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I don't know if what my brother did to me can be classified as sexual abuse. I was staying over at his house. It was late at night, and we were watching a movie. At some point, he asked if he could initiate some cuddling. I actually agreed, since we are really close and both enjoy physical affection. While we were spooning, he snuck his hand under my shirt. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. As the night went on, he alternated between different caresses, kisses on my head or the side of my face, and words of affection. I idly stroked his arm back because I felt awkward just lying there. He eventually asked "is this okay?" in reference to his hand inching up my stomach. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt and still thought the action was platonic, plus it felt nice, plus I am a timid person and have a hard time with confrontation, so my brain thinks saying "no" to people is provoking them, so I said "yes". I didn't really want to say it I, though. I don't think I wanted to say "no", wither. I don't think I wanted to say anything at all. I was tired. We both were. His caresses smoothly progressed to the point he was caressing the underside of my breasts. That's when I started really questioning his intentions. He asked "is this okay?" again. I said "yes" again. When the movie ended, I got scared. I had been using it to distract myself from what was happening, and I was afraid that now that there was no distraction, he would shift his whole attention to me and try to initiate something; so I sat up. He lightly squeezed the underside of my breast as I did so, maybe on purpose, or maybe as a reflex. When he realized I was genuinely pulling away, he took back his hands, said: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep", and got up to take a shower. I think that's the moment I started freaking out. It's what confirmed my suspicions that his touches really had sexual intent behind them. I had been trying to gaslight myself into believing they were innocent affection, but those words were forcing me to face the reality of my situation. I remember running my mouth non-stop about random topics when we were having breakfast because I was afraid he was going to bring up what just happened and would want to have a conversation about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I still try to. But it haunts me. He and his wife (who had been sleeping peacefully in their bedroom through the whole night) left early in the morning for their honeymoon (I was there to house-sit, and had come the night before to hang out with them before they left). Once I was alone, I quietly went to their bed to sleep (with their permission and insistance, since there were no other beds in the apartment). As I tried to fall asleep, I still could feel his hands on me, like a phantom touch. I broke down right there. I felt guilty, and disgusting, for not having stopped it and for having enjoyed it too. I felt like maybe I was the creep, and maybe I was the one turning this interaction into something inappropriate. The following weeks, I tried to suppress my feelings. Some days before Christmas, I was on a plane with my mother, about to start our holiday vacation. I was close to my period and my breasts felt sensitive. That triggered something in me and I suddenly teared up right there, in public. That vague ache reminded me of the feeling of that one squeeze he gave to my breast. My mother noticed me about to cry, but I lied and said that's just because I'm close to my period and feeling gloomy (I had been struggling with depression for a while, which she knew.) During the trip, I would get random flashbacks to that night, sometimes even accompanied with feelings of nausea. I felt like I was making my brain overreact somehow, since I hadn't been raped and I shouldn't be traumatized for touching that can barely even be considered intimate. When we got back home, I did something I'm not sure whether I regret it: I talked to him about it. I sent him a long text (he lives in another city, which actually made me feel safer about confronting him) which I barely remember anything about, except that it mentioned "that night" and how I had been upset by it. I broke down while typing it, and it probably wasn't very coherent. My brother sent me many short replies in quick bursts when he saw it. He apologized profusely. He said "I don't know what's wrong with me", "I'll get psychological help", alongside many things I don't remember. That had me freaking out a bit. What did he need psychological help for? Was he admitting he's got urges he can't control? But I didn't say anything related to that. I was afraid of accusing him, and I made sure to clarify I was also to blame for not setting down any boundaries. We were both replying to each other without thinking. We were panicking, and full of adrenaline. I was scared of losing him. He was the only connection I had in the city we both lived in (very far from our hometown, where our parents and my friends all live). I didn't want to upset him, because he's a very sensitive person and I already felt guilty for how I was reacting to it. We somewhat resolved the issue over text. Except we didn't. At all. I pretended we did, but I was still plagued by doubts and paranoia. More than the touching, what haunted me were his words: "I'm sorry. Your brother's a creep." They shook me to my core. All I had wanted was to be in denial about what happened, but those words wouldn't let me. The story goes on to this day, but I don't want to write too much about the aftermath of "that night", since I'd be writing for too long and I want to focus on whether it was an instance of abuse. At this point, I feel a little more grounded and able to accept that what happened had sexual undertones. I am still full of shame and guilt. I did consent to some of the touching. I'm not certain I wanted to, but it is something I did. That would usually make me think this is a consensual encounter and that I simply regret it now, but there are many factors that also contribute to my belief that this could potentially be an instance of abuse too. First of all, my brother was 38 at the time. I was 20, which yes, is an adult, but still; he is my much older brother. He was already nearly an adult by the time I was born. He's been a figure of authority my whole life, even though he likes to pretend he's not. He's a little clueless when it comes to what's appropriate or not in social contexts, but I do think someone his age should know better than to sneak his hand under his little sister's shirt and go up her body so much his fingers actually brush against her areola. Secondly, I am neurodivergent, though I hadn't told him at the time. However, when I did tell him, he said he already had suspicions. Regardless of that, I've always been quiet and withdrawn, so it upsets that he initiated touching under the guise of innocent affection and then expected me to be able to express my discomfort when it escalated without him specifying it was going to. I don't think his form of seeking consent was productive at all either. He only asked me if two specific touches were okay, and only after starting to do them. He didn't ask for explicit permission for anything but the cuddling at the start. What I want to say is that I was vulnerable. I am young, inexperienced, autistic, and he has always been an emotional support and almost parental figure to me. I don't know how he can be so naive as to think he doesn't have any power over me. Maybe he does know that, but wasn't thinking at the time. I still don't get why he would touch me like that. I find a little solace in thinking that maybe I didn't have any control over it after all. But I don't know. Maybe I did. I am an adult after all. And I do believe he would have stopped if I had told him to. But I definitely never gave any enthusiastic consent. I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel angry. I feel sad. I've been avoiding thinking about it for months. Tonight, it all came back to me once more and I broke down again. I truly don't know what to do. I don't want to tell anyone close to me what happened because I am ashamed. I certainly don't want to tell my parents. I kind of want to cut ties with him, but at the same time I don't because I truly believe he is remorseful about it and I don't want to make him sad. I can't help being naive. I don't know if that's comforting, or embarrassing.

