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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?

The first time I was raped, I did not know it. Blaring music and spilled drinks, you were there Persistent, like a dog. Nagging, Nagging, Nagging. Hands running down my thighs, the phrase “babe it’ll make me feel better.” Your words clanging in my head, pounding like hammers against my ears One phrase slips out of my mouth, “fine just stop asking.” Waking up on the bathroom floor, aching from head to toe Before you take me home, you buy plan b. You had taken the condom off. I cry. My virginity stolen from me, that was my definition of love. The second, oh god the second time. My life plummets. Alcohol burning down my throat, stumbling, falling to the floor, You offer me your bed. Drifting off in a drunken haze, the hands are back But they belong to a friend. Suddenly his hands are choking, digging into my skin, bruising The word “STOP” falls on deaf ears. The tears start spilling down my face when I realize I cannot fight anymore and I go limp. Blood between my legs, oh god it hurt. Oh God, Oh God, why me? Why him? The third time, yes there was a third time. Another friend. Another familiar face. More lights, more pain, too drunk to move, I leave quietly the next morning. I always leave quietly. A thought that will not leave, “I am the common denominator” “I am the problem” Rumors spread like wildfire, each one a knife to the heart, a burning in my stomach. My name in everyone's mouths, I am drowning, my voice gone, stolen. No, ripped from my throat, brutally. My story is not my own. My body is not my own. It is filled with the bile and rot and filth of these men, these men who violated my body like I was not a being with a soul, with emotion and a heart beating like their own, but an object. Women are not made to be abused, to be a scratching post for horny, lonely men who cannot control their hands or their dicks. Survivors have to carry the burden. I carry the burden of my rape. The trauma, the shame, the grief, the horror, the anger, the guilt. But to the men who raped me, I give it to you. It is not my shame, it is yours, it is not my guilt, it is yours, it is not my fault, it is yours. And I am free.

It is with great shame that I confess here. I was a passive enabler of abuse. I had been molested as a girl by an older boy in grade school and should have been less of a coward. I finally turned in my husband and ended his incestuous abuse of his own daughter. I deserve the tears I cry. I was a swing shift nurse and usually slept like a rock with my pill. That night I got out of bed after a few hours and wandered past the kitchen to the other side of the house where my stepdaughter room was. It sounded a little like crying, or laughing.  It was hard to tell what was happening at first though the cracked door on the other side of house. My stepdaughter's room. But soon I made out that my husband was kneeling and leaning forward over the bed with his head between his daughter's spread legs. The noises were panting and squeaking from him performing cunnilingus.  This quickly concluded and he took a position lying in bed and although her body was mostly blocked because she was on the other side of him from the door, It was evident that she was giving her dad fellatio. Her head was rising and falling and he had his hand on her head. She was only nine! I left  and went back to bed, wanting to forget what I had seen. Why not talk to him and stop it right away? I should have. But my husband had lost his wife only a few years before, and my step daughter had lost her mother.  The woman had been paralyzed below the waist and had severe back pain.  She took her own life two months after the injury, days after being discharged home from the hospital. There was a lot between them because of their loss that I could never be a part of. The idea that sexual contact was a means of grieving did not sit well with me but I did not want to make waves.  It seemed voluntary on her part. I loved my husband. It had taken a long time to find him after much hoping and dating and heartache and searching. So maybe I was selfish for wanting to keep my husband. I did not know if it happened very often. I turned a blind eye..   For at least a year and a half I did not get out of bed if I woke up in the middle of sleep time. Then on a Friday night, after I had worked a night shift and stayed up to run errands during the day, then attended my stepdaughter's dance recital where she performed ballet, jazz, and hip hop with her troop, I crashed. But I got up, restless. This time the door to her bedroom was closed and probably locked, lights on from below.  The sounds of my stepdaughter in the throes were loud enough that I went out the back door and around to the window, and stood up on the central air unit to see through the large gap in the curtains.  I had a direct view of my esteemed husband, who is quite good to me, up on his knees on the bed, pumping back and forth. His daughter was bent over in front of him with her bare posterior in the air, down on her elbows.  I could see him moving in and out of her and shaking her whole body with his thrusts.  I felt sudden anger.   I regret that my anger was not about what it should have been about. My anger was jealous anger.  Thoughts of my thirty-four year old body and how it could not compete with the firm adolescent body I saw before me, and that we had watched this beautiful curve-developing girl while holding hands with my husband as she danced in different outfits. I was a little jealous then, not even knowing that he was thinking of her, that way. I kept watching him sex her, unable to consider looking away. He slowed his thrusts and collapsed on the other side of her. I saw her shiny body collapse too. Her breath was so deep and fast. They took a couple minutes to recover and I got more upset when I thought my husband was going to fall asleep with HER. But he got up, talking. He dressed and walked around the bed. She got up, seemingly at his command and they hugged, standing up. He smiled at her and turned toward the door. Only then was the spell broken and I hurried back to the door and went in. He was already showering. I never said anything and let it fade, pretending I did not think about it often. I was more passionate and adventurous with my husband, and colder with my stepdaughter.      A couple years later when I found her crying in her room one day while my husband was out of town, I went in to comfort her. It got around to me mentioning her sexual relationship with her father in an accusatory way. She broke down even farther and told me about how she asked him to stop when she started 8th grade. She had become aware how “crazy” it was and begged him to stop if he loved her. He told her he couldn’t stop because he loved her. Something snapped inside me and I helped her fall asleep and then drove to the police station. I turned myself in and my husband. It was very messy and my life has been since. But I don’t regret it. I only regret waiting five years to end a marriage that I should have ended after five months. I deserve all the tears.

he wouldn’t listen to me when i told him i didn’t want to go to his room. i told him i was too drunk and i didn’t feel well, that i wanted to go back to my room. he took me with him anyway. he stuck his hand in my pants and i told him to stop. he did for a moment, then he tried again. i told him no again, and he did stop. we went to bed. i wish he had done more, because now i’m traumatized and having panic attacks but don’t feel like i should be, because he stopped. i feel even worse for wishing he hadn’t. because then my feelings would be valid.

