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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.

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.

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.

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.

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

I've been abused by my first husband whom I divorced once before and then remarried years later. He's a narcissist who expects everyone to treat him like a king while he lives his life adding nothing his family's but strife and trauma. He just came by my home and we haven't even been together in any capacity for over twelve years. He banged on my door and I thought he was going to break through it. I'm always afraid to call the police because there was an incident before when he brainwashed the police and made himself into someone who could never hurt anyone (while our son is in his room with bruises inflicted upon him by his own father) We all secretly wish he would go and never come back. We all see it in each other's eyes and say very little to one another.

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

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.

• Biography (including background): While growing up at home, I suffered physical and emotional abuse from my father, neglect from my mother (a cycle of abuse from my maternal grandparents), violence from my older sister, and had to care for my younger sisters. At the same time, I had a childhood hobby of reading specialized books, and I had a desire to pursue higher education and make the most of my educational opportunities to contribute to society, devoting all my free time to studying... However, at the age of 17, I reached my limit, my physical and mental health deteriorated, and I had eight chronic illnesses (10 types of medication), so I took a two-year break (I also dropped out of high school). After that, due to limited funds (using my own earnings), I applied to a university that I could apply to while still in prefecture name, and enrolled in university. While continuing my education, I left my hometown and, while undergoing treatment for my chronic illness, I actively volunteered and worked for non-profit organization (an NPO for people with Down syndrome).

My name is Survivor and when I was around age 3, my father started raping me. My mother helped hold me down. He was raping her, and she offered me up in her place. This continued until age 23, maybe 24, shortly before my wedding. By the time I was 6, he was raping other members of my family too. He’d come into my room at night and would throw my nightgown up into the headboard and then I’d have to wait my turn in fear and naked shame while others were raped. We had a large waterbed and I still remember the bed rolling up and down, up, and down, up, and down like on a boat. Once done, he wiped me down roughly with a red shop rag he used in cleaning the garage. It allowed him to keep the rag around to smell it and hold it close with no one questioning why it was so dirty with red stains. Most of the time, my dad was friendly and polite. But once he turned into the monster no one did anything to stop him. He never did these things when he was nice. Only when he was the monster. But he used the nice times to make it easier to attack. He would lull you into a false sense of safety and peace which really made you question your intuition and gut instincts that this was a bad man. This made it easier for him to sexually assault other children and adults. As I got older, my parents controlled the narrative of our lives, every aspect was carefully controlled. Like my mom knowing how to force miscarriages. The first abortion forced on me was when I was 15. I don’t know how I managed to make it to adulthood. I continue to remember more and more of the abuse by other family and church members. And other things my dad did within the church where he was pastor and then later deacon. But I still can’t talk about those memories. I think my dad felt like anything he did was inevitable, therefore, never his fault because he couldn’t control himself and when it happened God would forgive him, so it was all right. I know this because I overheard him grooming another family member to do the same things when he was 11 years old. Males in our family were groomed to be abusers too. I was groomed too. To always be the abused. Forced to keep silent, I learned quickly what happens to people who stand up to my dad. They die or get assaulted. As you can imagine, I had terrible anxiety growing up about being sexually assaulted and worked hard to fade into the background. I thought that might help. I thought it mattered what I wore, color of my hair, how much I weighed. It’s taken years and it will probably continue to take years to unlearn the lies I was taught. The worry made me constantly ill with one thing after another-- I got cancer when I was 32 and before that incapacitating vertigo and motion sickness. My parents met while working down in Texas for an independent fundamental Baptist preacher. Lester Roloff—an Independent Fundamental Baptist preacher who opened homes across the country for “troubled” children, teens, and adults. He liked to say he was saving dope fiends, whores, and hippies. I believe many of the children in the homes had already experienced abuse growing up and Lester Roloff homes should have been a safe place to heal. Instead, the kids met caretakers like my parents. My mom was in a charge of the 16 and older home and my dad flew around the country raising money and preaching the party line: men were akin to gods and women were lower than dirt—their only worth was in being a virgin and then baby factories once married. Very masochistic and minimizing of abuse of any kind, my parents ate up the evil rhetoric being preached from the pulpit My parents eventually took their brand of abuse from Lester Roloff’s out into the churches and communities where we lived-from Texas to Washington and eventually into Alaska. He disappeared in a plane over the waters near Anchorage in 2006. The events surrounding his disappearance were always very suspect but intense pressure from my family kept me quiet. Every day for almost three years straight, a family member called and reminded me talking about “our family issues” was causing generational sin to 4 generations. The pressure to keep quiet and do what my family told me to do was so significant I would have rather died than disappoint them. It wasn’t until I set out to heal from all the trauma, that I found out my dad faked his death. I had always been told since he was gone, there was nothing to be done for what I experienced growing up. But let me tell you, knowing he’s still out there perpetrating on other children and men and women really compelled me to come forward. I finally felt free to start talking. Getting past the pressure to stay silent was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder, even, than fighting cancer. I have spent many years in intensive CBT, EMDR and Polyvagal therapy learning how to process my wounds in a healthy way. I had pushed for criminal and civil suits against my perpetrators but the Texas statute of limitations don’t allow for justice to be done. So now, I spend my time now speaking on panels, podcasts, and community platforms about the intersections of trauma, faith, and advocacy. One of the biggest honors of my life has been sharing my story and advocating for Trey’s Law on the Texas Senate floor in Spring 2025. Forcing a sexual assault victim to keep quiet is what allowed people like my parents to continue their mistreatment for so many years. I will do what I can to make sure justice isn’t minimized by NDAs and Statute of Limitations. My efforts connect me with survivors, true crime audiences, mental health communities, and faith groups seeking to understand and confront abuse. I invest my time in mentoring survivors, creating resources for healing, and building digital tools to expand access to supportive materials. Because living a life whole and healthy is what I really want for me, all the victims and their families. We make our own opportunities to heal.

