Community

When I was 9 years old, I had a best friend. I would go to her house often, and I never questioned or tried to stop her when she taught me sexual things. Looking back on it now, I know she was being sexually abused. She told me to keep it secret, and consistently teased me into thinking her grandmother was going to walk in on us. It’s all learnt behaviour from a predator. Her grandmother never checked up on us, I didn’t see it back then but she was neglected and severely lonely. She would tell me to take my clothes off, we would sleep naked together. She told me it was exploring, and I truly wish I could remember all of it because there are so many gaps in my memory where I think it couldn’t have been that bad or maybe it was worse than I remember. I remember her in between my legs but I don’t remember what happened, I get really really disgusted at myself for having encouraged this. I never told her to stop, and now I have a hard time accepting that it wasn’t my fault for stopping her. Either way, I remember constantly having UTIs that never got checked, and I can’t blame anyone for the situation. She was taken advantage of as a child only a year older than me, and it’s not her fault. I can’t help but blame myself, and it plagues my mind on the daily. This went on for 2 years, and I remember the UTI being so frequent and so bad I had pissed on her bed while naked. this was while I was 10, and it was completely humiliating. My past is something I find so so shameful and I struggle to come to terms with the fact that this will never leave me. I can’t help but wish the best for her, the anger is directed at me more than anything. I am healing from this, and I hope one day I can help others who went through complicated SA experiences that aren’t as openly discussed.

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.

Abuse isn't always physical. Your trauma is real and valid. I am sharing my story of abuse in hopes that it will help someone who feels lost. Someone who was in the same situation as me, unsure if they should go to therapy, confort their abuser, report them, or any combination of those things - because they thought they were "being dramatic" or "overreacting." Your trauma is valid, your feelings are real and deserve space. When I was 20 years old, I got into a long-term relationship with a man who was very fun, charismatic, outgoing, charming. Everyone seemed to like him, and he had a lot of friends. We will call him Partner 2. A few months before meeting Partner 2, I was in a short-term relationship with someone (call him Partner 1). One day I felt something weird "down there" and went to the hospital, where I found out Partner 1 had given me three STDs, one which was not curable. I broke up with him because I found out he was cheating (which is how I contracted them), and went to get tested again for the same STDs. I took two more tests, both of which came out negative for all those STDs. With this confusion and conflicting results, I disclosed this information to Partner 2 when I met him so he could decide if he wanted to pursue a realtionship. He consented to starting a relationship under those circumstances, and we began dating. The red flags appeared in the form of alcohol abuse, where I would find him drunk out of his mind wandering the streets of our small town, wandering into traffic, as well as drinking and driving. He did many things to hurt me that weren't "abusive", but as we fought about those things, he got increasingly "fed up" and the arguments got worse. One example I will give is: on the day of my birthday, he left town. When I called him in the morning of my OWN birthday to ask if he wanted to get breakfast, he said that he was busy and that he had been "planning this weekend for months" (to go fishing with his dad). Obviously, I was hurt by this because he knew it as my birthday and chose that specific weekend to leave town. It is something that any couple would fight about, except he did things like this ALL THE TIME. As months passed he began to get increasingly comfortable saying horrible things to me while he was drunk (blaming it on the alcohol). Then he began being comfortable saying them while he was sober. Until about 1 year into our relationship, he was diagnosed with the incurable STD I had warned him about months before. That is when things took a turn, and he began physically abusing me. Now, when he would get drunk, he would say "you did this to me you b****, you gave me this disgusting disease", "you're a effing whore", "you deserve to die" and other things of that nature. The first time he "touched me" was a year and a half in. I remember very clearly, I did nothing to "instigate" a fight. He was drunk, and he thought I said something that clearly hurt his ego. He grabbed me and started choking me on the bed, and as I fell onto the bed my leg went up as a reflex and I kneed him in the stomach. He blamed the "fight" on me, saying that I kneed him in the stomach and he was defending himself. I took my things and left immediately, only to find he had followed me. He began choking me further, pulling my hair, and eventually picking me up and throwing me into a ditch. My parents came to pick me up as I called them crying, and they documented several bruises all over my body. The next day, he apologized and promsied it would never happen again. That he was "just drunk" and that I can't let anyone else know it happened or he wouldnt forgive me (again, blaming ME saying I started the fight). After that, the physical abuse escalated in frequency. One night he was drunk, he picked me up and threw me on the ground again. Another night he was drunk, he choked me on the bed at a party and went out to mingle and dance with his friends as if nothing happened. I always had bruises on my body. While in the beginning he would say "I will never do it again", it later became "you deserve it, you gave me this disgusting disease" and even telling me that he hates me to my face. He threatened me saying that if I told the police, that he would tell them I gave him the STD without his consent and that "it must be illegal" (I didn't know if it was, I was very young and unaware). One night we were invited to a house party with his friends in another town. We would have to take the train to go. Right before we left, I felt a lot of sudden urges to pee. I had to pee every 2 minutes. By the time we got on the train, I couldn't hold it anymore and I knew I had a UTI. I asked him if he could come with me to the hospital and he said "I don't really wanna miss this party" and I got off the train by myself. I got on a taxi to the nearest hospital, with the WORST case of a UTI I have ever seen - my pee was just blood. He didn't care, nor did he come to check on me after the party. I was VERY clearly not loved by this man. One of the worst nights, we went to ANOTHER party for one of his friends. His friend ended up wanting to meet us at their house after the club. "The after party". They gave me the address since he was drunk out of his mind, but gave me the wrong one. I was trying to tell him in the cab that we were at the wrong place, and he jolted out of the cab. I quickly ran up to him and said, "we have to go this way" and he was like "What did you say to me bit**?" and began assaulting me. He pushed me to the ground, and began choking me in the middle of the street. It went on for about 40 minutes, I recorded it. He kept saying over and over "you did this to me, you gave me this disease, i hate you". I ended up being able to become free from him, and when I caught up to his friends in the apartment building across the street, I said to them "he's been abusing me for months" as I was crying, and NOBODY CARED. It was a cry for help that nobody cared for. I ended uup going to the police station that night and reporting him. They asked me if I wanted to press charges, but I was too afraid because of what he had said before threatening me. Cops helped me go and get my things from his house the next morning. When the cops came into his house he was the charming guy all over again, saying to them, "Well, you know officer how these things are. Women sometimes get like this right?". His father, who KNEW he was abusing me, looked at me and said "did you guys get into another fight?" and I said "your son is an ABUSER." and walked past him. After that, it's a blur. I don't remember how or why we got back together, out of my own fear. I never pressed charges because he kept intimidating me. But eventually, I moved to a new town about 3 hours away. I kept in contact with him, he would visit me once a week, but was still abusive. Finally, one day, I met my now husband. On that very day I met him, I blocked my ex and never looked back. He made attempts to contact me, but he hated me so much that I think he didn't care if I left. It was always about his ego and the fact that "no one would ever fuck him with that STD". I am now happily married, and although it was a very traumatic experience, my husband is the most caring, patient, docile person I know. He radiates love and kindness. I hope whoever you are out there, whoever is reading this, I hope you find that too. I hope this helps put into perspective that abuse doesn't always involve punching or breaking noses, but it's also subtlties like neglect and name calling. All those things can escalate and lead to physical violence. I hope YOU get yourself out before it ever gets worse. Remember that your life is precious, and no one can take that away from you.

