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

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

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.

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

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.

As an only child, I had no one to look up to really as a kid. But I always looked up to my Dad. Even though he was never really around due to work (although Mam worked more than he did and still found lots of time to spend with me), I still idolised him. He was my hero. He would always say 'Dads know everything - remember that', so lying to my dad (even little white lies) were pointless. Though when I hit 13 I began to realise he actually DID know everything. He knew what myself and my friends would talk about, he would know exactly where I was and who I was with without even needing to ask me, and I would always wonder why. In reality he had my phone tracked and could read all my messages. Now that I have been through the court system and he has been imprisoned for the abuse he inflicted upon me, I can confirm that he was in fact grooming me from the age of 13. About a month after my 18th Birthday, began the horrific 7.5 year abuse that I suffered. My Dad, masked for the first 2 years as a stranger, blackmailed me into performing sexual acts with strange men in our home - the one place I should've felt safe. When I finally realised it was him, I couldn't tell you how it then turned into just open ended abuse and rape from him. He would advertise us as a couple on hook up sites and in order to avoid physical beatings I would go along with it. I feared for my life so much that endless rapes and sexual assaults were easier - imagine that being the easiest choice - until you're in it, you just don't know how you'll react. I stopped going out, I gave up my hobbies, whilst in college I gave up my part time job - he controlled every single part of my life. And if I even let my "everything is rosey' mask slip even for a second, especially in front of my Mam, well it just doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately for me, once Mam did find out, he was gone out of my life within 30 mins. Unfortunately, he went on to groom and abuse others after that. He was convicted, and is currently serving his prison sentence - but the fear of him stilll remains.

You Are Not Alone You are not alone. So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together. I grew up in a large low income black of flats that was like a village. My mum worked and we went about by ourselves. In the winter we were never expected to be seen if we left. We were in some flat mucking about with some kids or neighbor, and it all worked out fine. I did lose my virginity when I was eleven to a friend of my older brother who was in year ten. But that was no bother because it was not uncommon there, sadly. I am half Brazilian on my absent father’s side and was considered quite exotic and fit. My secondary sexual characteristics developed early. I was reasonably careful and in control. True abuse began years later when we moved out to a proper house with HIM. HE was my mom’s dream man. HE was fit for a middle-aged man. By that time my brother wasn’t with us because he took work in Alaska on a fishing boat. HE was ex-Army and seemed like a good man at first. I was a bit of trouble maker and over-cheeky and my mom gave HIM carte blanche to discipline me like father. We weren’t there the length of a full season when HE started treating me like a tart. The spanking part mom knew about and thought it was funny, even with me being fifteen. HE spanked my bare bum even when she was home. She said I’d always needed a man’s hand to block of my rough edges. It was cringe, humiliating, but nothing compared to what HE did when mum was away. Not to get detailed, HE soon got to a point where I was going to get HIS load whenever there was the chance. Since HE got to set my schedule he made sure there were regular chances. It was my HELL and HE was the Prince of Darkness. He was rough but careful not to leave any marks. Unless time was short I had to shower first. Sometimes after there would be something specific sitting out to wear, like a costume or lingerie, or my netball kit. The grating anticipation of what was going to follow was the real torture. HE would tell me to “Pick a hole”. My holes! My foof was one, my mouth was two, and you’d think I would never select three. But you’d be wrong. I hated HIM. I am very sensitive sexually and if I went with one I looked like I loved it and if I chose two I was doing work to please HIM. Three was the way I could shut down and brace myself without him ever seeing me smile, even if I was facing toward him. When I was strong with hatred I would choose three. I compartmentalized that small but brutal part of my life for my mum. If was a mere thirty to one hundred twenty minutes per a week of 10080 minutes. And I saw no other way then. Mum, for the first time was living a happy life. I could have won a BAFTA for how I seemed so cozy and content for her. It gutted me that my fear of upsetting HIM made it appear that HE had smoothed out my rough edges and made me into a proper lady. I kept my marks up and stayed on the netball team in spite of being the shortest. I kept going. I developed a habit of stabbing mechanical pencil tips into my skin and biting my nailbeds to illicit pain. I had one boyfriend for a short time. I went to the dances. Home was my hell so I did everything HE would allow to be anywhere else. I could not work but he made my mum keep her job so he could have me. My birthdays I would get my way of having a just girls’ night out with mum. There were only two birthdays before I got free of him. College cost 1000 pounds and when HE paid it HE did not know I was not going to be his tart anymore. I had a friend with a home much closer to my school. They had spare bedroom because an older sibling had moved out. Being seventeen, HE couldn’t force me to live with them if I had other safe accommodations. I took employment and paid the meager rent. He got me one more time when I was sleeping back at his house on Christmas eve. Probably drugged mum to keep her sleeping. I made sure he never got a chance again. Through my Portuguese class I met a man who lived in Portugal and invited me to come stay with him as long as I wanted rent free. I finished one year of sixth form and went to Portugal. I had fleeting relations with the man I stayed with but he traveled often we both had our own things. I worked at an American-themed restaurant as a server then. I spoke with my mum on the phone most days. She visited once, with HIM. I missed her and tried not to show much of my sorrow about being forced apart from her. Seeing HIM was horrendous, yet I kept it contained inside like a cancer. It helped solidify my decision. I traveled with a friend to Florida and got a job serving in a posh restaurant. I applied for a work VISA and on my second try I got it. I am thirty-eight now. Only three years ago did I confront my demons because I read online stories about other abuse survivors. It opened up a deep wound so I could start to heal. It was and still is hard work and an ongoing process. I confessed to my mum who had split with HIM after years of her own abuse that she also kept hidden. HE had let her go when she started having health problems, showing his true black heart. She lives with my brother and his family. I regret losing years with mum and my brother and being chased away from my home when I was young but it made me stronger. I have never married but I have a loving partner, two dogs and I speak three languages. I am a physical trainer and work near the beach where I go to meditate and body surf. Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there. Just start and keep climbing, especially when it seems too hard.

