), with another person I am Coming to resent for not believing and worst of all a third person I cannot properly protect, because you see Only one of the 2 people that are the main people in this mess, are telling the truth. there is no way to find out the truth with out causing more harm to who I believe is the victim, to Possibly find the truth will tare apart the victim's family which they do not wish, they rather live as if to pretend it didnt happen ,just move on. For Me I sit and think if, I said anything would leave the victim in a position of more harm,in a position of being marked for pitty,or disbelief, for the many years left of there life, and least of important the victim would come to resent me. How do you protect someone without causing their whole world to fall apart, there is no possible proof to make sure, only space to break the victims hart more.

I met my abuser Month, Year at a indinginous pipe ceremony. The community met often. I would speak to him and his wife on occasion. I realized later that he was there to recruit people for his medicine retreats, his tantra events and he would search out his victims. What a better place where there are impressionable people wanting to heal, looking for something to help. He would tell me I needed to try mushrooms, to help with my depression and anxiety. I did stop taking my antidepressants on Date cause another person of “good standing” in our community was offering iboga and also was promising that would help me. I never did an iboga ceremony with that group but in Month, Year, I could not go to a retreat that my abuser and his wife were offering. the retreat was out in City, State and they thought they would include me by offering me my own private journey. my abuser offered to come to my house and he would hold a mushroom ceremony for me.. 4 people including my abuser showed up at my house one Friday night. I remember I was so excited cause these people who seemed so knowledgeable and respected were singling me out and I felt special. Except when they showed up it felt weird. I took a small amount of chocolate and a couple of hours in I still did not feel much. He offered me more. The night was uncomfortable but I kept thinking, these people know what they are doing, they have my best interest in their hearts. I’m not sure they really did. They left me around midnight that night. The medicine hit me just as they were all leaving. I was completely alone, tripping out. It was a long night. The next day, no one texted or phoned to check in with me. I just went through the next few days feeling pretty lost. My abuser, his wife and I continued to do indigenous ceremonies together, Hapey, pipe ceremonies, sweat lodges. By 2018, we had been hanging out socially a lot. My abuser started to offer psychedelic meetups at his house. I could not go to the first few because of work but my work schedule changed in the spring. I could go to the meet ups. I started to learn about the psychedelic movement and all these medicines had to offer. Name of Organization was steamed into one of our meetings, he had this vision and I wanted to be part of it. I found out my abuser was teaching Tantra. What’s that? I was curious. Another way for me to explore who I was. I started to go to his tantra events. It was fun, I was hanging out with the abuser and his wife and they knew how to have fun. It became my life. My abuser started coming out to my town. Asked if I wanted to meet for beers. He was paying lots of attention to me. I heard about the struggles he was going through with his marriage and how psychedelics and the lifestyle, being polyamourus was helping my abuser and his wife. I’m not sure where the offer came from but My abuser was telling me how he help break me open sexually and we could do private sessions. The first meeting, We met for super and a beer. He came to my house. We undressed and I sat, facing him. We hugged and did circular breathing exercise together to calm down. We talked about our desires, boundaries and fears. I remember him telling me he didnt want to get an erection because in the teaching he should not have one but he did already. I laid down and he did a youni massage on me. All the attention on me. I could not believe someone wanted to give me all this attention. I must be pretty special. We had been meeting every other week for a few months for sessions. He came for a session one night. He asked me if I wanted to be involved in his business of selling microdose online. Hell yes I did. Out of the all the people in the community, he picked me to help him. I felt special. That night when we did our session it was different. Up till that time he only massaged me, no penis vagina contact. That night I felt him insert himself. We did not discuss this. I froze for a bit but I continued to let him do what he wanted. If I said no I lost what he was offering. I remember thinking I’m selling my soul to the devil! I remember feeling confused. I was excited cause I was going to be part of something big but I felt violated. We continued our sessions but they just turned into sex. He wanted to have a relationship with me but not be a couple. I was so entwined in his life. I did everything with my abuser and his wife. Month, Year, My abuser and his wife were going on vacation and they needed me to do the mailing and keep the microdose business going, he was letting me into his very secret life. I killed that job will they were gone. I showed my abuser that I could handle his business. That was his baby and he was proud of it. It was one of the 3 most successful microdose businesses online at that time in Country. Abuser Name, my abuser was one of the companies selling the stamets stack that Abuser Name would eventually send a legal letter to to stop selling the stamets stack And you continued to support him through speaking at his conferences and I see you are coming to his conference in may in City along with Name. The site was Website. It’s been taken down in the last year. We continued to hangout, sell drugs together. I realized that I was helping to support him and his wife’s life. She was a tantric(sex worker) And between her And I, I'm sure we paid the bills. I helped over years with the psychedelics meetups, retreats, helped start and run his conference and did lots of work to make that happen, did medicine with him in group settings and in private and helped start his business plus many other things. I helped at the community events that he created. He was from a very religious background and had since left the church and claimed he needed community. He started these communities to find his victims. He picks people who are vulnerable and uses their skills or their connections. He then drops them especially if they do not agree with him. Over the years he would