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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.

My sexual assaults story is uncommon for most and hard to most people to grasp. Who would believe that children are capable of knowing and doing such gruesome things to person? Most children are not like this and their experiences are different. It first happened when I was 8 years old while, my abuser was 7 years old at the time. I remember the abuse happening gradually as we build our friendship. It first started with us doing typical kid stuff like us playing together and joking around. And one day, he asked me to play this new game with him. I said sure. I thought it would be one of those silly jokes stunts of his. Instead he pulled my pants down and rubbed his private part against my bottom. It was really uncomfortable moment for me since, I grew-up in a strict Christian-based family. I have never witness anyone on television or heard of the things he was doing to me. Afterwards, I remember me being shy to tell anyone and feeling like I would get into trouble. So I remained quiet. How would any parent react if you see children engaging in sexual behavior? Wouldn't you automatically assume it was the oldest child to teach someone this behavior? This went on for almost 2 years. His behavior became more advance and his request got more weirder. One time, he begged me to drink his pee directly from his part. I told him no. And he stomped across the room mad. He kept persisting and demanding that I try it. Eventually, I gave in but, I told him only from a cup. It was the most dehumanizing experiences of my life. It was not long afterwards, that my father caught us. I remember me trying shove the boy off of me. And telling him that my dad was coming and he kept going harder and harder. I guess he thought I was lying to convince him to get off of me. He wouldn't stop until my father walked into the room.

Hi whoever reading this, I’m a victim of online harassment when I was 19 the incident goes like that I was one day scrolling through my Instagram and one day I get a request from this guy and I accepted it since we had a mutual didn’t think much of it even if I replied one minute late he would spam me that same night we video called he made me do stuff I was totally uncomfy with made me bend over or get undressed on that call I didn’t want to do it at the same time I was like nothing could go wrong he kept asking for my Snapchat password since we were sharing pictures and I told him I was tired and wanted to go to bed he said oh just send the password I promise I won’t save anything or any picture and I thought doing this will make him leave me alone and so i did I think I blocked him on WhatsApp but not on Instagram or Snapchat coz I forgot to do that I think one day I was on a family trip and I fell sick he texted me but I didn’t repspond coz I was sick and then came the message “I’ll have your nudes I’ll share them okay?” And with that message came an attached pictures that he saved on his phone of my nudes the thing is I wouldn’t take pictures of my face when I sent stuff like that but he saved pictures normal mirror selfies I took that showed my face I texted him coz I was sooo scared I took my phone to the bathroom my mom thought I was puking and what not he told me if I didn’t do what he said he would leak those pictures so I did what he made me unblock him on WhatsApp (I said something like oh u weren’t talking to me that’s y I blocked u for some sympathy) he made me gave him my passwords for all my social media accounts he made me get nude on a video call and insert a toothbrush in me I didn’t want to but he was blackmailing me so I did it after that when I told a friend of mine I was advised to block him which i did I came back home from the trip I redownloaded my telegram app same text “Y did u block me do what I say” “I’ll share those pictures on the internet okay?” I blocked him again and then a few months later I get a text from the same country code and the same emoji “🩺 “ in the bio I blocked that number too he’s studying medicine and I know his Uni name since he has it on his Instagram bio. I’m still healing from it I have so much anxiety whenever I think about it I live in this constant fear that he might leak them or already leaked them I wish I could go back in time and just stopped myself from giving that password I wouldn’t be dealing with it maybe if I thought enough I wouldn’t be in this situation but I took steps which were: blocking him everywhere Deleted my snap chat and telegram And also deleted my Instagram account I told my friends to not question the block this guy and they did and after I deleted my account I made an new one first thing I did we blocked him

I was 15. I smoked marijuana occasionally (as I was in my teen angst phase). I had a boy bestfriend and was also in a relationship, not necessarily a healthy one at all but I was in one. One night I felt depressed due to being stood up for a date to the lake I was supposed to have that day. Normally I smoke when I felt down and I felt overwhelmingly down that night; so I smoked a bit too much accidentally. I eventually started greening out and tripping very badly so I messaged my boy bestfriend to calm me down (my bf at the time had went to sleep early for work and lived a town away). He (my boy bsf) invites himself over unannounced and I had to make my way outside to see him (as I was not going to let him inside as it was so late at night and parents were asleep). We then went to the shed outside my house to sit and talk as he "wanted to calm down my high". Eventually it (my high) got so bad I was swaying backwards (while sitting on the floor) and fell backwards. My boy bsf then got ontop of me (as he was/is incredibly bigger than me) and begin taking advantage of me. My body felt extremely weak due to the marijuana and could not pull myself up at all and soon was not capable of moving due to being held down and completely restricted by the boy. I remembered the agony and pain I felt of "it". It burned like fire in me and I tried to scream for help but no one could hear me (as we were secluded in a shed away from everyone in the middle of the night). He left me. The first thing I did due to feeling absolutely disgusted in my own skin was shower... To this day (almost 3 years later) I remember what I was wearing. A tie dye shirt, black basket ball shorts and a bikini bottom that had straps going to both sides (crossed even) to both of my hips. To this day I get scared of wearing bikini bottoms... to this day I fear summertime because of the agony of remembering it. I had kept the bakini bottoms in my dresser because he had finished in them and I believed that was my only proof of the incident. My mother had mistakenly cleaned them.. she had cleaned all if my clothes in my room while I was away in a mental hospital. I am left math nothing but my words. The 2nd thing I did (after I showered) was tell my bf at the time what happened, bawling in tears, pain and frantically texting everything that happened so I wouldn't forget. He, instead of helping or calming me, claimed me as a cheater and left me.

