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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 used to think rape was what you'd see in movies. Jumped on by a stranger and violently assaulted. Turns out I was wrong. I have been raped on multiple occasions and didn't fully understand it until I got older and wiser and also found out that I'm autistic. This is what helped me to understand what had really happened. I learned and studied autism in girls and women and figured it out from there. I was vulnerable and impressionable and masked so much that I was a completely different person on the outside than who I really was on the inside. When I was younger and had no clue that I was being preyed upon due to my vulnerability and started to pretend as though I just liked sex and was willingly promiscuous. It was a lie I told myself and my friends so that I didn't have to face the fact I couldn't and didn't know how to say no and mean it. There is flight, fight and also freeze. So many times I was telling them no and when they didn't stop I just froze and realised that my voice was pointless and they weren't listening to me. It was easier to allow them to finish without fighting and having it be violent too. I didn't realise how badly the mental impact would be. One particular night I was out in a bar and a few of us went back to a house party. One guy was showing interest in me and I actually liked it. We kissed and had fun and then he led me to a bedeoom and I hesitated but ended up going in. When he started to undress me I held my dress and said no. I said it so many times and he started to get really rough and forceful and started saying things to me about leading him on and what did I think was going to happen and I just wanted it rough. I realised that no matter what I said, sex was going to happen so I had two options, fight and be both violently and sexually assaulted or just have the sex without any further resistance which would mean that I'd be only sexually assaulted without the extra violence. I chose the latter and for a long time I believed that I just had sex that night. I now realise that was absolutely rape. It's played with my mental health for over ten years and I'm ready to acknowledge what happened to me instead of being in denial.

I was 14. We were at sleep away church summer camp. Me and one of my friends had been giving people tattoos. He asked for one, of course. Wanted some lyrics on his hand that were far too inappropriate for a church camp. He put his hand on my thigh to give me 'better access to his hand'. Conversation between the three of us got dirty, quick. I hate to say that i participated in it, but I did. I have a tendency to get greedy about male attention, stemming from little to no attention from my deadbeat father. Fast forward a little bit, about an hour later. Me, a few of my friends, and him. We made our way from the chapel to the lodge for dinner. He waits till we're in the far corner of the line to grope me roughly, whispering horrible, degrading things into my ear. Young, starstruck, naïve me thought he loved me so much that he would tell me those things. It was only after he tried to force himself down my throat that I realized how terrible it was. I didn't want my innocence to be taken by an older teen who i had just met, much less in a chapel. When i told the counselors, they seemed like they believed me. But his father was a major donator. My friends didn't believe me because he was 'attractive'. When i told my mother, she didn't believe me. "You probably led him on, so he thought it was fine." No. If 'Yes' was never explicitly said, then it's not consent. Since then, I've struggled. I've questioned my religion. But then I thought, why am i giving this horrible boy any extra thought? And why does everyone I love believe his word over mine? Maybe because they never really loved me. Maybe because it was easier to pretend it never happened. But a real supporter would take the scared child's word before considering the almost adult male who had a history of sexual disturbances.

Freedom is Glorious I've been working alone the past two days, and instead of taking out the scissors and cutting my hair, I took out an old CD of pictures and remembered how far I have come in this journey. I found pictures of the animals I left behind so very long ago ~ his pets who were like children to me ~ I teared up at their precious faces and remembered how much I love and miss them every day. Then I found some pictures of me taken in my old rental office on campus the night before my 41st birthday. And I was amazed at how clear and blue and full of life my eyes were in each picture.  The weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I stood tall and proud.  The color was back in my face, and my face was fuller because I had finally started to regain the weight I had lost when my food intake was so limited on the weekends. My eyes sparkled in those pictures.  I could not stop staring at myself.  The pictures were proof that I was free.  That I was me again.  I looked at the CD and reached for a snack.  And I thought about how I can eat whatever I want now.  There is no watchful eye mentally counting my calories ~ keeping the cupboard bare.  I am no longer charged $20 to eat a home-cooked meal.  I am no longer ridiculed for not cooking that home-cooked meal myself. I can do what I want, say what I want, feel what I want, wear what I want.  I am not some dress-up doll used to cloak in leather to be propped up on the back of a motorcycle for the whole valley to see ~ no I am middle-aged now, often without make-up, and finally comfortable in my own body not to care if I am not perfect. Because perfect was never good enough anyway. I can speak again.  I have a voice.  I can have an opinion on anything I want.  I see my family again on all holidays.  I do not have to lie about where I am living.  Where I am going.  What I am doing. There is no shame anymore.  No more secrets.  Even the writing I am doing has eliminated the secrets from the people I care about the most. I think about all of these changes as I ponder what it is like for him to be sitting in jail right now.  To have his freedom finally taken away from him.  To be told what to do, when to do it.  And to be isolated from family and friends. It took the news of his jail sentence to wake me up to what I had blocked out for so long.  To bring those horrible memories back up to the surface in dreams, flashbacks, and fleeting moments of sadness.  To finally realize that I had to write down my truth, or they would never go away.  He would still be controlling me in my head through those nightmares, those flashbacks.  He would still be present in my life if I did not get rid of him by writing down all the ugliness of our time together and sharing it with the world. He never wanted me to be a writer.  He made fun of my dream every day.  And it hit me today that the irony of my life story is that one of the biggest stories of my life will now be about him.  And maybe there will come the book or the screenplay out of all of this ugliness that I have shared with the world.  Because if you can skim off the scum, if you can sand down the rust, beneath the surface of all that pain and sadness is the beauty that was once there ~ that was once my life ~ that was once me. Beneath the surface lies the freedom that never really left my side.  Freedom was waiting in the distance for me all along.  Freedom was God taking care of me through the whole ordeal and seeing me through to the other side.  Where life is precious and pure and sweet. Freedom led me to a new life where I can now help others as they had once helped me. Freedom came with its own price ~ the scars beneath the surface that may have scabbed over ~ in order for me to survive. But those scars are my battle wounds for my freedom.  I paid the price for a new life.  I earned my freedom.  I survived.

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.

I was conditioned to think catcalling was a compliment, that if someone held your waist a little too long at work it was just cause "ahh they're just a bit touchy", that it's easier to just "go with it" than to say no and risk their response. It took me years to identify that no matter the degree of your experiences it still is never ok. We often get told sexual violence is one way but it isn't, it comes in many forms and sometimes you can't identify it at first - and that's ok. I am only recently coming to terms with the varying degrees of experiences I've had. I didn't want to say anything because I was made to believe I'd "rock the boat". Well some boats are meant to sink. Let's rebuild the boat so everyone can stay afloat, included and safe.

