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When I was in my early to mid 20s, I experienced my first serious relationship. It took me more than 2 years to notice I was being manipulated, gaslighted, and psychologically abused. I lost myself in that relationship, I felt like a different person, constantly depressed, and lacking self love. My firsts attempts in getting out of that relationship were useless, he manipulated me into believing I was the problem and that I was the one who needed to change. I was cheated on multiple times, he didn’t want to say end time sith me or my family. I always founf myself making up excuses for him. He made me think that everything was my fault and that I was asking for too much of him. When I decided to leave him, he made me feel like I was the problem and like I was a burden to him. It’s hard to identify when the abuse is psychological, you’re not crazy, you’re not wrong for asking for attention, for dates, for quality time, which I never had with him. Don’t let anyone, humiliate, control, gaslight, or diminish you! You deserve love, support, peace, attention, RESPECT! Try to identify the red flags on that questionable relationship, it’ll get better and it’s never too late.

Am I the oppressor or was I the oppressed? cousin ‌( A) So, I want to tell you that I come from a very backward community where children are not given sex education. They learn on their own, so I'm from region So now I come to the main topic. As far as I remember, I was 6 to 8 years old. I was playing sex games with my cousin. As far as I can remember, I I was touching her hips with my buttocks when a boy, probably five years older than me, saw us doing it. We ran away. We were in an open space. And my cousin was a year younger than me. As the boy saw us.He told everything to his brother, my cousin. who was one year older than me. He would beat me up in front of all the boys. Because the boy who saw us doing it told all the boys. They would get me beaten up by his brother and make fun of me. And I want to tell you that.Before that, I think I was molested. I don't remember exactly what happened. But I do remember that some of the boys I played with taught me things about sex. As I recall, the boys were being invited by me to call a girl. And one incident, a lot of the boys were watching porn, and I was watching it too. And I had forgotten all about it. cousin (b) And then when I was 14 I made two more mistakes. I don't know why I did them, because I was curious and naive. I was always sexually aroused. I had sexual thoughts about God. I don't know why, but My second cousin, the daughter of another uncle, who was five years older than me, was sleeping at my house. I had just returned from school. And I looked at her armpit hair and then I started looking at her breasts but immediately removed my gaze and then I bowed to her. When she woke up, I bowed to her without her knowing. Then, once, my sister and I were at my house, along with her older cousin, meaning there were probably five people, including me. So, she was my cousin and had come to look at my sisters' clothes. And I was with them. We took out clothes from the trunk and she tried them on and started showing them off. My sister and cousin were there and I started looking at her. Then one cousin said, that is, scolded me and said, Will you stand here and watch me naked? And I walked away in shame. Now I would like to tell you that my cousin who was five years older than me once hugged me.And I knew about his affair.I saw her with her boyfriend once. She was involved in sex work.so I saw it as a sexual incident. cousin (c) Meanwhile, a cousin, my father's cousin's daughter, and several other boys were playing hide-and-seek. I went and hid near her, and her body touched mine. And I felt good.Then I kept touching her as a game. I didn't feel bad because my cousin used to do that with a cousin. And he was the same cousin who used to beat me. Then that same night We were all watching TV. Then, pretending to be asleep, I touched her waist, even though she was awake. Now I feel very ashamed. This was wrong. I ignored his body language.But I used to touch her playfully. She never refused, and I don't know why. Once, she clung to me, but I didn't like it because her breath smelled bad. And she once mentioned porn.Because my brother and his brother were watching porn, she said, "Your brother is watching it." I said, "I don't know." But she said, "You know everything." I remained silent. I don't know why, but I was scared. How could she say that?And this cousin sister was 2 years younger than me, I was 14 years old and she was 12 to 11 years old when all this started. And all this came to my mind from 2023, I had forgotten it before that. I feel very ashamed I'm not able to move forward in life. I was beaten a lot as a child. Whenever those boys talked about sex, My mind It was a good thing. However, it probably didn't harm anyone because I never forced myself. My family was very strict; they wouldn't let me talk to girls or go out anywhere. I don't feel like talking to anyone.

i was sexually abused by my cousin from the time i was 5 until i was 13. im 20 now, and want to tell my parents so i dont ever have to see him again, but i can never spit it out. plus, my uncle (his dad) and my dad co own a business together, and i would feel responsible for getting between them. my dads mom knew and never said anything, which is another thing im not looking forward to telling him. can someone whos told their family about their abuse give me any advice or tips on telling my parents? it will have to be a phone call as i live in a different country now. i just dont know how to start that conversation.

