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Thank you for allowing me to have a platform to share my story. It’s not an easy task, I have rewritten this story over and over multiple times. Please note names and locations have been removed and replaced to protect the privacy of all involved. When I was 21, I was sexually assaulted by a man more than twice my age. At the time, my boyfriend of 5 years and I were headed across country. I was both in love and happy. July 3rd 2007, was a beautiful day weather wise which was good because we had planned a three hour drive that day to a small town on the west coast. As we had been travelling for a while, and I had spent a lot of time sitting and sleeping in the car I started having pain in my neck. My boyfriend and I decided to stop somewhere so I could get a massage. We came across a massage clinic and I got out and went into the building to check for availability. The man that was working there said 5 pm was available so I booked the appointment and left. My boyfriend dropped me back off at the clinic at 5 PM as scheduled. He did not come in with me as we decided he would come back and pick me up when I was done. It was a small building, there was a waiting area and only two other rooms; one was an office and the other was the massage room. The man, who I assumed owned the establishment, came out of the massage room. He told me he was just finishing up with a client and asked for me to fill out a form about my health history. I wrote about the neck pain I was experiencing and listed the medication I was prescribed. I included that when I was 12, I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. As I was finishing up the form the client before me had come out into the waiting area. Having been pleased with the treatment they were thanking the massage therapist. It was now my turn for a massage. A half an hour was all I had booked. When I got into the room, I noticed a drape was being used as the door. The man told me to undress and lie face down on the table. As he had instructed me to do I was laying on my stomach, that’s when he started between my legs and proceeded towards my private area. At first, it felt like his hands had slipped, that he simply forgot the anatomy of the figure. Then, when he inserted his finger inside my body, I felt my muscles tense and holding my breath I told myself not to make a sound. This became the beginning of my assault which lasted an hour and a half in total. I still struggle to write or share about this experience. 16 years later it’s still difficult for me to share where he touched, or how it felt. He told me I was damaged and that he was healing me. He touched me consistently, throughout the hour and a half, and as he touched me he told me that I had years of damage in my body because of the antidepressants I had been prescribed. He said he was healing me naturally; he told me he was removing the toxins out of my body but he was really sexually assaulting and emotionally abusing me. I was frozen and I could not speak. No words would come but I also thought in that moment that staying silent; it was the safest thing I could do. I had no one with me. My boyfriend was skateboarding at the local park, he was nowhere in sight. Laying on my stomach, I stared through the head hole at the ground, trying to keep mind on anything but this moment. After awhile he told me to flip over on my back and continued his assault. He massaged my breasts and despite my refusal he continued telling me how damaged I was. When he held my left hand in his own hand, that was when I began to cry. I couldn’t hold in the tears any more. When he held my hand with his and laced our fingers together, he took away that innocent act of love; I was never going to be okay again. I had only booked the massage for 30 minutes, so as time passed my boyfriend began wondering where I was and entered the building. The man was startled when he heard my boyfriend enter the building, he asked if I was expecting anyone but I still had no voice. The man left the room and I took the opportunity to get up off the table and get dressed. I heard the bell go off in the lobby as my boyfriend exited the building. The man came back into the massage room and saw that I was up and dressing myself. He left the drape open and watched me finish putting my clothes on, and then walked with me to the front desk for payment. I am no longer hiding that I am crying. Using my credit card, I pay for my assault, hoping that by paying by credit card I can trace this payment back to this horrible place. Once outside, knowing I was finally free and it was over, I ran to my boyfriend for safety. I told him to get into the vehicle and to drive away as fast as he could. I didn’t want the man to see our license plate and to know where we were from. I had provided an old address on the health form. My boyfriend began questioning me on why I was upset as we drove away. Out of frustration, confusion and anger an altercation soon developed as I frantically explained what happened in that room. Let me explain, the only thing that I learned, and really understand about all of this is there is no handbook to follow when you are sexually assaulted. At 21, my boyfriend and I, had no idea what to do. We were scared and upset. I really do understand that now. My boyfriend wanted to go to the police and he wanted to go back to yell at the man. He then looked at me and in that moment I saw his face begin to change. Once the loving look I received from my Highschool sweetheart was now replaced with something I still struggle to put into words. He no longer looked at me the same way he had since we were 16. He asked a simple question: why had I just laid there? The way he looked at me made me feel as if he was accusing me of letting it happen. I thought to myself: if my boyfriend someone I loved more than anyone was questioning me on why I lay there then would anyone else believe me? It was my word against this man’s. We drove away and as that small town was left behind us I said to myself: I will never tell anyone what happened because no one will ever believe me. In that moment I believed that if the person I loved could question me and not understand then no one would. My boyfriend and I never spoke of the assault again. The months and years that followed were by far the hardest times of my life. My boyfriend and I ended our relationship almost immediately. I couldn’t be touched without crying, the thought of the man’s hands had left an imprint on me. Just like the man had said, my boyfriend looked at me differently and it wasn’t his fault. It felt like I was hearing the man’s words still in my head that I was damaged and my boyfriend had now believed him. My boyfriend was the only person who knew about the assault and now was gone. I felt so very alone and was in a new city starting college. For the first five years I didn’t tell anyone. I used alcohol and substances to forget and numb the pain. I blocked the man out of my mind for as long as I could. The nightmares and flashbacks became a recurring reality and by the time I had reached 26 years I was very sick. I found myself in the hospital weighing only 84 pounds and needing help. It was at this time I decided to contact the police. I told myself that I would be ok with whatever the outcome was. Even if no one believed me I had done everything I could to try and forget. In order to strengthen my case I needed to contact my old boyfriend and ask him for help. Without hesitation he provided his statement to the police. To me, he apologized for what had happened years ago. Although thankful for his words I was still very upset. I was holding onto a lot of resentment towards him. At the police station I was sworn in and provided a video statement of my assault. Describing and explaining the assault on video was difficult. I had thought I could make it through without crying, but I didn’t, I broke down. The officer asked, what my boyfriend at the time thought about this and why had we never told the police? I found myself afraid thinking once again no one would believe me. I learned through law enforcement that there were 2 other females sexually assaulted by this man. Both provided statements five years prior. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough evidence until I came forward. The small tourist town in which this assault took place was aware of the rumours surrounding this man and what he had been doing. Now the police had similar fact evidence and that was enough for an arrest and a warrant was issued. Months after my first contact with the police, the man who had assaulted me was arrested and plead guilty to the charges. Victims service told me that the judge put on my case was hard on my attacker. His conditions were 6 months in jail, 3 years probation and the man has to register as a sex offender for 20 years. DNA would also be provided and he was no longer allowed to practice massage therapy. It’s been almost 16 years since the attack my life has completely changed from that day. I have had time to heal. I learned that with sexual assault the victim doesn’t always fight back. According to the Police officer most victims freeze because they are scared and don’t fight back because that’s the safest thing to do at the time. It’s not just fight or flight, there’s another option. I have also learned to understand that my boyfriends reaction was him trying to make sense of the moment. That despite saying the wrong thing he meant well and didn’t intentionally say it to hurt me. I know how much I was loved and I also know he believed me. I still can’t seem to forget the look on his face. His thoughts and the way he looked at me still run through my head 15 years later, no matter how much therapy one attends. This journey has definitely impacted my life in many different ways. I lost my best friend the person I cared for most in the world. I couldn’t attend school, I dropped my classes. I lost weight instantly and became sick. Childbirth as a survivor of sexual assault is devastating and makes you feel like your reliving the attack. But I’ve survived and will continue to survive. I have prevented others from being assaulted but doing this and that means so much to me. I also am thankful that my attacker went to prison. Even though I know this is a lifelong process to continue to move forward and to heal; I am stronger than ever. I don’t refer to myself as a victim but a survivor. The flashbacks are not as often and my last nightmare was over 5 years ago but the thought of the man touching me is still fresh in my mind. I’m still healing. Thank you for reading my story <3

