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This is not really a story, but I wrote a letter to my rapist which I will never send. I don’t want to keep it in, not be alone with it. I want somebody to hear me even though it’s not him that will listen. I don’t know how I can miss and hate you so much, while still having so much love for you. You did the worst possible thing a best friend could do. You used the trust I had in you to benefit yourself and ignored my feelings along the way. I have so much love for you and I can’t show it, because you don’t deserve my love. You said you cared about me, then why didn’t you stop when I said no? How did you think I was just playing when I pushed you away, kept saying no and “I can’t”. I don’t understand how you played that role so well, everyone fell for it. Your actions never matched your words. When I told you I was raped and I don’t want to sleep with you, you said that’s okay, you’ll wait. The next thing I know, you come into the bathroom and ask me if I want to fuck. You said you never wanted to make me feel uncomfortable, yet when i clearly was, you didn’t give a fuck. You literally said “I know you can’t, but I’ll keep trying until you say yes.” Wtf man. I trusted you. I believed you when you told me you knew what I was feeling. It must be the truth, right? You were so sure about my feelings, that I started to believe they were real. When I realized that maybe I didn’t have those feelings and told you, you asked me how I could do something like that. Break your heart, lie to your face, that I’m a psychopath for playing with your feelings like that. And once again you talked me into what you wanted. I didn’t want to loose you, so I thought if this is what it takes to keep you in my life, I’ll try. But you kept pushing. You raped me. I know you don’t see it that way. I did play along. I made you believe I enjoyed it but all I could think about during it was, please just cum. In my core I knew I didn’t want this but it made you happy, so I played along. You ignored all the signs I gave you that I feel uncomfortable. I never kissed you first, I never initiated anything, I always said I can’t and no. You purposefully ignored it. You’re not that dumb. You can’t say you’re a good person. You think you are, but you’re most definitely not. I don’t know how a person can be so blind to who they really are. Maybe you’re not? Maybe you knew exactly what you were doing. I like to think that the real you was the person I trusted with my life, the person I ran to when I needed comfort, you were my safe place. But I know that’s not you. You’re the person that manipulated me into a “relationship” with you. You’re the person that raped me, followed me and made me have panic attacks. Even when I was trying to hide from you, you found a way to get to me and make me feel horrible. You deserve an explanation for why I stopped talking to you? That’s what you repeated endlessly. I tried to give you one, you started laughing. At that point I saw the real you. The manipulative you. The you that doesn’t want to hear anything except what you believe to be true. You don’t really want an explanation, you want to get an opportunity to manipulate me again. You’re the victim in your own story. I broke your heart. I hurt your feelings. But you know what, you took something from me that I’ll never get back. You made me feel horrible. Like I was wrong for not wanting to sleep with you. You made me doubt myself. Everytime you raped me you took a piece of my heart and I don’t know if I’ll ever get that back. I told you everything, sometimes I felt like you knew me better than I know myself. You made me feel excited about my future. You gave me so much hope about being able to choose my own path. I loved you. I loved the way you made me feel. Safe. Seen. Full of potential. Happy. Now I look at you and my chest starts to tighten, my heart beats faster, I want to run, get away from where ever you are. You made me feel fear when I saw you. Fear. And you knew that, you knew I didn’t want to see you and still you came over whenever there was a chance. Every time I saw you, I could feel all the love I still had for you. It hurt so much, that I can love a person this much and fear them at the same time. My mind can’t comprehend what you did. It was so out of character. The more I thought about it, the more it wasn’t though. You gave me hints to the person you really are and I just ignored them, thought they weren’t that important. Thank you for teaching me to never overlook and fall for that again. I was always told I am really grown up for my age. I never wanted to be, I just had to. Growing up I was the only person I could depend on. I learned to deal with stuff myself. But this, this didn’t make me stronger, this didn’t make me wiser. This shattered my world. I have to learn to trust people again. That has always been a big issue for me, but I got it under control. Now, I isolate myself. I have so much anxiety that I just can’t handle it. You gave me that anxiety. I hope I’ll be okay someday, I know I need to work hard for it. I know you’ll be okay in a week. You’re gonna tell people I’m a crazy bitch who broke your heart and you did nothing wrong. That’s what happened with M. You know he didn’t even ask me what happened or if I was okay. He just told me that it’s my job to go and check on you, because I broke your heart. I knew he was your best friend but I thought I was his friend as well. You probably felt good about the fact that he hurt me so much with that Facebook message. And how he hurt me, I can’t even put into words the betrayal I felt. I know that has nothing to do with you, but I just needed to let you know. I wish I could talk to you, I wish I could hug you, I wish you were the person I thought you were. I know that’s not possible and that’s okay. I will grief and I will miss you. I don’t know if that will ever stop, I hope it does. I just want you back, it’s like you died. You did die. The version of you I had in my head, my safe place, my best friend is dead. And I don’t know how to grief a person that is still alive. You’re still here and I know I could just call you or send you a message but that’s not the person I want to talk to. I want to go back in time and I want you to just accept my no. Why didn’t you accept my no??? I hate that I still love you this much. I love you so much. I can deal with the rape, I’m strong enough to not let that affect my worth. What I can’t deal with is that you were the one that raped me. You. Why did it have to be you?

