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Hello. I am a woman and a survivor of prolonged childhood rape by a very close relative. He was someone very loved by the rest of the family, someone who was "loving" with me, and that's why when everything came to light, almost no one believed me. I wasn't the only victim, and yet they still treat him as if he were untouchable. That scarred me deeply. Today I am a mother. I love my children deeply and I am very protective. But for some time now, I've been having intrusive thoughts that fill me with fear and disgust. They aren't desires; I don't want to hurt them, on the contrary: just thinking about it distresses me. It's harder with my daughters, even when bathing them, and that makes me question myself and feel guilty. I never crossed any boundaries, nor would I, but my mind sometimes attacks me with the "what if?" I would like to know if anyone else has experienced something similar: this fear of becoming what I suffered. Thank you for reading.

I am a victim of COCSA. This was not easy for me to deal with, and the one question I keep asking myself is "Why can he get away with it?" Now, in this case, it is very overlooked, but when you're the one who is living with that trauma, it doesn't feel fair. In some cases, nothing ever happens, and that person has to live with the trauma caused by this. Personally, I feel like the abuser/assaulter should be held accountable for what they did. In fact, I know what you were thinking in that exact moment, too: "This is normal," "it will pass," "They still love me," "They are just angry." But I'll tell you, however old you are, whatever situation you're in, whoever you are, this is not normal, it will not pass, and it is not okay. There is never an excuse for physical, sexual, or emotional violence. Stand up for yourself. Even if it's not easy, fight back and most importantly, get the justice you deserve. You are strong, willing, powerful, and smart. No matter where you're reading this from. You are a survivor. You are brave. You are capable of surviving. I was 14 when I finally escaped it and 13 when it started. It may be hard at first, but believe in yourself because you can escape this. Finally, don't let the trauma control you; always remember you are stronger than they are. If you ever find yourself in need to talk, email me atEmail. Don't hesitate because if you feel like no one understands, I will.

I guess I am here to share some of the experiences I have been through in the past few years. My therapist introduced me to this page as a way to see support/connect with others who have been through similar experiences. My fiancé and I have been together for YEARS, but when we first got together he tried to force himself on me, and once I pushed him off and started crying he backed off. That should have been my first warning. Throughout the years he had a much higher drive than me and I didn’t always want to have sex like he did. He would practically beg me to have sex and I would eventually cave, which I have now learned is coercion. Once I even still told him know and he still went through with it. And then wondered why I was so upset. One time his sister brought over edibles for him and he let me have 2 and I didn’t think anything of it until I was unable to really move/keep my eyes open. I never smoke or do anything so this was a new experience. I remember at one point waking up to him on top of me starting to try to take my clothes off, luckily I was conscious enough to get him off of me. Moving forward years later this is STILL happening. He pressures me into having sex with him when I really don’t want to. I also don’t want to now because of prior experiences. My last straw was when I finally initiated sex with him and then he rushed through everything and then it started to hurt. And I begged him to stop and he claims he didn’t hear me. As he kept going to the point where I was sobbing and in physical pain. We are now on a break and I called off our engagement and I guess I just am at a loss and don’t know what to do. I love him , but I know this isn’t healthy. There has been other emotional things as well. I am always battling with my mental health and he can be very mean. I once was even self harming and he knew I was and completely ignored it. He really wants another chance to prove he is changing but I just don’t know. Everyone in my family loves him. He can be a great guy so I am just stuck!

He planted spyware on my phone and computer that gave him full access to my life - calls, texts, contacts, photos, browsing activities, location. He couldn’t stand not having power over me and my life when I broke up with him. As if he thought I was an object he owned by doing kind things that he gradually bought and paid for. The kindness was never real, it was just him justifying his eventual perceived ownership of me. He used to tell me his favorite person is Robert Greene. I would later learn he is the author of 48 Laws of Power, a book about obtaining total power over people by manipulating them. When I saw how he became a completely different person around his friends it was honestly terrifying. As if the person I had spent 3 months getting to know was never actually the real person. It was scary. After dumping him he went scorched earth: sabotaging my job search, harassing me and my family after a sibling died, sabotaging my education, and eventually sabotaging my career. Literally 6 years later and he has still went through my new phone after getting another one, having no social media and no life to get away from him. This weekend I went on a day trip 3 hours away from where he lives with someone new I was seeing. Sure enough I see him driving up there on our way back. Apparently he did the same to the partner he had before me he claimed he “found” with someone else (he was actually stalking her). He can’t handle the thought of being unable to control me to compensate for his complete lack of control he has over himself. Below are my personal thoughts on the past 6 years of being tortured by this person (from me to him, since he has hacked multiple of my phones he is likely reading this anyway): I am sorry that when my family member died you thought it was more important to have attention from me and supply instead of letting me heal. To the point you destroyed my computer with spyware, lied about our breakup, and ran a smear campaign against me. I am sorry I went to a better university than you (even though you harassed me and sabotaged my education the whole time I was there to the point I had to get an attorney). I am sorry I got into a real CS program and you didn’t so you had to minor in IT and major in something else. Or worse that you were so bothered by it you couldn’t handle me being able to independently pursue my education in it without you harassing me the entire time. I am sorry your mom left when you were younger and instead of seeking therapy you take your anger out on me, sabotaging my healing and success. Apparently childhood abandonment is the catalyst for narcissistic personality disorder. I am sorry you blame your drug and alcohol addictions on me instead of seeking treatment and going to rehab. I am sorry you were fired for incompetence at your first real programming job so you think its acceptable to be jealous of my tech career and sabotage it. I am sorry the only way you are able to feel anything is by trying to control people and have power over them. To the point you are willing to crush the good in life just to mean something, anything, to anyone. What will you do when you can’t access my life anymore? What will you do when I leave and you can’t find me again? Will you turn back to hurting people, destroying everything around you and drinking or finally wake up and get it? No one thinks you are a sophisticated hacker, a genius, an intellectual, or that you have any substance. Underneath it all you are an angry man who can’t get over the fact that multiple women including your own mother left you. It will keep happening and you will never be satisfied until you change. You are in your 40s so this is what the rest of your life will be like until you wake up. You want power? Stop thinking about how everyone around you owes you this or that and what will benefit you. You will never be full and you will continue draining people your whole life. Move on, go to rehab, and think about the people you hurt while you are there so you don’t do it anymore.

