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

Living in Fear of My Perpetrator Part1 In Date, I joined S Company as a temporary employee. In Month, Year, my supervisor, A, requested my LINE contact information, which I provided, thinking it necessary for work. From Month, Year, A began sending me messages unrelated to work, asking questions like, “What do you do when you don’t have a boyfriend?” and expressing a desire to visit my home. On Date, A called me saying, “Let’s get closer in private.” At a company farewell party, I drank only one drink due to my alcohol allergy. Afterward, A invited me to a manga café, where he kissed me and asked to go to my house or a hotel, which I refused. Upon arrival at the café, A embraced and kissed me, groping me under my bra and over my skirt. On Date, while working with Supervisor B, a new employee, D, tearfully said she couldn’t continue. A suggested that if D left, I might need to stay. That evening, while working late, A forcibly hugged and deep-kissed me, groped me under my clothes, and inserted his fingers into my vagina. I had no prior sexual experience due to past sexual abuse, and A exploited my vulnerable employment situation to coerce me into sexual acts, making it my first encounter. In the company car, A undressed and assaulted me, demanding I verbally consent to intercourse without a condom. Afterward, A threatened me, saying, “I value my job and family and don’t want to be in a position to pay damages, so keep quiet.” I couldn’t go to the police immediately, feeling ashamed and blaming myself. In Japan, victims often face blame, making it hard to seek help. I was overwhelmed with tears and suicidal thoughts. I left the company in Month, Year, but A continued to suggest we date, falsely claiming our relationship was an affair, despite me being physically a virgin. I never dated, received gifts, or had any personal connection with A, yet he used the concept of an affair to threaten me. Cultural Context in Japan Japan is perceived as a developed country, but its legal system regarding sexual crimes is inadequate. Women’s status remains low, with seniority-based systems and male-dominated workplaces prevalent. Victims of sexual crimes and harassment rarely speak out, often facing blame. This social backdrop made it difficult for me to receive adequate support after my ordeal. I have faced secondary victimization many times and have not been able to receive proper support within Japan. I am isolated and seeking objective advice and support from the international community. I am sharing my story through ChatGPT to reach out for help. My story continues, and I will post it in parts.

At the time, my sister and I were bathing with a man my mother had described as "the man who would become my father." My sister was probably only about three years old, so I don't think she remembers it, but the man made my sister wash his genitals. I suddenly remembered it recently, and I'm tormented by the thought that it might have been sexual abuse, and blaming myself for not protecting my sister. I want to disappear.

I was abused by my mother. She was strict with me, hitting me, telling me I was stupid and wishing I'd never been born. I felt like I didn't deserve to live. My mother wasn't just a scary person; she was also kind, especially to my younger brother Name. I met my current husband at University, got married, and had a child. I was overcome with anxiety that I might do the same to my child as my mother, and I cried and complained to my husband many times. My husband recommended that I see a counselor, and I'm currently receiving counseling. I always thought my mother was strict because of my fault, but now I realize that I'm not the only cause. By talking about the things my mother said and did to me that I'd kept hidden, I feel like I've lightened the burden I felt. I'm sharing this here again, hoping that it will bring some comfort. Thank you for reading.

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 feel anger toward my father. To me, my father is a monster. He's bound by patriarchy. He's been a very problematic person since I was a child. He was verbally and physically abusive toward my mother. He had a big attitude at home. He put on a good face. My father moved around a lot due to his job, but I ended up skipping school. I was sexually assaulted in high school and went to a mental health clinic, which led to him calling me weird. I loved creating, but he said that was weird too. My older sister was also a victim of my father, but she was always smiling, no matter what my father did to her. He was emotionally attached to her. He was like a lover or a mother to me. I was rebellious, so he ignored me. My father used me and sexually harassed me (he did the same to me), and even when I told others, I was only victimized. He sometimes spoke as if he were some kind of great person. He was abusive toward my mother. Weird women give birth to weird children. Women become weird when they get their period. I myself wondered why I created art, and at times considered getting tested for Asperger's syndrome. I quit, but... My older sister was exploited by another man, married him, and committed suicide on their wedding anniversary. As my father gets older, I feel nothing but anger toward him, and in Japan, there's a culture that makes it seem like we have to take care of our fathers. My father deserved it, and I want him to take his sins to the afterlife, but unfortunately, he has surprisingly not changed his behavioral principles. Perpetrators never change. My mother's cognitive function is declining slightly. I may be the one who survives in the end, even though I'm the only one who's completely devastated. I'm wondering whether I should be present at his end or go to his funeral, but at this stage, I don't have any plans to be present or go to the funeral. I also have some memory loss about where my father's hometown is. On exhausted nights, I sometimes wish I could die. My doctor recommended that I publish my creative work. I'm considering my interests (Western music, etc.), the fact that I've earned a certain number of credits from a correspondence university, and the fact that I took the Eiken exam a long time ago. Taking these factors into account, I'm pondering how I want to live the rest of my life. Part of me is social anxiety, so I'm a recluse. Is my life worth living? There is still no answer.

