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

I 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.

My sexual assaults story is uncommon for most and hard to most people to grasp. Who would believe that children are capable of knowing and doing such gruesome things to person? Most children are not like this and their experiences are different. It first happened when I was 8 years old while, my abuser was 7 years old at the time. I remember the abuse happening gradually as we build our friendship. It first started with us doing typical kid stuff like us playing together and joking around. And one day, he asked me to play this new game with him. I said sure. I thought it would be one of those silly jokes stunts of his. Instead he pulled my pants down and rubbed his private part against my bottom. It was really uncomfortable moment for me since, I grew-up in a strict Christian-based family. I have never witness anyone on television or heard of the things he was doing to me. Afterwards, I remember me being shy to tell anyone and feeling like I would get into trouble. So I remained quiet. How would any parent react if you see children engaging in sexual behavior? Wouldn't you automatically assume it was the oldest child to teach someone this behavior? This went on for almost 2 years. His behavior became more advance and his request got more weirder. One time, he begged me to drink his pee directly from his part. I told him no. And he stomped across the room mad. He kept persisting and demanding that I try it. Eventually, I gave in but, I told him only from a cup. It was the most dehumanizing experiences of my life. It was not long afterwards, that my father caught us. I remember me trying shove the boy off of me. And telling him that my dad was coming and he kept going harder and harder. I guess he thought I was lying to convince him to get off of me. He wouldn't stop until my father walked into the room.

