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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.

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.

I'm 21 years old, a woman who thought she'd found the love of her life after longing for love throughout her teenage years. However, it was the complete opposite. If I had known what it would be like to be with this person I thought was the "man of my dreams," I truly would have wished to be alone forever. I met him when I was about 17, and since then, when he was 18, we've been together. We're approaching four years in a relationship, but I seriously need advice on how to get away. We happen to be studying the same major at the same university, and although I'm a little further ahead this semester, we'll be close again. That's why I don't know how to end the relationship, since seeing him every day is going to be very difficult. To give some context as to why I want to end the relationship, I've been suffering psychological abuse since we started, even as friends. At first, I didn't recognize it; I just thought he was a bit different, one of those guys they sell you as a bad boy, and I swore he would change with time, but that hasn't been the case. I had to endure him following many adult film actresses and liking their posts. He also had a history with prostitutes before me, which made me incredibly insecure. Because of this devastating loss of self-esteem, I started self-harming. When he found out, it was the first time he hit me. At first, he claimed it was an accident, but he made me beg him to stop while he stepped on my hands. So many things happened that I don't think I can recount them all, but I know that in the last year of our relationship, everything worsened in terms of physical violence. He started spitting on me, punching me in the head, pulling my hair, slapping me, and leaving me with bruises all over my body. A month ago, I even had to fake a car accident—an idea he came up with. I've been thinking about leaving him for about three months now, but the anxiety and the inability to tell anyone because he's isolated me from my friends is overwhelming. I don't know what else to do. Yesterday, he strangled me, and I lost consciousness for a few seconds. It was so painful, thinking I might have died. I couldn't feel my body; I felt like I was going to collapse, and all he did was keep hitting me even when I begged him to get help because I didn't understand what was happening. All of this happened because I told him I didn't have money to buy food. I can't even spend my own money because I have to give it all to him, otherwise he punishes me by ignoring me and manipulating me by threatening to tell my parents that I've even taken money from them for things I shouldn't have, but it's all for him. I don't love him anymore. I think I'm just on autopilot, but I'm terrified, and I don't have anyone who can be there for me. So I have to endure it for a few more months until I don't have to see him anymore, but what happened yesterday terrifies me that he might end my life. Please, if you read this, tell me what I can do. I want to get out of this before he completely takes over my life.

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.

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.

I was first abused by my stepfather in my early 20s, he took the opportunity while my Mom, sister and niece were away in theme park and molested me. I was taken aback, and had no idea what to do or how to process it. I was scared to tell my Mom and anybody else for fear I wouldn't be believed. I eventually admitted it to my Mom, and went to stay with friends, as I didn't want to be around him at all, and did not feel safe. I was afraid it would go further and that he would rape me. I was very clear with my Mom, I told her that I would not return to the house if he was there, she let him back, so I moved to stay with another relative and subsequently moved out altogether, I had very little contact and refused to return home while he was still there. My Mom found me a counsellor to help me talk about what had happened. I went to her for a number of years. I had issues with family members and friends believing me when I disclosed what happened to me, they insinuated that as it was only assault, it was not that serious. I found this very difficult to take, and it probably made me more reticent about talking about what had happened. About period of time later, the divorce referendum was successfully enacted and my Mom and stepfather were going to marry. My counsellor told me that if I didn't attend that day, I would never forgive myself. I attended, but felt uncomfortable and upset all day long. A number of years later I returned home as I needed somewhere to be as I changed jobs etc. I wasn't fully comfortable with this decision, however I thought I would be okay as my Mom was there too along with my stepfather and my sisters. My Mom got sick shortly after that, she was sick for period of time, and passed away in year. After that, I was living in the house with my stepfather alone. Over a period of time, he deliberately isolated me from my sisters and other family members. So much so, that I had very little support available to me. And then the molesting/assaults started up again, I really didn't know what to do or how to react. It got gradually worse, and for a period of period of time or longer, I was being assaulted/raped on a weekly and sometimes more regular basis. Towards the end of this period he was even talking about marrying me, which was very creepy and inappropriate. This was an excruciating and very difficult time, as I had zero support, and nobody to reach out to or help. Due to health reasons, my stepfather had to move and live with relations in another part of the country, and this finally ended this period of physical and emotional abuse. However I had suppressed and blocked it for so long, that I found it difficult to face or come to terms with. Now period of time later, I am finally seeking help to give me healing and help me come to terms with all that has happened to me. I am grateful that I am at last able to admit how bad things were, and also that I can try and rebuild my own life after years of sidelining myself to look after others. I hope my story will help others in similar situations reach out and seek help and support in the future, even though I cannot take legal action against my abuser, I still want to be able to heal and try and come to terms with all I endured.

