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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.

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 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.

In my original shared story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER, I talked about my abuse from a bird’s eye view. It was my abuse life as I was able to share it at the time. I have been working up to sharing 3 instances of rapes that I only avoided by allowing the men to take what they wanted instead of fighting. The most traumatic of the three incidents I mentioned involved a police officer. This is that account. I was pulled over on my way home from a study group as junior at the university on a week night. We had shared two drinks toward the end. I DO NOT condone driving and drinking but I was not drunk, as the breathalyzer later confirmed. I was pulled over and already had the nerves associated with that, amplified by the fact that I was under the legal drinking age for another three weeks. That is when I first met the cop I will just call SIK. He gave me a creepy vibe when I first saw him and that never stopped. Still, I flirted with him to an extent desperate to not get it huge trouble. He had me get out of the car, take of my hoodie, under which I only had a basic sports bra. It was only sixty degrees or so that night. I was cold and shivering from fear and the temperature. I saw him look at my body with no filter. Another cop car pulled up with two officers while I was doing the field sobriety tests. He had already searched me in an uncomfortable way. One of the officers who arrived was female and also searched me after he had said I had some problems with the sobriety tests. Walking backwards on an imaginary line heel to toe was the only thing I had trouble with. It is hard! The female cop brought out the breath test I had asked for. I blew 0.035. That is less than half the legal limit. At that point SIK said he was just going to follow me home, rather than arrest me, and the other car left. The whole stop took maybe an hour. Cars drove by on the side street I had pulled onto. Headlights and tail lights in the dark. After the other car left SIK talked to me more harshly and threatening than ever. He said a girl like me is probably used to getting away with everything. He asserted that he could still take me to jail anytime he decides as as he takes me home and makes sure I am safe everything I do is still a test. He could bust me for possession of alcohol and I would lose my license. I was scared. I told him my roommate was home. She was a student too and was supposed to be there. After following me inside my apartment I called out for my roommate. Then I checked her room. She was not there! SIK then accused me of lying to a police officer and locked the deadbolt from the inside. He made me stand with my hands on my own dining room wall with my legs spread. I wanted to call her so he could talk to her and confirm she was usually there, but he stopped me and made me just text her to see when she would be home. He gave instruction not to ask or say anything more and checked before I sent it. She was at her sisters and would not be back until late. At that point he took off his utility belt and put it on my kitchen counter. He told me after all he had done for me was no longer free, since I lied to him. His gun was right there next to us. He made sure I saw it and he even twisted it so it was pointed toward me. I was scared and pleading with him. I really was willing to do anything. I am not sure but I think I told him that. He radioed from his shoulder thing that he was taking a “lunch” break. What I definitely remember was when he said he was going to do a proper strip search this time, down to full nudity and asked if I agreed to that. At that point I no longer had a doubt what was happening. I made the mental adjustment but what he did was more than I had prepared for. He gave me vulgar compliments about my body as he blatantly molested me. He kneaded my breasts like dough. He fingered me as asked if you could use a special appendage he had that went farther in. I knew what he meant. I was repulsed but I agreed. After the initial eager sex with me still having my hands on the wall leaning forward he slowed down. I had been hoping it was almost over but he decided to prolong it. He commanded me to my bedroom. He took off all his clothes besides his socks. He complemented his own anatomy and made me agree. His member was well above average in size but I doubt, if he had not had a wedding band on, that he would ever get to use it. He was half bald, had a prominent eyebrow like a neanderthal, and a pale beer belly with lots of moles all over his body. He had a mustache and goatee that did not completely hide his poor complexion that looked like he had scars from severe acne. Almost all men all taller than me but he was short and only towered over me by a few inches. Never had I lied bigger than when I told him what he wanted to hear about being sexy and wanting him. The only truth was about his large penis. SIK spoke a lot, mostly degrading me and confirming that I agree with him. Cliche stuff, like me being a whore, slut, dirty, and liking what he made me do to him, but also asked about my sex life and abuse history. He wanted me to say that my dad and coaches abused me, but I would not lie about that. Instead I told him some of the truth about my brother abusing me. That was probably the worst part. Saying out loud to SIK what I never used to admit to anyone, for his great pleasure, harmed me. That was worse that the physical stuff. Worse than making me kiss him during parts of it. He was also cruel. He tried to gag me and push all the way down my throat while he made him do oral. He pushed my ankles behind my head while he pounded me with his abusing thrusts. I could see the cruel lust in his eyes. I could see his wicked smile. He slapped my face many times, just not very hard. He did spank me hard. He realized he had me captive and vulnerable to his whim and he was finally living his darkest fantasies. I was doing anything he wanted and encouraging it because I wanted it to stop. So many times he stopped himself right before he was going to climax! He did not want it to end. SIK tried to have anal sex with me and I was accommodating him but he was just too big to fit. I was crying during most of this out of pain but trying to act like an eager partner to make it end. I later thought that might have prolonged it. SIK was probably the time that would prefer I suffer more, like I was being raped instead of hiding my pain. It was not much longer than twenty minutes but it was so bad and I relived it so many times in my mind before I got smashed drunk and high the next night after work. So the memory lived much more prominently in my head than a simple 25 minute encounter. I do reach climax easily, but I never had one orgasm from him because of his preference for causing sexual pain. When he suddenly released inside me he got quiet and barely said another word as he dressed, gun belt and all, and left quietly. I have no idea what that meant. It scared me. I was afraid while driving for a while, and avoided sleeping at home as much as I could, which sometimes meant sleeping with men and even male friends just to not go home. It was the main reason I did not renew my lease and moved it to a smaller apartment by myself. This was the same roommate whose father had already slept with me without my initial blessing. I did tell my roommate a short version of it and she reacted like it was cool story. I did kind of tell it that way, as a way of dealing with it. The easy path of least resistance. To not admit it may have been the worse sexual thing to happen to me. The true worst things that happened to me in my college years were broken hearts from losing men I loved. But those are stories for a different forum. I don’t put my heart out there to be trampled anymore. This incident was one of the wake up calls that stood out as an omen for me to change my whole lifestyle and try to salvage myself. It was also one of the things that took me the longest to mention to my therapist even though I thought about it during sessions.

