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I was only 5 years old when my 7-year-old sister took advantage of me to do things she had seen. It makes me so angry that my parents didn't supervise her. It infuriates me that I only found out now that she was watching those things and imitating them with me. Why, if they knew she was watching them, didn't they scold her or correct her? Why did I have to endure it? She was always dragging me around, always seeking me out. I'm disgusted with myself for not noticing and not doing anything, but I was only 5 years old. She never said anything; I was the one who decided to speak up. I told my mother, afraid she would hate me or be disgusted by me, crying and with a pain in my chest. But my mother talked to me, and with her, I felt so relieved. I had stopped thinking about it; it no longer tormented me. I get along well with her now; she's my sister, of course I love her. But when I remember, even though I don't cry or get hurt anymore, it makes me so angry that it could have been avoided. Now I have a problem: I haven't had my first kiss. It disgusts me. Even though I like that person, it repulses me so much. But I'm ashamed to tell a psychologist what they would think if I told them my sister did that. They would be disgusted, even though it wasn't my fault.

It is with great shame that I confess here. I was a passive enabler of abuse. I had been molested as a girl by an older boy in grade school and should have been less of a coward. I finally turned in my husband and ended his incestuous abuse of his own daughter. I deserve the tears I cry. I was a swing shift nurse and usually slept like a rock with my pill. That night I got out of bed after a few hours and wandered past the kitchen to the other side of the house where my stepdaughter room was. It sounded a little like crying, or laughing.  It was hard to tell what was happening at first though the cracked door on the other side of house. My stepdaughter's room. But soon I made out that my husband was kneeling and leaning forward over the bed with his head between his daughter's spread legs. The noises were panting and squeaking from him performing cunnilingus.  This quickly concluded and he took a position lying in bed and although her body was mostly blocked because she was on the other side of him from the door, It was evident that she was giving her dad fellatio. Her head was rising and falling and he had his hand on her head. She was only nine! I left  and went back to bed, wanting to forget what I had seen. Why not talk to him and stop it right away? I should have. But my husband had lost his wife only a few years before, and my step daughter had lost her mother.  The woman had been paralyzed below the waist and had severe back pain.  She took her own life two months after the injury, days after being discharged home from the hospital. There was a lot between them because of their loss that I could never be a part of. The idea that sexual contact was a means of grieving did not sit well with me but I did not want to make waves.  It seemed voluntary on her part. I loved my husband. It had taken a long time to find him after much hoping and dating and heartache and searching. So maybe I was selfish for wanting to keep my husband. I did not know if it happened very often. I turned a blind eye..   For at least a year and a half I did not get out of bed if I woke up in the middle of sleep time. Then on a Friday night, after I had worked a night shift and stayed up to run errands during the day, then attended my stepdaughter's dance recital where she performed ballet, jazz, and hip hop with her troop, I crashed. But I got up, restless. This time the door to her bedroom was closed and probably locked, lights on from below.  The sounds of my stepdaughter in the throes were loud enough that I went out the back door and around to the window, and stood up on the central air unit to see through the large gap in the curtains.  I had a direct view of my esteemed husband, who is quite good to me, up on his knees on the bed, pumping back and forth. His daughter was bent over in front of him with her bare posterior in the air, down on her elbows.  I could see him moving in and out of her and shaking her whole body with his thrusts.  I felt sudden anger.   I regret that my anger was not about what it should have been about. My anger was jealous anger.  Thoughts of my thirty-four year old body and how it could not compete with the firm adolescent body I saw before me, and that we had watched this beautiful curve-developing girl while holding hands with my husband as she danced in different outfits. I was a little jealous then, not even knowing that he was thinking of her, that way. I kept watching him sex her, unable to consider looking away. He slowed his thrusts and collapsed on the other side of her. I saw her shiny body collapse too. Her breath was so deep and fast. They took a couple minutes to recover and I got more upset when I thought my husband was going to fall asleep with HER. But he got up, talking. He dressed and walked around the bed. She got up, seemingly at his command and they hugged, standing up. He smiled at her and turned toward the door. Only then was the spell broken and I hurried back to the door and went in. He was already showering. I never said anything and let it fade, pretending I did not think about it often. I was more passionate and adventurous with my husband, and colder with my stepdaughter.      A couple years later when I found her crying in her room one day while my husband was out of town, I went in to comfort her. It got around to me mentioning her sexual relationship with her father in an accusatory way. She broke down even farther and told me about how she asked him to stop when she started 8th grade. She had become aware how “crazy” it was and begged him to stop if he loved her. He told her he couldn’t stop because he loved her. Something snapped inside me and I helped her fall asleep and then drove to the police station. I turned myself in and my husband. It was very messy and my life has been since. But I don’t regret it. I only regret waiting five years to end a marriage that I should have ended after five months. I deserve all the tears.

