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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.

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.

I want to be a source of hope to the hopeless

In my original shared story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER, I talked about my abuse from a bird’s eye view. It was my abuse life as I was able to share it at the time. I have been working up to sharing 3 instances of rapes that I only avoided by allowing the men to take what they wanted instead of fighting. The most traumatic of the three incidents I mentioned involved a police officer. This is that account. I was pulled over on my way home from a study group as junior at the university on a week night. We had shared two drinks toward the end. I DO NOT condone driving and drinking but I was not drunk, as the breathalyzer later confirmed. I was pulled over and already had the nerves associated with that, amplified by the fact that I was under the legal drinking age for another three weeks. That is when I first met the cop I will just call SIK. He gave me a creepy vibe when I first saw him and that never stopped. Still, I flirted with him to an extent desperate to not get it huge trouble. He had me get out of the car, take of my hoodie, under which I only had a basic sports bra. It was only sixty degrees or so that night. I was cold and shivering from fear and the temperature. I saw him look at my body with no filter. Another cop car pulled up with two officers while I was doing the field sobriety tests. He had already searched me in an uncomfortable way. One of the officers who arrived was female and also searched me after he had said I had some problems with the sobriety tests. Walking backwards on an imaginary line heel to toe was the only thing I had trouble with. It is hard! The female cop brought out the breath test I had asked for. I blew 0.035. That is less than half the legal limit. At that point SIK said he was just going to follow me home, rather than arrest me, and the other car left. The whole stop took maybe an hour. Cars drove by on the side street I had pulled onto. Headlights and tail lights in the dark. After the other car left SIK talked to me more harshly and threatening than ever. He said a girl like me is probably used to getting away with everything. He asserted that he could still take me to jail anytime he decides as as he takes me home and makes sure I am safe everything I do is still a test. He could bust me for possession of alcohol and I would lose my license. I was scared. I told him my roommate was home. She was a student too and was supposed to be there. After following me inside my apartment I called out for my roommate. Then I checked her room. She was not there! SIK then accused me of lying to a police officer and locked the deadbolt from the inside. He made me stand with my hands on my own dining room wall with my legs spread. I wanted to call her so he could talk to her and confirm she was usually there, but he stopped me and made me just text her to see when she would be home. He gave instruction not to ask or say anything more and checked before I sent it. She was at her sisters and would not be back until late. At that point he took off his utility belt and put it on my kitchen counter. He told me after all he had done for me was no longer free, since I lied to him. His gun was right there next to us. He made sure I saw it and he even twisted it so it was pointed toward me. I was scared and pleading with him. I really was willing to do anything. I am not sure but I think I told him that. He radioed from his shoulder thing that he was taking a “lunch” break. What I definitely remember was when he said he was going to do a proper strip search this time, down to full nudity and asked if I agreed to that. At that point I no longer had a doubt what was happening. I made the mental adjustment but what he did was more than I had prepared for. He gave me vulgar compliments about my body as he blatantly molested me. He kneaded my breasts like dough. He fingered me as asked if you could use a special appendage he had that went farther in. I knew what he meant. I was repulsed but I agreed. After the initial eager sex with me still having my hands on the wall leaning forward he slowed down. I had been hoping it was almost over but he decided to prolong it. He commanded me to my bedroom. He took off all his clothes besides his socks. He complemented his own anatomy and made me agree. His member was well above average in size but I doubt, if he had not had a wedding band on, that he would ever get to use it. He was half bald, had a prominent eyebrow like a neanderthal, and a pale beer belly with lots of moles all over his body. He had a mustache and goatee that did not completely hide his poor complexion that looked like he had scars from severe acne. Almost all men all taller than me but he was short and only towered over me by a few inches. Never had I lied bigger than when I told him what he wanted to hear about being sexy and wanting him. The only truth was about his large penis. SIK spoke a lot, mostly degrading me and confirming that I agree with him. Cliche stuff, like me being a whore, slut, dirty, and liking what he made me do to him, but also asked about my sex life and abuse history. He wanted me to say that my dad and coaches abused me, but I would not lie about that. Instead I told him some of the truth about my brother abusing me. That was probably the worst part. Saying out loud to SIK what I never used to admit to anyone, for his great pleasure, harmed me. That was worse that the physical stuff. Worse than making me kiss him during parts of it. He was also cruel. He tried to gag me and push all the way down my throat while he made him do oral. He pushed my ankles behind my head while he pounded me with his abusing thrusts. I could see the cruel lust in his eyes. I could see his wicked smile. He slapped my face many times, just not very hard. He did spank me hard. He realized he had me captive and vulnerable to his whim and he was finally living his darkest fantasies. I was doing anything he wanted and encouraging it because I wanted it to stop. So many times he stopped himself right before he was going to climax! He did not want it to end. SIK tried to have anal sex with me and I was accommodating him but he was just too big to fit. I was crying during most of this out of pain but trying to act like an eager partner to make it end. I later thought that might have prolonged it. SIK was probably the time that would prefer I suffer more, like I was being raped instead of hiding my pain. It was not much longer than twenty minutes but it was so bad and I relived it so many times in my mind before I got smashed drunk and high the next night after work. So the memory lived much more prominently in my head than a simple 25 minute encounter. I do reach climax easily, but I never had one orgasm from him because of his preference for causing sexual pain. When he suddenly released inside me he got quiet and barely said another word as he dressed, gun belt and all, and left quietly. I have no idea what that meant. It scared me. I was afraid while driving for a while, and avoided sleeping at home as much as I could, which sometimes meant sleeping with men and even male friends just to not go home. It was the main reason I did not renew my lease and moved it to a smaller apartment by myself. This was the same roommate whose father had already slept with me without my initial blessing. I did tell my roommate a short version of it and she reacted like it was cool story. I did kind of tell it that way, as a way of dealing with it. The easy path of least resistance. To not admit it may have been the worse sexual thing to happen to me. The true worst things that happened to me in my college years were broken hearts from losing men I loved. But those are stories for a different forum. I don’t put my heart out there to be trampled anymore. This incident was one of the wake up calls that stood out as an omen for me to change my whole lifestyle and try to salvage myself. It was also one of the things that took me the longest to mention to my therapist even though I thought about it during sessions.