I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

The first time I ever laid eyes on T was in algebra class. He was a senior, and I was a junior. He was this cool, popular boy covered in tattoos, flirting with our algebra teacher, and she was totally eating it up. I didn’t talk to him. I thought he was hot, but his obnoxious popularity contest, center of attention behavior annoyed me. So I kept my nose down and intentionally gave him no attention not even a glance in his direction. One day he stopped coming to school. He dropped out to work at this tattoo shop, and I didn’t see him again until that summer. I went to a concert with my cousin that summer after junior year. We were outside getting some air because it was so packed and humid in there. It was an underground rap artist concert, so it was small. I heard someone call my name: “Hey C, hey girl!!!” I turned to see him. I must have had a confused look on my face because he said, “It’s me, T from math.” After a few moments, I was like, “Yeah, I know who you are, what’s up.” We spent the rest of the concert together. He told me how I was the only person who never paid attention to him, how he thought about me a lot. I guess it made me stand out from all the girls who were all over him all the time. He even said it made him Mr. Popular scared to talk to me. He made me feel so special. He said all the right things, like I was already the center of his universe, and he’d been hoping and wishing he would get the chance to see me again. And that if he did, he wouldn’t miss his chance. Looking back, he had started his manipulation from that very first day. The love bomb dropped, and I was hit hard. I was in love. Over the summer, we were together every day. He did everything a boy in love should do he treated me like a princess, opened doors, met my mom, and shook my dad’s hand. He was already doing drugs then, but he was still able to hide it. Other than the weed he was a huge pothead, but hey, this is California, everyone smokes pot, we don’t see it as a drug. I didn’t care about that. But there was more happening in secret. I just didn’t know it yet. After this fairy tale summer, I went back to school. It was my senior year, class of 2009, and I was so excited. But it was short lived. I had this white binder with a clear cover back then it was the thing to do, to put drawings there, pictures of you and your friends, pictures of you and your boyfriend, and carry it around for everyone to see. So of course, I had mine covered in pictures from the summer of me and T. In second period, a girl I kinda knew looked at my binder and said, “Hey, is that T?” I was proud yeah, he’s my boyfriend, we’ve been dating for months. But she said it not in a bitchy “girl that’s trying to make you jealous” tone, but in a concerned, soft tone. She said, “Oh, I saw him at a party last weekend. He wasn’t acting like someone with a girlfriend. Did you know he does drugs?” I said, “Yeah, weed, I know.” She replied, “No, not weed worse.” My heart broke. I didn’t know exactly what that meant what was he doing at the party and who with, and if not weed then what? My mind came up with every hurtful thing, and I didn’t want to know more, so I didn’t ask. And she didn’t say. Later, when I asked him about it, he told me they were just jealous and they were just trying to get between us. And I believed him. I never mentioned the drugs something told me I shouldn’t. After that, it was constant. I always heard he was cheating or lying, and I didn’t believe anyone. Until one day. I was in computer class, and I got a text from a number I didn’t know, with a picture of a tattoo. I asked who it was. She told me, and I knew her. She told me she went to get a tattoo from T she didn’t pay money, she had sex with him in the tattoo shop bathroom and got it for free. I knew she wasn’t lying. I felt sick to my stomach, tears in my eyes. I wanted to run out but I couldn’t. I was stuck there hurting. I don’t remember what he told me, exactly. I remember the intensity of it. How he seemed to mean it when he’d say he can’t live if I am not with him. I am the only one for him and if he can’t have me he’d kill himself. He makes mistakes an no one could ever love me like he does. Like no one could ever love him like I do. I was not just wanted, I was needed. That’s how I felt. Being abandoned by my bio dad, I probably had some trauma.. have some trauma. I wanted to be wanted. And he seemed to know that some how. And use it. So I stayed with him. I always stayed. I remember the first time he hit me. I’d been surrounded by substance abuse most of my life, and somehow I still didn’t see it in him. I was still in high school, a teenager, dating this boy who I thought was so cool. He worked at a tattoo shop, covered in tattoos, this amazing artist, everyone knew him, all the girls wanted to be with him, but he wasn’t with them, he was with me. I was supposed to be spending the night at W’s house… but I was at his. He was trying to play this song on the guitar, struggling on a few notes for over an hour, and I was getting bored sitting there. I told him I was going to go sit on the couch and watch a movie with his younger nephew so he could keep practicing. He told me no, which I didn’t see as a demand… not yet at least. So I laughed it off and was like, I’ve been listening for an hour. He was so obsessed, doing the same thing over and over and over like he was in some kind of trance. Looking back, he was high. At the time, I just thought… well, I don’t know what I thought, but not that. I turned to walk away, and the next thing I knew, he was behind me, grabbed me, spun me around, and slapped me so hard on the side of my face and ear that my face was burning and my ear was ringing. I faintly heard him say something along the lines of, don’t ever walk away from me again. I looked around, his nephew had seen the whole thing, I could tell by the look on his face, but he didn’t say a word. Looking back, that was the beginning, the makings of the idea that would be drilled into my head for years after: “no one cares, it’s your fault, and did this even happen or am I crazy?”. At that point I was madly in love with who i thought he actually was. I thought the person that hurts me isn’t really him. I just need to help him, he loves me. He’ll die without me. It’ll get better…. It never did. This was just the beginning. He just dropped off one day didn’t answer my calls, blocked me. For days, I was in a state of desperation. I called and I called and I called. Until finally, not him but a friend answered the call. He told me T was with a girl in City, he didn’t want me anymore, and to stop calling. I asked why, I asked what I did, I told him I thought we were fine, I don’t understand. He just laughed and hung up on me. And yet again T always found a way of making me feel like I was the center of his universe, no matter what he did. He would die without me, I make him a better person, he’s so sorry he hurt me. He’s just doing it because he’s never loved anyone like this and it scares him, and he self-destructs before I get the chance to hurt him because he couldn’t stand it if I ever did. I don’t know why this worked on me but it did. I always believed it. After City didn’t work out, he came back and did just that, and I fell for it. And I took him back. It just became normal after that. He would block me, I would freak out, search for him, call him and drive around hysterical, and then he would unblock me. Call me, tell me how it was because of something I did that it was because I don’t have the same freedom he did, because I lived with my parents still and I had rules or whatever else he came up with, and that I needed to not do anymore because it hurts him more than it does me to do this because he’s never loved anyone like he loves me. And I fell for it every time. Now I know what he was doing all those times: hard drugs and cheating or both. The next time he hit me, was at my house, and that’s when the drug use became impossible to ignore. He showed up incoherently speaking, not making sense I hadn’t seen him in a couple days, he had just unblocked me again. He passed out on my bed. I woke him up, told him he couldn’t sleep here, my dad would be pissed, I wasn’t allowed to have boys asleep in my room. He got up, flinging his arms around wildly, and punched me. I started crying, asked where he had been, demanded his login for his MySpace account. Who are all these girls on your page, why are they all talking to you like that? He gave it to me, I logged in, and it was an uncountable amount of messages girls he was flirting with, girls he was cheating on me with. I had to stop looking, it made me sick. I asked him about them, I asked why he was doing this. He then picked up his phone and threw it at my face and left. At this point he must have realized he could get away with hurting me and I wouldn’t leave. So he stopped trying so hard to make me forgive him. He didn’t have to. To him I was never going anywhere. But I did, I broke up with him and I meant it this time, for the first time. I drove to his shop and saw him with another girl. Seeing it with my own eyes, it was impossible to ignore. I told him I was done, I screamed I cried “why do you keep doing this to me, why do you keep hurting me if you don’t love me let me fucking go”. I started driving away he ran after my truck, jumped on the side, and started punching me through the window until he fell off. I guess he was embarrassed in front of her. I broke it off, I blocked him this time. And I started to move on. I was done with T for real this time, or so I thought. I’d broken it off, blocked him, and started moving on. That’s when I started seeing B oh, B. It wasn’t official yet but I wanted it to be. We went to high school together, and I’d had this crush on him for years, watching him ride around on his street bike, all confidence and smiles. He was just… normal. Still in school, kind, with these loving parents who actually showed up and cared. On our first date, he took me for a ride on his bike, and when I drove up to his house later, his dad teased me, calling me “lead foot” for how I pulled in playful, not mean at all, just warm and welcoming like they were pulling me right into their family. It made me