I remember waking up that October morning and having no idea whose living room I was in. But I wasn’t panicked, just confused. Things like this, sad to say, have happened to me in the past. Go to a party, get too drunk, and brown out most of the night and wake up in an unfamiliar place. But usually I was around other friends. But this was different. I sat up on the couch and feverishly began looking for my phone for some sort of glimmer of hope that I had not been so irresponsible to have lost my phone, on top of my dignity. There, already blaming myself. I quickly found my phone by my side and had multiple missed texts from my roommate and from two of my good friends. “Where are you?”.. “Are you okay?”.. So what happened? Someone stumbles into the living room at this time, someone that I still to this day honestly don’t know the name of. Immediately, graphic flash backs of the activities that occurred on the couch came rushing back. The couch that I sat on now. Quickly, I realized I needed to get out of this apartment. There in front of me stood a brolic, 6-foot something Caucasian male smiling, in far less distress than I was. By nature, I never want others to feel uncomfortable, even if that puts me in a position of feeling more uncomfortable. I always choose to save others before myself, it’s a character flaw that I actively am trying to work on. But even on this day, as vulnerable as I felt, I decided to continue to entertain this stranger who decided to take advantage of a far too drunk girl at a party. So I thought. I stayed at the apartment and made small talk, about what, who knows? I was too busy trying to act like I wasn’t the most uncomfortable person in the world. After about an hour of conversation, I requested that the man take me back to my car which was at the house were the party was the previous night. He agreed. When I reached my car, I quickly said goodbye, rushed inside, and called a close friend. She picked up the phone immediately saying “hey girl, are you okay?”. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I don’t remember much of last night. Did you have a good night?” I answered … as the conversation went on things began to make a bit more sense. My friend said she had also blacked out the entirety of the night. But here was his mistake: She had only had one drink, a few sips of one she was sharing with me. She was the driver. Staying sober for a handful of people. Then after this drink, her boyfriend was carrying her to the car because she became too incoherent to be at the party. Two male friends and her boyfriend knew something was wrong. She knew something was wrong. Her boyfriend told me later on that as they carried her into the apartment, she half-consciously tried to push out of their arms. Attempting to fall onto pavement over being carried inside. Resenting any form of touch. She quietly pleaded, ‘I have been drugged. Please do not touch me. Please do not do this’, again up the steps, through the door, as they tried to take her shoes off. Kicking while unable to keep her eyes open. Knowing enough, but not enough to know these men were there to keep her safe. And suddenly, I realized it was that man, the man who stood in that living room that morning who had given me the drink. What if one of us had taken that dose on our own. I proceeded to share the news with my friend and I decided to be drug tested for the both of us. Positive. I have no more details on my own night. The rest is left up to your imagination. I felt dirty, ashamed, angry, but most of all embarrassed. What had I done the night before in front of my classmates and peers, that I respected and that respected me. There were many feelings involved with this event that I chose to let go of and to just let the event be a thing of the past. This incident impacted the amount that I attended parties while in school and certainly made me more conscious of my surrounding when I did go out. I relied on the counsel of my friends to provide me with support for the amount of shame and indignity I felt over the following few weeks that turned into months. I strongly believe it is because of these friends that I was able to continue after this event with a stronger mind. This support system. Today, I seldom think of the event. It happened, I learned from it, and I have grown since. I am a true believer that you should only invest your energy in things that help you grow and for that fact I choose not to let this day impact me at this point. Today, I am in a healthy, happy new relationship and choose not to be held back by this one night’s events. I am still in control of my own damn life.

I am dealing with depression, anxiety, and PTSD. I was treated inhumanely in a medical facility. I lost everything. I was sexually harassed at my workplace (facility). I was fired when I complained about this. I went into depression after this brutal experience. I have been dealing with this situation since July 2016. I am a single woman of color. I am an immigrant. I am a minor in a lot of categories. I don't see any solution to my situation. I am feeling suicidal. If something happens to me, facility will be responsible. I don't get all the help I needed at this moment. I have been living in this country for 22 years but I am still struggling with immigration. I have a Ph.D. but still I don't have a green card yet. I don't want to live in this world anymore. facility has destroyed my life and I don't see any reason to live anymore. If something will happen to me, please take strict action against facility otherwise this will happen to other women in the future. I hope this will help someone in the future. I didn't get the support I needed. I even handled my federal case as a pro se litigant mostly. I didn't get justice. I have heartbroken. I have lost faith in humanity. Please let me know if you can help me. I need help. Case number atfacility et al Appeal Number Regards, Name

For reference, I am a college student and this story generally takes place in a college town. I was excited to have made a new friend during quarantine. We met right before the lockdown in 2020, and would have a few phone or video calls every few weeks or so. For context, I have a smattering of social anxiety I have been living with since I was a pre-teen, and I'm especially nervous around guys my age. That's why making this platonic friend was so valued to me. I am a person with few close friends, and I decided to let him in. I decided to trust him. Maybe it was because at that time in my life I wanted a platonic friend so badly, I never noticed the signs he liked me as more than a friend. Not noticing that ended up being important later on, because when the semester started back we decided to hang out in person. The first time it was at a park, and we had some pleasant conversations. I think I was getting a small hint he liked me but didn't want to acknowledge it; I didn't like him back. We decided to hang out once more, but this time he texted me right beforehand and asked to change the place to his apartment. I heard my mom's voice in my head telling me I shouldn't go to a guy's house alone, but at this point in my life I did have another close friend I knew I could trust and I'd go to his apartment sometimes - so I told said friend where I would be and that I would be hanging out at this friend's place for safety. I remember I also had pepper spray with me. I was supposedly armed with everything a girl would need in a situation where she gets sexually harrassed - except my voice. When I got there, we watched Netflix and everything was alright for the first hour. We talked and enjoyed the show. But, eventually things started changing. The order to this is the part is fuzzy in my memory, but I remember how he slowly worked his way towards touching me. He sat closer, started giving me complements more and more. He played some french song and sang it to me while playing the guitar on my arm- I imagine it could have been romantic if I was in to him and wanted it. But I really wasn't, and I didn't. I remember when he did confess he went on this whole tangent about how much he liked me and how great he thought I was and so many things. This guy talked for quite a while and all I could do was sit and listen. At this point he had already tried sitting closer to me and I had to pull away. At some point his roommate left the apartment after talking with him alone. I don't remember when this was exactly but I do remember how it made me feel. We were sitting on the living room couch and he reached to hold me. He groped my boob for a few seconds, and whispered into my ear. When I want someone, doing that kind of thing feels great. I realized that night how disgusting it can feel when you want no part of it and you fear for your safety. There was one moment where I tried to break away, and he almost didn't let me. The thing that terrified me the most out of all of this was something he said: 'if you hadn't stopped me I would have done something worse'- or something to that affect. I remember feeling terrified and shaking, probably blushing out of nervousness and wanting only to go home but finding it harder to say as it got darker outside. I eventually left, and he walked me home part of the way to make me feel safer walking back in the dark. That's the ironic part about all of this. He walked me home, and to this day I don't think he had any idea how after a year how much that night bothered me, and how it was a night I wouldn't be forgetting for a long time. About how much I cried to my friends and family. It felt like it should be small to me- after all, I wasn't 'raped or anything,' (what I said to my family). But it had almost completely shattered all of my trust in people and in men I had been building up slowly. If it wasn't for the guy friend I mentioned previously, I might have lost trust in men completely and developed serious problems as a result. Today, after more than a year, I am going to call him for the first time since then and tell him what he did is wrong. I have read many sexual assault stories after this event, and I realized people often don't want to call out the offender because they fear it will affect the offender's social lives and jobs, especially when this person is a close friend. But I honestly think this person has no idea what he did was wrong, and if I do absolutely nothing I am pretty damned sure there is a good chance he would do it to someone else. People need to know when they are in the wrong. And I feel ready to confront him. I don't think confrontation is the answer for everyone. But it is my answer. Many boys are not taught what it means to be a respectful man, and don't recognize that they could very easily make someone they know feel uncomfortable and and scared. They don't internalize 'I could be a sexual assaulter'. People need to realize their own power, not only to use it for good, but so they don't abuse it.

