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

8M (me) 11F (cousin) 12M (cousin) were at a family function just playing house (it just dawned on me that 11-12 year olds don't play house and that the only reason we played house was for this) until it was night time in which we all got in the bed I lied at the bottom of their feet as their child as they had sex in front of me not even .5 foot away from me I just hid in fear 10M 13F 14M my older cousin led us into the woods and told my female cousin to strip she complied and then they started going at it with each other I just stood silently observing this horrible sight; seeing my female cousin in such a way felt so wrong to me my cousin then asked me to join him and I did, I was clueless just stood their as it happened; biggest regret of my life this one mistake started a snowball effect that still haunts me 12M 15F 16M yet another family function my cousins were drinking this time and came up to me hammered and asking me to come upstairs we end up smoking weed and my older cousin starts to tease my female cousin; by this time this ordeal had happened at pretty much every meeting of us I had even started pleasuring myself watching them (I never got involved because I wanted to keep myself) this time however my older cousin has fallen into a drunk slumber and my female cousin was already "ignited" she came up to me and said "lucky for you ive been ignited and all I need is for someone to come diminish me" (I remember those words 1:1) my female cousin then took my purity from me, I didn't even try to fight her or try to ask her to stop I was telling myself I didn't want to yet I pleaded for her to help me I still don't have it wrapped in my head if I was a victim or if I was just as predatory as them, I know that my older cousin started manipulating my female cousin and I didn't stop him because I enjoyed it, yet again I was 10 years old I couldn't grasp the gravity and severity of what we were doing I even viewed it as just complimentary and normal and that we were just helping each other, but the other part of me hates me for it.

"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.

