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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.

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 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 used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

Just words. You have trouble talking about these things. You realize you have trouble talking about a lot of things. You remember being excited about your first job at Company Name. One of your friends works there and you know a lot of people work there as a summer job. It’s the 1990’s and it’s been grandfathered in that they can pay you less than minimum wage because it’s like a part time training experience for students getting their first work experience. Like a newspaper route. Those are for boys. You got so excited after being nervous you asked for an application along with your friend. You don’t remember meeting him then. So many people want to get chosen for that crap job because for some reason it’s become a sought after thing among the cool kids. You do remember the phone call that you can come for an interview. Walking home you wonder if being cute and having larger breasts than most almost freshman girls had something to do with it. You met Name and remember him for sure this time. The way you look has been a curse far more than a blessing. One reason people would not feel that bad for you. 'God sure blessed you, honey." You have so many bad memories, blocked memories, repressed memories because of Name. You are having second thoughts as tears build up. You need a drink. You quit drinking years ago and today you have three months and eight days sober. Your record is nine months and two days. You are strong. Most of the time. You are hollow. All the time. Name wasn’t the last but he was the first. You change his name although you don’t want to. He is the symbol of your hatred of all that is wrong with men. You were tricked. Name got what he wanted from you. Too many times. Too many times before you stopped going back. Just stopped. You could have just stopped after the first time he held you close and caressed you before your mom picked you up that night. The first time. You still don’t understand or forgive yourself for that. You had let a boy at a party and a boy at an 8th grade dance put their hand up your shirt. You had liked it so much those times. It had been exciting and happy. Name did not make you happy. You went back. You want to talk about something else now. Not the other men who thought your body was their plaything. Not the time you went to Ireland with your Aunts and mom. You miss mom. That was a good trip. You got back to that a lot. You sat down to talk about things you don’t talk about. On a family trip to Adventureland you asked your cousin if was considered losing your virginity of a boy did it to your boobs. You pretended it was a cute boy, not Name. It was hard to breathe with him sitting on your torso thrusting. You sometimes break things and scream. Never when your son is around. You have two jobs and don’t really like the one that pays the most. Your college degree does not count much. How much life is wasted on despair and doubt and taking the wrong path? You feel relief when he finally finished. You hate when he finishes because you know he is stealing his ultimate pleasure from you when he has a wife. He acts like it was just another day at work to keep you on his leash. You are pathetic. His remnants are inside you every time you go home after closing with him. Just another miserable day in the life. You say nothing. You tell no one. You are worthless except as a vessel for him. Your parents say nice things to you, about you. They always have. They have to. They don’t know what you really are. A black shame is the times you felt pleasure in your body while he was doing it do you. At least while you remained quiet and motionless there was some dignity. Defiance. Insult to him. When your body and voice reacted like you liked it it was a betrayal. Like you liked that tub of disgusting man on top of you and inside of you, fucking you on that tile floor, kissing you like a lover. You befriended a group of guys by mid high school. Over a year after Name was more than thorn in your soul. A deep callous. The group figured out what you were. They played football. They were important and had strong will. They shared you and passed you around. They told you they loved you. That you were the coolest girl. They took what they wanted when they wanted. Why? Name 2 was you lab partner for biology. He was the first. He was the only one your age. You went in his car for lunch and met some others. They wanted you. You volunteered. It is all you are good for. Draining them of their juice so they can be happy and feel like men. So you can feel empty and dirty. Even after they graduated they got together for group fun, or had you sneak out at night to go for a ride. You headed far west after you graduated. A fresh start. An exodus. An escape. You went to one reunion. The ten year reunion. Name 2 came with his wife. He introduced you as his ex-girlfriend. You let hm take you to the disabled restroom and have his quickie. You went to the bars afterward and ditched your real friend and let Name 3 take you back to his hotel room to live his fantasies just because he claimed that he always loved you. They say attractive people have sex more frequently with more partners than normal people. The darkness behind that statement is that for females it is no always because they want it that way but because of the relentless pressure from men and how they will do anything if they get the opportunity. You are not a nice innocent girl. Would you have been if it had not been for Name like you want to think? Would you have let your much older cousin you barely know take you back into the woods with him behind their house to the shack where he smokes pot after a wedding. Then wait there for him to call his friends after he found out you were a bad girl and wait for them too. Swatting flies in your underwear while you waited for them. You did not drink because your mom did not allow it even though kids younger than you were. But your cousin and his local friends did. Four of them counting your cousin old enough to be your uncle. Still, you acted like you liked everything they did. They took it so far like you were the world's greatest toy. Porn star, they called you like it was the best thing you could be. The anal was excruciating. It was easier to just wash off all your makeup than to try to fix it after all the sweat and sticky. Smiles and complements followed by the deep hollow feeling of total isolation in the station wagon on the way back home from Kansas city. Hating Name and feeling like you betrayed your aunt because one of them was her fiancé. You got an infection and it was embarrassing when the doctor told you. At least it was a female doctor. The idea of a male gynecologist is unnerving. The one time you were examined by one was terrifying. You were in college. He was way too thorough and talkative like he was working up to asking you out on a date and you decided never again. The only one you ever had that did not wear gloves for the breast exam. The most sensual digital vaginal exam you ever had to check the cervix and ovaries for pain. Was his thumb supposed to be brushing your clitoris? You even wonder if he was recording it on his phone that you saw him adjust twice as it was peaking out of the breast pocket of his lab coat. His stupid November mustache he asked you if you liked. So some days you don’t eat. You exercise to maintain the body they want. It gives you value to them. You are nothing. People always say nice things. Hollow things. What if you had never met Name? What if you never got fucked on the floor for $3.45 an hour. On your back, on your hands and knees, sometimes even on top of him. Your first orgasm on that floor that smelled like stale milk and bleach. Having to tell your mom pick you up 45 minutes after the place closes for your cleaning duties. You used tampons just to keep from his semen leaking out on the way home. You pretended to be a virgin when you were far from it. He told you not to worry because he had a vasectomy. That part must have been true. You don't got on dates even though they always try to set you up. Not a chance. Your son is a good excuse. And a real reason. Real love. The Earth spins in space. Why can’t it just freeze and die like me? Your boss doesn’t go all the way with you because he won’t cheat on his wife. You give him oral because he doesn’t think that counts. Preserves his purity. He says he wants to so badly, like he can take whatever he wants from you but he is strong and valiant. You are nothing. He is handsome. You let him kiss you and fondle you. You long for his touch. He is not a great man but you long for him. The closest thing to a good man you have known. A father figure. Your son needs a father figure. He is everything. He deserves better. He loves you. He tells you are a good mom and that is worth enduring the world for as long as it takes. You put on a good face but he knows you are hollow, deep down. A wounded duck pretending to be a swan. Always pretending. Was there no pretending before Name? Maybe not. The days begin and your mind pretends and it is hard and the days end. Bad dreams on both ends. Will he be a good man? The funny thing is you want him to be a prince because he is your prince but even if he is like most men you want his total happiness. You want beautiful girls, good times, and strong friends for him. You exist to fake it and to have let those men enjoy you but mostly to give your son the best life possible beyond you. You are not worthless. It is not your fault. You are stronger than you know. Hollow words. They have to say it. They always have. No creativity. No insight. No truth. Just words.