I was young and naive. I didn't even know what rape was. I sought help from my friends only to be met with all of the "why didn't you...this?" or "why didn't you...that?" From that point on I blamed myself and never spoke about the rape. In my early adulthood, I had a coworker that recognized something in me and she asked me if I had been raped. She offered me support and resources. I still hadn't ever heard of any advocacy programs. At age 25, I applied for a new job working with child abuse victims. Little did I know, but they also worked with victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. I found my healing there and I continue to work there 31 years later. I found my healing and strength through educating the public and advocating for others. As I get older, I get bolder. I no longer fear sharing my story.

As an only child, I had no one to look up to really as a kid. But I always looked up to my Dad. Even though he was never really around due to work (although Mam worked more than he did and still found lots of time to spend with me), I still idolised him. He was my hero. He would always say 'Dads know everything - remember that', so lying to my dad (even little white lies) were pointless. Though when I hit 13 I began to realise he actually DID know everything. He knew what myself and my friends would talk about, he would know exactly where I was and who I was with without even needing to ask me, and I would always wonder why. In reality he had my phone tracked and could read all my messages. Now that I have been through the court system and he has been imprisoned for the abuse he inflicted upon me, I can confirm that he was in fact grooming me from the age of 13. About a month after my 18th Birthday, began the horrific 7.5 year abuse that I suffered. My Dad, masked for the first 2 years as a stranger, blackmailed me into performing sexual acts with strange men in our home - the one place I should've felt safe. When I finally realised it was him, I couldn't tell you how it then turned into just open ended abuse and rape from him. He would advertise us as a couple on hook up sites and in order to avoid physical beatings I would go along with it. I feared for my life so much that endless rapes and sexual assaults were easier - imagine that being the easiest choice - until you're in it, you just don't know how you'll react. I stopped going out, I gave up my hobbies, whilst in college I gave up my part time job - he controlled every single part of my life. And if I even let my "everything is rosey' mask slip even for a second, especially in front of my Mam, well it just doesn't bear thinking about. Fortunately for me, once Mam did find out, he was gone out of my life within 30 mins. Unfortunately, he went on to groom and abuse others after that. He was convicted, and is currently serving his prison sentence - but the fear of him stilll remains.

My first memory ever is the pain, pressure, fear, and disgust of being raped. I remember the heat of the room, the pressure and debilitating pain of it every crevice and hole possible he created pain. There’s not many good memories I remember at all honestly till I reached 3rd grade. From 3 to 8 every summer it was endless rape and pain in hopes to protect my brother and his siblings and the absolute fear he put in me. He was my moms friends son older then me but not much. He made me feel disgusting, dirty, petrified like I deserved this I was scared of him in every way. He was a horrible man no remorse but it makes me think something happened to him as well. It makes no sense that it could fit in my tiny mouth my private areas everywhere I still remember it like yesterday it felt like I was being ripped apart the pressure was unbearable. But I knew if I just went through with it and stayed quiet I would be free the rest of the day. I quickly learned to stay quiet when he brought out the BB gun though not a real gun I can tell you it hurt the one time I screamed for help he shot and shot and shot I hate the number 3. I get confused on how my parents and doctors didn’t know. I had constant utis, stomach issues, pain and burning my doctor said I was dramatic and nobody seemed to notice. I always cried for help in the bathroom for wiping but it was really because I was scared to even touch there it was so sore. But I denied every thing that I’m fine he convinced me this had to happen that I was worthless and this is what I was made for to help him and save the other kids from it. So he knew it was wrong yet he picked me. He took my childhood from me I lived in constant fear and anxiety I was petrified of everyone even class mates. I had horrific dreams every single night putting me in a state of paralyzing fear. In third grade I escaped so I thought. I made it until I started taking the route to our house it was the summer before 7th grade i was walking home from Work at the salon I don’t know how or why but there he was on Main Street both of us alone he pulled me into the bathroom on the brick building of the circle I didn’t make a noise why the fuck didn’t I make a noise how was he even there and again took everything away from me nobody stopped or cared. How did my family not know I was gone longer how did they not see the pain in my face and body I was on my period then he was so happy to promise he would be the farther of my baby one day. I was picked up most days I would tell my parents I really didn’t want to walk home most the time I’d be picked up but every single time I had to walk Wich was only 4 times he was there to destroy me again like he was watching my every move how did he know those days how I still don’t understand it. The salon would send me for lunches and of course I couldn’t drive so I had to walk everywhere I was petrified and swore he was watching then. After this I planned to kill myself but he soon died and I finally was free well my body was free but not my mind, I was still trapped in this hell of fear and hate for myself that he would find me again I still suffer every single day not a single day goes by without me thinking of that hell. There were times I could start to feel myself getting better and then it would come crashing down in disaster. Constant nightmares paralyzed fear anger. I wish to god I would have told people then I would have had so much more help and would have already been so much farther in recovery but I finally told someone! It started with my therapist who helped me find the courage to tell my family and every fear of not being believed and scared to be in trouble was proven wrong my family has done nothing but help me face this and though it’s proven to be harder before it’s better I am so happy I’ve started my recovery and hope to find peace soon! A support system is so important I couldn’t be more grateful for mine. I hope this can help others in some way if i could say anything to another survivor is that it will never be perfect but you will get better this does not define you.

