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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.

For like three years I’ve been picked on at school but in a weird way. This group of guys would shove each other into me saying things like ‘I know u want it’ two of them would take this as an excuse to touch me, then when I got moved next to one of them in maths it just got worse and he started threatening to r@pe me. There was also a situation in pe when one of them threw a ball at my bum then laughed about it with his friends. When I told the school they got them to stop talking to me but it doesn’t seem as tho they care. Now I cant focus properly in any of my lessons

It took me years to come to terms with what was really happening. When I was 9 years old, I met a boy online, and we quickly became friends. We knew everything about each other - He was 15 when we first met. When I was 10 and he was 16, he asked to be my boyfriend. Being a naive 10 year old girl I said yes. I can’t be mad at her for that. It was innocent at first. Just what you’d expect from a childhood relationship - “I love you, goodnight.” “Hope you’re doing okay.” “Let’s play some games together!” The only difference was that one of us were nearly an adult. Someone who should have known better to not even THINK about being romantically involved with a 10 year old girl. However, it went sour. He started talking to me about sexual subjects. Stuff I wasn’t at all familiar with. He’d make us roleplay situations, what he’d do to me if he got ahold of me in real life. Asking for photos. Guilt tripping me for seeming “off” or uninterested. I began to feel distressed at the time, but I was so young, that wasn’t really an emotion I had felt before. I told myself, this sick feeling must be love. That must be why I feel so nervous, why I feel knots in my stomach when I see his name pop up on my screen. I was very attached to him, at least I thought I was. I was always picked on in school and the few friends I had were awful to me, so he was my only real friend. My worst fear was somehow losing him, and he must have known that I thought that. He took advantage of that, and would guilt trip me at any opportunity to make sure I did whatever he wanted me to. After a while, he broke up with me, but we were still very much so “friends”. We would talk everyday, and he was still just as inappropriate and creepy with me as he was before. Throughout the years, he would begin to talk to me about worse and worse stuff. He explicitly told me about his attraction to children, and that he worked as a teaching assistant in a primary school. I tried to brush it off and keep it at the back of my mind, but I got to tipping point last year when he started to pressure me into meeting with him in real life. It went on for 7 years. I hate to say it, and it makes me sad for the little girl that I was, but the rest of my childhood was stolen from me. I’m 17 now, about the same age he was when we met. The thought of EVER saying the stuff to a 10,11,12 year old that he did makes me feel physically ill. I still haven’t fully processed what happened to me, but I’ve been working on it. I’m yet to cry, at least properly, about it. The thing that sucks about this is that this went on for so long, that it felt completely normal. The people in my life who know all cried when I told them. It felt unfair, really - that they could cry about it. And I’m just stuck in a mindset I’m desperately trying to get out of where this is normal, and I feel completely numb. Recently, I decided I wanted to do something about it. I went to the police. This night, I sent off old screenshots of conversations between us to a detective working on my case. It’s terrifying, being that vulnerable. But I feel obligated to do it. The thought of him being around children all day makes me sick. I don’t care if he doesn’t go to prison - as long as he’s never near a child again I’ll be happy. That’s why I’m doing it. I won’t let shame and embarrassment stop me from doing this, and I especially won’t let my brain tell me he doesn’t deserve punishment. Because that’s exactly what he’d want me to think, too.

DECADES When I was 22 years old, I was on a college campus with my finance and decided to go out to the car at 11 pm to get the left over cake we had brought from dinner. I man walked near me and I said hi, and proceeded to get the cake. The man came up behind me and flipped me to the ground trying to rape me. I screamed, time slowed down and I remember hearing my Mom say that my car keys are a weapon so I started jabbing him with them. I struggled free, ran to a building, falling on my way. A driver arrived who heard my screams from blocks away and the police were called. The police even thought they got him and showed me several photos of similar looking men, but I couldn’t make a positive id, so he was set free. After this sexual assault, I bought a gun, moved in with my fiancé, took self-defense classes, read books, saw a psychologist who diagnosed me with PTSD due to overwhelming anxiety that paralyzed me. The world was no longer safe. It resulted in triggers, and brought back my first sexual assault as a teenager in a crowded bus in another country of an older man pressing his erection against me as I keep moving away from him toward the front of the bus, until I finally found another teenage who I could sit on her lap to get this stranger to stop. It has been 64 years since I was attacked in that parking lot. I have been happily married for 64 years and have a positive self image. BUT, I still can’t wear skirts. I still can’t go in parking lots alone at night and am uneasy going anywhere at night. I can’t watch a movie or play that has sexual assault or the anxiety becomes overwhelming. I still own the same gun.