I worked in a hospital kitchen as a food services assistant, I was 23 years old. My brother had died the year prior he was 24 years of age when he passed. I had so much grief inside whilst also trying to work and had just moved out of home. I was a lost women learning my way on my own. He was 28, he worked as the dishwashing man. I was instantly intimidated by him and his personality, his loud voice, and the jokes he would come up with, but also somehow extremely intrigued by him, and how he manages to charm everyone he works with, how he is so muscly, tanned, jet black hair and gives off so much confidence within himself, it was hard not to be charmed by him. Whilst washing the dishes he would ask questions out loud " anyone have wild sex on the weekend?". There was a time when I was standing close by to my supervisor (a woman in her 60's) and he came over and asked her if she would go to the movies with him. She laughed it off and told him to go back to work. I remember having lunch break with my female coworkers (They were such good friends of mine at the time) and they would tell me how he had showed them porn at the lockers. I remember them saying how they were uncomfortable but they moved subjects quickly and forgot about it. Not sure how long after but one of them came to me in the kitchen when I was working and she said that he had asked her what she thinks I'm like in bed, and asked her if she thinks id be the kinky type. When she came and told me he was not far away and I think he heard her telling me and he looked over to me, and I wanted to hide. When he left to go collect dishes with one of the girls he would say that if they aren't back soon then they are most likely having sex. He would always give me compliments, say he liked my hair, my nails, this love bombing I took like a hungry fish to bait. I remember one day just saying bye to him as I clocked out and he would just yell out I love you. When it was just me and him washing dishes, he would pretend to wank infront of me and then splashed the water everywhere. One of the older women in her 60's he would always be massaging her shoulders in the middle of the kitchen. (this confused me the most as he was 28.) He would walk past wet floor signs and say wow you must be horny. Nobody ever heard. He would stand at the door way and deliberately look the girl infront of me up and down, and then I knew I was next to walk past him. I even had one of the chefs saying to me, go have lunch with him and you'll be sucking him off in the next 5 minutes. I didn't have that one big moment of omg that was inappropriate he must be trying to harass me, it was a slow feed of inappropriate things being delivered to me like a line of IV fluids in the form of sexual harassment (indirectly and directly). At the time I didn't even realise what was happening to me, I loved the compliments and attention he gave me, because I looked up to him because he was so confident, charming and loud. But I was also so scared of him, He had degraded me and made me feel so uncomfortable with his comments, he had me and my 3 work friends on Facebook and he would send so much porn through messenger and making jokes about the other girls at work regarding porn. I felt embarrassed and humiliated for them. One of my good friends, she use to get him to drive her home, and she said they were making sexual jokes to each other and when she went to get out of the car he pulled her back in, she said she just laughed it off but when she got home she messaged us and told us because she was scared. Later on she would say nobody go in the freezer with him unless you want to be molested. then she walked over to me and told me that he had made jokes about her nipples when she was in there. I still remember the moment that I was like what the hell just happened, I was pushing the dishes on a trolley, when the trolley stopped working and he walked right up behind me as close as he could, and said come on you can do it. I literally panicked and just tried my best to get the trolley going. Once I walked around the corner I had to stop and get my breath. And my mind had shut off from that moment. From that moment I realised my boundaries did not exist. I was being intimidated, humiliated, embarrassed, degraded slowly overtime that I did not even realise it was happening to me until it was too late. Id been manipulated and persuaded to give in, I flirted with him. And before I knew it I was making out with him in his car. Completely scared out of my mind that I couldn't even think whilst it was happening. I remember wanting so badly to show him that I wasn't scared of him. But I was. I was terrified, of what he thought of me, being so unsure of him and his personality, not knowing if he was a good or bad guy. I was an absolute mess after being with him, I felt sick, I didn't eat for weeks. I didn't tell my work friends what I had done, everyday I was going to work and facing him, staring at me, feeling judged and humiliated for giving in and being with him. I wanted to feel okay again, and somehow I was in this toxic cycle of telling myself if I can get him to be nice to me everything will be okay, I asked him to talk one day at lunch, he agreed. I met him in his car and I said to him I just wanted to say sorry for how things have turned out between us. and he said so your wanting to do this again? I said that I was unsure. And then we ended up making out again. Every time it happened, the days after I would be in this faded daze, I couldn't think, I was mentally ill for a while afterwards. The going to work, feeling humiliated, degraded, and like I meant nothing. There were days id beg him to talk to me and explain why it happened, and he would say, I don't know why it happened it just did. I couldn't think for myself, I was relying on him for everything, my thinking, my worth, my reality, which he told me was that I had major issues, was awkward and obsessed with him. For months after I would vomit before going to work, couldn't eat and I was close to a breakdown, the days I went to work with him I looked at the ground, watched him flirting with other girls in the kitchen, and saw him disregard me like rubbish. Tonight I write this, its 4 years on and I have come so far, I still think of this man everyday, and the one thing that I struggle to get closure with, is trying to explain to people how mental manipulation mixed with sexual harassment is one of the hardest things ever to explain in therapy and counselling, I've had days where I've blamed myself still, and told myself that it was my fault and that I agreed to go along with it, I wanted him so badly, I ended up begging my abuser to be with me. I wonder how I ended up being the one wanting him when he was the one harassing me. I've literally had to relearn how to love myself after doing that to myself. I'm still learning after all these years. It takes so much time and effort. But I really hope that one day I will move on. I've said outload to myself that I forgive him, but somedays its really hard. I never got closure from him. And I still doubt myself whether I was sexually harassed. I remember calling him on the phone and he would say everyone knows I'm joking otherwise I would be done for sexual harassment by now. I want to stop doubting myself, I've always known wrong from right. But this man took this from me. And I've struggled in life ever since. I know I need to forgive him. I know what happened did happen. I know my panic attacks were telling me something was wrong. I know that he is a hurt person for doing this to others. God please heal my heart.