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

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

Survivante de viol collectif Je rendis visite a ma tante, un soir des cousins m’invitèrent a aller danser en boite de nuit ; des amis de mes cousins étaient venus nous trouver là, nous avons danser, rit, bu et partager des sandwiches. Vers les couts de trois heures du matin, je sortis pour prendre de l’air quand un des amis me trouva a la porte, il était sorti pour fumer, alors nous avons papoter un moment. Il me proposa de marcher dans les alentours de la discothèque Un autre ami nous rejoignit ensuite un deuxième, et finalement, cinq sans savoir ce qui se tramait entre eux, je les suivis car nous avons été très proches depuis leur venu etc. Arrivée, dans un ravin, un des cinq enleva sa chemise et l’étala sur sa chemise qu’il avait enlevé soi-disant avoir chaud, quand l’autre me terrassait. Avant même que je ne m’en rende compte, ils se sont appelés et sont passer sur moi les uns après les autres. Un a un, ces cinq hommes me sont passer dessus, ils m’ont souillé, ont bafouiller ma dignité de femme et de personne humaine. Malgré mes supplications, mes cris de détresse et désespoir, car oui, chaque coup de rein transperçait ma dignité tel un coup de couteau. Mais aucun, pas un seul d’entre eux n’y a été sensible, personne ne s’est arrêté. Pendant qu’ils s’appelaient, tels des amis qui s’invitent les uns les autres, j’ai réussi a capter quelques prénoms : trois au total parmi les cinq. Du lieu des faits, je me suis rendu a la police, je leur ai expliquer les faits, j’étais a la quête de justice. Mais les quelques questions qui m’ont été posées par la police m’ont encore plus transpercer le cœur… Le policier qui s’occupait de mon écoute me demanda avec des airs menaçants : • -est ce qu’une fille de bonne mœurs peut se trouver au dehors à cette heure ? • C’est arriver où ? • -sais tu que cette tenue que tu portes est provocative ? • -est ce t’as première fois de faire un rapport sexuel ? Je n’en croyais pas mes oreilles, je restais figée et très déterminée je ne me suis pas découragé, j’ai continué la procédure jusqu’à ce que justice soit faite. Le dégoût, ma colère était d’une intensité que je ne saurais nommé. Et pour la première fois, dans ma vie, j’ai compris comment un être humain pouvait ôter la vie à un autre. Parce que oui, je ressentais de la haine, parce que oui, mes bourreaux représentaient un problème dont il fallait que je me débarrasse. Pour ma reconstruction, il a fallu un accompagnement psychologique au niveau des hôpitaux et émotionnel au niveau de la famille et morale dans les groupe de discussion entre survivantes.

Is this abuse, or is it actually my fault? I don’t know what to do anymore. Please help. :( My relationship started a year ago long-distance. I loved him so much and didn't want to lose him, so when he said he couldn't do long-distance, I uprooted my life and moved in. It has been a hellish disaster ever since, and I am completely consumed by the feeling that I am the one causing all of it. It started with him belittling me and calling me names, which made me feel like I couldn't do anything right. One morning, he screamed and slammed things because I threw away a plastic spatula. He called me insane and demanded to know who would do such a thing. Just days before, he had complained about hating that it was plastic, so I thought I was doing the right thing by throwing it away, but his reaction made me feel like I was completely crazy and at fault. Since then, things have escalated, and he has told me so many times that I cause his violence that I am really starting to believe him. When he took my debit card without permission, I just let it go because I didn't want to spark another fight. When we argued and he slammed me against the wall and tried to throw me to the floor, he blamed me, and I believed him. When he did it a second time, he blamed me again. He constantly demands to use my car, keeps my keys in his pocket, and leaves garbage all over it. When I finally tried to stand up for myself and take my keys back, telling him he couldn't use my car, he swatted my arms away, grabbed me, and slammed me against the wall a third time. He blamed me for provoking him, and it made me feel like I shouldn't have tried to get my keys back in the first place. Another time, I tried to lock myself in the bedroom just to get away from the fighting, and he kicked holes in the door. He constantly raises his hand at me like he's going to punch or slap me. Most recently, he punched my arm and left a bruise. On top of everything, he refuses to pay his half of the bills. He has drilled it into my head that every single violent incident is my fault. I am trapped in a constant loop of self-doubt. I am seriously starting to believe him. I am deeply convinced that every single time he gets mad, explodes, or hurts me, it is entirely my fault.