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

• Biography (including background): While growing up at home, I suffered physical and emotional abuse from my father, neglect from my mother (a cycle of abuse from my maternal grandparents), violence from my older sister, and had to care for my younger sisters. At the same time, I had a childhood hobby of reading specialized books, and I had a desire to pursue higher education and make the most of my educational opportunities to contribute to society, devoting all my free time to studying... However, at the age of 17, I reached my limit, my physical and mental health deteriorated, and I had eight chronic illnesses (10 types of medication), so I took a two-year break (I also dropped out of high school). After that, due to limited funds (using my own earnings), I applied to a university that I could apply to while still in prefecture name, and enrolled in university. While continuing my education, I left my hometown and, while undergoing treatment for my chronic illness, I actively volunteered and worked for non-profit organization (an NPO for people with Down syndrome).

After seeing 'It Ends With Us', I felt I wanted to share my story. I saw this movie alone for the first watch, brought my Atlas to the second, and my bestfriend to the third. Watching it left me feeling empowered to anonymously share my story of abuse and violence. The film and the book brought back so many raw emotions, ones that I still struggle with today. My story started when I was 16 years old and I was with my first 'love', everything was OK in the beginning - but suddenly everything changed. I was constantly told how worthless I was, I got pushed down his stairs - but I wouldn't leave - and I didn't know why. He was controlling and did not like other people talking to me, going to extreme lengths to stop this from happening, and making sure my friends did not see me - people who he saw as a threat. I ended up in the hospital because of him, where he broke my hand. He got that mad at me once, we were in his car and just before I could shut the door and put on my seat belt, he started driving recklessly to scare me. What scared me more was when I was sleeping and I felt his hands around my throat - with no explanation. There were many times that I would say stop and he would carry on because he told me he was in control. I had cigarettes put out on me -multiple times, and was told that I was disgusting and looked like a sl*t, even telling me I was 'fat' - which led to further health issues. When I ended up with a bruise, my friend who is now my Atlas noticed - we worked together. I confined in him, and he was the first person to properly listen to me, and let me share my experiences. Throughout all this, it brought me overwhelming anxiety and depression and even the lengths of having to have therapy because to me it was a nightmare even when it was over, and reported multiple times. My parents never understood, asking me why I didn't just leave, telling me I must've wanted it to carry on. I didn't. I'm nearly 10 years later now, with my Atlas of 5 years, feeling happier and in a better place physically and mentally - I'm still healing. This movie brought me to tears and I related so much to Lily Bloom - some of it felt like my experiences - but the film also brought me a type of feeling of freedom and happiness. Thank you for letting me share my story. ❤️

I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. Like many survivors, I did not fully understand or process what had been done to me until adulthood. Trauma does not operate on a clean or predictable timeline. It delays recognition, fragments memory, and often prevents disclosure until years—sometimes decades—later. When I finally came forward and spoke publicly about the abuse I experienced as a child, I believed I was exercising a basic right: to tell the truth about what happened to me. Instead, I was met with coercion. After I disclosed the abuse, my abuser and his attorney issued legal threats and demands aimed at forcing me to retract my statements and remain silent. I was pressured to take down my survivor narrative and was threatened with financial and legal consequences simply for speaking about what was done to me as a child. At the same time, I have been unable to find legal representation of my own. Despite confirming documentation, despite the seriousness of the harm, and despite acting in good faith, I have been told repeatedly that my case is “too old,” “too difficult,” or financially unviable under existing laws. The result is a brutal imbalance of power: the person who abused me had legal counsel ready to threaten me, while I—his victim—could not find a lawyer willing or able to help me pursue justice. This is what survivors face when the law closes its doors. I did not choose to be abused. I did not choose how my mind protected me as a child. And I should not be punished, intimidated, or silenced for seeking accountability as an adult. No survivor should be subjected to legal threats from their abuser for telling the truth. No survivor should be forced to face an abuser’s attorney alone, without representation, simply because trauma delayed their ability to come forward. And no one should be denied access to the courts while those who harmed them are able to use the legal system as a weapon. That is why Trey’s Law matters. Trey’s Law is not about revenge. It is about access—access to justice, access to accountability, and access to the courts for survivors whose abuse could not realistically be confronted within rigid, outdated timelines. If abuse happens again to someone else—and we know it will—they should not have to endure what I have endured just to be heard. They should not be threatened for speaking. They should not be shut out of the legal system before they ever have a chance to stand in it. Trey’s Law recognizes the reality of trauma and corrects a system that currently protects abusers better than it protects the people they harmed. I am sharing my story not only for myself, but for every survivor who was told it was “too late,” who was pressured into silence, or who discovered that the hardest part was not surviving the abuse—but surviving the system afterward. I will not stop until the law honors who it should: the victims.

