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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.

Number years since what happened to me. There has been so much pain and hurt. One of these men was constanty asking me to sleep with his friends but my answer was always no , never, not a chance , You see i found it so hard to accept what had happened because i had to much to drink . I do believe that something was put into my drink as i had no more to drink than what i normally would . I was a at party with these two people. I dont remember leaving the house but i do remember getting sick out of the taxi on the way home. Both of these animals took turns to have sex with me . I remember just lying there with no clothes on and been unable to move unable to fight them of . Both of them went outside and i remember the strong smell of cigarettes and could hear them both laughing . Shortly after both of them left and i lay there confussed , helpless and alone. I must have fallen asleep because i remember it was bright out and one of these men came back to the house. No accountability has been taken from either of these and this is what makes healing so hard for me. Im trying to take back my power but some days are just so hard. Both of these men took adavantage of my vunrability. Learning to tust myself and love myself is my main goal for now and knowing that i did nothing wrong,

My name in Name. Im a trans-man. This story happened she u was 13-14. I was forced to love my home country due to political repressions. So when we came to the city, I was completely alone. I didn’t know anyone and my family always have been abusive. Violence, alcohol, all that. And then I met her. She was four years older than me, in the last class. I don’t know what she found in me. I mean in a year, I would find out. So by the end of school year we became friends. So close, like I never had before. She was kind, understanding and generally nice to me. I never had this before. Next school year she went to college, but our connection only became stronger. She started saying things like “you are the most important to me” and even “I love you”. The first alarm bell was when I found out she was doing drugs. She casually mentioned it in a conversation. Something inside me screamed to stop it. But her “I love you” had me in a chokehold. I would do anything for her. I also knew she liked a guy, and I was practically the second option. Maybe that was the second alarm. In February we went to a concert. In the bathroom her and her friends started taking pills. “You want?” They asked. “Sure” I said. Didn’t even know what that was. Soon I started doing drugs too. She basically was my dealer, she had even more control over me.We would come to her room have these gatherings, where we did drugs, smoked and talked about nothing. What was supposed to be us together was one big loneliness. I hated that, I kept coming, just to see her. My parents didn’t even ask where I was spending nights. So one time after her friends left she sat close to me. That night from us two only I was high. She started kissing me, like she did before. But then she runs her hand across my chest and under my shirt. I got scared, I didn’t want anything like this. “Please don’t” I told her softly. She told me that it’s okay, and “you’re gonna like that”. After a few phrases I submitted. I hated the process, I hated myself in it. But now her. I said it, because I wanted to be liked my her. Next morning I was scraping myself in the shower, but I couldn’t feel clean. I felt her touch. Still do sometimes. A week after that happened she started ignoring me. Just became I ghost. Left me addicted not only to drugs, but also to her. I often feel, like it was my fault. I could’ve not done drugs, and not submitted to her.

I'm 37 year old male survivor in my country. I don't know what to share yet. I am a survivor of multiple assaults in childhood and early adulthood, mostly with female assailants. I think I'm ready to talk with some female survivors (though not in most details). To be honest this scares me though. My experience with advocacy and support groups (apart from a website specifically for male survivors) in the past has been very negative. I have always wondered what a *true* coalition of survivors of all genders would look like.

The Smoke and the Shield I grew up in a house where the air was always thick with the sweet, chemical stench of the meth pipe. My mother, stepfather, aunts, and uncles weren't just parents; they were soldiers in a war that didn't exist, and paranoia was our oxygen. I learned early that survival meant playing along with their ghosts, agreeing that I heard helicopters that weren't there just to avoid the jagged rants that followed if I didn't. I spent my childhood secretly praying for the police to raid us, not because I understood crime, but because I was desperate for someone to save me. But the sirens never came. Instead, I lived in the crossfire of meth-induced rage. I was accused of imaginary crimes born in their frantic minds, belittled until I felt invisible, and beaten until the fat lips became my only excuse to miss school. Neglect was my first language; I walked into classrooms smelling of that house while other children whispered about cooties and pulled away. My mother was so consumed by the pipe that she never taught me how to say no, leaving me defenseless when the betrayal turned predatory. At twelve, she served me meth in my coffee, trapping me in a nightmare of hallucinations. By thirteen, my protectors became my traffickers, selling my body under the guise of babysitting to a man twice my age. They groomed me to believe violation was normal, using pornography to distort my world before I even knew what a healthy life looked like. Eventually, something inside me snapped. I tried to drown the pain in alcohol and self-mutilation, attempting to leave this world numerous times because a life defined by their cruelty didn't feel like living. Even when hospitalized, the rule of silence followed me; I was too terrified to betray the family that had already discarded me. When child services finally intervened, my parents cheated the drug tests to keep the pipe lit, and rather than choosing me over the drug, my mother abandoned me to the system. I was angry, alone, and exhausted, but in the hollow quiet of foster care, I realized the only hand coming to save me was my own. I clawed my way out, fighting for my GED and stepping into a career that demanded the discipline and strength I had been forced to develop as a child. I made a silent vow to never become the monsters who raised me, but the trauma of my youth had broken my internal radar. I backslid into an abusive marriage that forced me to relive the nightmare I thought I had escaped. My husband tried to kill me twice, and when that didn’t work, he shifted to breaking me down mentally. He told me to kill myself because he didn’t want to do the dirty work of killing me himself. I became so broken that I almost succeeded, but after a medical crisis that should have been the end, I was told I was lucky to be alive. That was the moment the world shifted. I realized my life had value, and I took my kids and left him for good. Today, my life is dedicated to being the sanctuary I never had. I am raising my children in a home defined by stability and real love, not the chemical shadows or the violence of my past. I am sober, I am awake, and I am present for every moment they need me. I am constantly exhausted from the weight of the past and the effort of standing guard, but it is a fight worth fighting. The cycle is broken, and for the first time, my children are growing up in a house that is truly, deeply safe.

