This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.
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If nothing else is true in life, it is that the sun always rises. It might be cloudy. It might rain, or it might storm. But no matter what, no day lasts forever. No feeling lasts forever. Even if it hurts right now, and it feels like someone is ripping out your soul—I promise that the feeling does not last forever. And if you reject everything I said above, just know: I love you. We may never meet, but I love you. I hope that things get better for you. I know that they will, one day.
Healing means protecting people — the kind of protection that I was never given.
I still struggle with thinking about what happened to me, even though it feels like it happened a lifetime ago. Which is funny, considering that I'm not that old. I was abused by a family friend. He ran a doomsday, end-of-the-world, religious right type of radio show in the late 2000s, early 2010s. It started when I was eight, and it didn't end until he went to prison when I was twelve. He used me in CSAM, and involved his own children in it as well. Sometimes I feel like an absolute monster for what he made me do. For what he made us do to each other. For what he did to us. I still think that some part of me is fundamentally broken. That he was right about it all — that God didn't care. That I was *his*. Logically, I know that he wasn't. Everyone that I've told (who believes me) knows that he wasn't. But sometimes I think that I never grew out of being that scared eight-year-old girl that didn't know what was happening to her. I think she's still there, somewhere, buried under the floorboards of his house. I don't know if the feeling will ever go away.
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