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I don't know in which moment started. It was my father. I was a child. I was the favorite one between all of our brother and sisters. It was always subtle. The contact when I lay down on his bed, the slaps on the butt, or the comments that "you are so pretty that if I were your age and you weren't my daughter I would be with you.", added to the touch when I climbed onto his legs. It took me many years to understand that this, added to the fact that he did not see me as a normal father sees a daughter, hurt me tremendously. I felt like a trophy, like an extension of his body. I discovered that all this was abuse more than a year and a half ago. When I realized it in therapy I cried a lot. I felt very guilty about what happened, and even to this day I question whether I am not inventing everything, since everything is plausible and existed in reality, I just didn't want to see it as abuse. My older brother also abused my sisters and me, however, I have never been able to tell my family about my father. Seeing the pain they have felt with the news about my brother (relieved by one of my sisters), I see that it would only generate inconvenience and pain in my family. And being pragmatic, I couldn't achieve anything by revealing the news to my family other than complications. I know that if my sisters knew, they would want to talk to my father, and my father knowing would be able to stop paying my and my younger sister's alimony. And considering we're in college, it's something I can't afford. But I'm not going to lie, I feel disgusted every time I talk to him, I wish i would never have to talk to him.

I was SA when I was 10 years old approximately, and my cousin 13 approximately (he is 3 years older than me). My depression start at that age approximately too, so know that im thinking about it that was maybe the reason. This week i told my mom about it, im 18, so my trauma happen 8 years later, i feel guilty because she want to talk with my family, not all, but yes some people of my family about what happen, i dont want ruin his life, even if he ruin mine, if he get some consequences i will feel guilty because this happen 8 years ago. My mom dont understand why i worry so much about it, i dont understand eather. I know that maybe he was conscious about that what he do was SA, because he was 13 approximately, not 7, not 8, not 9, not even 10. He meet his girlfriend when she was 17 and he was 19, and sometimes is a asshole, but i cant stop feeling guilty about it, even when i dont understand, because no one give me sexual education at 10, and im autistic, and when i was a kid it was more dificult undertand things. Sorry for my broken english, English is not my first language, i just want know why is not my fault, because its feel like it is.

I was a 7 year old girl with a lot of confidence, maybe that's why or just luck happened but the truth doesn't matter in this story, I grew up with only cousins and vafones brothers in a very close family, everyone knew everything it's quite surprising that they didn't know until I spoke what happened, during a vacation I don't remember the year or the place but I do remember that I was playing a hulk play 2 game, it was very late like 4 or 5 in the morning and my cousin was taking care of me he was older than 10 years old and he told me to sit on his lap, I remember how he took the game controller from me and then everything is confusing I don't remember anything until the following year, I matured quickly everyone said it was because I was an intelligent and agile girl, I was the next time that cousin tried to put a hand on me when I was 8 almost 9 I broke his nose.