I was raped when I was 18, just after my Leaving Cert. The man who raped me was a former partner. He had been physically abusive which had prompted me to end the relationship. Not long after it ended, he got in contact and asked to meet up to exchange items we had left at the others’ homes. I agreed, not thinking anything of it particularly. We arranged a time and agreed to go for a coffee in a spot we had often frequented as a couple. However, he was hours late turning up and looking back now, this was a huge red flag. I got into the car with him and he drove to a secluded location, incapacitated me and raped me. I will never forget the feeling of trying to prise his hands off of me and finally realising I wasn’t strong enough. It lasted nearly 4 hours and I was orally, vaginally and anally raped. He also used a foreign object during his attack. After it was over, he let me go and I walked for hours in the dark to get home. I didn’t tell a soul for days. The only medical attention I sought was the morning after pill. After about 3 days, I started to come to terms about what had happened to me, and that it wasn’t ok. That I wasn’t ok. I sought help from the SATU in Location and chose ‘Option 3’ which allowed samples to be taken and stored without a Garda present. I couldn’t speak highly enough of the care I got in SATU. They are angels. I later suffered a miscarriage at a relatively late stage in pregnancy, after finding out quite late. I eventually made a statement to Gardai and my perpetrator was arrested, although I decided at the time that I was not strong enough to allow the case to go to court. I suffered hugely at that time with symptoms I have now come to understand were PTSD and depression, and even considered taking my own life. But I accessed supports and met a wonderful psychotherapist and I later repeated my leaving cert and went on to gain entry to university, where I have had such brilliant support. I was lucky to access support that made all the difference to me, and my message to anybody reading this who was affected by sexual violence is that it gets better, and you can get through it.

He was my boyfriend. We had just had sex and he wanted to go again. I said “no”, he said “but I want to”, and he did. Those words ring in my mind so clearly. It wasn’t violent or aggressive, but it felt like something broke in me then. I carried that with me for a long time, and still do. Part of my shame was that I didn’t leave. Months later, I confronted him about it and he was so angry and not open to hearing me. That is not how someone who loves you, cares for you, or respects you acts. That is not how someone who respects women acts. It took me a long time to see that. Years later, I am seeing someone who is kind and safe. He doesn’t know this story but he cares for me and wants me to feel safe regardless. He has never been angry or upset when I didn’t want to have sex, if I wanted to stop or pause or talk about it or if there was something I didn’t like or wasn’t comfortable with. He listens when I explain a boundary and is always open to changing his behaviour to make me feel as comfortable and safe as possible. That is someone who cares, who inherently respects other people and wants to be a safe space. That is normal and the bare minimum. Abusers, perpetrators, and predators can warp your sense of reality but I promise you, people who are kind and good exist and there are so many more than you would think. You deserve to be treated with respect, kindness, and gentleness. That is never too much to ask for, that is the bare minimum.

I (24,m) was sexual abused by my best friend at the time we were 10 years old. I was in 3rd grade and had to repeat that grade, so i lost a lot of contact to my friends. I stayed in contact with one friend, the perpetrator, and our friendship grew a lot. When i was at his home he showed me gay porn, this was the first time i came into contact with the topic of sex outside of sex ed class. I wasn't really interrested in it and, nothing more happened that day, but in retrospect I think, the friend was maybe kind of testing the waters. Some weeks later, we were at my place, where the abuse happened. I lived in a multi appartment house, and my mother had rented one appartment two sories down of our main appartment, so my father could move his office down there, we could have a guest room for family menbers that came to visit. I also had a model train down there, and me and the friend spend a lot of time there and played with the train. One day, in the winter time we decided to go tobogganing at a nearby hill. On the way to the hill, and on the way back, my friend talked me into trying out the things we saw in the porn video with him. First i said no to this, as i was only 10 and not interested in this kind of stuff, but he told me this kind of actions are normel for friends, and eventually i said yes. Back at my place, he still tried to talk me into it, and i remember that i didn't wanted to do these things, but was scared to loose him as my friend. Because at that time he was the only one of my old friends i had stayed in contact with. I remember that we were kissing, dry hummping, and me on top of him rubbing our private parts together. But the friend wanted to also try out sex with me. So he talked me into oral sex. After that he treid to talk me into letting him have anal sex with me. He wanted that i take a shower and clean myself up for this, but luckily I never said yes and after the 3rd time of trying to convince me he accepted that somehow. But he wanted oral sex again in exchange. To that i said yes, so he wouldn't be and at me. But i remember that i backed off of him at first to the edge of the bed and to the corner of the wall and sometimes still feel the cold wallpapper touching my back. I remember feeling very confused by all of this, and still to this day 15 years later, i am scared of intimacy with other people and get panic attacts even by just laying in bed with someone or cuddling half naked. I also felt a lot of guilt, because i wasn't forced to to these things and said yes. But today I know better, that i was child , didn't really know what was happening and that he abused my trust and lack of knowledge. I hope i will get better soon, and maybe heal from this. I also hope all the best to all of you survivors out there. What ever happened, it was not our fault.