Just words. You have trouble talking about these things. You realize you have trouble talking about a lot of things. You remember being excited about your first job at Company Name. One of your friends works there and you know a lot of people work there as a summer job. It’s the 1990’s and it’s been grandfathered in that they can pay you less than minimum wage because it’s like a part time training experience for students getting their first work experience. Like a newspaper route. Those are for boys. You got so excited after being nervous you asked for an application along with your friend. You don’t remember meeting him then. So many people want to get chosen for that crap job because for some reason it’s become a sought after thing among the cool kids. You do remember the phone call that you can come for an interview. Walking home you wonder if being cute and having larger breasts than most almost freshman girls had something to do with it. You met Name and remember him for sure this time. The way you look has been a curse far more than a blessing. One reason people would not feel that bad for you. 'God sure blessed you, honey." You have so many bad memories, blocked memories, repressed memories because of Name. You are having second thoughts as tears build up. You need a drink. You quit drinking years ago and today you have three months and eight days sober. Your record is nine months and two days. You are strong. Most of the time. You are hollow. All the time. Name wasn’t the last but he was the first. You change his name although you don’t want to. He is the symbol of your hatred of all that is wrong with men. You were tricked. Name got what he wanted from you. Too many times. Too many times before you stopped going back. Just stopped. You could have just stopped after the first time he held you close and caressed you before your mom picked you up that night. The first time. You still don’t understand or forgive yourself for that. You had let a boy at a party and a boy at an 8th grade dance put their hand up your shirt. You had liked it so much those times. It had been exciting and happy. Name did not make you happy. You went back. You want to talk about something else now. Not the other men who thought your body was their plaything. Not the time you went to Ireland with your Aunts and mom. You miss mom. That was a good trip. You got back to that a lot. You sat down to talk about things you don’t talk about. On a family trip to Adventureland you asked your cousin if was considered losing your virginity of a boy did it to your boobs. You pretended it was a cute boy, not Name. It was hard to breathe with him sitting on your torso thrusting. You sometimes break things and scream. Never when your son is around. You have two jobs and don’t really like the one that pays the most. Your college degree does not count much. How much life is wasted on despair and doubt and taking the wrong path? You feel relief when he finally finished. You hate when he finishes because you know he is stealing his ultimate pleasure from you when he has a wife. He acts like it was just another day at work to keep you on his leash. You are pathetic. His remnants are inside you every time you go home after closing with him. Just another miserable day in the life. You say nothing. You tell no one. You are worthless except as a vessel for him. Your parents say nice things to you, about you. They always have. They have to. They don’t know what you really are. A black shame is the times you felt pleasure in your body while he was doing it do you. At least while you remained quiet and motionless there was some dignity. Defiance. Insult to him. When your body and voice reacted like you liked it it was a betrayal. Like you liked that tub of disgusting man on top of you and inside of you, fucking you on that tile floor, kissing you like a lover. You befriended a group of guys by mid high school. Over a year after Name was more than thorn in your soul. A deep callous. The group figured out what you were. They played football. They were important and had strong will. They shared you and passed you around. They told you they loved you. That you were the coolest girl. They took what they wanted when they wanted. Why? Name 2 was you lab partner for biology. He was the first. He was the only one your age. You went in his car for lunch and met some others. They wanted you. You volunteered. It is all you are good for. Draining them of their juice so they can be happy and feel like men. So you can feel empty and dirty. Even after they graduated they got together for group fun, or had you sneak out at night to go for a ride. You headed far west after you graduated. A fresh start. An exodus. An escape. You went to one reunion. The ten year reunion. Name 2 came with his wife. He introduced you as his ex-girlfriend. You let hm take you to the disabled restroom and have his quickie. You went to the bars afterward and ditched your real friend and let Name 3 take you back to his hotel room to live his fantasies just because he claimed that he always loved you. They say attractive people have sex more frequently with more partners than normal people. The darkness behind that statement is that for females it is no always because they want it that way but because of the relentless pressure from men and how they will do anything if they get the opportunity. You are not a nice innocent girl. Would you have been if it had not been for Name like you want to think? Would you have let your much older cousin you barely know take you back into the woods with him behind their house to the shack where he smokes pot after a wedding. Then wait there for him to call his friends after he found out you were a bad girl and wait for them too. Swatting flies in your underwear while you waited for them. You did not drink because your mom did not allow it even though kids younger than you were. But your cousin and his local friends did. Four of them counting your cousin old enough to be your uncle. Still, you acted like you liked everything they did. They took it so far like you were the world's greatest toy. Porn star, they called you like it was the best thing you could be. The anal was excruciating. It was easier to just wash off all your makeup than to try to fix it after all the sweat and sticky. Smiles and complements followed by the deep hollow feeling of total isolation in the station wagon on the way back home from Kansas city. Hating Name and feeling like you betrayed your aunt because one of them was her fiancé. You got an infection and it was embarrassing when the doctor told you. At least it was a female doctor. The idea of a male gynecologist is unnerving. The one time you were examined by one was terrifying. You were in college. He was way too thorough and talkative like he was working up to asking you out on a date and you decided never again. The only one you ever had that did not wear gloves for the breast exam. The most sensual digital vaginal exam you ever had to check the cervix and ovaries for pain. Was his thumb supposed to be brushing your clitoris? You even wonder if he was recording it on his phone that you saw him adjust twice as it was peaking out of the breast pocket of his lab coat. His stupid November mustache he asked you if you liked. So some days you don’t eat. You exercise to maintain the body they want. It gives you value to them. You are nothing. People always say nice things. Hollow things. What if you had never met Name? What if you never got fucked on the floor for $3.45 an hour. On your back, on your hands and knees, sometimes even on top of him. Your first orgasm on that floor that smelled like stale milk and bleach. Having to tell your mom pick you up 45 minutes after the place closes for your cleaning duties. You used tampons just to keep from his semen leaking out on the way home. You pretended to be a virgin when you were far from it. He told you not to worry because he had a vasectomy. That part must have been true. You don't got on dates even though they always try to set you up. Not a chance. Your son is a good excuse. And a real reason. Real love. The Earth spins in space. Why can’t it just freeze and die like me? Your boss doesn’t go all the way with you because he won’t cheat on his wife. You give him oral because he doesn’t think that counts. Preserves his purity. He says he wants to so badly, like he can take whatever he wants from you but he is strong and valiant. You are nothing. He is handsome. You let him kiss you and fondle you. You long for his touch. He is not a great man but you long for him. The closest thing to a good man you have known. A father figure. Your son needs a father figure. He is everything. He deserves better. He loves you. He tells you are a good mom and that is worth enduring the world for as long as it takes. You put on a good face but he knows you are hollow, deep down. A wounded duck pretending to be a swan. Always pretending. Was there no pretending before Name? Maybe not. The days begin and your mind pretends and it is hard and the days end. Bad dreams on both ends. Will he be a good man? The funny thing is you want him to be a prince because he is your prince but even if he is like most men you want his total happiness. You want beautiful girls, good times, and strong friends for him. You exist to fake it and to have let those men enjoy you but mostly to give your son the best life possible beyond you. You are not worthless. It is not your fault. You are stronger than you know. Hollow words. They have to say it. They always have. No creativity. No insight. No truth. Just words.

