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I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

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.

You Are Not Alone You are not alone. So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together. I grew up in a large low income black of flats that was like a village. My mum worked and we went about by ourselves. In the winter we were never expected to be seen if we left. We were in some flat mucking about with some kids or neighbor, and it all worked out fine. I did lose my virginity when I was eleven to a friend of my older brother who was in year ten. But that was no bother because it was not uncommon there, sadly. I am half Brazilian on my absent father’s side and was considered quite exotic and fit. My secondary sexual characteristics developed early. I was reasonably careful and in control. True abuse began years later when we moved out to a proper house with HIM. HE was my mom’s dream man. HE was fit for a middle-aged man. By that time my brother wasn’t with us because he took work in Alaska on a fishing boat. HE was ex-Army and seemed like a good man at first. I was a bit of trouble maker and over-cheeky and my mom gave HIM carte blanche to discipline me like father. We weren’t there the length of a full season when HE started treating me like a tart. The spanking part mom knew about and thought it was funny, even with me being fifteen. HE spanked my bare bum even when she was home. She said I’d always needed a man’s hand to block of my rough edges. It was cringe, humiliating, but nothing compared to what HE did when mum was away. Not to get detailed, HE soon got to a point where I was going to get HIS load whenever there was the chance. Since HE got to set my schedule he made sure there were regular chances. It was my HELL and HE was the Prince of Darkness. He was rough but careful not to leave any marks. Unless time was short I had to shower first. Sometimes after there would be something specific sitting out to wear, like a costume or lingerie, or my netball kit. The grating anticipation of what was going to follow was the real torture. HE would tell me to “Pick a hole”. My holes! My foof was one, my mouth was two, and you’d think I would never select three. But you’d be wrong. I hated HIM. I am very sensitive sexually and if I went with one I looked like I loved it and if I chose two I was doing work to please HIM. Three was the way I could shut down and brace myself without him ever seeing me smile, even if I was facing toward him. When I was strong with hatred I would choose three. I compartmentalized that small but brutal part of my life for my mum. If was a mere thirty to one hundred twenty minutes per a week of 10080 minutes. And I saw no other way then. Mum, for the first time was living a happy life. I could have won a BAFTA for how I seemed so cozy and content for her. It gutted me that my fear of upsetting HIM made it appear that HE had smoothed out my rough edges and made me into a proper lady. I kept my marks up and stayed on the netball team in spite of being the shortest. I kept going. I developed a habit of stabbing mechanical pencil tips into my skin and biting my nailbeds to illicit pain. I had one boyfriend for a short time. I went to the dances. Home was my hell so I did everything HE would allow to be anywhere else. I could not work but he made my mum keep her job so he could have me. My birthdays I would get my way of having a just girls’ night out with mum. There were only two birthdays before I got free of him. College cost 1000 pounds and when HE paid it HE did not know I was not going to be his tart anymore. I had a friend with a home much closer to my school. They had spare bedroom because an older sibling had moved out. Being seventeen, HE couldn’t force me to live with them if I had other safe accommodations. I took employment and paid the meager rent. He got me one more time when I was sleeping back at his house on Christmas eve. Probably drugged mum to keep her sleeping. I made sure he never got a chance again. Through my Portuguese class I met a man who lived in Portugal and invited me to come stay with him as long as I wanted rent free. I finished one year of sixth form and went to Portugal. I had fleeting relations with the man I stayed with but he traveled often we both had our own things. I worked at an American-themed restaurant as a server then. I spoke with my mum on the phone most days. She visited once, with HIM. I missed her and tried not to show much of my sorrow about being forced apart from her. Seeing HIM was horrendous, yet I kept it contained inside like a cancer. It helped solidify my decision. I traveled with a friend to Florida and got a job serving in a posh restaurant. I applied for a work VISA and on my second try I got it. I am thirty-eight now. Only three years ago did I confront my demons because I read online stories about other abuse survivors. It opened up a deep wound so I could start to heal. It was and still is hard work and an ongoing process. I confessed to my mum who had split with HIM after years of her own abuse that she also kept hidden. HE had let her go when she started having health problems, showing his true black heart. She lives with my brother and his family. I regret losing years with mum and my brother and being chased away from my home when I was young but it made me stronger. I have never married but I have a loving partner, two dogs and I speak three languages. I am a physical trainer and work near the beach where I go to meditate and body surf. Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there. Just start and keep climbing, especially when it seems too hard.