This is another incident from my survivor story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER. I am working up to the police incident. Please read my story for context. This one brought back pain in writing it. Sophomore year of my philosophy major in college. I had recently gone on a trip to Portugal with nice older man who basically invited me to Portugal with the understanding that I would be his lover for a free trip. He had been one of my customers at the restaurant and I took him up on his proposition for the fun of it and had a great time. That was my spring break. This was a few year period when I was very promiscuous after being abused by my brother for years at home and repressed in a Catholic high school as parental punishment for starting a sexual relationship with a boy my age. When a girl in my logic course who was pre-law invited me to a fraternity party I thought it would be nice to hang with people my own age. Fraternities and sororities were not my cup of tea and still are not. After doing a keg stand to impress strangers I was looking for the upstairs bathroom because the line for the downstairs one was long. That one had a few girls waiting and a guy who had held one of my legs for the keg stand started flirting with me and offered to take me to a secret bathroom. The bathroom was legit but then he beckoned me into a bedroom across from it where two other frat brothers were. I was apprehensive but with the other guys there I was a little more at ease that he wasn’t just trying to take me to bed. I was open to finding a hot guy, to be honest, but he was NOT it. Neither were the other two. I sat chatting with them and drinking tiny shots of cinnamon whiskey and getting more nervous when somebody tried to get in the door to the room but it was locked. My guy yelled at them to go away. Then I tried to get up and leave but was pulled back to my seat the bed. I am small so I am easily overpowered. “You can’t leave yet. We’re just getting to know you.” One rapist said. “No teases allowed here.” “What do I have to do to get back out to my friend?” I asked something like that but used her name. They looked at each other with nasty smirks and I regretted the question. What one of them came up was a blowjob contest in which I have twenty seconds to make each of them cum but I had to go in circle until one did and then he was eliminated and I had to do all three. So they stood on three sides of the bed with me in the middle and took out their penises. One had a stop watch and without hesitation I started sucking the one nearest me. I wanted to get out of there and was physically afraid of them. This was away to avoid any violence and not even give them the satisfaction of thinking they forced me to do anything. So I went round and round getting very tired. 20 seconds was too short and they had pulled off all my clothes. I stopped and asked the one who made up the game for 60 seconds. Suddenly I was pulled violently back by my legs from the one behind me he held my legs apart as he quickly started banging me. I did not even see his face until later. The one who I had been talking to got up on the bed and started doing it to my mouth. I don’t me he put it in my mouth. He grabbed my head with both hands and forced it in and was banging my face as hard as the guy behind me was doing it. I had to stay up on my elbows arched to prevent him from ripping my hair up to keep me at his level. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. It had always been one partner at a time. They were mean and I tried so hard to keep up. After that craziness was over and both of them satisfied themselves in me, the original guy pulled me up onto the bed and said something like, “Only one hole left for me.” I was not used to anal sex then. I offered to go wash up if he would please not do anal with me. He laughed and shook his head. So, laying on my back with my legs spread, he squirted some aloe vera gel from the bedside table down there and watched me face to face as he worked his penis in one thrust at a time. He saw the pain on my face that I could not hide. I had to kiss him while her hurt me. Even when he got going fast it took him a while. One of them was watching us, smiling from the side and the other was playing with his phone and I think taking pictures. Phones did not do videos yet. The smiling one once asked, “Dude, is it really in her ass?” After he was finished with me he thanked me and left. Said he had responsibilities. The one with the phone left too. I tried to leave. “Not so fast.” The other one said pushing me back down. I told him I had done everything they wanted and more and asked to please leave. He told me I was the hottest chick he had ever F-’d and he wanted round 2. I just wanted to get out of there. One more obstacle. I worked my mouth on him for a while to get him even half rubbery again and worked it inside. That failed and I had to do it again. Finally I used every trick I could including faking orgasms, having a real orgasm, and talking dirty to him to get him to release inside me. I was so shaky and exhausted after being their whore for so long it was hard to get my clothes on. I was in fear he would stop me, and he did. I told him I just wanted to got pee and clean up and asked him if I could sleep in his bed with him—just a trick. I worked. I thanked him, nonchalantly closed the door behind me and hurried down the stairs without drawing too much attention. I kept a smile on my face as I made it out the front door and off the porch. I kept of the act for a block before I just started running as far away as I could. I was actually terrified someone might be after me until I was out of the neighborhood far from campus and to a gas station. I called a taxi and went home. My roomate was sleeping in her room and I just sat in the shower. In my story I used this as an example of how I avoided being raped by just going with it when I was in a rape situation. But this felt like rape. I went back to partying and using alcohol and marijuana to dampen the impact and feel artificially warm and fuzzy. And casual sex with hot men. But this was rape. I was gang raped. Maybe better for me than if I had tried to fight them and lost but it still sucks and leaves me with hurt and guilt and fear.

