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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.

I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

I never associated my assaults as sexual assaults. I always just saw it as a thing that happened me that was upsetting until recently. I was groped, forced into having sex and preforming oral sex on him. I remember one time he offered to drive me home. I lived over 40 mins from town so I thought i could save myself €60 in a taxi. Until I realised we were going in the opposite direction to my house. He drove me to secluded area. I knew it wasn't right I said no said I was due my period I tried everything I could to deter him. It didn't work. I can't drive that road without a feeling of dread. I do feel part to blame and I know that's wrong. I hate how it makes me feel. When I hear stories in the news I can't help but think my story isn't as bad as theirs or that maybe mine wasn't rape or a sexual assault. I hate myself for thinking it.

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

I was with my ex and I had just started some new tablets that made me sleepy. I tell my ex that I’m going to sleep and he continues to play his video game. I wake in a daze around an hour later and he is raping me and enjoying it. I react by making noises out of fear and wait for him to finish up the act , I just froze in fear. Once it was over I was mad he never got consent but he told me that he thought I wanted it. It’s been nearly a year and I’m still not over it

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!

Being a girl is not fair I am a 32 year old woman abused more that once when I was younger. It was the first abuse that had the butterfly affect of leading me to the rest. When I was twelve I wanted to earn money. My parents did not believe in allowance for doing chores. I could not work legally until I was fourteen unless it was a newspaper route waking up before dawn. My Uncle--my Dad’s brother--hired me to work at his appliance repair shop. He was the only one we knew who had a business. Soon after I started, part of the job was letting him give me massages. He molested me a little more each time until he was using his mouth on my privates. He would masturbate while he did. I let him do this for weeks while he changed me and distorted me. Then he made me use my mouth on him. I did it ONE time. I vomited after. I reported him to my parents. The were caring and supportive, and angry at him. But not angry enough to do anything but let me stop working there. He apologized to me in the kitchen with my parents there. Me floating adrift in lava while the Gods decided my fate. I barely remember it. He stayed in our lives with almost no change. I went back to normal. On the surface. But I was not the same, and become more afraid of things. The dark, being alone, silence. In the coming years I fooled around with boys in ways I might not have. I may not have been that type of girl but felt compelled. I was fifteen when I had a boyfriend my age that I secretly had sex with almost daily. I loved him. He dumped me. More issues. Age seventeen. High school senior. Dyed blue-streaked hair down to my butt. Emo. Skinny. Flat chest. Was drinking and smoking put by then. But not THAT NIGHT. I Walked out of a Pink concert I had gone to with my cousin and her friends. Something upset me and I left. Night time. Part of the city I don’t know. No plans. Maybe go back to the concert after getting my head together. Walking past a strip mall a group of four guys came out of place, not sure what it was. I had seen that two of them were black. That scared me. I’m sorry. I hurried and turned right. So did they. It was something like an alley behind the strip mall and a big wall on the one side. Back doors of business, dumpsters, a few cars. Not well lit. Maybe I could have just kept walking and been fine but it was dark on the far side and seemed so far away. The guys were talking and laughing and behind me. I grew terrified of being raped or hurt or killed. I think I heard one of them say the words, “nice ass” in their chatter. Panic attack. I think I was trying to save my own life. Preemptive strike? I stopped, turned and said. “You guys can F--- me if want.” I remember the pause while some of them stopped but one kept coming. They laughed, maybe nervous. The one that kept coming put his arms around me and pressed his body to me. I forgot what he said but he pulled me in close, grinding on me. They took me to a dark area off to the side between two buildings. I did oral for the first one and the other black one, but not all the way. A show for them. Laughing. Shooshing each other when they got too loud. I tried but they got rough and I gagged a lot. Take you clothes off. Jacket, tank, jeans, panties. Onto my back. Asphalt. Legs spread. Trying to stay on top of my clothes to not get cut and scraped. All four of them took turns. With the first one it was a show they watched. With the rest they were turned around, talking to each other, trying to block me from view. I think someone walked by but not sure. Alcohol and cigarette breath. Guys probably in their thirties. Friends having fun. Boys being boys. Just pumping into me. Telling me I’m tight. My body a vessel. Legs spread. No resistance. My arms around them. Eye contact I don’t remember. I always looked at my boyfriend in the eyes. I always look in eyes during it, searching for a connection. I saw their eyes but not their faces. They just used me for friction. Quick and get it down. Except for the second to last. He wanted to talk. I told him my name. I told him about the concert. I told him I liked to be on top because he asked. I remember his face. The only one who was white. Crooked nose. Cauliflower ears. Blue eyes. A sense of hurry from the others. He blurs into the last one in my mind. The Arab/Persian? “Thanks a lot.” I know one of them said. They thanked me while I got dressed quickly and kept walking the direction they had been going before. By the time I walked back out they were gone. I went back the direction I had come from. I got back in the concert and spent the whole time finding my cousin. Sore and dripping. Back scratched up. I felt gross. I started crying but stopped when I drew too much attention. I found them. The final song was “Get the Party Started” We left together. The ones who were not driving drank wine but I was not allowed any because I was too young. I told nobody. Told my mom it was cool. Right away I became the girlfriend of a guy who had a locker near mine who had been persistent but I had always rejected. He was tall and no more than “okay”. I did not want to be alone. He fell in love. I did not. Prom and stuff. I broke up with him the last week of school. He was leaving for college anyway. I did not want to go with him. I cheated on him because I needed more sex that he could give. Then came the days of being passed around. I went to community college and dated my chem lab partner, got kind of raped by his brother in the shower and became the brother’s girlfriend. He got me into heavy drinking, party drugs, the club scene and I dropped school. I was an EDM/Metal/Trance princess and had so many “friends” in the scene that knew me as Sapphire. Sapphire was a nymphomaniac. People loved that about me. Some good, some bad. Quickies in dark spots in the clubs. Backstage. Back office. Cars. Secrets. Woke up in different beds. My boyfriend kind of “gave” me to his drug dealer and I lived with him until an older guy talked me into running away with him to Location. He was 39 (40 for a month) when I was 20 and we lived together for more than a year. It was a very sexual relationship but he cared about me. His house was a quick walk to the beach and I loved it. It was healthier. I started CC classes again and got my AA. He helped me through my panic attacks and I hid my depression from him. My parents met him, and accepted him eventually. We talked about marriage. But he was gone all day weekdays, I did not have a job, and I had a second life to feed my big hollow emptiness that had started after my uncle used me. Also, he liked to role play that he was my father. Just one of his kinks. The sickest part is that just like the eye contact thing, saying “F me daddy” became something I just do automatically. I cheated on him many times when he was with guys from the beach crowd he only knew slightly from our weekend beach trips. Girls too. I fell for a surfer and wanted to have his baby and even quit birth control. It all ended badly and I moved back with my parents. I was finally diagnosed with manic depression and talked to my mom about all the sexual encounters and abuse and started going to group. Five years after THAT NIGHT my mom was the first person I told about the four guys after the concert. That one still rips a hole in my sense of life and love and loving myself. I wonder if good guys don’t want to be with me because my breasts are small I take medication and I am functional. Like I said; BEING A GIRL IS NOT FAIR