I started dating him during college. I remember him catching my eye the day I met him, his laugh, his curiosity with the world and the way he smiled when we spoke. We got to know each other over hours of tea time, and we started dating at the end of my senior year of college. I was off to med school in a city 4 hours away, and we were determined to make long distance work. He was my first boyfriend, and after COVID had thinned out my experience of college, I was excited to have found my person. I was incredibly happy in the beginning of our relationship, getting to do things for the first time with a boyfriend and experiencing what it was like to be desired and loved romantically. The feelings were intoxicating. In my naivety of a first relationship, especially my first serious relationship at the age of 21, I failed to seriously question behaviors that I saw in my partner. Take it as a result from my limited exposure to healthy relationships in childhood or my fear of admitting to myself that something was wrong. The part that was most foreign to me as someone new to relationships was navigating my own relationship with sex. I enjoyed sex, especially with someone that I loved, and I was convinced of the idea that I needed to always be able to provide sexually for my partner since now, we were exclusive, and I was his girlfriend. I appreciated knowing that I was desired, and my partner enjoyed being intimate with me. This worked for a while, until I started to need to set boundaries and prioritize my need for sleep and being able to function well in the high pressure environment of medical school. This is a story of a night that happened too many times for me to count in my relationship, so often that I knew it was going to happen every time he came to visit. There would be nights when I needed to get to sleep early because I needed to get a good night of sleep before an exam, or be well rested for another day of clinicals at the hospital. It would be about 10:30 pm, I would get ready for bed, knowing that I’d get a decent 7 hours of sleep if I was in bed by 11. He would be working or winding down his work, I would remind him that I needed to get to sleep so I could get enough rest for my next day. His work was very time consuming and he worked late into the night often, so I never pushed him to go to bed when he had something to work on. The one thing I would remind him of however, was that I wanted to be asleep by 11. If you want to have some intimate time, please wrap up soon because I need to sleep. I would brush my teeth, get in bed and he would say that he was wrapping up. I would try my hardest to stay awake until 11, scrolling on Tik Tok, or Instagram, hoping the blue light would do its job. 10:55. He closes his laptop and heads to the bathroom. I try my best to stay awake. 11:05. 11:10. 11:15. 11:20. I hear a toilet flush and the shower turn on. I can’t fight my exhaustion anymore, maybe it’s the frustration, the stress from studying, or just the exhaustion of cooking, cleaning, packing lunches and breakfast and making dinner for two whiles being a medical student. I fall asleep. 11:45. I’m woken up by him sliding into bed and I turn to curl up on his chest. He pulls me in to a cuddle , stokes my back and kisses my head. “Maybe do you want to do some sexy time?” He asks me. This is a question I know all too well in this exact situation that has played our too many times to count in our relationship. I respond the way I always do, convincing myself that this time, I’m going to stand my ground. “Baby it’s really late and I told you I needed to sleep, I don’t want to have sex, I’m really tired” “That’s okay! Then maybe we can do things other than sex?” The dance between us has started, and I know I really need to sleep but that he is going to get quiet and distant for the next day if I keep refusing. I tell myself that I need to prioritize my sleep right now, and he will get over not having sex for a night. It puzzles me that he thinks that giving him a blow job is any less exhausting than having sex and somehow is still okay to ask for when I told him I was really tired and needed to sleep. “Baby please I’m really tired, I don’t have the energy to blow you” “That’s fine, we can do it in the morning then” I hate making commitments that I can’t keep and I hate when anyone does the same to me. My response is a reflection of that, and in hindsight, not the best decision to getting this dance over with. “I have to be up at 6 I’m not getting up any earlier than that and I don’t think you will be waking up that early either” He goes quiet for a moment. “Maybe we can do some kissy?” I understand that his love language is physical touch and at this point, the guilt overwhelms me. The boy that I love has traveled hours to come see me and spend time with me, and here I am trying to sleep instead of making him feel loved. I know the logic is skewed, but I always wanted him to feel loved and know how much I loved him. If I could just kiss him a little bit, subtract some of my sleep, then that’s okay. This boy loved me and I loved him, I can spend a bit of time kissing him and reminding him that I found him attractive and desirable as well. I would lift my chin and kiss him, gently, softly, as passionately as I could for someone half asleep. I would try to meet his level of intensity, the sleep and exhaustion weighing on my eyelids. Eventually the exhaustion would catch up to me and I would stop moving my mouth as much. “Baby! I’m trying to kiss you but you’re not seeming very into it!” He says. “I’m sorry handsome I’m just so tired, I love you” He lets out a sigh and reaches for my hand that is laying on his chest. He takes my hand and places It right where he wants it. He’s hard. The feeling of dread washes over me. I love this boy, I do, and I’m flattered that he desires me. But I am just so sleepy and exhausted right now. He moves my hand against himself. He uses his other hand and reaches for my waistband. He slides his hands inside and touches me. “I think someone wants me” he says. Of course I find him attractive. I’m just so tired right now and I don’t want to do anything but sleep. He kisses me more passionately. Touches me more aggressively. Makes me touch him more aggressively. The exhaustion has won over my determination to not let this happen again. “Please I’m really tired” My plea goes unanswered as he takes off my bottoms and his own. I know at this point, it is easier and faster to get this over with than to keep trying to fight for myself and refuse his advances. Any time I had refused his sexual advances in the past I’d be met with cruelty. I would beg him to say something while I profusely apologized, and he would keep silent. If it was in the morning, I would explain that I was in pain and would ask to figure out our days together. He would refuse to partake, roll his eyes and would go back to sleep. He would get out of bed after 10am, ensuring that I wouldn’t be able to of any of the things that I wanted to do with him that morning. Once he wore me down and I gave him reluctant consent when I was in pain, asking him to be gentle. The pain was severe as soon as he entered me, and I cried out. I profusely apologized but he stayed silent, even as I begged him to say something. I didn’t realize that this was stonewalling and emotional abuse. Come to think of it, I could never have a period in peace when I was with him. If I lied in bed moaning in pain, he would sometimes comfort me a little. But every single time it would end in him making the same joke, even after I had expressed numerous times how much it bothered me. “You know what would make your cramps feel a lot better?” He meant sex. He always meant sex. Even when I explained to him what excruciating pain I was experiencing, he wanted sex. Even after I explained to him that it bothered me that he kept making that same joke, explained how it made me feel like he didn’t understand the amount of pain I was in. He just wanted sex. It never mattered if I was in pain. He laughed when I cried about how upset that joke made me. My naïve heart was convinced that laughter was innocent. Most of those times he wouldn't relent until we had sex, or I pleasured him in some other way. 12:10. He reaches for a condom, and before I know it, we’re having sex. I’m doing anything I possibly can to get this over with as quickly as possible. Move the way he wants me to touch him the way he wants me to. All the while thinking to myself, “please just finish I’m so tired and need to sleep”. 