sometimes treat me very special as long as I conformed to his rules, he needed me. He would one minute be very attentive to me and then next he would punish me for talking to someone about us or speaking out of line. He would take away sex, medicine, eventually he took the microdose business. He was starting to gain moumentum in the legal psychedelic world. He started a businesss in Year that trains therapist to hold psychedelic space here in City . Then he stared to get exemptions from the Country government to give people psilocybin for their end of life distress. Now he is being given clinical trails to give front line care givers medicine. His dream was coming true. He wants to run retreat Centers. He found an investor to buy a resort in Country. That was short lived as business went bankrupt and he had a incident down there with a shibo hitting on clients. During the time of his start up he started to really distance himself from me. He only contacted me when he needed help and tried to keep me just involved enough. I ran Facebook pages for him and still had the microdose business. In Year, he asked me to take a bigger part in the microdose business because he had to distance himself from the ilagel business. That changed. He came out to my place one day and said he sold it and I was done. I called bullshit. That was his pride and joy. He sold it to his son. I was a threat. He still talked to me and we met for beers once in awhile. I was even invited to some social events at his house. Date Year, I went to a party at his house. It was a bit of a weird feeling going on. He dropped his wife while dancing. She hit her head pretty hard. An hour later I was looking for him as it was almost midnight. I walked in on him and his newest victim finishing having sex. He ran out the room. I looked at her and told her she should run from him. He’s dangerous. She is part of the community he started. She has money, is indigenous and has connections in that community, he needs her to get with the indigenous community. Midnight hit that night, he was still friendly, even tried to kiss me. We were suppose to go out in the new year. One day he sent a message that he could not meet and blocked me on all social media. He never did give me an answer why. Probably cause I found out about him and the other women. This is when the universe started to show me who I was involved in. Actually the universe was talking to me all along but I was not listening. I would have mushroom journeys facilitated bu my abuser and his wife. In those journeys, I would get messages from the medicine. The medicine was yelling at me to get away from him. I even I had a journey where I had snake coming out of me and then later actually seeing him as a rapist. That journey I sat up on my mat and he was sitting in front of me and I was freaking out but could confide in no one. No one was safe. I started to open my eyes after that. What has unfolded over the last 11 months. I was going to integrations circles with a lady. She would travel with me. We talked. I found out one day, she wanted to end her life because of a relationship she had with My abuser in the summer of Year. She had heard stories of a lady who caused him lots of stress.She did not know it was me until I shared my story one night with her. That was the first lightbulb moment. I heard another story about more emotional abuse from another lady, who pointed out he’s a predator. He likes to find women in vulnerable positions in communities he develops and then he takes them sexually and mentally. vStories kept showing up to me. I wasn’t looking for the stories. He contacted me in Month to have a mediation meeting. The mediator was a lady who is a therapist and knew both of us. I did not feel comfortable so I asked my support person to come. I’m glad I did as I will tell you some info about the therapist in a minute. We had the meeting. I did well speaking for myself. He eventually admitted the meeting was not to apologize but make sure that I stay silent. Nothing was solved. I find out he recorded the meeting. Next came a letter of cease and disest. It was a threat. He had his conference coming up in City, Province, and he was going to the government to talk about clinical trials. he did not want me speaking, cause I know to much. That proved to me my story is worth sharing. I have recently found out that the therapist that mediated the talk we had in Month has had sexual relations with him in the same way as me, through tantra sessions.. I used her as a therapist 2 years ago. I could not go deep enough with her for some reason, I did not understand at the time. She also writes for his therapist training program. That one hurt deep. Over the years of being involved with my abuser. I have suffered. I lost about 70lbs in a short time, my anxiety was so high as I never knew from one minute to the next if he was going be hot or cold to me. I did not know who to trust as people in the community would go back and tell him what I said. He always seemed to know what I was doing, what I was saying. He would talk to me and then ignore me for periods of time. This is a common thing with the other women I have talked to. They felt like he was following them, watching them. He always knew what we were doing I was vulnerable with trauma. He made promises to heal. He used that promise as a position of power and exploited it to get me into a sexual relationship. He broke me down and got into my psyche, he used substances to heal me to break me open and worm inside every aspect of me: body, mind, heart, soul, even financial survival. He is sneaky and manipulative and good at it. Name's desire to develop acronym stems from personal experiences with psychedelics that “brought him to his knees” and forced him to face his ego. He aligns himself with people such as Name,who wrote some material for his company. microdose, and a few others. I never understood why he picked me. Maybe cause I was well liked and respected in the community. I showed up. I lost my self. Hard to trust anyone when everyone’s connected in the community. 10 minutes is not long enough to share this story but it is a start. It took a lot to get here. I’m grateful that I found somewhere to share my story and I feel like I’m just beginning to share. I struggle with relationships. As soon as one little red flag comes up, I sabotage, it’s hard. Update. I told my story publicly, Month, Year at the Conference Name conference. Since then I recorded a podcast, took part in a documentary, to be released next year, and had two articles written about my abuser and his company. My story got some attention and in Month, Year he was arrested for sexual assault. The trial will be in Month, Year. He stepped down from his company as CEO and Company Name does not exist anymore.