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

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.

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

Im struggling to get my head around what to do and who to speak to. I was comfortably asleep and cuddling my boyfriend and had my head kind of on top of him, i woke up slightly and he was moving my hand to his crotch that was h*rd and at that point i was wide awake with my eyes still closed wondering what he was doing, i opened them a little and pretended i was moving in my sleep but he kept on using force moving my whole arm and hand to touch him and i didnt know what to do so i was still and he took out his phone like he was gonna take a picture. He knows i wouldnt want to do that and I dont know what to do or how to feel, i confronted him about it when i ‘woke up’ and i was in shock shaking, we were arguing and he started crying and long story short i ended up comforting him. he never truly said sorry once and i just feel lost because i have so much love for him but i genuinely never want to be with him again but the thought of never speaking to him again hurts me, and i know he wouldnt live without me. which is what scares me because im the only one there for him, i dont know what he would do without me. i just need help on a decision please im feeling very alone in this.

I was 18. In college I was part of a ladies team on in college sports team. There were also male teams. There was a inter college tournament that our college was hosting for other male college teams within Ireland. We all had nights out planned and a 'play hard, play hard' attitude. It was great to be part of something - I genuinely loved playing and being part of the club. On one of the nights I was drinking and got to talking with a guy from another college mens team. It was fun and we ended up back at his hotel room, where we had consensual sex. After, I remember feeling groggy and then being suddenly awoken to all these lads barging in. They ripped the bed cover off us and I remember phone flashes going off. It was year so, not exactly amazing phones back them. Slagging of various types ensued but then I remember being held down. At least 2 different men. I remember saying no, please stop. Flashes in and out while I just stared at the corner of the bedside table, thinking how similar it was to the one in my parents room. Weird. I must have slept at some point because I woke up. I got dressed. I remembered nothing. Nothing but the sex with the lad I kissed. Naturally, the next morning is always awkward so I wanted to get out of there. Just as the hotel room door clicked shut I realised I had left my shoes. I knocked back and had to do so loudly as everyone was deep asleep. As I was doing that one of the other team members opened a door across the hall, he stared at me. I said sorry for waking him but I needed my shoes. He just said he was so sorry. I was confused, having no memory of what he was actually talking about, so I said I'm sorry I left my shoes. Eventually someone opened the door and I got my shoes. Leaving the hotel and walking to the nearest bus stop, I felt appropriately hung over but sore. Down there. I'd never been sore before. Guess we must have really gone for it, I thought. Fast forward to lockdown 3 during Covid, I began experiencing severe nightmares that weren't nightmares. The missing memories came back over 2/3 months and I realised that I had been rated multiple times. That my brain had protected me until now. My SA, unknowingly, had a huge impact on my formative years - I came out as bisexual just 2 years ago. I feel I would have had a very different 20's but I met a decent guy, stuck with him like glue and am now married with a child. Due to the memory block, I have no recourse. No sense of justice so I just hope those boys, now grown men, are better than they were.

