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I was in an abusive relationship for 12 years. I met him when I was fourteen and we came together when I was fifteen. He was nice and lovely and I fell in love with him. I never thought that he could have a dark side. After a few month I began to realize, that there is something inside him. When we had our first fight, he screamed with me and I had so much fear. He apologized and I forgived him. But: It didn‘t stopped. He was verbal abusive. He said that I am a whore. He made me feeling small and like I am the worst person in the world. He said, that I am a psycho. He said I am a joke. He said I am nothing. He said, that he has to talk and scream with me like this, because I don‘t understand his points otherwise. He began to destroy things like my watch or a necklace. The walls had holes and he often grabbed me at my shoulders very hard when he got angry. When I cried, he became angrier at all. I locked myself in the toilet because I had so much fear of him. He also pushed me at the asphalt when he was drunk sometimes. I had bruises. One time he choked me. I never told anybody what happend, because I always forgived him and felt so fucking guilty. I tried to left him, but he always said, that he will kill himself, when I go. I went to therapy but even there I was so ashamed, that I didn‘t talk about the abuse. After two years of therapy I got stronger and stronger. I was ready to talk to somebody about the things that happend to me and that I want to leave him. Suddenly I felt free and was ready to go. He always said, that he loves me and that I am the love of his life. It never was love. I realized that I was in an abusive relationship. There were verbal, emotional and physical abuse. I didn't imagine any of it. I wasn't crazy. Whoever is reading this and is in a similar situation: You are strong! You are intelligent! You are beautiful! You are a good person! You can trust yourself! You can talk to someone! You can do this! You can leave him! You are a wonderful human being! I love you all out there and send you hugs. We have to share our stories and we are allowed to share them. Together we can change something.

I was abused by my mother. She was harsh with me, hitting me, calling me stupid, and saying I shouldn't have been born, making me feel like I had no value in life. My mother wasn't just a scary person; she was kind to my younger brother Name , so she could be kind to him too. I met my current husband at University , got married, and had children. I was overwhelmed with anxiety that I might do the same things to my own children as my mother did, and I cried to my husband many times about it. My husband suggested I talk to a counselor, and I am now attending counseling sessions. I always thought that my mother's harshness was my fault, but now I realize that it's not entirely my fault, and talking to someone about the words and actions of my mother that I had kept hidden until now has lightened my burden. I hope that sharing this here will bring some comfort to others. Thank you for reading this.

I was used and abused by my next door neighbor's teenage son for two years, from age 4 till age 6. I was friends with his little sister and him and he gained my trust after my mom and I moved into the house. The first time it happened we were in the living room and he got my Simpsons sheet from my room and we went under the sheet and he unvelcroed his board shorts and took his penis out and put my head on it, telling me to pretend it was a bottle, it was frequent between oral and anal and I didn't understand how bad it was, my mom caught it finally and it stopped. My mom was going to press charges but his dad was a former police officer and my decided to not go through with it. As a child afterwards I moved forward, in my teens and adult years, I'm 36 almost 37, relationships have been difficult. I'm have not been intimate with any woman.

he wouldn’t listen to me when i told him i didn’t want to go to his room. i told him i was too drunk and i didn’t feel well, that i wanted to go back to my room. he took me with him anyway. he stuck his hand in my pants and i told him to stop. he did for a moment, then he tried again. i told him no again, and he did stop. we went to bed. i wish he had done more, because now i’m traumatized and having panic attacks but don’t feel like i should be, because he stopped. i feel even worse for wishing he hadn’t. because then my feelings would be valid.

Over 2 years on and I’m only realising the impact of what I’ve been through. I was 19, just had my heart broken by a cheater after being together for number long years. So of course when this guy said he’d buy me a drink I took it, danced with my friends at a local festival with my home only being a 5 minute walk away. He found me in the nightclub later on and asked me to go for a walk, and I agreed. I left the nightclub and first thing made it clear, all I want is to talk and most I’ll do is kiss you and he said that was perfectly okay, he offered me some of his drink and I had a few sips. We talked and talked, we sat down on a flat rock and had some laughs and shared some kisses when things started to change. A lot happened, a lot that I asked him to stop doing, my mind felt fuzzy and I felt numb. At one point I couldn’t move and could barely breathe, there were a few moments where I wasn’t sure what he was doing to me, or if he was recording it. I’m not religious but I prayed that I wouldn’t be found dead the following day, I didn’t want my parents to lose their baby at only 19. I don’t know how I got out of the situation, but I did. And I rang my friends straight away, was hysterical and guards found me. I ended up going to the hospital to the sexual assault treatment unit and the women were lovely but that has traumatised me. It was the only time I was ever in hospital and there I was alone. Every day for over 2 years it comes into my mind at least a few times. It happened in the month and in month I started college, I sought college therapy but I’m not sure how much it helped. I disassociate a lot and my emotions are easier to switch off now, but every few hours that night plays into my head. I felt as if I had the worst beginning to college, but I also felt that it was a new chapter and a new experience. I struggled with alcohol abuse for a while and I wasn’t scared to say no to drugs. Thankfully that only lasted a few months. I hit some really bad lows, but I’ve also turned from a caterpillar into a butterfly in a sense. That Christmas I cried, I cried because I was glad to be alive. That I survived what he did to me, and I also survived my mind. But him in my mind still affects me to this day at 21 and a half. I haven’t gone to RCC as I’ve always felt this shame and guilt, I feel very alone as none of my friends were supportive and the news broke out the day after it happened across my small town, and having that victim blaming comments or remarks “like oh wasn’t he apparently younger” going around made it even harder to talk about or the “it wasn’t that bad and it could’ve been worse”, yes it could’ve been worse but it is the worst thing I’ve experienced. I have reached out to therapists and I am considering visiting the rape crisis centre as I have been struggling these 2 years really, I’m happy and have a brave face but that night intrudes and invades my thoughts an awful lot. I’ve also been struggling with my sexual life, after the incident I slept with a lot of people most of it which I can’t remember. And I regret it and feel so much guilt and shame, especially when people ask “oh what’s your body count” well I never tell and I never will as it’s my business. But even after I calmed down, I either get attached easily or I run away, and then feel the shame and guilt around sex, believing that I rushed in. I’m slightly better, but reading these stories reminds me I’m not alone and that I won’t be judged by others and people willing to help. I hope one day, I can feel “normal” again and live the rest of my life as any young woman should.