In my original shared story, IT STARTED WITH MY BROTHER, I talked about my abuse from a bird’s eye view. It was my abuse life as I was able to share it at the time. I have been working up to sharing 3 instances of rapes that I only avoided by allowing the men to take what they wanted instead of fighting. The most traumatic of the three incidents I mentioned involved a police officer. This is that account. I was pulled over on my way home from a study group as junior at the university on a week night. We had shared two drinks toward the end. I DO NOT condone driving and drinking but I was not drunk, as the breathalyzer later confirmed. I was pulled over and already had the nerves associated with that, amplified by the fact that I was under the legal drinking age for another three weeks. That is when I first met the cop I will just call SIK. He gave me a creepy vibe when I first saw him and that never stopped. Still, I flirted with him to an extent desperate to not get it huge trouble. He had me get out of the car, take of my hoodie, under which I only had a basic sports bra. It was only sixty degrees or so that night. I was cold and shivering from fear and the temperature. I saw him look at my body with no filter. Another cop car pulled up with two officers while I was doing the field sobriety tests. He had already searched me in an uncomfortable way. One of the officers who arrived was female and also searched me after he had said I had some problems with the sobriety tests. Walking backwards on an imaginary line heel to toe was the only thing I had trouble with. It is hard! The female cop brought out the breath test I had asked for. I blew 0.035. That is less than half the legal limit. At that point SIK said he was just going to follow me home, rather than arrest me, and the other car left. The whole stop took maybe an hour. Cars drove by on the side street I had pulled onto. Headlights and tail lights in the dark. After the other car left SIK talked to me more harshly and threatening than ever. He said a girl like me is probably used to getting away with everything. He asserted that he could still take me to jail anytime he decides as as he takes me home and makes sure I am safe everything I do is still a test. He could bust me for possession of alcohol and I would lose my license. I was scared. I told him my roommate was home. She was a student too and was supposed to be there. After following me inside my apartment I called out for my roommate. Then I checked her room. She was not there! SIK then accused me of lying to a police officer and locked the deadbolt from the inside. He made me stand with my hands on my own dining room wall with my legs spread. I wanted to call her so he could talk to her and confirm she was usually there, but he stopped me and made me just text her to see when she would be home. He gave instruction not to ask or say anything more and checked before I sent it. She was at her sisters and would not be back until late. At that point he took off his utility belt and put it on my kitchen counter. He told me after all he had done for me was no longer free, since I lied to him. His gun was right there next to us. He made sure I saw it and he even twisted it so it was pointed toward me. I was scared and pleading with him. I really was willing to do anything. I am not sure but I think I told him that. He radioed from his shoulder thing that he was taking a “lunch” break. What I definitely remember was when he said he was going to do a proper strip search this time, down to full nudity and asked if I agreed to that. At that point I no longer had a doubt what was happening. I made the mental adjustment but what he did was more than I had prepared for. He gave me vulgar compliments about my body as he blatantly molested me. He kneaded my breasts like dough. He fingered me as asked if you could use a special appendage he had that went farther in. I knew what he meant. I was repulsed but I agreed. After the initial eager sex with me still having my hands on the wall leaning forward he slowed down. I had been hoping it was almost over but he decided to prolong it. He commanded me to my bedroom. He took off all his clothes besides his socks. He complemented his own anatomy and made me agree. His member was well above average in size but I doubt, if he had not had a wedding band on, that he would ever get to use it. He was half bald, had a prominent eyebrow like a neanderthal, and a pale beer belly with lots of moles all over his body. He had a mustache and goatee that did not completely hide his poor complexion that looked like he had scars from severe acne. Almost all men all taller than me but he was short and only towered over me by a few inches. Never had I lied bigger than when I told him what he wanted to hear about being sexy and wanting him. The only truth was about his large penis. SIK spoke a lot, mostly degrading me and confirming that I agree with him. Cliche stuff, like me being a whore, slut, dirty, and liking what he made me do to him, but also asked about my sex life and abuse history. He wanted me to say that my dad and coaches abused me, but I would not lie about that. Instead I told him some of the truth about my brother abusing me. That was probably the worst part. Saying out loud to SIK what I never used to admit to anyone, for his great pleasure, harmed me. That was worse that the physical stuff. Worse than making me kiss him during parts of it. He was also cruel. He tried to gag me and push all the way down my throat while he made him do oral. He pushed my ankles behind my head while he pounded me with his abusing thrusts. I could see the cruel lust in his eyes. I could see his wicked smile. He slapped my face many times, just not very hard. He did spank me hard. He realized he had me captive and vulnerable to his whim and he was finally living his darkest fantasies. I was doing anything he wanted and encouraging it because I wanted it to stop. So many times he stopped himself right before he was going to climax! He did not want it to end. SIK tried to have anal sex with me and I was accommodating him but he was just too big to fit. I was crying during most of this out of pain but trying to act like an eager partner to make it end. I later thought that might have prolonged it. SIK was probably the time that would prefer I suffer more, like I was being raped instead of hiding my pain. It was not much longer than twenty minutes but it was so bad and I relived it so many times in my mind before I got smashed drunk and high the next night after work. So the memory lived much more prominently in my head than a simple 25 minute encounter. I do reach climax easily, but I never had one orgasm from him because of his preference for causing sexual pain. When he suddenly released inside me he got quiet and barely said another word as he dressed, gun belt and all, and left quietly. I have no idea what that meant. It scared me. I was afraid while driving for a while, and avoided sleeping at home as much as I could, which sometimes meant sleeping with men and even male friends just to not go home. It was the main reason I did not renew my lease and moved it to a smaller apartment by myself. This was the same roommate whose father had already slept with me without my initial blessing. I did tell my roommate a short version of it and she reacted like it was cool story. I did kind of tell it that way, as a way of dealing with it. The easy path of least resistance. To not admit it may have been the worse sexual thing to happen to me. The true worst things that happened to me in my college years were broken hearts from losing men I loved. But those are stories for a different forum. I don’t put my heart out there to be trampled anymore. This incident was one of the wake up calls that stood out as an omen for me to change my whole lifestyle and try to salvage myself. It was also one of the things that took me the longest to mention to my therapist even though I thought about it during sessions.

