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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.

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

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.

I started dating him during college. I remember him catching my eye the day I met him, his laugh, his curiosity with the world and the way he smiled when we spoke. We got to know each other over hours of tea time, and we started dating at the end of my senior year of college. I was off to med school in a city 4 hours away, and we were determined to make long distance work. He was my first boyfriend, and after COVID had thinned out my experience of college, I was excited to have found my person. I was incredibly happy in the beginning of our relationship, getting to do things for the first time with a boyfriend and experiencing what it was like to be desired and loved romantically. The feelings were intoxicating. In my naivety of a first relationship, especially my first serious relationship at the age of 21, I failed to seriously question behaviors that I saw in my partner. Take it as a result from my limited exposure to healthy relationships in childhood or my fear of admitting to myself that something was wrong. The part that was most foreign to me as someone new to relationships was navigating my own relationship with sex. I enjoyed sex, especially with someone that I loved, and I was convinced of the idea that I needed to always be able to provide sexually for my partner since now, we were exclusive, and I was his girlfriend. I appreciated knowing that I was desired, and my partner enjoyed being intimate with me. This worked for a while, until I started to need to set boundaries and prioritize my need for sleep and being able to function well in the high pressure environment of medical school. This is a story of a night that happened too many times for me to count in my relationship, so often that I knew it was going to happen every time he came to visit. There would be nights when I needed to get to sleep early because I needed to get a good night of sleep before an exam, or be well rested for another day of clinicals at the hospital. It would be about 10:30 pm, I would get ready for bed, knowing that I’d get a decent 7 hours of sleep if I was in bed by 11. He would be working or winding down his work, I would remind him that I needed to get to sleep so I could get enough rest for my next day. His work was very time consuming and he worked late into the night often, so I never pushed him to go to bed when he had something to work on. The one thing I would remind him of however, was that I wanted to be asleep by 11. If you want to have some intimate time, please wrap up soon because I need to sleep. I would brush my teeth, get in bed and he would say that he was wrapping up. I would try my hardest to stay awake until 11, scrolling on Tik Tok, or Instagram, hoping the blue light would do its job. 10:55. He closes his laptop and heads to the bathroom. I try my best to stay awake. 11:05. 11:10. 11:15. 11:20. I hear a toilet flush and the shower turn on. I can’t fight my exhaustion anymore, maybe it’s the frustration, the stress from studying, or just the exhaustion of cooking, cleaning, packing lunches and breakfast and making dinner for two whiles being a medical student. I fall asleep. 11:45. I’m woken up by him sliding into bed and I turn to curl up on his chest. He pulls me in to a cuddle , stokes my back and kisses my head. “Maybe do you want to do some sexy time?” He asks me. This is a question I know all too well in this exact situation that has played our too many times to count in our relationship. I respond the way I always do, convincing myself that this time, I’m going to stand my ground. “Baby it’s really late and I told you I needed to sleep, I don’t want to have sex, I’m really tired” “That’s okay! Then maybe we can do things other than sex?” The dance between us has started, and I know I really need to sleep but that he is going to get quiet and distant for the next day if I keep refusing. I tell myself that I need to prioritize my sleep right now, and he will get over not having sex for a night. It puzzles me that he thinks that giving him a blow job is any less exhausting than having sex and somehow is still okay to ask for when I told him I was really tired and needed to sleep. “Baby please I’m really tired, I don’t have the energy to blow you” “That’s fine, we can do it in the morning then” I hate making commitments that I can’t keep and I hate when anyone does the same to me. My response is a reflection of that, and in hindsight, not the best decision to getting this dance over with. “I have to be up at 6 I’m not getting up any earlier than that and I don’t think you will be waking up that early either” He goes quiet for a moment. “Maybe we can do some kissy?” I understand that his love language is physical touch and at this point, the guilt overwhelms me. The boy that I love has traveled hours to come see me and spend time with me, and here I am trying to sleep instead of making him feel loved. I know the logic is skewed, but I always wanted him to feel loved and know how much I loved him. If I could just kiss him a little bit, subtract some of my sleep, then that’s okay. This boy loved me and I loved him, I can spend a bit of time kissing him and reminding him that I found him attractive and desirable as well. I would lift my chin and kiss him, gently, softly, as passionately as I could for someone half asleep. I would try to meet his level of intensity, the sleep and exhaustion weighing on my eyelids. Eventually the exhaustion would catch up to me and I would stop moving my mouth as much. “Baby! I’m trying to kiss you but you’re not seeming very into it!” He says. “I’m sorry handsome I’m just so tired, I love you” He lets out a sigh and reaches for my hand that is laying on his chest. He takes my hand