I was in location and I had been seeing another guy in the friend group casually. The guy who ended up assaulting me was in that same friend group. We were at a party and this guy said a few of us should go to his for an afters, encouraging the guy I was seeing to go home instead and I didn’t think anything of it in the moment. When we were at his house and it was just me and him alone, he said he wanted to kiss me and I initially said no as it’d be a bit weird as I was seeing one of his friends. He then told me that the guy I had been casually seeing had a girlfriend, everyone knew and didn’t tell me. I felt terrible. So while I’m crying he starts kissing me and things escalate. He starts choking me hard, hurting me physically, restraining me, twisting my nipples really hard, and covering my mouth. I just froze up. After he was done I went upstairs to my friend and asked to leave at like 5 in the morning. The next day I called the guy I was seeing at the time asking him about the girlfriend and apologising about getting with one of his friends. He told me not to apologise and none of it was my fault and also the guy who assaulted me had lied about this whole girlfriend scenario. I didn’t want to think I was assaulted or coerced, I kept blaming myself. I couldn’t get out of bed to the point that I pissed myself. My family didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was so very fortunate to have friends who were with me to help me come to terms with what happened. My friends who had to tell me that wasn’t okay, that was assault. There was one “friend” who was very much a well it takes two, and it was bad out of me to “get with” him when I was seeing his friend. Then informing me the guy who assaulted me tried to kill himself. And I felt so evil but I wish it had worked. The friend group cut him off once they heard what happened, it was also found out he had assaulted someone else in the group too. I eventually texted the guy who assaulted me telling him what he did was wrong and I didn’t consent to violence, he said sorry that he tends to take his problems out in the bedroom and that I wasn’t the first girl to tell him this. I felt so sick and so guilty for not realising sooner, for not saying anything to him sooner. This was a few years ago, I recently saw the guy who assaulted me on a night out, he looked like he saw a ghost but I froze again and just asked my friends to leave, it’s not fair. It’s just not fair. I feel so much anger and it’s not fair. He is not the only man who has assaulted me but he fills me with the most anger and I don’t know why. I hate feeling this anger, I hate feeling frozen, I hate wishing bad upon a person the way I wish bad upon him. I am not one who runs from confrontation usually but I had to run from him, I had to leave and cry on the phone and gulp water. Then walk past him again in the smoking area wishing I could shout that man is a rapist, but instead I walk past not looking back in case he sees me again, I swallow my anger. I worry that I don’t fit the bill of a “perfect” victim but I know now none of it was my fault, it was all his. I feel hopeless sometimes, but I guess getting to talk about it like this helps, it really helps.