my brother SA'd me multiple times. he never raped me, though. he once forced me to kiss him on the mouth as a "game" of some sorts. he would also smack my ass, call me a slut, and shame me for everything. before he got on medication, he would beat me up. he's on medication now, but he's still terrible. he got mad at me and said he would gangrape me. he never did, but it was still scary. i hate him, and he says i'm a bad person for hating him. he also denied ever SAing me. sometimes i feel like i'm delusional or something. i don't know, i'm just tired of living with him. i can't wait for him to move out.

It wasn’t until I read this platform that I realised what happened wasn’t trivial. A friend at the time told me to go to the gardai, if not for me, but for anyone else who might have been affected or might later be affected, because you just don’t know. I handed them everything, and they did nothing. If it wasn’t for the help of my friends I don’t think I would still exist. I attempted suicide 6 years after it happened because the concept of getting serious with my boyfriend meant in my head that it would happen again. I suffered flashbacks and he was always so patient. I’m happy to say, now that boyfriend is my fiancée, it does get better. I was in college, I had a serious eating disorder, and this guy was the only one who didn’t try to change me but accepted that I was very sick and didn’t demand that I eat. In hindsight that was a huge red flag. He was happier that I was vulnerable and didn’t want me to get better. After a year together he started to get violent. He refused to let me be by myself. I remember very distinctly the first time he got violent on my birthday, and the only place I could be was in my bathroom because it locked. I sat there all day, knowing he was outside, not knowing what would happen next. When I came out, he was just watching tv as if nothing had happened. He would routinely steal my debit card and buy food for himself, knowing that was my food budget for the week, and none of what he bought I was comfortable with eating. He kept me from recovering for two years. At one point, he took every penny I had, and had no money to go home for the weekend. I had to lie and tell my parents I was staying there to finish essays, I was so ashamed that he could control me like that. I was in denial, believed it was just harsh words and he didn’t know himself or his strength, I was just too weak. I tried to break up with him, but he guilted me into taking him back, saying no one else would ever love me. I took him back. We went to a Christmas party, and he made me feel guilty for him because he ‘missed’ the last bus home, so he asked to stay on my couch. I couldn’t say no. He knew everyone else was out at the Christmas party, so he coerced me into sex, as he had done before, but I saw it as a way to give him what he wanted to avoid him getting violent. Until then the sex got violent too. That night I didn’t consent, I actively said no. I cried quietly and when it got worse I asked him to stop. In response, he strangled me till I couldn’t see properly, and left bruises. When I tried to scream he clawed at my face and scratched my retina, leaving me needing glasses (which I never needed before). I bled everywhere, but he just went to sleep with his arm around my neck so I couldn’t leave. The next day I went into uni, and tried to tell a former friend who studied law, but because she was his friend she joked that he was into BDSM and things like that happen all the time if it just goes wrong. After she told him that I had mentioned it he had me sign a ‘contract’ that said how good he was at sex. I honestly can’t remember how he convinced me to do that, it was all a blur. I don’t remember most of that year, but I know he sent me threatening letters that never stopped until I moved house a year later. After that, as she was the first person I told, I thought no one would ever believe me. But a friend, without me saying anything, let me know that he knew something had gone on. Something was wrong, and finally I told him. He convinced me to tell others, to go to the Gardai, to get therapy, to go to the rape crisis centre and tell them. Another friend let me stay at her house almost all the time as he sent me death threats by text and on social media. They pulled me through university and helped me in any way possible, organised for me to have a separate exam hall from him, and even brought me on nights out to know that I was still able to have fun, and I was still loved even after it all. My one regret is not pursuing it further. He’s an occupation now and I dread the idea of someone that evil near other people and in a position of power over others. I lose sleep over it. I wish I could get back the gardai file and insist that yes it was that bad, yes he is violent. I could stay at my own home for two years. I lost several stone with fear and worry. But I finished my exams, I finished my degree, went on to further study and even found who true friends are.