The first time I was raped, I did not know it. Blaring music and spilled drinks, you were there Persistent, like a dog. Nagging, Nagging, Nagging. Hands running down my thighs, the phrase “babe it’ll make me feel better.” Your words clanging in my head, pounding like hammers against my ears One phrase slips out of my mouth, “fine just stop asking.” Waking up on the bathroom floor, aching from head to toe Before you take me home, you buy plan b. You had taken the condom off. I cry. My virginity stolen from me, that was my definition of love. The second, oh god the second time. My life plummets. Alcohol burning down my throat, stumbling, falling to the floor, You offer me your bed. Drifting off in a drunken haze, the hands are back But they belong to a friend. Suddenly his hands are choking, digging into my skin, bruising The word “STOP” falls on deaf ears. The tears start spilling down my face when I realize I cannot fight anymore and I go limp. Blood between my legs, oh god it hurt. Oh God, Oh God, why me? Why him? The third time, yes there was a third time. Another friend. Another familiar face. More lights, more pain, too drunk to move, I leave quietly the next morning. I always leave quietly. A thought that will not leave, “I am the common denominator” “I am the problem” Rumors spread like wildfire, each one a knife to the heart, a burning in my stomach. My name in everyone's mouths, I am drowning, my voice gone, stolen. No, ripped from my throat, brutally. My story is not my own. My body is not my own. It is filled with the bile and rot and filth of these men, these men who violated my body like I was not a being with a soul, with emotion and a heart beating like their own, but an object. Women are not made to be abused, to be a scratching post for horny, lonely men who cannot control their hands or their dicks. Survivors have to carry the burden. I carry the burden of my rape. The trauma, the shame, the grief, the horror, the anger, the guilt. But to the men who raped me, I give it to you. It is not my shame, it is yours, it is not my guilt, it is yours, it is not my fault, it is yours. And I am free.