I was with my ex and I had just started some new tablets that made me sleepy. I tell my ex that I’m going to sleep and he continues to play his video game. I wake in a daze around an hour later and he is raping me and enjoying it. I react by making noises out of fear and wait for him to finish up the act , I just froze in fear. Once it was over I was mad he never got consent but he told me that he thought I wanted it. It’s been nearly a year and I’m still not over it

Starting off, I want to share that healing is not the same for everybody. We all take different paths, bumps or curves in the road, or heal directly, without interference. Me personally, it took about 2-4 years until I realized I had been sexually assaulted. When I first learned the meaning, I presumed it "didn't count", and that it wasn't what I thought due to the manner of which the act was committed. I spoke with a close friend online, and he helped me to understand that it in fact was, sexual assault. I was about 13-14 at this time, I'd never been taught the importance or gruesome facts of sexual assault. I resented many people, accordingly my parents for not informing me, or preparing me. I blamed many others including myself. Although, it never felt as if the weight was taken off of my chest, off of my head, or my body. At 15, I sought help via the suicide hotline. I felt like there was nothing left for me, and the shame I felt, my lack of a voice to speak out. I was provided appropriate resources, indulged myself in meditation, which did have a positive effect, yet wasn't enough. Nobody in my life knew of what happened, except for a mystery woman on the other end of the hotline. I remembered then the ease I felt speaking to that one woman whom I hadn't even known, and realized the ease I could feel if I told people I DID know. I began to speak to friends, and anyone I trusted although never my parents, and still have not. Now, I'm older although there are struggles still with my nightmares, some guilt, I have found peace. I've found strength, courage, a feather now on my chest replacing the 40 pound anchor sunk into it, my heart and mind has healed. I've found love for others and myself. In the time I've spent healing from self harm, suicidal tendencies, self isolation, and guilt, I've learned one important factor, and that is I am not, alone. Nobody is alone in their struggles and there is something out there or somebody at all times to positively rebuild us and guide us to peace. I hope for anybody and everybody struggling to find peace, finds that peace, and can one day replace the anchor with the same feather.

Fuck every single one of you motherfuckers. Fuck what you did to me. Fuck what you said to me. Liars. Manipulators. Gaslighters. Heart breakers. Rapist .Takers. Evil. All these voices in my head get loud, I wish I could shut them out or kill them. Get out. Die. Go to hell. An empty void of nothingness. Everything that was and is, is gone. It never existed. I blend in with the darkness. I can't tell the difference between his hands and everyone else's. Trapped in that moment forever. Tainted. Fucking sickening. Maybe if I died, everyone would be happy. Burden free. A dead person can't feel pain. Another body in the graveyard. That's all I'll be. I need to get out. I need a way out.

Hello, my name is Name and this is my story... The abuse was rather physical, starting at a young age, as early as I can remember. EMDR has taken me back to memories around two-years-old where my dad was physical, large, and just scary. While he was a very abusive man physically, this is about what he did to me starting at 13. The sexual abuse started off simple when I was just a young woman, but it progressed to beyond a living nightmare. This man had not only asked me to marry him and be his wife over three times, he also didn't let me leave after the age of 18 when I tried to move out. The abuse was more than just inappropriate touches, he made me share a room with him after I turned 16, and I felt life was over then. When he started to make me sleep in his room, he then had full access to me and didn't have any boundaries - at all. Many days and nights I was stuck at the house for him because he would let others in the family go out and explore life, while I was grounded so he could keep an eye on me. I was not allowed to talk to boys my age, and if I did, it would make him jealous and angry. I had a constant phone check and had to prove where every text message went. I won't go into the detail of the things he did, but he did everything to me that a man should only do with his wife, not his daughter. I was very scared of this man as he spent every moment watching me and what I did. He even threatened to end both of our lives if I didn't comply, which is something all survivors feel or go through. When I turned 18, I left that night and walked from City, State, to the airport in City, State 2 in middle of the night. I was desperate to get out, and he wasn't going to let me go. When I arrived at the airport and started begging for money, shortly into the morning, I turned around, and there he was. Walking up to me, taking me back to the car. I was too scared to scream out. He was mad at me, and took me back to our home in Citywhere he locked me in his room for 2 weeks where I wasn't allowed to talk to family members, my phone was taken away, and food was served to me. At 19, I tried again. I begged my mom for help and she took me to the City Greyhound bus station and bought me a ticket. She told me to lay low and be careful and sent me off with a wifi capable phone. After 32 hours of travel on the bus, I got a call from my mom stating my dad found out and he was on his way. When the bus pulled into the City, State 3 station, he was there, again, to take me back. I tried to fight this time, after he broke a promise. He told me he wanted to make sure I was safe and promised to go take me to my grandparents. Tired, hungry and needing the ride, I believed him. Instead of going North, he started driving south. I started screaming and he turned up the music, eventually I passed out due to exhaustion and woke up back in NM. I finally escaped at 21 when we moved to TN and a friend, I met out there understood what I was going through. He helped sneak me out of that house one day, and I left with nothing. My father found out where I was again and came to kidnap me again. This time, cops were called, and I went in for protection. My father didn't let me take a single article of clothing at that time when he knew I was officially out of his hands. For the next few years, I didn't know how to navigate life or around my family. I held my story in, carrying shame and guilt for things that were out of my control. I wanted a family, so I tried to pretend things didn't happen and in 2015 I moved back to UT to be around my family again. When I did this, I couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort and ick. I eventually met a boy who let me move in (because I was broke and living with my family wasn't working) and started to help me out. We ended up dating and becoming a relationship and having a little boy. In this time frame, I started making boundaries with my family and telling them who my father was, no one believed me. In 2020 I woke up one day, it was national siblings' day, and I was feeling hurt. I was sad they all took his side and that my 5 brothers, mother, and little sister all believed him over me and called me really bad names. I posted on TikTok about my story, and it started to blow up as many others started to feel a similar way or went through similar things. This was the start of my healing journey. I said, I don't have to feel shame for my past, and I can take control of who I am today. The past doesn't have to define you, but who you are can be up to you. While it was and still is hard correcting bad or unwanted habits, I am grateful for who I am now because of the pain I've been through. Because of the suffering I endeared for the first 21 years of my life, it has made the 32-year-old woman bright and positive. I have spent years in therapy with EMDR, ART, Mindfulness, breathwork, and many other courses through the years have gotten me to the warrior I am today. I take pride in my story, and I own it. I can't change what I have been through, but I can make the changes to better my future and be a better mom for my son. After seeing my mother take the abuse from my father, I told myself I would never be like her. After 10 years of living with my child's father, I have become stronger and recognized the signs of domestic abuse that I too, was going through. After years of triggers, and realizing he is life my father, I gained the strength to go off like I needed. I am now a single mother who loves her son, works with a large corporation in their Behavioral Health division, and creating my own business pathways to help other survivors thrive. I know the healing journey is hard, and it can be hard to start, but you got this. We all do!

