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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.

Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

I 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.

A friend and I dated within the same friend group, and I used to hang out with the guys a lot--I considered them as my brothers. One night when we were altogether, I felt too drunk to take myself home and felt safe with my friends ex to get a cab and drop me off. He came in uninvited and kissed me, then all I remember are flashes of us being naked, him being inside of me, going down on me, etc., but I felt like I couldn't move. I woke up to shower, my bed was broken, and he was gone. I called him the next day to confront him about it, and that I don't even remember what happened. He said he thought "i enjoyed it" (I was unconscious half of the time), and only stopped because the bed broke. Although he apologized he had the audacity to tell me not to share this with anyone, and to this day only very few close friends know about this incident. It truly broke my trust even with platonic guy friendships.

DECADES When I was 22 years old, I was on a college campus with my finance and decided to go out to the car at 11 pm to get the left over cake we had brought from dinner. I man walked near me and I said hi, and proceeded to get the cake. The man came up behind me and flipped me to the ground trying to rape me. I screamed, time slowed down and I remember hearing my Mom say that my car keys are a weapon so I started jabbing him with them. I struggled free, ran to a building, falling on my way. A driver arrived who heard my screams from blocks away and the police were called. The police even thought they got him and showed me several photos of similar looking men, but I couldn’t make a positive id, so he was set free. After this sexual assault, I bought a gun, moved in with my fiancé, took self-defense classes, read books, saw a psychologist who diagnosed me with PTSD due to overwhelming anxiety that paralyzed me. The world was no longer safe. It resulted in triggers, and brought back my first sexual assault as a teenager in a crowded bus in another country of an older man pressing his erection against me as I keep moving away from him toward the front of the bus, until I finally found another teenage who I could sit on her lap to get this stranger to stop. It has been 64 years since I was attacked in that parking lot. I have been happily married for 64 years and have a positive self image. BUT, I still can’t wear skirts. I still can’t go in parking lots alone at night and am uneasy going anywhere at night. I can’t watch a movie or play that has sexual assault or the anxiety becomes overwhelming. I still own the same gun.

Hi whoever reading this, I’m a victim of online harassment when I was 19 the incident goes like that I was one day scrolling through my Instagram and one day I get a request from this guy and I accepted it since we had a mutual didn’t think much of it even if I replied one minute late he would spam me that same night we video called he made me do stuff I was totally uncomfy with made me bend over or get undressed on that call I didn’t want to do it at the same time I was like nothing could go wrong he kept asking for my Snapchat password since we were sharing pictures and I told him I was tired and wanted to go to bed he said oh just send the password I promise I won’t save anything or any picture and I thought doing this will make him leave me alone and so i did I think I blocked him on WhatsApp but not on Instagram or Snapchat coz I forgot to do that I think one day I was on a family trip and I fell sick he texted me but I didn’t repspond coz I was sick and then came the message “I’ll have your nudes I’ll share them okay?” And with that message came an attached pictures that he saved on his phone of my nudes the thing is I wouldn’t take pictures of my face when I sent stuff like that but he saved pictures normal mirror selfies I took that showed my face I texted him coz I was sooo scared I took my phone to the bathroom my mom thought I was puking and what not he told me if I didn’t do what he said he would leak those pictures so I did what he made me unblock him on WhatsApp (I said something like oh u weren’t talking to me that’s y I blocked u for some sympathy) he made me gave him my passwords for all my social media accounts he made me get nude on a video call and insert a toothbrush in me I didn’t want to but he was blackmailing me so I did it after that when I told a friend of mine I was advised to block him which i did I came back home from the trip I redownloaded my telegram app same text “Y did u block me do what I say” “I’ll share those pictures on the internet okay?” I blocked him again and then a few months later I get a text from the same country code and the same emoji “🩺 “ in the bio I blocked that number too he’s studying medicine and I know his Uni name since he has it on his Instagram bio. I’m still healing from it I have so much anxiety whenever I think about it I live in this constant fear that he might leak them or already leaked them I wish I could go back in time and just stopped myself from giving that password I wouldn’t be dealing with it maybe if I thought enough I wouldn’t be in this situation but I took steps which were: blocking him everywhere Deleted my snap chat and telegram And also deleted my Instagram account I told my friends to not question the block this guy and they did and after I deleted my account I made an new one first thing I did we blocked him

Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

I was 15. I smoked marijuana occasionally (as I was in my teen angst phase). I had a boy bestfriend and was also in a relationship, not necessarily a healthy one at all but I was in one. One night I felt depressed due to being stood up for a date to the lake I was supposed to have that day. Normally I smoke when I felt down and I felt overwhelmingly down that night; so I smoked a bit too much accidentally. I eventually started greening out and tripping very badly so I messaged my boy bestfriend to calm me down (my bf at the time had went to sleep early for work and lived a town away). He (my boy bsf) invites himself over unannounced and I had to make my way outside to see him (as I was not going to let him inside as it was so late at night and parents were asleep). We then went to the shed outside my house to sit and talk as he "wanted to calm down my high". Eventually it (my high) got so bad I was swaying backwards (while sitting on the floor) and fell backwards. My boy bsf then got ontop of me (as he was/is incredibly bigger than me) and begin taking advantage of me. My body felt extremely weak due to the marijuana and could not pull myself up at all and soon was not capable of moving due to being held down and completely restricted by the boy. I remembered the agony and pain I felt of "it". It burned like fire in me and I tried to scream for help but no one could hear me (as we were secluded in a shed away from everyone in the middle of the night). He left me. The first thing I did due to feeling absolutely disgusted in my own skin was shower... To this day (almost 3 years later) I remember what I was wearing. A tie dye shirt, black basket ball shorts and a bikini bottom that had straps going to both sides (crossed even) to both of my hips. To this day I get scared of wearing bikini bottoms... to this day I fear summertime because of the agony of remembering it. I had kept the bakini bottoms in my dresser because he had finished in them and I believed that was my only proof of the incident. My mother had mistakenly cleaned them.. she had cleaned all if my clothes in my room while I was away in a mental hospital. I am left math nothing but my words. The 2nd thing I did (after I showered) was tell my bf at the time what happened, bawling in tears, pain and frantically texting everything that happened so I wouldn't forget. He, instead of helping or calming me, claimed me as a cheater and left me.

I was in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship for 4 years. I have 2 daughters, I got out of it just 3 weeks ago. I am now filing for divorce. Im still not completely over it, im still somewhere in the middle. I blame myself for taking it for so long but I also wish he had not been this way. He did love me, or thats what he made me believe. We would have really good moments together, we were like friends most of the time but when something would happen that he would not like, all hell would break loose. He would scream, abuse and then raise his hand. Sometimes her would just raise hiss hand first and abuse later. After the abuse, the next day, he would come to me with bouquets and beg me for forgiveness. He would cry for hours and ask me not to leave him. He would convince me to stay, but he never honoured his commitments to me. He hit me 15 times in the total 4 years of our marriage. I cant believe I let it happen to me, I can’t believe even after being hit 15 times I had hope of things getting better. ❤️‍🩹 I am glad I am out of his house, I am glad I am away from him. I hope I can push through and persevere. The movie it ends with us came at the perfect time, when I saw it I felt it was me. It was me living that experience, being made to feel like I was crazy. The only difference is that lily decided after the 3rd time for me it took -15. But i realised at the end, I cannot out my daughters through such a traumatic childhood. I cannot let it go anymore, so ai took a stand for myself and I left. Now I am filing for divorce. Everyday with every step it only gets harder but I am certain once this is all over it will be much easier.

I didn't know what I was being asked to do. I was 6 years old. I didn't realize what had happened to me until recently. I tried to walk out of the room but I was manipulated into staying. He was my cousin. I didn't think he would use me. I didn't know what he did was wrong until about 1 year ago. It disgusts me to be around him. I have always felt for SA survivors, without knowing that I was one myself. I have taken the path of healing silently. Knowing my experience I know that there are children that are affected by this every day. I hope that by sharing my story, I can help young children know what is happening to them.

Hello, Name, and I am a domestic violence survivor reaching out in hopes of sharing my story to raise awareness and help protect other women and children. After enduring severe domestic violence, and my kids and I being kidnapped ..  I finally saw justice when the defendant in my case was found guilty and sentenced to 60 years in prison. While that conviction brought accountability, it did not end the impact of the abuse on my life or on my children’s lives. The violence we survived changed everything. My children witnessed trauma no child should ever experience, and we were forced to leave our home and everything familiar to start over in order to stay safe. The aftermath of abuse has affected our emotional well-being, stability, and ability to rebuild a sense of normalcy. I am sharing my story not for sympathy, but to bring awareness to the realities of domestic violence—especially how it affects children long after the court cases end. Survivors often escape with nothing, and rebuilding requires support, safety, and resources. Link If you are interested, I am willing to speak openly and honestly about what we endured, the legal process, and what life looks like after survival. My hope is that by telling our story, we can help save lives and bring awareness to the importance of protecting women and children. Thank you for your time and for the work you do in bringing important stories to light. Link Sincerely, NamecontactDomestic Violence Survivor

