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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 am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. Like many survivors, I did not fully understand or process what had been done to me until adulthood. Trauma does not operate on a clean or predictable timeline. It delays recognition, fragments memory, and often prevents disclosure until years—sometimes decades—later. When I finally came forward and spoke publicly about the abuse I experienced as a child, I believed I was exercising a basic right: to tell the truth about what happened to me. Instead, I was met with coercion. After I disclosed the abuse, my abuser and his attorney issued legal threats and demands aimed at forcing me to retract my statements and remain silent. I was pressured to take down my survivor narrative and was threatened with financial and legal consequences simply for speaking about what was done to me as a child. At the same time, I have been unable to find legal representation of my own. Despite confirming documentation, despite the seriousness of the harm, and despite acting in good faith, I have been told repeatedly that my case is “too old,” “too difficult,” or financially unviable under existing laws. The result is a brutal imbalance of power: the person who abused me had legal counsel ready to threaten me, while I—his victim—could not find a lawyer willing or able to help me pursue justice. This is what survivors face when the law closes its doors. I did not choose to be abused. I did not choose how my mind protected me as a child. And I should not be punished, intimidated, or silenced for seeking accountability as an adult. No survivor should be subjected to legal threats from their abuser for telling the truth. No survivor should be forced to face an abuser’s attorney alone, without representation, simply because trauma delayed their ability to come forward. And no one should be denied access to the courts while those who harmed them are able to use the legal system as a weapon. That is why Trey’s Law matters. Trey’s Law is not about revenge. It is about access—access to justice, access to accountability, and access to the courts for survivors whose abuse could not realistically be confronted within rigid, outdated timelines. If abuse happens again to someone else—and we know it will—they should not have to endure what I have endured just to be heard. They should not be threatened for speaking. They should not be shut out of the legal system before they ever have a chance to stand in it. Trey’s Law recognizes the reality of trauma and corrects a system that currently protects abusers better than it protects the people they harmed. I am sharing my story not only for myself, but for every survivor who was told it was “too late,” who was pressured into silence, or who discovered that the hardest part was not surviving the abuse—but surviving the system afterward. I will not stop until the law honors who it should: the victims.

My first memory ever is the pain, pressure, fear, and disgust of being raped. I remember the heat of the room, the pressure and debilitating pain of it every crevice and hole possible he created pain. There’s not many good memories I remember at all honestly till I reached 3rd grade. From 3 to 8 every summer it was endless rape and pain in hopes to protect my brother and his siblings and the absolute fear he put in me. He was my moms friends son older then me but not much. He made me feel disgusting, dirty, petrified like I deserved this I was scared of him in every way. He was a horrible man no remorse but it makes me think something happened to him as well. It makes no sense that it could fit in my tiny mouth my private areas everywhere I still remember it like yesterday it felt like I was being ripped apart the pressure was unbearable. But I knew if I just went through with it and stayed quiet I would be free the rest of the day. I quickly learned to stay quiet when he brought out the BB gun though not a real gun I can tell you it hurt the one time I screamed for help he shot and shot and shot I hate the number 3. I get confused on how my parents and doctors didn’t know. I had constant utis, stomach issues, pain and burning my doctor said I was dramatic and nobody seemed to notice. I always cried for help in the bathroom for wiping but it was really because I was scared to even touch there it was so sore. But I denied every thing that I’m fine he convinced me this had to happen that I was worthless and this is what I was made for to help him and save the other kids from it. So he knew it was wrong yet he picked me. He took my childhood from me I lived in constant fear and anxiety I was petrified of everyone even class mates. I had horrific dreams every single night putting me in a state of paralyzing fear. In third grade I escaped so I thought. I made it until I started taking the route to our house it was the summer before 7th grade i was walking home from Work at the salon I don’t know how or why but there he was on Main Street both of us alone he pulled me into the bathroom on the brick building of the circle I didn’t make a noise why the fuck didn’t I make a noise how was he even there and again took everything away from me nobody stopped or cared. How did my family not know I was gone longer how did they not see the pain in my face and body I was on my period then he was so happy to promise he would be the farther of my baby one day. I was picked up most days I would tell my parents I really didn’t want to walk home most the time I’d be picked up but every single time I had to walk Wich was only 4 times he was there to destroy me again like he was watching my every move how did he know those days how I still don’t understand it. The salon would send me for lunches and of course I couldn’t drive so I had to walk everywhere I was petrified and swore he was watching then. After this I planned to kill myself but he soon died and I finally was free well my body was free but not my mind, I was still trapped in this hell of fear and hate for myself that he would find me again I still suffer every single day not a single day goes by without me thinking of that hell. There were times I could start to feel myself getting better and then it would come crashing down in disaster. Constant nightmares paralyzed fear anger. I wish to god I would have told people then I would have had so much more help and would have already been so much farther in recovery but I finally told someone! It started with my therapist who helped me find the courage to tell my family and every fear of not being believed and scared to be in trouble was proven wrong my family has done nothing but help me face this and though it’s proven to be harder before it’s better I am so happy I’ve started my recovery and hope to find peace soon! A support system is so important I couldn’t be more grateful for mine. I hope this can help others in some way if i could say anything to another survivor is that it will never be perfect but you will get better this does not define you.

