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My mother had me very young and she has always used that against me. She was only 15 when she had me and I am the oldest of four children. I have always been her punching bag I was taught to abide listen obey never disagree to always be truthful and honest with her, but her to never be truthful and honest with herself nor other others Anytime she did something wrong or anytime she made a mistake. She blamed me. She would become aggressive, both physically and verbally when I would not agree her form of punishment prior to intervention was to use a belt that had metal G’s all the way across it. One time she had this belt buckle that had a metal dragon as the belt buckle itself, and it was fairly large and she used that to hit me very hard with as an adult the abuse continued, and the family always made excuses for her and ignoring my heart, ignoring my pain and taught me that we’re just supposed to allow her behavior because she had such a bad childhood or I would say that my childhood wasn’t as bad as hers down playing my emotions down playing my feelings and downplaying the abuse that she in fact did to me and specifically me more so than anyone else. And because I grew up making excuses for her behavior, her actions her words because I grew up believing every hard horse thing she said about me was true, even though I knew in my heart it wasn’t but because she would get other people in the family to believe her and listen to her or she would cut me off so that I could not speak or she would say no one wants to hear all of that But what she really meant when she said no one wants to hear all of that is you won’t get the chance to tell your truth now is a 33-year-old mother I have decided I can no longer make excuses for her. I can no longer allow her to get away with her behavior. I can no longer allow my kids to be around her. Because though they may be safe around her, her physical, emotional and mental abuse on me in front of them is not acceptable and I know that as they get older, the abuse will begin on them too. I have found myself in multiple different relationships, where the dynamic is exactly the same because that’s what I was used to. That’s what I was taught was acceptable. That’s what I was taught to think is OK or to make excuses . Whenever I disagreed whenever I pointed out something she was wrong about even as an adult she would hit me kick me out. Throw my things call other family members and tell them her side because only her side can be truthful and never give me the chance to say mine or hope that like I usually did I would just say nothing and allow her her peace so that no judgment would be passed on to her. Because after all her childhood was in fact worse than mine, her abuse was in fact worse than mine and I just can’t allow it anymore. I’ve had to block my entire family because as I am struggling with the same dynamic with my children’s dad, I could no longer take it from her. Who’s home I had fled to to get away from the same dynamic in abuse For the kids and I and had no job so I had nowhere else to go even though my psychiatrist therapist told me to go to a shelter I did not listen because my mother told me that I would for sure lose my kids if I did that, but now I’ve had to do that Because even though their dad and his controlling manipulative, gaslighting and financial control was awful. It wasn’t physical so now I’m fighting two demons at the same time while knowing in my heart that this is not my fault this is not me. I am not the problem in these relationships. The problem is that I have been taught to accept this since the very beginning my mother tried to get me hospitalized saying that I’m crazy and that I need help even though that’s already worked before and I’ve gone and all I have been diagnosed with his anxiety and depression. My children’s father tries to say the same thing, but my therapist and my psychiatrist has assured me multiple times time and time again if that is not the case that saying that sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me is not true for me. Words hurt the most because I don’t know whether to believe them or not And without the physical, it’s almost like I’ve been taught to make excuses and trust everyone or anything that they anyone says because at least they didn’t hit me right but then when she does hit me and she lies and says I hit her first when I made that decision at a very young age to never have the same type of relationship she and her mother had to never hit her and I never had until yesterday at 33 years old, but she did in fact hit me first as she always has. She did in fact a tip to get me to fight her, but rather than fight her after I shoved her off of me and slapped her one good time which she had coming rapped her all these years of abuse torture manipulation, telling me that she’s going to cancel my Lawyer fee and tell the credit card company that it was me who took her phone and made the payment that she never authorized It That she’s going to help my kids. Dad take the kids away from me that I need more help because I wouldn’t agree with her and try to rationalize with her yet again about how it’s not fair that someone could not possibly be lying about me because I’m always the liar in her scenario, but that same person can be lying about her but then say that that person is in fact, not a liar so that person couldn’t be a liar about me, but can be about you. She shoved me to the ground. I hit my back on the staircase. She was on top of me swinging and hitting. I slapped her and pushed her off of me. When I stood up she got in a fighting position like a boxing fighting position and said you wanna fight come on let’s fight so I ran to the living room. I grabbed her cell phone. I turned around as she was running behind me she shoved me. I hit my head on the fireplace mantle. I held her phone up above her as I am taller than her and I dial 911 as I dial 911 and was hitting send she tried to get the phone for me and couldn’t so she yanked a chunk of my hair out of my head And when the officers finally answered, and I was explaining everything, she instantly lied and said that I framed her and I took my hair out of a brush to tell them that she pulled my hair, but she didn’t touch me. I did not use my own personal phone to make this call because she had thrown my phone out the front door at this point already. I’m just so sick of all of this and the flying monkeys that are involved and I just want better for myself and the kids and did not continue this repeat cycle, where I lose myself where my kids have to witness things that they should never have to see or where my kids are taught to accept things and people for who and how they are because oh well they had it worse than you.