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

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

I was conditioned to think catcalling was a compliment, that if someone held your waist a little too long at work it was just cause "ahh they're just a bit touchy", that it's easier to just "go with it" than to say no and risk their response. It took me years to identify that no matter the degree of your experiences it still is never ok. We often get told sexual violence is one way but it isn't, it comes in many forms and sometimes you can't identify it at first - and that's ok. I am only recently coming to terms with the varying degrees of experiences I've had. I didn't want to say anything because I was made to believe I'd "rock the boat". Well some boats are meant to sink. Let's rebuild the boat so everyone can stay afloat, included and safe.

My abuse started when I was 4 years old. By a grandfather figure of mine. He was a family friend that my parents trusted and he slowly worked his way into our lives any way he could. He lived with several members of my family, include my for a while. He helped us financially. Came to all our birthday parties. There's a weird line of love and hate when I think about him. It's mostly hate, but I remember watching him in court on his conviction day and smiling a little. Not because he was being sent to prison for what he did to me, but because it felt natural too. He continuously sexually abused me, my sister, and several of my cousins for years. There was this constant aura of fear and numbness in our family. None of the adults knew, but all of us kids did. It was unspoken but we knew what was going on. If it was physical abuse, it was verbal or emotional. In the car, in the house, out in public. I don't remember most of my childhood because I was constantly disassociating. It's hard getting older and realizing how much of who I am in either because of the abuse or in spite of it. It was just so constant in my life that there's no way to separate him from everything else. There is no before and after the abuse. It just was. The abuse was my childhood even though my parents thought they were doing everything right. It's a shit show to deal with, but I guess that's why it's called Complex PTSD.

I was first abused by my stepfather in my early 20s, he took the opportunity while my Mom, sister and niece were away in theme park and molested me. I was taken aback, and had no idea what to do or how to process it. I was scared to tell my Mom and anybody else for fear I wouldn't be believed. I eventually admitted it to my Mom, and went to stay with friends, as I didn't want to be around him at all, and did not feel safe. I was afraid it would go further and that he would rape me. I was very clear with my Mom, I told her that I would not return to the house if he was there, she let him back, so I moved to stay with another relative and subsequently moved out altogether, I had very little contact and refused to return home while he was still there. My Mom found me a counsellor to help me talk about what had happened. I went to her for a number of years. I had issues with family members and friends believing me when I disclosed what happened to me, they insinuated that as it was only assault, it was not that serious. I found this very difficult to take, and it probably made me more reticent about talking about what had happened. About period of time later, the divorce referendum was successfully enacted and my Mom and stepfather were going to marry. My counsellor told me that if I didn't attend that day, I would never forgive myself. I attended, but felt uncomfortable and upset all day long. A number of years later I returned home as I needed somewhere to be as I changed jobs etc. I wasn't fully comfortable with this decision, however I thought I would be okay as my Mom was there too along with my stepfather and my sisters. My Mom got sick shortly after that, she was sick for period of time, and passed away in year. After that, I was living in the house with my stepfather alone. Over a period of time, he deliberately isolated me from my sisters and other family members. So much so, that I had very little support available to me. And then the molesting/assaults started up again, I really didn't know what to do or how to react. It got gradually worse, and for a period of period of time or longer, I was being assaulted/raped on a weekly and sometimes more regular basis. Towards the end of this period he was even talking about marrying me, which was very creepy and inappropriate. This was an excruciating and very difficult time, as I had zero support, and nobody to reach out to or help. Due to health reasons, my stepfather had to move and live with relations in another part of the country, and this finally ended this period of physical and emotional abuse. However I had suppressed and blocked it for so long, that I found it difficult to face or come to terms with. Now period of time later, I am finally seeking help to give me healing and help me come to terms with all that has happened to me. I am grateful that I am at last able to admit how bad things were, and also that I can try and rebuild my own life after years of sidelining myself to look after others. I hope my story will help others in similar situations reach out and seek help and support in the future, even though I cannot take legal action against my abuser, I still want to be able to heal and try and come to terms with all I endured.

