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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'd 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 I really liked, 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 got complicated… When I turned four, when you're just a little bit more aware of life, everything got 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 said: where was God? I'm 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 from doing things, the more I wanted to do them. 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 what I believed. My rebellion lasted quite a while. Until… It would happen again. Mom leaves me. 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 began 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. My one and only true mother. But my soul aches. Everything I'd 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 for a little while, I forgot 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. 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.

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.

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 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.

The hardest thing to come to terms with is that you are in an abusive relationship. It is humbling and embarrassing, but is the first step to moving forward in the healing journey. I never thought he was my abuser, I just thought he was a huge "a**hole" with anger problems. I did not (still do not) understand how the same person who will cuddle you, tell you "I got you baby, dont worry about it," the same person who will love on your animals, can be vulnerable (not emotionally of course) with you, and tell you he loves you. Can be the same person who gets so angry and defensive, that he calls you every name in the book. The same person can tell you he will "hit you if you don't shut the f**k up." That same person will look at you when you are crying so hard your eyes are swollen shut, and still tell you how ungrateful and unappreciative you are - even if you do everything for them. That person who holds finances over your head, to tell you he will handle it, then throw it in your face because you are a "financial burden." To scream at you, to say how he will "always be better than you and above you." That person will never change. I tried to help him, and change him. I thought after my father passed, he just did not understand grief. He did not understand why 6 months later, I would fall out on the kitchen floor and cry because of the kitchen knives my father got me were washed in the dishwasher. He did not understand why my life changed, or my perspective on the world was altered. He blamed me for my problems, and told me I was a burden to him and his life. All because of my father's passing. I left him, eventually. I had no more strength left, but had no choice but to leave. I wanted to heal, and grieve properly. If I had to do it alone, I would. I did. I believed after 6 months of me leaving, he changed right? He still showed signs, but I was convinced that he would do better. So, I decided to move states, hours away from the family I had left. Said yes when he asked me to marry him (in public). Moved into a house with my animals (leasing) and try to start over. Well, now I am here. It did not last long, that glamour disappeared the first night we had a disagreement. Nothing ever changed, in fact, it got worse. The threats to hit me, the name calling, the disrespect, the abuse. Never physical, but verbally, emotionally, and financially, yes. The embarrassing part is that I wish I stayed away the first time. I wish I would have never moved in with him the first time, I wish I left after only being together for a few months- and he yelled at me- for 30 minutes- because I was "so irresponsible" for leaving my keys in my car. I let myself fall more and more in love with the "good version" of him. The version where he was kind to me, and did love me. I held on to hope, but the hope dies when you realize you deserve real love. I would rather be alone, than stay with my abuser for 10 more years, regretting I didn't leave sooner. Regretting that I didn't leave before he laid his hands on me. I wish I could leave today, but financial wise I cannot. My lease needs bought out. Faking it until I make it. Apathy to avoid arguments. He senses something is different, I can see it in his eyes. I refuse to bring up the elephant in the room-- i no longer care to. Getting by until I can leave. Plans are still in place for the next few months... who knows what will pan out. Either way, I am leaving my abuser. Period.

When I was about 5 years old, around 2010, I had a 3-year-old cousin. I don't know exactly how it started. It began with kisses, and I would climb on top of her. I don't remember exactly where I saw it, but my parents just watched them kissing. I remember one time I kissed my cousin on the mouth. That day it was a party. My parents, aunts, uncles, and other relatives said goodbye, and I kissed her. Afterward, I felt strange. Then I kissed her more and more. We stopped in 2013. Then in 2012, with another cousin, it was the same. I would kiss her, and we would laugh. Nobody ever knew, but with that cousin, it continued until 2020. There was also sex in 2017 and 2018. It was consensual. I was 13, and she was 10. Then, around 2017, I also kissed a cousin. He was about the same age as my cousin. I was about 12 years old. Then it happened with her brother, who was almost 14. He gave me oral sex. He kissed me too, and we had anal sex. A lot of time passed until 2021, when I was 16. My 18-year-old cousin went into the bathroom and did the same thing to me: oral sex and masturbation. Every time it happened, it made me uncomfortable. Then he left the bathroom because someone knocked on the door. Nobody knocked. I was scared and felt guilty. Then in 2021, around December, my 10-year-old cousin and I, who was 16 at the time, and my cousin, who was also around 18, told me to get in the bathroom with him. I told him no because I didn't want to. Later, I agreed, and then my 18-year-old cousin put his hand on my penis, and I pulled away. Then, around August 2023, I decided to talk to my mom about it, and she started crying and got very angry.