I was 17, he was 26. It was my first boyfriend and I was head over heels excited that I had my first boyfriend and that he was older. First year felt normal and I felt so happy. After I turned 18 there was a big shift. The following years were filled with coercion, manipulation and grooming. He hurt me for the first time while my friend was sleeping next to us at a house party. I had to stay silent while I was wincing in pain. When we got back home that night he hit even worse and it hurt to walk the next day. He cried and said it was my fault and said I made him do that. Manipulation continued, coercion got worse with threats like not letting me back into his apartment till I gave him what he wanted, another time he punched me in the arm out of anger and gaslighted me into thinking he never punched me after a bruise was visible. 4 years into the relationship, I always say to myself now it’s like a lightbulb turned on in my brain and told me this isn’t right I need to leave, I could have a better life than this. So I did, I opened up to those around me and found support in them. It was hard, I still had emotions to let go of and he tried so hard to keep me around by being extra sweet with me, but to this day I am so happy I didn’t fall for it again. Memories of him still haunt me, but I remember I am free now. People always ask DV survivors “well why didn’t you just leave?” It’s more than that. Once you’re in that cycle of abuse it’s hard to get out of. I pray to everyone experiencing this one day too has a lightbulb turn on in their head. I see you, i hear you and i wish you all the freedom

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

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.

Around five years ago, I was raped repeatedly by a man I was seeing. It was the kind of rape that some people don’t consider rape - other than the act itself, there was no additional physical violence. There were no threats. There was just the constant knowledge that he would not listen when I said no, that he would not care or stop when I told him it hurt or that I didn’t feel safe. He always kept going. Every time I went over to his house, I knew that it was about to happen again. I kept going over, at least for a little while. Eventually, I tried to end things with him. I stopped answering his calls and texts and a bit later we met for coffee somewhere. I told him I didn’t feel safe with him. I didn’t use the word ‘rape’. I didn’t think of that as what it was, really at all. What was happening to me didn’t fit what I thought rape was supposed to be like. I thought of it as him “pressuring me into sex” or “not listening when I said no.” Not as bad. He told me he was sorry, and that he couldn’t help it. I said okay. He didn’t stop. A few weeks later, I ended it for good. This is not the last time I was raped, but it will always be the episode that affects me the most. Because the other time, I knew what it was. I realized that I was being raped as I was being raped and that somehow made it easier for me to process. But this episode will never stop affecting me. It has sent me to a psychiatric hospital. I have been treated for depression, anxiety, and PTSD. My sex life will never again be effortless. I will never be able to have full-length mirrors in my bedroom. I will never be able to enjoy the things that he didn’t ask if he could do to me. I can live with these things, because I am strong and my support system never fails me. The part I don’t know that I will be able to get over is that I knew I wasn’t consenting, but I didn’t know it was rape. I hope you do know.