I didn't realise I had experienced Sexual violence until I was in a women's refuge. It was when they were going through my experiences and fully explained the sexual abuse that I realised. I was often coerced into sex and one time after a night out I woke up to him on top of me, I was frozen and couldn't move. This was my husband, I trusted him.

I was 14. We were at sleep away church summer camp. Me and one of my friends had been giving people tattoos. He asked for one, of course. Wanted some lyrics on his hand that were far too inappropriate for a church camp. He put his hand on my thigh to give me 'better access to his hand'. Conversation between the three of us got dirty, quick. I hate to say that i participated in it, but I did. I have a tendency to get greedy about male attention, stemming from little to no attention from my deadbeat father. Fast forward a little bit, about an hour later. Me, a few of my friends, and him. We made our way from the chapel to the lodge for dinner. He waits till we're in the far corner of the line to grope me roughly, whispering horrible, degrading things into my ear. Young, starstruck, naïve me thought he loved me so much that he would tell me those things. It was only after he tried to force himself down my throat that I realized how terrible it was. I didn't want my innocence to be taken by an older teen who i had just met, much less in a chapel. When i told the counselors, they seemed like they believed me. But his father was a major donator. My friends didn't believe me because he was 'attractive'. When i told my mother, she didn't believe me. "You probably led him on, so he thought it was fine." No. If 'Yes' was never explicitly said, then it's not consent. Since then, I've struggled. I've questioned my religion. But then I thought, why am i giving this horrible boy any extra thought? And why does everyone I love believe his word over mine? Maybe because they never really loved me. Maybe because it was easier to pretend it never happened. But a real supporter would take the scared child's word before considering the almost adult male who had a history of sexual disturbances.

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.

A friend and I dated within the same friend group, and I used to hang out with the guys a lot--I considered them as my brothers. One night when we were altogether, I felt too drunk to take myself home and felt safe with my friends ex to get a cab and drop me off. He came in uninvited and kissed me, then all I remember are flashes of us being naked, him being inside of me, going down on me, etc., but I felt like I couldn't move. I woke up to shower, my bed was broken, and he was gone. I called him the next day to confront him about it, and that I don't even remember what happened. He said he thought "i enjoyed it" (I was unconscious half of the time), and only stopped because the bed broke. Although he apologized he had the audacity to tell me not to share this with anyone, and to this day only very few close friends know about this incident. It truly broke my trust even with platonic guy friendships.

I was in a abusive marriage for many years. I never told anyone and was incredibly ashamed of myself and what I was allowing to happen. He was a military man. We moved around and I had few friends. We had children. One girl from my previous relationship and 2 children together. He sexually abused me. The last time resulted in my 3rd child. Years later my oldest child told me he was "touching" her. I reported it immediately and ne er doubted my child. A few months later, my 2nd child told me the same. He had raped her. Needless to say, I reported both abuses. And I left him. Moved out of state. He did some prison time, remarried and has built a new life for himself. 20 years later I am still angry, full of hate towards him and sickened by the thought of him. He was a registered sex offender, but after 20 years he petitioned to be removed. Time goes by and I'm okay. Other times I am depressed, full of anger, sadness, bitterness, grief & so much more. Not sure what I want to do? Do I need more therapy? Do I have Ptsd? My kids thank goodness, have turned out well. Me, sometimes I wonder.