and places It right where he wants it. He’s hard. The feeling of dread washes over me. I love this boy, I do, and I’m flattered that he desires me. But I am just so sleepy and exhausted right now. He moves my hand against himself. He uses his other hand and reaches for my waistband. He slides his hands inside and touches me. “I think someone wants me” he says. Of course I find him attractive. I’m just so tired right now and I don’t want to do anything but sleep. He kisses me more passionately. Touches me more aggressively. Makes me touch him more aggressively. The exhaustion has won over my determination to not let this happen again. “Please I’m really tired” My plea goes unanswered as he takes off my bottoms and his own. I know at this point, it is easier and faster to get this over with than to keep trying to fight for myself and refuse his advances. Any time I had refused his sexual advances in the past I’d be met with cruelty. I would beg him to say something while I profusely apologized, and he would keep silent. If it was in the morning, I would explain that I was in pain and would ask to figure out our days together. He would refuse to partake, roll his eyes and would go back to sleep. He would get out of bed after 10am, ensuring that I wouldn’t be able to of any of the things that I wanted to do with him that morning. Once he wore me down and I gave him reluctant consent when I was in pain, asking him to be gentle. The pain was severe as soon as he entered me, and I cried out. I profusely apologized but he stayed silent, even as I begged him to say something. I didn’t realize that this was stonewalling and emotional abuse. Come to think of it, I could never have a period in peace when I was with him. If I lied in bed moaning in pain, he would sometimes comfort me a little. But every single time it would end in him making the same joke, even after I had expressed numerous times how much it bothered me. “You know what would make your cramps feel a lot better?” He meant sex. He always meant sex. Even when I explained to him what excruciating pain I was experiencing, he wanted sex. Even after I explained to him that it bothered me that he kept making that same joke, explained how it made me feel like he didn’t understand the amount of pain I was in. He just wanted sex. It never mattered if I was in pain. He laughed when I cried about how upset that joke made me. My naïve heart was convinced that laughter was innocent. Most of those times he wouldn't relent until we had sex, or I pleasured him in some other way. 12:10. He reaches for a condom, and before I know it, we’re having sex. I’m doing anything I possibly can to get this over with as quickly as possible. Move the way he wants me to touch him the way he wants me to. All the while thinking to myself, “please just finish I’m so tired and need to sleep”. 12:30. He’s done. I try to hold back my tears as I head to the bathroom. How did I let this happen again? I talked to him about this again just last week. I told him I need him to respect my bedtime didn’t I? I asked him to please not push it when I say I don’t want to have sex. I asked him to please not reach for my hand and make me touch you. He verbalized understanding, said that he only wanted to have sex if I did. What was I doing wrong that this kept happening even after I talked to him about it? I go back to bed, he’s curled up facing away from me, starting to fall asleep. I know he likes to have sex before bed to help him fall asleep, it helps him work out the “zoomies before bed” as he calls them. I lay next to him and the tears start silently falling down my cheeks. Is this what being an exclusive partner is supposed to be like? Am I rarely going to be able to sleep when I want to because I need to be there for him to have sex with before bed, the way he likes? Are my pleas to be left alone always going to get ignored? If we live together, get married, is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? One thought sinks to the pit of my stomach. Is this assault? 12:45. I finally get the chance to sleep undisturbed. My hope for 7 hours of sleep has dwindled down to 5. I guess I’ll just be groggy and exhausted working at the hospital again. This was my boyfriend, the boy I have been with for years. He says he loves me. I love him. He cares about me, buys me groceries, buys me birthday presents. He goes to dinner and comes to visit me while I’m at school. He helps fix my car and my devices. We brush our teeth together most nights before bed. He’s my best friend. Some of my friends say we look cute together and have funny banter. Could a person like that assault me? I certainly didn’t say yes. I said no at the beginning and said that I did not want to have sex, but I’m not sure I said no or asked him to stop when he grabbed a condom. I was too tired to put up a fight, I just wanted to get it over with. This wasn’t the first time. It happened just about every month he came to visit me. I tried to talk to him about it often, he called it bickering and said that he liked sex before bed and first thing in the morning and it was hard for him to wrap up work earlier so things wouldn’t happen so late. He shut down when I brought up the topic and said that this was his love language and it made him feel loved. I wanted him to feel loved, just not at the expense of my lack of sleep. I initiated sex often to make him feel loved, and at a time that would be conducive to my need for sleep. But no matter how many times we had sex before I was winding down my night, he always wanted sex when he went to bed because it helped him get to sleep easier. We talked about making time for sex, planning. He agreed when we spoke about it, but the action never happened. What was I left with? No matter what we spoke about, the same thing happened. I spoke to someone close to him about my distress because I wanted to understand anything I could to