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Last year I was gang raped. I have an ear ringing called tinnitus that has not stopped since. I have nightmares. I flew with my mom to a wedding overseas. I was excited. She would be busy with her friends and cousin and I would get to spend time with my awesome second cousin who is two years older than me. After the rehearsal dinner we went out. It was fun because I was not legally able to drink there even though the age was lower than in my province, but they did not check ID’s. I did not drink much because it was not my thing and I had a boyfriend but I was able to go to some bars then a club attached to a hotel. So much fun up to when we met two soldiers in uniform who were cute and separated us from her friends because of our looks. My cousin is stunning beautiful. They had a private room at the club and several soldiers were there and two prostitutes also. Those prostitutes definitely hated us being there. I wanted to get out anyway and the cute ones that invited us acted like they understood and took us out of there. We stupidly let them take us to their hotel room where they totally dropped the cute romantic act and made us strip our clothes to music. They showed us a gun they had in a drawer. I was terrified. They made us lay on our stomachs bent over the bed side by side and had sex with us that way. They switched like we were interchangeable before finishing in us with no protection. We held hands. I was crying while my cousin was trying to be strong and cheer me up. We weren’t allowed to leave and our clothes were hidden. Before took our phones we had to text that we were staying at my cousin’s friend’s house. Then they called two other soldiers, one of them a huge tall dark guy with body builder muscles. He was the worst to me. They made us dance and then we had to use our mouths on the cute ones that had lured us there while the other two had sex with us. I vomited and my cousin cleaned it up but then it started again. They had cocaine and made us sniff it off their parts and sniffed it off us. Another one came and I think it was just those five during the night but they kept raping us and making us do things even when we would pass out. I would like to have been more unconscious but cocaine makes you so awake. I want to remember less and think about it all less. We showered many times. The big dark one peed on me and in my mouth the shower. He did it more than once like I was his toilet. The other men even had to tell him to chill out when he was making me scream liking his fingers and pushing them in my arse, but not when he made me crawl around like a dog using my hair as a leash. I remember one of them calling their friends to tell them to turn all their t.v.’s way up to hide the noise in our room. They watched sports news on the t.v. They had me and my cousin kiss each other and stuff. I could not act like it was a fun party like my cousin did sometimes and encouraged me to do. She tried to take some of their attention away from me over and over. I love her for it but they did not leave me alone. My chest is something they were obsessed with. They did not care that I was obviously distressed and freaking out or that in my country I was three years below the age of consent. There I was the minimum. We woke up in the morning on one the beds together with only the two soldiers sleeping on the floor. The black one was gone! They had sex with us again and another man who was much older and who they called SIR came in and had sex with both us but mostly me. They cheered him on and my head was pounding and I was crying and it seemed to last forever. Finally we got our clothes back but they took us for brunch wearing their normal clothes. They showed me pictures on their phones that made it look like I was having fun and warned us how bad it would be if we said anything different than we had a nice party. A nice party in hell! Before that I’d had sex with only my 1 boyfriend ever. One night of hell and now my number was seven!! We had to start getting ready for the wedding right away and I was exhausted. My cousin hid me and I took a nap in my dress, hair and makeup until the last minute. I cried in the ceremony but not for the wedding. I was so sore in my vagina, muscles, and brain that I got so drunk at the reception I barely remember any of it. Just part of being on the plane home. I told my mom the truth when I got back and she got all crazy, so did my dad, and they tried to call over there and the hotel and such but there was nothing the police would do. I saw my dad cry for the first time as I told the whole story. My boyfriend could not handle it and dumped me. I go to group and do therapy. I take a pill everyday and now benzo’s for break through anxiety. I try to hide my large chest under baggy clothes where before I used it for attention. STUPID! My cousin does not seem to have the trauma I do or the nightmares. In her country they are done with secondary school up to two years before us and are more treated like adults sooner. I said mean things to her once because of it. She forgave me but we talk much less since I asked if she has gang bangs all the time. I felt terrible because she even let them have anal sex with her to lure them away from me. I could tell it hurt her so much but at the time was just thinking about my own survival. My childhood is OVER but I do not feel like an adult. Her advice is -Don’t let it get you so down-. Like I have a choice in this!! She went to a therapist ONCE because her mom made the appointment and does not plan to go back. Her life did not really change!! She works reception at a tech company and models on the side and still goes to parties and clubs and dates. How??? It is unbelievable how attitudes toward something like this can be so different in different countries. I am a victim now and I usually feel like it. Definitely damaged. Everybody at my school knows why. I am THAT girl. My new more mature boyfriend is understanding but I feel like a sad little burden to him. I am hypersexual sometimes now and can’t help it. It is a coping mechanism that happens to some victims of sexual assault. I did not ask for it. I worry my boyfriend can’t trust me because of it. I had an older guy friend who’s been my neighbor for years take advantage of me after I told him the story of what happened at his house. We had sex and then he felt guilty for being turned on by my rape story. He admitted it and asked me to forgive him. The sex helped me calm the ear ringing for just short time periods so I did it with him more than once a day for a bit until my dad started to suspect something and talked to him. Since then I don’t trust myself. I want to marry my boyfriend in large part just to protect myself and show him I love him and am loyal even though I am not sure I can be. I worry I cannot love like a normal person. I worry I push him away being too needy and wanting to marry him so soon. I need him more than he needs me. Is that the way it will always be in relationships for rape victims??? I work hard at school not to ruin my future. It is so hard to focus. My ears ring constantly. Thank you for listening.

I am Name years old single mom of two beautiful kids ages 10 and 12 years old. I was once a victim of abusement, harassment, assault, defamation, and rudeness of other people when I am just a simple, kind and silent person. Until now, they still look down on me and I don't know what have I done why they hate, angry and so rude to me. They are treating me like I am not an educated person when I am and they keep on look down on me because we are just simple and in a middle class person or family. And they think that they think better than me and I don't have any complain of it but they keep trying to argue with me that I am a better dumb person to them. And it's kind of abusing to think of that way that they think like that to me and that's insult me of my human being. I don't know what to do right now on how to express of this. My family I dont know if they doesn't know about this or they know about this or just hiding from me that they know everything but they really dont agree with me all the time or don't believe in me. What help should I seek for this matter of existence!?

For me, my story entailed a male friend getting into my bed when i told him not to and forcing me to ‘cuddle’ with him, while he grabbed at me. He had been telling me all night how he missed his girlfriend, particularly her body & “that” part of their relationship. I felt horrible, i was uncomfortable and scared that he might do more. He didnt. But still even years later i feel uneasy when i think about it & how creepy he really was. He ignored me when i said no. He took away my autonomy that night. So dont feel like your story isnt worthy just because it “could have been worse”. Every experience is valid ❤️

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.

We were friends. That is what I told him when he tried to kiss me when I was drunk. He smiled and said he understood. We were friends. That is what I told him when I agreed to sleep off the alcohol at his as he insisted it wasn't safe for me to walk home. I felt a sense of relief and comfort when he smiled and said he understood. We were friends. That was what was running through my mind in those seconds that felt like hours when I slowly awoke to his hands down my pants and his soft moaning. We were friends. That was what I screamed as I ran out of his flat. We were friends. That is what I repeated to our social circle that relentlessly placed blame on me for being to 'flirty' or 'leading him on.' We were friends. The realisation that took time to reconcile and fully conceptualise. My perception of the world now shaded with nefarious hues. We were friends. That is what I told myself when I began to enjoy life again. A fleeting moment overshadowed by a watchful eye and a sense of alert that never really leaves me. We were friends. That is what I told myself when I took on the shame that wasn't mine to bear and made me doubt what I knew happened to me. We were friends. That is what I told people when I began to share my experience. Every word feeling like a toss of a stone I had carried around for far too long. We were friends. That is where I find my empowerment. The deepest violation of trust and respect, and yet, I survived.