I had been friends with X for a little over a year. One day, we were drinking and smoking marijuana on the roof. My blood pressure dropped or rose, so X took me to lie down on his bed. X started touching my private parts. At some point, I regained "consciousness" (I don't know if it was seconds or minutes), got up, went to the bathroom, and said I needed to go home. The next day, X felt very bad, took a picture from the top of a building saying he wanted to kill himself, that I knew what people would think of him. I said it was okay, after all, as soon as I asked, X stopped. But after that, other sexual things happened, and I felt degraded, and I used any substance to numb the feelings, from marijuana to cocaine. I said the phrase "I don't feel comfortable with this, but it's okay (for you to continue what you're doing)" several times. I wanted X to choose to stop. In a way, I didn't want to compromise myself. I didn't want to be responsible for his death, and I thought I would lose his friendship. After a few weeks, I started rejecting X's advances, although I didn't do it verbally. The advances continued until I gave in again. X mocked me, accusing me of being PMSing. I started talking to some girls online, and eventually one decided we were dating, and although I thought it was too soon, since we had only known each other for two weeks, I kind of went along with it. Obviously, he touched me again, and that made me feel like a traitor, so I ended up telling him he couldn't touch me anymore. He got really upset, said it was unfair because he had met me first. He started to be more gentle, like rubbing my legs and treating me like his girlfriend, but I couldn't take it anymore, so I stopped seeing him and moved to another city. Some things make me think I may have been groomed. 1. He confessed to approaching me because of my self-harm (approaching me through vulnerability). 2. He confessed that he found it funny that at the beginning of our friendship, I didn't like hugging him, but I hugged him anyway (here he demonstrated that he understood my nonverbal cues and crossed the line anyway). 3. Strange things were normalized. For example, he would make me sit on his lap, as if it were something innocent, but if his girlfriend or a family member was nearby, he would push me off his lap. He treated his girlfriend as if she were excessively jealous and his own relatives as stupid and backward. I had never had a male friend, so I based my understanding on my friendships with girls, where sitting on laps was normal and not sexual, so even though I felt there was something strange, I felt "sexist" for thinking that way (yes, today I see how completely distorted my mind was...). 4. He brought me closer to his family and mine. In front of his family, he wouldn't touch me, but he would in front of mine (they thought I was dating him and just wouldn't admit it). Even with the closeness, he recommended lying to my parents, saying he didn't like the person I was with my friends, etc. He made me believe he was the only one who understood me. 5. He tried to kiss me the first time I went to his house (but I let it go because his girlfriend had "cheated" on him - they were on a break, but that's how he saw it...) 6. The situation with his girlfriend was kind of complicated. She was high and according to her, she didn't want to, but the guy had come prepared, so she did it. He said she should know what a guy would want going to a girl's house without her parents home. I think he noticed my look at him, because he quickly explained how that didn't apply to us, because our friendship was different, special. Well, could this be considered grooming? If not, would it still be, in some way, sexual abuse?

The first time I remember being touched inappropiately I was five years old. It was a friend of my parents during one of their weekend drinking and drug parties. He put his hands in my shorts. I wasn't scared so it was probably not the first time- but it was the first time I clearly remember. I told my mom. She said to stop being such a baby about it and he didn't put his penis inside me. It continued. I kept silent. More malre friends of theirs. I kept silent. When I was eight my dad moved out. For a while things were okay- but by that point neighbor kids were pretty hands on with my body as well. I thought it was normal. When I was ten my mom met a guy in an AA meeting and moved him in the next day. He was great at first. Love bombing his way into our hearts. We had spent two years with no electric or water- he turned both back on. He got my mom to slow down the drinking and stop the drugs. He got us a car. He taught me how to ride a bike. Then- a few months in- he got a computer and a webcam. In the mornings while my mom slept off the drinking from the night before he would sit me on his lap and show me videos of other kids with their adults at home and all the love they would receive. He had me call him daddy during these sessions. Told me all the nice stuff would stay if I would just love him like those kids in the videos. From 10 to 13 he made videos of me- did things to me. All the things. When I was 13 I told my mom he was trying to get me pregnant. I told her everything. She called me a liar. She told him what I said. He gave her all the reasons I was unstable. That night my mom used drugs. She sat in her chair in the living room and he "loved" me on the sofa in front of her. I reached out for her hand. She wouldn't take it. He was not gentle this night. He was violent. Rough. He did not video this session. I cried. I fought. He held me down. The next afternoon while he was at work I slit my wrist in front of my mom. She didn't even react. I survived it. The scar goes from my wrist to my inner elbow. I never saw a doctor. My mom told everyone I cut it on a can of soup. Two weeks later I remember hanging upside down from a tree. The neighbor asked me what I was doing. I told her I was trying to get the baby to come out my mouth. I knew I was in trouble. I ran away. I went to live with my dad and his wife. The love bombing was so intense. They were like a real television family. I felt safe. I was still depressed. I was still not okay. I told my dad of course- and instead of going to the police they told my mom they will keep it quiet and continue to pay her almony if her and her bf stay away from me. They did. I was worth 600 dollars a month. I felt worse. By the time I was fifteen my stepmother became extremely abusive. She beat me and her daughter daily. She took the door off my bedroom and replaced it with a cage door that locked from the outside. They nailed my windows shut. I never told a soul. I have no friends. No anything. Just that home. I went to school. Got straight As. I was so broken. Once I graduated high school it got so bad I didn't want to live anymore. By this point I had spent two years with locks on cabinets and the fridge. We were starved most days. I drank water out of the back of the toilet and stole our pets food to survive. One day she beat me with a gun. I was sure she would kill me. So... I ran. I didn't have a friend in the world but a guy i knew from high school that had graduated two years earlier so I called him. He answered and I said- shes got a gun. shes going to kill me. he was there in three minutes. as we drove away I saw her driving up the road- gun in her hand. I didn't want to stay with him. I didn't know him well and he had a house full of people staying with him. so I called my mom. she came six