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This year I managed to talk out loud for the first time about what happened to me as a "something", I always knew it but I kept it in the back of my head without giving it much thought because I knew if I did it was going to hurt, something in me knew it was wrong. When I was about 5/6 years old I had a friend a year or two older than me, I don't know how or when it started or why I "agreed", no matter how hard I try to remember I can't. This girl touched me and I touched her etc, I don't remember resisting or refusing and that makes it worse, I even think I liked it. Since then and as I grew older (similar situations happened to me at the hands of other girls) I began to feel shame and regret, in some ways it makes me feel dirty, as if I had never had innocence. Now I have a complicated relationship with sexuality, it hurts and makes me uncomfortable, I also can't feel good about myself, I feel like I'm guilty of this.

When I was between 4 and 5 years old, I was sexually abused by two uncles (10 to 12 years older than me). These memories remained hidden for about 10 years. Now, many years have passed since I first remembered what had happened, and everything feels distant and confusing (I've never really had clear memories of what happened, and this has made me doubt myself and my story a lot). I think they taught me how to touch myself. I also had a childhood heavily exposed to sexual content: I have memories of my parents having sex in the same bed (I had started sleeping with them), and also later, around 8 years old, the same thing happened with my mom and stepfather (they had sex next to me). Once, when I was 8, I put on a CD and it was a porn movie; there was also a TV channel that showed porn. When I was 5 or 6, I would rub my cousin (a year older than me) and my private parts together. I don't have clear memories of this either. Now I'm afraid that I was the one who persuaded my cousin to do it. I also remember that there was a Kama Sutra book at her house, and I think we sometimes played at imitating what we saw in it. I'm afraid that I was the one who provoked everything, that I imitated what my uncles did to me. I'm afraid of being like them.

When I was eight years old, I used to go play at the house of a friend who was the same age. I don't remember how it started; I know it happened, but my memories are hazy. I remember her undressing me and touching me, and her making me do the same to her, while a Jesus Christ figure hanging on the wall watched me. I don't remember that house, or how many times it happened. I wish I had told my mom, but I was too scared. I think children often go through things that are too much for them. Feeling scared all the time isn't normal. I hope no one ever goes through the same fear of the world growing up that I did.

My story is a bit long. When I was 15 or 16, I was reminded of things that had happened when I was between 4 and 5. Two uncles abused me. My memories of this have never been clear, and now, many years later, everything has become more distant and confusing, and I've doubted myself and my story several times. There are other things that happened in my childhood that I do remember more clearly: when I was between 7 and 8, I saw my parents having sex next to me (that night I had slept with them in their bed). Some time later, the same thing happened again, but with my stepfather and my mother. Also, when I was between 7 and 8, I was looking through some CDs in the DVD library at home, trying to label them by genre or movie. One of the CDs was a pornographic film. As usual, I was alone at home, so I watched the whole thing. I don't remember if I masturbated. I know that from a very young age I rubbed myself with stuffed animals, dolls, and other objects, although without much awareness of what I was doing, but the fear of being seen was present. There's something that haunts me right now: when I was 6 or 7 years old, my cousin (a year older) and I played around imitating some positions from a Kama Sutra book she had at home. I also have faint memories of once, while we were bathing, rubbing our private parts together. I don't know if this happened out of mutual curiosity and because of the content of the book we'd been exposed to, or if I was the one who created the situation and persuaded her to do it, or if I manipulated her. I don't remember it happening, but I'm afraid it did. What if I imitated what my uncles did to me or what I saw in the content I was exposed to? I feel fear, guilt, and shame. Also, half a year ago, I remembered that when I was 10 years old and I carried my little sister (who was about a month old) on my lap, I felt a pleasurable stimulus in my intimate area from the contact. When this image came back to me (it wasn't clear either, like my other memories), I felt guilty, but it didn't escalate because I understood it was a physical reaction and nothing more. But then I couldn't stop thinking about it and I wondered if I had prolonged or intensified the contact, and I felt so much guilt, disgust, and shame. It was so strong that I had an episode of OCD, and I feel like I still haven't been able to get out of it, because now I'm flooded with doubts about what happened with my cousin.

Hello, My name is Name & I would like to share one of my poems to (hopefully) be read at Event 😊 This poem is called "He Didn't Hit Me" and it is based on my own personal experience with an abusive relationship. I hope that anyone reading this poem & it resonates with them will take comfort in knowing that they are not alone ❤️ He Didn't Hit Me He didn't hit me, but his words cut like a knife, He didn't hit me, but he upended my life. He didn't hit me, but he made false accusations, He didn't hit me, but he had unreasonable expectations. He didn't hit me, but destroyed my hopes & dreams, He didn't hit me but ripped my confidence at the seams. He didn't hit me, but I always had to take the blame, For his shortcomings, moods & his manipulative game. Abuse isn't just physical, this I know to be true, Gaslighting & manipulation are powerful tools, Knowing I deserve better, I am finally free, For I am much more than what he tried to make of me.

i want justin baldoni to know how proud dv people are of him. i can tell how much he cares and this movie he made has impacted him. my father is a very verbal and physical abuser and my mom left after 20 years and im forever grateful and im so glad they made this movie. thank you justin.