I was abused by my mother. She was strict with me, hitting me, telling me I was stupid and wishing I'd never been born. I felt like I didn't deserve to live. My mother wasn't just a scary person; she was also kind, especially to my younger brother Name. I met my current husband at University, got married, and had a child. I was overcome with anxiety that I might do the same to my child as my mother, and I cried and complained to my husband many times. My husband recommended that I see a counselor, and I'm currently receiving counseling. I always thought my mother was strict because of my fault, but now I realize that I'm not the only cause. By talking about the things my mother said and did to me that I'd kept hidden, I feel like I've lightened the burden I felt. I'm sharing this here again, hoping that it will bring some comfort. Thank you for reading.

I am the partner of someone with diagnosed bipolar. He is 52. Diagnosed and treated since his 20s. We were together for 3 years this month and I have stood by and supported him for 3 years. It has been a very difficult and rocky road. He was stable for many, many years and then triggered possibly by the sudden death of his mother and forced into several med changes. He then lost 2 jobs after having the same one for 20 years, crashed his car when manic and had a terrible gambling episode. This all happened in 2023- To name just a few of the incidents…. After so much hard work, we thought he has finally "stable" - since fall of 2023- and then the unthinkable happened last week- he hit me in the face, punched a hole through my door and shattered a full length mirror. He had never been physical to me- ever. I waited a year after we met to introduce him to my 2 boys and then he become their everything, especially my youngest. They walked in minutes after I kicked him out to their mom battered, broken glass and a door punched through. They have never witnessed any violence in their lives and have a super stable home. That was 5 days ago and we are in total agony. Like grieving a sudden death. Having him hurt me is a line I never thought he could ever be capable of. He has tried to contact me, but I think he is still in an episode- his emails (I blocked him elsewhere) are about how agonizing this is for him and lack an even understanding of the pain my family is going through. We can barely keep our heads above water right now. He is the most loving, intuitive and empathetic human I have ever known- how can this be about him? Please help me with any insight. I am seeing my therapist- 3x this week already, and got medical attention....I am having no contact with him, but insight from those of you who have experienced would help so much. He is on a combo of seizure medicine and antipsych which we thought was working. seizure medicine for sleep and antipsych as a rescue. He’s never been hospitalized. I’ve let his family know what’s happening but they are 8 hours away and I don’t think doing much and he doesn’t really have anyone else locally but me. I am grieving so hard. I am heartbroken. He was the love of my life that I wasn’t even looking for. I was with someone from age 18-45- married for 20 of those years - had my 2 children with him. And I have more memories and feelings and love for this man of 3 years than for my ex husband. As hard as these 3 years have been, he was my second chance, my love. Met him by accident - wasn’t even looking. And the thought of all of us starting over (my children’s father rarely sees them- only on occasion). Well, it almost feels too much to bear. It hurts more than the hit to my face did. And that is really messing with me. I know I can’t go back. I know it will now happen again - I’m told by my therapist, I’m reading it everywhere. I don’t want to even model that to my kids. My youngest is devastated - said to me “it feels like he died in a car crash suddenly and we never got to say goodbye but he caused it on purpose”. They were best friends- the closest I’d ever seen my son get to anyone other than me or my other son. My older son I had to drop at college 6 hours away 1 day after it happened. And all he cares about is if I’m ok. That burden is so unfair. They are 19 and 15. And I’m so so angry at the same time. I can’t make sense of anything right now I guess…. I want so badly deep down to believe he was wronged as a child or that this mental illness is responsible, that he is capable of rehabilitation - and at the same time I am so angry that I went him arrested and exposed - I want him never to do this to me or anyone again. I’m drowning in my anxiety and thoughts

i just feel like im going to burst today with all the shame, and anger that no justice will ever be had. so i have many friends who are SA survivors and i by no means feel like my story is the worst but heavy nonetheless. we moved a lot growing up, i was always changing schools. my parents where pretty busy with my 2 younger siblings and i remember often feeling forgotten unless i was needed as a babysitter. i do have a weird memory of pretending to be asleep while something happened to me but its so foggy im not sure it really happened. my first time getting assaulted that i do remember was 8th grade. i had recently started dressing sexier and me and my 2 friends loved the attention we got. that being said i was still very inexperienced sexually and just liked looking good. there was a boy on the bus who started to force himself into my bra and into my panties everyday. sometimes while others watched. i strangely developed a crush on him despite being made to feel uncomfortable when he wouldnt stop when i said to stop. the bus driver contacted the school and i was interviewed by the principal but i defended this boy because i didnt want him to be mad at me. i even went to his house one day where it continued. i told my mother about this one incident years later and she said see this is why we were worried about you dressing so slutty. :/ he left a couple years then came back when we were juniors. i received an apology via aim ( im aging myself) where he said sorry and that what he had done was not very romantic. this is probably the only apology ive ever received. that same year another boy masterbated in the back of class while staring at me during a movie day. i pretended to be asleep because i was so horrified and frozen. i saw him a decade later he definetely remembered me and he did look quite guilty. i ended up in one of those boarding schools for troubled teens for 10 months which had its own fair share of trauma but non sexual. when i got out i inherited 8 grand from my grandparents and got an apartment with my best friend and went crazy with drugs. i went to florida with a friend i knew from the program and while there at a party one night i had a train run on me by 7 guys while i was super drunk. one of whom i had rejected a day before and he was literally making fun of me while fucking me. fast forward i start using heroin and get my very own heroin addicted boyfriend. we were a trainwreck and that relationship could be its own book but he raped me while i was passed out, and also raped me when we were experimenting with rough sex and when i said the safety word he continued while i pleaded with him to stop. he died 3 years into our relationship of an overdose. i started sleeping around a ton but had no more terrible experiences that i can remember. although i did sleep with people for drugs or a place to stay. i got clean but got addicted to a man when i was 25. would spend the next 7 years with someone who would sleep around because he was a man but i couldnt because i was a woman. he pressured me into doing anal which i hated and i often found myself having sex when i didnt want to but nothing as terrible as with my first boyfriend. although yes the bar was set quite low. the last and honestly most troubling thing that happened was that once i broke up with this guy i was on tinder. i connected with a guy on tinder that i knew through friends. things escalated and i sent him a video of myself masterbating at his request. come to find out it was him and a group of guys talking to me and all my photos and videos were being shared in a group text. one of these guys was my best friends baby daddy and he sent the video to my best friend pretending i had sent them to HIM. he is a very scary sociopath imo and he was trying to get a rise out of my friend as well as break up our friendship because i had encouraged her to leave his crazy ass. she knew i wouldnt do that and figured it was the guy i thought i was talking who had tricked me. i had no idea that they were friends or i wouldnt of entertained him. she did give me shit for sending a video like that and tried to put the blame on me at first. i shut her down and we still talk all the time but ive never forgotten that. i saw one of them at a dinner party years later, i had no idea who he was but he humiliated me in front of all these new adult friends i was trying to make. i hate him and this group of guys more than all the others because it was so calculated and cruel. i have never pushed charges on any of them because honestly on paper i am a very unlikable victim. i have been in the psych ward many times, drug abuse, and promiscuity. im married now to my best friend and we moved across the country. i miss my friends back home but a big part of why i cant bring myself to go back to even visit is the fear of running into any of these men. i also used to want to live in florida but i think about the train and decide against it. ive been in emdr and it helps a lot as well as working on my relationship with my higher power. i blame myself often because i did put myself in some very dangerous situations. feels good to get it all out thank you if anyone has read this.