12:30. He’s done. I try to hold back my tears as I head to the bathroom. How did I let this happen again? I talked to him about this again just last week. I told him I need him to respect my bedtime didn’t I? I asked him to please not push it when I say I don’t want to have sex. I asked him to please not reach for my hand and make me touch you. He verbalized understanding, said that he only wanted to have sex if I did. What was I doing wrong that this kept happening even after I talked to him about it? I go back to bed, he’s curled up facing away from me, starting to fall asleep. I know he likes to have sex before bed to help him fall asleep, it helps him work out the “zoomies before bed” as he calls them. I lay next to him and the tears start silently falling down my cheeks. Is this what being an exclusive partner is supposed to be like? Am I rarely going to be able to sleep when I want to because I need to be there for him to have sex with before bed, the way he likes? Are my pleas to be left alone always going to get ignored? If we live together, get married, is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? One thought sinks to the pit of my stomach. Is this assault? 12:45. I finally get the chance to sleep undisturbed. My hope for 7 hours of sleep has dwindled down to 5. I guess I’ll just be groggy and exhausted working at the hospital again. This was my boyfriend, the boy I have been with for years. He says he loves me. I love him. He cares about me, buys me groceries, buys me birthday presents. He goes to dinner and comes to visit me while I’m at school. He helps fix my car and my devices. We brush our teeth together most nights before bed. He’s my best friend. Some of my friends say we look cute together and have funny banter. Could a person like that assault me? I certainly didn’t say yes. I said no at the beginning and said that I did not want to have sex, but I’m not sure I said no or asked him to stop when he grabbed a condom. I was too tired to put up a fight, I just wanted to get it over with. This wasn’t the first time. It happened just about every month he came to visit me. I tried to talk to him about it often, he called it bickering and said that he liked sex before bed and first thing in the morning and it was hard for him to wrap up work earlier so things wouldn’t happen so late. He shut down when I brought up the topic and said that this was his love language and it made him feel loved. I wanted him to feel loved, just not at the expense of my lack of sleep. I initiated sex often to make him feel loved, and at a time that would be conducive to my need for sleep. But no matter how many times we had sex before I was winding down my night, he always wanted sex when he went to bed because it helped him get to sleep easier. We talked about making time for sex, planning. He agreed when we spoke about it, but the action never happened. What was I left with? No matter what we spoke about, the same thing happened. I spoke to someone close to him about my distress because I wanted to understand anything I could to help reframe my feelings, and hopefully understand him better and feel less hurt. “He’s a 23 year old boy who sees his girlfriend once a month, what do you expect? You’re being irrational” “Maybe you shouldn’t sleep in the same bed then” “If you can’t meet his needs then you need to talk to him about it” “So what if he cheats on you, it’s just sex he’s still choosing to be with you right?” Was I the girl that was depriving him of happiness? I wasn’t giving him the kind of sex he wanted at the hour he wanted? I didn’t think he was a malicious person. The kindest explanation that I could come up with was that his brain shut down when he was in the mood, and he had a hard time thinking about much else other than his desire for sex. His frontal lobe forgot to consider that maybe his actions were hurting me, and he saw convincing me as a challenge. After all, I was his girlfriend and we should be intimate together, and there were many times when I enjoyed it. All he could think about in the moment was just working out his zoomies to help him get to sleep. However, there is a reason why were are humans, not bunnies – we have advanced cognitive reasoning and I don’t think idiocy is an excuse. He loved me, right? Why would he want to hurt me? These thoughts are why I stayed as long as I did. He didn’t mean to hurt me, he just was young and dumb and was working on developing his emotional intelligence. I was convinced that it would grow with time and the more we spoke about it, little by little he would understand. But he didn’t. Was I just being impatient? Long story short, things in our relationship feel apart when things surfaced about how angry he was about the times I refused sex when I was tired, and his desires to be with someone who was more sexually exciting than me, someone with bigger breasts and fuller curves like the porn he looked at multiple times a day. The feelings and questions from all the times that I was pressured into sex surfaced. I felt that these feelings and situations when I felt pressured were the reason why I was so guarded with him sexually and didn’t always feel comfortable and I wanted to work through it with him so I could be more sexually exciting for him. I talked to him about these situations. “I think that was a form of assault. I was pressured into sex when I didn’t want to and it made me uncomfortable” “I never meant to be assaulting you, I’m sorry you felt like that. I can see how you took as that though” He wanted to see if moving in together would fix things for us. The thought of spending every night like this terrified me. “We can have two different bedrooms so that doesn’t happen” he offered. Why couldn’t he just respect my boundaries? I wanted to be able to cuddle in bed with my partner at the end of a long day and feel comfort without the worry that I had to provide sexually when I was exhausted. “I’d appreciate being able to talk through this with you because I have felt violated in this relationship and I’m in a pretty bad place” I told him I was done when he yelled at me over the phone. He was going to look into couples counseling. He said he was doing some deep introspection about his feelings. He sent me a letter saying he didn’t want to be with me a few days later because I was bickering and upset with him. “This is just too much, and I don’t have the time to deal with this and work through these things with you. My work is an extension of me, my priority, and I need to focus on that...I don’t want you to come away from this feeling like you were abused for 3 years” The boy who said he loved me unconditionally had found his condition. His points were valid, everyone has a right to their own priorities. However, it struck me that after 3 years together, he still didn’t respect me or care about me enough to take responsibility and help me talk through the trauma that I had undergone in our relationship. It is always hard to confront that we have hurt someone that we love, and I want to think that his avoidant tendencies put him in fight or flight mode when he heard how much pain I was in. He must have thought it was easier to just run away, stop hurting me instead of confronting the hurt that he had caused me. I convinced myself of every excuse I could possibly make for him. At the end of the day, I was left with myself, healing from being violated throughout my relationship, screaming, crying, not knowing how to speak about what had happened to me. But here I am now, trying to learn how. Was this ignorance? A habitual miscommunication every month? Even that just sounded ridiculous, how can I speak to him about the same thing every month just for him to never hear it? Was I making too many excuses for him? Was I too much of a people pleaser, and was he looking to steam roll me to get what he wanted? Assault always felt like too strong of a word to describe this. Was there a smaller tier to describe being touched when I didn’t want to be and being nudged into sex when I did not want it? Is there a word to describe your partner of years habitually having sex with you when you did not say yes, and did not want to? ChatGPT says “the term for that is ‘coercive sex’ or ‘sexual coercion’ if there was pressure, guilt-tripping, or manipulation involved. If there was no consent at all, even if it was within a long-term relationship, it is legally and ethically considered rape or sexual assault, depending on jurisdiction.” I’ve never been able to call this rape, but I’m coming to understand that rape isn’t always violent and can be done by someone who is an intimate partner who was not physically abusive. He never hit me or got violent with me. But this, whatever it was, came with emotional abuse and still sucked. I felt very disrespected and violated. One thing that I am sure of (unfortunately) is that I am not alone in this experience. I appreciate you for reading this story, whether you can relate or not.

