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

¨You are an adult, you should be over it¨ Why do people love saying that? as if the minute I turned eighteen I could magically change the consequences of their contempt. I don't think I was ever allowed to be human, I don't remember ever feeling safe either. A diagnosed prodigy since I was four. Winning prices and getting scholarships to private schools my family's income could never dream about. I was perfect, I was useful, I was therefore loved. That's what they told me, so I tried to justify my existence and my talents by being helpful, useful, in a deep need to please everyone. Even monsters. I don't remember much of the first time. I was asleep, it was dark, I woke up with my undergarments missing and a sharp pain, and blood on the mattress. But I didn't remember, I told myself that. I did what I knew best. Clean and be perfect. I was in second grade. But as much as I´d suppress all the nights that went about the same route, the symptoms became heavy to hide. The promise of the school is suddenly a bullied shy girl, terrified of speaking with boys and being alone, terrified of normal forms of physical affection, Insomnia, fear, nightmares, bed wetting, self harm, desperate stunts to get attention or help or anything, flashbacks, dissociation. Sometimes I thought other people could feel what had happened. Constantly making me feel they could take away my ownership over my body, only when I danced I felt free but looking back at the pictures and videos, I was too small to be portrayed like that. As a prodigy you get worshipped like a deity and also envied and despised. You never get to be human. I remember in the playground I was not allowed to play cause I´d win. You wanna know what they made me? A prize. Whoever wins the game gets to sit with me in class and I´d help with their homework. Did I want to play? Of course! but was I in full understanding that In my status I couldn´t? yes. I was twelve the first time I was called a doll. A bunch of classmates had a crush on me, I remember hands underneath the desk. I remember hiding the recess in the restrooms so I did not have to dodge kisses or tug on grips just to free my limbs. And I remember the rumours. Being called a sex worker because boys do not know how to respect your space? that changes your brain. So I kept winning, cause what else could I do except try to escape into better schools, try to win enough so I´ll be strong enough to help others with my passion. But monsters lurk everywhere. The robotics classroom was isolated and consisted of boys older than me, no cameras, no teachers. I begged not to go, but I was a prodigy. I had too make everyone proud. So I did. I didn't complain, not even when it was reported the search history had found pornography. I didn't speak about what happened in those four walls. So school had monsters, then I could look forward to going home, tending the house, cooking, taking care of others, homework, study and when darkness came. I could look forward to a drunken, violent showcase. In my house with no doors. There was never any safety. So I dedicated myself to dreaming of a knight in shining armour to save me. I searched for this magical being in older men that bought me stuff when I acted in just the perfect way. I am so lucky I was able to snap out of it enough to understand even if it felt like coping, it was not what I wanted in my future. That is when I met my partner, a guy from highschool that never rushed to touch me. That helped through meltdowns and panic attacks, he stayed with me on call when I was scared of sleeping or when the drunk monster wreaked havoc. I never told him my story. I only ever started writing about this a few months ago. I got the scholarship to move states and we moved in together. I feel like I am healing, slowly, no one yells at me here, I speak to men again as fellow humans. I feel more human too, I don't have to pretend for him, for anyone. I finally feel real as a person. Nightmares haven´t stopped, the vivid flashbacks when someone calls me doll or when someone smiles a certain way or looks too much like them haven't stopped but I think that is okay, I am human and part of that is finally allowing myself to feel bad. Maybe one day I´ll tell my story, maybe its not necessary. It is not all of my story, just a part, one I am slowly becoming able to see without flinching. I hope whoever reads this has a good day and hope in themselves. I have hope in you.

