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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 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.

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

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

It seems like everywhere i turn, I am getting assaulted and or preyed upon. From 17 to 18, I was in a relationship with a 35 yearold man. He had phone sex with me before I turned 18. My brain fog is very bad, so i honestly dont remember much. At 17, I worked a job where customers would openly make remarks about having sex with me. One of my older co workers even grabbed my hips, only to apologize and say "all you women are just so beautiful." I was told not to report this, because he was so sweet and loving to his wife. Right before I turned nineteen, I was violently assaulted by a man i went on a date with. He groped me in a public area and I told him no. He proceeded to tell me to "tell him if anything he did made me uncomfortable." And then he proceeded to grope me again. I gave up at that point. He was also kissing me with nicotine gum in his mouth, which i told him to spit out. He did, and then later kissed me with it again. It gave me the worst migraine. Like my head was splitting open. But I still went home with him. I didnt want to be alone. Obviously that entails sex. I knew that. What I didnt know was that he was going to spend the next combination of about 9 hours trying to get off. Not only that, but in the most aggressive ways possible. He yanked my hair and held me down so hard it formed a scar that still reappears sometimes. I believe at some points, because it wasnt penetration, i remember him shoving my head into a pillow. I wonder if he was trying to suffocate me. He jerked off on top of me, digging his fist into my ribcage. He bruised my spinal cord. I didnt truly understand what had happened. I tried to explain to him i had prior experience being assaulted- but he told me rape was only penetration. I cried in his bed that night. The next morning he resumed. I didnt consider this sexual assault and possibly even rape for a while. I was angry about my spine though- and texted him that. He told me I had said "choke me daddy" which i did not.. and that I better not start acting like one of those "bpd bitches." I also sometimes wonder if this was somehow an attempted homicide of some sort, even if that sounds extreme. Some people around me have told me it doesnt hold up as trauma, because I put myself in that situation. My boyfriend now just tells me hes sorry over and over. Its not the comfort I need, I need the pressure to have sex be totally gone. I wish I was dead. I still worry that I made this up.

I'm hoping this is truly anonymous because I am in a sensitive situation that no one I know can know a thing about. I have to get this out some way and it must be anonymously. I have been with my boyfriend, well, fiance, for 8 years in January. He's always been my best friend. The love of my life. My person. Until last night. He suddenly turned to me out of nowhere and said, "I raped you." When I asked him to clarify because I couldn't believe my ears and I was taken aback, he responded, "I would try to wake you up for sex but couldn't get you to wake up (I take medication that knocks me out) and I couldn't handle you pushing me away and saying no anymore (zero libido due to meds and mental health struggles) so I resorted to betraying you in your sleep. My hand wasn't working and I never saw a reason for you to say no. I'm so sorry I allowed myself to do this. The last time I did it, I felt so guilty I was afraid to touch you ever again." I was completely unconscious, no memory of any of this at all. I don't even know how long this went on for. He can't recount how many times or when the last time was. Only that it was sometime earlier this year. I can't believe this. This is not who I thought he was. At all. He's been my best friend by my side for so long. I have never been sexually assaulted before. He is the very last person I would have feared doing this in the entire universe. He's supposed to be protecting me from people that commit these atrocious acts. He always swore he would. I always believed him. I suffer immensely from an emotional disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and I am having a very hard time right now. I don't know what to think. I feel used and dirty and I can't look at myself. I can't look at him either. I feel like all I am is a body to use right now. He even had the audacity to ask me if I can see this as less than what it is because of the trouble I have put him through with all of my mental illnesses. I can't lie, that set me off. "How can you possibly see my emotional burden as equal to raping me in my sleep, stealing my body to do with as you please without me knowing a thing??" I can't tell a soul and all I want to do is run to my mom and spill my guts but I know I can't. Not now. I have nowhere else to live but with him. We have a 10 year old who worships him. I have become terrified of getting a job and being independent. I have never lived on my own and am severely dependent. I wake up every morning feeling like a different person than the days before. My emotions control my reality. I have never been stable or able to hold down a job for long. My insurance was taken in january and my mental health has been declining rapidly. My mental health is at a record low. I never in an infinite amount of years saw this coming from him. No one in our lives would have expected this. We've always seen him as a very good man. How could he do this?? Who would he have done this to if he had been single? I suddenly feel like I've never been anything more than a body to him. I feel like I don't know who I've been living with for almost a decade. It feels like our entire life together has been woven with his lies. I didn't go to sleep last night, just stayed up bawling and shaking and panicking and hyperventilating. I'm exhausted and frightened of my future, our future. My little family feels like it was just torn apart. He has been crying all night, apologizing profusely. As someone with BPD, I get very, VERY attached to certain people and it feels IMPOSSIBLE to let go of them. Especially him. This is my longest relationship and we've faced so much in our lives together. One of my biggest fears in the world is abandonment. Thinking about him being gone makes me feel incredibly abandoned. I don't want to be judged for this, but I love him, I truly do. He is a part of me and I can't control that. But I'm also afraid that he isn't who I thought he was, not really, and my whole world will never be the same or okay. If he could hide this for so many years, could there be more that I deserve to be aware of? I don't know what to do and I need to be strong for my child. Thank you for reading if you made it this far. This is so new and petrifying and I truly do not know where to turn. My world has come crashing down on me.