We get on the late bus we’re going to take to get to my house, the “activity” school bus, since we’ve stayed behind after school. He leads me to a seat somewhere in the middle, then shields us from the thin stream of other students trickling in. Without warning, he leans forward and kisses me. The instant our lips meet, a white-hot something flares up inside of me and I think: I don’t want to do this anymore. I pull away almost immediately, the kiss lasts only a few seconds but it feels like an eternity. He says in an almost condescending tone, “That was physically nothing. You made it sound like you knew how to kiss.” As though he’s entitled to someone more experienced. Of course I don’t. Does he not understand what a first kiss is? Did I even like it? Before I have a chance to say anything, he pulls me in and kisses me deeply, his lips pressing against mine. A translucent blush clambers up my neck and caresses my cheeks before it digs its nails in. Once he’s done, he gets up and switches seats, leaving me alone for the remainder of the ride home. In the thick, heavy, humid air of my room, mingled with the smell of our sweat, his cloying scent—of cologne, tropical gum, and mint with a hint of vanilla—penetrates my nostrils. His cruel hands emerge from the shadows, tangled in my hair, cradling my jaw. Without a sound, they slither to my waist. Unsatisfied, they creep, groping lower, wrapping around my hips. His touch is unforgiving. It makes me want to cry. His hands move like it’s easy, like he doesn’t have to think before using me. I can’t tell the difference between him and the dark. It’s so opaque I can’t tell if my eyes are open or closed. I can’t see anything. I can only feel. He kisses me relentlessly, ruthlessly, his lips warm and wet. The sound is nauseating. It makes my skin crawl. As his kisses deepen, they turn cold as he slips his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like all the tears I wish I could cry. He was soft, even gentle at first but he’s allowed his obscene hunger to consume him. He’s getting rough but I can’t say no. I can’t say or do anything, I’m running on autopilot. I tear away from myself, it feels like my soul has been taken out of its socket. I’m a detached spectator watching it all unfold as I hover outside of my body, facing the scene. I don’t recognize the boy kissing him back. It can’t be me. This can’t be happening. But it is. We barely part for air because he just won’t stop. Even when we pause for the briefest moment to catch our breath, I can still feel it. His phantom lips on mine. I didn’t think it would be like this. I don’t want to watch anymore, disgust roils in my stomach, but I can’t look away. Cacospectamania—an obsession with staring at something repulsive or vulgar, where our tendency as humans towards morbid curiosity comes from. I can’t close my eyes and even if I did, the sight has already burned itself into my eyelids. I feel sick. I can’t breathe. But he doesn’t stop, he takes and takes as my skin begins to simmer with the invisible fever beneath his skin, poison seeping through my veins. For the first time, he asks me before he does something. “Can I kiss your neck?” he asks. Without thinking, my head automatically falls forward in a simulated nod, even though I don’t really want him to. My mind is utterly blank, I can’t comprehend, can’t process what’s happening. I’m not even looking at him, I’m watching from behind, peering over my own shoulder into nothing. My motionless body buzzes like a hive, vibrating from within. I feel his hot breath on my neck like a wolf panting on the fur of a rabbit. He kisses it roughly and it feels like he’s rubbing my skin raw. He traces one point along my jugular with his lips and tongue, like he’s a vampire trying to suck the blood out of my body. I wonder if he can feel my pulse screaming his name. I do not want this—it hurts, it hurts like hell—but my body unspeakably betrays me. Pleasure rises to the surface, giving me a high I’ve never felt before and will never feel again. My sole reference is the only other kind of high I’ve experienced, the rush spilling one’s own blood brings. Soon enough, I will slice my skin open in a futile attempt to bleed his fever from my veins. Except this is different. It unfurls like a vapor from the thick ice cover of numbness across the white, barren landscape within my chest, melting from the heat of our bodies. I retreat into my mind, bent on my hands and knees over the foggy surface, and try to break through to and unearth the fear buried far beneath. But it doesn’t feel good. Not in the slightest. The tingling, throbbing skin on the left side of my throat and all over my lips ache as though I’ve been stung by the restless bees inside me. I don’t know if this is normal or not. I wonder, Is it supposed to sting? The sensation is like rope burn, in the same spot where a noose had once dug into my flesh, leaving my skin scraped scarlet from the weight of my body I had left to the mercy of gravity. But at least that left a mark, some kind of proof, even if it was superficial. When it comes to him, all I have is the hurt. Nothing to show for it. Later, he hooks a finger on the collar of my v-neck T-shirt and tugs down. Dizzying, deep, instinctual fear drenches me, ice water being poured down my front as my heart drops to my feet. It arcs through my body, as sensitive as a live wire, electrocuting my nerves. I’m drowning in it, it’s so dark and cold, it’s like being plunged into a frozen lake and pulled to the bottom. I don’t know which way is up or down. But I know I’m going to die. Either from fright or from him. I manage to break the surface and as I do, I push him away with every ounce of my little strength. I’m so scared I can’t think straight, I can’t think at all. Every other emotion has left me except for the terror coursing through my thrumming veins. He’s going to rape me. I’m going to die. He practically said it before, when I told him my mom wanted me to keep the doors open. ‘What, does your mom think I’m gonna fuck you or something?’ The doors are closed. No one is going to help me. In stark contrast to me, he is harrowingly calm. But I can feel him trembling. Why is he shaking when I’m the one getting hurt? Is it excitement? Fear? Shame? Desire? I want to scream and cry until I’m wrung dry of tears, but my voice is stolen from me. I open my mouth but the sounds die in my throat, in the same way I will, an endless, excruciating death. I wish I could say, “No! Get off me. Get away from me. I don’t want to. Stop touching me. Leave me alone. Please. Don’t. Stop it. It hurts.” But he is the only one who can speak. I don’t want to listen anymore but it doesn’t matter. His voice is faded but his words are clear as a bell. “Don’t worry, I’m not taking anything off.” He’s trying to be reassuring but it doesn’t make me feel any safer. I don’t know why I reluctantly go back to him. I thought I could trust him. I wish I hadn’t. When I innocently drape my arm over his waist, he looks at me and says in a blasé tone, “You don’t know what turns me on, do you?” I quickly pull my arm back and cradle it against my chest like a bird with a broken wing, fear turning my blood cold. His expression never changes. Mirroring the countless times he’s gotten turned on by me and verbalizes it, regardless of my then asexuality. Later that same night once he’s home, I regrettably send him a poem with the misnomer desire, simply detailing the strange, foreign sensations all over my body, awaiting his lips and hands—or in retrospect, his hurt—to return. He responds, ‘You’re so sensual.’ I imagine him dragging out each word, slow and sultry, as though to entice me. At some point, I bite down on the inside of his lip. He pulls away and his mouth splits into a chilling smile. He says, “You bit me.” I apologize, even though I don’t mean it. Nothing I do stops him for longer than a few moments. He is ravenous, starving for me. He cannot get enough. He devours me. All I can do is watch, a ghost witnessing their own demise. Words no one else can hear are whispered in my ear from behind me. “This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.” I believe them because it’s better than dying. His response when I later told him it didn’t feel real? ‘You know it was.’ He says, ‘You’re mine, now. Forever.’ I imagine him saying it with a sadistic, self-satisfied grin. The words like hands pinning me down, shrapnel embedded in my skin. A brand on my soul—unforgettable, claiming me, marking me for life. His name threads through, weaving its way between everything. It carves itself into my heart and fuses with my bones, swirling in my bloodstream—every wounded bit of me engraved as his. I wish I could find the voice to say, “I’d rather die than be yours.”