I was only 5 years old when my 7-year-old sister took advantage of me to do things she had seen. It makes me so angry that my parents didn't supervise her. It infuriates me that I only found out now that she was watching those things and imitating them with me. Why, if they knew she was watching them, didn't they scold her or correct her? Why did I have to endure it? She was always dragging me around, always seeking me out. I'm disgusted with myself for not noticing and not doing anything, but I was only 5 years old. She never said anything; I was the one who decided to speak up. I told my mother, afraid she would hate me or be disgusted by me, crying and with a pain in my chest. But my mother talked to me, and with her, I felt so relieved. I had stopped thinking about it; it no longer tormented me. I get along well with her now; she's my sister, of course I love her. But when I remember, even though I don't cry or get hurt anymore, it makes me so angry that it could have been avoided. Now I have a problem: I haven't had my first kiss. It disgusts me. Even though I like that person, it repulses me so much. But I'm ashamed to tell a psychologist what they would think if I told them my sister did that. They would be disgusted, even though it wasn't my fault.

This story contains descriptions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts. Please be aware of this. I am a single, HSP-afflicted freelancer. I am currently 38 years old. Like many people my age, my mother was violent when angry. She also broke things, accusing me of misbehaving, such as tearing down all the posters of my favorite idols that were hanging in my room. When she wasn't angry with me or my sister, she would repeatedly smash the frying pan she was using to cook food into the sink if the food burned or if she accidentally dropped a glass, or she would smash even chipped cups and plates. She would then run out of the house, often not knowing when she would return. I remember feeling lonely even as a child. When I was 13, after my mother broke a plate and ran out as usual, I couldn't bear it any longer and used the broken pieces to self-harm. I cut myself deeply on my arm. I think I told my mother I'd fallen, but the scars I still see today clearly couldn't have been caused by that. It wasn't until I turned 36 that I realized the abnormal relationship between my mother and me. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, we've had a series of unfortunate events in the family. My mother, who should be over 60, has a terrible ability to control her emotions and has no boundaries with me, her daughter. Gradually, I realized that my childhood environment was strange, and that the physical and emotional scars were deeper than I'd realized. It may sound unbelievable, but until recently, I didn't think my self-harm was a big deal. I'd barely thought about these scars in my life. I didn't hide them, but I'd spent decades without telling anyone. My mother and I were close, and we'd talk about anything, so now I'm really suffering. I've always been told by family and friends that I was quick to anger and had a tendency to get angry, which really bothered me, and I've struggled with my relationships. I've tried to understand why I was the way I was, reading various books, researching online, and trying to change my personality. So I really can't forgive my mother for taking out her anger on her children despite being a grown adult, for breaking things, for running away from home on a daily basis, and for laughing at my personality for decades, calling it weird. More than anything, I feel like my life is irreparable, and I can't bear the frustration. If I had realized my mother's abnormal side sooner, I think my personality and the way I build relationships would have been different. I'm in the midst of a flood of emotions. When I have more free time from my freelance work, I often think that being a Shin would be nice. It's a bit disorganized, but I'd be happy if it could be of some use to someone.

*THIS IS MY FIRST TIME TELLING ANYONE MY STORY** I had just turned 13 and had my first crush, a boy 2 years older than me, we'll call Name cause well that's his name. His Cousin had invited me to a"house party" only when I showed up it was just me, him and his cousin. When I got there they were both waiting for me in the entry way, my first thought was wow they're excited to see me, cool. Then I felt someone grab me by the back of my head by my ponytail. Then my pullover jacket I had just got for Christmas was pulled over my head, and I felt a sharp cold knife against my throat. I was forced into a bedroom With only one of them Wich I couldn't see because my jacket was still over my head, but I could tell by the voice it was Name I remember hearing the clips on my farmer jeans being messed with, but he couldn't be bothered to figure it out so he pulled them down over my shoulders and eventually down to my feet. My coat had moved down a little so I could see his hand flat on the bed with the knife underneath it, mind you this was my first time having any kind of sexual experience at this point I had never even kissed a boy, all I could think of was if I grab this knife I can stab him and run but that would have been impossible considering my farmer jeans were still around my ankles and I was in so much pain and bleeding everywhere. I froze, I left my body, I let him do what he planned on doing from the start, I felt so stupid, so naive and so VIOLATED. I walked from this "house party" rape plan 7 blocks crying hysterically as blood dripped down my legs, Wich I didn't even notice, I was so young I didn't know what happened your"first time". I'm 40 now and I'm finally coming forward because it's been eating me alive for years. And PTSD is real. This scumbag not only took what I was saving for my future husband, he took my pride, my self esteem, my trust and my ability to open up sexually to the love of my life. If I didn't have my husband I'd probably be in a psych ward somewhere, I know I didn't deserve or ask for this, but it still affects me daily, I stay far away from where it happened, I'm always looking over my shoulder, I'm sick of living in fear since he was released from prison for other things..... He actually had the nerve to request me on Facebook! That's when the flash backs started.... I thought I had this tucked away, hidden deep down in the depths of my soul, never to be spoken about EVER. All I want to do is tell my husband, but I feel like I've been lying by omission, I want to tell him so bad, I just can't bring myself to tell him without breaking down completely or hurting him somehow.....I love him so much, he is my safe place.

Each year it crashes in like the waves beating the stand. It brings a swirl of emotion and feelings unbeknownst to my fragile mind. My body seises as it struggles to stay afloat. I gasp as the sharp prickly water traps my body, unable to move, but only to breathe, breathe... breathe... and breathe. A calm air slowly comes over me as I become conscious of this storm. Sobering me, I remember that it will pass...