Why play with me just to leave me? I am not a toy, not a doll. I am not a showcase piece in your desk. I know I am flawed and broken but that does not make it right to play and leave. I know I refuse to leave even at the worst of it. But you are my husband, the knight in shinning armour. How can I leave? Even raped senseless my first instict is to melt in your arms. My parents bruised me too and they loved me. So how could I believe when people call our relationship something monstrous. How could I believe that when you are the most tender space I have ever met. The only place I can be my broken self and the only person that actually likes me more broken. We were sixteen when you taught me the game. Simon says. You command, I obey, or else. I was terrified. I remember it hurt so bad I screamed and yet you smiled, covered my mouth promising sweet things. Safety amongst it. At least I would not have to go back home tonight and confront my drunk dad. So I became the best player of the game... but difficulty level increased. I started messing up and paying the consequences. We moved in. I remember walking to uni with that familiar pain between my legs. I remember being kept awake on exam nights just cause you wanted your fault. I remmeber being too spent to study and see friends but still smilling whenever you craddled me in your arms, movies, games and chocolate. All for me, your time, your love. But the game changed, the cute names turned to possesive adjectives. Slut. Doll. Toy. The cuddles after were erased like they never existed. Instead I was left to tremble in the dark cold room, you had better things to do. It is sad that is what it took. Next month I´ll be alone. My brain tells me I´ll miss his behaviour, the red handprints on my skin, the lack of air, of sleep, of privacy. But that is just his whispers echoing, once the source is gone the whispers will vanish right? Maybe I´ll finally meet safety. Maybe I´ll like it better. I can hope right? I think it is true. I believe it with all my hearth.

In Mexico, it's estimated that at least two people are raped every hour. I didn't know this statistic until recently. When I was abused, I minimized what had happened to me. I thought, "There are girls who are raped and tortured, they die, or they're never found again, so why would my case matter? I'm a man, how can anyone believe that a man suffered sexual abuse?" You see, I'm 22 years old. It was just a regular day. I had recently broken up with a partner, and a "friend" from high school, who was once my ex, messaged me. She replied to one of my Instagram stories, and we started talking. It had been a long time since I'd seen her. She said, "What do you think about meeting up on Monday?" I agreed and said, "Sure, let's go for coffee." She lives alone, so the idea of going to her place and eating didn't seem bad to me, like two mature adults. She said, "Let's go to a coffee shop," and I said, "Okay." We were going to be at the coffee shop for two hours because she had to leave for an appointment afterward, and I had an errand to run. Halfway through coffee, her mother called and canceled her appointment, so she didn't have to leave. After that, we went to a nearby bar, had a couple of drinks, and played a game of pool. While we were playing, she seduced me and kissed me, which at first didn't seem unpleasant. After a while, we decided to go to her place. We arrived, and obviously, the idea was to kiss, make out, and leave. I didn't have condoms, and I didn't want to go any further because I had doubts. I still didn't know if I wanted to get back with my ex, so I was holding back or if I wanted to go further. We got to her room and started kissing, rubbing, and a little touching. We started to We started undressing, and I decided not to take my pants off. She insisted, and I awkwardly said, "Fine." I stayed in my underwear, and we continued kissing. After that, she climbed on top of me. This girl wasn't heavier than me, but she was still heavy. When she got on top, I felt something strange: she wasn't on my pelvis but on my stomach. She kept kissing me, and at some point, I ran out of breath. I could still breathe, but I felt too weak to move her. She said, "I want you to put it in," to which I replied, "No, I don't have any condoms, and honestly, I'd rather not do it that way." She told me she had the implant for health reasons, to prevent pregnancy. I immediately said, "It doesn't matter. Pregnancy isn't the only thing I'm worried about. I don't have any condoms, maybe another day." She didn't say anything and kept kissing me. After a while, she lowered her hand, pulled out my penis, and I tried to remove her hands. I said, "Stop, I don't want to." She didn't seem to hear what I said. "Wait, you're not going to like it. I recently had an infection, and it's better this way." So, she said, "Oh yeah, an infection?" I didn't know what to say at first, and she said, "That's a lie." She put it in, sat down completely, and after a few seconds, I ejaculated. Uncomfortably, I said, "Okay, I'm done, I can't do any more." Despite that, she stayed sitting on top of me, in the exact same position. I said, "Okay, we're finished, please move." She said no, that it had been too quick and that she wasn't satisfied yet. I said maybe another day. She noticed my discomfort and asked, "What's wrong?" I said, "I have a lot on my mind. Can you move?" She still ignored me and said, "I can't get pregnant, and if you're worried, it's been a year since I've been with anyone. I don't have anything." I said, "That's not it." Out of ideas, I said, "I'm running out of air." She shifted a little to the side, and when I could breathe again, I was able to move her. I started to get dressed, and she, still naked, grabbed my clothes, hugged them, and didn't want to give them to me. She started saying, "So you're going to abandon me?" You'll leave me here naked, come on, let me clean you with my mouth, wait a bit and let's continue, or sleep here. I told her it was late, that I had to go home and couldn't stay. Still holding my clothes in her arms and refusing to give them to me, I said, "Fine, I'll come back another day." She said, "Okay, but you'll stay that day." I said yes, that it was no problem. Only then did she let go of my clothes and give them to me. I got dressed and left, got in a taxi, and started texting my best friend. At that moment, I felt stupid and had never felt so vulnerable. I kept blaming myself and telling myself over and over, "If you hadn't gone, everything would be fine." I talked to my best friend and my therapist, and later to a support group, and they all said the same thing: it was rape. I stopped crying and started telling myself, "You can't be that stupid." I started minimizing it, and as I said at the beginning, I kept repeating to myself, "There are girls who don't come back, they're drugged, raped, and tortured. They're never..." We met, you went to her house, you drank with her, you agreed to make out, how can you call that abuse? Yet I still feel guilty, I feel empty, alone, and very scared—scared of an STD, scared to tell anyone, and even scared to admit it. I can't help but think that maybe I was the one to blame, that I shouldn't be complaining, and that if I tell anyone, they'll just say, "Why are you complaining about it?"