I grew up homeless and in foster care in two separate states and was trafficked for many years: I want to impress upon people that true equity begins with giving people the resources and space to share their lived experience. Redistributing power to the Survivors allows them to influence better evidence based practice forward, lets them know they are not alone, gives them places to heal, and the opportunity to take something negative and oftentimes, horrific: and shine a light on a new path for children who are currently struggling with their own victimization. Survivors have the expertise to provide solutions that work in real time to protect children.

I was assaulted by a man, who was an acquaintance, in my apartment. We had hooked up once before, and it had been quick but fine. Things started consensually, but at one point it began to hurt me and I asked him if we could stop. At that point, he pushed down on my upper back, high enough that my mouth was half pushed into the pillow. I froze, and couldn't move at all. I just waited for him to finish whatever it was he wanted to do. The aftermath was extremely confusing. I first thought that it was just a bad experience. But as the months went on, I realised it was playing on my mind too much to be dismissed as that. Six months after the assault, I sought some medical tests. It was a year after, amid a particular run of sexual assault stories in the media, that I contacted rape crisis centre to get help. I also reported to the Gardai several years after my assault, and while they handled it well they also warned that if I was to pursue an investigation that the process could be very exposing and I chose not to take it further. My assault took place only six months after I had come out as queer, and so it felt like much of what I had worked hard to accept about myself and to go through as part of coming out was impacted -- the freedom to be who I was and to enjoy my sexuality was taken away for a long time. My assault was not the first time nor the last time I experienced non-consensual behaviour, although was by far the most serious and impactful occurrence.

my brother SA'd me multiple times. he never raped me, though. he once forced me to kiss him on the mouth as a "game" of some sorts. he would also smack my ass, call me a slut, and shame me for everything. before he got on medication, he would beat me up. he's on medication now, but he's still terrible. he got mad at me and said he would gangrape me. he never did, but it was still scary. i hate him, and he says i'm a bad person for hating him. he also denied ever SAing me. sometimes i feel like i'm delusional or something. i don't know, i'm just tired of living with him. i can't wait for him to move out.

