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I dated him for less than a few months back in 2020. After the breakup he began hacking my home wifi and all devices on it. I spent years changing passwords and devices which cost me thousands of dollars. Regardless of how many times I replaced them he hacked the new ones within hours. This continued for nearly a decade. FBI, SBI, and local police did not investigate him and likely never will. When an immediate family member died, he destroyed my laptop with the damage he did to it from all the spyware, effectively isolating me at a time I needed support. He preferred I only think of him rather than grieve a lost family member. When I attempted to go back to university at my dream school he hacked the access point there and all my devices on it. His spyware survived multiple factory resets and he damaged my laptop which caused me to nearly fail out of university. When I got a decent job after graduating he hacked all my devices when I moved again. He would crash the network multiple times a day every day while I worked and sign into my work email changing the background multiple times a day. Each time I reported him even on my phone not on wifi he would crash the network for hours preventing me from being able to work out of retaliation. When I would buy new devices, they would mirror his browsing as if I was browsing as him and vice versa. He put high level spyware on my computer and phone tracking my photos, texts, and activities in real time. He would also play music like the song “Sucker for Pain” which discusses taking pleasure in torturing someone while hacking my devices. To this day he refers to me in derogatory terms such as a narcissist, immature, delusional, etc and people believe him not knowing the side of him I know. He lied to people telling them he broke up with me because I was “too immature” for him. He often spoke of other women he dated previously in similar terms to me, but I never realized it was just a pattern that I would be another continuation of. I regret not seeing the warning signs earlier. To date he is in his 40s and still takes his anger at his mom who abandoned him out on me, because apparently that is easier than him seeing himself for what he truly is. He would rather feel powerful through whatever means necessary than acknowledge how powerless he actually is and his lack of self-control. Regardless of what he does to me, I often think about how weak a person would have to be to go to this extent of evil to feel they are in control of their life.

Date, around time I went on a date with him (a correctional officer), thinking it was an opportunity to become acquainted with him as a friend, but it turned out to be a horrific night which I would only remember parts of. He picked me up in his white pickup truck; it smelled of cologne and winterfresh gum. Two smells I will never forget. He took me to a dirty dive bar without asking where to go. I already didn’t feel safe, and I regret that I never said anything to this day. I got my first drink, rum and coke. Keep in mind that my glass was smaller than a coffee mug. We started talking, and he told me he used to be in the army. He seemed to be trying hard to persuade and impress me, but I was not falling for it. The taste of my drink was no different than I had before. I was nearly done with my first drink when he asked if I wanted another, and I agreed. He returned with another and asked if I wanted to play darts, and I again agreed. I took one drink of my second rum and coke he brought to me and started to feel dizzy, tired, and weak. I didn’t say anything yet. I continued with darts. By then, he gave me a third drink, I don’t remember if I even had a drink of it. I do recall saying, ‘I wanted to go home,’ and we left out the side door to his white pickup truck. I don’t remember getting inside the front seat, let alone the backseat. My eyes flickered open and closed, waking up only to see him face-to-face with me. Raping me, I am frozen in shock. Disgusted by what he was saying to me. When he was done, he threw a towel on me and told me to ‘clean up.’ He tossed my shoe onto my nude body and said, ‘Now I will take you home.’ Twenty degrees outside, I was fully nude in a familiar parking lot. I got dressed. He took me home; no words were exchanged. Once I got in my house, I went straight into the shower and cried. I was a virgin He took my innocence from me that I can never get back. Date, around time Sitting in my office, He came in unannounced and sat down in a chair by the door. I looked up, feeling uneasy. I asked him, ‘what are you doing?’ He replied as he got up from his chair, ‘I know you want this cock.’ He blocked me between my seat, the wall, and my desk, I had nowhere to go. He unzipped his pants and grabbed a handful of my hair, and forcefully give him oral sex. This time I remember the whole brutal rape. Pushing, gagging, and choking only made him put more force and hurt upon me. His strength was unbearable. When it was over, he threw a piece of winterfresh gum at me and left. Crying, feeling dirty, guilty, and shameful, I put myself together and completed my day. Violated, not only once but twice, by the same guy. Once outside of work and the other inside work. After the first attack, I was broken inside, but the second attack really damaged me. If I told anyone, no one would believe me because he was a very well-liked person at work, and I was just a caseworker. My sisters were the first to know about the first assault in April 2020. I held back on the second as I felt they wouldn’t forgive me for allowing it to happen again. October 2020 I told my sisters about the second assault. I went to internal affairs, who sent me to detectives. They supposedly did an investigation, but boys will boys, and where I worked, they all stick together. The DA dropped the case. January - October 2023 I now moved out of that county because of the triggers and the hope that my PTSD will get better with time. I feel stronger I told my story and know I am a survivor. I hope my story will become someone else’s survival guide. This happens when you are a strong, outspoken woman at the County Name Jail inCity, State Name

