Community

It was 2017, I was in an unhealthy relationship with someone who located insecurities and used them to wear down the people around him, including myself. I had urged him to go to a party in city 1 when he was there for business, he went begrudgingly but ended up meeting a celebrity 10 years his junior, who was the exact same specific ethnicity as me, the same body type, the same hair and eye colour just richer, younger and famous. Naturally he cheated on me then left me to go and be with her in city 1. I still can't stand watching her show, even though they've separated now. My life then became a domino effects of all things that lead you to the bottom of the barrel. I lost my apartment and was sleeping on friends couches including my ex's house with his housemates who I believed were my friends also, I lost one of my jobs, I was constantly looking for rentals but the housing crisis made it impossible. Then I was unexpectedly nominated for a prestigious award in my field and work I had done was being screened in another country and I was asked to attend the event. Things looked like they were looking up and both events were a wonderful time but when I got back, I was still homeless for another 10 days before I could move into the room my friends had that would become available at the end of the month. Enter - an odd man 15yrs older than myself, whom I met in a social setting before my ex left me, knew about my break up from his friends and reached out to me through social media and when we chatted he learned I was staying on couches and offered me his apartment while he was away in city 2 for two weeks. I took the opportunity to finally shower without taking a whole suitcase into a bathroom and having four walls to myself. He gave me the key then departed. It was bliss. Until he claimed he was lonely on his trip, messaged me several times each hour around the clock (including through out the night as he rarely slept) and would get upset with me if I ended answer. I felt strange, like I owed him that attention because he was doing me a huge favour and was helping me through a terrible emotional time where I was also deep in an eating disorder that left me very physically weak. I cried every day for months and was deeply depressed. He began calling and face-timing with me while he was away and could be very sweet or very cold which scared me a great deal because he's a scary looking, very tall and unpredictable individual. He seemed like he cared and I ignored the hackles that went up my back when I got the sense I was in danger. He then suddenly arrived home early without warning and I still had a week until I could move into my own place. He told me I could stay and he wouldn't get in my way etc. I said I'd make him meals to thank him for letting me stay. What followed still confuses me to this day, even with years of working with my therapist to face the trauma inflicted by his hand. The things I know for sure. - He had sex with me and I did not give consent. - When I did eventually give consent, it was out of fear for my life when he had shown physical aggression and intimidation. - He isolated me from every single one of my friends and family by subtly suggestions flaws in their character that "proved" they did not have my best interests at heart. - He drugged drinks that he would make me, I'm still unsure with what type of drug but whatever it was made me very easy going and agreeable as well as want to dance. - He eventually began to try to control what I wore, ate and when I slept. - He would love bomb me then berate me to both extremes. - He would flex his control over me in front his friends. - He made me undress until I was naked in front of his friends. - When I left the apartment he would call and demand to know where I was and who I was with as well as when I would be returning. - He yelled at me, shoved me against a wall to threaten me and verbally abuse me and slammed several doors in my face. - He eventually retrieved his apartment key from me so that he had both and my coming and going was dependent on him allowing me to leave or not. - He waited for me to fall asleep and then he would come into the bedroom to have sex with me while I was "asleep" where I would go to somewhere else inside my mind and wait for it to be over. I then discovered through a friend that there were more women he had done similar things to and abused and our official reports are being compiled. I am still very scared of him, running into him at an event or on the street and I still feel such rage that it shocks me and worries me that such rage could be present inside me. My therapist was incredible and I have learned much from that year of hell. I have moved past shame, guilt and embarrassment and I have a loving, compassionate partner now and I couldn't be happier. I saw Evan Rachel Wood's documentary and everything she had been through with her abuser and with both her stories of the detailed abuse as well as the level of public/celebrity attention on her while she endured the years of it, I so painfully related to both aspects and my silence, like hers, came from fear of what that man could do to my career, my reputation and the power he had in the professional/social circle we both are a part of. I am stronger now. I know who I am. And I know I will name him.

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.

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 was 21 on my university exchange me and my best friend were out one night and near the end of the night this guy pulled me to the side and we started making out. I was so drunk I’m sure I was falling over I told my friend I was going home with this guy. I had just had my heat broken by another guy I had met recently and was looking for any male validation I could get I guess. I was so drunk I don’t remember anything that happened after we left the bar I don’t remember getting into the Uber or his house. I told him at the bar that I didn’t want to have sex with him and he said it was fine we could do other things. I don’t remember getting into the bed or how it started all I remember is him putting himself inside me. I don’t remember saying yes or no and I don’t remember why I let him do that or if I even did. I remember it hurting and I remember wanting to stop but not knowing how. I remember letting him do me again in the morning I don’t know why maybe to make it feel like I wanted it. I was a virgin and would have never let him do that to me sober. Maybe it wasn’t rape but all I know is that it keeps me up at night.