As an only child, I had no one to look up to really as a kid. But I always looked up to my Dad. Even though he was never really around due to work (although Mam worked more than he did and still found lots of time to spend with me), I still idolised him. He was my hero. He would always say 'Dads know everything - remember that', so lying to my dad (even little white lies) were pointless. Though when I hit 13 I began to realise he actually DID know everything. He knew what myself and my friends would talk about, he would know exactly where I was and who I was with without even needing to ask me, and I would always wonder why. In reality he had my phone tracked and could read all my messages. Now that I have been through the court system and he has been imprisoned for the abuse he inflicted upon me, I can confirm that he was in fact grooming me from the age of 13. About a month after my 18th Birthday, began the horrific 7.5 year abuse that I suffered. My Dad, masked for the first 2 years as a stranger, blackmailed me into performing sexual acts with strange men in our home - the one place I should've felt safe. When I finally realised it was him, I couldn't tell you how it then turned into just open ended abuse and rape from him. He would advertise us as a couple on hook up sites and in order to avoid physical beatings I would go along with it. I feared for my life so much that endless rapes and sexual assaults were easier - imagine that being the easiest choice - until you're in it, you just don't know how you'll react. I stopped going out, I gave up my hobbies, whilst in college I gave up my part time job - he controlled every single part of my life. And if I even let my "everything is rosey' mask slip even for a second, especially in front of my Mam, well it just doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately for me, once Mam did find out, he was gone out of my life within 30 mins. Unfortunately, he went on to groom and abuse others after that. He was convicted, and is currently serving his prison sentence - but the fear of him stilll remains.

We were dating for over a year at the time. We hadn't seen each other in a long time, it must have been almost a month. My Godmother's father had passed away 1 week before we saw each other. He was like a grandfather to me, it felt like loosing my grandfather all over again. I went to visit him on a Saturday and the funeral was on the following Wednesday. When he asked for the meet up I specifically told him that I was emotionally not in a good spot and I was processing a lot. He insisted that it wasn't an issue and that he still wanted to see me. When I arrived he was nonchalant and distant like he always was. Didn't hug me or kiss me hello, he took me straight to his room. No one was home that day. We sat and watched a series on your laptop, we didn't really speak to each other. You ordered food and insisted on using my card to pay. When the food came you had ordered 3 pizza's1 for us and 2 for you for later. We ate in silence and watched the series. I tried to open up to you about how I was feeling and how I was feeling about the funeral, I was almost in tears and your brushed it off and said "it will be fine" that's what you always used to say. There was never any sympathy, remorse, understanding or care. You didn't even give me a hug or offer me a tissue. You got restless and started fidgeting. You paused the series and put the laptop away. You simply sat on your phone and didn't speak to me for 30 minutes. Then you got up and everything changed. You were being cold and distant as usually but this time it was different. You sounded angry, passive aggressive. You started commenting on how I wasn't being affectionate, that I didn't kiss you and that I was being too emotional. You started talking about not seeing me for a long time and how you needed some sort of release. You were upset that I never gave that to you and you said "if I knew you were still going to be like this, I would've never invited you over". I told you that I was emotionally not in a good space and that I was tired. Tired and drained and anxious. I told you all of those things. You said  " I need a release" I told you once again that I was emotional and tired and in no state for anything physical. You got onto of me and took of my shirt. I froze. I was in shock. I didn't move. You struggled to get my clothes off but you did none the less. You took off all your clothes. You tried to push yourself in me but I was dry and tight and scared. You carried on pushing until you got inside me. You did everything and anything that you wanted to me. I just remember the defining silence and how painful it was. It was so dry and tight yet you kept thrusting. I honestly don't remember the rest. I don't remember the positions you did. I just remember you pulling out and cumming down my leg. Yes you weren't wearing protection. I remember how the liquid was warm and how it dripped down my leg. You got up, got dressed and passed me some toilet paper. I went to the bathroom with my clothes and I had to wipe all of your cum off my leg. It was disgusting. I remember scrubbing my leg in that bathroom but it didn't help. When I finally had it in me to go back to the room, you were simply on your phone. You stayed like that for the rest of the day, on your phone and in silence The day I died, you lived.

