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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?

¨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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

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 used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

I never associated my assaults as sexual assaults. I always just saw it as a thing that happened me that was upsetting until recently. I was groped, forced into having sex and preforming oral sex on him. I remember one time he offered to drive me home. I lived over 40 mins from town so I thought i could save myself €60 in a taxi. Until I realised we were going in the opposite direction to my house. He drove me to secluded area. I knew it wasn't right I said no said I was due my period I tried everything I could to deter him. It didn't work. I can't drive that road without a feeling of dread. I do feel part to blame and I know that's wrong. I hate how it makes me feel. When I hear stories in the news I can't help but think my story isn't as bad as theirs or that maybe mine wasn't rape or a sexual assault. I hate myself for thinking it.

I was only 7. So was he. He watched porn that his dad had his before his mom left him for my dad. He had a younger sister. One day he and I were outside and he asks me something, something my brain refuses to remember. I was so unsure, so confused on why he was suggesting us young kids to do adult activities. I visited my dad’s every other weekend, my mom was a terrible parent. I remember he suggested we started small since I was uncomfortable, I thought he was being sweet, but I was always uncomfortable. We started out just poking each other, then he fully went for it. I didn’t want it. I really didn’t. He was supposed to be like a brother to me. After he started to progress, he would do it any chance he got, any time we were alone. Years later, his mom and my dad broke up, our house caught fire so I had to live over there for a bit. He didn’t touch me. Not anymore, he wouldn’t look at me. But his sister began to touch me, I had to teach her that what her brother had done to me was not okay. I had to explain to a child that she was violating me. Now I’ve had many more troubling sexual encounters, I’m an adult and go to therapy, I still don’t like my body.

He was my boyfriend. We had just had sex and he wanted to go again. I said “no”, he said “but I want to”, and he did. Those words ring in my mind so clearly. It wasn’t violent or aggressive, but it felt like something broke in me then. I carried that with me for a long time, and still do. Part of my shame was that I didn’t leave. Months later, I confronted him about it and he was so angry and not open to hearing me. That is not how someone who loves you, cares for you, or respects you acts. That is not how someone who respects women acts. It took me a long time to see that. Years later, I am seeing someone who is kind and safe. He doesn’t know this story but he cares for me and wants me to feel safe regardless. He has never been angry or upset when I didn’t want to have sex, if I wanted to stop or pause or talk about it or if there was something I didn’t like or wasn’t comfortable with. He listens when I explain a boundary and is always open to changing his behaviour to make me feel as comfortable and safe as possible. That is someone who cares, who inherently respects other people and wants to be a safe space. That is normal and the bare minimum. Abusers, perpetrators, and predators can warp your sense of reality but I promise you, people who are kind and good exist and there are so many more than you would think. You deserve to be treated with respect, kindness, and gentleness. That is never too much to ask for, that is the bare minimum.