DECADES When I was 22 years old, I was on a college campus with my finance and decided to go out to the car at 11 pm to get the left over cake we had brought from dinner. I man walked near me and I said hi, and proceeded to get the cake. The man came up behind me and flipped me to the ground trying to rape me. I screamed, time slowed down and I remember hearing my Mom say that my car keys are a weapon so I started jabbing him with them. I struggled free, ran to a building, falling on my way. A driver arrived who heard my screams from blocks away and the police were called. The police even thought they got him and showed me several photos of similar looking men, but I couldn’t make a positive id, so he was set free. After this sexual assault, I bought a gun, moved in with my fiancé, took self-defense classes, read books, saw a psychologist who diagnosed me with PTSD due to overwhelming anxiety that paralyzed me. The world was no longer safe. It resulted in triggers, and brought back my first sexual assault as a teenager in a crowded bus in another country of an older man pressing his erection against me as I keep moving away from him toward the front of the bus, until I finally found another teenage who I could sit on her lap to get this stranger to stop. It has been 64 years since I was attacked in that parking lot. I have been happily married for 64 years and have a positive self image. BUT, I still can’t wear skirts. I still can’t go in parking lots alone at night and am uneasy going anywhere at night. I can’t watch a movie or play that has sexual assault or the anxiety becomes overwhelming. I still own the same gun.

I was in an abusive relationship for 12 years. I met him when I was fourteen and we came together when I was fifteen. He was nice and lovely and I fell in love with him. I never thought that he could have a dark side. After a few month I began to realize, that there is something inside him. When we had our first fight, he screamed with me and I had so much fear. He apologized and I forgived him. But: It didn‘t stopped. He was verbal abusive. He said that I am a whore. He made me feeling small and like I am the worst person in the world. He said, that I am a psycho. He said I am a joke. He said I am nothing. He said, that he has to talk and scream with me like this, because I don‘t understand his points otherwise. He began to destroy things like my watch or a necklace. The walls had holes and he often grabbed me at my shoulders very hard when he got angry. When I cried, he became angrier at all. I locked myself in the toilet because I had so much fear of him. He also pushed me at the asphalt when he was drunk sometimes. I had bruises. One time he choked me. I never told anybody what happend, because I always forgived him and felt so fucking guilty. I tried to left him, but he always said, that he will kill himself, when I go. I went to therapy but even there I was so ashamed, that I didn‘t talk about the abuse. After two years of therapy I got stronger and stronger. I was ready to talk to somebody about the things that happend to me and that I want to leave him. Suddenly I felt free and was ready to go. He always said, that he loves me and that I am the love of his life. It never was love. I realized that I was in an abusive relationship. There were verbal, emotional and physical abuse. I didn't imagine any of it. I wasn't crazy. Whoever is reading this and is in a similar situation: You are strong! You are intelligent! You are beautiful! You are a good person! You can trust yourself! You can talk to someone! You can do this! You can leave him! You are a wonderful human being! I love you all out there and send you hugs. We have to share our stories and we are allowed to share them. Together we can change something.

I feel like nobody talks about COCSA. And I feel like no one talks about female perpetrators. I’m not necessarily here to talk about the abuse that happened to me, but for context, I was nine and the other child was a nine year old girl. What really haunts me is what I did after. I inflicted this pain onto someone else, I figure I was probably about 10 and she was 9. She was my mom’s friends daughter. My mom’s best friend, actually. And I’ve been thinking a lot about how much that must’ve ruined their friendship when they found out what happened. How much anger my mother must have deep down felt towards me. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. And I tell myself “I didn’t touch her I didn’t actually lay my hands on her I didn’t do it” but I did. I hurt someone like that and maybe I have an excuse and maybe I don’t but all I can think is how horrible I feel to have done something like that to another person. It was never about getting caught or getting in trouble, im just disgusted with myself. Just recently I remembered that I was raped twice that night, not once. And now I’m terrified that maybe I’m forgetting something and maybe I did this more than once, but how could I have forgotten doing something like that? I would never harm a child today. Never. There is not a single doubt in my mind that I would ever hurt anybody like that again. All I think about now is if I’m this awful person because nobody ever talks about this side of childhood SA and the people that do are treated like monsters. But maybe that’s what I deserve.

I was 18. In college I was part of a ladies team on in college sports team. There were also male teams. There was a inter college tournament that our college was hosting for other male college teams within Ireland. We all had nights out planned and a 'play hard, play hard' attitude. It was great to be part of something - I genuinely loved playing and being part of the club. On one of the nights I was drinking and got to talking with a guy from another college mens team. It was fun and we ended up back at his hotel room, where we had consensual sex. After, I remember feeling groggy and then being suddenly awoken to all these lads barging in. They ripped the bed cover off us and I remember phone flashes going off. It was year so, not exactly amazing phones back them. Slagging of various types ensued but then I remember being held down. At least 2 different men. I remember saying no, please stop. Flashes in and out while I just stared at the corner of the bedside table, thinking how similar it was to the one in my parents room. Weird. I must have slept at some point because I woke up. I got dressed. I remembered nothing. Nothing but the sex with the lad I kissed. Naturally, the next morning is always awkward so I wanted to get out of there. Just as the hotel room door clicked shut I realised I had left my shoes. I knocked back and had to do so loudly as everyone was deep asleep. As I was doing that one of the other team members opened a door across the hall, he stared at me. I said sorry for waking him but I needed my shoes. He just said he was so sorry. I was confused, having no memory of what he was actually talking about, so I said I'm sorry I left my shoes. Eventually someone opened the door and I got my shoes. Leaving the hotel and walking to the nearest bus stop, I felt appropriately hung over but sore. Down there. I'd never been sore before. Guess we must have really gone for it, I thought. Fast forward to lockdown 3 during Covid, I began experiencing severe nightmares that weren't nightmares. The missing memories came back over 2/3 months and I realised that I had been rated multiple times. That my brain had protected me until now. My SA, unknowingly, had a huge impact on my formative years - I came out as bisexual just 2 years ago. I feel I would have had a very different 20's but I met a decent guy, stuck with him like glue and am now married with a child. Due to the memory block, I have no recourse. No sense of justice so I just hope those boys, now grown men, are better than they were.