laugh, feel included. He was sweet, handsome, the type who saw you without any bullshit games. For the first time, I felt this spark of something easy, like maybe I could have a real shot at a boyfriend and happiness without the chaos. But T always thought he owned me, like I was his no matter what, even if he didn’t want me right then. He heard about B and couldn’t handle it. Called me from some other number, whispering all that sugar, begging me to come see him that night. Said he couldn’t eat or sleep thinking of me with someone else. He pleaded, and I gave in, like an idiot. That’s the night I got pregnant. I went over to “talk.” He was all kind and sweet at first, heartbroken, asking me to stay. I said no, but he begged just cuddle, nothing else, he promised. I was still seeing B, didn’t want to mess that up by sleeping with T. I needed time to think. He acted like he got it, respected it. The night felt okay, like maybe we’d figured shit out. But once everyone was asleep, his eyes went black. He forced me to have sex with him. I cried. I said no. I said it again and again.He was 6 foot and I’m 5’4 he was bigger than me in every way. I couldn’t even budge him. Nothing I did made any difference. He held me down, covered my mouth so no one could hear me, and didn’t care. “I am going to get you pregnant whether you like it or not,” he said, “and then no one else will want you.” And he did. It hit me hardest with B. I ghosted him after that, I was too ashamed to even tell him how do I explain I was forced and how do I explain being pregnant with your ex’s kid? What teenager wants that? I never gave him the chance to know what happened. I thought…It’s understandable no boy that age wants a pregnant girlfriend, especially when it’s not even his I wasn’t going to bring this into his life. But for me? Devastating. Years crushing on him, finally getting this chance at normal kindness, stability, his cute family that welcomed me and T ruined it all in one night. Snatched my chance away. I’d never get it now, everything felt so ruined…. I felt ruined and my body felt used up. Who’d want me like this? I just stayed with T, accepted it like that was my life, this was my fate. By the time I got pregnant, it was the end of my senior year, and I was about to turn 18, right after graduation. I never told my parents. He said once I turned 18, he would have a place for us and we would move out. And that’s exactly what happened on my 18th birthday. I thought this could fix everything, I thought we would get better. I was so wrong under his full control now. It got so much darker. Ripped jeans with holes in the knees were popular. I was just 17 when I found out I was pregnant, a secret I buried deep because I didn’t want to tell my parents, even though they would’ve supported me without question. By the time everything unraveled, I was 18, hopelessly in love or what felt like love and carrying this new life inside me, all while feeling more isolated than ever. The house we ended up in belonged to someone who’d passed away, an old woman whose grandson had been living there and stuck around after she was gone. He was a lot older than us at 18 his 30s seemed really old. This guy was friends with T’s older sister, that's how T knew him. T, spun it like a great opportunity: “We can move in there,” he said, and just like that, we did. T did tattoos for a living, or tried to, he’d gotten kicked out of the shop he worked at, probably because of the drugs creeping in, though I never got the full story. So he started doing them on the side, he was getting paid mostly in drugs when he was doing these tattoos. He mainly did them at a trap house around the corner, where all they did was do drugs and sell drugs. People were in and out all the time. Sometimes he did them at our house. As soon as we moved there, I really saw the extent of his drug problem. He wasn’t paying rent and the roomate didn’t hold him to it. He just treated me like shit because of it, like I did something wrong or somehow it was my fault T didn’t have money. No one around him ever held him accountable for anything ever. No one. Me? I’d just graduated high school, pregnant and clueless about the real world. I'd never held a job in my life and never planned to jump into one, especially not like this. I was confused, did they expect ME to have money? Get a job? I was a kid I was pregnant I didn’t understand. But from the second we moved in, everyone made me feel like an intruder, nitpicking every move…. I did the dishes wrong, used too much soap, didn’t clean enough, accidentally ate someone else’s food. I was just navigating adulthood for the first time, and no one cut me any slack. One night he did a tattoo at our house, but it went on for so long. Finally at 4am I asked him if he was coming to bed. This is not normal behavior. He yelled at me “ don’t ever question me in front of people, don’t ever ask me questions at all, it’s not your place”. He never slept that night. I cried myself to sleep. Something I would do every night. After that everyone around the house wouldn’t talk to me anymore, they would talk AT me or about me like I wasn’t in the room. “She’s crazy “ “he doesn’t even love her he’s stuck with her” and T would laugh and agree. He treated me like I was property. I didn’t get an opinion, I didn't get to speak or make decisions. I was his regardless of whether he wanted me or not no one else would ever have me but him. I’ve never felt so lonely in my entire life like I was on a planet all by myself. Like I was screaming but nothing was coming out. It was a living nightmare I could never wake up from. I was invisible. T was 19, already deep in the clutches of meth, his addiction fueling rages that turned him into someone unrecognizable abusive in ways that left marks on more than just my skin. And then there was her, the neighbor in her 40s she was awful to me. I could see her front door and kitchen window, a kids room from my side door. The driveways connected there with no barrier in between, no privacy wall. It was almost like one giant driveway but they were just separated by a space between down the middle. She tried to play some weird motherly role to T. I couldn’t tell if she was in love with him or was playing “mom” to her little baby that was not even her son because they did drugs together. Either way. It wasn't real care, it was the kind where she’d do drugs right alongside her “kid,” excusing every violent outburst, every cruel twist, even when it played out right in front of her. In her eyes, he was this flawless little angel, pure and blameless. Me? I was the liar, the crazy creature hell bent on destroying him. Her voice was always heavy with hate when she talked to me, like every word was laced in venom, a poison brewed just for me, dripping with false accusations that it was all my fault. One day in the driveway, things just got bad. I was sober unlike everyone around me, super hungry. My stomach hurt 18 and pregnant, with T having snatched the food stamps card again running off with it for hours, sometimes days, leaving me without the basics. I was trying to stop him from bolting down the street to chase more drugs, my hands clutching at his arm begging him. But he shoved me without a second thought, throwing me hard to the ground like I was worthless. The rough pavement tore into my bare knees through those damn jean holes, pebbles and dirt grinding deep into the skin, blood welling up in a gritty, stinging mess mixed with the grime.I was looking around for anything or anyone to help get me out of this. That’s when I saw them right there in plain view: her two little boys, fat faced with freckles, their red hair dirty and unbrushed. They had seen everything through their windows and were running out. They weren’t rushing to help or even looking shocked; they were laughing, those sharp, cruel giggles that hurt worse than the fall. Little red headed sadistic freaks. That’s what I thought then. I was too young to realize they were just kids and they were a product of their mom. She wasn’t there in that exact moment, but I could feel her there anyway the enabler who’d whisper blame in my ear, who’d defend him no matter what. The boys didn’t hang around they burst out their front door, still laughing and yelling to anyone who could hear: “She hit him! She hit him!” Twisting the truth into a flat out lie before I could even stand up. When I got up, the embarrassment hit me hard. I felt like I’d done something terribly wrong. I was embarrassed that everyone could hear those kids screaming their lies, knowing that they’d believe them and hate me even more than they already did. Thinking why had I even tried to stop him? I should have just let him go, stayed hungry, and hoped he’d come back soon before I starved. It wasn’t anger I felt right then, but this deep embarrassment, like the whole world was judging me for being in this mess. I picked myself up, blood trickling down my shins, hungry, scared, and so alone. “No, look,” I tried to say, pointing to my jeans where the ripped hole had closed when I stood, trying to open it to show everyone. “He pushed me.” But no one would look. They didn’t care, they didn’t want to see the truth. Soon after, T’s sister moved in with two of her kids, and the drugs got worse. The 30 year old we rented the room from was using, she was using, T was using. All their friends and everyone around in the neighborhood was using. I was the only one that wasn’t. Every time he hit me, they said it was my fault. I’d been knocked on the ground, and then they would just walk over me like I wasn’t there. He invited people over, and it’s like they came over just to be cruel to me. No one was kind there. They said that I lied about him hitting me and I was crazy. If they saw him do it, they would say “well you shouldn’t have tried to stop him from working” and I tried to explain that he wasn’t going to work, he was doing tattoos for drugs. He took my card, I had no food, I had no money, I was always hungry. It didn’t matter to them they didn’t hear me, they didn’t see me. I thought I was losing my mind. I was starting to think I had made it all up. I had friends that loved me, I had parents that loved me. I didn’t turn to them, I don’t know why. But I do know it wouldn’t have