raped and sexually exploited in a cult, by a bishop. After 10 years, while he had also occasionally sexually agressed other women, the organization received an official complaint by the daughter of a high ranking member, (so she was believed and acknolwdged - not like others before her) and the organization held a meeting to talk about it for 1 hour, many women came forth. and at the end of the meeting we were told not to talk about it to anyone, to protect the cult's public image! 8 years went on and I had no symptoms, although I was on anti-depressants. Then I began a romantic relationship and gradually went of the medication. I then also lost my mother to cancer. I started to have anxiety reactions and insomnia but my partner didnt see a need to talk about it. I was not sure what I was experiencing, and it made no sense that it was related to the previous long term abuse. My partner knew I had endured a lot but didnt want details - repeating that it was in the past. I pushed through, didint want to be handicapped by my past, didnt want to be damaged or limited. But after 5 years, my partner started another relationship with someone in another country, without fully disclosing their relationship. The culmination of his behaviour, my gut feeling that something was off, the fact that I wasnt sleeeping well for years, the increasing sexual intensity and high chemistry with my partner, and the fact that He also abused me (tying me up ordering me to silence, and sodomising me, and other abusing acts the last 19 months of our relationship) ... I lost my mind! I concluded I was deserving of abuse, that I was an horrible person, etc. Since then, 8 years have passed. I denounced the bishop rapist 5 years ago, nambe witnesses and 20 other victims and a trial is coming up where I will have to testify. Terrified. Alone, no family or friends. I have contacted over 100 therapists to seek support. 60% do not reply, those who do are often not qualified in trauma, or do not offer services covered by the indemnisation for victims. And the rest have waiting lists that I never get any news from. I have contacted all the women centres for victims of sexual assault in my city, without success. I have read, watched, healed best I could by myself. Rebuild from shame and the conclusion that I was deserving of abuse since my chosen romantic partner abused me while knowing I had been abused and not abusing his new partner. I am surviving, still chest pain, still isolated and only going to grocery stores. not confortable with cashier. I dream visualise, hope, write, that I will experience a healthy, supportive relationship before I die (I am 53) but time is passing by without much improvement. Alone. Watched documentaries like NXIUM, Playboy secrets, Scientology, etc and so much similitudes.