I grew up thinking that my body was not my own. I experienced child sexual assault and rape all before the age of 14 and that shaped how I viewed my body and the world around me. It took years, almost a decade, before I would seek therapy and try to start my healing journey. I felt so disgusting in my own body and it made it hard for me to have romantic relationships. Therapy has really been helpful and sometimes I still feel that discomfort in my body but I am learning everyday that what happened to me is not my fault. I also have grown to learn that there are bad people out here and that there is nothing that I did to deserve what happened to me. Although my abuser is free to roam the world as if he didn't harm me and my rapist is free to live his life as if he didn't rape me -- I find peace in knowing that I am healing despite what they did to me.

It was shortly after I had turned twenty when it happened. I had met him on a night out 1.5 years before while I was traveling and we had hit it off. He was the first guy I really really liked and to my 18 year old self it seemed like love at first sight. I had never experienced anything as intense before. We went on a date but nothing more than a goodnight kiss happened. After I went back home we periodically kept in touch. Come next year, and I flew back to visit a good friend of mine. He knew that I would be in town again and we made plans to catch up. As soon as we saw each other again all the butterflies came rushing back. We went to a bar, had some wine and a great conversation and everything seemed so easy and good. That night we slept together the first time. It also was my first time and I wanted it to be with him. He was gentle, caring and much more concerned about my wellbeing than his pleasure. He communicated constantly. He asked if I was okay. I fell asleep in his arms that night thinking how lucky I was. So I was completely blindsided for what happened the next time I slept at his place. He asked me if I wanted to come over to his apartment for a movie night and a sleepover. I was a bit hesitant to say yes. Not because I didn't want to see or be with him in general but because I had gotten my period a day or two before and I knew I didn't want to sleep with him during that time. But I didn't want to text him that, so I agreed and thought I would just let him know in person when it came to that point. (Did I mention I was super naive?) I was so sure that, even if a little disappointed, he would understand me. That it would be enough for him to just cuddle and be together. Especially after that first night it never even crossed my mind once that he might not respect my boundaries. But I was wrong. While watching the movie we had started kissing and making out a bit - all of which I was totally on board with. He had started to undress me and when I was just in my underwear I told him to pause. I explained to him that I was on my period and that I was sorry but I couldn't sleep with him that night because of that. He told me it didn't matter, that it wasn't weird or gross or anything like that. That it was normal. That it didn't bother him. Which was all nice and good but this wasn't about him. It was about me being uncomfortable and weirded out by the idea. Not to mention that I had just started being intimate with someone and period-sex was the absolute last thing on my mind I wanted to try out. So I kept saying "I don't know", "I'm not sure", "But it still feels weird..." and we dropped the conversation and went back to kissing. In my mind I had told him I didn't want to go further and that the matter was settled, even though I didn't outright say no again and I wasn't very firm in the way I was speaking. But maybe he thought I was reluctantly agreeing? Because just a few minutes later he was on top of me, asked me if I was "ready" and before I could even process what was happening he pushed himself inside of me. He didn't wait for an answer. I can't even recall him removing my slip or putting on a condom. I just froze. I couldn't move or speak. I didn't dare tell him that he had just pushed the tampon I was (obviously??) using inside of me and that I was in pain, because I was so ashamed. Somehow, I thought it was may responsibility to let him know beforehand and that I had neglected that responsibility. I prayed he didn't notice. My mind couldn't understand what was going on and how the situation could have taken such a turn in a matter of minutes. I couldn't for the life of me comprehend how that was the same person who had been so incredibly gentle and caring before. How was it possible that now he didn't look me in the eyes, kiss me or ask me if I was okay? How could he not notice that I wasn't making a sound or participating at all? Or was I just being overly sensitive? So I laid there and waited for it to be over, trying to hide my face from him because I wasn't sure what kind of emotion it was showing. After he was finished he threw away the condom and came back into bed. He gave me the same shirt to sleep in as he had done the last time. I was still in the same spot where he had left me. When he crawled under the blanket next to me I thought, no I hoped, that he would pull me close to him. That we would cuddle again until one of us fell asleep. I needed to feel some sense of normality. But instead, without saying a word, he turned me around so that I would face the wall instead of him. Then he went to sleep as if nothing had happened. I felt so used. So dirty. So empty. So hurt. Like a toy you could put back into its box after you were done playing with it. When he was asleep I tiptoed to the bathroom to clean myself up and quickly try to remove the tampon. Without the little string visible tho it was impossible to do that and I didn't want to take too much time in the bathroom as to not arise any suspicion. So I went back to bed and tried to fall asleep. The next morning I got back to my friends apartment and she asked me how it was. I smiled. I said it was a great night. I told her about my little tampon predicament without mentioning how exactly it came to that and made fun of myself. I joked about how awkward of a trip to an Obgyn that would be. We laughed about it. Eventually I got it out myself. Over the next weeks I saw him again a few times in group settings. We were super weird and awkward around each other. I hoped we would return back to normal. I still had feelings for him and I wanted him to like and want me too. But we never got back to how it was before and eventually our situationship faded out and left me feeling conflicted and confused. But still I told myself over and over again that what had happened that night wasn't that big of a deal and that it was just a bad experience, like everyone has from time to time. That it was a case of miscommunication. That he didn't mean to overstep my boundaries. It took me over two years to question this self-created narrative. Then it took another year to finally and truly admit to myself that that night wasn't consensual. He didn't need to use any force or threat for it to be wrong. Even if it didn't fit the descriptions of SA that I was taught, I knew that something happened that should't have. It was freaking painful to realise. And still I felt like somehow I didn't have the right to feel that affected by what had happened. It wasn't a clear cut situation. It was more like this grey area and I didn't know where to place my experience. But maybe it doesn't need a specific category to still count. It's been over 5 years since it happened and I only really started my healing journey about fifteen months ago. I'm still not completely over the feelings of shame, guilt, betrayal, confusion and anger. Often I still feel numb and detached. But there are good phases as well. I just need to get to a point where this event doesn't dictate my life anymore. Where the memory is only an interruption of the good times and not the other way around. A few months ago I told a friend of mine. Her understanding and support helped in more ways than I thought. It was frightening to open myself up to someone but now I'm glad I did. My next step will be to start therapy. I'll close that chapter and move on with my life. And then I'll see where to go from there.