mattered then, I probably would have never left until I was pushed out. My friend came over and she was worried about me, she needed to see me. I told her everything. I told her earlier that day I begged him to stop doing drugs, to stop leaving me alone, and he grabbed my hair and pulled me across the house on my stomach and everyone saw, no one stopped him. And I was pregnant, they all knew this, they didn’t care. She told me I needed to leave. I didn’t listen at that moment. Since I met those girls J and W, I’ve loved them, they always tried to protect me, they never abandoned me, to this day. That day it was W that came over, she could not force me to leave and she knew it. But she would be there no matter what, and when I was ready, she was. They both we’re The next day, he started off to the drug house again. I followed him, begging him please don’t leave me alone, please stop doing drugs. And he ignored me until we were two houses down. I guess he didn’t want to bring the drama there. He grabbed me, threw me on the ground, and kicked me in the face. There just happened to be a guy working on his roof the first time in this entire time someone tried to help. He yelled at T to stop, he called the cops. The police showed up… and I refused to press charges. This officer knew me, he had been there before. One time when we were arguing in a room, T wanted me to leave him alone so he grabbed a metal bed frame, threw it at me, and started screaming that I threw it at him and to call the cops, so someone in the house did. They showed up and he forced his foot under it and said that I threw it at him, to arrest me. The officer took me aside and I told him what happened. He asked if I had anywhere to go. I told him I could go to my mom and dad’s. He said he believed me but they couldn’t prove it and I would not press charges. He told me to go home and never come back. He said that if I came back I might not make it out alive and he said to stay away from T “he is no good”. I went home that night but I came back. This is the same cop that showed up that day. Again I won’t press charges. I can see the concern in the officer’s face. He’s scared for me. He finds an illegal knife on T and takes him to jail. He tells me to go home again and not come back. T was on the way to jail. I walk back to the house, everyone already knows what happened. They started ganging up on me saying if I wasn’t pregnant they would beat my ass for bringing the cops around. Because they were all doing illegal activities. And for T getting arrested in the first place. At this point I am scared. I know I need to get out and get out fast, so I called W, I called my mom, and they made it there in record time, packed up all my shit and took me home. I never went back to that house. But that wasn’t the end of T and I. It had been a couple months since that day. I finally told my parents I was pregnant. And they were every bit as supportive as anyone could imagine. They loved me no matter what. I can’t say why I was so scared to tell them. They were always loving parents. They had their flaws, they weren’t perfect but they were good parents. W was over every single day. J always checked in on me. They were my rock, I didn’t feel alone anymore. I don’t think I’ve ever told them just how much they helped me, how much I love them for that. How I can spend a lifetime trying to repay what they did for me and I would never come close. But I think they know. I never told them EVERYTHING until years later and I probably still haven’t said everything. I didn’t need to, they could see I was broken. We could talk when I was ready. Finally I am happy, I am getting better, I am healing. And I am a couple months away from having my baby. Then T comes back into the picture and I let him. He happens to move into the neighborhood behind my parents house. I don’t remember how he got ahold of me. But he did. He always found me. He wasn’t allowed at my parents house at all. I hadn’t told them much of anything that happened but they knew something happened. He kept calling me, kept begging me to see him. Over and over and I gave in. One night I met him on a street in between his house and mine. He was high, I’m not sure what his intentions were that night other than evil. He jumps in my truck and starts screaming at me, hitting me, punching my truck, breaking the plastic on my dashboard. Saying that he owns me, that he’s forever attached to me, I can never get rid of him and that I am never allowed to move on in life without him. Then all the sudden my passenger door opens and he gets ripped out of the truck.The man he was living with must have seen him leave and I don’t know what made him do it but he followed him. Saw what was going on and saved me that night. He told me to never go back. He told me “he’s going to kill you don’t you get it!!” It was harsh but I think he was trying to help. Of course I didn’t listen, not yet. I started meeting him in private, taking him to my doctors appointments in secret. He held it together for a while, there were a few parking lot arguments, nothing too crazy for a while but it didn’t last. I was going to do one of those 3D ultrasounds and he wanted to come. When I went to pick him up, I knew he was high. But I took him anyway. In the parking lot I asked him to wait in the car I wasn’t going to take him in there incoherent, it was embarrassing. He lost his mind and started punching me in the face in the parking lot and didn’t care who saw. So many people saw that they called the cops. I tried to lie but I was told there were witnesses and they are taking him to jail. They wanted me to press charges but I would not do it. He got out shortly after. I only saw him two more times after that day. But he was outside of my house every night stalking me. Watching me come and go, watching who came over. Waiting for me to be alone but I never was. If my parents were not there, W or J were. The night I went into labor, he saw. He was there watching. He showed up to the hospital high and drunk with a bunch of drug addict friends. He was disrespectful to my family and friends at the hospital. I was so terrified. I had the nurses kick him out but he and his sister kept calling my room so I had to be moved to a private room. You walked in the first door and were met with another door. The second door led to my room. That way no one could look into a window and see me. You had to have a specific password to be let in, and if anyone called they gave them no information on whether I was even there or not. I have more kids and I love them all the same but that morning at 3am it was only her. I had my baby, and the second I looked into her eyes, it hit me like nothing ever had before. No one else existed but her. In that instant, I finally knew what real love was this overwhelming, fierce thing that changed everything. From that day on, nothing has been more important than her. She’s the love of my life, period, all that matters to me. She saved my life that day, pulling me out of the darkness and giving me a reason to fight for something good. She was the first to open my eyes and gave me the strength to break free. I knew right then I’d protect her by any means necessary. I knew I’d never go back to him. She deserves love and peace and protection, and I’d make sure she got it. I never ever went back to T after that. Though he was awful, he was still her father so we tried visitation once. He only wanted to speak to me. He showed up high and talked about his wants to be a family and his obsessive possessiveness of me was so clear to me then, when I turned him down, told him I would never be with him again he started to insult me. Calling me a bad mom I made him leave. He held her for 5 seconds that day. That’s the last time he ever saw her that close. I told him if he wanted to be in her life he needed to get help and he needed to get clean, he never has. He stalked me for many years, would track me down, send videos and pictures and songs threatening me, threatening whoever I dated. Until he moved out of state and so did I. His stalking became less and less until after many years it stopped. As far as I know. But the trauma of what I went through still hurts. I can still feel it on my body. I still have to work every day to reprogram my brain. I know I wasn’t crazy, I know I was abused. I know it wasn’t my fault. And maybe one day I will actually accept it. To this day I don’t know why I stayed. I don’t remember everything that happened to me. I don’t know why I remember what I do, maybe they left the biggest scars. Or maybe it was so much that my brain has forgotten some to save itself. I don’t think he was purely evil. I think his popularity and attention seeking was because of something he didn’t get as a child. He shared bits about his parents abandoning him, but always acted unfazed, like it was nothing. Surrounded by people the tattoo shop crew handing out pills and a place to sleep but no real home, no bedroom, just drifting. He held up this cool guy act like he owned the world, never admitting the voids, but I saw through it. I wanted to be the stability he lacked, love him for real, not the facade. He used that against me, twisting my empathy into a way to control me. I don’t know where he ended and the walls he put up to protect himself began. I refuse to make excuses for him. His dad abandoned him and his mom a few years later. His older sister tried to raise him, but she was a drug addict herself. He never had a real home. He never had a good role model in life. He seemed to be constantly surrounded by awful people with bad intentions from before he was even an adult. Maybe he never had a chance at life. Maybe one day I can accept that. I’ll never forgive, but maybe I can move on. I was so hurt for a long time, but now I am just left with intense anger. I want to find all these people and force them to face what they did to me, what they allowed to happen. But that is not possible, so I will continue to work through it, and maybe one day I can let go. Fully. Writing out is my last ditch effort. It’s been 16 years and maybe finally having my story in a physical form I can hold it, read it, share it and know it was real. It was wrong, I’m not crazy this did happen to me. Maybe this will help

