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Recently I’ve been dealing with so much guilt and shame and i feel stuck with so much thoughts from sexual experiences i had with family members. From ages 6-14 to when i was younger me and my cousin same age would play dolls my little sister as well around 7-8 me and my little sister she 3 years younger would sometimes play inappropriately with the dolls too we also would hump each other not everyday but blue moon. Around 9 when i moved my brother had introduced me and my cousins to porn and would practiced what we saw one time he performed oral on me and i didn’t think much just that it felt fun but felt secretive which means he abused me also being he was doing stuff even tho i didn’t want to at times. When i was around 10 thats when things ended between me and my brother. When i was around that age me my sister and nephew would play toys all the time and one time me and my nephew and sister would all hump each other we would wrestle or sometimes piggy back rides and one time it led to my nephew licking my bum area and i asked if he wanted me to lick his area he said no so we started playing toys again one day it was me and my sister and nephew they started humping and i was letting it go on and my nephew dad walked in we all hid because he look upset. We wouldn’t see eachother as much then we moved into a house together and we hump eachother still until i was also i was being groomed by an 23 year old man at 12 but the stuff that occurred ended when i turned 14 i stopped because i felt gross and started to develop more compared to them and also around 12 me and my sister would watch porn and sometimes she would ask if i could touch her areas and i would touch and lick her down there . We would also look at my older sister sex toys and would play with them while they were at work . And stopped ofc because it felt wrong now everyday i feel like i cocsa them and i feel sick to the stomach that we did all that i feel like a perpetrator ive talked to my siblings to make sure i didn’t traumatize or hurt them they said we were being nasty and curiosity it was inappropriate and we stopped once we realized that. I feel so sad i feel like i preformed cocsa idk what to do i wish it never happened my sister and nephew and cousin we get along very well. They told me to let go im scared when we get older they will think of me as a molester or abuser i always wanted to become a teacher and help people out i feel like i don’t deserve that.

At the age of four, my mom used to take me out to the trunk of her Jeep and beat me for 20-30 minutes at a time. She would hit me, pull my hair, and scream profanity at me. The physical abuse lasted until I was 11-years-old, and she only stopped once CPS got involved. My dad knew; he did nothing. At the age of 6, I got sexually molested at school by another female. My mother told me it was not molestation, and that I was just "playing around." At the age of 11, I was sexually abused by the neighborhood boys. They were in their mid-teens, and would touch me inappropriately, rub their penises against me, and tell me inappropriate jokes. At that same age, I was also dry humped on the face by multiple boys who I considered friends. At the age of 16, I was raped by a 26-year-old man. He groomed me beginning at the age of 14-years-old, and convinced me he was a safe person. At that same point in my life, I was raped by a 23-year-old that I had known for two years and considered safe. He took me to a room where we could "be alone" then proceeded to force himself on me. I was crying and telling him to stop, but he didn't stop. I dated him for three months after that, and he continued to pressure me into sex and emotionally abuse me. Starting at the age of 14-years-old, I began getting harassed online. I stupidly gave out my phone number and address to someone I had trusted, and they were posted on 4chan (a public image board). I was harassed daily: I received death threats; I received threatening phone calls; I would receive calls to my school. I then found out that the person I trusted killed a girl in his home city, and that they had proof I was going to be the next victim. At the age of 17, my step-dad physically assaulted me and almost broke my wrist. He put a cigarette out on my head, strangled me, and threatened me. My mom watched, holding the phone, and told me it was my fault for "not leaving when [she] told [me] to." The only help I got was from a neighbor who saw me run out of the house, covered in blood. That same year, I was kicked out because I refused to lift the restraining order off of my step-dad, and my mom gave me an ultimatum. I refused and went to live elsewhere. At the age of 18, I moved in with my first serious boyfriend. He was abusive and cheated on me multiple times. He would call me every name in the book and threaten to harm me and break my belongings. I did not get away until I was just turning 19. At the age of 20, I moved in with my dad. My step-mom was jealous of my dad and I's relationship and physically assaulted me and kicked me out on my 21st birthday. My dad did nothing again. At the age of 21, I developed life-threatening bulimia and anorexia and began drinking heavily to self-medicate. My fiance helped me through these disorders and saved my life. I am now 24-years-old and have many stable and healthy relationships--both in friendship and love. I am also receiving help via medication for C-PTSD, GAD, and major depressive disorder. I began therapy recently, too, and am learning to confront my traumas and move on. It's hard, and there are many things I remember each day that send me into a panic, but I want to heal and reclaim my innocence, power, and self-worth.

