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I'm 20 years old and i'm expecting my first child. I wrote a story here a year ago maybe more.. it was about the time my stepfather molested me at just 12 years old. That was unfortunately not the first time where a man made me feel unsafe. When I was 8, me and my family were staying with a friend and her husband. He was an angry drunk most of the time who liked to hit her when he thought we weren't looking. One night he came into my room and crawled into bed with me and for a while he just held me, I thought I must have been having a bad dream, but after a bit his hands started moving and I just pretended to be asleep when he moved to lie on top of me. I don't remember much except for the pain, weird burning sensation and the sounds he made during and after it was done; I think he knew I was awake the whole time because afterwards he whispered to "sleep tight dear". I felt disgusting and gross and so confused, I just laid there shaking not sure what to do; I guess I must have passed out because I woke up and there was a lot of blood and I didn't know what to do. I tried asking him in the morning and he said that if I ever told anyone he would kick my pregnant mother and my siblings out and we would all be homeless. I felt so ashamed and I tried telling his wife/my godmother but she didn't want to hear it.

It started as sexual harassment. And I let it happen. Do not let it happen to you! I was a college intern working on my supply-chain management major. In business school you know you don’t just get a degree and POOF! A job is magically waiting for you. Unless you already have connections. I was a single woman on financial aid and had squat for family connections. I needed to make some connections while still in school that I could use to climb the ladder. It is a very competitive world. A time when we don’t care so much where we work as long as it has prospects of advancement and making money. I was interning at the corporate offices for a rental car company. I got my first choice for a class in which we had to intern at a real company. My group of four was in their logistics offices and we had no clear job at the time but my school had sent students for a while so we had a contact person and some loose idea of a project that my group of four had to put together and execute for our grade. Well that was kind of of dud and I went along with the bad idea of planning more efficient distribution routes for their cars entering the fleet. It was naive because the company had real pros who designed the system. But, because of my feminine wiles, I got invited to come in and help in my free time by a top manager. Just me. I jumped at the opportunity and on my available days I showed up early in the morning and tried to be like part of the team. It was a very masculine environment. I tried to hang in spite of the pretenses for my special treatment. “You’re not one of those feminist types who go crying to HR if a man gives you a compliment or a pat on the backside, are you?” The man who first invited me had asked. We’ll call him XX. I assured him I was not, anticipating his expected answer. “Work hard, play hard,” was something I said in my denial of values he was obviously opposed to. So the couple times XX introduced me as his mistress I went along with the joke. Another stupid mistake. As an example of my environment, after a male Y in the department first showed me how to use part of a program that calculates stock outages, he had me sit and try it and gave me a massage I did not ask for early in the morning. Well XX came up and made a joke about Y getting his hands of his girl. They had some bro moment where the male Y asked him if he was serious, saying something about XX’s wife, to which XX backed down and said something like “It’s just a joke. I’d love to in my fantasies, but she’s company property, brother.” Company property??! I was sitting right there! I tensed up but tried to pretend I was so absorbed in the computer training as XX left and male Y went back to massaging me, but this time more boldly. He got down my lower back and upper buttock then went down the arms to my thighs, stopping me from doing any work as he blatantly brushed his forearms and hands against my chest. I felt so weak and almost paralyzed by the time I forced myself to stand up to go use the restroom, stopping it. I could have just done that at the beginning but did not. Later hat same day, XX had me go to lunch with him and have a beer at a bar and grill with a pool table. I was 20 but they did not ask for my ID because I was with XX. I hardly ever played pool and while we waited for our food he “showed” me how to play. He made fun of the cliché on movies and television where a man has a woman bend over the pool table to shoot just so he can push his crotch against her backside in a suggestive manger and lean over her with his arms on each side of her to show her how to slide the stick. But while he joked about it he actually did those things to me! That was a good day for my two main molesters and an awful day for me. XX hugged me as we stood up giggling and apparently his hands now had a license to molest my body whenever he wanted. I got numb to it in some ways, but emotionally more on edge. My butt was grabbed or spanked playfully in the department, even by male Y. A few other men were very flirtatious. My shoulders were rubbed, hugs on even minor greetings with XX and finally I was supposed to get used to little pecks on the lips too. I felt like I was in a constant state of mental anguish and defensiveness. My body could be attacked anytime. But I did not defend myself! I would say clearly to XX and some others that I wanted to be respected and considered one of the guys and have a job there when I graduated and they affirmed it. Both main abusers encouraged me, but still sexually harassed me. With my moronic blessing! The semester ended and I kept going in daily during summer break. It was my only lifeline to a possible job after I graduated in a year. I was so groomed that it was not a big leap at all when XX pressured me to give him head in his office. I refused with a smile and head shake and he came back with some rationalization about how I owed him and he really needed it just then. He would not take no for an answer. The first time I lowered myself to kneeling before his desk and took him in my mouth my hands were shaking and I teared up and had to sniffle snot back up. I was the one who was embarrassed! It was like an out of body experience and my mouth dried up to where I had to ask him to drink some of his energy drink. Internally there was a huge change immediately. I was gutted of all pride and self-worth. I was like a zombie. Hardly eating. Lots of coffee. Showing up and doing the reports that had become my responsibility and mechanically giving XX his daily BJ in the afternoon in his small stale office with a small window. I started to have migraines during that summer. I drove home for 4th of July and got so inebriated I ended up sleeping with my much older sister’s ex-husband in the back of his truck. That was a terrible wake up call. I knew I couldn’t pretend much longer without a breakdown so I put my two week in at the rental car place where I was working for free. To secure my future I made sure to keep it all friendly and “you know I’ll be back working here next year”. The idea of all the time and humiliation I had put in being lost to nothing was a major fear. I put myself through two last weeks of it. I had quickie sex with XX twice on and over his desk. I gave into extreme pressure and gave male Y a BJ too when he explicitly made it about a letter of recommendation. He knew about me doing it for XX. He did not even have his own office and we had to use the stairwell. During my final year of school I became aware that I was too traumatized to ever go back there anyway. The extent to which I had been used and abused became obvious to me, where before it had not. As if I had been living in a denial haze. It was a painful time. I was a bit reckless. I got a C in the high level economics elective I took. I said yes to several dates to avoid being alone and either slept with them or freaked out in anger at them. Seeing that I needed the car rental faux-internship on my resume I did email both abusers for letters of recommendation and got a good one from Male Y, but a very impersonal, generic one from XX. I was so dejected and angry. Finally, I told my sister, the one who confronted me about her ex-husband. I TOLD HER EVERYTHING AND THAT WAS MY FIRST STEP TO RECOVERY. To letting out the pain, screaming at myself in the mirror, punching the heavy bag at a boxing gym I joined, and to seeing my first psychologist and psychiatrist. The therapy helped more than the Celexa and antipsych. The support group helped even more. I met two friends for life who have my back in times of sorrow. I have to repeat that it is not my fault that I was abused, even though it kind of was. Don’t let it happen to you! They will take as much as they can from you. Plan your boundaries now and be assertive! Report harassment immediately. Doing so you are being a hero and protecting other women and yourself. If you have already been abused, GET OUT of the situation and talk to someone about it ASAP. There is nothing to be gained by letting the abuse continue! Talking to someone makes it real and lets you start the process of hating less and starting on the path to learning to love yourself again. You deserve real love.