Not 100% sure if COCSA, still healing and navigating. I am currently 21, turning 22 later this year. I’ve spent years trying to fully grasp this ever since I was 7 and have only spoken about this with a counsellor from my high school and two other people. I’ve constantly pondered whether it was a case of playing doctor gone wrong or COCSA along with these events having a big bearing on me, I’m in a far better headspace mentally but I still ponder this and still feel I haven’t fully healed so I’m just simply going to share my story from here. So me and my older brother(3 years older) had a pretty standard dynamic of him being “cool” and good at everything per se whilst I was essentially second fiddle and felt like I was in his shadow, very up and down relationship due to me being neurodivergent which neither of us really understood at the time. It started when I was around 6 in which he’d(Age 9-10) randomly start masturbating or rubbing his penis in front of me, I didn’t think much of it at the time as obviously I was 6 and didn’t understand what was going on, we did share showers a few times but that was primarily innocent, eventually in 2009(8 years old now, him 11) as we were moving into a new house, as we were preparing everything, and on the bottom bunk of a newly put together bunk bed, he “invited” me to masturbate him(The words masturbate, etc weren’t used, I don’t remember the exact terminology used but it was about making it “grow bigger”), I remember being complacent which I don’t know why I was, perhaps it was because it was someone I genuinely loved and looked up to, I remember even saying that we’d pretend to talk about something else if we heard anyone come towards the room, I don’t know how long it lasted but I ended up stroking him after the aforementioned stuff of him talking about “making it grow”, etc. I remember at the time enjoying it and it didn’t feel weird, I remember him moaning and telling me not to go too fast, etc, I don’t know how long it was but he didn’t ejaculate from it. After that, nothing really ever happened apart from a few occasions from 2010-2011 in which I’d either see him casually pull out his penis and wiggle it around while lying down and on one occasion rubbing it on my legs when I was 8-9 and he was 11-12. The events in 2009 led to a whole spiel of me discovering and becoming addicted to masturbating myself, I remember feeling increasingly socially awkward as time went by, wondering if this was something normal for siblings, etc. I remember in 2012-2013 masturbating over the handjob from 2009 which in hindsight was a means for me to cope with what had happened and try and have some degree of control over that situation, I would have breakdowns over it and feel disgusted with myself every time I thought about it in retrospect. I had also felt conflicted as I was increasingly breaking down due to my depression developing at this time from various other circumstances as well and an existential crisis essentially, well at least for an 11-12 year old. I remember in my head blaming him for being the reason why I “wasn’t cool”, etc. After primary school and by the time of high school in 2014 I’d come to stuff it in the back of my head, at this time I got into porn and masturbating continued to be a habit from then and many years to come, I remember coming out as asexual and believing I really was at the time from 2014-2016 which part of the reason I’d attribute to all that had happened with me and my brother. I’d have further breakdowns about it in 2015 with my depression escalating and me and my brother arguing much more(I did not bring up anything about all that had happened apart from a “throwaway” remark in which I told him that he “traumatised” me around 2014, our arguments were seperate from this). 2014 was around the time I began to hold bitterness towards him and felt that he was the catalyst for me being who I was, and I hated everything about myself, by 2016 our relationship would begin to improve though. From this point it’d be very on and off until 2019 in which I finally opened up to my high school counsellor(Though in not as much detail as I am sharing here, mostly emphasising the handjob), she said that I had been sexually abused and we’d have sessions in which I’d navigate through it albeit at this time it was very difficult for me to talk about, it was the first time a label was put on it per se and the first time I had a firmer grasp on what had happened, eventually I opened up to my brother about it who had also brought up that he had a bad circle of friends through primary school though never went into any further detail than that and was exposed to a lot of things. So right now, I’m at a point now having done my own extensive research on sexual abuse, CSA, etc, etc where I’m doing far better now but still healing and still navigating everything. So I’m just gonna leave it at that, I know this is extremely long but thanks for listening.

