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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 a victim of child sexual abuse when I was 7 years old and my cousin's stepbrother was 9 or 10. He abused me for two years. I told my mother what happened, and his parents punished him. Most of my family didn't believe me. In a conversation with my mother, she told me I had probably made up the whole abuse and that I was a liar, and I cried a lot that day. My grandmother is proud of him because he's a doctor in Germany and has a good life, while I'm trapped. I can't stand being touched and I can't get over it, even though I've been to therapy. Yesterday I saw his Instagram and felt bad because he moved on and I didn't. He told me it was a secret and I trusted him (the three of us were alone because my uncle and his wife -who is the mother of my abuser- are doctors so they were always in the hospital). They would leave the food ready for us and he (A) would put it in the microwave. A pulled my pants down a little or lift my skirt (if i was wearing one). When A was on top of me he was kissing me- it was overwhelming and i couldn't focus on anything else but his breath and voice, he was grabbing his crotch, but I didn't understand what he was doing. We were playing normal with his little sister and then A exclude her from the game to be alone with me so A put her in front of the television so she wouldn't focus on us and was distracted. Then A guided me to the room, he close the door to the room he shared with his sister (my cousin's bed was near the door and his wasn't), so he would make me lie down on the floor next to his bed so no one could see us. At first, I would get on top of him, but then he said I was too heavy to be in that position (I guess it wasn't comfortable for him to abuse me). That led to an eating disorder that I still have; I even developed anemia last year. I remember once I ran to the bathroom because something didn't feel right, but he started banging on the door but then I realized there was nothing I could do, I mean where would I go? My uncles locked us out. I remember once, A didn't close the door properly because his sister came in, and he straightened his clothes and pushed me under his bed, but his sister saw me and asked me what I was doing there, and I stayed there for a long time. And her sister got under the bed to keep me company; she was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear her, or maybe I wasn't paying attention. I think I'm broken, because his kisses and his voice in my ear were too much, and I never noticed if he ejaculated or if something else happened that I overlooked or never noticed because I never went to a doctor, my mom never reported him. And we couldn't count on my dad because he abandoned us and went off with the neighbor and treated her daughter as his own while the abuse was happening. That's why I lived in their house during that time; that's why the abuse continued because I was in the provinces and my mother traveled to the capital because of a false accusation my father made against her. A year later, my mother's half-brother baptized me with my abuser's mother, and I never said anything. I just smiled in the photos as if nothing was wrong while I hugged A. Now I´m 22 and I still feel sick and dirty.

I was with my ex and I had just started some new tablets that made me sleepy. I tell my ex that I’m going to sleep and he continues to play his video game. I wake in a daze around an hour later and he is raping me and enjoying it. I react by making noises out of fear and wait for him to finish up the act , I just froze in fear. Once it was over I was mad he never got consent but he told me that he thought I wanted it. It’s been nearly a year and I’m still not over it

I was about 8 years old when I was getting molested by my older brother. He's about 4-5 years older than me. I'm an adult now and finished college. My brain had repressed the memories of it for years and I didn't really remember it well until I was in therapy while at university for stress and depression. I think talking about my upbringing in therapy and my relationship with my parents finally made the memories surface. I always knew something bad was going on, I just didn't understand it. I remember multiple instances. He'd have me lay face down on my bed and pull my pants down to "massage" me. I think he only ever groped on my ass cheeks, but I can't remember. He did that multiple times. He came into my room once and made me get naked and he got behind me and laid on the floor behind my bed, out of view if the door opened, and he told me to not look and just sit back. I felt his penis and began to freak out, so he stopped. I think he was trying to penetrate me. I don't think he ever actually did. The last major time I can remember, I went into his room because I liked watching him play video games. He made me get naked again and lay in bed next to him naked. I felt him rubbing his penis on me. My mom opened the door and saw we were naked and began yelling. I was so scared anytime my mom yelled at me. I got out of bed quickly and got dressed. I was shaking so bad it was difficult. I ran out of his room to my room down the hall as she continued to yell at him. I thought I was in trouble too, even though I never understood what was going on. I just felt weird and gross after. She never came to check on me. Not that I remember at least. We didn't talk about it, she didn't take me to get help, there was nothing. All these years later, my mom called one night and I confronted her about it. I have no contact with my brother now and she'd always ask if I talked to him or talked to dad (they're divorced). I finally told her what I remembered. She said everything I expected her to say. She said she was sorry, that she thought it was only once and didn't want to imagine it happened multiple times. She said she failed as a mother and she thought at the time that she had handled it after threatening my brother to never do it again. No report, no doctor visit, no therapy, no help for me. I don't think she ever even told my dad. Just that she's sorry and should have done more. She said everything I already assumed she would and had played out in my head a hundred times before I ever asked her about it. None of it made me feel better to hear. I know the type of person she is already. Emotionally stunted, self-centered, victim complex. She hadn't changed much at all since then. She got upset and cried and eventually we both hung up. For my brother, I just finally stopped talking to him. I blocked him and I don't go to my dad's in case he's there again. I think the last time I saw him was almost a year ago. We didn't talk anymore anyway. I'd try before I remembered what happened. I think he remembers too and can't face it either, so we were never close after we grew up. I'm still processing how it all affected me. I honestly hate my mother more than him sometimes since she was the adult and did nothing. I'm not sure what else to say.

