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When I was a child, probably 4 or 5 years old, I started getting involved in sexual play with my female cousin who was 6 at the time, we rubbed our parts, she made me lick her tigh once, and other stuff that I cannot remember clearly, some of that felt good, but I remember discomfort if I refused, I think she hit me or hurt me if I did not want to play, generally speaking she used to beat me or pull my hair. Soon I searched on tv things that resembled the things we were doing, nothing explicit from what i can recall, things like sensual play between partners in movies, people making love, etc, I was ashamed at the time and hid this behaviour from my parents, i dont remember when it stopped but i remember the shame and fear that it would happen again, specifically one time when we were older and playing and she pinned me to the bed, i got nauseus, fortunately by that time I was strong enough to take her off me. I dont know if this was abuse, but certainly shame and guilt never went away while I was a child, even on my first communion I remember wanting to tell the priest this story in my confession but stopping myself because felt it was too much. I was 10 by that time. I dont blame my cousin and i really like her. I hadnt visited this memories till six months ago while watching " the perks of being a wallflower" where the main caracther is abused by his auntie and while remembering this I wonder if my sexual behaviors (huge shame, guilt and incapability to relax) now are influenced by this experience.

Victim Impact Statement I am sharing this victim impact statement in English because I want my real words to be heard. During the trial, I didn’t have the opportunity to fully express the depth of how this has affected my life. These are my words, my truth, and my experience. I hope they will be considered with the seriousness they deserve. I have translated it with AI but I feel like words are more powerful in my native language. Estoy compartiendo esta declaración de impacto como víctima en inglés porque quiero que se escuchen mis palabras reales. Durante el juicio, no tuve la oportunidad de expresar plenamente la profundidad de cómo esto ha afectado mi vida. Estas son mis palabras, mi verdad y mi experiencia. Espero que sean consideradas con la seriedad que merecen. Voy a traducirlo al español y lo incluiré también (con IA), pero las palabras no serán las mismas. Como siempre en mi caso. Here’s where we begin: My life has been utterly destroyed since Month Day, Year. I have had to miss work at the job I love, and it has taken a toll on my relationships with my friends and family. I have developed PTSD. My depression has worsened. My anxiety has become unbearable. My mind is like a mirror with a crack running through it—each side reflects a version of me, but the pieces don’t quite fit, and the fracture distorts what’s real. Deep down, I KNOW it was not my fault because I said no. Twice. Yet, on the surface, I feel at fault because I went there. But I said no. Twice. I’ve been on strong medications for my mental health. I am a shell of the person I once was. It’s affecting my work because I can’t sleep. I have had to miss days because I self harmed. I’ve been overwhelmed with stress about the trial. I can’t get over the fact that I feel it was my fault. I am scared to be alone. I am scared to go outside alone. I am terrified of men on the street. I don’t trust people easily. When I can sleep, I have nightmares where I wake up screaming, crying, and inconsolable. Honestly, I can’t be alone. I spiral into anxiety and obsessive thoughts when I am. The harassment and seeking justice has become an obsession, but when I spiral, I turn to self-harm. Since the assault, I’ve had to go to the hospital at least eight times for self-harm. I have gotten more than 50 stitches in my left arm. It looks like I’ve been attacked by a tiger. During the trial, I believe I had 25 stitches. Since the juicio, I called an ambulance and admitted myself to the psychiatric ward at La Princesa on Month, Day. The day after I voluntarily left because I was terrified, I went back to the hospital for self-harm on Month, Day. Why do I do it? Because it’s like the broken mirror I look into the half where I feel it was my fault. Since I received the sentencia, I have been in a horrible state. I haven’t been able to sleep, eat, or do anything. I cannot be alone because I fear I might hurt myself, again.The trial only confirmed the feeling that my sexual assault was my fault. It destroyed the progress I had made in therapy. I feel failed by the system. I understand there were doubts, but I believe I have been denied a fair trial due to linguistic barriers and the misapplication of Ley Orgánica 10/2022, de garantía integral de la libertad sexual (“Solo Sí es Sí”). This law is clear in stating that consent must be affirmative, clear, and continuous. According to Article 178.1 of the Spanish