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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.

You Are Not Alone You are not alone. So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together. I grew up in a large low income black of flats that was like a village. My mum worked and we went about by ourselves. In the winter we were never expected to be seen if we left. We were in some flat mucking about with some kids or neighbor, and it all worked out fine. I did lose my virginity when I was eleven to a friend of my older brother who was in year ten. But that was no bother because it was not uncommon there, sadly. I am half Brazilian on my absent father’s side and was considered quite exotic and fit. My secondary sexual characteristics developed early. I was reasonably careful and in control. True abuse began years later when we moved out to a proper house with HIM. HE was my mom’s dream man. HE was fit for a middle-aged man. By that time my brother wasn’t with us because he took work in Alaska on a fishing boat. HE was ex-Army and seemed like a good man at first. I was a bit of trouble maker and over-cheeky and my mom gave HIM carte blanche to discipline me like father. We weren’t there the length of a full season when HE started treating me like a tart. The spanking part mom knew about and thought it was funny, even with me being fifteen. HE spanked my bare bum even when she was home. She said I’d always needed a man’s hand to block of my rough edges. It was cringe, humiliating, but nothing compared to what HE did when mum was away. Not to get detailed, HE soon got to a point where I was going to get HIS load whenever there was the chance. Since HE got to set my schedule he made sure there were regular chances. It was my HELL and HE was the Prince of Darkness. He was rough but careful not to leave any marks. Unless time was short I had to shower first. Sometimes after there would be something specific sitting out to wear, like a costume or lingerie, or my netball kit. The grating anticipation of what was going to follow was the real torture. HE would tell me to “Pick a hole”. My holes! My foof was one, my mouth was two, and you’d think I would never select three. But you’d be wrong. I hated HIM. I am very sensitive sexually and if I went with one I looked like I loved it and if I chose two I was doing work to please HIM. Three was the way I could shut down and brace myself without him ever seeing me smile, even if I was facing toward him. When I was strong with hatred I would choose three. I compartmentalized that small but brutal part of my life for my mum. If was a mere thirty to one hundred twenty minutes per a week of 10080 minutes. And I saw no other way then. Mum, for the first time was living a happy life. I could have won a BAFTA for how I seemed so cozy and content for her. It gutted me that my fear of upsetting HIM made it appear that HE had smoothed out my rough edges and made me into a proper lady. I kept my marks up and stayed on the netball team in spite of being the shortest. I kept going. I developed a habit of stabbing mechanical pencil tips into my skin and biting my nailbeds to illicit pain. I had one boyfriend for a short time. I went to the dances. Home was my hell so I did everything HE would allow to be anywhere else. I could not work but he made my mum keep her job so he could have me. My birthdays I would get my way of having a just girls’ night out with mum. There were only two birthdays before I got free of him. College cost 1000 pounds and when HE paid it HE did not know I was not going to be his tart anymore. I had a friend with a home much closer to my school. They had spare bedroom because an older sibling had moved out. Being seventeen, HE couldn’t force me to live with them if I had other safe accommodations. I took employment and paid the meager rent. He got me one more time when I was sleeping back at his house on Christmas eve. Probably drugged mum to keep her sleeping. I made sure he never got a chance again. Through my Portuguese class I met a man who lived in Portugal and invited me to come stay with him as long as I wanted rent free. I finished one year of sixth form and went to Portugal. I had fleeting relations with the man I stayed with but he traveled often we both had our own things. I worked at an American-themed restaurant as a server then. I spoke with my mum on the phone most days. She visited once, with HIM. I missed her and tried not to show much of my sorrow about being forced apart from her. Seeing HIM was horrendous, yet I kept it contained inside like a cancer. It helped solidify my decision. I traveled with a friend to Florida and got a job serving in a posh restaurant. I applied for a work VISA and on my second try I got it. I am thirty-eight now. Only three years ago did I confront my demons because I read online stories about other abuse survivors. It opened up a deep wound so I could start to heal. It was and still is hard work and an ongoing process. I confessed to my mum who had split with HIM after years of her own abuse that she also kept hidden. HE had let her go when she started having health problems, showing his true black heart. She lives with my brother and his family. I regret losing years with mum and my brother and being chased away from my home when I was young but it made me stronger. I have never married but I have a loving partner, two dogs and I speak three languages. I am a physical trainer and work near the beach where I go to meditate and body surf. Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there. Just start and keep climbing, especially when it seems too hard.

