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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.

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.

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

I was only 5 years old when my 7-year-old sister took advantage of me to do things she had seen. It makes me so angry that my parents didn't supervise her. It infuriates me that I only found out now that she was watching those things and imitating them with me. Why, if they knew she was watching them, didn't they scold her or correct her? Why did I have to endure it? She was always dragging me around, always seeking me out. I'm disgusted with myself for not noticing and not doing anything, but I was only 5 years old. She never said anything; I was the one who decided to speak up. I told my mother, afraid she would hate me or be disgusted by me, crying and with a pain in my chest. But my mother talked to me, and with her, I felt so relieved. I had stopped thinking about it; it no longer tormented me. I get along well with her now; she's my sister, of course I love her. But when I remember, even though I don't cry or get hurt anymore, it makes me so angry that it could have been avoided. Now I have a problem: I haven't had my first kiss. It disgusts me. Even though I like that person, it repulses me so much. But I'm ashamed to tell a psychologist what they would think if I told them my sister did that. They would be disgusted, even though it wasn't my fault.

For me, my story entailed a male friend getting into my bed when i told him not to and forcing me to ‘cuddle’ with him, while he grabbed at me. He had been telling me all night how he missed his girlfriend, particularly her body & “that” part of their relationship. I felt horrible, i was uncomfortable and scared that he might do more. He didnt. But still even years later i feel uneasy when i think about it & how creepy he really was. He ignored me when i said no. He took away my autonomy that night. So dont feel like your story isnt worthy just because it “could have been worse”. Every experience is valid ❤️

Hey! I'm 18, and all this happened a year and a half ago, I was 16. It's a really weird and messed up story, I never heard a similar one. I was going home late afternoon and got literally attacked by a group of I think 3 or 4 people older than me, all male. I dont know which language they were speaking. I really really tried to kick them and scream and resist but there was nothing I could do. I dont know how long it lasted, I was scared what they would do when they're done, if they would kill me or let me run away. They let me go when they were done, I picked up my things and literally ran home without stopping. I am so grateful there was nobody home and that nobody saw me going home. It was this feeling of emotionless and numbness when you cant feel anything that saved me. I showered, last time next 9 months, got dressed and prayed no one gets home soon. I didn't go out much next few days, acted normal enough that my parents wouldn't notice and tried to not think about it. I only told people online: a close friend and anonymously to hundreds who would read my reddit post. After a few months of constant crying in my room, I tried to kill myself, every time I decided I'd rather not die yet and threw up the pills, then be mad and try again... I cut myself, hit myself, would cry and scream in a corner of my room and hit myself with something when nobody is home. Hid all pretty well, parents would tell me I've changed and tried to get to me, mom would cry and ask me what's wrong but I would, barely holding it in, tell her shes making it all up and go to my room rolling my eyes. I still cut myself, sometimes hit myself and pull my hair, subconsciously pick the skin around my fingernails so it bleeds, my hands look absolutely horrible. My thighs are covered in 30cm long scars from knee to hip and it's sometimes a pain to walk and even sleep. Idk how I survived the summer, people at the beach would look at my leg but nobody ever said anything. I've still never told anyone in real life, I am extremely ashamed of all of it, cant walk down the street with my head up, cant imagine telling parents or talking to a therapist. I really just dont want to be sad anymore. This text is poorly written and doesnt really transfer all emotions well, I didnt really see the keyboard because of crying. But thank you for reading this. Knowing someone knows I'm going through this helps. And that there are other people. Thank you really.