Penal Code, modified by this law: “Solo se entenderá que hay consentimiento cuando se haya manifestado libremente mediante actos que, en atención a las circunstancias del caso, expresen de manera clara la voluntad de la persona.” My understanding is that consent is only understood to exist when it has been freely expressed through acts that, considering the circumstances of the case, clearly express the person’s will. I said NO. Twice. There was no affirmative consent. The absence of continued, explicit consent should have been enough. The court seemed to focus on perceived doubts in my memory and inconsistencies rather than the absence of my consent. This is a violation of the very principles of the “Solo Sí es Sí” law, which centers the lack of affirmative consent as the key factor—not the victim’s behavior, not emotional reactions, not the aftermath. I know my truth: I was raped. I said no. Twice. Now I have to face my life, living with mental and physical scars that remind me of November 18, 2022— without justice. Declaración de Impacto de la Víctima (en castellano) Aquí es donde comienza todo: Mi vida ha sido completamente destruida desde el Day Month, Year. He tenido que faltar al trabajo que amo, y esto ha afectado mis relaciones con amigos y familia. He desarrollado TEPT (trastorno de estrés postraumático). Mi depresión ha empeorado. Mi ansiedad se ha vuelto insoportable. Mi mente es como un espejo con una grieta que lo atraviesa: cada lado refleja una versión de mí, pero las piezas no encajan del todo, y la fractura distorsiona lo que es real. En lo más profundo, SÉ que no fue mi culpa porque dije que no. Dos veces. Sin embargo, en la superficie, me siento culpable por haber ido allí. Pero dije que no. Dos veces. He estado tomando medicamentos muy fuertes para mi salud mental. A veces soy solo una sombra de la persona que solía ser. Está afectando mi trabajo porque no puedo dormir. He tenido que faltar algunos días porque me autolesiono. Me siento abrumada por el estrés relacionado con el juicio. No puedo superar la sensación de que fue mi culpa. Tengo miedo de estar sola. Tengo miedo de salir sola. Me aterran los hombres en la calle. No confío fácilmente en la gente. Cuando puedo dormir, tengo pesadillas en las que me despierto gritando, llorando e inconsolable. Honestamente, no puedo estar sola. Entro en espirales de ansiedad y pensamientos obsesivos cuando lo estoy. La angustia y la búsqueda de justicia se han convertido en una obsesión, pero cuando entro en ese espiral, recurro a la autolesión. Desde la agresión, he tenido que ir al hospital al menos ocho veces por autolesiones. Me han puesto más de 50 puntos de sutura en el brazo izquierdo. Parece que me ha atacado un tigre. Durante el juicio, creo que tenía 25 puntos de sutura. Desde el juicio, llamé a una ambulancia y me ingresé voluntariamente en la unidad psiquiátrica de La Princesa el Day of Month. Al día siguiente, me fui voluntariamente porque estaba aterrada. El Day of Month volví al hospital por autolesiones. ¿Por qué lo hago? Porque es como el espejo roto en el que me miro: en la mitad donde siento que fue mi culpa. Desde que recibí la sentencia, he estado en un estado horrible. No he podido dormir, comer ni hacer nada. No puedo estar sola porque temo que pueda hacerme daño otra vez. El juicio solo confirmó la sensación de que mi agresión sexual fue mi culpa. Destruyó el progreso que había logrado en terapia. Me siento defraudada por el sistema. Entiendo que hubiera dudas, pero creo que se me ha negado un juicio justo debido a barreras lingüísticas y a la mala aplicación de la Ley Orgánica 10/2022, de garantía integral de la libertad sexual (“Solo Sí es Sí”). Esta ley es clara al establecer que el consentimiento debe ser afirmativo, claro y continuo. Según el artículo 178.1 del Código Penal español, modificado por esta ley: “Solo se entenderá que hay consentimiento cuando se haya manifestado libremente mediante actos que, en atención a las circunstancias del caso, expresen de manera clara la voluntad de la persona. ” Según mi comprensión, el consentimiento solo se entiende que existe cuando ha sido expresado libremente mediante actos que, considerando las circunstancias del caso, expresan claramente la voluntad de la persona. Dije NO. Dos veces. No hubo consentimiento afirmativo. La ausencia de un consentimiento explícito y continuo debería haber sido suficiente. El tribunal pareció centrarse en las supuestas dudas sobre mi memoria y en inconsistencias, en lugar de en la ausencia de mi consentimiento. Esto es una violación de los principios fundamentales de la ley “Solo Sí es Sí” , que se centra en la falta de consentimiento afirmativo como el factor clave—no en el comportamiento de la víctima, ni en sus reacciones emocionales, ni en lo que sucedió después. Sé mi verdad: fui violada. Dije no. Dos veces. Ahora tengo que enfrentar mi vida, viviendo do con cicatrices mentales y físicas que me recuerdan el Day Month, Year— sin justicia.