Confession / Personal Struggle I want to open up about my past and the things I've struggled with, because I know I need help and healing. These are the hardest parts of my life to admit: 1. My upbringing and faith * I was born into a Christian home, but I never really understood Christ personally. * As a child, I prayed mostly because I was told to, and often for selfish reasons (wanting things like money, a phone, a car for my mom, etc.), not out of true love for God. * Now, I feel disconnected from Christ, and I believe my past and my habits are blocking me from truly knowing Him. 2. Childhood experiences * In primary school (around Primary 3-5 and
JSS1), I was involved in homosexual activities with other boys. * Around age 9-10, one of my cousins, who was living with us after his father died, and I crossed a line. I pointed to his private part * * while learning Igbo words, and it led to something happening between us. * • I felt guilty and told my parents, but nothing was really done. He continued living with us, and that left me confused and hurt. * 3. Growing up with rejection * As I grew, I started to like girls, but I felt rejected many times. * That rejection, combined with my earlier experiences, made me feel timid and small. It also made me start to have sexual thoughts toward boys — not out of love, but only sexually. 4. Porn and masturbation * I was introduced to porn by one of my dad's boys who lived with us. * In SS2 (2019), I started masturbating and have struggled with it since then. It became an addiction. * I told my parents and aunties at different times, especially after I failed 100 level in university, because I blamed my failure on masturbation. They advised me, but the habit didn't stop. At best, I could stop for only about a week. 5. Something I deeply regret * After we moved to a new house, I pressured my neighbor's son into massaging my private parts. At first, he refused because it was wrong, but l insisted several times until he agreed. * This happened around 9-10 times. I would release, then apologize to him, blaming the devil. * I now realize I did to him something similar to what my cousin did to me, and I feel very ashamed of it. This is one of the deepest regrets of my life. 6. Where l am now * I am 20 years old and still struggling with masturbation and porn. * I feel it is reducing my potential and keeping me far from God. * I feel guilty, numb, and tired, even though I know I have many emotions inside me. * I want to change, heal, and draw closer to Christ. Why l'm sharing this I want to confess these things because I don't want to hide anymore. I know my past is heavy, but I also know I need guidance, prayer, and counseling. I believe talking about it openly with someone I can trust is the first step to freedom.