help reframe my feelings, and hopefully understand him better and feel less hurt. “He’s a 23 year old boy who sees his girlfriend once a month, what do you expect? You’re being irrational” “Maybe you shouldn’t sleep in the same bed then” “If you can’t meet his needs then you need to talk to him about it” “So what if he cheats on you, it’s just sex he’s still choosing to be with you right?” Was I the girl that was depriving him of happiness? I wasn’t giving him the kind of sex he wanted at the hour he wanted? I didn’t think he was a malicious person. The kindest explanation that I could come up with was that his brain shut down when he was in the mood, and he had a hard time thinking about much else other than his desire for sex. His frontal lobe forgot to consider that maybe his actions were hurting me, and he saw convincing me as a challenge. After all, I was his girlfriend and we should be intimate together, and there were many times when I enjoyed it. All he could think about in the moment was just working out his zoomies to help him get to sleep. However, there is a reason why were are humans, not bunnies – we have advanced cognitive reasoning and I don’t think idiocy is an excuse. He loved me, right? Why would he want to hurt me? These thoughts are why I stayed as long as I did. He didn’t mean to hurt me, he just was young and dumb and was working on developing his emotional intelligence. I was convinced that it would grow with time and the more we spoke about it, little by little he would understand. But he didn’t. Was I just being impatient? Long story short, things in our relationship feel apart when things surfaced about how angry he was about the times I refused sex when I was tired, and his desires to be with someone who was more sexually exciting than me, someone with bigger breasts and fuller curves like the porn he looked at multiple times a day. The feelings and questions from all the times that I was pressured into sex surfaced. I felt that these feelings and situations when I felt pressured were the reason why I was so guarded with him sexually and didn’t always feel comfortable and I wanted to work through it with him so I could be more sexually exciting for him. I talked to him about these situations. “I think that was a form of assault. I was pressured into sex when I didn’t want to and it made me uncomfortable” “I never meant to be assaulting you, I’m sorry you felt like that. I can see how you took as that though” He wanted to see if moving in together would fix things for us. The thought of spending every night like this terrified me. “We can have two different bedrooms so that doesn’t happen” he offered. Why couldn’t he just respect my boundaries? I wanted to be able to cuddle in bed with my partner at the end of a long day and feel comfort without the worry that I had to provide sexually when I was exhausted. “I’d appreciate being able to talk through this with you because I have felt violated in this relationship and I’m in a pretty bad place” I told him I was done when he yelled at me over the phone. He was going to look into couples counseling. He said he was doing some deep introspection about his feelings. He sent me a letter saying he didn’t want to be with me a few days later because I was bickering and upset with him. “This is just too much, and I don’t have the time to deal with this and work through these things with you. My work is an extension of me, my priority, and I need to focus on that...I don’t want you to come away from this feeling like you were abused for 3 years” The boy who said he loved me unconditionally had found his condition. His points were valid, everyone has a right to their own priorities. However, it struck me that after 3 years together, he still didn’t respect me or care about me enough to take responsibility and help me talk through the trauma that I had undergone in our relationship. It is always hard to confront that we have hurt someone that we love, and I want to think that his avoidant tendencies put him in fight or flight mode when he heard how much pain I was in. He must have thought it was easier to just run away, stop hurting me instead of confronting the hurt that he had caused me. I convinced myself of every excuse I could possibly make for him. At the end of the day, I was left with myself, healing from being violated throughout my relationship, screaming, crying, not knowing how to speak about what had happened to me. But here I am now, trying to learn how. Was this ignorance? A habitual miscommunication every month? Even that just sounded ridiculous, how can I speak to him about the same thing every month just for him to never hear it? Was I making too many excuses for him? Was I too much of a people pleaser, and was he looking to steam roll me to get what he wanted? Assault always felt like too strong of a word to describe this. Was there a smaller tier to describe being touched when I didn’t want to be and being nudged into sex when I did not want it? Is there a word to describe your partner of years habitually having sex with you when you did not say yes, and did not want to? ChatGPT says “the term for that is ‘coercive sex’ or ‘sexual coercion’ if there was pressure, guilt-tripping, or manipulation involved. If there was no consent at all, even if it was within a long-term relationship, it is legally and ethically considered rape or sexual assault, depending on jurisdiction.” I’ve never been able to call this rape, but I’m coming to understand that rape isn’t always violent and can be done by someone who is an intimate partner who was not physically abusive. He never hit me or got violent with me. But this, whatever it was, came with emotional abuse and still sucked. I felt very disrespected and violated. One thing that I am sure of (unfortunately) is that I am not alone in this experience. I appreciate you for reading this story, whether you can relate or not.