Témoignage d’une survivante de mutilation génitale féminine Ce jour-là, on m’avait dit que je devais aller voir le tailleur pour une nouvelle robe. J’étais tellement contente. Le matin, on m’a réveillée très tôt, bien avant mon heure habituelle. On m’a fait prendre un bain chaud, puis on m’a habillée avec ma robe préférée. Ensuite, on m’a prise par la main pour, disait-on, aller chez le tailleur afin de prendre mes mesures. Nous sommes arrivées dans une famille où des cris d’enfants retentissaient de partout. Des femmes étaient assises, chacune tenant un morceau de vieux pagne auprès d’une fille. Je pensais qu’elles attendaient leur tour chez le tailleur. Mais j’ai vu une vieille femme sortir des toilettes, d’où provenaient des cris stridents, accompagnée d’une fille en larmes, demander pour la prochaine. J’ai voulu fuir lorsque j’ai vu la troisième fille sortir, mais on m’a retenue. Jusqu’à ce moment-là, je ne savais pas ce qui se passait dans cette toilette. J’avais peur, car les filles en sortaient en pleurs et la vieille femme venait ensuite chercher chacune d’entre nous à tour de rôle. Lorsque mon tour est arrivé, j’ai suivi la vieille dame. Je n’avais pas la force de me débattre contre les deux femmes qui m’accompagnaient. Elles m’ont conduite dans la toilette, où se trouvaient deux autres veilles femmes. Elles étaient trois : deux pour me maintenir et m’écarter les jambes, et la troisième tenait un petit couteau ensanglanté entre ses mains. On m’a déshabillée et fait asseoir sur une pierre. Elles ont alors procédé à l’opération. Jusqu’à ce jour, je n’ai aucune comparaison pour décrire la douleur que j’ai ressentie. Je ne trouve ni les mots ni les explications pour la décrire. Après l’opération, on m’a entouré les reins avec un petit morceau de pagne et le reste a été plié pour former une sorte de caleçon que l’on m’a fait porter. La douleur la plus insupportable est survenue lorsque j’ai eu envie d’uriner. Je n’ai aucun qualificatif, aucune explication et aucune comparaison pour décrire cette douleur. On avait préparé mon plat préféré, mais je n’ai pas pu manger. On m’avait également préparé ma boisson préférée, mais je n’ai pas pu boire. Ce n’est que lorsqu’on m’a dit que cela pouvait réduire la douleur que j’ai essayé de boire et de manger, mais la douleur était toujours là. Je ne pouvais pas m’asseoir. Je ne pouvais pas me coucher. Même rester debout me faisait mal. J’ai passé trois jours dans cet état et une semaine pour recouvrer de cette douleur forte.

