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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 Fell in Love with the Man Who Molested Me About abuse, emotional attachment, and wounds that are not always visible. I used to believe that missing someone meant I loved them. I didn't understand why I wanted the attention of someone who had once made me afraid. Years later, I began to realize that the effects of abuse don't always end when the abuser stops. This is not a story meant to justify the abuser. It is a story about how complicated the effects of childhood abuse can be, and why we should not judge victims simply because their feelings do not match what we expect them to feel. Page 1 — The Man I Should Never Have Fallen for He was my father's friend. When I was little, he often came to our house and treated me kindly. However, behind his kindness, there were things he did that made me uncomfortable. He touched my neck, back, and thighs without my consent. Every time he did it, I always asked him to stop. "Please, stop." "Please, stop." I said those words because I was afraid. I didn't understand why an adult man would be interested in touching a little girl like me. To me, his actions were strange and frightening. I didn't like it, and I didn't want him to touch me. Afterward, I told my father what had happened. He looked angry, but he didn't do anything. He didn't even confront the man. At the time, I felt as though what had happened to me wasn't important enough for my father to take action. When I turned sixteen, his behavior became increasingly disturbing. He often looked at me in ways that made me uncomfortable. One day, he came to our house as usual. By chance, no one else was home except me. I was alone in the living room when he came inside. Without warning, he pushed me onto a chair and gripped my thigh very tightly. "Hey, stop. I'm scared. Please, stop." At first, he ignored my pleas. I kept begging him until he finally saw me crying. Only then did he stop, apologize, and leave. After that incident, he no longer looked at me the way he used to. I thought he had distanced himself because he felt sorry for me. However, later I learned that his own daughter had been sexually abused by someone else and had become pregnant as a result. I don't know for certain what made him change. I can only guess that what happened to his daughter may have made him realize how terrible the things he had done to me were. Whatever his reason, the experience left something behind that was not easy to forget. Page 2 — Three Confusing Years For three years, he no longer showed me any attention. Strangely, as time went by, I began to miss him. I missed his presence. I wanted him to pay attention to me again, talk to me, and be around me as he had before. Those feelings confused me. Hadn't I once been afraid of him? Hadn't I cried and begged him to stop touching me? Then why was I now hoping he would come back? I didn't know the answer. I only knew that something inside me kept waiting for his attention. I even began to wonder whether he no longer wanted me. It was as though the loss of his attention was something I should mourn, rather than something that should have made me feel safer. At the time, I didn't understand my own feelings. I didn't realize that my childhood experiences might have influenced the way I viewed attention and closeness with him. Now, I am eighteen. Whenever he comes to visit my father, I deliberately leave my room just to see him. I hope he will look at me again. But he always looks away. I feel angry with him. Not only because he ignores me, but also because he seems able to carry on with his life without thinking about what he once did to me. Meanwhile, I am still carrying feelings I cannot understand. Part of me resents him because of our past. Yet another part of me still wants his attention. I want to tell him that he has left something inside me. I want him to understand that what happened did not simply end when he left my house three years ago. Unfortunately, I still don't fully understand what is happening inside me. Page 3 — When His Attention Returned After some time, he started looking at me again. I felt happy. He even began speaking to me gently and treating me romantically. I found myself becoming attracted to his face. He seemed different from the other older men I knew. There was a gentleness in the way he spoke to me that made me even more interested in him. I knew something was wrong with my feelings, but at the time, I didn't want to question them too deeply. One day, he came to our house and found me asleep on the sofa, wearing shorts. I wasn't trying to seduce him or get his attention. I had simply fallen asleep, unaware that he would be coming over. He sat near my feet and watched me while I was still asleep. When I woke up, I found him stroking the soles of my feet. I was startled. "How long have you been here?" He smiled and said, "Good morning, my sweet little doll." I let out a small laugh because the nickname sounded strange. "What kind of nickname is that? That's so weird." "You look so much like a doll. You're so beautiful," he replied. I didn't know how to respond. I just felt shy because I was receiving the attention I had wanted for so long. Not long afterward, my older brother arrived. Fortunately, he hadn't heard our conversation. At that moment, I was more focused on how the man was treating me again than on remembering that he had once made me afraid. I didn't realize how easily his attention could make me forget the questions I should have been asking myself. Why did I want his attention so badly? Why did I feel happy when he treated me