I was used by my brother who has grown up a lot but I still carry scars. My brother is four years older than me and when I was going from elementary school to Junior high, that summer, he made me think that girls in junior high need to know how to give oral to boys. First he did oral to me to show me it was not a big deal. I thought it was a huge deal. But I did it and he got me trained and had me keep it a secret, except from by best friend. He had his friend over when I had a sleepover one night and had her do it to his friend. Then they would have us do contests where they wear blindfolds. At least I was not alone then. It changed me even though seventh grade itself had nothing to do with anything like that. It was a lie to get pleasure from me. My brother still had me doing it at home. And sometimes he would do it to me and I did climax. So I had this weird secret sex life and felt really messed up about it. Then in eight grade I had my first real boyfriend. My parents are so strict, even though they both worked and left me alone with my brother. To go to the movies with my boyfriend they made sure it was with a group and took me there and waited outside the theater. Well one time when we went to see Snow White and the Huntsman my same BFF and me went through with our plan to go down on our guys in the last row of the theater and we did it. It was only a month later I started having sex with him which never would have happened if not for what my brother had done. We snuck out from her place during a sleepover and met the boys outside and went to the nearby park and did it in the grass. That was my virginity. The really bad event, where my life got knocked off the tracks, is when we tried it from my house, sneaking out the window and going just out farther into my big back yard that opened into nothing but the side of a big hill and my dad caught us. It was awful. The world ended. I was treated like a huge betrayer and almost all my privileges were revoked and essentially I was grounded without any end date. And still by brother would make me do the oral. I was broken hearted because I was not allowed to have my boyfriend to the point my parents made me go to the school and talk to the principal and vice principal and they made sure I would not have any chance to ever see him alone. And my brother kept creeping in at night sometimes or when we were left alone expecting me to do what he had trained me to be used to. The next really bad part was two months into my new restricted life. My brother started doing his oral on me one afternoon after school and decided to take it farther and got up and started kissing me and had sex with me. I was in the moment and did not do anything to stop him and even participated. No condom. It was an afternoon when my parents were away and so we did not have to keep quiet or worry and he did it so much longer than my few times with my boyfriend, because he was older and knew more from being with other girls that I got sore for my first time and got a urine infection. I did not eat my dinner that night and pretended to be sick and cried myself to sleep. My brother really wanted to do it again, telling me it was the best sex he ever had, but I refused and one thing I could say for him back then was at least he was not a rapist. Even though he pressured me he never tried to force himself inside me. Four months after I had lost my incest virginity the school year ended and he graduated. I went to high school and he moved out to live in college dorms 120 miles from our home town. Public school was over for me, as was planned as soon as my dad caught me on the hill. I went to an all girl’s Catholic high school. My dad had to drive me a half hour every morning and my mom picked me up from my whole first year. Then they got me a car so I could drive myself but the mileage and my times were closely monitored. I did not have an intercourse throughout high school but seven times total I did oral on my brother during summer and winter breaks when we were both at home. That was the end of incest in my life. I went to college in Atlanta but not the same one as my brother. I rebelled against my parents and even though they tried to keep control, as a legal adult I did not let them. Turmoil and sadness lasted months until they finally got it. I separated from them financial and worked and took out student loans. I was very promiscuous in college. I drank, partied and used drugs recreationally and had several guys I was seeing on and off for mostly sex. That was my life and I thought I enjoyed it at the time. I became stronger and more assertive and when my brother first hinted during a Thanksgiving meeting at our relative’s house that we go for a drive I told him I never wanted to touch him again in such a powerful way that he knew I was off limits and even seemed like the scared one in our relationship. I didn’t enroll in classes for two nonconsecutive semester just because my party life was so much more fun. I traveled on and off. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with men, usually older, who invited me to exotic places. The Maldives, Portugal, The Virgin Islands. I let my married boss use me for a weekend in Key West. I had an affair with my Spanish teacher, who only took me as far as Panama City, Florida. So many risky one night stands. My identity was that I was not looking for anything permanent, a child of the universe. While I was used as a plaything so many times and believed I liked the game. I would tell them things about wanting to make their dick happy and stuff that would inflate their ego. I’m sure there are so many text messages out there that they saved about the size of their D fitting in my little P, about being a little girl wanting them to teach me to be woman and other depraved fantasies I thought they wanted to hear. Obviously directly related to what my brother did to me. I am almost positive I avoided being raped more than once by going with the flow when I did not expect to or probably want to. It may be good that some of them I probably don’t remember. Once was at one of the few fraternity parties I ever went to. It was three guys, not my usual style. Once was with my roommate's father who was visiting her at our rented house and found his way to my bed in the early morning. One of the more extreme traumatic events was with a police officer who pulled me over for driving when I had been drinking but was under the legal limit on his breathalyzer. He followed me home, like a mile away, “for my safety” and even followed me inside. I was in an apartment then and I thought my roomate was home and told him so. But when she wasn’t there he said I lied to a police officer and he had to do a more thorough search if I wanted to avoid being arrested. He was not attractive or nice. He had a gun thought he never took it out. You can guess what happened. I finally shed that wild life during my second to last semester when I saw the end of college coming. My G.P.A was 3.3. and my major was philosophy and it dawned on me that the future was not bright in terms of what I would do or how I would pay back my loans. I buckled down and decided to change. I had an offer to strip and ‘make a lot of money’ but thankfully not only did never considered myself like that, but when I went with a friend for her interview and they tried to recruit me they were so sleazy we both ran out of there disgusted. I reevaluated my whole life. I considered ending it, but some survival mechanism did not allow it. I did not want to be the person I had been for a few years. I looked ahead and saw it was not sustainable as I aged and had no real love or stability. I quit serving when I got an offer to work in a legal office. I slept with the manager who hired me as a receptionist but it was a drop in the bucket of things to be shameful of. He was the last one like that. I got all A’s and graduated cum laude. I got promoted in the firm mostly by title but used it to spring away and take a lower paying job in a nonprofit law firm where I had not slept with anyone. There I did sleep with a lawyer but I am married to him still and my life is back together. I love him and he loves me. He does not know the extent of my sluttiness in college or about my brother and I doubt he ever will. That darkness is fading and it is not part of my life now. It is not who I am. As for my brother, he has a family now and we are on good terms. We did talk about it once while I was studying like crazy my senior year, although it was not a big deep talk. I did mention that he used me, he apologized, we hugged, and that was it. Not the cathartic confrontation some might expect. My catharsis is my husband, and my life now that I am grateful for. We adopted two toddler brothers and I am their mom. Maybe we’ll have one of our own. Maybe we’ll adopt again. I was used and introduced to sex too young and early and it strained my relationship with my parents for a long time and I’ll never get that back. It derailed my life. I was set adrift for a while but God or the universe or random luck finally put me in a good place. Everything that happened led me what I have now. I can’t say I never contemplated suicide in darker times. But like in the move Cast Away, if I may quote, “I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am.” Thousands of hours spent studying philosophy and I quote a movie that was not even based on a book. But it’s perfect.