My name is Survivor and when I was around age 3, my father started raping me. My mother helped hold me down. He was raping her, and she offered me up in her place. This continued until age 23, maybe 24, shortly before my wedding. By the time I was 6, he was raping other members of my family too. He’d come into my room at night and would throw my nightgown up into the headboard and then I’d have to wait my turn in fear and naked shame while others were raped. We had a large waterbed and I still remember the bed rolling up and down, up, and down, up, and down like on a boat. Once done, he wiped me down roughly with a red shop rag he used in cleaning the garage. It allowed him to keep the rag around to smell it and hold it close with no one questioning why it was so dirty with red stains. Most of the time, my dad was friendly and polite. But once he turned into the monster no one did anything to stop him. He never did these things when he was nice. Only when he was the monster. But he used the nice times to make it easier to attack. He would lull you into a false sense of safety and peace which really made you question your intuition and gut instincts that this was a bad man. This made it easier for him to sexually assault other children and adults. As I got older, my parents controlled the narrative of our lives, every aspect was carefully controlled. Like my mom knowing how to force miscarriages. The first abortion forced on me was when I was 15. I don’t know how I managed to make it to adulthood. I continue to remember more and more of the abuse by other family and church members. And other things my dad did within the church where he was pastor and then later deacon. But I still can’t talk about those memories. I think my dad felt like anything he did was inevitable, therefore, never his fault because he couldn’t control himself and when it happened God would forgive him, so it was all right. I know this because I overheard him grooming another family member to do the same things when he was 11 years old. Males in our family were groomed to be abusers too. I was groomed too. To always be the abused. Forced to keep silent, I learned quickly what happens to people who stand up to my dad. They die or get assaulted. As you can imagine, I had terrible anxiety growing up about being sexually assaulted and worked hard to fade into the background. I thought that might help. I thought it mattered what I wore, color of my hair, how much I weighed. It’s taken years and it will probably continue to take years to unlearn the lies I was taught. The worry made me constantly ill with one thing after another-- I got cancer when I was 32 and before that incapacitating vertigo and motion sickness. My parents met while working down in Texas for an independent fundamental Baptist preacher. Lester Roloff—an Independent Fundamental Baptist preacher who opened homes across the country for “troubled” children, teens, and adults. He liked to say he was saving dope fiends, whores, and hippies. I believe many of the children in the homes had already experienced abuse growing up and Lester Roloff homes should have been a safe place to heal. Instead, the kids met caretakers like my parents. My mom was in a charge of the 16 and older home and my dad flew around the country raising money and preaching the party line: men were akin to gods and women were lower than dirt—their only worth was in being a virgin and then baby factories once married. Very masochistic and minimizing of abuse of any kind, my parents ate up the evil rhetoric being preached from the pulpit My parents eventually took their brand of abuse from Lester Roloff’s out into the churches and communities where we lived-from Texas to Washington and eventually into Alaska. He disappeared in a plane over the waters near Anchorage in 2006. The events surrounding his disappearance were always very suspect but intense pressure from my family kept me quiet. Every day for almost three years straight, a family member called and reminded me talking about “our family issues” was causing generational sin to 4 generations. The pressure to keep quiet and do what my family told me to do was so significant I would have rather died than disappoint them. It wasn’t until I set out to heal from all the trauma, that I found out my dad faked his death. I had always been told since he was gone, there was nothing to be done for what I experienced growing up. But let me tell you, knowing he’s still out there perpetrating on other children and men and women really compelled me to come forward. I finally felt free to start talking. Getting past the pressure to stay silent was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder, even, than fighting cancer. I have spent many years in intensive CBT, EMDR and Polyvagal therapy learning how to process my wounds in a healthy way. I had pushed for criminal and civil suits against my perpetrators but the Texas statute of limitations don’t allow for justice to be done. So now, I spend my time now speaking on panels, podcasts, and community platforms about the intersections of trauma, faith, and advocacy. One of the biggest honors of my life has been sharing my story and advocating for Trey’s Law on the Texas Senate floor in Spring 2025. Forcing a sexual assault victim to keep quiet is what allowed people like my parents to continue their mistreatment for so many years. I will do what I can to make sure justice isn’t minimized by NDAs and Statute of Limitations. My efforts connect me with survivors, true crime audiences, mental health communities, and faith groups seeking to understand and confront abuse. I invest my time in mentoring survivors, creating resources for healing, and building digital tools to expand access to supportive materials. Because living a life whole and healthy is what I really want for me, all the victims and their families. We make our own opportunities to heal.