In September I moved to Costa Rica for a few months, and in October happened to meet a really great guy here. We were just starting to date and it was going well, but I left to my home country Finland for Christmas and stayed almost 2 months. During this time I was out with two friends, drank too much and lost memory, and woke up with the other friend next to me naked in my bed.. I had thought of him as a good friend, although we had just met the summer before. He supported me when I had issues with a narcissistic ex, and I actually tried to help him get back with his wife which he did for a while. Even that night that we were out, I was trying to hook my friends up with other women. I had no will or intention to sleep with him.. So when I woke up like that I was shocked, I was worried, I felt guilty for not remembering and possibly hurting the guy in Costa Rica... The more I thought about it the more I realised if something had happened it was not with my consent because I never wanted that with him :( I was so worried and took a morning after pill, even though my 'friend' claims he didn't do anything. He would have 'felt it' he said.... And he was kind of joking about it :( He claimed we had been jealous of each other during the night and kissed many times. Which I just find strange because I wouldn't want that... and I remember nothing. Anyways I took the pill and even got a period around my exact cycle 15 days later... Now I'm back to Costa Rica to be with the guy who is actually so good to me and who I was really starting to like a lot... And few days ago find out that I am pregnant :( And the timing is exactly around that night... atleast the doctor says.. Seeming that something HAD happened after all made me feel so violated :( I was definitely in no condition to give consent.... this 'friend' has already 2 children from 2 different women.. I felt so terrible, I never wanted a child this way, I wanted it with the man I was dating :( And it is too late to have an abortion since it is illegal in Costa Rica, and now that I have already heard the heartbeat and seen the embryo in Ultra sound... I just couldn't :( And my new partner here is now 'thinking things over'.. obviously it's a shock and a lot :( But I am now dealing with a very possible break up, knowing my consent and body were violated by someone I thought of as a friend, facing single parenthood.. :( Has anyone had any similar experiences and could share me some advice on how to deal with the emotions? :(

When I was 18 I was raped and physically assaulted by a friend of mine at the time. He was 3 years older than me and it was his 21st birthday. It took me a year to accept what happened, and 4 years to get help through counseling. I used to feel a lot of guilt for not getting help sooner and the way my trauma affected other people in my life/people I was in relationships with. I also hated and still sometimes hate the way it affects me 6 years later, but I’m learning that things don’t always go away on their own and it’s okay to reach out for help, no matter what stage you’re in or how long has passed. You will find people who love and believe you, and you’re more than worthy of that. They say skin completely regenerates every 7 years, so by this time next year I’ll have a body you’ve never touched, and that’s comforting.

At age 15, my doctor asked me if I was sexually active. I cried and said “sort of”. When she asked me why I was crying, I told her it was because I thought it was embarrassing. I’m now realizing that I was not crying because I was embarrassed but because I was ashamed. I felt ashamed for having sex at 15 years old (which I felt was too young for me), and even more ashamed at how it happened. I had consented to fooling around with my boyfriend at the time but did not consent to penetration. I was not expecting to look up to hear him say “it’s in”, when I had clearly told him that I did not want penetration. I pushed him off and started crying. However, I brushed it off as being part of a normal healthy relationship, not knowing any better as this was my first relationship. For the next year and a half, I stayed with that partner while dealing with many ridiculous commands and events that I did not realize was unhealthy until much later: being told I wasn’t allowed to wear leggings because then other people would see my butt; being told not to drink coffee (still did); not seeing my friends other than at school; being told I couldn’t wear makeup because if I wore makeup, it would obviously mean that I was trying to attract other guys to cheat on my partner (meanwhile he cheated 3 times); being stopped on the street by a stranger asking if I needed help who then called the police about a domestic violence dispute (i wish I knew who that woman was so I could thank her today); being slut shamed; if we argued, being told I couldn’t leave him because no one else would love me since I was worthless and unlovable; finally, being controlled and manipulated. I’ve heard somewhere (not fact checked) that it takes women on average 7 attempts to leave their abuser before an attempt to leave finally sticks. I remember it taking me 3 tries but it’s possible that I’m forgetting some. Oct 2nd was the day I finally left. We’d broken up numerous times before but he always reeled me back in. He’d reel me back in by forcing himself to cry or to throw up, or by threatening to tell everyone that I was a worthless whore. That year and a half long period of my life still affects me. While I can’t blame all my problems on one person or one situation, I strongly believe that that relationship is the root to my insecurities and anxieties. Fortunately, the past two and a half years, while tough and emotional, have been periods of self love and self discovery.

