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The first time it happened I had to have been 3 or 4 years old. The last time I was raped by my aunt I was 19. I’m now 30. For now I just want to share about the first time because it’s my most vivid memory. My mom worked and she would take me to my aunts house, it was the Lower East SideLocation in the late 90s. My cousin E comes over with a bag of coke and other aunt P and uncle G. We’re at my aunt I’s apartment. My cousin, my aunt and my uncle finally convince my aunt to do a line with them. My cousin’s daughter is 13, she also has a son who is 10, they’re in the room further most down the hallway. My aunt E is in the bathroom with her 14 year old daughter, my uncle is in the room parallel to it with his 16 year old son. My cousin and I are sitting on two wooden chairs in the middle of the living room, my 13 year old cousin tells us to sit on the chairs and close our eyes and don’t open them otherwise the demons will get us. I always followed the rules and I was afraid so I sat on the chair with one hand covering my eyes and another holding my cousin who is the same age as me’s hand. I’m 2 months older than her so it’s my job to protect her. She doesn’t close her eyes so when she hears a familiar voice calling her to the bedroom she gets up and walks over even though she’s not supposed to get off the chair. I scream and cry because the demons took my cousin and I have my eyes closed standing up and reaching out to try to find my cousin when I hear a voice calling my name from the bathroom. I go into that bathroom and that is the first time my aunt touches me. Over the course of the next 17 years I would be abused at her hands, she would pay the aunt that my mom paid to watch me to bring her over to her house so that she could have me. I thought I was my aunts girlfriend. I have so much more I want to say, I have so much more I need to tell someone but I think this first story is the most important. I never told my mom what happened to me until I was an adult. The last time I was raped I stopped leaving my house, I stopped showering, I lived in a freeze for 10 years and I’m now 30 with a bunch of horrible memories flooding back. I was so afraid of telling people what happened to me now I feel like it’s necessary in order to move on.

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

A friend and I dated within the same friend group, and I used to hang out with the guys a lot--I considered them as my brothers. One night when we were altogether, I felt too drunk to take myself home and felt safe with my friends ex to get a cab and drop me off. He came in uninvited and kissed me, then all I remember are flashes of us being naked, him being inside of me, going down on me, etc., but I felt like I couldn't move. I woke up to shower, my bed was broken, and he was gone. I called him the next day to confront him about it, and that I don't even remember what happened. He said he thought "i enjoyed it" (I was unconscious half of the time), and only stopped because the bed broke. Although he apologized he had the audacity to tell me not to share this with anyone, and to this day only very few close friends know about this incident. It truly broke my trust even with platonic guy friendships.

In my survival story, "Just Words, Dirty Words", I shared so much and I brushed over an experience with a male gynecologist. It was a much bigger deal that I let on because it had triggered my previous abuse as an adolescent on my first job. I wonted other girls and women to understand what is not okay for a gynecologist to do. It was not until after it happened that I realized the full impact. I realized I had let myself be victimized again without trying to stop it. I felt self-loathing and anxiety. I write this letter to that opportunistic predator. You broke your oath. You betrayed the trust. You are terrible! I have done research on what a breast and pelvic exam is supposed be like and understand you used the framework to sexually assault me. I was late for the appointment to get birth control at the university clinic when I had just moved for college. You let me in even though you had no nurse chaperon, it seemed that you might have sent them home after putting me in the room. You are a man and that is against policy. We shared our first eye contact and I ignored your lust and first glance flirtation. You saw I was vulnerable and needed something from you. You told me as a new patient you have to do a full first visit exam. Now I believe you may have lied. I nodded and put down my guard. When you returned I was undressed wearing a paper smock for a false sense of security. I was self conscious even though I had impeccable hygiene and grooming but worried I was not fresh enough so late in the day because you were a man and you made it sexual. You examined my breasts with no gloves. I said nothing. I knew you were massaging them for you pleasure. You went on for five minutes like that. I think five whole minutes while you kept talking. When my boss used to molest me just seconds was plenty to make me feel sick and used. He would sit on my torso, compressing my ribs to the point I could not take a deep breath and have sex with my breasts and he usually took less time than you. do remember you used the words “wonderful” and “amazing” when commenting on by breast health. We could both smell the musk from down below from stimulating me like that. I was embarrassed. You should have been the one ashamed! You mentioned the textures and gave some instructional anatomy to pretend it might be official. You asked random questions and you shared personal stories like it was a date. All the while you were groping my tits like a pervert. Both hands at the same time! I tried to cover for you by pretending like this was not insane and not a sexual assault. You were twice my age and your mustache was ridiculous. You finally moved on to the pelvic exam. You said the words, “Very nice” when you lifted up the paper drape to help my feet into the stirrups. That is not appropriate when viewing a patient’s vagina for the first time. You explained every step from “I’m going to touch your thighs now” to “take a deep breath as I insert the speculum”. That part was quick but then you explained the manual exam that you did for too long. You inserted two fingers to check for cervical motion tenderness but rubbed my clitoris with your lubricated thumb as you did so. That was wrong! You explained that you were going to move your other hand to check for tenderness of my ovaries to check for infection but kept working your other hand on my clit and inside me. You put what felt like three fingers in me! You were sexually assaulting me again. Breaching my trust. Ignoring you oath. As a last indignity you felt for masses in the space between my vagina and rectum. You left your thumb in my vagina while you put a finger in my anus and moved them both back and in and out explaining you thought you felt something for a second but it resolved on massage, meaning it was nothing to worry about. You raped me! That was rape! I looked it up and what you were doing is a real part of an exam but no gynecologist had done that before then or ever since! Instead of leaving the room while I dressed you stayed and helped by holding out my clothes! Totally inappropriate! You should not have a medical license! Sure I let you, and I cooperated, and even tried to endure it and put on a pleasant face. I was a different person then and you just continued my cycle of being abused by men. But the anus part was where I felt true terror and wanted to get out. You gave me a business card with your name on it and told me to call and ask when you were working to schedule next visit. Then you only wrote me for 1 refill on 30 day birth control! Like I would even come back to be assaulted again. You smug abuser of power and trust! I left with you thinking I enjoyed that and would see you again!!! You make me want to scream and pound on things! It was delayed, but my abuse anxiety was triggered that night, and days after. I will never see a male gynecologist again. Your lust and greed is not better than that of a rapist. You broke my trust in the medical system and I still get anxiety at any doctor visit. Just because a girl’s reaction to abuse is not instant, because of some survival mechanism, does not make it any less painful. Sometimes even more, because we feel guilty for not being strong and assertive. You were in a position of authority and abused it so badly. You should be ashamed, doctor! You should be in prison!