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.

At the tender age of 9 I was molested by a family member. This went on for 3 years. When I did mention it to my immediate family I broke down and was admitted to the hospital for a period of 48 hours. I was truly saddened and really felt alone. I carried this burden on for over 20 something years where afterwards I befriended someone that physically abused me. I ignored the red flags and in order to keep my children safe I told the perpetrator that I will stay. He would hit me in the back of my head many times to this day I have a small protruding disc in the back of my skull. The last incident when I knew that I couldn't take anymore and that my children would be safe is when he tried to throw me down my stairs after straddling me while choking me. I prayed and I asked God for strength. This was in Date. I found the strength to heal, seek therapy and start my own nonprofit (Nonprofit name) which serves Women and Children of domestic violence with temporary shelter, counseling, and 10-week trauma sessions. I now know my Worth and I know that I am a Woman that matters.

For me, my story entailed a male friend getting into my bed when i told him not to and forcing me to ‘cuddle’ with him, while he grabbed at me. He had been telling me all night how he missed his girlfriend, particularly her body & “that” part of their relationship. I felt horrible, i was uncomfortable and scared that he might do more. He didnt. But still even years later i feel uneasy when i think about it & how creepy he really was. He ignored me when i said no. He took away my autonomy that night. So dont feel like your story isnt worthy just because it “could have been worse”. Every experience is valid ❤️