I went out with friends but left early as I was drunk and tired and I asked someone for directions to find my Uber when another guy asked if I was going to uni and said I was pretty which was fine but he then asked if he could have a kiss. I didn't know what to do so I stepped towards him and then he put his arm round me and I felt like I had to kiss him but I didn't want to. I tried to face away from him hoping he would just kiss my cheek but he didn't so I turned my head and he kissed me and I feel gross and want to throw up every time I think of it.

I’ve attempted to write this so many times, zoning in and out staring at the blank screen. Disassociating as my mind and thoughts spin at 1000 miles per hour, yet not one has landed in a constructive sentence. My entire outlook on myself, the world and life as I knew it changed in a way I never imagined possible. I lost myself. I lost my confidence, I genuinely didn’t recognize the person in the mirror looking back at me. I was a social butterfly who had turned to isolation and drugs for comfort. Being on social media the last couple of weeks has been tough and triggering. But I know I’m not alone. I was raped by a bouncer of popular City bars, a number years ago, in my own home, with everyone partying in the room down the hall. He was a friend. Someone I thought I could trust. I’m a lesbian and I now blame myself for letting myself get too comfortable around guys. Just because I was gay, I thought it gave me a safer card to be close and alone with men. I had a few friends back to my house after a night out, we were on a bit of a love buzz. Mixture of drunk and high. I was going to the bathroom. In my own home. A lot of it is blocked out still til this day, yet some of it feels like it just happened yesterday. He came in while I was using the toilet and I didn’t mind because he was my friend and I was gay, and not coherent enough to worry. We were talking, laughing, he was complimenting me as I pulled up my trousers. He pulled me in and kissed me, at first I kissed him back until I realized what was happening and pulled back. He then got very strong and restrictive of my movements and I started to panic. I told him stop. I told him no. I told him I’m gay and we’re too fucked up. He persisted to kiss me where he could, he ripped my trousers open. I had only done the button, I hadn’t a chance to zip it so they ripped open without much effort. I tried to pull away, I tried to stop. I even tried to scream but literally nothing was coming out of my mouth. I was moving so much that he (5 times my size and weight) pulled and pinned me to the ground and tore my trousers to my ankles as he couldn’t get them off over my boots. When he couldn’t get it in far enough in the front he dragged and twisted me around, forced my face into the radiator and raped me from behind. I can still HEAR him breathing in my face and my ear from in front and behind. I can feel his weight suffocating me. I had bruises for months afterwards. I finally managed to coerce him off and squirm out with the excuse to get a condom to make it easier. I ran for my life through the house. Kicking off my shoes, pants and underwear to get it off my skin. I went into the front room and collapsed crying. Got sweatpants and into the next room to the party goers. The moment they saw me they knew before I could even get out the sentence. They ran to the bathroom and he was wanking himself off. I lost a lot of myself that night. More than I can remember. More than I’m willing to. For a long time people accused me of lying because he’s “such a nice guy” “he’s a bouncer he wouldn’t do that” “he’s the nicest person iv ever met” “how much did you have to drink” “what were you wearing” “did you lead him on” “he apologized to me for sleeping with you” “he said you took your pants off” NO. MEANS. NO. NO MATTER HOW DRUNK. NO MEANS NO NO MATTER HOW HIGH. NO MEANS NO. NO MATTER IF YOU KISSED THEM BACK. NO MEANS NO. NO MATTER YOUR SEXUALITY. NO MEANS NO. NO MATTER HOW NICE HE IS PERCEIVED TO BE. NO MEANS NO. NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU PUSH THEM AWAY. NO MEANS NO. A piece of my inner heart, died that day. And I wish I could say it was the last time a male friend refused to take no for an answer. I suffer with C PTSD. I had to leave hospitality after almost 12 years. I don’t go out any more. I became too dependent on drugs and alcohol to numb out the noises, numb out the flash backs, numb out the feeling my body will never recover from. I’ve been trying for continuous sobriety but I haven’t got the hang of it yet. Although I’ve had more days sober than drunk/high but I’m tired of running. I’m tired of numbing. I have breakdowns in Tesco now. Yet I still see him around every now and again. He still has a job. He still has a life. He still has access to so many drunk women. Thank you to the staff at City hospital and City who took such good care of me under the circumstances both times. I will be back for part 2 but for now I’m pretty drained out. I don’t think I’ve ever sat down and typed about this this much before and I need to do more grounding exercises. You are not alone. We are not alone. We are stronger together. A pencil can break easily alone, but it’s much harder to break in a bunch. I don’t have the will power or strength to read this back before posting but thank you so much for creating a space where we can come together and feel safe despite having such heavy trauma’s on our backs. Name

I don't even remember how old I was. It was around the time when my parents got divorced, I might've been around 6-8, and this happened over multiple years, that's why it's such a blur to me. I used to go to my auntie's house in the holidays on Thursdays, sometimes Fridays too. Every time I would go, my cousin, who is 2/3 years older than me, would do things to me. I think the first time we ever did anything sexual was just kissing, with tongue of course. But as time went on, she began to just eat me out every time I went, I definitely didn't enjoy it, I was just frozen. I tried to tell her to stop so many times, but she would never listen. We would go to the guest bedroom on the third floor, away from everyone and she would ask to play families, where she would be the dad and me the mum, or she would beg me to role play as 'celebrities' with her. She always said she would be the male and me the female. One time, we went to my nan's house, and she dressed me up in scarves, role playing a 'wedding' with me. She even made me kiss her in front of my nan. I don't see how this was so normalized for my nan to not question her forcefully snogging me and picking me up. She even tried to assault me in front of my brother when he was a toddler once. It was terrible when my parents divorced, when I was with my dad, we stayed with her and my auntie. Of course they made me and her sleep together, because they thought we were close. That's when my world caved in, those were the worst years of my life that I can't even remember much of today. I lived in fear of her for years. One day, I just forgot. I forgot about her, I lost most of my memories of what she had done to me, and we grew close again. I was naive, desperate for my older cousin's attention. So, when I was 10, it almost happened again, and I've not been the same since. It was my birthday yesterday, and she came round, acting normal as she always does. It makes me feel sick. She's moving out from her stepdad's house with her mum, and asked if I wanted to sleepover. No. Never again. I don't think I'll ever tell anyone in my family. My best friend and my ex know but, I genuinely think it doesn't even matter because it happened ages ago and nobody would believe me anyways. So much of my childhood is a blur now and I can't help but feel terrified of intimacy yet I think about it so much. Thank uou for reading.