I’ve been in a harmful relationship for almost two years, my abusive ex would shame me no matter what I did or do. He would imply that I’m someone I’m not. He would make fun of my body, even though I’m underweight, no matter what I said he thought of it as a joke and that I don’t “listen to him” all I’ve done was try to love someone who was toxic. I admit I wasn’t perfect, but he would act like he’s innocent and tried to rip me away from my family. I’ve lost friends, lost myself. I feel as if I’m not the person who I was before. I’ve sacrificed my life just to be loved by him but it wasnt worth it all. All I can do is grieve and go to therapy, he made fun of me for going to therapy, and thought it was a joke. He’s ruined my life and I grieve for the sweet girl I was before. He’s put things in my head that we’re never there before, and I’ve cried my eyes out multiple times with him not caring at all, my family worries about me a lot, the people that loved me has seen me break down multiple times. He wanted to break me down into his doll. He claimed that I never loved him but I’ve spent so much time on him, I’ve given more than I received, more than I needed to. He used power dynamics on me, every time I would stand up for myself, he always found a way to bring me down. No matter what.

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.

When I was four years old, my cousin X groped me. The first time: I was playing with my cousins, who were close to my age. It suddenly started raining, so we all hid under a tree, but one by one, we went home to use the bathroom. Finally, it was me and my cousin X's younger brother who stayed behind. The younger brother went home because he was cold, and I, being close to the younger boy, tried to go home with him. At that moment, he grabbed me by the arm and told me to stay. I was really scared. He suddenly grabbed me from behind, put his hand under my skirt, and groped me. He held my mouth, so I couldn't call for help from anyone he could see through the trees. I don't know if it was because of the age difference, but he only groped me. The second time, it was at my cousin X's house. I was close to his younger brother (A), and his parents liked him. I was four years old the second time too. We went to play games. Cousin X put me on his lap and groped me so our parents wouldn't see. I didn't want A, who was sitting next to me, to find out. I tried my best not to make a sound. Even though there were people around, I thought he was doing something wrong, so I couldn't say anything. I was too scared to run away. There was no way I could win by force, and I didn't know what he was doing. All I could think about was that he was doing something wrong. I still meet up with that person. But only twice. But it drove me crazy. I've been interested in sexual things since I was little, and sometimes I feel disgusted by myself as a woman. Not being able to talk to anyone about it makes it even harder, and I wonder why he seems to be living a happy life. But even so, I can't tell my parents about him. Even though I really hate him to death.

I was a prudish teenager in the '80s, an introvert who wanted friend but only on my terms (they had to respect my boundaries, and I had many). It was only in my twenties, while I was working with more liberal people, that I made a conscious decision to cast off my old, narrow way of relating to people because my barriers had become walls. So I opened up more, made myself vulnerable...and attracted perverts. Older men, bosses, colleagues and contacts (I worked in industry). I still had enough boundaries to prevent actual rape, but I would not push them away as forcefully; I would make light of it when a man put his hands on my hips or made some inappropriate comment. This went on for years. I had a a few boyfriends in my twenties including one I stayed with for three years and loved (I still love him but don't want a relationship with him and have to keep enforcing psychological boundaries - he was never a sex pest but he wants to be friends and gets upset when I don't want to meet him). Being an introvert, and possibly Aspie (I have yet to find the courage to look for a diagnosis) I have always felt like an outsider, and in relationships always felt as if I was playing at being "sexy". In my forties, the men who breached my sexual boundaries (with inappropriate comments and the occasional arm around me as I sat beside them on a work assignment) were men my own age and slightly younger; I was still attracting men in the same age group: 40s. They would obviously want to take things further, but I would always put up that barrier...and I noticed that after I rebuffed a man I'd lose a work opportunity. I was frozen out of the cliques in my profession (I don't have family in my industry and I did not go to university so I didn't have the underpinning network to fall back on). I dealt with this by developing a tough, jokey exterior; desperate to prove that I was "not a prude", I merged my career with a rather tarty image (I cannot go into details here without possibly revealing who I am or, worse, narrowing it down - which would not be fair to others who might not want their stories told). At first, it actually helped my career and social life; suddenly I was great craic, a youthful looking middle-aged woman who was happy in her own skin, free-spirited - and "great craic". The men who used to flirt with me would also mock-boast "I'm a prude"; they had respectable wives / partners (indeed many of these women were my colleagues). Eventually, it was time for this middle-aged disgrace to be managed out of the industry. It didn't happen all at once; my mentors and good contacts retired or died (these were the people who never abused me). There were various reasons: cutbacks, personality differences, my political views were at odds with my bosses' views, and there were new people looking to fill my role. I adapted by finding a mosaic career, doing a few courses and muddling through. Now I see my former colleagues (the flirts and their partners) getting on with their careers; I am on the outside, looking in. But I was always on the outside. And I have no doubt that my story is very common (a bit like me, some would say!).

i have autism and i had been raped in my old class by a old man that looked like Putin, his face looked familiar but i can't verify it because i had never went to the hospital for rape check expect other things, i was having urinary incontinence for months and after months when the female police came i told her that my weeks old baby fall down the toilet after taking the pill She didn't write her note. only when she write it when my abusive and manipulated father tell her that i had "paranoia" and bah bah bah with evil-looking voice. i had been verbally abused and mocked after telling my parents about the sexual abuse at my home and then after that i decided to silence myself to avoid being abused again. i just wanna share with you i thought i can't because i was afraid i will get killed and getting taken down, i hate being slienced. i hate the way that my government and social media didn't provide accessible help but i finally found this website that i can share it with you.

