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

I’m sharing here because I hope I can reach out to other women who may have gone through marital rape or may still be going through it and I want you to know you are not alone. For years I felt as if I was asleep as I couldn’t face up to what was happening to me, why I was losing weight and why I so depressed. I minimised everything, even to him. I would try and make him feel better afterwards. Most of the time it was as simple as me saying no to sex and him doing it anyway while I was completely disconnected, and it was so often, I would lie there and wait til he was done most of the time, but each thing built up to him pushing the boundaries further, sometimes when we were out in public, always after I went out with my friends, it was part of the deal. I always told myself he’d be in better form if I just went along with it. He was always so stressed and so angry. And I loved him and sometimes I enjoyed sex with him. It made things very confusing in my head. And I was eating barely anything, which he encouraged, he was constantly buying me exercise equipment and sexy outfits. I kept getting sick, I was tired and low all the time. My family and friends were saying I wasn’t myself. There were 3 incidents that I play over and over in my head that I couldn’t minimise (although I tried). And they led to me telling him our marriage was over. That was a year ago. I thought it might help me to write one of them down and maybe someone will identify with me and it might help them. It was at his best friends wedding and as usual, he wanted us to do something exciting sexually. So we went to the men’s toilets. We were kissing and we started to have sex. I was quite drunk. All of a sudden he turned me around and bent me over the toilet, my hands on the window sill. I started to say no. It came out in what sounded like a little girls voice. I don’t know why I remember that so well. I don’t know why I didn’t shout. He raped me anally in the men’s cubicle and I was crying looking at a dirty window sill and I could hear strange men outside commenting. Afterwards I kept asking why did you do that, I didn’t want that, it hurt me, you were too rough, I said no. But he he didn’t want to talk about it. He left me sitting with one of his male friends that I didn’t know to go outside with his best friend and have cigars. He saw I was in pain and bleeding for days after. I stayed with him for years after that. Other things happened after that too. I ended up feeling like his stress ball, a rag doll, good for nothing else. I was with him since I was 18 years old and we have children together. He was all I knew. He was my husband and I loved him. No one knew what was happening. Everyone thought we were a couple in love. It wasn’t until I told him I couldn’t share a bed with him anymore and I was starting ti have panic attacks that we went to a marriage counsellor and it all came out. I woke up. It was her face. Her reaction. I felt so stupid and embarrassed. And he tried to explain it away to her shouting at her that he was a man. I was sitting there thinking how did I let this happen to me? I always saw myself as quite a strong, intelligent, bubbly person. I’m in my 40s, I should know better. I was looking at the counsellors face and it somehow didn’t feel as if it was happening. I realised I was shaking and she was worried about me and he was shouting at her. I felt so embarrassed and helpless. And stupid in front of another grown woman. I was thinking what if this was someone I loved telling me this happened to them? But still in my head I kept thinking its not really rape because he was my husband, and I loved him and so many times I wanted to have sex with him so how could it be rape. But why did he want to hurt me? I kept thinking this couldn’t be happening to me. Anyway thanks for reading. I hope it helps someone. I feel it helped me to write it down.