You Are Not Alone You are not alone. So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together. I grew up in a large low income black of flats that was like a village. My mum worked and we went about by ourselves. In the winter we were never expected to be seen if we left. We were in some flat mucking about with some kids or neighbor, and it all worked out fine. I did lose my virginity when I was eleven to a friend of my older brother who was in year ten. But that was no bother because it was not uncommon there, sadly. I am half Brazilian on my absent father’s side and was considered quite exotic and fit. My secondary sexual characteristics developed early. I was reasonably careful and in control. True abuse began years later when we moved out to a proper house with HIM. HE was my mom’s dream man. HE was fit for a middle-aged man. By that time my brother wasn’t with us because he took work in Alaska on a fishing boat. HE was ex-Army and seemed like a good man at first. I was a bit of trouble maker and over-cheeky and my mom gave HIM carte blanche to discipline me like father. We weren’t there the length of a full season when HE started treating me like a tart. The spanking part mom knew about and thought it was funny, even with me being fifteen. HE spanked my bare bum even when she was home. She said I’d always needed a man’s hand to block of my rough edges. It was cringe, humiliating, but nothing compared to what HE did when mum was away. Not to get detailed, HE soon got to a point where I was going to get HIS load whenever there was the chance. Since HE got to set my schedule he made sure there were regular chances. It was my HELL and HE was the Prince of Darkness. He was rough but careful not to leave any marks. Unless time was short I had to shower first. Sometimes after there would be something specific sitting out to wear, like a costume or lingerie, or my netball kit. The grating anticipation of what was going to follow was the real torture. HE would tell me to “Pick a hole”. My holes! My foof was one, my mouth was two, and you’d think I would never select three. But you’d be wrong. I hated HIM. I am very sensitive sexually and if I went with one I looked like I loved it and if I chose two I was doing work to please HIM. Three was the way I could shut down and brace myself without him ever seeing me smile, even if I was facing toward him. When I was strong with hatred I would choose three. I compartmentalized that small but brutal part of my life for my mum. If was a mere thirty to one hundred twenty minutes per a week of 10080 minutes. And I saw no other way then. Mum, for the first time was living a happy life. I could have won a BAFTA for how I seemed so cozy and content for her. It gutted me that my fear of upsetting HIM made it appear that HE had smoothed out my rough edges and made me into a proper lady. I kept my marks up and stayed on the netball team in spite of being the shortest. I kept going. I developed a habit of stabbing mechanical pencil tips into my skin and biting my nailbeds to illicit pain. I had one boyfriend for a short time. I went to the dances. Home was my hell so I did everything HE would allow to be anywhere else. I could not work but he made my mum keep her job so he could have me. My birthdays I would get my way of having a just girls’ night out with mum. There were only two birthdays before I got free of him. College cost 1000 pounds and when HE paid it HE did not know I was not going to be his tart anymore. I had a friend with a home much closer to my school. They had spare bedroom because an older sibling had moved out. Being seventeen, HE couldn’t force me to live with them if I had other safe accommodations. I took employment and paid the meager rent. He got me one more time when I was sleeping back at his house on Christmas eve. Probably drugged mum to keep her sleeping. I made sure he never got a chance again. Through my Portuguese class I met a man who lived in Portugal and invited me to come stay with him as long as I wanted rent free. I finished one year of sixth form and went to Portugal. I had fleeting relations with the man I stayed with but he traveled often we both had our own things. I worked at an American-themed restaurant as a server then. I spoke with my mum on the phone most days. She visited once, with HIM. I missed her and tried not to show much of my sorrow about being forced apart from her. Seeing HIM was horrendous, yet I kept it contained inside like a cancer. It helped solidify my decision. I traveled with a friend to Florida and got a job serving in a posh restaurant. I applied for a work VISA and on my second try I got it. I am thirty-eight now. Only three years ago did I confront my demons because I read online stories about other abuse survivors. It opened up a deep wound so I could start to heal. It was and still is hard work and an ongoing process. I confessed to my mum who had split with HIM after years of her own abuse that she also kept hidden. HE had let her go when she started having health problems, showing his true black heart. She lives with my brother and his family. I regret losing years with mum and my brother and being chased away from my home when I was young but it made me stronger. I have never married but I have a loving partner, two dogs and I speak three languages. I am a physical trainer and work near the beach where I go to meditate and body surf. Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there. Just start and keep climbing, especially when it seems too hard.