This story, my story, started 25 or 24 years ago, when I was 7 or 8 years of age. I was sexually abused (once only but enough to make an impact) by my dad, the first person that's meant to protect you. I never told a soul about it, no one but myself knew it during those 25 years, and even I did not want to think about it. As the years went I learnt to put it at the back of my mind, it was to painful, disgusting and worst of all, I was ashamed, ashamed for something I didn't do, but something that someone too close to me did instead. I learnt to push back if that memory ever came back to me. I grew (somehow) very closed to my dad, and pretended that never happened; only last year I learnt that very action has a name, and it's called compartimentalising. It was only last year, when I started to have issues with anxiety to another level that I finally, when I was about to have a nervous break down, decided that it was time to say it out loud. Weirdly enough, I never had considered myself a victim of sexual abuse... and the words 'sexual abuse' were really difficult for me to mention when talking about what happened to me, although, over time I grew used them and more comfortable (it still hurts though). I was on therapy for over 10 months, followed by a 3 months of CTB course, I still have catch up calls with my therapist every now and then. The worst part of my therapy was, what my own body needed, and that was to seek my dad's accountability, the one which, after confronting him, still hasn't acknowledge, and let's be honest, he won't ever do it. But I learnt to move on not expecting that to happened and at least, my dad knows the big impact that one action that happened that one time, has badly affected my throughout these past years, and my present. I discovered that most people that has suffered this type of abuse tend to develop any sort of chronic pain condition, which I did at the age of 13, mostly from what it felt like, was eating me alive from the inside of my body. Discovering the condition I have had for more than half of my life, is there because of my dad, was no easy discovery and that's where the panic attacks started. As you can imagine, and like all of you, it's been a long healing process. My 4 most important things that really helped me through my healing process (unfinished healing process) were: - My support network (my friends as family only found out after and they still don't know who did it). - Exercising, the best thing I have done for my mental health. - An incredible manager at work who supported me throughout my journey - And (unfortunately) antidepressants to manage better anxiety, as it got really bad at some points. I know, my healing isn't over, I know I might never get what I really want which is that accountability, but at least I know that what ever I decide to do, I'm now (mostly) in control, not my dad or my fears. We all still have bad days, but at least now I know, I'm not alone.

My life should have been a life of happiness and peace, but oooh how the tables turned. I was an easy going, fun loving, creative, individual who has talents beyond my time. For the most part my life was lived as a typical middle class, every day average Jane. Who had dreams that were all reachable. It started at the age 25, where I met a handsome man that in my eyes was every woman's dream. But ooh my, my I didn't know this was the beginning of a very harsh reality check and the beginning of major changes in my life. We had a quick and fast romance story, fell in love, out of love an in love again. He was my rock and I was his motivating force, until he changed totally on me and became a habitual cheater. His cheating lasted for many years and he eventually met a faith that he too thought, he was untouchable. But being who he was and how care-free he was in his cheating activities, this faith wouldn't have passed him. The sudden faith that landed him to contact a std, to which no one ever wants. But I on the other hand was living my dream of having a husband and kids, with taking care of all their needs an leaving myself undone. Yes you may have an idea so far where this story is going, but I didn't know I would become a victim to my husband. He had the most perfect plan with the cruelest intention. Lets go back a little, yes I was acting like a wife but I was just living in a common- law situation. To which his plans was perfectly executed, he knew, I had little knowledge about his "outside activities " and my greatest desire at the time was to be his wife. And that was his perfect plan to get me, he would avoid being in d same home, or country with me. Often repeatedly saying he's coming on our wedding day, in which I would smile and think nothing of it. I took us roughly 1 week to organize everything, too have a quick and fast wedding. Me not knowing that in my tries of joy there would be sadness on d corner. I got married..had a beautiful harmonious day, fun after fun. Till one day I began feel strange and had to be taken to the doctor, in which multiple test was done. Everything came out ok, but this one result hit me on my chest hard, as if I was out in the rain being hit on my chest repeatedly. I sat in that room alone to my right nothing or no one and to the left nothing or no one, the doctor that stood in front of me became invisible. But my husband was gone again, back to keep away from home and the country of which we stayed. Every little piece of his actions from the most biggest to the smallest came flooding in my head as one slide to the next and it all became clear. I ran out of the room in tears to hide and called him, as he heard me he began to cry and repeatedly say sorry, sorry, sorry. But this man wasn't totally sorry he told me he's going to book a flight an he would be on his way. He came, he hold me, I asked questions he answered, but my biggest shock was when I heard these words, "I didn't want to lose you". His logic for making me his victim was justified with not losing me, my life was weighted on not losing me. The deed was done and I became the walk over troll, I felt as a prisoner in head, life, body and to him. The cheating continued, I tried to protect others,but he would make me seem to be bitter and a liar. I had became a victim to multi forms of abuse, he made a baby outside of the marriage an my kids became as nothing to him as I was. I got verbally abused by his newly baby mother and often called a liar when I tried to warn her, but in all I served.