At the end of my freshman year of college, I was at a house party. Towards the end of the night, after I had already been drinking, I said I wanted to go smoke and a guy who had been interested in me asked if he could come with me. We were friends at the time so I agreed. We went to the area in the back, which was an enclosed greenhouse-type porch and no one was back there. After we finished smoking, he leaned in and kissed me. I was shocked but went along with it at first. He proceeded to kiss me more intensely and started to touch me. Feeling uncomfortable, I stopped and told him I wanted to go inside. I sat at a table inside and he was next to me. I started feeling the high from smoking as I was having a conversation with my friends who were right across from me. Suddenly I felt his hand move up my thigh and he proceeded to rub me over my shorts. I was in frozen in shock thinking, "what the fuck is happening right now? This is really weird and i'm not enjoying this. Am I too high to do something right now? There are so many people around me. and no one knows what is happening. What is going on?" After a what felt like forever I felt him try to go in my shorts and that's when I snapped out of it and just looked at him. I didn't know what to say, and I don't really remember what happened at this point. I was just. in shock. He said something to me, I probably said something back, and then he just walked away. The day after I cried and had breakdowns in the bathrooms of the student center. I was confused and conflicted with myself trying to process what had happened. I felt like it was my fault because I googled things like "what constitutes as sexual assault/harassment?" because I wasn't sure if what i had gone through had "counted." I thought that since it was only touching it wasn't a big deal. I thought that because I was under the influence it was my fault. That I shouldn't have been that fucked up. That I shouldn't have been leading him on and making him think that I was into him. That I should protect him because he was friends with so many of my friends. But at the end of it all, HE WAS IN THE WRONG. I WAS PUT IN A SITUATION WHERE I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE AND HE HAD VIOLATED ME IN A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE. I'm here to say that no matter the action, no matter how small, if you were violated your feelings are VALID. If you did not give consent and you felt uncomfortable, it IS ASSAULT. It is still your story. YOUR trauma that you have to live with. Do not brush it off or belittle it because you don't feel like it's worthy of being labeled. You are worthy. You deserve to be heard.

At age seven, I told my mother I was being sexually abused by my paternal grandfather. In the middle of a contentious divorce, my mom believed me, but I was forced to tell the story over and over again to police officers, counselors, and attorneys. My dad, an up-and-coming attorney, who worked in the same county where my grandfather resided assisted him with his defense in court. I testified in court for an hour and a half and had to be in the same room with my grandfather. The verdict: not guilty. Life after the trial was a tangle of coping mechanisms. My relationship with my dad fractured, and I lost contact with every member of my paternal family, not knowing that only 1.5 to 3 percent of all child sexual abuse cases end in a guilty verdict. All I knew was that my dad did not protect me. After high school, I moved across the country to attend college in the state my college was in, where I found myself first through drinking and smoking, and then an eating disorder. I developed relationships with both men and women, often in overlapping time frames, rarely fully honest with my partners. As my unhealthy coping mechanisms sent me into a spiral, I began recovery multiple times—until, finally, I started to regain control of my life and the autonomy that was taken from me so long ago. Today, I'm a business owner, at work on a memoir about my experience testifying with a real estate side hustle. I am more than my abuse.

When that person tried to kill me, no human tried to save me. Only my cat, then 1-year-old, warmed my body which was going to be cold, losing 1 liter of blood. My mother told me "you choose who you marry" and went on to complain about my father, who was also abusive. I told her "You choose him". (I didn't victimize anyone except my cat, unlike my mother) Why I as a woman and women in East Asia are taken so lightly?

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

It was a first date. It was my first first-date in years. A couple of drinks turned into a good conversation. A good conversation turned into me accepting an invitation to go meet his cousin. Meeting his cousin turned into another drink, and then the cousin disappeared. I tried to leave. He physically overpowered me. I struggled, literally begging him to stop. I threatened him that I had no contraception, and that I would ruin his life if I got pregnant. I said I would have the baby, thinking it would scare him. He wasn't scared. I covered my vagina with my hands, begging. He slapped me across the face. He forced himself into my mouth. Once he was finished with the assault, he just went to sleep. I laid there, starting out the tiny circular window he had in his room, seeing just the hue of a streetlight in the distance. I got home and showered it all off of me. Not thinking straight. Not thinking about how it would affect my ability to come forward. I just wanted to wash away the feeling of his hands. Physically, my face was bruised, my mouth cut open. Emotionally, I was ruined. I turned to alcohol to drown away any thoughts. I became distant from friends and family. I was angry. I went to therapy, they told me it wasn't my fault. I knew that. Logically, I knew that it is never the fault of the victim. Internally, I felt that it was my fault for going on the date and stupidly trusting him. I still feel guilt for not reporting him. I feel like I have let down other survivors, I feel weak. I don't know how to heal. I don't know how to be a survivor.