The mind is an interesting, beautiful and dangerous thing. I find my mind to be especially so. I have always been an overthinker, and my thoughts have led me into dark places in my life. At the time of writing this, I am studying psychology and trying to work on a better understanding and diagnosis of my own condition through therapy and my studies. My story, this story, begins in 2022, the year I graduated high school. For context though, we must go back much further. Was I always depressed? Was I always insecure? Shy? Did I always hide in the corner? No! As a child, I was quite outgoing. I may have always been somewhat of a shy introvert, but I managed to make friends everywhere I went, eager to get to know others and play with them. I have always been extremely trusting, to the extent of naivety and gullibility. All the way through elementary school, I always had a large friend group and following. I physically grew faster than most kids, I learned faster than most and began tutoring my peers in fifth grade. My friends and I ran the playground. I was a leader, one of the cool kids. It brought me a sense of power, but it also led to me being obsessive, a control freak at times. The transition to middle school was different. Though I was still athletic and wasn't obese, I had gained a bit of weight that I could stand to lose. When swimming one time, someone whose opinion I greatly valued, pointed out my body. "You have rolls," they said. From that moment, I never saw myself the same. At that moment, insecurity truly crept into my life for the first time. From then on, I never took my shirt off around other people, even my closest friends and family. I wore a shirt whenever I swam, and when we were given middle school locker rooms for athletics, I changed in the bathroom stall instead. The friend group I once ruled the playground with, started to break apart, even if I didn't realize it. Part of it was because I stopped being one of the "cool kids," but looking back now, I realize that with my control, I was also not a very good friend at times. At the end of middle school, I learned that I would be moving to a different town and school. Though it was only a 30 minute drive away, for a kid with no transportation, it was a world away. This gave my friends the out they needed. I stopped hearing back from them until they eventually cut me out completely. A small few stuck around, but out of them, only one has stayed by my side to this day as an adult. The summer before high school was a hard one. My grandpa and his brother died within weeks of each other. With hardly any friends, my second oldest sister became my best friend for the summer. However, with her being four years older than me, as I was starting high school, she was off to college, and I was alone. As the youngest, I was an only child for the first time in my life, and my relationship with my parents at the time was almost nonexistent. When I started high school in a new and unfamiliar place, I was scared to death. I sat alone at lunch and in the corner of every classroom. My stress manifested itself as a painful black hole in the center of my torso. I couldn't bring myself to eat. In the first week of school alone, I lost about 15 pounds! To speed up my story a bit, I grew into myself a bit more, thinned out, worked out, and gained a bit of muscle. After the end of my freshman year, some girls actually started to find me attractive. I had a couple dates with a girl or two, and by the second half of my sophomore year, I had my first real girlfriend. Looking back at that relationship, I still thank God for bringing her into my life. As soon as she asked to sit next to me on the band bus, I knew she liked me, even though at the time, I wanted nothing to do with her for some reason. That single bus ride changed everything though. With main topics of conversation being random things like sandwiches and Veggie Tales, by the end, I had a new best friend. After a couple months of getting to know each other, we confessed our feelings and she soon became my girlfriend. We had a lot in common, including hobbies as we were both in band and theater. It was because of her that Covid wasn't such a bad time for me, as it was for most others. Though we were both very close, we were also both very awkward, and never intimate. We never had any talks about physical intimacy, so for the most part, we never had physical intimacy. The most "cuddling" we ever did was my arm around her shoulder, or her head on my shoulder. When we finally had our first kiss, it was 10 days before our 2 year anniversary. It was also just a quick peck, we never made out or anything like that. Through the remainder of high school, I was constantly worried about what I looked like and my image, trying to work out more and get stronger. I joined a fire academy to train to be a firefighter during my last two years of high school. Eventually, our lives started to go in different directions, and after about 2 1/2 years, we broke up 4 days before our high school graduation. As you can imagine, that was a pretty rough first breakup for me. With the way my brain works, after something like this happens, it becomes all I can think about, constantly. I overthink and over analyze every thought, every memory. I put myself through the different possible scenarios and outcomes, sometimes to the point where I start to lose my grip on reality, and what the true memories are. The black hole of stress returned to my chest. At first, I was convinced that she was still "the one" and that I would get her back after a couple years. Then, as my thought process continued to shift and spiral, I began to think that because the relationship ended, that must mean that it was a bad thing to begin with, meaning that I needed to find the opposite of what we had. Unfortunately, I got what I asked for. Only about two months had passed before I met another girl at a church retreat that I was volunteering at. This girl was someone that I had always seen growing up, but never interacted with. I always viewed her as being extremely attractive, and I lusted after her more than any other girl. She was one of the popular kids, the head cheerleader at high school. We started talking and she took an interest in me. She knew that I had just gone through a breakup because of a testimony I gave during the retreat. The more we talked, the more I realized that she was different than I thought. The red flags showed up early on. At this point, she was 17 as I was 18. At 17 years old, she had a list of the 23 guys she had kissed, and the 5 guys that she had sex with, versus the one girl I had kissed. I was originally convinced that she was a virgin like me, but that quickly flew out the window. She assured me over and over that she had only gone through a "hoe phase" and that she was different now (I came to find out later that this "hoe phase" happened only a month or two before we got together. We got together in August, and she had sex with at least 3 guys over the summer). Part of me didn't want to judge her based on her past. Part of me wanted the affirmation of someone as attractive as her being interested in me. Part of me adopted an "I can fix her" mentality. All in all, a recipe for disaster. After talking for a while, I eventually, nervously confessed feelings for her via word vomit after walking her to her car one night. To my surprise, she reciprocated those feelings. She then hugged me. This was no normal hug, as it was different from any other hug I had ever experienced. There was full body contact as she pressed against me. Part of me instinctively retreated backward, but she continued forward so that I was then pinned between her and her car. There was more physical intimacy in that hug alone than anything I had ever experienced before. This feeling was new and admittedly exciting. In my vulnerable and desperate state, I thought, "this must be love." On our first date, after going to Starbucks, we went back to my place to watch a movie. She asked if I wanted to cuddle, and I told her that I honestly didn't really know how. She showed me a few different ways/positions for cuddling, and we ended up spooning for the majority of the movie. I could tell that she wanted to kiss, but I was awkward and uncomfortable, so I just didn't say anything. We did decide to become official boyfriend and girlfriend though, which was a big, fast step. Of course, that was only the beginning. On our second date, we did end up kissing, which led to making out for about an hour. Another new experience for me. By the end of that date, we were already saying "I love you" to each other. With my previous girlfriend, I told her I loved her at a couple different milestones within the relationship, but she never felt comfortable saying it back, so this was my first time hearing words of affirmation like that. Two weeks in, she started ramping things up. She started talking to me about her favorite sex positions and demonstrating them (with clothes on). She told me about all her kinks and the things she liked. She told me that she didn't have a gag reflex and then proceeded to take my hand and suck on one of my fingers while making strong eye contact with me. Looking back on it, I realize that I was never asked, nor did I tell about what I might be comfortable with. I was of the mindset that I never wanted to have sex or even see my significant other naked before marriage, but I don't think I ever conveyed that. Later on that same date, we were watching a movie and cuddling as usual. I still remember the movie being "Phantom of the Opera." At one point during the movie, she let out a loud sigh. I asked her what was wrong. "Oh nothing. I'm just having intrusive thoughts." I asked what she meant. "It's nothing. You probably wouldn't want to anyway." I told her she could tell me whatever it was. "Oh, I was just thinking about putting your hand under my shirt." I got silent. I wasn't expecting that, and I didn't know how to respond. A moment later, she continued, "Do you want to?" I replied, "I don't know." She continued, "yes or no?" My response remained the same "I don't know." We went back and forth a couple more times, her voice becoming more and more of a seductive whisper each time. My mind was racing with thoughts of "Should I do this? I don't know, it feels wrong. What happens if I say no? Will she leave me? I can't lose her. I can't be alone!" To this day, I can't clearly remember if I actually said yes or not, but regardless, I didn’t say no, and I did what she wanted. I know now that it was all part of her tests to see how far she could push me little by little. Soon after that came grinding, and then sexual touching (all with clothes on). Over time, these memories have become a bit unclear as to exactly what happened and when. She started asking me to take my shirt off to cuddle. I thought that was a really weird request, especially still being very self-conscious about my body image, when shirtless most of all. I asked her why, to which she responded, "I like skin to skin contact." Though it made me feel uncomfortable and a bit ashamed, I complied and took my shirt off. She would affirm me and say how attractive I was to her. She would then become more passionate and eager to cuddle and make out. With the sexual touches, there became less and less clothes, down to underwear. She always gave me high praise and told me how good I made her feel, how happy I made her, and how much she loved me. I wanted to do anything I could to make her happy so that she wouldn't leave me. After dating for about a month and a half, we had moved up to oral sex. At this point, I was still so naive and uneducated that I thought I had lost my virginity. In my mind, this meant that we were eventually going to get married for sure. It only kept ramping up. If she wasn't on her period, we were engaging in oral sex every day, sometimes multiple times. We were always together every day. The longest we were ever apart from each other was about a week. By some miracle, we never went all the way, even though she constantly wanted to, and I still have my virginity to this day. However, with her kinks, she wanted me to be rough with her: to choke her, spank her, pull her hair, talk dirty, etc. These were all things that I was greatly uncomfortable with. At my core, I've always been a very gentle person, a hopeless romantic who wants to always respect women and keep them from harm. The thought of doing these things was horrendous to me, but it was what she wanted. I originally thought that I was the one fixing her, but I realize that she was the one breaking me instead. Or rather, I was broken from my first breakup, and she rebuilt me in her image. I became what she wanted me to be, putty in her hands. After being together for about 10 months, she suddenly broke up with me over text. The best reason I can come up with is that she finally got tired of my refusal to go all the way, the one boundary that I kept in place. I heard later that she had already been cheating on me anyway. Soon after we broke up, immediately in fact, she started spreading rumors. The day after she broke up with me, she blocked me on social media and posted about our breakup (one of my friends showed me the post). From there, it was one rumor after another. She even went as far as to tell some people that I raped her. Thankfully, anyone that knew me, knew that something like that could never be true, so that rumor never got anywhere. Still, I became extremely paranoid from that moment, always looking over my shoulder, wondering what people thought of me or what they've heard. To this day, I still have a lot of trouble trusting people, and I often get paranoid that everyone is talking behind my back, conspiring against me, planning to leave me. The breakup broke me in a different way than any other. I had been going to church for my whole life, but it wasn't until after the breakup that my eyes were opened and I felt the weight of sin crushing down on me. I tried to turn myself around on my own, but I got nowhere. It took me reaching the point of almost taking my own life that I finally realized that I needed help and couldn't do it alone. I talked to my mom about almost everything I was going through. Though I was never close to my parents, and I was always afraid of them when I was growing up, they were very supportive of me, and helped me to find therapy and get the help I needed. Today, I have a much better relationship with them. After letting myself be rebuilt in her image, God allowed me to break again, so that I might finally be rebuilt in His. It wasn't until reading the book "unwanted" by Jay Stringer, and going through "safe environment" classes at my church that I started to realize that I was groomed, manipulated, and abused. To be honest, I still struggle with this concept to some extent to this day. I don't tell many people because of fear that I wouldn't be believed. Who would believe that a younger girl groomed an older guy? It certainly isn't a very common occurrence. Part of me still blames myself at times. I feel like I should've known better. Part of me wonders if it was what I wanted all along. Part of me wonders how consenting I was. Part of me hates myself for not being able to just say no. Regardless of if these are truths or lies, I know I can't let them control me. I have to leave the past where it belongs and continue to live. Healing is possible, though it may not be easy. I've started sharing my story more, and while I'm unsure of its effect on other people, I know that it at least helps me in some way. I wish to share my story. To educate others. I may feel like what I went through was part of God's plan, necessary for making me the man I am today, but I still want to try my best to protect others from the same fate. Though I tend to grow the most after each time I'm broken, this is not the way it needs to be. There is a better way! Let this be a message to everyone that you are never truly alone! There is no need to fear people leaving you. Some people may leave, others may not. It should never change who you are.