When I was a little girl, somewhere between the age of 6 and 10, my cousin who was 5 years older, locked us up in the bathroom and forced me to put his penis in my mouth. I was afraid, I thought it was not a fun game and I wanted to get out as fast as I could. But he said that I had to do it, that it would be fun and that he wouldn't tell anyone. So I did. I remember the smell, I remember the shame and I remember knowing it was wrong and that I should tell an adult in my family. Weeks later, I told my godmother who told my aunt. They decided to keep it to themselves and made sure I was never left alone with that cousin again. Nobody talked to him, noone told him that it was wrong, no one asked why he did that, they did not ask me if I was OK and they did not alert my parents. Everyone was afraid of talking about it. So silence was key to everyone forgetting about it. Later in life, when I was 17 or 18, I was staying at that same cousin's place. he was now in his 20's, and he tooked me in his arms and rubbed his clothed body against my clothed body in a way that resembled sexual foreplay. I was stunned and didn't have the strength to say no. He let go of me eventually and went into another room. I was afraid to move. A similar feeling of wrongness and shame came over me and around that time I decided to start a therapy. I didn't know who to turn to but I was recommended a female therapist in her 40's by my OB/GYN. When I told her the first story, she said that it was just kids playing bathroom bambam. About the second story, she said that it was curious that I did not find the strength to say no. I agreed. It was curious. But that did not make me feel validated. If my own family didn't address this as an issue, and a professional therapist didn't think it was a bid deal as a kid and told me that as a grown up woman, I should just be able to say no, than maybe I had been giving too much importance to these experiences. Maybe they were not that bad. I could always think about way worse things that had happened to other people. Mine did not matter as much. I did not matter as much. In my late 30's, I finally told my mother what had happened. She was furious, sad and angry for a couple of days. She has never mentioned it again in the last 6 years. The worst is definitely not what actually happened. The worst is the silence and taboo around it that grew thicker every year. And yet it has shaped my sexual life, my relationships with partners and with family members. What has helped me for the last 15 years is to have the full validation from an amazing partner who is always ready to listen, allow me space to feel and reflect on what I consider now sexual trauma, for lack of better term. I feel understood and seen by him. Sharing this here I find also very helpful. Thank you for this space.

I wrote this letter to my uncle who has always played the victim. Dear Uncle X, It has been 28 years of this haunting everyone involved and after all this time I have never spoken up directly about this because I did not want to stir the pot, but now I feel it must be said because I cannot have this haunting my family anymore and you keeping attacking us. Up until the first incident you were my favourite uncle, the one I would gravitate to, I bet you never knew that. Yet you were also my first sexual encounter, the first time I ever felt an erection, the first person I was terrified of. I remember walking up the stairs slowly trying to get to the bathroom and you would call me into your bedroom and pull me under the covers, I remember feeling your erection against my backside, while you patted me, this happened on many occasions. I remember sleeping on the couch and feeling your breath on my face as you stuck your tongue in my ear, I remember the shock and fear of this. I remember the feel of your hands on my buttocks and my breasts, I remember you putting my own small hands in your lap. I remember hiding in the bathroom with the chain lock in place and you pushing yourself against the other side of the door asking what I was doing in there, while I watched your eyes try to see past the lock. I remember pushing the dresser against the door in the front bedroom and hoping you didn’t come in, hiding with my cousins and little sister. I also remember how it felt to be told by my own grandmother not to say anything if I wanted our family to stay together. I remember the call my parents got in the middle of the night and being told over the phone that this was happening to us, months after telling our grandmother, aunt and uncle about the incidences. I remember hearing my mom scream and my dad yell, I remember my brothers’ eyes as he stood at the bottom of the stairs wanting to leave to find you, but stopping because my dad, your older brother was crying at the top of the stairs. I remember the fear, excitement and relief that they finally knew, but I also remember listening to my own mother crying and trying to hid it from us, while she blamed herself for not protecting us from you. I remember that many who new choose to blame us for your actions. I remember sitting in front of a stranger in a closed room while I told them what you did to us. I remember hugging my little sister, who tried to stay strong and protect me while I felt guilty that I could not protect her. Does this sound like a girl who seduced their uncle (as grandma would say), who had the devil in their eye? who is being vindictive and ruining your life? You were supposed to protect us yet you didn’t and worse yet you blamed us for it. You played the victim, you played the one who is hurt by all this and claims it had destroyed your life. You who got married and had kids and owns a house, you who has gotten to have most of your siblings stand by your side back then. You have managed to convince your wife that we seduced you. I was the oldest and only 12, a very young naive 12-year-old, my sister was the youngest at 10, four children, four people who got their lives forever altered because of your sexual urges. Imagine for a moment that this was your child or your step children who were being molested and people who new blamed them for it, saying they seduced a full-grown man, then try to imagine that person coming back over and over again saying that your child is lying, that it is their fault and that they ruined that grown man’s life, that is what it has been like for us over and over again. Your actions have taken its toll on us. Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear your own grandmother say you had the devil in you? Do you know what’s it’s like to have letters written saying they believed we acted inappropriate and that we won’t be coming around their husbands because we would seduce them? We were just children. One week after my own wedding my mother had to kick my grandmother off the front lawn while she screamed at my parents that “if we had of been raised right this would have never happened” in front of our neighbours. My own honeymoon was darkened because you both thought we should help relieve your lives. Everything in my life changed in an instant, it changed the first time you choose to act out your sexual urges on children. I cannot speak on the other victims behaves, but I will say this, look at the other victims, look at their current lives and where they have ended up and know that their lives could have been different if you had of keep it your pants. Each one of us has been fighting their own demons over this part of our lives, you let others attack us verbally because you were a coward and choose to let children take the blame for your urges, you let the family be destroyed because you would not do the right thing. I spent many hours trying to come to terms with it all and the damage it caused me. I struggled with it every day, it is not just the inappropriate touching but the way it was handled. It’s the way you and grandma and the ones who knew made me feel about myself. Not once have you stood up and said you did wrong, you choose to blame children instead of admitting it was you. I am 40 years old now, I have two wonderful children and I have a great career as a Registered Nurse in an acute care setting. I managed to get my degree in Bachelor of Science in Nursing, a diploma in Pre-Health Science as well as a diploma in Medical Office Administration, all with honours, and I did all of this as a divorced, single, full-time mom. I have had many ups and downs but I am strong, I am a fighter, I am smart, compassionate, and most of all one heck of a mother to my children. Your actions will no longer have weight on my life, it will no longer define me, it will no longer be something I survived, I choose to triumph and rise above it, I choose to forgive my extended family for their parts because I choose to love me. It is funny though, the one line that sticks out throughout the entire CAS file, which is 32 pages in length is the you stated, “I’m touching you because I need a girlfriend,” this one reason is why our lives were forever changed. signing me.