I never thought I'd have to write this, but I need to get the truth out. I was 14 years old when I went to a party with my mom. She'd been drinking all night. Later, I went into the pool, and a few minutes later, she got in the water with me. At first, we were just swimming. Then, she came closer and hugged me; I hugged her back because she was my mother, and I wasn't expecting anything bad. However, the situation quickly changed. She started whispering sexual things in my ear, explaining "what women like," how to kiss them, and how to touch them. She told me they liked having their necks kissed and started doing it to me while continuing to whisper those instructions. Then, she mentioned that they also liked being touched during those moments and started caressing my shoulders and chest. I felt a knot in my stomach. When she tried to move her hands down to my private parts, I froze with nervousness and fear. I didn't know what to do in that moment; I felt like the world stopped. Thankfully, I managed to react, I pulled away from her, and I got out of that situation. That night I understood that the safest place should have been with my family, but it wasn't. Alcohol was her excuse, but the action was hers. Since then, I've carried a lot of guilt and confusion, wondering why my own body reacted that way or why I didn't stop her sooner. But now I know it wasn't my fault. I was a child, and she was the responsible adult. I'm sharing this on Our Wave to break the silence about maternal incestuous abuse, a topic that almost no one talks about. If you're reading this and something similar has happened to you with a family member, I want you to know that you're not crazy and you're not a "mistake." Your body reacted as best it could to survive. You deserve to heal, and you deserve to be believed.

I don't know if this was classified as something, but when I was about 10 years old, my sister asked me, begged me to please have sex with her. I wasn't sure, but in the end I did it. Does this count as something?

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

I'm having trouble categorizing traumatic experiences I've suffered with my younger brother. When I got my first phone, it was a common occurrence that he'd steal it to take pictures of his private areas and leave me to discover the photographs in my gallery. During this time, it was also common for him to peek into the bathroom while I was in there, which is why I'm so zealous over locking doors and turning mirrors away from me nowadays. At one point, he touched me inappropriately. I brought it up to my parents, but they either didn't believe me or simply didn't do anything about it. This behavior has ceased since then, but would these experiences be catalogued as COCSA given how he's younger than me? I want to understand this so I can learn to heal from it.