Date’ I’m 16 years old. I went to a private school in region. There was a post grad following me around the party. I knew him so I wasn’t alarmed(even though he was 19 6’5” and 200 lbs a basketball player) He was my best friends ex. I needed to use the restroom. My first red flag. The guy tried to come in the bathroom. I said oh here you can go I’ll go somewhere else. Smooth move. I went upstairs and when I came out he was standing there waiting for me. He brought me into plunketts room and asked me to go on the roof and hook up. I said no I have a bf. He tried to kiss me I pushed him away. The fireworks were starting. We went on the roof after he apologized and said let’s just go smoke a cigarette. I agreed and we went out. This is when he forced me down and started kissing me. I was helpless 120, 5’8”. I cried and replied no stop pls stop. I can still feel the the rocky shingles on my back while he defiled me. Not even the worst part. I could hear ppl right under us but I was so embarrassed and scared I didn’t scream. That’s my worst regret I could have just screamed. When he was about to finish he gave me a choice. “I won’t come in you if you let me cum in your mouth”. I’m 40 and have never been the same since that incident

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

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.

I want to share my experiences, as I have many times but never in print or where I can leave it for other survivors to read. I want you to know that you ARE better than the abuse you might be receiving. You ARE amazing. You ARE resilient and can absolutely do whatever you set your mind to. I was in an abusive relationship for 8 years. Of course the abuse started slowly, so slowly I could write it off as my fault or an accident. I lived with a friend at 21 and met the man who would eventually become my children's father. I remember telling my friend that he had shoved me on the bed, directly on my cat so I might hurt her too. I remember that friend telling me "He reminds me of my ex-husband, the one who broke my jaw for catching him cheating on me" and of course I didn't listen. Slowly the abuse got worse physically, mentally, emotionally. Eventually I started to fight back, not physically but would try to talk him down or just defend myself and he would rape me, as a point to show me who was still in control. I had out of body experiences- got knocked out by force- to wake up locked away in a hotel room with my keys gone and phone taken so I couldn't call for help. I loved him and couldn't bear to call the police on him- by this time I knew he was here illegally. I knew most of his family were here illegally. They would sit around the living room hearing me getting my ass handed to me and in the beginning I wondered why they wouldn't interfere- I later learned that if anyone interfered then my beating got worse because "you're cheating on me with HIM" or something similar. A couple years go by and most of my friends have moved on or were disgusted that I stayed with him- I was pretty good at hiding what was really going on because he loved hitting me where most people wouldn't see a bruise. I truly believed that I could help him, or fix him, because his childhood was rough growing up in the mountainous countryside of location and his father was abusive. Plus I knew that for the most part their women are brought up submissive, so it was all acceptable for a long time. I made excuses for him and he would cry to me and say "I know it's wrong but I can't help it, I watched it my whole life- watched my mother die because of my father." Plus he crossed the border when he was about 16 and was traumatized from that also. He just knew how to manipulate me and my emotions and for years I had no idea. I was attending college while pregnant at 25 and my classmates knew and tried to help me but I wasn't ready yet. Not until he hit me and split my eyebrow open with his fist when I was 6 months pregnant. My mom dragged me to the police station and wouldn't let me leave until I pressed charges against him. That was when she learned about my years of abuse- my family suspected but I was good at hiding it. It took me having my little girl - my saving grace, my reason for waking up back then- to learn I was better than the abuse I was getting. I realized that I didn't want her growing up in that kind of environment, never wanted her to think that any sort of abuse is okay or even remotely acceptable. That was when I started thinking about leaving him. That's when God shows up glaringly obvious to me then- he gets arrested. Finally I have one foot out the door. Then 2. Then I lose that apartment we were living in because I had been on HUD and he wasn't supposed to be there. I go back to my parents house with my 1 year old daughter. A year later I get pregnant once more by him. By this time I am self-medicating for depression/anxiety/PTSD and trying to fill that void left behind by him. He had introduced me to drugs and snorting pills during our relationship. I was struggling with answering/not answering the phone when he called and jumping when he asked for things. By all rights, my 2nd child should have been born with withdrawals and once again God showed up for me and my child. A month prior to her birth I went to church and without even knowing me that pastor spoke to my soul and him and his congregation healed my unborn child. Today my girls are age 1 &age 2years old and thriving. My little savior and miracle child. Their father was deported a few years ago and he stopped calling/checking in on our girls. They know what kind of person he was and how he treated me and they don't really want anything to do with him though they have attempted to reach him via FB because they want answers. They want to know why he doesn't try to call them anymore, why he hurt me. I have never wanted to be that parent who keeps their kids from the other parent. My mom struggles with that concept but honors it for them. I want my kids to decide whether they want him in their life or not though he seems to have made that choice for them. He has always been selfish. 18 years later I still struggle with my self worth, have struggled to stay clean. I am strong, I am resilient, I am a great mom. I love myself Most days. Most days I know my worth, though I have been in a relationship with someone I thought was perfect for me but now I struggle with whether or not this relationship is healthy.