I hate the word "victim"; "I was a victim of sexual abuse." I always found it hard to put myself in such a category. I felt like if I were to say, "I'm a victim", people would pity me; I pitted myself. The sexual abuse started when I was 7-years-old and stopped when I was 13-years-old. It took place in two homes where I thought it was safe, and it was done by two people who were supposed to love and protect me but instead caused me pain. Those two people whose only job was to love and protect me were my grandfather and my dad, and those two homes that were supposed to keep me safe were my home and a home I visited every weekend. My parents were separated, and I went to see my dad on certain days of the week, and most weekends, I went to stay with my grandparents; and that's when the abuse occurred. Still to this day, I clearly remember the abuse as if it happened yesterday... "Count to one hundred, 1... 2... 3... 4...", "and again...", "you will get through this," "he's almost done" those were the phrases I repeated in my head while I was getting abused. Sometimes I closed my eyes super tight and hoped that when I opened them, I would be back at home with my mom and my loving stepfather, but it wasn't the case; when I opened them, he was there, on top of me. The sound of his breathing that left me permanently haunted, the left side of the bed that still to this day will refuse to sleep on, and his voice, his words "shhh... you don't want to wake up anybody," and "you can't tell anybody about this, because if you do, there will be consequences." And when the following day came, he would act clueless as if he didn't put his hands down my pants and told me to shut up because you knew you shouldn't be doing that to me. But the thing is, at the age of 7, you believe that the people who are supposed to love you would do nothing to hurt you; at least that's what I thought; thus, I assumed the abuse was "normal," so I smiled and said, "good morning dad." That's what the abuse with my dad was like, but as for my grandfather, it was completely different. It wasn't during the night when everyone was sleeping; it was daylight when my grandmother was just in the other room. I would be on the couch with him, and he would start to massage my feet and progressively go higher and higher up while my grandmother was in the kitchen. I would often go to my grandparents almost every weekend, and so when it came to the court processing, I was accused of "wanting it." Yes, because a 7 to 13-year-old would want to get touched by her grandfather, but never thought that I don't know, maybe I wanted to see my grandmother, someone I could call my mom, someone who was like a second mom to me. The abuse got worst over the years, so bad that I would always ask my cousin to stay over with me because I thought that maybe he wouldn't touch me if she were there. But I was wrong because he still managed. He knew how close I was with my grandmother, and he used that to his advantage. Every time, he would say, "if you ever tell anyone about this, I will make sure that you will never see grandma ever again," so seven-year-old me, who was scared and confused, kept her mouth shut. To this day, his voice and words are imprinted in my brain, and the nasty comments that will forever scar me "oh, someone needs to start shaving down there" and "you like that uh?" I think it was when I was 10-years-old when I started thinking that it wasn't normal for my dad and grandfather o to touch me. When I was in elementary school, my friends would talk about how much they love their dads and the fun things they did with their grandparents, like colouring, playing board games, etc.; I was kinda there and thought to myself, "so you don't get your private parts touched by your dad or grandfather?" Because for me, yes, I played board games with my grandfather, scrabble to be precisely the instead of funny words or words that would make sense to me, he would put down "sex," "porn," and "sexy." What made the abuse with my grandfather different from my dad's abuse was that I had such an amazing relationship with my dad. He would train with me before my soccer games; he never missed a game; hockey was our sport we liked watching together; on Fridays were game night, and when he worked in the shed, he would show me what tool does what, and let me help him organize his tools. But when it came to bedtime and when he had downed a few beers, that relationship had suddenly disappeared. When I was around 12, I stopped seeing my dad and grandpa. I was 13 when my mom took me out of school in the middle of the day and brought me home. The car ride was silent, and she wasn't telling me what was going on. When we got home, she asks "did your dad touch you sexually?" I stared at her, and for a second, I thought, "maybe I can finally tell her what happened," but instead, "no, why" came out my mouth. And that was it; no questions