You think your age makes you less to blame, But I carry the weight, I bear the shame. You crossed the line — no excuse to hide, No softer words can wash this tide. I’m not the one who should feel small, You built this cage, you made me fall. No matter your years, no matter your face, You took from me my safe, my space. But here I stand, I claim my voice, I break the chains, I make the choice. I won’t be silent, I won’t back down, I wear my courage like a crown. So hear me now, and hear me clear, Your actions caused this pain and fear. Age won’t protect what you have done— I am the survivor, I have won.

In my survival story, "Just Words, Dirty Words", I shared so much and I brushed over an experience with a male gynecologist. It was a much bigger deal that I let on because it had triggered my previous abuse as an adolescent on my first job. I wonted other girls and women to understand what is not okay for a gynecologist to do. It was not until after it happened that I realized the full impact. I realized I had let myself be victimized again without trying to stop it. I felt self-loathing and anxiety. I write this letter to that opportunistic predator. You broke your oath. You betrayed the trust. You are terrible! I have done research on what a breast and pelvic exam is supposed be like and understand you used the framework to sexually assault me. I was late for the appointment to get birth control at the university clinic when I had just moved for college. You let me in even though you had no nurse chaperon, it seemed that you might have sent them home after putting me in the room. You are a man and that is against policy. We shared our first eye contact and I ignored your lust and first glance flirtation. You saw I was vulnerable and needed something from you. You told me as a new patient you have to do a full first visit exam. Now I believe you may have lied. I nodded and put down my guard. When you returned I was undressed wearing a paper smock for a false sense of security. I was self conscious even though I had impeccable hygiene and grooming but worried I was not fresh enough so late in the day because you were a man and you made it sexual. You examined my breasts with no gloves. I said nothing. I knew you were massaging them for you pleasure. You went on for five minutes like that. I think five whole minutes while you kept talking. When my boss used to molest me just seconds was plenty to make me feel sick and used. He would sit on my torso, compressing my ribs to the point I could not take a deep breath and have sex with my breasts and he usually took less time than you. do remember you used the words “wonderful” and “amazing” when commenting on by breast health. We could both smell the musk from down below from stimulating me like that. I was embarrassed. You should have been the one ashamed! You mentioned the textures and gave some instructional anatomy to pretend it might be official. You asked random questions and you shared personal stories like it was a date. All the while you were groping my tits like a pervert. Both hands at the same time! I tried to cover for you by pretending like this was not insane and not a sexual assault. You were twice my age and your mustache was ridiculous. You finally moved on to the pelvic exam. You said the words, “Very nice” when you lifted up the paper drape to help my feet into the stirrups. That is not appropriate when viewing a patient’s vagina for the first time. You explained every step from “I’m going to touch your thighs now” to “take a deep breath as I insert the speculum”. That part was quick but then you explained the manual exam that you did for too long. You inserted two fingers to check for cervical motion tenderness but rubbed my clitoris with your lubricated thumb as you did so. That was wrong! You explained that you were going to move your other hand to check for tenderness of my ovaries to check for infection but kept working your other hand on my clit and inside me. You put what felt like three fingers in me! You were sexually assaulting me again. Breaching my trust. Ignoring you oath. As a last indignity you felt for masses in the space between my vagina and rectum. You left your thumb in my vagina while you put a finger in my anus and moved them both back and in and out explaining you thought you felt something for a second but it resolved on massage, meaning it was nothing to worry about. You raped me! That was rape! I looked it up and what you were doing is a real part of an exam but no gynecologist had done that before then or ever since! Instead of leaving the room while I dressed you stayed and helped by holding out my clothes! Totally inappropriate! You should not have a medical license! Sure I let you, and I cooperated, and even tried to endure it and put on a pleasant face. I was a different person then and you just continued my cycle of being abused by men. But the anus part was where I felt true terror and wanted to get out. You gave me a business card with your name on it and told me to call and ask when you were working to schedule next visit. Then you only wrote me for 1 refill on 30 day birth control! Like I would even come back to be assaulted again. You smug abuser of power and trust! I left with you thinking I enjoyed that and would see you again!!! You make me want to scream and pound on things! It was delayed, but my abuse anxiety was triggered that night, and days after. I will never see a male gynecologist again. Your lust and greed is not better than that of a rapist. You broke my trust in the medical system and I still get anxiety at any doctor visit. Just because a girl’s reaction to abuse is not instant, because of some survival mechanism, does not make it any less painful. Sometimes even more, because we feel guilty for not being strong and assertive. You were in a position of authority and abused it so badly. You should be ashamed, doctor! You should be in prison!