I take the last line, drink that last sip of beer from the dented can. I feel another piece of my consciousness float away. It doesn't matter what has just come before though. I feel a sudden grip on my outer leg, it wakes me. I start to blink, try to get rid of my weary vision. I pull my body away from this grip, he pulls back harder. I start to use my voice... repeating the classic "no" "stop". my already limp body starts to struggle; pushing, elbowing and scratching. My wrists are met with yet another, tighter, grip. I feel his digging in, between my tendons. he pushes his weight inside and upon me. the consistent "no" coming from my mouth is answered with a soft "shhh" like an attentive father to a crying baby. After five or so minutes it is as if he can hear me; "should I stop" he says. "please stop, stop" "ahh, a little more" he responds. He goes harder. Maybe my voice is bothering or worrying him. He jams his hand deep into my mouth, clawing at the back of my throat. I start to splutter and search for air, he pulls out his hands and places his grip around my mouth and jaw and vigorously shakes my head around. "are you mine" "are you mine" he asks me with a low volumed rage, while his body still beats fiercely into mine. I start to wonder how these same hands that must have once combed through his young daughters hair were the same ones ragging and tearing at mine. He finally takes a break, the mass of his legs still crushing on top of mine. While I think he's sleeping I throw off his arm that is wrapped around me. Not yet "heyy" he says as he hurls it back around me tighter. As if I am his sulking lover upset by his late arrival home from a night of drinking. In those minutes, while I can only stare into my surroundings, I start to think of this setting being my new life. I will physically remain like this, a worn out body to be misused and wounded by this creature forever. Until I am so damaged that my body and my mind become numb and irreparable. He's awake and ready for round 2, I still have fragments of fight left. He pulls my legs apart as I use all of my strength trying to keep them together. he is completely on top of me , his sweat smothering my skin. His face above mine but his gaze is somewhere; anywhere except into my eyes. he goes again, each thrust more painful than the last. His heavy painted body sagging over me again and again. He pauses again. The sweat drips from his hair down the side of his face over his pulsing veins. I look at his eyes, hooded and bloodshot with an emptiness I have never seen before. I have seen spite from people who didn't like me, but I have never before felt that someone wanted to destroy me like this. I have heard this man say I was pretty before, but I know in this moment that his pleasure comes from damaging me. Round three. He goes again, this time he squeezes my neck. He starts to shake me, his grip still firm, my weak body stops its fighting. I start to hear an echoey voice of my mother, as if she is here but just not in my sights. I start to see an image of a friend of mine, as if he is standing on a balcony looking down at me with either pity or disgust but I don’t have the capacity to tell. I gasp for air in away I have never felt before. Some time has passed , I don’t know how long. Some ten seconds I stare, I see the door half open to a room where there are several hanging patterned shirts. I look at the floor and see a pair of crumpled jeans, I don’t yet realise they are mine. I start to hear a faint voice, saying my name. It reminds me of a time in hospital, awaking from anaesthetic to a doctors voice. I start to put the pieces together and remember where I am. He looks at me. “You scared me” he says, as if he posits some kind of care. Although I am breathing again, I am just a small mass of flesh, slowly decomposing into the sheets under his heavy body. Eventually I notice him sleeping, this time deeply. I get up quietly and pick up my clothes, feeling my jeans scrape across my bruised hips. I pass by the mirror in the corner of the room, I almost cannot recognise the reflection that is there. My hair sticks out, matted and messy. I pat it down and try to comb my fingers through. I feel my face is dirty, it is rough and red where his hands have corroded. I look over at the disheveled bed, the sweaty sleeping body upon it. I notice a slight grin on his face as he continues sleeping soundly. I look at my own eyes, smeared outlines of mascara, I can tell something in there is missing in this moment. I go to the door, open it with my shaking hand and o down to the street, and I hope that no one notices my hair.