8M (me) 11F (cousin) 12M (cousin) were at a family function just playing house (it just dawned on me that 11-12 year olds don't play house and that the only reason we played house was for this) until it was night time in which we all got in the bed I lied at the bottom of their feet as their child as they had sex in front of me not even .5 foot away from me I just hid in fear 10M 13F 14M my older cousin led us into the woods and told my female cousin to strip she complied and then they started going at it with each other I just stood silently observing this horrible sight; seeing my female cousin in such a way felt so wrong to me my cousin then asked me to join him and I did, I was clueless just stood their as it happened; biggest regret of my life this one mistake started a snowball effect that still haunts me 12M 15F 16M yet another family function my cousins were drinking this time and came up to me hammered and asking me to come upstairs we end up smoking weed and my older cousin starts to tease my female cousin; by this time this ordeal had happened at pretty much every meeting of us I had even started pleasuring myself watching them (I never got involved because I wanted to keep myself) this time however my older cousin has fallen into a drunk slumber and my female cousin was already "ignited" she came up to me and said "lucky for you ive been ignited and all I need is for someone to come diminish me" (I remember those words 1:1) my female cousin then took my purity from me, I didn't even try to fight her or try to ask her to stop I was telling myself I didn't want to yet I pleaded for her to help me I still don't have it wrapped in my head if I was a victim or if I was just as predatory as them, I know that my older cousin started manipulating my female cousin and I didn't stop him because I enjoyed it, yet again I was 10 years old I couldn't grasp the gravity and severity of what we were doing I even viewed it as just complimentary and normal and that we were just helping each other, but the other part of me hates me for it.

Number years since what happened to me. There has been so much pain and hurt. One of these men was constanty asking me to sleep with his friends but my answer was always no , never, not a chance , You see i found it so hard to accept what had happened because i had to much to drink . I do believe that something was put into my drink as i had no more to drink than what i normally would . I was a at party with these two people. I dont remember leaving the house but i do remember getting sick out of the taxi on the way home. Both of these animals took turns to have sex with me . I remember just lying there with no clothes on and been unable to move unable to fight them of . Both of them went outside and i remember the strong smell of cigarettes and could hear them both laughing . Shortly after both of them left and i lay there confussed , helpless and alone. I must have fallen asleep because i remember it was bright out and one of these men came back to the house. No accountability has been taken from either of these and this is what makes healing so hard for me. Im trying to take back my power but some days are just so hard. Both of these men took adavantage of my vunrability. Learning to tust myself and love myself is my main goal for now and knowing that i did nothing wrong,