IF YOU DONT, THE CHILDREN WILL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN.... It was Mother's Day and that's what the father of our children said. If I didn't have sex with him, the kids would never see their Dad again. So I did. And it was the final straw. My depression really kicked in then. Looking back, I realise a few things. It's now called coercive rape, the children would have been better to have seen as little as possible of a manipulative, narcissistic father as possible and despite all that happened since, I and the children are together.

"She thinks he assaulted her." That's what my best friend in high school said to another friend of ours when I told her how my date went the Saturday before. He was a star football player on our high school team and I didn't "talk" to a lot of guys. We were never official after a month of talking because of that night. He came over to my house to eat dinner with my parents we had hamburgers and then cheesecake. I remember what I was wearing. That's kind of how I started to realize that what happened wasn't right, I remember so much. We started to watch a movie in my living room, my mom was upstairs and my dad walked through the back hallway occasionally, but never through the living room. I was shy, so I was sitting on one end of the couch while he was on the other. He began to kiss me, I remember thinking what a bad kisser he was. He started to go further, and I told him not to put his hand up my shirt but he kept trying. I would move his hand away but he kept moving it back. My puppy jumped up on me, to this day I think she knew something was wrong with me and with him, and then he stopped. While he was stopped I texted my mom and told her I was ready for him to go home and she came downstairs and we drove him home. I told him not to leave hickeys on my neck and he did, I was so embarrassed and I felt so gross. I took a shower and just thought about how gross the whole situation felt, and the next day, instead of telling him how uncomfortable I felt, I told him I "didn't think our personalities meshed." Which was also true. I didn't tell anyone for years because I felt like what happened was so minuscule in comparison to other stories of assault and rape I had heard of, so I didn't tell anyone, especially after I told that one friend. Recently, the guy posted something on his social media about consent, and it made me so angry and triggered me in a way I didn't know was possible. I was so mad at him for making me feel how I feel, for potentially being the cause of my current difficulties with sex, and now posting something about consent? On one hand, I was glad he was more educated than when we were younger, but on the other hand I was so so mad he couldn't have learned sooner, and that he probably doesn't even realize what he did or how he made me feel. To this day I still feel like I'm being overdramatic and that what happened wasn't wrong, just how guys are.. but that doesn't match with how that moment made me feel and how it continues to affect me.

My name is Survivor and I live in Huntsville, TX. In 2004, at the age of 15 I was introduced to a man who was a pedophile. This was just after my parents divorced and after growing up with a severely abusive father, I was desperate from male leadership in my life. Needless to say, I was an easy victim. This man began grooming me and would eventually begin molesting me. This happened once or twice a month for the rest of my high school. Little did I know, this man was working alongside a college ministry called Chi Alpha and the Assemblies of God for at least 2 decades and had already molested other boys. For which he served a mere 90 days in Alaska jail. Pastors in our ministry tried to convince students, many of whom who were victims, to write letters of lienance on behalf of the abuser. You would think after high school and turning 18 I would have moved on and left him. After all, why would anyone continue to let themselves get abused? Unfortunately, that’s not how grooming or the mind of a victim works. So, I’m sad to say, the abuse continued. When I was abused in 2005, the statute of limitations in Texas at that time were until the age of 23. At the age of 23, I was still being molested by this man. For a significant amount of time the leadership in the Assemblies of God, which was the denomination I had been apart of my whole life, knew that this man was a registered sex offender and did not take needed steps to rid our ministries of him. I was one of the first victims to publicly come forward in 2023. For nearly 20 years I told no one, not even my wife. Myself and 5 friends, some even pastors in the Assemblies of God, started making calls to friends figuring other men had been abused heard dozens of stories of abuse because we were trying to help over 40 victims get help, seek justice, and heal. We all watched in horror as NDAs were used to insulate organizational leadership to cover themselves, using the NDAs as a fog of ignorance and hiding behind it. Because of this, Justice has not been served. Since then the Assemblies of God has tried to dismiss valid civil claims of negligence, has sidelined victims in the investigation process, and has sneakily tried to get victims to sign NDA’s. I’ll also add that I am a high school teacher here in Texas, and every year I hear stories from students who have been sexually harassed or abused in all kinds of scenarios. The happy side of my story is the abuser is currently in jail and awaiting trial. My wife and I have a rule in our house with our kids - no secrets. Last night I talked to my 8 year old daughter (in kid language) how NDA’s are used. And she said “but if you keep it secret doesn’t that bad person keep hurting children?” I had the privilege of working with Elizabeth and everyone involved with Trey’s Law. It helped my healing so much to be able to meet and talk with other survivors. To hear their struggles and to know I wasn’t crazy or alone. Through that legislative process I found my voice and gained confidence in sharing my story. Thank you Elizabeth for helping me tag along!

While I was a Collge Student; I met The Most Precious Lady. She is so Beautful, Elegant and Refined. I was unable to buy Her a meal due to demands of expenses. She has been through unspeakble pain in Her Lifetime. Although I bought Her pizza and gave Her transporation; I wish that I could have taken Her to the finest Restaurant. This Lady is a Hero (Heroine). She has known the vile temperatures of Winter and scalding Hot Days of Summer in City, State. She gets dehydrated, hungry, damp, chapped lips, Her Braids have gotten frozen together, She trudges through slush in strong winds. She has been abused by Slumlords. Name is African American. From My travels to East Africa; I believe that She is Tribe. I am 56 years of age. She is over 35 years of age. In certain Cultures: She would be treated as a Queen; protected, kept safe, insults would not be allowed. Of Course She is a Human Being Who makes mistakes, but She has been severely discriminated against because of the color of Her skin. When I held Her hand, I knew that I was with Royalty. To All of Those Who Care about Ladies not being mistreated; Please vote for strong laws against abuse of Females. This Lady has been close to homelessness. Promised many great rewards by people who take advantage of Her; I hope that One good Day She is living so comfortable. She is could probably be considered "anorexic"; as She likes to look Perfect (Which She Is). There is great Sexual Exploitation in U.S.A. and throughout The World. Males make all sorts of obscene gestures to Females and think that there is no consequences. Actions have consequences, words have consequences. Victims of Sexual Harassment such as Name need just recompense. Myself, I took a Male who had abused Her and put Him on The Ground. It is probably wrong to take the Law into One's Own "Hands", but can We believe that a better day is coming? When Female Victims are protected. Bail Reform has allowed many Predators to be in Society. I am not a "vigalante", but it causes Me great sadness that Male Oppressors are not put in Prison for a long time. There has been magnitudes of Victimization. Name is A Victim. I'm sure that She does not want to be viewed as weak or made an example of. But She broke My Heart with Her tender voice, kindess, smile, strength, Spirit, Inner Joy and ablity to Survive. People of Wealth, Stature, Affluenza, etc... think that They can "Buy" a Female's respect. It is heinous, deviant and depraved. So Many Ladies like Precious Name deserve so much Better. Please have Honor in Your Heart, Mind, Soul, Words and Actions.