Iam a 33 year old with 3 children(2 boys and one girl) my first born son is from my previous relationship. I was a fresh graduate when i met this man that i currently have two kids with …i finished university expecting to get a job to support me and my then only son but each time i tried to look for jobs my husband discouraged me saying i would be exploited and given peanuts so to whom it was wise for me to sit home and be a wife i gave in and sat home but him satisfying my needs was always a fight i remember i asked for panties and bras for the last 6 years and nothing.everything he provides we must first have a fight and he knows so well i have no where to run to because he isolated me from my family. After moving in with him and my son he started treatung my son with so much anger he would beat,abuse and use vulgar words to him and he still does it he shows him that am not your father and only favors the kids i have with him. Mine i came with is not worthy of anything good. While i was pregnant for his son he was flirting with my sister and by this time i was not getting any financial help so i opted to go to my mothers rental and after sometime my sister disclosed to me the kind of husband i have when i confronted him about it he was too bitter and threatened to take my kids from me. When i was pregnant for my second child with him i got him with 15 girls flirting and sleeping around i was so devasted and almost lost my child due to stress i put my self together and let it go for my sake of my baby but i swore i was done with this man so i started not to pay too much attention on him and concentrated on raising my kids meanwhile i was caught up had no money of my own and had no relative in contact with i perservered and stayed to have a roof over our heads and to solicit food for my kids. I actually lost sexual appetite towards him for all the disgusting things he does behind my back but he would force me into sex and threaten not to provide if i ddt satisfy him a time came when he would rape me saying am his property and that i couldnt live without him since i dont have any money. It was all verbal violence until may this year 2024when i confronted him about cheating with my cousin and messages of him in a lodge with another girl that he grabbed me by the neck and strangled me and beat up that i started spitting blood..at this point i said to myself i should leave and start a new life i actually told him am leaving and he laughed at me saying u cant leave what are u gonna feed ur kids .i was packing whole day thinking to my self i cant fail to get where to stay but reality hit me and for sure i had no where to go so i unpacked my stuff and stayed its now months and months of sexual, financial,emotional and physical abuse but i dont know where to start with 3 children ive actually contemplated suicide so many times thinking it will ease the pain. Am in fear please advise me

I always struggled with my words even before that night happened. Using alcohol as a mechanism to survive in social spaces I never belonged. Maybe that’s how he picked me out he saw his victim: lost, voiceless and out of control. After that night, I felt the loneliest and most out of place I’ve ever felt. That girl was lost, she felt out of control, she felt voiceless. Now, nearly 10 years later. I have found my voice. I am not a victim but I’m a survivor. I speak for women whose voices are lost too, so one day they will have the courage to find them and speak up too. You are never alone and anytime you use your voice I promise you, you’ll be heard. We are women, we are powerful!

No one should go through what I went through at the hands of my abuser. I found myself in a difficult situation after getting married to my ex-husband, who was and still is the title of one of the Magistrates Courts of that Country. I had a battered and traumatic experience all the 9 years of our marriage (experiences like having seven stitches done on my torn neck, being battered on a weekly basis with men’s leather belt and a big wooden cane made from tree he kept in his private room just for me; often times asked to go on my knees as an act of discipline or preparation to get beaten, internal bleeding, skin bruising, bleeding from my ears, noses, mouth; blows and punches to my face that spills blood from cuts) but because I loved him, his reputation, against the advice of many. I suffered in silence and lived in fear due to the threat to my life. The police failed me as they called him their boss. Escape! Say No More!!!

I was 6 when it happened. When I told, nobody believed me. After all who who believe a 7 year old could molest a 6 year old? That's exactly what happened. He would start with a massage or singing to me. When I didn't like it he threatened me with a pocket knife and that he'd kill me if I ever told. I did. I told a babysitter, who told my parent, who told my teacher, who told the principal. The principal met with both of us together, then separate. In retaliation, he cut me on the arm with the knife. The principal didn't believe me. There was no punishment. We were to stay on separate playground equipment or be anywhere near each other. He bullied me for the next 5 years until he left the school. That's when the memories came back. It had quite an impact on me since I was 11 at the time, I looked much older. I easily attracted male attention which lead to sexual harassment and further traumatization. I was in a long term psych facility at the age of 12 because of a suicide attempt. There was a male staff member who seemed to enjoy destroying the teen girls there. When he got to me the first time, he wanted to know every detail of my abuse. When I got upset, he laughed at me and made fun of me. Later, he made comments on the way I looked and my eating habits. Telling me skinniness was unattractive on me. If we wanted out of that place, we had to admit everything he said was right. I did wahat I could to get out of that abusive place, I got out in 2 months. Many years later, I was 18, I met a man 11 years older than me. I liked him alot and he had shown some interest in me. He later convinced me to leave the country with him. My home situation has always been bad and still is. I went with him. We ended up getting married, at his insistence, after only three months of knowing each other, becoming homeless, and eventually returning to the US. We lived with his family, I started to get over his brainwashing, saw how abusive he really was. He had been taking advantage of me sexually, I started refusing him. He then started raping me. At first it was only a few times, then when we lived on our own, it became more frequent, along with other forms of daily abuse. He did it to show "dominance" because he refused to work, spent my money on drugs and alcohol, and slept/watched TV/got high all day while I was at work. He became more violent and paranoid over time. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't cry multiple times a day from the constant abuse. I tried leaving him, he would threaten to kill himself, psychologically torture me or physically threaten me until I changed my mind, or promise me things would be better. The turning point came after I possibly became pregnant, he was going to force me to have an abortion. I miscarried due to the abuse. I couldn't go to the doctor, if my parents found out, they told me they would completely disown me if I got pregnant. A month later, he raped me in my sleep and a few days later tried to strangle me. I did move out but later came back at his and his parent's insistence. I saw no other way out, I didn't want to be divorced at such a young age (be damaged goods) and I couldn't handle living with my abusive parents again so I tried to take my own life. After getting out of the psych hospital, (who had been no help whatsoever in helping me get away from him or my family), I did get the paperwork together to divorce him, of course, he convinced me to tear them up. A month later, I did file the papers and tell him it was over. We finally separated after he held me hostage in my car, for the umpteenth time and tried to take me to another city. The divorce came through a few months later. We had been married a little over a year, I was 20.