As I continue my book journey, I learn why traditional therapy is so harmful—it causes further traumatization. While listening to book, I am literally being walked through a slide show of my life and the only kind of relationships I've ever known. The education process is brutal. The deeper I get the more it touches I just inherently know this type of individual the way I knew my Father. I was targeted because of everything beautiful about me. This is a person who knew how to ask me to fix their brokeness and walks away from the relationship saying that they couldn't help me because I'm too sick. Do you see it now clearly? You were set up. My search for help has been an incredibly difficult and overwhelming process. The more I understand how trapped I was made by the mechanisms of abuse, the more rage I feel. How many times have I had to scream in my car, punch my pillow, and hide in my closet when I cry my eyes out? And here I am, exactly where you designed to leave me—with no means to support myself, seeming as if that was my choice. But you and I both know that's not the plan that you made. You designed this very well. I am in a mouse wheel society that offers the abuser a comfy landing and survivors with severely limited resources. It was never built for me to get out of. I have listened to four distinguished authors in a row say: do not settle. Find a therapist who is 100 percent qualified and watch out for bad help. This is multilayered trauma with specific needs, and you are fighting for your life. Somehow, government insurance plans missed this information. They are much more comfortable with me joining the multi-million dollar pharmaceutical plan than actually healing my core human needs long term. According to all the authors, trauma gets stuck in your nervous system, keeping your body in survival mode, and you can't think your way out of it with talk therapies. I am definitely stuck—finger in light socket soberingly aware. Physically, mentally, financially. There are no bootstraps to use; they were taken. Physical self-awareness is the first step. Trauma victims cannot recover without understanding the sensations in our bodies, which have been blocked with numbing medications and other substances. They advocate for body-based therapies like Somatic Experiencing, focusing on bodily sensations to release stress and trauma trapped in the nervous system rather than just talking about the events; EMDR, a rapid eye movement exercise that safely revisits traumatic events (from what I understand, it's reworking memories using a dream sequence, removing harm and creating safety); and IFS work, which focuses on healing protective parts of the mind created through dysfunctional family systems. The more I learn, the more pain I am willing to step into, the more I understand. The behaviors, thoughts, and feelings that impact me from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep—the ones I've been labeled with, the ones that have been used against me—actually stem from abuse, not something I was born with. According to the authors who specialize in what I've been through, my brain wasn't born with these mental health labels. My nervous system created adaptations to survive continuous threat. name and name explain that families often pathologize victims, calling it mental illness, which deflects from abuse and survival behavior. They also identify how trauma can be passed down genetically, meaning these adaptations are learned across generations. As I continue to listen to a complete stranger tell my story, I am struggling with full acceptance. I don't want it to be true, but it is. Now I know about psychopathy, and there's no going back. I'm shell-shocked. Being walked through the exact events of my personal life leaves no room for questioning. I often think someone needs to hear this, someone needs to know—specifically my mother. It's lonely, partly reassuring, and incredibly devastating. These books explain every thought, behavior, and symptom. I hear how my sense of self and belief in the world was changed. I've been brainwashed deeply through my own love, and somehow it's so much softer for me to blame myself than truly accept what it actually is. For the longest time, my brain learned if it was me, then I could do something to fix things. It became the obsession and a constant state of mind that protected my body. I have lived fear, trained helplessness, and hopelessness. There's no damn way my nervous system can let that go after what I've been through, and I hate it. I hate it so much. Every so often I still have a false sense of comfort, the fantasy that helped me regulate for so long but was never real. I will do whatever it takes to pull that little girl from the ashes and restore her. We will recover.