This morning I was awoken by my bed shaking and i felt a hand on my butt..it was my cousin masturbating and touching me at the same time. i dont know if its considered SA so i want to know if it is. (also he was sleeping over)

We were friends. That is what I told him when he tried to kiss me when I was drunk. He smiled and said he understood. We were friends. That is what I told him when I agreed to sleep off the alcohol at his as he insisted it wasn't safe for me to walk home. I felt a sense of relief and comfort when he smiled and said he understood. We were friends. That was what was running through my mind in those seconds that felt like hours when I slowly awoke to his hands down my pants and his soft moaning. We were friends. That was what I screamed as I ran out of his flat. We were friends. That is what I repeated to our social circle that relentlessly placed blame on me for being to 'flirty' or 'leading him on.' We were friends. The realisation that took time to reconcile and fully conceptualise. My perception of the world now shaded with nefarious hues. We were friends. That is what I told myself when I began to enjoy life again. A fleeting moment overshadowed by a watchful eye and a sense of alert that never really leaves me. We were friends. That is what I told myself when I took on the shame that wasn't mine to bear and made me doubt what I knew happened to me. We were friends. That is what I told people when I began to share my experience. Every word feeling like a toss of a stone I had carried around for far too long. We were friends. That is where I find my empowerment. The deepest violation of trust and respect, and yet, I survived.

Recovery Cake Ingredients: ½ cup journal writing 2 whole, barely ripe boyfriends 3 cups stiffly beaten sister 2 tablespoons peer counseling (can be sour) ¼ cup spicy lawsuit 2 cups therapy 2 teaspoons college 6 heaping tablespoons organic employment small pinch lukewarm volunteer work 1 whole unbleached husband 2 ½ cups sweetened children 4 cups wholegrain therapy 5 tablespoons sifted friends 1 grated, sharp book Directions: 1. Preheat oven to 575 F. 2. In a large bowl, beat together journal writing, boyfriends and sister until poised. Slowly mix in peer counseling, lawsuit and therapy, beating well after each addition. Set aside. 3. Stir together college, employment and volunteer work in a large saucepan. Set over low heat and let stimulate. 4. Wash and dry husband and children thoroughly then add ½ husband and 2 children to saucepan until all scintillating. 5. Pour the contents of the saucepan into large mixing bowl and mix until barely unified. Refrigerate for 5 years. 6. In a separate bowl, whisk together remaining ½ husband and wholegrain therapy. Continue whisking until sappy. Add to large mixing bowl and stir for 6 months. 7. Pour batter into a lubricated 10-foot round cake pan. Bake for 32 hours and 13 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the center comes out uncontaminated. 8. Cool in pan for 3 minutes. Turn out onto a cake rack and cool completely. 9. When cool, sprinkle with remaining ½ child, friends and book This is an impelling, complex tasting cake for very special occasions; delicious any time of year. Its beauty lies in how different the texture every time it is made. Try swapping out some ingredients. For example, more college, less boyfriend, or you may want to leave out the sister and measure equal portions of additional friends. Be creative and give it your own flair. Serves 10 tons of childhood abuse