I was about 8 years old when I was getting molested by my older brother. He's about 4-5 years older than me. I'm an adult now and finished college. My brain had repressed the memories of it for years and I didn't really remember it well until I was in therapy while at university for stress and depression. I think talking about my upbringing in therapy and my relationship with my parents finally made the memories surface. I always knew something bad was going on, I just didn't understand it. I remember multiple instances. He'd have me lay face down on my bed and pull my pants down to "massage" me. I think he only ever groped on my ass cheeks, but I can't remember. He did that multiple times. He came into my room once and made me get naked and he got behind me and laid on the floor behind my bed, out of view if the door opened, and he told me to not look and just sit back. I felt his penis and began to freak out, so he stopped. I think he was trying to penetrate me. I don't think he ever actually did. The last major time I can remember, I went into his room because I liked watching him play video games. He made me get naked again and lay in bed next to him naked. I felt him rubbing his penis on me. My mom opened the door and saw we were naked and began yelling. I was so scared anytime my mom yelled at me. I got out of bed quickly and got dressed. I was shaking so bad it was difficult. I ran out of his room to my room down the hall as she continued to yell at him. I thought I was in trouble too, even though I never understood what was going on. I just felt weird and gross after. She never came to check on me. Not that I remember at least. We didn't talk about it, she didn't take me to get help, there was nothing. All these years later, my mom called one night and I confronted her about it. I have no contact with my brother now and she'd always ask if I talked to him or talked to dad (they're divorced). I finally told her what I remembered. She said everything I expected her to say. She said she was sorry, that she thought it was only once and didn't want to imagine it happened multiple times. She said she failed as a mother and she thought at the time that she had handled it after threatening my brother to never do it again. No report, no doctor visit, no therapy, no help for me. I don't think she ever even told my dad. Just that she's sorry and should have done more. She said everything I already assumed she would and had played out in my head a hundred times before I ever asked her about it. None of it made me feel better to hear. I know the type of person she is already. Emotionally stunted, self-centered, victim complex. She hadn't changed much at all since then. She got upset and cried and eventually we both hung up. For my brother, I just finally stopped talking to him. I blocked him and I don't go to my dad's in case he's there again. I think the last time I saw him was almost a year ago. We didn't talk anymore anyway. I'd try before I remembered what happened. I think he remembers too and can't face it either, so we were never close after we grew up. I'm still processing how it all affected me. I honestly hate my mother more than him sometimes since she was the adult and did nothing. I'm not sure what else to say.

Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

Just words. You have trouble talking about these things. You realize you have trouble talking about a lot of things. You remember being excited about your first job at Company Name. One of your friends works there and you know a lot of people work there as a summer job. It’s the 1990’s and it’s been grandfathered in that they can pay you less than minimum wage because it’s like a part time training experience for students getting their first work experience. Like a newspaper route. Those are for boys. You got so excited after being nervous you asked for an application along with your friend. You don’t remember meeting him then. So many people want to get chosen for that crap job because for some reason it’s become a sought after thing among the cool kids. You do remember the phone call that you can come for an interview. Walking home you wonder if being cute and having larger breasts than most almost freshman girls had something to do with it. You met Name and remember him for sure this time. The way you look has been a curse far more than a blessing. One reason people would not feel that bad for you. 'God sure blessed you, honey." You have so many bad memories, blocked memories, repressed memories because of Name. You are having second thoughts as tears build up. You need a drink. You quit drinking years ago and today you have three months and eight days sober. Your record is nine months and two days. You are strong. Most of the time. You are hollow. All the time. Name wasn’t the last but he was the first. You change his name although you don’t want to. He is the symbol of your hatred of all that is wrong with men. You were tricked. Name got what he wanted from you. Too many times. Too many times before you stopped going back. Just stopped. You could have just stopped after the first time he held you close and caressed you before your mom picked you up that night. The first time. You still don’t understand or forgive yourself for that. You had let a boy at a party and a boy at an 8th grade dance put their hand up your shirt. You had liked it so much those times. It had been exciting and happy. Name did not make you happy. You went back. You want to talk about something else now. Not the other men who thought your body was their plaything. Not the time you went to Ireland with your Aunts and mom. You miss mom. That was a good trip. You got back to that a lot. You sat down to talk about things you don’t talk about. On a family trip to Adventureland you asked your cousin if was considered losing your virginity of a boy did it to your boobs. You pretended it was a cute boy, not Name. It was hard to breathe with him sitting on your torso thrusting. You sometimes break things and scream. Never when your son is around. You have two jobs and don’t really like the one that pays the most. Your college degree does not count much. How much life is wasted on despair and doubt and taking the wrong path? You feel relief when he finally finished. You hate when he finishes because you know he is stealing his ultimate pleasure from you when he has a wife. He acts like it was just another day at work to keep you on his leash. You are pathetic. His remnants are inside you every time you go home after closing with him. Just another miserable day in the life. You say nothing. You tell no one. You are worthless except as a vessel for him. Your parents say nice things to you, about you. They always have. They have to. They don’t know what you really are. A black shame is the times you felt pleasure in your body while he was doing it do you. At least while you remained quiet and motionless there was some dignity. Defiance. Insult to him. When your body and voice reacted like you liked it it was a betrayal. Like you liked that tub of disgusting man on top of you and inside of you, fucking you on that tile floor, kissing you like a lover. You befriended a group of guys by mid high school. Over a year after Name was more than thorn in your soul. A deep callous. The group figured out what you were. They played football. They were important and had strong will. They shared you and passed you around. They told you they loved you. That you were the coolest girl. They took what they wanted when they wanted. Why? Name 2 was you lab partner for biology. He was the first. He was the only one your age. You went in his car for lunch and met some others. They wanted you. You volunteered. It is all you are good for. Draining them of their juice so they can be happy and feel like men. So you can feel empty and dirty. Even after they graduated they got together for group fun, or had you sneak out at night to go for a ride. You headed far west after you graduated. A fresh start. An exodus. An escape. You went to one reunion. The ten year reunion. Name 2 came with his wife. He introduced you as his ex-girlfriend. You let hm take you to the disabled restroom and have his quickie. You went to the bars afterward and ditched your real friend and let Name 3 take you back to his hotel room to live his fantasies just because he claimed that he always loved you. They say attractive people have sex more frequently with more partners than normal people. The darkness behind that statement is that for females it is no always because they want it that way but because of the relentless pressure from men and how they will do anything if they get the opportunity. You are not a nice innocent girl. Would you have been if it had not been for Name like you want to think? Would you have let your much older cousin you barely know take you back into the woods with him behind their house to the shack where he smokes pot after a wedding. Then wait there for him to call his friends after he found out you were a bad girl and wait for them too. Swatting flies in your underwear while you waited for them. You did not drink because your mom did not allow it even though kids younger than you were. But your cousin and his local friends did. Four of them counting your cousin old enough to be your uncle. Still, you acted like you liked everything they did. They took it so far like you were the world's greatest toy. Porn star, they called you like it was the best thing you could be. The anal was excruciating. It was easier to just wash off all your makeup than to try to fix it after all the sweat and sticky. Smiles and complements followed by the deep hollow feeling of total isolation in the station wagon on the way back home from Kansas city. Hating Name and feeling like you betrayed your aunt because one of them was her fiancé. You got an infection and it was embarrassing when the doctor told you. At least it was a female doctor. The idea of a male gynecologist is unnerving. The one time you were examined by one was terrifying. You were in college. He was way too thorough and talkative like he was working up to asking you out on a date and you decided never again. The only one you ever had that did not wear gloves for the breast exam. The most sensual digital vaginal exam you ever had to check the cervix and ovaries for pain. Was his thumb supposed to be brushing your clitoris? You even wonder if he was recording it on his phone that you saw him adjust twice as it was peaking out of the breast pocket of his lab coat. His stupid November mustache he asked you if you liked. So some days you don’t eat. You exercise to maintain the body they want. It gives you value to them. You are nothing. People always say nice things. Hollow things. What if you had never met Name? What if you never got fucked on the floor for $3.45 an hour. On your back, on your hands and knees, sometimes even on top of him. Your first orgasm on that floor that smelled like stale milk and bleach. Having to tell your mom pick you up 45 minutes after the place closes for your cleaning duties. You used tampons just to keep from his semen leaking out on the way home. You pretended to be a virgin when you were far from it. He told you not to worry because he had a vasectomy. That part must have been true. You don't got on dates even though they always try to set you up. Not a chance. Your son is a good excuse. And a real reason. Real love. The Earth spins in space. Why can’t it just freeze and die like me? Your boss doesn’t go all the way with you because he won’t cheat on his wife. You give him oral because he doesn’t think that counts. Preserves his purity. He says he wants to so badly, like he can take whatever he wants from you but he is strong and valiant. You are nothing. He is handsome. You let him kiss you and fondle you. You long for his touch. He is not a great man but you long for him. The closest thing to a good man you have known. A father figure. Your son needs a father figure. He is everything. He deserves better. He loves you. He tells you are a good mom and that is worth enduring the world for as long as it takes. You put on a good face but he knows you are hollow, deep down. A wounded duck pretending to be a swan. Always pretending. Was there no pretending before Name? Maybe not. The days begin and your mind pretends and it is hard and the days end. Bad dreams on both ends. Will he be a good man? The funny thing is you want him to be a prince because he is your prince but even if he is like most men you want his total happiness. You want beautiful girls, good times, and strong friends for him. You exist to fake it and to have let those men enjoy you but mostly to give your son the best life possible beyond you. You are not worthless. It is not your fault. You are stronger than you know. Hollow words. They have to say it. They always have. No creativity. No insight. No truth. Just words.