It started when I was nine. At my childhood home we had a wooden fence built in the backyard and behind those fences were a group of houses. You could look through the window of our old living room, and you could see the roof of the house behind us peaking out to greet you every time. A family of three, two brother close in my age range, and their darling little sister lived there with their parents, and since I was seven years old I had gone over there nearly every week to play with them. I had a lot in common with the oldest, he was the first one I met too. We both loved bugs and animals, he even gave me my own own bug jar to catch lady bugs in. He loved to come over to see my rabbit, even risked getting stung when he pulled a little wasp nest (at least he said it was or when he pulled it out to show us) out from my rabbit’s cage to help. The problem though wasn’t with this boy, it was his brother. A year younger then him. He was always little a bit off, always doing things like putting worms down my back to make me uncomfortable. But I brushed it off, thinking nothing of it, always told to give people a chance and time to show their best. And as the years rolled by he seemed to do that, and he stopped putting things down my shirt. He seemed to also show a nice side that I could appreciate. I started to like him as a genuine friend over time. Until, one day when he took me down to his room in his family’s basement, under the pretense of wanting to “show me something.” It was dark down there, quiet. Everyone was outside in the yard playing. His mom upstairs, unable to hear anything. When we got downstairs, I asked him what it he wanted me to see. He got really close to my face and whispered in my ear to kiss him. I had never been asked to do something so physical before. I was only nine. But I knew what kissing was. I’d seen my mom and dad do it, aunt and uncles. I watched a lot of cartoons that showed romance between kids; the classic Disney movies, a normal part of growing up they’d say. And it was always between two people who were in love. And as a little girl of course I would dream of finding my soulmate, the perfect wedding, dashing Princes from fairytales we’re what I dreamed of as an ideal match for me at that time. So when I heard what my friend wanted me to do, someone I never even thought of in that way. I was shocked. And startled. I was told to never do things that I was uncomfortable with and I was NOT comfortable with what he told me to do. I said no, and I tried to leave, exactly as I was taught. Unfortunately, nobody ever told me what to do when the person doesn’t take no for an answer. He wouldn’t let me leave, and he started pleading and begging for me to do it. Even though I kept saying no a dozen times he wouldn’t take it for an answer and he wouldn’t let me leave. I was scared, and confused. No one even told me what to do if it’s a friend that asks me to do something like this. Someone who, in my mind, I knew for a long time. Who I thought cared about me, or how they would use your friendship to manipulate you to get you to do what they wanted. No one told me that just saying no isn’t enough to protect you, especially if you’re only a kid. And I was being conditioned by several toxic people in my family life to value other people’s feelings over my own” cause what they feel “matters more then what I feel”. Schools are not exactly innocent in that department either. He told me that it would only be for a bit, and he was pleading with me as if rejecting him would break his heart. I was way too sweet at that time, and he knew it. I began to rationalize , thinking that since he’s my friend it would be fine, he’s not hurting me or anything, and he only said it would be for a bit. And he looks like he really want it. Besides there was no way he was going let me leave, and in the media, and with what I heard from my older cousins they always said what first kisses are like, so maybe it was time for me step into that threshold, I mean I was nine a “big kid” now. That’s the thing I was only nine, just a child. And already I was rationalizing my friend’s gross behavior. So I gave him what he wanted. I always dreamed my first kiss would be like fireworks like I saw in all those movies. But it felt gross and empty. I remember that slimy grin he had on his face, knowing he got me to do what he wanted while we kissed, and it went on longer then he said it was, making me feel bad if I pulled away “too soon.” He even tried to get me to take my pant’s down. Luckily, I didn’t let him coerce me into doing that, but he still got me to unbutton them. At least he didn’t touch me down there, but it’s still a frightening thought that a kid at such a young age would try to get another kid to do that. He forced me to kiss him some more and after he was done, he told me to keep it a secret. And I said I would. But I felt uneasy over what happened. But I figured since I gave him what he wanted, he’d never ask me again. But i was wrong. He forced me to kiss him down in that basement every time I came over. That little “secret” was starting to weight me down no matter how many times I tried to rationalize it. I even wondered if what we were doing meant that we were in, what the big kids called, a relationship. He talked like we were in one. “Was this how they worked?” I wondered. “It always looked so nice in the shows and movies I watch on T.V. The kids in those shows were about our age and they were always kissing and holding hands, smiling. So why did I feel like this?” It was a very uncomfortable and confusing time for me, cause stuff like this is never discussed in schools. They all think we need to experience a “childhood” first. They don’t get that by keeping us in the dark about this stuff, about our bodies, what consent actually is and isn’t, and teaching us to understand our bodies and healthy ways to cope with certain emotions and feelings were going through, the less time we actually be spend at being kids and more as victims, or in my friends case, offenders. People say kids can’t do this type of shit to other kids, but that is a gross misconception. Finally, I told my dad in the car one day about it and thankfully that stopped it. But things between me and his brother were never the same. I’m not sure how my dad handled it, but about a year or two afterwards him and his once sweet brother started to throw rocks at my house, and stalked, bullied and harassed me after we all entered middle school. Whether it was school or back at home, where there house loomed behind mine like a haunting. It caused a lot of stress I my life, and worsened my anxiety. I only found relief when I was at my father’s house. Away from them and their abuse. For a long time I blamed myself for what happened. Angry that I didn’t say no louder, try to leave harder, thinking my relationship with my friends got bad because I told “our secret”. However, years later as an adult woman, I am so thankful I told, and I understand that back then I did everything I could at that time as a nine year old to protect myself. It wasn’t my fault that my supposed friend violated my trust and took advantage of me like that, preying on my weakness. And instead of owning up to it, like a coward he got him and his brother to use acts of violence and harassment against me as a way to run away from the wrong he did to me. The only one to blame for the way things went was him. Though it does make me wonder what would make a kid in elementary school to do something so violating when the only thing he should get excited for is a scoop of double chocolate chip ice cream. As someone aiming to work with kids in the future I hope to understand it better and stop this kind of behavior from ever happening again. Since then I’ve moved away from that place, and started my own path to healing. Sharing this story and regaining my voice is part of the process. Though sadly this wasn’t the only time I suffered sexual assault/harassment growing up. But that’s for another time.

I am still in danger. I live in hiding. I just want to live and be able to have a normal life again. I am being stalked. It now has been going on for almost 10 years. I have had3 attempts on my life. My disabled daughter was kidnapped. I am running out if safe places to go.

Having YOUR voice is the most important thing that you can have as an abuse victim. After going through abuse for multiple years at Location, I felt like everything was stripped away from me. My dignity, self respect, confidence, happiness, and strength felt like were taken by the age of 9. Summer after summer i went to this dark place that was supposed to be a positive experience. My parents thought they were dropping me off at a place to help grow my walk with the Lord. What they didnt know is that Name 2 told me that if I did the sexual acts he wanted me to do, he promised that I would become closer to God. He was a sick individual that constantly broke Location's guidelines and the law. The worst part is that Location had insight and knew these events were happening but did nothing. Leaving camp and going back home I remember feeling empty and depressed. You are not at a maturity level at this age to be able to grasp what has happened and how to process it. I went to child advocacy centers to get professional help and struggled to even talk about what happened because it did not make sense in my head and could not verbalize the events or the impact it had on me. As i moved into my teen years I became more depressed. Every night I would have a dream of Name 2 abusing me and I felt like every night I went to sleep, I was going to be abused again. The fear, anger and depression I went through weighed so heavy on me that I was close to not wanting to make it to the next day. After years of this cycle, I decided I needed change to be able to live a full life. I started to to work on my physical, spiritual and mental health. The biggest part of this is having your voice. You have to be able to share your experience so that you can get the help you need and to express the pain you have been through. That is why I am thankful for Trey's Law. This removes the ability for organizations like Location to silence victims after they put them through horrendous experiences. It gives the power back to the Survivor. Treys Law will save lives. It will allow for someone to stick up for themselves. It will allow for less criminals/organizations to get away with what is the worst crime someone can commit. If anyone is reading this and needs help, I am always happy to listen to your voice! Name