I was young and naive. I didn't even know what rape was. I sought help from my friends only to be met with all of the "why didn't you...this?" or "why didn't you...that?" From that point on I blamed myself and never spoke about the rape. In my early adulthood, I had a coworker that recognized something in me and she asked me if I had been raped. She offered me support and resources. I still hadn't ever heard of any advocacy programs. At age 25, I applied for a new job working with child abuse victims. Little did I know, but they also worked with victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. I found my healing there and I continue to work there 31 years later. I found my healing and strength through educating the public and advocating for others. As I get older, I get bolder. I no longer fear sharing my story.

I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

As an only child, I had no one to look up to really as a kid. But I always looked up to my Dad. Even though he was never really around due to work (although Mam worked more than he did and still found lots of time to spend with me), I still idolised him. He was my hero. He would always say 'Dads know everything - remember that', so lying to my dad (even little white lies) were pointless. Though when I hit 13 I began to realise he actually DID know everything. He knew what myself and my friends would talk about, he would know exactly where I was and who I was with without even needing to ask me, and I would always wonder why. In reality he had my phone tracked and could read all my messages. Now that I have been through the court system and he has been imprisoned for the abuse he inflicted upon me, I can confirm that he was in fact grooming me from the age of 13. About a month after my 18th Birthday, began the horrific 7.5 year abuse that I suffered. My Dad, masked for the first 2 years as a stranger, blackmailed me into performing sexual acts with strange men in our home - the one place I should've felt safe. When I finally realised it was him, I couldn't tell you how it then turned into just open ended abuse and rape from him. He would advertise us as a couple on hook up sites and in order to avoid physical beatings I would go along with it. I feared for my life so much that endless rapes and sexual assaults were easier - imagine that being the easiest choice - until you're in it, you just don't know how you'll react. I stopped going out, I gave up my hobbies, whilst in college I gave up my part time job - he controlled every single part of my life. And if I even let my "everything is rosey' mask slip even for a second, especially in front of my Mam, well it just doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately for me, once Mam did find out, he was gone out of my life within 30 mins. Unfortunately, he went on to groom and abuse others after that. He was convicted, and is currently serving his prison sentence - but the fear of him stilll remains.

Wow, first of all. How empowering. I can't even fully talk to therapists or my family support workers because I'm afraid I'll have to make statements. I've been sexually assaulted and raped more times than I can remember. One particularly tough event, my ex, my child's fathers. Well I was passed out. I woke up to him carefully pulling out of my body. I ran to the toilet. Sick with shock. I had a protection order but I had let my guard down and gotten drunk with neighbours the night before. I called my sister. She came to bring me to an emergency chemist. I took the morning after pill. Month came, the Date and I still hadn't got my period. The test was positive. I had to illegally obtain tablets and have an abortion in my sisters house. Very sad and awful time of my life. This platform is a god send.