I somehow got myself on Tinder at 16 years old. I know, not very smart of me but all my friends were on it at the time and I didn't think about it. I met someone who told me he was also underage, he claimed he was 17. He seemed perfect. We went on a date to a pumpkin patch, we got sushi at a restaurant, and after he came to my home to carve pumpkins. Everything was going so well. We were watching a movie and he asked us to move to my room. Honestly, I didn't really want to but I agreed and we went to my room. His demeanor changed immediately, suddenly he was cocky and dominant. We had sex which I had agreed to even if I felt pressured. Suddenly he put his penis in my anus, pulled it out after a few times, and put it back into my vagina. I was shocked, I was confused. Did that just happen? Is that normal? I am so grateful for the human survival instincts because I mostly checked out. But I remember him saying "You could at least act like you're enjoying it". Still, I didn't react. When he was done he got up and went to get a towel, I asked him to turn on the light and he said "Are you sure? You might not want to see the bed it's going to be graphic." I didn't understand and wanted the light on anyway. My white comforter was covered in blood and had feces stains on it. "wow" I felt embarrassed. He said it was normal. We went back into the living room and a few minutes later he left. Next, I threw out my comforter and went to my best friend's house. She had her older friend over. I told them what happened and they were shocked. Both of these girls were sexually experienced, and they told me that is not normal. You don't have anal sex by accident. You don't have anal sex without a discussion first. You don't "slip" into someone's anus which is the excuse I had thought up for him, "maybe he slipped?". They assured me it was not an accident that happens. I told the older girl his name, Name, it turns out she knows him and he is not 17. He told her he was 20. When he came over to her house before he was really pushy to have sex and her dog hated him so she kicked him out. My dog also hated him. Moving forward I reached out to him, he wasn't responding to my messages, then he said he was sorry but he's not looking for anything relationship-wise, he didn't want to see me again. At this point it started to become clearer "I might have been raped". I spent about 2 years going back and forth between did that really happen, was it rape, was it my fault, did I ask for it? A few days after the rape my vagina became swollen. I know, I'm sorry for the detail but it is crucial to the story. I went to the student based health center my school worked with because I did not want my parents to know I had sex. They did a test on me and I had bacterial vaginosis. The nurse said I had "bacteria that looked like a blooming flower inside of me.", this is because he went from my anus to my vagina a few times and I was bloody. Luckily it was an easy fix with some antibiotics. Another thing that confirmed something seriously wrong had happened. I spent 2 years of my life Junior and Senior years of high school in bed and I do not remember my high school time fully. I slept, I rotted, I removed my bed frame from my room in a mental breakdown, I rearranged my bed to different positions in my room, and I changed mattresses. Nothing was helping me. Eventually, I changed rooms. I began to resent my own home. I did not feel like I had a safe space. I started to be rude to my parents, I was mean when they would not let me go out, and I was snappy anytime. I skipped dinner, and avoided family time. In addition, I stopped going to school. I missed so many days of school, that they sent a letter that they might have a police officer come to our house to do a welfare check. My mom would drop me off at school, I would wait for her to drive away, and I would walk back home to go lay in bed. Until she started to wait until I got inside and then I would maybe go to one class and then walk home. My two best friends started to come to my window on school days and they would knock on my window to try and get me to come to class. One of them, my bestest friend in the world, would continuously knock on my window until I let her into my house. I also have barky dogs so they would be going crazy barking and I had to let her in, she also literally would not leave or stop knocking until I let her in. No matter how disgusting, and horribly messy my room was (I am talking can not see the floor, obstacles to the bed, garbage, huge piles of clothes, deep clothes on the floor) she would sit with me on my mattress on the floor. She would lay with me, she would cuddle me, she would make me watch videos with her on her phone. She would skip school for me. She would eventually coax me into leaving the house, going with her to get coffee, get food, go drive around, go to her house, go adventure outside in the woods together. I can't imagine what would have happened without her. She never made me feel like a victim, always let me talk about the gross details, and let me be my gross rotting self at this time, she made me laugh, she made me feel happy when I was so depressed, and didn't even really know why. As in I was still confused, still unsure if I was actually raped. Eventually, my school told me I would have to repeat my senior year. They never asked me what was wrong, they just told me I was failing bad. I had met a new guy at this time who became my boyfriend, he ended up cheating on me so I can't make him too nice in this story but at this time, he was really helpful, and beneficial, he taught me what real safe sex is and what it is supposed to be and feel like. It is communication, consent, mutual good feelings, and love. I want to add that when I did have sex with him for the first time after the rape my hands locked up. A physical result of trauma, I couldn't open up my hands, I was scared and not of him, but my body responded to this intimate act happening again. It was his first time having sex and I like to consider it my real first time too. He did not "slip" into my anus. Becuase that does not happen. After this, it clicked to me that I was anally raped. I had always searched on Google, Instagram, and anywhere I could for information on anal rape, and I could never find it. I wanted to be confirmed and validated. I wanted to find someone who had experienced the same thing I had and I still have not found it (4 years later). I only saw things about male prison rape. I am making a face right now that is not what I was looking for. Moving forward, one of my friends' sisters started dating the man who raped me a few days later. She messaged me and asked about him. I didn't tell her he raped me but I wish I did. Later on, I saw her at a party, a few drinks in, I went up to her and said I have a really personal question I need to ask. She said absolutely. I asked her if Name (the rapist) had tried to do anal with her. She whipped her head around and said "Yeah! He tried to during sex and I stopped him, I freaked out on him I was so upset.". Everything clicked for me in that moment and I am forever grateful for her and her honesty. She was a turning point in my healing. She confirmed what I had been questioning for years. My at the time boyfriend had gone to a high school that was inclusive, they had personalized education, and they really cared about their students. It was called School Name. He told me I should apply, they work with credit recovery and he thought it would be perfect to help me graduate. He was right. I applied to School Name, they asked me why I was failing high school. I told them I was raped at 16 and I stopped going to school. I told them I didn't want to repeat my senior year. I told them no one at my other high school asked about what was going on in my personal life. The woman on the phone said they could get me to graduate on time and that they could support me. My best friend who helped me through this time also transferred to this school. The two of us were in a new high school in our senior year. School Name changed my life. I enjoyed going to school again, I felt supported, and I was treated like I was smart and not like I was a delinquent who couldn't care less about their future. Every teacher in that building wanted me to succeed and I could feel it. I was in credit recovery programs, taking tests to prove I had the knowledge needed to graduate. My best friend and I finished high school early. It was a great feeling even though I graduated with a 2.3 GPA. Now I am sitting here writing this in a community college with my 21st birthday a few weeks away, and I have finally reached the point where I can think about the rape and not hit myself in the head until I stop thinking about it. I think about the rape and my rapist every day of my life since. I have always wanted to share my story and now I am looking for platforms to share it. I want someone else who was anally raped to be able to read my story, I want someone to be able to feel seen and heard like I wanted and needed. But for any rape survivor, I want you to know that eventually, you will be able to live with this new normal. I won't say "it gets better" because I am not sure that it does, frankly I do not think it does get better, it just becomes something you adapt to. I have gone to therapy and I am in therapy again now. I continue to try and put the work in to heal. I still think about it every day but I am finally less reactive. I still shudder and get angry every time I see his name somewhere. I will never be with someone named Name again. I shudder when I see someone who resembles him in any way. I am afraid of men. I don't like to go on dates, I don't like to be too close to a man, I don't want to be in a room alone with a man, I get angry or uncomfortable when a strange man on the street looks at me for too long, if they compliment me, if they try to have a conversation, or if they flirt. I have attachment and abandonment issues. I don't know if this will ever get better but it is a part of my new normal. Who I was before my rape is no longer me. I have accepted the fact that I am a new person and that I have to get to know myself again. I lost a lot of friends during my time of isolation, I have a hard time keeping a job, and I struggle to do well in school even though I really want to succeed. My depression is overwhelming most days. I want Name to be in a jail cell. I want him to be labeled as the rapist he is, I want him to suffer honestly. I want him to never be able to get a job. I hate him and I hate that he gets to live free and possibly enjoy his life. I hate that he probably still finds new victims. I did report him to the police, but nothing came of it. I also reported him to the Department of Human Services for abuse in my state, and nothing came of it. But I did my part, I can only hope that someone else reports him like I did and they see a flag in their system that he has done this before. I still see him on dating apps, he goes by his middle name now, and he is bisexual. I feel he used me as a test subject. When I was younger I would harass him online from fake accounts on Instagram. I told him that he was gay and that he should be a real man and find a guy to hook up with instead of torturing innocent girls. I told him I know everyone he has raped, even though I don't. I told him karma would catch up to him, and that someone will get you eventually. I told him he is a terrible person, but he never admitted what he did or owned up to it. I would like to think I can move on with my life but this is my story. It is a part of me now, it is why I act the way I do, and it is an explanation for most things in my life. I recently moved out on my own and got my own apartment. I thought I just didn't like having people over at my childhood home because it was the home I was raped in. My family moved out of that house and moved states. And now in my new house, my own personal space, I still can not invite anyone over. It is hard for me to have even just girlfriends, my friendly neighbor, or my best friend over. I do not allow guests to come over, and I never invite a date over. It is a huge step for me to have someone in my home and that is his fault. I only made this connection this year. I am afraid of having my space claimed by anyone else again. Wow, it felt good to get all of that out. It is hard to speak about and share my story when I do not have the justice I would like. It is hard to learn about the justice system when it is supposed to protect you and it does not. It is hard to think that so many people are raped so often. I am angry and I want change. I don't really know what kind of change but something. I wish I didn't have to live in so much anger and fear but that is also a part of my new normal. I am antsy, I can't help but look over my shoulder frequently when I am in public, and I can't help but worry about unlikely things. But I am adapting and you will too. Sending love to you.