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

I was 3 years old when I was first raped. That time, by my neighbor—my parents’ chiropractor, to be exact. The abuse continued until I was around 5 years old. I was suddenly no longer allowed to go to his house, and I didn’t understand why; after all, we just were “playing doctor.” My traumatized, yet innocent brain couldn’t handle the memories so I chose to never think about it again…until I remembered it all. EVERYTHING. The second time I was raped, I was 15 years old. The perpetrator was two years older than me, and much stronger. I don’t remember much of the actual assault, but I sure do remember the aftermath. I remember walking out from the Uber into my house, holding my ripped underwear in my hands. I remember when he sent threats to hurt me afterwards if I dared to tell anyone. I remember him forcing me to take a video of swallowing a Plan B pill. Flash forward to four years later. I am 19 years old. I have severe mental health issues with suicide attempts and a hospitalization under my belt. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and borderline personality, along with severe PTSD. I dropped out of high school and got my GED. I’m trying to function as a normal young adult, with a job and family drama and lots of emotional baggage. Yet I fail; then I stand up and fight again. And again. And again.

I am writing this a mother of a survivor. My daughter was abused by her paternal grandfather from the age of 5 to 6 years of age. Her father discovered the abuse, as we were in the process of divorce at the time. I learned of it through a DFS investigator who told me over the phone what was happening with my child. I was devastated. Her abuser was arrested and after a short period of investigation, we went to trial. His attorney wanted him to receive just 5 years of probation and no registry. We fought against it as they had also found child pornography on his computer at the time. At court, he was found to have her picture even though he was already advised that he could not possess it or have any contact with her. He made excuses that he loved her. This judge did not believe a word he said and said that they were no more than "self-serving words." He was sentenced to 10 years for each count for a total of 20 years to be served concurrently with 80% mandatory. This was in 2011. Just 2 years later we received a letter that he was up for "early parole". My ex-husband and I attended. With him, he brought a letter that he had received from his father asking for a picture of him and our daughter. While there he spoke of having "friends" in prison that protected him from other inmates. When he was told that if he were to get parole, one of the conditions was that he could not have a computer or any device that accesses the internet. He tried to argue that he paid his bills online. His early parole was denied. During all this, we started to see a change in our daughter's behavior. She was having night terrors and was generally not our normal happy-go-lucky kiddo. When she was 9 she told me that she wanted to die. I called her doctor, took her to the ER and she was admitted. They diagnosed her with trauma-induced bipolar, generalized anxiety, and PTSD. She spent the next 6 years in and out of hospitals for suicide attempts and suicidal ideations. Then in 2017, he was up for parole again. This time she wanted to attend, because she was old enough at this point she would be allowed to speak at the hearing. To say that I was proud of her was an understatement. She explained what she had been through and that the 10 years that he was sentenced to was nothing compared to the life sentence that she was given. After she spoke, it was my turn, and then his. She left the room during his time to speak as she could not handle even hearing his voice. In the end, the gentleman handling the hearing came out and congratulated my daughter on her strength and that he was in awe of her ability to speak up for herself. We later found out that he was denied parole again and would complete his sentence. He was released in 2021. As for my daughter, she is doing amazing. She moved to California when she was 20 years old and has been there for almost a year. She is getting ready to start college for a career in ESL and has plans to go to South Korea next summer with plans to move there in the future. She continues to amaze me and fight for herself as well as taking care of her mental health. She has also stopped calling herself a victim and refers to herself as a survivor.