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.

When I was 13 was sexually assaulted by a person I'd rather not name. I've known him for a while yet never spoke out because I like him. He never saw it as sexual assault because it was "only the fingers" Whenever I think about it, I get sick to my stomach. Knowing I had no strength to stop him. I cry everytime I think about it and I'm too scared to tell anyone. Please anyone, what should I do. What can I do.

I always struggled with my words even before that night happened. Using alcohol as a mechanism to survive in social spaces I never belonged. Maybe that’s how he picked me out he saw his victim: lost, voiceless and out of control. After that night, I felt the loneliest and most out of place I’ve ever felt. That girl was lost, she felt out of control, she felt voiceless. Now, nearly 10 years later. I have found my voice. I am not a victim but I’m a survivor. I speak for women whose voices are lost too, so one day they will have the courage to find them and speak up too. You are never alone and anytime you use your voice I promise you, you’ll be heard. We are women, we are powerful!

It’s amazing how social media has the ability to connect people from all over the world. Old friends, former classmates, and long-distance family members coming together after years of separation and rekindling relationships that would otherwise not exist. With a simple search of a first and last name and an invitation, you have the ability to bring the past straight to your front door. In my case, my past is there for a reason and I never sought out old high school friends or former coworkers when I first joined Facebook. In fact, I didn’t even create an account right away. Maybe I didn’t understand the concept at the time or maybe I just didn’t care. Either way, when I did eventually open a Facebook account, I kept it pretty simple. If people found me and invited me into their worlds, most times I accepted. There were a few invitations I declined because I didn’t want certain individuals in my space - there was no place for them in it. Over the years, I have cleaned up my account, unfollowed several people for various reasons (even blocked a few), and now it’s a little more than a handful of friends and family that I watch grow, celebrate happy times, mourn losses, and share their special moments through pictures and captions. I’ve watched babies grow into young adults and the adults age with grace, humor, a few more wrinkles, and touches of grey. I’ve mourned with those who have lost loved ones and I’ve celebrated their happy times, holidays, and accomplishments with them, albeit from a distance. I have also shared my life on social media; my children and their milestones, birthdays, vacations, special occasions, and even the loss of a loved one or two. Along with Facebook I also jumped on the Twitter, Instagram, YouTube bandwagons, but have recently settled comfortably into the simplicity of my Instagram account. It’s essentially my online photo album and since I cannot have all of my actual photo albums at an arm’s reach like I once did, Instagram is the next best thing. The funny thing about social media and the Internet is how easy it is to actually find someone. You don’t need more than a name and a state and soon enough you're down the Internet/social media rabbit hole. Eventually you will see at least a glimpse into the life of who you are searching for. You'd be amazed at how much you can find out about a person without even friending or following them on social media including close relatives or associates, places of employment, current and previous addresses and phone numbers, political affiliations - the list is endless. Public records, especially in state, are wide open for anyone to search. I’ve searched Google for myself to see what pops up and immediately I see my Facebook page, Instagram account, connections to my place of employment, and I can access a million sites that claim to be a 'white pages’ type search engine that will provide me with random but solid information. I happen to have a few different last names, but it doesn’t matter how you search: you will find my age, close relatives, the city I live in, a map to my house, previous addresses and phone numbers, and because I share the same name as my mother, her obituary is in the top five Google results (without even putting state in the search bar). So, when a handful of years ago (or so) I received a message through Facebook Messenger from an old high school friend, it was strange that she said she had a hard time finding me. At that time, we would have actually had a few high school friends in common. I really didn’t think much of it, but my husband was the one who said that was an odd comment given all of what we know about Facebook and the Internet. Moving on... I was pleasantly surprised to hear from her, but after nearly 30 years and remembering our very last time together, where do you even begin catching up? You see, this wasn’t just any friend. This was my very best friend in high school, a friend I met on my first day of my freshman year of the very prestigious Academy, an all-girl Catholic high school in City, State. That was the beginning of a friendship that would last through high school and beyond for a short time, until distance, a physical altercation, and maybe something more ominous separated us for good. For the sake of this story, I will call my best friend Name. You will understand why in a bit. Name and I were seated behind one another in most of our classes because in those days, we were seated alphabetically. We were always in the first row and directly behind one another. It was just fate that we hit it off. It was easy to make friends with the girls sitting behind you, in front of you, and directly to your right or left because those seating arrangements followed us from class to class. Many of my closest high school friends' last names began with the letters A through F. Cheating was easy too...a little slide to the left or right and we could help one another if needed. Name was beautiful, funny, and many times the center of attention. She had the blackest hair I had ever seen and it was fiercely wild. Name had high cheekbones, a pointy nose, a high forehead always covered by bangs, and a pretty smile. She was engaging and we became fast friends. Looking back at those years, I remember feeling never ‘good enough’ to be her friend. I always felt she was the pretty one and I wasn’t even a diamond in the rough. I was just the pretty girl's best friend. Name never made me feel 'less than' and I'm sure that by the time we met, my insecurities, low self-esteem, and lack of self-worth were already set in motion. This would not be the only relationship in which I felt like I was living in someone else's shadow, but this is the one where I feel that a real pattern emerged. That is, until my husband came along. He never let me feel second to anyone. To him, I've always been the brightest, shiniest, most beautiful, rare, one of a kind 'diamond' he has ever known. Back to the story - Name knew makeup, Name knew fashion, Name was confident, Name was a leader, and I cannot remember ever having a fight or disagreement with her. She was part sister, part friend. It was the 80's, we had big hair, black eyeliner, tight jeans tucked into our scrunched down socks, sweatshirts off the shoulder, leg warmers, and sometimes a little belly showing. The boys gave Name a lot of their attention and she loved every bit of it. She was flirty and she was good at it, but Name was a good girl and it was all in good fun. I have many fond memories of our years together. I practically lived at her house through high school, loved her family more than mine (didn’t we all have a friend like that), and the option for me to stay with her family when mine was moving to state was on the table. In the end, I opted not to do that because, in fact, I did love my family and the thought of being away from them for that long was too difficult to bear. Or was there more to me not wanting to stay there? Name and I did everything girlfriends do: studied, talked about boys, danced, experimented with hair and makeup, hung out on the street corners where I started smoking (Parliaments, for those of you who would remember the brand), listened to music, went to the movies, got fake ID's to get into the 18 and over clubs, and so much more. We were listening to Madonna, Kool and the Gang, Expose, Shannon, and Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam among many others. We spent a lot of time at her house and a lot of time in her kitchen talking with her mom. Her parents were called by their first names and were the coolest parents around. The first time I got drunk and passed out was at a party at Name’s house. Her parents also let the kids drink, which was pretty cool when I was 17. That particular night my mother must have known something was up because she refused to let me spend the night and sent my brother to pick me up. I literally threw up out of the car window the entire way home. That's a story my brother has brought up many times over the years. Back to Name's house - Sundays were a day for cooking, eating, and family time. I had not really experienced that cultural tradition before and I loved being a part of it. Her grandparents lived in her house and everything was homemade, authentic, and delicious. There was always enough food to feed an army. Thinking back about those days, there were always so many people coming and going at Name’s house and everyone was welcomed with open arms. There was one particular kid I remember being around quite often, but he was not a family member. He may have been a friend of a younger sibling, but he hung out with the older kids so I'm not sure. I mention this because he comes back up in this story a little later on. I remember I had a crush on Name's older brother for a while, but don't remember talking to her about it and nothing ever came of it. I am positive some of my friends ended up with crushes on my brother too. Name and I went to clubs, movies, the flea market, school dances and our high school's ring night together. She came on vacation with my family and I went on a weekend trip with hers. There was nothing we didn’t share. When we were 16, Name came on a family vacation with us to state. It was a great time! We visited with family, went to the beach, hung out on Fort Lauderdale's strip, and baked in the sun covered in baby oil by the poolside. We both got pretty sunburned and my mom thought Name had sun poisoning, which was pretty scary. My mom took care of both of us and even called Name's mom to let her know what was happening. Name was in such pain I thought her mom would want her home as soon as possible, but she let her stay with us. After a couple of days, we were both feeling better. While we were in state I got my driving permit, not to be confused with a drivers license. That may have been because we could not literally spend another minute in the sun or just preparing me for our move to state later that year. Overall, it was a great time with a great friend and I have lots of pictures to prove it. When we got back