As a child I was left vulnerable by abuse, neglect and sexual assault. I’ve been telling my story in my blog and on livestream but there is one story I particular that I feel a deep cry to find other victims. I was 15 years old and school had just ended for the Summer. A boy I know, he was my tech class helper. He often would offer me extra help on my assignments. Getting closer. Around school we would be flirty. Prior to school ending that year he asked me for my number. For whatever reason I gave him my home landline instead of my cell phone. Days after school got out he called and asked if I could come hang out with him and his friend. It was his friends birthday. My dad didn’t want to give me permission or say no so he told me to call my mom. I told my mom a little white lie and got permission to go out till 11pm. The boys buttered me up with flattery as we made our way to what was said to be the one guys’ house. When we arrived we talked a little bit about where we go to school and who we know. I mostly asked about my family that went to the same school as the boy I had just met. We began to play truth or dare, eventually I was naked and this boy whom I just met asked me to have sex. I agreed but I didn’t want to. I was scared and it would have been my first time, because I was scared the boy was not able to penetrate me but he kept trying. Eventually I told him to stop and put the lights on. When the lights were put on two guys I didn’t know were there game out of the closet. One I recognized from student council at school and the other, I didn’t know, seem a little older and was naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. There was one more boy I didn’t know was there that came out from under the bed. I felt humiliated and hugged a pillow against my naked body. I demanded they all get out and so they did. I was trying to get dressed but they had stolen my underwear. The boy I knew, the one that I had liked, walked me half way home. I didn’t want my parents to see him. He kept asking if I was really going to have sex, and I kept avoiding giving any sort of answer. I didn’t want to admit I was scared. He then asked if I was going to tell anyone. I said “no” and asked “why?”. He said “because it feels rapey”. I asked what was happening and he told me it was called “a cinema” and it’s where guys watch while one guy has sex with a girl and she doesn’t know they’re there and then they switch places without her knowing. Because a group of guys agreed to and code named their act of gang rape I know it is a thing that was being done, not just a one time fluke and because they chose cinema, I also know that they do it for entertainment. 3 years later when I was 18 a friend from work and school, although I had already graduated asked me to go to a party. I went home, changed and asked my housemate if she wanted to come and so she came along. When I arrived my friend was highly antoxicated, and she was the only female at this party in a house of around 20 men who all played for th same hockey team. Her boyfriend and her friend were trying to get her to leave but she wouldn’t. Her boyfriend’s friend tried to appeal to me telling me I don’t know what these guys do. The hockey team was not allowing them in the party and chased them off down the street. Eventually they gave up and the night went on. I found the hockey team to be quite obnoxious and I didn’t have the mentality to deal with it. I looked at my housemate who wasn’t having a good time and asked if she wanted to go. I said “okay, let me get (my friends name)” my friend refused to leave. I felt it in my gut that I shouldn’t leave her but I left with my housemate. The next morning my friend’s mom showed up to my apartment demanding to know where her daughter was. I thought I was being a good friend by saying “I don’t know”. Her mom kept saying “she’s only 17!”. It only recently dawned on me that she was likely a victim of the cinema but she never confirmed it or denied it to me. Because of my friend, because it kills me to think about the young people I love could be victims, I am telling my story. I hope by telling my story it empowers other victims to come forward so that together we can try to prevent another generation from being victimized. Thank you.