I had to say yes to get it over with. I was in bed alone and he came back from a night out. He wouldn't take no for an answer and had the cocaine fuelled energy to keep harassing me for hours. I was so worn down and exhausted and emotionally beaten down that I decided saying yes would mean he would eventually leave me alone. So, I let him.

i'm so nervous this afternoon, i'm finally going to the police to share my story about a guy at school who assaulted me over the summer (i live in the southern hemisphere, so around january). he's a school captain, and i'm vice-captain so he's already in a position of power not only over me but the entire school, and the teachers practically worship the ground he walks on (last time i reported verbal harassment from him, the teachers blamed me) so i'm hoping something changes. i'm terrified, and anxious, but i'm also proud. knowing that i'm doing something a lot of victims don't get the chance to do. i'm going to share my story, and i pray to god that he faces the consequences because this isn't the first time he's done bad things, and won't be the last. stay strong my lovelies, you can share your story too <3 if you wanna chat at all, you can dm social media handle on instagram (my assault awareness page) - a survivor

I’m a 27 year old female now but when I was about the age of 6-7 my sister would kiss me on the lips. I vividly remember laying down on my bathroom floor (which she told me to do) and would just tell me to relax. She is 4 years older than me. I also remember one time I really wanted to kiss her and she said yes. I think it was a game to me at that point. She had left for a moment and I got naked. I remember she came back and said to put my clothes on because our dad was going to take us out to eat. Those are the only moments I remember but my mind might be pushing down other similar moments I had with her. I’m struggling now to have a relationship with her. She has never talked about it, but I feel like she remembers. It’s so hard to speak to her without getting annoyed or frustrated. She is annoying to me and never communicates well, she tends to always ask a question when asked a question. She’s never wrong and is hard headed. At this point I feel like I need to speak to her about this and distance myself to heal. I don’t even know what I want but I just don’t want to feel this way.