A girl with normal ups and downs. I think every human being in this world face too many things in their life especially at the age of 12 to a phase of life when he/she feel fed up from this world. We can share only our stories and think that only our life is difficult. But in this world, everyone has similar stories. So there is a story of a girl who phases too many ups and downs in her life, maybe it was normal or other but these phases are worst for her. A situation is not for same to all of us, some situation is very easy for somebody, and that same situation is very harsh for somebody. But in this world of judgemental bodies, we fear to take any step or share our things with friends and family. But in reality, nobody care they talk about you for only a few days, even your family. But you are the only one who can handle your problem. A girl born at City in the 20th century. This generation really feels all the changes in society. The girl named Survivor. When she born everyone feels “Ohio Ek or ldki ho gai”. But there is a man in his life who says she is my daughter and I am lucky to have one more daughter. On another hand, the mother of that girl starts crying that she has one more daughter. Somewhere in this world, there is a place, who signs that parents who have two daughters are not a good sign. Because nobody can care for them in their old age. People say “ab tere budhape ka kya hoga”. After few years, everyone pressurizes her parents that plan one more baby, they give some treatment to born a baby boy. I think people need a lecture on biology. Her mother is ready to do everything for a boy, but still, she failed to get a baby boy. The upbringing of this girl is not that loving and caring which normally all kids get from everyone. In the morning her mother handover to that girl to her aunt and her aunt lay her on the bed with the dog. She is all alone the whole day with no toys. When she starts entering her teenage now she saw a fight all time again she is alone, she doesn’t know what’s actually happened. Her mother fights all day with her father, sister, and others. It's like her daily tonic. Her mother has some mental disorder so everyone convenience that girl It's ok beta "Teri maa to hai hi aasi". It's really easy for others to say this, but after listing all these things from childhood, she lost all her connection with her mother. She never sits with her mother even to ask that how are you?... It never happened, not only once. Nobody can imagine the loneliness of her heart from childhood. Yes her elder sister was there but she also faces this problem. She is 5 years elder than her. Her sister is also busy with her own problems with her own friends. The father of these girls also avoids staying home, to spend some time with his daughter. Now his both daughter need love & care. (Every human being in this world needs love to survive in this world). They start finding love outside the family. The elder sister got her love in the school when she was in 9th standard. And Survivor is in 4th standard, actually, at that point in time, she doesn’t know what love is. Her sister is also not there to understand her. She is still alone mentally in this world. Now she makes some friends but her family changes her school she lost all her friends. Now she is alone again. The new school was big than the older one. Some kids bully her for her background of the last school, the way she talks, etc., etc. Now the social media trends come into this world, Facebook is at its peak of trend. Everyone in school talking about Facebook. Now the Survivor is also excited about Facebook. She asks her sister about Facebook. Her sister helps her to make an id of her. Now she starts using Facebook, but her sister does not guide her like don’t talk to strangers about anything. When we start something new everyone is so much excited about that new thing, she is also excited. After all, after too many years she got someone to talk and she gets. One day she gets around 50 friend requests from different boys and girls. At that point in time, there is a craze that to become cool and that have more friends, he/she is cooler. And that girl is all alone from childhood she needs somebody to talk to, So she starts accepting the friend request. In this trend of social media, she met with a boy in the same city. The boy's name is Friend. Friend was elder than her. She was very immature and she needs love and care. So she starts sharing her all thoughts with her. The boy was mature and elder as well, he knows that how to handle the situation maybe he can understand her. Friend is always online, he is a smart, cool & lovable guy for Survivor. She always feels a unique attachment with him. One day she confesses her feeling to him and he rejected her because she immature and they never met. But still, both of them are in touch. They continue their chatting, talking, sharing thoughts. She was just waiting for that 1-2 hr time when she talks to Friend. This going for a year. After one year maybe the guy feel the same thing for her, now he purposed to her, she was very happy to saw his message, “hey I wanna say something, can you please become my wife”. This line change her all-time lonely world into a princess world where a prince waiting for her, Every relationship is very good in starting phase, then ups and downs are coming in Friend’s life and the relationship is going in the wrong direction. She always ready to do everything which makes her bf happy, everything. She feels very connected with him. She never feels that much connection even with her family. After 5 years, Friend suddenly calls at 5 AM, and finishes all the things due to a small misunderstanding. She didn’t get a chance to clarify something. He blocks her from his life and all social media platform. She is alone again. The most beautiful part of her life was gone in a second. She broke into uncountable pieces. Her investment of 5 years was zero even negative returns she gets. But all human beings need love and care to survive in this world. To be countinued......

I learned today that consent should always be enthusiastic, and I should not feel like I have to do something in order to maintain the relationship. I realised that I was actually assaulted by 3 different people. One of them when I was a child and by a family member. Several times. I tried so hard to forget what happened that sometimes I doubt it did. The other two were boyfriends. They were great people actually, caring and loving, and I felt like it was my duty to consent. Sometimes I would wake up and feel his body parts.

I was only 11. He was 12. You'd think that maybe as kids the things we did in a "relationship" would be tame. After all, it was both of our firsts. He emotionally manipulated me into doing things I didn't want to do. He made me say yes. Even after I said no a hundred times. He went on to 'cheat' on me and do the exact same to another girl. Me and her are friends now, we both look back at that time and laugh because, although he did horrible things overall that kid was really damn weird, just our way of healing is laughter. Like, he called both of us kitten lmfao.

i was a victim of narcissistic abuse i thought it was my fault the relationship did not work but he cheated on me he made me think he loved me we were going to be married. when he let his exgirlfriend stalk me he did not defend me another woman went on facebook saying dont date him he was a bad boy. his friend told him i cheated on him but i was only with this other guy after he ditched me. i was harassed made fun of because i was in love with him. i can still hear these people accuse me and put me down.

A friend and I dated within the same friend group, and I used to hang out with the guys a lot--I considered them as my brothers. One night when we were altogether, I felt too drunk to take myself home and felt safe with my friends ex to get a cab and drop me off. He came in uninvited and kissed me, then all I remember are flashes of us being naked, him being inside of me, going down on me, etc., but I felt like I couldn't move. I woke up to shower, my bed was broken, and he was gone. I called him the next day to confront him about it, and that I don't even remember what happened. He said he thought "i enjoyed it" (I was unconscious half of the time), and only stopped because the bed broke. Although he apologized he had the audacity to tell me not to share this with anyone, and to this day only very few close friends know about this incident. It truly broke my trust even with platonic guy friendships.

Acceptance with this dissonance. as long as I can remember I was never enough. too much phantasy and def not fitting in society´s expectations. Eventhough I had friends I always felt I don´t really fit in this group. I separated myself a lot. I drank too much, I talked shit and I used people against myself to hurt myself more. Slowly internalising the thoughts that raised in my brain. " you are not good enough" " you will never get got in art so don't do it" "you are unworthy of loving" At age nineteen the real traumas began. My sister got raped and I got raped half a year later. My already broken soul of even prior events got even more hurt and I completely lost faith in myself and in life. I hold on on those negative intrusive thoughts. " you are bad " " you are unworthy of loving" . Always. I got addicted to these thoughts. They prevented myself of living the life I am supposed to live. ( being a creative outgoing spiritual person) and I had depression and no one really realised me. Even I didn't realised it until recently. I never really opened up to people. I always got hurt. Hurt by people I loved. But I wanna open up. I already lost so much. (self-worth) I can't loose so much more. I hope that one day I am gonna be this vibrant shiny girl that I used to be at the age of five. Someone who loves themselves without any doubts. I am ready for my healing journey. I want to share my events. And I am ready to live my life to the fullest. this dissonance. I probably gotta accept in order to live the life I am supposed to live. and that's a loving one!