i made a vow to myself that i would prove my mother wrong—that i am none of the things she said, and that one day i would become a successful person and let her know that i made it despite her. i refused to give any of the people who did me harm any power over me. being defeated, miserable, or staying in a state of depression would be allowing them to win. i could not give them a reason to think they had an effect on me. i wanted to be the best version of myself and to empower other people when the time presented itself. i now have my power back. i am no longer ashamed of what happened to me. i am now comfortable in my own body. this body has been through a lot, but now i look at it as armor. i may have been wounded. i may have some scars, but they are only reminders of what i survived. i still have my soul, and my mind is intact. when i look at myself in the mirror all i can do is smile and admire who i am, and how far i've come. i won. i won because i did not allow those people to rob my soul. i did not let them steal my chance at love, or of being the best person i can. instead i became a healer, a warrior, a lover, a leader, and a proud mother. i am who i am because god loved me, and i learned how to love myself. and when everyone thought i was defeated… i rose up. survivor

This story, my story, started 25 or 24 years ago, when I was 7 or 8 years of age. I was sexually abused (once only but enough to make an impact) by my dad, the first person that's meant to protect you. I never told a soul about it, no one but myself knew it during those 25 years, and even I did not want to think about it. As the years went I learnt to put it at the back of my mind, it was to painful, disgusting and worst of all, I was ashamed, ashamed for something I didn't do, but something that someone too close to me did instead. I learnt to push back if that memory ever came back to me. I grew (somehow) very closed to my dad, and pretended that never happened; only last year I learnt that very action has a name, and it's called compartimentalising. It was only last year, when I started to have issues with anxiety to another level that I finally, when I was about to have a nervous break down, decided that it was time to say it out loud. Weirdly enough, I never had considered myself a victim of sexual abuse... and the words 'sexual abuse' were really difficult for me to mention when talking about what happened to me, although, over time I grew used them and more comfortable (it still hurts though). I was on therapy for over 10 months, followed by a 3 months of CTB course, I still have catch up calls with my therapist every now and then. The worst part of my therapy was, what my own body needed, and that was to seek my dad's accountability, the one which, after confronting him, still hasn't acknowledge, and let's be honest, he won't ever do it. But I learnt to move on not expecting that to happened and at least, my dad knows the big impact that one action that happened that one time, has badly affected my throughout these past years, and my present. I discovered that most people that has suffered this type of abuse tend to develop any sort of chronic pain condition, which I did at the age of 13, mostly from what it felt like, was eating me alive from the inside of my body. Discovering the condition I have had for more than half of my life, is there because of my dad, was no easy discovery and that's where the panic attacks started. As you can imagine, and like all of you, it's been a long healing process. My 4 most important things that really helped me through my healing process (unfinished healing process) were: - My support network (my friends as family only found out after and they still don't know who did it). - Exercising, the best thing I have done for my mental health. - An incredible manager at work who supported me throughout my journey - And (unfortunately) antidepressants to manage better anxiety, as it got really bad at some points. I know, my healing isn't over, I know I might never get what I really want which is that accountability, but at least I know that what ever I decide to do, I'm now (mostly) in control, not my dad or my fears. We all still have bad days, but at least now I know, I'm not alone.

Being in a relationship with the person who took advantage of you does not invalidate what happened. I'm still learning to come to terms with this but it's the fact that's helping me to heal. I was in a relationship with an emotionally and physically manipulative partner for over a year and could not have told anyone how toxic it was for me until looking back on it afterwards. I still think about that one night that made the difference, the one that I like to think woke me up. It certainly wasn't the first time I had been pressured into rough sex I didn't want or enjoy, and it certainly wasn't the worst situation he had put me in to have it, but it was the very first time I found the courage to say "no, stop", and yet it still didn't make a difference. I remember having to lay next to him the rest of the night, crying silently while he was there smiling like nothing had happened. I went through a lot of personal changes after finally getting out of that relationship. I still have trouble with trust, in romantic relationships and within myself. But I want to share my story because I wish I could've heard then that I was not as alone as I felt. I wish someone had told me that just because I cared so much about him didn't mean that I was the one at fault, that I wasn't crazy or weak for thinking things might change, and that I needed to put myself and my well-being first for a change. I'm here to say, to anyone facing something similar, you are not alone. You are worth so much and are loved by so many. You are so much stronger than you realize.

