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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.

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

I was inappropriately touched and groped by an older uncle. I have only disclosed this with 2 people. The uncle is my moms brother and our family (particularly his immediate family) have suffered horrible losses and deaths over the years and I just don’t want to add fuel to the fire. I feel like I don’t want to tell anyone and make it public so I am so so happy to have found this space. I know my mom would be fully supportive, my whole family would but I just can’t bring myself to say it. I’m 30 now and although the abuse never got far, it still happened. There are 2 occasions. This uncle in question also has been charged I am healing myself every day through mindful breathing, exercise and yoga but it is tough some days.

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

You Are Not Alone You are not alone. So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together. I grew up in a large low income black of flats that was like a village. My mum worked and we went about by ourselves. In the winter we were never expected to be seen if we left. We were in some flat mucking about with some kids or neighbor, and it all worked out fine. I did lose my virginity when I was eleven to a friend of my older brother who was in year ten. But that was no bother because it was not uncommon there, sadly. I am half Brazilian on my absent father’s side and was considered quite exotic and fit. My secondary sexual characteristics developed early. I was reasonably careful and in control. True abuse began years later when we moved out to a proper house with HIM. HE was my mom’s dream man. HE was fit for a middle-aged man. By that time my brother wasn’t with us because he took work in Alaska on a fishing boat. HE was ex-Army and seemed like a good man at first. I was a bit of trouble maker and over-cheeky and my mom gave HIM carte blanche to discipline me like father. We weren’t there the length of a full season when HE started treating me like a tart. The spanking part mom knew about and thought it was funny, even with me being fifteen. HE spanked my bare bum even when she was home. She said I’d always needed a man’s hand to block of my rough edges. It was cringe, humiliating, but nothing compared to what HE did when mum was away. Not to get detailed, HE soon got to a point where I was going to get HIS load whenever there was the chance. Since HE got to set my schedule he made sure there were regular chances. It was my HELL and HE was the Prince of Darkness. He was rough but careful not to leave any marks. Unless time was short I had to shower first. Sometimes after there would be something specific sitting out to wear, like a costume or lingerie, or my netball kit. The grating anticipation of what was going to follow was the real torture. HE would tell me to “Pick a hole”. My holes! My foof was one, my mouth was two, and you’d think I would never select three. But you’d be wrong. I hated HIM. I am very sensitive sexually and if I went with one I looked like I loved it and if I chose two I was doing work to please HIM. Three was the way I could shut down and brace myself without him ever seeing me smile, even if I was facing toward him. When I was strong with hatred I would choose three. I compartmentalized that small but brutal part of my life for my mum. If was a mere thirty to one hundred twenty minutes per a week of 10080 minutes. And I saw no other way then. Mum, for the first time was living a happy life. I could have won a BAFTA for how I seemed so cozy and content for her. It gutted me that my fear of upsetting HIM made it appear that HE had smoothed out my rough edges and made me into a proper lady. I kept my marks up and stayed on the netball team in spite of being the shortest. I kept going. I developed a habit of stabbing mechanical pencil tips into my skin and biting my nailbeds to illicit pain. I had one boyfriend for a short time. I went to the dances. Home was my hell so I did everything HE would allow to be anywhere else. I could not work but he made my mum keep her job so he could have me. My birthdays I would get my way of having a just girls’ night out with mum. There were only two birthdays before I got free of him. College cost 1000 pounds and when HE paid it HE did not know I was not going to be his tart anymore. I had a friend with a home much closer to my school. They had spare bedroom because an older sibling had moved out. Being seventeen, HE couldn’t force me to live with them if I had other safe accommodations. I took employment and paid the meager rent. He got me one more time when I was sleeping back at his house on Christmas eve. Probably drugged mum to keep her sleeping. I made sure he never got a chance again. Through my Portuguese class I met a man who lived in Portugal and invited me to come stay with him as long as I wanted rent free. I finished one year of sixth form and went to Portugal. I had fleeting relations with the man I stayed with but he traveled often we both had our own things. I worked at an American-themed restaurant as a server then. I spoke with my mum on the phone most days. She visited once, with HIM. I missed her and tried not to show much of my sorrow about being forced apart from her. Seeing HIM was horrendous, yet I kept it contained inside like a cancer. It helped solidify my decision. I traveled with a friend to Florida and got a job serving in a posh restaurant. I applied for a work VISA and on my second try I got it. I am thirty-eight now. Only three years ago did I confront my demons because I read online stories about other abuse survivors. It opened up a deep wound so I could start to heal. It was and still is hard work and an ongoing process. I confessed to my mum who had split with HIM after years of her own abuse that she also kept hidden. HE had let her go when she started having health problems, showing his true black heart. She lives with my brother and his family. I regret losing years with mum and my brother and being chased away from my home when I was young but it made me stronger. I have never married but I have a loving partner, two dogs and I speak three languages. I am a physical trainer and work near the beach where I go to meditate and body surf. Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there. Just start and keep climbing, especially when it seems too hard.