Hi, I'm from South Africa, I'm a redhead. I feel its important to know that I was middle class, white and supposedly fairly protected. Yet this happened to me anyway. This was not some stranger who caused "one night of violence" but a far more sinister kind of abuse, that lasted four years, one that has messed with my head my entire life. It started when I was 14yo, I'm now 46, and I'm finally ready to speak up. Im still scared to do this, I am still afraid to put my name on it. I'm so conditioned to believe I'll be persecuted more, that no one will believe me or that I'll be villanized again. But its also the reason I feel I absolutely have to break that hold on me now and tell the truth of what happened, for the first time ever. I want to help girls find their voice faster than I did. I want them to not suffer for years, the way I have. If my story can help just one other person...then it was worth telling. I'm not ready for a blow by blow, we've all been there, we know how our minds leave when we cant deal with the rape. My mind blocked so much of it that my testimony would be disjointed, dates are gone, I'm left with images and feelings that resurfaced about 10 years later. They happened, but I couldn't accurately put it together in a timeline. So instead, a run down. My group of friends all hung out on a farm after school, horseriders. One girl's older brother took an interest in me. I was 14yo, socially awkward and pretty quiet. It was nice having the attention, my mom thought it was cute and melted at the idea of young love. I remember not feeling much of anything really, my heart didnt skip a beat when I thought of him, but everyone else seemed to think it was a great idea and I was getting included a lot more, so we started dating. I remember the beginning was pretty text book, he treated me well, and I actually cant pin point when it started to change. We had sex before I turned 15, I can say I was not particularly blown away by it, it was messy and uncomfortable, and not something I wanted to do again. I think that was probably the start of issues going forward. But though coerced, I wouldn't have used the term rape there. What came after was him wanting more, when I didnt. What started as coercion got more intense over time. On one hand I was getting status from friends for having had sex, but on the other, it was not something I looked forward to, but I didnt want to lose my friends, status, invites to parties, approval from my family and his, etc, so I didnt want to lose the relationship necessarily. But I remember that it actually started to hurt, probably because I was not invested at all, and having it hurt made me even less keen, I'd try to say no, but he'd wear me down with things like 'but you love me, dont you? When that stopped working, he started hitting himself, until I caved. And when that stopped working, the violence came my way. Now it was full blown rape. But seemingly endorsed by family and friends. Like no, I didnt speak up about it, I didnt have close friends I could confide in and my family seemed fine with the pairing, seemed like no one particularly cared what I thought. Bear in mind, I had no idea at the time that this was 'rape', I was most definitely under the impression that this was a normal healthy relationship as I had nothing to compare it to. I did however, start to get angry that I was not being heard, I'd said no, and he was ignoring me. He made me bleed down there. And I'd had enough of it. I was 17yo now and had realised my friends weren't my friends because they were ok with this. My parents approval felt like betrayal. I finally decided the supposed perks were not worth this. Of course getting away would not be easy, he was now central in my life. I remember particular things, like I said no sleeping over on Friday, so he asked my parents and they organized. He could drive now, so Igot home from school and guess who was already staying for dinner. I went out with the group of friends and he was there. When I kept ignoring him, he pushed me down a flight of stairs in front of everyone. He decided to go for a walk to cool down. When I got home, guess who was already in my bed. At this point I was truly confused, no way could people not have seen I was in trouble. The bruises, the outbursts, these were not confined to the bedroom anymore. I know I would have seen it in someone else, but no one came to my rescue, no one defended me from him, I was on my own to fight this. I tried to set boundaries, I would not go to group events if he was there. So he organized a day at the park and got everyone to say he wouldn't go. When I got there, he had a picnic basket and a blanket and insisted I sit with him while everyone else went to play soccer. This was his attempt to win me back. To have everyone lie and to isolate me further. I thought I did a good job of making it clear that we were over, that I didnt want to see him ever again. That I was prepared to lose my 'friends' over this. He had one more trick up his sleeve. A Dinner for the yard. Everyone was going as a group to a restaurant, parents kids, everyone. I tried telling my parents I didnt want to go but they said I didnt have a choice. I couldn't make them look bad. I asked my more trusted friends to please not let him sit next to me. They tried but he literally pushed them out the way. He whispered to me at the table that he would kill himself if I left him. That was the moment I remember so clearly, no one was coming to save me, I had to decide my own worth right there. I first thought about suicide, if I took my life, this nightmare would end, I could be free. Then I thought what made his life worth more than mine? And why should I stay because of a threat like that? Like what were the chances that he'd actually do it? And would I care? Part of me did think that he should, because what he was doing to me was so unfair. I just wanted to be allowed to walk away. But it seemed those were my choices, stay and die, or fight. Him or me. This was now life or death. Fight or die. I turned to him and called his bluff. "Do it then, because Im not your property anymore" I could write essays on what I meant in that moment, but the shift was clear to him too. I was now prepared to fight, no matter the cost. I flat out ignored him, so much so that I do not recall the things he said to me at all. I know someone must have heard bits, they were all there, but I'd never felt so isolated. So he could not deal with being ignored, he grabbed my arm and bit me. The searing pain jolted me from my mental castle and I did something I'd never done before, I made a first and swung the back of my hand into his temple as hard as I fucking could. And chaos erupted. Everyone jumped up and grabbed him and I and separated us. The girls took me to the bathroom. To be honest, I was surprised, like what's all the fuss about, they'd never cared before. (Yes, maybe they didnt know till then, though in my mind, I still cant understand how that was possible). Turns out they all saw the punch and wanted to know why I'd done that, I asked if they saw the bite...no one had seen it....wtf. I lifted my sleeve and exposed the already bruising and bleeding bite mark on my arm, with his actual teeth marking my skin, I have never seen such a bad bite from a human being in my life ever again. It was vicious. I said I was not going near him again. The boys had taken him to the other bathroom. I dont know what was said or discussed that side, but they were taking him home, and would come back. I even checked, his home, not mine again. I made it very clear this time. So the night finished, and finally we were home, I had a friend sleeping over, but I cant really recall what we talked about whilst getting ready for bed, I just know I felt so relieved that now I could break away from him. I'd done it, I'd stood up to him. But then my mom knocked on my door, get dressed, we need to go to the hospital, he hurt himself. Mom took my friend aside but did not give me details. I just remember being completely crestfallen, how could this not be over? Now everyone would take his side again, how dare he do this, why cant he just leave me alone. When we got there, everyone was crying, except me. Only then did I find out that he had taken his dad's gun and shot himself, but he was still alive. I was very shocked and stuck in my own head, I dont recall much of what was said, I was fighting my own internal war, I felt angry and cheated. News came that he died on the table. Everyone ugly cried, except me. I think already this was being noted. I fell into depression, not because he was dead, but because he had robbed me of my victory. The months afterwards were a blur, but a few highlights stood out. My friends blamed me of killing him because he had told them too that if I left, he'd kill himself, and of my harsh reply. When I tried to talk about the abuse, I was called a liar and accused of speaking ill of the dead. They said I made it up for attention. No one could look at me anymore. My own parents couldn't just talk to me about it, they kept taking me to strangers (phycologists), but I didnt know them and talk about what??? My mind had hidden so much of it that I couldn't explain if I tried. That group of friends continued to attack me for years afterwards and they are why I still feel I cant talk about what happened without retribution. I tried to fake sadness, but how could I? I didnt pull the trigger, that was his choice. And I feel he did it out of guilt and revenge, because he knew I'd found my voice and was going to tell everyone what he had been doing to me. I also cant help thinking its better that he is dead because if not me, he was definitely going to do it to someone else. He didnt deserve to live (very unpopular opinion) I just wanted to be allowed to walk away. Instead he still silenced me from the grave. And this is the part I need to say most.... the not being believed caused more damage than the actual rape and abuse. In the end, not one person believed me, except my younger brother, who was also powerless to do anything to help me. I dropped out of my matric year, I was failing everything anyway, like after a fight to the death, school just seemed pretty silly. I think there was like 3 months I just didnt get out of bed, I stopped showering, I just didnt care. I'd systematically been told that I dont matter by every single person who was supposed to protect me, so what was the point of trying? I did eventually get up, but I was a teenager full of angst and anger, I disrespected my parents, drank heavily, tried drugs and did a lot of stupid shit. And often was blamed even more for it. People would sympathize with my mother, or with 'his' family. I was a bad seed with a bad attitude. And I still cant understand how no one could see how much pain I was in. I pulled myself together and have tried my best to have a good life, but the feelings of not being worthy of love, of not being able to trust and assuming that I'll never be believed anyway, those feelings have never left. I still dont know how to undo them. This programming happened at such a crucial stage of my development that my whole world view is tainted with trauma. No one should ever have to go through this. That man took my innocence and self worth. Everyone else took my trust and confidence. Things you just cant get back with a snap of the fingers. Im broken, and most likely always will be, by something that happened when I was a child. Something that was never my fault. I know evil exists. But....I became very good with helping problem horses, because I know tantrums and outbursts hide pain. Ive helped a lot of young girls through to adulthood, because I know the signs of abuse. I have dedicated my life to trying to help those with no voice, because I know exactly how that feels. I hope thats enough to counter all my brokenness. My reason for telling this story is to is to highlight the damage done after the fact. In a lot of ways I think I could have stayed strong despite the abuse, its the not being heard after that broke me. Not being believed hurt the most, and being accused of murder is ridiculous, I was just a young girl with no skills, who found herself in a nightmare, fighting for her life. I know that if I'd been there at his house, which could have been a plausable thing, he'd have killed me. But instead, the way it played out, his suicide robbed me of my victory. So fuck him, Ill say it, I won. Unfortunately what I won was a lifetime of feeling isolated and worthless. To anyone stuck in an abusive relationship, you life is 100% on the line, you fight!!!! But know that the real battle will come afterwards, when you try tell your story. Keep trying, find the people like me who will believe you, like I'm trying to do again right now. Because it is important. If just one person had stepped up to protect me, it would have made a massive difference that would have changed my life. We still need more awareness of the signs of abuse, because I still cant understand how no one knew what I was going through. There is no way there weren't signs, its impossible to comprehend. We need to be aware, we need to be prepared to stick up for those with no voice, see them, hear them, help them and defend them. Believe them. No 14yo makes up shit like that for attention, thats the dumbest thing I've e ever heard. And for me, even now at 46yo, still telling the same story, please believe me, I need it more than air