This happened when I was 16 years old and had just left a children's home and was returning to leave with my dad. On the first day back home, my dad came to pick me up from the children's home and we went back to his house and he showed me to my room and after unpacking my stuff,I said I was going to take a shower and I went to the bathroom to shower but realised my dad was peeking at me shower. I was afraid at the point of time and didn't know what to do and after rinsing off the soap and drying off I went to my bedroom to dress and my dad raped me and told me it's alright and that he loves me very much and alright. 3days later my dad invited 3 of his friends over for a drink and I said I was going to stay in my room and read. 2hours later,all 4 of the burst into my room and 2 of my dad's friends held me down while my dad and his the other friend started undressing me and my dad raped me while his friend put his penis in to my mouth and force me to perform oral sex on him. After what feels like forever,my dad and his friends exchanged places. I was blindfolded this time round by my dad's friend who initially was holding on to my hands. So I now don't know who was raping me and who is having a go in my mouth and one of the shoot in my mouth and forcing me to swallow his cum and they exchanged places again and when they were done,I was told to go clean up but I didn't,I just took a towel and my wallet and ran out the house and flag down a cab and went back to the children's home and when the staff there who opened the gate to let me in saw my in distraught called the police and I was taken to the hospital to be examined. 2 days later I was told that all 4 was caught.

