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I was a victim of child sexual abuse when I was 7 years old and my cousin's stepbrother was 9 or 10. He abused me for two years. I told my mother what happened, and his parents punished him. Most of my family didn't believe me. In a conversation with my mother, she told me I had probably made up the whole abuse and that I was a liar, and I cried a lot that day. My grandmother is proud of him because he's a doctor in Germany and has a good life, while I'm trapped. I can't stand being touched and I can't get over it, even though I've been to therapy. Yesterday I saw his Instagram and felt bad because he moved on and I didn't. He told me it was a secret and I trusted him (the three of us were alone because my uncle and his wife -who is the mother of my abuser- are doctors so they were always in the hospital). They would leave the food ready for us and he (A) would put it in the microwave. A pulled my pants down a little or lift my skirt (if i was wearing one). When A was on top of me he was kissing me- it was overwhelming and i couldn't focus on anything else but his breath and voice, he was grabbing his crotch, but I didn't understand what he was doing. We were playing normal with his little sister and then A exclude her from the game to be alone with me so A put her in front of the television so she wouldn't focus on us and was distracted. Then A guided me to the room, he close the door to the room he shared with his sister (my cousin's bed was near the door and his wasn't), so he would make me lie down on the floor next to his bed so no one could see us. At first, I would get on top of him, but then he said I was too heavy to be in that position (I guess it wasn't comfortable for him to abuse me). That led to an eating disorder that I still have; I even developed anemia last year. I remember once I ran to the bathroom because something didn't feel right, but he started banging on the door but then I realized there was nothing I could do, I mean where would I go? My uncles locked us out. I remember once, A didn't close the door properly because his sister came in, and he straightened his clothes and pushed me under his bed, but his sister saw me and asked me what I was doing there, and I stayed there for a long time. And her sister got under the bed to keep me company; she was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear her, or maybe I wasn't paying attention. I think I'm broken, because his kisses and his voice in my ear were too much, and I never noticed if he ejaculated or if something else happened that I overlooked or never noticed because I never went to a doctor, my mom never reported him. And we couldn't count on my dad because he abandoned us and went off with the neighbor and treated her daughter as his own while the abuse was happening. That's why I lived in their house during that time; that's why the abuse continued because I was in the provinces and my mother traveled to the capital because of a false accusation my father made against her. A year later, my mother's half-brother baptized me with my abuser's mother, and I never said anything. I just smiled in the photos as if nothing was wrong while I hugged A. Now I´m 22 and I still feel sick and dirty.