My mom was Lily Bloom and I’m her Emerson but sadly it did not end there . I wish I could have not fallen for the charm or been blinded by the red flags but like my mom nobody saw the signs . My mom wasn’t able to leave and she wasn’t able to tell her story. But after sharing with her the trauma I endured from these past two insanely manipulating, toxic , abusive relationships . She was finally able to tell me I wasn’t alone , and my father was her Ryle , and like all Ryles they say they can change . But they won’t . Thankfully my mom and I both left our Ryles and found comfort in being each others safe place .

I grew up in an abusive home. My father always tried his best, but his negative emotions always got in the way. I’m 20 now. I was in a relationship for almost one year recently with a “Ryle”. I new I didn’t want that for the rest of my life. I deserved better. Yet, I stayed silent. I knew this movie would change everything for me and it did. I finally left him and as hard as it was, it was the best thing for me and for my future. I believe you have one life, why would I let it go to waste on someone like that? Thank you for this movie.

I’m 56 years old and have spent most of my life trying to understand what happened to me growing up — not just what was done, but what was allowed. My mother didn’t hit me. Her weapons were colder: control, shame, silent punishments, and subtle emotional games that left no visible marks. She taught me love was conditional. If I pleased her, I got slivers of approval. If I spoke out, I was punished or exiled. Even joy was rationed — too much of it and she’d find a way to ruin it. Her moods ruled the house. Everyone learned to tiptoe. She told others she was doing her best. She played the victim so well — struggling mom, too burdened to care. But at home, it was all about control. She’d withhold affection, twist your words, cry on command, and convince you that you were the problem. I internalized all of it. I grew up believing I was unworthy, difficult, broken. Worse, she brought a man into our lives who raped me. I now know she saw things. I remember moments — things she would have had to notice, hear, sense. But she chose silence. Whether out of denial or protection for herself, she turned away. That betrayal has been harder to heal than the abuse itself. Because the person who was supposed to protect me not only failed to — she facilitated the harm. When I became a mother myself, I tried to do better — to break the cycle — but the damage was already seeded. It affected how I parented, how I loved, how I trusted. It fractured parts of me that I’m still putting back together. Even now, my mother continues to manipulate and control. She paints herself as a caretaker, but she makes dangerous decisions. She isolates her dying partner from his loved ones and undermines his medical needs. She is still trying to rewrite the story. Still trying to erase mine. But I won’t let her. I’m writing this because I need it spoken somewhere outside of me. I need to reclaim the truth: I was there. I didn’t imagine it. And it wasn’t my fault. To anyone reading who is still doubting their memory or blaming themselves — I see you. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. And what happened to you mattered. I survived her. I am still here. And I am no longer silent.

A man named name didn't take my no on a date. He pushed himself on me and did things to me I didn't want. I was so in shock because I had known him for years and always felt safe with him. I ended up seeing him a second time because I thought somehow I misunderstood or exaggerated the incident in my mind. The second time only served to prove it was exactly what I thought it was. Sometimes I think about making it public but I couldn't handle the embarrassment for even agreeing to hang out with him and that is flirted with him. I was naive, I was in a rough place in life. But I don't think anyone would get that. I hate him. He almost killed himself once and called me totally out of it. I reached out to a friend of his who got him to the hospital. Sometimes I wish I hadn't.

i was 6 years old when my bsf held me down in the bathroom at school and 3 people raped me and it kept happening till i was 10 yet it was still happening by one of girls till i was 13. i’ve never spoken up about it before but it happened everywhere i went they would find me and rape me i see them every once and a while in my neighbourhood but they haven’t raped me since then and i am now 18

It’s been 2 years since my ex-husband and I separated. We have two children together a girl, age 8 and a boy, age 5. After our relationship ended, I began to tell various third-parties about our relationship’s dynamic and what our sex life was like. With this, I started to reflect on the relationship and soon realized how abusive it was. My ex-husband would force me to have sex with him at every 2-3 days and if I didn’t he would treat me terrible, getting angry at me, giving me the silent treatment, acting like a pouty child and excluding me from dinner conversations with my children (speaking only Danish, a language I don’t understand with them.) It was horrible and I feel like whoever I tell this story to minimizing my experience, victim blaming or straight out takes his side. It’s been incredibly isolating and I feel so alone. I can’t get out of bed on the days I have the kids. I just sit on the couch and watch tv or scroll social media on my phone. I don’t know how to move on from this without going to the police but I truly don’t believe that would be good for my children because he’s a good dad for the most part. I feel so stuck, sad, broken and hopeless.