home, the fact that my state permit only allowed me to drive with an 18-year-old licensed driver did not stop Name and I from taking her parent's van to the mall - without permission and without the already mentioned mandatory 18-year-old licensed driver. I will never forget how scared I was, not just how mad her dad would be if he found out, but I really did not know how to drive. Name was much more carefree about breaking all of the rules (and driving laws) on this particular day. All I could think about was all that could go wrong and how it would be my fault. And on top of that, all of the windows of the van were covered (I think with curtains) so I couldn't see anything behind us or in any blind spot. That could be why I still have to turn in all directions multiple times before changing lanes all of these years later. Like I said, I have told that story many times over the years and had a few good laughs, but actually writing about it makes it a bit more cemented in my history; a history that Name was a big part of. With all of the worry I remember feeling as we backed out of the driveway and all the anxiety I felt driving to Location, it's ironic that I can't remember how the day ended. Obviously, we survived my driving and we didn't get caught because between Name's dad and mine, I'm not sure I would be here to tell the story. Another memorable night with Name was when we went food shopping for her mom. I remember feeling like that was an impossible task considering all of the people in her household, but we went and she was a champ. My mother would never have sent me or my siblings grocery shopping so this was quite an adventure for me. During this trip however, Name stuck a few makeup items in her purse while we wandered up and down the aisles. I remember not really caring about the stealing of an eyeliner or lipstick and didn’t give it any thought because she was so calm and confident. That was until, after checking out at the register, a security guard (or police officer – I can’t recall) stopped us and asked us to walk with him to an office at the front of the store. We were caught and we were both guilty, it didn’t matter who stole what. When the officer asked us our names and ages and said he was going to call our parents, we were beyond freaking out - begging and pleading for him not to. Again, between her father and my retired-cop father, our asses were in deep trouble. The fact that I was turning 17 within a week or so (Name was just 16) allowed me to acknowledge the complaint and basically take Name into my custody. I think we were trespassed from the store and I think the officer really gave two near-hysterical girls a break, but going grocery shopping wasn’t a regular thing anyhow. This story has also been repeated many times through the years and my feeling of relief at not having a juvenile record has never waned. Again, our parents never found out. In July of 1986 I went on a ‘camping’ trip with Name’s family to City 2, State 2. Name’s parents allowed each of the children to pick a friend to go with. I was 17 and this would be our last summer together because my family was moving to state the following month. I wouldn’t have known the exact place or date of this trip, but it is written on the back of a photo I have from the day we arrived home. Also, on the back of the photo, in my handwriting, are the names of everyone pictured in the photo. For many, that way of cataloging people, dates, and places is a trip down memory lane. For me, it is a stark reminder of a memory I had repressed a long time ago. That repressed memory came to light after two things happened: (1) Name messaged me on Facebook and (2) shortly thereafter I came across that photo taken on her doorstep the day we returned from the camping trip. While purging my attic, I found a lot of photos from those carefree high school days and sent them to friends who could enjoy a walk down memory lane..... At first, the memories came in waves. Flashes of faces. A jolt of fear. My stomach turned. I was laying on a floor. I was scared and nothing was making sense. These quick flashes of a living nightmare didn’t seem real, but I knew they were. I saw his face. I saw him laughing. I saw both of them laughing. I saw me lying there, drunk, passed out and incapable of stopping it. There must have been a moment or two of clarity during my blackout because I saw me being sexually assaulted by my best friend’s brother and the younger boy I mentioned earlier. I see both of their faces, but the younger boy's relationship to the family is escaping me. He was younger than us by a couple of years, he spent a lot of time with the older kids at Name’s house, and he was with us on that family trip to State 2. He could have been a friend of a younger sibling or he could have been a troubled youth Name’s family took in. These small flashes eventually came to life as a full-blown memory and made me anxious and sick. My head was spinning and I was unable to stop the memories, feelings, and horrors that were engulfing me. This assault was replaying over and over again in my head and I could not turn it off. I was so ashamed and confused by what I was experiencing that I couldn’t even tell my husband to his face. I wrote it all down for him in a letter and we never spoke about it again - at my request. And I never said another word about it – not to anyone. I felt shame, I felt embarrassed, I felt angry, I felt humiliated. What else do I remember about that weekend beside being sexually assaulted? We were drinking heavily on the night of the assault, the next morning while taking a shower (hungover and having no recollection of the night before) Name's brother came into the bathroom while I was showering and took my clothes as a prank (or so I thought), and taking that photo on the doorstep of Name’s house when we returned from the trip. That’s it. But that was already too much for me to handle. I put the picture away and for five or so years just tried not to think about it. That didn’t stop me from remembering and I certainly was not healing. Every single time Name popped up on social media, she was a trigger for a flashback. I even unfollowed and muted her for a while to see if that would work, but it didn’t. The nightmare would rear its ugly head and I would wonder how I could go about facing what happened and actually heal from all the pain it brought me. I thought about writing this story many times. I would start it and not be able to continue, I wrote in great detail and then less detail, I wondered if people would believe me or not, and I struggled with naming my friend and her brother or would that be going too far. Well, that’s ironic, isn’t it? Questioning my going too far when I was the victim of sexual assault. And I was the one carrying the weight of this incident that happened so long ago. The final straw came when the subject of sexual assault came up in one of my sociology classes. I was reading about victim blaming, how 1 in 3 women (worldwide) will experience sexual violence in their lifetime, how 2 out of 3 sexual assaults go unreported, and how the majority of assaults are committed by someone the victim knows. I knew it was time to tell my story. Back to my best friend…… I remember so clearly lying in her bed together, talking about the future, how much we were going to miss each other, and listening to You've Got a Friend. For years that song brought back those moments instantly. My family moved to state in August of 1986 and life as I knew it went on. Everything about that year was hard though: adjusting to a new home and a new school, and making new friends was tough at 17. I visited Name’s family during my first Christmas break and she visited me during that first spring break. At the time, I was in what I would call my first serious relationship, one that would go on for about 4 years. While Name was visiting, we hung out with my boyfriend and new friends a lot. I saw nothing wrong with it, but apparently, she did. One night before we were supposed to go out, she started an argument and I thought she was just insecure and jealous of my new relationship and friends. One wrong word and one instigative push led to an all-out girl fight. The next day she flew home early and we never spoke again. Until that Facebook message 30 years later…. One message that led to a picture, a picture that led to a memory, a memory that led to a single night that changed my life forever, a single night that led to the truth, a truth that led to my journey of healing. For many years I felt that I was a victim of 'something' but I could not put my finger on what it was, who may have been involved, or why I felt I had been violated. These feelings gnawed at me for years. My husband is the only one I talked with about any of these feelings and he has always been a source of emotional and mental strength to get me through the rough patches. Years ago, I went to rape counseling because although I didn't 'know' what happened, deep down somewhere in my subconscious, I did know. I have battled depression, I live with anxiety, and many years ago I contemplated suicide. I basically mirror the definition of a sex assault survivor with post-traumatic stress disorder type behaviors. Lately I've wondered if my best friend was aware of what happened that fateful night so long ago, but I guess I'll never know. What I do know is that two rapists got away with a crime for over 35 years and they will never be punished for what they did. What kind of men or monsters did they become? Because they got away with it once, could there be other victims? Do they have daughters? Does what they did to me ever cross their minds, and how would they feel if their daughters were victims at the hands of cowardly monsters like them? Are they married? What would their wives think if they heard this story and know that the men they married are men who assaulted an incapacitated, drunk 17 year old girl? Thanks to the Internet and social media, I already know the answers to some of these questions. I don't really care about any of that, but I hope they are both looked at just a little bit differently for the rest of their lives after people read about what they did. They are rapists and they altered the course of my life in many ways. This is now another story cemented in my history linked back to my high school best friend - brought straight to the forefront of my life through a simple social media message and a long-forgotten photo. I guess the past does have a way of catching up to us. For reference: Consent is an agreement to participate in a sexual activity. Without consent, sexual activity (including oral sex, genital touching, and vaginal or anal penetration) is sexual assault or rape. One in five women in the United States experienced completed or attempted rape during their lifetime. I am one. Being drunk is not a free pass. If you are drunk and you perform a sexual act on another drunk person, you are accountable for your behavior. The person initiating the sexual act is responsible for getting consent. Victim Blaming is not okay. No rapist rapes by accident. The rapist has time to make a choice and with the wrong choice, victims suffer for a lifetime.

