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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.

Hi everyone, I know you all have a story. A story of survival, of terror, uncertainty and bravery. You are brave. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Don’t diminish your struggle and your strength. My story started in 1998 when an officer, having heard that my boyfriend had strangled me, told me that I should have played dead instead of fighting for my life. In 2000, my best friend, my soul sister, was murdered by her boyfriend. In 2009, I thought my prince had come. Instead, I faced 15 years begging a broken system to save my kids and I. I was painted as the angry ex, the manipulator, and told that my ex just wanted to be a father. I will never forget the day that I stood on my porch with sheriff’s deputies threatening to arrest me as I explained through my tears that enough was enough, and I would not allow my children to be abused, no matter what they chose to do to me. 3 long and brutal hours later, the officers left my driveway, and my children held me while they sobbed and finally felt safe. Months later, our CFI finally validated what I’d been saying for a decade. My children weren’t safe with him. My story is not unique, it is an unfortunate norm. I’ve spent 26 years begging, pleading, and mourning, hoping for change. That stops today. I will no longer tolerate a system of failure. I know there are a multitude of resources available for victims of domestic abuse. The selfless and courageous individuals who stand behind the victims, offer support, and hold us up. I didn’t get the opportunity. My children didn’t get the opportunity. The fragmented system failed us, and we had nowhere to turn but to stand on that porch and say, “do what you have to do”. In 2000, I raged, I broke, and I thought there must be something I can do. In 2015 I raged, I broke, and I pleaded for help. In 2024 I read the story about Kayden’s Law, and said “not my babies”. In 2025 I went back to school for my degree in legal studies, and today I say there will be a change. I know the statistics, and they are devastating. 61,000 domestic violence calls to service in Colorado annually, 65%-80% are repeat offenders, over 30% of the population will be affected by domestic violence in their lifetime, 25% of assaults and 15% of homicides are attributed to domestic violence each year, and so far there have been 38 domestic violence deaths and 8 child deaths in Colorado this year. The statistics show that it takes an average of 7 attempts for victims to leave domestic violence situations, and these calls are the number one most dangerous calls for officers. The time is now. A change is needed. I plan to petition the state of Colorado to require highly trained civilians at every single domestic violence and child welfare call. I plan to bridge the gap between the existing resources and the citizens of our great state who are in need. I had nowhere to turn, and today I say, no more. I stand on the porch with my fellow survivors and say, this ends now. I can’t succeed alone, not this time, so I ask you all to stand behind me and your fellow survivors to say “enough is enough”, and together we will survive and thrive. Please check out my website and review my proposed legislation at website. Your support means the world, and your stories help show the importance of this legislation. I’m planning an event in early September, which I hope you will join, if only to know that you’re not alone. Details to come. All my very best, Survivor

You think your age makes you less to blame, But I carry the weight, I bear the shame. You crossed the line — no excuse to hide, No softer words can wash this tide. I’m not the one who should feel small, You built this cage, you made me fall. No matter your years, no matter your face, You took from me my safe, my space. But here I stand, I claim my voice, I break the chains, I make the choice. I won’t be silent, I won’t back down, I wear my courage like a crown. So hear me now, and hear me clear, Your actions caused this pain and fear. Age won’t protect what you have done— I am the survivor, I have won.