Okay, so I’m sharing my story. Crying on a random night on Date When I was little, my oldest brother would be so touchy feely with me. He always gravitated toward me and wouldn't keep his hands or his eyes off of me for some reason and I was unsure what it meant. That went on for a while and I still feel sick seeing the child hood photos of us and him holding me in his lap. I was still innocent at the time… but, I remember this one time in specific. The night I can’t seem to forget about. We were playing a hide n seek game in the dark… and he had to catch me ! Once he did, he pushed me down on the ground and forced me in place, holding me down so I couldnt get up. He was touching my body. And then he took my pants and underwear off and pretty much forced my legs apart and said, “Let’s see how long I can last,” and then he put his head in between my thighs and started using his mouth on my vagina. He stuck his tongue inside me and I just couldn’t move at all. After that, I wasn’t sure what it meant. I was busy dealing with my horrible, abusive mother so I didn’t know what to believe but my brother? He wouldn’t leave me alone. There were times when my dad would jokingly scare me and I would scream my brothers name and get all scared, even not knowing what it fully was. My dad was all contused. But yeah, this is my story shortened down. I need to share it so I’d stop crying

I have been sexually, physically and mentally abused since I was a child. My mother took my sister and I from our real father as babies and married a man who would abuse my sister and I for ten years, then divorced him because he cheated on her. This man would make my sister and I take our pants down and whip us with a leather belt. My mother would coerce him to do so, stating we deserved it because we were “bad”. All we ever heard growing up is how “bad”we were. They would send us away upstate to his cousins house for the entire summer, you know because we were so bad. His cousin, a (occupation) at (place) as well as a (occupation) would molest us and when we told them, they said we were liars, and again the bad stigmatization was embedded in our young teenage minds. This is just one abuse story, and the beginning of a long series of abuse I would endure over my lifetime. Almost every relationship, whether it romantic, platonic, or family, my trauma has touched, infected and I began to believe it must be true, I am just bad. On (date)I would be strangled twice, battered and almost die at the hands of a lover,. After months of denial and physically healing from the assault I finally had the courage to come forward and press charges. That is the day my healing journey began, after so many years of abuse I finally confronted my abuser. Now, I try to live minute to minute and some minutes are better than others, but I have grit. Resilience is my superpower! I am a survivor not a victim. I already feel better just typing this. I was looking for a safe place to release, thank you 💕

Most of the time I feel like I have overcome his touch. But sometimes, I still feel the warmth of his embrace. Apparently “all boys aren’t the same” so I get close and touchy with them, tease them, and sometimes even kiss them. I think I do it on purpose. I try to convince myself that I'm over it, I'm over the fact that I've been marked by the wrong person. I'm over the fact that I can’t be alone in public. I'm scared. No, not scared, terrified. I'm afraid of loving another without knowing their intention. I’m terrified that someone is about to take another piece of my soul, I'm afraid that even if I say “please stop” it’s liable to be another 2 words that were misunderstood, I’m afraid of it happening all over again. This is like someone expecting to be burned when they touch something hot, no matter how many times they've been reassured the object is now cool. The fear is still there, even if the danger has passed. I want to be loved but my fears push everyone away. After 2 years of being in an abusive relationship, I thought I could get back out there and move on, but I moved into the wrong person. I was fifteen years old when the phrase “please stop, I'm tired” came out of my mouth. I wish I would never have to say it again. I'm sixteen. It’s almost been 5 months since it happened, but it somehow feels like it was just last week. The thought of his hands on my neck, blurry visions and the sentence “I know you want it” makes me want to curl up in a ball, cry and tear off the layers of my skin until I can no longer feel his touch. ‘PTSD’ they call it. Triggers that bring you back to your trauma. I walk right by my triggers every day; they think you're weak because you can't face them and always find other ways to avoid them. I'm not weak; I just can't bear to feel him on me every time I see that jacket. This is like the feeling of plunging into icy waters; the shock is so overwhelming that no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to swim back up to the safety of the shore. No matter how much time passes, the trauma still lingers, and triggers bring you right back to that moment. 2 months passed before I spoke up about what had happened. "Why didn't you say something sooner? Now it sounds like a lie" I wish I could, but deep down I was ashamed, scared and hurt. Every time I hear someone mention his name, my heart starts racing, my palms get sweaty, and I feel a sense of panic rising in me. Everyone says it will get easier, but when is that? As the Greek writer Vasso Charalambous once wrote: “The pain you feel today is the strength you feel tomorrow.” I’m still trying to find my strength to be able to trust another man without needing to stress if I need to tape my clothes to my skin I was a victim of rape and have been dealing with its aftermath ever since. The sense of fear, insecurity and vulnerability that I feel every time someone mentions his name is something that I struggle to shake off. While I cannot speak for all victims of rape, I can say that in my experience, the healing process has been invaluable. Through therapy and the support of my loved ones, I have been able to work through my trauma and come out the other side a stronger person. As of right now, I am still trying. I want to use my story to make sure that no other survivor feels alone in their experience. I want to be a voice for those who have been silenced, and I hope to show them that there is still hope, even after the darkness. Being strong and resilient, and having the strength to move forward, are things I'm proud of about myself. I will not let what he did to me define the rest of my life. I am more than my trauma. I am more than my pain. I am more than what he did to do to me.