One morning sometime during Covid, I was at a cafe near my house with my family. My parents both worked at home, so we made a tradition of walking to coffee shops near us and sitting outside of them, drinking coffee and tea and playing cards. It was good to be able to excersize and spend some time outside of the house. That morning, both of my parents stepped into the cafe for some reason or other. I stood outside on the cafe patio, talking with my sister, who is two years younger than me. We were both teens, but I can't remember exctly how old we were. A man walked into the parking lot towards us. His clothes were dirty and he looked like he was homeless. He started walking around us silently. I was too scared to do anything. He grabbed my asscheek and squeezed it. I didn't see, but he did the same thing to my sister. I wish I'd punched that fucking excuse for a human being. I was in shock, so I just stood there, my mind going 'what the bloody hell is happening to me...' It didn't quite feel real. I don't usually cuss so much, but even all the dirty words don't express how angry I was. I was so damned angry for weeks afterward, and I'm still angry thinking and writing about it. That bastard walked away, still silent, as if he hadn't just started putting me through hell. I told my parents a few minutes after they came out of the cafe. Thank God they believed me. The next day we made a report to the police. As far as I know, they never found him. I hate that someone like that is walking free and unpunished. I wanted my first experience with sexual touch to be with someone I loved. I've had other bad experiences with homeless people. There was a homeless person yelling and flailing around (not at me) a month or two ago right after I got off the bus from college. I sort of logically knew the yelling wasn't at me, but I was scared and my instincts took over. I ran like hell. After the assault, the flight reation in situations that might be fight-or-flight got extra sensitive. I feel like a car with an alarm that goes off whenever a big truck goes past. I'm going to therapy at my college. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to trust anyone enough to have an intimite relationship. Having a long-term romantic relationship is something I want for myself, but I'm afraid that a future partner would touch me when I didn't want them to. Thank you for reading this.