The way we learn about sexual abuse needs to be changed in schools because that’s where it started and I didn’t even realise. Small things that seemed like not a huge deal led to the shaping of my own attitude towards what is acceptable behaviour. When I was 14 during pe, a boy smacked my arse so hard with a table tennis racket it left a mark, I was so embarrassed and so self conscious that I said nothing. The next situation was when I was 16 and I had a younger first year student pinching my bum whenever the hallway was crowded, I could never catch who it was but I knew it was a smaller person in a younger year, it was like a game for them but I was uncomfortable, again it didn’t seem so bad and what would I even say if I were to tell someone? The next incident happened a few months later during a group project where we the students were in a room alone, I was standing talking to a boy the same age as me, I was in the middle of giving my opinion on the project which he clearly wasn’t listening to because he suddenly grabbed me and “jokingly” shook his head between my boobs. I was shocked, and so was everyone else but it had happened and that was that, I left the room upset but also worried I was being too dramatic, our group dynamic had been so good up until that point and I didn’t want to ruin it over this “small” thing so I said nothing, the boy apologised but it was already done, he later asked me to not tell people what happened because it was upsetting for him. These incidents all occurred in an environment where the incidents themselves never stood out, there were girls in my year who’s nudes had spread like wildfire, girls who were more developed than others with boobs and a bum who were labelled sluts purely because of their appearance, I myself got attention from boys and attention could only be positive surely? I was almost thankful that I was being accepted even if it meant I was being objectified and at times mistreated, I couldn’t see clearly at the time, I thought attention that made me uncomfortable was better than nothing. With school in the past I entered my first year of college, I’d had a healthy relationship before that had ended at this point and I’d had sex with only this boy so I felt ok with the thought of it with a new person. I was 19 and there was a boy in my class who I was head over heels for, my heart stopped whenever I saw him. I bumped into him on a night and the feeling was mutual, he gave me a kiss and I couldn’t believe it I was so excited I texted my friends and made plans to see the guy the following week. I saw him again on another night out and we kissed and he asked if I wanted to go back to his house so I said yes. I said yes Ready to have sex with this person. We went back to his house and we started, he was a bit rougher than my previous partner and didn’t take things as slow as I was used to but I didn’t want to cause an issue so I didn’t say anything. Penetration happened faster than I anticipated and it was uncomfortable and then painful but he kept going and I felt tears on my face I was in agony, he stopped eventually. I could tell he was annoyed he didn’t finish so I let him essentially have sex with my mouth, I wasn’t actively giving him oral sex. He got what he wanted out of the situation and I was lying there wondering what I had done so wrong, for him it was just a bad shag and for me it was feeling like I had been torn open, I wish I had said no sooner during the act. I got dressed in the dark and went home, I went to use the toilet and pulled my trousers down and my legs were covered in blood, my heart stopped. I got cleaned up and threw my underwear in the bin and went to bed my body still sore. The next morning instead of going to class I went to my gp. I told her a small lie and said I had a new boyfriend and we had rough sex and I was a bit sore, so she checked me and said I had a cut on my area, she told me to take a painkiller and to take it easy and off I went. Later that day the boy texted me, what a relief maybe this will fix the shitty feeling I have. He texted me to say I got blood on his bedsheets…and I apologised. He quickly moved on with his life flirting with other girls and having better sex than he did with me and I dwelled on it for a long time. I couldn’t have sex properly for a long time, whenever I tried my body shut down, my legs would shake uncontrollably and I would tighten up, I would have panic attacks and the whole time I felt bad for the men I was trying to sleep with, it was always my problem. When I met my current partner I told him what happened, I still didn’t know what to call it, just a bad experience. We took it slow, he was very understanding and let me get back to penetrative sex in my own time, allowing me to get to a point where I could actually enjoy it. My sex life is positive now, my partner and I have a healthy relationship. The incident years ago with the boy in college meant a long period of panic inducing sexual experiences but I think the cause began long before him. The attitude and entitlement of the boys in my formative teenage years had a lasting impact on me. It made me believe I had little to say in what happened to my body, whether I was allowed to enjoy sexual experiences and took away my voice where I could say NO. I think a different experience in school would’ve meant things would’ve gone differently with the boy in college because I still don’t know what to call it, for me it wasn’t rape because I never said no, my body says otherwise, my body felt what happened and shut down from it, it took years to recover. I’m glad I’m where i am now, my hope is that teenage girls get more support in school than I did.