My name is Survivor and when I was around age 3, my father started raping me. My mother helped hold me down. He was raping her, and she offered me up in her place. This continued until age 23, maybe 24, shortly before my wedding. By the time I was 6, he was raping other members of my family too. He’d come into my room at night and would throw my nightgown up into the headboard and then I’d have to wait my turn in fear and naked shame while others were raped. We had a large waterbed and I still remember the bed rolling up and down, up, and down, up, and down like on a boat. Once done, he wiped me down roughly with a red shop rag he used in cleaning the garage. It allowed him to keep the rag around to smell it and hold it close with no one questioning why it was so dirty with red stains. Most of the time, my dad was friendly and polite. But once he turned into the monster no one did anything to stop him. He never did these things when he was nice. Only when he was the monster. But he used the nice times to make it easier to attack. He would lull you into a false sense of safety and peace which really made you question your intuition and gut instincts that this was a bad man. This made it easier for him to sexually assault other children and adults. As I got older, my parents controlled the narrative of our lives, every aspect was carefully controlled. Like my mom knowing how to force miscarriages. The first abortion forced on me was when I was 15. I don’t know how I managed to make it to adulthood. I continue to remember more and more of the abuse by other family and church members. And other things my dad did within the church where he was pastor and then later deacon. But I still can’t talk about those memories. I think my dad felt like anything he did was inevitable, therefore, never his fault because he couldn’t control himself and when it happened God would forgive him, so it was all right. I know this because I overheard him grooming another family member to do the same things when he was 11 years old. Males in our family were groomed to be abusers too. I was groomed too. To always be the abused. Forced to keep silent, I learned quickly what happens to people who stand up to my dad. They die or get assaulted. As you can imagine, I had terrible anxiety growing up about being sexually assaulted and worked hard to fade into the background. I thought that might help. I thought it mattered what I wore, color of my hair, how much I weighed. It’s taken years and it will probably continue to take years to unlearn the lies I was taught. The worry made me constantly ill with one thing after another-- I got cancer when I was 32 and before that incapacitating vertigo and motion sickness. My parents met while working down in Texas for an independent fundamental Baptist preacher. Lester Roloff—an Independent Fundamental Baptist preacher who opened homes across the country for “troubled” children, teens, and adults. He liked to say he was saving dope fiends, whores, and hippies. I believe many of the children in the homes had already experienced abuse growing up and Lester Roloff homes should have been a safe place to heal. Instead, the kids met caretakers like my parents. My mom was in a charge of the 16 and older home and my dad flew around the country raising money and preaching the party line: men were akin to gods and women were lower than dirt—their only worth was in being a virgin and then baby factories once married. Very masochistic and minimizing of abuse of any kind, my parents ate up the evil rhetoric being preached from the pulpit My parents eventually took their brand of abuse from Lester Roloff’s out into the churches and communities where we lived-from Texas to Washington and eventually into Alaska. He disappeared in a plane over the waters near Anchorage in 2006. The events surrounding his disappearance were always very suspect but intense pressure from my family kept me quiet. Every day for almost three years straight, a family member called and reminded me talking about “our family issues” was causing generational sin to 4 generations. The pressure to keep quiet and do what my family told me to do was so significant I would have rather died than disappoint them. It wasn’t until I set out to heal from all the trauma, that I found out my dad faked his death. I had always been told since he was gone, there was nothing to be done for what I experienced growing up. But let me tell you, knowing he’s still out there perpetrating on other children and men and women really compelled me to come forward. I finally felt free to start talking. Getting past the pressure to stay silent was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder, even, than fighting cancer. I have spent many years in intensive CBT, EMDR and Polyvagal therapy learning how to process my wounds in a healthy way. I had pushed for criminal and civil suits against my perpetrators but the Texas statute of limitations don’t allow for justice to be done. So now, I spend my time now speaking on panels, podcasts, and community platforms about the intersections of trauma, faith, and advocacy. One of the biggest honors of my life has been sharing my story and advocating for Trey’s Law on the Texas Senate floor in Spring 2025. Forcing a sexual assault victim to keep quiet is what allowed people like my parents to continue their mistreatment for so many years. I will do what I can to make sure justice isn’t minimized by NDAs and Statute of Limitations. My efforts connect me with survivors, true crime audiences, mental health communities, and faith groups seeking to understand and confront abuse. I invest my time in mentoring survivors, creating resources for healing, and building digital tools to expand access to supportive materials. Because living a life whole and healthy is what I really want for me, all the victims and their families. We make our own opportunities to heal.

Stuck in the bathroom. It is possible to be loved. When I spent ages telling my Mum and Dad that it would be ok to travel to city for a gig , I thought I was grown up and street wise. In reality I was a naive young man - my parents reluctantly agreed as long as we stayed with my friends uncle - this would mean we wouldn’t have to travel back late . The gig was fantastic - we got back to his flat the others went to bed. I stayed up chatting with name - after about half an hour he started asking me if I was a virgin and showing me pornographic magazines . I tried to get away and go to bed - he then attacked me and raped me . I locked myself in the bathroom and waited but he was still agitated - he wanted me to sleep in his bed - I had no idea that a man could do what he did to another male. Two weeks later I went back to stay again after a football match - this time I tried to persuade my parents that I shouldn’t go - but they didn’t want the ticket to go to waste - he attacked and raped me again - I eventually managed to lock myself in the bathroom . I mentally stayed in that bathroom for the next 40 years - never telling - never asking for support - 3 failed marriages - problems with drink - difficulties being a good parent. The first person I told after 40 years was my ex-wife - her response was “I can’t love you - you have violated me by keeping this a secret” - this was crushing and led to a decline to a very dark place. Now with the support of my children, my new partner , a fantastic psychiatrist and a therapist from support organisation - I feel better and believe I can be loved. It is never too late to start to heal .