You don’t believe it when you’re told that your life can change in an instant—and then it does. This is my story, or what I can remember of it. On April 12th, 2022, I was raped at gunpoint, at home. In less than 10 minutes, I became another statistic, but a statistic that survived... It’s 6:15 AM, and I’m about to leave to check on a pet sitting client’s cat, then go to work—not an unusual routine for me. It was a way to bring in extra income, and an easy one at that. I’ve always loved animals, and if you love what you do you’ll never work a day in your life. Apparently, my routine was known to more than just me and my animals. As I opened the door to leave, a man was on my porch, and he asked for William. Not knowing how this particular conversation would shape my future, I told him that William didn’t live here and closed the door–it wasn’t uncommon for strangers to come to the door. Before me, an elderly lady had lived here with her son, you see, and people came looking for them all the time, so I thought nothing of it. Figured he’d be gone by the time I opened the door again. I was wrong, and I’ve hated myself for opening that door the second time. I’ve never been face to face with death before that day, never faced an evil so potent that you could taste it in the air...but I can say with certainty I have now. I was pushed backward–not with a physical touch, but with the threat that now loomed in front of me. He checked the bedroom on his left, which adjoined the entrance of the house, looking for other inhabitants–there were none. I lived alone, aside from my animals, which didn’t phase him. Looking back, this tells me he had been watching me for some time, waiting. He pushed me back even further, to the kitchen. He “requested” my phone, and told me to unlock it–I didn’t have much choice, so I agreed. In an effort to get the upper hand, I desperately asked him if I could check on my fosters, since they were in the adjoining room–surprised, he agreed. He checked the room (again for other inhabitants), and while he was looking through my phone, I pressed a panic button that was on the wall he couldn’t see, underneath a lightswitch...1...2...3...and I let go. Praying to some deity that help would get there in time... It’s at this point he sat down at the kitchen table and tried to get me to join him...being a loud-mouthed woman, I started loudly asking him “WHY? I’m a good person! Why would you do this to me?!” Slow motion...he gets up from the table...tells me to face the wall... “Is this happening? Maybe he’ll just leave” I foolishly thought...he lifted my dress, and I spun around to stop him, not wanting what was about to happen. “Put him off just a few minutes more, help is coming, you can do this.” But I couldn’t. He backed me across the kitchen, against the counter...and I struggled. Of course I did. My parents raised a fighter, and I didn’t want to go down without a fight... But he was bigger, stronger, and he had a gun. I’ve never known fear, true fear, until I tasted steel, or whatever guns are even made of. All I know now is that pure fear must have a metallic taste. “Shut up, bitch, ya understand?” and all I could do was nod. I don’t put much stock in religion, not really, and if there is a god up there, I wonder how he could make it so easy to violate a person. Why there aren’t any safeguards to stop it—it’s not really a gate we have much control over. What kind of god could make us such easy targets? You can believe what you want to, and I may get some flack for this, and that’s okay. I’m allowed my thoughts, as is everyone else to theirs. My body had no control over who was inside of it. I had no control. While he pleasured himself, I had to sit there and take it, or die, and even then it was a slim chance I would come out of this alive. I knew my chances, and the possibility of him letting me see his face and me somehow surviving weren’t great. I knew that, even then. Then the doorbell rang. This pervert, this waste of space, leapt up and looked around the corner, to see who might be looking in the living room window and when he saw who it was...said “Get up, bitch,” pulled up his pants, grabbed his gun, and bolted out the back door. In shock, I did as I was told, and just stood there while he ran—but when my brain comprehended that the threat was gone, my body propelled itself towards the front door and ran outside—I didn’t appreciate just how beautiful it was. But there was no time to bask in safety–the threat wasn’t far away. I screamed to the cops to get him, that he ran out the back...they asked who. The guy who raped me. On April 12th, 2022, at around 6:30 AM, I became a statistic. Not long after, it felt like the whole city police were on scene–and I think they were. For an hour, I am not permitted to change my clothes. I can still smell him. I can still feel him. As I lay in the emergency room, I looked through my phone and discovered all of my security footage...gone. Just gone. Luckily for me, and unluckily for him, I paid a monthly subscription for cloud service. As I’m being violated, once again, I captured his face. You can’t hide from me, not for long. As my mom sits next to me, I send his face to the detective. I joke with the doctor, with the nurses, coping the only way I can, and the way I’ve seen my dad do in the past—build connections, and use them as a way back to shore. Keep yourself afloat, just a while longer. One second, one minute, one hour, one day–as long as you can. Afterwards, to the police station for my statement. No one is allowed to go back with me. Later that night, I get a call to come in to look at a lineup. Even just less than a day later, my brain is trying to protect me–block out his face, by any means possible. Blur it beyond recognition. But I have his face. My brain can’t fight me on this. On the way to the station, my parents in tow, I study it. Imagine it with different facial hair, different hairstyles. I still wasn’t ready. Again, no one was allowed to go back with me. When his photo came up, I didn’t know it was him. I wasn’t certain. But I did have what they call a “visceral reaction.” My hands shook, my voice trembled, and I felt so cold I couldn’t stop shivering. Something inside me knew. I struggled with that guilt for weeks after—what if I’d put the wrong person away? What if I was wrong? Then the message came from the detective, regarding my rape kit. “It was a match.” Thank you. Thank you so much. I was right. Dammit, I was right. On April 12th, 2022, at approximately 6:30 AM, I became a statistic. But a statistic that survived. A statistic that fought back, and a statistic that hasn’t given up, not yet. Not ever. I’m not ashamed. I am a part of a family larger than it should be, of survivors just like me. We are survivors. Lessons to take from this: Check outside before opening your door Invest in a security system Invest in a panic button Practice how you will stay alive long enough to come out the other side of a situation—rehearse every scenario you possibly can Keep your wits about you—you never know when they could save your life Nothing is a 100% failsafe–but even the smallest thing could keep you alive to see another day.