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

I know it was his fault Not my 12-year-old self’s fault  We know it but the guilt sticks to us anyway  I have done plenty of things to feel guilty about since.    But then it was not my fault, yet I could have done so much better.  The guilt is there.  Like burn scars.   I did not block out the memory because I participated consciously.    It was my first job.  $6 per hour.  When my uncle started giving me massages in his repair shop, I was already changing. I had urges. New urges and sensations. I had kissed boys at school.  The massages were creepy and felt creepy.  Right after I started working there.  I declined them, but in a token, way. I did not try to move away. Not very hard.  I was a roller blader with my cousins. I took long skates around town. I ached sometimes. That’s how it made a little sense I would need a massage.  I ignored the obvious—that he sent both the man employees away or home for our sessions, and we kept it secret. Even from my friends. I knew it was not on the level.  I knew he was being a perv. My boss. My uncle.  The dragon. I would lay on the massage table in the back and let him touch me.  He bought it a week after he started the touching. I was still awkward about it and the table make it seem legit   It felt good.  My back and shoulders to start, but he spent most of the time on my legs and butt. That’s where most of the muscle is, especially on a skinny in-line skater girl. It was probably the most athletic time of my life. I did not do sports again.  Not eating was my exercise plan eventually.  I was sort of tall then but I stopped growing at fourteen. I would squirm when he would rub my vulva through my clothes while doing my upper thighs and he would tell me to relax. The first time he brought oil I did not take anything off because I was wearing shorts.   He had a plan. He got two bottles of oil so I could take one home and put it on so the smell would not seem weird when I came home smelling like vanilla.   It suddenly became normal that I would sit down, take off my shirt, and shorts or pants, and lay down. He would take off my panties.  No bra then. I never really needed one.    This was my job!   I was getting paid to do what he said.  I still feel shame that I kept quiet as he escalated it. It was such a gradual damn process from the occasional brush through the clothes to my vulva being fully part of the massage on the way down. I breathed hard while he did it. I couldn’t help it.  That was the routine.    It felt so intense.  Of course.   I got used to his hands on my body. I thought about it all the time.  I did not know what my clitoris was. Even though it felt crazy I thought it was less bad when he touched it than when he touched my labia because it was just a low part of my belly, not my privates. I’m crying right now.  To think what I didn’t know and HE DID!  He was a selfish immoral prick. A predator. Probably still is.  He warned me before he used his mouth the first time.  I was on my stomach.  He put his face between my legs.  I couldn’t see him.   I immediately tried to get up and said “No, no, no, no, no, no.” rapid fire.   He apologized. I rolled over. We hugged.  He spent some time rubbing my face, temples, and ears. He knew I liked that.  Then he got real stern. The only time he ever scolded me. Told me not to behave like a baby.  I worked for HIM.  Not the other way around. He was doing this FOR ME.   Used his strength to hold my thighs and went at it with his mouth and tongue until I went still. I stared up at the ceiling tiles. He stopped when he thought I had liked it. I think it was my breathing. I learned to breathe hard and make sounds to make him happy.  Shame. Guilt. I went from dreading that part to looking forward to it.  I felt cooler than other girls at school.  Cooler than my cousin.    Dragon and I were cool with each other, like we had a fun inside secret.    We would kiss sometimes. Make out.  He stopped staying fully dressed. I did not realize what he was doing until he showed me.  The dragon was masturbating.  Seeing it was so insane that it was scary.  I got used to these kinds of freaky adrenaline rushes. Revolting and exciting.   I was just a girl.    Then I wasn’t.  Never again.  He would use fingers in me and I would have something like mini climaxes.    Then he would stand and jerk it right over me at the end and drip it on me.  I thought it was gross.  So gross. We had a roll of paper towels by the table to wipe me off.  While he drove me home it was ALWAYS like it never happened. I did not know at the time that men completely change and lose interest after they purge it.  If he would have tried to have sex with me it probably would have kept going. No more virgin after three months of foreplay. Ignorant bliss that would crash and burn me one day.  BUT he wanted a blowjob one day.  Maybe he thought it was an easier transition.  He was wrong! I was so revolted by it that I vomited, got a headache, and that night told my parents.  Shame on me for waiting so long!  Shame on me for taking pleasure in his predation!  Shame on him for being a HORRIBLE MAN!  Shame on my parents for letting him tell most of the story his way!    Because I was too young to articulate it right.    Shame on me for keeping quiet while he apologized to me in front of them in the kitchen. I was not even sure what he told them before they called me in. My parents both seemed relieved after he cleared it up.  Most of all, shame on me for letting it sit that way.    A cowardly silence and head nod that was my signature on a contract with the devil.    I lost my soul without a fight.  Hating him costs hating myself.  That is my first guilt.