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

I’d like to share my sexual assault story. When I think of what happened, a rush of emotions come to mind, including anger, embarrassment, insecurity, and resentment. I've been reflecting on what feelings come to the surface, and I mostly feel anger, but deeper down I have a sense of worry that maybe I didn't remember that night right, and what if I was wrong? What if he didnt do anything and my mind is making up stories? But, I can see the night it happened vividly in my head, clear enough that I'm reliving it. I really liked him, and I'm not entirely sure why, because he wasn't my type at all. We had been “talking” for maybe two weeks, right around my birthday. He was the first boy that I really ever kissed (that was non consensual too now that I think about it), and I had been really unsure about my sexuality, and if I even liked boys at all. I think that may have been the reason I gave him the time of day. I knew that he wasn’t a good guy, but I was attracted to him, so at least he was helping me figure myself out. But, he took advantage of that. I knew he only cared about my body. We would talk for hours every night, and while I was looking for someone to connect with, all he would ever talk about was having sex with me. I made it clear to him that I didn't want that, because I wanted to wait until I was ready and preferably in a relationship. He acknowledged that, but the things he would say about me proved he didn't listen. It was always “I wanna f*ck you” or “I want your body”. He sexualized every part of me, and it was like that was the only thing he could think about. I just wanted to talk to him, but I would always find myself speechless when he said these things. How was I even supposed to respond to those sexualizaing comments? “Thank you?” And it wasnt just me he said these things to, he would talk about me with our friends when I wasn't around. Making sexual comments and talking about my body and how badly he wanted me. This isn't even the worst of it. While I was catching feelings for this obviously shitty man, he was talking to one of my other friends. He told people that he was really going for her, but just messing around with me on the side. And now they're dating. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, because I didn't want to hurt the other girl he was talking to. That didn't end up mattering to me after a while. I guess I should start from the first memorable incident. It was one of my closest friends' birthdays, which is the day after mine. I remember him saying he wanted to give me some “birthday d*ck”, even though he blew me off on my birthday to hang out with the other girl. There were a couple people over at her house, including the boy and his friend. We were all sitting on her floor, and I decided to sit next to the boy, and eventually we were cuddling on her floor. Ew. I noticed immediately that he was touchy. He started feeling up and down my body, grabbing my butt, and trying to wedge his hands in between my closed legs. All of this was out in the open with our friends in the room. The birthday girl and two other people left, and it was just me, the boy, and his friend in the room. The boy said he had to talk to his friend about something and asked me to cover my ears, so I buried my head in his shoulder and covered them. I heard him say I could come back up, and when I looked back up at him he kissed me. We started kissing more, and the boy didn't seem to be bothered at all by the fact that his friend was still in the room. I'm pretty sure we kissed again while he was there, and then he left. He was the first boy I ever really kissed, and I guess I thought it was normal for him to touch me that much. The funny thing is, the friend whos house we were at said he probably would have gone all the way and had sex with me right there on the floor if I wanted to, even though the house was FULL and we were on my best friends floor, where anyone could walk in. That was just one of the many red flags I missed. Things went on that way for a few days, and whenever we hung out he would touch me. I remember one day I knocked on my friend's door, and while we were waiting to be let in he grabbed my butt. He would do that alot. He knew I didn't want to sleep with him, yet every time I was around he got closer and closer to me, touched me more and more. He would stick his hands down my pants and up my shirt, even if there were other people nearby. He wasn't good for me. I knew he was bad. I made bad decisions when it came to him, and I knew I needed to stop. So, now I'll get into the night it happened. It was a night in march, this boy didn't have a car, so I remember I snuck out of my house to pick him up from work. We were hanging out in the front of my car, and he asked if I wanted to get in the back. I knew I had to be home soon, but I said yes. We climbed back there and started kissing. His hands were everywhere. He lifted my shirt up and started taking my boobs out of my bra, and stuck his hand in my underwear. I said I was on my period so he didn't go any further. But, that didn't stop him from getting what he wanted. While we were kissing, he took out his dick from inside his pants and placed my hand on it. I thought he was grabbing my hand to be romantic, but next thing I knew I was touching a dick for the first time in my life. He guided my hand up and down and then let go. I'm not too sure on the details now, months later, but I think I moved my hand away and he moved it back. He kept guiding me like that. He put my hand up his shirt and I had to feel his nasty chest hair. After this happened, I looked at the clock and said I had to go. We got re-assembled and I drove him home. Except this time I could tell something was off. He was very quiet on the way home, and when he got out of the car he kissed me through my driver's side window before going back inside. When I was leaving, I immediately called one of my best friends and told her what happened. Honestly at that point I didn't think it was assault, and I told her I wondered if I would have actually slept with him if we had more time that night. She didn't seem concerned about what I told her either. But she was also the one who's friends with the boy. When I got home, he sent me a message that said “I don't think we should talk anymore until I figure things out with myself. I was crushed. I felt so stupid and embarassed and violated and ashamed. I knew that he had been juggling me and this other girl for some time now, and honestly I thought he was going to choose me. The constant competition really took A toll on my mental health and confidence. Of course he would choose the skinnier, prettier girl who would actually put out. I really don't understand what got into me. I knew he was terrible. I knew he didn't care about me. So why did I stay? Why did I like him in the first place? Why why did I let him hurt me??? I still don't understand that. Now, the period after he ended things was just as embarrassing. I kept waiting for him to come back to me, when he “figured things out”. I asked my friends if there was a chance he would come back to me, and even though nobody thought it, I kept hoping. The funny thing is, after he was done with me he started preying on one of my other friends, who was not interested in him at all. He said the same things about her. “I wanna f*ck her” and “shes so hot”. He didn't “like” girls, he went after them. Finally, I started to realize I didn't need him. I stopped waiting for his snaps, and started ignoring him. I started to reflect on how he treated me, and it was clear he was using me as a side piece and he only wanted my body. He didn't care about me. As time went on, he kept telling people I was obsessed with him, and that made me angry. At this point in my life I was smoking a lot of weed, mostly just to get by because every day felt hard. This boy started treating me like a drug addict and said he was concerned by how much I smoked and the decisions I was making. But this girl he wanted smoked just as much as me, and we mostly smoked together. But he only went after me for it. I started realizing he was messed up, and had no values or morals in his life. I started to think, and I realized what he did to me was not okay. I told my trusted friends about it and they agreed. However, one of my closest friends is still close with him. Just writing about this is making me feel sick. My stomach hurts, and I have a sense of unease all over my body. The next few weeks, I started to forget about him. Until one day he texted me. He rambled on about how I smoked too much weed and that eventually I'm going to get caught. He told me that he was concerned for me because I was important to one of my friends, which means it's important to him. Not even that he cared for himself, just that he cared because someone else did. I was furious. He had no right to tell me i'm being irresponsible when the only thing he talked about when I met him was how many drugs he did on a daily basis. And about this “other friend”, I remember a specific instance where I picked her and another friend up from their houses, and we went to our spot to smoke. She told the boy we were there, and he pulled up. MY two friends got out of my car, got into his, and left. They all left me alone to go hangout with someone else (this other person they were going to hangout with also has two separate rape allegations, one of the victims attends my school). Again, I was furious. Especially after I told this friend that he assaulted me, she left me alone without even a second thought. This wasn't the first time this happened either, she blew our entire friend group off multiple times to hangout with the boy who assaulted me. Going forward, I started forgetting more and more about him. I talked to other people, and eventually found my current boyfriend. One day, me and my boyfriend had planned to meet my friends at our spot- a waterfall and park in town. The “other friend” asked me if it was okay if the boy and his friend were going there too, and I hesitantly said yes. Obviously I was a little uncomfortable with my boyfriend and assaulter being in the same place. But he was eager to meet the man, because I had already told him about it. Plus, my boyfriend was drunk. When we got there he couldn't even walk. I had to walk up to my friend who was in the car with the boy and ask them for a lighter, in which they all ignored me. We waited in the parking lot for a while for the boy and his friends to walk down to the falls, but they never did. Then, My friend comes over to me and says the boy is uncomfortable because my boyfriend was drunk and he didnt wanna see him fall off the rocks or hurt on the path down to our spot. I was furious that she came up to ME and told me that my ASSAULTER was uncomfortable?! Absolutely not. She said it right in front of my boyfriend too, and tried to pull me aside like he wasn’t there. I looked right at her and said “oh? HE’S uncomfortable???” and walked away. My other friend and my boyfriend walked down to the falls with me. We noticed no one else out of our large group followed, and the IRONY is that they went to drive to a friend's house to GET ALCOHOL! They left and never came back. I was so mad, and for good reason! The thing about me is that I HATE being mad at people, and even though I had a full right to be upset, I still felt bad. But neither my friend nor the boy were “uncomfortable” with my boyfriend being drunk. They had left us many times before to drink and drive, which is especially dangerous. He was probably uncomfortable that I even had a boyfriend, because I found someone better than him. The rest of the afternoon was awkward, because all of my friends left except for one. So she had to third wheel me and my boyfriend. We ended up going out and having fun, but it makes me so angry that that happened. When I was at prom, I kept seeing my friend go over and talk to him and his girlfriend. I tried to stay away whenever possible, but I went over and tapped her on the shoulder a few times when she was over there. I even talked to his girlfriend once or twice, but didnt say anything to him. I hate being around him, I hate him, I hate him so much. Looking back at all of this, I'm ashamed that I ever talked to this boy. But, he also took advantage of me. Even though sometimes I have doubts, I have a right to be angry at him. And even though I never thought it would be me, I'm a part of the 1 and 6 women now.