Seeking Justice and Support After Sexual Assault and Harassment in Japan I am a woman living in Japan, currently facing a severe situation. I experienced sexual assault in Japan, resulting in PTSD and depression. In Japanese culture, it is difficult for victims to raise their voices, and my suffering is often ignored in society. This has left me feeling isolated and deeply distressed. While studying in Canada, I was able to live safely without experiencing racial discrimination, male chauvinism, patriarchal attitudes, or misogyny. However, after returning to Japan, I faced power harassment, sexual harassment, and moral harassment at work, which has further exacerbated my mental distress. Moreover, my employer provided my address to the perpetrator without my consent, which has severely threatened my safety. The perpetrator's lawyer also obtained my personal information from the ward office without following proper procedures and used it without my permission. This has been an incredibly terrifying experience, making me feel constantly vulnerable and unsafe. Additionally, since the perpetrator was not prosecuted, the National Police Agency rejected my application for victim compensation, leaving me unable to cover my medical expenses and facing significant financial difficulties. This has added a layer of hopelessness to my already overwhelming situation. I also consulted the police, but they told me to call them only if the perpetrator showed up at my house, leaving me without support. In Japan, owning weapons for self-defense is prohibited by law, making self-protection extremely difficult. This lack of protection leaves me feeling powerless and exposed to further harm. Although Japan is often considered a developed country, the reality is different from what many people around the world believe. Outdated values from the Showa era still persist, and the legal framework for addressing sexual crimes is inadequate. This systemic failure compounds my sense of injustice and helplessness. Japan's welfare services have their limitations. In the type B continuous employment support system, I can only earn about 650 yen per day. Moreover, the facility's regulations prohibit part-time work, making it difficult to improve my financial situation. I strongly wish to lead an independent life, but the current circumstances make it incredibly challenging. I also have a lawyer, but the fear and anxiety caused by the perpetrator do not go away. Every day is a struggle, filled with anxiety and dread. In Japan, enduring hardship and suffering in silence are often considered virtues, making it difficult for victims to speak out. This cultural expectation to suffer quietly adds to my emotional burden and isolation. Therefore, I sincerely hope to receive objective advice on my situation. I have sought help through Chat GPT to articulate my situation clearly and seek support from a global audience. I am desperately seeking support from people overseas. Any form of assistance would be greatly appreciated. Please, hear my voice.

I've been psychologically abused by my mother since I was little. Because of this, I have a habit of always thinking about what she thinks, and I feel like I have no self because I'm so devoted to her. I work at a restaurant, but I'm exhausted from trying to avoid creating a bad atmosphere at work and making sure she doesn't dislike me, and even working is painful. I signed up for a dating app hoping to get away from my mother, but I've been taken advantage of and rejected constantly, and I can't see any hope for my life.

I live in Japan. I have been here for 7 years. I got married to a man that I felt I was in love with and had a daughter. I thought we were ok. We got divorced. He told me he stopped loving me when I wanted to hear about his day. He cheated on me with multiple women, getting very physical and most likely sexual. I am now alone with my daughter and have to work through all this on my own.

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?

When I was eight years old, I used to go play at the house of a friend who was the same age. I don't remember how it started; I know it happened, but my memories are hazy. I remember her undressing me and touching me, and her making me do the same to her, while a Jesus Christ figure hanging on the wall watched me. I don't remember that house, or how many times it happened. I wish I had told my mom, but I was too scared. I think children often go through things that are too much for them. Feeling scared all the time isn't normal. I hope no one ever goes through the same fear of the world growing up that I did.