I was raised by a misogynistic narcissist so in my early 20s I thought my boyfriend's behavior was at least better than I was raised with. His behaviour spiralled over the years and there was gaslighting, financial abuse and finally rape. I didn't see the warning signs, sex would be very rough but I thought I enjoyed it. He had lost his job and had not worked for a year at 23, he used to smoke weed and stay up all night playing videogames. More than a few times I woke up to him masturbating so vigorously the bed would shake. One day I was sitting on the loo and I was in a bit of pain and I noticed semen in my knickers that I didn't know how it got there. I remember the ringing sound in my ears, but I decided to ignore it, I mean he couldn't possibly have. Then one night I woke up and he was rummaging in my pajama shorts and I realized he was penetrating me. I remember freezing in the dark and then calling his name. He said he wasn't doing anything, rolled over and went to sleep. I repressed this memory completely. I dumped him a few months later and thankfully moved on with my life. With my current partner (a wonderful man), we were having sex one night early in our relationship and the incident that happened with my ex hit me like a trolley and I had a flashback and a full body panic attack. I had to face what had happened to me then, I thought I was crazy and that no one would believe me, it's not your classic rape case. The incident tortured me mentally for about a year and thankfully I eventually sought help. I still think about revenge every day and am afraid to run into my ex in the city where I live. But we carry on. I am grateful to so many women who have shared their stories or managed to find justice when they report they were attacked in their sleep. We are a powerful bunch us ladies, and I am so thankful I could share my story here today. Bless you all xx

I am new here on this website, but I am not new to being an incest survivor. Over 35 years ago, in the 1960’s, 70’s and 80’s, I was the little girl victim of [entire childhood long] long-term father-upon-daughter incest with a non-supportive, disbelieving mother. It was a long time ago, so I am not in “danger” any longer from my abuser. But the injuries still hurt now and then and the scars are still healing. My mind is still recovering from the insanity that threatened to settle over me stemming from being raised up in that crazymaking, “gaslighting” environment. I woke up one day and could see that it was all just a nightmare from the past that I was allowing to “haunt” me in the present threatening to end my future early. I want to share my story, and I will do so in small portions, for it is far too long for here. As is probably the case with many father-upon-daughter incest survivors, I could write a whole book, no, a trilogy about my childhood and the problems I have had all along throughout my lifespan due that issue. He had a long “tenure” as a child sexual predator since he got started when he was only 5 years old, a sexual addict who loved children until he was of age 70 when he passed away of a fast-acting cancer in 2017. His dark secrets are coming out of the closet since his passing, but my family is still in denial. As I discovered, sometimes skeletons have a way of falling out of the closet on their own. After his passing, my father’s sexual abuse victims, all his siblings, are starting to open up. My father was the youngest sexual predator I have ever heard of. He didn’t become a child rapist in his adult life or develop his predilection due to some quirk in married life, ...he was already a child rapist when he married my mother when he was just 17 years old. My father was a 17 year old child molester-rapist [who sexually abused all five of his own younger siblings, leaving them with lifelong scars and psychological problems]. My father went on to become a highly respected CHP law enforcment officer and a highly respected, church-going, law-abiding [his pubic image, although he broke laws in his private life], tax-paying citizen that everyone revered throughout the small military base and civilian town I grew up in. I have lived out the real-life story of “The Girl Who Cried Wolf”, only I was telling the truth about the “wolf”, who was my father. In the Aesop’s fable, the boy was pranking the villagers, so they didn’t believe him when he really needed them to believe him. I know how it is to be telling the truth about a wolf in sheep’s clothing and no one else can see what he really is. It is very scary. Life-threatening, really. I knew as a child that I had to outsmart my dad if I was ever to “tell” on his dark deeds. But he was always two steps ahead. He always had 2 or 3 lies for each truth I had. I was playing a “rigged game” only I didn’t figure this out until adult life. My father tried to ruin my life and that of all of his siblings and my sister, my children, and any other kids he could get his hands near. I lived and I know the nightmares [figurative and literal] that children live with when their own daddy is the “boogey man” wolf creature that comes in the night, out from the closet or from under the bed, but magically disappears by morning, leaving [virtually] no trace. Since my dad got away with sexually abusing me all those years, I want to open up and expose his sneaky “tactics”. He didn’t get away with sexually abusing me because he was such a genius, so brilliant and talented at illusion and sleight of hand moves. He got away with it because everyone else around him, the adults, were ignorant and duped. I am in favor of using my experience to help to develop a better way to come to the aid of more of these child victims who are trying to find any adult who will hear them and may want to help them. It’s terrible to be held captive in your own home and no one can see it and no one offers to help. You realize you are stuck. Helpless. That ought not to be so. Children should be able to find someone to tell. Police can’t seem to find the “funding” or “man power” to stop these guys. They rarely can ever catch one and put them away, and if they succeed, it is only for a few years before they are back out, resuming their molesting. My life and my journey of healing has brought me to a place where I am done being a recovering victim who considers myself a “survivor”, but I want to be more...I desire to be an “overcomer” who has applied what I know and am [starting to ] make a difference. I want to be part of the solution for other victims who are crying out for help...the help that never came for me and other father-daughter incest survivors, who themselves had to endure “childhood sexual abuse by daddy” because no one saw the signs...because no one was “listening”. I hope to be a part of bringing better solution to the issue of incest than is presently in place...because the present way of addressing this problem is not working. The continuing influx of brand new reports representing all-new cases childhood sexual abuse perpetrated by another father tells us that we are not even close to stemming the tide of this insidious problem that grows behind closed doors. That is all I have to say for now. Thank you for listening.  Sincerely, ~ forthetruth