I was a young waitress who didn't feel protected or safe. "The customer is always right" isn't true for someone who is harassing you, touching you without your consent or being a creep. I wish people stood up for me.

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

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.

At the age of 7 my cousin who was 2-3 years older than me assaulted me. I was in my room alone when he came in asking if he could touch me. I said no. Then again he asked. I said no again. But then he said “I’ll let you play this game on my phone.” It was a specific game that I had seen all my cousins play but was never allowed to play. So then without a pause I said okay and let him touch me. I then laid on my stomach while he pulled my shorts down and started to mess with my butt, feeling around and even putting his face on it. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I even giggled as he was assaulting me. After he had gotten done he told to then not tell anyone and keep it as a secret. I said okay. But something in me just couldn’t keep it to myself. I then at some point told my mother in the same room where it happened. I remember very little about what I said to her but I remember what she told me. “I’m sorry we can’t do anything about it.” (At that time we were living in the same house as my cousin due to financial stress after my father had been incarcerated.) I remember her hugging me tightly as we sat on the same bed where it all happened. Now as adult and having to process what happened to me I sometimes downplay it even saying that no it doesn’t affect me in any sort of way but after reading so many articles about the affects of cocsa I realize that it does affect me especially with close relationships and day to day life. I question if my mother really loves me as she says she does because if she did why didn’t she protect me from my abuser? I feel shameful and disgusted in myself after learning that I had continued the cycle I feel so ashamed I feel so nasty so disgusted with myself I can’t help but just feel so much self hatred towards myself because even when I was hurt I still ended up hurting others. I don’t know where to begin healing I don’t know how to forgive myself I find it hard to even start with forgiving myself. I feel so disgusting.

At the age of twenty-six I was raped by a stranger. It took me many years to name what had happened to me as rape. Although, distressed when it happened, I blocked it from my mind for a number of years before going to a therapist for support. I decided to attend therapy as I was struggling with a deep depression. I didn't attend a Rape Crisis Centre. It took me a number of years before I disclosed to my then therapist that I had been raped. I had buried what took place deep within myself and I had never disclosed to anyone what happened that night. The person who raped me was a friend of some friends of mine. I was away for the weekend and thankfully, I never saw him again. While my healing journey has been long. It has been deeply supportive and has allowed me to heal from many different issues within my childhood and to heal from sexual violence. I no longer carry guilt or shame for what took place that night and would encourage any man or woman who is a survivor or sexual violence to go to a therapist who specialises in sexual violence and allow an experienced professional to support you on your healing journey. I have no regrets and am grateful to a number of wonderful women who have supported me to heal from a deeply traumatic experience. Healing can and does happen. Don't give up on you, as I have never given up on me. I have learned that I like so many survivors of abuse am a very resilient woman. I live life today, from a very grounded place and although, I remember what happened to me in the rape I have emotionally healed from the hurt and the pain of that traumatic experience.