When I was 7, I started being sexually abused. This wasn’t by a family member, it was my grans second husband. It all stopped when I was 12, when we moved a few miles away and he didn’t visit as much. When I was 17, I was having therapy for other things, it eventually came out then. They helped me decide how I was going to tell my mum. They also said I should prepare for family members to not believe me. I thought, you don’t know my family. They all stick up for each other. Well so I thought. My mum never wanted to talk about it. I understand now that was due to guilt, she had her own mental illnesses to deal with. My sister, well she turned against me for a few years. Saying I was lying, I tried to ruin my grans marriage with my lies, threatening to beat me up. My sister even tried to prove I was lying buy having him watch her new born baby whilst she went and done his food shop. When this man died, it got worse. My sister and aunt said they can’t grieve over him cause of the lies I said about him. Saying I’m evil and not wanting me near her child incase I do stuff to her. I had cousins asking “what exactly is it he did to you? My gran saying “he’s not a pedophile”. All this almost destroyed me. It was worse than the sexual abuse I had went through as a child. I decided I wanted away from my family. So I enrolled in college at 23, at 27 I was qualified and got straight into a job, I had been saving through college, so managed to move onto my own place pretty quickly. Now 33 years old and looking back I often think, did all that really happen. I’ve since moved further away from my family, Doing this has helped me stay away from their drama and only visit on occasions. They’re a lot better now, but I’d still rather keep my distance. I’m in a good place mentally. I’ve got great friends and built a good life for myself. My advice to anyone going thought it. Prepare yourself for family not to believe you. Only talk about it to people you trust and only when you want to talk about it. Don’t feel you need to explain yourself to anyone. The best thing my therapist said, no matter what you did or didn’t do, it wasn’t your fault. You were only a child.