I was so naive for so long and I let a man who was my supposed husband control me. It all happened for a reason yeah sure. Don't let anyone make you do anything you don't feel confident with! EVER! Fear sucks

Me, too… Those words sound so foreign coming out of my mouth. It’s like I’m watching someone else’s life play out; someone else’s days spent in the swimming pool with her childhood best friend… And him. Even now, I feel like I’m watching someone else write this; someone else is sitting on my recliner, drinking my latte. But, it IS me. It’s time to write, to use my voice, to speak my truth. MY TRUTH. It’s time to stand up for my Inner Child - the 11 and 12 year old me in that swimming pool making memories with her best friend. However, we rarely had the pool to ourselves. It didn’t matter how many times I squirmed or kicked or tried to block him with my hands… his fingertips still got inside. Those freakishly long fingers. His hand went down my bathing suit bottom SO MANY TIMES and always really fast, in and out, because it was only a matter of seconds until he got thrown out of the pool for “bothering” me. For “bothering” me?! HE FUCKING MOLESTED ME!! Over and over and over. And that giggle… Beginning the year I finally got to wear a two-piece bathing suit. Pulling it down from the back was “easier” and he usually got away with that. But, his big hand coming in from the front…touched the whole area. So many times his fingertips grazed the outer edge of my vagina and more often than I can count, his fingers went up inside me. I kept telling myself “It wasn’t rape, it’s no big deal.” Plus, it was so long ago. He was only “bothering” me. Even though we are the same age, I was still 11 years old and these assaults were my introduction to anything sexual. All these flashbacks have a weird detached, distant feeling to them. In one moment I went from being a typical middle school girl loving life in the pool with her best friend, to struggling in a weird fog filled with confusion and an unwanted foreign sensation taking over my body… And then, POOF! As suddenly as I left my body, all those weird, uncomfortable, embarrassing sensations suddenly and completely evaporated into thin air at the sound of my friend’s voice getting her brother kicked out of the pool. Stopping those assaults was a team effort. I’m so grateful she always yelled, even though neither of us fully understood what exactly was happening. My subconscious mind immediately buried each experience so deep in the furthest reaches of my brain, locked them away, as if they never happened. Oh, then it was “explained away” because he was “diagnosed with bi-polar and has blackouts where he doesn’t remember what he did.” Those blackouts always seemed perfectly timed. (I’ve been told recently that bi-polar doesn’t quite work that way.) Then in high school he grabbed a girl’s ass and she pressed charges. But, he was unfairly sentenced by a highly corrupt judge…which also made him a victim. And he was. But she was a victim, too. And me. I was a victim, too. I just didn’t realize it at the time. This whole concept is still hard for me to grasp. I was molested. I was sexually assaulted. Yes, it was by someone my own age…puberty…etc. But I made it clear I was uncomfortable and he made it clear with that fucking giggle that he knew he at least was getting away with something…even if he did (kind of) get in trouble for it, just by getting kicked out of the pool. This stayed buried for about 24-25 years until one day, my mom casually mentioned that he was back home in his parents’ pool. It was like I was saying the sky was blue, it came out so nonchalantly. “Oh yeah, his hand was down my bathing suit SO many times…” I didn’t even realize what I was saying until my mom lost all color in her face. We quickly changed the subject, clearly both a little shocked. Apparently, your subconscious has no concept of time passing. Now that I can see the full picture for what it was…my body is reliving the powerlessness, confusion and panic I felt in those moments. The only way through this anxiety is to use my voice. To take back my power. To take back control. I’ll never be in that situation again. He’ll never touch me again. He’ll never molest me again. He’ll never assault me again. He’ll never make me a victim again. I’M NOT A VICTIM WHEN I CAN TAKE BACK CONTROL. WHEN I SPEAK UP. WHEN I USE MY WORDS TO KICK HARDER THAN MY LEGS EVER COULD UNDERWATER. FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!! This is all valid. Everything I’m feeling. Sure as hell explains - now - why my whole body would tense up every time I saw him for the past 25 years. Really couldn’t figure that one out, especially as we became adults. He may be a firefighter who risked his life to save another. He may be a great husband and father. Hell, he could be the best person on the face of the earth; which is why I won’t call him out by name. Their family means too much to me. But none of that changes the fact his hand went where it never should have gone too many times to count when I was too young to speak up, when I didn’t have the vocabulary I do now. A few tears rolled down my cheek as I closed my eyes just now and pictured my Inner Child rising up out of the water and punching him in the face so hard he never comes too close ever ever again. YOU GO GIRL!!! I’m sorry you were alone with this for so long. But I’m here now. We’re fighting back. We are winning. I got you, girl. I promise. Let’s go do something creative. Let’s leave this place behind. We WERE victims. It’ll take a second to work our way through this, but WE ARE SURVIVORS. And we KNOW that. Because that’s who we are. That’s who I am. I am a survivor. We all are.