hours later. then her bf came home. I tried to avoid him for two weeks but eventually he cornered me and as soon as he put his hand down my pants I threw up. all the trauma I blocked out came back like a wave of memories. I had forgotten. all those years at my dads was so bad I forgot why I left my moms in the first place. I called the guy from high school again. he let me come stay with him for 400 bucks a week and sleep on the loveseat. I was prob there about two weeks when he asked me to be his girlfriend. this was the first relationship I had outside adults. I said yes. he made me look at disturbing pictures with him and then give him oral. one night I fell asleep and he locked me in his room from the outside. I really freaked out being trapped in a cage again so his roommates broke his bedroom window to get me out. one of the guys who rescued me told me he would take care of me. I got drugged up to cope. The guy whose house I was staying with found out I escaped and kicked me out. I went to stay with the new guy. He love bombed me so hard. six weeks later we got married. I spent the next 17 years married to him. he beat on me. raped me. lied. yelled. belittled. financially abused me. We had two kids together. He was awful to them too. Never hit them that I knew so I told myself it was okay. but none of it was okay. Then in 2022 my daughters friend approached me and told me he had raped her that morning. I turned him into the police. during the investigation I found out he had also done this to 30 other kids my daughters brought over to play over the years. I had friends call me to tell me of all the times they had been assaulted by him. no one ever told me. I never knew. I am a survivor. All that trauma- it does not go away on its own. I have a trauma therapist. I practice meditation and I am vigilant with self care and boundaries. My children survived. I survived. It does get better. I promise. Would I of ended up with my dad if my mom had protected me? no. Would I of ended up married to an abusive narcissist? doubtful. But today I have an amazing career, My children are happy healthy and free. I have my own place and there are no locked doors. I met a man last year and he is safe, kind, and treats me better than I ever expected. I promise- it does get better. I will always have CPTSD and will always wear my scars on the inside. But where some see a ruined canvas- I used it as my garden and use my experience and story to help others. You are never alone.

I have completely lost hope. I had some yesterday. The church was referring my case to the DA. Great news right? Except there is no criminal case. There is no chance for a criminal case. How do I know? It took the DA less than 4 hours to let me know. I called a couple attorneys. They won't take my case because there isn't one. Now I have to deal with the realization that the past 57 years of torment and pain was for nothing. My new realization of what happened to me all those years ago was for nothing. No legal recourse, just added PAIN. This was my only path to get the mental health help I need. What do I have to be for someone to notice me? What do I have to do to get justice? How the hell d I ever get passed this? Not knowing was so much better. Not knowing and being miserable was tolerable. This is not. YES I am alone. Writing anonymous here is my ONLY avenue to vent. There has to be a reason why I have endured all this for so long. If someone says god has a plan I will literally lose my shit. It's religion that put me in this mess. And my family. I won't leave that bunch of abusing Aholes out. So tell me. Where do I go? Who can help? What tangible avenues do I have left?

Part 2. I'm starting with the second because I can't go over the first yet because the first was reported. The first part started at the beginning of middle school and I was groomed by one of my male teachers from the very first week of middle school. It lasted all of middle school and led to more though can't go into it right now. I will hopefully later on be able to share that if I'm comfortable enough too. Anyways, part 2. It was my senior year of highschool and I went to this male teachers class. I had a weird feeling about him during open house but didn't think anything of it. The first week of school, he goes around asking what we want our nicknames to be if any. I said "just (my name)". He looks at me and says "ok, just (my name)" and smiles and looks at me and back down at his paper. I didn't understand and thought he was funny. He didn't do it to anyone else. Then, a few days later, we're having a fire drill and he looks at me from his desk in the back and tells me "We're going to have a fire drill. We'll just go out and stand and talk for a little." and shakes his head in the yes motion. I shake my head to match his. Another day, I'm walking in the hallway near his classroom and it's just me and him. I'm coming up like 3 stairs and he comes out of the hallway where his room is and we stare at each other. He goes into the middle of the bathrooms and turns the water fountain on, not even two seconds and turns around and stands there. He doesn't even have a water bottle with him, he has nothing in his hands. I stop and wait for him to come out and he doesn't. I continue to slowly walk because I don't want to be late to his class and as I go by him, he follows me with his eyes. Once I'm past him, he comes out between the bathrooms and follows me a short distance and then goes into a dark room with no one ever going in there and I turn and go to his room. I sit down and look at the clock and he doesn't come back for 5 minutes. I put my head down when he starts teaching and cry because I realize what he is but was what I had just seen really match the man who was teaching me? I couldn't trust myself. Throughout class he would look at me and shake his head while teaching us, always in the yes motion. I thought he was nice. During the beginning, he told me he wouldn't let me fail/fall. I was crying because I didn't want to fail his class. I wanted to try my best. He helped me several days throughout the year with the material and I appreciated it. There was a day that I was alone in his room with him before class started because I walked early to his class sometimes for a reason (I won't go into it). I was sitting against the wall like always and he got out a banana and he peeled it. He was back beside his desk and there was a wall he stood beside so if you looked in from any angle from the hallway, you wouldn't see him. He peels the banana back and looks at me and then the floor and then me again. He stares at me and takes one large bite into half the whole banana. I see this and so I turn and look at him and he stops chewing while staring at me. I then ask if I can finish a test because he would allow us to go into the hallway and he'd give us a clipboard and we could do it. He says "what?". So, I asked again and he said "no, I don't want you to miss this class.". Then, when class starts a girl a few rows up from me asks him and he says "yes" and hands her a clipboard and she goes out into the hallway. Again, I'm like 'did he tell me I couldn't but she can?" Then it went further and so I was alone after class with him finishing a test one day. He had a shirt and tie( and yes, he had everything else on)on which was unlike him and while I was doing the test there was a closet a few rows behind me. He goes and takes his shirt and tie off while I'm alone with him and I'm so scared he doesn't