I was on a first date with a guy and I agreed to meet at his apartment to then find somewhere to eat. We ended up watching a movie where he began touch my boobs and my legs. When I moved his arm away he would pout and tell me how he wanted a relationship with me but his love language was physical touch and I needed to let him touch me. He also began telling me that my anxiety was making him anxious. He then told me he wanted to cuddle in his bed. When I reminded him I didn't want to have sex yet he got very upset yelled at me and stormed off while pouting. He eventually called me into his room and began to get on top of me and was pushing my shirt and bra up then asked me to take my bottoms and underwear off. I did because I felt stuck and then without warning he stuck it in me. I felt out of my body at this point and just froze. I don't know if this is considered coercion or not but I do know I feel a lot of shame and guilt as well as a lot of blame on myself. I know I should have done things differently like not even going to his place. I feel stupid and used and like I hate myself more.

I don't really know where to start . I was abused physically and emotionally, as a child by the person who was suppose to protect me .I dealt with it all along because that was the life I knew and also because I felt guilty .I was told it was my fault ... I am really confused if I was a target for him sexually . He knows Homeopathy and always used to say it was because he wanted to male sure I was doing fine. I now only realize that I was constantly sick for at least first six years of my life. I remember getting high fevers and constantly taking antibiotics .For all I was told it was because I had a weak immune system which I might have had but I realize now that it was the terror when he shouted and hit me and my other family that got me really really sick and almost making it impossible for me to recover. When I started to grow he became much sweeter but that's when he really started making me feel uncomfortable .He would just tell me he was checking my growth and that if he didn't no one else will .I didn't believe him but I had developed a fear of him so much that I let him see me whenever he asked. My first time actually realizing that what he was doing was wrong was when I woke up around midnight night(I am pretty sure if was around two) one time and felt his eyes staring at me. He was holding my leggings down and just staring , I remember the cold air rushing through my body and sweating at the same time though it was like I couldn't move ,I am not sure if I froze or I was just too scared for him to know that I was awake. After that I tried to stay away from him but I just wasn't allowed to say no .I did strayed telling him ( not very directly at the start but i did make excuses and said at least no or later every time)that I don't want to be alone with him or I wasn't comfortable showing him by body or letting him actually touch it but he just never cared and I was too scared oppose him directly because whenever someone did he would just hit everybody and the mental torture he made everyone go through was unbearable .He also told me to not tell anyone including my mother because it was a secret and that no-one else would understand (I still fell disgusted by it).I did not and don not want to be responsible for causing more torture to my family so I kept quiet .After some time it did reduced probably because my body stopped growing (almost around the age of sixteen).He uses many methods over time to make sure I never fond a way out (mostly violence like hitting and screaming and also by degrading me like even when I scored the highest marks in exams he would just tell me it was because others weren't putting in their efforts and that what I did was of no value).I am financially dependent on this person and I come from an extremely conservative family and culture so very naturally all the people I know are the same . This abuse didn't just collapse my self esteem that I still am trying to develop but it also affected a number of things that happened in my child hood like 1.When I was around four years I went to a house of my mother's friend. I was playing in the room upstairs that belonged to her daughter when her youngest son came in(a lot older then me but I am not sure about the exact age gap )and started playing games with me .They started normally with toys and he shoed me a light he had. It was some sort of a mirror with light on it .As a kid I wanted it but he said I could take it but we could play with it.(I used to get too attached to people in a very short time at that age) .He covered me with a blanket and that probably when he discovered I was afraid of dark (it might have been natural at that age but one of my childhood punishments also included being locked in a dark room while I was sitting on such I height that I couldn't get down from).He would switch on the light and then turn it off .It was like a scary play at first but then he pulled my trousers down and I just remember felling confused about what he was doing .I asked him and he just said to not tell anyone .I don't know what it was but I didn't look at him after that .At first he would on the lights whenever he pulled the trousers down and the close it when he pulled the trousers up but later he didn't turn on the light and I got a glance of him just seeing me .I never told anyone because I didn't knew what happened and because that would just mean being locked in my house for the rest of my life 2.I went to a friend's house once with my family .They are really good people and we know them from a long time .My friend had a brother an year older than us .We used to play together .That day he took whatever chance he got to just sort of hug me from behind .I didn't say anything because I thought he was just messing around until his hands started touching me inappropriately .I can tell now it was probably just the curiosity any person had in their puberty but I still don't understand why I didn't push him back .It was before I was 13 . After that I basically stopped visiting their house .Again I never told anyone. I am not a good looking person at all .In fact I am barely even an average looking person so I know its more difficult for people to believe what I say. I didn't even know a person who is so closely related to you, who is suppose to support you in life can actually do something that is NOT OK.I always thought that he did it so I could be a better person .Now that I think of what everything he did , I fell very confused and I cant help but think what I could have done differently to prevent it .I know the people around me wont believe me ,maybe I wouldn't either if it was someone lese (its just the society I live in ,its not bad ,the people are supportive but really conservative with a limited views ).I still am around this person and he hasn't really changed .I cant do anything about it .I tried to divert my mind and thoughts from the memories but it didn't help. I even tries to self inflict cuts and bruises on me but it didn't really make all that pain go away ,it just helped for a while sometimes to divert the attention .I never thought I would even want to think about what happened to me let alone share it but I am trying to fond a way to make it better ,to overcome it .I still get really scared whenever he is around (and he is around too often).I get scared when someone shouts or in any way gets angry .I want to study to make sure I can become capable enough to support myself in future if I ever get the chance to be independent but I find learning really difficult with everything happening even though I know it is the only chance i ever have of leaving this person and maybe these memories .I am struggling but I am sure that one day I will be able to accept it and move forward .I really hope I can go though this.