My life should have been a life of happiness and peace, but oooh how the tables turned. I was an easy going, fun loving, creative, individual who has talents beyond my time. For the most part my life was lived as a typical middle class, every day average Jane. Who had dreams that were all reachable. It started at the age 25, where I met a handsome man that in my eyes was every woman's dream. But ooh my, my I didn't know this was the beginning of a very harsh reality check and the beginning of major changes in my life. We had a quick and fast romance story, fell in love, out of love an in love again. He was my rock and I was his motivating force, until he changed totally on me and became a habitual cheater. His cheating lasted for many years and he eventually met a faith that he too thought, he was untouchable. But being who he was and how care-free he was in his cheating activities, this faith wouldn't have passed him. The sudden faith that landed him to contact a std, to which no one ever wants. But I on the other hand was living my dream of having a husband and kids, with taking care of all their needs an leaving myself undone. Yes you may have an idea so far where this story is going, but I didn't know I would become a victim to my husband. He had the most perfect plan with the cruelest intention. Lets go back a little, yes I was acting like a wife but I was just living in a common- law situation. To which his plans was perfectly executed, he knew, I had little knowledge about his "outside activities " and my greatest desire at the time was to be his wife. And that was his perfect plan to get me, he would avoid being in d same home, or country with me. Often repeatedly saying he's coming on our wedding day, in which I would smile and think nothing of it. I took us roughly 1 week to organize everything, too have a quick and fast wedding. Me not knowing that in my tries of joy there would be sadness on d corner. I got married..had a beautiful harmonious day, fun after fun. Till one day I began feel strange and had to be taken to the doctor, in which multiple test was done. Everything came out ok, but this one result hit me on my chest hard, as if I was out in the rain being hit on my chest repeatedly. I sat in that room alone to my right nothing or no one and to the left nothing or no one, the doctor that stood in front of me became invisible. But my husband was gone again, back to keep away from home and the country of which we stayed. Every little piece of his actions from the most biggest to the smallest came flooding in my head as one slide to the next and it all became clear. I ran out of the room in tears to hide and called him, as he heard me he began to cry and repeatedly say sorry, sorry, sorry. But this man wasn't totally sorry he told me he's going to book a flight an he would be on his way. He came, he hold me, I asked questions he answered, but my biggest shock was when I heard these words, "I didn't want to lose you". His logic for making me his victim was justified with not losing me, my life was weighted on not losing me. The deed was done and I became the walk over troll, I felt as a prisoner in head, life, body and to him. The cheating continued, I tried to protect others,but he would make me seem to be bitter and a liar. I had became a victim to multi forms of abuse, he made a baby outside of the marriage an my kids became as nothing to him as I was. I got verbally abused by his newly baby mother and often called a liar when I tried to warn her, but in all I served.