At age 15, my doctor asked me if I was sexually active. I cried and said “sort of”. When she asked me why I was crying, I told her it was because I thought it was embarrassing. I’m now realizing that I was not crying because I was embarrassed but because I was ashamed. I felt ashamed for having sex at 15 years old (which I felt was too young for me), and even more ashamed at how it happened. I had consented to fooling around with my boyfriend at the time but did not consent to penetration. I was not expecting to look up to hear him say “it’s in”, when I had clearly told him that I did not want penetration. I pushed him off and started crying. However, I brushed it off as being part of a normal healthy relationship, not knowing any better as this was my first relationship. For the next year and a half, I stayed with that partner while dealing with many ridiculous commands and events that I did not realize was unhealthy until much later: being told I wasn’t allowed to wear leggings because then other people would see my butt; being told not to drink coffee (still did); not seeing my friends other than at school; being told I couldn’t wear makeup because if I wore makeup, it would obviously mean that I was trying to attract other guys to cheat on my partner (meanwhile he cheated 3 times); being stopped on the street by a stranger asking if I needed help who then called the police about a domestic violence dispute (i wish I knew who that woman was so I could thank her today); being slut shamed; if we argued, being told I couldn’t leave him because no one else would love me since I was worthless and unlovable; finally, being controlled and manipulated. I’ve heard somewhere (not fact checked) that it takes women on average 7 attempts to leave their abuser before an attempt to leave finally sticks. I remember it taking me 3 tries but it’s possible that I’m forgetting some. Oct 2nd was the day I finally left. We’d broken up numerous times before but he always reeled me back in. He’d reel me back in by forcing himself to cry or to throw up, or by threatening to tell everyone that I was a worthless whore. That year and a half long period of my life still affects me. While I can’t blame all my problems on one person or one situation, I strongly believe that that relationship is the root to my insecurities and anxieties. Fortunately, the past two and a half years, while tough and emotional, have been periods of self love and self discovery.

