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

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

I got drugged on a festival and ultimately it ended up with me performing sex with a stranger without me even being conscious. I went to the festival with three of my friends. One was already asleep when a drunk guy came to our tents. He was searching for his friend, he said but then he asked if he could stay with us a bit. He was kinda funny and pretty drunk so we thought as a group that it would be okay to give him some water and let him be with us a bit. After some time my remaining awake friends said they wanted to shower and left me alone. That's the last thing I can remember clearly. The rest is in snippets. I can remember him giving me something to drink and I drank. Then I remember him kissing me. And ultimately I woke up the next morning, naked in his tent. My friends searched for me the whole night and were really pissed, that I went with him, without telling anybody and I felt horrible for making them feel that way, so I kinda forgot that I had no memories of this incident and thought for a year or so that I was just a really bad friend, who walked off with a random drunk guy and made my friends worry. Just after that first year I started dating my SO and told him the story. He looked at me, hugged me tightly and said that this is awful. That's the first time I thought about the incident a bit more and tried to understand what happened. It was a shock for me, that he got angry at my friends because in my book they were the ones that did nothing wrong. The more I thought about though, the more I understood: he gave me some kind of drug, that basically knocked me out and had sex with me. I got raped. And this was even more of a shock. I'm still in my healing process. The memories sometimes still haunt me but way less then they did before. I still feel ashamed sometimes but I'm at a point where I can turn the train of thought around and tell myself that I don't have to be. I really hope that sharing my story will help others in one way or another and I can certainly say that it will help me be more open with my story.

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 had a tough year, I had lost a parent, I had been cheated on, I had to end a very good friendship. That summer I was going to have a good time, and enjoy being young. After work one day, I sprung up the idea to go on a night out with my cousin who had a similar year to mine. We went out for drinks, the two of us going through the same motions of a night out, batting off creeps at the bar, dancing, having a good time. We met with one of her old school friends and his friend, and I took a liking to the friend. We all piled up in a taxi and went back to their place. We all had a couple more drinks, and my cousin and her school friend went upstairs, leaving me with the other friend. One thing lead to another and we went upstairs. Through the motions there were things that didn't feel right, and I tried to tell him to stop, that I was uncomfortable, that I didn't want to do that, but he didn't listen, he just kept going. When finally, it was over and I just felt frozen in time, more concerned for my cousin in the next room, and not about myself, being in a scary position. My phone had died and nobody had a charger for it, so I had to beg the guy who had just assaulted me to order a taxi, because I didn't know what part of town I was in at the time, but all I knew was that I had to get home, and fast. All I remember was my cousin getting annoyed at me for leaving, but I didn't care, I wanted to get home, I wanted to be safe. I remember the taxi driver, it was a woman who told me about her son living in locationand how humid it was that time of year. It mightn't have been much, but it was comforting in that moment. I remember the streetlights reflecting on the rows of houses in that suburb, which still haunt me any time I pass through that area, sending a shiver down my spine. She pulled up to my house, the sun was starting to come up, my dad left the porch light on. I undressed and took a shower. Still not processing what had happened, I wrote in my journal and tried to pass it off as a silly dating fail, but knowing at the back of my mind it wasn't okay. I couldn't sleep so I read a book and the following day, took my younger sibling out into town to get school supplies for the new year. Months passed, and I tried to tell a friend about what happened to me, but all they could say to me was: "Well, what do you expect, that's what happens when you hook up with random people" and I retreated into myself. After that point, I went a long time without telling people what happened until I was visiting another friend in a different city and I decided to go on a date with someone I matched with on an app. As I was about to board the metro to get to the date, I froze up, I panicked, I started to cry. My friend immediately asked what happened, if I was okay, and was there anything she could do to help. I couldn't say it was nothing, because it wasn't nothing. It was something that shook me to my core, made me think I was in the wrong for enjoying my sexuality. I didn't go on the date, but what I did do was tell my friend what had happened, and instead of being met with judgement, I was met with kindness, compassion, and love. We left the train station, picked up bits for a self-care night, and I was allowed to be myself in a space where I was believed and listened to. It took me a good while to feel comfortable in myself, how I looked, how I expressed myself, how I even was in relationships. If it weren't for the friend who made sure I was okay and I was safe, I mightn't be sharing my story right now. There are still times when I pass through that same neighborhood, hear that person's name, or even go pass the bar we met at, and a cold wave passes through me, but I'm proud of the work I have put in to not let it ruin my day, get me down, or define me.