have a shirt on underneath and he has a small mirror on the side so I think he could watch me while he did it. He had a shirt underneath but not the point. Then he leaves the room. When he comes back in I look at him because I realized he wasn't wearing what he was earlier and I look at him. He looks at me and starts laughing at me. Then, the next day I'm in another class and a girl in that class told a friend out loud that my male teacher doesn't like changing in front of the students so he went next door to change. Again, I was like "that's not true! He did it when I was alone with him!" but couldn't trust what I had been through to tell anyone so I unfortunately let it go and held everything in.Then it goes further. I'm alone with him because I asked him if I could stay after school because I needed help with the material. He says yes and he only has 30 minutes. So it's just me and him again. I'm in my seat at the wall and he goes over what I'm struggling with. Then he asks if I need help with anything else, again saying he only has 30 minutes. I say "no, thank you though" and get up and start to walk to the door. He runs from the front of the classroom to the back, grabs his phone off his desk, and walks right up behind me and walks right behind me to the door. Once we get to the door, he stops and I feel his release and I keep walking. He watched me walk down the hallway and I felt ashamed and was trying to come up with an excuse to go back into his classroom. I wanted to go back to his class room. After I left school, I went out to eat with some family and all I thought about was "why didn't I go back into his room? What an idiot!". I honestly thought when he was behind me that we was going to rape me but he didn't, he let me go in that sense. Then there was prom and he told me one day before it during class, everyone's there and he looks at me and says "I'm not going to be at prom." He explains what he's doing with his family. Again, I shake my head in the yes motion like "Why do I need to know this?" He wasn't telling anyone, just me. Then we're practicing for graduation and walking through all the halls so the teachers can say congratulations and we get to my male teachers hallway and I'm on his side(we walked in 2 people a row and I was on his side). I start internally panicking and eventually I look up and he's smiling brightly and says "Congratulations" and I smile and say "thank you". When we get back to the room where we're practicing, the girl next to me who I didn't know at all told me there was a teacher who kept saying my name. I asked her who and she said she didn't know. I asked if it was my male teacher and she said yeah. I said something along the lines of "I'm not surprised.".Then we're going on a senior trip. He asks who all is going and I don't put my hand up because I'm talking to a friend. He finds out once we get there. I'm with my then boyfriend and he has the same class as the male teacher and wants to go say hi so we walk over and I say "I don't know if that's a good idea." The whole time being on edge and scared but not knowing why. Once we get over there I try to find an open bench and there are none! I stand uncomfortably in front of my male teacher I had all year as he's sitting on a bench next to another teacher who he worked with sometimes. They taught together sometimes. My boyfriend talks to them and I'm silent. My boyfriend wants my male teacher to sign something and so my male teacher digs in his bookbag and he gets out a pen and stares at me and says "I thought I couldn't find it." and holds the pen up a little and continues to stare at me. He also saw what I wrote for my boyfriend and looked between my then boyfriend and myself. It wasn't sexual but I didn't want him reading that and know I had a boyfriend. He didn't know until then. I don't understand what that was supposed to mean. Then the teacher beside him on the bench looks over between me and my male teacher and tells us we should go get in line because there were a lot of people. Then it's time to leave hours later and I'm standing with my then boyfriend. He points over to where my male teacher is and he's staring at me from way far in the distance. He notices that I notice and acts like he's on a phone call and walks away. I will never know if he actually had a call or not. Then somehow we're waiting for everyone in our group to come back so we can get on the buses. The male teacher is somehow across from me, my then boyfriend left to go see other students he knows, and my male teacher waves at me and is smiling brightly and says "hi". Then he says while rubbing his one arm with his other hand, "you look like your arms got some sun." very quietly so only I know because there are so many people around us but no one notices. I feel uncomfortable though try to tell him my sunscreen wasn't working and he looks at the ground with a straight face and nods his head. I get really uncomfortable so I turn and walk into a wall and turn around. He's staring at me from a distance! I stare back at him as I'm wearing a dress and holding a small bag and we stand like that for I don't know how long. We don't move. Some people eventually get in our way so I side step to my right and then he side steps to his left and we continue to stare at each other. I didn't want that time to end, I wanted to stay there forever. But at some point I started to dissociate because my body started floating into the sky as the sun was overhead us. At some point we stop and it's time to walk to the buses. A teacher I had a previous year tells me to not leave the group and asks if I'm ok to which I say "I'm ok, how about you?" because I didn't trust anyone enough to tell them what was going on. I couldn't process it or put it into words. I didn't know what it was. Then he says he has to use the restroom and to not leave the group. So I walk to the front of the group where one of the teachers who were on my bus ,who I didn't know, was talking to my male teacher! So I keep walking behind them and my male teacher is talking to another female student but she's trying to talk to him and he keeps his head down and just shakes his head... Like what he did to me earlier! But I don't think about this until I'm in therapy years later. Then he notices me and he falls back and puts his head down at the ground and turns his head to the left and stares into my eyes as we're walking. There's people behind us but no one notices anything somehow. I look over to my left and smile out of being uncomfortable and he goes back up next to the teacher on my bus. Then we get on the bus and the male teachers bus is next to my bus. I'm sitting at the window and I see my male teacher get on his bus and he sits at the window seat opposite of mine so we're next to each other even though on different buses. We stare at each other and then he gets his phone out and puts his head down. On the way back I try to tell my then boyfriend why I was scared during the trip but I can't describe or tell him. I don't know how or what to say. Once we get back to the school, everyone's getting off the bus and my male teacher gets off his bus as I am slowly walking. There's others around and he sees me coming towards him and he starts quickly searching in his bookbag for something while looking up at me and back into his bag. As I walk past him, I try to look straight ahead as he's staring at me and I try to believe that I was showing him that I didn't care about him anymore and I had power again. Years