I started dating him during college. I remember him catching my eye the day I met him, his laugh, his curiosity with the world and the way he smiled when we spoke. We got to know each other over hours of tea time, and we started dating at the end of my senior year of college. I was off to med school in a city 4 hours away, and we were determined to make long distance work. He was my first boyfriend, and after COVID had thinned out my experience of college, I was excited to have found my person. I was incredibly happy in the beginning of our relationship, getting to do things for the first time with a boyfriend and experiencing what it was like to be desired and loved romantically. The feelings were intoxicating. In my naivety of a first relationship, especially my first serious relationship at the age of 21, I failed to seriously question behaviors that I saw in my partner. Take it as a result from my limited exposure to healthy relationships in childhood or my fear of admitting to myself that something was wrong. The part that was most foreign to me as someone new to relationships was navigating my own relationship with sex. I enjoyed sex, especially with someone that I loved, and I was convinced of the idea that I needed to always be able to provide sexually for my partner since now, we were exclusive, and I was his girlfriend. I appreciated knowing that I was desired, and my partner enjoyed being intimate with me. This worked for a while, until I started to need to set boundaries and prioritize my need for sleep and being able to function well in the high pressure environment of medical school. This is a story of a night that happened too many times for me to count in my relationship, so often that I knew it was going to happen every time he came to visit. There would be nights when I needed to get to sleep early because I needed to get a good night of sleep before an exam, or be well rested for another day of clinicals at the hospital. It would be about 10:30 pm, I would get ready for bed, knowing that I’d get a decent 7 hours of sleep if I was in bed by 11. He would be working or winding down his work, I would remind him that I needed to get to sleep so I could get enough rest for my next day. His work was very time consuming and he worked late into the night often, so I never pushed him to go to bed when he had something to work on. The one thing I would remind him of however, was that I wanted to be asleep by 11. If you want to have some intimate time, please wrap up soon because I need to sleep. I would brush my teeth, get in bed and he would say that he was wrapping up. I would try my hardest to stay awake until 11, scrolling on Tik Tok, or Instagram, hoping the blue light would do its job. 10:55. He closes his laptop and heads to the bathroom. I try my best to stay awake. 11:05. 11:10. 11:15. 11:20. I hear a toilet flush and the shower turn on. I can’t fight my exhaustion anymore, maybe it’s the frustration, the stress from studying, or just the exhaustion of cooking, cleaning, packing lunches and breakfast and making dinner for two whiles being a medical student. I fall asleep. 11:45. I’m woken up by him sliding into bed and I turn to curl up on his chest. He pulls me in to a cuddle , stokes my back and kisses my head. “Maybe do you want to do some sexy time?” He asks me. This is a question I know all too well in this exact situation that has played our too many times to count in our relationship. I respond the way I always do, convincing myself that this time, I’m going to stand my ground. “Baby it’s really late and I told you I needed to sleep, I don’t want to have sex, I’m really tired” “That’s okay! Then maybe we can do things other than sex?” The dance between us has started, and I know I really need to sleep but that he is going to get quiet and distant for the next day if I keep refusing. I tell myself that I need to prioritize my sleep right now, and he will get over not having sex for a night. It puzzles me that he thinks that giving him a blow job is any less exhausting than having sex and somehow is still okay to ask for when I told him I was really tired and needed to sleep. “Baby please I’m really tired, I don’t have the energy to blow you” “That’s fine, we can do it in the morning then” I hate making commitments that I can’t keep and I hate when anyone does the same to me. My response is a reflection of that, and in hindsight, not the best decision to getting this dance over with. “I have to be up at 6 I’m not getting up any earlier than that and I don’t think you will be waking up that early either” He goes quiet for a moment. “Maybe we can do some kissy?” I understand that his love language is physical touch and at this point, the guilt overwhelms me. The boy that I love has traveled hours to come see me and spend time with me, and here I am trying to sleep instead of making him feel loved. I know the logic is skewed, but I always wanted him to feel loved and know how much I loved him. If I could just kiss him a little bit, subtract some of my sleep, then that’s okay. This boy loved me and I loved him, I can spend a bit of time kissing him and reminding him that I found him attractive and desirable as well. I would lift my chin and kiss him, gently, softly, as passionately as I could for someone half asleep. I would try to meet his level of intensity, the sleep and exhaustion weighing on my eyelids. Eventually the exhaustion would catch up to me and I would stop moving my mouth as much. “Baby! I’m trying to kiss you but you’re not seeming very into it!” He says. “I’m sorry handsome I’m just so tired, I love you” He lets out a sigh and reaches for my hand that is laying on his chest. He takes my hand and places It right where he wants it. He’s hard. The feeling of dread washes over me. I love this boy, I do, and I’m flattered that he desires me. But I am just so sleepy and exhausted right now. He moves my hand against himself. He uses his other hand and reaches for my waistband. He slides his hands inside and touches me. “I think someone wants me” he says. Of course I find him attractive. I’m just so tired right now and I don’t want to do anything but sleep. He kisses me more passionately. Touches me more aggressively. Makes me touch him more aggressively. The exhaustion has won over my determination to not let this happen again. “Please I’m really tired” My plea goes unanswered as he takes off my bottoms and his own. I know at this point, it is easier and faster to get this over with than to keep trying to fight for myself and refuse his advances. Any time I had refused his sexual advances in the past I’d be met with cruelty. I would beg him to say something while I profusely apologized, and he would keep silent. If it was in the morning, I would explain that I was in pain and would ask to figure out our days together. He would refuse to partake, roll his eyes and would go back to sleep. He would get out of bed after 10am, ensuring that I wouldn’t be able to of any of the things that I wanted to do with him that morning. Once he wore me down and I gave him reluctant consent when I was in pain, asking him to be gentle. The pain was severe as soon as he entered me, and I cried out. I profusely apologized but he stayed silent, even as I begged him to say something. I didn’t realize that this was stonewalling and emotional abuse. Come to think of it, I could never have a period in peace when I was with him. If I lied in bed moaning in pain, he would sometimes comfort me a little. But every single time it would end in him making the same joke, even after I had expressed numerous times how much it bothered me. “You know what would make your cramps feel a lot better?” He meant sex. He always meant sex. Even when I explained to him what excruciating pain I was experiencing, he wanted sex. Even after I explained to him that it bothered me that he kept making that same joke, explained how it made me feel like he didn’t understand the amount of pain I was in. He just wanted sex. It never mattered if I was in pain. He laughed when I cried about how upset that joke made me. My naïve heart was convinced that laughter was innocent. Most of those times he wouldn't relent until we had sex, or I pleasured him in some other way. 12:10. He reaches for a condom, and before I know it, we’re having sex. I’m doing anything I possibly can to get this over with as quickly as possible. Move the way he wants me to touch him the way he wants me to. All the while thinking to myself, “please just finish I’m so tired and need to sleep”. 