I was 18 when it happened. I was at the local mall with a few friends, celebrating our high school graduation. We had went into the Disney Store. I can still hear my one friend going "grab her." the laughter while they grabbed me. i was unable to get away as two of them hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. i can still feel my one friend's arms around me. their lips on my face. i was frozen in shock and awkwardly laughed it off. needless to say, those girls did not stay my friends for long after that. one of their graduation parties was the last time we were together. after that, they invited me out freshman year of college. I denied and never spoke to any of them again. After it happened, i told my mom. she did nothing. the only person who kind of took me seriously was my best friend at the time (whole other ball of yarn happened with her). it took 6 years. 6 years for someone to tell me that what I'd experienced was harassment. that my feelings at the time were valid. PS: that store is now closed. I sometimes wish I would've gone in one last time. But maybe it's a good thing that the store is gone, symbolic in a sense.

This is a series of accounts that happened to me in my childhood, and adolescence. I am now nearly 23 years old, but memories of these assaults often come back to haunt me. When I was around eight, a family friend touched me inappropriately. He threatened to harm me if told, and he pulled my female cousin alongside the abuse. This lead to us stimulating acts, although we thought it was "playing", unaware of the harm we did to each other. When I was twelve, I was nearly raped by a male cousin. We were living at my aunt's place, and it happened over the summer. He laid next to me. At first, I didn't think it was wrong, since I often hugged with my smaller cousins. But he touched my arm in a disgusting way that made me feel icky, and asked me for a kiss. When I refused, he tried to pin me down and lift up my dress. I began to cry, and that made him stop. He left the room, and never talked to me again, while I was constantly alert the whole time I lived there. When seventh grade came along, I was at a middle school dance. I was a shy, awkward child, shaken up by cruel bullies and apathetic teachers. I was mocked because I was fat, dark skinned, plump, nerdy, all the like. Due to my developed body, I was wolf-whistled at by either my own peers, slut shamed, etc. Some eight grade girls had brought some older high school boys to party with them, but nope, they were looking for girls to have sex with. I was targeted by three, and I was pulled near the gym. I managed to run, but the incident left me traumatized and with an unwillingness to trust men other then my brother or family members. When I was around 13-15, I had transferred to a Christian private school due to the severe bullying that I had experienced in my previous middle school. I was questioning my sexuality at the time, and I felt disgusting and dirty from my past experiences. I had crushed on a slightly older boy, and while he was nice, he was too into me. He often kissed and touched me without consent, and I was too scared to say no at times. My mother's reactions to our texts didn't help my fears, however. I am partially scared of intimacy, and I began to neglect taking care of myself as a defense mechanism against predators. But now, this year, I will focus on healing, and being the brightest person I can be. I will never let the fetid desires of a gross man soil me, or dull my sparkle.