after I graduated from school, I am getting help, have been for more then a year, and feel I have a long ways to go. Being groomed for several years by two different men who were my teachers at different schools has turned my life upside down but I'm continuing to fight and not giving up hope that one day I won't be as triggered by anything as I am currently. I want to share my story of these two teachers I had because I want it to be aware that you don't have to be given gifts to be groomed. With these two men, it was staring and compliments and making me question my reality about what they were doing to me and trying to isolate me from everyone at school who I cared about, along with the sexual innuendos of the food items and the senior teacher taking off his shirt and tie while being alone with me and once when alone, him leaving me alone in his classroom after class to go get food for his break and me waiting for however long for him to come back in. There was another day he wanted me to go next door to hand him my test when I was done after class and he told me there was a pass on his desk for me. He left me alone in his classroom and I did as he said though when I went to get my pass off his desk I stood there and was really uncomfortable and confused why he let me do that. During senior year, I stopped eating, and my friends being the wonderful people they were tried to get me to eat, even telling another teacher I wasn't and who helped me eat even though at the time I was angry at everyone for trying to help me eat. I still struggle with wanting to eat, getting out of bed, feeling safe being around people and in buildings, feeling like I have control over my life, liking my body, dealing with feelings of not wanting to live, having self harm that I have gotten help with,feeling no one but them cares about me, the two teachers, wanting to go back to them because it would be "easier" to go back to them then deal with the aftermath of all they've put me through, dealing with sexual thoughts and getting help with all this and how to know that I should feel pleasure and happiness during intimacy if I ever find a partner when all I want to do is, if intimate, pleasure my partner because I don't want to be touched or feel any pleasure ever, in fact I'm afraid of touch and pleasure. I have issues with arousal and I just don't want it anymore. I can't hang out with friends because I can't trust them and men I just think if they're nice to me they want me romantically when that's not the case. Romance is disgusting to me. Overall though, with therapy and some support people, it is possible to heal. I'm not fully there yet though I'm on my way. Some days I lose hope though with the help of my support people, cats, planting and watering my flowers, watching them grow, and knowing that the small things I do each day that I achieve help me realize that there is hope. It's hard to do on your own but learning about your triggers and writing them down is very helpful. I dissociate if I have flashbacks or overwhelm myself with too many reminders of my trauma and become unable to speak or move though grounding techniques have helped with that and talking to my therapist. I have nightmares about the the two male teachers and most of the time they're about school and seeing them or missing them because I love them. I would say, if you're afraid to go to therapy that's completely normal. I told myself I was never going to open up to someone and now I can't stop opening up to my therapist. It takes time and you just have to trust that you'll be safe. I also found it helpful to have the same gender therapist as me because I couldn't handle being alone with a male therapist. In the end, I hope that everyone can find some peace and healthy coping and supportive people to help heal the trauma. Everyone here deserves to have a healthy and safe life. My goal is to eventually become a trauma therapist because I want to help others heal from their trauma and be supportive and know someone does care and believe them. I believe everyone deserves to be believed. Thank you.

There have been many flaws that have always been exposed throughout the legal system for a long time. Like child protection services, there are good ones out there who do help children. But there have been so many who go into really bad situations and happen to leave the children there no matter how many red-flagged calls they may receive or even see themselves. Instead, they go into other homes or places where they can't find any of those red flags and then start doing the jobs they were supposed to do the first time. One of these experiences happened when a few different calls were made about a family who lived in an old pink house. Even one of the kids themselves had borrowed a friend's phone for the call, hoping they would finally be placed somewhere else or at least be able to feel safe at home. The reason for this is that all of the children were being abused by their father and the mother, who was their thought it was better to stay than leave because she was afraid of leaving. However, the mother sometimes didn't really protect the children much either; instead would turn them over to their father to save herself from him. (The father would physically and verbally do all different types of abuse to all the kids, from throwing things, hitting them, saying weird comments to them. Making them fight against each other and many other things.) On top of this, the pink house had holes all over the wall and ceiling, and walls in the bedrooms that were sinking in and pipes that were broken and floors that were falling in, and would refuse to fix them instead blamed the kids for the house and how it looked regardless how hard they would try to please him. Nothing would work and after all the phone calls the children had have many threats by there father of what would happen if they said anything to child protection services. All of this really messed with their mental health. So when child protection services did come all they did was was walk through the house and the kids couldn't speak because her father sat there and was watching everything. Instead of pulling the kids to the side and asking them questions, they directly addressed the father, ask the kids questions right in front of him dismissed everything. After just taking in account what the father was saying and of course he denied all the accusations. Even with all physical environmental hazards they just left. They didn't even try to question the children on the side instead put them at risk by asking them in front of their abuser who they were afraid of being physically hurt by after being threatened into not talking. Children's services only was wiling to put them at risk and wanting to close the case quickly. ( this is my first time posting and there is so much more to this but was way to much to put into this post. Just wanted to finally be able to share and be open to see if anyone else might relate to this experience. Might share more details but not so sure. I just want to finally be more open about this experience I had in my life.) This is a brief over view of what happened but I really hate that we never got helped growing up but now he just walks free) I did have more struggles as a teen falling to an abusive relationship and later on another one but lucky a lot of things have gotten better. I do want to tell more but I am now starting to processes everything and wish I could have had a chance to be a kid.