Just words. You have trouble talking about these things. You realize you have trouble talking about a lot of things. You remember being excited about your first job at Company Name. One of your friends works there and you know a lot of people work there as a summer job. It’s the 1990’s and it’s been grandfathered in that they can pay you less than minimum wage because it’s like a part time training experience for students getting their first work experience. Like a newspaper route. Those are for boys. You got so excited after being nervous you asked for an application along with your friend. You don’t remember meeting him then. So many people want to get chosen for that crap job because for some reason it’s become a sought after thing among the cool kids. You do remember the phone call that you can come for an interview. Walking home you wonder if being cute and having larger breasts than most almost freshman girls had something to do with it. You met Name and remember him for sure this time. The way you look has been a curse far more than a blessing. One reason people would not feel that bad for you. 'God sure blessed you, honey." You have so many bad memories, blocked memories, repressed memories because of Name. You are having second thoughts as tears build up. You need a drink. You quit drinking years ago and today you have three months and eight days sober. Your record is nine months and two days. You are strong. Most of the time. You are hollow. All the time. Name wasn’t the last but he was the first. You change his name although you don’t want to. He is the symbol of your hatred of all that is wrong with men. You were tricked. Name got what he wanted from you. Too many times. Too many times before you stopped going back. Just stopped. You could have just stopped after the first time he held you close and caressed you before your mom picked you up that night. The first time. You still don’t understand or forgive yourself for that. You had let a boy at a party and a boy at an 8th grade dance put their hand up your shirt. You had liked it so much those times. It had been exciting and happy. Name did not make you happy. You went back. You want to talk about something else now. Not the other men who thought your body was their plaything. Not the time you went to Ireland with your Aunts and mom. You miss mom. That was a good trip. You got back to that a lot. You sat down to talk about things you don’t talk about. On a family trip to Adventureland you asked your cousin if was considered losing your virginity of a boy did it to your boobs. You pretended it was a cute boy, not Name. It was hard to breathe with him sitting on your torso thrusting. You sometimes break things and scream. Never when your son is around. You have two jobs and don’t really like the one that pays the most. Your college degree does not count much. How much life is wasted on despair and doubt and taking the wrong path? You feel relief when he finally finished. You hate when he finishes because you know he is stealing his ultimate pleasure from you when he has a wife. He acts like it was just another day at work to keep you on his leash. You are pathetic. His remnants are inside you every time you go home after closing with him. Just another miserable day in the life. You say nothing. You tell no one. You are worthless except as a vessel for him. Your parents say nice things to you, about you. They always have. They have to. They don’t know what you really are. A black shame is the times you felt pleasure in your body while he was doing it do you. At least while you remained quiet and motionless there was some dignity. Defiance. Insult to him. When your body and voice reacted like you liked it it was a betrayal. Like you liked that tub of disgusting man on top of you and inside of you, fucking you on that tile floor, kissing you like a lover. You befriended a group of guys by mid high school. Over a year after Name was more than thorn in your soul. A deep callous. The group figured out what you were. They played football. They were important and had strong will. They shared you and passed you around. They told you they loved you. That you were the coolest girl. They took what they wanted when they wanted. Why? Name 2 was you lab partner for biology. He was the first. He was the only one your age. You went in his car for lunch and met some others. They wanted you. You volunteered. It is all you are good for. Draining them of their juice so they can be happy and feel like men. So you can feel empty and dirty. Even after they graduated they got together for group fun, or had you sneak out at night to go for a ride. You headed far west after you graduated. A fresh start. An exodus. An escape. You went to one reunion. The ten year reunion. Name 2 came with his wife. He introduced you as his ex-girlfriend. You let hm take you to the disabled restroom and have his quickie. You went to the bars afterward and ditched your real friend and let Name 3 take you back to his hotel room to live his fantasies just because he claimed that he always loved you. They say attractive people have sex more frequently with more partners than normal people. The darkness behind that statement is that for females it is no always because they want it that way but because of the relentless pressure from men and how they will do anything if they get the opportunity. You are not a nice innocent girl. Would you have been if it had not been for Name like you want to think? Would you have let your much older cousin you barely know take you back into the woods with him behind their house to the shack where he smokes pot after a wedding. Then wait there for him to call his friends after he found out you were a bad girl and wait for them too. Swatting flies in your underwear while you waited for them. You did not drink because your mom did not allow it even though kids younger than you were. But your cousin and his local friends did. Four of them counting your cousin old enough to be your uncle. Still, you acted like you liked everything they did. They took it so far like you were the world's greatest toy. Porn star, they called you like it was the best thing you could be. The anal was excruciating. It was easier to just wash off all your makeup than to try to fix it after all the sweat and sticky. Smiles and complements followed by the deep hollow feeling of total isolation in the station wagon on the way back home from Kansas city. Hating Name and feeling like you betrayed your aunt because one of them was her fiancé. You got an infection and it was embarrassing when the doctor told you. At least it was a female doctor. The idea of a male gynecologist is unnerving. The one time you were examined by one was terrifying. You were in college. He was way too thorough and talkative like he was working up to asking you out on a date and you decided never again. The only one you ever had that did not wear gloves for the breast exam. The most sensual digital vaginal exam you ever had to check the cervix and ovaries for pain. Was his thumb supposed to be brushing your clitoris? You even wonder if he was recording it on his phone that you saw him adjust twice as it was peaking out of the breast pocket of his lab coat. His stupid November mustache he asked you if you liked. So some days you don’t eat. You exercise to maintain the body they want. It gives you value to them. You are nothing. People always say nice things. Hollow things. What if you had never met Name? What if you never got fucked on the floor for $3.45 an hour. On your back, on your hands and knees, sometimes even on top of him. Your first orgasm on that floor that smelled like stale milk and bleach. Having to tell your mom pick you up 45 minutes after the place closes for your cleaning duties. You used tampons just to keep from his semen leaking out on the way home. You pretended to be a virgin when you were far from it. He told you not to worry because he had a vasectomy. That part must have been true. You don't got on dates even though they always try to set you up. Not a chance. Your son is a good excuse. And a real reason. Real love. The Earth spins in space. Why can’t it just freeze and die like me? Your boss doesn’t go all the way with you because he won’t cheat on his wife. You give him oral because he doesn’t think that counts. Preserves his purity. He says he wants to so badly, like he can take whatever he wants from you but he is strong and valiant. You are nothing. He is handsome. You let him kiss you and fondle you. You long for his touch. He is not a great man but you long for him. The closest thing to a good man you have known. A father figure. Your son needs a father figure. He is everything. He deserves better. He loves you. He tells you are a good mom and that is worth enduring the world for as long as it takes. You put on a good face but he knows you are hollow, deep down. A wounded duck pretending to be a swan. Always pretending. Was there no pretending before Name? Maybe not. The days begin and your mind pretends and it is hard and the days end. Bad dreams on both ends. Will he be a good man? The funny thing is you want him to be a prince because he is your prince but even if he is like most men you want his total happiness. You want beautiful girls, good times, and strong friends for him. You exist to fake it and to have let those men enjoy you but mostly to give your son the best life possible beyond you. You are not worthless. It is not your fault. You are stronger than you know. Hollow words. They have to say it. They always have. No creativity. No insight. No truth. Just words.