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

My abuse started when I was 4 years old. By a grandfather figure of mine. He was a family friend that my parents trusted and he slowly worked his way into our lives any way he could. He lived with several members of my family, include my for a while. He helped us financially. Came to all our birthday parties. There's a weird line of love and hate when I think about him. It's mostly hate, but I remember watching him in court on his conviction day and smiling a little. Not because he was being sent to prison for what he did to me, but because it felt natural too. He continuously sexually abused me, my sister, and several of my cousins for years. There was this constant aura of fear and numbness in our family. None of the adults knew, but all of us kids did. It was unspoken but we knew what was going on. If it was physical abuse, it was verbal or emotional. In the car, in the house, out in public. I don't remember most of my childhood because I was constantly disassociating. It's hard getting older and realizing how much of who I am in either because of the abuse or in spite of it. It was just so constant in my life that there's no way to separate him from everything else. There is no before and after the abuse. It just was. The abuse was my childhood even though my parents thought they were doing everything right. It's a shit show to deal with, but I guess that's why it's called Complex PTSD.

I was 9 when it started. I mean it really started. There was a boy in my class who openly liked me. It didn’t bother me too much, except when he’s chase me around the field telling me he was in love with me. We were 7. It was ‘how kids were’ said my school when I said I wanted him to stop. But then later on in the years he got obsessed. Taking photos of me around school. Following me home. Getting in calls with me online (we were somewhat friends) and asking me to take my shirt off. Asking me to take my clothes off so he could screenshot. We were 9. It’s just how kids are? Right? Well that’s what I told myself. And still do. Then he got aggressive, telling his friends about how ‘sexy I was’ I didn’t know what sexy meant until he told me: “it means I want to take your clothes off and feel you” I remember his words so clearly. After that his friends got weird around me too. Especially another boy. I always thought we were friends until a girl ran up to me at break saying “—— HAD A DREAM ABOUT YOU” I didn’t know what she meant until the boy whispered in my ear how he dreamt of me giving him a blow job. That’s the day when I found out what blow jobs were. 9 fucking years old. He told me in detail and I sat there and cried. I wanted to run away. I wanted to scream. But I froze. Instead I fucking froze. I hate myself for it. But I know it’s ‘normal’. The main boy started to grow more and more aggressive. Grabbing my arm, hugging me and never letting go. And more and more pictures. More following home. More standing outside my house pretending to read when he watched me get changed. But for some reason i forgot to shut my curtains. Why? Did I like him? Was it all my fault? Did I tempt him? Those are questions I ask myself every day. He did bad things to me. Until I left primary school. Free. I was away from that horrible boy. And then we had a school reunion last year. I’m not going into detail. Mainly because I can’t I just can’t. He didn’t rape me. But he made bleed in the wrong place. He groped my chest. I still have a scar. And the at was the last time I saw him. I hate him. I pity him. I love him. No I don’t. I don’t. What if i did? What if it’s all my fault? Fuck, did I want him to do those things! I was only 12! I was only 9! and I had no one. no one helped me. No one saved me from that nightmare. I still look back on my younger self. My memory is hazy. Traumatic response my therapist says. But what if it never happened. Am I just like those people I see on the internet who lie about SA? I don’t want to be. They make me so angry. I still am not okay. No one sees me. I hate him. I hate all the people who made people suffer like I have. If you experienced COCSA I’m so sorry. I love you. You are more than them. You are braze and special. And I love you. Stay fucking safe.