i have only told this story to maybe three, four people, so, i do not really know where to begin. do i start with the first time i was touched inappropriately? the first time i was photographed without my consent, without my knowledge? the first time i was physically assaulted by a boy? i was eleven. but, rather than sit and explain how i was sexually assaulted in multiple different ways by multiple different men from the ages of 11-17, i want to talk about what happened when i was sixteen. (the story is long, so please, bare with me.) when i was sixteen, i was dating the first person i ever loved, (who is now my ex and one of my dearest friends) and he had a best friend, who later became one of mine. we did everything together, we were a trio of sorts and truthfully, i think we were happy. i mean, i have happy memories of the three of us, yes, but they’ve been overrun with negativities. this friend of ours, he wasn’t a good person, not really, his humor went beyond just being dark, it was cruel, and humiliating, and discriminatory. he would make these awful jokes; about women, about rape, about racism, homophobia, jokes about children, about illness and disease and death. and each time he thought he was being funny, he would wear this smile, this evil smile, one that said “i know what i am doing and i like it” i wish i could say we cut our ties right then and there, perhaps we should’ve, but we were young and naive and well, everyone needs a friend. so, we lived through our adolescence together, and formed a bond. though the closer we got, the more things started to get weird. and the closer we got, the clearer i could see the signs, the red flags. my boyfriend and i had our own demons with addiction and mental illness and we inevitably struggled, and our friend was witness to the darkness that had emerged, as it appeared he watched everything from the sidelines, literally and metaphorically. there was one night in particular that stands out - my partner and i were hanging out at his house and he said he had some weed he wanted to smoke so we walked into the woods by his house and smoked out of a pipe that he supplied. at first glance, i thought i saw white flakes mixed into the weed but i thought i was imagining things. a few hours later, we were watching a movie in his living room. he was on one couch, lounging on his computer, and my partner and i were cuddling on another couch. i remember we felt so affectionate and mushy and we couldn’t understand why, i narrowed it down to just being high. i then noticed our friend had fallen asleep, my partner and i began fooling around, nothing crazy, just a makeout and frankly, a blowjob. afterwards, our friend had woken up and suggested we go in the hot tub, so we did. it was there i started to feel very, very high. i remember feeling a foot rub against mine, i felt it go to my leg and up to my thigh, i remember thinking it was my boyfriend’s doing but i was too high to realize it was actually his friend. once i realized that, i felt incredibly uncomfortable and began heading home. the next morning, we all felt awful, we woke up feeling very down, depressed, just overall not well. we had reached out to our friend to meet up and see if he also felt as horrible as we did, and that was when the evil, know it all smile appeared, and he said “oh yeah well it was molly”. i remember my heart sank into my chest. he had laced the weed with molly, hence why we felt so euphoric and mushy. he then said, “why do you think you guys couldn’t keep your hands off each other?” at that moment, i knew he hadn’t actually fallen asleep. he even went as far to confirm my suspicion, as i said something along the lines of “how did you know that? you were sleeping” and he said, still with that smile, “no, i wasn’t.” he pretended to be asleep, and watched us the entire time. now i know what you’re thinking and it is true, i stayed friends with him, even after his cruelty was shown, even after he drugged me and my partner, even after he touched me inappropriately and invaded my privacy. we remained friends. i wish i could say i removed him from my life, i know now i should’ve, perhaps it would’ve kept me safe, or safer. i hate to admit it, but truthfully, i worried about him, i feared for his mental health, and was afraid what leaving him in the dark would do. as time went on, i started to notice he started treating me differently, almost with more care and concern. for example; there was one day all three of us were on the beach and i had gotten my ankle stuck between rocks trapping me in place. my partner at the time disregarded my calls for help and instead it was his friend who came to help me. i remember thinking it was odd, and out of character for him. another example was when we three went to a heavy metal concert in the city, i remember running around in a circle pit when the person in front of me fell, and caused a domino affect where everyone that followed behind also fell. i remember getting stepped on, twisting my ankle, and laying on the floor struggling to get up. our friend, he saw me, ran in my direction, lifted me up off the floor, and carried me like a baby out of the crowd. these are two small examples of what caused me to notice a shift in his behavior, it seemed like he was going more and more out of his way to ensure i was protected. one thing my rapist and i had in common was we were both musicians, and shared a deep love for singing. my partner wasn’t much of a musician, and most of the times would just watch from the sidelines as we performed. my rapist was in a band, and little me was incredibly drawn to the idea of also being in a band. when i first sang for him, he instantly told me that he wanted me involved in his band as a vocalist, and that i would have to sing in front of the rest of his bandmates. i was extremely excited. later that day, i discussed this idea with my partner, who told me that he didn’t think it was a good idea. i told him that he could come with me and watch, but he refused, as he didn’t want to sit there and do nothing the entire time. i asked him if he would be comfortable if i went alone, and he said no. i grew upset, explaining that i just wanted to sing, i wanted to be apart of something musical that wasn’t limited to a silly little high school show, or a theatre program for teens. my partner then said something to me that i wish i payed more attention to, he said, “i trust you, i don’t trust him” at the time i just felt confused, i even said, “he’s your best friend, why don’t you trust him?“ i am deeply and painfully aware that there were plenty of reasons not to trust him, but this was the first time my partner had said the words, so i wanted a better understanding as to what was going on in his mind. he simply told me “i don’t know, i just have a gut feeling, you’re not going.” and then came the biggest regret of my entire existence, i went anyway. on a sunday, i told my partner i was going to my cousins house, but instead, i showed up at our friends’s, his, house. i showed up in a sweater and sweatpants. he answered the door without a shirt on. i hesitated, and asked if anyone else was here yet, he told me no, that they’d be here any minute now and that we can start setting up. when he brought me upstairs, into his room, he asked me if he wanted to work on some duet stuff in the meantime. i agreed. we began recording, he played guitar and we harmonized, sang maybe 3 or 4 songs when i realized that time had passed and still, no one else was there. i asked him, “when is your band coming?” and there it was, that smile. “yeah, uh, they’re not coming” i should’ve ran. instead i sat there, dumb founded, not understanding what he meant, was he joking? no, he smiled, he knows what he is doing. i sat there, hearing my boyfriends voice in my head telling me “i don’t trust him”. i then stood up and began packing my stuff, intending on leaving. he then stood with me, and shut the door. he threw me onto his bed and held my