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.

Even though I went with him, it was ultimately nonconsensual. I still feel guilty. He was my sister's ex-husband. Having sex with him was the low point in a spiral started by my extreme workplace sexual harassment. Let it serve as a warning to women of all ages everywhere not to start down the slippery slope of letting men get away with things you know they should not. It was the fourth of July and let me tell you about my mess then. I was a business major interning at a Rental Car company in the midwest, desperate to get connections to have a job out of business school and I put all my eggs in one basket- the company I was interning at. Two men took advantage of that, especially the one who invited me to stay on after my regular internship like I was special. Like I wrote a year ago in my post "Major Sexual Harassment", he had degraded me into performing oral sex on him in secret to end most of my days working for free there. It was killing me internally and I had nobody to go to with my sorrow and self-loathing. So I went home for 4th of July weekend. My parent's house that we all grew up in when it was a smaller town was a prime location to walk a couple minutes to a new big park they had next to a pond where they had a fireworks show. My big sister and her three kids, my nephew and nieces were there, my aunt's and uncles and their kids. Barbecue and a keg of beer before we all walk to the park. (I was 20 but it was our culture to bend the rules a little). My sister's ex-husband, KA divorced 2 years before, father of all three kids stopped by with his friend. We all knew each other. My sister tolerated KA for the kids even though she did not like him anymore. I was drinking, trying to forget my problems at college, the workplace sex abuse that was my own wound. The sun had set and on the lawn of the crowded park I ended up wandering from my family and hanging with KA and his friend because they brought beer in gallon jugs and I wanted to keep filling my cup. KA was about 10 years older than me. It did get flirtatious, and I did reciprocate compliments about how good I looked with how KA and his friend stayed in shape for old men-it was playful. I had always looked up to him as a big brother/Uncle and was not really around for the divorce when the bad blood happened. So I was still kind of intimidated by KA. I recall getting a charge out of sitting off back in the dark between the two bigger, confident men and making out with each of them, back and forth. I know! Terrible! Men might say I had it coming. Also, when I got worried that my family might see and they suggested we sneak away I went willingly. I know this sounds terrible. Imagine when I told my sister. We headed back to the house to get fresh beers from the keg in the back yard. The fireworks finale happened while we were talking and I think we knew the family would come back. KA suggested that we get to his truck before everyone got back. It was just on the the street near our house and when we got to it he opened the back that had a topper and inside was thin mattress with pillows and blankets. It was obvious what they wanted and I made it clear I was not getting in there with both of them. So KA dismissed the friend , who walked away. I still resisted, telling him I did not want to go to bed with him. I know I told him. He got me to kiss him some more, then said he saw my family walking and we should just hide a minute I got in. It was hot and humid. He fanned me with a flattened beer case box but had me take off my T-shirt and shorts so he would not be wasting the air. He stripped too and we started kissing again. I told him I wanted to get out. We were so sweaty and he asked me to at least blow him. I had bad feelings about it of course because of the hell I was going through at the office with my "boss" who had talked me into giving him blowjobs when all I wanted was to be appreciated for my hard work and intelligence. That sobered me up. But I was doing it. That is as far as my consent went. He did not let me finish. He told me he had always wanted to F me. He knew me since I was in junior high! I did not want to. I did not want to have sex with my sister's ex husband!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He told me it was "too late now." I remember. Just like at my internship it was a man's world. I had made out with him, I was on a bed in the back of his truck in my panties, bra off, and put his penis in my mouth to appease him. In what magical world could I realistically have accused him of rape after that point? He could have done anything including anal rape or call his friends in for a gangbang and nobody would believe I was anything but a slut. To think of myself as lucky makes me shudder. Never again! He physically overpowered me while we were both slippery with sweat and we had sex. It was quick the first time but then he got out, drove to the gas station while I put my clothes on in teh back, drove briefly again and climbed back in and closed the back before I had a chance to get out. He had gatorade, water, snacks, and beer. I drank blue Gatorade to cool off while he drank beer. He opened the topper door but not the tailgate and I wasn't allowed to get out. I still didn't know where we were, but it was a dead end of a street near my house. I can't say for sure but I think I had Stockholm syndrome. I remember being scared, then laughing and drinking beer and eating Doritos with him until we had sex again, this time for much longer. And carried on like I was his girlfriend or something. I enjoyed it then, after the coxing, and the trickery, and the forcing, and the raping. But only then. A self-deception for survival I tell myself. When I woke up next to him in the middle of the night I was afraid and ashamed. He woke up when I did and this time let me get dressed and leave. No attempt at romantic connection. Like he was done with me and I should know it. I just walked away, figured out where I was, and went home. I snuck in the back door. My dad was up and I lied to him that I had gone with my old friend who I saw in the park when we first got there and went to her house and we drank beer and feel asleep. I stuck with that lie the next day for everyone and went back to my apartment and summer internship where I spend a few minutes at the end of each shift satisfying the "boss" who eventually wrote me an impersonal, bland letter of recommendation that caused me to have a breakdown. I never wrote down that story until now. When I first told my sister out of crushing guilt was when I told her everything else and started to heal.