I dedicate this to the 7 year old little girl and the sister that deserved more. Seven years old, little girl, baby girl. Full of big wishes and hopes, wanting to twirl. Seven years old, little girl, baby girl. Robbed of her innocence, her wishes and hopes, wanting to hurl. I was so happy, finally, a room of my own. But what would happen was unknown. Backstreet boys, NSYNC, Brittany Spears, TLC, posters plastered on the wall, Seven years old, little girl, baby girl. But even that didn't make him stall. Friday night? Or maybe Saturday morning, I don't remember, but I was scared crying and silently moaning. My big girl room, who would have known that day my life would be ugly and cold full of gloom, and not like my favorite, beautiful days full of gloom that only come in June. Seven years old, little girl, baby girl, my witness that night? The beautiful bright moon. That night I was forced to bloom. I'm sleeping, a weird feeling wakes me up, I promise you the door was closed shut, I watched it slowly crack open, my dad, comes in but he's not my dad, because my dad is supposed to protect me and save me. This version of a dad makes me so fucking sad, I want to scream, I want to cry out loud "mom!!!!!" but he says "shhhh, you better not tell your mother, or you'll be in trouble ". Seven years old, little girl, baby girl, he popped me like a bubble and left me feeling like rubble. Every time he drinks I know my night is going to stink. My world is crashing around me and no one knows the pain im in, I'm just a kid and my life feels so fragile and thin, wondering if I will ever win. Seven years old, little girl, baby girl, this little girl doesn't have an honest grin. I lay there shut up and take it. My life goes on because I just fake it. 8 years, 9 years, 10 years old, I swear this man has been bold. During the day I have to play"Daddy's little girl" pretending I love to twril. By night? All I want to do is hurl. Because this man stole my pearl. Tonight is different, before he can get started my mom walks in, and I thought I'd finally win. "Name" she screams. He mumbles and stumbles out the door. I run to the bathroom and splash water on my face, I walk back to my room, she tucks me in and says it will be morning soon. Morning comes, mom calls me to her room, there he is standing tall and straight like a broom. He says I'm sorry for what happened last night, I don't remember, it will never happen again, I promise. I knew he wasnt being honest. I want to scream you're a liar, you're a fraud what kind of father hurts his little lad? But I don't, I nod and agree, I knew I wasn't free. She sat there and believed, but did she really? After all she was a survivor of abuse from her brother, the same brother abused my aunt and my mother. Maybe she thought I had the perfect father? It happens often the scars won't soften all I want is to be put in a coffin. Dad, you fucked up our casa, and had me committing COCSA, as if I wasn't shamed enough, I hate to say this, it makes me sick to my stomach but while my father hurt me I was hurting my sister, I gave her the same blister, baby Im sorry, I know sorry is not enough, but I promise it's not a bluff. Saying this out loud is fucking tough. My "I'm sorry" will never be strong enough. May 2001, our home is raided by cops, he was a Japanese cook with the biggest side hustle in the book this guy thought he was a capo working for El Chapo, turns out he was just a fucking naco. I loved my dad but I hate the man that hurt me. Years and years on endless nightmares of him creeping back into my bedroom again and again. Knowing damn well he couldn't hurt me again. 20 years of no contact and he decides to die.Date he didn't get to see I turned into a beautiful queen, he died all alone, but I'm not like him, no, my heart isn't made of stone. I cried the day he died, the feeling I couldn't hide. I mourned "Name Chan Nah" twice that day. The first was the day he killed me and put my soul in an urn, when I was just seven years old. The second was the day he died, and I don't even know if he put up a fight. I forgive you for your sick mentality, and your death was a fatality. But my daughter? She has the perfect daddy, and that's my reality. My strength now? Is pure vitality. 35 years old, happy girl, babygirl, ALWAYS wanting twirl. Making her wishes and dreams come true no longer feeling blue. I now have a family who loves me and a husband that trusts me. I can hold my own, I promise you. These hands? I can throw, I am woman hear me roar, my power God has sworn, but if you touch me your life I will mourn, because my husband has sworn. He doesn't play when it comes to me and your life will end and he'll set your soul free. A meeting with God, you'll see. To the underworld? Maybe? Idk I just know that I'm happy and free to be me. What's to come? You'll see.

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 was assualted, sexual assualted by a man I trusted, who I looked up to. I was 21 at the time, modeling, doing shoots, stepping into the modeling industry. Little did I know how dark things would get. These women who would stand by these abusers. He groped me from behind and touched me sexually on a shoot. I froze, I couldn't say anything. Couldn't process what was happening. He drove me home, told me to play with myself and let him watch. I ignored his requested and he told me if his wife found out, she'd die from the stress (she was sick at the time) and it would be MY FAULT. I strongly believed this and held everything in for three months. I pushed everything to the back of my mind, denied it. Everywhere I looked I saw the make of his car, his name, thought he was following me. I eventually I had a breakdown, went to the guards. Who were absolutely useless and laughed at my five page statement. There was no evidence but my word against his. So he got models to read off scripts and tell the guards how I was in love with this man and "asked for it". Told everyone in the industry that I was "unstable" and how he feared for HIS life. As if I was the predator. The coward couldn't even come forward himself...turned everyone against me. Feeling so alone, I confided in my dance instructors who I really trusted. Only for them to be STILL working with this man to this day. I gave up fighting as no one around me believed me. Taking me 7 years to open up again about my trauma. Everyday it still effects me..seening his name everywhere on social media. People singing him praises, if only they knew... would they believe me?? Do I risk going through the trauma all over again??

TW: physical, emotional, sexual abuse Ever since I started primary school at the age of 4, I’ve been afraid of my dad. I truly believed I was the worst daughter in the world and that I was a huge disappointment to my parents. My Ukrainian immigrant parents were well educated and well respected people, they were quite wealthy and interesting people who had a “perfect” daughter. No one knew what happened behind closed doors, of course, and no one suspected anything as I was taught to hide my feelings and physical signs of abuse (still hate thinking about that word) really well. The physical and emotional abuse started as I started school and was a punishment for something I did or didn’t do, but looking back now, there was no consistency and no “reasoning” behind all of it. The sexual abuse started when I was 8 and stopped when I got my period at 14, when he told me it made me dirty and disgusting. Only at the end of high school I realised that not all fathers were like this and, in fact, this was very severe abuse. At 15 I was sexual assaulted by a coworker of my age at my job in a leisure center. At this point I was attracting the somewhat wanted attention of boys and I was naive. Even now, I am still trying to remind myself that I am not at fault. My 2 years at sixth form were made up of studying very hard and also trying to get help for ptsd symptoms. I met my current boyfriend of 2 years at sixth form too. I have told him about the majority of my childhood and he has been extremely supportive. I am so grateful for him. I am now having CPTSD support and, although I have bad days, I am keen to get better and to start a new chapter of life :)