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.

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.

I was used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

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.

Im struggling to get my head around what to do and who to speak to. I was comfortably asleep and cuddling my boyfriend and had my head kind of on top of him, i woke up slightly and he was moving my hand to his crotch that was h*rd and at that point i was wide awake with my eyes still closed wondering what he was doing, i opened them a little and pretended i was moving in my sleep but he kept on using force moving my whole arm and hand to touch him and i didnt know what to do so i was still and he took out his phone like he was gonna take a picture. He knows i wouldnt want to do that and I dont know what to do or how to feel, i confronted him about it when i ‘woke up’ and i was in shock shaking, we were arguing and he started crying and long story short i ended up comforting him. he never truly said sorry once and i just feel lost because i have so much love for him but i genuinely never want to be with him again but the thought of never speaking to him again hurts me, and i know he wouldnt live without me. which is what scares me because im the only one there for him, i dont know what he would do without me. i just need help on a decision please im feeling very alone in this.

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.

You hear it all over the news. You see it in films and tv shows. As women, we are often warned, and we hear comments about ‘safety in numbers’ when you go to the toilet. ‘Watch your drinks’ when out and about. ‘Don’t show that much skin, cover up’. ‘You can’t wear that.’ ‘Get a taxi home, it’s not safe to walk’… unfortunately words can not protect you from the intentions of others. I went on a night out with friends, a reunion that started off so well. I remember the dancing, the constant flow of drinks…pints, gin, vodka, sambuca to name a few. Yes, it is not ideal to mix however, when you are reminiscing, and your group had a booth with a table full of drinks; you would probably do the same! Anyway, the lights flashed, the music bounced off the walls and suddenly a trip to the loo mixed with alcohol on a busy autumn international night in Location…makes you forget what floor you left your friends on. Fast forward to the smoking area alone on the phone, where I swayed and debated leaving. “A taxi home would be safer than walking in the rain”. Before I was allowed in, I had to pay by card, he insisted on no cash. I entered the taxi behind the passenger seat in the back and it began. The looks through the rear-view mirror were instant…my memory of the journey is absent until we reach my corner. My directions at this point were now ignored but I trusted him. He parked, away from my house. He locked the car with me still inside. He looked back. “Kiss me”. He had hold of my wrists and climbed through to the back where he began to sexually assault me. I am unsure for how long this lasted but he later broke away and asked to use my toilet. This enabled me to get out of the car so…I said yes. Why I ever thought I could get into my house first in a pair of heels whilst heavily intoxicated I do not know, but even so, I looked back to see how ahead I was…even now I can see him running down that pavement to reach me at my door. In my own home, he was in control. He stole my breath, he stole my voice, he stole my body. He raped me. No one ever prepares you for an event like that, or even how to tell your parents. I went to SARC, I did the forensics and repetitive questions, and I was told it would take years of my life away if I were to take it further. So, I went back to work the following Monday as I had a responsibility to fulfil. It weighed on my shoulders. I knew there was an expectation. Many google searches informed me of my next steps…I made an anonymous complaint to the Police, and everything began to move. Everything became intense…I was living out what felt like a BBC drama. Months later he denied it in court, so we went to trial. The support I received was minimal. I was still working, taking unpaid time off. My close family and friends were those who got me through the days in court, the days in-between and the days I live now. I took away the screen during my time on the stand, I answered every insulting question and remark. I looked him in the eyes, he held eye contact for only a few seconds before breaking into a smirk; as I broke down in the stand. I was torn to pieces in front of a judge, jury and courtroom. In front of him, who proceeded to spin his web of lies which were the complete opposite to the ones he had said in his initial statement. “To be a good liar, one needs a good memory” …He was found guilty. It took 2 weeks for me to be seen as a victim and believed. Fast forward to the sentencing hearing where my main pillars of support accompanied me…I read out my victim impact statement… He got 11 years…a minimum of 8 ½. I got a lifetime sentence, anxiety, depression, dissociation, insomnia, scars and PTSD. February 2024, 2 months after the 1st anniversary; I made my 3rd attempt. A phone call from a friend pulled me back to reality, who later pulled me off the bridge. A mixture of anger, tears and confusion filled the next couple of days, and I knew I needed to take back control of my mind and body. Which is hard when his monstrous hands are imprinted, his poisonous breath echoing in and flooding my ears and the pain weighing heavy on my body. This time I had to do something different. I could not bring myself to hurt anyone else further, so I searched online. I came across The Survivors Trust and after a quick scan through what they had to offer, I instantly thought ‘why wasn’t I told about this sooner?’