One of the most difficult parts of my healing journey is that I’m not exactly sure what is ‘my’ story. The sexual abuse of children is a routine part of my family, on both my mother’s and father’s sides. I was 13 when I learned that my grandfather had sexually abused my mother, her sisters, my sister and likely other girls in the community. My world really shattered that day. The way I felt about and connected to my family completely changed. I feel like I have been screaming for years, for anyone to notice, to care that this happened, for it not to be normalized. It was later in my adult life when I learned of abuse my cousins on my father’s side had endured. I could see this pain woven into the narrative of woman. For many years, I believed this was the “plight of womanhood” -that we must endure men’s every whim and behavior because they either know more or didn’t know better. The irony in growing up Southern Baptist is that men are somehow closer to God and thus holier and smarter than women, but also they cannot control themselves when it comes to women and sex. As I grew and reflected on this hypocrisy, I realized that I too had been sexually abused. I was in preschool when it started. We would visit my mom’s oldest sister’s house for Christmas every year. She had two sons that were in pre-teen and teenage years at this time. The younger son had many behavior issues, and I was convinced that I was an angel sent by God to help my family. My brother closest in age to me is disabled, and at this early age, his symptoms were just beginning and unexplained. I saw my parents under duress, and even at such a young age, I was trying to do everything I could to be perfect. So when my cousin identified me as his “special friend” and shared his unbelievable, immense collection of legos with me, I felt this was another use of my skills -a calling from God. I was blessed to be able to connect with and influence ‘the bad kid’. Now, in hindsight, I feel like any adult or even my teenage siblings should’ve questioned why a 13 year old would want to play with a 5 year old exclusively, but here we are. I’m lucky in a lot of ways. I never experienced penetration or any obvious violence. For a long time, I just thought it was a normal part of his sexual development. So it started when I was 5 and ended when I was in about fourth or fifth grade, so around age 10. At this point, he would have been 17/18. We would play “pretend”. I can remember specifically pretending to be Jack and Rose from Titanic. He would have me pose naked, kissed on me and humped me. This sort of “play” occurred over holidays, special events, graduations and such, at my house or his house. I can remember a specific instance where he and my aunt visited us. I think her and my mom were just hanging out which was rare. My mom desperately sought the approval of her sisters, so this visit was crucial. She and my aunt talked to me about how incredible it was that my cousin would behave better when I was around- they also used the term “special friend”. They seriously warned me about letting him play with my Barbie’s. He had been getting in trouble for sexual deviance and under no circumstances was I to let him touch my dolls. Well I was about 7/8 at the time and him 15/16 so you can imagine how that went. He mutilated my Barbies -cut their heads and faces, stripped them all, made a ‘naked Barbie van’, enacted sex acts between them. I remember trying so hard to redirect but he had the perfect tool to control me. I can still hear his voice, “The adults will be angry with you if you tell them about our special make believe. You’re such a mature girl for your age.” I knew I didn’t want my mom to know that I had been pretending to have sex. I was in trouble after the Barbie incident too. My mom was disappointed in me. I can’t remember the exact punishment, but I likely had more chores and wasn’t allowed computer time for some period. I could only imagine if she knew the extent of our “play”. Around the age of 10, we went for Christmas. I remember the feeling in my stomach, that sinking burn of guilt. (It’s still there to this day. Fighting waves of nausea and getting sick after almost every meal. Gotta love IBS) I was dreading having to play with him. That year, he exposed himself to me. He wanted me to touch it , but I think he knew he went too far. I was getting older, there was hair on my underarms, and my mom had talked immensely to me and my brother about our private parts because of her own experience. I don’t think she considered another child could harm us though. I was taught to be weary of adult men, strangers. So my birthday is in January, and I can remember this guilt eating me alive after that Christmas. He had doubled down on his intimidation tactics, and I knew I couldn’t go to an adult. I can remember thinking that I really wanted to feel better before my birthday came. So I had the idea to tell my brother; after all, he wasn’t an adult. He immediately told my mother who then called her sister. I can remember sitting at her feet in the kitchen floor as she argued with her sister. She didn’t say much or offer any sort of explanation. She made me swear to never tell my dad, and we stopped visiting my aunt as much after that. When I was in high school, my mom got cancer and died. She was really, really sick for about 9 months, and during her initial hospital stay, they wanted me to stay with this aunt. I was petrified. My cousin was home from college and would also be there. I remember just immediately tears started pouring out, and I’m begging my mom not to make me go there. My dad is in the room, so I can’t really explain myself. My mother scolded me for being selfish and told me I had to do this, to be easy on her and my dad. I can remember he very awkwardly touched my butt in an office supply store, and I surprisingly told him that he couldn’t touch me, that I wasn’t a child anymore. I have no idea where that autonomy came from, but I’m so proud of 15 year old me! My aunt offered for me to stay in a larger room downstairs during this time, but I made sure to stay in the guest suite adjacent to the master and locked my door every night. Here I am, 17 years later, and I had to see him for the first time since I graduated high school last year. My siblings, father and I have been mostly estranged from my mother’s family since her death. We were all shocked to see my aunt and her family attend the funeral of one of my siblings that passed. It was mortifying seeing him again. This electricity was buzzing through my entire body. My leg shook uncontrollably. I was sobbing so hard I had to leave the room. And yet again, I felt that disconnection from my family who continue this narrative that I’m selfish, a liar/exaggerator, overly emotional. Family is the hardest part of my healing journey. At this point, I’m not even sure I have a family. I end almost every call with my siblings shocked, worried, belittled and exhausted. I can’t have healthy relationships with my nieces and nephews no matter how hard I try. I am forever the deviant to them. Today, I live across the country from everyone and am establishing my own tribe. I want to be surrounded by people who understand unconditional love and want to protect children. My mother’s, sister’s, aunt’s, cousin’s stories are all mine. Just like my story is theirs. This abuse is passed on in our DNA, is shared amongst us despite the differences in our perpetrators and experiences. For the longest time, I downplayed what happened to me as normal sexual exploration of a young boy. And while I recognize that my abuser’s behavior was a sign of abuse he was experiencing, it doesn’t gloss over the impact of being exposed to sex and intimacy at age 5. I have struggled so much interpersonally and developing relationships. For the longest time, I didn’t think I was capable of or deserved to have healthy relationships. I thought my family was healthy. If there’s any big message I want to share with other survivors, it’s that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel! There are people out there that will believe you and protect you. There’s space for you. Acceptance is hard, and I’m not sure I’ve fully accepted what happened to me, to my family. But it helps to see so many others speak up. To feel like we finally have a platform, and maybe people aren’t quite listening like I’d like, but the conversation is happening. Even powerful men shouldn’t get away with this!!!!

I need to tell someone this, I haven't told a single soul not my parents, friends, partner, no one and I need to get it off my chest. I want to start this off by saying I've never had a good family bond, my father was a stoner and barely there, my mother an angry drunk, 2 older sisters who hated me and a twin brother who treated me like a maid. I've had an eating disorder since I was 8 years old, I used to leave the house at 6am everyday, run around the block far too many times and then work out for 2 hours before returning home and starving myself. This went on for around 4 years. One Saturday morning when I was 11 I decided to change it up and ran to the park to run laps of it, I was running circles of the park for around 10 minutes before I was grabbed. A man dragged me into the bathrooms and forced himself on me, I was so malnourished and weak I couldn't fight back. I sat there and sobbed in pain as he did what he wanted, once he finished I thought I was done but I was unbelievably wrong. The man left the bathroom as I laid on the floor sobbing, he came back but with a friend. I was horrified I knew he brought his friend to have 'his turn' but I was also wrong about that. They ended up picking me up and carrying me into a car, they threw me on the backseat and told me to stay down. I complied, afraid of what they would do to me if I didn't. After god knows how long of driving in pure terror they parked and yanked me out. I didn't know where I was but they quickly dragged me into a house where they would then take turns raping me for a few days. After I was all 'used up' they threw me back in the car and drove back to the park and released me; I am still shocked as to why they would release me rather than killing me cause I could have told someone. My parents didn't even notice that I was missing for a few days, I stumbled in the door, bleeding, sobbing, and begging for help. My dad was out with some friends and mum just drunkenly yelled at me to clean the table. No one cared where I had been or what happened to me. Sometimes I wish those men had killed me, I began self harming at only 9 years old and attempted to overdose at 10. Many years later and I still self harm and my most recent attempt was only 2 months ago. I have caused permanent damage to my liver and kidneys from the medication I over dosed on. I wish they killed me.