I somehow got myself on Tinder at 16 years old. I know, not very smart of me but all my friends were on it at the time and I didn't think about it. I met someone who told me he was also underage, he claimed he was 17. He seemed perfect. We went on a date to a pumpkin patch, we got sushi at a restaurant, and after he came to my home to carve pumpkins. Everything was going so well. We were watching a movie and he asked us to move to my room. Honestly, I didn't really want to but I agreed and we went to my room. His demeanor changed immediately, suddenly he was cocky and dominant. We had sex which I had agreed to even if I felt pressured. Suddenly he put his penis in my anus, pulled it out after a few times, and put it back into my vagina. I was shocked, I was confused. Did that just happen? Is that normal? I am so grateful for the human survival instincts because I mostly checked out. But I remember him saying "You could at least act like you're enjoying it". Still, I didn't react. When he was done he got up and went to get a towel, I asked him to turn on the light and he said "Are you sure? You might not want to see the bed it's going to be graphic." I didn't understand and wanted the light on anyway. My white comforter was covered in blood and had feces stains on it. "wow" I felt embarrassed. He said it was normal. We went back into the living room and a few minutes later he left. Next, I threw out my comforter and went to my best friend's house. She had her older friend over. I told them what happened and they were shocked. Both of these girls were sexually experienced, and they told me that is not normal. You don't have anal sex by accident. You don't have anal sex without a discussion first. You don't "slip" into someone's anus which is the excuse I had thought up for him, "maybe he slipped?". They assured me it was not an accident that happens. I told the older girl his name, Name, it turns out she knows him and he is not 17. He told her he was 20. When he came over to her house before he was really pushy to have sex and her dog hated him so she kicked him out. My dog also hated him. Moving forward I reached out to him, he wasn't responding to my messages, then he said he was sorry but he's not looking for anything relationship-wise, he didn't want to see me again. At this point it started to become clearer "I might have been raped". I spent about 2 years going back and forth between did that really happen, was it rape, was it my fault, did I ask for it? A few days after the rape my vagina became swollen. I know, I'm sorry for the detail but it is crucial to the story. I went to the student based health center my school worked with because I did not want my parents to know I had sex. They did a test on me and I had bacterial vaginosis. The nurse said I had "bacteria that looked like a blooming flower inside of me.", this is because he went from my anus to my vagina a few times and I was bloody. Luckily it was an easy fix with some antibiotics. Another thing that confirmed something seriously wrong had happened. I spent 2 years of my life Junior and Senior years of high school in bed and I do not remember my high school time fully. I slept, I rotted, I removed my bed frame from my room in a mental breakdown, I rearranged my bed to different positions in my room, and I changed mattresses. Nothing was helping me. Eventually, I changed rooms. I began to resent my own home. I did not feel like I had a safe space. I started to be rude to my parents, I was mean when they would not let me go out, and I was snappy anytime. I skipped dinner, and avoided family time. In addition, I stopped going to school. I missed so many days of school, that they sent a letter that they might have a police officer come to our house to do a welfare check. My mom would drop me off at school, I would wait for her to drive away, and I would walk back home to go lay in bed. Until she started to wait until I got inside and then I would maybe go to one class and then walk home. My two best friends started to come to my window on school days and they would knock on my window to try and get me to come to class. One of them, my bestest friend in the world, would continuously knock on my window until I let her into my house. I also have barky dogs so they would be going crazy barking and I had to let her in, she also literally would not leave or stop knocking until I let her in. No matter how disgusting, and horribly messy my room was (I am talking can not see the floor, obstacles to the bed, garbage, huge piles of clothes, deep clothes on the floor) she would sit with me on my mattress on the floor. She would lay with me, she would cuddle me, she would make me watch videos with her on her phone. She would skip school for me. She would eventually coax me into leaving the house, going with her to get coffee, get food, go drive around, go to her house, go adventure outside in the woods together. I can't imagine what would have happened without her. She never made me feel like a victim, always let me talk about the gross details, and let me be my gross rotting self at this time, she made me laugh, she made me feel happy when I was so depressed, and didn't even really know why. As in I was still confused, still unsure if I was actually raped. Eventually, my school told me I would have to repeat my senior year. They never asked me what was wrong, they just told me I was failing bad. I had met a new guy at this time who became my boyfriend, he ended up cheating on me so I can't make him too nice in this story but at this time, he was really helpful, and beneficial, he taught me what real safe sex is and what it is supposed to be and feel like. It is communication, consent, mutual good feelings, and love. I want to add that when I did have sex with him for the first time after the rape my hands locked up. A physical result of trauma, I couldn't open up my hands, I was scared and not of him, but my body responded to this intimate act happening again. It was his first time having sex and I like to consider it my real first time too. He did not "slip" into my anus. Becuase that does not happen. After this, it clicked to me that I was anally raped. I had always searched on Google, Instagram, and anywhere I could for information on anal rape, and I could never find it. I wanted to be confirmed and validated. I wanted to find someone who had experienced the same thing I had and I still have not found it (4 years later). I only saw things about male prison rape. I am making a face right now that is not what I was looking for. Moving forward, one of my friends' sisters started dating the man who raped me a few days later. She messaged me and asked about him. I didn't tell her he raped me but I wish I did. Later on, I saw her at a party, a few drinks in, I went up to her and said I have a really personal question I need to ask. She said absolutely. I asked her if Name (the rapist) had tried to do anal with