. Talking can feel repetitive especially when you cannot explain how exactly you are feeling…which is ok in this sense because of their ‘Survivor Resources’. They echo that everyone has a different healing journey and they have sets of resources that have been put together with the survivor in mind…whilst also having a section for those who are looking for help on how to support a survivor they love in their lives. The Survivors Trust then became an outlet for me because even though I am very much at the beginning of my healing journey, I felt responsible and motivated to raise awareness for this charity. No one should ever have to face a traumatic event like this but sadly, the actions of others are something we cannot control. Therefore, I created a Facebook page called ‘Name’ and started promoting my quiz night followed by live music and started a Just Giving Page. I never anticipated a big response; I had a goal of £1000. A goal of raising awareness for the charity, fellow victims and survivors. A goal to inform. The CSEW estimated that 1.1 million adults aged 16 years and over experienced sexual assault in the year ending March 2022 (798,000 women and 275,000 men). 15% of girls and 5% of boys have experienced sexual violence by the time they are sixteen. Every five minutes in the UK someone experiences rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault by penetration. ‘On the face of it, something has to change’ (Prima Facie, 2022). Date he was sentenced. Date 2 I raised a total of Specific amount from site.. People have different opinions on the length of time to which I will be ‘fixed’. “Sometimes, it takes a few days”. A few days, a few weeks; a few months to fully grasp what happened, to trust myself? Living in and out of my own body, not knowing when it is truly me or what is now left. The sleepless nights, the nights that repeat every detail. Every once in a while, my ears go out, ringing as I simply stare into thin air, dissociating and remembering each and every detail without speaking a word. Sometimes it only takes a smell, a name, a piece of clothing, a sound to take me back to these moments. It does not take much to remind the brain of the agony. It’s hard. I float throughout each day, each night, as each aspect of the memory replays every time, I take a second to think…no matter where or who I am with. It is currently day 630…I have finally started EMDR therapy, I am still at times in denial of the events, and I am very much at the beginning of my journey. I am beginning to understand there is no timeframe on healing and with the support of this charity, my close family and name, taking time to self-care and keeping up with my medication is all I can do for now. Everyone is different. Therefore, it is totally natural to heal and deal with trauma in different ways. I work and like to keep busy…some say to avoid/escape the flashbacks but unfortunately, they do not escape me. However, although I have tried many times not to be…I am alive, and I am going to do everything in my power to make sure things change. No one should live in the fear of not being believed. No one should be put into situations where they experience a type of sexual assault. No one should have to go through something they could not control and feel guilty for the rest of their lives. No one should feel alone. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel shame, guilt, embarrassment, regret and the list goes on but I will get there. I am alive today because of the resources and support presented on The Survivors Trust site. My journey is very much at the beginning, and I so wish I knew about this charity sooner. Therefore, this is me giving back as well as letting others know about the charity, not only the victims either…Survivors Trust helps everyone impacted. Raising Amountp is just the start of the work I will be doing for the charity. It is okay to talk, there are people who will believe, who will support in any way they can. Together we are stronger…you do not have to face this battle alone. I have recently continued to share my story and been a listening ear to others on my page Name on Instagram and Facebook. I don't want anyone to ever feel alone in their trauma, in their healing, in their journey. I am far beyond cured. My EMDR therapy has been completed but its like a bomb has gone off...I've accepted what has happened, happened. But it'll forever be part of who I am no matter how many steps forward I take. He gets out in 5 years and is then under watch for 3 years as he is eased back into society - that support has been planned for him. However, if I didn't attempt to take my life 5 times...I would never have been put forward for MH screening by my gp who then referred me for EMDR. I wasn't given any support from SARC or Victim Support - and it's honestly made me feel so defeated yet again by him. Yes, he was found guilty and went to prison in 2023 but I am the one serving the life sentence.