I never thought I’d end up in a relationship where love turned into control. It started small checking where I was, who I talked to, and what I spent. Before long, I was isolated from my family, my finances were no longer my own, and I felt trapped in a version of life that revolved around keeping the peace. The control eventually became financial and emotional. I was pressured to leave my job, told what I could or couldn’t buy, and made to feel guilty for needing independence. Every dollar spent was questioned. My self-worth slowly disappeared until I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Then came the night everything changed. During an argument, he introduced a firearm not in defense, but as intimidation. In that moment, I realized how easily fear can silence someone. That silence almost became my prison. But deep down, something in me refused to die there. I decided to leave, even if it meant starting from nothing. Leaving was terrifying, but it was also the beginning of freedom. I had to rebuild from the ground up my confidence, my finances, and my sense of safety. There were nights I questioned if I made the right choice, but every morning I woke up without fear, I knew I did. Today, I’m learning that healing isn’t about forgetting—it’s about reclaiming power piece by piece. I still flinch at loud noises and double-check locks, but I also laugh again. I make choices for myself. I’m learning to trust that I’m safe now. To anyone who’s living in silence, afraid to leave: your story matters. Fear doesn’t define you, and control is not love. You deserve safety, freedom, and peace. You are not alone and you can survive this too.

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.

I'm 37 year old male survivor in my country. I don't know what to share yet. I am a survivor of multiple assaults in childhood and early adulthood, mostly with female assailants. I think I'm ready to talk with some female survivors (though not in most details). To be honest this scares me though. My experience with advocacy and support groups (apart from a website specifically for male survivors) in the past has been very negative. I have always wondered what a *true* coalition of survivors of all genders would look like.

Number years since what happened to me. There has been so much pain and hurt. One of these men was constanty asking me to sleep with his friends but my answer was always no , never, not a chance , You see i found it so hard to accept what had happened because i had to much to drink . I do believe that something was put into my drink as i had no more to drink than what i normally would . I was a at party with these two people. I dont remember leaving the house but i do remember getting sick out of the taxi on the way home. Both of these animals took turns to have sex with me . I remember just lying there with no clothes on and been unable to move unable to fight them of . Both of them went outside and i remember the strong smell of cigarettes and could hear them both laughing . Shortly after both of them left and i lay there confussed , helpless and alone. I must have fallen asleep because i remember it was bright out and one of these men came back to the house. No accountability has been taken from either of these and this is what makes healing so hard for me. Im trying to take back my power but some days are just so hard. Both of these men took adavantage of my vunrability. Learning to tust myself and love myself is my main goal for now and knowing that i did nothing wrong,

Freedom is Glorious I've been working alone the past two days, and instead of taking out the scissors and cutting my hair, I took out an old CD of pictures and remembered how far I have come in this journey. I found pictures of the animals I left behind so very long ago ~ his pets who were like children to me ~ I teared up at their precious faces and remembered how much I love and miss them every day. Then I found some pictures of me taken in my old rental office on campus the night before my 41st birthday. And I was amazed at how clear and blue and full of life my eyes were in each picture.  The weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I stood tall and proud.  The color was back in my face, and my face was fuller because I had finally started to regain the weight I had lost when my food intake was so limited on the weekends. My eyes sparkled in those pictures.  I could not stop staring at myself.  The pictures were proof that I was free.  That I was me again.  I looked at the CD and reached for a snack.  And I thought about how I can eat whatever I want now.  There is no watchful eye mentally counting my calories ~ keeping the cupboard bare.  I am no longer charged $20 to eat a home-cooked meal.  I am no longer ridiculed for not cooking that home-cooked meal myself. I can do what I want, say what I want, feel what I want, wear what I want.  I am not some dress-up doll used to cloak in leather to be propped up on the back of a motorcycle for the whole valley to see ~ no I am middle-aged now, often without make-up, and finally comfortable in my own body not to care if I am not perfect. Because perfect was never good enough anyway. I can speak again.  I have a voice.  I can have an opinion on anything I want.  I see my family again on all holidays.  I do not have to lie about where I am living.  Where I am going.  What I am doing. There is no shame anymore.  No more secrets.  Even the writing I am doing has eliminated the secrets from the people I care about the most. I think about all of these changes as I ponder what it is like for him to be sitting in jail right now.  To have his freedom finally taken away from him.  To be told what to do, when to do it.  And to be isolated from family and friends. It took the news of his jail sentence to wake me up to what I had blocked out for so long.  To bring those horrible memories back up to the surface in dreams, flashbacks, and fleeting moments of sadness.  To finally realize that I had to write down my truth, or they would never go away.  He would still be controlling me in my head through those nightmares, those flashbacks.  He would still be present in my life if I did not get rid of him by writing down all the ugliness of our time together and sharing it with the world. He never wanted me to be a writer.  He made fun of my dream every day.  And it hit me today that the irony of my life story is that one of the biggest stories of my life will now be about him.  And maybe there will come the book or the screenplay out of all of this ugliness that I have shared with the world.  Because if you can skim off the scum, if you can sand down the rust, beneath the surface of all that pain and sadness is the beauty that was once there ~ that was once my life ~ that was once me. Beneath the surface lies the freedom that never really left my side.  Freedom was waiting in the distance for me all along.  Freedom was God taking care of me through the whole ordeal and seeing me through to the other side.  Where life is precious and pure and sweet. Freedom led me to a new life where I can now help others as they had once helped me. Freedom came with its own price ~ the scars beneath the surface that may have scabbed over ~ in order for me to survive. But those scars are my battle wounds for my freedom.  I paid the price for a new life.  I earned my freedom.  I survived.

Back on April 6th 2019 (yesterday was 2 years) i was dog/house sitting for a family member of mine when on of their family friend came over. He kept having me try a bunch of different alcoholic drinks until eventually I was drunk. Without going into too much detail he took advantage of me. The next morning I woke up feeling so numb and stuck. I eventually told my mom later that night when I was picked up and they kept trying to contact the guy. My mom hadn’t heard back until the next day when she told me he took his life. The wave of guilt and sadness that hit me in that moment felt so unbearable. For the next few weeks after I remember not leaving my bed unless it was to use the bathroom. Then (thankfully) my mom was able to get me put in therapy. Where I was put with the most amazing therapist. After a few months of one on one I was put into group therapy as well. Where i got to meet the most incredible and strong women. Therapy had taught me so much and helped me so much. It taught me (and this goes for everyone who has gone through something like this) that it was not my fault. It taught me that healing isn’t linear. That you’re gonna have bad days months and maybe even years after but that’s okay because that’s still healing. Therapy taught me that I’m strong, but its okay to not always be because we are human. To anyone who reads this I want you to know you are not alone and you’re doing amazing. I’m proud of you. You got this :)