I didn't know what I was being asked to do. I was 6 years old. I didn't realize what had happened to me until recently. I tried to walk out of the room but I was manipulated into staying. He was my cousin. I didn't think he would use me. I didn't know what he did was wrong until about 1 year ago. It disgusts me to be around him. I have always felt for SA survivors, without knowing that I was one myself. I have taken the path of healing silently. Knowing my experience I know that there are children that are affected by this every day. I hope that by sharing my story, I can help young children know what is happening to them.

Hi all. My story with abuse begins 2 years ago. My assaulters are my ex boyfriend and his cousin. When I first met my ex boyfriend I was a teenager and had never been in a relationship or done anything beyond just kissing someone. Very inexperienced. Conversations regarding relationships and intimacy were unheard of in my family, so I didn’t know anything about what was normal or not. A few months after I met my (now ex) boyfriend, he asked me to have a threesome with him and his “close friend.” This was maybe a week after the first time we had sex together. He told me that the friend was my age and was interested in me. I told him that made me very uncomfortable and I am not interested. He seemed to move on so I didn’t think any more about it. At this point he seemed like a very kind, understanding guy. Fast forward another month and it’s New Years Eve. Boyfriend came to my house (I lived on my own) and asked if he could bring some friends. No problem, sounds fun! He shows up with one friend (that I’ve never met) and says the rest cancelled last minute. I continued thinking it was innocent and the night would go well. We were all drinking and snacking and watching movies together, which was fun for me! It wasn’t long before I realized that they kept passing me shots and I was almost black out drunk. Completely incoherent which was not my intention. I don’t remember much between now and waking up, other than the worst part of the night. I vividly remember laying on my bed, pretty much unable to move or talk I was so out of it, and my boyfriend coming in and having sex with me. Then his friend walked in and did the same. I couldn’t move or speak or even fully comprehend what happened, but I know I never said okay to this. I would have never said yes to this no matter how much alcohol is involved. I woke up the next morning and had no clue what to do other than just continue on. I didn’t remember enough or have the guts to say anything. They left that morning like nothing happened. My (now ex) boyfriend turned out to be a narcissistic sociopath. I was I was exaggerating or joking. He made me believe I agreed to that and had fun. Not true. Almost a year later that friend reached out to me and clued me in on the situation (I think he felt guilty). He told me that my ex told him that I was his friends with benefits and was excited about this “threesome” idea. We were dating, or so I thought. I also found out that my ex set up the situation so this friend could lose his virginity. And the next fun bit of info, this “friend” is my ex’s COUSIN. I lapsed in sanity apparently and refused to believe this and continued dating “the love of my life.” The sexual, mental, emotional, and financial abuse continued with my ex for 2 whole years before I reached my breaking point. The trauma I’m having to work through now is something I wouldn’t wish on the worst soul on the planet. Please learn from my mistakes and DO NOT ignore red flags. They present themselves for very important reasons. Listen to them.