I am Name years old single mom of two beautiful kids ages 10 and 12 years old. I was once a victim of abusement, harassment, assault, defamation, and rudeness of other people when I am just a simple, kind and silent person. Until now, they still look down on me and I don't know what have I done why they hate, angry and so rude to me. They are treating me like I am not an educated person when I am and they keep on look down on me because we are just simple and in a middle class person or family. And they think that they think better than me and I don't have any complain of it but they keep trying to argue with me that I am a better dumb person to them. And it's kind of abusing to think of that way that they think like that to me and that's insult me of my human being. I don't know what to do right now on how to express of this. My family I dont know if they doesn't know about this or they know about this or just hiding from me that they know everything but they really dont agree with me all the time or don't believe in me. What help should I seek for this matter of existence!?

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

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

I was four years old. I was lead into the woods by him. I still remember it was fall. The leaves crunched beneath my feet as we walked. The woods seemed to hush themselves to silence as we stopped by an old rusted out car. I was four years old. He told me to put his penis in my mouth. I was four years old. I trusted him. I still remember the taste. That putrid taste. That is all I can recall. Confusion and shame would follow me every day. Not a day goes by I do not think about it. I was 4 years old. I do not remember if it only happened one time or multiple times. My mind shut a lot of it out. I try to remember and all that surfaces is pain. Pieces of a puzzle I try to solve with many of the pieces missing . I was four years old.

*THIS IS MY FIRST TIME TELLING ANYONE MY STORY** I had just turned 13 and had my first crush, a boy 2 years older than me, we'll call Name cause well that's his name. His Cousin had invited me to a"house party" only when I showed up it was just me, him and his cousin. When I got there they were both waiting for me in the entry way, my first thought was wow they're excited to see me, cool. Then I felt someone grab me by the back of my head by my ponytail. Then my pullover jacket I had just got for Christmas was pulled over my head, and I felt a sharp cold knife against my throat. I was forced into a bedroom With only one of them Wich I couldn't see because my jacket was still over my head, but I could tell by the voice it was Name I remember hearing the clips on my farmer jeans being messed with, but he couldn't be bothered to figure it out so he pulled them down over my shoulders and eventually down to my feet. My coat had moved down a little so I could see his hand flat on the bed with the knife underneath it, mind you this was my first time having any kind of sexual experience at this point I had never even kissed a boy, all I could think of was if I grab this knife I can stab him and run but that would have been impossible considering my farmer jeans were still around my ankles and I was in so much pain and bleeding everywhere. I froze, I left my body, I let him do what he planned on doing from the start, I felt so stupid, so naive and so VIOLATED. I walked from this "house party" rape plan 7 blocks crying hysterically as blood dripped down my legs, Wich I didn't even notice, I was so young I didn't know what happened your"first time". I'm 40 now and I'm finally coming forward because it's been eating me alive for years. And PTSD is real. This scumbag not only took what I was saving for my future husband, he took my pride, my self esteem, my trust and my ability to open up sexually to the love of my life. If I didn't have my husband I'd probably be in a psych ward somewhere, I know I didn't deserve or ask for this, but it still affects me daily, I stay far away from where it happened, I'm always looking over my shoulder, I'm sick of living in fear since he was released from prison for other things..... He actually had the nerve to request me on Facebook! That's when the flash backs started.... I thought I had this tucked away, hidden deep down in the depths of my soul, never to be spoken about EVER. All I want to do is tell my husband, but I feel like I've been lying by omission, I want to tell him so bad, I just can't bring myself to tell him without breaking down completely or hurting him somehow.....I love him so much, he is my safe place.