My name is Survivor and I live in Huntsville, TX. In 2004, at the age of 15 I was introduced to a man who was a pedophile. This was just after my parents divorced and after growing up with a severely abusive father, I was desperate from male leadership in my life. Needless to say, I was an easy victim. This man began grooming me and would eventually begin molesting me. This happened once or twice a month for the rest of my high school. Little did I know, this man was working alongside a college ministry called Chi Alpha and the Assemblies of God for at least 2 decades and had already molested other boys. For which he served a mere 90 days in Alaska jail. Pastors in our ministry tried to convince students, many of whom who were victims, to write letters of lienance on behalf of the abuser. You would think after high school and turning 18 I would have moved on and left him. After all, why would anyone continue to let themselves get abused? Unfortunately, that’s not how grooming or the mind of a victim works. So, I’m sad to say, the abuse continued. When I was abused in 2005, the statute of limitations in Texas at that time were until the age of 23. At the age of 23, I was still being molested by this man. For a significant amount of time the leadership in the Assemblies of God, which was the denomination I had been apart of my whole life, knew that this man was a registered sex offender and did not take needed steps to rid our ministries of him. I was one of the first victims to publicly come forward in 2023. For nearly 20 years I told no one, not even my wife. Myself and 5 friends, some even pastors in the Assemblies of God, started making calls to friends figuring other men had been abused heard dozens of stories of abuse because we were trying to help over 40 victims get help, seek justice, and heal. We all watched in horror as NDAs were used to insulate organizational leadership to cover themselves, using the NDAs as a fog of ignorance and hiding behind it. Because of this, Justice has not been served. Since then the Assemblies of God has tried to dismiss valid civil claims of negligence, has sidelined victims in the investigation process, and has sneakily tried to get victims to sign NDA’s. I’ll also add that I am a high school teacher here in Texas, and every year I hear stories from students who have been sexually harassed or abused in all kinds of scenarios. The happy side of my story is the abuser is currently in jail and awaiting trial. My wife and I have a rule in our house with our kids - no secrets. Last night I talked to my 8 year old daughter (in kid language) how NDA’s are used. And she said “but if you keep it secret doesn’t that bad person keep hurting children?” I had the privilege of working with Elizabeth and everyone involved with Trey’s Law. It helped my healing so much to be able to meet and talk with other survivors. To hear their struggles and to know I wasn’t crazy or alone. Through that legislative process I found my voice and gained confidence in sharing my story. Thank you Elizabeth for helping me tag along!

When I was in 6th grade I started crushing on a boy in my class. My friends told me he was a jerk, but all I saw was how sweet he was to me. He started calling me his girlfriend, and I wasn’t comfortable with this, but I never said anything. I told myself I had to like him, because he could be the only one who would ever love me, and I couldn’t throw him away, couldn’t hurt him. As time went on, I started realizing what a jerk he was. He swore constantly, and hurt people, but not enough to get himself in trouble. He once hit me with a tennis racket at tennis practice, and I started to realize who and what he was. At a school dance, I apparently didn’t say thank you enough for a gift and he started crying. He turned the whole room against me, with random people coming up to be a insulting me. I felt like crap and I broke up with him. A year later, one of my best friends started dating him. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. She is still with him, and I worry about her every day. I don’t know what to do. Thankfully, they are going to different high schools, but I worry anyway. Whoever is reading this, you are beautiful, you deserve everything, and you are NOT alone. ❤❤❤❤❤

I was in an abusive relationship for 12 years. I met him when I was fourteen and we came together when I was fifteen. He was nice and lovely and I fell in love with him. I never thought that he could have a dark side. After a few month I began to realize, that there is something inside him. When we had our first fight, he screamed with me and I had so much fear. He apologized and I forgived him. But: It didn‘t stopped. He was verbal abusive. He said that I am a whore. He made me feeling small and like I am the worst person in the world. He said, that I am a psycho. He said I am a joke. He said I am nothing. He said, that he has to talk and scream with me like this, because I don‘t understand his points otherwise. He began to destroy things like my watch or a necklace. The walls had holes and he often grabbed me at my shoulders very hard when he got angry. When I cried, he became angrier at all. I locked myself in the toilet because I had so much fear of him. He also pushed me at the asphalt when he was drunk sometimes. I had bruises. One time he choked me. I never told anybody what happend, because I always forgived him and felt so fucking guilty. I tried to left him, but he always said, that he will kill himself, when I go. I went to therapy but even there I was so ashamed, that I didn‘t talk about the abuse. After two years of therapy I got stronger and stronger. I was ready to talk to somebody about the things that happend to me and that I want to leave him. Suddenly I felt free and was ready to go. He always said, that he loves me and that I am the love of his life. It never was love. I realized that I was in an abusive relationship. There were verbal, emotional and physical abuse. I didn't imagine any of it. I wasn't crazy. Whoever is reading this and is in a similar situation: You are strong! You are intelligent! You are beautiful! You are a good person! You can trust yourself! You can talk to someone! You can do this! You can leave him! You are a wonderful human being! I love you all out there and send you hugs. We have to share our stories and we are allowed to share them. Together we can change something.