hands down. my breathing picked up, quick and heavy, but my voice escaped me. i couldn’t speak. i couldn’t think. i couldn’t run, or scream. i froze. never in my life had i ever froze the way i did just then. it felt like my brain was screaming at me to move, do something, but my body refused. before he forced himself inside me, he released my hands and began squeezing my breasts, and i yelped out in pain, ill never forget how hard he squeezed me, it hurt terribly. it brought me back to learning that my grandmother was assaulted in a similar way, and shortly after, was diagnosed with breast cancer. i buried my head into the pillow, and sobbed. the sounds of my pain did nothing but excite him, i know because it was then he began penetrating me. i closed my eyes, and cried into his pillow the entire time. when it was over, he threw himself off of me and finished himself into a sock and threw it on the floor. he walked out of the room and into the bathroom. i slowly sat up, my body aching, and dressed myself. he returned and did two things that stuck with me. first, he threw a bong in my lap and said “smoke that, you look like you need it” and then, he took a poster off of his wall, revealing a hole he had made. inside, there were knives, a bottle with a joint inside, and some paper. he told me then that when he turned 21, “or sooner” he said, he planned to end his life. he said he would use the weapons inside after smoking his last joint, and he would leave a note. i didn’t understand why he told me this at the time, but my therapist told me that it sounded like his way of a threat, ensuring that i would stay quiet. he knew my history with mental health, he knew that i would rather never speak again than be responsible for someone ending their life. i didn’t say anything, i don’t think i spoke a single syllable, i may have nodded, but nothing more of a response came from me. i was destroyed. all i could think was how much of an idiot i was, how blind and stupid and selfish i was to put myself in this situation, all for a chance to sing in a band. i barely remember leaving, i know i sat outside his house and i called my mom to come get me. i knew i could simply walk to the train, but i genuinely feared for myself, i didn’t trust myself in that moment not to throw myself in front of the train. so i sat and waited. when my mom came, i still didn’t speak. she asked if i was okay and i just sat in silence. my breasts throbbing in pain. the next morning, i had bruises on my breasts. i got ready for school, thinking about what was going to happen when i saw my boyfriend, and when i also saw his best friend, the boy who just raped me the night before. i successfully ignored everyone until lunch time came. i usually sat with my boyfriend and his group of friends, so i tried to mentally prepare myself. i didn’t have a plan, i didn’t know what i was going to say, if i was going to say anything at all. my anxiety crept up on me, the paranoia and fear, all swallowed me whole. i sat down, put my headphones in place, and put my head down. my boyfriend was dealing with his own issues, and wasn’t entirely present during this lunch period. he had his headphones in and his head also down, and he was, unfortunately, drunk. yes, drunk in school. i felt someone sit themselves next to me so i lifted my head up, and there it was, that fucking smile. i put my head back down. when my rapist sat next to me, he pulled out his phone, put one headphone in his ear, and the other in mine. i flinched at his hand moving towards me. when the headphone was in, music began to play. my heart sank as deep as it could go. it was me, my voice, his voice, it was us. i looked at him, looked down, and saw our faces on his screen. i had forgotten, before he raped me, we recorded our covers, and here he was, listening to them, on a loop, in front of me and my partner, who didn’t notice at all. at that moment, i got up, and walked away. my boyfriend only then noticed me and my exit and followed me into the staircase, he called after me numerous times, begging me to talk to him, tell him what was wrong. i couldn’t do it. i looked at him with tears pouring out of my eyes and i just said, “i can’t” i felt absolutely horrified, completely ashamed. i blamed no one but myself. it was my fault, wasn’t it? i saw the signs, the red flags, and i ignored them. i was warned against going, just to ignore that as well. i went, and i froze. i didn’t say no. i didn’t run. i didn’t scream. when i went home that day, i made a decision, one that i thought i deserved. i called my boyfriend, afraid to face him in person, and i told him that he shouldn’t be with me anymore, that i wasn’t worthy of being loved by someone like him. naturally, he was lost, confused. i felt i deserved to be punished, i didn’t deserve love, i didn’t deserve good, i fucked up, and i deserve to suffer. this is going to hurt like hell, i thought, but i deserve it. so, instead of telling him the truth, i told him i had cheated. this is what ended our relationship, this is what he told his friends, this is what everyone thought was the truth, i was a cheater. so of course, it followed me. this was when i realized what my bending of the truth had done, it had cost me everything, and i thought that’s what i wanted, i thought that’s what i deserved. to no avail, we broke up, and went about six months without speaking, but not before things got worse. first, we tried to make things work, i held true to my lie, and we tried. there are things that happened at this point that i do not wish to share but long story short, we tried and we failed. it was a year or two after i had been raped when my ex and i rekindled. we managed to come out on top in the end, we remained friends, still to this day, and when i was ready, i told them the truth. i don’t know what i was expecting, the worst perhaps, but instead, he believed me. he listened while i told him what really happened that day. and he held me, while i sobbed. with time, we too talked of the red flags and the signs that we missed, or noticed and ignored in hopes we were just thinking the worst. we’ve learned to heal together and i am forever grateful to have had something good come out of something so bad. my ex was the only person who knew the truth. after, came my best friend, and then, my wife. i never reported it. i didn’t even use the word rape until my therapist used it first. i know earlier i spoke about being scared of what my rapist would do if i told, but i was also deeply scared of not being believed, or supported. i feared i would be to blame, as i blamed myself. i knew nobody, no judge, no jury, would ever take my side. so i stayed silent. where did it lead me? after the rape, i was self harming, drinking, drugging. i attempted suicide, i was hospitalized twice, spent holidays in a mental institution. i lost myself. i couldn’t look in the mirror. i could barely even sing anymore. and as for my rapist? he went on to become an EMT. i’ll never forget the day i found out he was a paramedic, i cried for hours at the thought of me or a loved one needing help, calling an ambulance, and having him show up at our door. i am 28 now, and still, every fucking day, i struggle. i struggle at the sight or sounds of anything that reminds me of him. i hear the songs we sang and i can feel him on top of me. i can’t even listen to them anymore. i make love to my wife and there are nights i can see her face morphing into his and i cry and i scream and i scare. i walk around my hometown, fearing ill run into him. i dream about him. i feel haunted, still, after all this time. the university case has taken over my feed, all my social media has to offer is mentions of rape and assault and it has been very hard on my mind. i’ve been getting sucked back into those years, and it’s so hard to break free from sometimes, because i am reminded that still after all these years, he still haunts me, i still suffer, and he, still, is perfectly fine, smiling.