I was raped by one of the heads of location in city, state. Don't go here.

It started with First Name. My first date, my first kiss, my first disapointment. As a shy teen i spent many hours on chat sites and messenger. First Name spent the night with me in my university dorm but thankfully we didnt get past some heavy petting and a kiss or 2. I think after thst he just wanted to get rid of me so the next day he added his friend, Name 2, into our messenger chat. Name 2 didn't hide the fact he was 42, he sent me a picture of himself and at first our chats were friendly and lighthearted. He showed interest in me which i wasnt used to but i enjoyed it, despite only being 17. He liked to dare me to walk to my dorm fridge in my underwear, go to the bar alone and order a drink, then it turned into him wanting to 'perform' on camera for people of his choosing. I did it a few times but knew it wasnt going to yeild the money inititally promised. Soon our chats got steamier and he started talking about visiting me from a few provinces over once i turned 18. He came on the greyhound and we escaped to a hotel room for the night. I was denied the sparkly first time every girl remembers.. i wish i could forget being punched in the stomach afterwards. it didnt take him long to convince me to lieto my parents and move from Location 1 to Location 2 to live with him in city. I arrived on the greyhound with my RESP money, enough to afford a room at a sleazy hotel where we spent the next few weeks having sex, smoking pot and walking around city. It wouldve been fun, had it not been so taboo; sometimes we felt like a real couple, going to the bar and feeding ducks at Location 3. He loved showing me around the city and parks and then trying to get me to pose for topless pictures when nobody was around. Name 2 would spend countless hours on the internet, looking for porn films that 'i might like' then made me watch them for hours before finally having sex and going to sleep. He would have mood swings where he would start yelling at me, he would throw whatever liquid was in his cup on me and say terribley lewd things about me, including threatening to send my parents the nude pictures of me he had taken. We bummed around the city for a while until our new landlord took a liking to us and Name 2 became the handy man for the apartment we found and i cleaned out apartments for extra cash after tenants left. I felt like i was always walking on eggshells, never knowing what might trigger Name 2 into a rage. I still consider myself lucky though. I weighed 100 lbs soaking wet and the fact i lived with this bi polar man weighing about 300 lbs and standing 6' 5 and made it out alive still amazes me. I recieved a bloody nose or 2 in that time but all things considered, he couldve done me worse. Though i did some things i am not proud of under his control i feel like he cared enough to respect my wishes. My parents found us. They hired a detective then showed up at our appartment. Me and Name 2 tried to show them a good time but afterwards Name 2 tried to make me think they didnt want me back. He told me my Dad had called me a dummy but i did not believe him. Despite trying to turn me against them, he didnt argue about me going home for christmas and i returned a few weeks later. It didnt last long after that though. A fight led to me calling my mom, crying at midnight and my dad was on the next flight to fetch me and my cat. Ill never know what his intentions with me were, did he someday intend to prostitute me out to his friends? Was he just taking advantage of the opportunity First Name had placed in his hands? Are there more girls out there with a similar story involving this man? I'll never know for sure but i can always consider this mistake to have a miraculous outcome as many others in my situation do not get to go home, they dont have their parents support, and they dont leave a relationship like that with only a sore nose and a wounded pride.

At age 15, my doctor asked me if I was sexually active. I cried and said “sort of”. When she asked me why I was crying, I told her it was because I thought it was embarrassing. I’m now realizing that I was not crying because I was embarrassed but because I was ashamed. I felt ashamed for having sex at 15 years old (which I felt was too young for me), and even more ashamed at how it happened. I had consented to fooling around with my boyfriend at the time but did not consent to penetration. I was not expecting to look up to hear him say “it’s in”, when I had clearly told him that I did not want penetration. I pushed him off and started crying. However, I brushed it off as being part of a normal healthy relationship, not knowing any better as this was my first relationship. For the next year and a half, I stayed with that partner while dealing with many ridiculous commands and events that I did not realize was unhealthy until much later: being told I wasn’t allowed to wear leggings because then other people would see my butt; being told not to drink coffee (still did); not seeing my friends other than at school; being told I couldn’t wear makeup because if I wore makeup, it would obviously mean that I was trying to attract other guys to cheat on my partner (meanwhile he cheated 3 times); being stopped on the street by a stranger asking if I needed help who then called the police about a domestic violence dispute (i wish I knew who that woman was so I could thank her today); being slut shamed; if we argued, being told I couldn’t leave him because no one else would love me since I was worthless and unlovable; finally, being controlled and manipulated. I’ve heard somewhere (not fact checked) that it takes women on average 7 attempts to leave their abuser before an attempt to leave finally sticks. I remember it taking me 3 tries but it’s possible that I’m forgetting some. Oct 2nd was the day I finally left. We’d broken up numerous times before but he always reeled me back in. He’d reel me back in by forcing himself to cry or to throw up, or by threatening to tell everyone that I was a worthless whore. That year and a half long period of my life still affects me. While I can’t blame all my problems on one person or one situation, I strongly believe that that relationship is the root to my insecurities and anxieties. Fortunately, the past two and a half years, while tough and emotional, have been periods of self love and self discovery.