When I was a little girl, somewhere between the age of 6 and 10, my cousin who was 5 years older, locked us up in the bathroom and forced me to put his penis in my mouth. I was afraid, I thought it was not a fun game and I wanted to get out as fast as I could. But he said that I had to do it, that it would be fun and that he wouldn't tell anyone. So I did. I remember the smell, I remember the shame and I remember knowing it was wrong and that I should tell an adult in my family. Weeks later, I told my godmother who told my aunt. They decided to keep it to themselves and made sure I was never left alone with that cousin again. Nobody talked to him, noone told him that it was wrong, no one asked why he did that, they did not ask me if I was OK and they did not alert my parents. Everyone was afraid of talking about it. So silence was key to everyone forgetting about it. Later in life, when I was 17 or 18, I was staying at that same cousin's place. he was now in his 20's, and he tooked me in his arms and rubbed his clothed body against my clothed body in a way that resembled sexual foreplay. I was stunned and didn't have the strength to say no. He let go of me eventually and went into another room. I was afraid to move. A similar feeling of wrongness and shame came over me and around that time I decided to start a therapy. I didn't know who to turn to but I was recommended a female therapist in her 40's by my OB/GYN. When I told her the first story, she said that it was just kids playing bathroom bambam. About the second story, she said that it was curious that I did not find the strength to say no. I agreed. It was curious. But that did not make me feel validated. If my own family didn't address this as an issue, and a professional therapist didn't think it was a bid deal as a kid and told me that as a grown up woman, I should just be able to say no, than maybe I had been giving too much importance to these experiences. Maybe they were not that bad. I could always think about way worse things that had happened to other people. Mine did not matter as much. I did not matter as much. In my late 30's, I finally told my mother what had happened. She was furious, sad and angry for a couple of days. She has never mentioned it again in the last 6 years. The worst is definitely not what actually happened. The worst is the silence and taboo around it that grew thicker every year. And yet it has shaped my sexual life, my relationships with partners and with family members. What has helped me for the last 15 years is to have the full validation from an amazing partner who is always ready to listen, allow me space to feel and reflect on what I consider now sexual trauma, for lack of better term. I feel understood and seen by him. Sharing this here I find also very helpful. Thank you for this space.