HE picked me up the first day in the shiniest white Toyota I’d ever seen. Hallucinating halos of light around him, I knew in my heart: this was the man I would marry. Almost 15 years older, but so handsome, so experienced. We seemed to have everything in common—intellectual passions (both personal and professional), unbreakable bonds with our widowed mothers, and a shared dream of building an all-American family home. Cruising through the crisp mid-October air, we swapped thoughts and expectations before arriving at Orlando’s downtown library. I’d never even dated before. He, meanwhile, had recently lost out on a girl named Name. After attending a free 3D modeling class, we drove home through the area. Admiring the street art and neighborhood history, Name 2grinned widely. He talked endlessly about books, so our biweekly “dates” shifted to Barnes & Noble. Marriage dreams swirled through my mind; I thought I was in heaven, Ignorance is bliss. Or in this case—a kiss. Her name was Name 3 Emphasis on the DIE. At first, she didn’t look harmful. A government employee and the grandmother of my future children, Provider Name seemed overjoyed when Name 2 told her I’d proposed. She served me huge slices of homemade pistachio cake during what should have been one of our cozy courtship nights at home. On weekends, we both did laundry and cleaning. Even after I returned from an emergency psychiatric stay, she hugged me. Told me she loved me. Promised I was safe. “What’s mine is yours,” she said. Food, water, shelter, family, a bed—even help looking for work. She was like… a mother-in-law to me. Somewhere in that 4 month bloody scuffle - my hymen snapped, and someone forced me to fellate them repeatedly. I thought it was my fiancé on top of me when it happened. But he wasn’t my fiancé. Which means she wasn’t my mother in law either…

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.

Fuck every single one of you motherfuckers. Fuck what you did to me. Fuck what you said to me. Liars. Manipulators. Gaslighters. Heart breakers. Rapist .Takers. Evil. All these voices in my head get loud, I wish I could shut them out or kill them. Get out. Die. Go to hell. An empty void of nothingness. Everything that was and is, is gone. It never existed. I blend in with the darkness. I can't tell the difference between his hands and everyone else's. Trapped in that moment forever. Tainted. Fucking sickening. Maybe if I died, everyone would be happy. Burden free. A dead person can't feel pain. Another body in the graveyard. That's all I'll be. I need to get out. I need a way out.