were asked. *A couple of weeks later* I'm pulled from school once again by my mom and was brought home. Now I remember this day like it happened yesterday. I was sitting on my bedroom floor, and my mom was sitting on my bed with the door closed. She looked at me for a couple of seconds before saying anything. And then proceeded to ask, "tell me the truth, did your dad do anything to you?" Instant tears streamed down my face, and not a single word came out of my mouth. My mom looked at me, confused and worried, and that's when I said, "and grandpa." After those two words, she left my room and told my stepdad. The next thing I know, I'm standing in a police station. It was like everything happened so fast I didn't have time to process it. Many police interviews were taken and, by the end of each interview, my dad and grandfather were arrested. It's the next day when I found out my dad had also been abusing my step-sister. She told her mom about the abuse, and that's why my mom asked if my dad did anything to me. I was 14-years-old when I was standing in a courtroom. It was the day of my dad's trial. He had told the cops that he didn't do anything, so I had to go through a trial. Being 14 and questioned by a grown adult defending my dad was one of the worst things I had gone through. He was trying to make me look like I was lying, as if my dad had never touched me and that I made the whole story up. It was hard to sit across from my dad, trying not to look at him, wondering if he hates me. Once the "trial part" was done, it was time for my dad's sentencing for the abuse he did to my sister and me. He was found guilty for the abuse done to my sister but not guilty due to a lack of evidence for the abuse done to me, and he was sentenced to 12 months in prison. And that was it; it was over. My dad walked out, and that's the last time I ever saw him. I was still 14 when I was standing in the courtroom for the second time. It was the day that I had to read my impact statement to the court and my grandfather's sentencing. I saw my grandpa, who was with my grandma... I was so happy to see her; I felt like if she were here supporting me, I would be ok. But she walked past me as if I wasn't there. In the courtroom, I sat on the right side with the detective on my case. And on the left side sat my grandfather. Behind me in the audience booth were my family, who was there to support me. But I didn't see my grandma; she was sitting behind my grandpa, with the family who believed he was innocent even when he plead guilty. I read my witness impact statement, and he was sentenced to 12 months in prison. After the court session, he walked out as nothing holding hands with my grandma. Not once did spoke to me; she didn't even look at me once. That's what caused me the most pain through this whole experience. My emotions were everywhere, nothing but sadness. Now, I'm 20-years-old and writing my story. Both of my abusers are out of prison, living their own life. They never contacted me, nor did my grandma; I still her. Over the years, I learned to live with what happened to me. From the day it was over to when I was 18, my story was kept in a box. I was to not speak of it; it was pushed aside. My mom and stepdad were supportive, and I saw a therapist, but the minute I would bring up the past, my mom would shut me down. That's when the guilt settled in. I felt ashamed of what happened and guilty for talking about it. Then I started college. I told myself that I wasn't going to keep my story in a box any longer. No one should control what I decide to do with what happened to me, whether it's to tell people or not. That's when I became open with my past. I've told my story to friends, my boyfriend, even some of my college professors. I don't and will never again hide my story. It happened, I dealt with it, now I'm moving past it. It will never define me, but it sure made me into the person I am today. If I never got abused, I wouldn't be the person I am today, and I sure wouldn't be in the field of study that I am today. I learned to accept that I was a victim of sexual abuse. In my heart, I learnt to forgive my dad and my grandfather. I still miss my dad; the relationship we had because, despite the abuse, he was a good dad to me. I was a victim of sexual abuse, but now I am a survivor and forever will be one. When I tell my story to people, I don't refer to myself as a victim but rather as a survivor because I survived what happened to me. Through the abuse, the court processing, the mental illnesses I developed shortly after, and accepting what happened to me, I can call myself a survivor. I decided not to refer to my past as something nasty and horrible but instead as something that helped me see the world differently. To everyone who read this and who experienced something similar, you are a survivor and never ever let what happened to you get the best of you.