Es fängt an im Teenager-Alter. Ich war 14 und mit meiner Freundin unterwegs - wir wollten dazu gehören. Oftmals wurden wir überredet und genötigt sexuelle Handlungen vorzunehmen: Zuerst mit Alkohol und Cannabis "abgefüllt und willig" gemacht werden, dann stetiges überreden zu sexuellen Handlungen bis hin zur Androhung von Gewalt. Sagte ich nein, so wurde mein "Ruf" geschändet und im ganzen Dorf sprach man über mich, wie über eine Hure. Es waren viele Männer, immer die gleiche Masche. Ich fühle mich schuldig, da ich kaum verstand, dass das nicht richtig ist und "normal" ist. Immer wieder suchten die Täter gezielt Situationen, um diese auszunutzen.  Meinen ersten Freund hatte ich mit 16. Er nötigte mich, mein 1. Mal zu haben, als ich betrunken war. Ich habe mich danach schrecklich gefühlt und hatte Schmerzen. Ich hatte ein strenges Elternhaus, oft Hausarrest, wollte aber dazu gehören und Freunde haben. So lief ich oft weg und feierte oftmals mit meiner Freundin und geriet in gefährliche Situationen. Wir sind z.B. per Anhalter gefahren: 3 Männer haben uns nicht aus dem Auto gelassen, uns in Gegenden gefahren, die wir nicht kennen, uns nicht raus gelassen. Ich schlief dann dort in einem Bett, damit wir am nächsten Tag mit dem Taxi heim können. Im Schlaf bemerkte ich dann, dass ein Penis in mir steckte - ich bin davon aufgewacht. Von einem Mann, den ich nicht kannte und mind. 10 Jahre älter als ich war. Ich war zu dem Zeitpunkt 17. Ich erstarrte und lies es über mich gehen, in der Hoffnung es passiert mir nicht mehr. Mein zweiter Freund nahm mich mit zu seinem besten Freund. Er wollte dort Sex haben - ich fühlte mich dazu gezwungen, da ich sonst nicht heimkäme. Dabei kam sein bester Freund dazu, war wohl eine abgesprochene Sache (nur ohne mich). Ich hatte keine Möglichkeit nein zu sagen oder zu entkommen. Ich ließ es über mich ergehen. Ich wusste es nicht besser. Ein anderes mal war ich ebenfalls in einer Clique draußen unterwegs. Sie wollten rumfahren, ich fuhr mit. Dann war ich mit einem Mann allein in der Wohnung. Er sperrte mich ein und wollte mich zum Sex überreden. Ich entkam, indem ich mich stark gewehrt hatte. Er drohte mir Gewalt an. Ich stand an der Straße, wusste nicht wo ich war - über 1 Std. weg von meinem zu Hause. Eine Frau nahm mich dann per Anhalter mit. Mit 20 lag ich oftmals am nahgelegenem See und genießte das Wetter. Drei Vorfälle gab es am See: beim 1. Mal stand nackt ein Mann hinter mir und befriedigte sich selbst. Beim zweiten Mal, an einem anderen Tag legte sich ein Mann nackt nur ein Meter entfernt von mir sich hin. Er war locker 50 Jahre alt. Ich erstarrte und hatte Todesangst, das wenn ich mich bewege, er näher kommt und mir was antut. Erst als eine weitere fremde Person auftauchte, zog er sich an. Beim dritten mal, ähnliches und ich schrieb meiner Freundin, dass sie bitte kommen soll. Als sie kam, ging der Mann davon. Im Urlaub war ich mit einer Freundin unterwegs, wir waren 24. Es entblösste sich ein kleiner alter Mann vor uns, zeigte seinen nackten Penis und rief, ob wir Sex haben wollen.  Mit 25 hatte ich eine Affäre. Der Mann wurde beim Sex so aggressiv, beginn mich stark zu schlagen und zu würgen. Ich sagte, das ich das nicht möchte - er ignorierte mich. Ich fühle mich dermassen missbraucht. Von einem weiteren Freund lies ich mich in einen "Sex"Club überreden. Ich dachte, ich bin cool und kann das und das das normal ist und von einem erwartet wird. Dort wurde ich extrem begafft und von extrem älteren Männern angefasst. Anschließend sagte mein Freund mir, dass ich schmutzig sei (andere haben mich angefasst und ich sei dafür verantworltich) - er könne nun nicht mehr mit mir zusammen sein.  Ich war in Mallorca im Urlaub mit 25 und buchte eine Ferienwohnung über AirBnB. Der Host war sehr freundlich, es war seine 2. Wohnung die er stetig vermietet- so stand es online. Ich war dort immer allein und fühlte mich wohl. Da ich die ganze Wohnung gebucht hatte, sperrte ich das Schlafzimmer nicht ab. In der letzten Nacht wachte ich von einer Berührung auf: Plötzlich saß der "freundliche" Vermieter nackt an meinem Bettrand und streichelte mein Bein. Ich war so perplex und fragte ihn, was das soll. Er meinte nur, er habe seinen Schlüssel verloren. Ich zeigte auf meinen und sagte ihm, er solle diesen nehmen und raus gehen. Erst nachdem ich mehrmals ihn aufgefordert habe zu gehen, lies er von mir ab. Ich war in Panik danach. Es waren "nur" noch 4 std, bis ich zum Flughafen musste. Ich packte dennoch sofort meine Sachen und floh aus der Wohnung. Er wollte mir dann dabei noch behilflich sein - und akzeptierte mein Nein nicht. Als ich rausging, sah ich, dass die Besenkammer offen stand und dort eine Matratze etc. lag - ich glaube, dass er dort heimlich jede Nacht geschlafen hat. Ekelhaft, ich hoffe es ist mir nicht mehr passiert. Ich schrieb ihm eine schlechte Rezension und erzählte dies öffentlich und meldete es der Plattform. Er stellte mich als notgeil da, dass ich lügen würde und das ich was von ihm wollte.  Mit 25 war ich mit guten langjährigen Freunden auf einem Geburtsag. Wir übernachteten dort auf einem Sofa: ich alleine auf einem Zweisitzer, ein "guter Freund" und seine Freundin auf dem angrenzendem Sofa. Dann bemerkte ich im Schlaf einen Finger in mir und wachte auf. Als ich sah, dass er mich anfasste, sprang ich auf und schloss mich ins Bad ein. Ich konfontierte ihn damit, er verhamrloste es. "Ich hätte es gewollt". Seine Freundin bekam nichts mit. Doch diesmal schwieg ich nicht! Und war das erste mal stolz auf mich: Ich öffente mich Freunden und erzählte davon. Rückhalt war hier wenig zu finden. Ich erzählte seiner Freundin davon, sie verteidigte ihn. Seine zwei besten Kumpels ebenso und es wurde totgeschwiegen. Heute sprechen mich Fremde darauf an, nur wegen "sensationsgeilheit" und glauben mir nicht - schließlich war ich ja früher für meinen "Ruf" bekannt. Meine Perspektive der damaligen Zeit meines "Rufes" interessiert sie nicht  - schließlich bin ich schon immer extrovertiert, kontatkfreudig, "reizvoll" gekleidet und an allem selber Schuld. Ich würde mich immer anbieten. Ich hasse es so sehr, ich möchte nicht an die Zeit erinnert werden. Es war Winter, ich 29 Jahre alt: Meine Oma hatte einen Schlaganfall und musste an den Rollstuhl gegurtet werden, kann nicht sprechen oder sich bewegen. Ich lief mit ihr im Park spazieren. Es war Mittags gegen 15h und hatte einen langen Mantel, Schal etc. an. Auf einer Anhöhe tat ich mir schwer, den Rollstuhl hoch zu schieben. Es kam ein fremder, alter Mann mit Hund und fragte, ob er mir helfen kann. Ich lehnte höflich ab. Er kam dennoch hinter mich, fasste mich am Po an und schob mich hoch. Ich konnte kaum glauben, was ich da erlebe. Er ging erst von mir weg , als ich lauthals sagte, dass ich es alleine schaffe. Passanten waren unterwegs - niemand bemerkte meine hilflose Situation.