You never think it would happen to her, but it did. Name was raped. She didn't tell us. When I learned about it, I was shocked. Who would rape a woman in intellectual/developmental disabilities? I write this narrative as my sister's co-conservator. I write this because justice has not been served and healing is a journey. Name has high support needs for her daily care. She relies on a tribe to keep her safe, healthy and happy. A man at her day program raped her when he was changing her adult underwear. The police report states that men were allowed to be alone her. One of them took advantage of her and gave her gonnorhea. She was in pain for months. We didn't know until an urgent care doctor did an STD panel. Other doctors didn't think to do this because "It doesn't happen in that populaiton." Little do they know that people with IDD have the highest rate of sexual asasult- 7x more than those without disabilities, per NPR's "Abused and Betrayed" investigative series. The facility still operates, the criminal case is still open and he is still out there- most likely caring for others. The family carries the trauma. As her sister, I have done so much over the past decade to raise the awareness, but I need help. We need more support. Link.

It wasn’t until I read this platform that I realised what happened wasn’t trivial. A friend at the time told me to go to the gardai, if not for me, but for anyone else who might have been affected or might later be affected, because you just don’t know. I handed them everything, and they did nothing. If it wasn’t for the help of my friends I don’t think I would still exist. I attempted suicide 6 years after it happened because the concept of getting serious with my boyfriend meant in my head that it would happen again. I suffered flashbacks and he was always so patient. I’m happy to say, now that boyfriend is my fiancée, it does get better. I was in college, I had a serious eating disorder, and this guy was the only one who didn’t try to change me but accepted that I was very sick and didn’t demand that I eat. In hindsight that was a huge red flag. He was happier that I was vulnerable and didn’t want me to get better. After a year together he started to get violent. He refused to let me be by myself. I remember very distinctly the first time he got violent on my birthday, and the only place I could be was in my bathroom because it locked. I sat there all day, knowing he was outside, not knowing what would happen next. When I came out, he was just watching tv as if nothing had happened. He would routinely steal my debit card and buy food for himself, knowing that was my food budget for the week, and none of what he bought I was comfortable with eating. He kept me from recovering for two years. At one point, he took every penny I had, and had no money to go home for the weekend. I had to lie and tell my parents I was staying there to finish essays, I was so ashamed that he could control me like that. I was in denial, believed it was just harsh words and he didn’t know himself or his strength, I was just too weak. I tried to break up with him, but he guilted me into taking him back, saying no one else would ever love me. I took him back. We went to a Christmas party, and he made me feel guilty for him because he ‘missed’ the last bus home, so he asked to stay on my couch. I couldn’t say no. He knew everyone else was out at the Christmas party, so he coerced me into sex, as he had done before, but I saw it as a way to give him what he wanted to avoid him getting violent. Until then the sex got violent too. That night I didn’t consent, I actively said no. I cried quietly and when it got worse I asked him to stop. In response, he strangled me till I couldn’t see properly, and left bruises. When I tried to scream he clawed at my face and scratched my retina, leaving me needing glasses (which I never needed before). I bled everywhere, but he just went to sleep with his arm around my neck so I couldn’t leave. The next day I went into uni, and tried to tell a former friend who studied law, but because she was his friend she joked that he was into BDSM and things like that happen all the time if it just goes wrong. After she told him that I had mentioned it he had me sign a ‘contract’ that said how good he was at sex. I honestly can’t remember how he convinced me to do that, it was all a blur. I don’t remember most of that year, but I know he sent me threatening letters that never stopped until I moved house a year later. After that, as she was the first person I told, I thought no one would ever believe me. But a friend, without me saying anything, let me know that he knew something had gone on. Something was wrong, and finally I told him. He convinced me to tell others, to go to the Gardai, to get therapy, to go to the rape crisis centre and tell them. Another friend let me stay at her house almost all the time as he sent me death threats by text and on social media. They pulled me through university and helped me in any way possible, organised for me to have a separate exam hall from him, and even brought me on nights out to know that I was still able to have fun, and I was still loved even after it all. My one regret is not pursuing it further. He’s an occupation now and I dread the idea of someone that evil near other people and in a position of power over others. I lose sleep over it. I wish I could get back the gardai file and insist that yes it was that bad, yes he is violent. I could stay at my own home for two years. I lost several stone with fear and worry. But I finished my exams, I finished my degree, went on to further study and even found who true friends are.

Healing is saying the secrets that you hid from the rest the world so you could get up, put up, and never give up. Healing is not lying to yourself anymore by saying, "Everything is fine." Healing is giving yourself the time to process the myriad of emotions that came flooding in when you finally left your abuser. Healing is forgiving yourself for the choices you made. Healing is not believing all the derogatory things you were called to control you and make you question your worth. Healing is telling yourself that you are strong enough to survive on your own, "You got this." Healing is taking responsibility for any pain or suffering you caused your child to endure because you were too afraid of what would happen if you tried to leave. Healing is finding gratitude in all that you do have. Healing is finding a way to help others that have experienced trauma bonds. Healing is knowing that you deserves to experience unconditional love... Healing is a journey that can help you appreciate living in the moment.

I was taken advantage of by someone who I thought was my friend. It was my first time getting drunk. What Happened After I Was Sexually Assaulted: -stress hives that lasted for two weeks after the assault -vomiting in the middle of the night for several nights -chronic pain that slowly developed and got worse. It doesn’t go away even after multiple tylenol and Aleve pills. Some nights my pelvis feels like it’s being repetitively stabbed -hating my own body and it’s natural responses/functions -intense fear of being touched -intense fear of seeing them in public -intense fear of being alone -suicidal thoughts -sexual issues. Sometimes it’s like the event is reoccurring. -feelings of being worthless -triggered by so many things on tv -lack of sleep -feeling stuck in my own life -inability to concentrate on the things I need to. Like school work. It put a hold on my life -deep distrust for people -depression -anxiety -PTSD It’s just not worth it. Consent matters.