I need to tell someone this, I haven't told a single soul not my parents, friends, partner, no one and I need to get it off my chest. I want to start this off by saying I've never had a good family bond, my father was a stoner and barely there, my mother an angry drunk, 2 older sisters who hated me and a twin brother who treated me like a maid. I've had an eating disorder since I was 8 years old, I used to leave the house at 6am everyday, run around the block far too many times and then work out for 2 hours before returning home and starving myself. This went on for around 4 years. One Saturday morning when I was 11 I decided to change it up and ran to the park to run laps of it, I was running circles of the park for around 10 minutes before I was grabbed. A man dragged me into the bathrooms and forced himself on me, I was so malnourished and weak I couldn't fight back. I sat there and sobbed in pain as he did what he wanted, once he finished I thought I was done but I was unbelievably wrong. The man left the bathroom as I laid on the floor sobbing, he came back but with a friend. I was horrified I knew he brought his friend to have 'his turn' but I was also wrong about that. They ended up picking me up and carrying me into a car, they threw me on the backseat and told me to stay down. I complied, afraid of what they would do to me if I didn't. After god knows how long of driving in pure terror they parked and yanked me out. I didn't know where I was but they quickly dragged me into a house where they would then take turns raping me for a few days. After I was all 'used up' they threw me back in the car and drove back to the park and released me; I am still shocked as to why they would release me rather than killing me cause I could have told someone. My parents didn't even notice that I was missing for a few days, I stumbled in the door, bleeding, sobbing, and begging for help. My dad was out with some friends and mum just drunkenly yelled at me to clean the table. No one cared where I had been or what happened to me. Sometimes I wish those men had killed me, I began self harming at only 9 years old and attempted to overdose at 10. Many years later and I still self harm and my most recent attempt was only 2 months ago. I have caused permanent damage to my liver and kidneys from the medication I over dosed on. I wish they killed me.

I KNOW that right now there is someone who needs to hear this story (please see questions below). YOU wanted him. He was the most handsome boy in the neighbourhood and every girl wanted him - BUT - he raped you. It has taken 27 years for me to acknowledge the tipping point of my decent into sexual promiscuity and substance abuse. I always blamed myself for the choice to be in that room with him - I asked for it. Right? Wrong. I remember saying NO - at least 30 times!!! At least 30 times. He was the most handsome guy that I had ever seen. Every girl wanted him and I thought that I was good enough to have him. I wanted to talk to him and wanted to be alone with him for a chance to be in sight to be his girlfriend. Instead. I remember being pinned down and saying No - over and over and over again until I gave in. I even remember his words: "You are not leaving this room until I get what I want". I eventually gave in and did it and I always blamed myself for being in that position in the 1st place. I was not a virgin. I was not innocent. I was a naughty teenager - just like everyone else was at that stage - but I now know that I did not ask or deserve what I got in the room that day. I always thought that in order to be regarded as a victim of sexual abuse - that you needed to have bruises. Be bleeding. Have ripped or torn panties - SOMETHING!!!!!! To prove that this horrible thing had happened to me. I had to relocate to another city to run from my past but I could not escape my sense of worthlessness. I am not a psychologist - I only know that there are some of you reading this to even figure out if you were raped in the 1st place? I can only give you some questions, that it took me 27 years to find. I wish for you to heal faster than I did. 1. Did you say no? More than once - many times. He was not violent - you were just exhausted from saying NO and you needed to escape and so saying yes was the only way to get out of the room/car - whatever the place was. 2. Were you exposed to a sexually charged situation - without asking for it? e.g. pornography playing, without your consent to be exposed to this content. 3. Did the situation leave you feeling degraded? 4. Have you or are you using your sexuality (looks) as a a way of acceptance? 5. The opposite of the above is - do you feel uncomfortable looking pretty or drawing attention to your good looks? You dress in a manner that covers up your good looks. 6. You try to look different from the person at that stage when it happened. You have black hair - so you go blonde? You were thin and so you pick up weight. You lost weight. You changed something major about your looks. The movie "The accused" is a brutal example of this - whereby she shaves all of her hair off. Does this sound familiar? In some or other way - this brutal change of looks does manifest after abuse. 5. You have trouble looking at yourself in the mirror - or even taking pictures is hard for you. 5. Do you have trouble saying NO? To anyone.... 6. Do you allow verbal or psychological abuse? Deep down you know this is happening. It feels uncomfortable. A good place to dissect this is if you have a degrading boss/spouse but you have not reported him to HR/Police and you just keep on working/staying there. I hope that this is published. I know that I am not a professional BUT I am a survivor. AND finally I have the courage to say so. Name. YOU raped me. You changed the trajectory of my life. I made myself small since then. I allowed perpetual abuse into my life since then BUT today IT STOPS. I forgive you for a being a 17 year old boy - who raped a 15 year old girl. I know that in YOUR head - you know what you did that day was wrong and you have paid the price ever since, just as much as I have, ever since that day. MOST importantly. I want YOU - the victim to know, that you are RIGHT. It WAS rape and you are not stupid. Or fat, or ugly. Or not worthy. And no amount of "fake" compensation will ever fix the void in your soul until you are willing to admit - that you were indeed raped. From there - your healing will be begin. I wish you abundant self love and may you never ever again, doubt that you are worthy of the highest level of (self) love. I know that you wanted to him to validate your worth that day.......BUT only you can validate you. Know that he has no power over you anymore. Only you do and stop allowing this moment and the resulting degrading experiences, to define you any further. IT was not your fault. It will never be your fault. Forgive yourself. Love yourself. AMEN.