It was 21 years ago and I have never told anyone. I lived with my first roommate, who I knew had some questionable friends. Nevertheless, I trusted her and our new, cute, little home. Until one night she had friends over. I didn't drink and wasn't into hard drugs. We had food, everyone else was drinking and having a good time. I don't remember anything after that, until I woke up in the middle of the night with a man, one of her 'friends', on top of me. He was inside of me as I laid on the middle of the floor. I could not move, I could not speak. It wasn't a flight, fight or freeze, I had been drugged and could not move a single part of my body. I couldn't even move my arms to push him away. And when my roommates MOTHER walked into our new home, into the dark room, in the middle of the night, she saw what was happening. All I could do was open my eyes wide with fear, but she turned around and walked out without a word and left him to finish what he started. He laughed when she walked away. By the time I had any control of my body, he was gone, I was alone and naked on the living room floor of my first place, where every person stepped over me as they filed out in the morning. It was the morning joke...what and who did she do. No one asked if I was ok that morning. No one ever did. It has been 21 years and I still don't know the name of the man who raped me that night, but I will always remember his face.

I got drugged on a festival and ultimately it ended up with me performing sex with a stranger without me even being conscious. I went to the festival with three of my friends. One was already asleep when a drunk guy came to our tents. He was searching for his friend, he said but then he asked if he could stay with us a bit. He was kinda funny and pretty drunk so we thought as a group that it would be okay to give him some water and let him be with us a bit. After some time my remaining awake friends said they wanted to shower and left me alone. That's the last thing I can remember clearly. The rest is in snippets. I can remember him giving me something to drink and I drank. Then I remember him kissing me. And ultimately I woke up the next morning, naked in his tent. My friends searched for me the whole night and were really pissed, that I went with him, without telling anybody and I felt horrible for making them feel that way, so I kinda forgot that I had no memories of this incident and thought for a year or so that I was just a really bad friend, who walked off with a random drunk guy and made my friends worry. Just after that first year I started dating my SO and told him the story. He looked at me, hugged me tightly and said that this is awful. That's the first time I thought about the incident a bit more and tried to understand what happened. It was a shock for me, that he got angry at my friends because in my book they were the ones that did nothing wrong. The more I thought about though, the more I understood: he gave me some kind of drug, that basically knocked me out and had sex with me. I got raped. And this was even more of a shock. I'm still in my healing process. The memories sometimes still haunt me but way less then they did before. I still feel ashamed sometimes but I'm at a point where I can turn the train of thought around and tell myself that I don't have to be. I really hope that sharing my story will help others in one way or another and I can certainly say that it will help me be more open with my story.