I feel like nobody talks about COCSA. And I feel like no one talks about female perpetrators. I’m not necessarily here to talk about the abuse that happened to me, but for context, I was nine and the other child was a nine year old girl. What really haunts me is what I did after. I inflicted this pain onto someone else, I figure I was probably about 10 and she was 9. She was my mom’s friends daughter. My mom’s best friend, actually. And I’ve been thinking a lot about how much that must’ve ruined their friendship when they found out what happened. How much anger my mother must have deep down felt towards me. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. And I tell myself “I didn’t touch her I didn’t actually lay my hands on her I didn’t do it” but I did. I hurt someone like that and maybe I have an excuse and maybe I don’t but all I can think is how horrible I feel to have done something like that to another person. It was never about getting caught or getting in trouble, im just disgusted with myself. Just recently I remembered that I was raped twice that night, not once. And now I’m terrified that maybe I’m forgetting something and maybe I did this more than once, but how could I have forgotten doing something like that? I would never harm a child today. Never. There is not a single doubt in my mind that I would ever hurt anybody like that again. All I think about now is if I’m this awful person because nobody ever talks about this side of childhood SA and the people that do are treated like monsters. But maybe that’s what I deserve.

He would break up with me and then win me back. This went on for over a year. We were staying at a local hotel for the weekend to celebrate his birthday. We got into an argument in public so I went back to the hotel room by myself. I didn’t let him back in the hotel room when he first got back and instead, packed up all of his belongings. Once I let him in, he threw some of his things. I asked him to leave. He got on his phone. I asked him to leave again and he pushed me down onto my back. He proceeded to punch me over and over again in my eye and head. After the first punch, I said “I’m sorry, please stop”. His response was, “so NOW you’re sorry”. When he finally stopped, I immediately ran to the wall and got crouched down, as blood gushed out of my nose. I again pleaded for him to leave as he cussed at me. He did leave after that. He broke my orbital floor in my eye and my finger. I filed a protective order and was granted it for a year.

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.

At the time, my sister and I were bathing with a man my mother had described as "the man who would become my father." My sister was probably only about three years old, so I don't think she remembers it, but the man made my sister wash his genitals. I suddenly remembered it recently, and I'm tormented by the thought that it might have been sexual abuse, and blaming myself for not protecting my sister. I want to disappear.