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’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.

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.

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.”

It was a first date. It was my first first-date in years. A couple of drinks turned into a good conversation. A good conversation turned into me accepting an invitation to go meet his cousin. Meeting his cousin turned into another drink, and then the cousin disappeared. I tried to leave. He physically overpowered me. I struggled, literally begging him to stop. I threatened him that I had no contraception, and that I would ruin his life if I got pregnant. I said I would have the baby, thinking it would scare him. He wasn't scared. I covered my vagina with my hands, begging. He slapped me across the face. He forced himself into my mouth. Once he was finished with the assault, he just went to sleep. I laid there, starting out the tiny circular window he had in his room, seeing just the hue of a streetlight in the distance. I got home and showered it all off of me. Not thinking straight. Not thinking about how it would affect my ability to come forward. I just wanted to wash away the feeling of his hands. Physically, my face was bruised, my mouth cut open. Emotionally, I was ruined. I turned to alcohol to drown away any thoughts. I became distant from friends and family. I was angry. I went to therapy, they told me it wasn't my fault. I knew that. Logically, I knew that it is never the fault of the victim. Internally, I felt that it was my fault for going on the date and stupidly trusting him. I still feel guilt for not reporting him. I feel like I have let down other survivors, I feel weak. I don't know how to heal. I don't know how to be a survivor.

I'm hesitant to call it what it was because I'm not ready to admit that someone who I love and trust so much did that to me. I don't know why I didn't stop him. I never said yes to my best friend touching me while we were sharing a bed, but I never said no either. If someone else told me my story, I'd tell them it's not their fault and that they're so strong. Yet, I just feel weak and I've lost trust in myself more than anything.

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.

My story .... What haven't I been through. Is the question? I'm in the bathroom . Trying to figure out how the hell did I get so fucked up . Literally. I don't know whether to blame myself . Ballz up . Or to hit up my vice . Or live in the real world . Or hit autopilot again and again and again? Life is too much to bare . Recently I'm so severe into my DOC . That Iam numb all the time .. because even with that numbing agent it's still too hard to face life . I'm I a coward?? For saying this . 6 days ago my baby daddy of my daughter died of a OD. And before that almost 1 year ago was my adopted father. Then 1 1/2 years ago was my best friend closer then what me and my dad were . And before that 2 1/2 years ago was my biological mother . So death has a funny way of saying hello . And I fight everyday all day a toxic vice of a best friend . I had a baby almost 2 years ago . Child welfare took him from birth . The pain is no where near done . The clip of the momma elephant and baby elephant in disney dumbo . Baby of mine . Is the way to describe it . I also deal with a nightmare cycle of perfect love life at home . Sometimes loves amazing other time love hurts and I mean really hurts . My 1 st black eye ever from a man I idolized and had loved from 17 years old . I'm now turning 37. I can't stand him but I love him Soo much if that makes sense . Life is crazy . Almost unbearably crazy . In a sense of awww. Or more like ummmmmmm....?????

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.