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

Hello, this is my first post and I wanted to share what happened as a female on female SA victim (I think, not sure tho)... When I was 15 at the time my then firend took advantage of me. She offered to give me a massage at a public pool, but her touches became inappropriate and manipulative. At the time, I didn’t realize what was happening, and I even defended her when my parents noticed red flags and tried to protect me. And since then my parents developed prejudices against LGBTQ+ people, which I don’t agree with. However, that trauma made me reinforce my heterosexuality and influenced my vews. Even now, I still struggle to set boundaries, even after what happened.

If someone wanted to understand who I am, they would have to know that… I wouldn't know how or where to begin. I suppose I'd start with the foundation of everything: my childhood. My name is Name. I was born in Venezuela, but I grew up in Spain, well, from the age of eight. My childhood… what can I say? I was happy. I was happy. Or so one believes at that age. My first eight years in Venezuela. I suppose I was happy. A family that loved me, a brother, a mother… although never a father. My mother always knew how to manage on her own with us. She always instilled good things about my father in me. She even showed me letters and photos of him. I grew up loving my father, even without ever having met him in person. I had a school that I liked a lot, although I have to say I caused a lot of trouble. It was too noisy for such small classrooms. I have many beautiful memories, and others that I now know as an adult weren't so wonderful. I was given everything, I had everything. Despite coming from a humble family, I never lacked food, I never lacked love, I never lacked anything. Everything gets complicated… When I turned four, when you're just a little bit more aware of life, everything gets complicated. My mother stopped studying and decided to work. That meant seeing her less. That meant being cared for by other people. That meant many things. From then on, my life fell apart. From then on, it marked a before and after. From then on, my adult life would be different. I saw the gravity of it all as I grew up. Although I must say that I had a small reaction even at such a young age. I could say that something inside me told me: this is wrong, this can't be like this. I've always wondered: where was God? I am a believer, or I was a believer, but little by little all of that disappeared. The more pain life caused me, the more I stopped believing. I won't go on any longer… let's go back to the beginning. Well, yes, I had a pretty nice childhood. Although the bad part is there, and I think it will always be a part of my life. I suppose writing it down makes me feel a little better. Reflecting on my whole life makes me feel somewhat better. I was raped. Yes, I was abused when I was just a four-year-old girl. From then on, my life was shattered. I grew older, and it kept happening. I suppose for me it was normal. A child, having suffered that, could never truly grasp the gravity of it. The person who was supposed to take care of me was the cause of my traumas now that I'm older. My brother and I, always together, always united, hand in hand. He went through the same thing, only I gave in. I gave in many times because I knew it was the only way, the only way I had to protect my most precious treasure: my brother. Where was my family? We were just children who needed an adult's help. Where was everyone? Why did no one ever notice? We just needed an adult to help us. How could we help ourselves? My life changed. My aunt gave us back our lives. The decision to come to Spain changed our lives. It was a short trip. We never thought we'd stay here permanently. Ed and I were happy, with our small suitcase, knowing that one day we'd return to Venezuela, that in a month or so we'd be back. And here I am, twenty years later, grateful every day for the decision to stay. That's where my truly happy childhood began. They gave us everything. My aunts gave us everything. I had never been so happy. Mom fell in love. That's where she met the man I thought was my father. It's normal, isn't it? You grow up without a father figure, and when someone comes into your life with so much love to give you… how can you not believe he's your father? A thousand trips, so many beaches, so many plans, so much of everything. He gave us so much. He was there for everything. How could I not love him so much? It's true that I didn't like school that much. I suffered a lot of bullying. I suppose they weren't used to seeing a Latina girl with curly hair and Black features. I'd rather leave that part out. The truth is, it really affected me. I always thought that's where my insecurity came from. I grew up. Or so I thought at fourteen. I thought I was the queen of the world. I wanted to live fast, I wanted to be an adult, I wanted to do a million things. I started to lose myself. To be irresponsible with my mom. To be rebellious. The more I was forbidden, the more I wanted to do it. I think it was my worst time. I never felt understood by anyone. No one ever sat down to explain to me step by step how life works and when I should start living it like an adult. My mom always did her best, but I have to say she didn't know how to deal with a teenager full of anger, full of rage, full of hate. I was my worst self. But I was a teenager, who realizes that at that age? Because I didn't realize it until I had a reality check. My first love… Yes, I had my first love. It was the most precious thing life had given me. Your first times doing everything, your first "I love yous," your first feeling of love, your first everything. It was a failure. I suppose we were very young and inexperienced. I wanted more, to go out into the world, to meet people. Nothing was good enough for me. I had more than one love. I failed with all of them. But I keep what I learned from each one. I learned what I deserve and what I don't. I learned to love myself a little more. I learned not to tolerate things I shouldn't. I learned not to settle for crumbs. I don't know why I was never lucky in love. And the little faith I had left was shattered. I turn eighteen. Finally an adult. Finally, I could do whatever I wanted. That's what I felt, and that's what I believed. My rebellion lasted quite a while. Until… It would happen again. Mom leaves her husband. My life changes. Everything changes. My supposed father is still my father. We still love him as much as the first day. We still see him. We continue everything with him, despite not being with Mom. But I had a shock to reality. I thought my partners had broken my heart, but I was wrong. He broke my heart. I stopped believing in love. If the person I loved most, the one I considered my father, broke my soul, broke my heart… what was I supposed to think of the rest of the world? What was I supposed to be like? And then that day came, the second worst day of my life. I suffered domestic violence. My supposed father was capable of destroying my life. Attempted rape. Once again I felt that fear. Once again I felt like my life was slipping away. Once again I felt disappointment. Once again I felt my heart slowly breaking. How could I believe in people? How could I believe in life? Then Brother was born. I started to see life a little better. Brother came into our lives, my little brother, and I changed completely. He gave me the happiness I didn't have. He gave me the peace in my soul that I so desperately needed. Seeing him so small, so beautiful, those little hands… My brother gave me back my life and the desire to love someone with all my heart. I never told him. He's too young. But someday I'll sit down and talk to him. I dropped out of school. My studies went from bad to worse, so I decided to enter the hospitality industry. I really grew up. My mindset changed. I started being a better person to my mom, a better person to my brother Edy, a better person to everyone. Working made me realize how hard life is. How much my mom has had to work to give us everything. Working made me grow as a person, as a woman. Time passes. Life goes on. And yes, I'm still stuck in the hospitality industry. But I have to say that I've earned everything I have through hard work. Grateful for everything I learned. I move on with life. I move on with my life. Time passes. I have relationships again that go nowhere. More disappointments: from family, boyfriends, friends. But I guess I could always handle it all. It was like my heart was bulletproof. Like anything else just didn't matter to me anymore. I was so used to bad things following me that it was totally normal for me. But hey, I never stopped being good. I never stopped having this noble heart, like Mom says. I always gave my all to everyone. I always acted with the best intentions. I recently read that the people who are always being funny are the ones who are saddest inside. Nothing has ever resonated with me so much. Like I say, I'm the class clown. I love seeing my friends laugh at my jokes. It makes me feel a little less bad. It helps me a lot. I like to be funny all the time, just because. It helps me forget everything for a little while. Time passes and I'm at peace. I feel like I won't have anything else to suffer about. And then an unexpected message arrives… I've always been in contact with my father, the same one Mom always told me about and who always instilled good values in me. I love him so much that it would never cross my mind to hate him. And then a message arrives: “Hello daughter, God bless you. I’m your dad, your mom’s brother.” My mind couldn’t grasp anything. Dad, mom, brother… I thought it was fake, but I investigated until I uncovered the truth. That day, that blessed day, my heart was broken once again. But this time, it was my dear mom. It turns out that this man was my real father. It turns out that my mom wasn’t my biological mother. It turns out that I grew up believing lies. My biological mother abandoned me. When I was just a month old. She abandoned me like a dog. My dad, afraid of life, afraid of continuing with such a young child, only sought help. Help from his brothers. And that’s where my mom comes in. As she tells me: “Daughter, I fell in love with you. Seeing you so small, so vulnerable, with that little face, that nose, those curls… how could I not stay with you?” Mom didn’t give me life. She gave it back to me. I'm grateful for the life you gave me, Mom. You'll always be my mother to me. My one and only true mother. But my soul aches. Everything I had worked so hard for came back: my fears, my anxieties, my traumas, my insecurities, my rage, my anger. And then he came. Someone came into my life to help me understand that life isn't always so bad. Someone who would help me understand why it never worked out with anyone else. Someone who would give me all the love in the world. And then you came, right when life was hurting the most. You came, and I forgot for a little while everything that was happening. I started believing in love again. I started believing again that there really are good people with beautiful hearts. Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve it. Sometimes I feel like it's a trap life has set for me. I sabotage myself a lot. I don't know how to process it. I feel like at any moment everything will fall apart. I'll feel fear. I'll feel anguish.