I had a tough year, I had lost a parent, I had been cheated on, I had to end a very good friendship. That summer I was going to have a good time, and enjoy being young. After work one day, I sprung up the idea to go on a night out with my cousin who had a similar year to mine. We went out for drinks, the two of us going through the same motions of a night out, batting off creeps at the bar, dancing, having a good time. We met with one of her old school friends and his friend, and I took a liking to the friend. We all piled up in a taxi and went back to their place. We all had a couple more drinks, and my cousin and her school friend went upstairs, leaving me with the other friend. One thing lead to another and we went upstairs. Through the motions there were things that didn't feel right, and I tried to tell him to stop, that I was uncomfortable, that I didn't want to do that, but he didn't listen, he just kept going. When finally, it was over and I just felt frozen in time, more concerned for my cousin in the next room, and not about myself, being in a scary position. My phone had died and nobody had a charger for it, so I had to beg the guy who had just assaulted me to order a taxi, because I didn't know what part of town I was in at the time, but all I knew was that I had to get home, and fast. All I remember was my cousin getting annoyed at me for leaving, but I didn't care, I wanted to get home, I wanted to be safe. I remember the taxi driver, it was a woman who told me about her son living in locationand how humid it was that time of year. It mightn't have been much, but it was comforting in that moment. I remember the streetlights reflecting on the rows of houses in that suburb, which still haunt me any time I pass through that area, sending a shiver down my spine. She pulled up to my house, the sun was starting to come up, my dad left the porch light on. I undressed and took a shower. Still not processing what had happened, I wrote in my journal and tried to pass it off as a silly dating fail, but knowing at the back of my mind it wasn't okay. I couldn't sleep so I read a book and the following day, took my younger sibling out into town to get school supplies for the new year. Months passed, and I tried to tell a friend about what happened to me, but all they could say to me was: "Well, what do you expect, that's what happens when you hook up with random people" and I retreated into myself. After that point, I went a long time without telling people what happened until I was visiting another friend in a different city and I decided to go on a date with someone I matched with on an app. As I was about to board the metro to get to the date, I froze up, I panicked, I started to cry. My friend immediately asked what happened, if I was okay, and was there anything she could do to help. I couldn't say it was nothing, because it wasn't nothing. It was something that shook me to my core, made me think I was in the wrong for enjoying my sexuality. I didn't go on the date, but what I did do was tell my friend what had happened, and instead of being met with judgement, I was met with kindness, compassion, and love. We left the train station, picked up bits for a self-care night, and I was allowed to be myself in a space where I was believed and listened to. It took me a good while to feel comfortable in myself, how I looked, how I expressed myself, how I even was in relationships. If it weren't for the friend who made sure I was okay and I was safe, I mightn't be sharing my story right now. There are still times when I pass through that same neighborhood, hear that person's name, or even go pass the bar we met at, and a cold wave passes through me, but I'm proud of the work I have put in to not let it ruin my day, get me down, or define me.