“We were in a relationship so it couldn’t have been rape…right?” Wrong. Unfortunately, when the event of rape involves your partner it is often invalidated. It is a trauma that tends to get looked over because it doesn’t seem as serious. It doesn’t seem as brutal as those scenarios that make mainstream media. So I am speaking up to say that, it is very much real and it very much leaves the victim at a sense of loss and guilt. Questioning what possibly happened. Because he loves you and you love him. But this was not love. I know the feeling all too well. And I am sorry for those who understand. My story puts me at the age of 23, John and I had been in a relationship for two years and living together for about a year now. We were happy. We had a wonderful life together. Earlier that year, I had a major surgery requiring a year’s time for full recovery. In those first three months, I was not able to drive, to lift more than five pounds at a time. I was not able to shower myself, my body overwhelmed with the significant post-surgical pain. Somewhere along the way, I started to feel like I was on house arrest. I missed the normalcy of life. One night, John and some friends went out for drinks after work. When he finally arrived home, I felt his intoxicated body crawl into bed and begin kissing my neck. It had been so long and I craved the idea of feeling sexual again. I gave him one condition, “We have to stop if I start hurting. Please.” It was wonderful. At first. My boyfriend was so gentle, so considerate. Until something changed. I began to feel the weight of this man, twice my size, bearing down on my broken ribs. Pain started flowing through my body so I called it, I said it was time to stop. Then I tried to push him off as I cried, “Please, please stop!”. I will never forget his response, “I’m not done”. Within seconds, he had pinned my hands to the bed and I could not move. I could not push him away. I felt crushed under his weight as he picked up in speed and became more aggressive. I bit my lip to keep from yelling in agony, to keep from waking up our roommates, but could not stop the tears. Then finally it was over. He went into the bathroom to clean up, while I took two doses of pain medicine to try and kill the pain. For the night. Then curled into the fetal position and quietly cried myself to sleep—while the man next to me fell into a drunken slumber, unfazed. Sitting in bed the next morning, I tried to slow the residual pain from the night. The after-math radiating through my body with every breath I took, I tried to confront John. He claimed there was no memory of the previous night and took offense that the story could in-fact be reality. I retracted my words, simplifying my pain to the conclusion, “No, it’s fine. We just need to be more careful next time”. But I saw it on his face. As he walked away guilt-free, I was consumed with all of the guilt of letting that happen. That night, this morning. It was my fault obviously, I should have known better. He was drunk and he didn’t remember. He loves me… it couldn’t have been rape. I was clearly making a big deal out of nothing. I will just be more cautious next time, next time he’s home. Excuse after excuse circled in my head—for days, weeks, months, years. I came up with anything to try and make it right in my mind. To pretend I was not held down, to pretend I hadn’t cried out for him to stop. Nothing ever settled the unease of it. It just became something to live with. A part of life. John and I went on to date for three more rocky years, filled with plenty of good times and tainted with moments of emotional abuse. I never seemed to be good enough, to do the right things, to be complete. I was always at fault. At the end of the relationship, I was left with a guilt-ridden conscious and minimal self-esteem. Despite the complexity of what is a relationship, I know the downfall circles back to the night he raped me. The night he raped me was the night I lost my voice and I had lost the ability to stand up for myself. The night I couldn’t admit what was happening, what happened, what I deserved. Years after the break up, I told my best friend about that night. I told her it was one night, that it was okay. Her response was simple but gave me the validation I did not know I was searching for. A sense of relief. “That is not okay. That is rape. Are you okay?” In that moment, I was not crazy for the months of confusion, for feeling violated, for feeling broken. Finally, I was not alone. With the truth in front of me, I could face my reality head-on, knowing I would have a shoulder to support me along the way. Finally, that night was real. It happened. It was rape. So slowly but surely, I am now taking the steps towards healing. Slowly but surely, I am finding my voice. Slowly but surely, I am becoming me again. Your turn.

I grew up homeless and in foster care in two separate states and was trafficked for many years: I want to impress upon people that true equity begins with giving people the resources and space to share their lived experience. Redistributing power to the Survivors allows them to influence better evidence based practice forward, lets them know they are not alone, gives them places to heal, and the opportunity to take something negative and oftentimes, horrific: and shine a light on a new path for children who are currently struggling with their own victimization. Survivors have the expertise to provide solutions that work in real time to protect children.