Stuck in the bathroom. It is possible to be loved. When I spent ages telling my Mum and Dad that it would be ok to travel to city for a gig , I thought I was grown up and street wise. In reality I was a naive young man - my parents reluctantly agreed as long as we stayed with my friends uncle - this would mean we wouldn’t have to travel back late . The gig was fantastic - we got back to his flat the others went to bed. I stayed up chatting with name - after about half an hour he started asking me if I was a virgin and showing me pornographic magazines . I tried to get away and go to bed - he then attacked me and raped me . I locked myself in the bathroom and waited but he was still agitated - he wanted me to sleep in his bed - I had no idea that a man could do what he did to another male. Two weeks later I went back to stay again after a football match - this time I tried to persuade my parents that I shouldn’t go - but they didn’t want the ticket to go to waste - he attacked and raped me again - I eventually managed to lock myself in the bathroom . I mentally stayed in that bathroom for the next 40 years - never telling - never asking for support - 3 failed marriages - problems with drink - difficulties being a good parent. The first person I told after 40 years was my ex-wife - her response was “I can’t love you - you have violated me by keeping this a secret” - this was crushing and led to a decline to a very dark place. Now with the support of my children, my new partner , a fantastic psychiatrist and a therapist from support organisation - I feel better and believe I can be loved. It is never too late to start to heal .

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 sexually assaulted between the ages of 18 and 19 by my then-boyfriend. I remember when it first started, I didn't even think of it as sexual assault, only that I knew I didn't want to and always felt upset after it happened. There was one specific event that made me realise what I was experiencing was not normal. I remember repeating "no" to the point of almost yelling and trying to push him off me with all my strength. He had a grip of my jumper which ripped when I eventually broke free. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I went to dinner with his family that evening and cried in the bathroom. To this day, I still haven't told anyone and I wonder if he even understands the gravity of what he had done.

After seeing 'It Ends With Us', I felt I wanted to share my story. I saw this movie alone for the first watch, brought my Atlas to the second, and my bestfriend to the third. Watching it left me feeling empowered to anonymously share my story of abuse and violence. The film and the book brought back so many raw emotions, ones that I still struggle with today. My story started when I was 16 years old and I was with my first 'love', everything was OK in the beginning - but suddenly everything changed. I was constantly told how worthless I was, I got pushed down his stairs - but I wouldn't leave - and I didn't know why. He was controlling and did not like other people talking to me, going to extreme lengths to stop this from happening, and making sure my friends did not see me - people who he saw as a threat. I ended up in the hospital because of him, where he broke my hand. He got that mad at me once, we were in his car and just before I could shut the door and put on my seat belt, he started driving recklessly to scare me. What scared me more was when I was sleeping and I felt his hands around my throat - with no explanation. There were many times that I would say stop and he would carry on because he told me he was in control. I had cigarettes put out on me -multiple times, and was told that I was disgusting and looked like a sl*t, even telling me I was 'fat' - which led to further health issues. When I ended up with a bruise, my friend who is now my Atlas noticed - we worked together. I confined in him, and he was the first person to properly listen to me, and let me share my experiences. Throughout all this, it brought me overwhelming anxiety and depression and even the lengths of having to have therapy because to me it was a nightmare even when it was over, and reported multiple times. My parents never understood, asking me why I didn't just leave, telling me I must've wanted it to carry on. I didn't. I'm nearly 10 years later now, with my Atlas of 5 years, feeling happier and in a better place physically and mentally - I'm still healing. This movie brought me to tears and I related so much to Lily Bloom - some of it felt like my experiences - but the film also brought me a type of feeling of freedom and happiness. Thank you for letting me share my story. ❤️

° Hard Candy° Does it get better ?. She asked me , little golden eyes filled with tears hands pressed so hard against her reddened cheeks I could hardly hear the words pouring out of that little 8 year Olds mouth. I took a long pause before I decided my next approach.. You see She this child resembled a frightened mouse, Cautiously pressed back into what must of been the safety of her room blended underneath a blanket,. Her body was so small you could barley see the tiny frame. Frozen in place. Instinctively I wanted to give this child space but as a adult. I needed to comfort this child. Or was it I who needed comfort after seeing how badly damaged she was emotionally and mentally?. I haven't decided. It took a while Don't get me wrong not only does seeing a child in any form of distress unsettle the soul,. But regaining their trust is a challenge in itself. There was no door in this child's room so I wanted to be respectful,. Taking my time with this one,. Each step polite and over apologetic,. I stepped over the forgotten toys that had collected dust from previous visitation,. I can still smell The hard candy melted to the oak dress from the summers heat,. Slowly I unraveled this child and moved her hair out of her face. Millions of little freckles covered almost every inch. Hazel eyes stared at me, strawberry blonde hair and a pale complexity, but there was so much more to it. curiosity and fear looked back. Where was the love for this child?. I touched her face slowly. And whispered. Yes sweetheart. It sure does. We are grown now. We are safe now. We will always be safe. Because I will always protect you The inner child in myself smiled and hugged me tight. Thankyou she whispered. You're welcome sweetheart . ♡ Initials