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

I 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.

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On the Date i got sexually assaulted by my cousin (this was in somalia) I was in my room then needed the bathroom when i was going to the bathroom my cousin stopped me to talk to him then he forces a kiss on my lips then i pushed him away and my auntie came and said ”sabrin doesn’t know somali leave her alone” then he said okay and walked away. Then when my cousin went home my other cousin came in and forced himself on me.

Témoignage d’une survivante de mutilation génitale féminine Ce jour-là, on m’avait dit que je devais aller voir le tailleur pour une nouvelle robe. J’étais tellement contente. Le matin, on m’a réveillée très tôt, bien avant mon heure habituelle. On m’a fait prendre un bain chaud, puis on m’a habillée avec ma robe préférée. Ensuite, on m’a prise par la main pour, disait-on, aller chez le tailleur afin de prendre mes mesures. Nous sommes arrivées dans une famille où des cris d’enfants retentissaient de partout. Des femmes étaient assises, chacune tenant un morceau de vieux pagne auprès d’une fille. Je pensais qu’elles attendaient leur tour chez le tailleur. Mais j’ai vu une vieille femme sortir des toilettes, d’où provenaient des cris stridents, accompagnée d’une fille en larmes, demander pour la prochaine. J’ai voulu fuir lorsque j’ai vu la troisième fille sortir, mais on m’a retenue. Jusqu’à ce moment-là, je ne savais pas ce qui se passait dans cette toilette. J’avais peur, car les filles en sortaient en pleurs et la vieille femme venait ensuite chercher chacune d’entre nous à tour de rôle. Lorsque mon tour est arrivé, j’ai suivi la vieille dame. Je n’avais pas la force de me débattre contre les deux femmes qui m’accompagnaient. Elles m’ont conduite dans la toilette, où se trouvaient deux autres veilles femmes. Elles étaient trois : deux pour me maintenir et m’écarter les jambes, et la troisième tenait un petit couteau ensanglanté entre ses mains. On m’a déshabillée et fait asseoir sur une pierre. Elles ont alors procédé à l’opération. Jusqu’à ce jour, je n’ai aucune comparaison pour décrire la douleur que j’ai ressentie. Je ne trouve ni les mots ni les explications pour la décrire. Après l’opération, on m’a entouré les reins avec un petit morceau de pagne et le reste a été plié pour former une sorte de caleçon que l’on m’a fait porter. La douleur la plus insupportable est survenue lorsque j’ai eu envie d’uriner. Je n’ai aucun qualificatif, aucune explication et aucune comparaison pour décrire cette douleur. On avait préparé mon plat préféré, mais je n’ai pas pu manger. On m’avait également préparé ma boisson préférée, mais je n’ai pas pu boire. Ce n’est que lorsqu’on m’a dit que cela pouvait réduire la douleur que j’ai essayé de boire et de manger, mais la douleur était toujours là. Je ne pouvais pas m’asseoir. Je ne pouvais pas me coucher. Même rester debout me faisait mal. J’ai passé trois jours dans cet état et une semaine pour recouvrer de cette douleur forte.