For reference, I am a college student and this story generally takes place in a college town. I was excited to have made a new friend during quarantine. We met right before the lockdown in 2020, and would have a few phone or video calls every few weeks or so. For context, I have a smattering of social anxiety I have been living with since I was a pre-teen, and I'm especially nervous around guys my age. That's why making this platonic friend was so valued to me. I am a person with few close friends, and I decided to let him in. I decided to trust him. Maybe it was because at that time in my life I wanted a platonic friend so badly, I never noticed the signs he liked me as more than a friend. Not noticing that ended up being important later on, because when the semester started back we decided to hang out in person. The first time it was at a park, and we had some pleasant conversations. I think I was getting a small hint he liked me but didn't want to acknowledge it; I didn't like him back. We decided to hang out once more, but this time he texted me right beforehand and asked to change the place to his apartment. I heard my mom's voice in my head telling me I shouldn't go to a guy's house alone, but at this point in my life I did have another close friend I knew I could trust and I'd go to his apartment sometimes - so I told said friend where I would be and that I would be hanging out at this friend's place for safety. I remember I also had pepper spray with me. I was supposedly armed with everything a girl would need in a situation where she gets sexually harrassed - except my voice. When I got there, we watched Netflix and everything was alright for the first hour. We talked and enjoyed the show. But, eventually things started changing. The order to this is the part is fuzzy in my memory, but I remember how he slowly worked his way towards touching me. He sat closer, started giving me complements more and more. He played some french song and sang it to me while playing the guitar on my arm- I imagine it could have been romantic if I was in to him and wanted it. But I really wasn't, and I didn't. I remember when he did confess he went on this whole tangent about how much he liked me and how great he thought I was and so many things. This guy talked for quite a while and all I could do was sit and listen. At this point he had already tried sitting closer to me and I had to pull away. At some point his roommate left the apartment after talking with him alone. I don't remember when this was exactly but I do remember how it made me feel. We were sitting on the living room couch and he reached to hold me. He groped my boob for a few seconds, and whispered into my ear. When I want someone, doing that kind of thing feels great. I realized that night how disgusting it can feel when you want no part of it and you fear for your safety. There was one moment where I tried to break away, and he almost didn't let me. The thing that terrified me the most out of all of this was something he said: 'if you hadn't stopped me I would have done something worse'- or something to that affect. I remember feeling terrified and shaking, probably blushing out of nervousness and wanting only to go home but finding it harder to say as it got darker outside. I eventually left, and he walked me home part of the way to make me feel safer walking back in the dark. That's the ironic part about all of this. He walked me home, and to this day I don't think he had any idea how after a year how much that night bothered me, and how it was a night I wouldn't be forgetting for a long time. About how much I cried to my friends and family. It felt like it should be small to me- after all, I wasn't 'raped or anything,' (what I said to my family). But it had almost completely shattered all of my trust in people and in men I had been building up slowly. If it wasn't for the guy friend I mentioned previously, I might have lost trust in men completely and developed serious problems as a result. Today, after more than a year, I am going to call him for the first time since then and tell him what he did is wrong. I have read many sexual assault stories after this event, and I realized people often don't want to call out the offender because they fear it will affect the offender's social lives and jobs, especially when this person is a close friend. But I honestly think this person has no idea what he did was wrong, and if I do absolutely nothing I am pretty damned sure there is a good chance he would do it to someone else. People need to know when they are in the wrong. And I feel ready to confront him. I don't think confrontation is the answer for everyone. But it is my answer. Many boys are not taught what it means to be a respectful man, and don't recognize that they could very easily make someone they know feel uncomfortable and and scared. They don't internalize 'I could be a sexual assaulter'. People need to realize their own power, not only to use it for good, but so they don't abuse it.