When I was 23, after having lost my father to cancer and moving into my first home as a single parent, I was "sexually assaulted" by my uncle who was now one of my neighbours. It was what was possibly deemed a harmless move by him, a drunken misunderstanding where he accidentally but forcefully stuck his tongue in my mouth while consoling me on my loss. The weight of him pressing me into the sofa of my new home. My new place of safety. He was a large man with a wheelbarrow stomach and a stench of unwashed flesh that lingers in the spaces long after he has passed through them. He never spoke a word I could ever understand because his native dialect rested somewhere between a brogue and the sound of someone clearing their throat. I always politely, on account of my aunt, nodded in agreement whenever he spoke to me. I pushed him away and apologetically resisted his advances so as not to offend him. It never occured to me to make a scene, others might have demonstrated greater revolt but I had just left an abusive relationship with the father of my child, a man who was given to dangling phlegm from his mouth over my face while pinning my arms down as a means of foreplay. Being sexually compromised was something that I had long accepted as normal. According to my mother I deserved it, people don't do things to other people unless they deserve it. He was just trying to be nice to me after all. I also learned quickly that if you did happen to discuss things with anyone that they had ways of silencing you. My new neighbours were informed of my single parent status and it's always better to keep girls like me at arms length. I thought I had been finally set free from an abusive relationship only to find myself thrust into a dynamic that set the stage for a lifetime of fear and resprisals from any man that wanted to really. A couple of weeks later my late fathers friend, an elderly gentleman with a family of his own, repeated the experience. A man of standing in the community, he had called to offer his condolances and suggested he could help me find work through a local employment scheme to help me get back on my feet. Once again I found myself on the recieving end of a sexual embrace, ending with him forcing his tongue into my mouth. I didn't get that job, in fact I spent the next twenty years resisting poverty and doing my best under the same kind of unemployment schemes while always being rejected for paid labour. It was on one of these employment schemes where I became the subject of one partcular mans obsession. He was the same age as me although very shy and reserved, maybe because he suffered from a physical disability. He worked in a different office to me and we would see him skulking around outside the building I worked in and often, waiting outside at clock out time. He would casually greet me and join up with our group and continue to follow along with us. The others made fun of him but I felt bad about that and tried my best to be respectful. As our work progamme ended everyone naturally went their own ways but he never left and for twenty years he remained, insisting he was just a friend despite my objections that I had no desire to be with anyone. Most people automatically assume that he was my partner now but in all the years I had known him, I remained single and celibate. I had never been able to consider being in relationship with another man. I never had the freedom to be even if I wanted to. My mother would tell people he was my partner and as it happened, he was very effective at "keeping me out of trouble". Instead, I turned to other women for relationship and in the hope that he, and others, might get the message and leave me alone. It was many years before I found the videos he had been taking of me on his phone when I wasn't looking. It turned out he was a prolific client of escort services too and apparently, acording to the man who's child I bore and raised by myself this meant that I was a paid whore also. It wasn't until I sought help that I learned how I was being portrayed. The first counsellor I went to called me a liar when I told her that my childs father had physically abused me. For three months I sat unable to speak in a psychologist office, being accused of things I had previously been unable to imagine. I lost the ability to verbalise. My nervous system shut down. My body would shake uncontrollably. I tried to kill myself but I didn't know how. I stopped trusting people, least of all the services you would nomally turn to for help. The gaurds, my gp, even the voluntary agencies in places of statutory ones. For years after I struggled to come to terms with this abuse and I was alone through all of it. I did everything I could to drag myself out of that place, yoga, meditation, exercise but none of it made much difference because I could never wipe away the pain on the inside. One day I listened to a story on the radio and in response penned a letter to a rape crisis center. I never considered what I had been through as sexual abuse so I never considered discussing it with anybody. I began to write. I met with a counsellor and handed her my letter. As she spoke the words of my story I heard someone else speaking but it didn't sound like me. I didn't feel ashamed, I felt brave. I didn't feel worthless, I looked at the woman in the chair in front of me and felt like her, like I had value and that my words had meaning. I didn't feel stupid or retarded, I saw a beautiful articulate woman, not a destitute worthless prostitute. After years of being silenced I finally heard the sound of my own voice. I think I slept for two days after that. My own voice has grown stonger every day since. It's kinder and more understanding, more loving and gentle toward myself. I no longer live with the same level of fear as before. The guilt and shame I was used to feeling and that others used to inflict upon me no longer controls me. Something was given back to me that was lost and now no one can ever take it away again. I'm still working on healing myself but I enjoy life in moments and even have goals again. I'm glad that this place can give people a voice too and that those who read these words might hear themselves speaking and will know that they are not alone.