I believe that my ex-boyfriend, Name — a bodybuilder currently living in State — has been engaging in serious digital harassment, including hacking my devices, spoofing text messages, and attempting to make it appear that I sent messages I did not. I have also noticed individuals around me—such as neighbors or coworkers—acting in ways that seem coordinated, including color-coding, winking, and using specific terms like “widgets” when referring to my family. I have reported this situation to the police, but so far there has been insufficient evidence to link these incidents directly to him. If anyone else has experienced similar behavior from this person, please come forward and share your experience.

On our first Christmas Together He Raped Me I was raped in every way possible under the Christmas Tree ... He smelled like Marlboro Reds, . That man on my back. He was smiling so Cheshirely that spit dribbled down his chin from the collosal effort. . He didn't ask permission to have sex with me. That would've been ...inconvenient to his desires. ...Megalomania at its blindest. He didn't care about my soul, my needs, my wants, my health..my sanity..He plied me with promises of freedom....Lured me with lies of love . A cage is a cage...is love of an abuser. and tore at me until I was completely eviscerated between his bubbles of spit and rancid alcohol. He had me until he climaxed, and I bled. Then.. he left me there. All I could smell was iron and salt. I bit my tongue, and it bled in my mouth only because it hurt so much. I had endometriosis even then. He didn't care. He didn't use lubricant... He didn't use anything, but hatred to abuse me again and again..l I begged him to stop. Used me until all I could see, taste, smell, and touch was blinding pain. All I could feel was his putrid breath ,,,singing every miniscule, semaphore hair... My nerves on fire and Screaming in sheer agony. DESIST!!!on my skin..miniscule, sensitive parts burning...... Screaming for him to cease... Every cell shrieking my earlobes throbbing with the terrible, dogged rhythm. The stench of his wanton hatred and desperation was the coming of doom...heart pounding against my cochlea..echoing staggered, shallow breath and pointless gasps of st--op. His body was a deleterious weapon..shrouding my neck and curls in jaundiced spittle. All he could manage to utter through his crusted lips was how good ALL of my ignominy felt TOO him, For HiM, withIN him. I recall that I vomited then.. Christmas Feasts were over for some time hence........I don't remember how long it took him to finish It might've been 2 or 20 minutes, or 20, or 2 hours. They say time is Linear, but it truly isn't. One second can feel like a lifetime, and one entire day can vanish in a flash. I didn't want to smell him, but I couldn't hold my breath that long . He latched on when he pulled out long enough to use me until Then. I bled. It wasn't a disturbing porn video. It was my life. WTF I was 18 yo, and I thought he was going to kill me... Because he was terrified of being arrested and jailed for statutory rape. He was a predator, and I, merely a sumptuous meal of Vestal Virgin.... I'm the stupidest person alive. That's how I see myself. It was my fault that I bled under that tree. My fault that I was there. I chose him.. I thought I was going to die that night... Under that Christmas Tree with no decorations, and old school, small, multicolored string lights. Bulbs of saffron, amber, rose, ..emerald, and cobalt. The EnD

I saw the movie tonight with my little sister. We grew up together in an abusive home, everything that Lily’s father did to her mom, our father did to ours (and even worse). He sometimes did those things to us too. From the fact that he’s still portrayed as a beloved father to many, I found consolation in the movie tonight. I realised that I’m not that child anymore, I’m safe now and most importantly, I can stop swimming now. And you also, my little sister, we can both stop swimming now. I love you.

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.

I am a survivor of child on child sexual abuse. this started when I was around 6, I would have sleepovers at my grandparents house with my cousin, we would often stay in the living room while our grandparents were in their room. We would have blankets and pillows set up in front of the tv, i remember the first time it happened i felt really weird, she was only a year older than me but she pulled the blanket over us and she asked if i wanted to play a game, i said yes and she grabbed my hand and pulled it into her pants and on her private part, any time we had sleepovers she would do this, after months of this she began doing the same with her hands to me, this went on for 5-6 years. i’m currently in therapy getting help for this, trying to understand it and trying to heal from this.