It was 2017, I was in an unhealthy relationship with someone who located insecurities and used them to wear down the people around him, including myself. I had urged him to go to a party in city 1 when he was there for business, he went begrudgingly but ended up meeting a celebrity 10 years his junior, who was the exact same specific ethnicity as me, the same body type, the same hair and eye colour just richer, younger and famous. Naturally he cheated on me then left me to go and be with her in city 1. I still can't stand watching her show, even though they've separated now. My life then became a domino effects of all things that lead you to the bottom of the barrel. I lost my apartment and was sleeping on friends couches including my ex's house with his housemates who I believed were my friends also, I lost one of my jobs, I was constantly looking for rentals but the housing crisis made it impossible. Then I was unexpectedly nominated for a prestigious award in my field and work I had done was being screened in another country and I was asked to attend the event. Things looked like they were looking up and both events were a wonderful time but when I got back, I was still homeless for another 10 days before I could move into the room my friends had that would become available at the end of the month. Enter - an odd man 15yrs older than myself, whom I met in a social setting before my ex left me, knew about my break up from his friends and reached out to me through social media and when we chatted he learned I was staying on couches and offered me his apartment while he was away in city 2 for two weeks. I took the opportunity to finally shower without taking a whole suitcase into a bathroom and having four walls to myself. He gave me the key then departed. It was bliss. Until he claimed he was lonely on his trip, messaged me several times each hour around the clock (including through out the night as he rarely slept) and would get upset with me if I ended answer. I felt strange, like I owed him that attention because he was doing me a huge favour and was helping me through a terrible emotional time where I was also deep in an eating disorder that left me very physically weak. I cried every day for months and was deeply depressed. He began calling and face-timing with me while he was away and could be very sweet or very cold which scared me a great deal because he's a scary looking, very tall and unpredictable individual. He seemed like he cared and I ignored the hackles that went up my back when I got the sense I was in danger. He then suddenly arrived home early without warning and I still had a week until I could move into my own place. He told me I could stay and he wouldn't get in my way etc. I said I'd make him meals to thank him for letting me stay. What followed still confuses me to this day, even with years of working with my therapist to face the trauma inflicted by his hand. The things I know for sure. - He had sex with me and I did not give consent. - When I did eventually give consent, it was out of fear for my life when he had shown physical aggression and intimidation. - He isolated me from every single one of my friends and family by subtly suggestions flaws in their character that "proved" they did not have my best interests at heart. - He drugged drinks that he would make me, I'm still unsure with what type of drug but whatever it was made me very easy going and agreeable as well as want to dance. - He eventually began to try to control what I wore, ate and when I slept. - He would love bomb me then berate me to both extremes. - He would flex his control over me in front his friends. - He made me undress until I was naked in front of his friends. - When I left the apartment he would call and demand to know where I was and who I was with as well as when I would be returning. - He yelled at me, shoved me against a wall to threaten me and verbally abuse me and slammed several doors in my face. - He eventually retrieved his apartment key from me so that he had both and my coming and going was dependent on him allowing me to leave or not. - He waited for me to fall asleep and then he would come into the bedroom to have sex with me while I was "asleep" where I would go to somewhere else inside my mind and wait for it to be over. I then discovered through a friend that there were more women he had done similar things to and abused and our official reports are being compiled. I am still very scared of him, running into him at an event or on the street and I still feel such rage that it shocks me and worries me that such rage could be present inside me. My therapist was incredible and I have learned much from that year of hell. I have moved past shame, guilt and embarrassment and I have a loving, compassionate partner now and I couldn't be happier. I saw Evan Rachel Wood's documentary and everything she had been through with her abuser and with both her stories of the detailed abuse as well as the level of public/celebrity attention on her while she endured the years of it, I so painfully related to both aspects and my silence, like hers, came from fear of what that man could do to my career, my reputation and the power he had in the professional/social circle we both are a part of. I am stronger now. I know who I am. And I know I will name him.