At the tender age of 9 I was molested by a family member. This went on for 3 years. When I did mention it to my immediate family I broke down and was admitted to the hospital for a period of 48 hours. I was truly saddened and really felt alone. I carried this burden on for over 20 something years where afterwards I befriended someone that physically abused me. I ignored the red flags and in order to keep my children safe I told the perpetrator that I will stay. He would hit me in the back of my head many times to this day I have a small protruding disc in the back of my skull. The last incident when I knew that I couldn't take anymore and that my children would be safe is when he tried to throw me down my stairs after straddling me while choking me. I prayed and I asked God for strength. This was in Date. I found the strength to heal, seek therapy and start my own nonprofit (Nonprofit name) which serves Women and Children of domestic violence with temporary shelter, counseling, and 10-week trauma sessions. I now know my Worth and I know that I am a Woman that matters.

I was raped about three years ago. It wasn’t like you see in tv shows where it’s down a dark alley way by a stranger. It was a guy I was friends with. It wasn’t violent either which is why it took me so long to realise what had happened. He kept asking to do an*l even though I told him on multiple days and about seven or eight times that day how I really didn’t want to do it and that I’d do anything else. He wasn’t giving in and I felt like I owed it to him. He told me he would stop when I wanted which made me feel like it was my choice. He guilted me into sex often and then verbally abused me and and horrifically emotionally abused me when I didn’t do what he wanted. He would often threaten to kill himself and I would believe him. It wasn’t until I finally escaped, about three months after I was talking about it with a friend and how I really didn’t want to do it. I had previously “bragged” about doing it because I was lying to myself. It wasn’t until I told her the truth she explained that I was in fact raped. It took two years to fully get my life back, I went to therapy and did a lot of self work. I went from upset, to angry to terrified and I did it all alone. I had no one but I made it through. I remember writing a note to myself about how I felt, how I thought I would never experience happiness again but I did. Every time I achieve something I look at that note and the photos of me crying and know I did myself justice. My justice may not be legally achieved but knowing he is an unhappy person, tormented by his own mind and will remain alone for life gives me peace.