° Hard Candy° Does it get better ?. She asked me , little golden eyes filled with tears hands pressed so hard against her reddened cheeks I could hardly hear the words pouring out of that little 8 year Olds mouth. I took a long pause before I decided my next approach.. You see She this child resembled a frightened mouse, Cautiously pressed back into what must of been the safety of her room blended underneath a blanket,. Her body was so small you could barley see the tiny frame. Frozen in place. Instinctively I wanted to give this child space but as a adult. I needed to comfort this child. Or was it I who needed comfort after seeing how badly damaged she was emotionally and mentally?. I haven't decided. It took a while Don't get me wrong not only does seeing a child in any form of distress unsettle the soul,. But regaining their trust is a challenge in itself. There was no door in this child's room so I wanted to be respectful,. Taking my time with this one,. Each step polite and over apologetic,. I stepped over the forgotten toys that had collected dust from previous visitation,. I can still smell The hard candy melted to the oak dress from the summers heat,. Slowly I unraveled this child and moved her hair out of her face. Millions of little freckles covered almost every inch. Hazel eyes stared at me, strawberry blonde hair and a pale complexity, but there was so much more to it. curiosity and fear looked back. Where was the love for this child?. I touched her face slowly. And whispered. Yes sweetheart. It sure does. We are grown now. We are safe now. We will always be safe. Because I will always protect you The inner child in myself smiled and hugged me tight. Thankyou she whispered. You're welcome sweetheart . ♡ Initials

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

I grew up in violence- my neighborhood, my school, my home. I grew up with constant insults and indignities because of poverty and a violent brother. So when I met Jack when I was 22 and he was a bully, dismissive, insulting and emotionally difficult for me, it all felt normal. But, as I got older I knew I had to get away from him. He limited my relationships and always found ways to subvert my work while belittling me for not keeping jobs. I tried to leave many time but he bulleyed, frightened, pleaded, coerced, apologized, threatened until I took him back. Then when I was 68 and he was 69 he left to have a “selfish bucket list fling” with a former girlfriend. He expected to come back after 2 months. He didn’t believe me that I was divorcing him and signed the papers without reading them. It has been 2 1/2 years and I am still fighting the battle in court to actually get the court ordered alimony that is coming to me. I am not homeless. In fact I live in the home we bought and remodeled. I have a very good life. He had me convinced that I would be back in poverty if it were not for him. I feel more well off than I ever did with him. Plus, his negativity, meanness, and general bad behavior are out of my life at last. I wish I had had the courage and strength to leave years ago and save myself and my children from his abuse. But I am happy to heal my relationships with the people I love who he kept away from me for all those years.

When I was 17 years old and pregnant, I was trapped in a relationship with a boyfriend I had been with since the age of 15. My life at the time was an impossible choice between two toxic environments. My home life was incredibly unstable; my father was abusive, my mother did nothing to intervene, and both of my parents were fully aware that my boyfriend was abusive to me as well. Throughout our relationship, my ex subjected me to severe control and sexual assault. Once, during an argument, he locked me inside his car and refused to let me out. Another time, when I was only 15 and completely unaware of what it even was, he forced me into a van late at night with his mother and stepfather. Instead of taking me home, they drove me to an unfamiliar city hour away and forced me to take the morning-after pill. Later, while I was pregnant, I was riding in a car with him and his older brother to a distant city I had never been to. When I asked to stop because I needed to use the bathroom, my ex told me I simply had to hold it until we arrived. His own family life was chaotic. His mother was dating a man who was actively fleeing the police to avoid paying child support, meaning they were frequently gone. Eventually, my ex moved out to a run-down, abandoned house that had belonged to his late father. He was so consumed by jealousy that he forbade either of us from going to school. He constantly threatened to hurt himself if I ever left him, and the overwhelming stress eventually forced me to drop out. Although he lived with me at my parents' house for a short time, he ultimately forced me to move into that dilapidated property with him. The house had no running water or electricity; we had to use a bucket as a toilet and wash ourselves outside with a cold-water hose. I went along with it only because I desperately wanted to escape the abuse at my own home, not realizing I was stepping into another trap. To make matters worse, his parents eventually moved in with us, even though we already had barely any food to survive.During my pregnancy, I suffered from severe complications, including blood sugar spikes that required me to eat specific foods like jelly, but there was almost nothing else available. Shortly after his parents moved in, my ex told me we would have to wait two weeks for food stamps before we could get anything to eat. He isolated me entirely, refusing to let my family visit and forbidding me from leaving. He even began cruelly claiming that the baby wasn’t his.Terrified, starved, and exhausted, I found a corner of the house that had just enough cell signal to call my mother. I asked her if I would be a "baby" if I came back home, and she told me no. Realizing I had to escape, I lied to my ex and told him there was an item at my parents' house that we needed for the baby. He resisted, but because he had errands to run in town anyway, he finally agreed to drive me.When we stopped at a bank along the way, I sneaked into the bathroom to call my mom and confirm we were coming. Once we arrived at my parents' house, I refused to get back in the car. My ex flew into a rage, grabbed me by the hair, and told me he should have locked me in a room. The absolute terror of the moment threw me into preterm labor. My mother managed to get him to leave by convincing him she needed to take me straight to the hospital. Believing I would still return to him afterward, he left to go rent movies. Fortunately, the hospital managed to stop the labor, and I was able to return to my parents' house. My ex showed up again and tried to confront me, but this time my father intervened and forced him to leave. Though he continued to harass me for a long time afterward, I was finally free. Looking back, I realize that at just 17 years old, I was essentially surviving a kidnapping and a hostage situation ( I do go by he/him)

I was so small and I still have flashbacks.