When I was 20 I was in college and I agreed to live with someone I knew name name for the summer while I worked a summer job. name had a number of disquieting habits that always kind of bothered me. He would tend to get into my personal bubble not my personal space too often. He also had a habit of seeming to get lost in the middle of the night going back to his bedroom from the bathroom. One night name opened my door and was standing in my room when I woke up and I said what's going on name? He said oh I must've gotten lost or confused getting back to my room from the bathroom, sorry. After that I started locking my door at night and there were a number of times when I woke up and noticed that name was trying my door knob in the middle of the night. And I thought what's up with that? But I didn't worry about it too much. One Friday I came home from my summer job and name was sitting out by the pool in front of the apartment with a pitcher of what he described as piña coladas. He invited me to sit down and have a drink. He poured a glass of piña colada's for me and said this is my special piña colada mix. I want you to try it. So we sat there and I was sipping on his piña colada and I got about halfway through and he asked me how I was feeling. I thought it for a little bit strong and I told him so. But name just said drink it up, drink it up, I want you to have another. I said I don't know name. This feels awfully strong and I'm feeling kind of funny. name said come on, this is my special piña colada mix. I made it just for you. You have finish it. You have to have another. I'll feel insulted if you don't. I don't know name, I said. I'm feeling kind of funny. But name got up in my face pouring me another glass and said you have to have another one. These are my special piña coladas. I made them just for you. You have to have another. So name poured me another glass of piña coladas, and took my empty glass away, and said drink it up drink it up. So I tried to drink some more. I got about halfway through the second glass of piña coladas and told name I just don't feel right. I need to get up to my room. I tried to stand up but was having trouble. name offered to help me get up and put an arm around me and helped get me up the stairs to the apartment. When we got inside, I told name I thought I needed to get to bed, I just didn't feel right at all. name got me into my room and set me on my bed and said here I'll help you get your clothes off. So he started taking off my clothes and then he pulled my underwear off. Then he pulled his pants down and had a big erection. I said name what's going on? He just started masturbating. My head was swimming, I was completely out of it, and I started masturbating too. Then he shoved me over on the bed. I said name, what's going on? I tried to push myself off the bed and turn around and he was trying to anally penetrate me with his penis. I shouted name stop, stop. I'm not a girl, I shouted. Stop! But I couldn't keep my eyes open and I just collapsed on the bed. The next thing that I knew I was struggling to breathe and it was pitch dark. I was on my back and something was in my mouth. I didn't know whether it was rubber, a piece of meat, or skin. But it was thrusting up and down in my mouth and hitting the back of my throat and I was gagging. And hair was brushing up against my lips. I was starting to come to rapidly. Suddenly I realized that name was on top of me and his penis was in my mouth. I started screaming. I may have bit him. I started thrashing and pushed him off me. I jumped up and realized I was in his bedroom and I didn't know how I got there. I was screaming and I ran to my room. I locked my door and started fumbling around looking for my clothes and my car keys. name was trying my door knob again. I screamed at him to stop, to get away from my door, to leave me alone. He's sad he was trying to check on me to make sure I was OK. I screamed what do you mean OK? What do you think just happened? What do you think just happened? This is not OK, I yelled. And then I yelled get away from my door I'm coming through! You stand back! I threw the door open and name was standing there. I shouted get back and brushed past him and headed to the front door. I ran down the steps past the pool and out to my car. I jumped in my car and started it as quickly as I could. I gunned the engine and raced out of the parking lot and onto the street. I was going too fast and I didn't know where I was going. I didn't know what to do. But I was heading in the direction of the campus. So I just kept driving. And then I turned on the street that my old dorm was on. There was an athletic field at the end of the street and I thought maybe I would park there and try to think. But as I was driving down the street I noticed the light on at this townhouse apartment where a woman I knew was staying. So I parked in front of her place and went up to her door and started ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door. She came to the door in a bathrobe and asked name 2 what's going on? I told her name just attacked me. She told me to come in and tell her what happened. I was standing in her living room just shaking and crying and probably not making a lot of sense. So she told me to come into her bedroom and she had me lay down on her bed where I just laid and cried and sobbed. She tried to ask me what happened. Between sobs I tried to tell her name attacked me. name sexually attacked me. She said she didn't think name was gay. name had a girlfriend. She asked me if I thought I might be gay. I said I didn't think so and I didn't understand what had happened. I told her I thought he drugged me. I just sobbed and cried and cried, and I wasn't making a lot of sense. So at one point she just pulled a blanket over me and laid down herself and turned off the light. I cried myself to sleep. I started stirring when it was getting light outside. I didn't know where I was. I was trying to understand what was going on. Had I had a terrible dream? Was it a nightmare? But when I opened my eyes I saw that I wasn't in my room and I was on this woman's bed. She was asleep, but it was clear this had been no nightmare, this was real. I tried nudging her and told her I have to get up and go get my things. I have to find someplace new to stay. Then she stirred groggily and said I'm sorry I have to go back to sleep, I can't help right now. So I got up and went out to my car. I sat out in my car trying to think of what to do. I didn't feel safe going back to the apartment by myself. I thought maybe I needed some kind of weapon to protect myself. The first thought in my mind was I've got to figure out how to buy a gun. I don't know how to do that. I've got to figure this out. But then I thought if I get a gun, I'll probably end up shooting him and end up in a jail cell and my life will be