Hi, I dont know if, as a child, I performed COCSA on my far cousin or if it was just natural children curiosity. Im four years older than her and when this happened i think i was around 9 or 10, I dont really remember. I remember one summer I hit my knee with a rock and that have me a scar and I even hit my clitoris. I thought it was broken because it had a slit. I dont remember if this was the same summer or the next one but i remember always thinking my clit was broken and i remember playing families with her and her older brother who is 2 years younger than me. I would want a sneek of what her vagina looked like just to see if it looked like mine so when we were playing she was my child and i would do the movements as if i had to change her undies, so i just pulled them down, did the mimick of cleaning and pulling them back up. She never said no and i never touched her but i dont know it this is abusive behaviour or just normal curiosity bc i felt shame to tell my parents that i thought my clit was broken. I feel a lot of shame and i plan on telling this to my therapist but for now i dont know who to tell it.

Hi, I don't know if it counts as abuse or not; I just recently (about two months ago) remembered a bit about what happened. It happened when I was 8 years old. I used to have a "friend" who was 9 or 10; I don't know what he said to me that day that made me say "No, that's not from God," although at first I "gave in" and had said no. I'm not sure if that really happened or if it's just my imagination.

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.

Hello! I don't know how to go about this at all, but I know I need to put it out there. I am a lesbian over 21 years of age, and I experienced rape and sexual assault by my last lesbian partner. I apologize if this is long, but if anyone reads this, it's greatly appreciated! I met my ex last January, and we texted for about a month before we had our first date. the first date went well, nothing concerning. The second date, which was 2-3 days after our first one, was where it all started. I didn't mind that she kissed me first, but I got nervous when she told me she wanted to take it to the backseat. She started to grope me and to palm me through my clothing before eventually trying to get her hand in my jeans. I stopped her and told her I wasn't comfortable doing any of that yet. Her response was "Oh, but eventually you will want to, right?" and to that I said "yes, but not right now." She continued anyway. That's the moment I look back on and wish I had left. I stayed. Maybe a date or two pass without her doing anything concerning again before there's another incident. We are in her car outside her workplace for an event we chose to go to. There are people on the street. She starts making out with me, to which I feel icky about bc people can probably see us and it's not appropriate. This time she starts to palm me through my skirt again, and at this point I kind of don't remember much other than me saying that I was scared and nervous, and it doesn't seem safe, and her coercing me. Before I know it, she has her hand down my underwear and is raping me. we didn't go to the event. we left and she told me next time she could find a secluded place. she never did. and that's where it all started. over the next 5 months she would rape me in her car every single chance she could. every single time I told her I wasn't comfortable. I would wear tight underwear, but she would still do everything to do it. if she didn't, she would get mad and stonewall me. but there was never once where it wasn't attempted. the worst night was maybe a month after it all started. again, in her backseat. it was in a fairly public parking lot, she tried to cover the windows with clothes, but it was still obviously visible. she made me lay down and take off all my bottoms and completely spread open. it was so humiliating. she then proceeded to violently rape me so bad and painful I was crying and holding on my screams bc I didn't want to bring attention to the situation or possibly get in trouble. I told her I was comfortable and that I wanted to scream but she just threw a cloth over my face so I wouldn't focus on it. after I had to put my clothes back on and I ruined them. I was in pain for maybe up to a weel after or a bit more. now I wish I had gotten evidence of that night, but I have none. In total I think it happened around 14 times. the same care situations in public that I hated. during the relationship I was blinded to an extent, and I didn't realize it counted as rape until after we broke up. At first, I had accepted what happened but now I have a new partner. my new partner coincidentally works with my rapist ex. ever since finding that out I feel completely distraught and suffocated by what she did to me. Not only that. before finding out they worked together they sat next to each other and were becoming friends. so my ex told my current gf how I am a terrible person and that she's afraid of me. they don't speak anymore. I don't know I just feel suffocated by it all. she also has a new gf. I wish I could tell her new gf to be careful, but I'm scared. in my community there's so much stigma around rape and homosexuality. I don't think I could ever safely publicly come out with my story as much as I want to. she completely changed my life. it's like I don't know how to be myself anymore and I feel like I'm going insane.

I am not really sure how to do this since this is my first time writing about this, so I'll start at the beginning. I am a 40 year old man with a wife and 2 stepsons. I was sexually assaulted by a male cousin when I was maybe 9 or 10 and raped by another male cousin in my early teens. I don't really remember how it happened, it just kinda happened. I had an early awakening in my sexuality when I was about 3 or 4 I would notice porn magazines or videos my dad usually left laying around. I would look at the magazines and watch the videos and I would think "Okay, so this is what I'm supposed to do, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, so it must feel pretty good." When I was maybe 9, my now ex cousin coerced me to perform oral sex on him, he was about a year older than me and I used to idolize him. Years later, I would discover that he is a narcissist. This continued for a year or two and then I told my parents who said they would take care of it. They said they talked to his father, my uncle, and he said he would talk to him about it, whether he actually did or not I don't know, but it did stop. Then when I was maybe 12 another male cousin coerced me to perform oral sex on him which then led to him anally raping me. This went on for a few years. I don't know why I let it happen, I am not gay nor have I ever been attracted to another man, I hated what he was doing to me, I guess I just assumed that it was normal. When I was 15, I told him that I wanted it to stop and it did. I never told my parents or anyone else. I self-medicated with alcohol for 10 years, I have been sober since 2009. I finally told my wife earlier this year. She was and still is very understanding and supportive. I have been diagnosed with anxiety, depression and PTSD, I am on medication and in therapy to help me through this along with other trauma. It wasn't easy telling my story and I suppose it's not easy for anyone but I did and it's made me realize that what happened was not my fault and they had no right to violate me the way they did. If you are reading this and are nervous about sharing your story, just remember if I can do it, so can you, it may be extremely difficult but it's a part of healing and you will heal. Thanks for reading.