I feel like nobody talks about COCSA. And I feel like no one talks about female perpetrators. I’m not necessarily here to talk about the abuse that happened to me, but for context, I was nine and the other child was a nine year old girl. What really haunts me is what I did after. I inflicted this pain onto someone else, I figure I was probably about 10 and she was 9. She was my mom’s friends daughter. My mom’s best friend, actually. And I’ve been thinking a lot about how much that must’ve ruined their friendship when they found out what happened. How much anger my mother must have deep down felt towards me. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. And I tell myself “I didn’t touch her I didn’t actually lay my hands on her I didn’t do it” but I did. I hurt someone like that and maybe I have an excuse and maybe I don’t but all I can think is how horrible I feel to have done something like that to another person. It was never about getting caught or getting in trouble, im just disgusted with myself. Just recently I remembered that I was raped twice that night, not once. And now I’m terrified that maybe I’m forgetting something and maybe I did this more than once, but how could I have forgotten doing something like that? I would never harm a child today. Never. There is not a single doubt in my mind that I would ever hurt anybody like that again. All I think about now is if I’m this awful person because nobody ever talks about this side of childhood SA and the people that do are treated like monsters. But maybe that’s what I deserve.

I was around 14-15 I was assaulted by someone I know I was so scared for such a long time scared to share my story but now I’m ready He used to always make me feel really guilty for the things he did to me He used to touch me inappropriately he was older I thought I was to blame for a while I blamed myself for what happened but I realise now that I need to share my story to help others out there struggling I fell into unhealthy coping mechanisms everyone handles trauma differently but I found help and reached out to friends and family and shared it with them

Date, around time I went on a date with him (a correctional officer), thinking it was an opportunity to become acquainted with him as a friend, but it turned out to be a horrific night which I would only remember parts of. He picked me up in his white pickup truck; it smelled of cologne and winterfresh gum. Two smells I will never forget. He took me to a dirty dive bar without asking where to go. I already didn’t feel safe, and I regret that I never said anything to this day. I got my first drink, rum and coke. Keep in mind that my glass was smaller than a coffee mug. We started talking, and he told me he used to be in the army. He seemed to be trying hard to persuade and impress me, but I was not falling for it. The taste of my drink was no different than I had before. I was nearly done with my first drink when he asked if I wanted another, and I agreed. He returned with another and asked if I wanted to play darts, and I again agreed. I took one drink of my second rum and coke he brought to me and started to feel dizzy, tired, and weak. I didn’t say anything yet. I continued with darts. By then, he gave me a third drink, I don’t remember if I even had a drink of it. I do recall saying, ‘I wanted to go home,’ and we left out the side door to his white pickup truck. I don’t remember getting inside the front seat, let alone the backseat. My eyes flickered open and closed, waking up only to see him face-to-face with me. Raping me, I am frozen in shock. Disgusted by what he was saying to me. When he was done, he threw a towel on me and told me to ‘clean up.’ He tossed my shoe onto my nude body and said, ‘Now I will take you home.’ Twenty degrees outside, I was fully nude in a familiar parking lot. I got dressed. He took me home; no words were exchanged. Once I got in my house, I went straight into the shower and cried. I was a virgin He took my innocence from me that I can never get back. Date, around time Sitting in my office, He came in unannounced and sat down in a chair by the door. I looked up, feeling uneasy. I asked him, ‘what are you doing?’ He replied as he got up from his chair, ‘I know you want this cock.’ He blocked me between my seat, the wall, and my desk, I had nowhere to go. He unzipped his pants and grabbed a handful of my hair, and forcefully give him oral sex. This time I remember the whole brutal rape. Pushing, gagging, and choking only made him put more force and hurt upon me. His strength was unbearable. When it was over, he threw a piece of winterfresh gum at me and left. Crying, feeling dirty, guilty, and shameful, I put myself together and completed my day. Violated, not only once but twice, by the same guy. Once outside of work and the other inside work. After the first attack, I was broken inside, but the second attack really damaged me. If I told anyone, no one would believe me because he was a very well-liked person at work, and I was just a caseworker. My sisters were the first to know about the first assault in April 2020. I held back on the second as I felt they wouldn’t forgive me for allowing it to happen again. October 2020 I told my sisters about the second assault. I went to internal affairs, who sent me to detectives. They supposedly did an investigation, but boys will boys, and where I worked, they all stick together. The DA dropped the case. January - October 2023 I now moved out of that county because of the triggers and the hope that my PTSD will get better with time. I feel stronger I told my story and know I am a survivor. I hope my story will become someone else’s survival guide. This happens when you are a strong, outspoken woman at the County Name Jail inCity, State Name

