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I still don’t know if my abuse counts. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. Or maybe that’s what I want to think. When I was 10, I was at my (at the time) best friend’s birthday party. I can’t remember much of the party itself, only that I had a white cardigan on. I remember the air smelled likes churros and popcorn. I can’t remember how I got to my friend’s bedroom. I only remember what happened there. The memory starts with me, standing in front of the bed. On the bed was Name, one of my friend’s older brothers. I remember staring at him for I don’t know how long. I think he was talking, but it was all static to me. I remember there was one those party lights things, the ones that project blue, red, and green lights onto the ceiling. Then I remember he starts jumping higher. And then he jumps at me, tackling me onto the ground. I was frozen in terror. And all I did was cry silently. But to this day, I still don’t know if it counts as rape. I was 10, but he was 13. He was only a kid too. Maybe he was also experiencing abuse, and he took it out on me. I also feel like it’s my fault for not doing anything, and not telling anyone. I could have screamed or something, but I just laid there, frozen and silent. I haven’t healed from this at all, probably because I haven’t really talked with anyone about it. I don’t know what to do.

I wanted to break a rule that my parents had set me: no boyfriend whatsoever. They aren't strict but they have rules: you don't choose your clothes (so no crop tops ever, no skirts without leggings underneath, etc), no candy, no choosing of my future studies myself, always get good grades (8/10 would not be considered enough), no drinking sodas, no socials so no Snap chat, no Tik Tok etc. The list goes on. I understand that they care about me, and that they want the best for me but sometimes I find it too much. But I should enjoy it while it lasts because this might be the closest thing to freedom I will ever get. Here's why. At the age of 15, I met this sweet guy that was really my type. He, as a first impression, seemed to be the type of guy my parents would like: same age only half a year older than me, hardworking, caring, didn't seem to be driven by lust, and really sweet to me. I told myself this might be the same love as my parents have, who used to be high school sweethearts. After a couple months, a few kisses and cuddles, without my parents knowing, came the day that started this mess (or so I think, maybe I was too blind to realise it happened progressively before). I remember ringing the doorbell of his house and when he opened the door I saw he was tired. More than usual. I don't know if I could say he was acting strange (now I know, or his excuse was, that he was drugged by his older brother of 23 at the time). We go up to his room, he asks me if I need something to drink and of course, like always, I ask for water. Only this time I should have thought before drinking from the glass that had a spoon in it. It was stupid of me, because the next thing I knew, I was laying on my back, naked, my wrists cuffed behind me to the bed, him on top of me with this face I will never forget (it still haunts me) and the pain in my lower belly too. There was blood of course, he'd just taken my virginity. I was scarred of him after that, but he threatened me, told me he'd hurt my loved ones if I told anyone. Do note I didn't know how to say no to people back then, and I'd been taught and raised to obey. So I did. I kept my mouth shut. He made me sneak out during the night. At first it was just him to please, then also his friends. My throat grew sore, the more they made me do orals. I got cuts and bruises (never in visible places though, like my face, so that they could keep on using me without other people noticing). I grew more quite at school, but honestly no one would really notice, as I was already pretty quite. Grades started slipping, parents got mad at me for that, called me useless and told me I'd achieve nothing in life. It didn't help. It hurt a lot because I had tried to maintain good grades, and it was all just going downhill. I also noticed that his older brother was busy with a girl too (judging from the noises coming from his room). I would see that girl from time to time, she was older maybe 19, not sure anymore. She was sweet, she even gave me the pill so not to get pregnant and some pregnancy tests. But she was in a way worse state than me: scars and all, and her fingertips weren't just burned like mine, she had bandages on all of them as they bled. I was scared of the older brother. Scared being an understatement. And then after a month, she was gone. I had no idea where, just silence in his big brother's room. That's when his big brother approached me. All I can say is: he wasn't gentle. At all. That's also around the time when I realised that his big brother beat him up, because I came out of that room, limping as he'd pushed my hip too far (now I have a partially dislocating hip that is permanent), and his younger brother yelled at him for 'f*cking his toy'. He was left in a ball on his bedroom floor with a broken rib while his older brother walked off. I felt bad, because even if he had said I was his property/his toy, he had still tried to protect me, so I decide to go get him an ice pack from the freezer and take care of him. He eventually told me more about his older brother, and I got to know he sold drugs and all, and made him (and me) take them. I asked where the hell his parents were in all this, but it was only his mom now (and she seemed to have no control over her sons) as his father had left for another women (or multiple, not sure). I decided maybe I should tell someone about this and