I’m a 27 year old female now but when I was about the age of 6-7 my sister would kiss me on the lips. I vividly remember laying down on my bathroom floor (which she told me to do) and would just tell me to relax. She is 4 years older than me. I also remember one time I really wanted to kiss her and she said yes. I think it was a game to me at that point. She had left for a moment and I got naked. I remember she came back and said to put my clothes on because our dad was going to take us out to eat. Those are the only moments I remember but my mind might be pushing down other similar moments I had with her. I’m struggling now to have a relationship with her. She has never talked about it, but I feel like she remembers. It’s so hard to speak to her without getting annoyed or frustrated. She is annoying to me and never communicates well, she tends to always ask a question when asked a question. She’s never wrong and is hard headed. At this point I feel like I need to speak to her about this and distance myself to heal. I don’t even know what I want but I just don’t want to feel this way.

A little more than a year ago I was raped. It was my first month at college, my first month away from my parents, my first relationship, and it took part of me. The past year has been trying to cope and overcome, and I just want to say, it can happen. It takes time, I mean I’d say it took me a full year to fully process and reclaim myself. But you are strong, your aren’t alone; and you will overcome this.

The first corporate job I've ever had after college was like something out of a movie. I was young, excited, and wanted to make a big impact in this high energy, exciting industry. I got to travel the world and collect mileage points. A VP I respected recognized my work ethic and befriended me. I asked him to be my mentor because I was having issues with anxiety, depression, and speaking up in meetings. He was quite persuasive and very influential amongst his peers. I was so excited to learn from him. We would travel together for work and got to know each other on a personal level. We'd all get dinner and drinks as a traveling team. When alone, he told me about his struggles with his marriage and how his wife had a similar upbringing to mine. Her parents fought a lot. I told him about my upbringing and how my mom and I never really got along. After a breakup with my boyfriend, he got even closer. He wanted to spend more time with me and I confided in him. Slowly, our conversations would get more personal. He'd ask me who I'm dating and if I'm having sex with them. At this point, our friendship seemed comfortable. He always told me we were friends and that I can trust him. He told me about his sex life and how him and his wife are in an open relationship. He'd get me out to drinks and dinner by myself and ask more personal questions. To be honest, I really liked the attention. He was persuasive and successful. I also really liked fancy drinks and the dinners I got to go to. Little by little, the boundaries blurred more and more and I was drowning in alcoholism, my anxiety increased, and I started getting panic attacks. Then one night, we all went out to karaoke as a team. I blacked out and somehow ended up in a hotel room next to some man from another office. My underwear was still on so I didn't think we had sex. I hurried to get ready and go back to the office. As soon as I got back to the office he asked, "So did you have sex with him?" I was shocked. I froze and didn't say anything. I felt so much shame and I didn't fully comprehend why. I think he took this as a "yes." He started to type away on his phone and walked away laughing. In February 2022, after a couple of years after leaving this company, he called me to check on how I was doing. I took the call because I thought, maybe it was just in my head. One of the first things he asked was, "Are you still sleeping around?" I responded, "You mean 'rape'?" He replied, "You evolved." I then began to tell him off. It was only until this point I realized I had been groomed by a very deceitful man that I thought I could trust. He hasn't contacted me since.

For a long time I hid behind the shame of what happened to me. It took a long time and some therapy before I was able to speak about my childhood. Growing up in a chaotic home due to parents that were addicts made it easy for me to be hurt. I always thought that somehow it was my fault. I don’t remember every part of what happened but the pieces that I can recall are unsettling. I have memories of an older cousin showing myself and two other cousins different parts of his body as a child. I knew it was wrong and from what I remember, most of it was being in a dark living room with the TV on and trying to hide from an adult seeing us. After some time I remember my female cousin who was the same age as me showing me how to masturbate and later on we engaged in oral sexual acts on various occasions. Her bother who was two years younger than me would touch me until I caved in to do things with him as well. I just remember feeling so scared that someone was going to find out. I can’t even recall how we learned how to do those things. I was embarrassed but also terrified of an adult finding out and us getting into trouble. I carried that shame with me forever and always felt like it was my fault since I was older than him. I wish I could recall all of the details and how it all started and ended. Later in life, I had a guy over to hook up with which I regret. After we had sex the first time I was done. I didn’t want to have unprotected sex but I didn’t stop him when he started up again. I just remembered feeling frozen and the sound of his breathing and his smell made me relive the experiences with my cousin. That was when I decided to talk to my therapist about what had happened. It took a while for me to understand that I had no reason to feel shame and that it was not my fault. I have worked on my healing process and I can understand it a lot better now as an adult.

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

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.

I was raised by a misogynistic narcissist so in my early 20s I thought my boyfriend's behavior was at least better than I was raised with. His behaviour spiralled over the years and there was gaslighting, financial abuse and finally rape. I didn't see the warning signs, sex would be very rough but I thought I enjoyed it. He had lost his job and had not worked for a year at 23, he used to smoke weed and stay up all night playing videogames. More than a few times I woke up to him masturbating so vigorously the bed would shake. One day I was sitting on the loo and I was in a bit of pain and I noticed semen in my knickers that I didn't know how it got there. I remember the ringing sound in my ears, but I decided to ignore it, I mean he couldn't possibly have. Then one night I woke up and he was rummaging in my pajama shorts and I realized he was penetrating me. I remember freezing in the dark and then calling his name. He said he wasn't doing anything, rolled over and went to sleep. I repressed this memory completely. I dumped him a few months later and thankfully moved on with my life. With my current partner (a wonderful man), we were having sex one night early in our relationship and the incident that happened with my ex hit me like a trolley and I had a flashback and a full body panic attack. I had to face what had happened to me then, I thought I was crazy and that no one would believe me, it's not your classic rape case. The incident tortured me mentally for about a year and thankfully I eventually sought help. I still think about revenge every day and am afraid to run into my ex in the city where I live. But we carry on. I am grateful to so many women who have shared their stories or managed to find justice when they report they were attacked in their sleep. We are a powerful bunch us ladies, and I am so thankful I could share my story here today. Bless you all xx