There have only ever been two people in my life that have ever known the details of my two sexual assaults, my husband and my mother. The few siblings and friends that do know that I have been raped only know that fact-that I have been raped. I have always feared the look on a person’s face when they are told that something like that has happened to you. I fear that I will be seen as less than or that I won’t be believed. These fears are just as strong today as they were when the rapes took place 17 and 16 years ago respectively. Now that my mother has passed, there is only one person who knows about the brutality that I endured and the scares I still live with today. I was a normal 16 year old working in a smoothie shop when I met a cute boy who had come in for a drink. He asked for my number, but I told him that I didn’t give my number out to people I don’t know. He assured me that he would be back as many times as it took for me to know him. He was true to his word and we began dating about two months later. He played for a local junior sports team that players from all over the US and some other countries played in that lead to countless former players going on to being drafted by professional teams. I had never been to a game before meet my then boyfriend. After dating for several months, I lost my virginity to him. I was completely in love. Not long after that he and I went to a party at the house of one of the “host” families that players lived with while they played in the league. We were talking in a bedroom when he told me he was going to go get us drinks and he would be back. The next time the door opened, I was not my boyfriend who entered, it was the Captain of the team that I had had very few interactions with. I will refer to him as L. L asked where my boyfriend was and said he would just wait for him to come back. L sat down on the bed while we made polite small talk about things like what schools we went to, where he was from originally, etc. I told L I was going to go look for my boyfriend because he had been gone for a strange amount of time. As I got up, L grabbed my wrist and yanked me back down on the bed. Before I could even think he was on top of me. He pinned my hands above my head then pulled my tank top down exposing my breast. I begged him to stop, I yelled hoping someone would hear me over the music, and fought as hard as I could. Even when he only had one hand grasping my wrists while he used the other to undo his pants and remove the underwear I was wearing under my skirt, I still wasn’t strong enough to get free. I begged him not to do this to me. He told him that I would be happy he did once it was over because he was “amazing.” I screamed at him to get to f**k off of me so he slapped me so hard that my ears were ringing. He used his knees to keep my legs apart as he violently raped me. This was only the second time that I had ever had sex. When he was done, he got up from the bed and said something about me being a dirty girl and that I would be begging him for more. My boyfriend came in the room seconds after L had walked out. I expected him to comfort me or go do something to L or just ANYTHING at all. Instead he told me that I was slut who cheated on him. Apparently it was common practice for the captain to get to sleep with any of the rookie’s girlfriends. My boyfriend said that I wouldn’t have “let” it happen if I didn’t really want it. He said things like that so many times that I actually started to question it myself. I stayed with my boyfriend because I felt like damaged goods. I took the blame whenever he cheated on me because “I cheated on him first.” I put up with being beaten by my boyfriend because he “wouldn’t be so angry if I hadn’t been a slut.” This relationship was on and off for several years and was my first experience of love. I have since been able to see that nothing about that relationship was love, but it shaped the relationships I had and partners I chose for years. I never reported my rape. I used long sleeves, pants, and makeup to cover the deep bruising that seemed to be on my body forever. After months of not being able to sleep without nightmares or going a single day without a flashback of the assault, I began abusing drugs and alcohol along with cutting myself. Around a year after my rape and the start of my substance abuse struggles, my parents went out of town for a weekend so I decided that was a perfect time to have a party with some friends from my school. I attended a pretty small school with about 80 kids per grade, most of which I had been in school with since preschool. There were probably 10 or 15 of us hanging out, drinking, and having fun. It was probably around 2 or 3 AM when people started passing out. I went to my room and passed out fully clothed on my bed. At some point I woke up somewhat to see a very good guy friend of mine on top of me. I was in and out a lot because of how intoxicated I was so I was barely able to move let alone fight him off of me. I remember telling him no and stop. The next thing I remember is my best friend coming into my room in the morning to tell me we were going to go to McDonald’s for some “hangover food”. I was under my covers but only had my shirt on. I got dressed, got in the car, and went to get food. As we were driving I got a text from the male “friend” that had been on top of me. He was asking me not to tell anyone about what happened the night before. I never responded because I still hadn’t fully wrapped my head around what happened. This situation was different from the first time. He was my friend. It wasn’t a violent assault like before and HE WAS MY FRIEND. I knew that doing anything about it would make me an outcast, which was terrifying to me at 17 years old. I understand how unbelievably stupid that was now at 33 years old. I told myself that I had invited him over. I have gotten drunk. I had gone to bed after telling everyone they could stay the night. It was my fault. Again, my perspective is different now. I spiraled into drug and alcohol addiction to a degree that should have killed me. I made several attempts to end my life, but still never told a soul what had happened to me. I ended up being sent to a rehabilitation center and was exiled from my family as soon as I turned 18 because they didn’t want to deal with it anymore. I was fortunate to grow up in a family of wealth but unfortunately that wealth was viewed as being enough to make my siblings and I happy. That meant that quality time and conversation were nonexistent. We were given new cars and credit cards to do whatever we wanted while my parents spent most of their time abroad or in homes they owned in other states. It took nearly a decade for me to develop a relationship with my mom again. One day she finally asked me the question that I had unknowingly wanted to be asked by my family which was-Why did you do all of the things you were doing back then? What happened? I broke down in tears and assure my mom that she didn’t need to live with the knowledge of what had happened to her daughter. I had a daughter of my own at that point. My mom told me that she did need to know because she had carried so much shame for not having made any attempts to find out what was really going on. I started by simply saying that I had been raped twice. She tried to come over to hug me but I said I was ok. She then asked things like when, where, who. I was very vague about it and left out the names of the people. She sat me down and told me that I had to tell her e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g because I had suffered through it alone long enough. I’m a lot of ways telling her was harder than enduring the rapes because I had a daughter and knew how devastated I would be if this had happened to her. I also feared that she wouldn’t believe me. She listened, we cried, and she apologized for making me think I wouldn’t have been believed. I apologized for the way I handled my pain from it by abusing substances. I have hope that the country is making strides when it comes to the way sexual assault is handled, however, I live every day with fear that my daughter may be violated in the way that I was and I will be powerless to stop it.