The first time it happened I was an about 2 and it was my sisters friend. I don’t really remember that one. The next time it was my best friend when I was 12. My dad had also started around this time. The last time was right after my 18th birthday by a different friend this time. Each time hurt the same. It’s been 10 years since the last time I was assaulted, and I’m still healing from it. But it does get easier with time. I just want everyone to know, that it’s not your fault. And that you will make it through it, because you are strong. And you should have never had to experience what you went through, and I’m so sorry that you did.

“Why did you go?” “No one forced you to go.” “What were you wearing?” “What did you eat earlier that day?” “Are you sure you didn’t hallucinate?” “Why did you drink?” “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” Why is it always the victim being asked these questions and never the perpetrator? I moved out of my parents’ home at the age of 23 to pursue my career in the city of dreams - Los Angeles, California. The first night I arrived in LA, I remember thinking to myself, “I cannot wait to see what this city has to offer.” I was in pure bliss thinking about my future. I was ecstatic to grow professionally and start my new job at University. They even offered a program to pay for my master’s degree - which I planned to pursue. Only six months into my new dream job, those dreams were ruined overnight. My male boss was persistent in asking me to dinner, week after week. After rejecting multiple invitations, I felt obligated when he denied my vacation time and insisted it was only to “discuss work matters.” Moments before I met him, in the elevator already on the way down, I felt strongly that my intuition was urging me not to go. I talked myself out of the feeling - there was no reason to feel uncomfortable about going to a work dinner with your boss. We arrived at the restaurant around 6pm, sat at the bar, and ordered drinks and a few appetizers. Over the course of the evening, I had a plate of mac and cheese and three drinks. We spoke about work the entire time and he applauded my work ethic. After my third drink, I completely lost recollection of the night and my sense of time. I had no memory of leaving the restaurant, paying, or getting home. The next thing I remember was waking up on my own bed to him sexually assaulting me. I immediately jolted out of my room and across the hall, crying hysterically to my roommate, screaming for help. She later told me that I was slurring my words and my eyes were rolling behind my head, begging her to “get him out of here, get him out here!” She made sure I was safe in her room and called our neighbor. Once our neighbor arrived, my roommate went into my room and asked my boss to leave. He was still laying on my bed as she took pictures and videos for evidence. When he left my apartment, he had the audacity to text me saying “I hope you got home safe,” pretending he was never in my home in the first place. The morning after the sexual assault, I woke up extremely disoriented with a hangover that I have never experienced before. I was shivering cold and my throat was so sore I couldn’t even swallow. There was vomit all over my bathroom. After piecing the story together with my roommate, she convinced me to consider taking a rape kit exam. When my cousin arrived to drive me to my appointment, I was in a fetal position, shaking on my floor, crying hysterically. I was in disbelief that my boss, someone who I was supposed to trust, took advantage of his power and changed my life forever. I wanted to slip out of my body. The next day, I followed all of the correct steps. My cousin took me to the Rape Treatment Center to get a rape kit exam and to file a police report. It was a very uncomfortable and invasive process. Luckily, I was assigned to a lovely nurse and therapist who helped guide and console me through the process. As the nurse was drawing my blood to test for date rape drugs in my system, she prepared me with the news that since I came in later in the night, the test may come out negative. After completing my rape kit exam, I was interrogated with questions by a detective and told him exactly what I remembered from the previous night. My father drove 4 hours to pick me up from the facility. I am so grateful to have had so many loved ones surrounding me during those 48 hours. I would never have been able to go through it alone. Months later, I received the results from the rape kit exam: there wasn’t enough evidence to find him guilty. They did find saliva on my chest, but it was not enough. The district attorney assigned to my case explained that these cases are difficult to find the perpetrator guilty, especially without witnesses. Everyone stated that they believed me along the way, however there was no action taking place. The Rape Treatment Center paired me with a wonderful therapist. I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, PTSD, and depersonalization. I had repetitive intrusive dreams where the perpetrator would chase me down the halls on campus. Keeping my position at University was not worth deteriorating my mental health. I gave up the dream job and a free master’s degree. Over the next nine months I applied to hundreds of jobs, with no avail. I felt like my entire world fell apart right in front of me. I was stuck. I was lost. I decided to hire an attorney for damages and loss of income. I felt so validated that the law firm believed my story and wholeheartedly agreed that I had a strong case. It made me feel empowered for the first time during these difficult months. The lawsuit was a lengthy and tedious process, and we encountered plenty of setbacks. I didn’t even know what the word “arbitration” meant before filing the lawsuit. When you start a new job, they hand you a stack of papers to sign. Somewhere buried in my contract, I signed away my rights to a trial. My case would be required to go through an arbitration and would never meet the public eye. Luckily, my attorneys appealed the arbitration clause and won, so I was able to go to trial. University offered me money multiple times to settle, but I did not want another large corporation to sweep this case under the rug and pay me off to keep quiet. I knew it was going to be triggering and re- traumatizing. I fought hard to take my case all the way to the end to utilize my voice. COVID-19 threw another wrench in my case: wait an unknown amount of time to take my case before a jury of my peers or opt for a bench trial (where a judge makes the sole decision for your case, instead of a jury). After dragging the process out for four long years and the current climate of the world, I chose to take the bench trial. I wanted to close this chapter of my life and begin to move on. Besides, the system and the judge would be on my side. My case was bulletproof. Trial was just as awful and traumatizing as everyone said it would be. I had to face my perpetrator for the first time since the assault, walking into the courtroom doors. My body shut down - shaking and crying uncontrollably for about 30 minutes. I had to take a break before even starting the trial. Two weeks later, I received the judge’s decision to rule in the University’s favor. Although, the judge (and everyone involved in the case) admitted that what happened to me was real, they concluded that “no one forced me to go to dinner.” It felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. I was dumbfounded and in complete disbelief. I couldn’t stomach food and had sleepless nights for weeks. I willingly relived my incident over and over again to ensure this would never happen to anyone else. The judge ruled that University received no consequences, and the system has loudly given them permission for this to happen in the future. Would you go to dinner with an older, unattractive man who kept aggressively pursuing you? No. I would have never gone to dinner with him if he hadn’t been my boss. The worst part - I should have been on vacation that week but remember - he denied it. During the trial, the defense attorney asked me if University could have done anything differently to prevent this. At that moment I knew why I went to trial, to give insight to prevent this from happening in the future. Here is what I said: Absolutely - there is plenty of more work to be done. There should be strict policies in place that prohibit management to pursue and fraternize with their subordinates outside of work hours. This policy exists for many companies - and for a reason. The University needs to implement extensive ongoing sexual harassment/assault training throughout the campus, and not just once a year to check a box. They should feel responsible to do anything and everything to prevent this from happening to anyone else in the University “family.” My sexual assault happened a few months prior to the 2017 #MeToo movement. I wanted so badly to hear someone else’s story to validate mine, but there were very few similar articles online to relate to. I felt completely alone. When the #MeToo movement came to light and so many women and men came out publicly with their stories, it helped me get through mine. So, I want to say thank you to all the women and men who spoke their truth. You have inspired me to speak mine! My story has made me a stronger woman. I have learned the importance of using your voice and speaking your truth. If anyone reading this statement has gone through something similar please know that you are not alone, and I am with you. We are all in this together and we need to utilize our voices until we no longer have to. No one ever disputed my case. Everyone in this case agreed that what happened to me was factual, but that no one was responsible except for me. My story has left me with one choice: FIGHT ON!