When I was in my early to mid 20s, I experienced my first serious relationship. It took me more than 2 years to notice I was being manipulated, gaslighted, and psychologically abused. I lost myself in that relationship, I felt like a different person, constantly depressed, and lacking self love. My firsts attempts in getting out of that relationship were useless, he manipulated me into believing I was the problem and that I was the one who needed to change. I was cheated on multiple times, he didn’t want to say end time sith me or my family. I always founf myself making up excuses for him. He made me think that everything was my fault and that I was asking for too much of him. When I decided to leave him, he made me feel like I was the problem and like I was a burden to him. It’s hard to identify when the abuse is psychological, you’re not crazy, you’re not wrong for asking for attention, for dates, for quality time, which I never had with him. Don’t let anyone, humiliate, control, gaslight, or diminish you! You deserve love, support, peace, attention, RESPECT! Try to identify the red flags on that questionable relationship, it’ll get better and it’s never too late.

it happened in the fall. it was cold outside (so was he), i remember worrying about not looking pretty enough for him. i invited him in and we started talking we instantly clicked, he was funny, charismatic, good looking, everything i wanted in a man and as the night progressed he offered me edibles and i took it (not ever having taken them before) and i feel that's where i went wrong, i accepted something that was going to leave me feeling like i was in a nightmare for months. i don't necessarily remember every detail, at times i even wonder what was real and what wasn't but i know my body tells me what is real. i blacked out through most of it and the parts i do recall have begun to fade but my body hasn't forgotten. part of me blames me for letting him in, for allowing myself to be put in that situation, aftercall he was a tinder hookup. when i wanted to take legal action it already was too late and i didn't want to have to face him again. he scares me now, i often find myself looking at his pictures thinking how can someone so normal looking live such a normal life after what they did? how can monsters walk upon us and no one notice, it often reminds me of when no one noticed the day after it happened. i remember feeling so dirty and different, i felt like an alien that everyone would look at but no one would say anything. i never said anything because one of the first people i told didn't believe me at first, it was only after they saw how damaged i was that they realized they should have helped me instead of telling me i was a "liar". it just baffles me how he was able to move on and i have to live with this for the rest of my life. i often find myself wondering if he even is sorry or if he realized what he did wrong not only once but twice. i have tried convincing myself it is my mind trying to protect me from it but then there's days where all i see is him, all i feel is him, and then it hits me. i was raped.

This story contains descriptions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts. Please be aware of this. I am a single, HSP-afflicted freelancer. I am currently 38 years old. Like many people my age, my mother was violent when angry. She also broke things, accusing me of misbehaving, such as tearing down all the posters of my favorite idols that were hanging in my room. When she wasn't angry with me or my sister, she would repeatedly smash the frying pan she was using to cook food into the sink if the food burned or if she accidentally dropped a glass, or she would smash even chipped cups and plates. She would then run out of the house, often not knowing when she would return. I remember feeling lonely even as a child. When I was 13, after my mother broke a plate and ran out as usual, I couldn't bear it any longer and used the broken pieces to self-harm. I cut myself deeply on my arm. I think I told my mother I'd fallen, but the scars I still see today clearly couldn't have been caused by that. It wasn't until I turned 36 that I realized the abnormal relationship between my mother and me. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, we've had a series of unfortunate events in the family. My mother, who should be over 60, has a terrible ability to control her emotions and has no boundaries with me, her daughter. Gradually, I realized that my childhood environment was strange, and that the physical and emotional scars were deeper than I'd realized. It may sound unbelievable, but until recently, I didn't think my self-harm was a big deal. I'd barely thought about these scars in my life. I didn't hide them, but I'd spent decades without telling anyone. My mother and I were close, and we'd talk about anything, so now I'm really suffering. I've always been told by family and friends that I was quick to anger and had a tendency to get angry, which really bothered me, and I've struggled with my relationships. I've tried to understand why I was the way I was, reading various books, researching online, and trying to change my personality. So I really can't forgive my mother for taking out her anger on her children despite being a grown adult, for breaking things, for running away from home on a daily basis, and for laughing at my personality for decades, calling it weird. More than anything, I feel like my life is irreparable, and I can't bear the frustration. If I had realized my mother's abnormal side sooner, I think my personality and the way I build relationships would have been different. I'm in the midst of a flood of emotions. When I have more free time from my freelance work, I often think that being a Shin would be nice. It's a bit disorganized, but I'd be happy if it could be of some use to someone.