I met name on Tinder at the end of February 2022. A week later I went over to his to talk but he kept making requests for me to perform oral sex on him I kept telling him I wasn't ready and I haven't done it before. When I stopped during it he slapped me across my face and got angry because he said "once you start you can't stop". I was traumatised when he orgasmed into my mouth and I couldn't process what just happened. He then said he didn't believe me when I said NO and that I shouldn't use the word rape because his neighbours could hear and he could get arrested. He showed no remorse and that made me feel even worse so I ended up apologising to him. The following time we met at his apartment we were cuddling and he kept asking for oral sex and said "just do it and get it over with because I am not gonna stop... you're making it difficult". The more times I said NO the angrier his voice got, and he said " you should want to make me feel good... do it or get the **** away from me". He would also threaten to throw me out of his apartment past midnight and I was too scared to walk home that time. I would usually end up following his demands even though I felt my boundaries being violated each time, worse of all when I told him how he made me felt he would say "I don't give a **** and **** off". When it came to sex I felt pressurised to say Yes and when I came to his apartment I told him I wasn't ready. At first he tried taking off my clothes, I was scared and he said " let it happen" I kept saying NO even with all my clothes off. He got really frustrated because I wanted to put my clothes back on and so he said " if you're not gonna **** me get the **** out... if you're not gonna **** me then why did you act like you were". I wanted to cry but instead I apologised. When we first started to have sex it was way too painful for me I kept bleeding and telling name I'm in pain, can we stop please? repeatedly. He would either say NO when I moved away from him, he kept getting angry and said " stop saying that it's not stimulating for me". I kept saying NO to which he replied "I don't care, I just wanna have sex." From that I remember seeing blood drip down to my legs. One time I tried moving away from him during sex so he slapped my face, hit my back and said "I nearly got it in" in frustration. I fell onto the bed. Following things he would say was that I am working against him during sex because I wasn't letting him properly penetrate me, " You should enjoy it, other girls would enjoy it... you don't even like sex".

How does one even know what happened? It’s so far locked away. What if I’m making it all up. I’m so scared that I’ve painted a negative image of these people in my mind for nothing. But then again, I remember one thing clearly. Agony. Pure agony. As I felt helpless. And in the future when I felt unable to say no to any older or larger man, because it hadn’t worked in the past. Why would it start working now? As someone who believed that everything happens for a reason, I struggle to find any sort of comfort in that statement. It’s all messed up now. I know what happened. Maybe I doubt myself because I don’t want it to be true. After my dad died, there was no one left to protect me from these people. I was all alone. Living in a household full of young females. The only solace I’m able to find is that it was only me, not them. I was the one without a say. Whether I want to acknowledge it or not, I am a victim. Genuinely. Even if what I know physically happened didn’t, I’d be in the same boat. Harassed. I shouldn’t have met up with them. I should’ve trusted my gut, what my father taught me. But fear wrecked my common sense. Almost 3 years later and I am just now remembering what my brain tried so desperately to hide from me. I always knew there was something wrong with those experiences. But shied away from any sort of label. I am no longer scared of you. It is time to speak my truth. You. Raped. Me

So I was a woman who thought things like this don't happen to me, until it did. An old friend were meeting for coffee in his apartment, except it wasn't. When he locked the door behind us, I just knew, I told him over and over again I didn't want to have sex with him. He refused to listen, I went in to detachment and froze, all I remember was I got to get out alive, I bearly did. That was over 3 years ago, and I have become gray sexual, fear of sex, or intimacy. It does get better, it's like greif you learn to live with it and move on with it in your life. There is something you loose with out ever getting back. However hang on, talk to a support system, be kind to yourself and learn to love yourself for making it through what no one should have too, it does get better.

Hi um. I'm Z and I'm a victim of cocsa (child on child sexual assault). Anyways, I'll make this quick. I was with my cousins for the weekend and they took me to a friend's house with them. They had a kid my age (10) and one a bit younger (8/9). The one my age wasn't around that much, so I started talking with the younger one. I trusted him, telling him about my nervousness around people (which I later found out to be social anxiety). Later that night, he took me into his mom's room and locked the door. At first, it was just him falling on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I thought it was weird, but didn't think much of it. Then it happened. It gets foggy around here. We were flipping through stations and I thought it'd be funny to watch Peppa Pig. As we sat there and watched, he slipped my hand up my shirt.. I don't think I had started wearing a bra at this point, though I probably should've. It was the summer, so I was wearing a crop top and jean shorts. He tried rubbing down there but the jeans made it hard to feel much. I was so shocked, I didn't know what to do and just froze. I sit there and let it happen. I had to spend the night there. I couldn't sleep much, or that well. I was up, terrified that he'd sneak into the room and do it again. And then he did. Though by now it had been a few years, we'll say about 2. Again, went over with my cousins. It was for Easter. I saw more of his brother this time around. I'm not entirely sure why, but I just remember we kept like, physically fighting - in a "joking" way. I'm not entirely sure how I got there, but suddenly he's on me. He's laying there, groping me, rubbing himself on me and I can't help but wonder - why did it happen again? His excuse was cause I had kicked him in the balls. I still have trouble telling myself that because I didn't consent it's sa but it's hard. After a few years it got out and he was let go because "he was probably just curious". Well I wasn't. Now I have to deal with the long term effects of his "curiosity". And my aunt has brought it up a few times, acting like it's all fun and games. That's all I'm tired it's almost 4AM