her. She whipped her head around and said "Yeah! He tried to during sex and I stopped him, I freaked out on him I was so upset.". Everything clicked for me in that moment and I am forever grateful for her and her honesty. She was a turning point in my healing. She confirmed what I had been questioning for years. My at the time boyfriend had gone to a high school that was inclusive, they had personalized education, and they really cared about their students. It was called School Name. He told me I should apply, they work with credit recovery and he thought it would be perfect to help me graduate. He was right. I applied to School Name, they asked me why I was failing high school. I told them I was raped at 16 and I stopped going to school. I told them I didn't want to repeat my senior year. I told them no one at my other high school asked about what was going on in my personal life. The woman on the phone said they could get me to graduate on time and that they could support me. My best friend who helped me through this time also transferred to this school. The two of us were in a new high school in our senior year. School Name changed my life. I enjoyed going to school again, I felt supported, and I was treated like I was smart and not like I was a delinquent who couldn't care less about their future. Every teacher in that building wanted me to succeed and I could feel it. I was in credit recovery programs, taking tests to prove I had the knowledge needed to graduate. My best friend and I finished high school early. It was a great feeling even though I graduated with a 2.3 GPA. Now I am sitting here writing this in a community college with my 21st birthday a few weeks away, and I have finally reached the point where I can think about the rape and not hit myself in the head until I stop thinking about it. I think about the rape and my rapist every day of my life since. I have always wanted to share my story and now I am looking for platforms to share it. I want someone else who was anally raped to be able to read my story, I want someone to be able to feel seen and heard like I wanted and needed. But for any rape survivor, I want you to know that eventually, you will be able to live with this new normal. I won't say "it gets better" because I am not sure that it does, frankly I do not think it does get better, it just becomes something you adapt to. I have gone to therapy and I am in therapy again now. I continue to try and put the work in to heal. I still think about it every day but I am finally less reactive. I still shudder and get angry every time I see his name somewhere. I will never be with someone named Name again. I shudder when I see someone who resembles him in any way. I am afraid of men. I don't like to go on dates, I don't like to be too close to a man, I don't want to be in a room alone with a man, I get angry or uncomfortable when a strange man on the street looks at me for too long, if they compliment me, if they try to have a conversation, or if they flirt. I have attachment and abandonment issues. I don't know if this will ever get better but it is a part of my new normal. Who I was before my rape is no longer me. I have accepted the fact that I am a new person and that I have to get to know myself again. I lost a lot of friends during my time of isolation, I have a hard time keeping a job, and I struggle to do well in school even though I really want to succeed. My depression is overwhelming most days. I want Name to be in a jail cell. I want him to be labeled as the rapist he is, I want him to suffer honestly. I want him to never be able to get a job. I hate him and I hate that he gets to live free and possibly enjoy his life. I hate that he probably still finds new victims. I did report him to the police, but nothing came of it. I also reported him to the Department of Human Services for abuse in my state, and nothing came of it. But I did my part, I can only hope that someone else reports him like I did and they see a flag in their system that he has done this before. I still see him on dating apps, he goes by his middle name now, and he is bisexual. I feel he used me as a test subject. When I was younger I would harass him online from fake accounts on Instagram. I told him that he was gay and that he should be a real man and find a guy to hook up with instead of torturing innocent girls. I told him I know everyone he has raped, even though I don't. I told him karma would catch up to him, and that someone will get you eventually. I told him he is a terrible person, but he never admitted what he did or owned up to it. I would like to think I can move on with my life but this is my story. It is a part of me now, it is why I act the way I do, and it is an explanation for most things in my life. I recently moved out on my own and got my own apartment. I thought I just didn't like having people over at my childhood home because it was the home I was raped in. My family moved out of that house and moved states. And now in my new house, my own personal space, I still can not invite anyone over. It is hard for me to have even just girlfriends, my friendly neighbor, or my best friend over. I do not allow guests to come over, and I never invite a date over. It is a huge step for me to have someone in my home and that is his fault. I only made this connection this year. I am afraid of having my space claimed by anyone else again. Wow, it felt good to get all of that out. It is hard to speak about and share my story when I do not have the justice I would like. It is hard to learn about the justice system when it is supposed to protect you and it does not. It is hard to think that so many people are raped so often. I am angry and I want change. I don't really know what kind of change but something. I wish I didn't have to live in so much anger and fear but that is also a part of my new normal. I am antsy, I can't help but look over my shoulder frequently when I am in public, and I can't help but worry about unlikely things. But I am adapting and you will too. Sending love to you.

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

I struggled to accept I had been sexually harassed. I was out, but in a group of friends. There were witnesses. I told myself it "wasn't that bad". But, she touched me without my consent numerous times. When called out about it, she pretended like it was innocent. She was a total stranger. I had no idea who she was. She claimed she was too old and I was too young to be taking this seriously. I asked the venue for CCTV, but they wouldn't share it unless i went to the gardaí. What happened wasn't criminal but it wasn't right. I feel shame for not standing up for myself more and making myself smaller in the moment. I am angry that I am angry that others didn't speak when I couldn't. It isn't their fault. It was hers. I am not the typical victim; whatever that means. She wasn't the typical perpetrator; whatever that means.