This story is not easy to read but it's harder to live. I am a survivor of narcissistic abuse, sexual assault, and systemic failure. I share this not for pity, but for truth. For every woman who's been silenced, dismissed, or retraumatized by the very systems meant to protect her. I write this to reclaim my voice and to help others find theirs. It took me until my fifties to realize my worth. I’d spent decades carrying the weight of a childhood that stripped me of confidence and self-worth. That was heavily influenced by a nefarious dictator who called himself Dad. The physical abuse was bad enough but he managed to see to it that his children sailed into adulthood without knowing our own value, and no self-esteem whatsoever. I still managed to marry, raise children, and hold good jobs. I’m intelligent, I carry myself well. But until recently, no one knew how little I thought of myself—even me. Then came the man who would nearly destroy me. He was younger, persistent, and now I understand: he was conditioning me for narcissistic abuse. What followed was three years of daily trauma. I ugly-cried every single day. That’s over 1,095 days of emotional devastation. By the end, my energy, my vivaciousness, and my tenacity were barely hanging on. He did the most heinous things. He killed my cat. He threatened my life and my children’s lives. He kept me tethered with fear. He destroyed everything I owned—including my 2009 Tahoe, which I used for work and to care for my kids. He blew it up shortly after he sent me to the ICU, fighting for my life. I had refused to give him the name of the hospital or my doctors. I was there for 18 days. It was touch and go every single day. A chaplain visited me daily. Because it was a very Merry Covid Christmas, my teenage sons weren’t allowed to say goodbye. Looking back, I realize that was a blessing—no one spoke death into my children’s lives. God is good. The infection that nearly killed me, and almost costed me my right leg, came from a sexual assault. I went home on a PICC line, receiving grapefruit-sized balls of antibiotics daily, for 6 weeks. My kids administered them. I had four surgeries in three months and a blood transfusion. Two days after I got home, my truck exploded. I was one of those cars you see on the freeway engulfed in flames. After I got out of the hospital and my truck blew up, I knew I had to fight for justice. I had proof—medical records, pictures, witnesses. I had been choked, stabbed, assaulted, and received death threats in writing and on video. I waited a year to file because I was mentally and physically broken. I had nothing left in me. But when I finally did, I thought someone would help me. I thought the system would protect me. It didn’t. The DA never contacted me. Not once. I had to rely on VINE alerts just to know when he was in court. No one told me anything. A judge denied my protective order and called him “honey” and “baby” in the courtroom. I had a strong legal team from a nonprofit, and even they were shocked. They wanted to move the case to another county, but I was scared. I didn’t want to poke the bear. He was still stalking me. Still watching. I was re-victimized by the very people who were supposed to help me. The police ignored my reports. The advocates mocked me. One even made fun of me for asking about a Christmas meal after I had all my teeth pulled from the damage he caused. I had a minor child at home and no food. And they laughed. The Attorney General’s Victims Compensation Office helped with the hospital bill for my teeth removal, but not with replacing them. They wouldn’t relocate me because we didn’t live together—even though he saw me almost every day. They had help, but not for me. He got six days in the county jail. That’s it. No restitution. No accountability. He still knows where I am. He still stalks me on social media as a way of eminding me that someday he will make good on his threat to come after me when I least expect it. I don’t know where he is. And I live with that fear every single day. After the justice system failed me, I had nowhere to turn but inward. I went through three different women’s centers and maxed out every therapy program they offered. I showed up for every session, I showed up for me, and for my two sons who had seen the whole drama play out—even when I could barely speak through the grief. I wasn’t just healing from physical trauma. I was healing from being ignored, dismissed, and re-victimized by the very institutions that were supposed to protect me. And when the therapy ran out, I didn’t stop. I found free entrepreneurship training through Memorial Assistance Ministries, and I poured myself into it—not because I had a business plan, but because I needed something to remind me I still had value. I enrolled in the Navigator program and just being at a feedback meeting at United Way I was able to tap into some education through some of the country's most prestigious universities. I earned certificates from the University of Maryland, the University of Valencia, and even Harvard. I got my graphic design certification and used it to create empowerment products, journals, and visual storytelling pieces that spoke to the pain I couldn’t always say out loud. I earned 17 certificates through the Texas Advocacy Project, becoming a trauma-informed, lived experience advocate. I did all of this while still healing, still growing and approaching my 60th birthday. Now here I am, still unable to find a job. I have all this knowledge, all this training, and nowhere to apply it. I’m still standing. Still creating. Still trying. But the silence from the world around me is deafening. I didn’t just survive—I transformed. And yet, I’m still waiting for a door to open. I’m going to keep writing. Keep pushing. Keep showing up for my health, even when the systems around me make it feel like survival is a full-time job. I haven’t been able to resolve the dental issues yet, and that alone has impacted my confidence, my comfort, and my ability to fully engage in the world. There’s a very real possibility that I’ll be facing a housing crisis in the coming months. Living on disability isn’t sustainable, and the math doesn’t add up no matter how many ways I try to stretch it. But I’m not giving up. I’ve come too far, learned too much, and built too many bridges to stop now. I’m looking for a miracle—not because I’m helpless, but because I’ve done everything I can on my own. I’m ready for a door to open. Ready for someone to see the value in what I’ve built, in what I know, in who I am. I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for a chance to turn all this lived experience into impact. Into legacy. Into something that finally feels like justice.