I don't know how to start, it's just I am having pms rn and I can't help but feel disgusted. It was my cousin brother. We have been close since childhood. We used to do all kinds of things that you would usually do with your brother. I used to live far, I with my fam used to visit their fam. I still remember the last conversation we had when I last visited him before covid, we were talking about him getting a gf and Me getting a bf just normal conversation. After covid, in 2022 I moved. It was near where he lived. He came to stay naturally, just like we would hang out daily and eat out and had fun. One day, I was laying down with him. All the days, he stayed with us. I used to sleep with him in the same bed. But that it was a nightmare. Out of nowhere he started putting his hand on my stomach. He started touching me over my underwear and in between my thighs. I froze on place. I couldn't think anything I was begging God please don't let him go further. He was trying to open my underwear and touching around it. I pulled away his hand. He still brought it again in between my thighs. Then after sometime he stopped. I continued sleeping there..ik it was the dumbest thing but yk how it is, you freeze in a place, you can't think right. I didn't shout or anything. I was just stunned and didn't know anything that I could do then. Next day, I woke up I literally felt it was a dream but I had a clear memory. Very clear memory Long time, it felt like I was at fault.. for sleeping in bed with him, for not shouting, for not reacting enough, for never speaking up about it to me. I was just disgusted and decided to talk to my friends. They made me understand it's not me, it was him. It was not something he could do without any intention. Its been 3 years, only my closest friends know, my parents don't know. I don't know whether he remembers it or not. It doesn't matter. It was something so disgusting and it stays with till today. It doesn't matter what he thinks. I stay away from him and made sure to never have a good connection with him ever after that. He once blackmailed me with something I didn't know. He just randomly started telling me he knows what I did. And called one of his friend saying that I will give 500 rupees and you give me that thing. I don't even know what it was about. But he is the most disgusting person to ever exist. His idea about woman disgusts me and how he keeps his gf too. I wish the old me would have done something then But I am so glad I understand myself more than anything and bring that up will only cause harm in my slowly healing life

Living in Fear of My Perpetrator Part1 In Date, I joined S Company as a temporary employee. In Month, Year, my supervisor, A, requested my LINE contact information, which I provided, thinking it necessary for work. From Month, Year, A began sending me messages unrelated to work, asking questions like, “What do you do when you don’t have a boyfriend?” and expressing a desire to visit my home. On Date, A called me saying, “Let’s get closer in private.” At a company farewell party, I drank only one drink due to my alcohol allergy. Afterward, A invited me to a manga café, where he kissed me and asked to go to my house or a hotel, which I refused. Upon arrival at the café, A embraced and kissed me, groping me under my bra and over my skirt. On Date, while working with Supervisor B, a new employee, D, tearfully said she couldn’t continue. A suggested that if D left, I might need to stay. That evening, while working late, A forcibly hugged and deep-kissed me, groped me under my clothes, and inserted his fingers into my vagina. I had no prior sexual experience due to past sexual abuse, and A exploited my vulnerable employment situation to coerce me into sexual acts, making it my first encounter. In the company car, A undressed and assaulted me, demanding I verbally consent to intercourse without a condom. Afterward, A threatened me, saying, “I value my job and family and don’t want to be in a position to pay damages, so keep quiet.” I couldn’t go to the police immediately, feeling ashamed and blaming myself. In Japan, victims often face blame, making it hard to seek help. I was overwhelmed with tears and suicidal thoughts. I left the company in Month, Year, but A continued to suggest we date, falsely claiming our relationship was an affair, despite me being physically a virgin. I never dated, received gifts, or had any personal connection with A, yet he used the concept of an affair to threaten me. Cultural Context in Japan Japan is perceived as a developed country, but its legal system regarding sexual crimes is inadequate. Women’s status remains low, with seniority-based systems and male-dominated workplaces prevalent. Victims of sexual crimes and harassment rarely speak out, often facing blame. This social backdrop made it difficult for me to receive adequate support after my ordeal. I have faced secondary victimization many times and have not been able to receive proper support within Japan. I am isolated and seeking objective advice and support from the international community. I am sharing my story through ChatGPT to reach out for help. My story continues, and I will post it in parts.

I was six years old and I was friends with this girl who was also six. She was over at my house and we were sitting on the bed. I remember her asking me to play family and that I was the dad and she was the mom. She told me that I had to take all my clothes off because i was the 'dad' and she undressed from below the waist. After I did she just pushed me onto the bed and climbed on top of me. I just remember that she was sort of rubbing against me and I was so uncomfortable and I just wanted her to stop, but I was scared that we wouldn't be friends anymore if I did, so I just laid there and waited for it to be over. That is probably my oldest memory.