This happened back in 2023. I had met this guy through my sister because she had told me that he had seen my picture and had asked about me and wanted to talk to me. At the time I was living out of state, so we were talking and we got together a couple days later. During the time that I was living out of state I had to be on the phone with him 24/7 if he was home and I wasn't at work which should've been the first red flag, but the second red flag should've been when he didn't let me go out drinking with my parents on my 21st birthday and told me I had to be on video chat with him during my birthday party. A couple weeks after my birthday I moved back to my home state to be with him and things were going fine at first. But then things started progressively getting worse, the first job I got when I got back he also got a job there because he didn't trust me being alone. I couldn't go to my therapy appointments alone, I couldn't go to the store alone, I wasn't allowed to have friends but yet he was allowed to talk to other girls, I wasn't allowed to go to work alone when I got a new job even though it was an hour away from where we were living. It eventually got to the point where he had introduced me to a few of his friends over video chat and one night he had gotten drunk and accused me of cheating on him with one of his friends when I was in the other room making a Tik Tok video, we got in a fight and when I was trying to leave he grabbed ahold of my bag and shoved me into the bathtub. As I was trying to leave after that he took my phone and wouldn't give it back to me, he tried breaking it and was doing everything in his power to keep me from leaving the house. When I finally was able to leave and just go for a drive he was blowing my phone up trying to call me and when I went back to the house and decided to sleep on the couch until his mom got back from work he knew I was talking to a friend and he told me to choose between him and the friend. When I went into the bedroom to sleep for the night because I had given up with the fighting he took my phone while I was asleep and blocked that friend which I didn't realize until I left him 2 days later but the following day acted like nothing was wrong except wouldn't offer to buy me anything at the mall even though I was the one that drove us there and paid for gas to get there. When I finally got the courage to leave him it was because I had to go to work one day and as always he forced his way along. When we got to my work I was told that I wasn't needed that day which meant I was able to go home, the only issue with that was that I didn't have enough gas in my car to get home and not enough money to put gas in the car. So I called my mom and stepdad who live in another state and asked for help but told them what was happening and decided that day that I was done with everything. My mom told me that she would only help me if I left him which with the help of her I was able to. After I dropped him off I made my way to a safe location in town and locked my car waiting to be able to go get my stuff, while I was waiting he walked from his house to where I was parked and tried to get me to talk to him. After I finally left for good he was blowing my phone up calling and texting asking if I was seriously leaving.

Month Day, Year I was raped on my first day of college... then a few months later I was violently raped at my place of work. At the time of these attacks I was not intoxicated and the attacks did not happen at night. In addition I did not say no and I did not physically fight back. I thought for so long that these conditions invalidated my experiences, that I couldn’t have really been raped and that I must have someone brought these experiences on myself. Over the last five and half years, I have done so much to fill my trauma void... stay in toxic relationships, stay in toxic behaviors with food, and struggled finding the strength to continue living beyond college. In less than a month I will be graduating college and not only do I want to live beyond college, but I want to thrive and help others see their strength when they can’t. I wear my scars, whether physical or mental, like wings. While in the moment the trauma I went through was horrifying, now almost six years out these experiences have shaped me in ways that make me realize my strength and my unique ways I can help the world. Right now you may be sitting with fresh and festering wounds, but with time, community support, and vigorous self care and exploration your wounds will turn to scars, which will allow you to soar. Have grace for and faith in your journey and your strength. You are worthy of love and life. You are more than enough. You are needed and wanted in this world to share all of your beautiful gift. With Love, S