I am female and I was sexually assaulted by a female friend when we were 9 years old. I want to share this because I cannot seem to find another story on female on female COCSA and it makes me feel like what happened to me wasn't "bad enough" because it was a girl and it was another child my age. I know that thought isn't true but it has taken me a while to realise what happened was assault and was "bad enough" and I think it would have helped if I had heard stories similar to mine, so I am hoping this could help someone who has been in the same situation as me. It happened when I was around 8 or 9 years old. I don't remember everything from start to finish or how many times it happened but then other parts of it (like surroundings and smells) are so vivid. I will just share what I remember. I don't know what led up to this point but the the first memory I have is just me laying on my back on my bed and she was on top of me pinning me down and I was scared and trying to wriggle away and get her off me. I remember the smirk on her face, it's like she found it funny and she was enjoying watching me squirm. I remember trying to hard to get her off me but at the same time not wanting to hurt her because she was my friend. So I wasn't hitting or being aggressive I was just trying to wriggle out from under her while she was sat on top of me on my stomach/chest. This friend was a nice friend who was not aggressive or nasty so I think this is what made it all even more confusing. I don't even think she knows she did something wrong? I have no idea. I feel so embarrassed to say the following but I am going to do it because its anonymous and it could maybe help someone feel better about what happened to them. I remember her pulling down her trousers while still straddling/hovering over me. As soon she she did this I was TERRYFIED. I was so scared. Next thing I remember is her bum coming towards me and sitting on my face. I feel so embarrassed saying this, it sounds so stupid but it was so scary and I didn't want it. The next thing I remember is her above me again and facing me (trousers were still down) with her vagina out for me to see and near my face. I remember her touching her vagina with her fingers and then trying to touch my mouth with her fingers/put her fingers in my mouth. I was so so so scared and doing everything I could to move my head away and make sure her fingers didn't touch me. I remember the smell of her vagina and I have imagine of it close to my face but I can't remember if it touched my face. I was so scared. I remember feeling so confused and also terrified my mum was going to walk in. I knew what was happening wasn't right. I don't remember much else except from those two flash backs and then I remember pretending to go to sleep after in a different bed. I don't know why I didn't hit her to get her off me or scream for my mum to hear, I don't know why i felt scared that my mum was going to come in, as is I was the one doing something wrong? I liked this friend, she was nice and not a bully so i think it made it more confusing because I didn't want to be mean or hurt her or anyone to think badly of her. Another memory I have after that is having a sleepover round her house and I just remember feeling uncomfortable and I remember she was wearing a night-dress with no underwear and we had to share a bed and I felt so uncomfortable and I didn't want to be close to her in bed. I have icky feeling about that night but I can't remember if anything happened. I am now 24 years old and finally now only realising that what happened to me was COCSA and realising how much it has effected me. I have suffered with depression for years and been on medication for the last 8 years. I've always wondered why my depression wouldn't go away. I have no reason to be sad, I have a good family, lots of friends, a job, a great boyfriend... yet I can't seem to shake the depression off. I have repressed the memories of what happened that day for 11 years and I have no idea why it has all come up to the front of my mind now but I now just can't seem to ignore it. It's all I've though about for 2 weeks and I can't believe its taken me this long to realise what happened and to realise that that situation has cause so many issue in my life. I was such a happy child and I was so innocent. She exposed me to things I didn't know about and shouldn't have known about. I was too young. It left me confused and ashamed. I then have memories of me masturbating and watching porn and even one time I showed another friend porn. I feel awful that I showed someone else my age porn when we were so young. None of us should have been exposed to that. I even feel sorry for the girl who assaulted me because I can't help but think she must have been getting abused herself because why else would she know the things she was doing? I don't hold any anger towards her because I don't think she meant to cause this harm to me. For years I have felt great shame. I have questioned my own sexuality for years because of it. I have questioned if I enjoyed it? I have had so many confusing feelings about it. I have tried to hard to forget about it and have managed to go years at a time without the memory resurfacing. I have felt so much hatred and shame towards myself. I haven't been able to pin-point why I felt that way until now that these memories have come back. I told my boyfriend but he didn't deal with it well. He cried, which made me feel worse about what happened. I feel the urge to speak to someone about it because I can't stop thinking about what happened. It makes me feel anxious like I'm going to have a panic attack. It feels like its so close to coming out of my mouth and I just NEED to tell someone. I want to tell my mum or sister but I am so scared they are going to judge me. I'm scared they will think I'm weird. Or that it's not a big deal. I don't think I actually could let the words come out of my mouth to tell my family. When I reflect my teenage/adult years, a lot more things make sense. My depression, self-loathing, shame, low self-esteem.. all makes more sense. I have been a people pleaser my whole life and have been awful at setting boundaries for myself. I have continuously let friends, boyfriends and people in power cross my boundaries. I feel like I haven't respected myself very much in some ways and I regret not sticking up for myself when I have been in uncomfortable situations. 1st example: When I was 17, my driving instructor (who was in his 40's or 50's, married and had a daughter my age) made a few inappropriate comments. One of those being about me giving him a blow job and another time about me kissing me. Which I awkwardly laughed and didn't say anything to which he seemed offended and then said "I'll take that as a no then". I still didn't say anything and just felt awkward and changed subject. I continued to have lessons with him. I should have told him he's a disgusting pervert and never got back in his car again. But I felt bad and didn't want to upset him. My brother also has the same driving instructor and really liked him and I didn't want to cause any issue or for people to think badly of the instructor. 2nd example: When I was 12 or 13, I sat next to a boy in English class. He put his had on my thigh. I told him no and pulled his hand away. He kept trying to do it again and I kept saying no and pulling his hand away. I was not sexually active yet, nor did I want to be and I didn't even fancy this boy. I thought he was disgusting. He didn't stop and ending up touching me through my knickers. I remember being scared and uncomfortable. I didn't want him to do it but I didn't want to get him in trouble or draw attention to it. I was scared the teacher would see and we would maybe both be in trouble. I can't remember how it ended but I think eventually he took no for an answer. Once again, I now regret not shouting "what are you doing? get off me!" I don't understand why i was so scared about making other people upset or making other look bad? I was choosing that over my own comfort/boundaries. 3rd example: From ages 18-21, I was in an emotionally abusive relationship (which also got physical on a few occasions). I let that boyfriend strip me of any self- confidence I had left. He constantly belittled me, made me question my own experiences, gas-lit me, scared me, pushed me to the ground/off the bed when he was angry, smash things around me when he was angry, tell me I'm dumb, disgusting, embarrassing, pathetic. I was so manipulated by him, I was just the shell of my former self by the end of that relationship. When I look back at the relationship, I realise how much it affected me and also how wrong some things were (including sexual things). After a couple of years in the relationship, I didn't often want to be sexual with him because he was horrible to me and made me feel like sh*t and I started to resent him eventually. I would never kiss him or go near him sexually. He would sometimes be nice to me and It was great and I felt loved and then we would have sex and INSTANTLY after he would stop making any effort or being affectionate to me at all. As soon as he got what he wanted he would just switch back to how he normally was. Towards the end of the relationship shit, when we would have sex, I was just doing it because he wanted to do it not because I wanted to. I would just lay there and hope he would hurry up and finish. I could tell he didn't care about me or my pleasure either. He would just f*ck me like a object until he was finished. It was all for him, not me. To add to that, most of these encounters were after he had convinced/persuaded me to have sex after I said I wasn't in the mood for sex. On several occasions he asked me to perform oral on him and I told him I didn't want to. He wouldn't stop asking until I gave in. He would beg for it until I caved and did it. He even offered to take me for dinner or give me money if I did it (which I obviously declined). It just shows how little respect he had for me, my own boyfriend of 3 years was trying to bribe me into sexual favours when he knows I didn't want to do it. I remember multiple times after he kept going on and on trying to persuade me to give him oral, I would finally say "okay fine but just so you know, I don't want to do it so it won't be very good/it probably won't be very enjoyable" and he still wanted me to do it. I'm literally saying I DO NOT WANT TO DO THIS and he still didn't care, he just wanted what he wanted. I feel as though I am getting better at boundaries and I think I am ready to go to therapy about what happened when I was 9 and my last relationship. I can't help by think what happened when I was 9 is the reason for why I am how I am. I never understood why I was so depressed. None of my family or friends could understand why because in there eyes "I had it all" and had a great life. I also think what happened when I was 9 is the reason why I ended up in an abusive relationship and ended up being such a people pleaser and not being good at setting boundaries and just letting people disrespect me. I really hope one day I can live a happy life. I hope sharing this helps someone else who experience COCSA and/or female on female sexual assault, realise it is just as wrong and just as valid.