I wrote this letter to my uncle who has always played the victim. Dear Uncle X, It has been 28 years of this haunting everyone involved and after all this time I have never spoken up directly about this because I did not want to stir the pot, but now I feel it must be said because I cannot have this haunting my family anymore and you keeping attacking us. Up until the first incident you were my favourite uncle, the one I would gravitate to, I bet you never knew that. Yet you were also my first sexual encounter, the first time I ever felt an erection, the first person I was terrified of. I remember walking up the stairs slowly trying to get to the bathroom and you would call me into your bedroom and pull me under the covers, I remember feeling your erection against my backside, while you patted me, this happened on many occasions. I remember sleeping on the couch and feeling your breath on my face as you stuck your tongue in my ear, I remember the shock and fear of this. I remember the feel of your hands on my buttocks and my breasts, I remember you putting my own small hands in your lap. I remember hiding in the bathroom with the chain lock in place and you pushing yourself against the other side of the door asking what I was doing in there, while I watched your eyes try to see past the lock. I remember pushing the dresser against the door in the front bedroom and hoping you didn’t come in, hiding with my cousins and little sister. I also remember how it felt to be told by my own grandmother not to say anything if I wanted our family to stay together. I remember the call my parents got in the middle of the night and being told over the phone that this was happening to us, months after telling our grandmother, aunt and uncle about the incidences. I remember hearing my mom scream and my dad yell, I remember my brothers’ eyes as he stood at the bottom of the stairs wanting to leave to find you, but stopping because my dad, your older brother was crying at the top of the stairs. I remember the fear, excitement and relief that they finally knew, but I also remember listening to my own mother crying and trying to hid it from us, while she blamed herself for not protecting us from you. I remember that many who new choose to blame us for your actions. I remember sitting in front of a stranger in a closed room while I told them what you did to us. I remember hugging my little sister, who tried to stay strong and protect me while I felt guilty that I could not protect her. Does this sound like a girl who seduced their uncle (as grandma would say), who had the devil in their eye? who is being vindictive and ruining your life? You were supposed to protect us yet you didn’t and worse yet you blamed us for it. You played the victim, you played the one who is hurt by all this and claims it had destroyed your life. You who got married and had kids and owns a house, you who has gotten to have most of your siblings stand by your side back then. You have managed to convince your wife that we seduced you. I was the oldest and only 12, a very young naive 12-year-old, my sister was the youngest at 10, four children, four people who got their lives forever altered because of your sexual urges. Imagine for a moment that this was your child or your step children who were being molested and people who new blamed them for it, saying they seduced a full-grown man, then try to imagine that person coming back over and over again saying that your child is lying, that it is their fault and that they ruined that grown man’s life, that is what it has been like for us over and over again. Your actions have taken its toll on us. Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear your own grandmother say you had the devil in you? Do you know what’s it’s like to have letters written saying they believed we acted inappropriate and that we won’t be coming around their husbands because we would seduce them? We were just children. One week after my own wedding my mother had to kick my grandmother off the front lawn while she screamed at my parents that “if we had of been raised right this would have never happened” in front of our neighbours. My own honeymoon was darkened because you both thought we should help relieve your lives. Everything in my life changed in an instant, it changed the first time you choose to act out your sexual urges on children. I cannot speak on the other victims behaves, but I will say this, look at the other victims, look at their current lives and where they have ended up and know that their lives could have been different if you had of keep it your pants. Each one of us has been fighting their own demons over this part of our lives, you let others attack us verbally because you were a coward and choose to let children take the blame for your urges, you let the family be destroyed because you would not do the right thing. I spent many hours trying to come to terms with it all and the damage it caused me. I struggled with it every day, it is not just the inappropriate touching but the way it was handled. It’s the way you and grandma and the ones who knew made me feel about myself. Not once have you stood up and said you did wrong, you choose to blame children instead of admitting it was you. I am 40 years old now, I have two wonderful children and I have a great career as a Registered Nurse in an acute care setting. I managed to get my degree in Bachelor of Science in Nursing, a diploma in Pre-Health Science as well as a diploma in Medical Office Administration, all with honours, and I did all of this as a divorced, single, full-time mom. I have had many ups and downs but I am strong, I am a fighter, I am smart, compassionate, and most of all one heck of a mother to my children. Your actions will no longer have weight on my life, it will no longer define me, it will no longer be something I survived, I choose to triumph and rise above it, I choose to forgive my extended family for their parts because I choose to love me. It is funny though, the one line that sticks out throughout the entire CAS file, which is 32 pages in length is the you stated, “I’m touching you because I need a girlfriend,” this one reason is why our lives were forever changed. signing me.