Many years ago When I was 18 my friend and I met some guys while being out. They invited us to their house and we were naive enough to go with them. They got us very drunk and I didn’t even know where the house was, I didn’t know this part of my city. I reached the point where I was very drunk and a guy pushed me into a room and against a wall and kissed me. He undressed me and we had sex. I did not understand what has happening. It was my first time ever. After we were done I felt dirty and I didn’t know what to do so I just ran out of the house and just kept running away. I called my friend and she left, she was too drunk to notice that I was gone for so long. I did not understand what happened, he told my friend that I consented so I must have. I never spoke about it, it was shameful. I didn’t even remember his name or how he looks like. I just tried to forget it but sometimes I remembered it. I never understood. It was almost 10 years ago and a while ago a friend and I were talking about our first time and how it usually sucks. I told her a little about it and she took my hand and told me that I was raped, I did not consent, I was too drunk to consent. Since then I haven’t spoken to anyone about it either. I do not know what to do ten years afterwards. Thinking about it now makes me want to cry, realising that this happened to me and I was told that I consented that I very clearly now know that I did not. I never talked to anyone about it but I rewatched Barbie today and somehow it got back into my head and I feel so sad and tired. I just had to tell my story. I hope everyone is doing well.

cocsa I’m barely 18 and I recently realized that i was sexually abused and assaulted well over 20+ times. (this story is just abt the cocsa) It’s hard. Really hard. I don’t necessarily feel dirty. I just feel used and mourn for my younger self. The first time it happened i was 4/5, i had just moved to a new village and befriended the neighbors kid. She was a little over a year older than me. Stronger and more dominant than me. But we were good friends. Untill she told me to play doctor with her. At first i thought it was cool, fun, exciting, but something about it felt wrong. And soon it went wrong. She started to have me undress more and more. Would reach into my underwear. Would put toys like balls and pencils in my underwear, eventually she pushed a plastic playtoy knife into me. I can still remember the pressure of it. It didnt go in far but i was horrified. She would force me to touch her in the same ways too but i cried when she tried to get me to put something in any of her. I think my mom caught us at some point. That part is a bit blurry. I can still see the window of my old room and her parents room from my new house. The second time i was 8 and the guy, a cousin of one of my friends, who was 14, kissed and grabbed me and pushed me under the bed to make out with me. I didn’t know it was wrong. The friend just encourageed us. The third time I was assaulted i was 10/11. This girl from my class got me to touch her boobs, showed me porn and forced me to make out with her closet door as she pushed from behind against me. She made it into this secret game we had and would basically introduce me to new sex things on the internet constantly. I think it made me addicted to porn and a young age (+that i had free internet acces). I was also in an abusive relationship with a guy from my class around the same time. And i can hear people say but “that isn’t serious at that age” and you may or may not be right but it did have a big impact on me. He would shove, slap, hit, kick me in every way possible at school and then kiss me when we were alone, tell me he loved me. At summer church camp he tied me up and had me follow him for hours.

From 2011 to 2015 I was sexually physically and mentally abused by a man I was romantically involved with that was almost 20 years my senior. I was 17 and attracted to someone i felt at the time was so captivating and wise, and showed interest and attraction with me as well. I knew from the beginning that it was wrong but that’s also what made it exciting. We met in a safe community with people I had known my entire life and he really seemed to understand me and all my complexities. He saw me, which was very important to me at a time where I didn’t really see myself The first time we had oral sex was on a public park bench in a park at night. I was 17, he took me out to sushi and bought me alcohol, said he wanted to go for a walk in the woods after. It was empty and dark, I didn’t feel afraid at first. We stopped at a table to smoke some weed and next thing happened he was having me touch him, and had his dick out in front of his face. He didn’t have a house to go to so here we were. I had never sucked a dick before but I didn’t want him to know that so I did my best. And then it escalated. Fingers and hands were everywhere and he was pulling down his pants on top of me in this public park. I had to stop it. I couldn’t lose my virginity this way and didn’t know how it escalated so quickly. It did cross my mind that he could do whatever he wanted to me right now and there was no one around to hear or help. And that I needed him to find my way out the park and get home. I guess this is one of my earliest memories that shaped how I feel about sex - it’s something that can and should happen anywhere, and it’s something that you - the girl - are withholding from the man. Because that’s what we were, a girl and a man. The first time he hit me was in my college dorm room I guess that’s part of why I never think about college and hate going there All my 4 roommates were out of town and I invited him down for the weekend He brought his 10 year old son We were in a rocky place already, trust issues, control issues The night before I befriended a handsome actor I met at my job at the theater We exchanged numbers I sent a late night text and then deleted the evidence I woke up to bags being packed, chaos in my tiny apartment, sun shining through the windows of what promised to be a beautiful day I was confused but didn’t want to start arguing in front of his son who just said “wait we’re leaving?” Then I saw my phone on the table between, open to the text message response from the man I gave my number to Saying something so obviously flirty that I had nothing to say back I started crying, apologizing, begging him not to go He sent his son to the shower I kept getting in his way He slapped me hard I kept getting in his way The bathroom door was open and they were communicating Then he was on top of me In my living room Hands around my neck Knees on my chest The same place I watched movies with my roommates Studied late in the night sitting up on propped pillows on the floor Feet away I could hear the street People I knew walking to class Laughing Getting on the bus Playing music Did they know what was going on just on the other side of the door How could I reach them I couldn’t breathe He was saying horrible things Staring at me in my eyes with a whole lot of hate and hurt Pushing harder into my chest with his knees His hards clutching0 my throat Telling his son in the calmest voice possible “stay in the shower, I’ll be right there” Then there was a release My mind was spinning, my heart broken, my guilt overwhelming