We get on the late bus we’re going to take to get to my house, the “activity” school bus, since we’ve stayed behind after school. He leads me to a seat somewhere in the middle, then shields us from the thin stream of other students trickling in. Without warning, he leans forward and kisses me. The instant our lips meet, a white-hot something flares up inside of me and I think: I don’t want to do this anymore. I pull away almost immediately, the kiss lasts only a few seconds but it feels like an eternity. He says in an almost condescending tone, “That was physically nothing. You made it sound like you knew how to kiss.” As though he’s entitled to someone more experienced. Of course I don’t. Does he not understand what a first kiss is? Did I even like it? Before I have a chance to say anything, he pulls me in and kisses me deeply, his lips pressing against mine. A translucent blush clambers up my neck and caresses my cheeks before it digs its nails in. Once he’s done, he gets up and switches seats, leaving me alone for the remainder of the ride home. In the thick, heavy, humid air of my room, mingled with the smell of our sweat, his cloying scent—of cologne, tropical gum, and mint with a hint of vanilla—penetrates my nostrils. His cruel hands emerge from the shadows, tangled in my hair, cradling my jaw. Without a sound, they slither to my waist. Unsatisfied, they creep, groping lower, wrapping around my hips. His touch is unforgiving. It makes me want to cry. His hands move like it’s easy, like he doesn’t have to think before using me. I can’t tell the difference between him and the dark. It’s so opaque I can’t tell if my eyes are open or closed. I can’t see anything. I can only feel. He kisses me relentlessly, ruthlessly, his lips warm and wet. The sound is nauseating. It makes my skin crawl. As his kisses deepen, they turn cold as he slips his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like all the tears I wish I could cry. He was soft, even gentle at first but he’s allowed his obscene hunger to consume him. He’s getting rough but I can’t say no. I can’t say or do anything, I’m running on autopilot. I tear away from myself, it feels like my soul has been taken out of its socket. I’m a detached spectator watching it all unfold as I hover outside of my body, facing the scene. I don’t recognize the boy kissing him back. It can’t be me. This can’t be happening. But it is. We barely part for air because he just won’t stop. Even when we pause for the briefest moment to catch our breath, I can still feel it. His phantom lips on mine. I didn’t think it would be like this. I don’t want to watch anymore, disgust roils in my stomach, but I can’t look away. Cacospectamania—an obsession with staring at something repulsive or vulgar, where our tendency as humans towards morbid curiosity comes from. I can’t close my eyes and even if I did, the sight has already burned itself into my eyelids. I feel sick. I can’t breathe. But he doesn’t stop, he takes and takes as my skin begins to simmer with the invisible fever beneath his skin, poison seeping through my veins. For the first time, he asks me before he does something. “Can I kiss your neck?” he asks. Without thinking, my head automatically falls forward in a simulated nod, even though I don’t really want him to. My mind is utterly blank, I can’t comprehend, can’t process what’s happening. I’m not even looking at him, I’m watching from behind, peering over my own shoulder into nothing. My motionless body buzzes like a hive, vibrating from within. I feel his hot breath on my neck like a wolf panting on the fur of a rabbit. He kisses it roughly and it feels like he’s rubbing my skin raw. He traces one point along my jugular with his lips and tongue, like he’s a vampire trying to suck the blood out of my body. I wonder if he can feel my pulse screaming his name. I do not want this—it hurts, it hurts like hell—but my body unspeakably betrays me. Pleasure rises to the surface, giving me a high I’ve never felt before and will never feel again. My sole reference is the only other kind of high I’ve experienced, the rush spilling one’s own blood brings. Soon enough, I will slice my skin open in a futile attempt to bleed his fever from my veins. Except this is different. It unfurls like a vapor from the thick ice cover of numbness across the white, barren landscape within my chest, melting from the