I went out with friends but left early as I was drunk and tired and I asked someone for directions to find my Uber when another guy asked if I was going to uni and said I was pretty which was fine but he then asked if he could have a kiss. I didn't know what to do so I stepped towards him and then he put his arm round me and I felt like I had to kiss him but I didn't want to. I tried to face away from him hoping he would just kiss my cheek but he didn't so I turned my head and he kissed me and I feel gross and want to throw up every time I think of it.

The mind is an interesting, beautiful and dangerous thing. I find my mind to be especially so. I have always been an overthinker, and my thoughts have led me into dark places in my life. At the time of writing this, I am studying psychology and trying to work on a better understanding and diagnosis of my own condition through therapy and my studies. My story, this story, begins in 2022, the year I graduated high school. For context though, we must go back much further. Was I always depressed? Was I always insecure? Shy? Did I always hide in the corner? No! As a child, I was quite outgoing. I may have always been somewhat of a shy introvert, but I managed to make friends everywhere I went, eager to get to know others and play with them. I have always been extremely trusting, to the extent of naivety and gullibility. All the way through elementary school, I always had a large friend group and following. I physically grew faster than most kids, I learned faster than most and began tutoring my peers in fifth grade. My friends and I ran the playground. I was a leader, one of the cool kids. It brought me a sense of power, but it also led to me being obsessive, a control freak at times. The transition to middle school was different. Though I was still athletic and wasn't obese, I had gained a bit of weight that I could stand to lose. When swimming one time, someone whose opinion I greatly valued, pointed out my body. "You have rolls," they said. From that moment, I never saw myself the same. At that moment, insecurity truly crept into my life for the first time. From then on, I never took my shirt off around other people, even my closest friends and family. I wore a shirt whenever I swam, and when we were given middle school locker rooms for athletics, I changed in the bathroom stall instead. The friend group I once ruled the playground with, started to break apart, even if I didn't realize it. Part of it was because I stopped being one of the "cool kids," but looking back now, I realize that with my control, I was also not a very good friend at times. At the end of middle school, I learned that I would be moving to a different town and school. Though it was only a 30 minute drive away, for a kid with no transportation, it was a world away. This gave my friends the out they needed. I stopped hearing back from them until they eventually cut me out completely. A small few stuck around, but out of them, only one has stayed by my side to this day as an adult. The summer before high school was a hard one. My grandpa and his brother died within weeks of each other. With hardly any friends, my second oldest sister became my best friend for the summer. However, with her being four years older than me, as I was starting high school, she was off to college, and I was alone. As the youngest, I was an only child for the first time in my life, and my relationship with my parents at the time was almost nonexistent. When I started high school in a new and unfamiliar place, I was scared to death. I sat alone at lunch and in the corner of every classroom. My stress manifested itself as a painful black hole in the center of my torso. I couldn't bring myself to eat. In the first week of school alone, I lost about 15 pounds! To speed up my story a bit, I grew into myself a bit more, thinned out, worked out, and gained a bit of muscle. After the end of my freshman year, some girls actually started to find me attractive. I had a couple dates with a girl or two, and by the second half of my sophomore year, I had my first real girlfriend. Looking back at that relationship, I still thank God for bringing her into my life. As soon as she asked to sit next to me on the band bus, I knew she liked me, even though at the time, I wanted nothing to do with her for some reason. That single bus ride changed everything though. With main topics of conversation being random things like sandwiches and Veggie Tales, by the end, I had a new best friend. After a couple months of getting to know each other, we confessed our feelings and she soon became my girlfriend. We had a lot in common, including hobbies as we were both in band and theater. It was because of her that Covid wasn't such a bad time for me, as it was for most others. Though we were both very close, we were also both very awkward, and never intimate. We never had any talks about physical intimacy, so for the most part, we never had physical intimacy. The most "cuddling" we ever did was my arm around her shoulder, or her head on my shoulder. When we finally had our first kiss, it was 10 days before our 2 year anniversary. It was also just a quick peck, we never made out or anything like that. Through the remainder of high school, I was constantly worried about what I looked like and my image, trying to work out more and get stronger. I joined a fire academy to train to be a firefighter during my last two years of high school. Eventually, our lives started to go in different directions, and after about 2 1/2 years, we broke up 4 days before our high school graduation. As you can imagine, that was a pretty rough first breakup for me. With the way my brain works, after something like this happens, it becomes all I can think about, constantly. I overthink and over analyze every thought, every memory. I put myself through the different possible scenarios and outcomes, sometimes to the point where I start to lose my grip on reality, and