gently, even though I still remembered the fear I had felt because of him? I didn't have the answers yet. Page 4 — A Relationship That Should Never Have Happened After that incident, he left nervously. When my older brother asked why he was at our house, I said he had only come to ask my father something. I lied because I didn't want my brother to become suspicious of our closeness. From that point on, I thought about him more and more. Small gestures of attention from him could make me blush, while his absence made me miss him. Eventually, we entered into a forbidden relationship. For several months, I allowed myself to become immersed in those feelings. I loved him, or at least that was how I understood what I felt at the time. However, little by little, I began to realize that our relationship was not as simple as I wanted to believe. He wasn't just a man I liked. He was an adult who had molested me when I was still a child. I began questioning our relationship. Did I truly feel safe with him? Did I love him for who he was, or was it because I had spent so long longing for the attention he had once given me? I couldn't answer all those questions. But I knew that this relationship should never have happened. One night, while I was sitting alone, he came over and sat beside me. I took a deep breath before finally speaking. "I think our relationship needs to end here." He looked at me. I could see that he was reluctant to part ways, but I tried to stand by my decision. I didn't want to cry. I wanted to appear strong, as though the decision wasn't hurting me. But my tears fell anyway. "I really love you," I said, my voice trembling. He hugged me and kissed the top of my head. "It's okay. This is the right choice. I'm sorry for making things this way for you. I truly feel guilty." I cried in his arms. For the first time, I tried to choose what I believed was right, even though my own feelings refused to let him go. Page 5 — Feelings Don't Change the Past Before we truly parted ways, I kissed him one last time. Honestly, I didn't want to let go of his embrace. I called his name several times while holding him tightly, as though doing so could delay a goodbye I didn't want. When I looked at his face, I saw a sadness I had never seen before. I didn't know what he was truly feeling. I only knew that, at that moment, we finally had to let go of something we had been holding on to. After we parted, we went on with our separate lives. He spent more time with his family, while I kept myself busy with my work abroad. Life went on. Yet the experiences I had gone through remained part of my story. In the past, I thought my longing was proof that I truly loved him. Now, I'm beginning to understand that human feelings are not always easy to explain. Someone can miss the attention of a person who once hurt them without that making the person's actions acceptable. I don't know whether my feelings back then came entirely from love, a need for attention, or a mixture of many things I didn't yet understand. I only know that I once wanted to be close to someone who had also made me afraid. And that is the hardest part for me to understand. Sometimes, the effects of abuse don't stop when the abuser stops touching the victim. Those effects can carry over into the way a victim sees themselves, understands affection, and builds relationships with others. However, not every victim will experience the same thing. Some distance themselves from the abuser, some hate them, some feel confused, and others develop an emotional attachment. No single response represents every victim. A victim's feelings are not proof that the abuse was wanted. Whatever the victim feels afterward, responsibility for the abuse remains with the abuser. This story is not about proving that love can justify everything. It is about someone trying to understand her own feelings after experiencing something that should never have happened to her. Because sometimes, wounds don't always look like hatred. Sometimes, wounds take the form of longing. And sometimes, it takes a long time for someone to understand that attention, affection, and love should never come at the cost of feeling safe.

It’s always the popular boys the ones that think they can do whatever they want because they have a friend group that will protect them and believe them. Our high school is the worst. At school in city state there are boys that force girls or girlfriends into doing things they don’t wanna do and take it away with it. Because kids are too scared to stand up against these guys and say they believe them even if they don’t.

I think the reason I need to post now is because I have 3 daughters. They are growing up in a world where Jane Doe is real. When I was 13 years old, I was raped by a boy that was 17 years old. I told him to stop because it hurt, but he didn’t and it was over quickly. Afterwards, he never spoke to me again. I kind of let my brain ever forget about it all my life. But I became very sexually active and slept around with different boys. I told myself I enjoyed it. I was lying to myself now that I have three daughters. I don’t know what to do or say because I don’t want the same thing to happen to them.

He was her boyfriend and she said no, but he did it anyway. They were alone in her room so after she didn’t feel anything but numb.they’re just teenagers at school so she knew nobody would believe her. She told her best friend and when her friend was mad at her, she told other people after that the whole school called her a liar because he was her boyfriend. There were other girls that this happened to Butt. They never said anything because they saw what happened to her.