"She thinks he assaulted her." That's what my best friend in high school said to another friend of ours when I told her how my date went the Saturday before. He was a star football player on our high school team and I didn't "talk" to a lot of guys. We were never official after a month of talking because of that night. He came over to my house to eat dinner with my parents we had hamburgers and then cheesecake. I remember what I was wearing. That's kind of how I started to realize that what happened wasn't right, I remember so much. We started to watch a movie in my living room, my mom was upstairs and my dad walked through the back hallway occasionally, but never through the living room. I was shy, so I was sitting on one end of the couch while he was on the other. He began to kiss me, I remember thinking what a bad kisser he was. He started to go further, and I told him not to put his hand up my shirt but he kept trying. I would move his hand away but he kept moving it back. My puppy jumped up on me, to this day I think she knew something was wrong with me and with him, and then he stopped. While he was stopped I texted my mom and told her I was ready for him to go home and she came downstairs and we drove him home. I told him not to leave hickeys on my neck and he did, I was so embarrassed and I felt so gross. I took a shower and just thought about how gross the whole situation felt, and the next day, instead of telling him how uncomfortable I felt, I told him I "didn't think our personalities meshed." Which was also true. I didn't tell anyone for years because I felt like what happened was so minuscule in comparison to other stories of assault and rape I had heard of, so I didn't tell anyone, especially after I told that one friend. Recently, the guy posted something on his social media about consent, and it made me so angry and triggered me in a way I didn't know was possible. I was so mad at him for making me feel how I feel, for potentially being the cause of my current difficulties with sex, and now posting something about consent? On one hand, I was glad he was more educated than when we were younger, but on the other hand I was so so mad he couldn't have learned sooner, and that he probably doesn't even realize what he did or how he made me feel. To this day I still feel like I'm being overdramatic and that what happened wasn't wrong, just how guys are.. but that doesn't match with how that moment made me feel and how it continues to affect me.

When that person tried to kill me, no human tried to save me. Only my cat, then 1-year-old, warmed my body which was going to be cold, losing 1 liter of blood. My mother told me "you choose who you marry" and went on to complain about my father, who was also abusive. I told her "You choose him". (I didn't victimize anyone except my cat, unlike my mother) Why I as a woman and women in East Asia are taken so lightly?

I was sexually assaulted between the ages of 18 and 19 by my then-boyfriend. I remember when it first started, I didn't even think of it as sexual assault, only that I knew I didn't want to and always felt upset after it happened. There was one specific event that made me realise what I was experiencing was not normal. I remember repeating "no" to the point of almost yelling and trying to push him off me with all my strength. He had a grip of my jumper which ripped when I eventually broke free. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I went to dinner with his family that evening and cried in the bathroom. To this day, I still haven't told anyone and I wonder if he even understands the gravity of what he had done.

To my fellow survivor, I am a 9 year survivor of sexual assault. I am proud to be sharing my story, and hoping my words can provide comfort and courage. Something that was very important to me was reporting my rapist. Fear takes over our body, and we feel numb. I wanted to cocoon myself in a blanket and stay there forever. The thought of contacting law enforcement was terrifying. Taking that scary step can make you feel empowered. I wanted my voice, my story, and my emotions to be heard. There is a quote “speak the truth, even if your voice shakes.” This quote carried me through one of the most difficult times in my life. When we speak our truth, we are no longer carrying this alone. You are being heard and taking back the power. Share your story, heal with love and care, and most of all surviving is the bravest of all. “I now see how owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.” Brené Brown

It was my yoga teacher. He said that he wanted to try this form of yoga that was very intimate, but it wasn’t sexual, apparently. But as it went on, he asked if it would feel better if I take my top off. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do anything, but I said yes to that. I feel like I betrayed myself in doing so. And then he started taking my yoga pants off, and started fingering me. The entire time I was just so confused, I was like, is this supposed to be yoga? Or sex? When he took his dick out and put it in, that’s when I realized it was sex sex, said no. And tried to leave as soon as I could. Thing is, to this day I’m still not sure if this counts as rape. I didn’t say no, did I? But he didn’t ask for explicit consent either. It was just so murky. And the result is that I felt like I wasn’t able to make a conscious choice in what I wanted to do with my body. I trusted him because he was a yoga teacher. I lost trust in myself, in my judgment. I started hating myself for not standing up for myself earlier despite the overwhelming discomfort that I felt. He must have known I was uncomfortable. I told him a few times, actually. I distinctly remember just wanting it to be over so I can leave. After I said no, he asked if it’s cuz I was too ‘sore’. He DOESNT KNOW WHAT HES DONE. i called him afterwards being like, I didn’t expect that. I’ve never had sexual encounters without any explicit communication about it. He said he was just following what felt natural, and I can’t believe I tried to justify his reasonings too. I couldn’t stop crying the day after and I couldn’t understand why. I thought it was cuz I thought I’d lose my first time to someone special. Later on when I got high with my cousins that’s when I realized that it was not exactly consensual. But still to this day I get so confused. I know that ideas of consent differ in different countries, and the fact that this occurred when I was in Hong Kong made it all the more confusing.