My highschool boyfriend. When I walk by the parking spot I still see it, I feel his hands and it makes me want to rip off my own skin. I remember crying and him not caring, I remember how forceful and adamant he was when he took my head and forced it on his lap. I remember him undoing his belt and taking off his jeans in the front seat of his car and telling me that I “owed” him. I remember crying. I remember gagging, sobbing, and just wanting to leave. He looked me in the eye, called me a bitch and kicked me out of his car. I didn’t tell anyone because he loved me and that’s what our love was like. He told me I didn’t know what love was because it was my first time being in love. He told me it was normal and that he was older and more experienced so he knew best, he was doing me favours. I remember realizing that real love isn’t being screamed at in the front seat of a car after having your head pushed down into someone’s genitals. Of course I wasn't done. I allowed this cycle to control me. I was too afraid to leave because I thought that nobody would ever want me if they knew what I did. In retrospect, it is what I had gone through. It is what I have survived. I still walk by that parking spot.

Well I guess you could say that it all started for me at the tender age of 16 . I started dating this guy when I was 15 . We weren't dating very long when I found out that I was pregnant . Yes I found out I was pregnant at 15 and he was 18 . I turned 16 in June and by that October he and I were married. Not something I had planned on but it was a marriage I was forced into because of his parents . They didn't want any "bastard" children born out of wedlock and 2 months later our daughter was born . This is where all the mayhem starts. I wasn't allowed to leave the house unless I took the baby with me , even if I was just going to the little convenience store that was basically right behind our house. It didn't matter where I was going I always had to take the baby with me . The mental , verbal , and emotional abuse I endured for the next 4 years would have been enough to put any vulnerable 16 year old in the Nut House or 6 feet under . It doesn't help the fact that I grew up in a household were my mom was physically, mentally, verbally, and emotionally abused for many years . I'm now 50 years old and I'm just learning how to Love Myself again . I've suffered with zero self esteem , zero confidence, constantly body shaming myself , you know ALL those horrible things that us woman do to ourselves when we hit that all time low in our lives .

i was 14, this was 6 years ago, and it completely altered my life route, who i am, and where i’m going. i was dating a guy. within the first month he had assaulted me several times, hit me, etc. he used to tell me we fought because that’s what people do when they love each other. he used to come up behind me and grab me sexually without me knowing he was there. this all happened at school, it was incredibly dehumanizing and embarrassing. it got even worse from there. i tried to leave him, he would then send me videos of him burning himself, messaging me going into detail how he would kill someone and get away with it, sending me pictures of dead wild bunnies (my favourite animal that he killed), then he raped me. i ended up pregnant at 14 and was finally ready to officially leave. this baby was going to be my way out even if i didn’t keep it. he didn’t like that. next thing i know is he tries to kill me so violently that i had a miscarriage soon after. i couldn’t leave, i couldn’t live in that relationship. at one point months after he tried to kill me i told him he’s abusive. that’s when he left me. not sure how that made sense, especially that he cried over me saying that. but if it worked it works. i tried everything, he said if i started smoking he’d leave me, he just burned me with a lighter instead, he said if i cheated hed leave me, i just got beat, i tried to leave him and he tried to kill me, but me saying he’s abusive was too far i guess. i survived for a year. there are so many times i wonder if i made it all up, that’s what he said i did at least. sometimes i don’t believe i’m a victim. i have been diagnosed with CPTSD and have struggled with my self image, addiction, and relationships sense. i quit smoking this year, i’m very proud of myself. i graduated, have a good job, i’m in university and am so far away from him now. i’m happier. i’m in a happy relationship with a man who would never hurt, threaten, or even yell at me. i no longer receive anonymous death threats. i find myself very paranoid a lot, like someone’s watching me or going to hurt me, sometimes i have to remind myself it’s just him forcing his way into my head again. it still hurts, i lost a big part of my innocence during such a crucial time for my development. i was isolated, he had control over my social medias and even my phone, he cut off my friends and almost my family. but, i’m not her anymore. and i never will be again. i pity 14 year old me. i’ve always looked at her with such hatred and shame. but she was in pain. she was scared. i was scared. every day of my life, for a year and then up until the harassment stopped, which was another while after. but i lived, not only did i live but i thrived and came out on top. i hope this helps any other victims of extreme abuse. once you find a way out it’s so much better, even if you question yourself, want to go back, think you deserve it, etc. the way out will save your life. it’s so hard, and the work to even get better after can be even harder. but it’s worth it. i’m still fighting CPTSD, i will for the rest of my life, but it got better.

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.

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.

This happened when I was in grade 3, a boy and I had known each other since kindergarten. We went on the same bus, had the same teachers and classes and even the same stop. So obviously me and him were close. One day he brought his iPad on the bus, me and him had been playing around and I had said "If you win, I'll kiss you." It was a joke. I had been laughing and smiling nothing flirtatious just innocence. He won, grabbed me by my neck, caged me against the seat, and kissed me. Tongue and everything. He did this till the school year ended. Anytime I fought he'd bite me or tighten his grip on my neck. When I told teachers they didn't believe me. They believed his version, that it had never happened. When teachers started to wonder he'd say that I had consented. I didn't know what to call it for years later, until I saw a post on COCSA. I still struggle to call it that, because I worry if he was right and I had consented.