I can safely say here that last year I have been sexually assaulted by my boyfriend at the time. I was a virgin and wanted him to kindly lead me to make love but he took it from me and so til this date I am working through that. I have been introduced to this platform by a girl who reads my blog and so I am ever so grateful to be able to share these and to follow you on Instagram I am forever grateful Regards with much love, g.

My ex was a mechanic. I was having car trouble and he fixed my car. What initially attracted me to him was that he was hard working and he was very bold. The abuse began when I was about 5 or 6 months pregnant with our first child together. Initially it was only physical abuse, it later turned into verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse. When one of my children came to me and disclosed that he had been molesting them. I didn't love myself enough but my children mean the world to me. Leaving for my children was easy as I could not allow them to be hurt. I called law enforcement and he was arrested. This is what gave me the courage to speak up about the things that I had endured. I was abandoned by all of my friends and family after they expressed to me how they felt I was to blame and didn't feel sorry for me at all. I also blamed myself for not loving myself enough to leave. I was treated horribly and not viewed as a victim at all. It was very hard to navigate this trauma on my own. But I am still here by the grace of God.

I was young and naive. I didn't even know what rape was. I sought help from my friends only to be met with all of the "why didn't you...this?" or "why didn't you...that?" From that point on I blamed myself and never spoke about the rape. In my early adulthood, I had a coworker that recognized something in me and she asked me if I had been raped. She offered me support and resources. I still hadn't ever heard of any advocacy programs. At age 25, I applied for a new job working with child abuse victims. Little did I know, but they also worked with victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. I found my healing there and I continue to work there 31 years later. I found my healing and strength through educating the public and advocating for others. As I get older, I get bolder. I no longer fear sharing my story.

I Say No More because there are too many of us living and struggle with our everyday lives because we are ashamed about what another person has done to us. Me for an example; my abuse was on and off throughout my childhood. The longest lasted 4 years. By me staying silent for so long, to I have PTSD, Emotional Disorder and Depression. I had to learn how to gain control of my life that I didn't know for the longest that I could. I'm taking it one step at a time. See those people may have took away my childhood but they couldn't take away my LOVE, JOY and now my PEACE away.

Someone made out with me at a party knowing my severe level of intoxication and they were sober. I confided in a person with what happened because that event was bothering me and i felt like i was taken advantage of, and for context i have a very small circle and i don't know too many people, i never knew that person would treat my story like cheap gossip. The person who made out with me when i was drunk then knew that i confided in a person with my story , having too many friends they starting spreading a reverse narrative saying i pressured them to kiss me , that i was crying and was too clingy , that i made them uncomfortable , the narrative soon transformed into me harrassing them and not the opposite, this event has been quite shocking and i can't seem to believe what happened, i can't seem to accept how can someone accuse you of something they did, i didn't defend myself or try to say anything about it because my nervous system can't handle gossip , attention and problems so i just kept quite and let them and their friends gang up against me knowinf i'm innocent, i want to know if there are similar people with my sorty , people whom their harrassers accused them and tried to portray them as a harrasser and started spreading a counter nagative , is it only me ? or did other people experience that too ?