Hey! I'm 18, and all this happened a year and a half ago, I was 16. It's a really weird and messed up story, I never heard a similar one. I was going home late afternoon and got literally attacked by a group of I think 3 or 4 people older than me, all male. I dont know which language they were speaking. I really really tried to kick them and scream and resist but there was nothing I could do. I dont know how long it lasted, I was scared what they would do when they're done, if they would kill me or let me run away. They let me go when they were done, I picked up my things and literally ran home without stopping. I am so grateful there was nobody home and that nobody saw me going home. It was this feeling of emotionless and numbness when you cant feel anything that saved me. I showered, last time next 9 months, got dressed and prayed no one gets home soon. I didn't go out much next few days, acted normal enough that my parents wouldn't notice and tried to not think about it. I only told people online: a close friend and anonymously to hundreds who would read my reddit post. After a few months of constant crying in my room, I tried to kill myself, every time I decided I'd rather not die yet and threw up the pills, then be mad and try again... I cut myself, hit myself, would cry and scream in a corner of my room and hit myself with something when nobody is home. Hid all pretty well, parents would tell me I've changed and tried to get to me, mom would cry and ask me what's wrong but I would, barely holding it in, tell her shes making it all up and go to my room rolling my eyes. I still cut myself, sometimes hit myself and pull my hair, subconsciously pick the skin around my fingernails so it bleeds, my hands look absolutely horrible. My thighs are covered in 30cm long scars from knee to hip and it's sometimes a pain to walk and even sleep. Idk how I survived the summer, people at the beach would look at my leg but nobody ever said anything. I've still never told anyone in real life, I am extremely ashamed of all of it, cant walk down the street with my head up, cant imagine telling parents or talking to a therapist. I really just dont want to be sad anymore. This text is poorly written and doesnt really transfer all emotions well, I didnt really see the keyboard because of crying. But thank you for reading this. Knowing someone knows I'm going through this helps. And that there are other people. Thank you really.

I wrote this poem, while I was in the process of therapy. I was sexually assaulted after a night out. I had only turned 18 and I trusted this person to look after me. He was older age and a family friend. I hope this poem helps someone. You took what wasn’t yours to take You took it and I felt I gave it away I cried and I lied because I was scared I tried to speak up but there was nobody there My friends refused to believe it true As I lied to protect you… how cruel I pretended at the time, that everything was fine My mouth told a story my body knew was a lie I coped with food, drink and drugs You lived your life And I never could what you did has stuck with me for years It took me a while but maybe I am fixed Although it’s been 6 and I seem to be fixed My mind and body are still very mixed I now find time to speak about you Even though I wish I didn’t have to It brings up emotions I wish did not exist You took my power and gave me shame But now I am taking back what you took away It shouldn’t be me who feels disgust It should be you who pays for your crime. I took back my power I took back my life I now know so much more I wish did way before But I can’t change what has already been It was not my fault and I know now it wasn’t me.

You never think it would happen to her, but it did. Name was raped. She didn't tell us. When I learned about it, I was shocked. Who would rape a woman in intellectual/developmental disabilities? I write this narrative as my sister's co-conservator. I write this because justice has not been served and healing is a journey. Name has high support needs for her daily care. She relies on a tribe to keep her safe, healthy and happy. A man at her day program raped her when he was changing her adult underwear. The police report states that men were allowed to be alone her. One of them took advantage of her and gave her gonnorhea. She was in pain for months. We didn't know until an urgent care doctor did an STD panel. Other doctors didn't think to do this because "It doesn't happen in that populaiton." Little do they know that people with IDD have the highest rate of sexual asasult- 7x more than those without disabilities, per NPR's "Abused and Betrayed" investigative series. The facility still operates, the criminal case is still open and he is still out there- most likely caring for others. The family carries the trauma. As her sister, I have done so much over the past decade to raise the awareness, but I need help. We need more support. Link.

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

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.

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

I was 19 years old and a sophomore in college. I had never had sex. I was naiive. I met a senior boy on a dating app during finals week and told him I didn't want to have sex, but eventually agreed to a make-out session. He immediately pressured me into doing more. I gave him a blowjob to try to appease him, but he wouldn't stop, even when I said I was a virgin and wasn't ready. I said no many times. He said he'd use a condom but didn't. When I kept saying it hurt, he said, "You just have to let it happen." When I left, he asked me if I had a good time and I said yes. I hate myself for it. I went to the hospital and got a rape kit done. I struggled with panic attacks in the days after and went back to the emergency room on suicide watch, which I remember vividly and which was extremely traumatic. I lost my entire friend group over it and sank into the deepest depression I have ever known. I struggled with extreme anxiety, self-hatred, shame, and hopelessness. The next semester of school I did everything I could to keep myself alive, especially because I was rooming with the friends who had emotionally abandoned me and now were being cruel. My assault was on campus and I would have to drive to local coffee shops to do work without triggering a panic attack. I am now 21 years old and a senior in college. I have a new friend group, all of whom are good people. I have a 3.91 GPA and I am writing a thesis about which I am very passionate. I am singing again. It is easier to breathe. I still struggle a great deal with depression, resentment, and shame. I feel like I am grieving what I lost and who I would have been. I had to grow up so fast, and it hurts that I have so much to carry at so young an age. But I have also found great strength within myself. I think I am a kinder and empathetic person because of what I have gone through. Some days are worse than others. Sometimes it hits me by surprise. I am still figuring out who I want to be. I've struggled with dating since my assault, but hopefully someday that will be a possibility for me. It is still so hard, but I have hope again.