My father began sexually abusing me when I was 12 years old. I now know that he had been grooming me for years before that. He married my mother when I was 7, and was everything my biological father was not. He spent time with me and made me special and loved. I was still healing from the physical abuse of another family member when he came into our lives; my mother and I were both vulnerable and lacked a good support network. So he could swoop in and sweep both of us off our feet. By the time I was 9, I was legally his daughter, bearing his last name, calling his family my family. It felt good to belong and I would do anything to earn and keep my place in this new family with this new dad. When my parents separated for their pending divorce, I stayed with my dad and wanted nothing to do with my mother. My father had become my hero and I worshipped the ground he walked on. Little did I know that I was being groomed, that all of the special father-daughter things served his evil purpose, and that he had been using the tension between my mother and me to isolate me. By the time I was 12 years old, he had me right where he wanted me, alone and under his control. It started with him ordering me into the bathroom as he was taking a bath, to look at him and then to touch him. He told me I wanted it and that it was good for me to get it out of my system because it was just part of puberty to be curious. I felt so ashamed and dirty, but I couldn't betray my father, my hero, by telling an adult what had happened. Things eventually escalated to oral sex in exchange for special privileges, such as alcohol, driving lessons, and being allowed to have friends over after school when I was home alone. He justified the abuse by telling me that he was educating me so that one day when I was in a relationship I would know how to please a man. He also assured me that it was neither abuse nor incest because were aren't blood-related and he would stop if I said no. But when I did say no, he made sure I paid for it by treating me like I was worthless, and then reminding me of my choice to tell him no. When I spoke up for myself in an argument or talked back to him he would become aggressive. He once punched me in the face, knocking me down, briefly unconscious. I came to with a bloody nose, and a black eye. My aunt and uncle were there for that one, and they would go on to tell me that it was my fault things "got so out of control" because I "pushed my father too far". I had no relationship with my mother or the family where I thought I belonged. I couldn't tell anyone my horrible secret because I was so ashamed. My father assured me that I was complicit and that if he went down I would go down with him. I believed this lie from the pit of hell, and it kept me silent. The sexual abuse continued until I graduated high school. I was convinced of my worthlessness at this point and had made two attempts to take my life. When I told my father that I was no longer willing to have any sort of sexual relationship with him, he made it clear that he wanted me to leave. He told me that nobody could stand to live with me unless I provided them with sex. This was another of his lies I believed. When I finally did move out, I lived an increasingly self-destructive lifestyle. I sought out relationships to "save" myself, and because I believed all of the lies of my father, I slept with every guy who showed interest in the hope of earning their love. I didn't understand why this wasn't working and I attributed it to my not being good enough. The weekend parties and drug use became a daily thing until I woke up at one party with someone on top of me. I had been drugged and raped by I don't know how many people before I regained consciousness. I went to my mother for help, and I asked her to help me start over, I had just turned 20 and I wanted to go to college and make better choices. She sent me to my father telling me that he would have to take half of the financial responsibility if she were to help. So I went to my father. He told me that the only way he could stand to live with me was if I provided him with oral sex on demand and took care of the home. I was desperate and in a desperate situation facing homelessness and unemployment. So I agreed. This time my father assured me that this was my choice because I was an adult now, so I was convinced that it was all my fault. I had finally learned the art of going along to get along and I shrunk down until I disappeared. I continued in this toxic living arrangement and became pregnant. I had a baby with my father. Who does that? I was convinced that I was sick and wrong, but no one could know or they would take my baby away. My father married me illegally, and I became pregnant again. I had another baby with my father. I thought it was too late to ask for help now, how was I going to protect my children? I kept the secret, I kept my father satisfied, and I hid. The secret ate me up until one day I just couldn't take it anymore. I told my story to a friend, who referred me to a therapist. I was shocked to learn that I was being abused, and my therapist helped me make an exit plan. I confided in a few others who helped me to get out. When my kids were 18 and 14, I left and cut off all contact with my father. I retained a lawyer and got the "marriage" annulled. I am now free. I have a job I love and am working on finishing my degree in education. My kids are safe. It isn't perfect, and it's still a work in progress, but we are healing. I have since reported my father's crimes to law enforcement and there are two active investigations against him. Telling my story was the hardest thing I have ever done, but it was worth it. I am worth it. My kids are worth it. The truth has set us free.