I am Name years old single mom of two beautiful kids ages 10 and 12 years old. I was once a victim of abusement, harassment, assault, defamation, and rudeness of other people when I am just a simple, kind and silent person. Until now, they still look down on me and I don't know what have I done why they hate, angry and so rude to me. They are treating me like I am not an educated person when I am and they keep on look down on me because we are just simple and in a middle class person or family. And they think that they think better than me and I don't have any complain of it but they keep trying to argue with me that I am a better dumb person to them. And it's kind of abusing to think of that way that they think like that to me and that's insult me of my human being. I don't know what to do right now on how to express of this. My family I dont know if they doesn't know about this or they know about this or just hiding from me that they know everything but they really dont agree with me all the time or don't believe in me. What help should I seek for this matter of existence!?

Hello, this is my first time talking about this online. In real life, I have only told my boyfriend what happened to me. It's hard to tell this story but I just want to get it off my chest, maybe I can finally let go after writing it down. It is a really long story though. Last summer I was raped by my ex boyfriend, but I don't want the story to start there, I'll start when we met for the first time. We went on a double date with my friend and her boyfriend. I didn't know him at all. The date was alright, we even made out and I agreed to a second date even though I didn't feel like there was a spark but unfortunately I'm a people pleaser and my anxiety is very bad so I just went with it instead of rejecting him like I should have. The second date was weird. We went to a bar, he kept buying me drinks. I don't think I was drunk but definitely tipsy. When we left the bar, it was already like 1am and we sat down on a bench somewhere. There was no one around and so we started to kiss which eventually led to him putting his fingers in my pants. I was a virgin back then, barely even kissed someone so even though I was uncomfortable I kept going because I thought that by now (I was 18) I HAD to experience something like that. I wanted it to stop there but he layed me down and started to perform oral on me. I told him I didn't want to do this because we were in public but he said ut would be fine, to just relax and that it would feel good. When it was over, he asked me to be his girlfriend. I found some courage and said no, that I would go to uni in two months anyways. But he insisted saying that we could just break up then. So I stupidly agreed. We met another time, same bar. Again he kept buying me drinks. After that I went home with him where we had sex. It was consensual this time but I felt weird after because he kept asking me how much I enjoyed it and how many times I orgasmed (I didn't, but I felt pressured to lie). We then went to sleep. I left the next morning not knowing how to feel. On one hand, I was happy I finally lost my virginity like everyone else but I knew that I didn't love him. Texting him gave me the worst anxiety, I hated it. The next day I went on a weeklong trip with around 12 other people for our graduation. On that trip, I abused a lot of drugs, manly sleeping pills, tabacco and alcohol and one night, I drunkenly kissed my best friend. I am not proud of that, cheating sucks and I know that this was not right but I admit that ut wasn't just the alcohol, I had feelings for him, I just didn't realize it, unlike my ex, he made me feel so loved and appreciated, I wish I admitted my feelings for him sooner. When I came back from the trip, I told my boyfriend what happened. I wanted to tell him in person but he insisted I text him immediately. He seemed calm over text, saying that he "knew" it would happen and that he "forgives" me but he wanted to talk to me. Ge told me to meet him at 12am at night at the train station in his city, about 45min by train from where I live. I got there and he started grilling me with questions. About what happened and about personal questions about my best friend. He wanted to set some "rules" for me, like that I couldn't drink without him or be around my best friend. He then started to talk about how much he hated my best friend (he didn't even know who he is) and that he wanted to beat him up and stab him with a knife. At that point I told him to stop, that I would not let him talk about my best friend like that and finally I said that I wanted to break up. He didn't, he said that he was sorry, I didn't care, he said we could have an open relationship, I didn't care, I just wanted to break up. So we did but he said I couldn't tell anyone that I was the one who ended it, whatever. We just sat there for a bit talking and I laid my head on his shoulder, I know that was stupid thinking back I hate myself for doing it but I did and we kissed again. He said I should come home with him to have "breakup sex because every couple does that" but I didn't. I got up to take my train home but just when I wanted to walk up the stairs, the train left. So I went back, my ex was still there, I thought maybe he'd stay for a little so I wouldn't have to wait an hour alone at night for my next train. He didn't want to and I was fine with that, told him I'd be fine waiting alone but he insisted I go home with him because it would be too dangerous. I said no and then he said, verbatim, that we didn't have to have sex, I said that I would come home with him only under that condition amd he agreed. Again, I was a fool, I hate myself for going back with him, I'm crying writing this. When we got back (it was like 4am) he went outside to smoke. I went to bed and tried to sleep. He came back, layed next to me and that's when it started. He touched me, kissed me and I said I just wanted to sleep. He didn't stop so I shoved his hands away. He tried again and again with me pushing him back everytime and telling him to just let me sleep. At one point he said "ok if you puah me back one more time, I'll stop" and I DID but he STILL kept going. I was tired, exhausted and realized he wouldn't stop. I didn't know what to do because everyone was asleep and I didn't even know his family, honestly I didn't even know him, we met a total of four times. So I let it happen, thought maybe he was satisfied with just touching me but no. When I knew that he was going to "have sex" with me I just said "can you at least put on a condom?" He did and then he raped me. I kept hoping it would end soon. It was terrible, I hated how he took advantage of me and I hated myself once again for not standing up for myself more. The next morning I left as soon as possible but I was weirdly happy, as in I couldn't wait to leave and never see him again. I didn't even know that it was rape because I felt like me "letting it happen" didn't count as rape. It was only months after I learned what "coercion" means and I realized that what happened to me was infact rape. I only told my boyfriend who is amazingly supportive, he's the love of my life (also my former best friend, yes the one I cheated on my ex with). I know the police wouldn't believe me and I'm scared to tell anyone else in fear that they would not see it as rape, tell me I'm just overdramatic or that I just regret it but "consented". Even I feel like that sometimes. There were so many occasions where I should have stood up for myself but I didn't. I feel like it's my fault partially because of that even though I know that it's not. I don't know what to do. I want to talk about it with a therapist but I'm so scared that they wouldn't believe me or belittle my experience. Thank you all for reading my story, this helps me so much. I know that sexual assault can never be undone but we can still be strong. We can recover, I believe in you and me.