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

A letter to my Hudband, I have yet to give him. My husbands father came to live with us after he got out of prison. He is finally out of the house, after a year, but not before fully taking advantage of me. I am younger and thought that he had turned good.. but he continued to sell drugs. He got close to me in the begging and I trusted him. I didnt have a dad growing up that was there all the time. I thought he was safe. He collected information and then holds it over my head and threatens me with violence and blackmail. He continuously harasses me, always touching inappropriately, making commitments no family member should to another. I kept telling my husband I wanted him out for months. But he delayed it. Eventually the tension grew between me and my father in law. He stole my phone and sent nude pictures of myself to him along with text messages, to use it against me saying see she did this. Fortunately I have proff it was him doing so from a text admitting it. He ended up raping me. And he knows I won't say anything because of the blackmail and threats. I've told a friend and I have went to the dr. But i have not filed any type of charges. I'm still to scared to. I still havent been able to tell my husband and wake up sick to my stomach everyday. But heres what I wrote but cant find the strength to give it to him. Today his dad is supposed to leave the state but i think he wants to ruin everything with my kids and husband before he does. So today I am scared, trapped. Here it is: I wanted to tell you I've hated myself Sick to my stomach from my own bad decisions Made someone one else see how small I was And he preyed on me I was taken advantage of I trusted when I shouldnt of I wanted to run to you so many times But I couldnt find the words And I didnt want any of our progress to go backwards At first I felt I was safe from him That he would never do anything to hurt you or me He slowly manipulated me And he made me trust him He made comments about how you would never truly love me constantly He told me his secrets And then he began to push and shove me He told me time and again that you say I got pregnant on purpose so you wouldnt leave And threw the last couple years I've heard it again and again He peeled back my layers I felt I could let some things out But I wish I never would of Should of gone another route Hed say.. What am I going to have to do to sleep with you? You no I could love you better? Am i going to have to resort to blackmail? You wont sleep with me?! fuck you! I need it! And I'll get it someday. Bitch, you better believe it. I wanted to yell for help. But I was trapped. And i new things were getting worse. Knew youd be mad I didnt want to ruin things with you and your dad. He continued to harass me. I'd tell him he cant live here anymore off you and me. He says you wanna bet. I can have anything I want How bout that baby? Now Come sit on me He says if you're so worried about losing all your money. I no how to fix that. We can make porn together honey. And then maybe things wont be so bad. I've got you by the throat cant you see Come on we could be rich with that ass baby. He got angry with me Many times over the months. I didnt want to make even eye contact with him. Hid in my room until hed leave. Hed always say I'm sorry But dont you no your beautiful I cant help this feeling inside of me. Ive got you. You'll never be free He told me dont look so good. Cuz I cannot control myself. He was suppose to be at work that day. I was in my yellow t shirt dress. The baby was asleep. I was sitting on the rocking chair. I never heard the car pull up. And the door started opening. He looked at me..I new instantly. Frozen, I couldnt move. And then he stood in front of me. He said you no this dick is hard. I wont waste it on my hand today. What you wearing under those. Grabs me and says oh like I was hoping.. nothing. Whats it matter anyway You dont wear his ring He tries to put his head between my thighs as I squeeze so tight. I tell him please dont. No stop. I'll do anything. He says it's too late for that. I told you not to let me catch you like this. He holds my head into the chair. I fight him kicking and scream. But I.. I was no match I'm sorry he was bigger then me. It ended finally He told me see that wasnt so bad, no need for the squirming. Just think of me as the older version of him Not his dad You tell him, I tell him anything and everything. And when i do. After what you've done to him in the past Hed never belive a slut like you. Your truth goes down as lies Despite all ur cries Just a whore like he knows you are. Foolish girl You ready to make us some money. You sexy porn star I've been hoping hed leave you for some time. When hes gone your alone Then that's when I can make you mine. I dont care if I lose him. But i will not lose you. And if for some reason I do. I will make your life a living hell. So here, take this towel. And if theres any bruises just say you fell. I told you I always get what I want. You think you can kick me out You cannot. You started to get lippy Why wont you talk to me?! Oh your son says your kickin me out? I walked out on my own.! Fuck you! Enjoy all my threat texts on your phone. You no I'm not afraid to die. If I ever get ahold of a gun, you better run. For I have nothing to lose. I'll take everything you worked for. Those kids are better off with out you too. All yours and his dreams will be no more See you dont win, I do. Have fun picking the mess you've made, all your fault off the floor. You no good flitly little whore I no I've done you wrong my husband. But I dont want no one else. And right now I'm disgusted with him n myself Our relationship isn't perfect It needs polished. It needs cleaned. I'm the biggest problem. Just help put me back together. I cant do it by myself. My head hurts. I've cried so much. Wanna tell you everything but I dont no how to. Not ready for another fight. I feel he will tell you what hes threatened before i do. I dont have the energy just wanna be next to you Please help Dont let him control me You may not show me that you love me In all the ways i wish you would. But I feel we could get there Both got ugly pasts But your the one i want I want us to be the ones who last The things weve got threw I no we can make it But I dont blame you if you dont want to. I'm sorry baby I hope you no how much i love you Hopefully I'll come back and finish this story some day. Cuz it is far from over. But I continue to fight for myself and my family. I dont want to be a victim I want to be a survivor.