My sexual assaults story is uncommon for most and hard to most people to grasp. Who would believe that children are capable of knowing and doing such gruesome things to person? Most children are not like this and their experiences are different. It first happened when I was 8 years old while, my abuser was 7 years old at the time. I remember the abuse happening gradually as we build our friendship. It first started with us doing typical kid stuff like us playing together and joking around. And one day, he asked me to play this new game with him. I said sure. I thought it would be one of those silly jokes stunts of his. Instead he pulled my pants down and rubbed his private part against my bottom. It was really uncomfortable moment for me since, I grew-up in a strict Christian-based family. I have never witness anyone on television or heard of the things he was doing to me. Afterwards, I remember me being shy to tell anyone and feeling like I would get into trouble. So I remained quiet. How would any parent react if you see children engaging in sexual behavior? Wouldn't you automatically assume it was the oldest child to teach someone this behavior? This went on for almost 2 years. His behavior became more advance and his request got more weirder. One time, he begged me to drink his pee directly from his part. I told him no. And he stomped across the room mad. He kept persisting and demanding that I try it. Eventually, I gave in but, I told him only from a cup. It was the most dehumanizing experiences of my life. It was not long afterwards, that my father caught us. I remember me trying shove the boy off of me. And telling him that my dad was coming and he kept going harder and harder. I guess he thought I was lying to convince him to get off of me. He wouldn't stop until my father walked into the room.