I was fourteen when I was called into the counselors office at school to discuss an earlier statement that I had made. "Everyone hates me, I should just kill myself" I said to my friends as a teacher walked by. Despite that I was joking at the time and didn't actually feel that way, meeting with the counselor changed my life in a drastic way. After questions like "how is your home life?", "what is your relationship with your family like?", I slowly began to process and reflect on my fourteen years of life. Leaving her office, I felt heavy. I wasn't sure why I was feeling so down after talking about my family. I loved my family. Over the next few months, I began to experience depression for the first time. I felt lower than I ever had. I could barely get out of bed, I didn't enjoy time with my friends, and I was fighting with my mom and sister a lot. Eventually, I came to realize that the dynamics of my relationship with my brother were quite a bit different than other peoples. I feel like I was aware that I had a special relationship with him, but it didn't seem to be as inappropriate at the time. Regardless of my feelings, I knew that I had a big secret that I had carried my whole life. Deciding to share this secret was not going to come easy. I knew that I wanted the secret to be out, people to know what was happening, and to know that everything was going to be okay. This was when I decided to write it down on a piece of paper to give to one of my teachers who I felt close to. I attempted to do that, but I just didn't feel safe. A few weeks later, my brother started to text me inappropriate messages, which was not out of the ordinary. I remember just feeling awful after getting those messages. Later in the week, I was with a couple of friends in a class when they asked to play on my phone. I handed it to them unlocked and they scrolled around and looked at a few pictures. Then they pulled up my messages. I think at this point, I felt like this would be an opportunity to tell someone. Before I could say or do anything, they had the messages pulled up and them questioning me if that was my brother. I told them that it was and that it was normal and fine and to just not worry about it. They, of course, did not listen. We were in the last class of the day, so when the bell rang, they had plenty of uninterrupted time to talk with our teacher. At first, my friend nudged me to tell my teacher what had been going on, but I didn't even have the words. I had no idea what to say or call it. This was my normal. As far back as I can remember, this was the way that I had lived, so I didn't necessarily know what to even tell my teacher. My friend eventually told my teacher that my brother had been molesting me. In that moment, everything changed and unfortunately, worsened. Since school was out for the day and my teacher was unsure of what the next steps should be, she sent me home for the night and told me we would meet the next morning to talk more about it. I went home that night and knew that I had, what felt like, ruined my entire family. Even though my family didn't know that I had told someone, or even that it was happening, I felt like they were going to hate me. How could I split up the family like that? I laid in my pitch black room and listened to sad music all evening. The next morning during my first class, the teacher that I had told, came to get me out of class to talk. She told me that she spoke with the counselor and was going to have to report it. I immediately broke down because everything that I was scared of happening the night before, was now going to happen. I spent the rest of the school day in a pretty intense emotional state. My other teachers were confused and concerned with what was going on. As the day went on, nothing happened until my last class of the day. All of a sudden, I got called into the office where I was greeted by an State Police investigator. She met with me in the conference room, set a tape recorder on the table, and told me to tell her everything that had happened. I was terrified!!! I immediately said "nothing happened, everything is okay". She did not like that answer. She seemed to be getting irritated that I wouldn't disclose what had happened to me. How could she be so mad? This was my story. My life to share with who I wanted, and here this random lady making me feel bad about something that I didn't even want her to know. I ended up disclosing a few minor things, but definitely not more than that. Unfortunately, it was enough for her to call my mom and have her meet us at DHS. My sister picked me up from school that day and drove us to DHS where we would meet our mom and the investigator. During the car ride, my sister questioned me on what was going on. She was confused why my mom wasn't picking me up and why we were meeting at a random office in town. When I told her about my brother, she got mad. She started punching the steering wheel and yelled "I have spent so long trying to forget everything that happened and here you are bringing it all back up". This was no surprise as my sister had been through a similar experience when we were younger. Sadly, the way my family treated my sister after her disclosure terrified me. They never believed her and painted her to be an outcast in the family. This was heartbreaking to watch as a ten year old who knew that her sister was telling the truth because it had happened to us together. But how was I supposed to speak up when no one believed her? I understand why she was frustrated that I told someone about our brother. It would be hard to revisit every traumatic memory that our family has caused us. However, this is something that she has apologized for since. Once we got to DHS, my mom and the investigator were already in a back room. They told my sister and I to wait in the waiting room for them. It felt like a lifetime sitting in that room. My stomach was in knots and I was so anxious that everything was shaking. The investigator finally came out to bring my sister and I back to the room with my mom and her. Once I got into the room, the investigator asked me to show my mom the texts. That was not something that I had even thought about. I felt like my mom did not need to see the messages. They were embarrassing for me. I felt like I was in on this big secret and my brother couldn't be the only one to blame, and as soon as my mother read them, I felt validated in those feelings. She got mad. She started raising her voice, almost yelling, at the investigator saying "you don't know my son or my family, you cant tell me about my family"...etc. I just shrunk. From that moment forward, I have learned to make myself feel small or hide in vulnerability. I learned that shrinking yourself down helps with pain and humiliation. I also learned that maybe I'm not deserving enough to speak my truth and maybe I don't deserve to live without pain. Looking back, that is mostly all that I remember from the initial encounter with the investigator. I do remember us all getting into our cars and leaving to go home. My mom gave me a hug in the parking lot and I just remember it feeling inauthentic. I felt like she was mad at me. I just blew up her entire world. How could she not be mad at me? We have never talked about that exact moment ever since, but I still believe to this day that she was mad. The next day I was required to go to a Children's Advocacy Center (CAC), where I would complete a forensic interview. This was horrific. From the time we walked into the CAC, I felt uncomfortable and scared. Honestly, no one there made me feel any better. The investigator was supposed to be there, but was not able to make it, so I remember speaking with her on the phone away from my mom. She told me to be honest in my interview and tell them everything so that they could help me. I was just confused. Help me with what? You couldn't possibly help me with any of the things that I was struggling with at the time. This was also contrary to what my mom had been telling me. My mom had asked me to not to share anything with them and made it clear that if I told them anything, my brother would get into trouble. That was so scary as a fourteen year old. No one wants to send their sibling to jail, but especially at fourteen? I don't remember the interview as much as I used to, but I do remember feeling uncomfortable and somewhat taken advantage of. They weren't completely truthful about the cameras that were recording the whole thing, exactly what was going on, or what would happen next. Once the interview was finished and we left, we went shopping, like everything was normal. This was my moms favorite coping skill. Spring break was the next week and we actually had a big family trip planned to go see my brother, who was living in a different state at the time. We followed through with our trip and drove to see my brother. I was freaking out. I remember getting to the hotel and everyone just felt weird. You could feel the uncomfortability in the room. We got there late so we just ate dinner and went to bed. The next day, we all went to the zoo and spent the day laughing and hanging out as a family. I remember feeling heavy and like something bad was about to happen. I was just waiting for the ball to drop. Later that night we had dinner at the hotel in our rooms and hung out for a bit. It was pretty obvious that something was going on with my mom. My brother questioned her, but she wouldn't say much. My brother and his girlfriend eventually left to go back to their house. Not long after their departure, my mom and step dad followed behind them. My brother didn't know that they were going to show up their house later that night. My parents pulled up to his house and had him meet them in their car. They wanted to shield his girlfriend from these allegations that could ruin his life. Obviously I was not there when this happened, but my mom and step dad told me how everything played out. They said he got in the car and was confused as to why they showed up unannounced like that. They broke the news to him about everything that happened and they reported that he started to cry and admitted to them that he had messed up. I am assuming my mom told him about the messages because when my sister disclosed about him when we were younger, he denied every bit. I think he only admitted it this time because he knew the messages were there and he couldn't really deny those. We spent a few more days there, but I did not see him again. My oldest sister, mom, and I drove to my sisters house a few hours away, while my step dad and other sister went back to our house. I skipped the next week of school after spring break and spent it with my sister and mom at her house. I remember my sister letting me drink and of course my mom didn't know. I ended up getting so drunk that I told my mom about how I knew I had messed up and I was so scared that I had ruined everything. I eventually started throwing up so it didn't take long for my mom to catch on. The next day I remember sitting out by the pool and my mom came out to talk to me. She asked me a question, but in more a incentuating way than an actual question. She said "I mean you want us to save your brother and make sure nothing happens, right?". Of course I didn't want anything to happen because I didn't want everyone to blame me for sending my brother to jail. So I agreed with her. My mom then found a lawyer for my brother and hired him. I remember having to go meet with the lawyer before we finally drove back home after our two week "vacation". I had to defend my brother to the lawyer. I felt like I was the one in trouble. He told my mom and I that we needed to destroy any evidence (the text messages) that we had. I tried deleting them off of my phone, but for some crazy reason, my phone at the time was not letting me delete messages. I would try and they would pop right back up. I assume a glitch in the cloud. That was when my mom came to the determination that she would buy me a new phone and I needed to throw mine in the lake. So that is what I did. I threw my phone in the lake to destroy the evidence of what my brother had done. And that was it. I never heard more from the investigators, the CAC, or any law enforcement. I remember my mom telling me that the case was transferred to another state, but that was the last thing I heard. As time went on, things were rough. I was silently battling PTSD, having flashbacks constantly, always suicidal, and seeking drugs to numb the pain that my family left me with. Two years later, I was now sixteen and my brother was twenty five. I was staying at my dads house for a couple weeks during the summer. It was the fourth of July and my dad was having a family get together. Of course my brother and his girlfriend were there. During the day I had worn a plain black swimsuit. Later that evening when we went night swimming, I wore a different swimsuit because my other was still wet. The new one was cheetah print. After we swam that night and everyone went home, my brother sent me a snapchat. I already knew what it was about before I opened it. He eased into it, but eventually asked me to send him nude pictures. He made comments like "I liked the cheetah swimsuit the best, it was so sexy". What he didn't know was that I was secretly screenshotting each snapchat. I never did anything with them or had intentions to, but I liked to look at them when I was feeling sad. I think because it made me even sadder, which felt good. I deserved to be sad. A few days later, my sister was asleep in her room and my dad and step mom were at work. I was sitting in the living room by myself watching tv when I heard my brothers truck pulling up in the driveway. I immediately started sweating. Nothing had happened other than the previous snapchats in two years, surely nothing will happen now, I thought. I was wrong. My brother walked into my dads house and asked where everyone was. Once he realized that my parents weren't home and my sister was asleep, he knew he had an opportunity. He picked up a short metal pole and begin to poke at me with it. He tried to poke my vagina and was messing with my boobs. He sat next to me on the couch and asked me to give him a kiss. I froze. I just kept repeating "no". He followed each no with a "why". Each time the only thing that I could get to come out of my mouth was "because". He wouldn't stop. I didn't know how to make it stop. I didn't know how I was going to get out of this situation and I couldn't believe this was even happening again. It was my oldest sisters birthday and we had dinner plans with the whole family. I was going to have to see him again that night. I couldn't be mean and make things weird. Once he realized that I wasn't going to do anything with him, he told me that if I flashed him, he would leave. I believed him, so I did. Then he said "that wasn't long enough, I barely even saw them". I sat there, frozen, in disbelief that this was actually happening. I just wanted him to leave. I flashed him again, for longer this time, and he finally grabbed what he came for and left. I burst into tears the moment he walked out of the door. I was in shock. I got into the shower and sat in the tub and cried for thirty minutes. Then I got out of the shower, woke up my sister to get ready for dinner, got ready, and left for dinner. I sat with my family, including my brother, like nothing had happened earlier that day. I didn't tell anyone about this for a long time. I started taking my moms pain medicine in her medicine cabinet not long after it happened. I loved it. It made the pain from my family bearable. I was able to make it through the day with those pills. Eventually my mom realized that I had been taking her pills and confronted me about it. That was when I told her about what happened that week at my dads house. She was upset and somewhat mad that I hadn't told her sooner. But why would I? I had already seen what had happened when I did tell her about those things. This pattern continued until I was eighteen. I was constantly trying to find drugs to cope with all the pain that I had gone through. Not long after I graduated high school, I lost one of my favorite jobs because I was using drugs. That was when I decided to go to rehab to get help, and that was exactly when my healing journey began. I am now twenty three years old and have been on this journey for five years. Healing from a childhood full of trauma has not been an easy path. It has taken vulnerability, trust, and strength to be where I am now. This is a wavering journey that I will be on my whole life. I am grateful for the people who have helped me to get where I am now because without them, I wouldn't be here. While I have a ways to go, I am proud of myself and how hard I have fought for the life that I live now. I am also grateful to all the amazing women who have shared their stories with me along the way that helped me to embrace my own. We can get through hard things together... #metoo