When I was 18 and away at my first semester of college I was gang raped at gunpoint. My PTSD started one year later. I had a very difficult time with work and relationships. I was never able to get married or have children.

Sexual violence is not foreign to my Black Queer body, despite my inability to always verbalize the violence that I have endured. My first experience of sexual violence started at the age of seven. Despite the trauma endured, I am resilient and the possible of healing. Throughout life I have learned the value of advocating for self and discovering true community. I am proud to share my story and to help those who desire healing just as I did/do.

I grew up in an emotionally and mentally abusive household. I never knew when I’d be in trouble next, and the feeling of walking on eggshells created in me a need for hyper-vigilance. I became angrier the older I got, and when I was 17, I ran down the steps to try and intervene when my dad was yelling in my mom’s face. He chased me up the steps, and I was able to lock myself in my room. Even though I was never smacked in my face or punched or even beat, I was spanked within an inch of my life. Quite often I could barely sit, and it really did a number on me. I swore I’d never get married if this was what marriage was all about. I am very thankful I was able to break that cycle, and today I am married to a very passionate, loving husband who promised to keep me safe and has kept his promise. There is light at the end of the tunnel. You can break that cycle of abuse. It has taken me years to try and undo the damage that was done to me, and even now, I still struggle with the PTSD and automatic jumping if someone steps too quickly or raises their voice a bit too loudly. But I am thankful I have been able to raise my own kids much differently and show them how healthy relationships work.

Hello, I am a victim of physical, mental, emotional, and verbal abuse. For the last for years my kids dad have been abusing me. I’ve tried so many times to escape but every time was not a success. When I have my son the abusing had for but then it started back. When I was pregnant with my daughter I remember me sitting in the couch and he can in the house mad about something somebody told him . I remember saying it’s wasn’t true but then he beat me. I couldn’t do anything but sit there and cover my face and stomach. Recently he broke bones in my face when he punched me. Which in this whole situation got my kids taken from me and also my car

Aged 9, my neighbour who wasn't a great deal older than me wanted to play with me all the time. After some time he told me he wanted to show me something which he knew I'd like, it would be good for me but it must not be told to our parents. I said no, sensing it was probably not good territory to go into. But he kept on insisting. He went on so much i eventually said yes. I think I was nervous but also excited and intrigued because it felt a bit like an adventure and fun because no one knew. He had knowledge of something I didn't. I don't remember too many exact details but I know it started out as sexual exploration of our bodies. If often happened on sleep overs. And the aim, I became to gradually understand, was sexual stimulation, mainly of me... and I think this in turn sexually gratified him. This went on for months and turned into, by my calculations, between 18 months - 2 years. (I know I was 11 when it stopped - just before starting secondary school). At some point, he was figuring out and attempting to have sex with me. I've always found this hard to classify as rape because he was a child. Although he wasn't much older than me he was pubescent and I wasn't. So although not fully grown, he was able to penetrate to some degree. I often couldn't breathe under his weight and I also felt sick at the overwhelming nature of it all. But despite this I was still able to orgasm (and this brings alot of shame to me today because I some how feel like I must have wanted it as I didn't say no and my body responded). But in truth, I had no idea that saying no was even an option. It didn't exist. I felt I was doing him a wrong by saying no and so I often just let him do what he wanted. He'd often tell me he loved me, which was simultaneously wanted by me (I was lonely in my own family system), and yet it also felt wrong and I felt objectified and sick. At one point, I became more understanding of how reproduction worked. I became petrified that I would fall pregnant (even though I hadn't started my periods, my belief was I was going to get pregnant), and I started worrying obsessively about it. I couldn't talk to anyone in my family about it because the shame was too strong and I felt at all costs I must keep it hidden. Which I still have to this day. Eventually I told him that I was scared and worried of pregnancy. He seemed surprised like this hadn't crossed his mind. But it wasn't enough to make him stop. So it continued for longer. Eventually I got the courage after what felt like a very long time in agony in this situation I didn't know how to get out of, I decided to tell him I wanted to stop. He begged at first not to. But I held my ground. I said we'd have to stop being friends if he continued asking. And that's when he turned from 'nice' to being emotionally threatening. He told me he was going to tell everyone what I'd done, how disgusting I'd been. And he did infact tell a few people. The damage this period of my life has done to me is indescribable. Mainly the self loathing and shame I've experienced and which formed part of my identity/ my idea of who I am as I developed. It's not a part of my life I can section off and compartmentalise because it's effected how I see the world, myself and other people, resulting in dissociative sypmtoms. I haven't allowed myself to see what I experienced as abuse because he was a child too. I always behoves believed I was bad because I consented. I'm only just realising with therapy that 9 year olds can't consent. That there was a power differential between us in very different and quite subtle ways. But that being trapped in that situation for so long was very real for me. There didn't need to be physical violence to keep me in it. I'm slowly learning to reframe what happened to take the self blame off of me. He was a child too and the reality was we both needed help and were let down by parents who weren't present enough to stop the situation unravelling. He was likely being abused himself. Whilst I have empathy for this side of things, I feel I need to protect my position in what happened because, in cocsa, more often than not, I see the child who does the harmful sexual behaviour as being put before the child who was harmed in terms of their needs. This is because it's necessary to stop that behaviour and because it's assumed they are being abused by another, likely adult, source. But the kid who's been abused has very real consequences to deal with and more often than not cocsa is not treated seriously enough. There's little validation from a societal pov making it hard to speak up and own our experiences openly. I have all the trademark effects of SA and I'm learning to now accept this and try to own it without minimising what happened. In the hope that when I can recognise this myself I can move on.