It was my cousin and it happened more than once. I tried to downplay it, and I still do. The first time he pressured me to touch him. The second, my sister was there too and she ended up taking her shirt off. The third time, he took off his shirt and told me to put something in my body as he watched. I ended up getting an infection. I didn't equate any of this to abuse, because we were both young and he never touched me. I talked to someone for the first time yesterday, and I now realize that even though I may think it is insignificant, it still bothers me, which makes it important. I may have thought it was "not as bad" as other things he could have done, but trauma is trauma. I have behaviors I now realize are a result of the sexual abuse - I can call it that now - and I am now trying to dissociate the two. I am my own person and I got through it. You can too!

Last year I disclosed information to my counselor about my husband abusing our son and my daughter, as well me for 20 years. She had to contact DCF and I had no idea. So she did, and they contacted me. I told them in great detail about the horrible abuse and fear we lived under. I gave them video proof and explained that both of my children were trauma bonded and I wanted them to be in counseling. Location DCF assured me they wouldn't let him know that I spoke to my counselor because it was putting me at risk of more domestic violence. They came to our home and they asked everyone but me questions separately. They then told my husband that I was the one who told my counselor. I heard one caseworker say it to him on the front porch. He began to use his narcissistic skills to persuade them to think differently and they got duped. They couldn't even spot that my children were traumatized and trying to protect their abuser by lying about the abuse. I have 0 faith in Location dept of Children and Families, and I never will. Yesterday, we were held in our home and once again were hurt. I tried to film it and my teenage daughter told her father he was being filmed.. She's so trauma bonded that she didn't care if her own mother was trying to protect the family from the monster in our home. He knows the police due to his involvement at the church but no one knows what goes on behind our doors. He tells us that if we try to come against him he will end us. After so much pain, we can't help but believe him. Please pray if you pray. Don't judge me because if you knew how much I've reached out only to have him narcissist his way out of being held accountable you would be here still trying to protect your children too.

I was raped by a man I invited into my home after a night out nearly 6 years ago. We kissed at a club, briefly went to an afterparty and I invited him home. I don't remember everything but I knew I was uncomfortable when we got back to my house, he pushed me down onto the bed... It felt like a performance. The sexual activity started somewhat consentually (I was very drunk, possibly high) but was quite aggressive. My memory of how things stopped is hazy but I woke up multiple times in the night to being penetrated. I told him to stop and I tried to push him off. He seemed to enjoy my resistance. When I woke up again in the morning, he was still there... He initiated more sexual activity and I allowed it. I don't think I said much and he eventually left. He seemed embarrassed. I was sore and bleeding. I texted the friends I had been out to say I felt very uncomfortable about what had gone on between us. They said they hoped I was OK, they didn't call me and I was hurt. I didn't know how to describe what had happened and didn't feel like I could talk about it openly, so I left it. I felt confused especially because I'd let him do more in the morning. Date I was totally devastated. I was off work and spent the whole day crying. I knew I had been raped but it took me many years to accept it and more again to tell anyone. I told two friends and my therapist. I've yet to fully explore what happened with my therapist. It was not the first non-consentual sex I had experienced and it feels overwhelming to start to unpack it all. It's hard not to blame myself. It feels shameful / embarrassing to know I am (?) a multiple rape victim. It feels like it must be my fault. I'm feeling very angry at the moment - the UCD case, Sophie Brady, Ciara Mangan, Nikkita Hand and countless other sexual violence cases in the media. I want more men to speak about about sexual violence. I want things to change. I sometimes think about reporting what happened, I remember his first name and what school he went to. I don't want him to go prison, I want him to understand how he's impacted me. I'm terrified he doesn't know what he did was rape, I'm terrified he's hurt others. I'm scared there are many men out there like him. I admire the women (and men) who at report and advocate for others. I don't feel like I'm a 'proper' victim, because I invited these people into my home. Ironically, profession it's never the victim's fault and I believe it, BUT... I don't feel it.