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

I KNOW that right now there is someone who needs to hear this story (please see questions below). YOU wanted him. He was the most handsome boy in the neighbourhood and every girl wanted him - BUT - he raped you. It has taken 27 years for me to acknowledge the tipping point of my decent into sexual promiscuity and substance abuse. I always blamed myself for the choice to be in that room with him - I asked for it. Right? Wrong. I remember saying NO - at least 30 times!!! At least 30 times. He was the most handsome guy that I had ever seen. Every girl wanted him and I thought that I was good enough to have him. I wanted to talk to him and wanted to be alone with him for a chance to be in sight to be his girlfriend. Instead. I remember being pinned down and saying No - over and over and over again until I gave in. I even remember his words: "You are not leaving this room until I get what I want". I eventually gave in and did it and I always blamed myself for being in that position in the 1st place. I was not a virgin. I was not innocent. I was a naughty teenager - just like everyone else was at that stage - but I now know that I did not ask or deserve what I got in the room that day. I always thought that in order to be regarded as a victim of sexual abuse - that you needed to have bruises. Be bleeding. Have ripped or torn panties - SOMETHING!!!!!! To prove that this horrible thing had happened to me. I had to relocate to another city to run from my past but I could not escape my sense of worthlessness. I am not a psychologist - I only know that there are some of you reading this to even figure out if you were raped in the 1st place? I can only give you some questions, that it took me 27 years to find. I wish for you to heal faster than I did. 1. Did you say no? More than once - many times. He was not violent - you were just exhausted from saying NO and you needed to escape and so saying yes was the only way to get out of the room/car - whatever the place was. 2. Were you exposed to a sexually charged situation - without asking for it? e.g. pornography playing, without your consent to be exposed to this content. 3. Did the situation leave you feeling degraded? 4. Have you or are you using your sexuality (looks) as a a way of acceptance? 5. The opposite of the above is - do you feel uncomfortable looking pretty or drawing attention to your good looks? You dress in a manner that covers up your good looks. 6. You try to look different from the person at that stage when it happened. You have black hair - so you go blonde? You were thin and so you pick up weight. You lost weight. You changed something major about your looks. The movie "The accused" is a brutal example of this - whereby she shaves all of her hair off. Does this sound familiar? In some or other way - this brutal change of looks does manifest after abuse. 5. You have trouble looking at yourself in the mirror - or even taking pictures is hard for you. 5. Do you have trouble saying NO? To anyone.... 6. Do you allow verbal or psychological abuse? Deep down you know this is happening. It feels uncomfortable. A good place to dissect this is if you have a degrading boss/spouse but you have not reported him to HR/Police and you just keep on working/staying there. I hope that this is published. I know that I am not a professional BUT I am a survivor. AND finally I have the courage to say so. Name. YOU raped me. You changed the trajectory of my life. I made myself small since then. I allowed perpetual abuse into my life since then BUT today IT STOPS. I forgive you for a being a 17 year old boy - who raped a 15 year old girl. I know that in YOUR head - you know what you did that day was wrong and you have paid the price ever since, just as much as I have, ever since that day. MOST importantly. I want YOU - the victim to know, that you are RIGHT. It WAS rape and you are not stupid. Or fat, or ugly. Or not worthy. And no amount of "fake" compensation will ever fix the void in your soul until you are willing to admit - that you were indeed raped. From there - your healing will be begin. I wish you abundant self love and may you never ever again, doubt that you are worthy of the highest level of (self) love. I know that you wanted to him to validate your worth that day.......BUT only you can validate you. Know that he has no power over you anymore. Only you do and stop allowing this moment and the resulting degrading experiences, to define you any further. IT was not your fault. It will never be your fault. Forgive yourself. Love yourself. AMEN.