When that person tried to kill me, no human tried to save me. Only my cat, then 1-year-old, warmed my body which was going to be cold, losing 1 liter of blood. My mother told me "you choose who you marry" and went on to complain about my father, who was also abusive. I told her "You choose him". (I didn't victimize anyone except my cat, unlike my mother) Why I as a woman and women in East Asia are taken so lightly?

8M (me) 11F (cousin) 12M (cousin) were at a family function just playing house (it just dawned on me that 11-12 year olds don't play house and that the only reason we played house was for this) until it was night time in which we all got in the bed I lied at the bottom of their feet as their child as they had sex in front of me not even .5 foot away from me I just hid in fear 10M 13F 14M my older cousin led us into the woods and told my female cousin to strip she complied and then they started going at it with each other I just stood silently observing this horrible sight; seeing my female cousin in such a way felt so wrong to me my cousin then asked me to join him and I did, I was clueless just stood their as it happened; biggest regret of my life this one mistake started a snowball effect that still haunts me 12M 15F 16M yet another family function my cousins were drinking this time and came up to me hammered and asking me to come upstairs we end up smoking weed and my older cousin starts to tease my female cousin; by this time this ordeal had happened at pretty much every meeting of us I had even started pleasuring myself watching them (I never got involved because I wanted to keep myself) this time however my older cousin has fallen into a drunk slumber and my female cousin was already "ignited" she came up to me and said "lucky for you ive been ignited and all I need is for someone to come diminish me" (I remember those words 1:1) my female cousin then took my purity from me, I didn't even try to fight her or try to ask her to stop I was telling myself I didn't want to yet I pleaded for her to help me I still don't have it wrapped in my head if I was a victim or if I was just as predatory as them, I know that my older cousin started manipulating my female cousin and I didn't stop him because I enjoyed it, yet again I was 10 years old I couldn't grasp the gravity and severity of what we were doing I even viewed it as just complimentary and normal and that we were just helping each other, but the other part of me hates me for it.