Date’ I’m 16 years old. I went to a private school in region. There was a post grad following me around the party. I knew him so I wasn’t alarmed(even though he was 19 6’5” and 200 lbs a basketball player) He was my best friends ex. I needed to use the restroom. My first red flag. The guy tried to come in the bathroom. I said oh here you can go I’ll go somewhere else. Smooth move. I went upstairs and when I came out he was standing there waiting for me. He brought me into plunketts room and asked me to go on the roof and hook up. I said no I have a bf. He tried to kiss me I pushed him away. The fireworks were starting. We went on the roof after he apologized and said let’s just go smoke a cigarette. I agreed and we went out. This is when he forced me down and started kissing me. I was helpless 120, 5’8”. I cried and replied no stop pls stop. I can still feel the the rocky shingles on my back while he defiled me. Not even the worst part. I could hear ppl right under us but I was so embarrassed and scared I didn’t scream. That’s my worst regret I could have just screamed. When he was about to finish he gave me a choice. “I won’t come in you if you let me cum in your mouth”. I’m 40 and have never been the same since that incident

When my dad remarried after my mom I had no idea he was even seeing someone. They got married so quickly that my brother and I (m) never got a chance to know her or her kids. I was 7 or 8 at the time and my step brother- who was around 12 or so and I had to share a room. Everything started a few months after he had moved in. First it started by him masterbating in front of me and inviting me into his bed and it escalated from there. He then started to have me give him oral and and to "play with him" as he said then one day before church he tried to have anal sex with me. I didn't tell anyone this until 2021 when I was 22. For so long I didn't realize or understand why it happened or even that it was sexual assault and when I did I sobbed and ugly cried all day. Being gay this is seen as normal and highly expected. Along the same lines as a younger man hooking up with an older woman. I subconsciously was exploring and trying to understand why he had made me do those things with him and in the process I ended up hurting myself even more and possibly a few others along the way. I still wonder how my life would've been different had I not have to go through that experience. Would I still be gay, would I still be hiv positive? Would I have abetter relationship with drugs and alcohol be better? Would my relationship with men be different?

I went out with friends but left early as I was drunk and tired and I asked someone for directions to find my Uber when another guy asked if I was going to uni and said I was pretty which was fine but he then asked if he could have a kiss. I didn't know what to do so I stepped towards him and then he put his arm round me and I felt like I had to kiss him but I didn't want to. I tried to face away from him hoping he would just kiss my cheek but he didn't so I turned my head and he kissed me and I feel gross and want to throw up every time I think of it.

When I was 18 I was raped and physically assaulted by a friend of mine at the time. He was 3 years older than me and it was his 21st birthday. It took me a year to accept what happened, and 4 years to get help through counseling. I used to feel a lot of guilt for not getting help sooner and the way my trauma affected other people in my life/people I was in relationships with. I also hated and still sometimes hate the way it affects me 6 years later, but I’m learning that things don’t always go away on their own and it’s okay to reach out for help, no matter what stage you’re in or how long has passed. You will find people who love and believe you, and you’re more than worthy of that. They say skin completely regenerates every 7 years, so by this time next year I’ll have a body you’ve never touched, and that’s comforting.

I was in a abusive marriage for many years. I never told anyone and was incredibly ashamed of myself and what I was allowing to happen. He was a military man. We moved around and I had few friends. We had children. One girl from my previous relationship and 2 children together. He sexually abused me. The last time resulted in my 3rd child. Years later my oldest child told me he was "touching" her. I reported it immediately and ne er doubted my child. A few months later, my 2nd child told me the same. He had raped her. Needless to say, I reported both abuses. And I left him. Moved out of state. He did some prison time, remarried and has built a new life for himself. 20 years later I am still angry, full of hate towards him and sickened by the thought of him. He was a registered sex offender, but after 20 years he petitioned to be removed. Time goes by and I'm okay. Other times I am depressed, full of anger, sadness, bitterness, grief & so much more. Not sure what I want to do? Do I need more therapy? Do I have Ptsd? My kids thank goodness, have turned out well. Me, sometimes I wonder.

On our first Christmas Together He Raped Me I was raped in every way possible under the Christmas Tree ... He smelled like Marlboro Reds, . That man on my back. He was smiling so Cheshirely that spit dribbled down his chin from the collosal effort. . He didn't ask permission to have sex with me. That would've been ...inconvenient to his desires. ...Megalomania at its blindest. He didn't care about my soul, my needs, my wants, my health..my sanity..He plied me with promises of freedom....Lured me with lies of love . A cage is a cage...is love of an abuser. and tore at me until I was completely eviscerated between his bubbles of spit and rancid alcohol. He had me until he climaxed, and I bled. Then.. he left me there. All I could smell was iron and salt. I bit my tongue, and it bled in my mouth only because it hurt so much. I had endometriosis even then. He didn't care. He didn't use lubricant... He didn't use anything, but hatred to abuse me again and again..l I begged him to stop. Used me until all I could see, taste, smell, and touch was blinding pain. All I could feel was his putrid breath ,,,singing every miniscule, semaphore hair... My nerves on fire and Screaming in sheer agony. DESIST!!!on my skin..miniscule, sensitive parts burning...... Screaming for him to cease... Every cell shrieking my earlobes throbbing with the terrible, dogged rhythm. The stench of his wanton hatred and desperation was the coming of doom...heart pounding against my cochlea..echoing staggered, shallow breath and pointless gasps of st--op. His body was a deleterious weapon..shrouding my neck and curls in jaundiced spittle. All he could manage to utter through his crusted lips was how good ALL of my ignominy felt TOO him, For HiM, withIN him. I recall that I vomited then.. Christmas Feasts were over for some time hence........I don't remember how long it took him to finish It might've been 2 or 20 minutes, or 20, or 2 hours. They say time is Linear, but it truly isn't. One second can feel like a lifetime, and one entire day can vanish in a flash. I didn't want to smell him, but I couldn't hold my breath that long . He latched on when he pulled out long enough to use me until Then. I bled. It wasn't a disturbing porn video. It was my life. WTF I was 18 yo, and I thought he was going to kill me... Because he was terrified of being arrested and jailed for statutory rape. He was a predator, and I, merely a sumptuous meal of Vestal Virgin.... I'm the stupidest person alive. That's how I see myself. It was my fault that I bled under that tree. My fault that I was there. I chose him.. I thought I was going to die that night... Under that Christmas Tree with no decorations, and old school, small, multicolored string lights. Bulbs of saffron, amber, rose, ..emerald, and cobalt. The EnD