hi. i found out when i was 14 that what happened to me wasn’t okay. i have no idea how to deal with the fact that apparently im a victim of cocsa, so that’s why im here because i have no idea what to do. it started when i was 5, and she was 9. the first time, she asked what kind of princess underwear i was wearing, then asked to see. i showed her and she touched me, then asked if i liked it. i didnt know what i was supposed to like. this went on for some time, and eventually she got my sisters in on it too, they were her age. i didn’t know what it even was but i wanted her to keep hanging out with me alongside them so i didn’t complain. and the sister i shared a room with one night asked if we could “practice” so we could be good for her, then asked me to touch her. she called it her dog house, and i had to help the dog. me and my sister haven’t spoken about that night since it happened, and i cant get it out of my mind. but the girl never stopped with me, one day she came to my house and wanted to sleep over. i was so excited that she asked to sleep in my room with just me, and it got to bedtime, and she asked if i could help her, but i said i didn’t want to so she made me hold her phone that had porn on it, i sat there for however long while she did it, making me watch. i never knew it was wrong or anything, i just loved the idea of her thinking of me. the last time, i was 12. my family took her on our vacation, and she wanted to go back to the condo for whatever, she asked me to come back with her. i was downstairs eating pizza rolls, and she asked me to come upstairs. i walk in the room and her bottoms are off. she asked me to come and sit, and asked if i would help her. i said i didn’t want to, and she just asked me to take my top off and watch. i remember i just sat there staring at myself in the mirror. the whole time. for the first time, i was scared. we then left once she was done, and said nothing. when it was my 14th birthday, i talked abt it, and i was told that it wasn’t okay. 7 years of my life. i didn’t know. and i don’t know how to deal with any of this. any tips or help would be great.

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In innocence lost, I bore the weight, A survivor, facing a cruel fate, Yet within my heart, a spark did gleam, To mend my soul and reclaim my dream. Through pain and fear, I found my voice, Breaking the silence, I made my choice, No longer hiding in shadows' embrace, I rose from the darkness and found my place. With courage as armor, I faced the past, A survivor's strength, resilient and steadfast, I'll not be defined by the harm that's been done, I'll rise, I'll heal, my journey's begun. Together we stand, survivors unite, In the warmth of compassion, we find our light, With hope in our hearts and love as our guide, We'll mend the broken, side by side.

I am writing to formally share a concerning experience I had with a former therapist, whose actions have raised serious ethical and professional issues. These actions have caused significant emotional distress, disrupted my therapy, and left me feeling abandoned during a vulnerable time. It is important that this matter is investigated thoroughly. I first began working with the therapist at a treatment center offering Ibogaine therapy. Early in our sessions, I shared my personal website, which details my work as a psychedelic therapy concierge. This role, by definition, involves connecting clients with licensed professionals rather than providing therapy or any therapeutic work myself. We agreed during our initial consultation that our professional roles would not interfere with our therapeutic relationship, and we chose not to pursue any business collaboration. However, after undergoing Ibogaine treatment at the center, I was unexpectedly abandoned during the critical integration phase of my therapy. This phase is crucial for processing and making sense of the treatment experience, and I needed support during this time. The therapist told me she no longer wanted to work with me, citing unsubstantiated rumours from the "Iboga community" without offering any specifics or clarity. Despite my repeated requests for more information, I was left with no answers, and instead, my professional reputation was publicly attacked. The therapist scrutinised my website, misrepresented my role as a concierge, and made false accusations about my qualifications and intentions. She suggested that my professional work was somehow misleading, when in reality, my role is strictly to facilitate connections between clients and qualified professionals. It was distressing to see her misunderstand and misrepresent my work, and it crossed a line from professional to personal attacks. What’s more concerning is that the therapist made these allegations without giving me the opportunity to address them directly. Rather than providing clarity, she offered no formal transition plan or referral to another qualified therapist, leaving me without support when I needed it most. The lack of professionalism and the refusal to provide specific details of the accusations left me with a sense of betrayal and confusion. There are also serious concerns about confidentiality. The therapist’s mention of therapy notes and her suggestion that they could be disclosed with a court order raised alarms about the potential violation of my privacy. There is a real possibility that private details from our sessions were shared with others without my consent, and this could have damaged my reputation within the community. To make matters worse, the therapist suggested that my attempts to seek legal counsel were retaliatory, which is a gross misrepresentation of my actions. I reached out to legal professionals only to understand my rights and protect my interests after the abrupt end of our therapeutic relationship. This decision was not an act of retaliation but a necessary step to navigate the difficult situation caused by her actions. On top of this, I discovered troubling safety issues at the treatment center, including a lack of emergency exits and treatment rooms that could only be accessed by a narrow spiral staircase—an unsafe design in the event of a medical emergency, especially given the potential side effects of Ibogaine. Billing practices also raised concerns. I was charged international rates for my treatment without prior notice, and an airport transfer service recommended by the therapist overcharged me by three times the standard fare. These practices were not only unethical but showed a disregard for clients’ financial well-being. Although a refund was eventually agreed upon, the lack of transparency was unsettling. The emotional and psychological toll of this entire experience has been profound. The abrupt termination of our therapeutic relationship during a critical phase has only exacerbated my distress. I was left without the necessary support to process the Ibogaine treatment and integrate the experience effectively. I firmly believe that the therapist's conduct not only violated ethical standards but also caused harm to my well-being. The lack of professionalism, false accusations, breach of confidentiality, and inadequate handling of the situation are all deeply concerning. I am requesting a formal review and investigation into the therapist’s actions, and I would like to see the relevant parties held accountable for their misconduct. Additionally, I believe this situation warrants further attention regarding possible compensation for the emotional distress and harm caused. The therapist’s actions have undermined the very essence of what therapy is meant to provide—support, trust, and a safe environment for healing. The case has been reported to the local board accordingly. This situation cannot and should not be allowed to continue without appropriate action. I hope that this matter will be taken seriously and that steps will be taken to ensure that this kind of behaviour is addressed.