I grew up thinking that my body was not my own. I experienced child sexual assault and rape all before the age of 14 and that shaped how I viewed my body and the world around me. It took years, almost a decade, before I would seek therapy and try to start my healing journey. I felt so disgusting in my own body and it made it hard for me to have romantic relationships. Therapy has really been helpful and sometimes I still feel that discomfort in my body but I am learning everyday that what happened to me is not my fault. I also have grown to learn that there are bad people out here and that there is nothing that I did to deserve what happened to me. Although my abuser is free to roam the world as if he didn't harm me and my rapist is free to live his life as if he didn't rape me -- I find peace in knowing that I am healing despite what they did to me.

I've experienced sexual assault numerous times, but that's another story. I was sexually assaulted during my first year at college by two students. On April 2022, my first attacker started to message me. Everything was platonic. We never even flirted. When we met up, everything was fine until he asked to hang out again. I wanted to be nice, so I agreed, not thinking anything of it. We hung out on April 12th, 2022, and everything was fine. Until we were both in his car, he asked if I "wanted to hook up?" I was caught off guard, but I declined. Still, he was persistent. I got uncomfortable and didn't know what to do. Then he started to kiss and touch me. He took my clothes off within seconds. I couldn't push him off. And he assaulted me without a condom. I just laid there frozen and paralyzed while he laughed. Afterward, he acted as if nothing had happened. At first, I didn't think it was sexual assault. I didn't process or comprehend it. I tried to convince myself that "I wanted it. I'm being dramatic. I liked it." I tried to self-gaslight and normalize the incident. I kept blaming myself, "This is my fault. I was the one who got in his car. I should've known better." So I acted like I was okay and tried to move on. Until the next day, I was sexually assaulted AGAIN twice, the second day in a row by HIS FRIEND/ TEAMMATE. In August 2021, my second attacker saw me and thought I was "pretty" and "wanted a relationship with me," but I made it very clear to him that I was not interested. Still, he would flirt and try to talk to me, but I kept rejecting him. He stopped trying, and we eventually became cool and slowly started to become friends. On April 13th, 2022, he invited me "to go eat." He lied and instead took me to an empty public parking garage. As soon as he parked, he grabbed my face and kissed and touched me from inside my shirt and pants. HE DID NOT once ask for my consent. I tried to pull away from him, but he still forced himself on me and kept asking me more than twice, "why are you pulling away?" I told him, "I don't want to do anything." He tried to convince me. I said, "NO." Then he had the audacity to ask me, "why?" All I said was, "I'm tired." Even though my second attacker stopped, he still violated my boundaries. After rejecting him multiple times, lying to me, and pulling away. He claimed that "he knew this was unwanted but did it anyway because he had nothing better to do." Afterward, he dropped me off at school. I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. I went to the bathroom so I could call my cousin. I started to cry and told her everything. My cousin attended the same college as me. She was the first person I told. Since she left, I needed to talk to someone on campus. I walked around campus, crying. I didn't know who to go to. People kept looking at me weirdly. That's when I ran into my friend. She took me to her dorm lobby. I told her everything as she comforted me through my panic attack. After 2 hours, I calmed down and went home. Once I got home, I went to bed and slept the entire day. The next morning, I had to tell my mom. I told her everything. There is so much more to the story. I wish I could say justice will be served, but this story ends differently. They got to walk free and still attend my old college, which left me no choice but to transfer. I couldn't stay without fearing that I would run into my attackers. None of this hasn't been easy. The legal process, being hospitalized, switching schools, and the pregnancy scare. My screaming as I held my advocate's hand during the medical examination will always haunt me. Every day after that was harder. I had to cut my long hair because of the flashbacks. I get nightmares. The panic feeling whenever I'm around a man. Feeling used and disgusting all the time. Not knowing how to be or have connections with people anymore. Some friendships not being the same because they rather keep their distance. My cousin not believing me. The reactions I received from people have really affected me. I have friends and many people who believe me and have been there for me. But some reactions from my own family shocked and surprised me. Their response was almost as bad as the assault itself. I'm not the same person I used to be. I could never explain what I go through every day. 8 months later, my anxiety and depression have worsened, and now I have PTSD. I take it day by day. Some days are harder than other days. But I'm trying and working on myself. I'm in therapy, taking medication, and still going to school. I sometimes still feel like it was my fault. Sometimes I feel embarrassed that I was assaulted. What happened is such a huge burden to me. I've debated numerous times about sharing this because of the fear of being judged, but here I am.

Shortly after I turned 18 we went on our senior trip to Amsterdam. I wasn't really someone that enjoyed going out at night so I hung out at the hotel with some friends. I was a virgin at the time and the whole concept of sex scared the shit out of me, because I was really unhappy with my body and have never been comfortable with getting naked in front of someone else. On our last night, we met some other travellers, that had just met each other as well. One of them was a 26 year old Australian. I was super drunk and it was already really late and we ended up outside in front of the hotel, kissing. He opened my pants and put his fingers inside me. The first time someone ever touched me there. I went to bed shortly after, but my friends and I had invited him earlier to just come to Germany to visit us and on the next morning, when we got on the bus to drive home, he got on a train and followed us. I later picked him up from the train station close to my home twon and we went to my place with some friends that had nor been on the trip with me. We started drinking and talking in my room and eventually decided to go to a bar in the town nearby. After some more drinks I was super drunk and my best friend dropped me and the Australian off at my house. I was super horny and confident because I was so drunk and from the moment he undressed us, I don't remember a thing. Only little bit and pieces of him choking me and having his dick in my hand.