When I was 20 I was in college and I agreed to live with someone I knew name name for the summer while I worked a summer job. name had a number of disquieting habits that always kind of bothered me. He would tend to get into my personal bubble not my personal space too often. He also had a habit of seeming to get lost in the middle of the night going back to his bedroom from the bathroom. One night name opened my door and was standing in my room when I woke up and I said what's going on name? He said oh I must've gotten lost or confused getting back to my room from the bathroom, sorry. After that I started locking my door at night and there were a number of times when I woke up and noticed that name was trying my door knob in the middle of the night. And I thought what's up with that? But I didn't worry about it too much. One Friday I came home from my summer job and name was sitting out by the pool in front of the apartment with a pitcher of what he described as piña coladas. He invited me to sit down and have a drink. He poured a glass of piña colada's for me and said this is my special piña colada mix. I want you to try it. So we sat there and I was sipping on his piña colada and I got about halfway through and he asked me how I was feeling. I thought it for a little bit strong and I told him so. But name just said drink it up, drink it up, I want you to have another. I said I don't know name. This feels awfully strong and I'm feeling kind of funny. name said come on, this is my special piña colada mix. I made it just for you. You have finish it. You have to have another. I'll feel insulted if you don't. I don't know name, I said. I'm feeling kind of funny. But name got up in my face pouring me another glass and said you have to have another one. These are my special piña coladas. I made them just for you. You have to have another. So name poured me another glass of piña coladas, and took my empty glass away, and said drink it up drink it up. So I tried to drink some more. I got about halfway through the second glass of piña coladas and told name I just don't feel right. I need to get up to my room. I tried to stand up but was having trouble. name offered to help me get up and put an arm around me and helped get me up the stairs to the apartment. When we got inside, I told name I thought I needed to get to bed, I just didn't feel right at all. name got me into my room and set me on my bed and said here I'll help you get your clothes off. So he started taking off my clothes and then he pulled my underwear off. Then he pulled his pants down and had a big erection. I said name what's going on? He just started masturbating. My head was swimming, I was completely out of it, and I started masturbating too. Then he shoved me over on the bed. I said name, what's going on? I tried to push myself off the bed and turn around and he was trying to anally penetrate me with his penis. I shouted name stop, stop. I'm not a girl, I shouted. Stop! But I couldn't keep my eyes open and I just collapsed on the bed. The next thing that I knew I was struggling to breathe and it was pitch dark. I was on my back and something was in my mouth. I didn't know whether it was rubber, a piece of meat, or skin. But it was thrusting up and down in my mouth and hitting the back of my throat and I was gagging. And hair was brushing up against my lips. I was starting to come to rapidly. Suddenly I realized that name was on top of me and his penis was in my mouth. I started screaming. I may have bit him. I started thrashing and pushed him off me. I jumped up and realized I was in his bedroom and I didn't know how I got there. I was screaming and I ran to my room. I locked my door and started fumbling around looking for my clothes and my car keys. name was trying my door knob again. I screamed at him to stop, to get away from my door, to leave me alone. He's sad he was trying to check on me to make sure I was OK. I screamed what do you mean OK? What do you think just happened? What do you think just happened? This is not OK, I yelled. And then I yelled get away from my door I'm coming through! You stand back! I threw the door open and name was standing there. I shouted get back and brushed past him and headed to the front door. I ran down the steps past the pool and out to my car. I jumped in my car and started it as quickly as I could. I gunned the engine and raced out of the parking lot and onto the street. I was going too fast and I didn't know where I was going. I didn't know what to do. But I was heading in the direction of the campus. So I just kept driving. And then I turned on the street that my old dorm was on. There was an athletic field at the end of the street and I thought maybe I would park there and try to think. But as I was driving down the street I noticed the light on at this townhouse apartment where a woman I knew was staying. So I parked in front of her place and went up to her door and started ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door. She came to the door in a bathrobe and asked name 2 what's going on? I told her name just attacked me. She told me to come in and tell her what happened. I was standing in her living room just shaking and crying and probably not making a lot of sense. So she told me to come into her bedroom and she had me lay down on her bed where I just laid and cried and sobbed. She tried to ask me what happened. Between sobs I tried to tell her name attacked me. name sexually attacked me. She said she didn't think name was gay. name had a girlfriend. She asked me if I thought I might be gay. I said I didn't think so and I didn't understand what had happened. I told her I thought he drugged me. I just sobbed and cried and cried, and I wasn't making a lot of sense. So at one point she just pulled a blanket over me and laid down herself and turned off the light. I cried myself to sleep. I started stirring when it was getting light outside. I didn't know where I was. I was trying to understand what was going on. Had I had a terrible dream? Was it a nightmare? But when I opened my eyes I saw that I wasn't in my room and I was on this woman's bed. She was asleep, but it was clear this had been no nightmare, this was real. I tried nudging her and told her I have to get up and go get my things. I have to find someplace new to stay. Then she stirred groggily and said I'm sorry I have to go back to sleep, I can't help right now. So I got up and went out to my car. I sat out in my car trying to think of what to do. I didn't feel safe going back to the apartment by myself. I thought maybe I needed some kind of weapon to protect myself. The first thought in my mind was I've got to figure out how to buy a gun. I don't know how to do that. I've got to figure this out. But then I thought if I get a gun, I'll probably end up shooting him and end up in a jail cell and my life will be over, or I'll shoot myself and my life will be over. Then I thought maybe a knife, maybe I should get a knife. But then I thought I might turn it on him, kill him, and end up in a jail cell. So I settled on the idea of getting a baseball bat. I had to go find a sporting goods store or a store that would sell a baseball bat. I drove to the local mall and waited outside of a department store that I knew had a sporting goods department. I had to wait until they opened up at 9 o'clock. Then when they opened I went inside and bought a heavy wooden baseball bat. This is what I would use to go back to the apartment to pick up my things and protect myself. So I drove to the apartment parked my car and walked up to the apartment door holding onto my baseball bat in my right hand the whole time and I turned my key in the lock and name was standing there in the living room. I held up the baseball back and said name you stand back! You stand back! I need to get my things! name motioned with his hands that it's all right, and said everything's OK. I yelled it's not OK! You stand back and let me get my things. I'm not staying here anymore. So I went to my room and I locked the door and put the bat down so I could pack my things. I had a simple college trunk and a knapsack and I just filled them with all of my things. At some point name was fumbling with my door knob again. I yelled for him to get away. He said he just wanted to make sure that I was OK. I yelled I'm not OK what you did last night was not OK! I'm not living here anymore! name said it's OK, you don't have to live here anymore. I guess I'll find somebody else. I yelled what do you mean you guess you'll find somebody else? What do you think happened last night? Then I yelled you get back, you get away from my door! I'm coming through! I tried to pick up my things and my baseball bat and opened my door. I held up the baseball bat again and said name you get back! He was motioning with his hands like everything's OK, everything's OK. But I just yelled at him to get back and let me past. So I pulled my things to the door holding that bat the whole time and keeping an eye over my shoulder to make sure that he didn't come near me. Then I pulled the door open and pulled my things out and closed the door behind me. I picked up my things and headed down the steps looking back over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't being followed. I headed past the pool, and out to my car. I loaded up the car got inside and started driving. I wasn't sure where to go or what to do. I needed to find someplace to stay. So I drove to the campus to go find a copy of the student newspaper, which often had listings for apartments for rent. I think there was an ad for one of the fraternities which was renting out rooms for the summer. I wasn't excited about that prospect, but I needed some place to stay. I needed to keep working my summer job and making money so I could come back and finish school the next year. So I drove over to the fraternity and spoke to the student manager and he said they could rent me a room. It wasn't clear if I would have the room to myself the entire summer, but they could rent me a room. So I got my things and I moved in. I wasn't comfortable that night. I couldn't lock the door and I kept thinking about name and worrying about somebody coming through my door in the middle of the night. Also there were people in the fraternity that were goofing off half the night going up and down the stairs, making noise, and it was hard to sleep. And I also laid in bed every single night thinking about what happened to me and wondering what does it mean? How did this happen? Am I gay? Does this mean I'm gay? I didn't feel like I could tell anybody anything. I spent the next few months socially shutting down. I didn't really see any friends. And I didn't talk to people. I couldn't tell anybody what happened to me. I tried to pretend that nothing happened to me. I kept repeating to myself over and over again. This didn't happen. This didn't happen. I felt like if I kept repeating this didn't happen over and over again then maybe I wouldn't feel like it happened. Maybe I could pretend it didn't happen. Maybe I could erase it from my mind. And I kept thinking that was the only way I could get through this, just pretend it didn't happen. If I kept telling myself over and over and over again that it didn't happen, then maybe I wouldn't feel like it happened and maybe everything would be OK. And that's how I got through. I eventually started socially opening up again. A couple of months later one of my friends told me that he was gay. He also told me that he was interested in me. I was still asking questions about my own sexuality. I didn't know what the sexual attack had meant about me. I didn't know what it meant about my sexuality. I ended up fooling around one time with the gay friend. But it didn't feel right for me. Slowly, I got on with things. I eventually got my own apartment. I met my college girlfriend my senior year. I finished up school and I went on with living. A couple of years later, when I had moved across the country, my phone rang one morning. It was name. And he just kept repeating I want to do that thing with you again. I want to do that thing with you again, he sad. I was in shock. I hung up the phone. How did he get my phone number? How did he track me down? I spent a couple of days reliving in my head what happened to me, but then I started to snap out of it. I still hadn't told anybody anything about what happened to me and I wasn't going to. I was going to ignore this. A year later, I was seeing a dermatologist about venereal warts. He asked me if I engaged in homosexual practices. He said he'd only seen venereal warts in people who engaged in homosexual practices. This is so triggering and brought back uncomfortable memories. But I just told him no, I'm not gay. Well I had to endure a series of painful chemical skin peeling treatments that went on for months. Every time I saw this doctor he asked me if I was gay. He said the question was nonjudgmental, he wasn't judging me. But I just told him no I'm not gay. I could not tell this man what happened to me. And I put it out of my mind, I tried to put it out of my mind. I tried to go on with my life. But I've endured plenty of triggering events, and suffered flashbacks ever since, During periodic physicals, things like prostate exams--the doctor poking around through the anus sets me off and leaves me depressed and miserable. I have avoided things that I like, like swimming, because I can't stand to use locker rooms where other males are in a state of undress. When I see naked men, my anxiety goes through the roof. I'm now working with a therapist trying to process what happened to me. I was sexually assaulted 45 years ago. Try as I might to forget, I've never gotten over it.