I live in Japan. I have been here for 7 years. I got married to a man that I felt I was in love with and had a daughter. I thought we were ok. We got divorced. He told me he stopped loving me when I wanted to hear about his day. He cheated on me with multiple women, getting very physical and most likely sexual. I am now alone with my daughter and have to work through all this on my own.

I went through this kind of thing twice in my lifetime. Once as a child and once as an adult too. I know I'm not alone. There are many who have had this twice sometimes more in a lifetime mine the first one happened when I was 6 to 8 years old. The second one I was much older in my late thirties. Having been through it twice in a lifetime takes allot out of you but somehow you persevere even if you don't think you can. My adult one happened in my last foster home.Tt happened over 4 years I was trying to keep the peace in my home. And he took advantage. I want everyone to know I'm ok now I live in a better place now. Just sometimes it overshadows me. And I know it's not my fault. Thanks for listening.

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.

Last year, a very close friend realized they were in an abusive relationship -- something I had known for a long time. While it was mostly verbal and psychological abuse, it did get physical at the end. That was the catalyst my friend needed -- especially because they were holding their young child at the time (the abuser is not the child's biological parent). Having been in and around this space for a long time, I can tell you firsthand, it is very difficult to stand by and watch someone get hurt time after time. It is also difficult to let them make their own decisions once they get out of the relationship -- decisions which may be counter to what YOU want them to do. But this last piece is really important. It is critical to allow someone who has spent in this case several years without agency, to take it back and make their own decisions.

If you are reading this please know you are not alone. When I was 15 years old and had just gotten back from eating disorder treatment, I was lonely, lost, and vulnerable. I had zero sexual experience, in fact I had never had my first kiss yet. One night I went to a small party, and drank a lot without knowing my limits because I had never drank before. Long story short, I blacked out and only remember bits and pieces of the night. Unfortunately I have a few memories that I can never forget. A completely sober boy came to the party and ended up taking advantage of me. I remember waking up the next day in pain and I found blood all over my shorts. I convinced myself I asked for that to happen and it was my fault. As much as it disgust me to say, I even felt somewhat special that anybody would even find me attractive enough to have sex with. I was confused and didn’t understand. A lot happened after that night and I ultimately felt like a used piece of trash that had already been thrown out. It took me awhile to understand what had really happened to me. I’ve been working on my healing journey for years since that night, but still find myself struggling constantly. I still sometimes question if maybe I’m just being dramatic and im the only one to blame for what happened. I know deep down that’s not true, but it’a a difficult thing to process. Honestly, I am angry. I’m angry that this boy has never and will never take accountability and that he gets to live a life without the trauma and pain I feel everyday. I feel heartbroken for myself and all other victims who have experienced SA. My ultimate goal in sharing my story is that at least one person can relate and feel less lonely. I want them to realize that what happened to them is not their fault and I believe them. I hope you all know how important you are.