Why didn’t you report? Age I have always been the person who hates talking about my emotions. I didn’t grow up in a home where I wasn’t allowed to talk about feelings and had to be strong—I was encouraged to share what I was feeling, so why didn’t I want to? My mom always wanted to know how my day was, if someone was being mean to me again, etc, but I learned at a young why your feelings can cause you to look “weak”. I was always the girl in the resource room, and the girl with disabilities, so I knew what it meant to stand out. Let's face it, kids can sometimes be jerks, so you learn to not give them anything else they can use to pick on you, when you’re already so different. Or maybe I’m full of it, and I have just told myself this lie my whole life and I'm really insecure and scared to show myself to others, who knows, I’m not a psychoanalyst. But what I do know is that I have never been good at opening up and sharing myself to others. It’s not that I don’t trust people, I am very trusting. Growing up I was too trusting, but I never want to look weak so I rarely let people know when I was upset. Getting older I’ve only got worse. High school was difficult for me to say the least . If you knew me back then you would have seen a sarcastic, quiet, and awkward kid, but on the inside I was suffering and completely depressed. It wasn’t until I almost jumped off a ledge that people knew I actually had a real issue. Up until then, I was just a loner, who maybe didn’t have that many friends, but didn’t look unhappy. I spent my whole senior year of high school on medication going to a lot of therapy and not allowed to touch sharp objects, but it all worked. I ended up a totally different person, one who was happy and loved herself for the first time ever! Then came college. I started school in the big apple in the fall of 2015, and like most 18 year old freshmen I was away from home for the first time. College was a weird tradition for me. I struggled to make friends but I had anticipated this before I even went to school. That first semester was big for me. Besides school, I had my first failed “relationship” (he refused to use any labels, but we basically dated for 4 months till I got tired of his bull), got ghosted for the first time, and received my first of many unsolicited dick pics. That fall of 2015 had it’s issues but I never knew the horror that was awaiting for me that spring. Now I know what you're thinking, “Why does her childhood story have anything to do with this?” or “ I thought this was a rape article, she ever gonna talk about the assault?”, and yes I understand the intro to this abuse story was not brief. But I feel like it was important. Maybe it helps you to understand my actions or lack thereof. It all started while on break right before school… I started talking to this guy on tinder and he seemed nice. I had lost my virginity around November and honestly, I couldn’t wait to keep having sex. Everyone says your first time for a woman is horrible, but mine wasn’t. It lasted a while, he was nice and did his best to make me feel good, and I ended up having a lot of fun, so naturally I couldn’t wait to do it again. I saw him again once more to have sex, then he ghosted me, but I didn’t really care. I really just wanted him for sex, but I felt obliged to be nice to him and try and have a relationship because he was incredibly depressed, and given my suicide history I felt like it was the right thing to do. After that guy I couldn’t wait to have sex again, and maybe that makes me sound like a slut, but let it. Wanting to have sex doesn’t make you a bad person, but judging others for having sex does. I was talking to this guy on tinder and I made plans to see him on my first weekend back to school. I remember I was really nervous getting ready, because he wasn’t coming to me, I was talking to the subway on 86th street to see him. I wasn’t all that great with the subway yet and I remember being really worried I would get lost or hurt along the way. When I got to 86th street I had to wait 10 minutes for him to walk to me because he didn’t give me his direct address, the first red flag!! But I was 18. I didn’t think about it too much, though in hindsight I should have. He walked me to his apartment, up the stairs to the 4th floor, and led me to his rooms as fast as he could. His room was really small, and the image of it still haunts me to this day. Let’s have imagination time to really visualize what it look liked: The first thing you noticed when you stepped into this room, is that there is nothing personal about it. No posters of favorite movies or bands, no books stacked anywhere, no pictures of his family or anyone important, just a bed, a dresser, tv, and a closet. There was nothing in there to indicate anything personal about this man, except for a suitcase on the top row of the closet that looked straight out of a harry potter movie. Behind the door was a coat rack that only ever had one black peacoat on it. The most noticeable thing in this room is the bed that practically takes up the entire room (NYC apartments are not really designed to fit… well anything). The bed was queen sized that always had these dull white a blue striped sheets, plain gray comforter, and always smelled way too strong of aftershave. The bed pushed up against the wall on the left side of the room next to a large window (NYC large, not normal big) that had a beautiful view of the city… just kidding, it was a view of other apartments. Across from the bed was an old looking dark oak dresser that had his small flat screen tv on it. The only other things in the room was the closet (on the right wall) that pretty much just had clothes in it (and the suitcase), and two folding chairs stacked neatly in front of the closet. The first night I went over there he ushered me immediately into his room, and pulled the two folding chairs from their spot and put them next to the bed by the door and told me to take a seat. I never got to see the rest of his apartment, no tour, nothing, second red flag! He gave me his backstory of being from turkey and how he went from wanting to be a doctor in his country to going to Germany to be an engineer to coming to the states to study film. We talked about our lives and families growing up, but the whole time I had this weird feeling in my gut. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but it was like the feeling you're told to have as a kid when you see a stranger. I didn’t realize this wasn’t a great idea until he started kissing me, then it hit me. I felt every fiber of being scream “GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW”, and I didn’t know what to do. He tried to take my underwear off and I said, “Oh… I can’t, I just got my period this afternoon”. I lied. I didn’t have my period. I said what my gut told me too. He said it was fine, I think we talked for some more and then he walked me back to the subway and said he would wait to see me again, and I said goodbye completely in a fog, barely understanding what had just happened. I've never liked lying. It makes me want to throw up, and I’ve never successfully lied to anyone. The person I have ever lied to, is my mother, and almost every single time I have been caught. But this time was different. Something deep inside of me told me to lie right then and for the first time ever, I didn’t feel guilty about lying. I got on that 6 train and had every intention of this being my last interaction with this man. I truly didn’t want to see him again, and when I got back to my dorm room one of the first things I did was text my friend. This friend who was my best friend at the time, pretty much told me I was just nervous and there was nothing wrong and I should see him again, and you know what? I listened to her, why? Because she was my friend and I wanted to believe her, so I went back that next weekend, which is the decision that haunts me every single day since. I went back the next time and again he met me at the subway stop, walked me in a different direction to his apartment, said it was a “nicer view”, again a red flag, but I didn’t run away. I thought about it, but every time I did I heard my friend's voice in my head to