I am ready to share my story. I am 57, a mom, daughter, sister and friend. I am a survivor. It is 51 yrs ago that it happened to me and it is a memory that is as present and vivid in my mind today as it was that Saturday night. My grandma went to Bingo like she always did and I was at home with my grandpa. The hockey game was on because it was Hockey Night in Canada and every Saturday night that’s what everyone watched. Sitting beside him on the sofa, I was eating potato chips when he reached into the bag and pushed it down between my legs. He didn’t look at me when I looked at him and moved away. Instead he moved the bag and started fondling me. I was terrified, crying and saying no, no, no. He just kept on touching me and I didn’t like it, told him to stop and he kept watching the hockey game then asked me if I wanted to go and lay down with him in grandma’s bed. I said no and sat in the kitchen where I could see him, waiting for my grandma to come home. I always slept with her. I said nothing because I did not know what to say? I never went near him again. He was crippled, walked with crutches and never touched me again. I saw him try to touch and grab my cousin when she was dancing around the house in my grandma’s nightgown. She never said anything and laughed about it. I never understood but it made me feel afraid. I knew it was wrong. I hated him. When my younger sister was 9, he tried to touch her and she told our parents. All hell broke loose! My dad was so angry, asked me if he ever touched me and I confessed out of fear! My aunt and uncle stopped my dad from wanting to beat the living shit out of my grandpa because he was a “cripple”. They didn’t want any shame to come to the family, couldn’t send a cripple to jail and what about my grandma? As I heard all of this, I just cried and was ashamed, embarrassed that me and my sister were causing so much trouble. I was now 11 yrs old. Carried that secret with me for all those years and wanted to just die, disappear. You see, my aunt and my uncle, their families knew about my grandpa’s molesting behaviours because he molested their son and daughter before me and my sister. My dad supposedly didn’t know. Do I believe that? Honestly no, he and all of them knew what a pig their father was and did nothing to protect younger grandchildren that came along. My younger sister broke the silence, the cycle and nothing was done other than protect the grandparents and their families from any shame. It wasn’t until I became a parent at 38 that I was able to appreciate and experience true love as a mom, realizing my baby was my heart beating and living outside of my body. No one would ever hurt her as long as I live and breathe. I suddenly felt very different toward my father (deceased) and family. I questioned my step mom and aunt, asking them how could they choose to protect that person who was a repeat offender, a predator whom they called dad and never once did he or anyone in that family ever hold my hand and apologize to me for what happened? No one ever said anything to me, not a word nor an apology or how it impacted my life. I did tell them how I felt and my step mom was very compassionate, understanding and said she was very sorry she couldn’t do anything to help me. She was married to my dad who called the shots. My aunt? She had a lot to say and it wasn’t nice. Her thoughts were that I had parents who could’ve done something and it wasn’t up to her to do it. That’s where she is wrong and this is what I told her: I have a child and I have 2 nieces and a nephew. If anyone in my immediate or extended family ever did anyone of them harm in their actions, words, I would not hold back to protect them and make sure the perpetrator was called out, reported to authorities and held responsible for their action. I told my aunt she was the biggest hypocrite, coward, liar, worthless piece of shit on the face of this earth and that she was not worth the breath I breathe to waste another word. Being a mother, she should be ashamed of herself just as her mother and father, siblings should be. I said what I had to say and it was cathartic. My grandfather died in his sleep, he was found dead on the floor by my grandmother. My father, uncles and aunt saw that with my grandmother. I went to his funeral because I had to. My sister and I did not shed a tear. He deserved what he got and so did my father, aunt and uncles, grandmother. I have never gotten over this and still ask myself, why me? What goes through the head of a grandfather to look at his 6 yr old granddaughter and decide that he wants to touch her body sexually? Want to lay down with his 6 yr old granddaughter and do what? Who lets this behaviour just go unnoticed, when everyone knew about it because it happened to grandchildren before me? All of these people are deceased now, except my aunt who doesn’t speak to me at all after I confronted her about 15 yrs ago. My final words to her, she couldn’t handle and somehow still blamed everyone else and took zero responsibility because my grandfather molested 2 of 3 of her kids (older than me). I made her uncomfortable, I forced her to acknowledge that she was as guilty as her pedophile father because she knew and did absolutely nothing to stop it or make an effort to protect innocent kids in her family, like me. I hope she suffers til the day she dies with that guilt. Somehow I do t think she loses a wink of sleep. Perpetrators, wrong doers don’t. For me, I’m surviving every single day. I lead by example for my daughter, to keep her safe, understand and create clear boundaries with people whether it’s family, friends, co-workers, doesn’t matter who it is. If something is t right go with your gut and tell ME, tell someone you trust, love and never be silent. My voice my daughters voice is powerful. This has affected me my whole life. For that I will always hate my family.