When I was 8 I was molested by my older 13 year old “friend.” It was a typical grooming situation with secrets we can’t tell others that weren’t playing our “game”. This time was very confusing and I felt like I couldn’t talk to my parents or sister about it. It lasted for months- touching, hiding spots, secrets, oral sex, and vaginal sex. She ended up telling her friends at school - my mom was a school counselor that worked there. She overheard and reacted. She came to my elementary school and said that the girl said that I started it. I felt completely unsupported by my mom- unloved, unheard, not trusted, hurt, broken. I shut down from then emotionally. My parents didn’t hug me or tell me it wasn’t my fault or anything it was just pure fear and chaos and their disbelief that they didn’t know it happened even though it would happen in the same room as them sometimes. I told them this and they still couldn’t validate me or take responsibility- they never even cried for me- for the devastation I went through. We went on like all was normal. When I was 11 I started trying drinking. When I was 13 I basically wanted to die but didn’t know why. I went to a different school when I was 14 and it was all people that were upper class- I didn’t quite fit it but it was very important to my parents that we did. I was stealing to have the clothes the other girls wore- I didn’t want to depend on my parents. I then got into my first relationship at 15 and lost my virginity in the back of his car- it was abusive- verbally, sexually, emotionally and psychologically. He would intimidate me by throwing boxes, raging, screaming in my face for hours, calling me every name in the book and not letting me leave the house- he isolated me from my friends- and cheated on me whenever he wanted. That lasted for 2 years. Then I went to college, broken. I was raped 10 times when I was in college at parties or in their dorm room or mine. I woke up with a condom inside me one time… bruises on my vagina another… with no recollection of how or who did it. I was over drinking so I felt like they were my fault. I told the dean of students about one time I got roofied and nothing happened- he was a D2 football player so got a slap on the wrist. He then harassed and followed me for months intimidating me saying I was lying and ruined my reputation. I felt the same every time I woke up- confused, shocked, embarrassed, sick, alone, empty, raw, and scared to death- how did it happen again. I got sober thinking that would stop the assaults- I have since been assaulted and taken advantage of on multiple dates. Most recently, at work, I was sexually harassed for months and raped at my coworkers house. I reported it after he was reported to HR by another colleague and the state police didn’t do a thorough investigation and didn’t seem to believe me or care. He violated the restraining order and has faced no ramifications- he is a nurse. I have undergone trauma treatment for 6 months now. Healing means waking up in the morning free to do what I want, when I want, where I want, with who I want. I am learning how to voice myself and say no, set boundaries and speak up when I am uncomfortable. I have come a long way from the chaos and trauma that I reenacted without a solution. I go to sex and love addicts anonymous meetings- I went no contact, went through a painful withdrawal and am starting to see things differently. I see that the lies were not love. Love bombing isn’t love. I was chasing a fantasy of someone I wanted him to be but he never was. I live in mental health housing and I’m looking for a job. I have peace now because I spoke up. I am grateful to be alive. I pray anyone in an unsafe situation trusts the smallest voice inside you that knows what is happening isn’t right. I pray you get out safely with a plan. Don’t think “I should have” or “I was smarter than this” we are smart and we may have known better, but abusers are good at what they do - mine was when I was 15 and I recreated that traumatic hell for 15 more years. It needs to end now. I deserve a good life with a healthy person. I deserve to be treated with respect and love. I am loveable, and I am worthwhile. I say affirmations each day to move toward the life I want and not look back to a life where I was suffering in silence. I thank God everyday that I get the chance to heal, pray, laugh and have the chance to know what real love looks like, starting with my friendships. I hope to find and participate in therapy groups so I can continue to be vulnerable and heal. I hold on to the hope that I will feel safe in my body as I did when I did to prepare for EMDR. I had never felt safe in my body before. I will feel this again- I wake up every day with hope. Things are getting better slowly, healing is possible, and I am grateful for the start of a new life.