When I was 13 was sexually assaulted by a person I'd rather not name. I've known him for a while yet never spoke out because I like him. He never saw it as sexual assault because it was "only the fingers" Whenever I think about it, I get sick to my stomach. Knowing I had no strength to stop him. I cry everytime I think about it and I'm too scared to tell anyone. Please anyone, what should I do. What can I do.

I am a survivor of child on child sexual abuse. this started when I was around 6, I would have sleepovers at my grandparents house with my cousin, we would often stay in the living room while our grandparents were in their room. We would have blankets and pillows set up in front of the tv, i remember the first time it happened i felt really weird, she was only a year older than me but she pulled the blanket over us and she asked if i wanted to play a game, i said yes and she grabbed my hand and pulled it into her pants and on her private part, any time we had sleepovers she would do this, after months of this she began doing the same with her hands to me, this went on for 5-6 years. i’m currently in therapy getting help for this, trying to understand it and trying to heal from this.

Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

This girl who did this to me, everyone thought we were sisters we were so close but here’s my story… Throughout being 9-13 I was molested by my cousin who is a year younger than me I know it sounds weird but we knew from a young age that she had things wrong with her. Her mum is a drug addict who’s been in and out her life for as long as I can remember I grew up with her and we were always so close. I never saw anything wrong with what she was doing because she made it into games so I didn’t see that there was anything wrong with it. I also have mental issues but when I started to realise what she was doing was more than “games” I didn’t stay at my grandads for a while because we used to spend every weekend there together. But then the last 6 months of lockdown she had to come live with me and I had never told anyone what she had been doing to me but nothing happens threw out the 6 months because we didn’t have to share a bed thankfully I had a cabin bed which is like a bunk bed and she was in a mattress on the floor and one night I heard making weird noises and I looked over to see her masterbating but never said a word. Then afterwords she went to live with her sister which she still does now and my grandad told us he bought two beds so we didn’t have to share whenever we came over anymore and he got me a cabin bed so I was fine so I stayed there a couple times and nothing happened so I started trusting her again and then one night she made us make a den like we used to when she was. Younger I didn’t want to but she said “well I’m already having a bad day your just making it worse” so I just did make it then I woke up and she was raping me but I couldn’t move all I could do was cry but she didn’t notice then we she stopped all I could hear was her finishing herself off and then she kissed me on the top of my back which to this day makes me feel so dirty but then I could move I grabbed my shorts put them on grabbed my phone ran out side and called my dad and he came and got me and he asked her what she was doing and she just sat there saying she didn’t do anything to this day j haven’t spoke to her and she’s tried to get in touch with me multiple times. Also she told her sister that she doesn’t get why she doesnt talk to me anymore I hate her I hate her I could never tel my family the details and how long she actually did it for all they know about is that one night.