ask them what to do, but then came the thought that: who would believe me? We lived in a pretty safe country, or at least one that people thought was safe. I didn't want to bother others and worry people, neither did I want them getting hurt if they tried to help, so I kept my mouth shut. Now the following is even harder to talk about. It has changed me. It will change my future too. By now I was 16. One night, he made me dress up in this overly sexualised bunny outfit and brought me to an apartment id never been. There were multiple guys waiting. They were all around his age I think (I'm bad at guessing people's age, plus I don't think they were bothered telling me the truth), they didn't seem to be friends really they looked like they knew each other just because they did business together, and I new from the moment I had walked into this room that I was noting but a f*cktoy to them. Its weird that feeling, when you enter somewhere and just know who has the power. I definitely had zero power here, they wanted me to feel that way too. I know it. I felt it. After the pain, the kneeling in front of them, and the pictures I begged them not to take, came the first time I'd seen someone hand money to the older brother. I realised with pain in my heart (and literally everywhere else where they'd touched me) that I had just been sold. Like some piece of bread at the market. Sold. My brain physically couldn't process what had happened. Some days I still can't. I didn't sleep for some time after that and eating was something I had to force myself to do and it was a challenge not to throw up. It went on. Money turned into contracts, pictures into videos, and my body falling apart before my eyes, but not enough that it was so obvious that everyone would see. I did my best to cover it, so no one would get hurt. Concealer became my best friend. Except a teacher at school did notice and I ended up telling her everything. Well, almost everything. I told her I'd been rapped just once maybe twice and that I didn't remember very well for most things that had happened. In a way it wasn't a lie but I was too scarred those boys would find out I had told someone and then they'd hurt all the people I care about. It is also true that some things I just couldn't remember, like a gap in my memory when I try to remember what has happened after I'd been brought somewhere by his older brother. It felt strange, like I was missing something but it just wouldn't come back to mind. The teacher called the police and I was interrogated. I had to do it multiple times with recorded sessions and all. No one prepared me for how tiering it would be to repeat what had happened to me over the past year because of those boys. It hurt so so much. They asked question after question as the memories of those nights came haunting me all over again. I wanted to forget, because I realised there is no real solution, and on top of that, I wasn't allowed to start therapy without first trying to remember every single detail that had happened for the police investigation. Those boys, some that new me and I had no idea who they were, hurt me and the threats pilled up. It was too much for me. I couldn't do this. So I lied. I lied and said it never happened. That I hadn't been rapped. I had prepared some fake conversations that were very obviously fake for them to find on my phone, planned them out so that it looked fake. And I told them to stop the investigation. And that was that. My parents were of course mad at me, they took my phone away and all. I can't say I'm addicted to phones but, more than six months without one is just, a lot, for me at least. I'm honestly not sure what to do now. My memory is really bad, still worsening, I'm not doing so good in classes, I feel sick to the bone but its no big thing like cancer or diabetes or something that a doctor can diagnose. I just feel sick, but that means nothing apparently. I just remember the last thing that the big brother told me, that when I'm 19 and out of the house he will take me away as his f*cktoy. That's why I said at the beginning that I should enjoy my life now while it lasts because this might be the closest thing to freedom I will ever get. And to stay positive I just tell myself , as my father would say: it could always be worse, appreciate what you have. I know I can't go back, but it's so painful. Everyday, it never leaves my mind. To be honest, the only reason why I don't kill myself is because it would be horrible for others to loose a daughter, a sister, a friend and so on. I can't do that, I don't want to be selfish. All I want is to find a reason to live, and that it isn't just living for others.

I was six when I first saw pornography, in my own house. There are a lot of forgotten memories from 6-18. By ten I was in chat rooms. By eleven a man was grooming me, and for years I performed on live video for adult men who told me I was mature, special, chosen. I believed them. I thought my popularity was proof I was grown. I was a lonely kid in an empty house being trained, and there is a difference. At fourteen I was with a man in his twenties and called it willing, because nobody had ever taught me that a child can't be. I'm an adult now, a mother, and I spent years searching the internet for any sign that what happened to me was real and witnessed. What I found were investigations, statistics, and other survivors. So I'm leaving this here for the girl who is searching tonight the way I did: you were not willing, you were groomed. You were not mature for your age, you were unprotected. And it was not your fault, not even the parts you went back for. Especially those parts.

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.

I was used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.