My sexual assaults story is uncommon for most and hard to most people to grasp. Who would believe that children are capable of knowing and doing such gruesome things to person? Most children are not like this and their experiences are different. It first happened when I was 8 years old while, my abuser was 7 years old at the time. I remember the abuse happening gradually as we build our friendship. It first started with us doing typical kid stuff like us playing together and joking around. And one day, he asked me to play this new game with him. I said sure. I thought it would be one of those silly jokes stunts of his. Instead he pulled my pants down and rubbed his private part against my bottom. It was really uncomfortable moment for me since, I grew-up in a strict Christian-based family. I have never witness anyone on television or heard of the things he was doing to me. Afterwards, I remember me being shy to tell anyone and feeling like I would get into trouble. So I remained quiet. How would any parent react if you see children engaging in sexual behavior? Wouldn't you automatically assume it was the oldest child to teach someone this behavior? This went on for almost 2 years. His behavior became more advance and his request got more weirder. One time, he begged me to drink his pee directly from his part. I told him no. And he stomped across the room mad. He kept persisting and demanding that I try it. Eventually, I gave in but, I told him only from a cup. It was the most dehumanizing experiences of my life. It was not long afterwards, that my father caught us. I remember me trying shove the boy off of me. And telling him that my dad was coming and he kept going harder and harder. I guess he thought I was lying to convince him to get off of me. He wouldn't stop until my father walked into the room.

Why play with me just to leave me? I am not a toy, not a doll. I am not a showcase piece in your desk. I know I am flawed and broken but that does not make it right to play and leave. I know I refuse to leave even at the worst of it. But you are my husband, the knight in shinning armour. How can I leave? Even raped senseless my first instict is to melt in your arms. My parents bruised me too and they loved me. So how could I believe when people call our relationship something monstrous. How could I believe that when you are the most tender space I have ever met. The only place I can be my broken self and the only person that actually likes me more broken. We were sixteen when you taught me the game. Simon says. You command, I obey, or else. I was terrified. I remember it hurt so bad I screamed and yet you smiled, covered my mouth promising sweet things. Safety amongst it. At least I would not have to go back home tonight and confront my drunk dad. So I became the best player of the game... but difficulty level increased. I started messing up and paying the consequences. We moved in. I remember walking to uni with that familiar pain between my legs. I remember being kept awake on exam nights just cause you wanted your fault. I remmeber being too spent to study and see friends but still smilling whenever you craddled me in your arms, movies, games and chocolate. All for me, your time, your love. But the game changed, the cute names turned to possesive adjectives. Slut. Doll. Toy. The cuddles after were erased like they never existed. Instead I was left to tremble in the dark cold room, you had better things to do. It is sad that is what it took. Next month I´ll be alone. My brain tells me I´ll miss his behaviour, the red handprints on my skin, the lack of air, of sleep, of privacy. But that is just his whispers echoing, once the source is gone the whispers will vanish right? Maybe I´ll finally meet safety. Maybe I´ll like it better. I can hope right? I think it is true. I believe it with all my hearth.

Each year it crashes in like the waves beating the stand. It brings a swirl of emotion and feelings unbeknownst to my fragile mind. My body seises as it struggles to stay afloat. I gasp as the sharp prickly water traps my body, unable to move, but only to breathe, breathe... breathe... and breathe. A calm air slowly comes over me as I become conscious of this storm. Sobering me, I remember that it will pass...

On the Date i got sexually assaulted by my cousin (this was in somalia) I was in my room then needed the bathroom when i was going to the bathroom my cousin stopped me to talk to him then he forces a kiss on my lips then i pushed him away and my auntie came and said ”sabrin doesn’t know somali leave her alone” then he said okay and walked away. Then when my cousin went home my other cousin came in and forced himself on me.