Hi. I am now 20 years old. This happened when I was 4 and 8 years old. I was sexually assaulted by my baby sisters father when I was 4, I watched him force my other sister (2 years old) to go down on him / lick his penis. Me as well. My siblings and I have different fathers. I remember running away from him, climbing onto a bunk bed. He grabbed me, and walked me back to my mothers and his bedroom. He threw me onto the bed and used a white sock to lock the double doors. I was wearing cartoon underwear. My memory cuts off when he penetrates, but I feel physical pain when I try to think of it. No one believed me when I opened up after I was 8. When I was 8, I woke up with my grandmothers ex husbands hands in my pants. He groomed me for years. He taught me to ride a bike when I was younger. I told my mother right away, went to therapy and testified against him. He went to prison, but for only 4-5 years. My therapist was the first person I told about my sisters father. However my mother didn’t believe me, because there was no damage when they checked at 9 years old. She thought he was a good man, and I was just making it up. Even when my baby sister came out and said her dad had been hurting her. Easter of 2019, my baby sister called me. Her baby sister, 4 years old, was being sexually abused by her father. They have court coming up next year, and it breaks my heart. The father is no longer allowed around his children, thank god. But if someone believed us, maybe we could’ve prevented it. I still struggle with this today. My flashbacks and nightmares worsen in 2018, once I was in my own place and comfortable to start processing the trauma. In the past 5 months, my grandmothers ex husband kept coming into my job. I recognized him by the back of his head. I haven’t seen him since the court room. I hyperventilated and had to leave work multiple times, until my managers finally got a chance to tell him that him and his mother is not allowed there. He pretended like he didn’t recognize me when we confronted him, but the second time he came in we made eye contact and by his reaction on the security footage he knew me. His parole officer called me, asked for my address so if he came near my apartment or job, his ankle bracelet would alert him. I am very relieved. I hope one day, I’ll heal. I’ll be okay. But for now I’m taking baby steps.

At the age of 7, I was sexually abused by my school bus driver on my way home from school. As I grew older, I realized that I didn't remember most of the things correctly, and even forgot some parts. I didn't get psychological support from a professional and I grew up as a child who was very sensitive to physical touch. I had thoughts of self-harm many times when I was younger, but I never could. I'm now 19 years old and traveling the world while studying abroad. I love myself, my friends and my family. As someone who grew up thinking that I was never fully understood, I would like to remind you that you are not alone and that this life is worth living by finding the good in you, no matter how much negative trauma you have experienced. Whoever reads this has clicked on this page for a reason, first of all, love yourself and remember that I am always there for you.

Wow, first of all. How empowering. I can't even fully talk to therapists or my family support workers because I'm afraid I'll have to make statements. I've been sexually assaulted and raped more times than I can remember. One particularly tough event, my ex, my child's fathers. Well I was passed out. I woke up to him carefully pulling out of my body. I ran to the toilet. Sick with shock. I had a protection order but I had let my guard down and gotten drunk with neighbours the night before. I called my sister. She came to bring me to an emergency chemist. I took the morning after pill. Month came, the Date and I still hadn't got my period. The test was positive. I had to illegally obtain tablets and have an abortion in my sisters house. Very sad and awful time of my life. This platform is a god send.