Hearing other people's stories make em feel not alone

You hear it all over the news. You see it in films and tv shows. As women, we are often warned, and we hear comments about ‘safety in numbers’ when you go to the toilet. ‘Watch your drinks’ when out and about. ‘Don’t show that much skin, cover up’. ‘You can’t wear that.’ ‘Get a taxi home, it’s not safe to walk’… unfortunately words can not protect you from the intentions of others. I went on a night out with friends, a reunion that started off so well. I remember the dancing, the constant flow of drinks…pints, gin, vodka, sambuca to name a few. Yes, it is not ideal to mix however, when you are reminiscing, and your group had a booth with a table full of drinks; you would probably do the same! Anyway, the lights flashed, the music bounced off the walls and suddenly a trip to the loo mixed with alcohol on a busy autumn international night in Location…makes you forget what floor you left your friends on. Fast forward to the smoking area alone on the phone, where I swayed and debated leaving. “A taxi home would be safer than walking in the rain”. Before I was allowed in, I had to pay by card, he insisted on no cash. I entered the taxi behind the passenger seat in the back and it began. The looks through the rear-view mirror were instant…my memory of the journey is absent until we reach my corner. My directions at this point were now ignored but I trusted him. He parked, away from my house. He locked the car with me still inside. He looked back. “Kiss me”. He had hold of my wrists and climbed through to the back where he began to sexually assault me. I am unsure for how long this lasted but he later broke away and asked to use my toilet. This enabled me to get out of the car so…I said yes. Why I ever thought I could get into my house first in a pair of heels whilst heavily intoxicated I do not know, but even so, I looked back to see how ahead I was…even now I can see him running down that pavement to reach me at my door. In my own home, he was in control. He stole my breath, he stole my voice, he stole my body. He raped me. No one ever prepares you for an event like that, or even how to tell your parents. I went to SARC, I did the forensics and repetitive questions, and I was told it would take years of my life away if I were to take it further. So, I went back to work the following Monday as I had a responsibility to fulfil. It weighed on my shoulders. I knew there was an expectation. Many google searches informed me of my next steps…I made an anonymous complaint to the Police, and everything began to move. Everything became intense…I was living out what felt like a BBC drama. Months later he denied it in court, so we went to trial. The support I received was minimal. I was still working, taking unpaid time off. My close family and friends were those who got me through the days in court, the days in-between and the days I live now. I took away the screen during my time on the stand, I answered every insulting question and remark. I looked him in the eyes, he held eye contact for only a few seconds before breaking into a smirk; as I broke down in the stand. I was torn to pieces in front of a judge, jury and courtroom. In front of him, who proceeded to spin his web of lies which were the complete opposite to the ones he had said in his initial statement. “To be a good liar, one needs a good memory” …He was found guilty. It took 2 weeks for me to be seen as a victim and believed. Fast forward to the sentencing hearing where my main pillars of support accompanied me…I read out my victim impact statement… He got 11 years…a minimum of 8 ½. I got a lifetime sentence, anxiety, depression, dissociation, insomnia, scars and PTSD. February 2024, 2 months after the 1st anniversary; I made my 3rd attempt. A phone call from a friend pulled me back to reality, who later pulled me off the bridge. A mixture of anger, tears and confusion filled the next couple of days, and I knew I needed to take back control of my mind and body. Which is hard when his monstrous hands are imprinted, his poisonous breath echoing in and flooding my ears and the pain weighing heavy on my body. This time I had to do something different. I could not bring myself to hurt anyone else further, so I searched online. I came across The Survivors Trust and after a quick scan through what they had to offer, I instantly thought ‘why wasn’t I told about this sooner?’. Talking can feel repetitive especially when you cannot explain how exactly you are feeling…which is ok in this sense because of their ‘Survivor Resources’. They echo that everyone has a different healing journey and they have sets of resources that have been put together with the survivor in mind…whilst also having a section for those who are looking for help on how to support a survivor they love in their lives. The Survivors Trust then became an outlet for me because even though I am very much at the beginning of my healing journey, I felt responsible and motivated to raise awareness for this charity. No one should ever have to face a traumatic event like this but sadly, the actions of others are something we cannot control. Therefore, I created a Facebook page called ‘Name’ and started promoting my quiz night followed by live music and started a Just Giving Page. I never anticipated a big response; I had a goal of £1000. A goal of raising awareness for the charity, fellow victims and survivors. A goal to inform. The CSEW estimated that 1.1 million adults aged 16 years and over experienced sexual assault in the year ending March 2022 (798,000 women and 275,000 men). 15% of girls and 5% of boys have experienced sexual violence by the time they are sixteen. Every five minutes in the UK someone experiences rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault by penetration. ‘On the face of it, something has to change’ (Prima Facie, 2022). Date he was sentenced. Date 2 I raised a total of Specific amount from site.. People have different opinions on the length of time to which I will be ‘fixed’. “Sometimes, it takes a few days”. A few days, a few weeks; a few months to fully grasp what happened, to trust myself? Living in and out of my own body, not knowing when it is truly me or what is now left. The sleepless nights, the nights that repeat every detail. Every once in a while, my ears go out, ringing as I simply stare into thin air, dissociating and remembering each and every detail without speaking a word. Sometimes it only takes a smell, a name, a piece of clothing, a sound to take me back to these moments. It does not take much to remind the brain of the agony. It’s hard. I float throughout each day, each night, as each aspect of the memory replays every time, I take a second to think…no matter where or who I am with. It is currently day 630…I have finally started EMDR therapy, I am still at times in denial of the events, and I am very much at the beginning of my journey. I am beginning to understand there is no timeframe on healing and with the support of this charity, my close family and name, taking time to self-care and keeping up with my medication is all I can do for now. Everyone is different. Therefore, it is totally natural to heal and deal with trauma in different ways. I work and like to keep busy…some say to avoid/escape the flashbacks but unfortunately, they do not escape me. However, although I have tried many times not to be…I am alive, and I am going to do everything in my power to make sure things change. No one should live in the fear of not being believed. No one should be put into situations where they experience a type of sexual assault. No one should have to go through something they could not control and feel guilty for the rest of their lives. No one should feel alone. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel shame, guilt, embarrassment, regret and the list goes on but I will get there. I am alive today because of the resources and support presented on The Survivors Trust site. My journey is very much at the beginning, and I so wish I knew about this charity sooner. Therefore, this is me giving back as well as letting others know about the charity, not only the victims either…Survivors Trust helps everyone impacted. Raising Amountp is just the start of the work I will be doing for the charity. It is okay to talk, there are people who will believe, who will support in any way they can. Together we are stronger…you do not have to face this battle alone. I have recently continued to share my story and been a listening ear to others on my page Name on Instagram and Facebook. I don't want anyone to ever feel alone in their trauma, in their healing, in their journey. I am far beyond cured. My EMDR therapy has been completed but its like a bomb has gone off...I've accepted what has happened, happened. But it'll forever be part of who I am no matter how many steps forward I take. He gets out in 5 years and is then under watch for 3 years as he is eased back into society - that support has been planned for him. However, if I didn't attempt to take my life 5 times...I would never have been put forward for MH screening by my gp who then referred me for EMDR. I wasn't given any support from SARC or Victim Support - and it's honestly made me feel so defeated yet again by him. Yes, he was found guilty and went to prison in 2023 but I am the one serving the life sentence.