It wasn’t how they told me it would be: No rope tying down my feet, No handcuffs on my wrists, No locked doors or scary passageways, Free to leave, as far as you can see But the door felt miles away And leaving felt like betrayal Begging was manipulation in disguise And I felt like a child, once again so little It wasn’t how they told me it would be: No gag in my mouth, Or hand keeping it shut, Nothing drowning out my voice, Or threatening me not to open up, Free to speak up, as far as you can see But my words didn’t matter And my repetition went unheard My words could not stop time And I did all but scream that word It wasn’t how they told me it would be: There was no dark alley lit by the moon, No midnight howls, sun gone too soon, No abandoned bunker; With just dirt for miles, Free to walk away, as far as you can see But daylight did not bring safety And neither did the public eye Suspicion doesn’t stop people, From walking right on by While my car may have been, but a yard away It was farther than the sun from earth Too far for me that day It wasn’t how they told me it would be: There was no monster, No man in a mask, No gang, no criminals, Or 60 year old man, ready to attack It wasn’t my enemy or a menace, or a junkie with no sense, Mr. Evil wouldn’t hurt me, as far as you can see But our friendship didn’t make it stop Rather he laughed with glee Happier and happier, He truly never thought about me Desperate and needy, Despite knowing me for years, He did not think twice He wanted what he wanted, And I guess to him “no” meant that it was alright.

¨You are an adult, you should be over it¨ Why do people love saying that? as if the minute I turned eighteen I could magically change the consequences of their contempt. I don't think I was ever allowed to be human, I don't remember ever feeling safe either. A diagnosed prodigy since I was four. Winning prices and getting scholarships to private schools my family's income could never dream about. I was perfect, I was useful, I was therefore loved. That's what they told me, so I tried to justify my existence and my talents by being helpful, useful, in a deep need to please everyone. Even monsters. I don't remember much of the first time. I was asleep, it was dark, I woke up with my undergarments missing and a sharp pain, and blood on the mattress. But I didn't remember, I told myself that. I did what I knew best. Clean and be perfect. I was in second grade. But as much as I´d suppress all the nights that went about the same route, the symptoms became heavy to hide. The promise of the school is suddenly a bullied shy girl, terrified of speaking with boys and being alone, terrified of normal forms of physical affection, Insomnia, fear, nightmares, bed wetting, self harm, desperate stunts to get attention or help or anything, flashbacks, dissociation. Sometimes I thought other people could feel what had happened. Constantly making me feel they could take away my ownership over my body, only when I danced I felt free but looking back at the pictures and videos, I was too small to be portrayed like that. As a prodigy you get worshipped like a deity and also envied and despised. You never get to be human. I remember in the playground I was not allowed to play cause I´d win. You wanna know what they made me? A prize. Whoever wins the game gets to sit with me in class and I´d help with their homework. Did I want to play? Of course! but was I in full understanding that In my status I couldn´t? yes. I was twelve the first time I was called a doll. A bunch of classmates had a crush on me, I remember hands underneath the desk. I remember hiding the recess in the restrooms so I did not have to dodge kisses or tug on grips just to free my limbs. And I remember the rumours. Being called a sex worker because boys do not know how to respect your space? that changes your brain. So I kept winning, cause what else could I do except try to escape into better schools, try to win enough so I´ll be strong enough to help others with my passion. But monsters lurk everywhere. The robotics classroom was isolated and consisted of boys older than me, no cameras, no teachers. I begged not to go, but I was a prodigy. I had too make everyone proud. So I did. I didn't complain, not even when it was reported the search history had found pornography. I didn't speak about what happened in those four walls. So school had monsters, then I could look forward to going home, tending the house, cooking, taking care of others, homework, study and when darkness came. I could look forward to a drunken, violent showcase. In my house with no doors. There was never any safety. So I dedicated myself to dreaming of a knight in shining armour to save me. I searched for this magical being in older men that bought me stuff when I acted in just the perfect way. I am so lucky I was able to snap out of it enough to understand even if it felt like coping, it was not what I wanted in my future. That is when I met my partner, a guy from highschool that never rushed to touch me. That helped through meltdowns and panic attacks, he stayed with me on call when I was scared of sleeping or when the drunk monster wreaked havoc. I never told him my story. I only ever started writing about this a few months ago. I got the scholarship to move states and we moved in together. I feel like I am healing, slowly, no one yells at me here, I speak to men again as fellow humans. I feel more human too, I don't have to pretend for him, for anyone. I finally feel real as a person. Nightmares haven´t stopped, the vivid flashbacks when someone calls me doll or when someone smiles a certain way or looks too much like them haven't stopped but I think that is okay, I am human and part of that is finally allowing myself to feel bad. Maybe one day I´ll tell my story, maybe its not necessary. It is not all of my story, just a part, one I am slowly becoming able to see without flinching. I hope whoever reads this has a good day and hope in themselves. I have hope in you.