over, or I'll shoot myself and my life will be over. Then I thought maybe a knife, maybe I should get a knife. But then I thought I might turn it on him, kill him, and end up in a jail cell. So I settled on the idea of getting a baseball bat. I had to go find a sporting goods store or a store that would sell a baseball bat. I drove to the local mall and waited outside of a department store that I knew had a sporting goods department. I had to wait until they opened up at 9 o'clock. Then when they opened I went inside and bought a heavy wooden baseball bat. This is what I would use to go back to the apartment to pick up my things and protect myself. So I drove to the apartment parked my car and walked up to the apartment door holding onto my baseball bat in my right hand the whole time and I turned my key in the lock and name was standing there in the living room. I held up the baseball back and said name you stand back! You stand back! I need to get my things! name motioned with his hands that it's all right, and said everything's OK. I yelled it's not OK! You stand back and let me get my things. I'm not staying here anymore. So I went to my room and I locked the door and put the bat down so I could pack my things. I had a simple college trunk and a knapsack and I just filled them with all of my things. At some point name was fumbling with my door knob again. I yelled for him to get away. He said he just wanted to make sure that I was OK. I yelled I'm not OK what you did last night was not OK! I'm not living here anymore! name said it's OK, you don't have to live here anymore. I guess I'll find somebody else. I yelled what do you mean you guess you'll find somebody else? What do you think happened last night? Then I yelled you get back, you get away from my door! I'm coming through! I tried to pick up my things and my baseball bat and opened my door. I held up the baseball bat again and said name you get back! He was motioning with his hands like everything's OK, everything's OK. But I just yelled at him to get back and let me past. So I pulled my things to the door holding that bat the whole time and keeping an eye over my shoulder to make sure that he didn't come near me. Then I pulled the door open and pulled my things out and closed the door behind me. I picked up my things and headed down the steps looking back over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't being followed. I headed past the pool, and out to my car. I loaded up the car got inside and started driving. I wasn't sure where to go or what to do. I needed to find someplace to stay. So I drove to the campus to go find a copy of the student newspaper, which often had listings for apartments for rent. I think there was an ad for one of the fraternities which was renting out rooms for the summer. I wasn't excited about that prospect, but I needed some place to stay. I needed to keep working my summer job and making money so I could come back and finish school the next year. So I drove over to the fraternity and spoke to the student manager and he said they could rent me a room. It wasn't clear if I would have the room to myself the entire summer, but they could rent me a room. So I got my things and I moved in. I wasn't comfortable that night. I couldn't lock the door and I kept thinking about name and worrying about somebody coming through my door in the middle of the night. Also there were people in the fraternity that were goofing off half the night going up and down the stairs, making noise, and it was hard to sleep. And I also laid in bed every single night thinking about what happened to me and wondering what does it mean? How did this happen? Am I gay? Does this mean I'm gay? I didn't feel like I could tell anybody anything. I spent the next few months socially shutting down. I didn't really see any friends. And I didn't talk to people. I couldn't tell anybody what happened to me. I tried to pretend that nothing happened to me. I kept repeating to myself over and over again. This didn't happen. This didn't happen. I felt like if I kept repeating this didn't happen over and over again then maybe I wouldn't feel like it happened. Maybe I could pretend it didn't happen. Maybe I could erase it from my mind. And I kept thinking that was the only way I could get through this, just pretend it didn't happen. If I kept telling myself over and over and over again that it didn't happen, then maybe I wouldn't feel like it happened and maybe everything would be OK. And that's how I got through. I eventually started socially opening up again. A couple of months later one of my friends told me that he was gay. He also told me that he was interested in me. I was still asking questions about my own sexuality. I didn't know what the sexual attack had meant about me. I didn't know what it meant about my sexuality. I ended up fooling around one time with the gay friend. But it didn't feel right for me. Slowly, I got on with things. I eventually got my own apartment. I met my college girlfriend my senior year. I finished up school and I went on with living. A couple of years later, when I had moved across the country, my phone rang one morning. It was name. And he just kept repeating I want to do that thing with you again. I want to do that thing with you again, he sad. I was in shock. I hung up the phone. How did he get my phone number? How did he track me down? I spent a couple of days reliving in my head what happened to me, but then I started to snap out of it. I still hadn't told anybody anything about what happened to me and I wasn't going to. I was going to ignore this. A year later, I was seeing a dermatologist about venereal warts. He asked me if I engaged in homosexual practices. He said he'd only seen venereal warts in people who engaged in homosexual practices. This is so triggering and brought back uncomfortable memories. But I just told him no, I'm not gay. Well I had to endure a series of painful chemical skin peeling treatments that went on for months. Every time I saw this doctor he asked me if I was gay. He said the question was nonjudgmental, he wasn't judging me. But I just told him no I'm not gay. I could not tell this man what happened to me. And I put it out of my mind, I tried to put it out of my mind. I tried to go on with my life. But I've endured plenty of triggering events, and suffered flashbacks ever since, During periodic physicals, things like prostate exams--the doctor poking around through the anus sets me off and leaves me depressed and miserable. I have avoided things that I like, like swimming, because I can't stand to use locker rooms where other males are in a state of undress. When I see naked men, my anxiety goes through the roof. I'm now working with a therapist trying to process what happened to me. I was sexually assaulted 45 years ago. Try as I might to forget, I've never gotten over it.