I was 9 the first time I was assaulted. 16 when I was raped. This is what I remember. I am now 54 and just starting to acknowledge my assaults. The first person that assaulted me was the son of my parent’s best friends. When my parents would go away on trips, I would stay with this family. I’m not sure how it started but I vividly remember two incidents. One in his parent’s bedroom. There must have been a party happening because their were a lot of coats on the bed. I remember him trying to convince me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with. I remember it being very confusing and I kept saying no. I’m not 100% sure what exactly happened but I know it was wrong. The second incident I recall with this individual was on his bed (I think). He was on top of me. I believe we both had our clothes on but he was on top of me, kissing me and trying to convince me to let him put his hands down my pants. I don’t remember the rest. I am certain this happened more than twice. Fast forward 4 or 5 years later. I was at this families camp. This individual’s sister was dressing me up, putting makeup on me, etc. It was supposed to be fun. When I was all “made up” they wanted to take pictures. The person who assaulted me was there and they wanted me to pose next to him….I started to cry. After some time, I disclosed what happened to my mother. It was swept under the rug and it was never really talked about again. Shortly after I disclosed, I was watching tv with my father (completely innocent, my father and I were and still are very close), my mother was out and came home. She had some trouble opening the door to get into our camp. She thought we locked the door. She accused me and my father of doing something nasty. This was devastating to me. Continue on a couple of years to when I was around 16. I started dating a man who was 33. I didn’t realize until a few weeks ago that when he had sex with me, it was rape because of my age. He took pictures of me in lingerie and naked. When I wanted to break up with him, he told me he would send the pictures to everyone I knew including my parents, teachers, church and where I worked. My parents found out. They gave me the choice to leave and be with him or stay at home and break up. I was happy to break up with this individual, but it blows my mind now that my parents gave me the option to go with him. Until just recently, I thought that since I don’t remember any penetration when I was 9 that I wasn’t actually assaulted. I thought it was normal even though I still feel sick thinking of the incidents. I never really talked or dealt with it openly. I became incredibly sexually driven. I define myself based on how sexually attractive I am which has made aging incredibly difficult for me. I drink too much and consume weed to fog my brain. I am now seeking help and it’s so difficult to face the memories. I keep thinking that these individuals got away with what they did to me and I feel shame that I didn’t do enough to help future victims of these individuals. My heart breaks for those who had to go through what I did because I wasn’t brave enough to push the issue and stop them. I think that out of all the things that were done to me, the worst is that these individuals likely went on to ruin the life of others. For that, I am so ashamed and sorry.

raped and sexually exploited in a cult, by a bishop. After 10 years, while he had also occasionally sexually agressed other women, the organization received an official complaint by the daughter of a high ranking member, (so she was believed and acknolwdged - not like others before her) and the organization held a meeting to talk about it for 1 hour, many women came forth. and at the end of the meeting we were told not to talk about it to anyone, to protect the cult's public image! 8 years went on and I had no symptoms, although I was on anti-depressants. Then I began a romantic relationship and gradually went of the medication. I then also lost my mother to cancer. I started to have anxiety reactions and insomnia but my partner didnt see a need to talk about it. I was not sure what I was experiencing, and it made no sense that it was related to the previous long term abuse. My partner knew I had endured a lot but didnt want details - repeating that it was in the past. I pushed through, didint want to be handicapped by my past, didnt want to be damaged or limited. But after 5 years, my partner started another relationship with someone in another country, without fully disclosing their relationship. The culmination of his behaviour, my gut feeling that something was off, the fact that I wasnt sleeeping well for years, the increasing sexual intensity and high chemistry with my partner, and the fact that He also abused me (tying me up ordering me to silence, and sodomising me, and other abusing acts the last 19 months of our relationship) ... I lost my mind! I concluded I was deserving of abuse, that I was an horrible person, etc. Since then, 8 years have passed. I denounced the bishop rapist 5 years ago, nambe witnesses and 20 other victims and a trial is coming up where I will have to testify. Terrified. Alone, no family or friends. I have contacted over 100 therapists to seek support. 60% do not reply, those who do are often not qualified in trauma, or do not offer services covered by the indemnisation for victims. And the rest have waiting lists that I never get any news from. I have contacted all the women centres for victims of sexual assault in my city, without success. I have read, watched, healed best I could by myself. Rebuild from shame and the conclusion that I was deserving of abuse since my chosen romantic partner abused me while knowing I had been abused and not abusing his new partner. I am surviving, still chest pain, still isolated and only going to grocery stores. not confortable with cashier. I dream visualise, hope, write, that I will experience a healthy, supportive relationship before I die (I am 53) but time is passing by without much improvement. Alone. Watched documentaries like NXIUM, Playboy secrets, Scientology, etc and so much similitudes.

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 .