I worked in a hospital kitchen as a food services assistant, I was 23 years old. My brother had died the year prior he was 24 years of age when he passed. I had so much grief inside whilst also trying to work and had just moved out of home. I was a lost women learning my way on my own. He was 28, he worked as the dishwashing man. I was instantly intimidated by him and his personality, his loud voice, and the jokes he would come up with, but also somehow extremely intrigued by him, and how he manages to charm everyone he works with, how he is so muscly, tanned, jet black hair and gives off so much confidence within himself, it was hard not to be charmed by him. Whilst washing the dishes he would ask questions out loud " anyone have wild sex on the weekend?". There was a time when I was standing close by to my supervisor (a woman in her 60's) and he came over and asked her if she would go to the movies with him. She laughed it off and told him to go back to work. I remember having lunch break with my female coworkers (They were such good friends of mine at the time) and they would tell me how he had showed them porn at the lockers. I remember them saying how they were uncomfortable but they moved subjects quickly and forgot about it. Not sure how long after but one of them came to me in the kitchen when I was working and she said that he had asked her what she thinks I'm like in bed, and asked her if she thinks id be the kinky type. When she came and told me he was not far away and I think he heard her telling me and he looked over to me, and I wanted to hide. When he left to go collect dishes with one of the girls he would say that if they aren't back soon then they are most likely having sex. He would always give me compliments, say he liked my hair, my nails, this love bombing I took like a hungry fish to bait. I remember one day just saying bye to him as I clocked out and he would just yell out I love you. When it was just me and him washing dishes, he would pretend to wank infront of me and then splashed the water everywhere. One of the older women in her 60's he would always be massaging her shoulders in the middle of the kitchen. (this confused me the most as he was 28.) He would walk past wet floor signs and say wow you must be horny. Nobody ever heard. He would stand at the door way and deliberately look the girl infront of me up and down, and then I knew I was next to walk past him. I even had one of the chefs saying to me, go have lunch with him and you'll be sucking him off in the next 5 minutes. I didn't have that one big moment of omg that was inappropriate he must be trying to harass me, it was a slow feed of inappropriate things being delivered to me like a line of IV fluids in the form of sexual harassment (indirectly and directly). At the time I didn't even realise what was happening to me, I loved the compliments and attention he gave me, because I looked up to him because he was so confident, charming and loud. But I was also so scared of him, He had degraded me and made me feel so uncomfortable with his comments, he had me and my 3 work friends on Facebook and he would send so much porn through messenger and making jokes about the other girls at work regarding porn. I felt embarrassed and humiliated for them. One of my good friends, she use to get him to drive her home, and she said they were making sexual jokes to each other and when she went to get out of the car he pulled her back in, she said she just laughed it off but when she got home she messaged us and told us because she was scared. Later on she would say nobody go in the freezer with him unless you want to be molested. then she walked over to me and told me that he had made jokes about her nipples when she was in there. I still remember the moment that I was like what the hell just happened, I was pushing the dishes on a trolley, when the trolley stopped working and he walked right up behind me as close as he could, and said come on you can do it. I literally panicked and just tried my best to get the trolley going. Once I walked around the corner I had to stop and get my breath. And my mind had shut off from that moment. From that moment I realised my boundaries did not exist. I was being intimidated, humiliated, embarrassed, degraded slowly overtime that I did not even realise it was happening to me until it was too late. Id been manipulated and persuaded to give in, I flirted with him. And before I knew it I was making out with him in his car. Completely scared out of my mind that I couldn't even think whilst it was happening. I remember wanting so badly to show him that I wasn't scared of him. But I was. I was terrified, of what he thought of me, being so unsure of him and his personality, not knowing if he was a good or bad guy. I was an absolute mess after being with him, I felt sick, I didn't eat for weeks. I didn't tell my work friends what I had done, everyday I was going to work and facing him, staring at me, feeling judged and humiliated for giving in and being with him. I wanted to feel okay again, and somehow I was in this toxic cycle of telling myself if I can get him to be nice to me everything will be okay, I asked him to talk one day at lunch, he agreed. I met him in his car and I said to him I just wanted to say sorry for how things have turned out between us. and he said so your wanting to do this again? I said that I was unsure. And then we ended up making out again. Every time it happened, the days after I would be in this faded daze, I couldn't think, I was mentally ill for a while afterwards. The going to work, feeling humiliated, degraded, and like I meant nothing. There were days id beg him to talk to me and explain why it happened, and he would say, I don't know why it happened it just did. I couldn't think for myself, I was relying on him for everything, my thinking, my worth, my reality, which he told me was that I had major issues, was awkward and obsessed with him. For months after I would vomit before going to work, couldn't eat and I was close to a breakdown, the days I went to work with him I looked at the ground, watched him flirting with other girls in the kitchen, and saw him disregard me like rubbish. Tonight I write this, its 4 years on and I have come so far, I still think of this man everyday, and the one thing that I struggle to get closure with, is trying to explain to people how mental manipulation mixed with sexual harassment is one of the hardest things ever to explain in therapy and counselling, I've had days where I've blamed myself still, and told myself that it was my fault and that I agreed to go along with it, I wanted him so badly, I ended up begging my abuser to be with me. I wonder how I ended up being the one wanting him when he was the one harassing me. I've literally had to relearn how to love myself after doing that to myself. I'm still learning after all these years. It takes so much time and effort. But I really hope that one day I will move on. I've said outload to myself that I forgive him, but somedays its really hard. I never got closure from him. And I still doubt myself whether I was sexually harassed. I remember calling him on the phone and he would say everyone knows I'm joking otherwise I would be done for sexual harassment by now. I want to stop doubting myself, I've always known wrong from right. But this man took this from me. And I've struggled in life ever since. I know I need to forgive him. I know what happened did happen. I know my panic attacks were telling me something was wrong. I know that he is a hurt person for doing this to others. God please heal my heart.

I wrote this poem, while I was in the process of therapy. I was sexually assaulted after a night out. I had only turned 18 and I trusted this person to look after me. He was older age and a family friend. I hope this poem helps someone. You took what wasn’t yours to take You took it and I felt I gave it away I cried and I lied because I was scared I tried to speak up but there was nobody there My friends refused to believe it true As I lied to protect you… how cruel I pretended at the time, that everything was fine My mouth told a story my body knew was a lie I coped with food, drink and drugs You lived your life And I never could what you did has stuck with me for years It took me a while but maybe I am fixed Although it’s been 6 and I seem to be fixed My mind and body are still very mixed I now find time to speak about you Even though I wish I didn’t have to It brings up emotions I wish did not exist You took my power and gave me shame But now I am taking back what you took away It shouldn’t be me who feels disgust It should be you who pays for your crime. I took back my power I took back my life I now know so much more I wish did way before But I can’t change what has already been It was not my fault and I know now it wasn’t me.