In year I divorced my husband of 11 years and escaped a marriage of coercive control and domestic violence. I had never been hit, I was a psychologist specializing and trauma and I didn't know I was being abused until the trauma built to the point of a mental breakdown. My life was in shambles, I had signed a divorce decree that gave myself and my children no protection, I had been shunned by the church that I had been an elder at due to a smear campaign intended to shame, isolate and harm. I found myself engaging in behaviors that were brand new to me as a women that had been raised in and continued to live in conservative evangelical christian spaces. In the wake of the divorce I began to explore my sexuality, tried drinking and began experimenting with THC. I had a lot of fear around these behaviors but couldn't seem to stop myself. Was I a liberated modern woman or did I have PTSD with all its myriad socially stigmatized behavioral symptoms. Living in the bible belt and being shunned as a scarlet letter wearing Hester Prynne caused significant emotional pain, however it was the time that my children were with my abuser that caused the most severe mental and physical symptoms. Within weeks of the divorce being signed the first agency investigation happened. I was terrified, powerless and had no social or family support, working full time and trying to keep my young children cared for a fed was more than my traumatized nervous system could manage and yet I pushed through. The weeks without my children were chaotic and filled with dating and trying to create a new life with relationships, yet I found I had very little ability to ascertain who was safe and who was not. I was raped the summer of the divorce by a tattoo artist who I had been working with for years and believed was my friend. This created more PTSD symptoms which heightened my overall state of fear and panic. I had matched with a man on a dating app named Name and had been talking to him for a few weeks prior to the rape. He had spent two years at a buddhist monastery studying the Tao. I relished the ability to have deep existential conversations as I had been deconstructing my religious faith which in and of itself was traumatic. I no longer knew what to believe in, who to trust, what was real. I had dedicated my life to Christianity and the church had hurt me so deeply. I began a frantic attempt to learn about world religions, ancient wisdom traditions, spirituality, esoteric philosophy and a handful of conspiracy theories along the way. Name and I talked about life, its meaning, Alan Watts, the contemplative life, mysticism and so many things that gave me life. Having very few people in my life led me to go deep quickly, even with strangers on the internet, and he was unphased when I shared my rape with him. Name often spoke in quips, riddles and parables- something I chalked up to his spiritual maturity. He was a man of the world and of wisdom and I was a little disgraced church girl learning about the big wide world. We discussed meeting for a date that finally happened just a week after my assault. I picked him up from a house he rented with his friends. He worked at a local hospital in medical technology with two bachelors degrees, one in biology and one in chemistry. He said his first love was chemistry and he thought of himself as a chemist. Alas the economy was not great and he found this contracting job working the technological components of surgeries, running and updating the computing systems. He was bright and his face looked older than his age. We went to restaurant and I cried, heart on my sleeve about my divorce and fear for my children, the pain of PTSD and the shame I carried being removed from the Church. In response he vulnerably shared that he was gay and closeted, and having worked with many patients who have lived this double life I felt immense compassion for him. At the end of the meal he asked if I wanted to go back to my place to smoke marijuana and I felt safe with my new friend to say yes. I drove us back to my place where he prepared a bowl, sprinkling something on top that he said would "enhance" the chemical properties of the cannabinoids. As a novice THC user and having never taken other drugs before I felt that the chemist would know what he was talking about and I looked forward to the warm high that took me out of my head while also numbing my panicked body. I had never smoked out of a pipe and so Name instructed me to take three big inhales, hold them as long as I could and then releasing them. On the third inhale the room began to crumble into fractals or bright colorful flowers and terror overcame me. I felt my soul get ripped out of my body, the fear and pain were immense and I had no understanding of what was happening. I felt that I had died. I was plunged into darkness, I saw the creation of the world, I was God creating the planet for humans to enjoy and then watched humanity tear it apart, I wept. I knew that I was dead and yet my children's names and faces called to me, I couldn't leave them. I came to conciousnes on my bed racked with fear, I screamed at him to get out, I never wanted to see him again. Who could I tell of what had happened? I was so fearful of losing my children, I was afraid that if I called the police or asked for help I would be blamed and so I survived and stuffed this trauma down with the rest of them and continued to function. When my children were returned to me complaining of suspicious injuries with inconsistent stories. I had a meeting with an early child interventionist who was working with my youngest as the children had been displaying behavioral problems subsequent to the divorce. During this meeting I expressed my fears and was shocked when she informed me that she had a duty to report. I had been in this role as a professional and to have the tables turned felt like a profound retraumatization. I was referred to the family abuse center and given the moniker "victim of domestic violence." Waking up to the fact that I was a survivor of domestic violence was its own kind of trauma and facing the weekend alone with three small children filled me with fear. I reached out to the people who had been community for me before the smear campaign: "I'm in crisis, I need help! can you be with the children and I this weekend?" No one would come alond side us. In that moment of desperation I reached out to Name and another man I had dated briefly and asked them to come jump at the trampoline park with me and my children that weekend. That was how he made his way back into my life. Over the months I knew him there was a second agency investigation in which a friend of mine after hearing about the drugging called in to the organization. I complied with drug tests and cooperated with the investigators who told me I had to chose between Name and my children. The obvious answer was my children and Name was never again around them. That is when his behavior took a dark turn. Unbeknownst to me everything Name had told me about himself, including the spelling of his name, was a lie. He drugged me a handful of times during the months before his death, I would be drinking tea he brought me as we swiped on "cute guys" together on our respective dating profiles and suddenly be shot into another world begging him to comfort me. He inserted something into my rectum at night while we slept leaving me seeing rainbows. I'm not sure what I was given however he did disclose that the first night we met he had given me DMT. I had never heard of psychedelics outside of the brief overview of the hippie movement in history class and had no frame of reference to understand what had happened. He began to brainwash me into believing I had, in fact, died that night. We had long talks in which I wept as he explained that my children had been returned to my house and found my dead body. There had been a funeral. My children were angry at me because my ex had told them I killed myself because I didn't love them. Name then comforted me in my brokenness of being such a selfish mother to do that to my children. He taught me that "life" since the night with DMT was "just a dream" a version of purgatory, my consciousness spinning in space and making up a story. He also told me that my soul had been a "dark angel" and that I was a satanic force, this broke me and I remember pleading and begging with him that I so desperately wanted to "be good" and "be of the light." Perhaps what it most shocking is that I continued to work and parent during this time. These two jobs were grounding for me and took me out of my head, it was in the times where my children were gone that I felt I was slipping into insanity and yet I couldn't speak about this to anyone because I might loose my children, and plus I was dead afterall. Name and I eventually developed a sexual relationship, he was at this point my spiritual teacher, giving me journaling prompts and opening me up to new experiences. He said "friends can have sex" and so even though he was gay we slept together on occasion. One night he hit my so hard in the head after I kissed a man at a bar that my ears rang for days. Shortly thereafter he violently raped me. I fought physically, screamed and exhausted all of my energy until my body gave up and he finished the act of brutality. The feeling I had after was not that unlike the DMT experience, it felt like I had died. "You raped me!" I said, the sides of my mouth so downturned it felt as though my face was a Dali painting melting to the floor. He informed me that it was BDSM and I didn't know what I was talking about, I believed him. Name ended up in the hospital a day after I discovered that my liquor cabinet had been emptied, I remember screaming at him "you're an alcoholic?!" I had never worked with or been around an addict before and the lies and manipulation were something I had no frame of reference for. He went to rehab for a week and returned saying he'd just fallen off the wagon. He got sick right after the new year and the days before my children returned I took care of him. His body seemed to be going out and I knew that he had chronic health problems. He told me he thought he was going to die, and then said he had the flu and winked at me. I wrapped him up by the fire and sang to him. The day after my children returned I hadn't heard from Name which was unusual however I received a call from agency asking me to come in. I took my children to the office downtown where they tried to separate me from them, my youngest wouldn't comply. I sat there as they explained the reason that I had been called in- Name was dead. I let out a scream, what had happened? He has been sick, but it was just the flu. When I attended his funeral I was introduced as his fiance. I was in shock as truth after truth came about about the man I had loved and who had also almost killed me. I came to learn that he had been an almost life long addict who had come to my town for inpatient rehab. His mother shared with me that after one rehab he had been in she had found a journal in which he had invented a whole story about being and army veteran which was not true. I discovered that He hadn't worked at the hospital but rather, when he moved to a sober living group home had gotten part time employment at office max... which just so happened to make the name badges for the hospital in town, he had made himself a name badge to perpetuate his deceit. In shock, I gave the eulogy for this man who I had known for 5 months, someone I clearly had not known at all. The combination of sexual, physical and spiritual abuse I have suffered due to this man is something that I have no words to describe. Recovery has been incredibly challenging and lonely. I wish I could say that the traumas stopped with him, however they didn't. What happened to me 6 years ago is being used to further abuse me in the legal system and in custody trial. Finding the Shine support group was life changing for me. I have a greater understanding of what happened, why it happened and how to move forward without the weight of shame and victim blaming that I carried for so many years. I hope that in sharing my story others may heal too.