This is my story at 72 sitting here all alone because I allowed my self to be abuised physically and verbally for over a 25 period of a 36 marriage. I lost both my daughter's respect and grandchildren because of his action but blamed for my actions I didn't know what was going on. I found out in 2006 my husband was a drug addict and where he was working gave him the best place to obtain it at state housing project. He was a thief from stealing at work, a liar, a user, drugs addict, gave me herpe.s , kept money from me and the house he could have his stash . Cause me to have a breakdown , I didn't know I part of his plan. He was the good stepfather and neighbor everybody like made up stories and made you feel he was a great guy who loved his wife and family. I was busy raising my family and working. Then I was hit with major medical problems, a brain annersyums which I had surgically fixed but recovered alone and with 36 stiches in my head I was knocked into my kitchen cabinets. I had my rotor cuff torn, I was hit by ball lightning in my basement, my foot broken all well raising a 3 yrs and 8 week grand children with months of each other. I was over whleemed. He left for many weeks and days at a time but I had all I could do was to be standing medically and raising my grand babies. I stayed alone did 10 years of therapy, and also went to a clinic for abuise. Nothing made a difference how I was living the abuise continued. Courts cops, etc. Until just recently I saw they only abuise you when no one is around. My god how true. They run away instead of solving a problem as they are guilty for what they are being accused of. The money, missing the drugs, the liars , stealing , the dead animals, physical and verbal abuse abuses. I was raped , sexually abuised strangled,beaten blooded, and broken . Didn't matter if I got pushed or knocked into something even after 13 hours of a back operation. I could had been parlayed. . I once tried to end my life many years ago just sitting outside in the morning in the sunshine on my deck looking up at the sun and feeling the warmth I couldn't stand the lonelines, the abuise of my marriage and man I loved and the loss of my most precious daughters. I just got up off my deck took my bathrobe rope tried to die. The rope broke . That's strange . My life didn't improve it got worst. I was a beautiful strong independent woman, mother,grandmother. who now wants to die and will all alone. I saw something the other day I had packed from my daughter she wrote look up to the sky, I had a federal law passed for child support They were so proud and made this picture book for me. The news paper said one woman fight became a nation law. 992 I fought for them to get this law passed. They were important and needed to be recognized. Now I sit here crying everyday in pain with no one to talk to embarrass no one comes home and no one cares for me. Every holiday I spend alone and birthday. My only question is why my children who are 50 and 45 don't care about a mother who gave everything to them against all the odds years ago. They know what I'm talking about. I kept a house they grew up in with no skills got a good job had insurance . Not much else but we made it by hard work. What is left of my life is 3 journals-protecting my grandkids while watching them dates and places and their questions about the abuise. I recently found out thru a aaa self analysis he stated he hated my grandson who I raised as a baby. Now I know why he tortured him with unkindness. My daughter has no idea how much I protected that baby. He stopped talking to me over 5 years ago who knows why. I did my job then very well. Why question is why doesn't my daughters understand what happened. I've tried to make contact with them don't want any anything to do with me for over 13 yrs. All because I loved the wrong man who abuse me and I allowed him to. I ruined their lives they believe I think it's the other way around. . I lost my best friends . I thought they were. You can't replace a mother . What happens to me now ? LOVE IS NEVER SUPPOSE TO HURT.

In the months following my assasult, I grew so angry. Poetry was my outlet, to not be quiet and be as angry as I wanted. 100 pages of poetry marred by tears, anger, betrayal, hope, and happiness. On the 100th page, it was dedicated to survivors, I hope that whoever reads this, will find some degree of comfort as I did when writing it. Dear Survivors, You are more than enough. You are worthy of all the stars and gold combined on this Earth. What happened does not define you, you are more than that. From one to another, it’s tough, it’s difficult. You’ll have your ups and downs, happy moments and miserably haunting ones. But, I’ll say this; Thrive. In all honesty, thriving will be tough. But it’s the best reward there ever will be. You deserve to thrive and live and have fun and experience life. What happened to you does not define you, but it is a part of you. What happened to you is not shameful, what happened to you is not your fault- it never will be. Do not let those around you shame you and beat down on you, quieting you and your story. You are the writer of your own story. You decide if you want to forgive. You decide if you don’t want to forgive. You decide if you want to be the bigger person or not. You get to decide. Don't let anyone else tell you any differently. C.P.

This morning I was awoken by my bed shaking and i felt a hand on my butt..it was my cousin masturbating and touching me at the same time. i dont know if its considered SA so i want to know if it is. (also he was sleeping over)

So um, I'm not even sure where to begin honestly... I had a very different relationship with just about everyone I knew growing up because of one man who knew it was easy to prey on people, and he was a traveler you could say(truck driver), but for me was my STEP-GRANDPARENT. The abuse started at a very young age and it started like I was special. I was the one getting extra attention, extra candy extra trips to the gas station, but then things changed as I got old I began to feel very uncomfortable with all the extra unwanted attention. He got bolder and bolder with every risky move he made and with me starting to develop he had already groomed me by then I was to forever be in his sick darkness. He had me go on long over the road trips with him so he could look at me and my body touching part of me that I have not yet even known for myself. He would force my pants down and take one leg out of my pajamas as he would perform oral on me all I could do was lay my head back and cry. He would enjoy himself and force me to do things to him he would tell me he couldn't hurt my "pearl" YET! the day I turned 12 years old my father dropped me on their door step due to some issues he had himself and because they feed me clothed me....HE BATHED ME. I to this day will not shower normal or alone because I would be scared someone was watching me, which is what he would do while pleasuring himself. He then would turn the light off and proceed to get in the shower with me telling me I was developing so nicely. He would force me to wear boy clothes and have short hair so no other boys would show interest in me. I was his and he made that very clear. When I made attempts to tell my parents I learned very quickly that wasn't going to be an out for me. My very own father realized he could then use this arrangement to his advantage as well. That evening he came over and came in my room, right then I knew my parents were no help and all the sudden we weren't struggling as much, we had extra stuff nicer things but I was being taken to my grandparents house always in "trouble". I was raped when I turned 14 and he continued to do so until I left State and moved in with my biological mother. This man was someone who had offended beforehand, but moved here and never had to do anything he got to destroy my life and I fear the next generation of grand babies in the family will be affected but because there is a statue of limitations in state this man will continue to walk free!!!