heat of our bodies. I retreat into my mind, bent on my hands and knees over the foggy surface, and try to break through to and unearth the fear buried far beneath. But it doesn’t feel good. Not in the slightest. The tingling, throbbing skin on the left side of my throat and all over my lips ache as though I’ve been stung by the restless bees inside me. I don’t know if this is normal or not. I wonder, Is it supposed to sting? The sensation is like rope burn, in the same spot where a noose had once dug into my flesh, leaving my skin scraped scarlet from the weight of my body I had left to the mercy of gravity. But at least that left a mark, some kind of proof, even if it was superficial. When it comes to him, all I have is the hurt. Nothing to show for it. Later, he hooks a finger on the collar of my v-neck T-shirt and tugs down. Dizzying, deep, instinctual fear drenches me, ice water being poured down my front as my heart drops to my feet. It arcs through my body, as sensitive as a live wire, electrocuting my nerves. I’m drowning in it, it’s so dark and cold, it’s like being plunged into a frozen lake and pulled to the bottom. I don’t know which way is up or down. But I know I’m going to die. Either from fright or from him. I manage to break the surface and as I do, I push him away with every ounce of my little strength. I’m so scared I can’t think straight, I can’t think at all. Every other emotion has left me except for the terror coursing through my thrumming veins. He’s going to rape me. I’m going to die. He practically said it before, when I told him my mom wanted me to keep the doors open. ‘What, does your mom think I’m gonna fuck you or something?’ The doors are closed. No one is going to help me. In stark contrast to me, he is harrowingly calm. But I can feel him trembling. Why is he shaking when I’m the one getting hurt? Is it excitement? Fear? Shame? Desire? I want to scream and cry until I’m wrung dry of tears, but my voice is stolen from me. I open my mouth but the sounds die in my throat, in the same way I will, an endless, excruciating death. I wish I could say, “No! Get off me. Get away from me. I don’t want to. Stop touching me. Leave me alone. Please. Don’t. Stop it. It hurts.” But he is the only one who can speak. I don’t want to listen anymore but it doesn’t matter. His voice is faded but his words are clear as a bell. “Don’t worry, I’m not taking anything off.” He’s trying to be reassuring but it doesn’t make me feel any safer. I don’t know why I reluctantly go back to him. I thought I could trust him. I wish I hadn’t. When I innocently drape my arm over his waist, he looks at me and says in a blasé tone, “You don’t know what turns me on, do you?” I quickly pull my arm back and cradle it against my chest like a bird with a broken wing, fear turning my blood cold. His expression never changes. Mirroring the countless times he’s gotten turned on by me and verbalizes it, regardless of my then asexuality. Later that same night once he’s home, I regrettably send him a poem with the misnomer desire, simply detailing the strange, foreign sensations all over my body, awaiting his lips and hands—or in retrospect, his hurt—to return. He responds, ‘You’re so sensual.’ I imagine him dragging out each word, slow and sultry, as though to entice me. At some point, I bite down on the inside of his lip. He pulls away and his mouth splits into a chilling smile. He says, “You bit me.” I apologize, even though I don’t mean it. Nothing I do stops him for longer than a few moments. He is ravenous, starving for me. He cannot get enough. He devours me. All I can do is watch, a ghost witnessing their own demise. Words no one else can hear are whispered in my ear from behind me. “This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.” I believe them because it’s better than dying. His response when I later told him it didn’t feel real? ‘You know it was.’ He says, ‘You’re mine, now. Forever.’ I imagine him saying it with a sadistic, self-satisfied grin. The words like hands pinning me down, shrapnel embedded in my skin. A brand on my soul—unforgettable, claiming me, marking me for life. His name threads through, weaving its way between everything. It carves itself into my heart and fuses with my bones, swirling in my bloodstream—every wounded bit of me engraved as his. I wish I could find the voice to say, “I’d rather die than be yours.”