This is the first time I am really telling my story and what happened to me. I was 6 years old and my abuser was 2 years older than me and briefly in the same Organization Group as me. It started off normal, we would hang out, play video games, play Barbie’s, etc. eventually though, and I’m not exactly sure when, she started to talk to me and coerce me into many different sexual activities. It went on for nearly 2 years and there were times when she would call and ask my mom if I could come over because she knew my mom wouldn’t say no. Then she would abuse me for most of the stay. She would assure me that my parents would be furious if they knew (I knew they would be) so I never told anyone. I just wanted this person who I perceived as cool to like me so I kept going along with whatever she said. I am now almost 30 years old and am speaking about this for the first time. I have struggled so much with whether or not I was a victim, if it was just normal curiosity, if anyone would even take it seriously or if it would be shrugged off as “kids being kids”. It has caused me so much pain in my life, but I am trying to do the work to process and let go of the guilt

I feel like nobody talks about COCSA. And I feel like no one talks about female perpetrators. I’m not necessarily here to talk about the abuse that happened to me, but for context, I was nine and the other child was a nine year old girl. What really haunts me is what I did after. I inflicted this pain onto someone else, I figure I was probably about 10 and she was 9. She was my mom’s friends daughter. My mom’s best friend, actually. And I’ve been thinking a lot about how much that must’ve ruined their friendship when they found out what happened. How much anger my mother must have deep down felt towards me. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. And I tell myself “I didn’t touch her I didn’t actually lay my hands on her I didn’t do it” but I did. I hurt someone like that and maybe I have an excuse and maybe I don’t but all I can think is how horrible I feel to have done something like that to another person. It was never about getting caught or getting in trouble, im just disgusted with myself. Just recently I remembered that I was raped twice that night, not once. And now I’m terrified that maybe I’m forgetting something and maybe I did this more than once, but how could I have forgotten doing something like that? I would never harm a child today. Never. There is not a single doubt in my mind that I would ever hurt anybody like that again. All I think about now is if I’m this awful person because nobody ever talks about this side of childhood SA and the people that do are treated like monsters. But maybe that’s what I deserve.