breathe, relax and continue walking with him. When he got to his room he had the democratic debates on, talked about how amazing Bernie Sanders is, and how horrible Trump is (this was pre president Trump), and he put on a classical music playlist (before any of this happened to me, classical music was my all time favorite). But he wasted no time getting to business. Before I really knew it my clothes were off and he was like, “how much do you want me baby?”, and I heard that voice again “GET OUT OF THERE”, but I didn’t know what to do. All I could say was “um”, and before I could even process how to say no, it was already happening. I froze. I didn’t say no, I didn’t fight him back, I just laid there and took it. I keep hearing that voice in my head, “FIGHT BACK”, “SAY NO”, “GIRL DO SOMETHING, MAKE THIS STOP SOMEHOW”, but I couldn’t. I felt frozen in fear. I felt like one of those men that pissed off medusas or the white queen, just completely and helplessly frozen. All I could do was pray it would be over soon, and after a few minutes he pulled out finished on my stomach and told me how great my vagina was. I didn’t know what to do, so I just agreed with him and let him go off again about politics and classical music (he was trying to impress me with his “vast” knowledge of the genre). And again before I felt like I had enough time to process and relax for the first time, he was inside me again. This time was a little different, maybe he actually noticed there was something wrong and I wasn’t doing that great, and he asked me if he was hurting me, and I said yes. He paused for a few minutes, changed positions for the 6th time and kept going. Again I still froze. He asked me if there was something wrong and even though every fiber of my being begged my brain to say, “YES GET OFF OF ME'', all I could manage was “yeah, I’m really tired, I’m not really in the mode right now”. He stopped again for maybe a minute this time, had me lay on my stomach and continue till he finished. He had me sleep over, told me it was too late and dangerous to leave, so I had to stay. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Basically had one panic attack after another from midnight till 7:30 in the morning when he woke up. I remember I just kept staring at the suitcase in the closet and for some reason I used it to try and calm myself down. I kept planning an escape. Ways I could get out of there with my stuff and run. Find a cab and go back to school, but I was physically trapped under the weight of his body and my own mental fear. By morning I kept saying I needed to get back to school, but it happened again. That time I just gave up. Saying I didn’t want to have sex didn’t work. Asking him to stop didn’t work. So I just let it happen and silently cried to myself. When it was over he said he wanted me to eat with him. He told me to come with him to whole foods to pick out food he liked, walk back to his apartment and eat. He got us yogurt which I’m not really a big fan of and coffee which I also don’t like. When I told him I don’t like the things he said, “ no you’ll love them, I know better”. I remember he was upset with me because I didn’t really eat any of the yogurt, and it was “expensive greek yogurt from Europe”, and that I just wasted money. Once he was done he finally let me leave, but there was a catch… He not only proceeded to walk me to the subway, but also rode it with me all the way to school because “it was on his way to work”. Now I now know that what I just described was rape. They tell you as a kid we have a fight or flight response, but they forget to tell you that freezing is a response too. Rape according to the department of justice is “The penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim”. Resources like planed parenthood say, “If they say ‘no,’ or ‘I don’t know,’ or don’t say anything, they’re not consenting, and anyone has the right to change their mind at any time”, and their resources also inform consumers that phrases like ‘stop’, ‘your hurting me’, and ‘I don’t want to keep doing this’ all need to be addressed before sex continues for it to be consensual. A few states including NY, now have policies that yes means yes, and nothing else means yes. Dr. James Hopper describes freezing during rape as, “Freezing occurs when the amygdala – a crucial structure in the brain’s fear circuitry – detects an attack and signals the brainstem to inhibit movement. It happens in a flash, automatically and beyond conscious control”, he also described how people have this state like going into a drug like trance, or crying. I froze during my assault, I didn’t say yes, I asked him to stop, and I had this blackout feeling where I welled up, but none of that triggered as rape to me at that time. I grew up watching shows like law and order: svu and criminal minds, but they never talked about freezing up. It was always these very clear black and white descriptions of rape. Mine wasn’t like those shows. I came home that morning and cried for hours, so scared that what I had just gone through was rape. I kept asking “why didn’t I say no?”, but I knew the answer. Saying no meant it was real. Meant that in that exact moment everything they warn you about being a woman was happening and I wasn’t gonna be able to stop it. I thought if I didn’t say no, it couldn’t have been rape. I know it sounds stupid, but that was my 18 year olds way of protecting my self. I eventually called my friend ( the same one that told me to go back to this guy to begin with) and tried to tell her what happened. Both her and her boyfriend (who I was unaware was listening to me until he started giving me his view) told me I was fine and “over reacting”. I believed them. I don’t know why I did, but I did. They told me to go back again, and I put it off until all the text from him started. He would text me everyday and say all these things about how I was his and we were dating and how much he cared about me, and I feel for it. No, I didn’t have feelings for him, but I knew he knew where I lived because he reminded me of it often, and I worried he would come find me and hurt me, so I went back. At this point I figured if I went through this with him, at least no one else does. I truly convinced myself I deserved it, and who would believe me if I tried to come forward? My best friend didn’t. Her boyfriend didn’t, who would? I didn’t say no. I didn’t fight back. I just took it, over and over again, completely helpless and alone. Even if would be considered rape, no judge in the world would believe me, especially, now, knowing I went back more times, and this guy called me his girlfriend. I went back. That's the big kick to why people don’t believe me. I WENT BACK. That second time it wasn’t as bad, he listened to me more, but I think I was just broken by that point. He told me to get on top, I let him put me there. He woke me up already, I just turned my head, looked at that suitcase, and waited for it to be over. I felt dead inside. That's when my grades started slipping. I couldn’t concentrate on anything and panic attacks happened all the time. But this also happened right during Kesha’s trial against Dr. Luke, which was all of a few blocks from my dorm. I would walk by there all the time and see/hear the horrible things people said about her, and I knew that if I ever said anything no-one would believe me so I lived in denial. I would text him back when he told me I had to and I would pretend like I cared about him. And again I went back. That time I think I pretend to fall asleep during a movie to get him not to do anything with me and it only kinda worked. He thought I was sleeping but it didn’t stop me from motorboating me, or touching me in ways that if I was asleep I could not consent to, and while pretending to be asleep, I didn’t connect to them either. That morning was the real icing on the cake though. See I had just found out that my mom had health issues and I was coming back home for the summer and I saw my window out. I could use my mom as an excuse for not seeing him again because I didn’t have time to commute back and forth from my home to NYC just to see him, and I used this as my fuel. I remember he was going to town, doing his