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

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

I came out as a gay man when I was 18. Shortly after I found an LGBTQ+ youthgroup in my city, went there and found lots of amazing friends. I've never been much of a party-person, but they took me to gay parties and I loved it. We went clubbing a lot until shortly after I turned 19. I was still very inexperienced, I had dated two or three guys til then but we never went further than kissing or holding hands. It was a classical saturday evening: Me and some friends went clubbing again. Since I still lived with my parents a bit outside of the city I had to sleep at a friends flat. We went to the gay club and had a lot of fun. I drank way too much, but that 'normal' for me back than. At the end of the party when a lot of people where already gone, my friend who I wanted to stay with went to the toilet. Right after we wanted to head home. I waited for him at the bar. A guy came up. It was a guy I've know for a while now. He was twice my age and a policeman. Very nice guy actually, I always thought, but the age difference was too much for me, so I never really went with it when he tried to flirt with me. As I said, I was already pretty drunk and I wanted to get home, but he convinced me to have just one last drink with him. I accepted took a few sips, we kept talking and he urged me to drink up quickly. I was feeling really weird all of a sudden. He said, whe should get out of here to get some fresh air. I didn't want to, I wanted to wait for my friend, but the police guy said, that he already went home. I tried to explain to him, that he was only on the toilet and would come back any moment, but I was feeling worse and worse every second, so I agreed to wait outside to get some fresh air. I couldn't really talk or walk on my own anymore, so I leaned on him and he took me to his car. I couldn't really remember anything after that. I woke up in his bed and felt the worst I've ever felt. I was naked, this police guy had his arm around me. We were in his bed. A few memories of the evening came back over time, others didn't, for which I'm very glad. This was my first sexual encounter and paved the way for my later on sex life. I couldn't trust anyone again for years. I tried talking to some friends, but they didn't really believe me and just blamed me. 'Why did you drink so much?' I myself didn't really understand what happened there and also looked for the fault in myself. I wondered, if he really put something in my drink, because I know that it felt very odd, but maybe I just drank way too much. I became very suicidal, I didn't even think once that this wasn't my fault but his. That's why I never pressed any charges. I only started to understand when someone put something in my drink again, a few years later. On that evening I didn't drink that much and I've had the exact same feeling again. Gladly my friends were there and took care of me, so nothing else happend, but the day after for the first time I actually realized what had happened to me before. I'm 25 now and I know, that this'll always be part of my history, I'll never really be over it. I even still get triggered sometimes if I see the police or go into clubs. But I've worked a lot on this and can manage it now. The abuse will never stop hurting me, the trauma may never go away, but I can live and breath again, thanks to therapy and thanks to awesome new friends who actually believe me.