At the age of four, my mom used to take me out to the trunk of her Jeep and beat me for 20-30 minutes at a time. She would hit me, pull my hair, and scream profanity at me. The physical abuse lasted until I was 11-years-old, and she only stopped once CPS got involved. My dad knew; he did nothing. At the age of 6, I got sexually molested at school by another female. My mother told me it was not molestation, and that I was just "playing around." At the age of 11, I was sexually abused by the neighborhood boys. They were in their mid-teens, and would touch me inappropriately, rub their penises against me, and tell me inappropriate jokes. At that same age, I was also dry humped on the face by multiple boys who I considered friends. At the age of 16, I was raped by a 26-year-old man. He groomed me beginning at the age of 14-years-old, and convinced me he was a safe person. At that same point in my life, I was raped by a 23-year-old that I had known for two years and considered safe. He took me to a room where we could "be alone" then proceeded to force himself on me. I was crying and telling him to stop, but he didn't stop. I dated him for three months after that, and he continued to pressure me into sex and emotionally abuse me. Starting at the age of 14-years-old, I began getting harassed online. I stupidly gave out my phone number and address to someone I had trusted, and they were posted on 4chan (a public image board). I was harassed daily: I received death threats; I received threatening phone calls; I would receive calls to my school. I then found out that the person I trusted killed a girl in his home city, and that they had proof I was going to be the next victim. At the age of 17, my step-dad physically assaulted me and almost broke my wrist. He put a cigarette out on my head, strangled me, and threatened me. My mom watched, holding the phone, and told me it was my fault for "not leaving when [she] told [me] to." The only help I got was from a neighbor who saw me run out of the house, covered in blood. That same year, I was kicked out because I refused to lift the restraining order off of my step-dad, and my mom gave me an ultimatum. I refused and went to live elsewhere. At the age of 18, I moved in with my first serious boyfriend. He was abusive and cheated on me multiple times. He would call me every name in the book and threaten to harm me and break my belongings. I did not get away until I was just turning 19. At the age of 20, I moved in with my dad. My step-mom was jealous of my dad and I's relationship and physically assaulted me and kicked me out on my 21st birthday. My dad did nothing again. At the age of 21, I developed life-threatening bulimia and anorexia and began drinking heavily to self-medicate. My fiance helped me through these disorders and saved my life. I am now 24-years-old and have many stable and healthy relationships--both in friendship and love. I am also receiving help via medication for C-PTSD, GAD, and major depressive disorder. I began therapy recently, too, and am learning to confront my traumas and move on. It's hard, and there are many things I remember each day that send me into a panic, but I want to heal and reclaim my innocence, power, and self-worth.

My sexual assaults story is uncommon for most and hard to most people to grasp. Who would believe that children are capable of knowing and doing such gruesome things to person? Most children are not like this and their experiences are different. It first happened when I was 8 years old while, my abuser was 7 years old at the time. I remember the abuse happening gradually as we build our friendship. It first started with us doing typical kid stuff like us playing together and joking around. And one day, he asked me to play this new game with him. I said sure. I thought it would be one of those silly jokes stunts of his. Instead he pulled my pants down and rubbed his private part against my bottom. It was really uncomfortable moment for me since, I grew-up in a strict Christian-based family. I have never witness anyone on television or heard of the things he was doing to me. Afterwards, I remember me being shy to tell anyone and feeling like I would get into trouble. So I remained quiet. How would any parent react if you see children engaging in sexual behavior? Wouldn't you automatically assume it was the oldest child to teach someone this behavior? This went on for almost 2 years. His behavior became more advance and his request got more weirder. One time, he begged me to drink his pee directly from his part. I told him no. And he stomped across the room mad. He kept persisting and demanding that I try it. Eventually, I gave in but, I told him only from a cup. It was the most dehumanizing experiences of my life. It was not long afterwards, that my father caught us. I remember me trying shove the boy off of me. And telling him that my dad was coming and he kept going harder and harder. I guess he thought I was lying to convince him to get off of me. He wouldn't stop until my father walked into the room.