I was a college student working a part-time receptionist job and we went out to happy hour with a group of colleagues. After a few drinks, a smaller group of us went to one colleague's apartment to hang out. You kept mixing drinks and begged me to try them - just a sip, just to taste. I started to feel a little dizzy, and you told me I could crash upstairs for a bit. I woke up in the middle of the night to you removing my clothes and touching me, but I wasn't lucid enough to do anything. I asked you the next day why you did what you did. I was passed out. You told me that it takes two.

I'm a male survivor, primarily of female abuse. I'm a little nervous - wait - no I'm actually scared to share here since it's mixed-gendered. I found a wonderful website specifically for men, but I've never had a positive experience elsewhere. Hoping to be supported by both men and women. I've been waking up crying in the morning a lot lately and having dissociative episodes. And I can't keep wondering again if I'm even still a man. Did I have a right to say no? Anyway I don't know what else to write, but thanks for reading this.

I tried to kiss my girlfriend at the end of our second date, and something was wrong. She flinched. She moved. No, she backed away. Then later, she told me about how she had been attacked by a man two years ago and hadn’t been intimate with anyone since. So what now. She went through something I would never understand. I do not understand. How can you go inside her, feel that level of connection, and want her—knowing she was tied down against her will, and tortured for hours with foreign objects, starting and finishing with physical abuse. She will not say out-loud the source. But I now know she still carries scars on her skin and damage to her internal organs. With bravery I will never understand. The power of her story was second only to the power of her choosing to share that story with me. Since that day I have tried to make good on that trust and make her feel safe and enrich her life, however I am able. It does not come close to the insight she has given me. Now, my partner continues to show signs of the trauma almost every day- Yet it is not even close to the first thing that comes to mind when I think of her. She is one of the gentlest and most thoughtful woman I have been lucky enough to meet. Sometimes her teacher voice comes out, when I have misunderstood her directions or done something wrong—and honestly I don’t mind it in the slightest, because I truly consider this confidence an extension of her desire to resolve conflict through positive emotions. This is no damn small feat, considering what she’s been through. I sometimes think about the man that attacked her. I hate him. I do not know his name or what he looks like. And I am not sure what I’d do if I did. But ultimately it’s not for me to decide. She has forgiven him and so must I. She is kinder and more patient than this world deserves. I am proud to know her and proud to love her.

For years I questioned what I was doing wrong and how someone who loved me could be so comfortable hurting me. But they didn’t hit me so I never looked at it as DV or myself as a victim. Through different type of relationships, it was a revolving door, but they didn’t hit me so I wasn’t a victim. Until my last relationship. In 3 1/2 years, he put his hands on me once, but if I had just let him leave, he wouldn’t have done it. For the longest time, he was planting it into my head that I was the issue. The good times were really good so I overlooked the bad cause I loved him more than I loved myself in that moment. The way he loved my kids (who were not his) also kept me around for a lot longer than I should have. I planned a life with him in my head cause he was helping raise kids that weren’t his so he must be an amazing man to step up, until he started lacking. Then I realizing me being unhappy with him, was hurting my kids more than I knew. He made me believe that I was so “mentally unstable” no one would ever love me & that being 6ft down in a grave was the only way I was going to be able to get away from him. Then I left & I was so proud of myself. I started doing intensive therapy & working on myself & then the thoughts he planted in my head came back. “No one could ever love you the way I do because I was there for you in your lowest” & I broke the no contact & let him back in. Things were good at first, and then he would shove the past in my face & tell me how much he hated me & the verbal & mental abuse cycle began again. But this time, I knew better. I found out about mental & physical abuse, I did research, I was in groups & I was learning to love myself again. I had boundaries for the first time in a long time. And then I found out about the cheating a year prior while he was living at my house & the summer of the downward spiral had begun. I blocked him again & was so depressed, I began drowning it with alcohol. I felt my heart just break as this man had spent so much time accusing me of cheating while I was working to support my kids, just for him to turn around & do it to me. I almost lost everything & it took me losing 1 of my jobs to finally get back on track. I stopped drinking for a while, I found a better job, I spent more time with my kids & began re-evaluating what made me happy in life. I re-discovered my healthy boundaries, I was working more, I was laughing again & generally meaning it. I started talking to my friends about my feelings & where I was in life. For a year, things were going better (there’s always going to be the ups & downs but it was better). And then the 1 year of me blocking had come up & I caved & unblocked him on his birthday. At first it was to be petty, and then I found out he was seeing someone. I played it like I didn’t know anything, we hung out a few times & then the old him came out again but this time, I was in a better place & I knew what to accept & what to correct. I finally seen him being in my life was not good for me mentally & as much as I miss the him he pretended to be when we first met, I am learning to mourn the person who never existed. I don’t want to call him for every little thing anymore (good or bad). He doesn’t get access to me or my kids life anymore & I love the strong, independent female I am becoming. I’m so proud of the scars I’m healing & acknowledging that I’m human & I am going to have weak days that I might want to message him & I’m taking it 1 day at a time. Going from planning a future & a life with someone you thought was them to mourning someone who never actually existed is something most people will never understand (& I hope they never have too). Some days are easier than others & it’s ok to get lost as long as you find your way back to the track. I am strong because I have no other choice but I’m learning it’s ok to have weak days & I don’t always have to be so strong. Cry, scream, punching a pillow is healthy ways to let all of that out. I’m not perfect & I don’t have to be but I will be there for others going through this & let them know they’re not alone, it’s not their fault & they are very so much loved