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

i’m going to be blunt and straightforward about my experience to maintain the authenticity of my story. less than 2 months into the start of my college experience, i was raped. in one of my most vulnerable and helpless moments, a complete stranger took advantage of me. i won’t delve into the details, but after i pleaded for this stranger to stop he resorted to physical and mental abuse. what was supposed to be a fun weekend celebrating halloween with my friends, ended up being a blur of hospital testing, being home, and figuring out what my life was going to look like moving forward. in those first few days, i struggled to make sense of something i eventually came to realize won’t ever make sense. no matter how many times i was reminded that i was not alone, loneliness always crept up on me; i barely felt any emotions related to the assault or perpetrator. initially, i put an external pressure on myself that i should be more upset. recalling the details of what happened during the assault didn’t phase me in the slightest. why wasn’t i angry at the person who left me powerless? why did i feel so disconnected from everyone in my life? why didn’t i feel the urge to press charges? these were all questions that were consistently circulating through my mind. although these were all things i was told were “normal” and that i shouldn’t feel guilty, i still felt isolated. oftentimes it seemed like people were suprised that i wasn’t shaken or distraught after sharing parts of my story. i found myself increasingly becoming more frustrated and started to distance myself from those who cared most about me. i turned to unhealthy coping mechanisms that only helped me feel better in the short-term. i yearned for control in my life when it felt like i had none; any little sense of control provided me the slight relief i longed for. my healing journey is far from over, but i trust that it will continue to get better. i’m not going to try and hide the fact that i’ve been having a really hard time navigating this, but i’ve also grown in unexpected ways and continue to become a stronger person.