I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

In my story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER, I briefly mentioned 3 instances of avoiding being raped by letting men just have me when it seemed like they were going to do me whether or not I consented. I do think I avoided emotional and physical trauma at the time, but the anger, self resentment, and feelings of being wronged and about it did snowball after. I never shared or released those stories. Please read my original story for context. In this instance the sex was already happening when I awoke, and my reflex was to take the non-confrontational path. The easy way, not the right way. I had gotten home from work as a server at my bar and grill restaurant and my female roommate had her father staying with us for the weekend. I had already met him since they drove straight from the airport to the sports bar I worked at. That’s were he told me, “Just call me, ‘Dad’”. They sat in my section, ate, and left. No issues. Then, back at our 2 bedroom apartment there was a small party for his benefit with a couple of our friends. I had a couple hard ciders and chatted about college and my roommate and heard stores of when she was a kid from. I flirted and humored “Dad”’s sexual innuendos directed at me, and ignored his eyes all up and down me. I was used to it. I played the good hostess and waited until it was all dying down probably around 2 or 3 am, before I showered and went to bed. It had been a long day with both class and work. I was stirred out of my sleep a few hours later with "Dad" already inside of me, thrusting in and out between my legs! By the light streaming in through my dark blinds I could tell it was day. But WTF was happening?! My panties were off but my T-shirt was on. Underneath it the dark figure who I quickly was able to identify as "Dad" was caressing my breasts with one hand while holding me down with the other. Still dazed and confused, I guess I put my arms around him and responded like a willing partner. He soon finished and then it got awkward.  He told me "That really hit the spot". He started to make conversation! The longer I had to think, the more I realized what happened. That he had just helped himself as I lay sleeping. I was 19 and dating a hot university baseball player at the time and would not have gone for this fifty or so year old guy on purpose. He was sure drinking that night but I had only had a few ciders. So there I was, realizing I had been kind of raped but held hostage by a sense of politeness! Not to mention as I was 5'3'' 110 pounds, so there was the physical intimidation from a much taller man with a dad bod.  I always pee right after sex but felt captive by "Dad"'s ramblings as he propped himself up on one elbow hovering over me while he ran his fingers over me and stroked my hair sporadically.  I shared his cold can of beer with him that he must have opened right before he came in to rape me because I remember drinking deeply the cold liquid soothing my dry throat. I suffered through some dad jokes and stories I did not care about, as well as answering some personal questions about myself and my sexuality. I was looking for momentary pause to get up and away from “Dad” when he said, "I'm ready to go again, baby." NO! He moved on top of me! Instead of fighting him off me or even saying "no", I spread my legs to accommodate him! WTF! The second time did not have the desperate eagerness of the first, unfortunately. As he even said, he wanted to teach me a lesson this time. I guess about how good he was is bed. A definite case of ‘whiskey dick’. So I let this man I had never wanted or considered sex with jostle me into several positions. He was large man and so much stronger than me it was a joke. After the missionary he picked me up to prove some point and did me against the wall right next to my window. I remember seeing through cracks in the blinds and knowing it was early because the parking lot was full and nothing was moving. Then SLAM onto the bed. We did 69 with me lying on him where I sucked him with all my might wanting to END IT while he was licking me. I failed! He had me being on top riding him at one point. I was on my hands and knees with him ramming behind me when I collapsed under his weight to flat on my face. He enjoyed never letting up on the thrusts as I was completely pinned down by him. I let him give me two or more orgasms in hopes he would just finish. I was so loud I was embarrassed my roommate would come rushing in my room any second. She was passed out drunk. He finally left as soon as he finished. I am sure his ego was massively inflated and the terrible man still thinks of me today! I lie there in my bed catching my breath and getting more anxious. I got up, pulled on some sweats, and B-lined straight out the door to my gym. I wanted to get away so bad. I drank water like I had just walked out of a desert. I showered for so long at the empty Saturday morning gym without any products but hand soap. Then I started to work out like crazy, on three hours sleep and exhaustion. I was trying to sweat him out of my system, to scream and thrash through my exercise. I showered again then went out and fell asleep in my car in the back of the lot. The rest of the weekend I only went to my apartment for minutes at a time to pick up things I needed. I sure as Hell did not sleep there! When he was gone I answered my roommates questions that I had been blowing off with lies and short answers. I told her the truth. She shrugged and looked at me skeptically, like it was just one of those things. I was promiscuous in college and she knew it. We sort of made a joke out of it and moved on. The easy way, not the right way. I still have big time guilt at how I was back then. At the time my things was not that "I wish I had fought him." What I wished was that I had been too drunk to remember!!! So that was that. Something I kept inside, festering. Other things added to it and it got swept under the rug of my damaged psyche. Not one of the worst skeletons in my closet but what I was willing to share for now. I am working up to the others. My first story I shared helped a lot. I hope it helped somebody else too. I thank all of you and I empathize. I will read your stories and support you in my thoughts and prayers.