I had a date over to my house. When he had got there I had already had a bottle of wine. He brought a bottle of wine for me with him. I continued to drink until I blacked out and all I can remember is him showering my own vomit off me and eventually him raping me. I went to therapy that week and laughed off the question “can you consent after two bottles of wine?” I told everyone at the time I had had sex with him. I completely blocked it out for two years. However during this time it really impacted me. Due to a multitude of factors I attempted suicide 4 times while I was in denial about the fact that I was raped. 2 years after the rape I was getting ready to go play a sport I was well versed in with some new people which would include men. I got incredibly angry at the thought of men telling me how to play a sport I knew so much about. When I asked myself why I was so angry. It finally hit me that what had happened 2 years prior was rape. I contacted the local sexual violence centre. Who have now been able to offer me counselling. Since I admitted to myself that it was rape and it happened to me I’ve been better able to deal with the emotions that come with it. The first week after realising what happened I used to walk down the street with clenched fists terrified of every man I saw. Thankfully through talking to friends and sharing my story this is not the case anymore. I found it so bizzare that I had essentially blocked out the fact that I was raped for two years. But on reading up on trauma it made me feel more normal for my response. In terms of legal action I have no evidence the man was even in my house so unfortunately I cannot defend myself in this way. It would be my word against his. This is upsetting to me but I am ready to move on with my life. I am studying in college now and have a fantastic understanding, caring boyfriend who respects me to his core.

In the summer of 1985 I was 18yrs old and had just graduated high school and was headed to college in the fall. I was dating a guy and we were very much in love. Another guy I had dated briefly months before who broke it off with me, (he was 23) was throwing a party for Live Aid at his mom's house where he lived also. My boyfriend was working until 11:30pm so I went over about 9p to hang out with everyone until he arrived. The guy was making margaritas or daiquiris and I had a few. I was sitting in a chair watching TV and everyone else was in another room. The next thing I remember was waking up with the guy having sex with me. At that moment my boyfriend is coming down the hall calling my name. I call back to him and the guy gets up and dressed and ran out to my boyfriend. My boyfriend came into the room and dressed me and carried me out. I couldn't walk. After my boyfriend took me home and put me on my bed he went back to the house to do some damage to the guy but he was met at the door by the guy and his buddies and told my boyfriend that I "was chasing him all over the house naked and begging for him to have sex with me". My boyfriend believed it and it slowly destroyed our relationship and my life forever.

I felt so alone until I watched it ends with us. It was the first movie I saw alone in a long time. I walked in thinking it was some sort of romantic comedy until I was watching the movie and realized I was lily bloom. I married the man that I thought was this incredible and passionate person, who only ended up cheating on me and physically and mentally abused me. The scene of being pushed and her thinking she fell is exactly what I experienced. Shortly after my own personal experience I realized I was pregnant and wanted so badly to fight for my marriage until ultimately I had no choice but to leave. I’m 8 months pregnant now and have had the hardest time connecting to the life inside of me until I watched this movie. When I saw lily setting up her baby’s room, and the words she said to Ryle in the hospital was exactly what I needed to accept what it is I am going through and realizing I will never go back to the abuse I endured. And truly it ends with me and my new baby that I have yet to meet. Thanks to this movie it gave me strength to set up things for my new baby. I gave him a new name. And I am ready for a new chapter in my life. Thank you to Justin baldoni for bringing awareness to people like me. I left the theatre crying not because I was sad but because God brought me alone to that theatre to watch this movie that I felt was made just for me…

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

I have been stalked by my neighbor for over 6 years. His so called drug of choice is being a peeping Tom and voyeur. I feel visually raped by this man. He has avoided being held accountable for decades. I stood up for my rights and did what I could to stop him before I moved to another state. He hasn't stopped stalking and being a predator. I have witnessed him stalking others and being a peeping Tom but since I wasn't feeling heard or taken seriously by the mountain deputies, I didn't report him doing what I witnessed him doing to others, just what he was doing to me. I stayed focused on my personal legal system journey, which seemed to only compound the trauma and issues, since every step of the way, I was victim blamed and shamed, while he remained free to continue his predatory ways. I haven't given up and I won't. I may be the only one with the most evidence and loudest voice he will ever encounter. He is 72 yo and shows no signs of stopping so I will not stop until he is held accountable. Thank you for your website and all you do to support people like me on their journey towards healing and connection. I feel supported and heard already by spending time here.

When I was approximately 12 year olds I was 'playing doctor' with a neighbour, who was a year or two younger, she initiated the game despite me not been interested. She initially touched me, and then asked me to touch her, when I refused she persisted despite my discomfort and she threatened to say I'd done something to her if I didn't comply. I also remember she had a younger sibling she shared a room with and she would make sure he was out of the room when this happened, and he would often bang at the door trying to get in. I'm now of the belief he was kept out so he wouldn't see and report what the girl was doing.