“THE TERROR IN THE STILLNESS OF THE NIGHT” Warning: This article contains references to childhood sexual abuse By Name Insomnia first started to rear its ugly head in my life when I was in the second grade. Each evening after I was sent to bed, I lay awake long into the night with a pounding heart and a body paralyzed with terror as I pictured a monkey-like man with an axe in his head flying through the window over my bed coming to kill me. I have no idea where that terrifying image came from, but that scene played over and over in my head long into the night until I finally felt the sweet release of sleep overtake me. And even when sleep rescued me from these terrifying images, that didn’t guarantee that the fear would stop. Several times a week I would be violently awoken from nightmares that left me with a racing heart and terror running through my body. I was also a sleepwalker. Often in the mornings Mom would laughingly tell me she found me wandering around the house late at night while still asleep. I never remembered those nocturnal wanderings the next day, nor did I understand what they were. But Mom sure thought they were funny. At that time my mother was married to her third husband, an abusive pedophile named 3rd Husband. I did not have a good childhood. From as far back as I can remember, I was verbally, sexually and physically abused by my mother and the various sick men she brought into our lives. My mother had many relationships when I was growing up, some boyfriends, some husbands. By the time I was nine years old, there were six “father” figures in my life, almost all of them abusive. We moved often. It was a lonely and terrifying childhood. When I was nine years old, my mother married her fourth husband, a truck driver named 4th Husband, a man she had only known for two weeks. After they got married, that’s when the insomnia went from bad to worse. 4th Husband was also a pedophile. I was born in the mid ‘60s. Other than the abuse I suffered at home, I lived a relatively sheltered life. It would be many long years before computers, the internet or cell phones came into existence. Our TV had only four channels, and each show was heavily censored. Other than occasional kissing, not once did I witness people in bed having any kind of sexual activity. My sex education came from personal experience, the abuse I suffered at home. Shortly after Mom and 4th Husband got married, we moved from California back to Wisconsin where I was born. During the drive back to Wisconsin, we stayed in motels, my older brother and I in one bed, Mom and 4th Husband in the other. Being a light sleeper, one night I woke in the middle of the night to strange sounds in the bed next to us. “Harder, Honey, Harder,” Mom moaned as 4th Husband moved on top of her. Mom and 4th Husband were having sex in the bed next to us. Even though I had witnessed my mother having sex many times over the years, it still shocked me to my very core as I watched them through the sliver of light peeking through the curtains. I was utterly sickened at the sight and sound of their lovemaking. And with each moan of pleasure, my stomach got more and more nauseated. Finally, I turned over, pulled my knees to my chest to soothe the sickness in my stomach and cried silent tears into my pillow. I didn’t sleep a wink the rest of that long night. After we moved to Wisconsin, Mom and 4th Husband brought me into their bed and started sexually abusing me. Each evening when I was sent to bed for the night, I lay in bed for hours waiting for the sweet relief of sleep to overtake me and rescue me from the night terrors. Thankfully the monkey-like man with an ax flying through my window had been left behind when we moved, only to be replaced by another terror, and that was waiting for Mom and 4th Husband to come upstairs to go to bed. I never knew if they were going to bring me into their room and abuse me or go straight to their room for the night. Even though I was exhausted mentally and physically from lack of sleep, my poor body refused to relax as my tortured mind raced with every what-if scenario that could happen. Often I was still awake when Mom and 4th Husband went to bed. The nights that they went to their room, I knew it wouldn’t be long before they would start having sex. As soon as I heard their muffled voices and their moans of pleasure, terror filled my body and tears of sadness flowed from my eyes as I flashed back to that motel room. I was utterly sickened knowing what they were doing. Even when they were done and had gone to sleep, I still couldn’t get the sounds of their lovemaking out of my head. Long into the night I lay in my darkened room staring fearfully into the suffocating darkness. Sometimes a car went by, a plane flew overhead or a dog barked, but other than that, it was quiet. The stillness of the night was terrifying to me. As the years passed, the insomnia got worse. Without realizing it, somewhere along the way, sleep had become a faceless monster that dominated my life. All through the rest of grade school, middle school and high school, I rarely got a good nights’ sleep. I went through my days in a shroud of exhaustion, and my poor head just ached from lack of sleep. Each evening, instead of finding comfort and solace at the thought of a refreshing nights’ rest, all I felt was a growing dread the closer it got to bedtime. And the nightmares continued to haunt me. It seemed I could never escape the terror of my life. When I graduated from high school, I went on to college. Even though none of my family went on to get a higher education, I knew that was my ticket out of a life of relying on other people. Most of the adults I had grown up with had let me down and brought me nothing but pain. I had learned that the only person I could rely on was myself. And for that I needed an education. But when I left my home, as much as I wanted to leave the pain of my past behind me, the insomnia continued to haunt me night after night. Rarely did I get a full nights’ sleep. Often I lay awake for hours in my darkened room tossing and turning with a racing mind wondering when or if I would be able to sleep and worrying how I would get through the next day if I didn’t get enough rest. It was a vicious cycle. I had started drinking when I was 14 years old as a means to alleviate the intense pain I suffered at home. Drinking helped relax me and brought me some measure