I was 21 and had been with my (now ex)boyfried for just 2 months. I met him online. He was sweet and charming and kind. At least, that's what he seemed like. I had been to his home a few times. He lived with another guy in the house of an eldery lady. The house had two stories. You came in throught he front door, to your left was the small kitchen, you'd go up a flight of stairs and right in front of you, would be his bedroom door. That night I was staying over at his place. I had done this before. We had just had dinner and were now cuddling in his rather small bed and watching youtube videos. It was around midnight and at the end of january. He was laying behind me. Whilst I was actively watching the video, his hands started wandering across my body. At first it didn't bother me too much. At first. But then he started touching my butt, squeezing my boobs and placing his hand inside my underwear, I got uncomfortable and asked him to stop. He did. But just a few seconds later, it started again. So I again asked him to stop. And again, he did, but only for a few seconds. At this point I should probably give some info about him. He is 206cm tall (6'9), goes to the gym daily, grew up in suboptimal conditions and had some anger issues. After asking him to stop and saying "No" multiple times, I physically removed his hand from my vagina (several times). But that didn't stop him either. This is when I got scared. He didn't react to my verbal or to my physical resistance. Subconsciously, I evaluated my options. Either I would have to get out and away from him, get on a train and go home. Or I would have to brace myself for an experience that isn't gonna be enjoyable and probably traumatizing as a way of avoiding a more dangerous situation. So I gave up on resisting and just went through with it. I broke up with him shortly after that incident. And then he showed his true colors. And how terrifying and dangerous he actually is. He got really angry at me for breaking up with him, he threatened to kill himself and actually pretended like he was going to do so. And then he started calling me really disgusting names. Safe to say, I was scared. 3 Months after this happened, I went to see my therapist and told her about it. Additionally I had shown her the scary messages he had sent me. (Yes, I broke up with him via Text for my own safety.) It was only after I had talked to her that I realized some things: 1. I had made it very clear that I didn't want to have sex with him or do any kind of sexual things. 2. Me giving up and my stopping my resisting was not me consenting to what he did. I had clearly not given consent. 3. I was in a dangerous situation. The door was locked. He is much taller and stronger than me. He has had issues controling his anger and keeps some weapons (knifes) in his room. So it is very possible that if I resisted more strongly, I would've been in much more danger. and finally 4. It was not my fault. None of it. He didn't respect me or what I wanted or in this case didn't want. He violated my trust. He just wanted what he wanted, not caring if I wanted that too. So that is my story. It's only April so it hasn't been a lot of time since this happened. I know that I am very fortunate to be able to go to my therapist, talk to her about this and work through it with her.

I was born to two mentally unstable parents,with a history of domestic violence,neglect,sexual abuse,mental illness,and incest.My father was violent,angry unstable and used to make comments about my body and touch me,as well as hitting,verbal abuse,and emotional abuse,my mother was quiet and unavailable,just trying to look out and survive for herself,defending him,and distancing herself from me.My father's father began grooming me when I was a toddler leading to an intimate and secret inappropriate abuse for many years,it ruined me to live with it.his wife,my grandmother never interferred,never came to check when I was alone with him in other rooms,she said he did as he pleased and she dosen't get involved.I was very unhappy with life and began to suffer mentally at a young age,I struggled in school,did'nt get on with other kids,felt unloved and unwanted,my teen years came,my mother left my father,his parents took him in and did'nt see or invole themselves with me anymore,my grandad attempted to text and call but I ignored it,it eventually stopped,I felt weird and empty,I began to go on online chats where I came across lots of unsavory men who exploited and used me for sex,which was what I thought my worth was anyway,so I gave into the abusive demands and became stuck in this cycle for several years,meanwhile secondary school was awful when I was 14 a 17 yr old student lured me to an empty hall and attempted to assault me,I ran told a teacher and she laughed saying it was his way of hitting on me,he got away with it,by 13 I had began self harming and was very depressed,my life was pain and torture,after my parents split,life was different,I now had everything playing in my head instead of trying to survive day by day,the memories,the reality of everthing was so much ugliet in the light.I despised myself,thought I was better off dead,then everything would go away,at 17 I had 2 unsuccessful suicide attempts,each getting worse,the third should have killed me but it did'nt,by then I was devastated that I was still alive,my third attempt left me unable to walk with extreme body tremers and halluci ations,I had to learn to walk again,a painful event due to the muscle and nerve damage in my legs,phyciatrists and doctors saw I needed more direct intervention at this point and sent me to a phyciatric impatient unit,in another part of the country,when I was well enough to walk and be released from the hospital,i was skeptical and scared,but I felt the different the moment I entered the door,my life turned around from that point on,I did a college course,I got my own pet,I became determined to make a life for myself,to learn more about myself,I was and am worthy of life,it is my life now,we are warriors,we can be happy,we can survive,to hear others stories means everything to me,it reminds me I am not alone,it gives me strength and hope,it is empowering,I hope my story helps and reminds people that you are never too messed up,you are strong,and enjoy and find the happy things in life,we already know we can survive the rest