It was a cold night in 2019 I was at a party while on FaceTime arguing with my on again off again boyfriend of 3 years I was at the party with a mutual friend of ours in the bathroom throwing up from too much liquor as he yelled at me through the phone accusing me of having sex with men at the party in the bathroom even tho I was in there just throwing up. I told my friend I wanted to leave I was not feeling well she said ok, little did I know she was setting me up we left the party I’m in the backseat of her car In & out of it. I hear her on the phone with him he yelling at her through the phone telling her he ran out of gas on the expressway & to come get him ( a lie) I tell her please don’t pick him up we were in the middle of our off phase which usually led to a fight. She ignored me as she drove towards him & I fell asleep. I was abruptly awakened to a slap across my face & to my horror he was in the back seat next to me, I felt a sense of dread over take me I came to & looked around we were parked in front of my apartment my friend sat in the front seat silently as he criticized my outfit & told me I was dressed like A slut asking for it ( I had on a black mini skirt & a big pullover hoodie with tights) he hit me again but this time I swung back defending myself I knocked his glasses off his face & he looked at me filled with rage. I looked down at my hands as 3 of my false fingernails started bleeding I guess i punched him so hard i cracked my nails. He told me “ you gon be sorry u did that” he grabbed me by my hair & yanked me out of the car I tried to hold on to the door because I had a sinking feeling something bad was about to happen , something worse than the usual abuse he subjected me too. I called out to my friend to help me she did nothing as he dragged me out of the car & up the back stairs of my apartment complex I screamed as he pulled on my pony tail like a yo-yo dragging me one flight at a time no one came to save me. He grabbed my lanyard with my house keys from around my neck & used them to open the back door he shoved me inside I fell on the kitchen floor he grabbed me by my hoodie & pulled me into my bedroom our bedroom that we once shared he pulled my hoodie over my head & threw me on the bed, by this point I was pretty sobered up ( I wish I wasn’t so I wouldn’t have to remember this part) he stood over me “ that little a** skirt this what u choose to wear outside? You In the bathroom with other men with that little skirt on?” I diddnt know what to say we fought plenty of times & I saw his rage but never like this he reached down, ripped my tights off & pulled my skirt off all in one motion in that moment he turned into a living breathing MONSTER his pupils dilated & dark he climbed on top of me it wasn’t gentle it wasn’t nice it’s like the whole world stopped I couldn’t hear I couldn’t speak I was nothing I sank into nothingness every stroke sent me deeper into a black void of nothingness the room was pitch black dark the only light coming in from the moon through the window I looked at this monster taking over the shell of the man I once loved I watched him kill my soul slowly. I finally found my voice through the agonizing pain “ please don’t please stop” I pushed on his chest & instantly felt the sharp pain of my broken false nails shoot through my hands. A single tear fell from my left eye he paused he asked me “ why u keep telling me stop like I’m ra**** you?” I replied “ you are get off me.” I felt his body stiffen as he announced “ I have young daughters I don’t play that” he pulled out. I quickly put my self in a fetal position & cried as I Layed on my side shaking. I should have never turned my back on him it angered him he blurted out “ but you think it’s ok for you to go out in such tiny clothes anything could have happened to you.” I Layed there thinking to myself wats worse than this? He seemed to contemplate sparing me for a few minutes but ultimately the monster won again he grabbed me out of my fetal position like a rag doll & put me into a doggy style position I reached back my hand in an attempt to stop him from entering me ignoring the throbbing in my hand “ please I’m sorry for wearing the skirt please don’t” I guess the monster doesn’t have ears he grabbed my hand & pinned both down from my wrist he killed wat little soul I had left I felt myself starting to bleed I drifted away to the moon I left my body sweet relief I was ok I was far away. Bittersweet defeat. When I Came back to my body he slumped over sleep beside me I Layed there awake until the sun fully came up. His phone rang & he woke up & kissed me on the forehead like nothing happened he sat on his phone & FaceTimed his friend as they joked casually about how drunk I was the night before & how he “ diddnt get any” he looked me in my eyes to see if I had any objections I quickly looked down At the blood stained sheets on the bed, a stark reminder it wasn’t all a horrible nightmare & that I was still sitting with my monster. I got up To go take a shower & rinse the embarrassment off my body.. I stand there numb he burst into the bathroom with my phone in hand it’s ringing I look at the screen it’s a call from my ex he instructs me out of the shower & hits me I fall on the bathroom floor naked he stands over me, “ please not again “ I think to myself my spirit is so broken I don’t speak he tells me to unlock my phone I don’t respond I’m frozen trying to brace myself for the monster to come back I look up i recognize the black g** he always carries around he holds it to my head for a split second I wish he would just do it I already feel Like a worthless empty shell laying there naked at his mercy once again. I give him the password he instructs me to tell my ex I never want to speak to him again & that I’m happy I do it. I get up get dressed & dropped him off at his friends house that’s the last time I see him. I move to the house I’m at now & cut communication. Fast forward to 2023 we reconnect I get the courage to confront him about what he did to me we’ve only talked on the phone am I wrong because I still think I love him? He apologized he was my boyfriend my protector I tried to forgive him & move on it was so long ago I feel like if I would not have turned my back on him or wore that skirt he would have not been triggered I know it’s not my fault. Secretly tho some times when I talk to him that night pops up in my head & I lose my breathe I feel sick to my stomach & I can’t breathe about it I get stuck back in my old room until I come back & focus on my breathing I’m getting better I believe tho. I never thought I would be able to tell my story I’ve always felt so embarrassed & ashamed something like this can happen I thought it only happens on law & order. Sorry it was so long but thanks for listening. 💔