It happened during my second year of graduate school. I traveled from Boston to Connecticut to attend a friend's birthday party. I had other friends that I knew who were going to be there, so I decided why not. The party took place in a private room in the back of a lounge/restaurant. Most of the people who attended where either in the same sorority as me, were a friend, fraternity brother, or fellow military officers of the birthday boy. We all were either dancing, drinking, and grooving to the music that was being played by the DJ in his corner. I remember the birthday boy asking me to take a series of drinking shots with him and a few friends---all custom made by the bartender. "Give us your best shot! [laughter] Surprise us," is what I remember him stating to the bartender over the loud music. The two shots we took at jägermeister mixed with a few other liqueurs. Black out. I woke up naked in a hotel room laying on top of and kissing another female friend surrounded by at least four other men in the room. They were encouraging us to continue to make out and grind on one another, including the birthday boy. In the moment, it looked and felt like that scene in a movie where a group of drunk college boys are at a party and egging each other on to do something stupid--but in slow motion. The slow motion became faster and reality sank in. I remember becoming fully aware of what was happening and jumping back and off of her. I remember her passing out. Black out. I woke up again. This time on the floor in front of the hotel bed. He was having sex with me as I woke up from my unconsciousness. I remember looking up to his face and looking to the left of his face realizing that the hotel tv was playing in the background. I remember telling him "no" and "stop" and pushing him off of me. I ran to the bathroom. I was still naked. As I entered the bathroom and shut the door, the first thought that came to my head as I looked into the mirror was, "How the hell did you get yourself into this situation? Is this really you? Are you really here right now?" I started to cry and then quickly reminded myself of where I was at. I then said to myself, "Wash your face. Find your clothes. Find your phone. But don't make a scene." So I washed the darkened mascara off myself. Walked out of the bathroom to find my clothes and phone. I realized that everyone except him seemed to be sleeping and there was another person who was sitting on top of the bed watching tv. The same tv that I saw to the left of him. The same bed that I woke up in front of, on the floor. "Was he just watching this entire time and didn't do anything?" That's what I asked myself. I found my clothes and phone. Phone was dead. After some time passed, everyone started to wake up and I just sat in the chair and waited for everyone to get dressed. We left the hotel room and went to a local IHOP for breakfast. I wasn't sure how to process what happened just hours before. I wasn't sure if I felt safe enough to ask them what happened. I felt disgusted with myself. I also wasn't sure if what I experienced was real. I was hungover. They all were in the military, including the female I woke up in my consciousness to the first time. They drove me all the back back to Boston and dropped me off at home. There was no mention about what happened. Goodbye. I entered my apartment, went upstairs, got in the shower and cried. After the shower, I crawled in my bed. Black out.

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

Not really sure where to start this. I guess by saying that I am in no way trying to absolve myself of blame or guilt. I have just never said it aloud before. When I was maybe 10-11, my step sister and I use to engage in activities that we really shouldn't have. I guess I always just thought we were trying to experiment. We always had clothes on and I know it could have been worse. I can't help but feel such guilt for it. I am older. I should've know better. I think it was maybe a way for me to process my own sexual abuse. But how do I live with that? That I contributed to COCSA.