I am not even sure where to begin but I am struggling lately and have come to realize that although my main abuser might be dead, I haven't dealt with a lot of feelings. I feel like I was always a target. I had no self-confidence as a child. I was painfully shy. I had a speech impediment and was always bullied in school and moving to 10 different elementary schools didn't help me make friends. I had a critical, narcissistic mother I could never please. I was first sexually abused at age 8 by an older teenage cousin. My mother allowed me to stay the night knowing that his father, my uncle, was a pedophile and molested many children. I didn't find this out until years later. He was my favorite cousin of course. I looked up to him. Went to all his track meets. He was grooming me of course. Why else would an 18-year-old male cousin want to spend so much time with his 8-year-old cousin? Back then no one spoke much about sexual abuse. Or sex at all. At least in my household. It was dirty and you will go to Hell. That is all I was ever told. I thought it was a bad dream for many years. Except it was so vivid. I could hear the music playing. Open Arms by Journey, I could smell and almost taste the round, white, powdery almond cookies my aunt served me before sending me to bed in a room with my male cousin his friend name (also male). To this day I still cannot fathom why my aunt would put an 8 yr old little girl in a bed with 2 teenage boys. It haunts me. Was she just as sick as my uncle and my cousin? All I found out later as an adult is my uncle molested all 3 of my male cousins. One turned into pedophile, one fought those urges his whole life and lived a sad, lonely life, and other one killed himself and died alone in an alleyway at age 40. I laid in that bed that night and my whole life changed. I woke up to my cousin fumbling around with my pants. I kept moving away as much as I could. I tried to pretend I was still asleep. I knew he knew I was awake. He didn't care. He did what he wanted. I just laid there. Tears silently rolling down my face. Then I forgot about it. Pretended it didn't happen, but it kept popping up in my head. I kept telling myself it was a horrible dream and dirty. When I was almost 17 I confided in my cousin. Girl cousin. She told me the same thing had happened to her while she was watching TV with him once. I decided I should tell my mother. That was a mistake. She didn't do anything. All she did was make me feel worse. Like it was my fault and she told everyone. He was still allowed around. To every Holiday. One Thanksgiving when he was at our house, he cornered me in my room. I thought I was about to pass out from fear. He said, " I am sorry about all the times I did things to you." That messed me up more. I had thought it was just one time. So, then I realized I probably forgot or blocked out other times. I could not stop playing things over and over in my head trying to remember. I could not wait to get out of my house and away from my mother. I never dated in high school. Never even kissed a boy until age 19. Yet my mother always called me a whore. When I moved out and started working, I felt free for the first time. I was saving myself for marriage, but every boy I dated and told that to would dump me. By age 22 I started thinking I would never find anyone. Stupid. I wanted to get far away from my mom and then I met a guy who was in the military. There were a million red flags. I ignored them. He drank. I didn't. His parents were both alcoholics. But he lived in state. So I wrote to him a couple years while he was in Japan stationed. Then he suddenly got out of military early. Wouldn't tell me why. I didn't care I just wanted to move. So I packed up and moved from California to state. I almost didn't when right before I was to leave he got a DUI. He was only 20. I was 22. He had also lied about his age. As a Christian the DUI really worried me and the lying about age and an almost 3-year age difference. Long story short, I of course ended up pregnant a year later. Twins. My parents didn't meet him until the day of the marriage. They didn't like him. Once married the first strange thing was when I was pregnant with twins and about 7 months along. I woke up and he had a flashlight and was between my legs doing things to me. I was horrified. I had no idea what to say. Through our marriage the main issues was drinking. I never allowed any alcohol in the house. Well, he took a job on the railroad. He was home once a week. I thought all was fine. For seven years he was home once a week. Apparently, he was drinking daily. We had 2 more kids in those 7 years and raising 4 kids alone was hard with no family around. We moved every year or 2 also. Finally, he went into management and was home every night. Thinks took turn for worse then. He could no longer hide his drinking. He was getting abusive. Emotionally to me. He stopped wanting sex most of the time and then I found dating sites, porn sites. Then he started raping me. He would wait until I was asleep. Then I would wake up to him having sex with me. I freaked out the first time. He acted like he thought I was awake. Next time he told me I am his wife, and it isn't rape. I told him don't ever do that again he knows I have been molested in my sleep and how awful that is to do to someone! He just didn't care. I finally said I was leaving if he didn't go to rehab for his drinking. that got him into marriage counseling. They told him he was raping me. That was the end of that. He didn't like to hear it. Then he got a girlfriend. I am disabled and he blamed me. Said he was sick of extra work. He was the laziest person. He was spending money from our retirement. I had always been a stay at home mom and had recently had spinal fusion and because he was spending our money on drugs and alcohol I went and drove a schoolbus in pain! I was not extra work for him. I took care of everything including children with kidney disease, and genetic conditions and chronic health issues in and out of hospitals all their lives. I filed for divorce. The abuse was enough. I was so shocked when after 21 long years of marriage he walked away and abandoned his 4 kids. No support, no visits, nothing. Due to his alcoholism I was grateful but sad for my children. THEN 2 years after my divorce was finalized my youngest baby girl confided in me something that broke my heart. She said, "Mom I have to tell you something disgusting" my heart sank. She said her dad molested her when I had been out of state for my friends funeral. She was 8 years old. We cried. I couldn't believe this horrible thing happened again to my baby!!! The guilt. I immediately reported it. Nothing was done. That was more devastating. I had prepared her for what would happen and then they did nothing. Karma in the end took care of that evil man. He died at age 46 from abusing his drugs and alcohol. He died alone. Like he deserved. My kids are Doctors, Nurses, and a Businessman. They didn't let that evil man define them. I didn't let him take my happiness. I had a very hard life. I can't even write about most of it. I never let my hard life or an evil person steal my happiness. He didn't determine my happiness I made my own happiness. If I had let my difficult life make me unhappy my children would have had a unhappy mom and had an unhappy childhood and not have turned into successful adults probably. I have bad days. Bad weeks even. Like this week. However tomorrow is a new day and I get to try again. I feel better sharing some of what I experienced. Thank you to anyone who takes time to read it. Sorry it is babbling in places lol..