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.

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.

At 19 years old and away from home for the first time…I thought I was in love. I married someone I barely knew. I met him at Military Training, and we got stationed in the same city. I wanted a wedding, but he did not so we ended up at the Justice of the Peace. This was one of the first of many things I did to compromise. Shortly after we were married, his true colors started showing. Slowly, I was isolated, moved away from all my friends and family. I could not do anything right. Everything was my fault. No matter how hard I tried it was never good enough. He forced me to watch pornography and forced me to do things sexually that I had not consented to. Yes, a spouse can rape their spouse. I was called all sorts of names, mocked, belittled, insulted, and worse. It was mostly behind closed doors; however, some was done in public. We would only hang out with my friends and family when he wanted to put on a show. At one point he moved his “friend” in with us because she had nowhere to go. After being diagnosed with an STD, I learned she was one of many women that he cheated on me with. She was his mistress in every sense of the word. At some point I lost who I was and began to think I was exactly who he said I was…worthless, ugly, and nothing. I was living in a fog. I could not make sense of my feelings or thoughts. I had no idea what to do to make him happy because no matter how much I tried to do what I thought he said he wanted it was never right. I attempted suicide which surprised my family, friends, and co-workers because I had never said a word. I had been able to put on a smile and always help others during the workday. No one knew the verbal, emotional or sexual abuse I endured at home. After my suicide attempt my family, and the few friends that still stood by me tried to get me to leave. I refused to leave. I was insistent that could make my marriage work. If I only tried harder. If I were only the person, he wanted me to be. Then, out of the blue, he was arrested, court-martialed, and sent to military prison (on matters unrelated to the marriage). I still tried to make things work. I would go visit him in jail, take care of our home, pay the bills, and try to be a “good wife”. One day he called asking for things he wanted. When I told him that I had not bought the requested items because I was looking for a part-time job to pay the bills (we had mounds of debt thanks to him), he called me “undependable”. It was in that moment I finally realized I deserved more. I yelled into the phone “You’re right; I’m undependable!” and hung up the phone. I then took off my engagement and wedding rings and proceeded to throw them across the living room into the kitchen where they came to rest under the washer and dryer. The next day I contacted a lawyer and within a few weeks we were divorced. We had been married for one year and four months and had known each other for one year and nine months. In less than two years this man had broken me to the point that I no longer knew who I was and kept me from making new friends at my duty assignment. The only friends I had at this point were some old friends from high school that I did not see often but they refused to be pushed away. His actions caused me to spiral into a pit of depression so severe that I thought the only answer (or way out) was to take my own life. Throughout my first marriage, I had a friend who told my first ex-husband to back off and that he was going to stay my friend no matter what. He kept his word and continued to always be there for me during my marriage. When I told him, I was getting divorced, he took leave and came to stay with me for a week so he could be in the courtroom with me during the divorce hearing. 2 years and 7 months later this friend and I were married. Like my first husband, I also met him at military training. Our whole relationship had been long distance except for the few months at military training and that one week during my divorce. We spent the first year of marriage apart waiting for the military to station us together. We got pregnant the first weekend we were finally living together. Once we were living together, his true personality quickly emerged. He was always on the computer due to video games and/or pornography. He could not be bothered to help if he was on the computer. He would yell when he was not happy. I called to say I was in premature labor with our child and he did not come to the hospital. Once the baby arrived, I would ask for help, but he could not be bothered because he was busy. As time went on, the yelling, silent treatment, name calling, not helping around the house, and just ignoring me only seemed to get worse. Then he got deployed. I discovered he was having at minimum one online affair and saying all sorts of hateful and nasty things about me. I confronted him, and he acted like it was not a big deal. I felt differently. It was a big deal to me, so I left. I filed for a divorce. He spent months sweet talking me until I foolishly took him back. At this point we were now both out of the military. We bought a house, and he went to school. I worked full-time, tried to go school, and took care of the house and our child. He still seldom helped with anything. I had to pay for childcare because our child bothered him while he was doing his schoolwork. The name calling, silent treatments and ignoring only got worse. I noticed he was punishing our child in ways that were not appropriate for a toddler and expecting things beyond a toddler’s capability. I started having panic attacks when I pulled into the garage after work because I did not know which personality I was going to meet when I walked in the house: Mr. Happy or Mr. Angry. His behavior after we moved in together did not match the behavior of the friend who was there for me during my first marriage; he had changed – or had he? He stopped telling me how much he loved me and how much he needed me and proceeded to tear me down or not talk to me at all. I had reached that all too familiar point where I was again in a fog and not sure what to do because everything, I did was wrong…unless he wanted something. I felt like I was walking on eggshells at home all the time. I remember he said something to me at a store one day and a woman made eye contact with me…her look said, “Honey, just say the word and I will help you escape”. I just quickly looked away. The final straw was coming home from work one day and finding my usually very active child sitting very still on the couch. When I asked what was wrong, my child said, “Daddy slapped across both cheeks for playing in some mud with the dog.” I confronted him and told him he had three choices: get help, leave or I was calling the police. He chose to leave and blame me for making him “poor and homeless”. Seven months after we separated, we were divorced. We had been married for eight years and ten months. We had known each other for ten years and seven months. He had gone from being one of my best friends to a total stranger who left me feeling even more empty and broken than my first husband had. It is hard to put into words the slow way both individuals managed to tear me down to nothing, to the point that I felt like I had nothing left to live for. Unlike my first marriage, the second time it was not just me. I had to protect my child. Both used verbal and emotional abuse to slowly control me and make me feel like nothing, make me question my sanity, and make me believe I was a complete idiot and loser. One of them used sex as a weapon for his pleasure and another withheld touch of any kind knowing that it is one of my Love Languages. Both could be kind when it suited them to make them look good or to get what they wanted. Thanks to both of these individuals I now know gaslighting, love bombing, flying monkeys, triangulation, projection, threats (both threatened to kill me), trauma-bonding and more are all part of a Narcissist’s play book. It was not me who was crazy or not worthy. They used these tools to get what they wanted and then tossed me to the side when I was no longer needed. Now that I know what these actions and terms mean I have been able to educate myself on how to recognize the signs, heal from the trauma and reach a point where I am able to share my story of survival. I had no idea who I was, what I liked, how to live a happy life or how to be strong. I could put on a good show for the outside world, or so I thought. I have since learned that my family and close friends could tell things were wrong. They were praying for me and standing close for when I finally reached out for help. When I look back over both marriages, I see God’s hand in them, and I know that it is because of Him that I am still here to tell my story. My first ex-husband walked in on me with the pills in hand and a razor blade at my wrist. For all the bad he did God used him to save my life by having him walk-in at that exact moment. He reported me to the military thinking it would get me in trouble but instead it saved my career and my life. His going to jail allowed me to get away. During my second marriage I can honestly say that the only reason I was able to get away is truly a miracle. I believe the prayers of my loved ones were answered by giving me a strength that came only from God, allowing me to stand up to him and give him those three choices after he slapped our child. How did I escape and repair my spirit? How did I find me again and become happy, strong, out-going, courageous, stand my ground, and know my own worth? I did it through the mercy, forgiveness, and love of God. I have spent hours in prayer and bible study. I have gone to Christian based counseling. I have shared my story with others. It has been a long road to recovery, but I know now I am a child of God and I am worth more than what those two individuals did to me. I will never settle again. Never settle for less than you are worth. You are worth more than all the rubies and diamonds in the world. You are His child. You are loved. You are beautiful. You are strong. You can. You will Survive.