I am new here on this website, but I am not new to being an incest survivor. Over 35 years ago, in the 1960’s, 70’s and 80’s, I was the little girl victim of [entire childhood long] long-term father-upon-daughter incest with a non-supportive, disbelieving mother. It was a long time ago, so I am not in “danger” any longer from my abuser. But the injuries still hurt now and then and the scars are still healing. My mind is still recovering from the insanity that threatened to settle over me stemming from being raised up in that crazymaking, “gaslighting” environment. I woke up one day and could see that it was all just a nightmare from the past that I was allowing to “haunt” me in the present threatening to end my future early. I want to share my story, and I will do so in small portions, for it is far too long for here. As is probably the case with many father-upon-daughter incest survivors, I could write a whole book, no, a trilogy about my childhood and the problems I have had all along throughout my lifespan due that issue. He had a long “tenure” as a child sexual predator since he got started when he was only 5 years old, a sexual addict who loved children until he was of age 70 when he passed away of a fast-acting cancer in 2017. His dark secrets are coming out of the closet since his passing, but my family is still in denial. As I discovered, sometimes skeletons have a way of falling out of the closet on their own. After his passing, my father’s sexual abuse victims, all his siblings, are starting to open up. My father was the youngest sexual predator I have ever heard of. He didn’t become a child rapist in his adult life or develop his predilection due to some quirk in married life, ...he was already a child rapist when he married my mother when he was just 17 years old. My father was a 17 year old child molester-rapist [who sexually abused all five of his own younger siblings, leaving them with lifelong scars and psychological problems]. My father went on to become a highly respected CHP law enforcment officer and a highly respected, church-going, law-abiding [his pubic image, although he broke laws in his private life], tax-paying citizen that everyone revered throughout the small military base and civilian town I grew up in. I have lived out the real-life story of “The Girl Who Cried Wolf”, only I was telling the truth about the “wolf”, who was my father. In the Aesop’s fable, the boy was pranking the villagers, so they didn’t believe him when he really needed them to believe him. I know how it is to be telling the truth about a wolf in sheep’s clothing and no one else can see what he really is. It is very scary. Life-threatening, really. I knew as a child that I had to outsmart my dad if I was ever to “tell” on his dark deeds. But he was always two steps ahead. He always had 2 or 3 lies for each truth I had. I was playing a “rigged game” only I didn’t figure this out until adult life. My father tried to ruin my life and that of all of his siblings and my sister, my children, and any other kids he could get his hands near. I lived and I know the nightmares [figurative and literal] that children live with when their own daddy is the “boogey man” wolf creature that comes in the night, out from the closet or from under the bed, but magically disappears by morning, leaving [virtually] no trace. Since my dad got away with sexually abusing me all those years, I want to open up and expose his sneaky “tactics”. He didn’t get away with sexually abusing me because he was such a genius, so brilliant and talented at illusion and sleight of hand moves. He got away with it because everyone else around him, the adults, were ignorant and duped. I am in favor of using my experience to help to develop a better way to come to the aid of more of these child victims who are trying to find any adult who will hear them and may want to help them. It’s terrible to be held captive in your own home and no one can see it and no one offers to help. You realize you are stuck. Helpless. That ought not to be so. Children should be able to find someone to tell. Police can’t seem to find the “funding” or “man power” to stop these guys. They rarely can ever catch one and put them away, and if they succeed, it is only for a few years before they are back out, resuming their molesting. My life and my journey of healing has brought me to a place where I am done being a recovering victim who considers myself a “survivor”, but I want to be more...I desire to be an “overcomer” who has applied what I know and am [starting to ] make a difference. I want to be part of the solution for other victims who are crying out for help...the help that never came for me and other father-daughter incest survivors, who themselves had to endure “childhood sexual abuse by daddy” because no one saw the signs...because no one was “listening”. I hope to be a part of bringing better solution to the issue of incest than is presently in place...because the present way of addressing this problem is not working. The continuing influx of brand new reports representing all-new cases childhood sexual abuse perpetrated by another father tells us that we are not even close to stemming the tide of this insidious problem that grows behind closed doors. That is all I have to say for now. Thank you for listening.  Sincerely, ~ forthetruth