Stare the Stalker Down The beach is nothing like the soft sands at location, my hometown. It's pebbly with gentle waves lapping it's shore. I sit by the edge. Tears roll down my cheeks. They wet the pebbles and the sand. The Freedom is overwhelming. So many emotions. I had woven a blanket over my pain. It's today's date but my story began on a date in the past. I got married that day. The day ex husband told me he owned me. The day he put a curfew on me. From that day I was his. I will never forget date. My 9pm curfew had passed. I was working late. Panic stricken I fled the office. My boss tore after me offering a life, thus avoiding the 20 minute walk. He insisted on stopping at the chipper. I couldn't say anything. You see, I had never told anyone what my life was like. How could I? What would they think? All I could think was "Oh dear God just get me home". Ex husband was there, absolutely livid. Burger, chips, onions, red sauce hit me like a brick. Smash straight into my face. Humiliated and wretched I felt burger, chips, onions, red sauce stream down my crying face. It was one of two turning points. Next morning, I told my boss everything: how if I stayed I would surely die. The relief. Between us we hatched a plan. I told nobody. Two days later I caught the train to City and signed up with some Agencies. When I got back ex husband was at the station. He was so angry. I didn't know it then but each morning he had followed me to make sure I had gone to work. He manhandled me into the car. People stared but nobody interfered. I thought the end has come and I would lie on that cold wet ground. Back home he straddled my chest for the entire evening. I could scarcely breathe. 5am he fell off me having fallen into a deep sleep. I crawled on my hands and knees, heart pounding in my chest, locked the door from the house and ran. Courage comes in all guises. Gloria Gaynor's song : "I Will Survive". I played it, I sang it, in my mind, out loud and I promised myself I would survive. The prayer "The Memorare". How can I thank that Prayer enough? the words helped me at my lowest point. I believed that I would get help from somewhere and today it holds a special place in my heart. I started my new job in City. I moved into a flat with my sister and her friend. Then it started - the Stalking - ex husband new my every move. When I went home at the weekends, he would linger outside my mam's house waiting for me. He constantly followed me. His shadowy figure never more than a few feet away. Beside me, behind me, in front of me. Never speaking a word but just staring. My peace was destroyed. Threats made in the past had not been forgotten. That night he told me that he would get me "not now but sometime in the future and forever you will look over your shoulder you f........ b......." My mam died in year and I visited her grave almost every Saturday as I still went back down to location. My siblings lived there. Always ex husband was there. Skulking behind or beside a headstone close by. I changed my times and my route but it never made a difference. He appeared and just stared. He never spoke a word. I never knew if "today would be the day". I knew his threat was real. Ex husband would crawl drive down the Main Street if he saw me, staring out of the driver's window and follow me until I got to my destination. Cars would beep at him to speed up but he ignored them. The only gesture he would make would be with his fingers "keeping an eye on you". Five years passed. Everyday without exception he appeared at my workplace in location He would follow me back to the flat. He kept pace behind me but never passed. I puked in litter bins and gutters. He made me sick in every sense of the word. I was a wreck. We moved but he always found me. I later found out that he changed his work schedule to flexi-time so that he could make the round trip Monday to Friday and then at the weekends he stalked me when at home. One day ran into the next. He stalked me. I puked. Who could I tell? Who would help? There was nobody. The Police wouldn't believe you at that time and anyway they could do nothing. I mean he hadn't harmed me!! Mentally I was dead inside. I left my wonderful job and moved to the location. I met a wonderful man, husband. We got married in year and in year our son, son's name was born. You would think the stalking would stop! We would go to location at the weekends. So beautiful. I loved the sea. Husband knew I had been married to ex husband but my life with him was too painful to discuss with anyone so I didn't tell husband about the stalking or anything else and thus it continued, but now ex husband had a new hatred in his eyes. My walks on the beach vanished. Ex husband was like radar. Always there. It was so scary. Little by little my life was vanishing. Ex husband never followed with husband came with us. Ex husband would always try and find a way to interact with son's name. Once at a Vintage Car Rally, I let go of son's hand for an instant and within seconds ex husband had taken it and was trying to give him a Dinky car that he had purchased mar dhea for him. I grabbed son's name and left. Trips to Tesco were a nightmare. Son's name would be in the trolly. We would be at the checkout and then always at the next checkout stood ex husband. No groceries and that stare. Staring me down and staring my son down. Back then stalking wasn't recognised as anything let alone a crime and I would have been deemed an "eejit". Then turning point two came: date. Husband's younger brother, brother in law's name came on his holidays to location. He hadn't seen the sea before. The excitement. I felt nervous all morning getting the picnic basket ready and our stuff but it would be okay as husband would be with us. At the last minute, husband got an urgent call out from work. He was on 24 hour call in his job. God I couldn't disappoint the kids. Son's name was now 6, and then I had daughter's name and daughter's name and of course brother in law's name coming for the first time. Our house was at the bottom of a lane. There was ex husband behind the lamp post. I tried to ignore him. The beach would be busy. Once he saw no husband that was it. He started to follow us. Up the quayside ex husband walked behind us. He didn't pass, didn't speak. Over the bridge, still behind us a few feet. I could see brother in law's name looking wondering why that man was not passing us out! Passed the duck pond and over to the beach. He still followed. I remember the day so well. A beautiful Summer's day. Hearts bright and excitement in the air but my heart was pounding, scared shitless. I put down the blanket, the kids leapt about with excitement. And then there was ex husband! Practically on top of us. Not more than a few feet away. Lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, facing us, staring and staring. I felt sick. My head pounded and my heart was beating in my breastbone. If I get into the sea with the kids what will he do? I couldn't leave our things. I didn't know what he would do. I was afraid to go, afraid to stay, afraid to let the kids go to the edge, afraid for all of us. I packed up the picnic and headed home. Ex husband followed. Matters were taken out of my hands when I got home. brother in law's name told husband about the man following us and that he was scared of him and he described him in detail. Husband figured it out very quickly and then I told him what had been going on all of these years, since year to be exact! I thought he would be angry at me for not telling him but he just held me close and told me that it was going to be alright. A person doesn't have to be imprisoned for their freedom to be taken from them. I learned to "stare". Husband taught me. I had staring matches with my siblings growing up but now this was different. This I knew was life changing. I need to stare ex husband down and that took practice, a lot of practice. I know it sounds absurd but learning to hold a stare for a considerable length of time is no easy task. Everyday after dinner, we held our staring matches, Husband and I. Our gazes fixed on one another and I knew that I would have to hold that stare for a long time to get the better of ex husband. I felt like giving up so many times. Several weeks later in location I was attending my parents' grave and sure enough just as the sun rises there he was. I knew husband wouldn't let anything happen to me and that I now knew ex husband was a coward and a bully. Once stood up to, they cower and slink away into the hole from which they came. Ex husband stared, I stared. I could see the hatred in his eyes. The date came flooding back to me. I kept staring. He got so angry but his stare never wavered and neither did mine. I prayed to every Saint in Christendom. I prayed that my mam and dad would somehow get up out of their grave and get him. I prayed the Memorare like my life depended on it and I sang in my mind "I Will Survive". I was determined to take ownership of my life. My eyes burned, blurred, watered. Oh God let this over soon, I prayed. But he just stared and stared for what seemed like an eternity. Then as quietly as he had entered the graveyard because I didn't hear or see him come in, he left it. I fell to my knees on my parents' grave and wept. Sixteen years had passed since I left ex husband and the stalking ended but it took until 2022 - a full number of years later - for me to walk on a beach on my own. I know so much more now. In 2020 I contacted a support service. The gave me the skills to cope with ex husband and I continue to work with those skills. I know I should have told husband, and should have told my family, but I never did. I was so ashamed, but I can speak about it now. My friends in location came back out of the woodwork. I thought they had deserted me, but ex husband had warned them off in no uncertain terms and they were scared. date is my special day. It's the day I sat by the calming waters and felt proud of my achievement. I might not ever stop looking over my shoulder but I am working on it. I wanted to tell this story in the hope that it might be of benefit of somebody else.