Lifting Fog Dec 29 Written By Name View my blog for more at Link (Rewind to June 2019) I could sense my husband was growing more stressed with his work. I understood that leading a youth ministry could be stressful, so I chalked up his strange behavior to his workload. It was a summer afternoon and I was sitting in the office next to him, working on the children’s ministry curriculum and volunteer schedules. Upon finishing my work, I noticed that I was not working in the children’s ministry on Sunday, July 7th. I’m free! Maybe he can take the weekend off too. I texted a close friend who lives up north and asked if we could crash at their place for the weekend. She and her husband were very dear friends of ours. We consider them as family. My girlfriend was excited to open their home to us and spend some time with them before they left for the weekend. They both had obligations to volunteer at a camp that weekend and had to leave Friday afternoon, but she said we could stay at their place while they were gone. A free place to stay on a fourth of July weekend? I’ll take it! I asked permission from my father-in-law, who was also the lead pastor. He was completely on board and thought it was a great idea for the both of us to have a spontaneous getaway weekend. I even found a house sitter to watch our pup. All of the plans were falling into place. I was so excited to get away and spend some one-on-one time with my husband exploring the Location 1 together. I grew up in State 1 and taking summer trips to the mountains was one of my favorite things to do. I knew that being in the beauty of the mountains can just cause the stress of life to melt away. The greenery, the crispy mountain air, and the slower pace were calling my name. I wanted that for him. I imagined his stress levels falling. I wanted to see him laugh again. He stopped laughing months ago. He stopped coming to bed with me. He stopped asking me how I was doing. He stopped engaging with me altogether. More and more of his time was spent on his phone, computer, or in front of the television. It’s the stress of his job, I kept telling myself. We had many fights about how much time he was spending on electronics. They never ended well. He talked about running away from everything. It’s the stress of his job, I justified. He stopped caring altogether. I thought it was because of the miscarriage and the stress of adjusting to a more demanding job. He started to talk with me more and more about choking me out for fun. I thought he was just being silly and I always laughed it off. He wrapped his arm around my neck at times while I was making dinner or laying in bed. I justified it all. I tried to make sense of it but in the meantime, I shut down too. My stress levels were through the roof. I thought I had to keep it all together to keep up with appearances. Don’t let them see your weakness, name. When I had the miscarriage in May, I kept that emotional valve shut tight. The stress inside of me was so pressed down, the levels were rising. I could feel it in my chest. I could taste it in my mouth. Something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. We needed this vacation. So, after finishing my schedule, I walked over to his office and knocked on his door. “Come in,” he said. I opened his door and leaning on its frame, I announced with a smile, “Hey! Mark your calendar. I’m taking you away on the first weekend of July for a trip. Your dad said it was okay. We can make it back just in time on Sunday night for youth group!” He turned his chair toward me and smiled. There it is, I thought. Relieved to finally see a smile on his face. “Okay!” He said quickly. I turned around to begin the plans and his voice called from afar, “Hey, I’d like to go on a hike when we’re there,” he remarked. I slowly walked back to him in disbelief… A hike?? He never wants to hike! “I’d love to go on a mountain with a cliff face,” He said. “Sounds like fun!!” I replied. Maybe he just needs some exercise and an adrenaline rush, I thought. I was shocked that he suggested going for a hike because throughout all the years that I’ve known him, he never once expressed an interest in doing anything remotely close to hiking. I shut his door to continue to let him work and finished up mine. It was then that I started the countdown for our vacation. I was so excited and ready to get away from it all. I was ready to breathe. I know where your mind is going, it’s clear to see, isn’t it? But when you are in the middle of the mess, your mind doesn’t go there. Your mind always assumes the best. Especially when it comes to someone you love the most. (fast forward) On Date, I called 9-1-1 on my husband. That very morning after I finished reading and taking my last sip of coffee, I breathed in that beautiful fresh mountain air. I remembered it was going to rain at some point during this vacation, so I looked at the weather radar that morning. Oh, no. There was going to be a torrential downpour and thunderstorm right where we wanted to hike. We only had 3 hours before it hit. He woke up shortly after me and made his way out to the back porch where I was reading. Leaning on the door frame, I showed him the radar on my phone. “Hey, I’m not sure today would be a good day to hike. We don’t have much time before the storm hits. Maybe we can go tomorrow morning before we head home?” I asked. “No, we need to go today,” he insisted. I knew that this may be the only time he would ever want to hike again and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity since it’s something that I love. We searched frantically for a hike that was close enough, yet fit his qualifications. We planned to go to Location 2. He didn’t care to pack food nor did he care to eat beforehand. He said a Gatorade would be enough. He wore a tank top, shorts, and flat Adidas slide-in shoes. I wore workout pants, a tank top, a bandana, and running shoes. We loaded up in the truck and headed toward the mountain. The GPS kept rerouting us, we lost reception more times than I can count, and we could not find the trailhead. We were running out of time and I was growing frustrated. I wanted to be able to enjoy the hike and not rush it, but he insisted. “Let’s drive along the Location 3 and find something there. I remember seeing a trail when we came yesterday,” he said. We swam in the Location 4 the day before. It was one of the best days we had together in months. We laughed a lot, talked, rested, and enjoyed the day exploring. All was well. I was at ease because I felt like taking this mini-vacation was exactly what he needed. There was one point on that day when he was physically aggressive with me while we were swimming. I look back now and have the mental clarity to realize that it was not okay. His hands that were meant to show love treated me as an object and I numbly complied. As I always did. I tried to fight it but that nagging voice in the back of my head told me to stop… don’t disappoint him, name. So, we drove along the Location 3 since we could not find Location 2. We drove and drove and drove and connected to the Location 5. My anxiety began to build as time passed. Something is not right. We turned the corner and arrived at the spot he told me about previously and were welcomed with a large, wooden sign. The sign read, “Location 6.” This is where my life forever changed. We pulled in, paid for parking, and began our ascent. He has a bad knee, so he took Advil before heading up. We stopped to look at the map before climbing. I looked for the total distance, the route, and the scenic points. He searched for all the lookout points at the top. He huffed and puffed his entire way up. He had to take many breaks for a breath and a drink. It is a 1.5-mile trail up and back, totaling only at 3 miles. I talked most of the way up, pointed out silly “scenic” points. One scenic point was literally just a little village of