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When I was younger I had this friend, we’ll call her friend. She wasn’t always kind to me, in fact she was often rude to me. She was way more mature than me even though she was younger, and that included being sexually more educated than I was. We were 7 or 8 at this point I think, and at her house she had a hot tub that her mom would let us go in sometimes. I can’t remember if this happened during the same play date, but she tried to show me videos of wlw sexual activities. This included scissoring, etc. and she seemed very obsessed with it. I was weirded out and uninterested and left the room, but it was weird. Anyways, one time we were in the hot tub, she repeatedly tried to convince me to get out of the hot tub and try scissoring or whatever. I really didn’t want to and felt weird, but she eventually coerced me to. I remember feeling really uncomfortable and like it was just wrong. I feel like something else happened, either penetration or something oral, but my memory betrays me. I had another very sexually oriented friend at a young age who dared me to “pull my pants down and have sx with the wall” when I was around 7, in addition to her telling me lots of made up sex stories, to which again I was very disturbed. I think these repeated encounters as a child is part of what has led me to be a mostly sex repulsed asexual person, and I struggle deeply with my boundaries when it comes to physical touch. I recently had an experience where me and a friend were both drunk and she sort of pushed my boundaries after I said no over and over (I put this story in the q+a section.) I didn’t realize the childhood stories until recently and it’s been a bit over a decade. How can I feel safe and comfortable in my own body again and process this, as well as getting better at boundaries?

I learned from my partner that she was gang-raped. Rn we live in different cities. We had a stupid argument on the phone, after which she shared with me about what she's been through via text and she went silent completely. As soon as I read that she's been. My world shattered, I texted her that I have to cool off and I'll be back. It took me an hour to cool down and answer with words of support and love. I didn't ask any questions. I just said she can reach out whenever she's ready. I don't know who to talk to. I was so fkng furious, I felt so much pain and sadness. I couldn't sleep for 24 hrs and just got a 2-hour sleep at least. I feel broken and scared not knowing how can I be strong enough to support her and not fail myself. I want to make those men pay. I have never felt such rage in my life. I just don't know what to do now. I can't really talk to anyone about it. I try to focus on other things, but my mind just can't focus on anything. I keep thinking about it. And I wonder how she feels rn, I wanna support her and talk to her, but I don't want to push her. I hope she will reach out to me soon. I'm so afraid what's gonna happen next, I don't want her to see me so weak and broken and wonder for how long Id be able to look strong and not break. I don't wanna fail her. I love her so much. I never thought Id feel so much pain and anger. I know I shouldn't push her or ask her questions, but I wanna know the names of those pieces of shit. I hope she gains courage to stand up and fight some day, bcz I can't imagine living and knowing those monsters are still out there. I hate life so much rn and I was always the most positive person. I wish I could erase our memories, I can't imagine what she's been through. I love her so much, and I just hope I can be strong and we can push through this together.

This is my story. When I was younger than 5, I was raped. My memory blocked out the person who did it. So I don’t remember who did it. It makes me so angry, I don’t remember any of my childhood except for the sexual abuse parts. I remember at four years old, I only wanted to be involved with things if it regarded something sexual. There was never a time in my life where I’ve felt innocent. At the ripe age of four I knew all about kinks, positions, different kinds of sex, and looking back, the signs were screaming at everyone around me. I was very sexual, and I was very violent. The only things I wanted to watch was porn or gore. I was 5. I was scared of the bathroom, and I had accidents at school every day because I was scared of restrooms. Sometimes I’d cry when I’d have to go in there. Then, at 5 also, I had internet access. That’s when I had found out that the rape I endured was “normal” (it wasn't) because of the pornos I watched. It exposed me to way more things than the rape I experienced. And obviously, the rape that happened made me an angry child. So I took that anger and acted violent. I remember the only time I would play with my toys, like any child should, was if I was pretending they were having sex, being raped, or simply breaking the toys. Over my life, I have felt pissed. Pissed at the world, pissed at my family, why couldn’t anyone see this? Why did this happen? There has never been a time in my life where I was innocent. I feel filthy. I feel disgusting, I don’t feel like a girl, I feel like a wasted potential of a human. I know it wasn’t my fault. And nobody can sit in their pity forever. I have therapy now, I have been to mental health facilities, and I have gotten so much help from family and friends. The feeling of being rotten can’t go away. But I think I speak for every rape victim when I say, it sure is validating knowing that it’s not your fault. And the way I’m handling this such life changing situation, is just how any human would. You are not alone, and there is a huge difference between feeling filthy and being filthy. And I and many other survivors, are not filthy. Because of the abuse I endured, I’m scared of love. Many times, I don’t think love exists. I’m scared of sex, I’m scared of marriage, and I hate to say it, but sometimes I’m scared of guys. I’ve lost hope in true romance. The only time someone wanted me “romantically” was when I was 4. That’s a kind of lost hope, that I don’t know how to over come from. I feel like a baby, sometimes I get triggered by sex scenes, by beauty standards even. I feel like such a Debbie downer. Anything with lust, I get triggered. And I feel horrible for it. I want to joke around, I want to have fun, but that kind of topic is something I can never erase from my memory. Thank you for reading my story, you are not alone. And you are not filthy, or a burden. Be gentle with yourself, and give yourself time to recover.

I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

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