I was 17 years old and I started working at Location 1. I was estranged from my family and I was living house the house and getting a job to try to finish high school and to get my own place.So I was going to school all day and working from 3 to 11 every night. Back then the minimum wage was under two dollars an hour so you can only imagine how hard I had to work to save. The manager of the company had a disability with his hand so he wasn’t able to do much physical stuff with that particular hand. So we come to work and he would pick on just a few girls but mainly me. Yell and scream at me he called me names he called me horrible sexual names he tell me that I was no good and then I had to go clean toilets for four hours or I’ll be fired. And he would follow me into the women’s restroom and try to put his hands on me and he wouldn’t stop talking about things sexually. I felt so uncomfortable I felt scared I was 17 I didn’t know what to do. This went on repeatedly being trapped in the room in the ladies room or being trapped in the corner of the kitchen always having his hands all over me I did everything I could to pull myself away from him but he kept touching me and if I was pulling myself away he would start swearing and calling me horrendous names while he continued to threatening my job. He threaten to call the police because I was 17 he threaten to call the state if I didn’t let him touch me and kiss me. I was so scared I was so worried and I just kept pulling myself away from him as he was literally throwing himself on me and it was just horrifying he was touching me everywhere he was trying to kiss me he was pushing me down and I just despised going to work the next day because I knew it would happen all over again. I was so scared that he was going to fire me and report me to the state for being a minor. But after Seven days and my first paycheck I just couldn’t go back anymore. So I just didn’t go back I didn’t call I just didn’t show up. I am 55 years old and still affects me to this day. Then it continued my next job was a team working for Person 1 in Location 2. The Person 2 used to corner me in the copy room with your hands on me and one went as far as following me home again terrified. He sexually assaulted me and I never said anything I just never went back to work again. Then I took a job in wises supermarket and Location 3 in the meat and bakery department thinking I could be away from people. And the meat butcher used to corner me in the freezer he’s trying to kiss me constantly is putting his hands on me he’s constantly sexual comments it just never ended I managed to push through for a year of putting up with that but then eventually I quit. I went to school for nursing and then I got a job working with doctors and they did the same thing one particular doctor or dentist would body shame me make me feel like I was less of a woman but then he would make comments about my Feminine body parts continually. It just got to the point where I felt like there was just no way around this if I wanted to work I had to put up with it. I wish things were different back then like they are today. The PTSD that I suffer is tremendous. But I would love to be able to help others

When that person tried to kill me, no human tried to save me. Only my cat, then 1-year-old, warmed my body which was going to be cold, losing 1 liter of blood. My mother told me "you choose who you marry" and went on to complain about my father, who was also abusive. I told her "You choose him". (I didn't victimize anyone except my cat, unlike my mother) Why I as a woman and women in East Asia are taken so lightly?

I was sexually abused by my father when I was 8 years old. Once I got a bit older I realized the damage that it was bringing to my life. At 15 I finally told my mom what my own father did to me. In my early 30s I began going to church faithfully and that’s when I finally forgave him. Fast forward to when I turned 35 I received a phone call that my dad had been arrested for something similar. And currently at the moment I am fighting for justice once more. Hoping that finally this can be put in the past.