I was in High School and he was my boyfriend. I don't remember the amount of times he SA me, but I do remember how he did it. I remember the things he would say before he did it. The things he'd say during. And how quick he was to put the blame on me once he had finished. While I was enduring this abuse, I was perceived as a psycho girlfriend who was emotional and dramatic. No one questioned the bags under my eyes, the bruises and cuts on my body, my sudden weight loss, how uncomfortable I was in his presence, or the fact that another victim of his came forward. Instead they perceived me as the girlfriend who was an emotional wreck, an attention seeker, a drama queen. No one cared to look deeper. I felt failed by my peers, by my friends, by my best friend, by my teachers, and by the one guidance councillor I opened up to. I still feel failed by them. But there was one person who DID help me. She was a surviver also. A girl who opened up to me about her story in class one day. "Until it happens to you" began to ring true to me. I wasn't judged or questioned by her. I was accepted. I felt accepted. And so I want to thank her. Thank her for saving me, in a time where she also needed saving. For helping me understand something she didn't even understand herself. For having the courage to speak her truth, despite only knowing me for a short period of time. And for looking deeper. Please reach out to other survivors if you are feeling alone. The mutual understanding between survivors is a feeling unmatched. I love each and everyone of you, and wish you nothing but a safe and happy future.

After spending a year being single on purpose, I had decided that I was finally ready to invest myself in a relationship. The very next morning, I opened my phone to see a message from someone on Facebook asking me out on a date. Apparently they were following my photography page on Instagram and we had a mutual Facebook friend, and they decided they would shoot their shot. From the very beginning they were extremely funny, our sense of humor seemed to mesh really well, and they were easy to chat with. We met at a pub, and it seemed to go pretty well for a first date. It ended up getting crashed by their coworkers, so it turned into some drinks and karaoke. My cheeks hurt from laughing, they seemed really outgoing which I appreciated and their coworkers said really great things about them. On the second date we talked for hours - I felt like I had known them my entire life. No nervousness, I felt seen and accepted right away for who I was, and it was comfortable. It was a dream come true, which is how it felt for the first few months of the relationship. They appeared to check all of my boxes: self aware, empathetic, honest, open-minded. We fell in love quite quickly. The early signs of psychological and emotional abuse started within the first 6 months, but I didn't recognize it as abuse at the time. They were extremely jealous and would often say very hurtful and derogatory things about me. I'd catch them in lies and then they would break up with me stating indifferences in morals, but then would return the next day with heartfelt apologies and promises to work on their insecurities. I believed them. Of course I did, because I excused this behavior as a result of their trauma, the stress they were enduring at work, they were drunk, etc. I thought I could love them through it, so we made plans to move in with each other. That was when the insults, gaslighting, stonewalling worsened - and new aspects developed. Now I was being criticized daily, punished if I didn't tell them where I was going before leaving the house, threatened to send emails to my boss or intimate photos to my family, and my things would be written on with permanent marker or urinated on. That was when the violence started. I didn't feel safe in my own home because my things would get smashed and broken regularly. Police came to the house twice and told me if they came a 3rd time, they would make an arrest, so I ensured they never got called again. However, if I tried to call someone else for support I would get chased, held down, grabbed so I couldn't make the call. I locked myself in the bathroom once and the door was kicked down. I didn't see that as abuse at the time though, because they never hit me. I was so lost in this disillusionment of "love" that I thought they just needed my support, I needed to be more compassionate, I needed to love them better, that's what they told me anyways. This was my fault and I had to fix it. All areas of my life had been threatened: my home, my job, my relationships with my family, my pets, my safety, my health. I became extremely depressed and lost in a state of dissociation. My family became aware of some things (I kept most of it secret until near the end of the relationship, but there was much I wasn't able to hide), and they told me they feared for my life. I didn't respond, as that thought had crossed my mind already many times before and it no longer evoked a reaction in me. I was completely dissociated by this time and I had accepted the possibility. One night while I was driving, they grabbed the steering wheel and steered us into the ditch. That was when the fears became a reality for me. I started safety planning with the hopes that we could still make the relationship work. The trauma bond was strong. One night they started drinking and things were escalating, so I left the house and went to my sister's. In the past I would stay to ensure the things I loved most didn't get destroyed, or I would leave and sleep in my car - but this time I chose to see my family. I started getting text after text all hours throughout the night with horrible things being said. They hinted that my new kitten had "escaped" from the house, and my family had me back at the house, kitten and bags packed, and out the door in 20 minutes. At this point my family had seen everything and there was no turning back. Ending the relationship was confusing, because I didn't feel like I consciously made the choice myself. My family drafted my messages to kick them out of the house. I accepted it, because I just felt so drained and defeated by that point, I had absolutely nothing left to give. We continued to talk for a few months and both discussed how we missed each other and wished things could work, but I knew I could never go back to that, I didn't have the strength. My heart hurt and I definitely grieved - on the floor sobbing - for months on end because I truly felt as though this was my person, this was someone who I thought knew me and saw me for who I truly was. But the truth was, they didn't know me. They didn't even know the color of my eyes after 2 years together. I eventually realized I was grieving a version of them that didn't exist. I was grieving the life I thought we could have, the future family, the relationship that I thought we could work towards. I also realized I was grieving myself. My self esteem was diminished, I felt a huge loss of identity, I couldn't make a decision to save my life, I was exhausted and irritable and angry. I didn't recognize myself for a very, very long time. I felt betrayed and manipulated, and there was a lot of shame towards myself as I felt it was my fault for not seeing the signs or for somehow finding a way to make it work, or for staying as long as I did. I felt like I couldn't trust my judgment anymore. It's been two years now, and I am finally feeling closer to my old self. I struggled for a year and a half with my grief and learning that what I had gone through was abuse. I experienced survivor's guilt, hypervigilance, nightmares, depression, and panic attacks for months. I would start to feel better with the support of my therapist and the domestic violence specialist that I was working with, and a new trigger would happen or another development in my story would occur and I would be back at square one. I felt like I had no hope in finding myself again. I missed the person I used to be and it seemed impossible to ever shake these feelings. But even when I felt the most stuck, I still pressed forward. Even if that meant just making it to work that day, then staying in bed for the rest of the weekend. Or eating a piece of toast before bed if nothing else. Or attending the therapy appointment even if I didn't have the words. There would be weeks of darkness, but then I would have one day where I would cry and felt a little bit lighter. I would visit my family and a genuine laugh would escape my lips. It took very, very small steps, but I do believe I am finally at a place where I am surrounded by the light. I know there is still so much more work to be done, but once I started allowing myself to feel the anger, feel the hurt, feel the pain without shaming myself for it, things started getting better. Keep going - after everything you have survived, I know you can survive this.