When I was 12/13 and my brother was 9ish, he started to grope me. At first it was just quick grabs of my breasts or ass. But he started to get more confident and began groping and squeezing for longer and longer periods of time and doing it more frequently. Eventually he started grabbing/cupping my vulva through my clothes. I was a bit bigger than him and could successfully fight him off, but I was not allowed to. My parents knew what was happening and he often did stuff like this in front of them. They ignored it and acted like it wasn't happening. He never got in trouble for it. They would only tell him to stop in the moment if there was a guest over or I was begging them to momentarily intervene. But if I pushed him, hit him, or even just yelled at him to stop, I got in trouble with my parents. I cried and begged my parents for months to talk to him and make him stop, but they never did. I was constantly choosing between letting my own brother touch me and getting punished by my parents for self-defense. It was agony. This probably went on for 9 months. I don't know if I'm really a victim of abuse or anything. My brother was younger than me and smaller than me. In COCSA cases, it's almost always an older abuser and a younger victim. That's not my situation. He knew touching me was wrong, but he didn't have a complete understanding of consent and sex. But, he was old enough to understand "no" and me crying. As his older sister, I feel like I also have a responsibility towards him and that I should have done more in that situation. But how could I? My parents didn't help me and I was punished for protecting myself.

This is another incident from my survivor story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER. I am working up to the police incident. Please read my story for context. This one brought back pain in writing it. Sophomore year of my philosophy major in college. I had recently gone on a trip to Portugal with nice older man who basically invited me to Portugal with the understanding that I would be his lover for a free trip. He had been one of my customers at the restaurant and I took him up on his proposition for the fun of it and had a great time. That was my spring break. This was a few year period when I was very promiscuous after being abused by my brother for years at home and repressed in a Catholic high school as parental punishment for starting a sexual relationship with a boy my age. When a girl in my logic course who was pre-law invited me to a fraternity party I thought it would be nice to hang with people my own age. Fraternities and sororities were not my cup of tea and still are not. After doing a keg stand to impress strangers I was looking for the upstairs bathroom because the line for the downstairs one was long. That one had a few girls waiting and a guy who had held one of my legs for the keg stand started flirting with me and offered to take me to a secret bathroom. The bathroom was legit but then he beckoned me into a bedroom across from it where two other frat brothers were. I was apprehensive but with the other guys there I was a little more at ease that he wasn’t just trying to take me to bed. I was open to finding a hot guy, to be honest, but he was NOT it. Neither were the other two. I sat chatting with them and drinking tiny shots of cinnamon whiskey and getting more nervous when somebody tried to get in the door to the room but it was locked. My guy yelled at them to go away. Then I tried to get up and leave but was pulled back to my seat the bed. I am small so I am easily overpowered. “You can’t leave yet. We’re just getting to know you.” One rapist said. “No teases allowed here.” “What do I have to do to get back out to my friend?” I asked something like that but used her name. They looked at each other with nasty smirks and I regretted the question. What one of them came up was a blowjob contest in which I have twenty seconds to make each of them cum but I had to go in circle until one did and then he was eliminated and I had to do all three. So they stood on three sides of the bed with me in the middle and took out their penises. One had a stop watch and without hesitation I started sucking the one nearest me. I wanted to get out of there and was physically afraid of them. This was away to avoid any violence and not even give them the satisfaction of thinking they forced me to do anything. So I went round and round getting very tired. 20 seconds was too short and they had pulled off all my clothes. I stopped and asked the one who made up the game for 60 seconds. Suddenly I was pulled violently back by my legs from the one behind me he held my legs apart as he quickly started banging me. I did not even see his face until later. The one who I had been talking to got up on the bed and started doing it to my mouth. I don’t me he put it in my mouth. He grabbed my head with both hands and forced it in and was banging my face as hard as the guy behind me was doing it. I had to stay up on my elbows arched to prevent him from ripping my hair up to keep me at his level. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. It had always been one partner at a time. They were mean and I tried so hard to keep up. After that craziness was over and both of them satisfied themselves in me, the original guy pulled me up onto the bed and said something like, “Only one hole left for me.” I was not used to anal sex then. I offered to go wash up if he would please not do anal with me. He laughed and shook his head. So, laying on my back with my legs spread, he squirted some aloe vera gel from the bedside table down there and watched me face to face as he worked his penis in one thrust at a time. He saw the pain on my face that I could not hide. I had to kiss him while her hurt me. Even when he got going fast it took him a while. One of them was watching us, smiling from the side and the other was playing with his phone and I think taking pictures. Phones did not do videos yet. The smiling one once asked, “Dude, is it really in her ass?” After he was finished with me he thanked me and left. Said he had responsibilities. The one with the phone left too. I tried to leave. “Not so fast.” The other one said pushing me back down. I told him I had done everything they wanted and more and asked to please leave. He told me I was the hottest chick he had ever F-’d and he wanted round 2. I just wanted to get out of there. One more obstacle. I worked my mouth on him for a while to get him even half rubbery again and worked it inside. That failed and I had to do it again. Finally I used every trick I could including faking orgasms, having a real orgasm, and talking dirty to him to get him to release inside me. I was so shaky and exhausted after being their whore for so long it was hard to get my clothes on. I was in fear he would stop me, and he did. I told him I just wanted to got pee and clean up and asked him if I could sleep in his bed with him—just a trick. I worked. I thanked him, nonchalantly closed the door behind me and hurried down the stairs without drawing too much attention. I kept a smile on my face as I made it out the front door and off the porch. I kept of the act for a block before I just started running as far away as I could. I was actually terrified someone might be after me until I was out of the neighborhood far from campus and to a gas station. I called a taxi and went home. My roomate was sleeping in her room and I just sat in the shower. In my story I used this as an example of how I avoided being raped by just going with it when I was in a rape situation. But this felt like rape. I went back to partying and using alcohol and marijuana to dampen the impact and feel artificially warm and fuzzy. And casual sex with hot men. But this was rape. I was gang raped. Maybe better for me than if I had tried to fight them and lost but it still sucks and leaves me with hurt and guilt and fear.