i have only told this story to maybe three, four people, so, i do not really know where to begin. do i start with the first time i was touched inappropriately? the first time i was photographed without my consent, without my knowledge? the first time i was physically assaulted by a boy? i was eleven. but, rather than sit and explain how i was sexually assaulted in multiple different ways by multiple different men from the ages of 11-17, i want to talk about what happened when i was sixteen. (the story is long, so please, bare with me.) when i was sixteen, i was dating the first person i ever loved, (who is now my ex and one of my dearest friends) and he had a best friend, who later became one of mine. we did everything together, we were a trio of sorts and truthfully, i think we were happy. i mean, i have happy memories of the three of us, yes, but they’ve been overrun with negativities. this friend of ours, he wasn’t a good person, not really, his humor went beyond just being dark, it was cruel, and humiliating, and discriminatory. he would make these awful jokes; about women, about rape, about racism, homophobia, jokes about children, about illness and disease and death. and each time he thought he was being funny, he would wear this smile, this evil smile, one that said “i know what i am doing and i like it” i wish i could say we cut our ties right then and there, perhaps we should’ve, but we were young and naive and well, everyone needs a friend. so, we lived through our adolescence together, and formed a bond. though the closer we got, the more things started to get weird. and the closer we got, the clearer i could see the signs, the red flags. my boyfriend and i had our own demons with addiction and mental illness and we inevitably struggled, and our friend was witness to the darkness that had emerged, as it appeared he watched everything from the sidelines, literally and metaphorically. there was one night in particular that stands out - my partner and i were hanging out at his house and he said he had some weed he wanted to smoke so we walked into the woods by his house and smoked out of a pipe that he supplied. at first glance, i thought i saw white flakes mixed into the weed but i thought i was imagining things. a few hours later, we were watching a movie in his living room. he was on one couch, lounging on his computer, and my partner and i were cuddling on another couch. i remember we felt so affectionate and mushy and we couldn’t understand why, i narrowed it down to just being high. i then noticed our friend had fallen asleep, my partner and i began fooling around, nothing crazy, just a makeout and frankly, a blowjob. afterwards, our friend had woken up and suggested we go in the hot tub, so we did. it was there i started to feel very, very high. i remember feeling a foot rub against mine, i felt it go to my leg and up to my thigh, i remember thinking it was my boyfriend’s doing but i was too high to realize it was actually his friend. once i realized that, i felt incredibly uncomfortable and began heading home. the next morning, we all felt awful, we woke up feeling very down, depressed, just overall not well. we had reached out to our friend to meet up and see if he also felt as horrible as we did, and that was when the evil, know it all smile appeared, and he said “oh yeah well it was molly”. i remember my heart sank into my chest. he had laced the weed with molly, hence why we felt so euphoric and mushy. he then said, “why do you think you guys couldn’t keep your hands off each other?” at that moment, i knew he hadn’t actually fallen asleep. he even went as far to confirm my suspicion, as i said something along the lines of “how did you know that? you were sleeping” and he said, still with that smile, “no, i wasn’t.” he pretended to be asleep, and watched us the entire time. now i know what you’re thinking and it is true, i stayed friends with him, even after his cruelty was shown, even after he drugged me and my partner, even after he touched me inappropriately and invaded my privacy. we remained friends. i wish i could say i removed him from my life, i know now i should’ve, perhaps it would’ve kept me safe, or safer. i hate to admit it, but truthfully, i worried about him, i feared for his mental health, and was afraid what leaving him in the dark would do. as time went on, i started to notice he started treating me differently, almost with more care and concern. for example; there was one day all three of us were on the beach and i had gotten my ankle stuck between rocks trapping me in place. my partner at the time disregarded my calls for help and instead it was his friend who came to help me. i remember thinking it was odd, and out of character for him. another example was when we three went to a heavy metal concert in the city, i remember running around in a circle pit when the person in front of me fell, and caused a domino affect where everyone that followed behind also fell. i remember getting stepped on, twisting my ankle, and laying on the floor struggling to get up. our friend, he saw me, ran in my direction, lifted me up off the floor, and carried me like a baby out of the crowd. these are two small examples of what caused me to notice a shift in his behavior, it seemed like he was going more and more out of his way to ensure i was protected. one thing my rapist and i had in common was we were both musicians, and shared a deep love for singing. my partner wasn’t much of a musician, and most of the times would just watch from the sidelines as we performed. my rapist was in a band, and little me was incredibly drawn to the idea of also being in a band. when i first sang for him, he instantly told me that he wanted me involved in his band as a vocalist, and that i would have to sing in front of the rest of his bandmates. i was extremely excited. later that day, i discussed this idea with my partner, who told me that he didn’t think it was a good idea. i told him that he could come with me and watch, but he refused, as he didn’t want to sit there and do nothing the entire time. i asked him if he would be comfortable if i went alone, and he said no. i grew upset, explaining that i just wanted to sing, i wanted to be apart of something musical that wasn’t limited to a silly little high school show, or a theatre program for teens. my partner then said something to me that i wish i payed more attention to, he said, “i trust you, i don’t trust him” at the time i just felt confused, i even said, “he’s your best friend, why don’t you trust him?“ i am deeply and painfully aware that there were plenty of reasons not to trust him, but this was the first time my partner had said the words, so i wanted a better understanding as to what was going on in his mind. he simply told me “i don’t know, i just have a gut feeling, you’re not going.” and then came the biggest regret of my entire existence, i went anyway. on a sunday, i told my partner i was going to my cousins house, but instead, i showed up at our friends’s, his, house. i showed up in a sweater and sweatpants. he answered the door without a shirt on. i hesitated, and asked if anyone else was here yet, he told me no, that they’d be here any minute now and that we can start setting up. when he brought me upstairs, into his room, he asked me if he wanted to work on some duet stuff in the meantime. i agreed. we began recording, he played guitar and we harmonized, sang maybe 3 or 4 songs when i realized that time had passed and still, no one else was there. i asked him, “when is your band coming?” and there it was, that smile. “yeah, uh, they’re not coming” i should’ve ran. instead i sat there, dumb founded, not understanding what he meant, was he joking? no, he smiled, he knows what he is doing. i sat there, hearing my boyfriends voice in my head telling me “i don’t trust him”. i then stood up and began packing my stuff, intending on leaving. he then stood with me, and shut the door. he threw me onto his bed and held my