hi. i found out when i was 14 that what happened to me wasn’t okay. i have no idea how to deal with the fact that apparently im a victim of cocsa, so that’s why im here because i have no idea what to do. it started when i was 5, and she was 9. the first time, she asked what kind of princess underwear i was wearing, then asked to see. i showed her and she touched me, then asked if i liked it. i didnt know what i was supposed to like. this went on for some time, and eventually she got my sisters in on it too, they were her age. i didn’t know what it even was but i wanted her to keep hanging out with me alongside them so i didn’t complain. and the sister i shared a room with one night asked if we could “practice” so we could be good for her, then asked me to touch her. she called it her dog house, and i had to help the dog. me and my sister haven’t spoken about that night since it happened, and i cant get it out of my mind. but the girl never stopped with me, one day she came to my house and wanted to sleep over. i was so excited that she asked to sleep in my room with just me, and it got to bedtime, and she asked if i could help her, but i said i didn’t want to so she made me hold her phone that had porn on it, i sat there for however long while she did it, making me watch. i never knew it was wrong or anything, i just loved the idea of her thinking of me. the last time, i was 12. my family took her on our vacation, and she wanted to go back to the condo for whatever, she asked me to come back with her. i was downstairs eating pizza rolls, and she asked me to come upstairs. i walk in the room and her bottoms are off. she asked me to come and sit, and asked if i would help her. i said i didn’t want to, and she just asked me to take my top off and watch. i remember i just sat there staring at myself in the mirror. the whole time. for the first time, i was scared. we then left once she was done, and said nothing. when it was my 14th birthday, i talked abt it, and i was told that it wasn’t okay. 7 years of my life. i didn’t know. and i don’t know how to deal with any of this. any tips or help would be great.