You don’t believe it when you’re told that your life can change in an instant—and then it does. This is my story, or what I can remember of it. On April 12th, 2022, I was raped at gunpoint, at home. In less than 10 minutes, I became another statistic, but a statistic that survived... It’s 6:15 AM, and I’m about to leave to check on a pet sitting client’s cat, then go to work—not an unusual routine for me. It was a way to bring in extra income, and an easy one at that. I’ve always loved animals, and if you love what you do you’ll never work a day in your life. Apparently, my routine was known to more than just me and my animals. As I opened the door to leave, a man was on my porch, and he asked for William. Not knowing how this particular conversation would shape my future, I told him that William didn’t live here and closed the door–it wasn’t uncommon for strangers to come to the door. Before me, an elderly lady had lived here with her son, you see, and people came looking for them all the time, so I thought nothing of it. Figured he’d be gone by the time I opened the door again. I was wrong, and I’ve hated myself for opening that door the second time. I’ve never been face to face with death before that day, never faced an evil so potent that you could taste it in the air...but I can say with certainty I have now. I was pushed backward–not with a physical touch, but with the threat that now loomed in front of me. He checked the bedroom on his left, which adjoined the entrance of the house, looking for other inhabitants–there were none. I lived alone, aside from my animals, which didn’t phase him. Looking back, this tells me he had been watching me for some time, waiting. He pushed me back even further, to the kitchen. He “requested” my phone, and told me to unlock it–I didn’t have much choice, so I agreed. In an effort to get the upper hand, I desperately asked him if I could check on my fosters, since they were in the adjoining room–surprised, he agreed. He checked the room (again for other inhabitants), and while he was looking through my phone, I pressed a panic button that was on the wall he couldn’t see, underneath a lightswitch...1...2...3...and I let go. Praying to some deity that help would get there in time... It’s at this point he sat down at the kitchen table and tried to get me to join him...being a loud-mouthed woman, I started loudly asking him “WHY? I’m a good person! Why would you do this to me?!” Slow motion...he gets up from the table...tells me to face the wall... “Is this happening? Maybe he’ll just leave” I foolishly thought...he lifted my dress, and I spun around to stop him, not wanting what was about to happen. “Put him off just a few minutes more, help is coming, you can do this.” But I couldn’t. He backed me across the kitchen, against the counter...and I struggled. Of course I did. My parents raised a fighter, and I didn’t want to go down without a fight... But he was bigger, stronger, and he had a gun. I’ve never known fear, true fear, until I tasted steel, or whatever guns are even made of. All I know now is that pure fear must have a metallic taste. “Shut up, bitch, ya understand?” and all I could do was nod. I don’t put much stock in religion, not really, and if there is a god up there, I wonder how he could make it so easy to violate a person. Why there aren’t any safeguards to stop it—it’s not really a gate we have much control over. What kind of god could make us such easy targets? You can believe what you want to, and I may get some flack for this, and that’s okay. I’m allowed my thoughts, as is everyone else to theirs. My body had no control over who was inside of it. I had no control. While he pleasured himself, I had to sit there and take it, or die, and even then it was a slim chance I would come out of this alive. I knew my chances, and the possibility of him letting me see his face and me somehow surviving weren’t great. I knew that, even then. Then the doorbell rang. This pervert, this waste of space, leapt up and looked around the corner, to see who might be looking in the living room window and when he saw who it was...said “Get up, bitch,” pulled up his pants, grabbed his gun, and bolted out the back door. In shock, I did as I was told, and just stood there while he ran—but when my brain comprehended that the threat was gone, my body propelled itself towards the front door and ran outside—I didn’t appreciate just how beautiful it was. But there was no time to bask in safety–the threat wasn’t far away. I screamed to the cops to get him, that he ran out the back...they asked who. The guy who raped me. On April 12th, 2022, at around 6:30 AM, I became a statistic. Not long after, it felt like the whole city police were on scene–and I think they were. For an hour, I am not permitted to change my clothes. I can still smell him. I can still feel him. As I lay in the emergency room, I looked through my phone and discovered all of my security footage...gone. Just gone. Luckily for me, and unluckily for him, I paid a monthly subscription for cloud service. As I’m being violated, once again, I captured his face. You can’t hide from me, not for long. As my mom sits next to me, I send his face to the detective. I joke with the doctor, with the nurses, coping the only way I can, and the way I’ve seen my dad do in the past—build connections, and use them as a way back to shore. Keep yourself afloat, just a while longer. One second, one minute, one hour, one day–as long as you can. Afterwards, to the police station for my statement. No one is allowed to go back with me. Later that night, I get a call to come in to look at a lineup. Even just less than a day later, my brain is trying to protect me–block out his face, by any means possible. Blur it beyond recognition. But I have his face. My brain can’t fight me on this. On the way to the station, my parents in tow, I study it. Imagine it with different facial hair, different hairstyles. I still wasn’t ready. Again, no one was allowed to go back with me. When his photo came up, I didn’t know it was him. I wasn’t certain. But I did have what they call a “visceral reaction.” My hands shook, my voice trembled, and I felt so cold I couldn’t stop shivering. Something inside me knew. I struggled with that guilt for weeks after—what if I’d put the wrong person away? What if I was wrong? Then the message came from the detective, regarding my rape kit. “It was a match.” Thank you. Thank you so much. I was right. Dammit, I was right. On April 12th, 2022, at approximately 6:30 AM, I became a statistic. But a statistic that survived. A statistic that fought back, and a statistic that hasn’t given up, not yet. Not ever. I’m not ashamed. I am a part of a family larger than it should be, of survivors just like me. We are survivors. Lessons to take from this: Check outside before opening your door Invest in a security system Invest in a panic button Practice how you will stay alive long enough to come out the other side of a situation—rehearse every scenario you possibly can Keep your wits about you—you never know when they could save your life Nothing is a 100% failsafe–but even the smallest thing could keep you alive to see another day.