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

Healing brings Hope and Growth. Growth brings purpose, and strength. Enraged Mother, my daughter was 14 years old and my niece was 13 years old when they were both sexually assaulted by my “sisters” husband. My “sister” and my “mother” were both aware that my niece was being sexually assaulted by her stepfather who is still married to my sister. They helped this predator cover the entire horrific incident. No one ever said anything about my daughter spending the night over. It wasn’t its several years later when he sexually assaulted my daughter in 2015 when everything and so much more came to light. In 2019 he was sentenced to 10 years but was just recently granted parole and is due to be released this year July, 2026. This is not true justice for our children.

In my survival story, "Just Words, Dirty Words", I shared so much and I brushed over an experience with a male gynecologist. It was a much bigger deal that I let on because it had triggered my previous abuse as an adolescent on my first job. I wonted other girls and women to understand what is not okay for a gynecologist to do. It was not until after it happened that I realized the full impact. I realized I had let myself be victimized again without trying to stop it. I felt self-loathing and anxiety. I write this letter to that opportunistic predator. You broke your oath. You betrayed the trust. You are terrible! I have done research on what a breast and pelvic exam is supposed be like and understand you used the framework to sexually assault me. I was late for the appointment to get birth control at the university clinic when I had just moved for college. You let me in even though you had no nurse chaperon, it seemed that you might have sent them home after putting me in the room. You are a man and that is against policy. We shared our first eye contact and I ignored your lust and first glance flirtation. You saw I was vulnerable and needed something from you. You told me as a new patient you have to do a full first visit exam. Now I believe you may have lied. I nodded and put down my guard. When you returned I was undressed wearing a paper smock for a false sense of security. I was self conscious even though I had impeccable hygiene and grooming but worried I was not fresh enough so late in the day because you were a man and you made it sexual. You examined my breasts with no gloves. I said nothing. I knew you were massaging them for you pleasure. You went on for five minutes like that. I think five whole minutes while you kept talking. When my boss used to molest me just seconds was plenty to make me feel sick and used. He would sit on my torso, compressing my ribs to the point I could not take a deep breath and have sex with my breasts and he usually took less time than you. do remember you used the words “wonderful” and “amazing” when commenting on by breast health. We could both smell the musk from down below from stimulating me like that. I was embarrassed. You should have been the one ashamed! You mentioned the textures and gave some instructional anatomy to pretend it might be official. You asked random questions and you shared personal stories like it was a date. All the while you were groping my tits like a pervert. Both hands at the same time! I tried to cover for you by pretending like this was not insane and not a sexual assault. You were twice my age and your mustache was ridiculous. You finally moved on to the pelvic exam. You said the words, “Very nice” when you lifted up the paper drape to help my feet into the stirrups. That is not appropriate when viewing a patient’s vagina for the first time. You explained every step from “I’m going to touch your thighs now” to “take a deep breath as I insert the speculum”. That part was quick but then you explained the manual exam that you did for too long. You inserted two fingers to check for cervical motion tenderness but rubbed my clitoris with your lubricated thumb as you did so. That was wrong! You explained that you were going to move your other hand to check for tenderness of my ovaries to check for infection but kept working your other hand on my clit and inside me. You put what felt like three fingers in me! You were sexually assaulting me again. Breaching my trust. Ignoring you oath. As a last indignity you felt for masses in the space between my vagina and rectum. You left your thumb in my vagina while you put a finger in my anus and moved them both back and in and out explaining you thought you felt something for a second but it resolved on massage, meaning it was nothing to worry about. You raped me! That was rape! I looked it up and what you were doing is a real part of an exam but no gynecologist had done that before then or ever since! Instead of leaving the room while I dressed you stayed and helped by holding out my clothes! Totally inappropriate! You should not have a medical license! Sure I let you, and I cooperated, and even tried to endure it and put on a pleasant face. I was a different person then and you just continued my cycle of being abused by men. But the anus part was where I felt true terror and wanted to get out. You gave me a business card with your name on it and told me to call and ask when you were working to schedule next visit. Then you only wrote me for 1 refill on 30 day birth control! Like I would even come back to be assaulted again. You smug abuser of power and trust! I left with you thinking I enjoyed that and would see you again!!! You make me want to scream and pound on things! It was delayed, but my abuse anxiety was triggered that night, and days after. I will never see a male gynecologist again. Your lust and greed is not better than that of a rapist. You broke my trust in the medical system and I still get anxiety at any doctor visit. Just because a girl’s reaction to abuse is not instant, because of some survival mechanism, does not make it any less painful. Sometimes even more, because we feel guilty for not being strong and assertive. You were in a position of authority and abused it so badly. You should be ashamed, doctor! You should be in prison!