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

My body remembers. 6 years ago my oldest sister disclosed to me that she was molested by a family member. Ever since then, I felt out of control and disembodied. I would cry almost every day. I would have panic attacks that lasted hours. I became more and more isolated, and more and more depressed. I was no longer the person I had been and I didn't understand why. A friend gently suggested to me that I seek professional counseling. Therapy wasn't new to me and I had some experience with it as a kid and young adult. But I think I misunderstood the purpose of therapy. I thought therapy could finally answer the question that tormented me my whole life: what's wrong with me? If we could figure that out, then my therapist could fix me. I didn't realize that therapy would actually help throw away that question and ask a new one: what happened to me? I felt confused and even embarrassed that while I didn't have a cognitive memory of being abused, my body seemed to be screaming at me that something happened. I think when my sister shared her experience, these signals in my body started to wake up from hibernation. As I began processing all of this in therapy, things started to make sense. I started forming a vocabulary for my experiences, like shame, addiction, trauma, and somatic memory. Last Fall, I started seeing a new therapist who changed the trajectory of my healing. When I told her that I think I was sexually abused as a kid, she actually believed me. Unlike my other therapists, she didn't go on a rant about how "repressed memories" are a myth. She didn't tell me to "not worry about it" because we'll never know what happened to me. My therapist listened to and affirmed my experiences. Because of this gained trust, I've shared things with her that I've never told anyone. Instead of saying "we'll never know so let's just move on", she says "we may never really know but based on my expertise and your experiences, it's very likely something happened to you, so let's keep talking about it." I felt a suffocating weight release from my shoulders when I realized that somebody believes me. My body has started to heal from years of severe anxiety and depression. I've started pelvic therapy--something I thought I'd never do because I was too scared. I'm more connected and authentic with my friends than I ever have been. I've started gaining traction with sobriety from addictive behaviors. I've even started gaining back some childhood memories. One of the most pivotal moments in my healing so far happened just a few weeks ago. My sister and I have only ever talked about her abuse one other time in the last 6 years. I finally told her "I think something happened to me, too." Despite all the fear and shame that held me back from saying those words to her, she believed me. We talked for over an hour about the abusive behaviors and patterns in my family. I've had a really difficult relationship with my family; so to grow close with my sister is a big deal. I am so grateful to have gained a friend and ally. Perhaps I really will never know what happened to me as a kid, but I'm learning to trust my body. I'm slowly releasing the trauma that's been stored there for so long. And I finally feel confident in sharing my story: Hi, I grew up with multiple predators who abused the women in my family. Though I don't have a cognitive memory, it is very likely I experienced childhood sexual abuse. The trauma in my body is a huge indictor of that abuse and I trust my body. I'm doing my best to heal and to end the generational abuse in my family. Thanks for listening.

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

This isn’t my story but something I wrote that I feel would help and resonate with a lot of readers. Someone asked, “ what exactly is a narcissist?” to a different group I’m on and this was my reply: They are the most manipulative, gaslighting, liars. They tear you down to bring them up. They don’t have empathy or remorse. Your feelings will never be validated. No matter how hard you love them, no matter how much you do for them, and no matter how hard you fight and try to make the relationship work… it won’t. Your effort will never be good enough and you’ll go unappreciated. They only care about themselves. They are charming and will fool everyone into thinking they’re someone they’re not. They will ruin you and make you question your reality, sanity, and even your own memory. After a relationship with a narc, it’s so F’ING hard to move on because you end up losing yourself in that relationship. It’s the most hurtful type of relationship to be in. There are different types of narcs. Some are harder to spot. They will make you fall so madly in love within weeks (at least I did). They are the best during the honeymoon stage. You’ll think it’ll never end.. but it will. You become blind. You either don’t see the red flags or you ignore them. You’ll beg for them to give you back the love you give them… but they won’t. And yet, you’d do anything for them. But, you’ll wake up and you’ll realize what he’s doing to you. He’s making you not even recognize yourself anymore. He’s emotionally abusing you every single day. You are losing your happiness and your self-respect. He’s making you question everything. And also, that person you once knew and loved will be gone. You’ll heal, it’s going to take time but you will. And days will become brighter again. It’s going to hurt and you’re going to be so mad at him/her and probably yourself. Another thing, you will never be the same person you were after being with a narcissist.