This is not easy and I am now sure more than ever that others felt the same way. While you can feel you are in it alone there are so many many many stories that are the same. I was at such a tender age. Innocent and blameless. I never knew that i was being taken for granted by the very person who said they love me. They were my family member. Little did I know i would continue to move forward in my life in a manner that only God could heal. Now I sit hear as a full grown adult after going through emotional, physical, psychological abuse by so many that claims to love me. I continued to protect them all because I never told my side of the story. It all ends today. No one else gets to take advantage of my weakness. I was in a long time relationship that started as your typical relationship just beautiful. All of the nice things occurred flowers, candy, gifts. As time went on and things were more settled the take over begun. The insecurities continued to grow and grow. Around year 2 is when the physical abuse started. He had me right where he wanted me. My family tried to intervene but I thought I was in LOVE. Yea I said that 4 letter word that can cause so much pain. Yes I stayed and that was the end to most of my relationships with my family. The relationship with he and I would span another 10 years before the END was the END. I tell you it was not easy at all. One thing I did learn is that most people that should be for you will call you all kind of names stupid, dumb, etc. so much so until you start to believe it. Never give up on yourself.

On our first Christmas Together He Raped Me I was raped in every way possible under the Christmas Tree ... He smelled like Marlboro Reds, . That man on my back. He was smiling so Cheshirely that spit dribbled down his chin from the collosal effort. . He didn't ask permission to have sex with me. That would've been ...inconvenient to his desires. ...Megalomania at its blindest. He didn't care about my soul, my needs, my wants, my health..my sanity..He plied me with promises of freedom....Lured me with lies of love . A cage is a cage...is love of an abuser. and tore at me until I was completely eviscerated between his bubbles of spit and rancid alcohol. He had me until he climaxed, and I bled. Then.. he left me there. All I could smell was iron and salt. I bit my tongue, and it bled in my mouth only because it hurt so much. I had endometriosis even then. He didn't care. He didn't use lubricant... He didn't use anything, but hatred to abuse me again and again..l I begged him to stop. Used me until all I could see, taste, smell, and touch was blinding pain. All I could feel was his putrid breath ,,,singing every miniscule, semaphore hair... My nerves on fire and Screaming in sheer agony. DESIST!!!on my skin..miniscule, sensitive parts burning...... Screaming for him to cease... Every cell shrieking my earlobes throbbing with the terrible, dogged rhythm. The stench of his wanton hatred and desperation was the coming of doom...heart pounding against my cochlea..echoing staggered, shallow breath and pointless gasps of st--op. His body was a deleterious weapon..shrouding my neck and curls in jaundiced spittle. All he could manage to utter through his crusted lips was how good ALL of my ignominy felt TOO him, For HiM, withIN him. I recall that I vomited then.. Christmas Feasts were over for some time hence........I don't remember how long it took him to finish It might've been 2 or 20 minutes, or 20, or 2 hours. They say time is Linear, but it truly isn't. One second can feel like a lifetime, and one entire day can vanish in a flash. I didn't want to smell him, but I couldn't hold my breath that long . He latched on when he pulled out long enough to use me until Then. I bled. It wasn't a disturbing porn video. It was my life. WTF I was 18 yo, and I thought he was going to kill me... Because he was terrified of being arrested and jailed for statutory rape. He was a predator, and I, merely a sumptuous meal of Vestal Virgin.... I'm the stupidest person alive. That's how I see myself. It was my fault that I bled under that tree. My fault that I was there. I chose him.. I thought I was going to die that night... Under that Christmas Tree with no decorations, and old school, small, multicolored string lights. Bulbs of saffron, amber, rose, ..emerald, and cobalt. The EnD