This whole thing started on Date, when he added me on Snapchat. I saw that we had mutual friends, so I added him back. We talked that night for a couple of hours and he made some unwelcome comments that I can't remember the details of. I did make it clear to him that I did not want anything serious or "noncommittal" at the time. We talked for a couple more days and then I noticed he unadded me on all social media. Fast forward to a couple of weeks later, on Date 2, right before I left for State, he added me back on everything, so we started talking again. I had noticed even looking back on our conversations, that he was very cautious about the conversations we had online, but in person, things escalated and he had no problem saying exactly what he thought and wanted. I came to State a week early, so I offered to help him move in when he got here. On Date 3, I helped him move his things in. He had his uncle and a friend there helping as well. After helping him move in, his uncle said that he wanted to treat me to dinner, so they both took me out to dinner. The friend did not join us. While talking, [he] made a comment asking if I had seen the movie The Nun. I said that I had not, because I am not a huge fan of scary movies. His uncle proceeded to say, "Well, with scary movies, you just have to find a guy to cuddle up with. [he] is a good cuddler!" To which [he] laughed at that comment and I nervously laughed because I was uncomfortable. While we were out at dinner, [he] hugged me a couple of times and I didn't feel the most comfortable with that, but it was just a hug, so I didn't take that much notice of it. The next night I reached out to him just to check on how he was getting all moved in. He explained that it was going well and asked if we could hang out, to which I agreed. So, he came over to my apartment and we just sat and talked for a little bit. I do remember one unsettling comment he made though. It was this: - "It’s a good thing that I’m not your mentor because we’re talking." I've now come to understand that mentors and mentees are not supposed to have relationships, hence the intention of his comment. After that night, I didn't hang out with him in person until Wednesday, Date 4, but there was moderate communication between us at that point. I reached out to him that Wednesday because I just wanted to hang out, even though there were some red flags, I didn't think that any of them were too alarming, so I reached out. So on the Date 4, I got into his car and he drove me to the frozen yogurt place. After getting in the car, he reached out his hand for me to hold. Reluctantly, I held his hand because I froze and didn't know what to do at the moment. I wasn't aware that he thought it was a date until he framed it that way later. After frozen yogurt, we headed back to our apartment complex and he parked the car. We sat there for a minute and I looked at him and he started to kiss me. Things started to escalate quickly as he began making out with me and started to touch my boobs. I was startled by this, but I let this keep going because I didn't know what else to do. At one point, a car pulled up next to us and he said "The person that just pulled up next to us just got a show." I think that we were in the car for around 15 minutes, and then after that, we parted ways. That night he messaged me saying he had fun and wanted to hang out the next day, to which I said yes. At this point, I wasn't in the best mental state and I was very vulnerable, so it felt like someone genuinely just wanted to hang out with me and that made me feel good and appreciated. So, the next day, Thursday, Date 5, I walked over to his apartment. He opened the door and greeted me with a hug and a kiss. We walked over to the couch and sat down. He waited until I sat down, so he could sit as close as he possibly could. He put on a movie and then, he initiated a makeout session. At first, it was just making out, but it quickly escalated. I don't remember the course of how everything happened, but I do remember what happened. We would be making out and he would guide my hand to touch and leave on his penis. While that would be happening, he would be making comments like "I'm almost there, keep going" over and over. Meaning that he was getting aroused and close to cumming. Another comment he made was "Do you want to see it?" (meaning his penis) and when I said no, he would keep persisting and say "Well, I'm in the mood for it." Something else that happened was that he would bring his hand on my thigh and then slowly make his way to touching my vagina. He would start to finger my vagina and I just sat there paralyzed. Whenever I would stop touching his penis, he would quickly start to move my hand back on it and say "You should do it more." I didn't want to but I was scared of what would happen if I were to stop. He also made his way up to my boobs and was touching them and squeezing them (over the shirt) and then, he proceeded to look down my shirt. After he did that, he stuck his hands up my sweatshirt and shirt and continued to touch my boobs, but under the shirt. Sometime in the conversation, he asked questions like, "Do you want to try oral?" and "Do you want to try durfing?" Both of which I replied no to, but then he asked me when I would be comfortable doing that kind of stuff, and I replied I don't know. He replied with "This weekend? Next month?" and I ultimately just had to say, we'll see. Along with these comments, he asked me how far I would be willing to go and I replied with "I don't know" because obviously, I felt stuck in the situation. His reply to this was "I obviously don’t want to go as far as sex, because I don’t want to break covenants." This is important to note because he is an endowed member of the church that I am a part of. Through these conversations in between, we would still be making out and touching inappropriately, but then, he also wanted me to get on his lap both facing him and with my back to him. When I was on his lap facing the tv, he would proceed to thrust his hips forward as if he was trying to put his penis in my butt. (This all happened while clothed, he was just trying to go as far as he could while clothed.) He also wanted me to "move my butt around in circles" when I was on his lap facing the tv. When I was on his lap facing him, he tried to do things the other way around. He would get his penis as close to my vagina while clothed as he could. This whole time I just felt numb and trapped, I didn't know what to do. He even asked me the question, "Does doing this feel wrong to you? Because this doesn’t feel wrong to me." To which I said "Yes, this does feel wrong.", but he kept going. There was also a point where I was lying on top of him and we were cuddling and then he asked me to talk dirty to him, but I didn't because I used the excuse with him that I wasn't good at it, to which he said he would demonstrate it for me. What he said as a "demonstration" was, "I can’t wait to have sex with you." When he said that, I felt even more numb and stuck. So through all of it, he was asking all of these questions and touching me inappropriately and I was praying that he wouldn't go further. The movie finished and then we went our separate ways and didn't have contact until Sunday, Date 6. The conversation just started with a simple conversation of how we were and then he asked if I wanted to "hang out" sometime this week. To which I replied with, "Actually, I need to talk to you about that." and when I sent that, he unadded me and unfollowed me on all social media. I then noticed about 20 minutes later that he added me back on Snapchat and I confronted him about what he had done and said, "If you're going to unadd me because I don't feel comfortable giving you want you want, just unadd me." and then I proceeded to block him on everything so he could not contact me. It's only been a month and a half since this happened, and I am on my healing journey, but it is hard to constantly see his truck every single day. My university is working towards a punishment for him, but I can't help but think that he will not get a big punishment, even with all this evidence stacked against him. I just want you to know that if you were sexually assaulted or raped, that it is absolutely NOT your fault that it happened to you. You are not alone and you never will be. Seeking professional help has helped me to navigate this situation and I would recommend it to you if that is what you feel like you need to do. You are amazing and you are enough. You are not whatever situation happened. You are so strong, and you've got this. I believe in you and I love you.

This is the first time I am really telling my story and what happened to me. I was 6 years old and my abuser was 2 years older than me and briefly in the same Organization Group as me. It started off normal, we would hang out, play video games, play Barbie’s, etc. eventually though, and I’m not exactly sure when, she started to talk to me and coerce me into many different sexual activities. It went on for nearly 2 years and there were times when she would call and ask my mom if I could come over because she knew my mom wouldn’t say no. Then she would abuse me for most of the stay. She would assure me that my parents would be furious if they knew (I knew they would be) so I never told anyone. I just wanted this person who I perceived as cool to like me so I kept going along with whatever she said. I am now almost 30 years old and am speaking about this for the first time. I have struggled so much with whether or not I was a victim, if it was just normal curiosity, if anyone would even take it seriously or if it would be shrugged off as “kids being kids”. It has caused me so much pain in my life, but I am trying to do the work to process and let go of the guilt