I am a looked after child. Well, that is what most people know me for. Being looked after is not this lucky life where you have two families, it is a life that no one wishes for. When I was little, I thought it was a good thing, something to be thankful for. I am thankful but not in all aspects. I hate being known as a looked after child and I have my reasons. In primary school I was put in a corner. None of the teachers believed in me. Most of them gave up on me. The truth is, I missed quite a big chunk of my education as a little girl as my birth mother did not take me to school a lot of the time. So, when I finally got the chance to go to school, I was quite a bit behind than the rest. I agree, I was challenging as I did not know the things I should at the age of 6. But my carers (who I now call mum and dad) believed in me, they helped me read and write. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be where I am today. So going back to what I was saying; I was put in a corner and at the time I thought that’s what I was meant to do- dress up all day long with a bit of carpet time here and there. But I’ve grown to know that this was very wrong. In high school I was put with all the looked after children. To me it was just like meeting new people but in my parents eyes it was me being put with the rest. People think that because you are looked after, you won’t excel in life like everyone else. They are wrong. I have proved that this is wrong. I put my head down and worked at my best ability, I am determined to achieve high in life and no one is taking that from me. See being fostered is all good. There is the bad parts too. I feel like I am stuck between two families. One I love and one I don’t know anymore. My birth mums life is like a shadow to me, I don’t know of it. Where I am now is my home and no one can take this from me. This is my story. Sometimes, I just want to be normal. one family and jobs a good one. But no I can't. This is me and if those around me don't like it then they shouldn't stick around. I am still a human. Nothing different. Just a horrible past.

In year I divorced my husband of 11 years and escaped a marriage of coercive control and domestic violence. I had never been hit, I was a psychologist specializing and trauma and I didn't know I was being abused until the trauma built to the point of a mental breakdown. My life was in shambles, I had signed a divorce decree that gave myself and my children no protection, I had been shunned by the church that I had been an elder at due to a smear campaign intended to shame, isolate and harm. I found myself engaging in behaviors that were brand new to me as a women that had been raised in and continued to live in conservative evangelical christian spaces. In the wake of the divorce I began to explore my sexuality, tried drinking and began experimenting with THC. I had a lot of fear around these behaviors but couldn't seem to stop myself. Was I a liberated modern woman or did I have PTSD with all its myriad socially stigmatized behavioral symptoms. Living in the bible belt and being shunned as a scarlet letter wearing Hester Prynne caused significant emotional pain, however it was the time that my children were with my abuser that caused the most severe mental and physical symptoms. Within weeks of the divorce being signed the first agency investigation happened. I was terrified, powerless and had no social or family support, working full time and trying to keep my young children cared for a fed was more than my traumatized nervous system could manage and yet I pushed through. The weeks without my children were chaotic and filled with dating and trying to create a new life with relationships, yet I found I had very little ability to ascertain who was safe and who was not. I was raped the summer of the divorce by a tattoo artist who I had been working with for years and believed was my friend. This created more PTSD symptoms which heightened my overall state of fear and panic. I had matched with a man on a dating app named Name and had been talking to him for a few weeks prior to the rape. He had spent two years at a buddhist monastery studying the Tao. I relished the ability to have deep existential conversations as I had been deconstructing my religious faith which in and of itself was traumatic. I no longer knew what to believe in, who to trust, what was real. I had dedicated my life to Christianity and the church had hurt me so deeply. I began a frantic attempt to learn about world religions, ancient wisdom traditions, spirituality, esoteric philosophy and a handful of conspiracy theories along the way. Name and I talked about life, its meaning, Alan Watts, the contemplative life, mysticism and so many things that gave me life. Having very few people in my life led me to go deep quickly, even with strangers on the internet, and he was unphased when I shared my rape with him. Name often spoke in quips, riddles and parables- something I chalked up to his spiritual maturity. He was a man of the world and of wisdom and I was a little disgraced church girl learning about the big wide world. We discussed meeting for a date that finally happened just a week after my assault. I picked him up from a house he rented with his friends. He worked at a local hospital in medical technology with two bachelors degrees, one in biology and one in chemistry. He said his first love was chemistry and he thought of himself as a chemist. Alas the economy was not great and he found this contracting job working the technological components of surgeries, running and updating the computing systems. He was bright and his face looked older than his age. We went to restaurant and I cried, heart on my sleeve about my divorce and fear for my children, the pain of PTSD and the shame I carried being removed from the Church. In response he vulnerably shared that he was gay and closeted, and having worked with many patients who have lived this double life I felt immense compassion for him. At the end of the meal he asked if I wanted to go back to my place to smoke marijuana and I felt safe with my new friend to say yes. I drove us back to my place where he prepared a bowl, sprinkling something on top that he said would "enhance" the chemical properties of the cannabinoids. As a novice THC user and having never taken other drugs before I felt that the chemist would know what he was talking about and I looked forward to the warm high that took me out of my head while also numbing my panicked body. I had never smoked out of a pipe and so Name instructed me to take three big inhales, hold them as long as I could and then releasing them. On the third inhale the room began to crumble into fractals or bright colorful flowers and terror overcame me. I felt my soul get ripped out of my body, the fear and pain were immense and I had no understanding of what was happening. I felt that I had died. I was plunged into darkness, I saw the creation of the world, I was God creating the planet for humans to enjoy and then watched humanity tear it apart, I wept. I knew that I was dead and yet my children's names and faces called to me, I couldn't leave them. I came to conciousnes on my bed racked with fear, I screamed at him to get out, I never wanted to see him again. Who could I tell of what had happened? I was so fearful of losing my children, I was afraid that if I called the police or asked for help I would be blamed and so I survived and stuffed this trauma down with the rest of them and continued to function. When my children were returned to me complaining of suspicious injuries with inconsistent stories. I had a meeting with an early child interventionist who was working with my youngest as the children had been displaying behavioral problems subsequent to the divorce. During this meeting I expressed my fears and was shocked when she informed me that she had a duty to report. I had been in this role as a professional and to have the tables turned felt like a profound retraumatization. I was referred to the family abuse center and given the moniker "victim of domestic violence." Waking up to the fact that I was a survivor of domestic violence was its own kind of trauma and facing the weekend alone with three small children filled me with fear. I reached out to the people who had been community for me before the smear campaign: "I'm in crisis, I need help! can you be with the children and I this weekend?" No one would come alond side us. In that moment of desperation I reached out to Name and another man I had dated briefly and asked them to come jump at the trampoline park with me and my children that weekend. That was how he made his way back into my life. Over the months I knew him there was a second agency investigation in which a friend of mine after hearing about the drugging called in to the organization. I complied with drug tests and cooperated with the investigators who told me I had to chose between Name and my children. The obvious answer was my children and Name was never again around them. That is when his behavior took a dark turn. Unbeknownst to me everything Name had told me about himself, including the spelling of his name, was a lie. He drugged me a handful of times during the months before his death, I would be drinking tea he brought me as we swiped on "cute guys" together on our respective dating profiles and suddenly be shot into another world begging him to comfort me. He inserted something into my rectum at night while we slept leaving me seeing rainbows. I'm not sure what I was given however he did disclose that the first night we met he had given me DMT. I had never heard of psychedelics outside of the brief overview of the hippie movement in history class and had no frame of reference to understand what had happened. He began to brainwash me into believing I had, in fact, died that night. We had long talks in which I wept as he explained that my children had been returned to my house and found my dead body. There had been a funeral. My children were angry at me because my ex had told them I killed myself because I didn't love them. Name then comforted me in my brokenness of being such a selfish mother to do that to my children. He taught me that "life" since the night with DMT was "just a dream" a version of purgatory, my consciousness spinning in space and making up a story. He also told me that my soul had been a "dark angel" and that I was a satanic force, this broke me and I remember pleading and begging with him that I so desperately wanted to "be good" and "be of the light." Perhaps what it most shocking is that I continued to work and parent during this time. These two jobs were grounding for me and took me out of my head, it was in the times where my children were gone that I felt I was slipping into insanity and yet I couldn't speak about this to anyone because I might loose my children, and plus I was dead afterall. Name and I eventually developed a sexual relationship, he was at this point my spiritual teacher, giving me journaling prompts and opening me up to new experiences. He said "friends can have sex" and so even though he was gay we slept together on occasion. One night he hit my so hard in the head after I kissed a man at a bar that my ears rang for days. Shortly thereafter he violently raped me. I fought physically, screamed and exhausted all of my energy until my body gave up and he finished the act of brutality. The feeling I had after was not that unlike the DMT experience, it felt like I had died. "You raped me!" I said, the sides of my mouth so downturned it felt as though my face was a Dali painting melting to the floor. He informed me that it was BDSM and I didn't know what I was talking about, I believed him. Name ended up in the hospital a day after I discovered that my liquor cabinet had been emptied, I remember screaming at him "you're an alcoholic?!" I had never worked with or been around an addict before and the lies and manipulation were something I had no frame of reference for. He went to rehab for a week and returned saying he'd just fallen off the wagon. He got sick right after the new year and the days before my children returned I took care of him. His body seemed to be going out and I knew that he had chronic health problems. He told me he thought he was going to die, and then said he had the flu and winked at me. I wrapped him up by the fire and sang to him. The day after my children returned I hadn't heard from Name which was unusual however I received a call from agency asking me to come in. I took my children to the office downtown where they tried to separate me from them, my youngest wouldn't comply. I sat there as they explained the reason that I had been called in- Name was dead. I let out a scream, what had happened? He has been sick, but it was just the flu. When I attended his funeral I was introduced as his fiance. I was in shock as truth after truth came about about the man I had loved and who had also almost killed me. I came to learn that he had been an almost life long addict who had come to my town for inpatient rehab. His mother shared with me that after one rehab he had been in she had found a journal in which he had invented a whole story about being and army veteran which was not true. I discovered that He hadn't worked at the hospital but rather, when he moved to a sober living group home had gotten part time employment at office max... which just so happened to make the name badges for the hospital in town, he had made himself a name badge to perpetuate his deceit. In shock, I gave the eulogy for this man who I had known for 5 months, someone I clearly had not known at all. The combination of sexual, physical and spiritual abuse I have suffered due to this man is something that I have no words to describe. Recovery has been incredibly challenging and lonely. I wish I could say that the traumas stopped with him, however they didn't. What happened to me 6 years ago is being used to further abuse me in the legal system and in custody trial. Finding the Shine support group was life changing for me. I have a greater understanding of what happened, why it happened and how to move forward without the weight of shame and victim blaming that I carried for so many years. I hope that in sharing my story others may heal too.