I was in my late teens , growing up as the Queer girl in school, subjected to years of bullying and sitting my leaving cert when I decided one day not entirely sure why that it was time for me to learn how to drive , with this new goal in mind I went to speak to my dad about potentially starting lessons and getting a car when he told me I should get a part time job to build a good work ethic and pay for this myself , I thought this was fair and began searching, the stars all seemed to align when a local restaurant was hiring for part time weekend staff, I applied and was hired, I remember on my first day meeting 2 men who worked there a man in his early 30s I'll call James and one in his late teens a year or so older than me we can call bob , I was quiet and kept my head down for the first few weeks but eventually began to open up and become more comfortable with the other staff particularly Bob since we where a similar age and had some matching interests, Bob looked much older than he actually was since he had a scraggly beard , we exchanged social media and began chatting fairly regularly about work but soon about almost everything we talked alot over this period , I had 2 friends in the same school as Bob who where concerned about this due to Bob having a less than favoured reputation It was a few weeks later when Bob asked about pursuing a relationship, at first I was hesitant due to the fact we where coworkers but decided to give him a chance , I remember I would always feel a sense of dread before meeting with Bob despite not being entirely sure why I had 2 pet ferrets at the time who are usually incredibly friendly absolutely hate the guy , we had a few heated arguments surrounding boundaries and consent and it became relatively clear to me that he lacked understanding on what consent actually was but being a dumb teenager I thought that was something minor that could be worked on It was the summer when we went out drinking and went back to watch a movie and stay over , I remember watching a TV show and feeling quite unwell, I wasn't used to consuming alcohol and had a very low tolerance, I went to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, when I returned I did not feel good at all I don't remember much for a while past this point but I remember feeling a strong pain in my lower abdomen I opened my eyes and as they adjusted to the light I realised I was naked from the waist down and Bob was on top of me , being under the influence of alot of alcohol I didn't fully grasp the situation and just tried to pull away I got to the top of the bed and held onto the bed frame I was mainly confused and in pain when I was dragged by my legs back down the bed , finally started to grasp the gravity of the situation I managed to whine "stop" no response , I don't remember much after this point but I do remember limping to the bathroom and immediately throwing up in the worst pain I have ever felt , this is the part that's clearest in my mind , not the act the aftermath of it , grabbing a shower head and spraying ice Cold water all over my thighs to wash off blood in tears but not making a sound beyond , it felt like an out of body experience I remember staggering back out of the bathroom in pure survival mode , This was over a year ago now and it it still affects my daily life , I have alot of self doubt and regret , I know deep down that its not my fault but for some reason it's incredibly hard to believe that whole heartedly , I feel like it carries a stigma when I meet people it's Easy to gauge whether they know or not based of their reaction to me and although I've had alot of support from my friends it still feels as if it'd be better if nobody knew , not a day goes by where I don't think about it , there are ups and downs If there was one thing I could change with the current education system it would be to please make consent a mandatory part of the sphe module and not just a brief touched on subject a genuine important part that's explored on depth by trained staff , I feel like it could save so many people so much heartache and trauma

This is another incident from my survivor story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER. I am working up to the police incident. Please read my story for context. This one brought back pain in writing it. Sophomore year of my philosophy major in college. I had recently gone on a trip to Portugal with nice older man who basically invited me to Portugal with the understanding that I would be his lover for a free trip. He had been one of my customers at the restaurant and I took him up on his proposition for the fun of it and had a great time. That was my spring break. This was a few year period when I was very promiscuous after being abused by my brother for years at home and repressed in a Catholic high school as parental punishment for starting a sexual relationship with a boy my age. When a girl in my logic course who was pre-law invited me to a fraternity party I thought it would be nice to hang with people my own age. Fraternities and sororities were not my cup of tea and still are not. After doing a keg stand to impress strangers I was looking for the upstairs bathroom because the line for the downstairs one was long. That one had a few girls waiting and a guy who had held one of my legs for the keg stand started flirting with me and offered to take me to a secret bathroom. The bathroom was legit but then he beckoned me into a bedroom across from it where two other frat brothers were. I was apprehensive but with the other guys there I was a little more at ease that he wasn’t just trying to take me to bed. I was open to finding a hot guy, to be honest, but he was NOT it. Neither were the other two. I sat chatting with them and drinking tiny shots of cinnamon whiskey and getting more nervous when somebody tried to get in the door to the room but it was locked. My guy yelled at them to go away. Then I tried to get up and leave but was pulled back to my seat the bed. I am small so I am easily overpowered. “You can’t leave yet. We’re just getting to know you.” One rapist said. “No teases allowed here.” “What do I have to do to get back out to my friend?” I asked something like that but used her name. They looked at each other with nasty smirks and I regretted the question. What one of them came up was a blowjob contest in which I have twenty seconds to make each of them cum but I had to go in circle until one did and then he was eliminated and I had to do all three. So they stood on three sides of the bed with me in the middle and took out their penises. One had a stop watch and without hesitation I started sucking the one nearest me. I wanted to get out of there and was physically afraid of them. This was away to avoid any violence and not even give them the satisfaction of thinking they forced me to do anything. So I went round and round getting very tired. 20 seconds was too short and they had pulled off all my clothes. I stopped and asked the one who made up the game for 60 seconds. Suddenly I was pulled violently back by my legs from the one behind me he held my legs apart as he quickly started banging me. I did not even see his face until later. The one who I had been talking to got up on the bed and started doing it to my mouth. I don’t me he put it in my mouth. He grabbed my head with both hands and forced it in and was banging my face as hard as the guy behind me was doing it. I had to stay up on my elbows arched to prevent him from ripping my hair up to keep me at his level. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. It had always been one partner at a time. They were mean and I tried so hard to keep up. After that craziness was over and both of them satisfied themselves in me, the original guy pulled me up onto the bed and said something like, “Only one hole left for me.” I was not used to anal sex then. I offered to go wash up if he would please not do anal with me. He laughed and shook his head. So, laying on my back with my legs spread, he squirted some aloe vera gel from the bedside table down there and watched me face to face as he worked his penis in one thrust at a time. He saw the pain on my face that I could not hide. I had to kiss him while her hurt me. Even when he got going fast it took him a while. One of them was watching us, smiling from the side and the other was playing with his phone and I think taking pictures. Phones did not do videos yet. The smiling one once asked, “Dude, is it really in her ass?” After he was finished with me he thanked me and left. Said he had responsibilities. The one with the phone left too. I tried to leave. “Not so fast.” The other one said pushing me back down. I told him I had done everything they wanted and more and asked to please leave. He told me I was the hottest chick he had ever F-’d and he wanted round 2. I just wanted to get out of there. One more obstacle. I worked my mouth on him for a while to get him even half rubbery again and worked it inside. That failed and I had to do it again. Finally I used every trick I could including faking orgasms, having a real orgasm, and talking dirty to him to get him to release inside me. I was so shaky and exhausted after being their whore for so long it was hard to get my clothes on. I was in fear he would stop me, and he did. I told him I just wanted to got pee and clean up and asked him if I could sleep in his bed with him—just a trick. I worked. I thanked him, nonchalantly closed the door behind me and hurried down the stairs without drawing too much attention. I kept a smile on my face as I made it out the front door and off the porch. I kept of the act for a block before I just started running as far away as I could. I was actually terrified someone might be after me until I was out of the neighborhood far from campus and to a gas station. I called a taxi and went home. My roomate was sleeping in her room and I just sat in the shower. In my story I used this as an example of how I avoided being raped by just going with it when I was in a rape situation. But this felt like rape. I went back to partying and using alcohol and marijuana to dampen the impact and feel artificially warm and fuzzy. And casual sex with hot men. But this was rape. I was gang raped. Maybe better for me than if I had tried to fight them and lost but it still sucks and leaves me with hurt and guilt and fear.