This is something I’ve thought about for a long time. I told some people but they don't know the details. I’ll start at the beginning. When I was first sexually abused. I had a best friend. I have known her since we were in diapers. I always went to her house every. Single. Weekend. Until fourth grade was over. Well, this particular time was different. I used the bathroom at her house like I always do. Now this is where it gets weird. She asked me if I…pooped. Yeah, weird. I reluctantly told her yes. I don’t exactly remember what happened next, but every weekend she would try and get me to poop. Even if I didn’t have to. Now, this is the crazy part. She would have me get down on my hands and knees with my pants down. Then she would shove a Sharpie in me. Yes, it hurt. My face scrunched up. She kept going and I didn’t say anything because one, I was scared and two I just freaked out and froze. And sometimes she would lay and towel down on her floor, wanting me to take a crap on it. I didn’t that time but I think I did. Once. Another time was when she got orbies. Yes, ORBIES. She put them in a pencil case that was filled with water. When they grew, she had me get on my hands and knees again and shoved them in me like she did with the Sharpie. Now, I didn’t really know what was going on. I was nine and clueless. And a little scared of her. She tends to get violent sometimes if I don’t do something she wants. So this time like all the other times, I didn’t say a word. Once I was full of orbies, she had me sit on the toilet and push them out. Some were too far up me and I couldn’t get it out. So…this is really hard to put down. I’ve never gone into this much detail before. She had to use her finger to get them out. When they were out, she had me do the same thing to her. And that was the first and only time she wanted me to do something to her. Every time I would go over, she did the same thing. I kept going to her house because I mean she’s my best friend and I didn’t know it was wrong until it popped up in my head one day. Four years later. Now, when I found out it was wrong. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to think. Well, the first thing I thought was ‘why.’ I was traumatized from then on. And then the unthinkable happened. It happens AGAIN. This story has a lot of parts. So I had this neighbor that was really annoying and I tried to avoid her. Well, when I couldn’t I had to hang out with her. And when we did it wasn’t all bad. We went to her granny and papa’s house and swam in their pool and played laser tag. This particular afternoon, we were at her granny and papa’s house swimming. So, we’re swimming and my top keeps falling. So then I decided to just take it off. I mean we were both girls and I didn’t think much of it. But that just led to worse things happening. So back to the pool. She asked if she could kiss me. I didn’t know what to say. I mean I’ve never kissed anyone before, so I said ‘sure’ just wanting to try it out. Mind you, I didn’t like her like that. So to me, it was a kiss. To her, it was something more. So we kissed and then I grinded on her leg and she did the same to me. So, we got out after that and just hung out. A little while after that we started dating. It was on and off. She only wanted sexual favors but I’ll get to that. We were at their house, we were in her room looking for her X-box. She sat on the bed and I just stood there awkwardly. Then she mentioned something about me either giving her head or fingering her. I don't remember but, I do remember somehow avoiding the question and changed the subject. Fast forward to a few weeks later, we were at my house in my pool. So were just swimming and playing around. Well, she got horny like she always does whenever we’re alone. This is the really disturbing part. We had these pool torpedoes, right? We had like four of them. Well, she got creative and decided to shove two up inside her and she wanted me to do the same. I asked ‘why’ and she just said ‘Just do it, it feels good.’ I of course didn’t believe her, but she kind of coerced me to. So she put two in me and it hurt like hell. I could barely move. After a few seconds of having them in, I wanted them out, but she wouldn’t let me. I told her it hurt and she didn’t care. She told me I had to get ready for dick. Instead, we got out of the pool and walked to my treehouse. I don't know how I could walk let alone climb the ladder to get up into the treehouse. So we sat down, and I said, ‘Name, please let me take them out, it hurts.’ she said I could only take them out if I fingered her. Yeah, she’s controlling and manipulative. She gave me no choice. When I was done, I took them out. Just then her mom came over and said it was time to go home. Thank god. When she left, I went inside and changed. When I was done, I went to the bathroom and it burned. And I was bleeding. Yeah, she popped my fucking cherry in the worst way possible. Crazy right? Well, it doesn’t end there. It hurt to walk because I had a constant burn between my legs. I couldn’t wear underwear because it hurt so bad. They would rub up against me and make the pain even worse. I didn’t tell anybody because I was ashamed of myself. I never told her ‘no.’ it's like you do something you don’t want to do and you feel like you have no choice. You just kind of disassociate and aren’t in the moment. And when it's over, that’s when it hits you. And you ask yourself, ‘Why did I do that?’ and you can’t go back and fix it. I ask myself that every day I see her, when I go near my pool, and when I see those toys she used on me. I could hardly fall asleep that night, and the burn made it hard to sleep. A few days after when I went to the bathroom it burned and there was this pain. I can’t explain. I couldn’t even do track practice. I later found out I had a UTI. I didn’t dare tell anyone about it because I was ashamed of myself. I let this happen to me again. That wasn’t the only time. I tried to avoid her after that but she always saw me and I’d pretend to be happy to see her. Whenever we were alone together she would somehow coerce me into doing sexual things to her. One time I went over to her house after I got off the bus. I put my backpack inside and went back over. I wasn’t to be over there because her mom wasn't home. She invited me in, and of course, I didn’t speak up and say ‘no’ for the hundredth time. So she showed me around the house and we sat on the couch and I tried to have a casual conversation but all she wanted to do was make out. She convinced me to go into her room. And there we made out and got naked. I really hate saying this. But I was kissing her and she asked me ‘You want to eat this pussy?’ and I didn’t say no. I just nodded my head and I hated myself and wanted to kill myself afterward. I went home and washed my face and my mouth to get her taste off my face and my mouth. I never said no because one I was scared and if I said I didn’t want to she would threaten me or manipulate me into what she wanted. Like what she did at the pool. Im still traumatized from that. And I see her every day at school. I can't forget what she did to me. Now I don't like people touching me the way she made me touch her. Since she was my first sexual experience now I do things with girls more than I do with boys. She messed me up in so many ways. I told my friend what she did and of course, she was disgusted. She made this ‘ugh’ face and shook her head. It was funny. This is the more updated version than what I put on paper, but im gonna put this on paper. I could print it but I don't want my parents to read this. They would be very concerned.