I am the partner of someone with diagnosed bipolar. He is 52. Diagnosed and treated since his 20s. We were together for 3 years this month and I have stood by and supported him for 3 years. It has been a very difficult and rocky road. He was stable for many, many years and then triggered possibly by the sudden death of his mother and forced into several med changes. He then lost 2 jobs after having the same one for 20 years, crashed his car when manic and had a terrible gambling episode. This all happened in 2023- To name just a few of the incidents…. After so much hard work, we thought he has finally "stable" - since fall of 2023- and then the unthinkable happened last week- he hit me in the face, punched a hole through my door and shattered a full length mirror. He had never been physical to me- ever. I waited a year after we met to introduce him to my 2 boys and then he become their everything, especially my youngest. They walked in minutes after I kicked him out to their mom battered, broken glass and a door punched through. They have never witnessed any violence in their lives and have a super stable home. That was 5 days ago and we are in total agony. Like grieving a sudden death. Having him hurt me is a line I never thought he could ever be capable of. He has tried to contact me, but I think he is still in an episode- his emails (I blocked him elsewhere) are about how agonizing this is for him and lack an even understanding of the pain my family is going through. We can barely keep our heads above water right now. He is the most loving, intuitive and empathetic human I have ever known- how can this be about him? Please help me with any insight. I am seeing my therapist- 3x this week already, and got medical attention....I am having no contact with him, but insight from those of you who have experienced would help so much. He is on a combo of seizure medicine and antipsych which we thought was working. seizure medicine for sleep and antipsych as a rescue. He’s never been hospitalized. I’ve let his family know what’s happening but they are 8 hours away and I don’t think doing much and he doesn’t really have anyone else locally but me. I am grieving so hard. I am heartbroken. He was the love of my life that I wasn’t even looking for. I was with someone from age 18-45- married for 20 of those years - had my 2 children with him. And I have more memories and feelings and love for this man of 3 years than for my ex husband. As hard as these 3 years have been, he was my second chance, my love. Met him by accident - wasn’t even looking. And the thought of all of us starting over (my children’s father rarely sees them- only on occasion). Well, it almost feels too much to bear. It hurts more than the hit to my face did. And that is really messing with me. I know I can’t go back. I know it will now happen again - I’m told by my therapist, I’m reading it everywhere. I don’t want to even model that to my kids. My youngest is devastated - said to me “it feels like he died in a car crash suddenly and we never got to say goodbye but he caused it on purpose”. They were best friends- the closest I’d ever seen my son get to anyone other than me or my other son. My older son I had to drop at college 6 hours away 1 day after it happened. And all he cares about is if I’m ok. That burden is so unfair. They are 19 and 15. And I’m so so angry at the same time. I can’t make sense of anything right now I guess…. I want so badly deep down to believe he was wronged as a child or that this mental illness is responsible, that he is capable of rehabilitation - and at the same time I am so angry that I went him arrested and exposed - I want him never to do this to me or anyone again. I’m drowning in my anxiety and thoughts

This is my life story, well, at least the major events that come to mind. There are aspects of my life that I have either blocked out or chosen not to remember. When I was about 5 years old, my grandfather on my mother’s side started molesting me. It went on for a while, and I vividly remember crying to my mom, begging her not to make me go back there one weekend. In response, she looked at me and asked if my grandfather was touching me. I mustered the courage to say yes, hoping for support. To my dismay, she told me that my grandfather was sick and that I needed to support him. She continued to send me to his house every weekend until I turned 8, when he passed away. At the age of twelve, a traumatizing incident occurred. I was raped at a school basketball game by a high school student. My mother’s solution to this was to move us to another state. Unfortunately, that didn’t shield me from more pain. At 14 years old, I was gang-raped at a party and ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Thankfully, the police came, and the men responsible were arrested and charged. However, on the day of the court hearing, before I took the stand, something happened. I can’t recall the specifics, but my mom said something so terrifying that it coerced me out of testifying. Because of that, the adult perpetrator walked away free. I distinctly remember the furious look my dad gave my mom. He was so angry, while she callously said, “what would the people say.” It was a devastating blow. Tragedy struck again when I was 15 years old. I lost my father to suicide. Shockingly, my mom and sister blamed me for his death and gave me up to the state, making me an orphan. From that point, I bounced from foster home to foster home, eventually ending up in a group home until I turned 18. Desperate and lost, I fell into a dangerous cycle. I became addicted to drugs and involved in drug trafficking. My relationships were plagued by violence and abuse. In a desperate attempt to find a sense of belonging, I got involved with a Cartel Name. I immersed myself in their world, learning fluent Spanish. Tragically, I ended up being kidnapped and remained missing until the FBI located me eight months later. They discovered me chained up to a bed, on the brink of death. After spending five months rehabilitating in an State hospital, I was finally returned home. Throughout all these experiences, I encountered domestic violence, battled drug abuse, and confronted countless challenges along the way. Yet here I am today – resilient and determined to create positive change. My life has been a series of unimaginable hardships and painful experiences. From the abuse I suffered as a child to the trauma of rape and the loss of my father, I have faced more than anyone should have to endure. The path I walked led me down dark and dangerous roads, filled with addiction, crime, and violence. But amidst the darkness, I found a glimmer of hope. I made the decision to break free from the cycle of abuse and rebuild my life. With sheer determination, I ventured into the unknown, finding solace in new places and pursuing education to empower myself. Now, as I share my story, I am studying for my Master’s degree in human services, driven by a deep desire to help others who have faced similar struggles. I refuse to let the past define me, and I am committed to making a positive impact in the lives of others. My journey has been long and tumultuous, but it has also shown me the strength and resilience that resides within me.