So I am currently in a gap year and it has given me a lot of time to think about my future but also my past. I was 9 when it happen, I remember quite a bit and it has been jarring to look at that memory 10 years later. My cousin she was 12 at the time. I was visiting like I normally did at the time but this visit was different as we were left alone in the house for a better part of the day. We were going to take a bath together like we would normally do but then she said she had something to show me while the water was running. She went into her parents room and came back with a magazine, it was a porn magazine. She closed the toilet seat and said that she wanted me to do what some of the men and women in the magazine were doing to her. We kissed, touched each other, and rubbed our genitals together. We then went on to bath and she didn't really say anything after we were done and I didn't really know how to feel because she was all smiles and happy and I was out of it and I think I have been out of it for most of my life because I have never told anybody what happened. It honestly feels like an out of body experience thinking back on it because it was basically buried in my subconscious and It has affected a lot of my life. I don't know if she remembers but I do, and she's meant to come over for Christmas and I don't know what to do because I basically cut off all communication once I remembered what happened. And we are meant to be super close but I don't know how I am meant to interact with her.

I Say No More because there are too many of us living and struggle with our everyday lives because we are ashamed about what another person has done to us. Me for an example; my abuse was on and off throughout my childhood. The longest lasted 4 years. By me staying silent for so long, to I have PTSD, Emotional Disorder and Depression. I had to learn how to gain control of my life that I didn't know for the longest that I could. I'm taking it one step at a time. See those people may have took away my childhood but they couldn't take away my LOVE, JOY and now my PEACE away.

being a COCSA survivor. It has been very confusing. It happened almost everytime i saw my cousin. He was only 1 year older than me. He would show me porn and would explain it to me. All in detail. Then he would tell me to do sexual acts infront of him or he do sexual acts infront of me. He would always say he liked my moans and my body... Always wanting to take a peak of me undressed. "I love you, it's our little secret". He would always say. I didn't really realise it was SA until i learned about COCSA. I was only 7-10 when these things happened. He made me dirty like him

It's been 7 years almost to this day since I was raped. Seven years of denial, acceptance, denial again. Seven years of hiding how I am feeling from everyone I know and love because I feel like I should be 'over it' by now. Seven years of wanting so badly to talk about it, to share my story, to take away the guilt that I feel for something I was never guilty of. But always being too afraid. Too afraid of how I'll be seen. Too afraid of if I'll be judged. Too afraid of not being believed. But finally I am on the journey to understanding that for me talking is taking back my power, sharing is taking back control and connecting with people with this shared experience is giving so much power to our voices. Every healing journey is different, and I hope sharing mine will help someone else in theirs, because I know reading everyones experiences and sharing my own is extremely helpful for me. Xo In my third year of college I decided to go to Peru during the summer to volunteer in a home for children who had suffered through childhood SA and violence. I lived in this home for 6weeks and helped with daily activities, cleaning, afterschool fun etc. While there myself and my friend decided we would leave for a week or so to see Machu Picchu. We headed for Cusco and found a travel agency which offered a 5 day adventure trek to Machu Picchu which involved white water rafting, hiking and ziplining...every 22year olds dream trip. The trip started off amazing. Our local guide seemed so kind and interesting. He shared so much of his culture with us and our group was getting on amazingly. Then 3days into the trip we stopped in a small town with a bar. We all had dinner together and decided we would go out to the bar for a beer. We were all dancing salsa and having a good time. My friend and a few others decided to go home and I was left alone with our guide and some people from another group. I felt safe. I felt like we had all built a connection over the previous three days and a trust had been built. Our guide offered me a glass of beer from his bottle and told me he would teach me how to say cheers in Quechua. We shared a drink, chatted a bit and Then everything went black. From that moment on all I have are flashbacks. Nightmarish glimpses of what was happening to me, to my body, while I was helpless. The next morning I woke up in his bed with him next to me as he spun some story about him needing to protect me the night before because I got too drunk. And telling me how nothing had happened. I was groggy and confussed and sore and had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach but no real idea of what had happened or what was going on. I looked for my things and tried to get out of the room as quickly as possible....we had to leave for the next destination in 10minutes. As i left his room my friend found me, she was so worried but I still hadnt processed what had happened and I dont fully remember any of that morning. As the day went on the memories became stronger and the sinking feeling became more and more intense. I finally confided in my friend about what had happened. Thankfully she believed me, but the other girls in the group did not. I warned them to keep away from the guide but they said that it must have just been my imagination. We continued the two day trek. I acted as if nothing had happened. I even remembering trying to get the guides attention, not knowing how or what I was feeling. He ignored me. When we arrived back in Cusco we got the first possible bus back to Lima, back to the home, earlier than planned. A few weeks later I started final year of college and things finally began to sink in. Thats when the panic attacks began. The crossing the road if a man walked behind me. The need to be clean. The self isolation. Crying in the car, crying on the bus, crying at work, crying in college. Then soon after this I began to pretend. Pretend like I was fine and nothing had happened. I began to hide from it all, and in doing this hide who I am as well. Thankfully I am finally on the road to accepting my story and feel strong enough to share how I truly feel so that I can continue to heal. I can acknowlege when I feel down but also am beginning to feel true happiness again. I can think about what happened to me and share my story without being filled with a feeling of dread of how people will percieve me. I have accepted my story, and although I obviosuly still wish it hadnt happened, I am beginning to truly love the strong, resilient, empathetic person it has helped me become! xx