The body remembers trauma. I didn’t know this until I experienced it myself. After a fun and rambunctious night with my husband (now ex) I woke up the next morning feeling particularly sore. As I sat on the toilet I realized that this soreness was something I had felt before. I then had a flashback from my sophomore year in college. When I woke up groggy after a night of partying with my soccer teammates. I headed to the bathroom. As I peed I felt that sore and ache-y feeling. I didn’t know what it was and wrote it off as cramps and hangover. I remember looking in the mirror and seeing that I wasn’t wearing my pajamas. Just a random top and shorts. When I got back to my dorm room my then boyfriend was just waking up. And that was the end of my flashback. I then realized my sexual history was a lie. I thought I had lost my virginity to my husband and he was my first and only partner. But this changed everything. I lost my virginity to my boyfriend who raped me and I had no idea. My sexual narrative and my identity changed in my late 30's because of this revelation. Who am I? What does this mean? Bits and pieces from the night returned. I know we drank a lot. I know he walked me home. Thats all I can remember because I blacked out. Is it better that I blacked out? That I cant remember the horrible thing done to me? I don't know. I just feel a bit lost and scared for the 19 year old me who was young and naive. She didn't know what to do. Now in my early 40's divorced and a single parent I'm healing the wounds that were invisible and hiding for so long. Im listening to my body now. And I'm going to nourish it.