Dear, What’s it like not knowing? What's it like not knowing all that you’ve done? I want to remember what it's like. All I know now is what you have done. All I know is how to feel this emptiness that came with the full feeling of dread and hollowness. What’s it like not knowing? I want to know. I want to ask. Do you really not know? Where you smart enough to figure it out? Are you still living in denial like I was? Are you in full realization and just don’t care? Or do you just not know or care to think about it. I don’t want to think about it but I have no choice. You gave me no choice. You gave me no chance that morning and you gave me no choice everyday this last year. Ever since I put it together with the help of the psychologist on the phone. Who told me you raped me. Who has to tell me that I in fact had my choice taken from me. What’s it like not knowing you’ve done that? I want to know. I want to remember. Tell me what it's like. I want to know. I want to remember. And I can lie to myself. Say that I live in your head like you live in mine but I know it's not true. You don't think about me at all. That's your choice. I have no choice. You gave me no choice. What is it like having a choice? What is it like to not care enough to know you have a choice and that you took someone else's away? What is it like? Tell me. Tell me. I can't ask.I can't ask you what it's like. I don’t have the choice. I have no choice to ask. I have no choice to ask if you remember. If you know. If you care. If you choose. You do. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Choose to tell me. I want to know. What is it like for you? What is it like not knowing that you live in my head? That you won't leave. Tell me. What is it like not knowing that you ruined a year of my life and threaten to ruin more. Tell me. What is it like? I want to know. I want to remember.