Mine happened at 17. I was in high school and I told no one. I’ll never forget what “they” did to me. Parts of me died that night. I was Intoxicated, unconscious and woke up in an all-male athletic college dorm, being assaulted with an audience there to watch. I am and always will be, haunted by them being able to view and touch my bare body while unconscious. It never goes away... even 36 years later. To this day, I fear exposure. My life-long insomnia, confidence and ability to one-day become a divorced, single mother has all been affected. There are so many parts of my son’s life that I can never get back. I didn’t become a Registered Nurse until the age of 40. My silence, my shame.... it saved them. With the help of social media and a University football program from 1984 on eBay I found the 4 boys (now aging men with gray hair and grandfathers) responsible. I confronted them by sending a pic of my 17 year old self via text or email. It was like writing a victim impact statement. I spoke to 2 of their sisters and one estranged wife. I went from not knowing their names, to recognizing one set of eyes in that football program. Sometimes, you never know what will lead you to closure and forgiving yourself for the years of silence and shame. All of this happened over the last year or so. I finally, after 35 years, reported to their university and the police. I found the courage to tell My now-aging parents, which is a story in and of itself, my husband and even my grown children. I own my story, I accept that I am a Survivor now. My offenders robbed me of seeking medical care, much needed mental health that I so desperately needed. And They took so much more from me... even one of my shoes. I still remember every detail of crawling on the dorm room floor looking for one of my shoes... which I now know, they threw it out a window. IT WAS MY SHOE, and I mourned it’s loss as well. That sense of imbalance surrounded much of my life. That powerlessness and degradation is no longer a part of my spirit. The awful bruising they left on my thighs remain scattered on each vital organ of my being. Each time I am unwell, and then heal, it reminds me of the hurdles I am able to overcome. My poetic justice... as one of them stated last year..”I’ve had you in my mind forever.” And that was a text message. That night, they robbed even themselves of realizing that they will one day have daughters of their own.. and they did. For me, they no longer rob me of anything. I am free. You too, and so will all of us...with determination, find a way to heal. Today, I am much stronger for sharing my story, disclosing and confronting them. After all these years, they didn’t forget what they did to me. It feels good knowing that. Be strong ❤️ Survivor name, City

i never wanted to believe that my boyfriend of all people, would do this to me. i wished so hard that it didnt happen and that it wasnt true-that i had forgot about it. my brain completely blanked it when i needed it too. except, now-as its been about two years since and just under a year and half since ive been free of him-i feel its too late. too late to report, too late to speak, too late to admit. my life has completely changed since covid began. since my relationship ended and the memories started piecing themselves together. the story is beginning to fit and my chest is about to explode with the desperate need to speak my story. you see, i was maybe 18 and with someone who i thought loved me. i was so desperate to be loved, to be seen, that i stayed for three years. now looking back, i feel disgust and ashamed and embarrassed that i allowed him to treat me like that. the day i remembered, i went completely a-wall. i was a mess. all i could think about was the white sheets my face were stuffed in, the corner of his room, how he went emotionless and stopped talking. he changed so quickly in that moment, a fear so deep within me was provoked. i tried to fight back, i trued to push him off, to tell him no. i told him he was hurting me. i remember looking back, seeing how blank his face was as if an alter ego took over, he wasnt there at that moment. something snapped in him that ive never really seen in that way before. i remember how when i pushed up to fight him off, he grabbed my hips and the back of my neck. he shoved me face down, pinning me on top of my arms. he held me like that the entire time, pinning me down by the back of my neck. i never feared for my life more than within that moment. i tried saying no, i tried fighting back and his out of reality state of mind ignored me and pinned me down to his bed. i remember giving up, freezing and going silent other than the whimpers of pain. i remember crying, praying that he wasnt going to kill me. he finished, walking away without a look back at me. “clean yourself up.” he said, leaving me alone in his downstairs room, to go talk to his parents who had called for him upstairs. i remember i stumbled to his bathroom, my pants still around my ankles. i remember i couldnt stop crying, i kept thinking “this didnt just happen, what just happened?” i remember sobbing as i cleaned myself up. my body felt different, gross, repulsed, invaded. i felt violated in every way but i was so convinced it didnt happen that i wasnt sure why. by the time i left the bathroom, he was there, asking why i was crying. i didnt know what to say, so i shrugged. later that night, we had a conversation. i told him how i felt used, how different it felt that time, how i felt like a sex toy. he proceeded to beg me and plead about how he “doesnt want to feel like i raped you”. i remember crying. i remember thinking, “he’s my boyfriend he couldnt possibly.” but he was my boyfriend, and he most definitely did.