I was in High School and he was my boyfriend. I don't remember the amount of times he SA me, but I do remember how he did it. I remember the things he would say before he did it. The things he'd say during. And how quick he was to put the blame on me once he had finished. While I was enduring this abuse, I was perceived as a psycho girlfriend who was emotional and dramatic. No one questioned the bags under my eyes, the bruises and cuts on my body, my sudden weight loss, how uncomfortable I was in his presence, or the fact that another victim of his came forward. Instead they perceived me as the girlfriend who was an emotional wreck, an attention seeker, a drama queen. No one cared to look deeper. I felt failed by my peers, by my friends, by my best friend, by my teachers, and by the one guidance councillor I opened up to. I still feel failed by them. But there was one person who DID help me. She was a surviver also. A girl who opened up to me about her story in class one day. "Until it happens to you" began to ring true to me. I wasn't judged or questioned by her. I was accepted. I felt accepted. And so I want to thank her. Thank her for saving me, in a time where she also needed saving. For helping me understand something she didn't even understand herself. For having the courage to speak her truth, despite only knowing me for a short period of time. And for looking deeper. Please reach out to other survivors if you are feeling alone. The mutual understanding between survivors is a feeling unmatched. I love each and everyone of you, and wish you nothing but a safe and happy future.

I'm 20 years old and i'm expecting my first child. I wrote a story here a year ago maybe more.. it was about the time my stepfather molested me at just 12 years old. That was unfortunately not the first time where a man made me feel unsafe. When I was 8, me and my family were staying with a friend and her husband. He was an angry drunk most of the time who liked to hit her when he thought we weren't looking. One night he came into my room and crawled into bed with me and for a while he just held me, I thought I must have been having a bad dream, but after a bit his hands started moving and I just pretended to be asleep when he moved to lie on top of me. I don't remember much except for the pain, weird burning sensation and the sounds he made during and after it was done; I think he knew I was awake the whole time because afterwards he whispered to "sleep tight dear". I felt disgusting and gross and so confused, I just laid there shaking not sure what to do; I guess I must have passed out because I woke up and there was a lot of blood and I didn't know what to do. I tried asking him in the morning and he said that if I ever told anyone he would kick my pregnant mother and my siblings out and we would all be homeless. I felt so ashamed and I tried telling his wife/my godmother but she didn't want to hear it.

I’m 56 years old and have spent most of my life trying to understand what happened to me growing up — not just what was done, but what was allowed. My mother didn’t hit me. Her weapons were colder: control, shame, silent punishments, and subtle emotional games that left no visible marks. She taught me love was conditional. If I pleased her, I got slivers of approval. If I spoke out, I was punished or exiled. Even joy was rationed — too much of it and she’d find a way to ruin it. Her moods ruled the house. Everyone learned to tiptoe. She told others she was doing her best. She played the victim so well — struggling mom, too burdened to care. But at home, it was all about control. She’d withhold affection, twist your words, cry on command, and convince you that you were the problem. I internalized all of it. I grew up believing I was unworthy, difficult, broken. Worse, she brought a man into our lives who raped me. I now know she saw things. I remember moments — things she would have had to notice, hear, sense. But she chose silence. Whether out of denial or protection for herself, she turned away. That betrayal has been harder to heal than the abuse itself. Because the person who was supposed to protect me not only failed to — she facilitated the harm. When I became a mother myself, I tried to do better — to break the cycle — but the damage was already seeded. It affected how I parented, how I loved, how I trusted. It fractured parts of me that I’m still putting back together. Even now, my mother continues to manipulate and control. She paints herself as a caretaker, but she makes dangerous decisions. She isolates her dying partner from his loved ones and undermines his medical needs. She is still trying to rewrite the story. Still trying to erase mine. But I won’t let her. I’m writing this because I need it spoken somewhere outside of me. I need to reclaim the truth: I was there. I didn’t imagine it. And it wasn’t my fault. To anyone reading who is still doubting their memory or blaming themselves — I see you. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. And what happened to you mattered. I survived her. I am still here. And I am no longer silent.

I can't remember the month I met him or the day he became a coworker. I just remember meeting him and thinking he was shy. I remember him having a friendly smile. Something about him made me feel safe. He was kind and patient and empathetic. I guess our friendship started when I needed someone and I was vulnerable. I've been happily married for over a decade. Even now, I've haven't spoken about what happened. I feel dirty. I haven't been able to write about what happened to me. For a long time, I blamed myself because I was high when it happened. I was so high that I couldn't feel anything. There are blank spots within my memory, but I do remember the first night. A few coworkers and I had decided to go out for drinks and play pool at a local bar. He offered to drive me home and we talked. It was nice. After a few hours, he picked me up again and we drove around the city. It wasn't long before the feeling on his hands were on my skin. I asked him to stop and he did for a while. He drove into an old church parking lot and we continued to talk. He knew I was married, but he wanted to kiss me anyway. When he leaned in, I told him no. I don't quite remember the rest of the evening but I remember reading the time and seeing 2:13am. I told him that I needed to go home, but he said I had to do something first. I thought he was joking. He placed my hand on his lower body. I pulled away and told him no. He said, "Please. It would feel so good and I really need this." I told him we shouldn't, but he was persistent. He continued to grab my hand and put it on his crotch. He said it would feel better if he was able to "take it out". I asked him to stop and he said, "Sorry." I was grateful he apologized. "I thought you wanted this, though. You got me hardd, so now you have to finish," he said. I kept saying no and he continued to be persistent. The only answer left was to say yes. Externally, I said yes but internally I was saying no. I figured if I could make the situation less unpleasant, it would end quickly. I laid in the passenger seat feeling his hands move from my upper body down to my groin. He asked me to turn around and bend over. I told him no. He said, "I'm almost done. Please.. I need this." Even after saying no, he was persistent. I should have walked away or called 911 or called my Mom. Anything to save me. But I knew if I did, it would cause chaos. I was located 30-45 minutes outside of town - it was dark out, and I was worried he was going to hurt me or kick me out. I feel guilty for allowing him to touch me. It's hard not to feel guilty even though I froze and did what I could to survive. I returned home confused about what happened and acknowledged that I had not consented to that encounter. I know what assault is. I didn't want this to happen and I said no. Yet, it happened anyway. I learned about sexual coercion a few months after. This continued for a few months. He told me that I was a cheater because I didn't walk away. I feel like a cheater. I feel useless and powerless because he told me I had no choice. I feel responsible for what happened, but confused because it was unwanted. All along I've been wondering what he took from me. He took my consent.