It’s amazing how social media has the ability to connect people from all over the world. Old friends, former classmates, and long-distance family members coming together after years of separation and rekindling relationships that would otherwise not exist. With a simple search of a first and last name and an invitation, you have the ability to bring the past straight to your front door. In my case, my past is there for a reason and I never sought out old high school friends or former coworkers when I first joined Facebook. In fact, I didn’t even create an account right away. Maybe I didn’t understand the concept at the time or maybe I just didn’t care. Either way, when I did eventually open a Facebook account, I kept it pretty simple. If people found me and invited me into their worlds, most times I accepted. There were a few invitations I declined because I didn’t want certain individuals in my space - there was no place for them in it. Over the years, I have cleaned up my account, unfollowed several people for various reasons (even blocked a few), and now it’s a little more than a handful of friends and family that I watch grow, celebrate happy times, mourn losses, and share their special moments through pictures and captions. I’ve watched babies grow into young adults and the adults age with grace, humor, a few more wrinkles, and touches of grey. I’ve mourned with those who have lost loved ones and I’ve celebrated their happy times, holidays, and accomplishments with them, albeit from a distance. I have also shared my life on social media; my children and their milestones, birthdays, vacations, special occasions, and even the loss of a loved one or two. Along with Facebook I also jumped on the Twitter, Instagram, YouTube bandwagons, but have recently settled comfortably into the simplicity of my Instagram account. It’s essentially my online photo album and since I cannot have all of my actual photo albums at an arm’s reach like I once did, Instagram is the next best thing. The funny thing about social media and the Internet is how easy it is to actually find someone. You don’t need more than a name and a state and soon enough you're down the Internet/social media rabbit hole. Eventually you will see at least a glimpse into the life of who you are searching for. You'd be amazed at how much you can find out about a person without even friending or following them on social media including close relatives or associates, places of employment, current and previous addresses and phone numbers, political affiliations - the list is endless. Public records, especially in state, are wide open for anyone to search. I’ve searched Google for myself to see what pops up and immediately I see my Facebook page, Instagram account, connections to my place of employment, and I can access a million sites that claim to be a 'white pages’ type search engine that will provide me with random but solid information. I happen to have a few different last names, but it doesn’t matter how you search: you will find my age, close relatives, the city I live in, a map to my house, previous addresses and phone numbers, and because I share the same name as my mother, her obituary is in the top five Google results (without even putting state in the search bar). So, when a handful of years ago (or so) I received a message through Facebook Messenger from an old high school friend, it was strange that she said she had a hard time finding me. At that time, we would have actually had a few high school friends in common. I really didn’t think much of it, but my husband was the one who said that was an odd comment given all of what we know about Facebook and the Internet. Moving on... I was pleasantly surprised to hear from her, but after nearly 30 years and remembering our very last time together, where do you even begin catching up? You see, this wasn’t just any friend. This was my very best friend in high school, a friend I met on my first day of my freshman year of the very prestigious Academy, an all-girl Catholic high school in City, State. That was the beginning of a friendship that would last through high school and beyond for a short time, until distance, a physical altercation, and maybe something more ominous separated us for good. For the sake of this story, I will call my best friend Name. You will understand why in a bit. Name and I were seated behind one another in most of our classes because in those days, we were seated alphabetically. We were always in the first row and directly behind one another. It was just fate that we hit it off. It was easy to make friends with the girls sitting behind you, in front of you, and directly to your right or left because those seating arrangements followed us from class to class. Many of my closest high school friends' last names began with the letters A through F. Cheating was easy too...a little slide to the left or right and we could help one another if needed. Name was beautiful, funny, and many times the center of attention. She had the blackest hair I had ever seen and it was fiercely wild. Name had high cheekbones, a pointy nose, a high forehead always covered by bangs, and a pretty smile. She was engaging and we became fast friends. Looking back at those years, I remember feeling never ‘good enough’ to be her friend. I always felt she was the pretty one and I wasn’t even a diamond in the rough. I was just the pretty girl's best friend. Name never made me feel 'less than' and I'm sure that by the time we met, my insecurities, low self-esteem, and lack of self-worth were already set in motion. This would not be the only relationship in which I felt like I was living in someone else's shadow, but this is the one where I feel that a real pattern emerged. That is, until my husband came along. He never let me feel second to anyone. To him, I've always been the brightest, shiniest, most beautiful, rare, one of a kind 'diamond' he has ever known. Back to the story - Name knew makeup, Name knew fashion, Name was confident, Name was a leader, and I cannot remember ever having a fight or disagreement with her. She was part sister, part friend. It was the 80's, we had big hair, black eyeliner, tight jeans tucked into our scrunched down socks, sweatshirts off the shoulder, leg warmers, and sometimes a little belly showing. The boys gave Name a lot of their attention and she loved every bit of it. She was flirty and she was good at it, but Name was a good girl and it was all in good fun. I have many fond memories of our years together. I practically lived at her house through high school, loved her family more than mine (didn’t we all have a friend like that), and the option for me to stay with her family when mine was moving to state was on the table. In the end, I opted not to do that because, in fact, I did love my family and the thought of being away from them for that long was too difficult to bear. Or was there more to me not wanting to stay there? Name and I did everything girlfriends do: studied, talked about boys, danced, experimented with hair and makeup, hung out on the street corners where I