Freedom is Glorious I've been working alone the past two days, and instead of taking out the scissors and cutting my hair, I took out an old CD of pictures and remembered how far I have come in this journey. I found pictures of the animals I left behind so very long ago ~ his pets who were like children to me ~ I teared up at their precious faces and remembered how much I love and miss them every day. Then I found some pictures of me taken in my old rental office on campus the night before my 41st birthday. And I was amazed at how clear and blue and full of life my eyes were in each picture.  The weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I stood tall and proud.  The color was back in my face, and my face was fuller because I had finally started to regain the weight I had lost when my food intake was so limited on the weekends. My eyes sparkled in those pictures.  I could not stop staring at myself.  The pictures were proof that I was free.  That I was me again.  I looked at the CD and reached for a snack.  And I thought about how I can eat whatever I want now.  There is no watchful eye mentally counting my calories ~ keeping the cupboard bare.  I am no longer charged $20 to eat a home-cooked meal.  I am no longer ridiculed for not cooking that home-cooked meal myself. I can do what I want, say what I want, feel what I want, wear what I want.  I am not some dress-up doll used to cloak in leather to be propped up on the back of a motorcycle for the whole valley to see ~ no I am middle-aged now, often without make-up, and finally comfortable in my own body not to care if I am not perfect. Because perfect was never good enough anyway. I can speak again.  I have a voice.  I can have an opinion on anything I want.  I see my family again on all holidays.  I do not have to lie about where I am living.  Where I am going.  What I am doing. There is no shame anymore.  No more secrets.  Even the writing I am doing has eliminated the secrets from the people I care about the most. I think about all of these changes as I ponder what it is like for him to be sitting in jail right now.  To have his freedom finally taken away from him.  To be told what to do, when to do it.  And to be isolated from family and friends. It took the news of his jail sentence to wake me up to what I had blocked out for so long.  To bring those horrible memories back up to the surface in dreams, flashbacks, and fleeting moments of sadness.  To finally realize that I had to write down my truth, or they would never go away.  He would still be controlling me in my head through those nightmares, those flashbacks.  He would still be present in my life if I did not get rid of him by writing down all the ugliness of our time together and sharing it with the world. He never wanted me to be a writer.  He made fun of my dream every day.  And it hit me today that the irony of my life story is that one of the biggest stories of my life will now be about him.  And maybe there will come the book or the screenplay out of all of this ugliness that I have shared with the world.  Because if you can skim off the scum, if you can sand down the rust, beneath the surface of all that pain and sadness is the beauty that was once there ~ that was once my life ~ that was once me. Beneath the surface lies the freedom that never really left my side.  Freedom was waiting in the distance for me all along.  Freedom was God taking care of me through the whole ordeal and seeing me through to the other side.  Where life is precious and pure and sweet. Freedom led me to a new life where I can now help others as they had once helped me. Freedom came with its own price ~ the scars beneath the surface that may have scabbed over ~ in order for me to survive. But those scars are my battle wounds for my freedom.  I paid the price for a new life.  I earned my freedom.  I survived.

I am dealing with depression, anxiety, and PTSD. I was treated inhumanely in a medical facility. I lost everything. I was sexually harassed at my workplace (facility). I was fired when I complained about this. I went into depression after this brutal experience. I have been dealing with this situation since July 2016. I am a single woman of color. I am an immigrant. I am a minor in a lot of categories. I don't see any solution to my situation. I am feeling suicidal. If something happens to me, facility will be responsible. I don't get all the help I needed at this moment. I have been living in this country for 22 years but I am still struggling with immigration. I have a Ph.D. but still I don't have a green card yet. I don't want to live in this world anymore. facility has destroyed my life and I don't see any reason to live anymore. If something will happen to me, please take strict action against facility otherwise this will happen to other women in the future. I hope this will help someone in the future. I didn't get the support I needed. I even handled my federal case as a pro se litigant mostly. I didn't get justice. I have heartbroken. I have lost faith in humanity. Please let me know if you can help me. I need help. Case number atfacility et al Appeal Number Regards, Name

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.

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.

I was sexually assaulted while living abroad for college. I did not accept what had happened to me for some months and allowed my life to spin out of control. I am doing better for myself now and picking up the pieces after having accepted the reality. But I am finding it harder and harder to process and work though the thought of memories of the incident. It feels like im taking one step forward and two steps back. Luckily I have people who I confided in but I feel like asking to talk about it is too much to ask. I can still feel everything, it hurts in my body and I hate that this happened to me and I want so badly to move on.

I saw “It ends with us” with my mom, I’m 17 and my parents got divorced a couple of years ago and I held so much resentment against her because i didn’t know why, I didn’t understand why my life was changing and why she insisted on a divorce. When Lilly said it ends with us, my mom looked at me and we started bawling in the theater. I’m my mom’s Emerson, and she’s my lily. She broke the generational curse

i've recently found out i truly was sexually abused as a child. i had a feeling for so long, but now i have memories. they hurt, a constant feeling of nausea and disgust stemming from them. but, i'm glad to know it was real. my abuse was real, and i don't have to wonder anymore. i'm still scared the memories are false, but i'm working through it. now i just have to take the next step towards healing. because while i was abused and hurt for so many years, i am not broken.

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