I have a confession. There are a lot of things that people don’t know about me. Some have seen me change drastically since 2015, but very few know what happened back then. Some people may only know me as how I am now, and it’s not something that everyone that I know now gets to learn about me. I am opening up here to share that there is Hope in Hell, even when I didn’t see it at that time. My hope is that I will tell my story of how I overcame what I went through and it will become someone’s guide. We know what this book is about, and you may wonder what happened in 2015 to change my life so drastically. In 2015, I was wrongfully arrested and charged after having a verbal dispute with my partner at that time. I can see how I was the target of the charges, after all, my partner was in a wheelchair at that time and looked oh so vulnerable. The landlord had been outside mowing the grass and “saw” through curtains that were closed, me assaulting my partner at the time, when what in reality happened was we were having a verbal disagreement over beer and weed. I was going to skip the details about the encounter with the cops, but perhaps this should be shared as well. At the time of my arrest I was staring “out” the window (again, curtains were closed) on the phone to a friend of mine, explaining that I had just got in an argument with my partner at the time and that the cops were on their way. I was fine with that, afterall, I didn’t do anything wrong. What I was unaware of, is what was said during that call to the cops. While I was on the phone, I was caught off guard, spun around, phone thrown and had my body thrown to the ground, with at least one cop kneeling on me. It was scary, I didn’t know at the time what was going on, I was caught off guard, I was scared, I was confused, of course I wiggled a bit trying to catch up to what was going on. [During my trial the cop testified they almost took out the baton to hit me. At this time, I was 5’5”, maybe 110 lbs? There was no need for any of this, they made it sound like I was much stronger and bigger than I was.] I remember laying there, looking at my partner begging him to tell them what really happened. But he didn’t say a word. Ended up sitting in a cop car for hours, a female cop mocking me as I cried. I tried to tell them I had proof on my phone that he had been violent in the past, but they didn’t care. I was the bad guy here. [Turns out they ended up reaching out to my parents to come and pick up my son, at that time he was about 6 years old and was in the office during most of the commotion.] The holding cell was not fun, a couple benches, a toilet and clear plastic wall along the back. A ton of people screaming and banging around. It was terrifying, and it didn’t matter what I told the cops when they interviewed me, they didn’t care. I ended up leaving after maybe 12 hours with 5 charges, and no way home. I recall trying to phone a friend, and it being about 3am-5am, and he would not answer. I was in the middle of downtown, with my shirt ripped and looking like something went terribly wrong, which it did. I didn’t have any money, and hoped for the best as I went and took the train to the bus station. I told the bus driver I was trying to get home and didn’t have any money. They could see I was in rough shape and thankfully let me ride the bus for free. I eventually got back to my parents house, it was a relief for sure. My partner at the time depended on me a lot as he was paralyzed from a previous car accident, and we texted back and forth a bit about trying to get me back home. I was ordered to stay away at that point, and after some convincing, I ended up going back to help him out. Little did I know, a friend of his called the cops on me again for breaching my order… and off I went to jail, AGAIN, and charged with the breach. At least this time I knew what to expect, and was able to calm a girl down in the holding cell. But what the fuck was going on!?! How did I end up here? You might think that introduction was full of “excitement”, but it does get “better”. When you hit that rock bottom, you lose everything, my son (who stayed with my parents), my house, everything, it makes you wonder. Trust me, at the moment I was so pissed off! I didn’t want to go to court mandated women's groups, I WAS NOT THE ABUSER. But in times like this, you gotta do what the court says, when the court says. Spoiler alert, this trial took forever to go on, and we were about to ask for it to be dismissed. However, the last day my ex-partner shows up and the trial goes ahead. I went to my trial and all court dates alone, no one offered to come with me, well one person did for my trial but bailed on me that morning. While waiting for the outcome, I sat in the court parking lot for 3 hours, waiting to see if I would go home that night. What would my parents say to my son if I didn’t return home that day? What would happen next? The judge found me guilty, I had to “play nice” and say good things about cops and all of it, and in the end I had 1 year of probation. I missed the “best” part, only a few years prior I had been working as a legal assistant, in the past volunteered for the cops, and also did security work. So again, how did I get to this place?! If we start back to when I was out of high school we can see a dangerous pattern emerge. Out of high school I worked for a security company that did concerts and events. I ended up going out of town to work with my co-workers, along with people from the same company but from another city. It was a huge event and we were there for the weekend. Everything was going well until the last night. I can’t recall what happened exactly that night, but I knew I had been sexually assaulted. I ended up waking up in a tent trailer, naked, alone, and had no idea what happened. When I exited this tent trailer, a larger male who had worked in my city started talking to me, which was odd, because I never talked to him before, he was a bit too friendly. I then put the limited pieces together that I had and realized I had been sexually assaulted. On the way back to town, I had messaged a friend telling them what happened, and they said they would meet me at my house. I was exhausted from the trip home, and all I really wanted was to take a shower and I did… this turned out to be a BIG mistake. I ended up going to the hospital that night and reporting the assault. The tests were taken, my clothes were taken by the cops, and what followed was police protocol, but no charges being laid, because he was close with everyone in the company, and had them on his side. I was interviewed multiple times by the police. I wasn’t driving at this time and only told my mom the bare minimum to get a ride to the police station. After the first interview at the station I was called in to be re-interviewed because the sound and/or video was not recording the first time. The second time I went in they said that my facts were not adding up, like how many people attended this big event. This second interview was some time after the actual incident, how was this small detail going to stay in my mind? This ended again like I said, with no charges to the suspect. This was a major distrust for me in the legal system, how could nothing be done? Plus, my company wasn’t going to fire him either, so I had to go. I lost my job after I was sexually assaulted. You may be wondering what this incident has to do with me ending up in jail approximately 10 years later? I think this was the catalyst that sent me down a dark path. After this incident, I figured, it would just be easier and better to just have a family of my own. I believed that I wouldn’t have to go through this again, I would be safe, and boy I was wrong. I met a guy on the good old site Site Name., and he ended up proposing to me online. This was not too long after the sexual assault. Of course I said yes at that time, I would be safe, and this became the beginning of the end for me. We ended up living together between my parents place and his parents place in another city. He wasn’t good at keeping a job, and everything he previously told me about was a lie. At that time, I didn’t see that as a red flag, it was just more annoying than anything else. We decided to have a baby. I ended up becoming pregnant, and we ended up back at his parents place because our current city just wasn’t working for us. Turns out things in the other city were much worse, he didn’t have luck with a job there, and his parents were going to kick us out. I tried to get work, but was unsuccessful at that time. We had no choice but to go back to my city. I had to call my parents to see if we could come back, they said yes, but I then told them I was pregnant, I mean they had to know somehow, and that’s how they found out. We moved back to town. We bounced around from place to place so many times because he would not be able to hold down a job. I was working at this time as a receptionist and my pay cheque would only go so far. We decided to get married and not be traditional, in fact after talking to people I worked with, we decided to have our wedding in my bosses basement about a month or two before my son was born. It was a cheap wedding, had co-workers who helped