12:30. He’s done. I try to hold back my tears as I head to the bathroom. How did I let this happen again? I talked to him about this again just last week. I told him I need him to respect my bedtime didn’t I? I asked him to please not push it when I say I don’t want to have sex. I asked him to please not reach for my hand and make me touch you. He verbalized understanding, said that he only wanted to have sex if I did. What was I doing wrong that this kept happening even after I talked to him about it? I go back to bed, he’s curled up facing away from me, starting to fall asleep. I know he likes to have sex before bed to help him fall asleep, it helps him work out the “zoomies before bed” as he calls them. I lay next to him and the tears start silently falling down my cheeks. Is this what being an exclusive partner is supposed to be like? Am I rarely going to be able to sleep when I want to because I need to be there for him to have sex with before bed, the way he likes? Are my pleas to be left alone always going to get ignored? If we live together, get married, is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? One thought sinks to the pit of my stomach. Is this assault? 12:45. I finally get the chance to sleep undisturbed. My hope for 7 hours of sleep has dwindled down to 5. I guess I’ll just be groggy and exhausted working at the hospital again. This was my boyfriend, the boy I have been with for years. He says he loves me. I love him. He cares about me, buys me groceries, buys me birthday presents. He goes to dinner and comes to visit me while I’m at school. He helps fix my car and my devices. We brush our teeth together most nights before bed. He’s my best friend. Some of my friends say we look cute together and have funny banter. Could a person like that assault me? I certainly didn’t say yes. I said no at the beginning and said that I did not want to have sex, but I’m not sure I said no or asked him to stop when he grabbed a condom. I was too tired to put up a fight, I just wanted to get it over with. This wasn’t the first time. It happened just about every month he came to visit me. I tried to talk to him about it often, he called it bickering and said that he liked sex before bed and first thing in the morning and it was hard for him to wrap up work earlier so things wouldn’t happen so late. He shut down when I brought up the topic and said that this was his love language and it made him feel loved. I wanted him to feel loved, just not at the expense of my lack of sleep. I initiated sex often to make him feel loved, and at a time that would be conducive to my need for sleep. But no matter how many times we had sex before I was winding down my night, he always wanted sex when he went to bed because it helped him get to sleep easier. We talked about making time for sex, planning. He agreed when we spoke about it, but the action never happened. What was I left with? No matter what we spoke about, the same thing happened. I spoke to someone close to him about my distress because I wanted to understand anything I could to help reframe my feelings, and hopefully understand him better and feel less hurt. “He’s a 23 year old boy who sees his girlfriend once a month, what do you expect? You’re being irrational” “Maybe you shouldn’t sleep in the same bed then” “If you can’t meet his needs then you need to talk to him about it” “So what if he cheats on you, it’s just sex he’s still choosing to be with you right?” Was I the girl that was depriving him of happiness? I wasn’t giving him the kind of sex he wanted at the hour he wanted? I didn’t think he was a malicious person. The kindest explanation that I could come up with was that his brain shut down when he was in the mood, and he had a hard time thinking about much else other than his desire for sex. His frontal lobe forgot to consider that maybe his actions were hurting me, and he saw convincing me as a challenge. After all, I was his girlfriend and we should be intimate together, and there were many times when I enjoyed it. All he could think about in the moment was just working out his zoomies to help him get to sleep. However, there is a reason why were are humans, not bunnies – we have advanced cognitive reasoning and I don’t think idiocy is an excuse. He loved me, right? Why would he want to hurt me? These thoughts are why I stayed as long as I did. He didn’t mean to hurt me, he just was young and dumb and was working on developing his emotional intelligence. I was convinced that it would grow with time and the more we spoke about it, little by little he would understand. But he didn’t. Was I just being impatient? Long story short, things in our relationship feel apart when things surfaced about how angry he was about the times I refused sex when I was tired, and his desires to be with someone who was more sexually exciting than me, someone with bigger breasts and fuller curves like the porn he looked at multiple times a day. The feelings and questions from all the times that I was pressured into sex surfaced. I felt that these feelings and situations when I felt pressured were the reason why I was so guarded with him sexually and didn’t always feel comfortable and I wanted to work through it with him so I could be more sexually exciting for him. I talked to him about these situations. “I think that was a form of assault. I was pressured into sex when I didn’t want to and it made me uncomfortable” “I never meant to be assaulting you, I’m sorry you felt like that. I can see how you took as that though” He wanted to see if moving in together would fix things for us. The thought of spending every night like this terrified me. “We can have two different bedrooms so that doesn’t happen” he offered. Why couldn’t he just respect my boundaries? I wanted to be able to cuddle in bed with my partner at the end of a long day and feel comfort without the worry that I had to provide sexually when I was exhausted. “I’d appreciate being able to talk through this with you because I have felt violated in this relationship and I’m in a pretty bad place” I told him I was done when he yelled at me over the phone. He was going to look into couples counseling. He said he was doing some deep introspection about his feelings. He sent me a letter saying he didn’t want to be with me a few days later because I was bickering and upset with him. “This is just too much, and I don’t have the time to deal with this and work through these things with you. My work is an extension of me, my priority, and I need to focus on that...I don’t want you to come away from this feeling like you were abused for 3 years” The boy who said he loved me unconditionally had found his condition. His points were valid, everyone has a right to their own priorities. However, it struck me that after 3 years together, he still didn’t respect me or care about me enough to take responsibility and help me talk through the trauma that I had undergone in our relationship. It is always hard to confront that we have hurt someone that we love, and I want to think that his avoidant tendencies put him in fight or flight mode when he heard how much pain I was in. He must have thought it was easier to just run away, stop hurting me instead of confronting the hurt that he had caused me. I convinced myself of every excuse I could possibly make for him. At the end of the day, I was left with myself, healing from being violated throughout my relationship, screaming, crying, not knowing how to speak about what had happened to me. But here I am now, trying to learn how. Was this ignorance? A habitual miscommunication every month? Even that just sounded ridiculous, how can I speak to him about the same thing every month just for him to never hear it? Was I making too many excuses for him? Was I too much of a people pleaser, and was he looking to steam roll me to get what he wanted? Assault always felt like too strong of a word to describe this. Was there a smaller tier to describe being touched when I didn’t want to be and being nudged into sex when I did not want it? Is there a word to describe your partner of years habitually having sex with you when you did not say yes, and did not want to? ChatGPT says “the term for that is ‘coercive sex’ or ‘sexual coercion’ if there was pressure, guilt-tripping, or manipulation involved. If there was no consent at all, even if it was within a long-term relationship, it is legally and ethically considered rape or sexual assault, depending on jurisdiction.” I’ve never been able to call this rape, but I’m coming to understand that rape isn’t always violent and can be done by someone who is an intimate partner who was not physically abusive. He never hit me or got violent with me. But this, whatever it was, came with emotional abuse and still sucked. I felt very disrespected and violated. One thing that I am sure of (unfortunately) is that I am not alone in this experience. I appreciate you for reading this story, whether you can relate or not.