Being a girl is not fair I am a 32 year old woman abused more that once when I was younger. It was the first abuse that had the butterfly affect of leading me to the rest. When I was twelve I wanted to earn money. My parents did not believe in allowance for doing chores. I could not work legally until I was fourteen unless it was a newspaper route waking up before dawn. My Uncle--my Dad’s brother--hired me to work at his appliance repair shop. He was the only one we knew who had a business. Soon after I started, part of the job was letting him give me massages. He molested me a little more each time until he was using his mouth on my privates. He would masturbate while he did. I let him do this for weeks while he changed me and distorted me. Then he made me use my mouth on him. I did it ONE time. I vomited after. I reported him to my parents. The were caring and supportive, and angry at him. But not angry enough to do anything but let me stop working there. He apologized to me in the kitchen with my parents there. Me floating adrift in lava while the Gods decided my fate. I barely remember it. He stayed in our lives with almost no change. I went back to normal. On the surface. But I was not the same, and become more afraid of things. The dark, being alone, silence. In the coming years I fooled around with boys in ways I might not have. I may not have been that type of girl but felt compelled. I was fifteen when I had a boyfriend my age that I secretly had sex with almost daily. I loved him. He dumped me. More issues. Age seventeen. High school senior. Dyed blue-streaked hair down to my butt. Emo. Skinny. Flat chest. Was drinking and smoking put by then. But not THAT NIGHT. I Walked out of a Pink concert I had gone to with my cousin and her friends. Something upset me and I left. Night time. Part of the city I don’t know. No plans. Maybe go back to the concert after getting my head together. Walking past a strip mall a group of four guys came out of place, not sure what it was. I had seen that two of them were black. That scared me. I’m sorry. I hurried and turned right. So did they. It was something like an alley behind the strip mall and a big wall on the one side. Back doors of business, dumpsters, a few cars. Not well lit. Maybe I could have just kept walking and been fine but it was dark on the far side and seemed so far away. The guys were talking and laughing and behind me. I grew terrified of being raped or hurt or killed. I think I heard one of them say the words, “nice ass” in their chatter. Panic attack. I think I was trying to save my own life. Preemptive strike? I stopped, turned and said. “You guys can F--- me if want.” I remember the pause while some of them stopped but one kept coming. They laughed, maybe nervous. The one that kept coming put his arms around me and pressed his body to me. I forgot what he said but he pulled me in close, grinding on me. They took me to a dark area off to the side between two buildings. I did oral for the first one and the other black one, but not all the way. A show for them. Laughing. Shooshing each other when they got too loud. I tried but they got rough and I gagged a lot. Take you clothes off. Jacket, tank, jeans, panties. Onto my back. Asphalt. Legs spread. Trying to stay on top of my clothes to not get cut and scraped. All four of them took turns. With the first one it was a show they watched. With the rest they were turned around, talking to each other, trying to block me from view. I think someone walked by but not sure. Alcohol and cigarette breath. Guys probably in their thirties. Friends having fun. Boys being boys. Just pumping into me. Telling me I’m tight. My body a vessel. Legs spread. No resistance. My arms around them. Eye contact I don’t remember. I always looked at my boyfriend in the eyes. I always look in eyes during it, searching for a connection. I saw their eyes but not their faces. They just used me for friction. Quick and get it down. Except for the second to last. He wanted to talk. I told him my name. I told him about the concert. I told him I liked to be on top because he asked. I remember his face. The only one who was white. Crooked nose. Cauliflower ears. Blue eyes. A sense of hurry from the others. He blurs into the last one in my mind. The Arab/Persian? “Thanks a lot.” I know one of them said. They thanked me while I got dressed quickly and kept walking the direction they had been going before. By the time I walked back out they were gone. I went back the direction I had come from. I got back in the concert and spent the whole time finding my cousin. Sore and dripping. Back scratched up. I felt gross. I started crying but stopped when I drew too much attention. I found them. The final song was “Get the Party Started” We left together. The ones who were not driving drank wine but I was not allowed any because I was too young. I told nobody. Told my mom it was cool. Right away I became the girlfriend of a guy who had a locker near mine who had been persistent but I had always rejected. He was tall and no more than “okay”. I did not want to be alone. He fell in love. I did not. Prom and stuff. I broke up with him the last week of school. He was leaving for college anyway. I did not want to go with him. I cheated on him because I needed more sex that he could give. Then came the days of being passed around. I went to community college and dated my chem lab partner, got kind of raped by his brother in the shower and became the brother’s girlfriend. He got me into heavy drinking, party drugs, the club scene and I dropped school. I was an EDM/Metal/Trance princess and had so many “friends” in the scene that knew me as Sapphire. Sapphire was a nymphomaniac. People loved that about me. Some good, some bad. Quickies in dark spots in the clubs. Backstage. Back office. Cars. Secrets. Woke up in different beds. My boyfriend kind of “gave” me to his drug dealer and I lived with him until an older guy talked me into running away with him to Location. He was 39 (40 for a month) when I was 20 and we lived together for more than a year. It was a very sexual relationship but he cared about me. His house was a quick walk to the beach and I loved it. It was healthier. I started CC classes again and got my AA. He helped me through my panic attacks and I hid my depression from him. My parents met him, and accepted him eventually. We talked about marriage. But he was gone all day weekdays, I did not have a job, and I had a second life to feed my big hollow emptiness that had started after my uncle used me. Also, he liked to role play that he was my father. Just one of his kinks. The sickest part is that just like the eye contact thing, saying “F me daddy” became something I just do automatically. I cheated on him many times when he was with guys from the beach crowd he only knew slightly from our weekend beach trips. Girls too. I fell for a surfer and wanted to have his baby and even quit birth control. It all ended badly and I moved back with my parents. I was finally diagnosed with manic depression and talked to my mom about all the sexual encounters and abuse and started going to group. Five years after THAT NIGHT my mom was the first person I told about the four guys after the concert. That one still rips a hole in my sense of life and love and loving myself. I wonder if good guys don’t want to be with me because my breasts are small I take medication and I am functional. Like I said; BEING A GIRL IS NOT FAIR