I was so shocked. Being a single parent my career and professionalism means everything - including basic financial survival. I work for a small male dominated company. Part of my compensation includes a house on the property. I offered one of the rooms as a temporary conference room - 5 years later I had a growing side business and communicated with the appropriate 30 day notice that at the end of the year I would like to take this space in my home back. That set the owner off. He is emotionally unbalanced but I had no idea he would isolate me - came into the office barking for everyone to leave, he wanted to talk to me. Then he cornered me and after what seemed like very rehearsed rantings he talked about he and his wife’s $10k hobbies and in the same breath leaned forward leering and said “I bet your afraid some man is going to lock you in your basement and rape your ass”. I was speechless, and breathless - thinking he is having knee replacement surgery - if he moved closer I could kick that knee . . When he was done ranting at me - he wanted a hug. I was so throughly disgusted - but afraid - so with tears down my face gave him a hug - I just wanted it to end, for him to leave . . I had my first panic attack as soon as he left, I had my next one the next day. A week later I had stroke level HBP - and made sure to document this with my physician. When I finally told someone, I had such a physical reaction I was admitted to the CCU - Cardiac Care Unit for a few days. While I have not had a similar encounter since, I do have pepper spray and a knife in 6 places in and around where I work and live.

I was 8 years old when the grooming started. I was on the swim team, and my coach would pull me from my lane to show me different stretches. This wasn't uncommon during practice, so when he suggested I come to his office after practice so he could give me some more tips I thought nothing of it. He told me he thought I could be an amazing swimmer, that I could really help my team out if I started taking my land workouts more seriously. He offered to help me improve with stretches he would show me, and I let him know I wanted to do whatever I could to be a better swimmer. I started to get pulled out of the water early every practice by him and brought to his office. I was shown actual stretches at first, but then I became uncomfortable with what was going on. He started to give me massages before and after stretching, his hands lingering on my breasts and thighs. Things progressed, and eventually he began to perform what he called a simulating message on me before each practice. I know now that what he was really doing was fingering me, and I had every right to feel as uncomfortable as I did. Still, I didn't say anything to anyone because I was worried he would stop showing me stretches or giving me specialized attention at practice, something I desperately wanted to become a better swimmer. I'll never forget the first time he raped me, though I don't remember all of the the details. It was the first practice back after a meet, and I had swam my event quite poorly. Half way through practice he called me out of the pool for a meeting in his office. Once there, he asked if I was really serious about improving or if this was all a joke to me. I was upset, and swore up and down that I wanted to improve and was taking everything we worked on seriously. He started to suggest we work on some stretching before saying nevermind, and I actually remember crying and begging him to show me what he was going to suggest we work on. He took me to the table, and the rest I remember in snapshots. Him taking off my suit. Him taking off his pants. His hands all over my body. The overwhelming pain when he penetrated me. There were 72 tiles on the ceiling in his office. Later in the locker room one of the older girls pulled me aside and asked if I knew I had gotten my period because I had bled through my suit. She gave me a pad and I brought my clothes into a stall to change. The abuse continued until I was 10, at which point I decided to quit the team, opting not to move to the next age group. I never told anyone what happened. I had been warned about stranger danger as a kid, about people you didn't know hurting you, never about when it's someone you know well. I pushed aside my feelings that everything was wrong, and convinced myself this was just a part of life. I became a very anxious child. Where I had once been outgoing in social situations I now hung back, preferring to be with people I already knew instead of meeting new people. I cried a lot, and at the most random of times or things. Looking at it now, I'm not sure how my parents didn't notice the major shift in who I was, but having just transferred schools I feel like they may have assumed I was just having trouble adjusting to my new environment. I only just shared this information with someone else at the beginning of the year. I'm 28 years old. I told two good friends of mine what had happened, and found myself apologizing for not having divulged the information to them when I had been a victim of partner abuse in college. Imagine that, here I was sharing this massive information, and I still felt the need to say I was sorry to make sure nobody would be mad. I estimate I have been raped more than 100 times in my life. I am working through trauma processing in therapy, and I have an amazing therapist who pushes me out of my comfort zone without ever going too far. I still feel many of the effects of my experiences, but I'm very slowly coming to terms with what happened to me, which in turn is helping me to feel like I'm starting to take back parts of my life I lost.