It was a cold snowy winter night just before the COVID shutdown spread across the country. I was attending the second-year graduate school class reception with a group of friends from the second-year graduate class. My "date" as my invitation to attend that class's event was really someone everyone knew was in a committed long-distance relationship and just using the extra ticket as a fun excuse to invite me as friend. It was a fun time to explore a historic mansion while having food and wine. An hour later, as it was about to conclude, one of the second-year's partners turns to me and tells me she would really like to meet me at a bar, and a group of people from that class are planning to go there. I turn to my "date" and we both agree to go. We drove to the vintage bar, one I never had been to before. I walk in through the snow and ice in my black high heels in a cocktail dress covered by my winter jacket, trying my best not to trip. A cocktail and a few conversations among classmates of my "date" later, I find myself in the corner chatting with the person who invited me to the bar from the reception. Something seemed off from the start of the conversation -- and it only got worse. The 30-something-appearing cis woman was a faculty member, yet seemed to serial date younger, new students at the same professional school -- a fact a classmate mentioned in passing with an eye-roll earlier. The one-to-one conversation with me appeared to go in circles, with her repeating the same stories over and over again without realizing that she was doing so. Awkward conversation, but it would just be a temporarily annoyance, my thought was. Yet it took an even more bizarre turn. She kept getting closer to closer to me as she was talking. At one point, she touched my shoulder, ostensibly to make a comment about how she liked my dress. She was mentioning her professional expertise and connections in the field I was, and still am, most interested in entering. She then started asking me awkward questions about how I was visibly trans, and then mentioned as a complete non-sequitur how she was the dominant "masculine" partner in her relationship. And then, to my horror, I noticed her abruptly lifting the bottom of my dress up and reaching underneath my dress to attempt to grope either my inner thigh...or worse. This wasn't just a slight motion; her hand was fully underneath my dress and moving fast upwards, from what I could clearly see from the brief glimpse I took. I immediately stepped backwards with a wide-eyed look on my face, in total disbelief of what just happened...and what did not happen that was mere seconds away from fully happening. She turned away in a hurry and walked back to her partner at the bar -- who was oblivious to what just happened -- grabbed him by the arm, and made an excuse to request to leave. This was not the first time I had experience attempted or completed sexual assault. Just like when I experienced rape the year of my college graduation, during a different cold winter night years earlier, I remember feeling puzzled, confused, and very much *not* wanting to put a label on what just happened to me. The events of each night leading up to the sexual assault always seem so random and not predictable as they are happening, but in retrospect, it is so easy to attempt to scrutinize every detail as a possible warning sign of what was to come. Yet I do not even want to think about the likely reality that the attempted sexual assault I experienced that night seemed to happen due to being visibly trans. When people think of post-traumatic stress disorder from an evolutionary perspective, it is typically thought of as an adaptive way to avoid situations of future danger. But when you're scared of social events and comments about personal identity, just think of how unpredictable the healing journey is.