Hello, my name is Name, and my entire childhood I was sex trafficked. In the beginning of my childhood, my home life was seemingly perfect. My mother was very motivated in holistic healing and teaching me and my younger brother mindfulness, she was sweet and caring, though she was in the middle of starting her own business and was constantly busy, not noticing when me and my brother needed help, she was also an alcoholic. We were often left unsupervised and were physically punished. My father seemed very lighthearted and innocent most of the time, though I didn't know at the time deep down he was the opposite. My grandparents were also very involved in my upbringing. We would stay with them or they would stay with us every 2-3 months, and then me and my brother would stay with them for a couple weeks to a month and a half. The first time I remember being raped, I was only 4 years old. My grandfather was staying at my house, I don't remember where my parents, brother or Nana was. This memory is very fragmented for me. I remember crying very hard, and I remember bleeding everywhere. I can remember how painful it was. I was so scared. There's a gap in my memory, the time from when it was over, and then the next day. Next thing I knew the memory had repressed itself inside of my mind, there was a sudden split in my consciousness. One part felt the pain, the other was oblivious. My grandparents left afterwards. A couple months later I was registered into a preschool, owned by a puerto rican woman and her family. Because of how young I was, I do not know how to full narrate this part of my life. My memories are scattered. I do know that at this daycare there was a woman, she was the owner's daughter's boyfriend's mother who often helped out there. And a man, the owner's husband. Let's call the woman Name 2 and the man Name 3. One day early on in attending the day care, I was taken into a room with both of them alone, and again I was raped. I remember the fear and the confusion, then I remember the numbness that again took over my body and mind. I remember the split of my consciousness happening again. After this I have scattered memories of it happening again and again. Sometimes I remember other children being involved, but I'm not sure if those memories are accurate. They often took photos and videos of me. Half of the time, my life felt like a horror show, and the other half I was completely oblivious to it. Though, the oblivious part always knew something was wrong. She would often take things out on dolls, destroying the space between their legs with whatever she could find. She would often rehearse exactly what had happened to her onto the dolls, not knowing where these horrible ideas had come from, and what they meant. She also often took these things out on other children, trying to initiate sex with anyone she knew. The rape continued, until Name 3 murdered his wife, the owner of the daycare. He had been physically abusing her for a long time. Her death was sudden and was probably caused by a head injury, but nobody said anything about it. Name 3 was not persecuted. So, my parents registered me to another daycare. I was safe from being violated for a year. Until Elementary school started. My grandfather started molesting me again. My kindergarten year went by fast, and in the fall of my 1st grade year my parents divorced. They had been fighting every day on and off for a long time, my Mother decided to just leave. I don't remember how long I went without seeing her. She was now struggling on and off with homelessness. My father took all the money he could get his hands on. This is when the abuse from my father started. He beat me and my brother until our backs were covered with black and purple bruises. He'd pull me out of bed by my hair before school every morning. He was constantly irritated. He hired babysitters to watch me and my brother after school while he was still at work, some of them were from the daycare where I was raped. Soon after my mom started coming over twice a week to see me and my brother. One night, I believe my Dad had gotten drunk, he told me to get ready for bed. I did and went into my room. He followed. My memory gets spotty here, my father raped me. He was angry, he wanted revenge on my mother for leaving him. I couldn't do anything against him. Afterwards, he buckled his pants back up. And he left me. I had an accident and my mother came in to help me, not aware of anything that had happened. After that I had many more accidents. Nobody suspected anything. I had nightmares of monsters eating me alive, ripping apart my insides, wolves tearing me to pieces, bears chasing me, being forced to touch my family members inappropriately. Still I was mostly oblivious. The abuse went on, there were times when things would be good for a couple weeks and then it would go back. I started going to my moms apartment on weekends. Later that year, my grandfather started raping me again. My Nana was working, and he was a trucker. He was off most of the time we were together. To keep me quiet about it, he often attempted to murder me. He would hold me by my head and tell me he was gonna snap my neck, he'd choke me until all I saw was darkness and I couldn't speak, and when he'd bathe me, he'd hold the back of my neck and push me under the water until I stopped struggling. He'd slap me across the face so hard my ears would ring so loud, when I fell over onto the carpet he'd kick the shit out of me, and sometimes he'd whip my back with an extension cord. He told me no matter what if I told anybody I would be dead. And that I would go to hell. My family was baptist. Soon after men would come over and pay to rape me as well, sometimes in the privacy of my grandparents bedroom and sometimes together right in the middle of the living room. Some were from the church, some were family friends, and others were truckers my Grandfather knew. I remember my grandfather leading me to the bedroom with one of the truckers. He paid my grandfather, looked at me from outside and then he closed the door behind him. The lights were off and the dim light of the sun was shining through the sheer curtains. He forced my mouth open and I choked on him, i ran to the trash can and threw up. As i was leaned over, he raped me. I couldn't stop throwing up, when that was over he moved me and forced himself into my mouth again. His legs were pinning my arms down onto the carpet. I couldnt move or struggle. I could look over and see myself in the closet mirror. After he was done, there was throw up on my face and neck and semen stuck in my hair. He left the room and my grandfather told me to wash myself in the bathroom sink. I was crying and sniffling and trying to brush the fluid out of my hair. I tried to scrub my tongue with my hands. Everything stunk. When I wasnt with my grandparents, I was at home. Name 2 started babysitting me, and one day she told me and my brother we had to go with her to a doctors appointment for her feet. We went with her, as me and my brother sat in the room with her the doctor kept injecting things into her toes. They laughed and smiled at me and my brother as it was happening, we were very uncomfortable and confused. After that she told my brother to go sit in the lobby. We were alone in the doctors office and she brought out a video camera. The doctor laid me down onto the table and raped me while she recorded. I struggled as much as I could but again I was powerless. Afterwards I was numb and repressed again, I remember she told me to go pee afterwards and I did. I was disoriented and confused, not remembering how I got there. A couple weeks later I had told my mother that I got raped by a doctor. I had acted out what he did but I didn't have the words to say rape or assault. My mom told my dad and they sat me down and told me that what happened to me was wrong, and that I needed to tell them about it. At that point I had forgotten even mentioning it, i had completely forgotten that it happened, so I had nothing to say. Life moved on, they asked Name 2 about it, and she lied, saying that I left the room with my brother afterward. I continued being assaulted and trafficked by my grandfather for the following years. Constantly forgetting. When I was 11 it ended. I assume he was no longer interested because I had started puberty. I spent the next years living with my mother. She was neglectful and constantly drunk or high. I was constantly starving and underweight, when I saw my father on the weekends we fought but I didn't remember anything that had happened. Every part of me became depressed and confused. I dropped out of school in 8th grade. My mom told me that I had told her about the doctor that year, My entire life changed. At that point I didn't even remember being raped once. I went into a state of bipolar mania and psychosis. This went on for 7 months, then I went to my grandparents again. They were moving far away and there was a family reunion before they left. I remember being alone with my grandfather on the couch, he caressed my thigh with his hand. I was oblivious to everything that happened. I kept looking at things on my phone and ignored him. He said something odd, which I can no longer remember. I looked at him with confusion, and he sighed and left me alone after a prolonged silence. It didn't sit right with me. That month, after I went back home, memories started coming to me. I didn't know that starting then, I would spend all of my highschool years in a cycle of recovering memories, getting used to them, and then recovering more. I lost every friend I had. Except for my boyfriend I met online when I was 13. He was the only one who cared about anything that happened to me. I told him almost everything. He was a survivor of constant sexual abuse throughout his childhood as well. We understood each other. Now, I have just turned 18. I start college in the fall. I've gone no contact with my father. I've told my mother about everything, she told me my dad had sexually assaulted her and other women as well. And that they found money in my grandfathers mattress, also that he was probably selling drugs as well. Though she has not given me an apology for her neglect, and shows that she doesn't feel sorry for me at all. I'm dedicating every day to nurturing myself, since my parents can't. My journey isn't over, there's so much I don't understand still, but I know now that I will be okay. Most days I feel this awful shame. Like Im not meant to be alive. Like my body is all I was ever good for, like nobody cares about me at all or will ever understand. While most people couldn't understand the pain of what I've gone through, that's not what's important. I'm here for myself and I'm soon getting engaged with my boyfriend that I mentioned earlier. Things get better every day. I will not allow myself to feel this shame anymore. I'll share my story until I physically can't anymore. As soon as I submit this story I will not let it control me any longer. Thank you if you read this far.

The first sexual assault I went through was when I was 12 years old and my first ever boyfriend I had at the time Raped me he was 14 years old at the time I told him I didn’t want to have sex with him he ended up pushing me on his bed and he ended up raping me I couldn’t even get him off cause he was very heavy & hurting me. I got sexually assaulted when I was 16 years old old and the guy who did it was 22 years old and it was a painful experience when he grabbed my boobs. The third and fourth times I was sexually assaulted from my then boyfriend he was also physically abusive towards me as well he used to always punch me in my stomach and he would hit me on my neck & shoulder I was eventually able to get out of the relationship I am a survivor of rape I am a survivor of sexual assaults I am a survivor of domestic violence as well