I was 19, I think. I can't remember much of it: my memory has been shattered after, not just of the event, but of all my life before, during, and after. I was gaslit out of my mind. He told me I wanted it, he told me I was begging for it. He made my body react to him – and despite the fact that all the time there was this voice in my head, telling me to get away, telling me this wasn't right, I listened to him over myself. How could I not? He was my whole world. I was isolated, completely emotionally dependent on him. He undressed me carefully, he told me "Oh, so that's what you wanted all along" after my body reacted to his touch. He asked me if certain things had been done to me before. I said no. I remember, even through the haze clouding my mind, he was ecstatic at the thought. He was tender. I was convinced that we were in love, that we were meant for each other, that our very souls would always be driven to one another, like two halves of a whole. I didn't know at the time that actively distracting myself and dissociating throughout the whole process was not usual, was not okay. I didn't know feeling like a doll in someone else's arms was not okay. He was a guy in a female body, and I'm only attracted to female bodies, so it all became okay in my mind at the time. But it wasn't. It was my first – and only – sexual experience. I couldn't let anyone else touch me after that, I still can't because it feels like I'm trapped again, like I'm dehumanized again. The morning after, he asked me if I was okay, he said he was worried. I reassured him that it was. What else could I do? It wasn't, though. I felt even at the time that it wasn't, but I dismissed the thought because – How could it be rape when I felt like I couldn't say no? But it was. I realized what happened years after it did. Six years, to be precise. And all the while I thought I had no right to feel like there was something wrong. I don't remember it, but I'm told by a person I trust that I cried for two months after that night, every day there were constant tears in my eyes. We both thought it was okay because we believed it. But it wasn't. Even saying that out loud, of writing down, feels liberating in its own way. I still want to claw my skin off sometimes, when it feels particularly bad. I still hate my body. I suffer from PTSD which had gone untreated for seven years because I had been battling the thought I don't deserve to heal. It was hard, but in the end, I won. What happened to me was wrong, and so hurtful, but I'm a survivor. I can heal. I will heal.

I'm a 39 year old man whose childhood innocence was stolen from him at the tender age of 11. What's made it even more difficult for me, is that the person responsible for this was a family member who is mentally disabled. I struggle to write this, as this is the first public admission to what happened so many years ago. My parents would drop me off at my grandparent's house in a neighboring state for a few weeks in the summer so they could have a little vacation to themselves. This happened almost yearly. When I was 11, they dropped me off in the same way they always do, but the child they came to pick up weeks later wasn't the same. My mentally disabled Aunt who was adopted by my grandparents at a young age had sexually assaulted me in the bedroom provided by my grandparents during our yearly trip. This happened several times that summer, with her sneaking into my room to assault me. I was so confused about what was happening, and felt shame for it. So much shame and confusion that I didn't tell my parents about it. How did my 11 year old self know this was something not right, and I didn't say something to the two people in the world that mean everything to me? This happened the following summer, and the summer after that until I was 13 and my parents were in the middle of a divorce. For three summers, I endured what no child should. At the time I couldn't explain what was happening, but now can come to the terms with what it was and admit to what was happening to me. I'm not very news savvy, and don't typically watch the news or pay attention to what's going on in the world in a broad sense. This means I almost completely missed the Larry Nassar case and everything that went on with it. Yesterday I took the time to watch some of the trial, and watched almost every single Victim Impact Statement. What those brave women had to say to him about how what he did had changed their lives, has changed my life as well. I saw myself, my feelings, how this has all hurt me and effected my life in many of their stories. Specifically in how they can't trust people in power, have had relationships and their love lives effected, and how they are so much different now compared to before their assault. To this day I can't fully realize how what happened to me 28 years ago has changed every bit of my life. I learned at a very young age to bottle up emotions, stuff them way down, and continue on. Today I'm a man devoid of much emotion because of those efforts. I erased the bad, and with it came erasing the good. My life's trajectory changed, and I'm stuck wondering what type of man I'd be if this had never happened. At the moment I believe I'm in the first steps of healing from what happened to me. Unsure of how to proceed from here except for seeking professional help. I appreciate having this platform to share my story, and look forward to some day saying I too am a survivor.