what the true memories are. The black hole of stress returned to my chest. At first, I was convinced that she was still "the one" and that I would get her back after a couple years. Then, as my thought process continued to shift and spiral, I began to think that because the relationship ended, that must mean that it was a bad thing to begin with, meaning that I needed to find the opposite of what we had. Unfortunately, I got what I asked for. Only about two months had passed before I met another girl at a church retreat that I was volunteering at. This girl was someone that I had always seen growing up, but never interacted with. I always viewed her as being extremely attractive, and I lusted after her more than any other girl. She was one of the popular kids, the head cheerleader at high school. We started talking and she took an interest in me. She knew that I had just gone through a breakup because of a testimony I gave during the retreat. The more we talked, the more I realized that she was different than I thought. The red flags showed up early on. At this point, she was 17 as I was 18. At 17 years old, she had a list of the 23 guys she had kissed, and the 5 guys that she had sex with, versus the one girl I had kissed. I was originally convinced that she was a virgin like me, but that quickly flew out the window. She assured me over and over that she had only gone through a "hoe phase" and that she was different now (I came to find out later that this "hoe phase" happened only a month or two before we got together. We got together in August, and she had sex with at least 3 guys over the summer). Part of me didn't want to judge her based on her past. Part of me wanted the affirmation of someone as attractive as her being interested in me. Part of me adopted an "I can fix her" mentality. All in all, a recipe for disaster. After talking for a while, I eventually, nervously confessed feelings for her via word vomit after walking her to her car one night. To my surprise, she reciprocated those feelings. She then hugged me. This was no normal hug, as it was different from any other hug I had ever experienced. There was full body contact as she pressed against me. Part of me instinctively retreated backward, but she continued forward so that I was then pinned between her and her car. There was more physical intimacy in that hug alone than anything I had ever experienced before. This feeling was new and admittedly exciting. In my vulnerable and desperate state, I thought, "this must be love." On our first date, after going to Starbucks, we went back to my place to watch a movie. She asked if I wanted to cuddle, and I told her that I honestly didn't really know how. She showed me a few different ways/positions for cuddling, and we ended up spooning for the majority of the movie. I could tell that she wanted to kiss, but I was awkward and uncomfortable, so I just didn't say anything. We did decide to become official boyfriend and girlfriend though, which was a big, fast step. Of course, that was only the beginning. On our second date, we did end up kissing, which led to making out for about an hour. Another new experience for me. By the end of that date, we were already saying "I love you" to each other. With my previous girlfriend, I told her I loved her at a couple different milestones within the relationship, but she never felt comfortable saying it back, so this was my first time hearing words of affirmation like that. Two weeks in, she started ramping things up. She started talking to me about her favorite sex positions and demonstrating them (with clothes on). She told me about all her kinks and the things she liked. She told me that she didn't have a gag reflex and then proceeded to take my hand and suck on one of my fingers while making strong eye contact with me. Looking back on it, I realize that I was never asked, nor did I tell about what I might be comfortable with. I was of the mindset that I never wanted to have sex or even see my significant other naked before marriage, but I don't think I ever conveyed that. Later on that same date, we were watching a movie and cuddling as usual. I still remember the movie being "Phantom of the Opera." At one point during the movie, she let out a loud sigh. I asked her what was wrong. "Oh nothing. I'm just having intrusive thoughts." I asked what she meant. "It's nothing. You probably wouldn't want to anyway." I told her she could tell me whatever it was. "Oh, I was just thinking about putting your hand under my shirt." I got silent. I wasn't expecting that, and I didn't know how to respond. A moment later, she continued, "Do you want to?" I replied, "I don't know." She continued, "yes or no?" My response remained the same "I don't know." We went back and forth a couple more times, her voice becoming more and more of a seductive whisper each time. My mind was racing with thoughts of "Should I do this? I don't know, it feels wrong. What happens if I say no? Will she leave me? I can't lose her. I can't be alone!" To this day, I can't clearly remember if I actually said yes or not, but regardless, I didn’t say no, and I did what she wanted. I know now that it was all part of her tests to see how far she could push me little by little. Soon after that came grinding, and then sexual touching (all with clothes on). Over time, these memories have become a bit unclear as to exactly what happened and when. She started asking me to take my shirt off to cuddle. I thought that was a really weird request, especially still being very self-conscious about my body image, when shirtless most of all. I asked her why, to which she responded, "I like skin to skin contact." Though it made me feel uncomfortable and a bit ashamed, I complied and took my shirt off. She would affirm me and say how attractive I was to her. She would then become more passionate and eager to cuddle and make out. With the sexual touches, there became less and less clothes, down to underwear. She