I was born in a small town to a poor family, my father left us to work when I was two years old, I have never seen him, unitl the truth came out we thought he abondeded us and he has a new family but about 10 years later we have found out that he was killed by someone in the city where he went to work. My mother raised me all these years, I have three sisters. I grew up among women. I will not concentrate on one issue because there were a lot of them. So, I grew up in poor conditions, but I have never felt like I don`t have something, because I had everything I needed. The night we found out about my father`s death, my mom and sisters cried, mourned to his death, but I didn`t, honestly I didn`t feel anything, because nothing changed for me. Later in life as I grew up sometimes I cried for him, but it was more like selfish tears, for leaving me, but as times passed I understand that we people don`t decide what`s going to happen, sometimes shit happens without of out control and will. So I kind of made peace with it. Second issue I want to tell you about is about my oldest sister. She did pretty bad decisions in her teenage years and adult years, later I have found out that she was raped, and I kind of felt bad because back when I was a kid and seeing her fighting with my mom, yes there were a lot of fights and screamings in our house, so seeing all these things kind of made me hate her. But later I just realized that shit happens. I made my peace with it too, now she has a family and two kids. I assume she is happy. I just feel bad myself because I used to be ashamed of her. So, let`s talk about me. I used to play with dolls, actually I was making one and playing with it, I was different than other kids, I mean my the kids I grew up with, I went to school at an early age, at age 4. I was in kidergarten and my friends were 6 and they were going to go to school, I just told my mother that I want to go with them, and she was working in the school then, so she and the principal decided that I can study the first grade twice, but I kind of kept up with mt other classmates, but I was the youngest always, in school, in university, and so on. So, I was different, I used to wear my sisters` clothes secretly when they`re not home, sometimes put make up on. And I remember, I was like 7 or 8, me and this one boy friend were kissing, later at age 10 and so on, there were other boys I used to make love, later I started to watch gay porn and mastrubate. The last year in high school I picked hairs from my eyebrows and my classmates made fun of me, they made it a big thing, but I didn`t care, I remember the first time I had a crush on a guy from school, then I got into university, there I had a crush on someone else, I was 16, I started to work in a hotel, I started to make money, then at age 18 I was being called to serve in army, the week I got the news I was really depressed, I even took some pills thinking that maybe I`ll die, but nothin happeded except some stomach ache. So I went to serve in army, a few months later ther was this guy, we were joking with each other then in one moment I felt weak and expressed some sexual attraction to him, we fooled around couple times, then he left, after a couple months later I foooled arounf with someone else, and some else, and some else. Then the whole crew kind of found out about my situation and believe it`s a "shamefull" thing for a boy here. So I had a friend there, like real friend who I speak even now, on holidays etc.,. So he left in summer, and there were really few people left including me there. So, some guys started to came upon me, but I`m not that kind of person who will have sex with everyone I meet. I remember there was this one guy who I really loved as a friend asked me to have sex with him, I was feeling really bad, because for me its different for them its just to use someone as a toy for pleasure, but I as a fool agreed. we hooked up copuple times. Actually before this there`s something else happened, there was this one guy, he asked to have sex couple times, I disagreed, then one night he really, like for real tried to rape me, I feel so grateful tha I could runaway. I went to hospital, told the principal that I feel bad. So after that the whole thing happened as I mentioned earlier, I kind of needed a protection. I feel like I made a choice. So the whole army thing was finally ended after a year and half. I came back home, I started to work in a different city in my uncle`s store. In summer I started drinking, and remember I mentioned a guy I had a crush on from university, so, as I got drunk I called him on the phone, and we had converstations couple of times, I confessed about my feeling, I talled him everything, he said he is just a friend that I can count on. He is still a friend of mine. Aside from this, my uncle`s son came for a few weeks to stay in there, so one night we were drinking and we hooked up with him, we used to play when we were kids. So, in the morning we pretended like nothing happened. So next year, he came again, and we hooked up again, this time I was having tough times. I committed suicide, took some pills, but nothing happened except the next day, the whole day I felt high. So I quited tha job after couple months later and came to graduate from university, I graduated, found a job, there I had a crush on my collague, we hooked up in one nigh when we were drunk. Later we had conversations with him, I expressed myself, and he told me he is a big brother to me, and to forget what happened. I was slowly getiing depressed day by day. I had to quit tha job when pandemic started, in summer I wanted to meet him, he refused, I commited sucide, and I forgot to say, when the whole thing started with him, when I was getting depressed, one day I opened up about ecerything to my youngest sister which took it pretty well, she even hugged me when I told her about my orientation. So in summer I commited suicide, and I susrvived this one too, and the next day I told everyone what I did, my mother, my sisters. everyone. I kind of realized that day that I`m bad at it, and I gotta live this bullshit life. So, a few months later I decided to move abroad and I did. I met some guy here, we had a date, it made me feel really good in the begining, later I broke up with him, because I didn`t really love him, and I felt its disrespect to him, whatever, I dont even know why I`m writing this here, but yeah, life is fucking painful, and we are the worst enemy to ourselves, our choices.