This is my life story, well, at least the major events that come to mind. There are aspects of my life that I have either blocked out or chosen not to remember. When I was about 5 years old, my grandfather on my mother’s side started molesting me. It went on for a while, and I vividly remember crying to my mom, begging her not to make me go back there one weekend. In response, she looked at me and asked if my grandfather was touching me. I mustered the courage to say yes, hoping for support. To my dismay, she told me that my grandfather was sick and that I needed to support him. She continued to send me to his house every weekend until I turned 8, when he passed away. At the age of twelve, a traumatizing incident occurred. I was raped at a school basketball game by a high school student. My mother’s solution to this was to move us to another state. Unfortunately, that didn’t shield me from more pain. At 14 years old, I was gang-raped at a party and ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Thankfully, the police came, and the men responsible were arrested and charged. However, on the day of the court hearing, before I took the stand, something happened. I can’t recall the specifics, but my mom said something so terrifying that it coerced me out of testifying. Because of that, the adult perpetrator walked away free. I distinctly remember the furious look my dad gave my mom. He was so angry, while she callously said, “what would the people say.” It was a devastating blow. Tragedy struck again when I was 15 years old. I lost my father to suicide. Shockingly, my mom and sister blamed me for his death and gave me up to the state, making me an orphan. From that point, I bounced from foster home to foster home, eventually ending up in a group home until I turned 18. Desperate and lost, I fell into a dangerous cycle. I became addicted to drugs and involved in drug trafficking. My relationships were plagued by violence and abuse. In a desperate attempt to find a sense of belonging, I got involved with a Cartel Name. I immersed myself in their world, learning fluent Spanish. Tragically, I ended up being kidnapped and remained missing until the FBI located me eight months later. They discovered me chained up to a bed, on the brink of death. After spending five months rehabilitating in an State hospital, I was finally returned home. Throughout all these experiences, I encountered domestic violence, battled drug abuse, and confronted countless challenges along the way. Yet here I am today – resilient and determined to create positive change. My life has been a series of unimaginable hardships and painful experiences. From the abuse I suffered as a child to the trauma of rape and the loss of my father, I have faced more than anyone should have to endure. The path I walked led me down dark and dangerous roads, filled with addiction, crime, and violence. But amidst the darkness, I found a glimmer of hope. I made the decision to break free from the cycle of abuse and rebuild my life. With sheer determination, I ventured into the unknown, finding solace in new places and pursuing education to empower myself. Now, as I share my story, I am studying for my Master’s degree in human services, driven by a deep desire to help others who have faced similar struggles. I refuse to let the past define me, and I am committed to making a positive impact in the lives of others. My journey has been long and tumultuous, but it has also shown me the strength and resilience that resides within me.

It was 2017, I was in an unhealthy relationship with someone who located insecurities and used them to wear down the people around him, including myself. I had urged him to go to a party in city 1 when he was there for business, he went begrudgingly but ended up meeting a celebrity 10 years his junior, who was the exact same specific ethnicity as me, the same body type, the same hair and eye colour just richer, younger and famous. Naturally he cheated on me then left me to go and be with her in city 1. I still can't stand watching her show, even though they've separated now. My life then became a domino effects of all things that lead you to the bottom of the barrel. I lost my apartment and was sleeping on friends couches including my ex's house with his housemates who I believed were my friends also, I lost one of my jobs, I was constantly looking for rentals but the housing crisis made it impossible. Then I was unexpectedly nominated for a prestigious award in my field and work I had done was being screened in another country and I was asked to attend the event. Things looked like they were looking up and both events were a wonderful time but when I got back, I was still homeless for another 10 days before I could move into the room my friends had that would become available at the end of the month. Enter - an odd man 15yrs older than myself, whom I met in a social setting before my ex left me, knew about my break up from his friends and reached out to me through social media and when we chatted he learned I was staying on couches and offered me his apartment while he was away in city 2 for two weeks. I took the opportunity to finally shower without taking a whole suitcase into a bathroom and having four walls to myself. He gave me the key then departed. It was bliss. Until he claimed he was lonely on his trip, messaged me several times each hour around the clock (including through out the night as he rarely slept) and would get upset with me if I ended answer. I felt strange, like I owed him that attention because he was doing me a huge favour and was helping me through a terrible emotional time where I was also deep in an eating disorder that left me very physically weak. I cried every day for months and was deeply depressed. He began calling and face-timing with me while he was away and could be very sweet or very cold which scared me a great deal because he's a scary looking, very tall and unpredictable individual. He seemed like he cared and I ignored the hackles that went up my back when I got the sense I was in danger. He then suddenly arrived home early without warning and I still had a week until I could move into my own place. He told me I could stay and he wouldn't get in my way etc. I said I'd make him meals to thank him for letting me stay. What followed still confuses me to this day, even with years of working with my therapist to face the trauma inflicted by his hand. The things I know for sure. - He had sex with me and I did not give consent. - When I did eventually give consent, it was out of fear for my life when he had shown physical aggression and intimidation. - He isolated me from every single one of my friends and family by subtly suggestions flaws in their character that "proved" they did not have my best interests at heart. - He drugged drinks that he would make me, I'm still unsure with what type of drug but whatever it was made me very easy going and agreeable as well as want to dance. - He eventually began to try to control what I wore, ate and when I slept. - He would love bomb me then berate me to both extremes. - He would flex his control over me in front his friends. - He made me undress until I was naked in front of his friends. - When I left the apartment he would call and demand to know where I was and who I was with as well as when I would be returning. - He yelled at me, shoved me against a wall to threaten me and verbally abuse me and slammed several doors in my face. - He eventually retrieved his apartment key from me so that he had both and my coming and going was dependent on him allowing me to leave or not. - He waited for me to fall asleep and then he would come into the bedroom to have sex with me while I was "asleep" where I would go to somewhere else inside my mind and wait for it to be over. I then discovered through a friend that there were more women he had done similar things to and abused and our official reports are being compiled. I am still very scared of him, running into him at an event or on the street and I still feel such rage that it shocks me and worries me that such rage could be present inside me. My therapist was incredible and I have learned much from that year of hell. I have moved past shame, guilt and embarrassment and I have a loving, compassionate partner now and I couldn't be happier. I saw Evan Rachel Wood's documentary and everything she had been through with her abuser and with both her stories of the detailed abuse as well as the level of public/celebrity attention on her while she endured the years of it, I so painfully related to both aspects and my silence, like hers, came from fear of what that man could do to my career, my reputation and the power he had in the professional/social circle we both are a part of. I am stronger now. I know who I am. And I know I will name him.