I wanted to break a rule that my parents had set me: no boyfriend whatsoever. They aren't strict but they have rules: you don't choose your clothes (so no crop tops ever, no skirts without leggings underneath, etc), no candy, no choosing of my future studies myself, always get good grades (8/10 would not be considered enough), no drinking sodas, no socials so no Snap chat, no Tik Tok etc. The list goes on. I understand that they care about me, and that they want the best for me but sometimes I find it too much. But I should enjoy it while it lasts because this might be the closest thing to freedom I will ever get. Here's why. At the age of 15, I met this sweet guy that was really my type. He, as a first impression, seemed to be the type of guy my parents would like: same age only half a year older than me, hardworking, caring, didn't seem to be driven by lust, and really sweet to me. I told myself this might be the same love as my parents have, who used to be high school sweethearts. After a couple months, a few kisses and cuddles, without my parents knowing, came the day that started this mess (or so I think, maybe I was too blind to realise it happened progressively before). I remember ringing the doorbell of his house and when he opened the door I saw he was tired. More than usual. I don't know if I could say he was acting strange (now I know, or his excuse was, that he was drugged by his older brother of 23 at the time). We go up to his room, he asks me if I need something to drink and of course, like always, I ask for water. Only this time I should have thought before drinking from the glass that had a spoon in it. It was stupid of me, because the next thing I knew, I was laying on my back, naked, my wrists cuffed behind me to the bed, him on top of me with this face I will never forget (it still haunts me) and the pain in my lower belly too. There was blood of course, he'd just taken my virginity. I was scarred of him after that, but he threatened me, told me he'd hurt my loved ones if I told anyone. Do note I didn't know how to say no to people back then, and I'd been taught and raised to obey. So I did. I kept my mouth shut. He made me sneak out during the night. At first it was just him to please, then also his friends. My throat grew sore, the more they made me do orals. I got cuts and bruises (never in visible places though, like my face, so that they could keep on using me without other people noticing). I grew more quite at school, but honestly no one would really notice, as I was already pretty quite. Grades started slipping, parents got mad at me for that, called me useless and told me I'd achieve nothing in life. It didn't help. It hurt a lot because I had tried to maintain good grades, and it was all just going downhill. I also noticed that his older brother was busy with a girl too (judging from the noises coming from his room). I would see that girl from time to time, she was older maybe 19, not sure anymore. She was sweet, she even gave me the pill so not to get pregnant and some pregnancy tests. But she was in a way worse state than me: scars and all, and her fingertips weren't just burned like mine, she had bandages on all of them as they bled. I was scared of the older brother. Scared being an understatement. And then after a month, she was gone. I had no idea where, just silence in his big brother's room. That's when his big brother approached me. All I can say is: he wasn't gentle. At all. That's also around the time when I realised that his big brother beat him up, because I came out of that room, limping as he'd pushed my hip too far (now I have a partially dislocating hip that is permanent), and his younger brother yelled at him for 'f*cking his toy'. He was left in a ball on his bedroom floor with a broken rib while his older brother walked off. I felt bad, because even if he had said I was his property/his toy, he had still tried to protect me, so I decide to go get him an ice pack from the freezer and take care of him. He eventually told me more about his older brother, and I got to know he sold drugs and all, and made him (and me) take them. I asked where the hell his parents were in all this, but it was only his mom now (and she seemed to have no control over her sons) as his father had left for another women (or multiple, not sure). I decided maybe I should tell someone about this and ask them what to do, but then came the thought that: who would believe me? We lived in a pretty safe country, or at least one that people thought was safe. I didn't want to bother others and worry people, neither did I want them getting hurt if they tried to help, so I kept my mouth shut. Now the following is even harder to talk about. It has changed me. It will change my future too. By now I was 16. One night, he made me dress up in this overly sexualised bunny outfit and brought me to an apartment id never been. There were multiple guys waiting. They were all around his age I think (I'm bad at guessing people's age, plus I don't think they were bothered telling me the truth), they didn't seem to be friends really they looked like they knew each other just because they did business together, and I new from the moment I had walked into this room that I was noting but a f*cktoy to them. Its weird that feeling, when you enter somewhere and just know who has the power. I definitely had zero power here, they wanted me to feel that way too. I know it. I felt it. After the pain, the kneeling in front of them, and the pictures I begged them not to take, came the first time I'd seen someone hand money to the older brother. I realised with pain in my heart (and literally everywhere else where they'd touched me) that I had just been sold. Like some piece of bread at the market. Sold. My brain physically couldn't process what had happened. Some days I still can't. I didn't sleep for some time after that and eating was something I had to force myself to do and it was a challenge not to throw up. It went on. Money turned into contracts, pictures into videos, and my body falling apart before my eyes, but not enough that it was so obvious that everyone would see. I did my best to cover it, so no one would get hurt. Concealer became my best friend. Except a teacher at school did notice and I ended up telling her everything. Well, almost everything. I told her I'd been rapped just once maybe twice and that I didn't remember very well for most things that had happened. In a way it wasn't a lie but I was too scarred those boys would find out I had told someone and then they'd hurt all the people I care about. It is also true that some things I just couldn't remember, like a gap in my memory when I try to remember what has happened after I'd been brought somewhere by his older brother. It felt strange, like I was missing something but it just wouldn't come back to mind. The teacher called the police and I was interrogated. I had to do it multiple times with recorded sessions and all. No one prepared me for how tiering it would be to repeat what had happened to me over the past year because of those boys. It hurt so so much. They asked question after question as the memories of those nights came haunting me all over again. I wanted to forget, because I realised there is no real solution, and on top of that, I wasn't allowed to start therapy without first trying to remember every single detail that had happened for the police investigation. Those boys, some that new me and I had no idea who they were, hurt me and the threats pilled up. It was too much for me. I couldn't do this. So I lied. I lied and said it never happened. That I hadn't been rapped. I had prepared some fake conversations that were very obviously fake for them to find on my phone, planned them out so that it looked fake. And I told them to stop the investigation. And that was that. My parents were of course mad at me, they took my phone away and all. I can't say I'm addicted to phones but, more than six months without one is just, a lot, for me at least. I'm honestly not sure what to do now. My memory is really bad, still worsening, I'm not doing so good in classes, I feel sick to the bone but its no big thing like cancer or diabetes or something that a doctor can diagnose. I just feel sick, but that means nothing apparently. I just remember the last thing that the big brother told me, that when I'm 19 and out of the house he will take me away as his f*cktoy. That's why I said at the beginning that I should enjoy my life now while it lasts because this might be the closest thing to freedom I will ever get. And to stay positive I just tell myself , as my father would say: it could always be worse, appreciate what you have. I know I can't go back, but it's so painful. Everyday, it never leaves my mind. To be honest, the only reason why I don't kill myself is because it would be horrible for others to loose a daughter, a sister, a friend and so on. I can't do that, I don't want to be selfish. All I want is to find a reason to live, and that it isn't just living for others.

I was six when I first saw pornography, in my own house. There are a lot of forgotten memories from 6-18. By ten I was in chat rooms. By eleven a man was grooming me, and for years I performed on live video for adult men who told me I was mature, special, chosen. I believed them. I thought my popularity was proof I was grown. I was a lonely kid in an empty house being trained, and there is a difference. At fourteen I was with a man in his twenties and called it willing, because nobody had ever taught me that a child can't be. I'm an adult now, a mother, and I spent years searching the internet for any sign that what happened to me was real and witnessed. What I found were investigations, statistics, and other survivors. So I'm leaving this here for the girl who is searching tonight the way I did: you were not willing, you were groomed. You were not mature for your age, you were unprotected. And it was not your fault, not even the parts you went back for. Especially those parts.

I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

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.