When I was 9 years old, I had a best friend. I would go to her house often, and I never questioned or tried to stop her when she taught me sexual things. Looking back on it now, I know she was being sexually abused. She told me to keep it secret, and consistently teased me into thinking her grandmother was going to walk in on us. It’s all learnt behaviour from a predator. Her grandmother never checked up on us, I didn’t see it back then but she was neglected and severely lonely. She would tell me to take my clothes off, we would sleep naked together. She told me it was exploring, and I truly wish I could remember all of it because there are so many gaps in my memory where I think it couldn’t have been that bad or maybe it was worse than I remember. I remember her in between my legs but I don’t remember what happened, I get really really disgusted at myself for having encouraged this. I never told her to stop, and now I have a hard time accepting that it wasn’t my fault for stopping her. Either way, I remember constantly having UTIs that never got checked, and I can’t blame anyone for the situation. She was taken advantage of as a child only a year older than me, and it’s not her fault. I can’t help but blame myself, and it plagues my mind on the daily. This went on for 2 years, and I remember the UTI being so frequent and so bad I had pissed on her bed while naked. this was while I was 10, and it was completely humiliating. My past is something I find so so shameful and I struggle to come to terms with the fact that this will never leave me. I can’t help but wish the best for her, the anger is directed at me more than anything. I am healing from this, and I hope one day I can help others who went through complicated SA experiences that aren’t as openly discussed.

I am a child sexual abuse survivor living in Canada with an NDA for childhood sexual abuse for the past 28 years. When I sought to lift my NDA in 2018 after my abuser had died, the British Columbia court denied me and refused to lift the NDA. So, for the past seven years, I have been advocating both provincial and federal politicians in Canada to ban the misuse of NDAs for childhood sexual abuse survivors. With the passage of Trey's Law in both Texas and Missouri (and more states soon, I hope!), this will place pressure on the Canadian government and the provinces to pass similar legislation. I'm very heartened (and healed too!) by all of the survivors sharing their stories in the Missouri and Texas legislatures. All of this testimony is very important as evidence to prove the long-term extensive damage of an NDA on a childhood abuse victim for ensuing court cases. (This kind of evidence of long-term damage was missing in my BC court case; as a result, my application to lift the NDA was denied). We all need to keep speaking out to change the future for children. We might not be able to change the past, but we can certainly change the present and make the world safer for others. After a great deal of suffering for many years, I can see now that the suffering has had a meaning. As a result, I have become a stronger person. I am not thankful for the abuse, but it seems to me that a greater force in the universe is helping all victims to completely change the world right now. It is an unprecedented moment in human history and we all need to keep moving this incredible change forward. Thank you to Trey's Law and to all the survivors who have spoken in support of Trey's Law.