I was in my early 20's, moved to Long Island from an upstate town for college and graduated with honors. I was excited to land a job in NYC with a large financial/insurance company. My boss was a young fairly handsome married man with good manners and was so nice at first. I was warned by a few woman to watch out for him because he was a player. Well naive me fell for his attention. At first the things g's he did seemed innocent, like walking with me to Penn Station. That turned into stopping off for drinks which then turned into kissing and touching . I look back at how stupid I was as he reeled me in and wonder why I did this. I can only say that I had left home because I did not have a good relationship with my dad and I was attention starved and he pounced on that. One thing led to another and I met him at a hotel. I felt awful after and wanted to end it but he threatened my job that I really needed. People started suspecting things at work and before I knew it, this smart student had a reputation. This went on for months and he was very controlling. He also would do things to make me jealous and to undermine my confidence. I hated myself. I believe his higher ups talked him into transferring me to a different dept in a different building so he could advance in his career. He did advance, quickly. I, on the other hand, moved and so did my reputation and my low self esteem. I had a couple of other encounters in the new area and finally changed companies altogether, which was the best thing I ever did. At the new company I remade myself and became and was seen as the true professional I am. I went back to school for my masters, have a beautiful family and a great career. BUT... I still have bouts of shame and at times my self esteem p!unges. None of my family or friends know any of this. I still harbor resentment against this man who retired at a very high level and runs a consulting company now. I wonder how many other women and careers he affected.

Hearing other people's stories make em feel not alone

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.

I wrote this poem today after hearing of guilty verdict in current court case with taxi drive and two separate victims. Title: Me Too Taxi Driver I too have been where you two have been. I too went out with friends. I too had one too many. I too got in the taxi. I too expected safety. I too was raped. Followed in through my front door by a taxi driver who wanted more than the fare that I had paid him. I too reported my assault. I too made my statement. Then our stories diverge. My case went nowhere. My trauma went inwards. My anger turned septic. My shame imploded. My mother does not know. My case went absolutely nowhere. Insufficient evidence and no identifiable suspect minimised my experience. So I thank you for standing strong, for speaking up, for getting some of the justice that I have craved. My taxi driver will never hear the judgement of a jury, and probably never even felt guilt. But he raped me, and in the court of my mind, the jury is unanimous, he is guilty, guilty, guilty.

Sexual violence is not foreign to my Black Queer body, despite my inability to always verbalize the violence that I have endured. My first experience of sexual violence started at the age of seven. Despite the trauma endured, I am resilient and the possible of healing. Throughout life I have learned the value of advocating for self and discovering true community. I am proud to share my story and to help those who desire healing just as I did/do.

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