My story .... What haven't I been through. Is the question? I'm in the bathroom . Trying to figure out how the hell did I get so fucked up . Literally. I don't know whether to blame myself . Ballz up . Or to hit up my vice . Or live in the real world . Or hit autopilot again and again and again? Life is too much to bare . Recently I'm so severe into my DOC . That Iam numb all the time .. because even with that numbing agent it's still too hard to face life . I'm I a coward?? For saying this . 6 days ago my baby daddy of my daughter died of a OD. And before that almost 1 year ago was my adopted father. Then 1 1/2 years ago was my best friend closer then what me and my dad were . And before that 2 1/2 years ago was my biological mother . So death has a funny way of saying hello . And I fight everyday all day a toxic vice of a best friend . I had a baby almost 2 years ago . Child welfare took him from birth . The pain is no where near done . The clip of the momma elephant and baby elephant in disney dumbo . Baby of mine . Is the way to describe it . I also deal with a nightmare cycle of perfect love life at home . Sometimes loves amazing other time love hurts and I mean really hurts . My 1 st black eye ever from a man I idolized and had loved from 17 years old . I'm now turning 37. I can't stand him but I love him Soo much if that makes sense . Life is crazy . Almost unbearably crazy . In a sense of awww. Or more like ummmmmmm....?????