You don’t believe it when you’re told that your life can change in an instant—and then it does. This is my story, or what I can remember of it. On April 12th, 2022, I was raped at gunpoint, at home. In less than 10 minutes, I became another statistic, but a statistic that survived... It’s 6:15 AM, and I’m about to leave to check on a pet sitting client’s cat, then go to work—not an unusual routine for me. It was a way to bring in extra income, and an easy one at that. I’ve always loved animals, and if you love what you do you’ll never work a day in your life. Apparently, my routine was known to more than just me and my animals. As I opened the door to leave, a man was on my porch, and he asked for William. Not knowing how this particular conversation would shape my future, I told him that William didn’t live here and closed the door–it wasn’t uncommon for strangers to come to the door. Before me, an elderly lady had lived here with her son, you see, and people came looking for them all the time, so I thought nothing of it. Figured he’d be gone by the time I opened the door again. I was wrong, and I’ve hated myself for opening that door the second time. I’ve never been face to face with death before that day, never faced an evil so potent that you could taste it in the air...but I can say with certainty I have now. I was pushed backward–not with a physical touch, but with the threat that now loomed in front of me. He checked the bedroom on his left, which adjoined the entrance of the house, looking for other inhabitants–there were none. I lived alone, aside from my animals, which didn’t phase him. Looking back, this tells me he had been watching me for some time, waiting. He pushed me back even further, to the kitchen. He “requested” my phone, and told me to unlock it–I didn’t have much choice, so I agreed. In an effort to get the upper hand, I desperately asked him if I could check on my fosters, since they were in the adjoining room–surprised, he agreed. He checked the room (again for other inhabitants), and while he was looking through my phone, I pressed a panic button that was on the wall he couldn’t see, underneath a lightswitch...1...2...3...and I let go. Praying to some deity that help would get there in time... It’s at this point he sat down at the kitchen table and tried to get me to join him...being a loud-mouthed woman, I started loudly asking him “WHY? I’m a good person! Why would you do this to me?!” Slow motion...he gets up from the table...tells me to face the wall... “Is this happening? Maybe he’ll just leave” I foolishly thought...he lifted my dress, and I spun around to stop him, not wanting what was about to happen. “Put him off just a few minutes more, help is coming, you can do this.” But I couldn’t. He backed me across the kitchen, against the counter...and I struggled. Of course I did. My parents raised a fighter, and I didn’t want to go down without a fight... But he was bigger, stronger, and he had a gun. I’ve never known fear, true fear, until I tasted steel, or whatever guns are even made of. All I know now is that pure fear must have a metallic taste. “Shut up, bitch, ya understand?” and all I could do was nod. I don’t put much stock in religion, not really, and if there is a god up there, I wonder how he could make it so easy to violate a person. Why there aren’t any safeguards to stop it—it’s not really a gate we have much control over. What kind of god could make us such easy targets? You can believe what you want to, and I may get some flack for this, and that’s okay. I’m allowed my thoughts, as is everyone else to theirs. My body had no control over who was inside of it. I had no control. While he pleasured himself, I had to sit there and take it, or die, and even then it was a slim chance I would come out of this alive. I knew my chances, and the possibility of him letting me see his face and me somehow surviving weren’t great. I knew that, even then. Then the doorbell rang. This pervert, this waste of space, leapt up and looked around the corner, to see who might be looking in the living room window and when he saw who it was...said “Get up, bitch,” pulled up his pants, grabbed his gun, and bolted out the back door. In shock, I did as I was told, and just stood there while he ran—but when my brain comprehended that the threat was gone, my body propelled itself towards the front door and ran outside—I didn’t appreciate just how beautiful it was. But there was no time to bask in safety–the threat wasn’t far away. I screamed to the cops to get him, that he ran out the back...they asked who. The guy who raped me. On April 12th, 2022, at around 6:30 AM, I became a statistic. Not long after, it felt like the whole city police were on scene–and I think they were. For an hour, I am not permitted to change my clothes. I can still smell him. I can still feel him. As I lay in the emergency room, I looked through my phone and discovered all of my security footage...gone. Just gone. Luckily for me, and unluckily for him, I paid a monthly subscription for cloud service. As I’m being violated, once again, I captured his face. You can’t hide from me, not for long. As my mom sits next to me, I send his face to the detective. I joke with the doctor, with the nurses, coping the only way I can, and the way I’ve seen my dad do in the past—build connections, and use them as a way back to shore. Keep yourself afloat, just a while longer. One second, one minute, one hour, one day–as long as you can. Afterwards, to the police station for my statement. No one is allowed to go back with me. Later that night, I get a call to come in to look at a lineup. Even just less than a day later, my brain is trying to protect me–block out his face, by any means possible. Blur it beyond recognition. But I have his face. My brain can’t fight me on this. On the way to the station, my parents in tow, I study it. Imagine it with different facial hair, different hairstyles. I still wasn’t ready. Again, no one was allowed to go back with me. When his photo came up, I didn’t know it was him. I wasn’t certain. But I did have what they call a “visceral reaction.” My hands shook, my voice trembled, and I felt so cold I couldn’t stop shivering. Something inside me knew. I struggled with that guilt for weeks after—what if I’d put the wrong person away? What if I was wrong? Then the message came from the detective, regarding my rape kit. “It was a match.” Thank you. Thank you so much. I was right. Dammit, I was right. On April 12th, 2022, at approximately 6:30 AM, I became a statistic. But a statistic that survived. A statistic that fought back, and a statistic that hasn’t given up, not yet. Not ever. I’m not ashamed. I am a part of a family larger than it should be, of survivors just like me. We are survivors. Lessons to take from this: Check outside before opening your door Invest in a security system Invest in a panic button Practice how you will stay alive long enough to come out the other side of a situation—rehearse every scenario you possibly can Keep your wits about you—you never know when they could save your life Nothing is a 100% failsafe–but even the smallest thing could keep you alive to see another day.

My mom was Lily Bloom and I’m her Emerson but sadly it did not end there . I wish I could have not fallen for the charm or been blinded by the red flags but like my mom nobody saw the signs . My mom wasn’t able to leave and she wasn’t able to tell her story. But after sharing with her the trauma I endured from these past two insanely manipulating, toxic , abusive relationships . She was finally able to tell me I wasn’t alone , and my father was her Ryle , and like all Ryles they say they can change . But they won’t . Thankfully my mom and I both left our Ryles and found comfort in being each others safe place .

The thought of sex genuinely terrifies me, but for some reason I cant stop touching myself or showing my body online to strangers. I keep trying to convince myself this will be the last time and that im tired of feeling dirty, but it never works. By the time the thought is finished I feel like my hands are already back in my pants. I know that being assaulted when I was little combined with the fact that everyone seems to enjoy touching me in a way that I cant tell if its a joke or not is making me like this, but what if I am really just disgusting? What if I truly do like being treated like an object and being watched as humiliated myself for no reason? What happened to me in the past isnt nearly as bad as what some children and adults had/have to go through, I shouldn't be making it such a big deal but it hurts so much to think about it and act on the desire I have. Its like a different part of me takes control and suddenly im wearing skimpy clothes and letting strangers online order me around. Im confused, im scared, and I dont want people to know that I feel like this because i don't want them to hate me or laugh at me. I feel like men can smell it on me that I was assaulted and it either grosses them out or makes them treat me like a joke. I dont want potential partners to see me like this.