When I was 13 years old, I was molested in a vacant home 1 block from my childhood home. I was crying for help & no one listened. This was a (relationship)of mine who is currently incarcerated. He was 14 years old at the time. My mother contacted police when I came back home. When police arrived, I released some information as much to my ability from my knowledgeable standpoint. I was taken to the hospital for treatment. Children at this age aren't in the correct state of mind that these encounters are illegal whether the assailant is an adult or a minor. The next day, when I caught my school bus for school, my mother reported the incident to my school bus driver in front of all of my school bus riding mates. Then, as soon as I arrived at school, one of my classmates was asking me questions about the incident but, I refused to answer. I went to my teacher & social worker grieving. Quite some days later, my father was on the phone asking me questions about the incident but, I refused to answer. Then my grandmother confronted me about an allegation that I mentioned to someone which was not true. A week later, I reported to the school social worker of this. Later on that evening, the school social worker contacted my grandmother & confirmed that the rumor is not true. Being molested is the worst encounter that no one deserves to even live with. This is what changed me as an individual person. I will never in my days of my life victimize another person because, I was a victim myself. The only fear that you have to live with is, once someone speaks of it around the wrong people, it's out there & there's no taking it back.

I went through this kind of thing twice in my lifetime. Once as a child and once as an adult too. I know I'm not alone. There are many who have had this twice sometimes more in a lifetime mine the first one happened when I was 6 to 8 years old. The second one I was much older in my late thirties. Having been through it twice in a lifetime takes allot out of you but somehow you persevere even if you don't think you can. My adult one happened in my last foster home.Tt happened over 4 years I was trying to keep the peace in my home. And he took advantage. I want everyone to know I'm ok now I live in a better place now. Just sometimes it overshadows me. And I know it's not my fault. Thanks for listening.