I grew up with an alcoholic, violent father and a mother who, to this day, can’t even remember most of the things he did. Eventually, my brother turned into an even worse version and was also abusive towards me, he even beat my ex boyfriend and was extremely jealous and overprotective of me when it came to guys who would try to approach me, I started feeling that having a boyfriend and falling in love was a “bad thing”. Eventually I started a relationship with a guy who lived in a different country, he seemed perfect but my mom was for some reason concerned. I ended up moving to his country and we got married, after we got married his behavior changed completely. I felt like I was basically living under his roof and like he was living like a single guy. He was doing drugs behind my back, he was cheating a verbally abusive. I would try to confront him about the things he was doing and he made me feel like I was the crazy person, he would also call my parents and sister to tell them I was very immature. He knew I would never tell them everything he was doing to me, and I felt like I didnt have anybody to talk to about what was really happening. One day he forced me on the floor, I can literally still fell the texture of the carpet against my chin. He would travel a lot, so one day I just packed my bags and left him. He eventually filed for divorce and I was served on valentine’s day at work in front of my team. It took me a week to read the papers, for some reason I just couldn’t. The papers stated I made him marry me because I wanted the residency and he was also trying to take my dog from me, my dog is my biggest support and he obviously knew that. It took years for the divorce to finalize. Everything started back in 2018, I still struggle. I haven’t been able to start a new relationship and I am sabotaging myself with everything, including my professional life and that was the one thing I was really great at. For the first time I realize that I need to find my support system, that there is hope. I don’t when I’m going to stop blaming myself and punishing myself for my decisions, but I am eager to do the work to get there. To start putting myself first. I have Justin Baldoni to thank for. Thank you for spreading awareness. Thank you for being brave enough to share your stories. We are all worthy of a healthy love.

Tears fall from my face when I have flashbacks. The amount of times I’ve ran to the washroom and cried remembering those nights. Frozen in fear, unable to move. Feeling his hands on my skin. And hearing his voice as he tries to make sure I’m not awake. The excuses I’ve heard and the disbelief I’ve been through, that I still go through. Most dont believe my story, they believe his because “how could he do that?” They act like he never added the second part of his side; he admitted to touching me without consent. People don’t realize that I check that the doors are locked before I go to bed. They dont realize that I always have an eye on him making sure he’s not about to pull another stunt. The excuses they use. They believe his excuses and act like nothing happened. Sexual assault has been normalized but they forgot about me who’s still drowning in grief. The little girl inside of me was forced to grow up that night. That part of me that I will never get back. The fear that I will never lose. And the memories that can’t be erased. Most blame it on the clothes I was wearing. Those nights I was wearing pajamas. Shorts and a tank top. Considering it was 40° outside I believe I had the right to be wearing those clothes. When I think about that night my heart gets heavy. It’s like my heart gets bigger and it’s pushing against my chest. Every time I have a flashback I relive the experience. I feel his hands on me and remember the pain I felt. Most survivors say that they were almost broken, but I dont think I qualify for almost broken. I am broken. And I surprise myself everyday that I don’t cry in front of him. People think I need words of encouragement but in reality I need a hug. That's all I want, a hug from the right person. A hug.

This happened when I was in grade 3, a boy and I had known each other since kindergarten. We went on the same bus, had the same teachers and classes and even the same stop. So obviously me and him were close. One day he brought his iPad on the bus, me and him had been playing around and I had said "If you win, I'll kiss you." It was a joke. I had been laughing and smiling nothing flirtatious just innocence. He won, grabbed me by my neck, caged me against the seat, and kissed me. Tongue and everything. He did this till the school year ended. Anytime I fought he'd bite me or tighten his grip on my neck. When I told teachers they didn't believe me. They believed his version, that it had never happened. When teachers started to wonder he'd say that I had consented. I didn't know what to call it for years later, until I saw a post on COCSA. I still struggle to call it that, because I worry if he was right and I had consented.

A few nights ago I went out clubbing with friends. I got way drunker than I had expected to, and when we arrived at the club I ran to the dancefloor while my friends finished checking their coats. A man started to try to dance with me and grab me, and before I had time to realize what was happening, I was being kissed. I was able to push him away and go find my friends but didn’t really process what had happened. The morning after, I felt really uneasy and unsettled by this experience. I don’t know if I would call it assault, but I think I still feel really violated that it happened. I was clearly way too drunk to have consented to the encounter and I’m upset that I now have this on my mind. I feel like I was taken advantage of by a stranger because I was too drunk to say no or resist. I just want to get over it and stop thinking about the experience but I feel like I’m burdened by the fact that this happened now.

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