of happiness, however fleeting. Sometimes I was even able to laugh, which was something that was sorely lacking in my life. If I could have spent every waking moment of my childhood in an altered state, I would have, but liquor was hard to come by since I was underage. By the time I graduated from college, I had become a full-blown functioning alcoholic. Almost every night I got blackout drunk in an effort to relax my body enough to sleep. Rarely did that work, but I kept trying. The hangovers the next day were always brutal and made the pain in my head even worse. But those few hours that I drank each evening helped me to relax and gave me some measure of happiness, however fleeting. I tried many things to try to get rest, sleeping pills, herbal remedies, over-the-counter sleep aids, praying, pleading with God for sleep, prescription pills, muscle relaxers, Nyqil, Benadryl, massage therapy, hypnotherapy, acupuncture, counseling, meditation, deep breathing techniques. I tried it all. I was desperate for rest. Often I would stagger sleeping pills, taking some before bed, then more when I woke up a few hours later. Unfortunately, as much as I tried, nothing took away that nighttime monster that I had dealt with since I was in second grade. Two hours, three hours, four hours, six hours or maybe even seven on a rare night. I was in absolute misery. It never once occurred to me that the abuse I had suffered as a child had affected me. Once I left my home, I did everything in my power to leave the various monsters of my past behind. I rarely thought about my childhood. Thinking about my past was akin to putting my hand on a hot stove. It was that painful. Unfortunately, those monsters followed me into adulthood. Each morning when I woke up from a night of restless sleep, my thoughts turned obsessively to how I could get enough rest the next night. And those thoughts dominated almost every waking moment. I was desperate for relief but had no idea how to make that happen. And the sleepless nights and the head pain worsened the depression that I had suffered since early childhood. Most days I just prayed for an early death to escape the mental and physical pain I was in. On my worst days my mind just spun on a hamster wheel of suicidal thoughts, anything to escape the pain. Shortly before my 26th birthday I got married. A few years later my husband and I started a family. And when I was pregnant, I slept like a baby. Each time I lay my head down on my pillow, my body relaxed in a way that was foreign to me. It felt like a warm and comforting blanket had magically descended on my nervous system, and I slept like a baby. I just couldn’t get enough of that amazing, nourishing sleep. But as soon as each of my children were born, the insomnia returned. Raising my family, working a demanding career, marriage, and the stressors of daily life with little sleep left me depleted mentally and physically. The only thing that powered me through those difficult days was the immense amount of adrenaline that sizzled through my veins. As the years passed and my children grew older, sleep issues continued to haunt me. My friends that slept well didn’t understand what I was going through. Some even laughed at my struggles. “What’s wrong with you? I sleep like a baby!” said one friend, “Nope, not me, I never have problems sleeping!” laughed another. Finally, I learned to keep my mouth. It was just too painful to be laughed at over something that I couldn’t control. Each morning, even though I was exhausted, in pain and depressed, I put on a fake smile and powered through my day the best I could. In my early 50s I finally started to confront my childhood. At that time I started writing a book about what I went through. As the memories came back and the painful words spilled onto the paper, I couldn’t help but shake my head in grief and shock over what I had endured as a child. But one of the things that shocked me the most was how young I was when insomnia first entered my life. Shortly after I started to confront my childhood, I was diagnosed with C-PTSD due to years of childhood trauma. At that time, I also lost my 30- plus career as a court reporter due to the severe sleep issues and the daily migraines. I could no longer handle the demands of my stressful career. My body simply gave out. I was absolutely devastated when I could no longer return to my career that I had worked so hard for. Once I got the diagnosis of C-PTSD, I have worked hard to heal myself from my past. I have listened to and read everything at my disposal that will aid in my healing. To say I am motivated is an understatement. All I have ever wanted was to feel good, mentally and physically, and that is something I have rarely felt in my life. At the time of this writing, I am finally starting to confront the insomnia. Without realizing it, deep down I felt insomnia was a life sentence. My mother has insomnia, as did her mother. I have no idea how far back in my family’s history the inability to sleep goes. I grew up hearing on a daily basis how exhausted and miserable my mother was. I believe along with the trauma I suffered as a child, somewhere along the way that seed of ancestral insomnia was planted in me early on and grew as the years passed. I have confronted so many of the fears in my life since I have started my journey of healing from the past. And almost all of those fears stem from the trauma that I suffered in my childhood. I am bound and determined to conquer insomnia. Working to make my bedtime routine as peaceful as possible has been huge. Meditation and gentle stretching really work to calm my nervous system. But if I skip the evening meditation and stretching, I don’t stress about it. Now that I understand what created this years’ long monster of sleepless nights, I am slowly releasing the many fears that created it and have kept me captive for the past 52 years. It is a process undoing the years and years of trauma. When I go to bed now, I make sure I am ready, meaning that I am tired. No longer do I lay in bed for hours trying to force sleep and worrying how I will feel the next day if I don’t get rest. If I can’t fall asleep, I read a good book or watch a happy movie, anything that calms my nervous system. But the biggest thing I am learning is not to worry what the next day will look like if I don’t get enough rest. Releasing the fear has been life changing.