Seeking Justice and Support After Sexual Assault and Harassment in Japan I am a woman living in Japan, currently facing a severe situation. I experienced sexual assault in Japan, resulting in PTSD and depression. In Japanese culture, it is difficult for victims to raise their voices, and my suffering is often ignored in society. This has left me feeling isolated and deeply distressed. While studying in Canada, I was able to live safely without experiencing racial discrimination, male chauvinism, patriarchal attitudes, or misogyny. However, after returning to Japan, I faced power harassment, sexual harassment, and moral harassment at work, which has further exacerbated my mental distress. Moreover, my employer provided my address to the perpetrator without my consent, which has severely threatened my safety. The perpetrator's lawyer also obtained my personal information from the ward office without following proper procedures and used it without my permission. This has been an incredibly terrifying experience, making me feel constantly vulnerable and unsafe. Additionally, since the perpetrator was not prosecuted, the National Police Agency rejected my application for victim compensation, leaving me unable to cover my medical expenses and facing significant financial difficulties. This has added a layer of hopelessness to my already overwhelming situation. I also consulted the police, but they told me to call them only if the perpetrator showed up at my house, leaving me without support. In Japan, owning weapons for self-defense is prohibited by law, making self-protection extremely difficult. This lack of protection leaves me feeling powerless and exposed to further harm. Although Japan is often considered a developed country, the reality is different from what many people around the world believe. Outdated values from the Showa era still persist, and the legal framework for addressing sexual crimes is inadequate. This systemic failure compounds my sense of injustice and helplessness. Japan's welfare services have their limitations. In the type B continuous employment support system, I can only earn about 650 yen per day. Moreover, the facility's regulations prohibit part-time work, making it difficult to improve my financial situation. I strongly wish to lead an independent life, but the current circumstances make it incredibly challenging. I also have a lawyer, but the fear and anxiety caused by the perpetrator do not go away. Every day is a struggle, filled with anxiety and dread. In Japan, enduring hardship and suffering in silence are often considered virtues, making it difficult for victims to speak out. This cultural expectation to suffer quietly adds to my emotional burden and isolation. Therefore, I sincerely hope to receive objective advice on my situation. I have sought help through Chat GPT to articulate my situation clearly and seek support from a global audience. I am desperately seeking support from people overseas. Any form of assistance would be greatly appreciated. Please, hear my voice.