my brother SA'd me multiple times. he never raped me, though. he once forced me to kiss him on the mouth as a "game" of some sorts. he would also smack my ass, call me a slut, and shame me for everything. before he got on medication, he would beat me up. he's on medication now, but he's still terrible. he got mad at me and said he would gangrape me. he never did, but it was still scary. i hate him, and he says i'm a bad person for hating him. he also denied ever SAing me. sometimes i feel like i'm delusional or something. i don't know, i'm just tired of living with him. i can't wait for him to move out.

I'm 71 years old and allowed myself to be abuised for over 20years out of a 36 year marriage. I lost my daughters and grandchildren because of my actions. I've got no one I'm totally alone. I found out that my husband was a drug addict to prescriptions and was a thief and a liar who manipulated everyone around him he was a good guy. I was to busy working raising a family and continued to let this man use me because I loved him. I just realized love shouldn't hurt. He's left our home for years at a time, I've never gone with any one else. I've been raped strangled beaten bruised bloodied ,used money and antiques stolen etc. . I allowed myself to be used over and over why I don't know still don't I thought I loved him because we had a special bond . I was kidding myself and it hurts more than you know. I tried to end my life to get rid of the pain of abuise and failed years ago. Couldn't live with the pain of losing my family. . I'm so alone sitting in a house wasting away waiting to die someday someone will notice by my mail or my dog. What a shame I was a beautiful strong loving wife and mother grandmother to be left this way to die alone and broken because I was abuised I blame , my children for not protecting me,, the courts most of all I blame myself for loving a man and not loving myself more. I need help and I still do.

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

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.