I was 6 when it happened. When I told, nobody believed me. After all who who believe a 7 year old could molest a 6 year old? That's exactly what happened. He would start with a massage or singing to me. When I didn't like it he threatened me with a pocket knife and that he'd kill me if I ever told. I did. I told a babysitter, who told my parent, who told my teacher, who told the principal. The principal met with both of us together, then separate. In retaliation, he cut me on the arm with the knife. The principal didn't believe me. There was no punishment. We were to stay on separate playground equipment or be anywhere near each other. He bullied me for the next 5 years until he left the school. That's when the memories came back. It had quite an impact on me since I was 11 at the time, I looked much older. I easily attracted male attention which lead to sexual harassment and further traumatization. I was in a long term psych facility at the age of 12 because of a suicide attempt. There was a male staff member who seemed to enjoy destroying the teen girls there. When he got to me the first time, he wanted to know every detail of my abuse. When I got upset, he laughed at me and made fun of me. Later, he made comments on the way I looked and my eating habits. Telling me skinniness was unattractive on me. If we wanted out of that place, we had to admit everything he said was right. I did wahat I could to get out of that abusive place, I got out in 2 months. Many years later, I was 18, I met a man 11 years older than me. I liked him alot and he had shown some interest in me. He later convinced me to leave the country with him. My home situation has always been bad and still is. I went with him. We ended up getting married, at his insistence, after only three months of knowing each other, becoming homeless, and eventually returning to the US. We lived with his family, I started to get over his brainwashing, saw how abusive he really was. He had been taking advantage of me sexually, I started refusing him. He then started raping me. At first it was only a few times, then when we lived on our own, it became more frequent, along with other forms of daily abuse. He did it to show "dominance" because he refused to work, spent my money on drugs and alcohol, and slept/watched TV/got high all day while I was at work. He became more violent and paranoid over time. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't cry multiple times a day from the constant abuse. I tried leaving him, he would threaten to kill himself, psychologically torture me or physically threaten me until I changed my mind, or promise me things would be better. The turning point came after I possibly became pregnant, he was going to force me to have an abortion. I miscarried due to the abuse. I couldn't go to the doctor, if my parents found out, they told me they would completely disown me if I got pregnant. A month later, he raped me in my sleep and a few days later tried to strangle me. I did move out but later came back at his and his parent's insistence. I saw no other way out, I didn't want to be divorced at such a young age (be damaged goods) and I couldn't handle living with my abusive parents again so I tried to take my own life. After getting out of the psych hospital, (who had been no help whatsoever in helping me get away from him or my family), I did get the paperwork together to divorce him, of course, he convinced me to tear them up. A month later, I did file the papers and tell him it was over. We finally separated after he held me hostage in my car, for the umpteenth time and tried to take me to another city. The divorce came through a few months later. We had been married a little over a year, I was 20.