started smoking (Parliaments, for those of you who would remember the brand), listened to music, went to the movies, got fake ID's to get into the 18 and over clubs, and so much more. We were listening to Madonna, Kool and the Gang, Expose, Shannon, and Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam among many others. We spent a lot of time at her house and a lot of time in her kitchen talking with her mom. Her parents were called by their first names and were the coolest parents around. The first time I got drunk and passed out was at a party at Name’s house. Her parents also let the kids drink, which was pretty cool when I was 17. That particular night my mother must have known something was up because she refused to let me spend the night and sent my brother to pick me up. I literally threw up out of the car window the entire way home. That's a story my brother has brought up many times over the years. Back to Name's house - Sundays were a day for cooking, eating, and family time. I had not really experienced that cultural tradition before and I loved being a part of it. Her grandparents lived in her house and everything was homemade, authentic, and delicious. There was always enough food to feed an army. Thinking back about those days, there were always so many people coming and going at Name’s house and everyone was welcomed with open arms. There was one particular kid I remember being around quite often, but he was not a family member. He may have been a friend of a younger sibling, but he hung out with the older kids so I'm not sure. I mention this because he comes back up in this story a little later on. I remember I had a crush on Name's older brother for a while, but don't remember talking to her about it and nothing ever came of it. I am positive some of my friends ended up with crushes on my brother too. Name and I went to clubs, movies, the flea market, school dances and our high school's ring night together. She came on vacation with my family and I went on a weekend trip with hers. There was nothing we didn’t share. When we were 16, Name came on a family vacation with us to state. It was a great time! We visited with family, went to the beach, hung out on Fort Lauderdale's strip, and baked in the sun covered in baby oil by the poolside. We both got pretty sunburned and my mom thought Name had sun poisoning, which was pretty scary. My mom took care of both of us and even called Name's mom to let her know what was happening. Name was in such pain I thought her mom would want her home as soon as possible, but she let her stay with us. After a couple of days, we were both feeling better. While we were in state I got my driving permit, not to be confused with a drivers license. That may have been because we could not literally spend another minute in the sun or just preparing me for our move to state later that year. Overall, it was a great time with a great friend and I have lots of pictures to prove it. When we got back home, the fact that my state permit only allowed me to drive with an 18-year-old licensed driver did not stop Name and I from taking her parent's van to the mall - without permission and without the already mentioned mandatory 18-year-old licensed driver. I will never forget how scared I was, not just how mad her dad would be if he found out, but I really did not know how to drive. Name was much more carefree about breaking all of the rules (and driving laws) on this particular day. All I could think about was all that could go wrong and how it would be my fault. And on top of that, all of the windows of the van were covered (I think with curtains) so I couldn't see anything behind us or in any blind spot. That could be why I still have to turn in all directions multiple times before changing lanes all of these years later. Like I said, I have told that story many times over the years and had a few good laughs, but actually writing about it makes it a bit more cemented in my history; a history that Name was a big part of. With all of the worry I remember feeling as we backed out of the driveway and all the anxiety I felt driving to Location, it's ironic that I can't remember how the day ended. Obviously, we survived my driving and we didn't get caught because between Name's dad and mine, I'm not sure I would be here to tell the story. Another memorable night with Name was when we went food shopping for her mom. I remember feeling like that was an impossible task considering all of the people in her household, but we went and she was a champ. My mother would never have sent me or my siblings grocery shopping so this was quite an adventure for me. During this trip however, Name stuck a few makeup items in her purse while we wandered up and down the aisles. I remember not really caring about the stealing of an eyeliner or lipstick and didn’t give it any thought because she was so calm and confident. That was until, after checking out at the register, a security guard (or police officer – I can’t recall) stopped us and asked us to walk with him to an office at the front of the store. We were caught and we were both guilty, it didn’t matter who stole what. When the officer asked us our names and ages and said he was going to call our parents, we were beyond freaking out - begging and pleading for him not to. Again, between her father and my retired-cop father, our asses were in deep trouble. The fact that I was turning 17 within a week or so (Name was just 16) allowed me to acknowledge the complaint and basically take Name into my custody. I think we were trespassed from the store and I think the officer really gave two near-hysterical girls a break, but going grocery shopping wasn’t a regular thing anyhow. This story has also been repeated many times through the years and my feeling of relief at not having a juvenile record has never waned. Again, our parents never found out. In July of 1986 I went on a ‘camping’ trip with Name’s family to City 2, State 2. Name’s parents allowed each of the children to pick a friend to go with. I was 17 and this would be our last summer together because my family was moving to state the following month. I wouldn’t have known the exact place or date of this trip, but it is written on the back of a photo I have from the day we arrived home. Also, on the back of the photo, in my handwriting, are the names of everyone pictured in the photo. For many, that way of cataloging people, dates, and places is a trip down memory lane. For me, it is a stark reminder of a memory I had repressed a long time ago. That repressed memory came to light after two things happened: (1) Name messaged me on Facebook and (2) shortly thereafter I came across that photo taken on her doorstep the day we returned from the camping trip. While purging my attic, I found a lot of photos from those carefree high school days and sent them to friends who could enjoy a walk down memory lane..... At first, the memories came in waves. Flashes of faces. A jolt of fear. My stomach turned. I was laying on a floor. I was scared and nothing was making sense. These quick flashes of a living nightmare