plan everything, we found a regular summer dress because I was pregnant and they were able to add little decorations to it, it turned out pretty nice. But of course I didn’t tell my family about the wedding, and we ended up getting married in the basement with my co-workers, a friend of his and a friend of mine as witnesses. Afterwards we went back to my parents like nothing happened, although my sister was suspicious because I had some intense makeup on, and a dress. But I never said anything. My family found out that I was legally married when my registration renewal papers came and the renewal month was not the same as everyone else’s. Oops, that confusion on how I would have a different renewal month was how everyone found out I now had a different last name, and we had gotten married. You may wonder, why didn’t I want my family to know? I just didn’t care to tell them at that time. I had a pretty bad history with my family from what I could remember. My childhood was not great at all, growing up I dealt with one of my parents being an alcoholic and the other one being physically violent to myself. I wanted to change my last name, because of my childhood I did not want to keep their last name, I wanted to not be part of that anymore. Today I still hold my ex-husband's last name, same as my sons, and only because I will NEVER go back to my maiden name. One would think that this sounds like my happily ever after. And that's far from what took place. I recall a time I went on my laptop and had found out that he had been on Site Namewith another girl and seeing her naked on camera. I was furious! I don’t recall much except an argument that happened. My son was born July, 2008. Things seemed fine, I didn’t know how to take care of a baby, this was new to me and my new husband. Of course, he was still not working. Since he never worked, we always jumped from house to house, getting evicted everytime the landlord found out we couldn’t pay rent. It is now easier to see the red flags pile up. I recall another incident, I can’t remember the context, but it was after my son was born, my husband ended up ramming one of those brick cell phones down on my skull. Another time at that same location he got mad at me and kicked me in the stomach and I fell backwards through a door onto the bed. This time I grabbed my son, without his shoes or anything and took him to my parents house. I remember texting a good friend of mine at the time, ‘if anything happens to me, Name did it.’ The details after this are a bit fuzzy because it did happen back in 2008, but we stayed together a bit longer. It would have been 2009 when the other incidents occurred. I had another job as a security guard, and my husband was to take care of our son while I was at work, and work when I was at home. Of course he didn’t work, but I did. One night I got home late, apparently awoke him from his sleep and he threatened to slit my throat and ensure my son didn’t have a mother anymore. But for some reason I stayed. Sometime around this situation, he was kicked out of my parents house and living in the backyard in a tent. One day I go to work, can’t find my husband, keep trying to text him, and nothing. It was very strange, and even my electronics were gone. Turns out the pawnshop had them and because we were married there was nothing I could do to get them back. I eventually “found” my husband, and he claimed that he ended up in ANOTHER city, buying me jewelry. I couldn’t believe that for a minute, nothing about this story made sense, especially since he didn’t drive. I then took that opportunity to go to the police and report what had happened. I was able to easily obtain an EPO, emergency protection order, and get the parenting and everything started. Of course someone like my ex-husband would not take my choice lightly and he decided to ignore the orders and constantly call me ALL the time, as it was a breach of the order, I was able to call the cops and report him. Even when the officer was at my house talking to me, he STILL kept calling. Let me get one thing straight, even with all these charges against him, nothing was ever done. In the end he was arrested once, but released on his own with a promise to appear, did he show up? Of course not. I remember getting a call from victim services (I believe), and they let me know that my ex-husband did not show up for his court date. They were unable to give me any specifics as to where he was arrested or anything. I went to the police office near my house and desperately tried to find out where he was arrested. I was terrified of him coming back. Luckily I found out there was no record of him being arrested in Location. I believe I was only told this because we had the same last name, and he was using my parents address. What took place next was a lot of court dates, and trying to figure out how my ex-husband could be served these documents. I knew where his parents lived, and luckily was able to get a substitutional service order where I was allowed to serve him via registered mail. He never attended a single court date. We had court dates for the parenting order, the divorce, child support order, and he never showed up, time after time. Still to this date he has never paid a cent in child support. Our son is 15 now, and has never talked to his biological father, or his grandparents on his fathers side. His sisters reached out a few years ago, they thought they would be mad at me if they reached out sooner. When this all happened they were around 10 years old maybe? I didn’t blame them for anything their brother did. We don’t really talk much, but do have each other on Facebook. One of his sisters is still trying to help me get information so the government can enforce my child support order. After my ex-husband was gone, eventually I decided to date again. I dated a guy named A.P. I always thought this was my one relationship that didn’t go sideways. But looking back, there were a ton of red flags. I would always buy him cigarettes, I even ended up going around to different pharmacies trying to get T1’s (Tylenol Ones), because he was addicted to taking them, there was a handful of times he tried to convince me to start smoking, wanted me to start taking T1’s for NO REASON, and other times he wanted me to start smoking weed. Aside from these behaviors I listed, everything else was good, which was why I think I misled myself into believing this was a healthy relationship which it was not. After this relationship was a guy named Initials. Now I thought with this relationship I had figured out what went wrong in the last ones, and tried to fix those issues before they could arise. I had laid down some boundaries and figured that was all I had to do. Now it turns out that what I witnessed in the relationship and what he witnessed in the relationship were two different things. Years later I found out that he was addicted to harder drugs and was using them at the time we were seeing each other. Perhaps this explains some of the behaviors, but it doesn’t excuse them. Somehow throughout this relationship, I ended up splitting open my head off of my nightstand, he destroyed my TV by punching it, I had a fractured rib, and a fractured foot. I can not recall the exact details of this relationship and how the events took place as it was really short lived. Eventually he took off and never responded to me again. I ended up going to court alone, because the landlord was trying to evict us. It was all so much for me to deal with… alone. Of course though, I didn’t want this to be the end, and when I did end up hearing from him by text, I said I could try and put our stuff in storage. Luckily for me, that idea didn’t go through, and I had to just give away the majority of our items. The following guy I ended up seeing, his name was Initials, for the life of me I cannot remember his last name, though this relationship was quite a memorable one, but for all the wrong reasons. Luckily for my son and I, we had not moved in with this ex by the time we separated. We were having plans on moving out of the city to move into an apartment with him, but for some reason it just didn’t work as planned. Aside from our usual arguments and deciding we were separating or staying together, we did have one large incident which ended everything as it were. We had been out of town for the weekend and were having a decent time, but something still seemed off. He wasn’t too open to explaining what was going on with him, and I really didn’t just want to leave it at that. It was our last day being out of town and we had gotten into a verbal argument, but instead of it just staying verbal, it turned into a life changing event. I ended up having the left side of my body slammed into a door numerous times. After the incident, he took off and decided to walk back to his town. As I was further from my city, I decided to leave right then as the pain was getting bad and I still had a while to travel. I remember stopping at a rest stop because I couldn’t keep driving and my knee was so bad. I got home and then met up with a friend to discuss what had happened. We thought that was about the extent of it and I would be better in no time. Except, that didn’t happen. I