My sisters visiting home since her summer job wrapped up, and she invited her boyfriend since they’re madly in love or something. Growing up, I was the one she was in love with. I was the one she wanted to date. The one she made advances on even when I’d scram no, the one who’d leer at me when I changed. She loved me then, but now she loves her boyfriend. She talks to him the same way she used to talk to me—she loves him the same way she loved me. I still live in fear of her making advances again—I watch her like a hawk when she walks behind me, I scream at her and belittle her, I make it clear that if she pulls anything I will make sure she can’t get away with it like she could when I was small, naive, and scared of my parents. But despite it all, I feel heartbroken. She just discarded me like I was nothing the second she found a more receptive person. She doesn’t even fucking talk about me to her friends, she doesn’t even mention me. I’m glad that her and her boyfriend are happy but it doesn’t feel fair that she gets to live her life like nothing happened when I’m stuck terrified of every person in my life becoming like her. I wish shed acknowledge what she did to me. I wish she realized it was wrong. It makes me sick that she doesn’t know, and it makes me sick that she doesn’t care enough about me to even try questioning her worldview. It never should’ve happened, but that doesn’t mean it should be swept under the rug because it did.

“Why did you go?” “No one forced you to go.” “What were you wearing?” “What did you eat earlier that day?” “Are you sure you didn’t hallucinate?” “Why did you drink?” “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” Why is it always the victim being asked these questions and never the perpetrator? I moved out of my parents’ home at the age of 23 to pursue my career in the city of dreams - Los Angeles, California. The first night I arrived in LA, I remember thinking to myself, “I cannot wait to see what this city has to offer.” I was in pure bliss thinking about my future. I was ecstatic to grow professionally and start my new job at University. They even offered a program to pay for my master’s degree - which I planned to pursue. Only six months into my new dream job, those dreams were ruined overnight. My male boss was persistent in asking me to dinner, week after week. After rejecting multiple invitations, I felt obligated when he denied my vacation time and insisted it was only to “discuss work matters.” Moments before I met him, in the elevator already on the way down, I felt strongly that my intuition was urging me not to go. I talked myself out of the feeling - there was no reason to feel uncomfortable about going to a work dinner with your boss. We arrived at the restaurant around 6pm, sat at the bar, and ordered drinks and a few appetizers. Over the course of the evening, I had a plate of mac and cheese and three drinks. We spoke about work the entire time and he applauded my work ethic. After my third drink, I completely lost recollection of the night and my sense of time. I had no memory of leaving the restaurant, paying, or getting home. The next thing I remember was waking up on my own bed to him sexually assaulting me. I immediately jolted out of my room and across the hall, crying hysterically to my roommate, screaming for help. She later told me that I was slurring my words and my eyes were rolling behind my head, begging her to “get him out of here, get him out here!” She made sure I was safe in her room and called our neighbor. Once our neighbor arrived, my roommate went into my room and asked my boss to leave. He was still laying on my bed as she took pictures and videos for evidence. When he left my apartment, he had the audacity to text me saying “I hope you got home safe,” pretending he was never in my home in the first place. The morning after the sexual assault, I woke up extremely disoriented with a hangover that I have never experienced before. I was shivering cold and my throat was so sore I couldn’t even swallow. There was vomit all over my bathroom. After piecing the story together with my roommate, she convinced me to consider taking a rape kit exam. When my cousin arrived to drive me to my appointment, I was in a fetal position, shaking on my floor, crying hysterically. I was in disbelief that my boss, someone who I was supposed to trust, took advantage of his power and changed my life forever. I wanted to slip out of my body. The next day, I followed all of the correct steps. My cousin took me to the Rape Treatment Center to get a rape kit exam and to file a police report. It was a very uncomfortable and invasive process. Luckily, I was assigned to a lovely nurse and therapist who helped guide and console me through the process. As the nurse was drawing my blood to test for date rape drugs in my system, she prepared me with the news that since I came in later in the night, the test may come out negative. After completing my rape kit exam, I was interrogated with questions by a detective and told him exactly what I remembered from the previous night. My father drove 4 hours to pick me up from the facility. I am so grateful to have had so many loved ones surrounding me during those 48 hours. I would never have been able to go through it alone. Months later, I received the results from the rape kit exam: there wasn’t enough evidence to find him guilty. They did find saliva on my chest, but it was not enough. The district attorney assigned to my case explained that these cases are difficult to find the perpetrator guilty, especially without witnesses. Everyone stated that they believed me along the way, however there was no action taking place. The Rape Treatment Center paired me with a wonderful therapist. I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, PTSD, and depersonalization. I had repetitive intrusive dreams where the perpetrator would chase me down the halls on campus. Keeping my position at University was not worth deteriorating my mental health. I gave up the dream job and a free master’s degree. Over the next nine months I applied to hundreds of jobs, with no avail. I felt like my entire world fell apart right in front of me. I was stuck. I was lost. I decided to hire an attorney for damages and loss of income. I felt so validated that the law firm believed my story and wholeheartedly agreed that I had a strong case. It made me feel empowered for the first time during these difficult months. The lawsuit was a lengthy and tedious process, and we encountered plenty of setbacks. I didn’t even know what the word “arbitration” meant before filing the lawsuit. When you start a new job, they hand you a stack of papers to sign. Somewhere buried in my contract, I signed away my rights to a trial. My case would be required to go through an arbitration and would never meet the public eye. Luckily, my attorneys appealed the arbitration clause and won, so I was able to go to trial. University offered me money multiple times to settle, but I did not want another large corporation to sweep this case under the rug and pay me off to keep quiet. I knew it was going to be triggering and re- traumatizing. I fought hard to take my case all the way to the end to utilize my voice. COVID-19 threw another wrench in my case: wait an unknown amount of time to take my case before a jury of my peers or opt for a bench trial (where a judge makes the sole decision for your case, instead of a jury). After dragging the process out for four long years and the current climate of the world, I chose to take the bench trial. I wanted to close this chapter of my life and begin to move on. Besides, the system and the judge would be on my side. My case was bulletproof. Trial was just as awful and traumatizing as everyone said it would be. I had to face my perpetrator for the first time since the assault, walking into the courtroom doors. My body shut down - shaking and crying uncontrollably for about 30 minutes. I had to take a break before even starting the trial. Two weeks later, I received the judge’s decision to rule in the University’s favor. Although, the judge (and everyone involved in the case) admitted that what happened to me was real, they concluded that “no one forced me to go to dinner.” It felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. I was dumbfounded and in complete disbelief. I couldn’t stomach food and had sleepless nights for weeks. I willingly relived my incident over and over again to ensure this would never happen to anyone else. The judge ruled that University received no consequences, and the system has loudly given them permission for this to happen in the future. Would you go to dinner with an older, unattractive man who kept aggressively pursuing you? No. I would have never gone to dinner with him if he hadn’t been my boss. The worst part - I should have been on vacation that week but remember - he denied it. During the trial, the defense attorney asked me if University could have done anything differently to prevent this. At that moment I knew why I went to trial, to give insight to prevent this from happening in the future. Here is what I said: Absolutely - there is plenty of more work to be done. There should be strict policies in place that prohibit management to pursue and fraternize with their subordinates outside of work hours. This policy exists for many companies - and for a reason. The University needs to implement extensive ongoing sexual harassment/assault training throughout the campus, and not just once a year to check a box. They should feel responsible to do anything and everything to prevent this from happening to anyone else in the University “family.” My sexual assault happened a few months prior to the 2017 #MeToo movement. I wanted so badly to hear someone else’s story to validate mine, but there were very few similar articles online to relate to. I felt completely alone. When the #MeToo movement came to light and so many women and men came out publicly with their stories, it helped me get through mine. So, I want to say thank you to all the women and men who spoke their truth. You have inspired me to speak mine! My story has made me a stronger woman. I have learned the importance of using your voice and speaking your truth. If anyone reading this statement has gone through something similar please know that you are not alone, and I am with you. We are all in this together and we need to utilize our voices until we no longer have to. No one ever disputed my case. Everyone in this case agreed that what happened to me was factual, but that no one was responsible except for me. My story has left me with one choice: FIGHT ON!