I, I don’t quite know how to start this. I’m confused, scared, and don’t have anyone to confide in when it comes to, this type of stuff. I’ll start at the beginning I guess. A bit of background, my parents were never married, there was a custody battle going on until I was about 6 (lasted from when I was born until I was 6), and my step mom was in the picture, and my younger sister was born when I was 2. As a kid I was, fascinated for lack of better words, with private body parts and sexual acts. I have no recollection of how I learned of these things, and that’s what haunts me. I can remember being a young child, maybe 5, being infatuated with pregnancy, birth, sex, among other personal things of the sorts. It makes me nauseous just to think about it now. My dad used to watch the news & Two and a Half Men around me as a child, but that’s the only exposure I can recall when it came to sexual acts. I have a few memories of my dad spreading some sort of cream onto my vagina as a young child, and to this day I cannot tell whether or not it was not meant as a sexual act, and that perhaps I had a rash or something, or if it was meant as a sexual act. Either way that’s one of the most disgusting memories I have. As I grew up, maybe about 3-7 range, my curiosity and infatuation expanded, I would touch myself and actively seek out books that contained pregnancy, for example, some health books at my after school program. I also struggled with potty issues, such as constipation and other things. Private parts have been well, very private, for as long as I can remember. And this is where I have the most trouble. As a child, perhaps 5 years old with my 3 year old sister, or maybe I was 6 and she was 4, either way we were both young. We would play “house” and whatnot with our stuffed animals, and would often have our “husbands” and “kids” but we often acted out the pregnancies, which I suppose is to be expected of two young impressionable girls. Everything stayed with just our stuffed animals, but I have one horrid memory between her and I. All I remember is sitting under some covers in my bed- the fucking bed I’m laying on as I type this out- I had my underwear off, and she was under the covers as the “baby”. God I feel like I’m gonna puke typing this. She mentioned that it was hot, and I think I told her to stay down there. I can’t remember, I’ve tried to hard to forget this memory. I feel so guilty. I’m scared she remembers. I’m scared she hates me. I love my sister, she’s my absolute world and I would give my life to make sure she’s safe. I was a child. A child who I don’t know if I was raped or molested as. A child who was dealing with the ever changing custody battle. A child who slept in her mom and dads beds because she was scared to be alone. A girl who slept in her dads bed until she was 11, and slept in her moms bed until she was 14. A girl whose scared of her past and worried of her future. I don’t know what to do, I feel so bad knowing that I may have sexually manipulated my younger sister and another childhood friend. I didn’t know that was wrong as a kid, I know it’s wrong now and I hate myself. I hate myself for not knowing if I was sexually abused as a kid, and I hate my child self for doing those things. I can’t look at pictures of myself as a child, only seeing her as a monster who was possibly molested/raped and who took her own confused and scared feelings out on two people around her. I don’t know what to do anymore, I just live with this horrid knowledge and accept the fact that it happened, and that it sits, simmering in my chest for years and years.

it was the summer of 1979 i was off from school, mom, dad, and myself went out to see my grandma and grandpa for a week, in tridelphia, west virginia i was 12 years old we had a cookout and had our dinner outdoors, my grandparents lived up in the hills where your nearest neighbor was across the interstate so you were basicly cutoff from people, name and his wife came down from buffalo to see my grandmother because that was her side of the family, so i excused myself from the table because i wanted to stretch my legs and take a walk into the woods to go see the deer, i hear footsteps behind me name comes up to me and takes me by the arm and goes further down into the woods so no one could see what was about to happen, he made me take off my clothes and started feeling my naked body then pulled his pants and boxers down to try and make me swallow his penis, during this he started feeling my naked body and my genitals and said to me this is how people have sex, then he said to me dont you dare tell your parents or grandparents about this or i will say that you are lying, the next day he found me behind the house watching the 18 wheelers going by on the interstate, then took me into the basement made me strip naked and had me start masturbating well its a good thing i stopped before i had ejaculated because the basement floor was dirt and had sperm came out of me and grandma seen that the floor was wet she would have asked me what happened down here and i could never lie to my grandma because of our special bond, once i got dressed i walked around and spread dirt on the floor to cover my bare footprints to make like nothing happened during all of this name and his wife stayed at the ramada inn down the road from my grandparents house my parents and my grandparents, nor my aunts ever knew about any of this because of the shame and guilt that i felt, i wish i had said something that sick bastard would have died in prison, but hes dead now so i dont ever have to worry about his ssorry ass ever again.

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.

It’s very hard for me to process this so I will try my best to write. Growing up in Asian family where sex education was absent completely I hadn’t realised I was sexually groomed and assaulted when I was between 8-14. I didn’t have my memory back only until very lately. It was when I was 19 I started to experience flash back and it didn’t talk long for me to recall everything. It was a random night when I was 9 , my second brother was telling we would do something different than watch Tv . He said if I hadn’t follow him to do what he ask me to do he would not let me continue to watch Tv. He drag me behind the couch , it was late night no one was around downstairs of the house . He asked me to lie down and then took away my pants , I didn’t understand what he was doing back then , but he open my legs and lick my private area . He also touches my “boobs”. Ever since puberty , 2 of my brothers would hit my butt , or touch my boobs out of nowhere , I would said no and they still do . It was just annoying for me as a kid I don’t like the way they touch me but I didn’t know what happened. My mother was very depressed to notice anything going on and my dad is rarely home. At 19 when I flashback come back , I felt so dirty , I felt so shameful , I would scratch myself because I think I need to be wash clean . I repressed it , I was struggle with depression with a lot going on with my life . Between 20-21 , I talked to a college counsellor about this giving I was at my lowest struggling with suicide thoughts. My counsellor did not give any response to the matter that i raise up , I was really struggling to voice and with feeling so much shame in my body . I felt like a slut . It must have been my wrong for this to happen , why didn’t I stop him . This goes unresolved with my grandfather passed away and counselling still did not help in any sense , I stopped it. At 22, I got verbally harassed during my internship . I was asked to be a sugar baby , jokingly . He said he would pair me with someone and he can get 20% commission . I go to my internship coordinator , she judged me and asked if this is how I dress ( I was wearing long sleeves and a shirt skit ) to work at the very first eye she saw me. My internship coordinator didn’t do anything knowing what have happened , she asked why can’t I stay for the last month and get it over with. I can’t stand it knowing not only my colleague is weird and my boss also talks to me in a flirting way . I quit , without doing anything about it , I was afraid I would get revenged ( I worked at an autistic center , my boss got bipolar and some other criminal offense). My told my second brother about this , he proceed to glimpse and and says fair . ( I felt like I’m being view by another predator , validating that I am a slut and because I have a curvy body and big boobs I’m asking for it ) . I told my others female relatives , and they justify the whole thing by you have a big boobs and good look of course men is coming after you. (again I felt like a sex object , worse that it was validated by another woman) . Soon after I defer my internship I was spiralling . This time , at the cost of nearly ending my life , my flashback was back , worse that this time I was forcing myself though it because I just wouldn’t want to run away from it or drink my life away to cope . I wasn’t capable back then . It broke me to a point of deep believe that I don’t deserve to be a human and be here. Because of all the stigma and slut shaming patriarchy words and things that runs in my family, I thought I was a walking sin to be alive. I couldn’t tell anybody , because I fear I would get another round of slut shaming . Maybe I am overthinking idk. I was lucky to have something to hold on to be alive , and here I am now . I wanted to write not only to relief this big stones of mine in my heart but also to address something else. I don’t know what to do now . I was swinging between hyper sexualised and ick about sex . I am well aware I was degrading myself and slut shaming myself to cope. Because if only I am a slut all this make sense. I knew it wasn’t true , but to not cope in this way means brutal truth that is the fact that my brother is a predator and uses my innocence and naive when I was young to hurt me . I still have to live under the same roof with them sometimes . I still did not voice anything out with anyone , no one in my family knows but some of my close friends . With my dad and grandparents passing away , and my mom still depressed , and my first brother betrayal’s (he lied to me and used the money my dad left for me) I just don’t know how is it going to be anymore if I had to admit it to myself my second brother is a complete ass. I don’t have “ family “ left anymore. One last concerns I have is that , I am well aware I am using erotic audio of extreme kinks to cope . I felt very powerless and overwhelming with the whole situations , it was only when I listen to audio where degradation involve I found relieves. I have some awareness that I am still suppressing the whole thing to a certain extent, I was very worried I would not able to cope if I let everything out , the pain of betrayal and hurt obviously isn’t something I wanted to encountered . But I don’t want this to linger at the back of my mind anymore , I don’t want to hurt myself to justify this . I really don’t know what to do , and I can’t talk . Everytime I tried to disclose verbally to a counsellor I freeze up and I have problems trusting a counsellor hence making it harder to work with . It was just very frustrating , I read a lot of stories on Reddit to realise I was not alone . But I guess I still hadn’t find my circle of support groups .