My name is Name. I grew up with a mother, two sisters, and a stepfather that stepped up to be my Dad when my biological father passed at 7 years old. My step father became someone I looked up to in a time where I didn’t know how to navigate grief. He was my Dad and I was proud to call him that. When I was 10 years old, the one I called my Dad molested me in our backyard. I was told that if I were to tell anyone we would be homeless and I would break the family apart if I were to say a word. That was the day I grew silent. I didn’t quite know the extremity of the situation until I was 11 years old. I discovered what he had done to me through a movie that I was watching unsupervised. I remember the exact moment I figured it out. Holding back my tears, I rushed to the shower and began to wash my body. I thought that if I washed hard enough somehow I could be wiped clean from impurity. I took the blame for what happened and dared not to say anything because if I did, all I could picture was my mom and sisters on the streets since he was the only one bringing in the money to live on. From 11-13 years old it was only mere comments and mandatory kissing of the lips, but that was my normal. I didn’t know it wasn’t normal in other households until a friend of mine noticed. I began to grow suspicion of how much I might be in danger from something happening again as I grew older. When I was 14, he found a video of me and my friends on my phone one night. He used it against me and said that what we did on our video would send me to jail for a long time, and if I didn’t do what he says, he would email it to the police. He began to groom me and the kisses began to turn into 10 kisses in a row. He would come in my bedroom, my bathroom, the dressing rooms, my bed, and when he was driving he would hold my hand or put his hand on my thigh. When I would try to stand up for myself, he would threaten to take the doors off my bathroom and bedroom. The moment I knew I was in deeper danger, was the night that he suggested intercourse and sexual activity in order to have a car or go to college. I ran inside to tell my mom, but she didn’t believe me. I knew that something had to change, but I felt stuck. I didn’t know what to do. When I was 15 years old, I went to a church camp with the youth group of my Grandma’s church. One day the group I was in had a prayers circle. It was an opportunity for campers to say what is on my heart. When it was my turn, I told them everything. On the last day of camp, the head of the camp who flew out to meet me, told me that I am safe and they called Children’s Protection Services. My heart sank, but I knew somehow everything was going to be okay. The rest of my summer consisted of meetings and preparation for trial. The trial came several months later, but I was not believed. My whole life, I tried to protect my sisters from the same thing, but when I wasn’t believed, I began to feel as if I was failing to protect them. Not only that but my first sister who was 10 years old at the time wanted nothing to do with me, and although I was angry of being pushed out by my mother and sister, I had my grandparents and had my baby sister, who was 5 at the time, to adore me and see me as I was with full belief. 7 years later at 22 years old, the one I once called Dad got sentenced to life in prison. How? The same thing happened to my younger sister just 5 years a part from me. There was enough proof, and it was the day where the jury, the judge and half a filled room believed me., but this time, both my sisters shut me out. Within a 12 years period of my life I felt alone, unseen, and unheard. Since I came out with my story when I was 15, I felt even more alone, unseen, and unheard. The rest of the family didn’t know anything about what happened to me because my family lives in secret. Secrets, Suffering, Silence. The 3 S’s my life consisted of. Finally at 22 I could breathe. 12 years of weight was lifted off my shoulders and even though my baby sister’s attitude change towards me, she was safe, and that was all that mattered to me. When I was 23 years old, my younger sister, who was also molested as I was, the one I tried to protect since I was 11, died from fentanyl. It was then when I vowed to never be silent again. At 25 years old, I left everything I knew to somehow embark a journey where I travel the world to speak message of liberation, change, and awareness. My hope is that the little girls and boys like us, the survivors, can hear the story of a girl as they are somewhere around the world terrified to leave their bedroom, with the hope they march out that bedroom and say “No, I will not stand up for this any longer. I refuse to remain silent.” My love goes to every once hurt child, teenager, or adult. You are not alone. Thank you for reading. More about my story is found on my Link

After seeing 'It Ends With Us', I felt I wanted to share my story. I saw this movie alone for the first watch, brought my Atlas to the second, and my bestfriend to the third. Watching it left me feeling empowered to anonymously share my story of abuse and violence. The film and the book brought back so many raw emotions, ones that I still struggle with today. My story started when I was 16 years old and I was with my first 'love', everything was OK in the beginning - but suddenly everything changed. I was constantly told how worthless I was, I got pushed down his stairs - but I wouldn't leave - and I didn't know why. He was controlling and did not like other people talking to me, going to extreme lengths to stop this from happening, and making sure my friends did not see me - people who he saw as a threat. I ended up in the hospital because of him, where he broke my hand. He got that mad at me once, we were in his car and just before I could shut the door and put on my seat belt, he started driving recklessly to scare me. What scared me more was when I was sleeping and I felt his hands around my throat - with no explanation. There were many times that I would say stop and he would carry on because he told me he was in control. I had cigarettes put out on me -multiple times, and was told that I was disgusting and looked like a sl*t, even telling me I was 'fat' - which led to further health issues. When I ended up with a bruise, my friend who is now my Atlas noticed - we worked together. I confined in him, and he was the first person to properly listen to me, and let me share my experiences. Throughout all this, it brought me overwhelming anxiety and depression and even the lengths of having to have therapy because to me it was a nightmare even when it was over, and reported multiple times. My parents never understood, asking me why I didn't just leave, telling me I must've wanted it to carry on. I didn't. I'm nearly 10 years later now, with my Atlas of 5 years, feeling happier and in a better place physically and mentally - I'm still healing. This movie brought me to tears and I related so much to Lily Bloom - some of it felt like my experiences - but the film also brought me a type of feeling of freedom and happiness. Thank you for letting me share my story. ❤️

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

I am a child sexual abuse survivor living in Canada with an NDA for childhood sexual abuse for the past 28 years. When I sought to lift my NDA in 2018 after my abuser had died, the British Columbia court denied me and refused to lift the NDA. So, for the past seven years, I have been advocating both provincial and federal politicians in Canada to ban the misuse of NDAs for childhood sexual abuse survivors. With the passage of Trey's Law in both Texas and Missouri (and more states soon, I hope!), this will place pressure on the Canadian government and the provinces to pass similar legislation. I'm very heartened (and healed too!) by all of the survivors sharing their stories in the Missouri and Texas legislatures. All of this testimony is very important as evidence to prove the long-term extensive damage of an NDA on a childhood abuse victim for ensuing court cases. (This kind of evidence of long-term damage was missing in my BC court case; as a result, my application to lift the NDA was denied). We all need to keep speaking out to change the future for children. We might not be able to change the past, but we can certainly change the present and make the world safer for others. After a great deal of suffering for many years, I can see now that the suffering has had a meaning. As a result, I have become a stronger person. I am not thankful for the abuse, but it seems to me that a greater force in the universe is helping all victims to completely change the world right now. It is an unprecedented moment in human history and we all need to keep moving this incredible change forward. Thank you to Trey's Law and to all the survivors who have spoken in support of Trey's Law.