I am writing this a mother of a survivor. My daughter was abused by her paternal grandfather from the age of 5 to 6 years of age. Her father discovered the abuse, as we were in the process of divorce at the time. I learned of it through a DFS investigator who told me over the phone what was happening with my child. I was devastated. Her abuser was arrested and after a short period of investigation, we went to trial. His attorney wanted him to receive just 5 years of probation and no registry. We fought against it as they had also found child pornography on his computer at the time. At court, he was found to have her picture even though he was already advised that he could not possess it or have any contact with her. He made excuses that he loved her. This judge did not believe a word he said and said that they were no more than "self-serving words." He was sentenced to 10 years for each count for a total of 20 years to be served concurrently with 80% mandatory. This was in 2011. Just 2 years later we received a letter that he was up for "early parole". My ex-husband and I attended. With him, he brought a letter that he had received from his father asking for a picture of him and our daughter. While there he spoke of having "friends" in prison that protected him from other inmates. When he was told that if he were to get parole, one of the conditions was that he could not have a computer or any device that accesses the internet. He tried to argue that he paid his bills online. His early parole was denied. During all this, we started to see a change in our daughter's behavior. She was having night terrors and was generally not our normal happy-go-lucky kiddo. When she was 9 she told me that she wanted to die. I called her doctor, took her to the ER and she was admitted. They diagnosed her with trauma-induced bipolar, generalized anxiety, and PTSD. She spent the next 6 years in and out of hospitals for suicide attempts and suicidal ideations. Then in 2017, he was up for parole again. This time she wanted to attend, because she was old enough at this point she would be allowed to speak at the hearing. To say that I was proud of her was an understatement. She explained what she had been through and that the 10 years that he was sentenced to was nothing compared to the life sentence that she was given. After she spoke, it was my turn, and then his. She left the room during his time to speak as she could not handle even hearing his voice. In the end, the gentleman handling the hearing came out and congratulated my daughter on her strength and that he was in awe of her ability to speak up for herself. We later found out that he was denied parole again and would complete his sentence. He was released in 2021. As for my daughter, she is doing amazing. She moved to California when she was 20 years old and has been there for almost a year. She is getting ready to start college for a career in ESL and has plans to go to South Korea next summer with plans to move there in the future. She continues to amaze me and fight for herself as well as taking care of her mental health. She has also stopped calling herself a victim and refers to herself as a survivor.