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 was 16 at the time. I had been with my boyfriend for 1 year. He was my very first boyfriend, very first everything. For the whole first year he love bombed me. Bought me tons of presents, wrote me paragraphs, and told me he loved me after the first date. When I turned 16 we decided to have sex for the first time. We were both virgins at the time. The first time was consensual we both agreed that we had waited long enough. However, I didn’t enjoy it (I later have figured out I like women). I had a very low libido and he would get into arguments with me about it. Saying that I owe him sex because of everything he did for me and my family. Every time I ended up giving in. I ended up having sex that I didn’t want to have. One day after a big argument we had he said to me “tomorrow we are going to have sex because the intimacy will solve our problems”. I agreed with him because I thought maybe it would. The next day came and I was not in the mood. I told him no countless times. He told me I have to because I agreed to yesterday. We ended up on the floor me on all fours silently crying while he pounded inside me. I sat in the bathroom for 20 minutes crying afterwards. I had no idea what was happening until I broke it off 2 months later.

They say that the people you love are supposed to protect and care for you. I believed that for a very long time, until January 26th, 2021. That day changed my life forever. I had been talking to this boy on and off for over a year, and I loved him very much. Looking back, I was very naive and oblivious to the fact that he was manipulative, spiteful, and all around just a horrible person. He would control every aspect of my life. What I wore, who I hung out with, what I did everyday, what I ate. I was a prisoner. I had him over to watch a movie, and told him before hand I didn’t want to do anything. He came over, snuggled up with me, and we began watching a movie. You know that feeling you get when something wrong but you just don’t know what, I had that feeling, but ignored it. He kissed me, which was okay with me. Then he started groping me and pinning me down so I couldn’t move. I froze up, I had no idea what was happening and I was so scared that if I tried to stop him, he would get angry and just do whatever he wanted to me. So he kept going and I was in such shock I couldn’t move or speak. I finally got him off of me before he could, you know. But he left after he realized what had happened. I have been traumatized in my own mental prison and I didn’t tell anyone. His parent is a cop and I didn’t think anyone would believe me over him. I feel so trapped. Over the course of two months, I’ve developed an eating disorder, insomnia, and I have at least four panic attacks a day. It’s actual hell. Only one person knows what happened, my best friend. She’s been my rock through this. I’m starting to not blame myself as much and point the blame where it’s due. I don’t want him to control me anymore than he used to.

I was 16 I just started college when I met my ex he was 17 We talked for a week and then started dating he would manipulate me in to doing things and tell he things and gaslighted me And he would SA me every time I saw him Multiple times I dated him for almost 4 months when I broke up with him On the Date I when to is house and he SA I took my phone from me and when I went to get it he would pull me , drag me and push me away from it buy my arms and legs I broke up with him 2 day later This was almost 2 years old I reported it to the police He also SA 2 other people in the same class Who also reported him

My parents had never allowed me to date someone before so when they told me they trusted you I was so excited. You made me believe that love was pure and that you were honest in your intentions. I was so young when you taught me how easy it is to be drowned out by lies and false comfort. You used my friends and family against me until I had only your support to go off of. You never heard my cries or my plead to stop. You always did what you wanted. When you wanted. I will never forget you for teaching me how horrid someone can be. Even so, I will heal and grow without you in my life.