So here it is I was infant when it start happen and I was hurt by my hole family my mom and dad my grandpa and my grandma I was hurt to point that they were so toxic that they beat me when I was baby my grandpa did most the damage and he hurt me so bad that I gave in what he want but not a first he abuse me first then I got my revenge after that he beat me it hard to believe but I know and the fact that I been threw all this they said they did it so did my dad and so did my mom I was devastated because i start see clue like on my face i have cut sence i was child on lip and every single time i look in the mirror i get sad but i know now it feels good open up like this and there alot more i need to say get off my chest but it's so bad that this story I'm about tell you that I was in sex trafficking my grandpa use to have men around me and I would have sex with them because I was under of his command and he use to buy prostitute for me to have sex with them it was bad like he didn't get enough know what to do and how it start it was my first then my mom and then dad for sure and my grandpa and his wife my grandma I feel better letting this out more then ever thank you letting me speak because I didnt have voice and I couldn't find help but now this more then ever thank you

There is something to be said about coercive convincing. Sometimes people can make an outwardly uncomfortable situation very appealing or just generally ok. It’s easier to fall trap to that when you know the person, think you know the person, have heard good things about the person from others you know, or you allow your curiosity to take over your instincts. You must learn to trust your gut. Don’t silence it. Be ok with their discomfort. You, your health, mentally and physically, are more important.

I was a freshman at a frat party. I had one drink, which I made myself, but still became incoherent suddenly after about an hour. I don't remember exactly what happened, but I woke up the next morning without my underwear and covered in bruises. I shrugged it off as a crazy, messy night of college drinking and my friends did too, but secretly I was terrified.

The first time someone raped me, I was fourteen. Summer before high school. I didn’t know what rape was. I didn’t have a word for what happened. I didn’t know it was wrong, even though it felt terrifying and ugly and dirty. I figured it was just me. Turns out when things like this go unaddressed, we’re at higher risks of repeating the trauma. That’s what ended up happening to me in different ways. I hated myself. I struggled with eating disorders. I felt inherently poison. I don’t remember a lot because the majority of my thoughts were consumed by pain, and wondering if anyone cared. It didn’t feel like anyone did; in fact, all my trauma responses (before I knew them as such) were blamed on me being difficult. Ten years later, I realized and disclosed the impact rape had on my entire understanding of myself and the difficult roads I had traveled. And so I began a long healing journey. A few years after that, it happened again. Turns out old trauma responses die hard. The difference was that this time, I knew what happened. I had words for it. It was brutal, but I fought for myself and became the advocate I needed as a kid. I didn’t abandon her, the terrified girl battered in a dark room. I stayed. I was exhausted, I grieved, I did it all. But I stayed. Three years have passed. While the DA couldn’t prosecute, I found a lawyer willing to take my case as a civil case on contingency. I can’t say that was easy, or that any part of the process felt fair. But again—I stayed. What I think most about in my healing is that living freely is a luxury even though it shouldn’t be. I think about the chains that tie us up over time, the intersections of violence and our identities, of feeling in my body or out of it, what feels safe for my presence, how I can grow into that so I can enjoy pieces of life I’ve cut off out of fear for their being an opening for more harm. I’m still healing. Aren’t we all? And what I’ve decided is that healing lives not only in what you reclaim but how you reclaim it. Wholeness is what we deserve. Every one of us. Including me. Including you.