I was assaulted by a man, who was an acquaintance, in my apartment. We had hooked up once before, and it had been quick but fine. Things started consensually, but at one point it began to hurt me and I asked him if we could stop. At that point, he pushed down on my upper back, high enough that my mouth was half pushed into the pillow. I froze, and couldn't move at all. I just waited for him to finish whatever it was he wanted to do. The aftermath was extremely confusing. I first thought that it was just a bad experience. But as the months went on, I realised it was playing on my mind too much to be dismissed as that. Six months after the assault, I sought some medical tests. It was a year after, amid a particular run of sexual assault stories in the media, that I contacted rape crisis centre to get help. I also reported to the Gardai several years after my assault, and while they handled it well they also warned that if I was to pursue an investigation that the process could be very exposing and I chose not to take it further. My assault took place only six months after I had come out as queer, and so it felt like much of what I had worked hard to accept about myself and to go through as part of coming out was impacted -- the freedom to be who I was and to enjoy my sexuality was taken away for a long time. My assault was not the first time nor the last time I experienced non-consensual behaviour, although was by far the most serious and impactful occurrence.

Hi, i was recommended this site by my therapist...so here we go. okay. it all started when i was 9, My grandparents had moved into NC and stuff etc etc- My grandfather and I were always close. We would do stuff together like lunch, shopping, get candy all that jazz. from years 9-12 I had not realized it, but he was grooming me. He would always tell me things like how special i was to him and how he would buy me things he wouldn't buy my brother or my cousins. It would always happen whenever i would spend the night at my grandparents house. Now my mother had really awful breast cancer at the time, so my dad had to stay by her side and support her in the hospital from time to time and since my brother was too young to babysit me (hes 4 years older by the way) I had to spend the night there. I also suffered from horrid night terrors that kept me awake at night and made me deathly afraid of being alone or in the dark. Sooo, i would share the bed with both my grandparents. You can probably tell where this is going, It was always in bed too. He would touch me around my stomach, chest, more details parts that i wont mention, my pants area etc... I never thought too much of it, Always reassuring myself that it wasnt anything malevolent...no matter how weird or unusual it was. It eventually stopped around when i was 12, when my mom finished chemotherapy and beat her cancer. i was staying at their place less and less. But he would often throw provocative comments my way about my body, such as my chest, my butt- you get it. the comments stopped at 14 when i stood up for myself. he asked me, "Oh dont tell me you dont like play with yourself of please yourself. everyone does it, i just wanna know if you do it." I told him it was gross to ask that, and he scoffed- but he stopped. not too long later that year i was thinking about everything while sitting in my room. Then it hit me. Everything he did, everything he said, was because he was grooming me. I had thrown up that evening, as if my stomach got clubbed by a sledgehammer. It had been maybe 2 or so years since ive come out about what happened. No justice has been served yet, if any at all. My grandparents blame me and my parents for tearing our family apart. I often blame myself too. But I hope and pray to any god out there that he gets exactly what he deserves, in this life or the next.

When I was 6-7 years old, I was pinned to my ottoman by my older brother (8-9 years) and my friend (6-7 years) and repeatedly kissed on the mouth by another friend (8-9). I told them to stop and put up a struggle but ultimately gave up and let it happen. Is this COCSA or an act of children not knowing boundaries?

Three beautiful kids later, three houses later, and 10 years later, I finally had the courage to leave.