I grew up in violence- my neighborhood, my school, my home. I grew up with constant insults and indignities because of poverty and a violent brother. So when I met Jack when I was 22 and he was a bully, dismissive, insulting and emotionally difficult for me, it all felt normal. But, as I got older I knew I had to get away from him. He limited my relationships and always found ways to subvert my work while belittling me for not keeping jobs. I tried to leave many time but he bulleyed, frightened, pleaded, coerced, apologized, threatened until I took him back. Then when I was 68 and he was 69 he left to have a “selfish bucket list fling” with a former girlfriend. He expected to come back after 2 months. He didn’t believe me that I was divorcing him and signed the papers without reading them. It has been 2 1/2 years and I am still fighting the battle in court to actually get the court ordered alimony that is coming to me. I am not homeless. In fact I live in the home we bought and remodeled. I have a very good life. He had me convinced that I would be back in poverty if it were not for him. I feel more well off than I ever did with him. Plus, his negativity, meanness, and general bad behavior are out of my life at last. I wish I had had the courage and strength to leave years ago and save myself and my children from his abuse. But I am happy to heal my relationships with the people I love who he kept away from me for all those years.

All the memories that my mind seems to easily access day after day, are so much more difficult to verbalize. I have never shared my story, but thought this may help and maybe help others too. It's seems so selfish sharing it so I am glad this is anonymous so I don't carry guilt or worry of people's opinions. Due to my past, I have had a hard time separating myself from being the sexual tool and being normal. My parents separated when I was 3. My mom used heroine and married an abusive man shortly after. There's was extreme physical abuse in the home. (he beat us, locked us up, beat a dog to death infront of us, even shot my mom in the leg and made us care for it) When they ran short of money for their drugs, they would offer their friends to sexually assaulting me. I was 4 to 5 years old. They also encouraged my younger brother and I to act things out with each other. He would have to pee on me or I would have to play with his privates. I was once taken to a party at a house. It was a mansion with an elevator that I thought was so neat. I was taken up to a room and different men were allowed to touch me. Only one man actually had intercourse that day. I still have nightmares about him. All if this was soon found out and I was sent to live with my dad. He was an alcoholic so we stayed at my grandma's often. My brother, my younger cousin, and I played "doctor" all the time. It was all we knew. One Christmas when I was 8, I was told to go get my cousins. They were 16 and 18 and their friend. When I knocked on the door they told me to come in. They raped me in every way possible. No one even noticed I was gone. I went to the bathroom after and I was bleeding. I thought I was going to die that day. I thought I would bleed to death. That night my 16 year old cousin apologized and promised to keep me safe. For 3 years every time I was at my grandma's, I would sleep with him and he would rape me but gently. He told me I would be his wife. He told me he loved me and would always keep me safe. Whem he turned 21, he got another girl pregnant. He told me he had to marry her. Then he went home and shot himself in the head. I felt heartbroken. I slit my wrist to end the pain, but failed. My mom came back into my life with a new husband. He started wanting me to try in clothes for him. Then he started coming into my room and night and pleasing himself over me while touching me. I told my mom and she said no, he was abusing only her. She kicked him out. He hung himself shortly after. I had started acting out. I was giving 12th graders hard jobs in 7th grade on the bus. I thought my job was to please men. I was 15 before I realized that I was wrong. This realization came from people at school starting to call me a hoe and making fun of me. I changed my behaviors with lots of work. I had to watch other adults to figure out what normal was. People would ask when I lost my virginity and I didn't know what to tell them. I struggled mostly in relationships because I put all my value as a wife as how I could perform in bed. I carried so much guilt for the people I abused as a young child when I didn't know any better. Especially my younger cousin. I was only 5 or 6, but he was 3 or 4. He now is sitting in prison for drugs for a long long time. I wonder if what I did changed him like it changed me. I hold so much guilt for that. My brother is a drug addict and I wonder if what we did had a play in that. I feel guilt, like I was a year older and should have been protecting him. As an adult I can protect myself more. My dad did grab my butt and tell me I was sexy about 10 years ago, but I dont see him any more. My mom starvation from doing drugs 5 years ago. It is just me and I think about the toll it all has had on me. I feel different than everyone else. I feel damaged. I disassociate often. I have to ground myself. I domt trust people. I see the bad people can do, even people that seem normal. I grow every day though. I try to be the woman and mother I needed. I push myself to be better every day. I now have a great husband. Although I am unable to feel love, he still loves me daily. I have the most amazing kids. They do good in school and are great little people. I am proud of how far I have came. I still hold so much guilt, but every day is a new one.

My father sexually assaulted me multiple times when I was very young. After I grew a bit older, probably around 5-6, he stopped directly assaulting me (penetration) but the abuse continued. I wasn’t allowed to shower by myself until I was 12. He would ALWAYS shower with me and masturbate while I stood there. I still live with him, and I don’t know what to do. Though I’m a legal adult I don’t have the money to move out on my own. I can’t tell anyone in my family because I’m afraid they won’t believe me. I hate living this life with this dark secret. I’m so tired of it.