I was in location and I had been seeing another guy in the friend group casually. The guy who ended up assaulting me was in that same friend group. We were at a party and this guy said a few of us should go to his for an afters, encouraging the guy I was seeing to go home instead and I didn’t think anything of it in the moment. When we were at his house and it was just me and him alone, he said he wanted to kiss me and I initially said no as it’d be a bit weird as I was seeing one of his friends. He then told me that the guy I had been casually seeing had a girlfriend, everyone knew and didn’t tell me. I felt terrible. So while I’m crying he starts kissing me and things escalate. He starts choking me hard, hurting me physically, restraining me, twisting my nipples really hard, and covering my mouth. I just froze up. After he was done I went upstairs to my friend and asked to leave at like 5 in the morning. The next day I called the guy I was seeing at the time asking him about the girlfriend and apologising about getting with one of his friends. He told me not to apologise and none of it was my fault and also the guy who assaulted me had lied about this whole girlfriend scenario. I didn’t want to think I was assaulted or coerced, I kept blaming myself. I couldn’t get out of bed to the point that I pissed myself. My family didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was so very fortunate to have friends who were with me to help me come to terms with what happened. My friends who had to tell me that wasn’t okay, that was assault. There was one “friend” who was very much a well it takes two, and it was bad out of me to “get with” him when I was seeing his friend. Then informing me the guy who assaulted me tried to kill himself. And I felt so evil but I wish it had worked. The friend group cut him off once they heard what happened, it was also found out he had assaulted someone else in the group too. I eventually texted the guy who assaulted me telling him what he did was wrong and I didn’t consent to violence, he said sorry that he tends to take his problems out in the bedroom and that I wasn’t the first girl to tell him this. I felt so sick and so guilty for not realising sooner, for not saying anything to him sooner. This was a few years ago, I recently saw the guy who assaulted me on a night out, he looked like he saw a ghost but I froze again and just asked my friends to leave, it’s not fair. It’s just not fair. I feel so much anger and it’s not fair. He is not the only man who has assaulted me but he fills me with the most anger and I don’t know why. I hate feeling this anger, I hate feeling frozen, I hate wishing bad upon a person the way I wish bad upon him. I am not one who runs from confrontation usually but I had to run from him, I had to leave and cry on the phone and gulp water. Then walk past him again in the smoking area wishing I could shout that man is a rapist, but instead I walk past not looking back in case he sees me again, I swallow my anger. I worry that I don’t fit the bill of a “perfect” victim but I know now none of it was my fault, it was all his. I feel hopeless sometimes, but I guess getting to talk about it like this helps, it really helps.

My parents had never allowed me to date someone before so when they told me they trusted you I was so excited. You made me believe that love was pure and that you were honest in your intentions. I was so young when you taught me how easy it is to be drowned out by lies and false comfort. You used my friends and family against me until I had only your support to go off of. You never heard my cries or my plead to stop. You always did what you wanted. When you wanted. I will never forget you for teaching me how horrid someone can be. Even so, I will heal and grow without you in my life.

On Feb.Day, Year my live in boyfriend of 9 years tried to murder me with not 1, but 2 aluminum baseball bats. It started around 10 p.m. on the night of the Date and nobody found me until 8:30 on the morning of the Date Needless to say they thought they had their first murder case for the year of Year. As I sit here today I am blind in one eye. I had facial and cranial reconstruction. I am left with metal plates in my face. I also have metal rods, pins and screws throughout both of my arms. I have some brain damage. For the first 3 days of being in the hospital I was in surgery. I was in a 5-day coma. And as I was in surgery on that first day, they had to hunt him down. They finally tracked him in City, State. And they charged him with attempted murder, kidnapping, terroristic threats and also having a stolen firearm while being a felon. And he is in prison where he will die. And I am here to warn women and men that are in violent relationships to get out as soon as possible!

in january of this year i was sexually assaulted by the head chef at a restaurant that i worked for. the restaurants manager asked me to not go to the police otherwise i would lose my job. i went to the police anyway but they closed my case because of the little evidence they had. however, it has just come out now that this chef has a criminal record and three other girls have come forward claiming it has happened to them too, from the same man! our case is going to trial and there is a strong chance he might face prison time!!!

I would like to know if there are other survivors who have also been sexually and emotionally abused by Name? Are there survivors who would like to come forward anonymously? He has changed his location a dozen of times, to avoid accountability, there must be survivors all over the world, who don't even know from each other, each of them suffering in silence. In Europe, in Russia, all over the USA, etc. Let's connect, and find healing.