didn’t seem real, but I knew they were. I saw his face. I saw him laughing. I saw both of them laughing. I saw me lying there, drunk, passed out and incapable of stopping it. There must have been a moment or two of clarity during my blackout because I saw me being sexually assaulted by my best friend’s brother and the younger boy I mentioned earlier. I see both of their faces, but the younger boy's relationship to the family is escaping me. He was younger than us by a couple of years, he spent a lot of time with the older kids at Name’s house, and he was with us on that family trip to State 2. He could have been a friend of a younger sibling or he could have been a troubled youth Name’s family took in. These small flashes eventually came to life as a full-blown memory and made me anxious and sick. My head was spinning and I was unable to stop the memories, feelings, and horrors that were engulfing me. This assault was replaying over and over again in my head and I could not turn it off. I was so ashamed and confused by what I was experiencing that I couldn’t even tell my husband to his face. I wrote it all down for him in a letter and we never spoke about it again - at my request. And I never said another word about it – not to anyone. I felt shame, I felt embarrassed, I felt angry, I felt humiliated. What else do I remember about that weekend beside being sexually assaulted? We were drinking heavily on the night of the assault, the next morning while taking a shower (hungover and having no recollection of the night before) Name's brother came into the bathroom while I was showering and took my clothes as a prank (or so I thought), and taking that photo on the doorstep of Name’s house when we returned from the trip. That’s it. But that was already too much for me to handle. I put the picture away and for five or so years just tried not to think about it. That didn’t stop me from remembering and I certainly was not healing. Every single time Name popped up on social media, she was a trigger for a flashback. I even unfollowed and muted her for a while to see if that would work, but it didn’t. The nightmare would rear its ugly head and I would wonder how I could go about facing what happened and actually heal from all the pain it brought me. I thought about writing this story many times. I would start it and not be able to continue, I wrote in great detail and then less detail, I wondered if people would believe me or not, and I struggled with naming my friend and her brother or would that be going too far. Well, that’s ironic, isn’t it? Questioning my going too far when I was the victim of sexual assault. And I was the one carrying the weight of this incident that happened so long ago. The final straw came when the subject of sexual assault came up in one of my sociology classes. I was reading about victim blaming, how 1 in 3 women (worldwide) will experience sexual violence in their lifetime, how 2 out of 3 sexual assaults go unreported, and how the majority of assaults are committed by someone the victim knows. I knew it was time to tell my story. Back to my best friend…… I remember so clearly lying in her bed together, talking about the future, how much we were going to miss each other, and listening to You've Got a Friend. For years that song brought back those moments instantly. My family moved to state in August of 1986 and life as I knew it went on. Everything about that year was hard though: adjusting to a new home and a new school, and making new friends was tough at 17. I visited Name’s family during my first Christmas break and she visited me during that first spring break. At the time, I was in what I would call my first serious relationship, one that would go on for about 4 years. While Name was visiting, we hung out with my boyfriend and new friends a lot. I saw nothing wrong with it, but apparently, she did. One night before we were supposed to go out, she started an argument and I thought she was just insecure and jealous of my new relationship and friends. One wrong word and one instigative push led to an all-out girl fight. The next day she flew home early and we never spoke again. Until that Facebook message 30 years later…. One message that led to a picture, a picture that led to a memory, a memory that led to a single night that changed my life forever, a single night that led to the truth, a truth that led to my journey of healing. For many years I felt that I was a victim of 'something' but I could not put my finger on what it was, who may have been involved, or why I felt I had been violated. These feelings gnawed at me for years. My husband is the only one I talked with about any of these feelings and he has always been a source of emotional and mental strength to get me through the rough patches. Years ago, I went to rape counseling because although I didn't 'know' what happened, deep down somewhere in my subconscious, I did know. I have battled depression, I live with anxiety, and many years ago I contemplated suicide. I basically mirror the definition of a sex assault survivor with post-traumatic stress disorder type behaviors. Lately I've wondered if my best friend was aware of what happened that fateful night so long ago, but I guess I'll never know. What I do know is that two rapists got away with a crime for over 35 years and they will never be punished for what they did. What kind of men or monsters did they become? Because they got away with it once, could there be other victims? Do they have daughters? Does what they did to me ever cross their minds, and how would they feel if their daughters were victims at the hands of cowardly monsters like them? Are they married? What would their wives think if they heard this story and know that the men they married are men who assaulted an incapacitated, drunk 17 year old girl? Thanks to the Internet and social media, I already know the answers to some of these questions. I don't really care about any of that, but I hope they are both looked at just a little bit differently for the rest of their lives after people read about what they did. They are rapists and they altered the course of my life in many ways. This is now another story cemented in my history linked back to my high school best friend - brought straight to the forefront of my life through a simple social media message and a long-forgotten photo. I guess the past does have a way of catching up to us. For reference: Consent is an agreement to participate in a sexual activity. Without consent, sexual activity (including oral sex, genital touching, and vaginal or anal penetration) is sexual assault or rape. One in five women in the United States experienced completed or attempted rape during their lifetime. I am one. Being drunk is not a free pass. If you are drunk and you perform a sexual act on another drunk person, you are accountable for your behavior. The person initiating the sexual act is responsible for getting consent. Victim Blaming is not okay. No rapist rapes by accident. The rapist has time to make a choice and with the wrong choice, victims suffer for a lifetime.