I was on a first date with a guy and I agreed to meet at his apartment to then find somewhere to eat. We ended up watching a movie where he began touch my boobs and my legs. When I moved his arm away he would pout and tell me how he wanted a relationship with me but his love language was physical touch and I needed to let him touch me. He also began telling me that my anxiety was making him anxious. He then told me he wanted to cuddle in his bed. When I reminded him I didn't want to have sex yet he got very upset yelled at me and stormed off while pouting. He eventually called me into his room and began to get on top of me and was pushing my shirt and bra up then asked me to take my bottoms and underwear off. I did because I felt stuck and then without warning he stuck it in me. I felt out of my body at this point and just froze. I don't know if this is considered coercion or not but I do know I feel a lot of shame and guilt as well as a lot of blame on myself. I know I should have done things differently like not even going to his place. I feel stupid and used and like I hate myself more.

I’m a 27 year old female now but when I was about the age of 6-7 my sister would kiss me on the lips. I vividly remember laying down on my bathroom floor (which she told me to do) and would just tell me to relax. She is 4 years older than me. I also remember one time I really wanted to kiss her and she said yes. I think it was a game to me at that point. She had left for a moment and I got naked. I remember she came back and said to put my clothes on because our dad was going to take us out to eat. Those are the only moments I remember but my mind might be pushing down other similar moments I had with her. I’m struggling now to have a relationship with her. She has never talked about it, but I feel like she remembers. It’s so hard to speak to her without getting annoyed or frustrated. She is annoying to me and never communicates well, she tends to always ask a question when asked a question. She’s never wrong and is hard headed. At this point I feel like I need to speak to her about this and distance myself to heal. I don’t even know what I want but I just don’t want to feel this way.

The first sexual assault I went through was when I was 12 years old and my first ever boyfriend I had at the time Raped me he was 14 years old at the time The second sexual assault that happened to me was when I was on the bus the bus driver was a man it was myself and a older boy I was 16 years old and he was 22 years old The guy kept making so many remarks too me He kept saying that I was hot and that he wanted me and then he told me that he wanted to grab me and grab my boobs I told him no he asked again and I told him no again and I explained to him that I was not going to give him no consent I didn’t want anyone grabbing my boobs He ended up coming to my seat and he grabbed me so hard and he grabbed me by my boobs so hard that I was in pain I was in tears The bus driver had gotten off the bus the driver allowed it to happen I felt so ashamed after it happened I was afraid to tell anyone of what happened The third time I was sexually assaulted was by my boyfriend at the time he was starting to mistreat me and he decided to pin me against the wall and he said he wanted to try new things on me he said he didn’t want to do anymore hugging and he said he wanted to mess with my vagina and I told him No I told him I don’t want that to happen and he don’t have my consent and no permission to do so He decided to pin me to the wall and he messed with my vagina and he was literally hurting me so bad he had his fingers inside and I couldn’t even move cause the pain was bad I was so scared to tell my school counselor and teacher I was too scared and afraid to tell anyone The fourth time was the worst moment my boyfriend at the time threatened me to do oral sex with him and I told him no I will never do that he forcefully put my mouth around his penis and when I tried to move my head he kept trying to keep my head on it and when I was finally able to break away from the grip he hit me I went to a different area and my male friend and his good friend he ended up grabbing me after I told him no It was very very hard and difficult experience for me it was very very traumatizing for me My boyfriend I had was very abusive towards not only was he sexually assaulting me he was also physically abusive towards me He used to literally beat me he would always punch me in my stomach it was times when he would punch me in my stomach so hard I literally just wanted to cry He used to hit me on my shoulder he used to push me around me It was times he would drag me around he did so by grabbing my wrist Other times he would hit me on my neck He used to be very controlling he told my friends not to talk to me and not to interact with me He didn’t want me to talk to other guys he didn’t want any guys interacting with me He tried to find ways to monitor my Facebook and my other social media networks He was possessive over me at times too I tried to leave the relationship the first time and it was so hard to leave he ended up sexually assaulting me and then he hit me He was mistreating me so much He used to call me rude names too The second year of the relationship was the worst time After time went by I was able to get out of the relationship I was so terrified to tell anyone that I was in a relationship that contained both sexual assaults and domestic violence I was scared to find out what would have happened to me and I was scared of what would have happened to my mother A friend of mine helped me get out of the relationship with my boyfriend I get counseling and I am in the process of getting involved with support groups for young women who are survivors of both sexual assault and domestic violence I feel so much better knowing that I am able to get support and help I wish I knew all the warning signs at the time when I was dating him It ended up being a good relationship in the beginning and then it became a unhealthy relationship full of abuse I am very thankful I was able to get out I am thankful that I didn’t lose my life I am very thankful I survived

I just recently graduated with an associate's degree in healthcare Management. Upon entering my first job out of school I experienced sexual exploitation online and in person as well as defamation harassment verbal and psychological abuse and spiritual warfare. It was reported multiple times and eventually it was turned around on me. I had a group of girls that ganged up on me inside the workplace and made me dislike going to work each day. I was discouraged humiliated and violated online and in person putting my safety at risk because of the sexual nature that I was being discussed online. My supervisors were made aware of it and actually bore witness to it. They made the statement that my coworkers online activity had no prevalence in the workplace even if it caused me harm and put my safety at risk and I do not even have an online presence. I was eventually terminated for voicing my concern of feeling unsafe and that I might fall under a terrorist attack at any time at work or followed home. In which case after my termination I did have things around my home that were vandalized. I was also the victim of bank fraud through the same individual who made a bank account on LinkedIn and Phish me to work from home while making me experience all these things at work to make me want to leave. Even after I was terminated for reporting this abuse that lasted for over 30 days the individual continued to deface me and attack me and smear me online putting my safety at risk. Nobody wants to interview me or hire me because of this individual and I feel like the entity that I just left is responsible as well because they did not do anything to reprimand her behavior. I no longer want to pursue or am excited about pursuing a career with the degree I just obtained after having to endure these things in a place that was supposed to keep me safe from this behavior.