normal changing the position every 5 seconds and it hurt more and more each time he changed, when I looked out the window and saw a woman. There was nothing special to her but she was washing dishes, and I don’t know. Something about watching her gave me strength. I looked up and told him to stop and I didn’t want o have sex with him, and he gave me this puzzled look. He looked like he had zero idea I would say these things, and he paused for maybe a few seconds and I’ll never forget he said, “baby just let me finish”, then kept going. I tried again to ask him to stop and he ignored me, until I said “no”. For the first time ever I said no to him, but it was too late. By this point it didn’t matter he had already raped me many times, what was one more to him? The next day I texted him and said it was over, and he called me every dirty word in the book, but I didn’t care. I was proud of myself. A few days later he texted me again like the breakup had never happened. Said he had forgiven me, “I wasn’t going to get away from him so easily”, that “I was his”, and he was by my school and wanted to get lunch, so I ghosted him. Over that summer I jumped head first into working. I worked about 16 hours a day, two jobs, and really never had time to myself, and I like it that way. It was a good distraction. I never had time to think about what happened to me until august. I was getting ready for my second job and I came across this article that talked about how this girl dismissed her sexually abusive ex because she thought since they were dating and she didn’t say no, it didn’t count as rape. As I read each line my own stomach dropped and dropped. Everything she went through I went through. All her descriptions of rape and the trauma that followed I had been living everyday. As soon as I got to work, I clocked in and headed to the office (I was a manager for a grouchy store, so when I say “office” I really mean the tiny room above customer service, with the safe) I immediately threw up. Denial could no longer comfort me. I couldn’t use it as a security blanket to protect myself, I had been raped. End period, raped. I did tell my mom after that realization, but only because she prided it out of me. She wanted to murder this guy, but I convinced her not too. But he started texting me again all the time. I actually tried to tell this guy I was friends with that this happened to me. I don’t know why but he was the only guy I felt safe around (probably because he didn’t believe in sex before marriage, or because it was the same guy that I had my failed relationship with, and I knew he was an idiot, but not a bad person ), but he blew me off. The end of the summer I had to go back to school. This guy who raped me moved closer to school and would send me messages that I looked pretty that day, and he saw me walking with friends, or how he liked a jacket I had on some days, which meant he must have been stalking me or really good at lying, so what did I do? I blocked him from everything, phone, social media, and I deleted every text, every insta comment, every tinder message. I tried to erase him from my life completely and I did a good job. I went on living my life but I wasn’t the same anymore. I was constantly afraid, I could sleep at night because I kept having nightmares, my eating habits were all over the place ( I developed an eating disorder, fun!), and I had random panic attacks at any time, anywhere. It's been over five years and each of those things still affects my life. Even though I have been in one relationship since the assaults happened I am still scared of the idea of sex with people, and scared of opening up to people. I don’t like being touched by anyone anymore, my weight has been all over the place, I still have panic attacks, and I now normally do not go to bed until the wee hours of the morning when I can barely keep my eyes open to avoid seeing his face again. Not a day goes by when I don’t remember what he did to me. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel guilty for not reporting my assault, but back then I couldn’t. Here's where my sad life back story comes into place, I couldn’t go through a trial or put my mom through one. She could barely handle the suicide thing nor could I. I knew a judge and jury wouldn’t believe me and even if they could what’s the worst that would happen? He gets deported? Some other girl in some other country has to deal with him? Yeah probably, but I know once a rapist is always a rapist. I knew my trail would lose and I would be free to keep doing it so I decided to be selfish. Stay a coward, but at least my name didn’t get dragged through the mud. That's always what I believed…until now. Why now you ask? WHY NOW? Because I am tired of being quiet. We post the times up movement, post me too, but it wasn’t really until I had a mental breakdown, took a medical leave from grad school, and started therapy again, that I knew the peace coming forward can have. It will never go away. I am not perfect, but I am a survivor at least, and to be honest, finally after five years, I am angry and ready to fight. So I’ll #metoo, #timeup #NoMore, and scream it from the rooftops, and I don’t care if you believe me. If just one person believes me, then I'll be happy if no-one? I’ll still be okay, why? Because telling my story will bring me peace, even if that man always roams free. Maybe you are asking yourself, “if she is sooooo comfortable with what happened, why report now?”. First and foremost, I’m not comfortable with what happened. His actions haunt me every waking and sleeping moment of my life. Like a mirror or a sheet of glass in an old wester movie that someone runs into, I am shattered. But I am still here and I’ve recently started to glue the pieces back together. The mirror will never be perfect or complete again, it will still have cracks and places where the shards where so tiny they couldn’t be glued back together, but that doesn’t matter. I am not yet at peace, but this story should not be at rest. Everyday I feel completely guilty for staying silent. I shouldn’t. I didn’t rape myself. But even knowing that, the most logical response, that I didn’t do anything wrong, does not stop the never ending feelings of guilt and shame. Every hour of every day for over 5 years constantly panicking and completely breaking myself down. I keep describing it in therapy like I’m in this never ending sea—-most of the time I’m just trudging through water—struggling, but at least doing the best I can——but other days I’m completely and utterly drowning, and there’s nothing I can do to save myself…except to sink. The blame should entirely be on that man, but I constantly think about how if someone else gets hurt by him, then indirectly since I chose to stay silent, it's my fault, which leads me to my second point: something needs to be done about this. Somewhere out there, is some girl out there who is going through exactly what I went through and needs help. There is some girl who is at risk of meeting the same fate as me and that CAN NOT HAPPEN. No-one should ever have to go through the trauma that I went through, so even if telling this story doesn’t help me, at least it will help someone else. We know that a rapist doesn’t just strike once. This man will not be satisfied with just the damage he has caused me, he’ll do it again, and probably has. I wasn’t ready to speak out before and talk about what happened, to share my story to help others, but I am now. I know this doesn’t take back the pain other girls have mostly had to go through in the last five years, but it will help them, and more in the future get justice. Maybe I do not deserve justice for staying quiet and I am at peace with that, but the rest of the women who went through this do! Not reporting an assault does not equal weakness, everyone fights for themselves in a variety of different ways, this is mine, and just like Lauren Hasley Anderson wrote in speak, “ I am broken and confused, but… I am still here”. I have always hated talking about my emotions and the difficult aspects of my life I have lived through, and I honestly still do, but if putting myself out there can help even one person, it will all be worth it.