This started when I was 12 and my cousin brother was 19, he used to be my favourite cousin and shit until he decided to do something more. So basically what happened was, we were playfully fighting and shit so me, my younger sister (8) and my cousin were running around the house and I try to hide in the bedroom but he breaks his way in. I still remember me trying to escape from his grasp coz he was kinda hurting me. He was on top of me on the bed there and he just started squeezing my chest and when his hand proceeded to go further down, my grandma asked him to unlock the door. This wasnt the last time this happened, multiple times when he got me alone things like this happened, this happened on the backseat of a car even. At one point he started telling me it was to train me for my future boyfriend and he would rub my thigh and my private part and I would ask him to stop and he would still do it and I just didnt know what to do at the moment. As of now, I am 18 and my cousin 25, he is engaged right now. But all that he did, still hurts me till date and the fact that I considered him my favourite disgusts me.

A few years ago when I was a sophomore in high school I sort of remembered that I was touched by my brother (I was about 3 or 4 and he was about 12 or 13) and my mom had caught him and the only thing she did was force us to switch rooms. But I ignored it because I thought I was making it up for some reason. But I’m a junior in college and it’s finally hit me that, that I didn’t make it up. And I finally had the courage to ask my mom if he did anything and she said yes. And it really hurt and sucked because she was supposed to protect. She asked me if he had done anything else and I said no but after I said no it kind of hit me that I don’t really know if he did or not. We continued talking about it more but then she said she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. And now it’s really getting the way of our relationship because I see his daughter every Thursday at his place and I’m trying to tell my mom I don’t want to. Like I love my niece but idk. I feel almost jealous of her? Idk what I’m feeling. But I don’t really know what to do? I can’t afford therapy and I want to tell my sister but I don’t really know how to bring it up. So I could use some help?

“Imagine an ending”, said the counsellor. “See it as you want it, as you need it to be. Write your story and those in it as it should be in a just world”, she suggests. I think “no!”, it needs it to be real; a conversation with live faces across real tables, with a hug, a strong handshake, and a glance that lets me know it really happened in amongst the unreality of it all. Those conversations, as yet unsaid, will anchor me in truth, bathe me in facts and create a storyboard with pins and thread for me follow home. Those people, as yet unseen, will interpret it with me, a Watson and Holmes quest - in the room together as the facts reveal themselves. The institutions, as yet faceless, will now permit me to be a fly on the wall of those interviews where untruths were told. I need all this, I think, so that finally the lost threads are found, and I can write my story, now coloured with the gaps I have craved to fill; revealing me to myself. The words shared will help me to find my own. ……………………………………... Us women are left outside a system hoping that something or someone will ground us in the facts held at arms lengths- the facts about us, our assault, or experience. Many women who report sexual assault to the authorities face multiple hurdles. Some remain open to responding to this system that offers no guarantees for all we give to it. Others shut down before the act has concluded, resigning themselves to a painful silence in the hope it will be less so than the alternative public ordeal. The burden of proof lays solidly with us as we concurrently grapple with processing our own trauma. If we are able to share a palatable version of our story with other women, we soon realise how much worse it could have been. But we knew that already. Grading our experience with a perfunctory “at least”. It lives in us: this learned and inherited shame. We carry that burden before we are assaulted, and it is further cemented by the knowing glance or stern word spoken before we leave the house in those clothes. Later that night we are escorted to a beige room and asked to remove them all, still sticky with fearful sweat and told that without us in them, these articles might determine his guilt. There is always some authority acting as sartorial dictator, taking away our carefully chosen outfit with worried words or procedural hands. As such, we continue to hold the weight of their assigned moral value, and determine little of their impact, for that is decided by the viewer, whomever they may be in the room that day. ……………………………………... I am caked in heavy layers of dread, pending success or failure. Why did I start this thankless task? I enter another world, an office of sorts, where you catch a glimpse of the story not told to you, because by knowing you may contaminate the truth. Despite my bodily contamination, I am not permitted to know the full facts, as they say. The most personal and invasive event, prolonged by paperwork. This manufactured situation demands intimacy and yet requires, by law, complete professionalism. Their job, an often-thankless endeavour to find and prove the truth to a wig not made for this century. I try to picture my good egg behind the mask that doesn't fit his face. I saw more of him than ever before on our day in court. It was our day. I needed to see his eyes as he spoke; for the real-life connection to mirror the intensity of our past dealings. He is the only one who knows who I am in this. Until this happens, I float here, suspended in the delay, waiting to be anchored to the tangible earth beneath. To feel the bench and smell the varnish. To be present and audible. To be where life is being lived. We leave court and enter a room with my sister-in-assault. Kept apart for many months to protect us from further injustice. Unsure of the protocol and fearful of our matched pain, we join hands. We hug on my request – despite our fear of emotion and viral spread. How odd to have a thing such as this in common. To be joined together by an act of harm by a man with less years than us, so far away from home. We all came to this city with hopes - for opportunities – for a life beyond the limitations, however different, of our respective hometowns. Joined by this recurring act, we three meet again in a room filled with wood and plexiglass, unable to see beyond the thing itself. This dirty touch has smeared us all with a single colour, marking us out as dirt. Her wide face and open eyes meet mine in tears, a flood after a personal drought. Guilt shades my face pink – I wish she would cry. We share past fears and eventual overcoming and know from this moment on we are allowed to let go. The words have been spoken, by us, the good eggs, and the wigs. The ordeal is over, and permission is granted to lock our fear away with him in the middle of our land, far away from the hopes of this Eastern city. This is the end and the beginning.