My name is Name. I was born in a town called Location, the capital headquarters of District, located in the Northern part of Sierra Leone. My country was engaged in a brutal civil war (1991-2002), with all manner of atrocities committed against people and property. Sadly, I lost both parents during the war due to the lack of access to medical supplies at that time of the war. I was born into a very strict, loving, and religious family that practices the faith of Islam. We were financially poor, but rich in tradition, cultural value, respect, and a strong support network, whatever that means. My Father was a chief Imam and a farmer, and my mother was a housewife who supported my dad with the farming. I am one of the youngest of 26 children. My first name was given to me after dad was strictly told to name me either Name if I was a girl or Name 2 if I was a boy. He was cautioned that had this name followed instructions, I would have died. The second name was acquired through traditional belief that since my mum had lost seven children from minor illness or sudden death, if I were thrown into a dustbin after my mother gave birth to me, to appear that I was found for her to raise, then I would survive. The name for a dustbin in our native language is ‘Nyama’, meaning dirty. My experience of Africa at that time was a place where the voices of women and girls were often marginalised. That said, even at that young age, I always believed that everyone’s voice was equally important and should be considered and respected. This was fundamental to how we felt valued and appreciated in society, enabling us to give our very best. Yet, my first trauma happened at the age of 12, when I was subjected to the horrendous experience of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM), which is the intentional removal of female genital organs for non-medical reasons. This occurred not once, but twice. One early December morning, I was tied down. An older woman from within my family circle wrapped her legs around me to stop me from escaping. I was placed on the cold gravel floor of the wash yard. The whole process was so quick that by the time you were on the floor, the cut was done. This barbarous act was performed with an unsterilised pen knife, on me and every other girl who had no say in the matter. I remember it vividly. There were eight of us, and I was the first to be circumcised. This experience left me with an infection, unbearable pain and a deep sense of disconnection from my body. I had no idea how to express what I was feeling, or who to talk to about it. After surviving the pain of the first incident, I was called by one of my aunties to bring some water to the washing yard again. There, I saw an image of the lady who inflicted the first trauma on me, waiting to have it done again. The reason for having to redo it was that she was spiritually possessed at the time of the first incident, which led to a poor job. Since I was the first one to be circumcised, I was the only one who had to have it done twice. I was pinned down again against my will, and I remember crying a lot and being extremely upset, as I knew based on my previous experience what was going to happen. I was extremely scared. I knew something had been taken away from me, something that would harm my life. However, I was unable to process, analyse, and determine the impact, as there were no spaces allocated for reflection and processing. It was difficult, not having a safe space to discuss the negative experience of FGM, when the occasion is seen as a positive and significant milestone as a woman. At the time, everyone around me, including some of the victims, was celebrating and appeared overwhelmed with joy at having been cut. They had little regard for the overall impact it had on me. This whole experience left me mute. While healing from the second mutilation, it felt like my tongue had also been removed, because it was seen as bad luck to talk negatively about it. Therefore, everybody kept quiet and moved on with their lives, even for those who were severely affected. The next time I had the opportunity and platform to safely talk about my FGM experience was 25 years later. In 1991, when the Sierra Leone civil war began, my life was again flipped upside down. As a child, the reports of political unrest sounded like something occurring in a world far away from us. It sounded like something for the politician, not us farmers, to be worried about. What felt like a story became real life when rebels attacked my hometown in 1994. They left a devastating legacy on our close-knit community. There was a high death count and destruction of properties, including historical landmarks. We called it ‘the first attack that some of us survived’, and soon enough, death in every form, destruction and the sounds of guns became familiar. At this point, the war had extended from the Southern region of Sierra Leone (where it initially started) to the Northern region, with frequent attacks on the towns and villages in my district. The government seemed to have no control in resolving the situation, and instead, the violence was escalating like a wildfire. Children should not have to experience this level of carnage and destruction. No one should. But there I was, a child in all of that chaos, with no protection from family or the state. Having experienced frequent attacks in my hometown (Location), I decided to travel to Makeni (the headquarters of the Northern region), where they had military barracks. I travelled with my little nephew as we were the only family members still together at this stage as some of our family members were dead and some were displaced. The reason for going was the potential hope of having protection from the military, despite the risk involved. Although I was only 13 years old at the time,I knew there were no other options available. I found myself as a child living in constant fear of being tortured or dead within the next hour or so. I had no idea when my time would come. That feeling of knowing death could be just around the corner is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The second trauma (which I thought was the first trauma due to the severity of the impact) occurred when I was 14 years old. The rebels attacked Makeni, and I was hospitalised for Malaria during the second week of December in 1998. Due to the rumours and panic of the rebels’ intention, I was discharged from the hospital to my brother (who was living in Makeni at that time) and nephew so that we could escape together in case of an attack. Before I came home, my nephew had already escaped with some neighbours for safety, and my brother was searching for me. We finally found each other, but it was too late to run away as the rebels were already in the town. The Christmas period of 1998 was like no other I had ever experienced. I was captured by the rebels, who found me hiding inside a toilet seat. I was hit, kicked and dragged to the neighbouring house where the first set of raping took place. I remember that the first man to rape was called Perpetrator Name (he was part of a group of five men). I was raped with a gun in my mouth in case I decided to shout for help. At the start of this brutal gang rape, I prayed for the sky to send me an angel to disappear with me. Since that wasn’t possible, and I did not want to feel any pain, I became numb, leaving only my physical appearance to deal with the minor pain. Once captured, one of the terrible acts the army does is train young children to become child soldiers. They know full well that hunger can lead to death, and with no family or future prospects, there’s no choice. My experience of being a child soldier led me to experience multiple rapes and other horrendous traumas on two separate occasions. It was hard to believe that before the abuse at the hands of adults, I was a happy, bubbly, and intelligent girl. After the FGM and rapes, I often felt very sad, worthless, lonely, and traumatised. The lack of a safe space or trusted individuals to express my feelings and thoughts led me to become even more consumed by the effects of trauma to the point where it became the norm for me. I am sure that millions of other survivors share the same sentiment. The day after these gruesome traumas was like the morning after the night that no one wanted to talk about. As a teenager, I found myself in a position where I had to deal with everything that had happened, with no family member or other adult to turn to for support. No professional or support network to discuss my thoughts with. Living in an environment where survivors of rape are at fault. Many incorrectly assume that the awful rape was partly the fault of the survivor because of how she was dressed or because she was somewhere she shouldn’t have been. I was 14 at the time I was first raped. I didn’t dress inappropriately, and as for being somewhere inappropriate, I was on the run from rebels, fleeing as they torched everything in their path to the ground. Yet, like so many others before me, I have been stigmatised for the actions of others, in this case, the sexual violence of men. Today, I am still here. I now live in London, having been granted asylum. I arrived in the UK with so much baggage, problems, trauma, language barrier, cultural barrier, and the fear of integration and the worries of exclusion. Despite my past in Sierra Leone, which I will never forget, I have built a new life. I am a wife, a mother, a sister, a friend, and a nurse, but above all, I am a survivor who set up her own charity to help other women. Women like you. Women like us. And from the bottom of my heart, I wish nothing but love and strength for you, wherever you are on your journey.