You hear it all over the news. You see it in films and tv shows. As women, we are often warned, and we hear comments about ‘safety in numbers’ when you go to the toilet. ‘Watch your drinks’ when out and about. ‘Don’t show that much skin, cover up’. ‘You can’t wear that.’ ‘Get a taxi home, it’s not safe to walk’… unfortunately words can not protect you from the intentions of others. I went on a night out with friends, a reunion that started off so well. I remember the dancing, the constant flow of drinks…pints, gin, vodka, sambuca to name a few. Yes, it is not ideal to mix however, when you are reminiscing, and your group had a booth with a table full of drinks; you would probably do the same! Anyway, the lights flashed, the music bounced off the walls and suddenly a trip to the loo mixed with alcohol on a busy autumn international night in Location…makes you forget what floor you left your friends on. Fast forward to the smoking area alone on the phone, where I swayed and debated leaving. “A taxi home would be safer than walking in the rain”. Before I was allowed in, I had to pay by card, he insisted on no cash. I entered the taxi behind the passenger seat in the back and it began. The looks through the rear-view mirror were instant…my memory of the journey is absent until we reach my corner. My directions at this point were now ignored but I trusted him. He parked, away from my house. He locked the car with me still inside. He looked back. “Kiss me”. He had hold of my wrists and climbed through to the back where he began to sexually assault me. I am unsure for how long this lasted but he later broke away and asked to use my toilet. This enabled me to get out of the car so…I said yes. Why I ever thought I could get into my house first in a pair of heels whilst heavily intoxicated I do not know, but even so, I looked back to see how ahead I was…even now I can see him running down that pavement to reach me at my door. In my own home, he was in control. He stole my breath, he stole my voice, he stole my body. He raped me. No one ever prepares you for an event like that, or even how to tell your parents. I went to SARC, I did the forensics and repetitive questions, and I was told it would take years of my life away if I were to take it further. So, I went back to work the following Monday as I had a responsibility to fulfil. It weighed on my shoulders. I knew there was an expectation. Many google searches informed me of my next steps…I made an anonymous complaint to the Police, and everything began to move. Everything became intense…I was living out what felt like a BBC drama. Months later he denied it in court, so we went to trial. The support I received was minimal. I was still working, taking unpaid time off. My close family and friends were those who got me through the days in court, the days in-between and the days I live now. I took away the screen during my time on the stand, I answered every insulting question and remark. I looked him in the eyes, he held eye contact for only a few seconds before breaking into a smirk; as I broke down in the stand. I was torn to pieces in front of a judge, jury and courtroom. In front of him, who proceeded to spin his web of lies which were the complete opposite to the ones he had said in his initial statement. “To be a good liar, one needs a good memory” …He was found guilty. It took 2 weeks for me to be seen as a victim and believed. Fast forward to the sentencing hearing where my main pillars of support accompanied me…I read out my victim impact statement… He got 11 years…a minimum of 8 ½. I got a lifetime sentence, anxiety, depression, dissociation, insomnia, scars and PTSD. February 2024, 2 months after the 1st anniversary; I made my 3rd attempt. A phone call from a friend pulled me back to reality, who later pulled me off the bridge. A mixture of anger, tears and confusion filled the next couple of days, and I knew I needed to take back control of my mind and body. Which is hard when his monstrous hands are imprinted, his poisonous breath echoing in and flooding my ears and the pain weighing heavy on my body. This time I had to do something different. I could not bring myself to hurt anyone else further, so I searched online. I came across The Survivors Trust and after a quick scan through what they had to offer, I instantly thought ‘why wasn’t I told about this sooner?’. Talking can feel repetitive especially when you cannot explain how exactly you are feeling…which is ok in this sense because of their ‘Survivor Resources’. They echo that everyone has a different healing journey and they have sets of resources that have been put together with the survivor in mind…whilst also having a section for those who are looking for help on how to support a survivor they love in their lives. The Survivors Trust then became an outlet for me because even though I am very much at the beginning of my healing journey, I felt responsible and motivated to raise awareness for this charity. No one should ever have to face a traumatic event like this but sadly, the actions of others are something we cannot control. Therefore, I created a Facebook page called ‘Name’ and started promoting my quiz night followed by live music and started a Just Giving Page. I never anticipated a big response; I had a goal of £1000. A goal of raising awareness for the charity, fellow victims and survivors. A goal to inform. The CSEW estimated that 1.1 million adults aged 16 years and over experienced sexual assault in the year ending March 2022 (798,000 women and 275,000 men). 15% of girls and 5% of boys have experienced sexual violence by the time they are sixteen. Every five minutes in the UK someone experiences rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault by penetration. ‘On the face of it, something has to change’ (Prima Facie, 2022). Date he was sentenced. Date 2 I raised a total of Specific amount from site.. People have different opinions on the length of time to which I will be ‘fixed’. “Sometimes, it takes a few days”. A few days, a few weeks; a few months to fully grasp what happened, to trust myself? Living in and out of my own body, not knowing when it is truly me or what is now left. The sleepless nights, the nights that repeat every detail. Every once in a while, my ears go out, ringing as I simply stare into thin air, dissociating and remembering each and every detail without speaking a word. Sometimes it only takes a smell, a name, a piece of clothing, a sound to take me back to these moments. It does not take much to remind the brain of the agony. It’s hard. I float throughout each day, each night, as each aspect of the memory replays every time, I take a second to think…no matter where or who I am with. It is currently day 630…I have finally started EMDR therapy, I am still at times in denial of the events, and I am very much at the beginning of my journey. I am beginning to understand there is no timeframe on healing and with the support of this charity, my close family and name, taking time to self-care and keeping up with my medication is all I can do for now. Everyone is different. Therefore, it is totally natural to heal and deal with trauma in different ways. I work and like to keep busy…some say to avoid/escape the flashbacks but unfortunately, they do not escape me. However, although I have tried many times not to be…I am alive, and I am going to do everything in my power to make sure things change. No one should live in the fear of not being believed. No one should be put into situations where they experience a type of sexual assault. No one should have to go through something they could not control and feel guilty for the rest of their lives. No one should feel alone. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel shame, guilt, embarrassment, regret and the list goes on but I will get there. I am alive today because of the resources and support presented on The Survivors Trust site. My journey is very much at the beginning, and I so wish I knew about this charity sooner. Therefore, this is me giving back as well as letting others know about the charity, not only the victims either…Survivors Trust helps everyone impacted. Raising Amountp is just the start of the work I will be doing for the charity. It is okay to talk, there are people who will believe, who will support in any way they can. Together we are stronger…you do not have to face this battle alone. I have recently continued to share my story and been a listening ear to others on my page Name on Instagram and Facebook. I don't want anyone to ever feel alone in their trauma, in their healing, in their journey. I am far beyond cured. My EMDR therapy has been completed but its like a bomb has gone off...I've accepted what has happened, happened. But it'll forever be part of who I am no matter how many steps forward I take. He gets out in 5 years and is then under watch for 3 years as he is eased back into society - that support has been planned for him. However, if I didn't attempt to take my life 5 times...I would never have been put forward for MH screening by my gp who then referred me for EMDR. I wasn't given any support from SARC or Victim Support - and it's honestly made me feel so defeated yet again by him. Yes, he was found guilty and went to prison in 2023 but I am the one serving the life sentence.