When I was in Kindergarten, I was in a group with 3 boys, we are talking about how the crayons did have a wrapper on it, calling it naked. I don’t remember how it to this point but the next thing I remember is them showing me their private parts and for some reason I did the same. I remember knowing that I was told never to do that and I don’t remember why I did it but I do remember the end result. I was called into the principal’s office to tell them what happened and back then there was no word for Coercion which is what I’m pretty sure it was however I could be extremely wrong. My mom was also a Spanish speaker so I remember she understood most of it but not all of what I was telling her and the principal. The next thing I remember was being taken home but we went to my dad construction site instead. She severely beat me to the point where I was running out of the truck to my dad. I put this memory away up until a few days ago when somehow I started to remember. All I can think about is how I was beat for telling the truth and not really knowing any better I was 5. I do remember my mom telling me it was my fault and till this day I don’t know why I did what I did but I remember it’s my fault and the guilt hasn’t gone away since unlocking this memory. I blame myself obviously. I guess I’m here to not make myself feel better but in hopes that getting this out with help me heal. I’ve never told anyone this before, including my husband. Im 26 and currently pregnant, I’m terrified that what I am will affect my child. I didn’t even know if it was considered sexual abuse but I think it was. I was always seen as the problem child to everyone of my moms friends and family., i guess i can see why. This isn’t even the last sexual abuse I experienced just the first and honestly most traumatic for me.

In March, I met someone. By summer, we were friends—the kind that share meals and watch anime on weekends. There was never any hint of more. Then, one night in August, a bottle of bourbon and a game of truth or dare blurred the lines I thought were solid. The conversation turned intimate, and the dares followed. What started with a kiss escalated into something I did not want. I remember saying "no," many times, my hands holding tightly to my clothes as a boundary. I was told "no means yes." In my intoxicated state, my resistance was overcome. I held onto one clear thought: no penetration. That line, at least, was not crossed. In the days that followed, I did everything I was supposed to do. I reached for every lifeline. I took the emergency pill. I made the calls to 1800RESPECT and SARC, navigating support systems in a language that isn't my own. I am awaiting medical screenings. I devoured Chanel Miller's "Know My Name," finding solace in a story that mirrored my own confusion. I talked to AI, tirelessly analyzing every emotion, trying to logic my way out of this pain. I found the courage to call a friend and speak the words aloud, and her belief in me was a anchor. And yet, a persistent voice still circles in the quiet moments: Did I overreact? Was it really that bad? He was nice once. This doubt is a ghost, and it haunts me alongside the heavy grip of my history with depression, which makes everything feel so much heavier. I have made a decision that brings both a sense of relief and a profound sadness. I will likely make a report, but I do not think I will request a full investigation. I have come to the quiet, painful understanding of how difficult it is to prove a violation without concrete evidence, of how the system often fails to deliver justice. My heart breaks for all my sisters who have stood in this same place, who have chosen to prioritize their own survival over a fight they know they cannot win. So, for now, I am choosing to fight for myself instead of against him. My act of rebellion is not in a courtroom; it is in my own healing. It is in believing myself when the world teaches me to doubt. It is in acknowledging that even without legal justice, what happened to me was real, it was wrong, and my pain is valid. I am choosing to care for the person who matters most in this story: me.

I was in an abusive relationship for 12 years. I met him when I was fourteen and we came together when I was fifteen. He was nice and lovely and I fell in love with him. I never thought that he could have a dark side. After a few month I began to realize, that there is something inside him. When we had our first fight, he screamed with me and I had so much fear. He apologized and I forgived him. But: It didn‘t stopped. He was verbal abusive. He said that I am a whore. He made me feeling small and like I am the worst person in the world. He said, that I am a psycho. He said I am a joke. He said I am nothing. He said, that he has to talk and scream with me like this, because I don‘t understand his points otherwise. He began to destroy things like my watch or a necklace. The walls had holes and he often grabbed me at my shoulders very hard when he got angry. When I cried, he became angrier at all. I locked myself in the toilet because I had so much fear of him. He also pushed me at the asphalt when he was drunk sometimes. I had bruises. One time he choked me. I never told anybody what happend, because I always forgived him and felt so fucking guilty. I tried to left him, but he always said, that he will kill himself, when I go. I went to therapy but even there I was so ashamed, that I didn‘t talk about the abuse. After two years of therapy I got stronger and stronger. I was ready to talk to somebody about the things that happend to me and that I want to leave him. Suddenly I felt free and was ready to go. He always said, that he loves me and that I am the love of his life. It never was love. I realized that I was in an abusive relationship. There were verbal, emotional and physical abuse. I didn't imagine any of it. I wasn't crazy. Whoever is reading this and is in a similar situation: You are strong! You are intelligent! You are beautiful! You are a good person! You can trust yourself! You can talk to someone! You can do this! You can leave him! You are a wonderful human being! I love you all out there and send you hugs. We have to share our stories and we are allowed to share them. Together we can change something.

When I was younger I moved back in with my mom and her boyfriend at the time was physically abusive to her she promised nothing would ever happen to me. Then he started touching me inappropriately. This went on for 6 years until I finally spoke up for myself. I told many people before I finally found a person who helped me. I reported what was happening and I have been trying to put him away and get justice for 3 years now. Along with me reporting what happen they found cameras in my bathroom. It hurts even more knowing he is allowed to walk around freely while I’m scared to run in to him.