I know it was his fault Not my 12-year-old self’s fault  We know it but the guilt sticks to us anyway  I have done plenty of things to feel guilty about since.    But then it was not my fault, yet I could have done so much better.  The guilt is there.  Like burn scars.   I did not block out the memory because I participated consciously.    It was my first job.  $6 per hour.  When my uncle started giving me massages in his repair shop, I was already changing. I had urges. New urges and sensations. I had kissed boys at school.  The massages were creepy and felt creepy.  Right after I started working there.  I declined them, but in a token, way. I did not try to move away. Not very hard.  I was a roller blader with my cousins. I took long skates around town. I ached sometimes. That’s how it made a little sense I would need a massage.  I ignored the obvious—that he sent both the man employees away or home for our sessions, and we kept it secret. Even from my friends. I knew it was not on the level.  I knew he was being a perv. My boss. My uncle.  The dragon. I would lay on the massage table in the back and let him touch me.  He bought it a week after he started the touching. I was still awkward about it and the table make it seem legit   It felt good.  My back and shoulders to start, but he spent most of the time on my legs and butt. That’s where most of the muscle is, especially on a skinny in-line skater girl. It was probably the most athletic time of my life. I did not do sports again.  Not eating was my exercise plan eventually.  I was sort of tall then but I stopped growing at fourteen. I would squirm when he would rub my vulva through my clothes while doing my upper thighs and he would tell me to relax. The first time he brought oil I did not take anything off because I was wearing shorts.   He had a plan. He got two bottles of oil so I could take one home and put it on so the smell would not seem weird when I came home smelling like vanilla.   It suddenly became normal that I would sit down, take off my shirt, and shorts or pants, and lay down. He would take off my panties.  No bra then. I never really needed one.    This was my job!   I was getting paid to do what he said.  I still feel shame that I kept quiet as he escalated it. It was such a gradual damn process from the occasional brush through the clothes to my vulva being fully part of the massage on the way down. I breathed hard while he did it. I couldn’t help it.  That was the routine.    It felt so intense.  Of course.   I got used to his hands on my body. I thought about it all the time.  I did not know what my clitoris was. Even though it felt crazy I thought it was less bad when he touched it than when he touched my labia because it was just a low part of my belly, not my privates. I’m crying right now.  To think what I didn’t know and HE DID!  He was a selfish immoral prick. A predator. Probably still is.  He warned me before he used his mouth the first time.  I was on my stomach.  He put his face between my legs.  I couldn’t see him.   I immediately tried to get up and said “No, no, no, no, no, no.” rapid fire.   He apologized. I rolled over. We hugged.  He spent some time rubbing my face, temples, and ears. He knew I liked that.  Then he got real stern. The only time he ever scolded me. Told me not to behave like a baby.  I worked for HIM.  Not the other way around. He was doing this FOR ME.   Used his strength to hold my thighs and went at it with his mouth and tongue until I went still. I stared up at the ceiling tiles. He stopped when he thought I had liked it. I think it was my breathing. I learned to breathe hard and make sounds to make him happy.  Shame. Guilt. I went from dreading that part to looking forward to it.  I felt cooler than other girls at school.  Cooler than my cousin.    Dragon and I were cool with each other, like we had a fun inside secret.    We would kiss sometimes. Make out.  He stopped staying fully dressed. I did not realize what he was doing until he showed me.  The dragon was masturbating.  Seeing it was so insane that it was scary.  I got used to these kinds of freaky adrenaline rushes. Revolting and exciting.   I was just a girl.    Then I wasn’t.  Never again.  He would use fingers in me and I would have something like mini climaxes.    Then he would stand and jerk it right over me at the end and drip it on me.  I thought it was gross.  So gross. We had a roll of paper towels by the table to wipe me off.  While he drove me home it was ALWAYS like it never happened. I did not know at the time that men completely change and lose interest after they purge it.  If he would have tried to have sex with me it probably would have kept going. No more virgin after three months of foreplay. Ignorant bliss that would crash and burn me one day.  BUT he wanted a blowjob one day.  Maybe he thought it was an easier transition.  He was wrong! I was so revolted by it that I vomited, got a headache, and that night told my parents.  Shame on me for waiting so long!  Shame on me for taking pleasure in his predation!  Shame on him for being a HORRIBLE MAN!  Shame on my parents for letting him tell most of the story his way!    Because I was too young to articulate it right.    Shame on me for keeping quiet while he apologized to me in front of them in the kitchen. I was not even sure what he told them before they called me in. My parents both seemed relieved after he cleared it up.  Most of all, shame on me for letting it sit that way.    A cowardly silence and head nod that was my signature on a contract with the devil.    I lost my soul without a fight.  Hating him costs hating myself.  That is my first guilt.