I have been married for 14 years. Within this last year I have come to realize that my marriage is not "normal". I was told early on, by my husband, that he was a narcissist. I quickly dismissed him and said he was nothing like that. Now... Idk. He is very controlling, but we have no sex life. I have to ask to be intimate and 99% of the time the answer is no. This is the confusing to me. I thought narcissist liked sex. As soon as we were married the sex stopped. I know I am in an unhealthy relationship, but I am just now realizing this. For 14 years this has been my life and I just accepted it. Now I am confused and scared of what the future will be. I am so devoted to him. I have been trained to be this person and I don't know who I am outside of it.

When I was 4 years old, me, my mom and my brother lived with my grandmother. During this time, my mom took me to a babysitter who was right up the street from where my grandmother lived. My brother is 6 years older so he wasn't with me. The babysitter she would take me to had two sons, who were 13 years old. I would have to go to the basement with her sons, while the infants stayed upstairs with her. Before it was just me, there were other kids around my age. now, I can't fully remember when it first started, but I do remember it was me and another girl and he would have us lay on the couch side by side. He would then put the covers over and make us play with his private part. He then would tell us to turn around and while he pulled our pants down and inserted his private area, and the tell us to face him and did the same thing. He also would put it in our mouths, all while his brother was on the floor playing video games. I remember after a while I was the only 4 year old there. So he would do the same thing to be everyday, for how long? I honestly don't remember. The most memorable thing I remember him doing was inserting his penis in my mouth until I gagged. And of course in my butt and vagina area as well. The thing was that always got me, was that he was nice to me. I didn't know that I would have had to pay for the kindness. I remember him taking me to the bathroom and he would stay in there with me. I was potty trained. I do remember being uncomfortable with him in there with me. As scared as i was to go to the basement everyday, I remembered I asked his brother where he was. and he told me and he then of course told me to come here and he cuddled me, and not long after did what he always did. I don't remember how long it was, but i do remember the last time he ever did anything to me. I had on my favorite white Winnie the Pooh short jumper. He was about to take them off me and I told him " my mommy said I can't". And he was telling me to shush. Now, even though he didn't proceed to take off my jumper, he still put his penis in my mouth like always until I gagged. That day my mom got me and we were walking up to my grandmothers door, I remember trying to tell my mom, and i was scared because I told her i don't want to get spanking. A 4 year old thinking its her fault and she would get in trouble for something that was happening to her. So I told my mom what happened and i thank God she believed me. Unfortunately, it wasn't the last time i would get touched on. by kindergarten during reading time, there were two boys who would go under some girls dresses and touch their butts. I unfortunately, was accustomed to it that I didn't even mind it. it was familiar. By 6 years old, two sisters at my church at the time, would then show me how to tongue kiss. One was kissing me and other was told by her sister to kiss/lick my private area. at the time i didn't think it was fully wrong because we were around the same age and they were females. I would then think this was okay as long as it was with other females. Until my my moms best friend caught me and some other girls dry humping and she told me that was nasty. I didn't have anyone tell me that, but once she did I didn't do it again. I shamed myself for so long, even tho I didn't know and I was so young. Other things transpired throughout my life and even as an adult, I was afraid to tell anyone no, especially men. IF they wanted sex, i just let it happen. Growing up, I didn't like older men touching me or even complimenting me because of what happened. I understand that, everyone involved was more than likely abused as well, because no child should know how to perform sexual acts.