I was raped 59 days ago. I took my last pill for HIV that made me nauseous 29 days ago. I had my second check up with my OBG/YN for STD’s and STI’s 6 days ago. I had my first nightmare where my rapist was violent 20 days ago. I heard from the detective that she received my rape kit and it will take 6-9 months to be processed by the lab 11 days ago. I cried when someone asked me how I was doing three hours ago. This is my life now. The last words, my therapist said in our first session were “There are two things you need to know. You will never be the same, and you will still be able to do everything in life that you always wanted to do.” It started as a great Saturday. A girlfriend and I were open to spontaneity and fun, got dressed up cute and went to meet a group of her guy friends at a bar for drinks and to watch the game. One drink became two, became three, and then became shots. we were having a great time, and our team won! We weren’t friends, necessarily, more like acquaintances. I met him through work 5 or 6 years earlier. Our social interactions were no more than small talk at a handful of work functions, and a Christmas party or two. He text me the Wednesday before asking if I had recommendations for a happy hour spot. It was out of the blue, but being the friendly person that I am, I sent him a list of different hotspots. He said he and some buddies were going to go to one that night, and I should meet him. I was having dinner with my stepmom and told him that I couldn’t make it, and then he mentioned that he was moving into the city and needed some friends. I told him if I was ever out with a group I’d let him know. This specific Saturday was such a fun day, and I was with a great group of people. I shit him a text, and just said “hey, if you don’t have plans for the game, I am meeting some friends at a bar.” I gave him the name of the bar, and he text me back stating he was going to go to a buddies house, but might come by later. Several hours passed, the game had ended, and he asked if I was still at the bar. I told him yes, and then he said “my friends left me, you should come meet me” and he told me where he was. I simply said no I am with friends, so instead he came my direction. I remember introducing him to the people I was with. We were on opposite sides of the table, I was engaging in conversation with everyone, and didn’t give him any sort of special attention. This was not someone that I was ever interested in or attracted to. Before I knew it, the bar seemed to be closing. I was pretty drunk, and planned to call an Uber. I remember he asked to give me a ride home. I thought sure! No other thought crossed my mind. This was someone that I knew. He was a non-threatening person to me. I remember one of the guys that I had met that night offering to get me an Uber instead. I wrote him off thinking to myself that I didn’t know him, but I knew this guy. This guy was safe, and if I could save a few bucks on an Uber, why not! I don’t remember walking from the bar to the car. I don’t remember the car ride. I don’t remember giving him directions or telling him my address. I don’t remember parking at my building. I don’t remember getting out of the car. I remember being inside the elevator. I remember we went to the rooftop. My building rooftop has an incredible view of the city and I remember commenting on the city skyline. I remember he said he needed to pee. I remember stating we could go down so he could use the restroom. I don’t remember the elevator ride down. I don’t remember the long walk through the hallways to my door. I don’t remember entering my apartment. I remember being in the kitchen. I remember that he brought with him a bottle of alcohol. It was brown in color and the clear bottle was roughly 1/4 full. I remember having two shots and commenting that the alcohol was sweet. I remember him saying “you’ve never had this before?” I remember he went to the restroom. I think I went to the restroom but I’m not sure. I have so many black spots in my memory…so many things I don’t recall. I remember he was on top of me. I was laying on my back on my bed with my feet hanging off horizontally, bent over the side at the knee. I remember feeling him pulling my underwear and shorts down the right side of my thigh. I remember feeling dizzy and sick. My eyes were closed and the room was spinning. The next thing I remember is my limp body sliding off the bed and his hands grasping me by the sides, and pushing me up while he was inside of me. I remember coming to consciousness and gasping for air as he choked me. I remember I couldn’t breathe and I was coughing. I remember coming to again and he was no longer inside of me. With my eyes still closed, I crawled to the top of my bed and lay my head on my pillow. I felt so sick, so tired, so dizzy. I remember he came to the top of the bed and peered over me and said something along the lines of “oh so you’re going to go to sleep now?” I remember I muttered an acknowledgment. I woke up around at 9:15 AM. After realizing that I was in my room and in my bed and the sun was shining it hit me like a ton of bricks. I remember the choking and felt that I had severe pain to my neck and chest. As I looked down, my dress was on but my undergarments were removed and on the floor. I started freaking out and I text my girlfriend from the night before. I told her he was at my place and we had sex but that I didn’t remember anything and I didn’t remember telling him I wanted to, and that I was scared. I went into my living room and saw the bottle and the empty shot glasses on my kitchen counter. Then on my couch, I found a sock that was not mine, and appeared to be full of his semen. My dog must have drug it to the other room during the night…my dog, who I didn’t put in his kennel. I always put him in his kennel. I always took out my contacts. I always took off my make up. I always locked the door and I always turned off the lights. Not this time. I went to the bathroom and threw up. I felt sick and hung over and nauseous. I called my best friend, and when I went back into my bedroom, I saw that my bed sheets had a large liquid stain mixed with blood. My blood. I went to the bathroom and wiped and there was blood. There was blood on my duvet. I didn’t know what it was from. I called my mom, who brought me to the emergency room. I spent eight hours in the emergency room. All I wanted to do was brush my hair and brush my teeth and take a shower, but instead I spent the day getting tested and waiting constantly being asked by nursing staff if I was ok. Constantly being pitied and told “I’m sorry.” My chart just said sexual assault victim in bold sharpie. I remember the forensics nurse, she was so kind. I was terrified but she walked me through everything and made me feel comfortable. She swabbed every piece of my body and asked for my story. It was the first time I said all of the pieces that I remembered out loud. I was shaking. I was scared. I cried. She told me that the bruising on my cervix was some of the worst she had ever seen. She told me she thought that this wasn’t just penetration from a penis. How would I know? I was unconscious. She told me that I would have five years to report it to the police. I went home and I took a shower. I brushed my teeth and brushed my hair. I hardly slept, while my mom watched over me carefully. My chest and my neck hurt so badly and all I could do was try and try and try to remember. Replay it over and over and over again in my head. Why did my chest hurt? What happened? How did we get to my bedroom? I was in agony. The next morning I went to my OB/GYN and had her do a secondary examination. She confirmed the bruising on my cervix was bad. She stated there was tearing and and bleeding. The next morning, I reported to the sex crimes unit. It was terrifying. I cried through parts of it, but not all of it. I was scared and I just wanted it to go away. I don’t want to have to deal with this. I don’t want there to be an investigation. I don’t want to go on a stand. I don’t want to have to explain what happened to me over and over and in front of people. I don’t want to feel aafraid about how he might retaliate when he finds out I’ve reported it. I don’t want to have to justify why I don’t remember, and have a defense twist up the facts to make it look like I acted irresponsibly and that this attack was somehow my fault. I just wanted to rewind. I can’t believe that this is my life. In the weeks that have passed, what I can say confidently is that this was not my fault. This happened to me. This was violent. This was somebody that I thought I could trust who took advantage of me in my own home. This was not okay. I was raped. I’m living one day at a time, and every single day I have a thought that scares me…a nightmare, a thought about what the future holds, if the DA will pick up the case, if the test results will be conclusive, if I have to go on the stand and face my rapist. Everyday I am scared, but everyday I remember that I am also strong. I remember that I can do this. I remember that I am not alone and that I have a support system. I fear the worst is yet to come, and that the next few years will be harder than ever, but I am proud of myself for moving forward and slowly trying to take back my power. No matter how many days pass, what happened to me will never change, but I know that with time (and therapy) I will be able to do all the things that I’ve always wanted to do in life. I will be okay. Thank you for reading my truth.