I was 14. We were at sleep away church summer camp. Me and one of my friends had been giving people tattoos. He asked for one, of course. Wanted some lyrics on his hand that were far too inappropriate for a church camp. He put his hand on my thigh to give me 'better access to his hand'. Conversation between the three of us got dirty, quick. I hate to say that i participated in it, but I did. I have a tendency to get greedy about male attention, stemming from little to no attention from my deadbeat father. Fast forward a little bit, about an hour later. Me, a few of my friends, and him. We made our way from the chapel to the lodge for dinner. He waits till we're in the far corner of the line to grope me roughly, whispering horrible, degrading things into my ear. Young, starstruck, naïve me thought he loved me so much that he would tell me those things. It was only after he tried to force himself down my throat that I realized how terrible it was. I didn't want my innocence to be taken by an older teen who i had just met, much less in a chapel. When i told the counselors, they seemed like they believed me. But his father was a major donator. My friends didn't believe me because he was 'attractive'. When i told my mother, she didn't believe me. "You probably led him on, so he thought it was fine." No. If 'Yes' was never explicitly said, then it's not consent. Since then, I've struggled. I've questioned my religion. But then I thought, why am i giving this horrible boy any extra thought? And why does everyone I love believe his word over mine? Maybe because they never really loved me. Maybe because it was easier to pretend it never happened. But a real supporter would take the scared child's word before considering the almost adult male who had a history of sexual disturbances.

I was married and attending a wedding with my now ex husband. His friend came up to me shoved his knee between my legs, grinder on me and backed up and said, now who wants to smell my knee. I was humiliated and my ex and his friends dismissed me and said that's just how he is. I pushed thw issue and my ex verbally attacked me for telling a guy friend of mine who was taking up for me. I was beaten down emotionally and my ex pushed me to apologize to his friend. And I did. I have healed now, I am able to talk about what happened without fear of what could happen. And that had made me feel powerful.

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

Remember how scary the first day of high school was? New building, new classes, new faces. I have known many people in my grade since kindergarten, but now seniors are walking around, with car keys and established boyfriends. Many of them scare me. “Ok, let's just find first period.” Having gotten through every class but one, my nerves started to settle. Biology was the last period of the day, with Teacher. I walk in the door and recognize some people as she starts assigning our seats alphabetically. I find my seat near the front of the room and turn around and see the back of a guy’s head. “Nice hair.” I would soon learn that his name was Name 2 and I found him attractive. I had yet to speak to him and refused to allow myself to develop a crush. This would continue until early September when we were seated next to each other. My reservations about developing a crush quickly vanished. I was telling anyone I trusted about him. I was flirting and having a good time. At the end of one class, I asked him if he wanted to study sometime at the library. During homecoming, I direct messaged him on Instagram to see if he was there. The day after homecoming, I went into an inpatient facility for unrelated mental health issues. I was gone for about a month. During this time, I had hoped that when I returned we would still be seated together. This was not the case. After I came back, I wanted to keep my head down and get my work done. For three months this is exactly what I did. From late October to December, I had a crush but was less giddy to tell anyone. Once we returned for the spring semester, things started to quickly go downhill. I am sitting at a table in the back with one of Name 2’s best friends, Name. One day, he starts prodding me to learn who I have a crush on. I let it slip that it was Name 2 and now the floodgates have opened. Every day at the end of class, Name would call Name 2 over as he would ask me disturbing questions about his or Name 2’s genitalia. Or things about my body. I was truly appalled. When I told him who I liked, I never asked for this. I never wanted this. This went on until early February. My seat did not change for a while, but theirs did. Name 2, Name, and his two other friends were all seated at the front of the room. The desks lined the sides of the room and they were directly diagonal from me. With the four of them together, it was a gang mentality to harass and intimidate me. It felt as if every day I would hear my name and a sexual comment. This all culminated one day when we watched a Bill Nye episode on the law of attraction. I was uncomfortable during the entire thing. Name 2 and his friends must have picked up on this, as once the episode was over, I heard Name yelling my name from across the room. “Survivor Name, Survivor Name! Look at this!” To my absolute horror, I turn around to see one guy in a chair and another straddling him, pretending to be making out. It was clearly supposed to be Name 2 and I. There were a few minutes left in class, and I was trying to hold back tears. “Was this really happening? Am I a joke?” I tried to ignore it but realized it had gotten out of hand. I talked to Teacher Name after class to tell her what was happening. I break down in tears as she explains this is bullying and harassment. She brought me to the psychologist where I cried to have my dad pick me up. “I’m done!” At this moment I truly felt hopeless and saw how bad the situation had gotten. I had tied my self-worth and identity to a crush. I had direct messaged Name 2 to end the harassment. Nothing happened, but I still wanted to believe that he would tell his friends to knock it off and that deep down he was a good person. Instead, he was a bystander who let it happen, while actively seeing the pain and suffering I experienced. I was no longer allured or attracted to him. This attraction turned to anger and resentment and would remain that way until I graduated high school. Looking back, I do remember my first day of high school. I found first period and every other class. My last period of the day would cause me so much stress that I would get the shakes. I would cry to my English teacher to let me stay. While this used to be one of the worst times in my life, I have learned so much about myself that I could have never expected. I am so much stronger than I ever realized. My self-worth is not connected to someone else. I am worth it and no boy can ever take that away from me. Thank you for reading my story.