I don’t know what to say, if it even counts as COCSA, or if it’s even my story to share. My sister is three years older than me. She’s a senior in college (21, almost 22), and I’m a senior in hs (18, almost 19). When we were kids, we’d go to my grandmas house for the weekend. I always liked the drive, but I never liked being there. She was creepy to both of us. She was and still is handsy. I don’t remember everything but she’d touch my butt. Probably my sisters too. I don’t know. We all slept in the same bed. It wasn’t nice. It might’ve been nicer back then but in hindsight it makes me fucking sick. And my sister and I both got some ideas from her, granted mine were just mimicry because I was 4. I didn’t like what my sister did, but I never knew how to communicate that. So it went on. Even now when she does it if I don’t go on autopilot and reciprocate, all I do is scream. We never penetrated, and if we did I can’t remember, but it was touching and it was comments. She always called me sexy. She said she wished we weren’t siblings and that she was a lesbian so we could date. She commented on my ass. She drew stick figures of us fucking, but that was a joke. I was a seventh grader. She should’ve known better, but she didn’t. I couldn’t have known better whenever I reciprocated, and I never wanted to reciprocate any of it. I never liked it. I don’t like it. I don’t like any of it. I don’t know what to do though because I know my mom won’t believe me. No one will fucking believe me. And my sister doesn’t seem to care at all. She has a boyfriend now, and she talks to him the way she talked to me. I don’t know everything that happened. Most everything is blank and wgat I remember is too disgusting for me to write here. I feel disgusting both for what happened and how I reciprocated. I never had the choice. And I’m scared everyone is going to treat me like I had the choice and like I should’ve known better. I couldn’t have. And I don’t know if it was sexual abuse or not. I know I can still feel her touching me. Every day I feel it. the worst part is she doesn’t even think about it anymore. And I can’t talk to anyone in my life about it because they’ll all think I’m sick. I feel disgusting. I wish I didn’t go along with it. I wish she wouldn’t keep going along with it. And I doubt my memory sometimes, which is a nice break, but then I see my sister’s old messages or my grandma runs her hands down my waist and I realize every time how real it was. I hate it. I know my sister’s a victim, and I can’t even imagine myself as one, but it just hurts. I never wanted any of this. I don’t ever want to be touched by anyone ever again. I regret reciprocating and making her feel like this was okay shit to do, but I didn’t know better. I didn’t. I know my story is in the grey area, and I feel awful for what a mess it is, but I just need someone to finally listen. To tell me I’m okay, that I’m not a monster, and that I deserve to heal. Say I’m allowed to hate them both, that I can wish I never had to see them again. I never want to talk to them ever again.

A man named name didn't take my no on a date. He pushed himself on me and did things to me I didn't want. I was so in shock because I had known him for years and always felt safe with him. I ended up seeing him a second time because I thought somehow I misunderstood or exaggerated the incident in my mind. The second time only served to prove it was exactly what I thought it was. Sometimes I think about making it public but I couldn't handle the embarrassment for even agreeing to hang out with him and that is flirted with him. I was naive, I was in a rough place in life. But I don't think anyone would get that. I hate him. He almost killed himself once and called me totally out of it. I reached out to a friend of his who got him to the hospital. Sometimes I wish I hadn't.