The shame I hold is like a dull ache. I have been in therapy for the last year and finally shared the one deep and dark secret I have held. I sexual abused my brother for years... I was groomed in my home for 7 years by a female cousin who is about 9 years older than me. I had been sexually curious from a too early age and I never knew why. Now that I have faced that I was a victim who perpetuated the abuse done to them, you would think I would feel better right? Wrong... I still hold a shame that is too deep for me to even fully engage with. The things that I did to my brother were violating, I have a hard time balancing my identity as a human being and not thinking of myself as this predator, monster, disgusting. My therapist said to me that I am viewing the things I did through an adult lens of morality but to remember I was a child... but... other victims of CSA do not go on to be perpetrators. Why me?

When I was 7-8 years old I was raped/molested/sexually assaulted by my older cousin (F/11-12). She forced me to kiss and touch her. She did the same to me. She blackmailed me and threatened me to not tell. This happened three times that I can remember. I am much older now and I am still forced to interact with her. I recently told my mom. She believes me and supports me. For a long time, I didn't think she would, but she does and I'm so glad. However, she and I both know that it is complex because of my grandparents. We don't think it would help anything to tell them because they are getting older and don't want to worry them. My grandmother would also talk to my cousin without my consent. My older cousin still shows signs of narcissism or being a sociopath. She recently somewhat acknowledged the rape. She referred to me as annoying when I was younger and stated that she had to be mean to me because her older sister was mean to her. It broke me to hear that she isn't sorry about anything. She isn't sorry about raping me, bullying me, or anything. I don't know how to cope or how to handle how I'm feeling. I feel like I have a permanent stain and I wish that I could get rid of it. It is painful. I am now trying all ways that I can to avoid familial interactions (birthdays, holidays, etc.) by booking trips or making excuses. My mom says that is fine and she will be my buffer. I just don't think it's fair that my innocence and joy was stollen from me and I'm the one having to evade. I just can't listen to people talk about her in such a positive way when I know what she did and how she still is. I can't interact with her. I can't see pictures of her. I hate her. I hate her parents too. I feel that they are to blame. They divorced and left her to the wolves. One was depressed and one didn't care. The result was a messed up kid who messed me up. I never did it to anyone else and never wanted to. I just feel that I am never going to heal, and even if I learn to cope, I still shouldn't have to be around her. But there is no fun way around it. Someone is hurt.

I don’t even know where to start or what to said. I am always trying to convince myself all the time I imagined or I just try to pretend never happened. It just kind of help to not feel the pain, ashamed or just to think this really happened to me. I feel stupid for let it happened but I still feel it was my fault for been irresponsible Dey k and not been able to take smart decisions. But then it feels unfair because I was so drunk that I can’t even remember the whole think and then the horrible feeling of waiking up so scare and confuse on a place that I didn’t have any idea where I was or what really happened. It is been over 20 years and I still remember that scary feeling waking up next day… little but little during the next years having flashes or short memories of what happened but still not recalling the whole horrible night. More in my mind remembering showing up home and telling my mom and going to the hospital for rape kit and the male doctor advising me to just let it go and go back home and think how irresponsible I was for been so drunk. Making me feel worst that I already was and telling me if I really wanted to press charges and then go in public and and face the public scrutiny that will definitely judge me for been an “easy women” going after a club party drunk and just having sex with anyone. I was so discouraged because I never agree to that! I didn’t even remember ever saying yes or even remember what really happened l. Until today I still trying to block this but impacts me every time I hear someone going through this, any media news, any movie or show that shows this. Because I was never aware or told I was a victim of sexual abuse. And until today I still feel it was my fault for putting myself on that situation. It is a very hard thing to leave with. And sometimes having those flashes coming back and fight your brain to go back to block it to not remember more painful details of that horrible night. I was judge for many. Doctors felt me and also society. I feel today I will never be able to recover from this. But I try to leave my life as normal as I can out thing in the back of my brain.