I've never done something like this before. Sharing my story anonymously on the internet isn't something I would have considered before. But I have few friends, and no one I feel comfortable talking about these things with, either because I don't know them quite well enough, or because I can't stand the thought of telling them about my own failings that lead to these situations. Themes: Sexual Assault When I was very young, my older brother was babysitting my sister and I. He has bipolar disorder, and we didn't realize at the time that he was going through a difficult phase of sexual frustration and questioning. That night, he sexually abused my sister and I. Though he never touched us directly, he had us do a number of inappropriate acts, and even attempted to have us touch each other, though backed off when neither of us was willing to do so. We were kids, so (for me especially), a lot of that stuff seemed off or weird, but we didn't know that it was wrong. I reported the incident. I don't remember doing so, but my parents tell me I was the one who explained what happened. What followed were several of the hardest years of our lives, me and my family. The state tried my brother as an adult, despite still being underage, and twiddled their thumbs in terms of actually dealing with anything. He was seperates from all of us, passed between jails, and generally mistreated. The news got back to us and only made the whole situation worse. Maybe it instilled a sense of guilt in me, maybe not. But it triggered a massive distrust of the state and non-familial authority in general, making therapy impossible when combined with my own mental disorders. It took several years, but now my brother is finally free from his singular mistake, and is closer to his family and his God as a result. But that's not the end of my story. All of the above is background information. I don't know if it's at all relevant, but at this point I'm just sharing everything I can recall to get it off my chest. The following stories occur within the digital space of Virtual Reality. I admit to never having considered that one could experience SA and trauma in VR, since there are an abundance of tools with which to control interactions with others, such as blocking, world-hopping, or logging out. However, I now know it's much more complicated than that, especially when you have someone who's response to fear and/or trauma is to freeze and shut down, like me. I met a young woman in VR who herself had a history of sexual trauma. I'm an extremely empathetic person, so I found myself drawn to this girl in a misguided notion that I could help or support her in some way. I didn't realize I was being manipulated until it was too late. It started out simple. We would hang out, with her or her friends, and talk about this or that. Explore worlds. Typical vr things. She seemed to start growing attached to me to some degree, having an attraction to my voice. At the time, I just thought it meant she was starting to trust me. I was half right. One evening, I was online and looking for someone with whom to hang out. I saw her online with another of our friends, in a friends only instance of a public world, on "green", meaning I could join at any time. So I did. When I loaded in, I found myself stumbling upon an Erotic roleplay session (virtual sex) and expressed my surprise. There were some laughs, and eventually I was convinced to join in, as awkward as the situation was. This girl was very taken by my performance for some reason, and asked if we could meet up again. I stupidly agreed, just wanting to make her happy. What followed were a series of uncomfortable meetups where she would take me to some themed world or other, each catering to her own fetishes, and pressure me into a "dom" role that I was neither comfortable, nor felt very good at filling. Some days I would come online, and she would beg and press me to go back to erping with her. A couple occasions, I managed to convince her to leave me be. But most of the time, I caved. I was living in the basement of my parents' house at the time. The basement has no door, and my dad was just up the stairs. One night, during what would become the last of these sessions, he overheard my activities and stormed downstairs to confront me. He yelled at me, then went back upstairs. I curled up in a ball for a little while, my partner attempting to continue unaware. I eventually managed to tell her that I couldn't do this anymore. I then took an extended break from vr. When I returned, I tried to meet up with her again, hoping we could at least be normal friends. But she ignored me, acting like I didn't exist, as if all I had been was an object for her pleasure. I blocked her and moved on. I never intentionally engaged in ERP after that. However, after discovering I'd developed phantom sense (the ability to perceive touch on one's virtual avatar) I ended up in a few more uncomfortable and compromising positions. One of note occurred while I was lounging by a mirror, and one of the more perverse of the group decided to try and crawl up my skirt, which didn't obey gravity like it would irl, instead acting like it was starched. This was extremely uncomfortable, and lead to me ending the night early. The next notable example happened with a group of guys I'd been hanging out with a couple times. I followed them between worlds, just hanging out, laughing, and trying avatars like normal. We ended up going to a world called "Location", a world organized like a hotel with private, lockable rooms. I didn't know then that it was a space infamous for ERP. Regardless, I had become comfortable around these guys, and had even shared a few dirty jokes with them. When the lobby got crowded, we moved upstairs to a private room to look at the sky ox through the windows with the mirror on and chat. I don't remember how it happened exactly. The next thing I remember is laying on my back on the bed, my legs open, as one of the guys took advantage of my phantom sense to simulate oral sex with me. I never gave consent. I froze and went silent. I was parylized. Even as he kept saying to tell him if it was too much; to stop him if I was uncomfortable; I couldn't move or speak. I could only silently hope for him to stop. I don't remember how that night ended. I've been extremely jumpy in VR ever since. I often take long breaks between sessions, and feel as though half the time when I go back the night ends poorly either due to my own anxiety or some other factor. Any suggestive jokes that involve touches or poses of any kind can send me into a catatonic state, though I've been steadily getting better at at least moving my character away from the source. I'm often on edge anymore, and have been having a much harder time getting myself to speak to strangers and make friends. It's crushing, since I have no friends irl who love in my town, and none of my rl friends play that particular game. Only two have vr at all, and prefer single player experiences. I find myself lonely, and perhaps paradoxically, hyper-sexual when alone, even fantasizing about situations similar to those I've already described. I'm confused, and I feel lost and broken. Some days I can forget, but other days it hits me like a truck. One little reminder, and I'm nauseous and withdrawn for most of the day.

Hi I'mName. I felt violated when this person who I looked as a second protector, did things to my body. Then mother would scold me and hit me for having normal childhood needs, just because I lived unattended. I got burned each bruise getting worse and worse, my chest not belonging to me. Ever again. Everything felt injured and me; empty.