For reference, I am a college student and this story generally takes place in a college town. I was excited to have made a new friend during quarantine. We met right before the lockdown in 2020, and would have a few phone or video calls every few weeks or so. For context, I have a smattering of social anxiety I have been living with since I was a pre-teen, and I'm especially nervous around guys my age. That's why making this platonic friend was so valued to me. I am a person with few close friends, and I decided to let him in. I decided to trust him. Maybe it was because at that time in my life I wanted a platonic friend so badly, I never noticed the signs he liked me as more than a friend. Not noticing that ended up being important later on, because when the semester started back we decided to hang out in person. The first time it was at a park, and we had some pleasant conversations. I think I was getting a small hint he liked me but didn't want to acknowledge it; I didn't like him back. We decided to hang out once more, but this time he texted me right beforehand and asked to change the place to his apartment. I heard my mom's voice in my head telling me I shouldn't go to a guy's house alone, but at this point in my life I did have another close friend I knew I could trust and I'd go to his apartment sometimes - so I told said friend where I would be and that I would be hanging out at this friend's place for safety. I remember I also had pepper spray with me. I was supposedly armed with everything a girl would need in a situation where she gets sexually harrassed - except my voice. When I got there, we watched Netflix and everything was alright for the first hour. We talked and enjoyed the show. But, eventually things started changing. The order to this is the part is fuzzy in my memory, but I remember how he slowly worked his way towards touching me. He sat closer, started giving me complements more and more. He played some french song and sang it to me while playing the guitar on my arm- I imagine it could have been romantic if I was in to him and wanted it. But I really wasn't, and I didn't. I remember when he did confess he went on this whole tangent about how much he liked me and how great he thought I was and so many things. This guy talked for quite a while and all I could do was sit and listen. At this point he had already tried sitting closer to me and I had to pull away. At some point his roommate left the apartment after talking with him alone. I don't remember when this was exactly but I do remember how it made me feel. We were sitting on the living room couch and he reached to hold me. He groped my boob for a few seconds, and whispered into my ear. When I want someone, doing that kind of thing feels great. I realized that night how disgusting it can feel when you want no part of it and you fear for your safety. There was one moment where I tried to break away, and he almost didn't let me. The thing that terrified me the most out of all of this was something he said: 'if you hadn't stopped me I would have done something worse'- or something to that affect. I remember feeling terrified and shaking, probably blushing out of nervousness and wanting only to go home but finding it harder to say as it got darker outside. I eventually left, and he walked me home part of the way to make me feel safer walking back in the dark. That's the ironic part about all of this. He walked me home, and to this day I don't think he had any idea how after a year how much that night bothered me, and how it was a night I wouldn't be forgetting for a long time. About how much I cried to my friends and family. It felt like it should be small to me- after all, I wasn't 'raped or anything,' (what I said to my family). But it had almost completely shattered all of my trust in people and in men I had been building up slowly. If it wasn't for the guy friend I mentioned previously, I might have lost trust in men completely and developed serious problems as a result. Today, after more than a year, I am going to call him for the first time since then and tell him what he did is wrong. I have read many sexual assault stories after this event, and I realized people often don't want to call out the offender because they fear it will affect the offender's social lives and jobs, especially when this person is a close friend. But I honestly think this person has no idea what he did was wrong, and if I do absolutely nothing I am pretty damned sure there is a good chance he would do it to someone else. People need to know when they are in the wrong. And I feel ready to confront him. I don't think confrontation is the answer for everyone. But it is my answer. Many boys are not taught what it means to be a respectful man, and don't recognize that they could very easily make someone they know feel uncomfortable and and scared. They don't internalize 'I could be a sexual assaulter'. People need to realize their own power, not only to use it for good, but so they don't abuse it.