I feel as if I got so many things stolen from me that night. It was the last night of my high school graduation trip, I was supposed to enjoy those last few hours dancing and having fun with my friends, not getting drugged by someone I had met and already told before that I didn't want anything with him. I was taken to our hotel by him, one of the designated mothers that went with us saw him take me and yet did nothing to stop him. I wasn't supposed to spend that night in fear, not understanding what was happening and what was being done to me, or for it to end in him almost killing me and throwing me inside the shower to get every bit of evidence out. I have never felt such shame, fear, and pain; but what was even worse was denying that I was raped and beaten, and trying to convince myself that it was normal and that I wanted it because I froze up and stopped fighting. I remember talking to him for about one month after that night, trying to make it seem as it was normal for him to threaten me every day and say that he was going to go to my graduation party and "do it all over again but worse". I was in such a dark place, I lost all of my friends and was falling every day in a deeper state of depression, not being able to put into words what happened or to talk to anyone. It wasn't until I confided in one of my closest friends that I "wasn't sure if I actually wanted it" and that I told her the story that I really realised the truth. One month after that night, I still had bruises all over my arms, legs, and neck; but yet it took me that much time to wrap my head around that fact. He took so much from me that night. My youth, my friends, my innocence, my happiness, my ability to connect with myself and with others, my spark. And yet, three years later, I got better. I got out of that hole and managed to get into my dream college. I went to therapy and I said out loud that I was raped and that it wasn't my fault. I got inside a bus and travelled with friends without having a panic attack. I told some of my closest friends what happened and they were amazing and understanding. I got into a relationship and he is so utterly thoughtful and welcoming, never shaming me for having trouble with stuff most people take for granted. So yes, he did take many things from me and made me suffer as I never had before. But I took them right back and I refuse to give him more power.

I write this while my husband works on the computer and my son plays with his fake sword. I write this while I try not to cry. I write this because holding it in is making me sick. I feel it swirling around in the pit of my stomach, sitting there like one big lump of heavy sludge. The night started off fun, it was supposed to be a casual get together for a co-worker moving on to a new position. I was excited to go out because most of the time I don’t get to do that. I’m a mom, a wife, a hard worker. I take care of others. My days consist of working, making meals, going to tee-ball and swim. My weekends consist of catching up on laundry, getting the occasional pedicure and going on Costco runs. I struggle like any woman with my identity as a mom and a wife and the person I was before. I was getting drinks, sharing stories of our crazy job and enjoying my time off. I was laughing so much. Here is where the blame kicks in, and even though I know better I can’t help but blame myself. I blame myself for drinking too much, I blame myself for being too chatty. I blame myself for being too friendly. I blame myself for not going home sooner. Everyone was done, but I wanted to keep going. One more bar, and so did he. I was so glad one person was on the same page and they didn’t want the night to end just yet. I felt young and free, running around different bars with a new friend. We kept talking about girls he liked, and I was giving him advice on being young, carefree and taking advantage of that. The bars were closing, I had to get a ride and I had to walk to my car. The alcohol was running through me and I felt so good. I thought I was chalking up the night to a fun carefree evening, where new friendships were made and it turned out I was wrong. Things started to get blurry, as we sat on the cement waiting for my ride. We were still talking and it was fine but then he pulled up a video of a man and a woman having sex, and he asked me if I liked it. He started to ask me more questions, if I watched porn, how often, and what kind. I was shocked, I answered the questions like a robot. He told me he was hard, and I kept looking away. My ride finally appeared and I left, made it home and I didn’t fully understand what had just happened. Just how uncomfortable I was and how wrong he was to do that. He texted me, asking to come over, asking me to watch the same video as him. I responded and pretended I was ok, pretended the questions he was asking me were normal …I don’t know why. It makes me sick that I didn’t just say fuck you!! You sick fucking piece of shit!! Don’t ever fucking talk to me again you mother fucker!! I just kept saying yeah sure which video, you can’t come over and lol. He finally stopped and I passed out. I woke to an alarm and I later got a message from him laughing it off, and asking me to delete the messages from him and I did. I went about my day, I went about my weekend. But flashes of what happened keep creeping in. I can’t stop them. I dread seeing him at work. I fear that he will spin what happened into a story that makes me look like a cheating wife. I feel like I was unfaithful. I know I did nothing wrong but I hate myself, I hate what happened, and I hate that I have to live with this. I feel like I can do nothing, and can’t tell anyone. Ever. I question my whole being, why would someone think they could do this to me. Why , why, why me.