Dedication: To all of the women and children that are fighting domestic abuse. I witnessed domestic violence between my mother and her boyfriend every day from the age of 6 up until the age of 11. I witnessed brutal attacks, one time my mother actually stopped breathing. He was a very jealous man. He wanted me out the way as much as possible. He even resorted to breaking my dogs leg in a fit of rage. My mother became a victim of ‘cuckooing’ by a local gang and was introduced to drugs. Her boyfriend stole from them and my mother was kidnapped. We both had to go into protective living. I stayed with my nan for 2 months not knowing where my mother was or even if she was alive. The gang found my mothers boyfriend and beat him to an inch of his life. My mother was later given an ultimatum; Him or me. She chose me. After us he moved on to another family. Unfortunately those children weren’t so lucky. They all got split up by the care system. It has not been until these past couple of months that I have learned to accept what happened. It has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Confusion, anger and tears. I had to say goodbye to the innocent little girl that was once me. At a crucial time when my child brain was meant to be developing and understanding the world, I had to skip that part completely. I was quickly brought into an adults world. After it all ended I had to build a whole new foundation and create a whole new person. It was almost like Norma Jean transforming into Marilyn Monroe or Beyonce becoming her alter ego Sasha Fierce. Before this, I had no identity. At the age of 6 I was just starting to find my place in the world which was then quickly taken from me. It wouldn’t be until I was 17 that I would have to come face to face with my mothers abuser again. She came home one night in a complete drunken state with him in tow. I looked him dead in the eyes and told him that I was 17 not 7 anymore and I was not afraid of him and he couldn’t hurt us anymore. The police ended up escorting him away. My mother was always encouraging of me and always told me she believed in me and to believe in myself. That I am so grateful for. I am so grateful for life. Every day I would wake up and wonder if that day would be the day I died. I think the way I got through it was fight or flight. My body chose fight. I had a best friend at the time who I am still best friends with to this day. Her mother was also tackling her own demons at home, so our friendship grew closer. My mother ended up having a hard time coming to terms with dealing with what happened. She is unfortunately a shell of person he once was. The song by Jessie J – I Miss Her sums it up perfectly. She is still breathing but she is not really living.

My story was 24 years(18-42) of abuse. I was controlled by my narcissist same sex Ex. She was super controlling. I wasn't allowed to have friends or to wear jeans or pants.. Everything was always my fault and I had to earn her forgiveness. All this time het older brother started by raping and sexually abusing me Then he started human trafficking me. First it was to get into BDSM gatherings and then when he lost his job it was for money for him. I wss kept in place by threats against my now Ex and her son who was 4 when it started. I got out December 2012.. I was taking taxis because my ex had hurt her leg and I wasn't allowed to drive or have a license.. I met my now husband that way. I don't know why but I felt a connection with him for some reason. The day that ended it all in my mind. Was I had to take s train to my then therapist. She mafe me take her brother with me and said I could only go to therapy if I did that. Ot was my taxi driver who picked us up and he loed to get senior rate and didn't tip. I went back out to settle the money and wound up talking to my now husband, Husband for like 45 minutes. Husband figured out who he was and didn't eant to leave me there. I wasn't ready yet. Eventually, I left amd left everything, but she had him there all the time and she wouldn't allow me to bring Husband. So my stuff wasn't worth it. I am out and safe now, but am still plaqued by flashbacks and memories. I have been without a therapist since right before Covid. My therapist went on a two month cruise and didn't set me up with anyone to see while she was gone. Thst is sll for now I don't want to say to much Survivor

I was seven years old. I can't remember much from my childhood or have any memories of being that age except for what happened at my afterschool daycare program. I know that I was 7 years old when it happened because he asked me how old I was and I told him. He told me he was 14 but it was okay because he loved me. Every day after school the bus would take me to my after-school daycare program. I was often picked up after most of the kids were since my dad worked late. One kid would also be picked up late and wait until my friends left to approach me. I don't even remember how I met him or the first time he talked to me but he had me come with him to this fort he made out of these large mats/blocks they had at the daycare center. When we were inside he grabbed me and kissed me. I was completely frozen and my mind went completely blank. I couldn't form thoughts or words I didn't even process what was happening. I didn't know it was wrong at the time but I felt so confused and scared that I would get in trouble. I remember him talking to me afterwards but I dont remember a thing that he said except that I couldn't tell anyone about it. I began hiding in different rooms or with other kids when I would get dropped off there every day. I think a part of me knew something was wrong but when he would eventually find me I couldn't say no and my mind would once again go blank. The next time it happened he started touching me. He would kiss me while holding me there with one arm and touched me places I didn't want to be touched. I couldn't breathe and I was again completely frozen. Afterwards I sat in the structure he made completely speechless and absent. He told me he loved me and wanted to have sex with me. I didn't even know what that meant at the time but I had some kind of idea. My dad arrived soon after to pick me up and I'm glad he got there when he did. This happened several more times. From then on I always felt this constant guilt and self hatred from a very young age and I was terrified of boys for a long time without even realizing why. It took me a long time to put the pieces together. When I was there I met a girl who was a couple years older than me who would sometimes sit with me under an air hockey table I hid under after my friends got picked up. She didn't know the reason I would hide but stayed with me anyway. I was so grateful for her. I stopped going to that daycare after my parents couldn't afford it anymore and I never saw her again. 7 years later I found out that she passed away from an illness the year she was supposed to have graduated. She'll never know how much she really did for me back then. What her simple kindness really meant. I think of her every time I pass the street my town named after her when she passed away. It wasn't until recently that I began researching COCSA and every definition I've found includes that it has to be unconsentual. If I kept going back and never resisted is it really considered SA? I still struggle with this thought. There was so much I could have done to stop this from happening but I could never bring myself to. I'm constantly plagued with the thought that he's victimized others as well and if I just told someone about it when it happened it could have been stopped or prevented. I've only told my now ex boyfriend about this and he encouraged me to tell someone about it so they can find him and get justice for what happened to me and maybe stop it from happening to anyone else. But I don't even know if that's possible. I feel so guilty to this day.