He was 53. I was 20. He was my professor, an ex-cop. I didn’t trust him at first. But he worked hard to open me up. He noticed the cracks, the places I was already vulnerable, and pressed on them. I was away from home, dealing with multiple tragedies, withdrawn, guarded, and craving someone who might actually listen. He positioned himself as that person, the one who understood me when no one else did. At first, it didn’t look like abuse. It looked like attention. Being called on in class, asked to stay afterward, seeing me and my wounds, and being told I had potential. It was meticulous. Slowly, the attention became personal. He asked questions no professor should. He touched me without consent - digging his thumb into my collarbone, grabbing my neck, kicking my butt, brushing up against me, physically blocking me. He commented on my body and my clothes. He admitted he had feelings he “couldn’t say or act on.” He went out of his way to prove he could be trusted. He framed my hesitation as a lack of trust and made me feel guilty when I pulled away. He isolated me. He criticized my boyfriend, planted wedges in my relationships. He gave me a simple object he had worn himself, framing it as a reminder “to be himself.” I thought of it that way too, but it became clear it was more like a collar, a way to own me. He noticed when I didn’t wear it. He told me about his dead ex and compared me to her, as if I was supposed to fill her place. He said he thought about me often. He bragged about meeting women in their early twenties at bars - the same age I was. He suggested I should come to his house so I could “feel safe.” He even admitted he kept a list of things written down about me. I saw him as a mentor, sometimes even a father figure. But he refused that. Instead, he tried to reframe the relationship, grooming me to see him in a way that served his desires. There were nights after class when it was just us. He wanted me to walk him to his car. Looking back, I believe that if my friend hadn’t shown up on a few of those nights, something worse would have happened. His eye contact was suffocating, unblinking, sharp, and intimidating. He looked at me in ways that pinned me down, made me freeze - ways that made me feel both seen and trapped. He presented himself as invincible, even bragging he could make himself out to be a “scary person.” On a video call, I’m almost certain he was trying to push me toward doing things. That’s when he asked if I had ever been sexually assaulted before, using it like leverage. He revealed his preferences, and made it clear he didn’t like when women told others about their relationship. When I confronted him once, he said people always painted him as the “villain.” He said it like he was the one who had been wronged. And even then, I felt guilty, like I had hurt him. That’s how strong his hold was. For a year and a half, I stayed in that cycle - sick around him but convinced he was the only one who understood me. The cracks in his mask eventually showed, and his grip loosened when I started calling him out and speaking the truth he worked so hard to bury. I finally ran. I was so drained, stripped of myself, that I couldn’t survive another round of his wicked game. I reported him more than once. The first time, nothing was done. Later, even after he lost his job for unrelated reasons, he tried to pull me back in - even asking me to be a reference for jobs working with children. I reported him again because I feared he would keep targeting students. That time, he was trespassed, but it still didn’t feel like it ended. I still fear I'll run into him. I carried guilt. Shame. Silence. I didn’t tell my anyone for a long time. I thought silence would erase it. Instead, it gave the abuse more room inside me. And I still ask: What was this? Was it sexual assault, even if it never looked “obvious” enough? Was it my fault? Is it all in my head? Is this valid since wasn't underage? Was any of it real? I’m still learning how to feel safe. How to exist in my body without flinching. How to wear clothes without wondering if fabric is an invitation. How to hold eye contact without feeling exposed. How to believe attention doesn’t always come with a price. How to let silence feel peaceful instead of dangerous. How to stop scanning every room for the nearest exit. How to trust my gut. And how to never let someone treat me like that again. I’m still learning how to live in a world altered by his eyes, his hands, his words, and to believe I am not forever marked by them, or by men like him.

okay so i’m not sure if im overthinking things but i kinda just figured what cocsa is and it made me think back when i was younger. so when i was 8 or 9, there was this group of girls (all around my age as well) and they would kinda do weird things. the first time i saw them, it was my friends kissing in secret and i didn’t realize it was in a sexual way and i thought it was just friends being loving to each other. they saw me and they told me to be quiet and that i couldn’t tell anyone. i found it odd but i just went with it. anyway then they kinda “invited” me into the group and i found out it was about 5-6 other girls. these girls would all like kiss each other and touch each other but i never realized in what way and they would tell me that if i told anyone, they wouldn’t be my friend anymore so i didn’t. one time one of the girls pulled me in the bathroom and wanted to try something and told me to stay quiet so we wouldn’t get caught and she basically just made out with me and kinda touched me down there a little. another time one of these girls was my close friend and just us two had a sleepover and she was like “hey i wanna try something” so she laid me down on my back, crawled on top of me, and rubbed our “lady parts” together. i thought it was weird but she just kept telling me to not tell anyone so i never did. fast forward to now, im just now realizing how bad that was and that it wasn’t normal but im not sure if i should even hold them accountable considering they were also my age and might’ve just been repeating things they saw. so like i’m not sure if that should be considered cocsa

Where to start when it is a life-long journey. A few moments of his pleasure has been a lifetime of recovery and healing for me. It has taken a lot of work, a lot of working through to live a life where I can more freely give and receive love.