mushrooms. All I honestly cared about was seeing a moose. I’ve lived 28 years in State 1 and have never seen a moose. It's one of my life’s goals and remains it still today. I laughed and talked about my family, and eventually, he asked if we could stop talking altogether. He wanted silence. Strange… I thought. Finally, we made it to the top. He kept searching around the top of the mountain for more cliffs almost as if he was searching for the perfect one. I thought nothing of it. I spent most of that time taking pictures of the scenery and taking in the beauty of the mountainous landscape that seemed to stretch on forever. I looked over to my right and he was walking closer and closer to the edge. I continued to tell him to be careful and to stop going so close. He had an intense and thrilling look in his eyes. He stood on a rock that protruded out of the cliff and looked down for a minute. “Come over here and stand on this,” he asked. “Uhm, no thank you. I don’t want to slip and die..” I sarcastically said back. He continued to plead with me, and I didn’t want to let him down despite how scared I was. So, against my every instinct, I complied. I stood on the edge and he was behind me. “Just trust me,” he said, with his hands on my lower back. My shaking knees straightened as I held onto a long, dead tree branch on my right. I could feel the wind cool on my legs and I glimpsed downward for a split second into the abyss of pine trees hundreds of feet down right below my feet. And in an instant, I heard... Get off. Instinct.. fear...intuition...the voice of God? I am not sure. But I knew I needed to get away quickly. I instantly backed off and scooted off, stood up, and walked to a safe place. Breathe, name. He was frustrated with me but I didn’t care. Something was wrong; I could sense it. I thought I was nervous about the impending storm, but my subconscious knew that I wasn’t safe for more reasons than one. He kept making comments that if I were to fall off the small drop-offs, I would only break a leg and I’d survive. Not that cliff… that one was a 250-foot drop into pine trees. I couldn’t see what was happening right in front of me. I told him to stop making those jokes, and he pointed the finger back at me and said that it was me who was making them. Always playing mind games. After I backed away from the ledge that he wanted me to stand on, I found a comfortable spot farther up and sat down. I tried to shake off this nervous feeling that I had and focused on the scenery in front of me. I took in the hundreds of shades of green spotted across the landscape, the eagle soaring through the trees, and the blue sunny skies welcoming me. He made his way over to me and sat down. With a deep breath, he said “I could get used to this.” “It truly is beautiful here,” I responded. We quietly enjoyed the view together. There was a large rainstorm approaching and the clouds from behind the mountain were growing darker by the minute. “I think it’s time we start heading back, we don’t want to get caught in the rain,” I said. He insisted that we waited longer. Everyone at this point was cleared from the top. It was just him and I. Anxiety continued to grow inside me. I waited long enough, it was now growing darker as the clouds covered the sun. “I’m sorry, but we have to go now,” I said as I stood up, brushing off my dusty legs. I stood up to walk away and he followed frustratingly with a huff. We entered the wooded path down the mountain, and only about one hundred feet in, he shouted at me from behind, “You have been the biggest source of stress in my life!” I turned around to him in shock. He was about 30 feet away from me, stopped dead in his tracks, fists clenched… I was completely thrown off as this was coming out of the blue… “what?” I responded. His face looked different. He then went on to tell me that he doesn’t think we were meant to be together. That maybe that’s why I had the miscarriage. That all he ever does is try with me, and I give him nothing in return. He said he didn’t know if he wanted to try anymore with me. Blame shifting. Guilt giving. Life-sucking words. I begged, “I want to fix this. I’m willing to fight, but you need to be, too. Are you?” “I don’t know,” he said. “The only way we couldn’t possibly work this out is if you cheated on me,” I said. Stone cold face, hands-on-hips, head pointed away from me and toward the ground, he said the two most shocking words… “I did.” My feet instantly left the ground. My breath escaped me. I can only hear the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. No, no. This isn’t real. I am dreaming. “It was when you went away to that children’s ministry conference. It was with some random girl in a hotel,” he said. Still no eye contact. “What? This isn’t real,” I said. “Some random girl? At a hotel?” I begged him to tell me who and where. But all my heart wanted to know was why. He crouched down, giving off a tearless cry. “This isn’t real, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real…” I continued to chant to myself. I kept touching my chest and my head and my face to make sure I was still there. The first raindrops were beginning to fall on my skin, but I couldn’t feel it. I looked at the tree bark. Noticed the details, the moss, the bugs. This. Is. Real. Panic is setting in. “The rain is coming. We will work this out. We NEED to get off this mountain!” I shouted. The wind was beginning to pick up. He didn’t move, still crouched in the dirt refusing to look at me. I was about 15 feet away from him. I turned to walk away, and just when I thought I couldn’t be any more heartbroken.... his voice sounded relieved and terrified as he shouted her name. My best friend. I stopped in my tracks. My mind flooded with all of the time we spent together. Betrayal of the deepest sense… my best friend and my husband? I could no longer feel my entire body. Her? No. It couldn’t be. I moved toward him as he began to tell me how many times they slept together, when, and where. “I’ve always loved her and she has always loved me. When we found out you were pregnant, it was the only thing that stopped us from running away together because we thought she was pregnant too,” he said. I looked at my hands. I examined my skin. I felt my chest. I am real. This is real. Breathe. “Are you lying?” I breathlessly asked. He looked down at my feet, smirked, and said, “What if I am?” “Come ON, tell me... are you lying!?” I asked, louder. I was about 10 feet down the path, away from him. “Yes,” he said, with a relieved smile. My heart rate slowed. I ran up the rocky, steep trail to him. I touched his shoulders, his face, and asked why he would do that to me. “Did you want to see how much I love you? Why would you lie about this? LOOK AT ME!” He didn’t look at me. “You’re not lying, are you?” I whispered. “No,” he said sternly. Anger grew inside of me unlike any other. I screamed in his face and he did not look at me. Instead, he stared blankly at my feet. “You broke a COVENANT with me! LOOK AT ME!” I yelled. But he refused to look. Refused to fight. Refused to try. “We need to go home and work this out, we can get help!” He then looked up at me for the first time and stated with a strangely calm yet loud voice… “What, do you think we can just go home now after this!? We can’t just go home now. I can’t tell my parents about this.” I turned to walk away. And then, seconds later, I felt the blow. I woke up on the ground. Flashes of pictures of leaves and trees and sky and his fists filled my mind. My ears were ringing and all I could hear was his muffled animal-like scream mixed with my heavy breathing and helpless cry. My husband hit me in the back of the head with a rock. I woke up on the ground with him fighting me. I miraculously landed on my left side and did not fall face-down into the steep trail under my feet. I was able to come to consciousness just in time to fight. I