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'm not sure where to start. I feel like it was my fault. I should have tried harder, ignored more, never gone when he called.. but I didn't and then this happened. I am still coming to terms with it. It happened two days ago. He is my friend's husband. He knows I have an emotionally and sometimes physically abusive husband. He knows and he and his wife, one of my best friends, the godmother of my second, have tried to help. They both came over to the country where I live. Their oldest, whom I adore like my own, is at university here. My friends went back. He texted, asking if I wanted to meet up because my friend had been ill and we couldn't meet this time. I said sure. We had done this a thousand times before. We were very very close friends. We had gone on trips together since the children were 2 and a bit..we were practically family. We hung out, went to each other's houses, spent time together with our families, went to meals alone or with each other's families it was all normal. He had always some across as someone who teased a little, said the odd inappropriate thing, even in front of my friend, his wife and over the 20+ years I had known him, this was just dismissed as part of who he is, we rolled our eyes, raised our eyebrows, laughed a little and carried on. It was never anything else. Until two days ago. His wife had gone back home last week. He was still here. He asked me to come over, we could go to lunch before he went back, I said sure. He then said he was "excited" to see me. I ignored it and in my head just dismissed it as him being silly. He said he would meet me at the train station. When I got there he had some bags, he asked if I minded leaving them at home before lunch. I shrugged, it was at that point totally normal. He lived 5 minutes away by cab, I had been to to the house a zillion times, I was stupid. I got in to the cab and when we went over, he said, let me leave this and come down, he went up stairs. He was dressed up...very well. I was in a hoodie and jeans. I laughed and asked what on earth he was dressed up for. He looked at me and suddenly said, you look good, have you been working out. I laughed..I looked far from good. I am now 48 and years of emotional and physical trauma have taken their toll. I had not coloured my hair, I had lost some weight but I still felt that after two children, I was fat, flabby and ugly. I was cold. He asked me if I wanted a drink. I had some water. It was mid morning. He turned up the heating and asked if we should order in. I said yes because it was so cold outside and I couldn't be bothered going out again...this again, was normal. I kicked my shoes off and crossed my legs under me on the sofa warming my hands on the radiator behind. He laughed and took one hand in his, saying gosh you are freezing.. I didn't think anything of it. I put both hands back on the radiator and said, I'll warm up in a bit. We started talking. He asked me how things were. With my husband, the kids, I asked him. We talked about not being able to meet properly, go on a trip..all normal. His dad was friends with my dad. I asked after his parents, he asked after mine. Again, totally casual. Totally normal. There was a fox in the garden. I remember that. I thought it was cute. He laughed at me saying there are always foxes around here. He asked if I wanted to listen to some music while we waited for the food. I said sure. He put music on and then asked if I wanted to dance. I was taken aback but again, stupidly, stupidly, laughed it off, saying no. I hadn't danced in years. I felt slightly uncomfortable but didn't want to see weird to him so I pulled a couple of cushions around me and snuggled into my little corner of the sofa. He sat at the other end. He pulled his phone out. Asked if I wanted to see what the menus were like, I leaned over and then he tried to nuzzle my neck, he put his arm around me. I got a shock and pushed him off, saying what are you doing, are you mad...what is wrong with you. He said, "don't be so silly, I'm just trying to give you a hug...you've been through so much....you've got so much on your plate. I feel sorry for you. Seriously, don't be so stressed and uptight. relax". I felt foolish so I didn't say anything and he moved away so I thought it was ok. I stretched my back scrolling through the menus because my shoulders hurt. He picked up on it and said, "do you want me to give your shoulders a quick rub". I said, "no, I'm fine.". He came closer. Said, "I'm pretty good at giving massages." I was beginning to think I should leave. I said, "please don't. I'm fine." He said "ok fine" and moved back to just chatting about life, about the country he came and I originally came from which was in political turmoil, we talked about our kids. I relaxed. That's when it happened. The music went off. The blue tooth thingy was behind me. He stood up, went over to put it back on and then leaned over and grabbed my shoulders from behind. I gasped. He is 6'1 or 2" and I am 5"1. He pushed me down on the sofa, came from the side..I still can't really remember how he got there and started kissing me hard. I tried to move, I kept repeating, "stop, stop, stop, stop, why are you doing this. Please stop. You can't do this." He only replied saying, "please, stop struggling..it's only a little kiss. Just one kiss.." but it wasnt. I tried to turn my face. By this point, he was on top of me, holding me down, holding my arms above my head. His legs on either side of mine and his entire weight on me. I couldn't breathe. I tried to speak again and screamed, "stop". He said "stop screaming and kiss me." I turned away and with his free hand, he pressed my cheeks hard so I would open my mouth. He put his tongue in, and wouldn't stop. I couldn't breathe. All I remember was panicking..thinking about my friend, thinking what this would do to her. I couldn't stop him. He turned my face away and then put his tongue in my year. He lifted my top, snapped my bra open and pushed it up and started sucking and licking my breasts, I was sobbing now and saying, "no no no don't do this...please stop..please, please don't do this.." He said, "ok ok..I'm stopping and stuck his hand between my legs. He pulled my head back so it was almost hanging off the sofa and leaned on top of me saying, "lick me" ..I turned my head away and he pulled on my hair and put even more weight on my arms leaning forward and pushing his chest on to me. He brought his hand up again squeezing my cheeks in till I opened my mouth...and then pushed his nipple into my mouth. He put his hand back down between my legs. I was wriggling and moving and I managed to cross my legs. He then pushed hard with one and then the other of his legs, opening mine. I couldn't even think. I think I was in shock. I don't know what happened. I was trying to lift myself off, my arms was aching so much. He pressed his other arm onto my stomach and said, "stop moving so much". He took the button on my jeans off. I screamed again, saying, "please don't. I beg you, please don't. All he said was, "ok. If you beg me I won't" but he carried on. He moved his hand from between my legs, and carried on pressing him mouth on mine, grabbing and twisting my breasts with his other hand. I don't know what happened. I feel like I might have blacked out but I don't think I did because every time I replay it in my head, I knew what he was doing. I remember him murmuring, saying, "he doesn't deserve you, I'll take care of you...he doesn't love you, he hits you, he threatens you, he doesn't deserve you. Let me show you.." I remember thinking, that he must have done this because he thought I was easy. Because I had told him and his wife about what was going on in my marriage. I remember thinking how stupid I was. Then suddenly, he pushed between my legs with his hand. He still had not let go my arms, I said "please stop, I can't breathe." He didn't say anything, but he let go my arms, and really quickly pulled my jeans down with both hand, ripping my panties in the process. I screamed again and tried to get up. He pushed me back down and put his whole weight on me, saying "don't worry, I won't have sex with you because you begged me not to but I bet no one has done this for you in a long time right? Not years maybe right? " I couldn't answer, I was crying and crying. He started putting his fingers inside me and pulling in and out and I couldn't move. I think I went completely limp in shock. He slowly let go my arms again and slid down, pushing my legs apart even further with his head and he put his tongue inside. holding me down from my stomach with his forearm. He kept saying, "let me show you how you should be loved" I don't know why I couldn't fight back harder at this point. I tried so hard before, I just couldn't move. I tried to push him away, push his head away, but I couldn't. All I could do was cry...like I was pathetic and weak. I was so angry with myself for not leaving when I could, I was trying so hard to normalise the signs and then this is where it ended. He kept going, back up to my face and back down for almost an hour and a half I think and then it got worse. He pushed me to the ground, holding me by my hair and asked me to take him in my mouth. He said, "I want you to kneel, I want to watch you..." and I kept saying, "no no please no...and he pulled my head back, saying, don't bite...and stuck himself so far in, I gagged, over and over....he had his legs round my body now and I couldn't stand because my jeans were still near my ankles, he was holding my wrists with one hand and my hair in a tight pony tail at the back. I remember thinking he's going to pull my hair out. I couldn't speak, I couldn't do anything, I couldn't get up, I couldn't do anything but keep doing what he was forcing me to do..and then he said, almost like it made it alright.. "don't worry I won't come in your mouth and pulled me back up just before. I just slid off him to the floor and he finally let go but I couldn't get up. I just curled up on the floor sobbing. I hand't even pulled my jeans back up. He finished and then carried me back on to his chest like he cared... started stroking me and saying, "why are you crying, you were amazing..stop crying, it's ok. Your friend will never know unless you tell her and you aren't going to tell her are you... this is our secret...what she doesn't know, won't hurt her.. she'll be fine...don't cry...you were great..I'll be back in July...Are you crying because it's me? It's better like this because we know each other..." he was stroking me and stroking my hair and holding me tightly like somehow, I had been complicit or as if I had said yes...I wanted to scream again, and hit out, now I could...but I couldn't do anything but cry. I let him hold me..I didn't push away..I couldn't. I felt so ashamed, so broken, so dirty and cheap. Then he said, I'm going to order an Uber for you, you can't go back in the train in this state. Go and clean yourself up.. and he pulled my jeans back up with my torn pants inside. He was laughing, saying, "gosh imagine if anyone saw you like this"...I coudn't do anything but just follow. it was like my mind was screaming but my body was just doing what it was told so I just followed him to the bathroom.. he left me there and all I could do was cry sitting on the toilet. I rubbed and rubbed myself with reams of toilet paper...and washed my face..and went back out. I look after two elderly relatives who think the world of him. I couldn't go back home and say anything to them. They are sick and elderly and they wouldn't really be able to comprehend what happened. My hands were shaking. I was shaking. I came out and he hugged me again tightly, saying calm down...you're fine. You're fine. I'll be back in July. Let's do this again. All I could do was shake my head. He kept laughing and then the Uber came. He even put me in and carried my bag in for me. I don't know how I did it, but I managed to calm myself enough to go home and then drive to pick my kids up and then I just washed and washed and washed in the bathroom, told my mum I had a headache and could she manage the kids and binned my clothes which still smelled of him and curled up in bed. The next morning, I got a text from him saying, "all ok?" and I just replied saying, "no..what were you thinking..." he called and told me not to make a big deal of things, that my life and his were more complicated than they needed to be already and to not make it worse, to not make a "thing" of what happened, that he had a lovely time...I hung up. I could not speak. He texted me saying, please don't tell anyone....this is our secret. I'll be back in July. I'll see you then.. I asked him why again, and he said I always liked you. I said but why would you do this. I said no...and he said it is only a little fun..I asked him if he had a bet with someone that he would do this and he said no..I said I feel cheap and horrible. You did this to me and he said, you don't need to, I forced you to.....I feel so horrible. I feel so dirty and used and cheap. I am so angry with myself for not leaving when I had the chance... I told another friend what happened. She wants me to go to police. I can't. It'll ruin his family, mine, his kids...and I love those kids like my own...my friend...I can't do that to anyone....but I can't function...I keep replaying it in my head. I can't stop thinking about it. My hands are shaking all the time...I can't focus. My other friend thought that perhaps writing my story might help. That is why I put so much detail. I am so sorry if it is too much. I wanted to write everything down...to get it all out...I've not told anyone all the details. I'm so sorry if it is too much.. She said it was ok to be angry but that is the other confusing thing...I am not angry...I feel nothing. I feel absolutely nothing. I am angry with myself but not anything else. I am so confused as to why he would do this after 20+ years of friendship. Why did he think it was ok? Do I look easy? By meeting him did I give him the impression it was ok? Why would he do this to me? We were friends..good friends..our families adore each other..why would he risk all that? What does he think of me now? I keep looking at myself and it is mad but I keep thinking, his wife is gorgeous and in great shape and I am flabby and haven't looked after myself at all...why would he do this with me when he has an amazing wife? I don't understand...I don't understand at all....I find myself repulsive...I used to look alright but my marriage has taken a toll...I no longer look anywhere close to what i did before...so why would he do this? And now when I feel like I've hit rock bottom in all aspects of my life...this happens.. If not for my kids..there would not be any point in my life...I'm so humiliated..