I got married when I was 25 years old. I truly thought it was going to be just an amazing thing. I had never lived away from home and was immediately now married and moving away from my home, friends and family for my husband's new job. The first few months were truly a honeymoon and I thought if this is the rest of my life then I scored!! My ex was in the military and had finished his service right before we married. We moved for his new job and after a few months the PTSD and stress took a toll on him. That's not an excuse it's the truth I saw it manifest and change. His outbursts always ended with the person closet to him, which was me. The first time I was in complete, utter shock. This could not be happening to me. I was from a good family, I was educated and intelligent, I was starting a great career myself, how could I allow myself to be hurt on a regular basis. Every time there was the apologies, the promise to get help, the cooling off time where we had some happy times and then here we went again. I didn't have the courage to leave, I was so ashamed and scared to tell my family. What would they think? Would they blame me the way he did? Would they tell me to stick it out because I was raised that marriage is hard and you have to stick with it and work it out. I tiptoed every day for 2 years but it still happened. Hospital visits for "falls" and other "accidents" became a regular thing. I was miserable and felt hopeless how did I end up there, how could this be my life. I finally confided in a co-worker who never judged me just listened. One day she said if you're not going to leave than don't be a victim, fight back. Give it as good as you get it. Not sure that was the best advice as it started a cycle of back and forth abuse that was in no way healthy. I took a baseball bat to knees while he slept and I ended up arrested. there was many more instances of him hurting me and me hurting him I was now 3 years in to being abused and one year in to becoming an abuser. NOT GOOD. I had some reprieve as my ex took a job in another state for a few years so did long distance but the abuse was still real when he was home. I never thought I would be happy to find out my husband was cheating on me but 8 years in a woman showed up at my door and said she was pregnant with my husband's child. I literally hugged her. I was free, it was over. I packed up up stuff and my car and left. I called him from the road to let him know what happened and said I wanted a divorce. He did not give it easily but I finally was able to go. I found out I was pregnant a month after I left. My ex has never and will never know he has a son. There was no way he would ever be able to teach him to be an abuser. After much therapy and many years of building an amazing life I can finally say I found healing. I have the most awesome son is truly a man and the kindest soul you'll ever meet. 25 years since I married and I still don't have the courage to meet anyone or get involved but life is good. I just want to do what I can to help others.

7 years goes by in a blink of an eye.. 7 years of silence and self-blame. 7 years of feeling impure and out of place. My story of sexual assault started 7 years ago, I was 16 years old. I thought it was a good idea to go out with some friends to a party. Without knowing my alcohol tolerance, without realizing anything, I blacked out after a couple sips. Thinking back, I am almost positive someone may have drugged my drink.. I mean, how could I have blacked out after just a couple of sips? However, my girlfriends cleaned me up and put my guy friends shirt on me and carried me into the car while they went back in to clean up. I remember it was freezing outside as it was a winter season. After blacking out I’ve woken up a few times alone and cold in the car wondering where everyone has gone. Of course just before knocking out again someone comes into the car. I could hear the car door sliding open and close because the car was a van. I remember the sound of how a car door slide because my mom also owned a van. They all sound the same. I was too weak to move or say anything. I saw a masculine shadow coming towards me right before I knocked out. A few moments later I could feel my body telling me I need to wake up. As soon as I open my eyes I felt this entity on top of me doing exactly what I knew he was doing. Raping me. I was shocked, scared, and again freezing. I tried pushing him off. I then prayed. Being so intoxicated I knocked out again. How stupid of me. Another few moments goes by I wake up again to him whispering to me “you know you like that”. Soon after he whispered that I heard my friends laughing and walking towards the car. This scared the hell out of my rapist that he quickly put my panty back on, buckled his pants and whispered “they’re coming” and ran out of the car. I truly believe I was drugged because I knocked out again. Ugh, how foolish am I. I was not educated enough to know that these things happen so often. More than I can imagine. I only hope that I continue to forgive myself for what had happen. 7 years go by and I’m more educated than ever about these things. I hope the trauma my rapist caused me will forever haunt him til eternity.

It happened on a normal night. My boyfriend and I were going over to his brother-in-law's house for a bonfire. He is going through a divorce so we have been trying to be there more for him. He had bought some of my favorite alcohol. As the talking progressed he kept encouraging me to drink more. I did. I drank almost half the bottle of whisky. My boyfriend noticed I was getting a bit tipsy and we all went inside. After only 15 minutes he decided that it was time for us to go. So my boyfriend left me inside while he grabbed our lawn chairs and packed up the truck. He left me inside with his brother in law I can't blame him for what happened next. We both trusted him. He was the type of guy you would call if your car broke down and you needed a ride. He was always genuinely a good guy. I was to the point where everything was a bit foggy. I remember his body over mine and him saying “come here”. He kissed me. I didn't know what to do. I saw him as an almost father figure he was almost a decade older than me. He lifted the two sweaters saying “lets see these things” He started molesting my right breast. He sucked and pinched it. I felt dirty. I couldn't move. I was frozen in fear of what would happen if I did. I had been raped before in high school. I had told him that. I felt like my heart was breaking. I went into shock. I felt like I couldn't breathe right. I heard the door open and felt my sweaters being pulled back into place. I blacked out then. I don't remember even leaving the house or what I said to him but as soon as I got to my boyfriend's truck, I started crying. I remember saying “He kissed me” over and over. My boyfriend thought I meant it was just a kiss on the cheek on the way out. I felt disgusting. I couldn't shake the feeling. I wanted more than anything that feeling to go away. The next morning he had the nerve to ask if I remembered anything and if I wanted to come over. Weeks later that gross itchy feeling is still there. My boyfriend understands exactly what happened. We haven't been out since. We have cut all ties to this man. At the expense of having everyone in the family question why. I can't bring myself to tell anyone. I've been looked at as the victim before and I hate that feeling. It's hard to talk about. I have to drive past his house and the living room where it happened every day to get to work and it sends me into an almost panicked state. I don't know what to do to feel normal again. I feel lost. I want someone to read this and know what happened. I can't tell anyone without messing up my life. So I'm hoping that the one person reading this can relate to their trust being broken, can relate to the feeling of emptiness inside, relate to that feeling of disgust you may have with yourself, or with your body.