When I was 23, after having lost my father to cancer and moving into my first home as a single parent, I was "sexually assaulted" by my uncle who was now one of my neighbours. It was what was possibly deemed a harmless move by him, a drunken misunderstanding where he accidentally but forcefully stuck his tongue in my mouth while consoling me on my loss. The weight of him pressing me into the sofa of my new home. My new place of safety. He was a large man with a wheelbarrow stomach and a stench of unwashed flesh that lingers in the spaces long after he has passed through them. He never spoke a word I could ever understand because his native dialect rested somewhere between a brogue and the sound of someone clearing their throat. I always politely, on account of my aunt, nodded in agreement whenever he spoke to me. I pushed him away and apologetically resisted his advances so as not to offend him. It never occured to me to make a scene, others might have demonstrated greater revolt but I had just left an abusive relationship with the father of my child, a man who was given to dangling phlegm from his mouth over my face while pinning my arms down as a means of foreplay. Being sexually compromised was something that I had long accepted as normal. According to my mother I deserved it, people don't do things to other people unless they deserve it. He was just trying to be nice to me after all. I also learned quickly that if you did happen to discuss things with anyone that they had ways of silencing you. My new neighbours were informed of my single parent status and it's always better to keep girls like me at arms length. I thought I had been finally set free from an abusive relationship only to find myself thrust into a dynamic that set the stage for a lifetime of fear and resprisals from any man that wanted to really. A couple of weeks later my late fathers friend, an elderly gentleman with a family of his own, repeated the experience. A man of standing in the community, he had called to offer his condolances and suggested he could help me find work through a local employment scheme to help me get back on my feet. Once again I found myself on the recieving end of a sexual embrace, ending with him forcing his tongue into my mouth. I didn't get that job, in fact I spent the next twenty years resisting poverty and doing my best under the same kind of unemployment schemes while always being rejected for paid labour. It was on one of these employment schemes where I became the subject of one partcular mans obsession. He was the same age as me although very shy and reserved, maybe because he suffered from a physical disability. He worked in a different office to me and we would see him skulking around outside the building I worked in and often, waiting outside at clock out time. He would casually greet me and join up with our group and continue to follow along with us. The others made fun of him but I felt bad about that and tried my best to be respectful. As our work progamme ended everyone naturally went their own ways but he never left and for twenty years he remained, insisting he was just a friend despite my objections that I had no desire to be with anyone. Most people automatically assume that he was my partner now but in all the years I had known him, I remained single and celibate. I had never been able to consider being in relationship with another man. I never had the freedom to be even if I wanted to. My mother would tell people he was my partner and as it happened, he was very effective at "keeping me out of trouble". Instead, I turned to other women for relationship and in the hope that he, and others, might get the message and leave me alone. It was many years before I found the videos he had been taking of me on his phone when I wasn't looking. It turned out he was a prolific client of escort services too and apparently, acording to the man who's child I bore and raised by myself this meant that I was a paid whore also. It wasn't until I sought help that I learned how I was being portrayed. The first counsellor I went to called me a liar when I told her that my childs father had physically abused me. For three months I sat unable to speak in a psychologist office, being accused of things I had previously been unable to imagine. I lost the ability to verbalise. My nervous system shut down. My body would shake uncontrollably. I tried to kill myself but I didn't know how. I stopped trusting people, least of all the services you would nomally turn to for help. The gaurds, my gp, even the voluntary agencies in places of statutory ones. For years after I struggled to come to terms with this abuse and I was alone through all of it. I did everything I could to drag myself out of that place, yoga, meditation, exercise but none of it made much difference because I could never wipe away the pain on the inside. One day I listened to a story on the radio and in response penned a letter to a rape crisis center. I never considered what I had been through as sexual abuse so I never considered discussing it with anybody. I began to write. I met with a counsellor and handed her my letter. As she spoke the words of my story I heard someone else speaking but it didn't sound like me. I didn't feel ashamed, I felt brave. I didn't feel worthless, I looked at the woman in the chair in front of me and felt like her, like I had value and that my words had meaning. I didn't feel stupid or retarded, I saw a beautiful articulate woman, not a destitute worthless prostitute. After years of being silenced I finally heard the sound of my own voice. I think I slept for two days after that. My own voice has grown stonger every day since. It's kinder and more understanding, more loving and gentle toward myself. I no longer live with the same level of fear as before. The guilt and shame I was used to feeling and that others used to inflict upon me no longer controls me. Something was given back to me that was lost and now no one can ever take it away again. I'm still working on healing myself but I enjoy life in moments and even have goals again. I'm glad that this place can give people a voice too and that those who read these words might hear themselves speaking and will know that they are not alone.

I am searching for my voice, I've lost it. Maybe He took it when I said "No". Maybe it was taken years ago, before I even knew how to say "No". Maybe I was raised without a voice. Maybe I never had one in the first place. I am trying to scream, but all thats comes out is a whimper. My mind is a raging ocean thats threatens to drown me. My throat is sore from all the unspoken words. My fingers are bleeding from my nervous biting. My fear is chooking me day and night, whilst I try to survive. I am a prisoner of my mind. I am in captivity of my skin. I am chained by my fear. I've lost my voice, I am searching for it.