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

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's no laughing matter. I'm no laughing matter. I don't know which is worse, the abuse I endured at the hands of someone I knew for 10 years or the utter joke it became for the city that it happened in. The joke, the filth I became. My head has never been clear enough to get out exactly what I'm trying to because it's filled with so many unanswered questions and the knowing that I could of been saved from years of pain, suffering, had anyone including the authorities taken what was happening to me seriously. I was married 6 weeks when I discovered the guy I married was nothing like he said. In fact he had been spending his nights on the computer and to this day it haunts me at the content he was watching. The next year I was subjected to numerous beatings. Twice his own apartment complexes managers either refused to give me help or lied to the police on his account. I was abused in my sleep , I suffered a tbi, no one would help me. He was so sick that beating on me made him happy and would try and get me to do things to him. I didn't know what to do because like i said no one including the police took me seriously or to this day 10 years later as I try to file on him,they are more concerned with "why did you go there" or "you're the one who didn't get her way in a domestic violence incident. " If this wasn't enough I moved over 3000 miles away and was told by City law enforcement that I now am responsible for their lies to social security. I had just got a home after swelling on both sides of my brain and had been trying to work on what happened to me however I took it very personal and I tried to end my life and ended up losing my home. I feel like I paid to be raped, I feel dirty, I feel useless. Over the 10 years since I have contacted City law enforcement hundreds of times a year, no joke, hundreds and nothing. They are still refusing to do anything to him even though I sit in my house with documented facts on what he did to me but no one cares to see it. It's emotionally destroying me, it hinders ever aspect of my life. I've had rape crisis case managers try and get answers, I've filled out every paper the Mayor's office sent me. I will get my hopes up and see an email from them and then like always, nothing. No one should be abused is what I say but this feeling of I deserved it consumes me and I'm always trying to explain why I don't. I'm obviously not through the healing process but I want what happened to me out there. I was never aware of the true evils in this world. Never knowing that the police too can cause so much pain but literally laugh it off. I Pray I find the answers I'm looking for. All I can say is my Faith in God was the only thing that kept me able to go. I was robbed, walked until my feet bled so much trauma that I know one day there will be peace. I do know together WE can and I'm so grateful to my AA group and other places I go. Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.

When I was 12 years old, me and my cousin, who was a few months younger than me, had sex. It was my idea, but we were both willing. At the next sleepover we had, I asked her if she wanted to do it again, and she said no. We were very close for many years but that was the last sleepover we had. 6 years later, it continues to haunt me. When I was 13 or 14 I messaged her on Snapchat to apologise, and she said it was ok but it doesn’t feel ok. I fear it never will. I confessed to a priest and he said God forgave me. I told my best friend. I told my mother and she said it was normal. None of it could quell my burning guilt. On top of that, I’ve developed intrusive - inappropriate - thoughts that follow me like a dark cloud that I cannot shake off. There’s nothing in my life I regret more. I feel like I have completely sullied any opportunity of having positive sexual encounters in the future. Will I ever shake this burden? Do I even deserve to?