always gave me high praise and told me how good I made her feel, how happy I made her, and how much she loved me. I wanted to do anything I could to make her happy so that she wouldn't leave me. After dating for about a month and a half, we had moved up to oral sex. At this point, I was still so naive and uneducated that I thought I had lost my virginity. In my mind, this meant that we were eventually going to get married for sure. It only kept ramping up. If she wasn't on her period, we were engaging in oral sex every day, sometimes multiple times. We were always together every day. The longest we were ever apart from each other was about a week. By some miracle, we never went all the way, even though she constantly wanted to, and I still have my virginity to this day. However, with her kinks, she wanted me to be rough with her: to choke her, spank her, pull her hair, talk dirty, etc. These were all things that I was greatly uncomfortable with. At my core, I've always been a very gentle person, a hopeless romantic who wants to always respect women and keep them from harm. The thought of doing these things was horrendous to me, but it was what she wanted. I originally thought that I was the one fixing her, but I realize that she was the one breaking me instead. Or rather, I was broken from my first breakup, and she rebuilt me in her image. I became what she wanted me to be, putty in her hands. After being together for about 10 months, she suddenly broke up with me over text. The best reason I can come up with is that she finally got tired of my refusal to go all the way, the one boundary that I kept in place. I heard later that she had already been cheating on me anyway. Soon after we broke up, immediately in fact, she started spreading rumors. The day after she broke up with me, she blocked me on social media and posted about our breakup (one of my friends showed me the post). From there, it was one rumor after another. She even went as far as to tell some people that I raped her. Thankfully, anyone that knew me, knew that something like that could never be true, so that rumor never got anywhere. Still, I became extremely paranoid from that moment, always looking over my shoulder, wondering what people thought of me or what they've heard. To this day, I still have a lot of trouble trusting people, and I often get paranoid that everyone is talking behind my back, conspiring against me, planning to leave me. The breakup broke me in a different way than any other. I had been going to church for my whole life, but it wasn't until after the breakup that my eyes were opened and I felt the weight of sin crushing down on me. I tried to turn myself around on my own, but I got nowhere. It took me reaching the point of almost taking my own life that I finally realized that I needed help and couldn't do it alone. I talked to my mom about almost everything I was going through. Though I was never close to my parents, and I was always afraid of them when I was growing up, they were very supportive of me, and helped me to find therapy and get the help I needed. Today, I have a much better relationship with them. After letting myself be rebuilt in her image, God allowed me to break again, so that I might finally be rebuilt in His. It wasn't until reading the book "unwanted" by Jay Stringer, and going through "safe environment" classes at my church that I started to realize that I was groomed, manipulated, and abused. To be honest, I still struggle with this concept to some extent to this day. I don't tell many people because of fear that I wouldn't be believed. Who would believe that a younger girl groomed an older guy? It certainly isn't a very common occurrence. Part of me still blames myself at times. I feel like I should've known better. Part of me wonders if it was what I wanted all along. Part of me wonders how consenting I was. Part of me hates myself for not being able to just say no. Regardless of if these are truths or lies, I know I can't let them control me. I have to leave the past where it belongs and continue to live. Healing is possible, though it may not be easy. I've started sharing my story more, and while I'm unsure of its effect on other people, I know that it at least helps me in some way. I wish to share my story. To educate others. I may feel like what I went through was part of God's plan, necessary for making me the man I am today, but I still want to try my best to protect others from the same fate. Though I tend to grow the most after each time I'm broken, this is not the way it needs to be. There is a better way! Let this be a message to everyone that you are never truly alone! There is no need to fear people leaving you. Some people may leave, others may not. It should never change who you are.

I have tried numerous times to share my story. Although my story is 40+ years ago, I am just beginning find a very painful path to healing. As a male abused, abandoned and left to survive without support I think makes my story harder to relive and tell. Thank you for this safe space. Hopefully soon I can return and tell my story.

It was my cousin and it happened more than once. I tried to downplay it, and I still do. The first time he pressured me to touch him. The second, my sister was there too and she ended up taking her shirt off. The third time, he took off his shirt and told me to put something in my body as he watched. I ended up getting an infection. I didn't equate any of this to abuse, because we were both young and he never touched me. I talked to someone for the first time yesterday, and I now realize that even though I may think it is insignificant, it still bothers me, which makes it important. I may have thought it was "not as bad" as other things he could have done, but trauma is trauma. I have behaviors I now realize are a result of the sexual abuse - I can call it that now - and I am now trying to dissociate the two. I am my own person and I got through it. You can too!