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

My highschool boyfriend. When I walk by the parking spot I still see it, I feel his hands and it makes me want to rip off my own skin. I remember crying and him not caring, I remember how forceful and adamant he was when he took my head and forced it on his lap. I remember him undoing his belt and taking off his jeans in the front seat of his car and telling me that I “owed” him. I remember crying. I remember gagging, sobbing, and just wanting to leave. He looked me in the eye, called me a bitch and kicked me out of his car. I didn’t tell anyone because he loved me and that’s what our love was like. He told me I didn’t know what love was because it was my first time being in love. He told me it was normal and that he was older and more experienced so he knew best, he was doing me favours. I remember realizing that real love isn’t being screamed at in the front seat of a car after having your head pushed down into someone’s genitals. Of course I wasn't done. I allowed this cycle to control me. I was too afraid to leave because I thought that nobody would ever want me if they knew what I did. In retrospect, it is what I had gone through. It is what I have survived. I still walk by that parking spot.

Sharing my story in writing for the first time in my life- I am 61 years old now. I got pregnant when I was 21 years old. At the time I was in City - College- My boyfriend at the time and me decided to have an abortion. Abortion in City is illegal. But we found a " clinic" that said that they will be able to help me with the abortion. I remember that morning scare and so innocent. I meet the " doctor: who supposed to conduct the abortion. What this " doctor" ending doing was raping me while I was semi unconscious. I remember very clear all the things he did to me. I couldn't move. I remember waking up and telling my boyfriend, my sister but no one believe me and said that no way I could remember because I was under the anesthesia. I couldn't go to the authorities because what I have done was illegal and I thought that no one will be able to help. My sister stated that she believed me and went and tried to talk to the doctor (I do not remember that, but I do believe her). Honestly, this is the first time I am typing my story and no to many people knows about it. I am working now with survivor with DV and SA no because of what happened to me rather because I think is so important the support can provide to someone who has experiencing this horrific act of violence. Thank you for reading my story,

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..

Women CANNOT physically harm men to anywhere NEAR the same severity tht men can women. Full stop. Before I experienced abuse, I nvr used to be afraid of men. I used to think I could reasonably defend myself against all but the biggest, most muscular guys, tht I'd be able to put up a good fight if ever necessary. Turns out, I had no fucking idea what I was talking about. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW EASILY HE CAN KILL YOU, SIS. Or cause a traumatic brain injury or rupture ur spleen or break out ur teeth or... You cannot imagine how quickly & effortlessly he can permanently. change. your. life. Do NOT fuck around, sis. RUN. Get. Out. NOW. .... countless women before you miscalculated their risk & many paid with their lives. Please PLEASE act with the urgency tht your LIFE deserves. I love you.