It was a first date. It was my first first-date in years. A couple of drinks turned into a good conversation. A good conversation turned into me accepting an invitation to go meet his cousin. Meeting his cousin turned into another drink, and then the cousin disappeared. I tried to leave. He physically overpowered me. I struggled, literally begging him to stop. I threatened him that I had no contraception, and that I would ruin his life if I got pregnant. I said I would have the baby, thinking it would scare him. He wasn't scared. I covered my vagina with my hands, begging. He slapped me across the face. He forced himself into my mouth. Once he was finished with the assault, he just went to sleep. I laid there, starting out the tiny circular window he had in his room, seeing just the hue of a streetlight in the distance. I got home and showered it all off of me. Not thinking straight. Not thinking about how it would affect my ability to come forward. I just wanted to wash away the feeling of his hands. Physically, my face was bruised, my mouth cut open. Emotionally, I was ruined. I turned to alcohol to drown away any thoughts. I became distant from friends and family. I was angry. I went to therapy, they told me it wasn't my fault. I knew that. Logically, I knew that it is never the fault of the victim. Internally, I felt that it was my fault for going on the date and stupidly trusting him. I still feel guilt for not reporting him. I feel like I have let down other survivors, I feel weak. I don't know how to heal. I don't know how to be a survivor.

• Bitter. • Sometimes it comes in spouts of sunshine. Warm, welcoming, loving embraces of serotonin radiate the pure beauty of what seems to be a fixation of a happy life. So closely within reach I can barley taste the bitter memory of •victim • in the back of my throat,. On these rare occasions Each person directed in my perspective are almost to the point of perfection, that I no longer envy for being •normal• I can feel myself wanting to be social again, encouraged to change for the better for I no longer see myself as a victim of sexual abuse for I am cured ! I tell myself. No,. I dont need recovery any longer. No,. I dont need reassurance! Of course not!. Silly girl,. No I am not bothered by the way your eyebrows just raised slightly to the left,. No it totally didnt affect my people pleasing,. No im not looking for ways to keep you or others from abandoning me. I am just like YOU. Happy. Healthy . Healed. ! My abuse has not influenced me whats so ever!. I'm. Fine.! Denial is a beautifully dressed secret isnt it.?. Until the celebration is over and darkness rolls in once more. Yet again I stand face to face with the left overs of a unforgettable meal Id rather not finish. I knew i shouldnt of hosted that dinner. To many secrets not enough people to feed,. I watch as my Trauma pours down the Sunday china, quickly overflowing its crystal glasses , the silverware falling to the ground , yet not one chair has been emptied. For my party is not yet full. Thats the thing about a unhealed person,. Something always. Wants. More. Trying my best to hold my composure I can see my past folding her legs to the side as a sign to leave, just as instability hisses back at shame for being to loud. Every part of me fighting to be heard in the back of my mind. Exhausted, I step back. Recognizing this Clearly no longer welcomes who I am. For I was never invited to begin with. I hold fears hand tightly,. You see fear is always is there for me. He keeps me safe. He's my bestfriend. And until I can find a way to let him go. I will forever be serving Trauma as the main course to those whos mouths never deserved a taste of bitter memory.

It’s a shame to be you. So wrapped up in you. Clinging to your innocence. But I know it’s untrue. I know you! Your mother-raised a rapist. Wish I could say it to her face. “Your son- is a disgrace.” “You’ve never felt pressure, sweetheart.” That’s what you’d say But I felt your abuse… Every single day. Your words were like poison ivy. Your presence like quick sand. But I know in my soul, You’re the weakest type of man. But that pressure built up. My skin became tough. No longer sinking in your quick sand. Because pressure- makes Diamonds. It’s a shame to be you. When I get to be me. Someone worthy of love. And I get to be free. I get to feel safe, And I know who I am. I know I deserved better. I deserve a good man. I’m so glad that I’m me. And I’m so glad that you’re you. Because- while I am a Diamond, Well, you’re nothing, aren’t you?

After over a decade, I'm just now coming out of a fog and realizing I've been abused since before we even married. I feel so lost right now. I'm trying to forgive myself, love myself, and gain strength, all while still having to be married to my abuser. I want to leave but don't have the resources to. And I cannot stomach the thought of my children having to suffer even weekend visits with him without me there as a shield. I'm so exhausted. I'm so hurt and angry and sad. He's abused me physically, emotionally, mentally, and financially. I feel so trapped and don't really see a way out for me and my kids. When I watched It Ends With Us, I related so much because I knew exactly how it felt to look back and finally realize what had actually happened. I am just now processing so much that I didn't feel safe enough to even consider was abuse before. It's hard and sometimes I want to hide from it all, but I know the only way to heal and somehow leave is to face what I've been through head on and make a plan to escape.