I am here today alive and healing after 22.5 years of physical, emotional and sexual abuse. The world does not understand, therefore they choose to judge you not understanding that it is a control game with the abuser. The abuser makes the rules, breaks the rules....it is the abuser's game. NO MORE. After throwing him out I thought I could fix myself. First let me say YOU ARE ENOUGH, YOU ARE WORTHY, YOU ARE LOVED! Don't be Silent anymore! I use to think I was alone. Have you ever heard the phrase "Look what you made me do"? He made me feel that I could fix and make it better so he would not beat me anymore. You can't fix what you did not break. I was not the issue He was. I gave up after he threatened to Kill me many times and of course when the kids came along If I did not do what he wanted he threatened to kill them. As is said here NO MORE! The Shame, Guilt you feel is because of your abuser....just like mine was. Get Out first there are people to help and protect you! He threatened to kill our daughter when I finally said ENOUGH! The last 3 years the journey has been hard after 15 years of believing I could fix myself. I get counseling for my anxiety, PTSD and Depression. Never Give Up! I learned my Husband was a liar said he loved me, that is not Love. You deserve better!!!!! Get Out, Get Help................I love you!

I do not entirely understand if this would be considered cocsa or not. Please help me understand. Around the age of 6 i had been exposed to explicit adult content, and further on it had been a daily thing of watching it as to where it became an obsession. So i was aware of what sexual intimacy and how it happens but nothing more than that. When my cousins, and their step siblings came over the older ones would all hang out away from us, while us younger ones played together. somewhere along time us younger ones came up with a “game” in which basically consisted of rubbing against each other while clothed but basically ended up with me being the only one being humped and them taking turns in the act of sexual intimacy which i think we were all sort of aware of what it was. When my cousins would leave, and it was just me and my younger sister alone i would do what they did to me to her. Even though she did come off as uncomfortable now that i remember, which makes me feel even more guilty to this day. Also the same cousin that participated in that “game” had kissed me directly and expressed that she liked me in a not friends type of way when we were out of view that could’ve almost lead to something else but hadn’t due to being caught the second time by my older sibling when we kissed again. it made me more confused growing up knowing someone of the same gender liked me in that type of way not considering that we were family which really messed with my head and i have became hyper-sexual with a bad obsession with porn to this day. Im sorry if this is too graphic i dont know how else to explain. I don’t think this would be considered cocsa but i’d still appreciate knowing if i’m overthinking it all.

i was fifteen when the very first boy i dated raped me. and then i turned sixteen, i got into another relationship (with someone i trusted even more than my first ex) and he also raped me. and every time i slept, i thought the rape would swallow me in whole because i didn't feel like i was really living after. however, i'm not their ex. i'm not a rape victim. i'm a survivor. i have a name. and the only thing that'll engulf my shores are the waves of healing drowning my sorrows away. i am in a healthy relatiuonship now, two years after all of that, and i am so proud of myself. i'm working everyday trying not to guilt trip myself over experiencing real and consensual pleasure and at the same time getting justice for myself (in my own way) for the fact that i was too scared to report back then.

Hello, My name is Name & I would like to share one of my poems to (hopefully) be read at Event😊 This poem is called "He Didn't Hit Me" and it is based on my own personal experience with an abusive relationship. I hope that anyone reading this poem & it resonates with them will take comfort in knowing that they are not alone ❤️ He Didn't Hit Me He didn't hit me, but his words cut like a knife, He didn't hit me, but he upended my life. He didn't hit me, but he made false accusations, He didn't hit me, but he had unreasonable expectations. He didn't hit me, but destroyed my hopes & dreams, He didn't hit me but ripped my confidence at the seams. He didn't hit me, but I always had to take the blame, For his shortcomings, moods & his manipulative game. Abuse isn't just physical, this I know to be true, Gaslighting & manipulation are powerful tools, Knowing I deserve better, I am finally free, For I am much more than what he tried to make of me.