didn’t realize I was fighting him. I didn’t realize he was trying to kill me. I didn’t realize anything except that I needed to protect my neck as he reached for it. I breathlessly screamed, kicked, punched…fought like hell. I remember tasting blood. He then began to hyperventilate and sat up with his hands in his face. “I’m a piece of shit,” he wailed. Over and over again. “You deserve better.” That was the first true statement I heard from his mouth in years. I picked myself up and tried to help him breathe as I regained my breath. I attempted to lift up his hands to help him and they flopped on the ground the moment I let go and then… Then I felt it... Pain, throbbing pain, in my head and neck. I touched the back of my head. I remembered the noise of the rock hitting my head. It was like sticking my head inside a bass drum. Then a faint ringing sound. And then black. I felt my head. It was the lower left part of my head where he struck me with the rock. It was swelling fast. My vision was blurred and I could hear my breath as if I was inside of a tight bubble. “You hit me in the back of the head with a rock,” I quietly muttered while holding my head. “You tried to kill me. I might die. My head is swelling. I might die” I chanted. I began to panic as I knelt in the dirt and rocked my body back and forth as my mind raced through scenarios. What do I do? He continued to wail on the ground like a child. His cry was different this time. It was real, but it was only for himself. “I have to call 9-1-1,” I announced. I stood up with shaky legs and retrieved my phone from my backpack. My shaking hands began to dial 9-1-1. He then begged me not to, but I knew that we both weren’t safe and I didn’t think that I was going to survive if I waited longer. He wailed and begged me not to… “Please, please, please don’t. Don’t, name!” “If you don’t want me to call 9-1-1, then you’re going to follow me down this mountain and if I faint… you’re going to carry me if it’s the last thing you do for me,” I demanded as if speaking to a child. He then went very still. His breathing slowed and his eyes stared into the dirt. No response. He just doesn’t want to get caught, name. He doesn’t care for me, he only cares for himself. As my thoughts began to see reality for what it was, then my adrenaline kicked in. I could feel my veins spark and my vision cleared. I was very present. I was breathing smoothly, my knees stopped shaking, and I felt more alert than ever. He is going to try to kill me again, I realized. Once I ran out of his sight, I stopped and called 9-1-1. Instant connection. The dispatcher connected me to the Location 7 Deputies Office. “We are on our way,” are the last words I heard before I lost connection. And then... I ran. Run, name. Run like hell. It was a good thing I began training for a half marathon months before. I had tunnel vision as I zeroed in on the trail. Follow the yellow dots. Lord, don’t let him jump. Don’t trip. Light feet. Lord, don’t let me die. Please get me to the bottom. I WILL survive this. Don’t trip. Stay on your toes. Follow the yellow dots. Please, God, don’t let him jump. I ran for 20 minutes down a steep, rocky trail filled with boulders and thick pine roots. It was pouring rain. I didn’t feel a drop. I could not feel my feet touch the ground. I could not feel my head pain or my weak knee. Adrenaline surged through my veins. As I ran for my life, I thought of my mom and dad. I thought of a man that would be on the bottom of the mountain to rescue me. I thought of Hawaii. I thought of my husband and prayed for his safety. I thought of my dog, my church, my brothers. I thought of my sisters and my nieces. I thought of my family. My entire life and all that I loved came to the forefront of my mind. It was my people that mattered. The ones I loved. I fought and I ran for them. I dreamt of being held by my mom and dad. I didn’t trip. I didn’t slip. I didn’t stop. I heard the laughter of a woman up high in the hill to the right of me as I ran. I paused and looked up… Should I yell for help? I decided not to. It’s not worth the risk. I turned around and could not see him behind but heard the crunching of leaves far up the trail and they were getting louder. RUN, name! I ran as silently and quickly as I could. I didn’t want him to hear me and find me. I remember swallowing my stinging breaths and letting the air slowly out my nostrils. I didn’t even want to breathe loudly. I held my backpack straps tightly to my chest to keep my backpack from making noise. He kept calling me. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t break this silent sprint. I had to focus. In what felt like only minutes, I made it to the bottom of the trail. As the ground became flatter, I ran as fast as I could. I could begin to see the flashing blue lights through the thick trees. Those lights were the hope that I soon will be able to take shelter from this storm. They came for me! I’m going to be safe. Keep going, name. You’re almost there. My phone continued to buzz in my hand, and once I could see the blue lights, I answered the phone. I picked up the phone to the sound of him wailing, “I’m so sorry..I’m so sorry..” again and again. In a quiet, yet firm, whisper I said, “Your life is worth living. Meet me at the bottom.” I hung up. Those were the last words I spoke to him. Oh Lord, please don’t let him jump. Finally, I made it to the trailhead. I waived my weary arms in the air as the EMTs covered for safety inside the ambulance from the torrential downpour. I was still afraid to yell. The skies were dark and the lights flashed and reflected off the wet leaves as I ran closer. The glimmers of blue and red welcomed me with each step. I ran up to the ambulance and placed my hand on its cold, wet frame as I found my way to the back with wobbly knees. They opened the door and I jumped in. It was so bright, cold, and unfamiliar. I looked down at my shaking legs. They were covered in dirt and sweat. My scraped and bloodied knees stung as the sweat dripped down. My muscles were spazzing. My hands shaking, and my head throbbing. What just happened? A tall deputy entered into the ambulance, dripping from the downpour, and breathlessly said “You must be name.” Apparently, he ran up half the mountain trying to find me. Why is he so wet? Is it raining? I was hooked up to so many machines in a matter of minutes. They checked to make sure I didn’t have brain bleeding. All clear. The pain in my neck and head was so intense. It was the pain that reminded me that this was not a bad dream. It reminded me of him. All I could think about was him. “Is he okay?” I kept asking the deputy. They cared about making sure I was okay first. It wasn’t long after I arrived in the ambulance that my husband made his way to the bottom of the mountain and was arrested immediately. I was so relieved he didn’t jump. Thank you, God. I was rushed to the local hospital. I remember watching the rain pour through the ambulance window in complete shock. What just happened? I just wanted my mom and dad. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be a little girl again. I wanted all of this to be erased. I couldn’t cry. I could only breathe. The days and months that followed that terrible day have been filled with painful conversations, post-traumatic stress, fear, emotional breakdowns, family reunions, moving, restraining order paperwork, medical bills, court dates, trauma therapy, writing, reading, forgiveness, love, peace, and hope. I have a future. I am unsure where my future lies on this earth but what matters is that I have a future. He is no longer my responsibility. He chose to become the man that he is today. I am free of him. I ran down that mountain away from the abuse and into my freedom. My feet are set on a new path. I have hope for a brighter tomorrow. I am not done for. He is only a man. Just one man. He will not have the last word.