I was 9 when it started. I mean it really started. There was a boy in my class who openly liked me. It didn’t bother me too much, except when he’s chase me around the field telling me he was in love with me. We were 7. It was ‘how kids were’ said my school when I said I wanted him to stop. But then later on in the years he got obsessed. Taking photos of me around school. Following me home. Getting in calls with me online (we were somewhat friends) and asking me to take my shirt off. Asking me to take my clothes off so he could screenshot. We were 9. It’s just how kids are? Right? Well that’s what I told myself. And still do. Then he got aggressive, telling his friends about how ‘sexy I was’ I didn’t know what sexy meant until he told me: “it means I want to take your clothes off and feel you” I remember his words so clearly. After that his friends got weird around me too. Especially another boy. I always thought we were friends until a girl ran up to me at break saying “—— HAD A DREAM ABOUT YOU” I didn’t know what she meant until the boy whispered in my ear how he dreamt of me giving him a blow job. That’s the day when I found out what blow jobs were. 9 fucking years old. He told me in detail and I sat there and cried. I wanted to run away. I wanted to scream. But I froze. Instead I fucking froze. I hate myself for it. But I know it’s ‘normal’. The main boy started to grow more and more aggressive. Grabbing my arm, hugging me and never letting go. And more and more pictures. More following home. More standing outside my house pretending to read when he watched me get changed. But for some reason i forgot to shut my curtains. Why? Did I like him? Was it all my fault? Did I tempt him? Those are questions I ask myself every day. He did bad things to me. Until I left primary school. Free. I was away from that horrible boy. And then we had a school reunion last year. I’m not going into detail. Mainly because I can’t I just can’t. He didn’t rape me. But he made bleed in the wrong place. He groped my chest. I still have a scar. And the at was the last time I saw him. I hate him. I pity him. I love him. No I don’t. I don’t. What if i did? What if it’s all my fault? Fuck, did I want him to do those things! I was only 12! I was only 9! and I had no one. no one helped me. No one saved me from that nightmare. I still look back on my younger self. My memory is hazy. Traumatic response my therapist says. But what if it never happened. Am I just like those people I see on the internet who lie about SA? I don’t want to be. They make me so angry. I still am not okay. No one sees me. I hate him. I hate all the people who made people suffer like I have. If you experienced COCSA I’m so sorry. I love you. You are more than them. You are braze and special. And I love you. Stay fucking safe.