hands down. my breathing picked up, quick and heavy, but my voice escaped me. i couldn’t speak. i couldn’t think. i couldn’t run, or scream. i froze. never in my life had i ever froze the way i did just then. it felt like my brain was screaming at me to move, do something, but my body refused. before he forced himself inside me, he released my hands and began squeezing my breasts, and i yelped out in pain, ill never forget how hard he squeezed me, it hurt terribly. it brought me back to learning that my grandmother was assaulted in a similar way, and shortly after, was diagnosed with breast cancer. i buried my head into the pillow, and sobbed. the sounds of my pain did nothing but excite him, i know because it was then he began penetrating me. i closed my eyes, and cried into his pillow the entire time. when it was over, he threw himself off of me and finished himself into a sock and threw it on the floor. he walked out of the room and into the bathroom. i slowly sat up, my body aching, and dressed myself. he returned and did two things that stuck with me. first, he threw a bong in my lap and said “smoke that, you look like you need it” and then, he took a poster off of his wall, revealing a hole he had made. inside, there were knives, a bottle with a joint inside, and some paper. he told me then that when he turned 21, “or sooner” he said, he planned to end his life. he said he would use the weapons inside after smoking his last joint, and he would leave a note. i didn’t understand why he told me this at the time, but my therapist told me that it sounded like his way of a threat, ensuring that i would stay quiet. he knew my history with mental health, he knew that i would rather never speak again than be responsible for someone ending their life. i didn’t say anything, i don’t think i spoke a single syllable, i may have nodded, but nothing more of a response came from me. i was destroyed. all i could think was how much of an idiot i was, how blind and stupid and selfish i was to put myself in this situation, all for a chance to sing in a band. i barely remember leaving, i know i sat outside his house and i called my mom to come get me. i knew i could simply walk to the train, but i genuinely feared for myself, i didn’t trust myself in that moment not to throw myself in front of the train. so i sat and waited. when my mom came, i still didn’t speak. she asked if i was okay and i just sat in silence. my breasts throbbing in pain. the next morning, i had bruises on my breasts. i got ready for school, thinking about what was going to happen when i saw my boyfriend, and when i also saw his best friend, the boy who just raped me the night before. i successfully ignored everyone until lunch time came. i usually sat with my boyfriend and his group of friends, so i tried to mentally prepare myself. i didn’t have a plan, i didn’t know what i was going to say, if i was going to say anything at all. my anxiety crept up on me, the paranoia and fear, all swallowed me whole. i sat down, put my headphones in place, and put my head down. my boyfriend was dealing with his own issues, and wasn’t entirely present during this lunch period. he had his headphones in and his head also down, and he was, unfortunately, drunk. yes, drunk in school. i felt someone sit themselves next to me so i lifted my head up, and there it was, that fucking smile. i put my head back down. when my rapist sat next to me, he pulled out his phone, put one headphone in his ear, and the other in mine. i flinched at his hand moving towards me. when the headphone was in, music began to play. my heart sank as deep as it could go. it was me, my voice, his voice, it was us. i looked at him, looked down, and saw our faces on his screen. i had forgotten, before he raped me, we recorded our covers, and here he was, listening to them, on a loop, in front of me and my partner, who didn’t notice at all. at that moment, i got up, and walked away. my boyfriend only then noticed me and my exit and followed me into the staircase, he called after me numerous times, begging me to talk to him, tell him what was wrong. i couldn’t do it. i looked at him with tears pouring out of my eyes and i just said, “i can’t” i felt absolutely horrified, completely ashamed. i blamed no one but myself. it was my fault, wasn’t it? i saw the signs, the red flags, and i ignored them. i was warned against going, just to ignore that as well. i went, and i froze. i didn’t say no. i didn’t run. i didn’t scream. when i went home that day, i made a decision, one that i thought i deserved. i called my boyfriend, afraid to face him in person, and i told him that he shouldn’t be with me anymore, that i wasn’t worthy of being loved by someone like him. naturally, he was lost, confused. i felt i deserved to be punished, i didn’t deserve love, i didn’t deserve good, i fucked up, and i deserve to suffer. this is going to hurt like hell, i thought, but i deserve it. so, instead of telling him the truth, i told him i had cheated. this is what ended our relationship, this is what he told his friends, this is what everyone thought was the truth, i was a cheater. so of course, it followed me. this was when i realized what my bending of the truth had done, it had cost me everything, and i thought that’s what i wanted, i thought that’s what i deserved. to no avail, we broke up, and went about six months without speaking, but not before things got worse. first, we tried to make things work, i held true to my lie, and we tried. there are things that happened at this point that i do not wish to share but long story short, we tried and we failed. it was a year or two after i had been raped when my ex and i rekindled. we managed to come out on top in the end, we remained friends, still to this day, and when i was ready, i told them the truth. i don’t know what i was expecting, the worst perhaps, but instead, he believed me. he listened while i told him what really happened that day. and he held me, while i sobbed. with time, we too talked of the red flags and the signs that we missed, or noticed and ignored in hopes we were just thinking the worst. we’ve learned to heal together and i am forever grateful to have had something good come out of something so bad. my ex was the only person who knew the truth. after, came my best friend, and then, my wife. i never reported it. i didn’t even use the word rape until my therapist used it first. i know earlier i spoke about being scared of what my rapist would do if i told, but i was also deeply scared of not being believed, or supported. i feared i would be to blame, as i blamed myself. i knew nobody, no judge, no jury, would ever take my side. so i stayed silent. where did it lead me? after the rape, i was self harming, drinking, drugging. i attempted suicide, i was hospitalized twice, spent holidays in a mental institution. i lost myself. i couldn’t look in the mirror. i could barely even sing anymore. and as for my rapist? he went on to become an EMT. i’ll never forget the day i found out he was a paramedic, i cried for hours at the thought of me or a loved one needing help, calling an ambulance, and having him show up at our door. i am 28 now, and still, every fucking day, i struggle. i struggle at the sight or sounds of anything that reminds me of him. i hear the songs we sang and i can feel him on top of me. i can’t even listen to them anymore. i make love to my wife and there are nights i can see her face morphing into his and i cry and i scream and i scare. i walk around my hometown, fearing ill run into him. i dream about him. i feel haunted, still, after all this time. the university case has taken over my feed, all my social media has to offer is mentions of rape and assault and it has been very hard on my mind. i’ve been getting sucked back into those years, and it’s so hard to break free from sometimes, because i am reminded that still after all these years, he still haunts me, i still suffer, and he, still, is perfectly fine, smiling.