All the memories that my mind seems to easily access day after day, are so much more difficult to verbalize. I have never shared my story, but thought this may help and maybe help others too. It's seems so selfish sharing it so I am glad this is anonymous so I don't carry guilt or worry of people's opinions. Due to my past, I have had a hard time separating myself from being the sexual tool and being normal. My parents separated when I was 3. My mom used heroine and married an abusive man shortly after. There's was extreme physical abuse in the home. (he beat us, locked us up, beat a dog to death infront of us, even shot my mom in the leg and made us care for it) When they ran short of money for their drugs, they would offer their friends to sexually assaulting me. I was 4 to 5 years old. They also encouraged my younger brother and I to act things out with each other. He would have to pee on me or I would have to play with his privates. I was once taken to a party at a house. It was a mansion with an elevator that I thought was so neat. I was taken up to a room and different men were allowed to touch me. Only one man actually had intercourse that day. I still have nightmares about him. All if this was soon found out and I was sent to live with my dad. He was an alcoholic so we stayed at my grandma's often. My brother, my younger cousin, and I played "doctor" all the time. It was all we knew. One Christmas when I was 8, I was told to go get my cousins. They were 16 and 18 and their friend. When I knocked on the door they told me to come in. They raped me in every way possible. No one even noticed I was gone. I went to the bathroom after and I was bleeding. I thought I was going to die that day. I thought I would bleed to death. That night my 16 year old cousin apologized and promised to keep me safe. For 3 years every time I was at my grandma's, I would sleep with him and he would rape me but gently. He told me I would be his wife. He told me he loved me and would always keep me safe. Whem he turned 21, he got another girl pregnant. He told me he had to marry her. Then he went home and shot himself in the head. I felt heartbroken. I slit my wrist to end the pain, but failed. My mom came back into my life with a new husband. He started wanting me to try in clothes for him. Then he started coming into my room and night and pleasing himself over me while touching me. I told my mom and she said no, he was abusing only her. She kicked him out. He hung himself shortly after. I had started acting out. I was giving 12th graders hard jobs in 7th grade on the bus. I thought my job was to please men. I was 15 before I realized that I was wrong. This realization came from people at school starting to call me a hoe and making fun of me. I changed my behaviors with lots of work. I had to watch other adults to figure out what normal was. People would ask when I lost my virginity and I didn't know what to tell them. I struggled mostly in relationships because I put all my value as a wife as how I could perform in bed. I carried so much guilt for the people I abused as a young child when I didn't know any better. Especially my younger cousin. I was only 5 or 6, but he was 3 or 4. He now is sitting in prison for drugs for a long long time. I wonder if what I did changed him like it changed me. I hold so much guilt for that. My brother is a drug addict and I wonder if what we did had a play in that. I feel guilt, like I was a year older and should have been protecting him. As an adult I can protect myself more. My dad did grab my butt and tell me I was sexy about 10 years ago, but I dont see him any more. My mom starvation from doing drugs 5 years ago. It is just me and I think about the toll it all has had on me. I feel different than everyone else. I feel damaged. I disassociate often. I have to ground myself. I domt trust people. I see the bad people can do, even people that seem normal. I grow every day though. I try to be the woman and mother I needed. I push myself to be better every day. I now have a great husband. Although I am unable to feel love, he still loves me daily. I have the most amazing kids. They do good in school and are great little people. I am proud of how far I have came. I still hold so much guilt, but every day is a new one.