We'd been talking online for a few months, and he'd gotten a hotel nearby. I went to see him, I was so excited. I knew we'd have sex, that was fine with me, I looked forward to it. But before we ever got to his room, he groped me. I asked him to stop, it was embarrassing. He hemmed and hawed. And I went with him anyways. He was eight inches taller than me, and a hundred or more pounds heavier. It started out fine, but suddenly, with no warning, his hand was wrapped around my throat. I panicked, and froze. It took him a few seconds to acknowledge that I'd reacted, and he asked what was wrong. All I could do was choke out that I didn't want choking. He pulled his hand away like he didn't make me think I was going to die just then, and continued. It's a blur after that, but I know that wasn't the last time I said no or to stop. Sometimes I didn't say no or stop, just that it hurt. He ignored all of them. I don't understand why I didn't just leave. I could have left. I wish I did. Instead, I somehow fell asleep next to him. I woke us both up screaming. He deserved it. I had a friend fake a medical emergency the next day, and pick me up. I left the hotel with shaking hands and hickeys id begged him not to leave. I wish I'd had a rape kit done. I wish I'd clawed out his eyes. I wish I'd told his entire family and everyone he cares about. I spent so long justifying what happened, that he must not have meant it somehow, that he was a good person who did a bad thing. I messaged him the next day, and explained what he'd done wrong. He took it so well. He apologized. I wish he'd been angry and evil and rude. I wish it was easier to blame him instead of myself. It's been five years (with weekly therapy!) and I still think it's partly my fault. Sometimes it feels like a distant dream, but right now, it feels so heavy that it's drowning me

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!

I was raped when I was 18, just after my Leaving Cert. The man who raped me was a former partner. He had been physically abusive which had prompted me to end the relationship. Not long after it ended, he got in contact and asked to meet up to exchange items we had left at the others’ homes. I agreed, not thinking anything of it particularly. We arranged a time and agreed to go for a coffee in a spot we had often frequented as a couple. However, he was hours late turning up and looking back now, this was a huge red flag. I got into the car with him and he drove to a secluded location, incapacitated me and raped me. I will never forget the feeling of trying to prise his hands off of me and finally realising I wasn’t strong enough. It lasted nearly 4 hours and I was orally, vaginally and anally raped. He also used a foreign object during his attack. After it was over, he let me go and I walked for hours in the dark to get home. I didn’t tell a soul for days. The only medical attention I sought was the morning after pill. After about 3 days, I started to come to terms about what had happened to me, and that it wasn’t ok. That I wasn’t ok. I sought help from the SATU in Location and chose ‘Option 3’ which allowed samples to be taken and stored without a Garda present. I couldn’t speak highly enough of the care I got in SATU. They are angels. I later suffered a miscarriage at a relatively late stage in pregnancy, after finding out quite late. I eventually made a statement to Gardai and my perpetrator was arrested, although I decided at the time that I was not strong enough to allow the case to go to court. I suffered hugely at that time with symptoms I have now come to understand were PTSD and depression, and even considered taking my own life. But I accessed supports and met a wonderful psychotherapist and I later repeated my leaving cert and went on to gain entry to university, where I have had such brilliant support. I was lucky to access support that made all the difference to me, and my message to anybody reading this who was affected by sexual violence is that it gets better, and you can get through it.

They planned it, they watched it, they laughed about it, they joked about it and then they blamed me. Ridiculed me. Sang songs every day at work about raping me. Gaslit me insofar as I believed it wasn't real. It wasn't serious. It was not rape. But it was. They still protect him even though he's behind bars. I see them around town but they saw me deeper than I'll never know. They know things about my body, that night, my most vulnerable state, my unconscious state that I don’t remember. They know more of their first plan to have me raped which failed because I couldn't ‘be there’. They still think I didn't find out. But I did. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, to wake up everyday knowing that people planned your rape TWICE and they just walk around like nothing happened. What type of people live in this same town as me can POSTPONE a rape because I was going to be studying for my leaving cert that night? Who could do that? They can. They are guilty too. I made sure to tell them. There wasn't enough evidence to prosecute them for aiding a rape. But they have blood on their hands. People know who they really are! But I didn't have to tell them. Because they know what they did. They saw me deeper. But we all know them better now.