I am trying to leave this DV relationship, but it's complicated. He lives with me; he uses my phone and car because he doesn't have neither. I don't want to get the police involved nor do I want to kick him out, 1. he will just be outside my apartment unit and 2. defamation of my character - for some reason everyone believes him and don't see any wrong by him but he sure can make someone look terrible. He is leeching on me. I feel like I'm being suffocated by a hurt boy who have been wounded and traumatized all his life and he is using me as an energy bank to cure his wounds and to cater to his needs. I currently have a cold and he hasn't taken care of me or even asked how I am doing. From the many times I haven't felt well, he would argue with me. I feel so alone and feel like I can't make any plans until he can get a phone and car. Friends say call the police, but I really don't want to, I don't want him to destroy my reputation. My therapist said that if my reputation is the only reason I am putting up with him then I shouldn't worry about my reputation. I understand where my friends and therapist are coming from, but I really don't want that to happen to me, I have seen what he did to his baby mother and it just been a shit show. Am I wrong to want a calm and safest way out?

He would break up with me and then win me back. This went on for over a year. We were staying at a local hotel for the weekend to celebrate his birthday. We got into an argument in public so I went back to the hotel room by myself. I didn’t let him back in the hotel room when he first got back and instead, packed up all of his belongings. Once I let him in, he threw some of his things. I asked him to leave. He got on his phone. I asked him to leave again and he pushed me down onto my back. He proceeded to punch me over and over again in my eye and head. After the first punch, I said “I’m sorry, please stop”. His response was, “so NOW you’re sorry”. When he finally stopped, I immediately ran to the wall and got crouched down, as blood gushed out of my nose. I again pleaded for him to leave as he cussed at me. He did leave after that. He broke my orbital floor in my eye and my finger. I filed a protective order and was granted it for a year.

I didn't realise I had experienced Sexual violence until I was in a women's refuge. It was when they were going through my experiences and fully explained the sexual abuse that I realised. I was often coerced into sex and one time after a night out I woke up to him on top of me, I was frozen and couldn't move. This was my husband, I trusted him.

You think your age makes you less to blame, But I carry the weight, I bear the shame. You crossed the line — no excuse to hide, No softer words can wash this tide. I’m not the one who should feel small, You built this cage, you made me fall. No matter your years, no matter your face, You took from me my safe, my space. But here I stand, I claim my voice, I break the chains, I make the choice. I won’t be silent, I won’t back down, I wear my courage like a crown. So hear me now, and hear me clear, Your actions caused this pain and fear. Age won’t protect what you have done— I am the survivor, I have won.