It was my yoga teacher. He said that he wanted to try this form of yoga that was very intimate, but it wasn’t sexual, apparently. But as it went on, he asked if it would feel better if I take my top off. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do anything, but I said yes to that. I feel like I betrayed myself in doing so. And then he started taking my yoga pants off, and started fingering me. The entire time I was just so confused, I was like, is this supposed to be yoga? Or sex? When he took his dick out and put it in, that’s when I realized it was sex sex, said no. And tried to leave as soon as I could. Thing is, to this day I’m still not sure if this counts as rape. I didn’t say no, did I? But he didn’t ask for explicit consent either. It was just so murky. And the result is that I felt like I wasn’t able to make a conscious choice in what I wanted to do with my body. I trusted him because he was a yoga teacher. I lost trust in myself, in my judgment. I started hating myself for not standing up for myself earlier despite the overwhelming discomfort that I felt. He must have known I was uncomfortable. I told him a few times, actually. I distinctly remember just wanting it to be over so I can leave. After I said no, he asked if it’s cuz I was too ‘sore’. He DOESNT KNOW WHAT HES DONE. i called him afterwards being like, I didn’t expect that. I’ve never had sexual encounters without any explicit communication about it. He said he was just following what felt natural, and I can’t believe I tried to justify his reasonings too. I couldn’t stop crying the day after and I couldn’t understand why. I thought it was cuz I thought I’d lose my first time to someone special. Later on when I got high with my cousins that’s when I realized that it was not exactly consensual. But still to this day I get so confused. I know that ideas of consent differ in different countries, and the fact that this occurred when I was in Hong Kong made it all the more confusing.

Hello, my name isNamethank you so very much for the opportunity to speak my truth. I got into my first abusive relationship when I was 17. The abuse started when he used jealousy as a way to control me. we had a daughter together and shortly after became pregnant again. One day when I was with a friend, we rean into some of his rivals and he got so mad he beat me kicking me and punching me. the next morning, I had started bleeding really bad and had miscarried. A lot of the time we were together he was locked up and released and locked ack up. One day he had punched me so hard in the stomach and chest area that he knocked out all my air and I couldn't speak but I was barking almost like a dog. my daughter and I were thrown out and lived different places even at one time under a tree. Another time while I was driving, and he sat in the passenger seat he punched me on the side of my head my head hit the window, and I crashed the car it hurt for like a year. After five and a half years of this and after he sexually assaulted me. I ended the relationship. His mother tried to get me to come back so did his dad, but I told her no. Time went by I stayed to myself and my little girl we had a 1-bedroom apartment and without any real support around and little money for food and no car I had to speak to some of the neighbors. that's when I met my second abuser and the father of my youngest daughter and without really knowing what I did wrong in the first relationship I found myself in another, he had a job he was attentive he was kind to every one of the neighbors and even though I didn't want to be in a relationship here I was and. his family really liked me too so that felt good. my daughter was happy, and we had food and felt safe at night until we didn't things changed when I found out he was cheating, and I went to his mom's house to break up with him that's when he went for the knives in the kitchen his mom and dad had been woken up by my daughter who at 4 years old went running and screaming. his parents were able to stop him, and he left after a physical altercation with his dad. So that moment I knew leaving was a bad idea because it could get me killed. the abuse continued throughout the pregnancy and more times than I can remember but it was even worse than the first. long story short I finally left after years of abuse, and he came to kill me one morning put the screwdriver to my chest and told me that he was sorry but that he has to kill me because he can't live without me. I used my knowledge of how he thought and used it to convince him that I understood why he had to kill me and that it's okay I understand I just asked two things one he doesn't let the girls see and two that he doesn't do it with a screwdriver. because that is meant for someone he hates and he loves me so if he loves me, he won't use it. this confused him he cried fell into my arms and I calmed him down and sent him back to his wife whom he had only married two weeks prior to this. He stalked me for years, but I had come to the mindset of I would rather be dead by him then continue to live tis way with him and told him those words. eventually he was locked up and more. I have spent the last 20 plus years advocating for women, men, and all youth and will continue to do so as a domestic violence advocate. if you are reading this you are more powerful than you know, and people care about you and its more than okay to ask for help silence empowers the abuser and does nothing for you. Love you, learn to enjoy your own company, and get out when it is safe to do so. When you are ready. Someone will help you never give up on you. you did nothing to deserve the abuse. it's not your fault. and as I always say in interviews and in my book, I'm working on Book Title Always Name

It started in high school, NAME was a friend of friends, so I had met him and seen him around school. But we didn't interact much but I discovered he lived on the same street. It's complicated at this point, but I was bullied a lot for 'being weird'. I was told by classmates I was pretty, but it was weird that I didn't date. Honestly, I wasn't attracted to anyone. One night, my house got egged; my much younger little sister was terrified because it made such loud bangs. I ran outside and but didn't catch anyone. I thought NAME was involved, and I knew his number, so I called him and yelled at him then hung up. I found out later who was involved and it wasn't NAME (but it was his friends), so I offered to take NAME to the movies as an apology. While we were watching the movie, he tried to kiss me, but I moved my head away and said 'no'. A few months later, he rang me asking me out (we hadn't spoken much since the movie), I said I'm not interested in dating, I want to finish school'. A few months more and I graduated high school, he left me letters at my house, I ignored them. Then he rang me asking if we could go for a walk that night as he was in hospital. He had tried to commit suicide and wanted someone to talk to... I didn't want to be the person that turned my back on someone needing help so I said yes. He met me at my house at night and we went for that walk, he had bandages on his wrists, I can't remember what we talked about exactly... Him being sad, lonely, ugly, etc and before I went home he asked me out again. I didn't want to make him rip open his stitches again to kill himself so I said 'ok'. I don't know what my eventual plan was, I just couldn't be responsible for someone's life. We started dating, and eventually it felt nice, I didn't get a lot of attention from my parents and looked after my sister a lot, so I was surprised that someone actually seemed to love me. We moved in together and I left my parents house. We were together for five years and got engaged in the last year. During those years I would cook, clean; worked full time and went to uni full time. He barely worked. He would vent his frustrations about me and at worst hit me. He would ask for sex, and wouldn't stop until I said yes. When I was too tired, and refused to let him pester me into having sex, he would say things like 'you can sleep through it' and I would let him have sex with me. A few times, I woke up with him having sex with me. The worst time I have spent the last 13 years trying to forget. It was about halfway in our relationship. I was on the phone to my mother, sitting on the bed, and he started trying to grope me, I pushed his hand away and walked into the walk-in-wardrobe and sat down. I was still on the phone He followed me, and pushed me flat, then pulled my underwear down and began touching me. I kicked at him and slapped him with my free hand, but I felt ashamed and didn't want my mother to hear, so I wasn't very strong and kept listening to her like nothing was happening. He had sex with me on the wardrobe floor, and I just continued on the phone as normal. I said goodbye to my mother, hung up and just couldn't move. I remember he said, "admit it, you liked that". About three years ago, after therapy, I've wanted to tell someone about this time. I've thought about telling my mother, but I don't know what to say... she was on the phone with me and never noticed anything was wrong. Happily I got out of that relationship, but he stalked and harassed me. I got the police involved, but it took months for him to stop because I didn't have evidence and his stalking 'wasn't that bad'. I didn't tell them about the sex stuff, because if I didn't have enough proof that he was stalking me, I had absolutely no proof that he touched me.