When I was a child, I grew up being regularly sexually abused. By the time I was 10 I fell pregnant. I didn't understand fully what was happening to me, I knew I was going to have a baby which terrified me, though at the same time I have never felt more love for anything than I did for my daughter. my family and the people i was around at that age never noticed I was pregnant or if they did, they ignored it. I was somewhere in my third trimester when I was assaulted by multiple men at the same time and went into labor as a result. I gave birth alone at home and she came out sleeping. I buried her myself and could never bring myself to speak of her for over a decade because of fear of other people's reactions and because it hurt too much to say out loud. though now I am finally healing enough to be able to say her name and talk about her. I have a lot more healing still to do and losing her is a pain that will never go away, but now she doesn't have to be a secret. this year she would have turned 14. her name was Emilia

sorry that this is super long😭😭😭 when I was younger I was best friends with this girl we met on the first day of kindergarten and were inseparable and when we were 7 she started touching me on the school bus and I told the school and instead of helping they put me and her in the school counselor's office and she showed us a video of keeping our hands to ourselves and not letting other people touch out bodies 3 weeks she raped me in her bedroom and I didn't know what to do so I just laid there and didn't speak I think it made it worse that she is a girl and its not typical for females to rape other females so I felt as no one would believe me so I stayed quiet because of what happened the first time after that stuff kept happening but then I got into the 5th grade and we didn't see each other because it was there first real year of COVID so it was all basically online and we were in different classes but then 6th grade started and I was back to seeing her every day and that was super hard and she started to do that stuff and it was really bad on my mental health then she decided to punch me in the face for no reason so I stopped talking to her I ended up admitting myself to a psych ward where I did end up getting help and was doing better and I went to my ex friends play performance and this friend was friends with the girl at the time and I still wanted to be his friend so I because friends with her again and told her that I stopped talking to her because my best friend told me to that night she raped me in my own bedroom after I let her borrow my clothes my shows by hairbrush my everything and she still decided to rape me and that hurt and again like the first time I sat there doing and saying nothing for some reason I couldn't no matter what no matter what I thought no matter what I said nothing I was frozen I always everyone talk about fight or flight and no one ever talks about freeze even tho its one of the most common ones every time she did something like that I would freeze I wouldn't talk I would barely move I just laid there helpless like God was gonna send someone to help me but he never did I was all alone I was like a helpless dog dying on the side of the road and I just let her do it I said no once and after she didn't stop I gave up I didn't know what do do anymore and I didn't wanna repeat myself for some reason so thus I didn't after that I stopped talking to her all together and in 8th grade after being out as transgender for about a year when kids would say stuff what I would correct them on my name she would stand up for me and I hated that I hated it so much it made me feel like I couldn't hate her for raping me and assaulting me because now shes standing up for me so if I hate her I would be a bad person even tho I know I am not a bad person for hating her because I have every right to because of what she did to me even if it was a long time anyways I think that's it sorry again that this is super long I don't know what others look like so I don't know if mines actually long or not compared to other peoples but if you read all of this thank you for reading my story and I hope all of you have an absolutely amazing 💗💗💗

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

I've been psychologically abused by my mother since I was little. Because of this, I have a habit of always thinking about what she thinks, and I feel like I have no self because I'm so devoted to her. I work at a restaurant, but I'm exhausted from trying to avoid creating a bad atmosphere at work and making sure she doesn't dislike me, and even working is painful. I signed up for a dating app hoping to get away from my mother, but I've been taken advantage of and rejected constantly, and I can't see any hope for my life.