So I guess a little about me, I’m a girl, born that way! I was a cheerleader all through high school and I come from a single parent only one child home, just my dad and me! A few years ago, my dad asked me to take out the garbage, this was part of my weekly chores. Our neighbor’s son, he was in his mid-thirties then, was in his parent’s driveway sitting in his large truck. I took the garbage to the end of the driveway, and on my way back up our driveway, he called out to me “Hey Beautiful.” I went over to the edge of our yard to talk to him. He was really really drunk and had a beer in his hand. He started talking about how he hated his fiancée and how he hated having kids. He than asked me, “how much money for a blow job”. I was really taken aback and I really thought he was joking. I mean the age difference was a lot. I said, “you can’t afford me”. He said, “oh, so you know how to give one” I just laughed. He got out of his truck and started to pee beside it. I said, “well, good night” and started to walk away. All of a sudden he grabbed me by my hair and dragged me to a shed in the backyard. I have no idea why, but I sincerely thought he was just playing with me. Like I was scared, but I just really thought he was going to lock me in the shed as a really bad joke. I kept asking, “what are you doing?” When we got to the shed, he threw me on the floor and shut the door behind us. This is when I realized I was in danger. He took out a knife from his pocket, and I started screaming. He ran over to me and he put his hand over my mouth. I was so scared and crying. He took off his pants and ordered me to take off my shorts. I was too scared to move and that is when he put the first cut on me. He cut my arm. Like bad. I was crying, “please no.” He got a rope off the wall and tied my hands together above my head because I was trying to push his hands away. I had scratched his arm with my nails and he called me a, “little bitch” right before he tied me up. He then took off my shorts and undies. I was so scared, but he kept cutting me, so I just closed my eyes as he forced himself inside of me “down there”. It hurt so bad and I felt so gross. I was screaming “please stop,” “no,” “please.” I felt him pull out and he started shoving his “thing” into my mouth. It was sooo gross and it had so much blood on it and I was gagging. I bit down on it and he slapped my face and said, “you fucking bitch, you wanna fuckin die” and he spit on me. He took the ropes off and I threw up. He backed away because of that, and I just ran to the door and was able to get out and ran to my house and to my room. I just sat on the floor against the door and cried, a lot, the whole night. The next morning, I just went to my PCP and just broke down in the lobby. I don’t remember much after that. In fact, the next 3 weeks I don’t remember much. I remember the rape kit and it was horrible. I just wanted clothes and to sleep. I was so exhausted and tired and there were so many photos and questions. They told me I was in shock. The next day I went to the police station. That was the hardest part of all of it. I was soooo scared they wouldn’t believe me. I remember a few weeks later it was like a fog was lifted. I think what I felt the most those first few months was this overwhelming numbness. I felt like no one could possibly understand what I felt and I very much felt very alone. So alone… I desperately wanted someone to help me. It sucked. I decided, at the pushing of my dad, to talk to a therapist and I would later go to a psychiatrist. It hasn’t been easy. Hours and hours and a lot of small victories and I’m finally at a place where a new normal is starting to be here. I think the most important thing I’ve learned that there is never a getting back to the before rape me. She is long gone. I have ptsd and will probably be on medication to deal with the trauma for the rest of me life. I have very serious anxiety attacks. The worst thing is that he damaged my insides so bad that I officially can’t have children. That is a HUGE thing and I don’t know how to get past that. I had a LOT of physical healing and I have a LOT of scars on my body. I can’t hide these. I always get asked how did you get these scars. Moving on has been tough but I am fucking strong and I lived. I am glad I’m alive. There were times I didn’t want to go one. Since my rape, I met my person and I am getting married in a month! I’m not the same but I am proud of the work I did because of how hard it was. So yeah this is my story. Thank you for reading. -name