Hello! I don't know how to go about this at all, but I know I need to put it out there. I am a lesbian over 21 years of age, and I experienced rape and sexual assault by my last lesbian partner. I apologize if this is long, but if anyone reads this, it's greatly appreciated! I met my ex last January, and we texted for about a month before we had our first date. the first date went well, nothing concerning. The second date, which was 2-3 days after our first one, was where it all started. I didn't mind that she kissed me first, but I got nervous when she told me she wanted to take it to the backseat. She started to grope me and to palm me through my clothing before eventually trying to get her hand in my jeans. I stopped her and told her I wasn't comfortable doing any of that yet. Her response was "Oh, but eventually you will want to, right?" and to that I said "yes, but not right now." She continued anyway. That's the moment I look back on and wish I had left. I stayed. Maybe a date or two pass without her doing anything concerning again before there's another incident. We are in her car outside her workplace for an event we chose to go to. There are people on the street. She starts making out with me, to which I feel icky about bc people can probably see us and it's not appropriate. This time she starts to palm me through my skirt again, and at this point I kind of don't remember much other than me saying that I was scared and nervous, and it doesn't seem safe, and her coercing me. Before I know it, she has her hand down my underwear and is raping me. we didn't go to the event. we left and she told me next time she could find a secluded place. she never did. and that's where it all started. over the next 5 months she would rape me in her car every single chance she could. every single time I told her I wasn't comfortable. I would wear tight underwear, but she would still do everything to do it. if she didn't, she would get mad and stonewall me. but there was never once where it wasn't attempted. the worst night was maybe a month after it all started. again, in her backseat. it was in a fairly public parking lot, she tried to cover the windows with clothes, but it was still obviously visible. she made me lay down and take off all my bottoms and completely spread open. it was so humiliating. she then proceeded to violently rape me so bad and painful I was crying and holding on my screams bc I didn't want to bring attention to the situation or possibly get in trouble. I told her I was comfortable and that I wanted to scream but she just threw a cloth over my face so I wouldn't focus on it. after I had to put my clothes back on and I ruined them. I was in pain for maybe up to a weel after or a bit more. now I wish I had gotten evidence of that night, but I have none. In total I think it happened around 14 times. the same care situations in public that I hated. during the relationship I was blinded to an extent, and I didn't realize it counted as rape until after we broke up. At first, I had accepted what happened but now I have a new partner. my new partner coincidentally works with my rapist ex. ever since finding that out I feel completely distraught and suffocated by what she did to me. Not only that. before finding out they worked together they sat next to each other and were becoming friends. so my ex told my current gf how I am a terrible person and that she's afraid of me. they don't speak anymore. I don't know I just feel suffocated by it all. she also has a new gf. I wish I could tell her new gf to be careful, but I'm scared. in my community there's so much stigma around rape and homosexuality. I don't think I could ever safely publicly come out with my story as much as I want to. she completely changed my life. it's like I don't know how to be myself anymore and I feel like I'm going insane.

The day I ran from my abuser, I felt an intense urge to turn the car around. My sister’s voice kept replaying through my head. “Catherine, keep your eyes on the road. Don’t look at your phone. Don’t stop.” For five years, I had been raped, beaten, brainwashed, stripped of my identity and isolated from my family and friends. I knew if I turned that car around, I wouldn’t survive. At first, I couldn’t do anything for myself. My sister had to remind me to brush my teeth, bathe and eat. My abuser had controlled everything, and I mean everything. From what and how much I ate to what I wore, how I spoke, and who I spoke to. I didn’t know how to live outside of him and his needs. For years, I had been operating in survival mode. Everything had centered around him, what he expected from me and what would set him off. I was constantly walking on eggshells. The day I escaped, he told me I was pregnant. The only birth control allowed was the pull-out method. Rape is a hard word for me, because I think of it as being physically held down. But he had psychological control over me. I had no agency or choice. I was to abide by his rules or there would be repercussions. Although pregnancy may have been physically impossible because my weight was around 90 pounds, I was still terrified. I was in the South. If I were pregnant, there would be little to no abortion access. Luckily, I was able to get the Plan B pill within 72 hours. In my mid-20s, I was diagnosed with HPV. My abuser had prohibited me from getting health insurance and health care. The domestic violence hotline gave me resources for health care in my sister’s area, a small town in Georgia. None of these resources would take me because I didn’t have health insurance. The only one who agreed to see me was the health department; they only tested for certain STDs and did not perform gynecological exams. Like many women who have been in my situation, I felt lost. I knew I would be going back home to New Orleans for the holidays. Fortunately, I was able to schedule an exam with Planned Parenthood. They were sensitive to my situation and provided me with information and options. Most importantly, the staff treated me like a person. Since I left, my life has gotten much better, but I’m still on edge. Daily, I have traumatic flashbacks and second-guess and dissect most things.. With holistic therapeutic modalities, I’m healing. The only time the police were called was for me to escape. I had told my abuser I was leaving. He held me hostage in a hotel room for a couple of hours to keep me from leaving. I was able to get out once the police arrived. A year and half after my escape, I called to look into pressing charges. The police had never written a report. There was only documentation of the phone call and the time they arrived and left. They told me to file my own report, which at the time of the incident I didn't know about. So, I filed my report. When I spoke to an investigator, he questioned me on why I was looking at filing charges over a year later. I told him that I had dealt with intense trauma where I couldn't even eat and bathe without being told to do so. He said that it was too late, I. didn't have enough evidence, and it would go no where. And when I called back to at least get the report I filed, the woman was dismissive. And they had NO REPORT. Why would I go through a system that enables, ridicules, and disempowers victims? I am still healing and getting back on my feet, and because of this treatment from the very department that is suppose to have my back, I have decided to put it to bed. For now, my focus is on speaking up and helping other survivors.