I would do anything for it not to be real, but it is. And I’m starting to think it’s more common than any of us want to admit. But it’s time to be brave and acknowledge these hard truths no matter how much it hurts. Because we deserve healing and even more than that, we deserve a world that sees and acknowledges these horrors for what they are. The nature of the trauma that comes with living through something so disgusting is that your brain tends to block a lot out as a way to protect you. That’s how shattering of an event CSA is. I can’t remember how exactly young but it was YOUNG—- so young that everyone refused to believe me even though all of the signs were there. I’m talking 5 or 6 years old, and so that would have made my younger brother, the perpetrator, as little as 4 years old. Was it because he was younger that my dad just ignored it when he’d see my brother pinning me down in the yard and rubbing himself on me? We were all there to witness it but I’m the only one bearing the scars. What do you think happens when a little kid can see he can get away with something? Of course it escalated. And no one did anything when they found my bloody underwear even though it would be 7 more years before I saw my first period. My mother yelled at me when she saw them….Why? I didn’t make them that way, why am I in trouble and not your son who I keep telling you is hurting me when he lays on me? But according to her it had to have been something else, a medical condition or anomaly, certainly not what her own son was doing. Poor thing had to think about something that made her uncomfortable, meanwhile I had to continue to live with and be groped by and molested and penetrated by that “uncomfortable” for the next decade. Yes, kids can most certainly abuse other kids even at ages that seem horrifically young to you. If it’s horrible for you to realize, imagine how horrible it is to have happen to you. And no, I don’t talk to that “father”, or that “brother”, and certainly not the “mother” who insisted she’s actually the biggest victim in this horror story by having to think about any of it in the first place. If only she cared what her own daughter, and all of us other survivors, must think about. Tell your story as many times as you have to, and don’t entertain folks who do anything but give you the unrelenting, undying support you deserve. I mean that. If you read this and take anything away from it, please take that.

Hi, I was just wondering if this fits the criteria of sexual assault to an extent or just non-verbal communication in this situation. I went to a gay cruising spot out of curiosity and I did end up doing some stuff there. The first guy it was fine, nothing really went wrong, I said no when I didn't want something and everything went fine. The second guy was a bit iffy since I saw him do something naughty and I was curious, and admittedly wanted to check on him. When I approached him, he was touching himself (sorry) and when he saw me, he touched my junk as I approached. I did partially have an issue with him not saying anything about wanting to touch my junk, but I did still approach and asked him I wanted to touch his and he said yes. A part of me wanted to say no or say something regarding it, but I felt like something should have been said, but a partial bit of me (not 100% on this feeling) wanted to see where it goes. I'm After a short bit, took a short break, and continued. He did touch my butt but I said no and he did back off. I also touched his butt back but he said nothing regarding it. We continued with ourselves and then shortly again, I allowed him to touch me (not verbally, but by showing him which this is non-verbal consent right?) and he did the same (sorry again). After finishing and I did tell him "thank you", but I did feel somewhat guilty for letting myself to get to that position and was wondering why I felt so iffy about it. I wasn't forced to do it, I approached on my own volition Maybe because I didn't want this to be my first same sex experience. I'm super sorry for the tmi, but I was wondering if this means anything?

i have autism and i had been raped in my old class by a old man that looked like Putin, his face looked familiar but i can't verify it because i had never went to the hospital for rape check expect other things, i was having urinary incontinence for months and after months when the female police came i told her that my weeks old baby fall down the toilet after taking the pill She didn't write her note. only when she write it when my abusive and manipulated father tell her that i had "paranoia" and bah bah bah with evil-looking voice. i had been verbally abused and mocked after telling my parents about the sexual abuse at my home and then after that i decided to silence myself to avoid being abused again. i just wanna share with you i thought i can't because i was afraid i will get killed and getting taken down, i hate being slienced. i hate the way that my government and social media didn't provide accessible help but i finally found this website that i can share it with you.