Healing sounds like a peaceful, reassuring process. Sometimes I feel calm and reassured, and that hopeful feeling is temporary healing. Other days I feel so lost, I'm a Muslim convert mom of 3 kids who is struggling. Some days I think leaving is better, other days everything is great. Are there any other Muslim moms, converts on here who have experienced abuse from their husbands and decided to leave? I have trauma and divorce experience from my childhood, too much to write on here, and I just want my kids to have a better life with God in their lives.

As I continue my book journey, I learn why traditional therapy is so harmful—it causes further traumatization. While listening to book, I am literally being walked through a slide show of my life and the only kind of relationships I've ever known. The education process is brutal. The deeper I get the more it touches I just inherently know this type of individual the way I knew my Father. I was targeted because of everything beautiful about me. This is a person who knew how to ask me to fix their brokeness and walks away from the relationship saying that they couldn't help me because I'm too sick. Do you see it now clearly? You were set up. My search for help has been an incredibly difficult and overwhelming process. The more I understand how trapped I was made by the mechanisms of abuse, the more rage I feel. How many times have I had to scream in my car, punch my pillow, and hide in my closet when I cry my eyes out? And here I am, exactly where you designed to leave me—with no means to support myself, seeming as if that was my choice. But you and I both know that's not the plan that you made. You designed this very well. I am in a mouse wheel society that offers the abuser a comfy landing and survivors with severely limited resources. It was never built for me to get out of. I have listened to four distinguished authors in a row say: do not settle. Find a therapist who is 100 percent qualified and watch out for bad help. This is multilayered trauma with specific needs, and you are fighting for your life. Somehow, government insurance plans missed this information. They are much more comfortable with me joining the multi-million dollar pharmaceutical plan than actually healing my core human needs long term. According to all the authors, trauma gets stuck in your nervous system, keeping your body in survival mode, and you can't think your way out of it with talk therapies. I am definitely stuck—finger in light socket soberingly aware. Physically, mentally, financially. There are no bootstraps to use; they were taken. Physical self-awareness is the first step. Trauma victims cannot recover without understanding the sensations in our bodies, which have been blocked with numbing medications and other substances. They advocate for body-based therapies like Somatic Experiencing, focusing on bodily sensations to release stress and trauma trapped in the nervous system rather than just talking about the events; EMDR, a rapid eye movement exercise that safely revisits traumatic events (from what I understand, it's reworking memories using a dream sequence, removing harm and creating safety); and IFS work, which focuses on healing protective parts of the mind created through dysfunctional family systems. The more I learn, the more pain I am willing to step into, the more I understand. The behaviors, thoughts, and feelings that impact me from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep—the ones I've been labeled with, the ones that have been used against me—actually stem from abuse, not something I was born with. According to the authors who specialize in what I've been through, my brain wasn't born with these mental health labels. My nervous system created adaptations to survive continuous threat. name and name explain that families often pathologize victims, calling it mental illness, which deflects from abuse and survival behavior. They also identify how trauma can be passed down genetically, meaning these adaptations are learned across generations. As I continue to listen to a complete stranger tell my story, I am struggling with full acceptance. I don't want it to be true, but it is. Now I know about psychopathy, and there's no going back. I'm shell-shocked. Being walked through the exact events of my personal life leaves no room for questioning. I often think someone needs to hear this, someone needs to know—specifically my mother. It's lonely, partly reassuring, and incredibly devastating. These books explain every thought, behavior, and symptom. I hear how my sense of self and belief in the world was changed. I've been brainwashed deeply through my own love, and somehow it's so much softer for me to blame myself than truly accept what it actually is. For the longest time, my brain learned if it was me, then I could do something to fix things. It became the obsession and a constant state of mind that protected my body. I have lived fear, trained helplessness, and hopelessness. There's no damn way my nervous system can let that go after what I've been through, and I hate it. I hate it so much. Every so often I still have a false sense of comfort, the fantasy that helped me regulate for so long but was never real. I will do whatever it takes to pull that little girl from the ashes and restore her. We will recover.