Hello, this is my first time talking about this online. In real life, I have only told my boyfriend what happened to me. It's hard to tell this story but I just want to get it off my chest, maybe I can finally let go after writing it down. It is a really long story though. Last summer I was raped by my ex boyfriend, but I don't want the story to start there, I'll start when we met for the first time. We went on a double date with my friend and her boyfriend. I didn't know him at all. The date was alright, we even made out and I agreed to a second date even though I didn't feel like there was a spark but unfortunately I'm a people pleaser and my anxiety is very bad so I just went with it instead of rejecting him like I should have. The second date was weird. We went to a bar, he kept buying me drinks. I don't think I was drunk but definitely tipsy. When we left the bar, it was already like 1am and we sat down on a bench somewhere. There was no one around and so we started to kiss which eventually led to him putting his fingers in my pants. I was a virgin back then, barely even kissed someone so even though I was uncomfortable I kept going because I thought that by now (I was 18) I HAD to experience something like that. I wanted it to stop there but he layed me down and started to perform oral on me. I told him I didn't want to do this because we were in public but he said ut would be fine, to just relax and that it would feel good. When it was over, he asked me to be his girlfriend. I found some courage and said no, that I would go to uni in two months anyways. But he insisted saying that we could just break up then. So I stupidly agreed. We met another time, same bar. Again he kept buying me drinks. After that I went home with him where we had sex. It was consensual this time but I felt weird after because he kept asking me how much I enjoyed it and how many times I orgasmed (I didn't, but I felt pressured to lie). We then went to sleep. I left the next morning not knowing how to feel. On one hand, I was happy I finally lost my virginity like everyone else but I knew that I didn't love him. Texting him gave me the worst anxiety, I hated it. The next day I went on a weeklong trip with around 12 other people for our graduation. On that trip, I abused a lot of drugs, manly sleeping pills, tabacco and alcohol and one night, I drunkenly kissed my best friend. I am not proud of that, cheating sucks and I know that this was not right but I admit that ut wasn't just the alcohol, I had feelings for him, I just didn't realize it, unlike my ex, he made me feel so loved and appreciated, I wish I admitted my feelings for him sooner. When I came back from the trip, I told my boyfriend what happened. I wanted to tell him in person but he insisted I text him immediately. He seemed calm over text, saying that he "knew" it would happen and that he "forgives" me but he wanted to talk to me. Ge told me to meet him at 12am at night at the train station in his city, about 45min by train from where I live. I got there and he started grilling me with questions. About what happened and about personal questions about my best friend. He wanted to set some "rules" for me, like that I couldn't drink without him or be around my best friend. He then started to talk about how much he hated my best friend (he didn't even know who he is) and that he wanted to beat him up and stab him with a knife. At that point I told him to stop, that I would not let him talk about my best friend like that and finally I said that I wanted to break up. He didn't, he said that he was sorry, I didn't care, he said we could have an open relationship, I didn't care, I just wanted to break up. So we did but he said I couldn't tell anyone that I was the one who ended it, whatever. We just sat there for a bit talking and I laid my head on his shoulder, I know that was stupid thinking back I hate myself for doing it but I did and we kissed again. He said I should come home with him to have "breakup sex because every couple does that" but I didn't. I got up to take my train home but just when I wanted to walk up the stairs, the train left. So I went back, my ex was still there, I thought maybe he'd stay for a little so I wouldn't have to wait an hour alone at night for my next train. He didn't want to and I was fine with that, told him I'd be fine waiting alone but he insisted I go home with him because it would be too dangerous. I said no and then he said, verbatim, that we didn't have to have sex, I said that I would come home with him only under that condition amd he agreed. Again, I was a fool, I hate myself for going back with him, I'm crying writing this. When we got back (it was like 4am) he went outside to smoke. I went to bed and tried to sleep. He came back, layed next to me and that's when it started. He touched me, kissed me and I said I just wanted to sleep. He didn't stop so I shoved his hands away. He tried again and again with me pushing him back everytime and telling him to just let me sleep. At one point he said "ok if you puah me back one more time, I'll stop" and I DID but he STILL kept going. I was tired, exhausted and realized he wouldn't stop. I didn't know what to do because everyone was asleep and I didn't even know his family, honestly I didn't even know him, we met a total of four times. So I let it happen, thought maybe he was satisfied with just touching me but no. When I knew that he was going to "have sex" with me I just said "can you at least put on a condom?" He did and then he raped me. I kept hoping it would end soon. It was terrible, I hated how he took advantage of me and I hated myself once again for not standing up for myself more. The next morning I left as soon as possible but I was weirdly happy, as in I couldn't wait to leave and never see him again. I didn't even know that it was rape because I felt like me "letting it happen" didn't count as rape. It was only months after I learned what "coercion" means and I realized that what happened to me was infact rape. I only told my boyfriend who is amazingly supportive, he's the love of my life (also my former best friend, yes the one I cheated on my ex with). I know the police wouldn't believe me and I'm scared to tell anyone else in fear that they would not see it as rape, tell me I'm just overdramatic or that I just regret it but "consented". Even I feel like that sometimes. There were so many occasions where I should have stood up for myself but I didn't. I feel like it's my fault partially because of that even though I know that it's not. I don't know what to do. I want to talk about it with a therapist but I'm so scared that they wouldn't believe me or belittle my experience. Thank you all for reading my story, this helps me so much. I know that sexual assault can never be undone but we can still be strong. We can recover, I believe in you and me.