My mother used, groomed, sexually abused, and ultimately sexually humiliated and sexually punished me for years when I was a child and a pre-pubescent, pubescent, and adolescent boy. She is a fucking monster. I was used within an inch of my life. I barely survived it. I don't even want to admit it to myself, but the number of suicide attempts I have survived makes me a goddamn HERO. I wasn't hospitalized, I wasn't on death's door, but I was close. I tightened ties around my neck that I hung myself from as an eleven- and twelve-year-old, until they almost choked me to death. I drank or abused myself nearly to death way, way, way too many times as a teenager and an adult. Anyway, the awful shit she did involved first grooming and using me -- seducing me -- throughly -- completely -- emotionally, sensually, sexually. When I was a child, this awful woman who called myself my mother would wrap her legs around me in bed repeatedly. And other parts. And say how a "baby" needs a mother's skin (I was a teenager). How the most "pure love" in the world is that of a mother and her son. It was all a lie. All an awful, terrible perversion of the truth to set the stage for her abuse. She used to sexually humiliate me. She would take me into the bathroom in our little flat in City and she wouldl jack my cock off and make me climax. And I would cum on the floor and she woudl scream at me. So angry at me. For what I did, for what she made me did. Pure, unbelievable ,unbearablle rage on her face. I want to cry. And the anger as I came on the bathroom floor. Mad at me, mad at my erection (that she made me have!) So mad at that erection she was intentionally givign me. She hated me. Hating me. Projecting ONLY pure, awful, wrathful, vengeful, horrific hate on me. Screams. Her phenomenal screams. That would rock the whole house, shake the ceiling. I wonder if she was raped by her dad, or her brother. She must have been. To use a little boy, a little child like that. The sexual devouring in her eyes. I'm so ashamed. I feel awful. FUCK THAT WITCH. I DON'T WANT TO DIE. BECAUSE OF HER. Awful monsters like my "mother" - there was NOTHING ABOUT HER THAT HAD ANYTHING CLOSE TO A MOTHER'S ENERGY - need to be held accountable. STOP THEM FROM HURTING CHILDREN. IT HURT EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE. The sexual rage and the pain. The way I have passed on the trauma by hurting nearly everyone in my life. IT STOPS NOW. THE PATTERN, THE MONSTER. THAT AWFUL RITUAL OF SEXUAL HUMILIATION AND RETALIATION AND VICTIMIZATION AND PAIN. THAT FUCKING. STOPS. NOW. IT STOPS WITH ME!!!!!!!!

As I sit here today, I can't help but reflect on the pain and torment that has plagued me for the past two years. It all began in 2021 when my father became involved with a woman. Initially, everything seemed fine, but as time passed, she began to interfere in our family affairs. She would lie to my dad about us, and unfortunately, he believed her. Soon enough, he began to physically abuse my mother because she refused to allow him to have a sexual relationship with this woman. The situation continued to spiral out of control from there. My father squandered my brother's school fees on this woman and his drugs, causing my brother to be expelled from school. he wasted their one year. Meanwhile, I had always been an excellent student, always at the top of my class. However, as I prepared for my medical entrance exam, my father called and tortured me, accusing me of interfering with his relationship. I was devastated to find out that I missed the admission by just 1.7%. after that, they blamed me of failing to get admission and used to insult me and my brother does too, till today. in front of so may guests,he says that i wasnt able to get admission. he laughs at me even though he is a failure, he got failed in maths and scored just 300 out of 550 in grade 10th. and i the topper always, i scored 535 out of 550. why is a fucking failure encouraged to laugh at me?. and he is supported to do so by my father. I cried endlessly. am i the only one to blame for whatever happened? i didt do anything, i swear to god! To make matters worse, the torture never ended. My father continued to mentally,emotionally abuse me, and my brother began to follow in his footsteps, physically assaulting and sexually harassing me. and my father who i thought was the person i loved the most and was my hero, encouraged him to beat me abuse me and harass me. One day, they both beat me, leaving me feeling helpless and alone. it is so difficult for me to believe that my own father and my brother can do this with me. even if i tell my father that the mistake is isnt mine and everything is crystal clear, but he still says that i am wrong just because i am a girl. nowadays, i am just silent, enduring all the fuck. i am preparing again for the medical entrance test. and once i get there i will shift to a good hostel and be away from the hypocrites like my dad and brother. Just because i am a girl, i am suffering because i am dependant financially on him. if i take a stand against him, he will not pay my medical school fee either and in this way my whole career will end! and i cant let that happen. Maybe i can endure a little more:( thanks for hearing me!