3 guys have taken advantage of me in the past 12 years and I want to tell people about it. Unfortunately the only way I can is online because I can't tell my parents even though I'm 24 now and I can't afford therapy. So hello internet, here's my story (shortened as much as possible). Guy #1 - 2008-2010/2011, both of us aged 13-15/16, multiple incidents. My high school "boyfriend". The first time when we were 13 we'd gone out on a date to the local snooker hall then back to his house. He told me his mum was sick so we had to go to his bedroom to avoid waking her while she slept it off on the couch. It started out as just some basic high school groping then he started getting aggressive and forceful. When I tried to leave just to go to the toilet he pulled me back and pushed me onto the bed. He kept saying he knew what he was doing because he wasn't a virgin. He forced my shirt up, my skirt down and I don't remember if he put himself in me or not. All I remember is him forcing me to feel him and starting to focus on the only thing I could to take my mind off of what was happening - the TV - and about 10-20 mins later my phone going off with a message from my parents saying they were downstairs in the car as I'd asked them to pick me up at a certain time. After this he would make a point of bragging to his friends that I was a slut who'd given it up for him. He threatened me physically and emotionally, he forced me to send nudes and perform webcam shows for him and his friends. One time when we were 15 we met up after school, I thought he was going to apologise, and we started walking towards his house which took us past our high school. At the high school he threw me up against the gate, stuck his hand in my pants and told me I wasn't going to run away this time. I managed to kick him somewhere so he backed off and I ran away. He made it his mission to make my high school life miserable, including cornering me in dead corridors and threatening me, hitting me, trying to sexually assault me again. The last incident with this guy involved him asking me to play truth or dare with him at 16. Again I'd agreed to meet him because this time he'd told me he wanted to apologise in person. Only I was never allowed to do truth and every dare involved me showing him a part of my body or letting him touch me. He even made me swear that he would be allowed to take my virginity once I turned 18. He didn't, I made sure I wasn't in contact with him at all then. I became addicted to alcohol during this time to cope with it all and had to force myself to sober up once it was all over if I wanted a chance of a "normal" life. Plus I'd gotten too good at hiding it from my parents who never spent more than an hour with me each day. Guy #2 - 2015-Jan 2018, me 20-22 and him 22-24, multiple incidents. This was my uni boyfriend. He acted so sweet and kind and caring until he got me. Once I agreed to lose my virginity to him (3 months into the relationship) the majority of that niceness went out of the window. Once he had sex with me once it was all he wanted. Except he put in zero effort and it was all about pleasing him. More than once he coerced me or lied to me to trick me into having anal sex, something I never wanted to do. On one occassion near the end of the relationship he remembered that I had mentioned at the start that I might be interested in trying out rough sex. He took this to mean rape roleplay. Except it didn't feel like a roleplay to me. There were no safewords or precautions in place to make me feel safe. I felt threatened, abused, humiliated, and like I had actually just been raped. He made me feel like it was all my fault too, making out that if I hadn't suggested it then it wouldn't have gone that far. The night I broke up with him he spent hours trying to get me to have sex with him one last time because we hadn't had sex at all since the last incident which was a good 6-8 months before we broke up. Guy #3 - 2017-2018, me 22 and him 29 (unsure, I'll explain), multiple incidents. This was a guy I worked with. He at first told everyone he was gay then told just me that he was bisexual and then that he wasn't really sure what sexuality he was. From the minute I started working there he took me under his wing seemingly to protect me from the awfulness that was the company we worked for. What he really wound up doing was keeping me isolated from everyone else, spreading rumours and lies to everyone to keep me isolated, and kept me for himself. He casually flirted to begin with but everyone wrote it off as joking because they believed he was gay. He spent a lot of time with me, inside and outside of work. We started getting "dinner" after work 2-3 times a week. I say "dinner" because he would always say we were going to get dinner after work. We did get food the first few times but eventually it just turned into nothing but drinks. Alcoholic drinks. I was starting to fall back into my old addictive ways and I could blame him but he wasn't exactly forcing the drinks down my throat. I felt as though I needed it to get through this time alone with him. I was stupid enough to let him drive me home though, every night, even when he'd had at least 2-3 drinks minimum. He took advantage of my intoxicated state. He begged me to give him oral quite often and usually he would eventually roll his eyes and begrudgingly accept my "no". Until one night he forced me down on my knees, undid his zipper and forced himself into my mouth. When he finished it was so forceful that I choked on it, it made a massive mess on my rug and couch. He was regularly harassing me at work, telling me things he was thinking of doing to me, how often he had touched himself that morning, trying to make moves on me when we were alone, etc. I put up with it because he was the only one who knew I'd been addicted to alcohol before and was heading that way again. It was my first job post-uni, I couldn't afford to be fired for being drunk/hungover on the job. Plus I figured it couldn't escalate further if I stopped him coming into my house. Except he would always force his way in or otherwise threaten me so he could get in. He only forced me to give him oral once but after that he would "jokingly" try again and again . I was still dating Guy #2 at the time so figured it couldn't get much worse. Then 5 days after I dumped Guy #2 he coerced me into sex/raped me. He had a boyfriend and the entire time I cried and kept saying to him "what about your boyfriend?" He told me he didn't care, that I was all he wanted and that if I didn't do it he would tell everyone about the drinking and make it sound like I was the one who'd been harassing him so I would get fired. He was a lot stronger than me, he pinned me by my throat while he raped me so I could barely breathe, he threatened me, he told me my pussy was like velvet and he'd love to have access to it more often. He was an extremely intimidating person and I was scared to go against anything he said in case he did it again. He was fired a few months later for unrelated reasons. This is where I found out he may have been older than he said. A coworker told me that he'd had to return Guy #3's ID to him on a work trip one time and that the date of birth on it would make him at least 35 at the time. I don't think I'll ever be able to feel comfortable walking the streets alone especially at night, or stay at home overnight alone, or sit in a car with a man without panicking the entire time unless it's my dad or boyfriend. Some days all I can think about is how broken I feel by all of this but mostly I just feel numb to a lot of things these days. Physical pain doesn't hurt that much, hearing that someone loves me is hard to believe sometimes, and I just feel like life is hard to enjoy sometimes. There are good and great days in between all of that and they're becoming more frequent. I just wish they were more often than they are so I could feel somewhat "normal" again.