I was raped 59 days ago. I took my last pill for HIV that made me nauseous 29 days ago. I had my second check up with my OBG/YN for STD’s and STI’s 6 days ago. I had my first nightmare where my rapist was violent 20 days ago. I heard from the detective that she received my rape kit and it will take 6-9 months to be processed by the lab 11 days ago. I cried when someone asked me how I was doing three hours ago. This is my life now. The last words, my therapist said in our first session were “There are two things you need to know. You will never be the same, and you will still be able to do everything in life that you always wanted to do.” It started as a great Saturday. A girlfriend and I were open to spontaneity and fun, got dressed up cute and went to meet a group of her guy friends at a bar for drinks and to watch the game. One drink became two, became three, and then became shots. we were having a great time, and our team won! We weren’t friends, necessarily, more like acquaintances. I met him through work 5 or 6 years earlier. Our social interactions were no more than small talk at a handful of work functions, and a Christmas party or two. He text me the Wednesday before asking if I had recommendations for a happy hour spot. It was out of the blue, but being the friendly person that I am, I sent him a list of different hotspots. He said he and some buddies were going to go to one that night, and I should meet him. I was having dinner with my stepmom and told him that I couldn’t make it, and then he mentioned that he was moving into the city and needed some friends. I told him if I was ever out with a group I’d let him know. This specific Saturday was such a fun day, and I was with a great group of people. I shit him a text, and just said “hey, if you don’t have plans for the game, I am meeting some friends at a bar.” I gave him the name of the bar, and he text me back stating he was going to go to a buddies house, but might come by later. Several hours passed, the game had ended, and he asked if I was still at the bar. I told him yes, and then he said “my friends left me, you should come meet me” and he told me where he was. I simply said no I am with friends, so instead he came my direction. I remember introducing him to the people I was with. We were on opposite sides of the table, I was engaging in conversation with everyone, and didn’t give him any sort of special attention. This was not someone that I was ever interested in or attracted to. Before I knew it, the bar seemed to be closing. I was pretty drunk, and planned to call an Uber. I remember he asked to give me a ride home. I thought sure! No other thought crossed my mind. This was someone that I knew. He was a non-threatening person to me. I remember one of the guys that I had met that night offering to get me an Uber instead. I wrote him off thinking to myself that I didn’t know him, but I knew this guy. This guy was safe, and if I could save a few bucks on an Uber, why not! I don’t remember walking from the bar to the car. I don’t remember the car ride. I don’t remember giving him directions or telling him my address. I don’t remember parking at my building. I don’t remember getting out of the car. I remember being inside the elevator. I remember we went to the rooftop. My building rooftop has an incredible view of the city and I remember commenting on the city skyline. I remember he said he needed to pee. I remember stating we could go down so he could use the restroom. I don’t remember the elevator ride down. I don’t remember the long walk through the hallways to my door. I don’t remember entering my apartment. I remember being in the kitchen. I remember that he brought with him a bottle of alcohol. It was brown in color and the clear bottle was roughly 1/4 full. I remember having two shots and commenting that the alcohol was sweet. I remember him saying “you’ve never had this before?” I remember he went to the restroom. I think I went to the restroom but I’m not sure. I have so many black spots in my memory…so many things I don’t recall. I remember he was on top of me. I was laying on my back on my bed with my feet hanging off horizontally, bent over the side at the knee. I remember feeling him pulling my underwear and shorts down the right side of my thigh. I remember feeling dizzy and sick. My eyes were closed and the room was spinning. The next thing I remember is my limp body sliding off the bed and his hands grasping me by the sides, and pushing me up while he was inside of me. I remember coming to consciousness and gasping for air as he choked me. I remember I couldn’t breathe and I was coughing. I remember coming to again and he was no longer inside of me. With my eyes still closed, I crawled to the top of my bed and lay my head on my pillow. I felt so sick, so tired, so dizzy. I remember he came to the top of the bed and peered over me and said something along the lines of “oh so you’re going to go to sleep now?” I remember I muttered an acknowledgment. I woke up around at 9:15 AM. After realizing that I was in my room and in my bed and the sun was shining it hit me like a ton of bricks. I remember the choking and felt that I had severe pain to my neck and chest. As I looked down, my dress was on but my undergarments were removed and on the floor. I started freaking out and I text my girlfriend from the night before. I told her he was at my place and we had sex but that I didn’t remember anything and I didn’t remember telling him I wanted to, and that I was scared. I went into my living room and saw the bottle and the empty shot glasses on my kitchen counter. Then on my couch, I found a sock that was not mine, and appeared to be full of his semen. My dog must have drug it to the other room during the night…my dog, who I didn’t put in his kennel. I always put him in his kennel. I always took out my contacts. I always took off my make up. I always locked the door and I always turned off the lights. Not this time. I went to the bathroom and threw up. I felt sick and hung over and nauseous. I called my best friend, and when I went back into my bedroom, I saw that my bed sheets had a large liquid stain mixed with blood. My blood. I went to the bathroom and wiped and there was blood. There was blood on my duvet. I didn’t know what it was from. I called my mom, who brought me to the emergency room. I spent eight hours in the emergency room. All I wanted to do was brush my hair and brush my teeth and take a shower, but instead I spent the day getting tested and waiting constantly being asked by nursing staff if I was ok. Constantly being pitied and told “I’m sorry.” My chart just said sexual assault victim in bold sharpie. I remember the forensics nurse, she was so kind. I was terrified but she walked me through everything and made me feel comfortable. She swabbed every piece of my body and asked for my story. It was the first time I said all of the pieces that I remembered out loud. I was shaking. I was scared. I cried. She told me that the bruising on my cervix was some of the worst she had ever seen. She told me she thought that this wasn’t just penetration from a penis. How would I know? I was unconscious. She told me that I would have five years to report it to the police. I went home and I took a shower. I brushed my teeth and brushed my hair. I hardly slept, while my mom watched over me carefully. My chest and my neck hurt so badly and all I could do was try and try and try to remember. Replay it over and over and over again in my head. Why did my chest hurt? What happened? How did we get to my bedroom? I was in agony. The next morning I went to my OB/GYN and had her do a secondary examination. She confirmed the bruising on my cervix was bad. She stated there was tearing and and bleeding. The next morning, I reported to the sex crimes unit. It was terrifying. I cried through parts of it, but not all of it. I was scared and I just wanted it to go away. I don’t want to have to deal with this. I don’t want there to be an investigation. I don’t want to go on a stand. I don’t want to have to explain what happened to me over and over and in front of people. I don’t want to feel aafraid about how he might retaliate when he finds out I’ve reported it. I don’t want to have to justify why I don’t remember, and have a defense twist up the facts to make it look like I acted irresponsibly and that this attack was somehow my fault. I just wanted to rewind. I can’t believe that this is my life. In the weeks that have passed, what I can say confidently is that this was not my fault. This happened to me. This was violent. This was somebody that I thought I could trust who took advantage of me in my own home. This was not okay. I was raped. I’m living one day at a time, and every single day I have a thought that scares me…a nightmare, a thought about what the future holds, if the DA will pick up the case, if the test results will be conclusive, if I have to go on the stand and face my rapist. Everyday I am scared, but everyday I remember that I am also strong. I remember that I can do this. I remember that I am not alone and that I have a support system. I fear the worst is yet to come, and that the next few years will be harder than ever, but I am proud of myself for moving forward and slowly trying to take back my power. No matter how many days pass, what happened to me will never change, but I know that with time (and therapy) I will be able to do all the things that I’ve always wanted to do in life. I will be okay. Thank you for reading my truth.