I am trying to leave this DV relationship, but it's complicated. He lives with me; he uses my phone and car because he doesn't have neither. I don't want to get the police involved nor do I want to kick him out, 1. he will just be outside my apartment unit and 2. defamation of my character - for some reason everyone believes him and don't see any wrong by him but he sure can make someone look terrible. He is leeching on me. I feel like I'm being suffocated by a hurt boy who have been wounded and traumatized all his life and he is using me as an energy bank to cure his wounds and to cater to his needs. I currently have a cold and he hasn't taken care of me or even asked how I am doing. From the many times I haven't felt well, he would argue with me. I feel so alone and feel like I can't make any plans until he can get a phone and car. Friends say call the police, but I really don't want to, I don't want him to destroy my reputation. My therapist said that if my reputation is the only reason I am putting up with him then I shouldn't worry about my reputation. I understand where my friends and therapist are coming from, but I really don't want that to happen to me, I have seen what he did to his baby mother and it just been a shit show. Am I wrong to want a calm and safest way out?

This is the first time I am really telling my story and what happened to me. I was 6 years old and my abuser was 2 years older than me and briefly in the same Organization Group as me. It started off normal, we would hang out, play video games, play Barbie’s, etc. eventually though, and I’m not exactly sure when, she started to talk to me and coerce me into many different sexual activities. It went on for nearly 2 years and there were times when she would call and ask my mom if I could come over because she knew my mom wouldn’t say no. Then she would abuse me for most of the stay. She would assure me that my parents would be furious if they knew (I knew they would be) so I never told anyone. I just wanted this person who I perceived as cool to like me so I kept going along with whatever she said. I am now almost 30 years old and am speaking about this for the first time. I have struggled so much with whether or not I was a victim, if it was just normal curiosity, if anyone would even take it seriously or if it would be shrugged off as “kids being kids”. It has caused me so much pain in my life, but I am trying to do the work to process and let go of the guilt

To me it happened about 7 years ago, I was going to sleep over at a friend and I never realized his true intentions till it was too late. I wasn't sexually active myself at the time, and my abuser was maybe a few months older. I remember being there a few months earlier and he wanted to watch porn, I was young and naive and had never really seen porn. Thinking back, this was just one big flashing warning sign. When it happened, I didn't fight back. I froze. And after I waited the longest night for the next morning. I don't know why I just didn't leave immediately, I don't know why I didn't fight back. The next morning I left as soon as I could, pretending everything's normal. Once I got home I took a shower and I just stood there without showing any emotions, like I was dead on the inside. I thought it through for a good amount of time, I thought about what happened, why it happened, what I will do to prevent it from happening again. I remembered him taking pictures and some other details. Once I stepped out of the shower I had my verdict, I was going to pretend nothing happened. I was afraid he would use the pictures as blackmail, I thought exposing him would end up hurting my parents and others I care about. I was able to live with this lie for about 4 years, mostly not feeling anything during this time. But at a certain point I started feeling anger and shame, I kept this bottled up for a long time. Eventually I burst and told my friends, sadly my friends did not believe me. This caused me to feel even more anger. A year after telling my friends the story came out that my abuser had abused another kid, who was 4 years younger. It was not only rape but the abused was under-aged whereas the abuser was not anymore. My friends read this and knew that what I told them was true, they immediately contacted me and forced me to go to the police and tell my parents. When telling my parents I could see my father was disappointed. The morning after they pretended like nothing happened. When I told the police I got sent home since they required a specialist that was specialized in sexual abuse. I tried to go back a few times and kept being sent home. Finally someone listened to my report. However the abuser only got removed as trainer for a young football team and had to clean up trash for a month or 2. It's a long story and I doubt many read it, the reason I decided to share it anyways is to give advice to the few that did read it. If you encountered anything similar to this, please report it to the police. You don't want to end up like me, blaming yourself for future victims of your abuser. I do not expect that after I shared this I will feel relieved, I do not expect to get a good night's sleeps after this. But if this helps even a single person, this will be worth it.

he was like an older brother to me; my first best friend from birth, friendship formed from being neighbors. 4 years older than me. when i was 9 he wanted to play a game. he took me into a room away from his niece, younger than me and another close friend. he pulled down my clothes. denim shorts, i remember the feeling of them. once he got in, i had a gut feeling and ran. he let me, and when i went back to his niece, he took her back to the same room. i sat down and couldn’t move. i carry that guilt with me every single day, of not stopping him from taking her. i’ll never know what happened, but i know what he did to me. i would give up myself a thousand times over to go back and make sure she never feels that. i often feel as though i am more scared now than i was back then, as a child. i didn’t have words then for what it was, but now that i finally know what to call it, i can’t say the word without feeling like i’ll break. the more memories i gain, the more numb i become. i want to be a survivor; i want to feel like this isn’t destroying me inside and out. i want to survive.