Over 2 years on and I’m only realising the impact of what I’ve been through. I was 19, just had my heart broken by a cheater after being together for number long years. So of course when this guy said he’d buy me a drink I took it, danced with my friends at a local festival with my home only being a 5 minute walk away. He found me in the nightclub later on and asked me to go for a walk, and I agreed. I left the nightclub and first thing made it clear, all I want is to talk and most I’ll do is kiss you and he said that was perfectly okay, he offered me some of his drink and I had a few sips. We talked and talked, we sat down on a flat rock and had some laughs and shared some kisses when things started to change. A lot happened, a lot that I asked him to stop doing, my mind felt fuzzy and I felt numb. At one point I couldn’t move and could barely breathe, there were a few moments where I wasn’t sure what he was doing to me, or if he was recording it. I’m not religious but I prayed that I wouldn’t be found dead the following day, I didn’t want my parents to lose their baby at only 19. I don’t know how I got out of the situation, but I did. And I rang my friends straight away, was hysterical and guards found me. I ended up going to the hospital to the sexual assault treatment unit and the women were lovely but that has traumatised me. It was the only time I was ever in hospital and there I was alone. Every day for over 2 years it comes into my mind at least a few times. It happened in the month and in month I started college, I sought college therapy but I’m not sure how much it helped. I disassociate a lot and my emotions are easier to switch off now, but every few hours that night plays into my head. I felt as if I had the worst beginning to college, but I also felt that it was a new chapter and a new experience. I struggled with alcohol abuse for a while and I wasn’t scared to say no to drugs. Thankfully that only lasted a few months. I hit some really bad lows, but I’ve also turned from a caterpillar into a butterfly in a sense. That Christmas I cried, I cried because I was glad to be alive. That I survived what he did to me, and I also survived my mind. But him in my mind still affects me to this day at 21 and a half. I haven’t gone to RCC as I’ve always felt this shame and guilt, I feel very alone as none of my friends were supportive and the news broke out the day after it happened across my small town, and having that victim blaming comments or remarks “like oh wasn’t he apparently younger” going around made it even harder to talk about or the “it wasn’t that bad and it could’ve been worse”, yes it could’ve been worse but it is the worst thing I’ve experienced. I have reached out to therapists and I am considering visiting the rape crisis centre as I have been struggling these 2 years really, I’m happy and have a brave face but that night intrudes and invades my thoughts an awful lot. I’ve also been struggling with my sexual life, after the incident I slept with a lot of people most of it which I can’t remember. And I regret it and feel so much guilt and shame, especially when people ask “oh what’s your body count” well I never tell and I never will as it’s my business. But even after I calmed down, I either get attached easily or I run away, and then feel the shame and guilt around sex, believing that I rushed in. I’m slightly better, but reading these stories reminds me I’m not alone and that I won’t be judged by others and people willing to help. I hope one day, I can feel “normal” again and live the rest of my life as any young woman should.