When I was 18 I was raped and physically assaulted by a friend of mine at the time. He was 3 years older than me and it was his 21st birthday. It took me a year to accept what happened, and 4 years to get help through counseling. I used to feel a lot of guilt for not getting help sooner and the way my trauma affected other people in my life/people I was in relationships with. I also hated and still sometimes hate the way it affects me 6 years later, but I’m learning that things don’t always go away on their own and it’s okay to reach out for help, no matter what stage you’re in or how long has passed. You will find people who love and believe you, and you’re more than worthy of that. They say skin completely regenerates every 7 years, so by this time next year I’ll have a body you’ve never touched, and that’s comforting.

I never associated my assaults as sexual assaults. I always just saw it as a thing that happened me that was upsetting until recently. I was groped, forced into having sex and preforming oral sex on him. I remember one time he offered to drive me home. I lived over 40 mins from town so I thought i could save myself €60 in a taxi. Until I realised we were going in the opposite direction to my house. He drove me to secluded area. I knew it wasn't right I said no said I was due my period I tried everything I could to deter him. It didn't work. I can't drive that road without a feeling of dread. I do feel part to blame and I know that's wrong. I hate how it makes me feel. When I hear stories in the news I can't help but think my story isn't as bad as theirs or that maybe mine wasn't rape or a sexual assault. I hate myself for thinking it.