Name: Triumph Over Tragedy City, GA AIDS survivor and motivational speaker Name has a profound story that heals hearts. As a screenwriter, playwright, poet, Gospel songwriter, and author, she crafts riveting truths about love, life, and relationships, mirroring her trials. Name has faced abuse, addiction, domestic violence, suicide, and sexual assault. At the age of 21, Name was sexually assaulted by a stranger, and ten years later, she was date assaulted by two men she was dating, one of them being one of the assaulters. Despite these hardships, she committed her life to God, becoming celibate in 2000. Diagnosed with HIV in 2010 and progressing to AIDS in 2013, she defied the odds, with her AIDS status having been healed since 2014. Her films, available on Amazon Prime, and her stage play, performed in City, showcase her resilience. Name continues to inspire through her faith, therapy, and the support of her daughters. Follow Name on Instagram and Facebook for more of her inspiring journey. Name is a multitalented speaker, writer, and inventor featured in movies, plays, books, and online articles. Her films feature Hollywood talents such as Robin Givens and Paula Jai Parker. Learn more at [Name's website] (Link).

It is important to clarify that in my case, this was not a romantic/sexual relationship – it was a teacher/student, mentor/mentee, falsified mother/daughter type of situation. She never had children and was trying to, in some ways, adopt me as her own. It is still considered domestic violence under the definition, though it is not the typical case. When I was a teenager in high school, I was in a very dark place mentally and contemplating suicide and needed to see someone. A trusted family member recommended a therapist to my mother. Although at the time I recalled not having good feelings about her – I felt distrustful vibes – I went to her for therapy for a few years. Primarily to please my mother and hopefully balance out my emotions in the process. The abuse, from a psychological standpoint, began when I saw her for therapy as a teenager, but I didn’t really become aware of that until I reconnected with her in my 30s – after the death of my brother. As a professional in the mental health field, she took advantage of my weakened mindset and spiritual views by manipulating me with her delusional state of being – she claimed to have strong spiritual power and a connection to God. Craving spiritual guidance and balance, she convinced me to live with her so she could become my true spiritual teacher. She gradually showed her true colors the longer we lived together in a mentor/mentee situation. She became more controlling of my every move and my time. She persuaded me to cut off from family and trusted friends – making me believe that she was the only one I could trust in the world. Truly isolating me from everyone who cared about me. The anger she displayed was terrifying. She became extremely unstable and even suicidal over time. Subjecting me to more mental, emotional, psychological, and spiritual abuse than I could ever write about. My gut, my instincts, told me this was an incredibly unhealthy situation after only a few months of living with her. Still, I had known her for almost two decades and she was a professional in the mental health field. Surely, she could be trusted to have my best interests in mind, right? She also had health issues and made sure I knew she needed me by using my genuine kindness and character against me to keep me attached. The tipping point was when I believed I truly saw her demonic side show itself visually. This person is claiming to be close to God. So witnessing her demonic behavior shook something in my mind. My inner voice said," She isn't who she says she is. Feel this in your heart. You need to get out!" The process was confusing and messy in my mind. I had been groomed to trust her since I was a teenager. Now in my 30s, I felt many conflicting feelings about leaving because of this. A friend of mine, who was also a medium, contacted me after performing an intercession and told me just how bad the situation was and that I needed to leave NOW. I felt this message deeply and acted on it right away. I called my one remaining friend to tell her I needed a place to go and fast. Luckily my friend accepted me with open arms. For so many years I felt guilty for leaving…like I was the one that messed everything up. Ha! The one friend that remained in my life was also who accepted me the day I needed out quickly. She was the most understanding and incredibly sympathetic person. I will always be grateful to her and her kindness! Unfortunately, my family was cut off early in my relationship, so they didn't know anything about my abuse for quite some time after I left. When I finally reached out to repair those familial relationships, they were understandably upset at her and comforting to me. I’m proud my family comforted me once I opened up to them. After almost everyone knew what had happened, they wholeheartedly supported me, and that was truly healing.