ended up going to a hospital to get them to check out my knee, they had said I had fluid in my knee, and would need a needle to drain the liquid if it didn’t get better. It was when I went to physio that I was told that the muscle was ripped off my knee cap, and that is why I couldn’t walk on that leg. I would say this was almost 10 years ago? Still to this day I can’t drive long distances without my knee swelling up, my knee is in pain during the winter and colder months, and overall bothers me a lot more often than I would like. I have done the CT scans, another one where I needed to take some kind of radiation drink, x-rays, ultrasounds, you name it, and there is nothing they can do to provide me any relief. I can exercise all I want and try to strengthen my knee, but my last physiotherapist said my knee cap is more like a train that fell off the tracks. I did end up reporting this to the RCMP, and well I have never heard back. The last time I heard, they were still trying to locate my ex as he might have fled the province. There was only a police report, no formal charges. Since it took so long, and an incident with my next partner took place around this time, I forgot to keep following up and they never let me know what happened. One would think I may have clued into what was going on and the pattern that I was in the middle of. But I wasn’t. There was one last lesson to learn before everything would change in my world. My last ex was Initials, and this is the one I mentioned in the beginning. It was this relationship that took everything away from me. I already mentioned about the arrest in 2015, but there was more to the relationship than just that. I remember one night when we were in our first place we had together, he tried to suffocate me while we were in bed. I ended up calling the police on this, and they talked to him, they talked to me, and nothing was ever done. We did end up getting kicked out of the condo because they didn’t like the fact that the cops were called to the building. I recall a time when we were driving, I believe we were coming back into town, and for some reason he got really angry and started hitting me and scratching me while I drove. I stopped the car immediately in a safe area and was wondering where the nearest RCMP station was, because I was not going to accept this behavior. We were pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but I remember going to the nearest town gas station I could find and see if they knew where the nearest RCMP office was. I looked like a disaster, had been crying, in rough shape on my arms, and they never asked me if I was okay or needed anything. Which can be slightly strange as I was buying first aid items and asking for the nearest RCMP station. Anyways, I never ended up finding an RCMP station that day, I did however take photos. Photos that never meant anything to the police when they would later come back to my door. There was one last minor incident before my arrest, but it had to do with him. He seemed to be suicidal and claimed he took all these pills, so I was scared, called 911 to get the police and paramedics to come over, again nothing happend except them showing up and assessing the situation. It was on me to call back if the situation got worse. It was shortly after this when I was arrested. I lost everything, and that’s when I had no choice but to start over. I was angry and hated the fact I was wrongfully arrested and charged, I hated the fact I was now court mandated to take courses. I lost my son due to me being upset when family services came over to talk. I had what seemed to be the worst case worker there. She would tell me I was lying to her, and then find out I was right all along. I had numerous tasks I had to complete before I could stay with my son again. At this time I was homeless, living out of hotels, when the money ran out I could stay at my parents lake place, but had to leave and go to their home when my son and them wanted to go visit the lake. Eventually I had a basement suite that my parents rented for me, and finally ended up back with my parents and my son, with family services closing the file. But in the end, I really enjoyed the court mandated women's group, and I stayed an additional month. I learnt more about boundaries, gaslighting, and met with other women who had been in similar situations. For once, I didn’t feel alone, there were others out there, there were others like me. It took awhile, but I had realized that one of the biggest problems I had was I was moving in too soon with guys. The main cause of this at the time was I was trying to get out of my parents house because I did not like staying where one parent was always drinking. I have now decided that I would not move in with someone unless it was my own place, so I would not be stranded again with my son. It sounds like a good plan, right? But not when I was left with C-PTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), the trauma, being terrified of males, being terrified of cops, everything eventually crashed down on me. I had to go through a lot of therapy, and I mean years of therapy and trying to find the right person to work with. It was much harder since the last time I had worked was 2012, so it was a much longer process than if I was paying myself. After the therapy, counseling, ART (Accelerated Resolution Therapy) and learning about spirituality, I started to feel much better. I wasn’t confident yet to have a relationship with anyone, but I felt like myself again. For a long time I didn’t know who I was without being in a relationship. What did I enjoy doing? What did I want to do? Who was I? How old was I? Slowly I began to find things I enjoyed doing, and things were looking up for me. Another major player in this recovery of mine was joining a CoDA (Codependents Anonymous) group, this was because looking back, a lot of my behaviors in the past were codependent. My behaviors went from pleasing people, to being afraid to get people angry, to focusing more on others than what I enjoyed, not wanting to cause problems and more. I have been part of this group for almost two years, and I think if anything, this is what might save my life. I now have gone through a step study, admitted what I had done in my past, made amends where necessary and now feel confident in being able to be in a relationship without falling back into these old patterns. It was a friend of mine who said, "If you don’t love yourself, how could anyone else?” The statement was a shock, but only once I started healing this part of myself did I understand what she meant. People tend to treat you, how you treat yourself. Now people will know I don’t take any shit from anyone, I am not afraid to lose anyone who does not support my highest good, and I am blunt and mean what I say. Now I feel like I come from a place of authenticity. I will not lose everything for anyone ever again. Recently I was diagnosed with ADHD, and getting this diagnosis has been eye opening for me. I can see how things in my past may have been influenced by my disorder and me not knowing about it. As much as I wish I had been diagnosed sooner, I am grateful to know now. I can now work with my brain and not against it. For me, it’s been a relief knowing that some things I have struggled with all my life were not because I was lazy, but because I literally had an “illness” I didn’t know about. The more I learn about ADHD and the more I recognize those patterns in me, the stronger I become. I have taken back my power, I feel stronger than I ever have before. I am not dating right now, and that is because dating has changed dramatically since all this took place. I don’t even know where to turn these days. That can wait for now. I have taken courses, earned certificates, and I now am working as an independent contractor and now have a business of my own. It took a long time, but in the end it was worth it. I really hate it when people say, ‘things always happen for a reason’, perhaps they are right here. I went through that to find out how strong I am, and for me to now be able to support others in similar situations. I have recently become a Certified PAIL Coach, and want my main focus to be on supporting domestic violence survivors and those going through divorce. As an intuitive empath, this is the perfect place for me to be. As I stated in the beginning, I want my story to be one that inspires others. If I could do all this alone, anyone can. Never did I ever think I would get to where I am now. I share my story to show that there is ‘hope in hell’. It is hard to see when you are in the middle of a situation that is destroying you, but you can overcome it. You can become more than you thought you can when you put your mind to it and make that decision to change for the better. “Growth comes from chaos, not order.” When things remain the same, you get the same outcome. If there is one thing you get from my story, please know that you are not alone. Do not be afraid to reach out. There are people that want to help you, even if they don’t know you personally. I wish I knew all this when I went through my trauma… or let’s call it my journey. “No I won’t stay silent so you can stay comfortable.” Name