Hello, My name is Name, and I used to be patriotic, self-confident, physically fit, and happy. I joined the Army out of love for my country at a time when my wife was pregnant with our first child, and decided to become a commissioned officer so I could positively change the lives of the soldiers in my charge. Specialized School at Location was a challenge for me. I struggled, but always came out among the top performers in my class of nearly Number officer candidates. At this time, I was fairly competitive, and had learned how to dig deep and out-perform many people. Unfortunately, I don't pick up on social cues very well, and was unaware that I had created enemies. I'm unsure if that detail is relevant, but it may have been. It was early September, and we were coming up on our graduation day, so we were given a little more freedom. I was invited by some of my fellow classmates to go with them into the city to go to clubs and all that. Additionally, we all split the cost of a hotel room between myself and 4 others. That night, we got food, and went out to the clubs. I never once had a gut feeling that this night would be one of the worst in my life. I'm unclear on some of the details, but I had about 3 or 4 drinks which I usually could handle just fine without any issues. This night, maybe due to not drinking for several months or possibly other factors, I became too intoxicated to stay out so someone called an uber and took me back to the room which I still don't remember much of that ride. The next thing I remember is waking up to excruciating pain and realizing I was being held down by to people while one was raping me. I recall trying to get away, but I was punched in the head a few times and blacked out. When I woke up I was so sick feeling and in pain with a headache and down below. I was still naked and on the floor by the air conditioner. there were about 10 or more people asleep all around the room. I went to the bathroom and realized what I had been through. At that point I left and went to my officer title and told him what had happened. My officer title and the officer 2 had a meeting where I was told to drop it. I was told it's my word against other people's word, and if I tried to go up the chain with it that my career would be over, and I would be dishonorably discharged which would negatively impact the rest of my life. I ended up just putting my head down and graduated two weeks later. I spent the next several years trying to forget what had happened, and after 3 years I was out with other service members and the memories came flooding back and lead to a suicide attempt. I had been self-medicating with alcohol. I kept the anger and pain inside and suffered in silence. This incident of my attempt got me discharged from the Army for good. I went the next 4 years heavily drinking and became suicidal once again and for the first time I sought out help and told my wife what had happened to me. I sought therapy, went through medical trials, and even had the SGB procedure twice. PTSD has contributed I believe to my development of a debilitating autoimmune disease, Major Depressive Disorder, and nearly constant suicidal thoughts. Somehow I'm able to mask my feelings and appear happy for my 3 kids and wife, but ii am mentally and physically suffering every day, and though I don't blame my assault for every issue I have, but I do believe it was the catalyst that led to them.