five months after my first period, I sent my first nude. I was eleven years old dating a girl I met on xbox , thirteen. i see her years later on tiktok, living a happy life with a new partner feeling nostalgic for the year we shared. i feel anger despite knowing she is just another cog, another victim, but she put me through that cycle too. i was eleven, she was complimenting my newly developing curves and chest, i still wore a training bra. i feel so small in my trauma, it was through snapchat, xbox live , she never touched me, she never molested me, but i still feel those phantom arms wrapping around my sides, i still feel her eyes leering at me when i catch a glimpse at myself in the bathroom mirror in the moments before it fogs up. i still feel so horrible about what she did to me, i feel so angry about what she did, i doubt she meant to hurt me like this, we were so young. i'm an adult now, same as she. sometimes i find myself wanting to contact her again, to ask, "why?". part of me misses her, part of me wants to scream at her, part of me wants to have a civil conversation. i wish it were easier.

I was taken advantage of by someone who I thought was my friend. It was my first time getting drunk. What Happened After I Was Sexually Assaulted: -stress hives that lasted for two weeks after the assault -vomiting in the middle of the night for several nights -chronic pain that slowly developed and got worse. It doesn’t go away even after multiple tylenol and Aleve pills. Some nights my pelvis feels like it’s being repetitively stabbed -hating my own body and it’s natural responses/functions -intense fear of being touched -intense fear of seeing them in public -intense fear of being alone -suicidal thoughts -sexual issues. Sometimes it’s like the event is reoccurring. -feelings of being worthless -triggered by so many things on tv -lack of sleep -feeling stuck in my own life -inability to concentrate on the things I need to. Like school work. It put a hold on my life -deep distrust for people -depression -anxiety -PTSD It’s just not worth it. Consent matters.

Why did you have to be so good at manipulating me. You flirted with me in class, you complimented my outfits when I thought no one cared. You told me you wanted to treat me right, and I'm the fool for beliving you? You told me we should go to the bar, so we did. I felt alive, I felt happy and you just wanted me to keep drinking so I did. You took me back to your place and honestly I don't even remember anything. I woke up and, I've got to give you credit, you were smart to say we had sex right away. It blindsighted me, I liked you so much I didn't want to assume the worst. But of course my little paradise I had with you fell apart. A month later you ended things, said I wasn't right and you wanted to be alone. I felt so destroyed but that wasn't even the worst of it. The puzzle pieces were starting to come together. I'm not coherent when I'm blacked out, if anything I'm demonic. I scream, I vomit, I sieze, I am in no way able to have sex but that didn't matter to you right? Because I wasn't someone you actaully liked, I was just a trophy. I found out only weeks after you left me that you and your football friends had made a bet, a stupid bet to see if you could sleep with me because honestly you weren't that cute. So I hope you're happy, I hope you're proud of yourself for what you did. I hope you never forgot your conquest because you have cursed me to never forget you. -Name