I like to think I'm alright now. I mean, I'm 24 years old. I have my own things in life and my own family. I like to think I'm grounded and unbreakable against the pains of the past. But in all honesty, I'm more fragile, more sensitive, and more complex than ever. What used to be memories I could easily shake off for a day or two, are now all I can think about. It's hard to go to people in the real world who know you, who know what you've been through.. but don't know the weight, pain, and burden of it.. I don't really know how to start off with explaining and describing my abuse and the things that were done to me. I think that's just the mind's way of protecting oneself. Because I'm scared. I'm scared of remembering anything else that was done to me.. I was just 6 years old when it all happened. It started out as pictures. As a young girl, of course I never would've thought this was strange. Now, I feel disgusting, knowing that what happened after these photos would be 3 years worth abuse. Then those 3 years of abuse would snowball to years of hate for myself. I hated myself for so many years. I fell heavily down a dark hole when I realized what was done to me was ugly and disgusting. My abuse caused me to have this very contorted view of myself as a person. I ended up self harming, falling into eating disorders, and taking pills. I stopped planning for the future. I was so convinced I wouldn't make it past a certain age. It's been a long journey looking back. I often wish I can go back in time and tell my younger self, it's a hard battle, but we're still here. I'm still trying.

As I was saying I am happy where I am now I don't know where my abuser is Initial as I called him The abuse was horrible I really didn't know where to turn who I could tell bc if I call the pd he threatened to hit himself to make it look like I was the abuser That meant if he went to jail so did I I was afraid of his friends especially the female friends they hated me I didn't drink or do drugs so I was boring I was even more afraid of his brothers they were more aggressive than Initial was ...my kids (not his ) hated him the feeling was mutual...I just hated his guts I was trapped in a relationship I didn't want to be in He stole from me and when I went on unemployment he took that too I was his slave at everything when I didn't want to be intimate he'd accuse me of cheating I went to women's shelter and he found me I was followed by the time I was ready to leave I found myself wanting him to just end my life he threatened to every day and I would challenge him but he didn't do it bc he was a pussy