I was 18. My father brought me to Thailand on vacation, and he was leaving me alone for a few days because our flights weren't aligned. Before he left, he took it upon himself to show me around the red light district. I was embarrassed when he pointed out the places where you could get a blowjob, or a girlfriend for the night. He pointed out the place the ladyboys were, told me to avoid it. I wish I had paid more attention, because when he was gone, and I was on my own that first night, I went to the red light district as I thought my Dad wanted me to. I ended up at that bar where the ladyboys are, sitting alone, drinking a beer, wondering how my night would go. It didn't so much matter how I thought it should go, because I was approached by two ladyboys, who stuck their hands down my pants and began to fondle me. It felt pleasurable, and they looked like women, and my Dad would have been happy I was "getting some", so I went back to the hotel with two of them. I think I was trying to convince myself they were women, because to 18 year old me, that was the dream. To have women come up and want to have sex with me. But once we got up to the room, and the clothes came off, I realized I was deep in a bad situation. I wish I could say the story ended there. That I was able to send them out. But at that time I didn't know the price sex had. I never had sex before, and here was somebody willing to do it with me. Afterwords I felt sick. I felt I owed this person something. When in reality, they got everything they wanted -- a man half their age who was an innocent fool. I had given away my very soul, to somebody who just wanted to use me. I felt sick, and I stayed sick for several days following. I look back on the situation and feel a lot of resentment. Resentment towards my Dad, for bringing me to the red light district. Resentment towards the prostitute, who took advantage of a sad, lonely boy. But all I can do now is forgive. I may never have my virginity back, but at least I'm alive.

We lost our family dog to domestic violence. Yes family, because he’s family to us. After that our abuser drained every single account, sold things, hid things, stalked us, and more. Then he left both me, and our child homeless and struggling a lot. What followed was zero help, and support from the police, DA, DV Unit, and the judges. In my wildest dreams I never imagined that nobody would help us. We spent 7 years waiting to get housed, and each day I think are they going to kick us out today, and will we have to sleep in our car again. Understandably that’s an extremely uneasy feeling, not to mention the toll all of these things have taken on our mental health. Yet another thing that isn’t taken seriously enough. Besides all of the abuse, including the post separation abuse, there’s coercive control, and our judicial system needs to acknowledge, and do something about this too. As parents we want to protect our children, but we can’t do that without help from our Congress. We can no longer rely on our individual states to properly help us. We need a nationwide Act that protects all victims of abuse, but this will not work unless there’s accountability. It must be required to be enforced this. We need a Serious Crime Act. I strongly believe that if the United Kingdom can enact this so can we. The day that I had to tell our child that her own dad abused, and killed her dog is something I will never forget. Everyone situation is different, but the one thing we have in common is we’ve experienced abuse. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, especially not on children.

Hey! I'm 18, and all this happened a year and a half ago, I was 16. It's a really weird and messed up story, I never heard a similar one. I was going home late afternoon and got literally attacked by a group of I think 3 or 4 people older than me, all male. I dont know which language they were speaking. I really really tried to kick them and scream and resist but there was nothing I could do. I dont know how long it lasted, I was scared what they would do when they're done, if they would kill me or let me run away. They let me go when they were done, I picked up my things and literally ran home without stopping. I am so grateful there was nobody home and that nobody saw me going home. It was this feeling of emotionless and numbness when you cant feel anything that saved me. I showered, last time next 9 months, got dressed and prayed no one gets home soon. I didn't go out much next few days, acted normal enough that my parents wouldn't notice and tried to not think about it. I only told people online: a close friend and anonymously to hundreds who would read my reddit post. After a few months of constant crying in my room, I tried to kill myself, every time I decided I'd rather not die yet and threw up the pills, then be mad and try again... I cut myself, hit myself, would cry and scream in a corner of my room and hit myself with something when nobody is home. Hid all pretty well, parents would tell me I've changed and tried to get to me, mom would cry and ask me what's wrong but I would, barely holding it in, tell her shes making it all up and go to my room rolling my eyes. I still cut myself, sometimes hit myself and pull my hair, subconsciously pick the skin around my fingernails so it bleeds, my hands look absolutely horrible. My thighs are covered in 30cm long scars from knee to hip and it's sometimes a pain to walk and even sleep. Idk how I survived the summer, people at the beach would look at my leg but nobody ever said anything. I've still never told anyone in real life, I am extremely ashamed of all of it, cant walk down the street with my head up, cant imagine telling parents or talking to a therapist. I really just dont want to be sad anymore. This text is poorly written and doesnt really transfer all emotions well, I didnt really see the keyboard because of crying. But thank you for reading this. Knowing someone knows I'm going through this helps. And that there are other people. Thank you really.