I'm 20 years old and i'm expecting my first child. I wrote a story here a year ago maybe more.. it was about the time my stepfather molested me at just 12 years old. That was unfortunately not the first time where a man made me feel unsafe. When I was 8, me and my family were staying with a friend and her husband. He was an angry drunk most of the time who liked to hit her when he thought we weren't looking. One night he came into my room and crawled into bed with me and for a while he just held me, I thought I must have been having a bad dream, but after a bit his hands started moving and I just pretended to be asleep when he moved to lie on top of me. I don't remember much except for the pain, weird burning sensation and the sounds he made during and after it was done; I think he knew I was awake the whole time because afterwards he whispered to "sleep tight dear". I felt disgusting and gross and so confused, I just laid there shaking not sure what to do; I guess I must have passed out because I woke up and there was a lot of blood and I didn't know what to do. I tried asking him in the morning and he said that if I ever told anyone he would kick my pregnant mother and my siblings out and we would all be homeless. I felt so ashamed and I tried telling his wife/my godmother but she didn't want to hear it.

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 .

A few nights ago I went out clubbing with friends. I got way drunker than I had expected to, and when we arrived at the club I ran to the dancefloor while my friends finished checking their coats. A man started to try to dance with me and grab me, and before I had time to realize what was happening, I was being kissed. I was able to push him away and go find my friends but didn’t really process what had happened. The morning after, I felt really uneasy and unsettled by this experience. I don’t know if I would call it assault, but I think I still feel really violated that it happened. I was clearly way too drunk to have consented to the encounter and I’m upset that I now have this on my mind. I feel like I was taken advantage of by a stranger because I was too drunk to say no or resist. I just want to get over it and stop thinking about the experience but I feel like I’m burdened by the fact that this happened now.

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 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