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

Initials I’ll never understand why you did what you did and it truly worries me because how would you even know how to act at that young of an age. Initials the first time it happened doesn’t leave my mind playing over and over again. When I lived in City playing house on the second floor in the walk in closet the play kitchen was in and you asked if I wanted to have a baby. Little baby obsessed me was like ofc and you go “a real baby” again I say yes because I’m not sure what that entails at the time. You began to kiss me pushing me to the floor where you began to do other things to my body that honestly really confused me at the time. But all I knew was I really wanted a baby and these weird things you did honestly felt good which looking back I hate admitting. The second time was that same night. I was wearing one of those silk Disney princess nightgowns with the tule little sleeves this one was Ariel my favorite princess at the time. I remember you peeling it from my body and demanding I lay on top of you again “making a baby” we began what I had just experienced earlier in the closet but more aggressive and that’s when I got told I couldn’t tell anyone and it had to be “our thing”. I didn’t think much of this and put it on the same level as when you’d sneak us cookie cake from the kitchen and would tell me the same thing. Then the rest is all scattered with no time line. Although I have many more memories I know there are so many more I have forgotten. But for a while this went on playing family became the regular and for the longest time I just went along with it. You would show me videos and pictures of what we were supposed to do. We used our baby dolls to demonstrate and make sure they could have babies too. Idek how we got to this but the fake dance completions we would create dances and practice for were so sexual to a point I should never have even known. The craziest part of this all is I feel as everyone around should have known. The multiple times we had gotten caught with our baby dolls or acting suspicious. The countless times at night when we were playing family with both your sisters IN the room. The countless times your youngest sister at the time would literally tattle on us and share exactly how we “played house” and you’d deny and deny and deny and they’d always believe you. Why did no one notice? Even our bike rides we stop in a field with our blanket and play family there. And the worst part of all of this was the way I enjoyed it that’s the most confusing part as a child whatever feels good we begin to crave especially when we don’t realize it’s wrong. You ruined me. Absolutely ruined me. My innocent self was now texting random old men wanting to “play family” with them. You had me making myself feel good in front of so many strangers just for the gross satisfaction of it. I regret all of it so much and I hate that it’s a part of me. It feels like this disgusting layer that I can’t shed and I’m constantly trying to hide from. You hurt me more than anyone ever could, and we have to act like everything never happened because what would people think of me. It was just as much my fault as it was yours. Although everyone says that’s untrue it’s what it feels like. This monster inside of me constantly gnawing away at every good part I have left. You’ve turned me into someone I don’t even recognize. You killed the innocent girl within me. Honestly I feel that’s why I’ll always be a child at heart because it feels nice to experience something that was taken from me so early. I will never understand why you did it.

At the end of my freshman year of college, I was at a house party. Towards the end of the night, after I had already been drinking, I said I wanted to go smoke and a guy who had been interested in me asked if he could come with me. We were friends at the time so I agreed. We went to the area in the back, which was an enclosed greenhouse-type porch and no one was back there. After we finished smoking, he leaned in and kissed me. I was shocked but went along with it at first. He proceeded to kiss me more intensely and started to touch me. Feeling uncomfortable, I stopped and told him I wanted to go inside. I sat at a table inside and he was next to me. I started feeling the high from smoking as I was having a conversation with my friends who were right across from me. Suddenly I felt his hand move up my thigh and he proceeded to rub me over my shorts. I was in frozen in shock thinking, "what the fuck is happening right now? This is really weird and i'm not enjoying this. Am I too high to do something right now? There are so many people around me. and no one knows what is happening. What is going on?" After a what felt like forever I felt him try to go in my shorts and that's when I snapped out of it and just looked at him. I didn't know what to say, and I don't really remember what happened at this point. I was just. in shock. He said something to me, I probably said something back, and then he just walked away. The day after I cried and had breakdowns in the bathrooms of the student center. I was confused and conflicted with myself trying to process what had happened. I felt like it was my fault because I googled things like "what constitutes as sexual assault/harassment?" because I wasn't sure if what i had gone through had "counted." I thought that since it was only touching it wasn't a big deal. I thought that because I was under the influence it was my fault. That I shouldn't have been that fucked up. That I shouldn't have been leading him on and making him think that I was into him. That I should protect him because he was friends with so many of my friends. But at the end of it all, HE WAS IN THE WRONG. I WAS PUT IN A SITUATION WHERE I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE AND HE HAD VIOLATED ME IN A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE. I'm here to say that no matter the action, no matter how small, if you were violated your feelings are VALID. If you did not give consent and you felt uncomfortable, it IS ASSAULT. It is still your story. YOUR trauma that you have to live with. Do not brush it off or belittle it because you don't feel like it's worthy of being labeled. You are worthy. You deserve to be heard.

I wrote this poem today after hearing of guilty verdict in current court case with taxi drive and two separate victims. Title: Me Too Taxi Driver I too have been where you two have been. I too went out with friends. I too had one too many. I too got in the taxi. I too expected safety. I too was raped. Followed in through my front door by a taxi driver who wanted more than the fare that I had paid him. I too reported my assault. I too made my statement. Then our stories diverge. My case went nowhere. My trauma went inwards. My anger turned septic. My shame imploded. My mother does not know. My case went absolutely nowhere. Insufficient evidence and no identifiable suspect minimised my experience. So I thank you for standing strong, for speaking up, for getting some of the justice that I have craved. My taxi driver will never hear the judgement of a jury, and probably never even felt guilt. But he raped me, and in the court of my mind, the jury is unanimous, he is guilty, guilty, guilty.

When most teenagers get their wisdom teeth pulled, they’re scared of cursing in front of their parents. I’m scared of revealing my deepest secret.