Hi. I am now 20 years old. This happened when I was 4 and 8 years old. I was sexually assaulted by my baby sisters father when I was 4, I watched him force my other sister (2 years old) to go down on him / lick his penis. Me as well. My siblings and I have different fathers. I remember running away from him, climbing onto a bunk bed. He grabbed me, and walked me back to my mothers and his bedroom. He threw me onto the bed and used a white sock to lock the double doors. I was wearing cartoon underwear. My memory cuts off when he penetrates, but I feel physical pain when I try to think of it. No one believed me when I opened up after I was 8. When I was 8, I woke up with my grandmothers ex husbands hands in my pants. He groomed me for years. He taught me to ride a bike when I was younger. I told my mother right away, went to therapy and testified against him. He went to prison, but for only 4-5 years. My therapist was the first person I told about my sisters father. However my mother didn’t believe me, because there was no damage when they checked at 9 years old. She thought he was a good man, and I was just making it up. Even when my baby sister came out and said her dad had been hurting her. Easter of 2019, my baby sister called me. Her baby sister, 4 years old, was being sexually abused by her father. They have court coming up next year, and it breaks my heart. The father is no longer allowed around his children, thank god. But if someone believed us, maybe we could’ve prevented it. I still struggle with this today. My flashbacks and nightmares worsen in 2018, once I was in my own place and comfortable to start processing the trauma. In the past 5 months, my grandmothers ex husband kept coming into my job. I recognized him by the back of his head. I haven’t seen him since the court room. I hyperventilated and had to leave work multiple times, until my managers finally got a chance to tell him that him and his mother is not allowed there. He pretended like he didn’t recognize me when we confronted him, but the second time he came in we made eye contact and by his reaction on the security footage he knew me. His parole officer called me, asked for my address so if he came near my apartment or job, his ankle bracelet would alert him. I am very relieved. I hope one day, I’ll heal. I’ll be okay. But for now I’m taking baby steps.

I was thirteen. He was my boyfriend. I never thought of it as a form of sexual assault because most of it was online, I blamed myself because I felt as though in the end I was the person in control and no one else could have been blamed. He would force me to touch myself, I was thirteen; I was not ready. It was ongoing for two years. It continuously got worse. I never understood how to deal with it. He had convinced me that he was the only person who cared about me, no one else would want me or even love me. It was a traumatic experience.

Stuck in the bathroom. It is possible to be loved. When I spent ages telling my Mum and Dad that it would be ok to travel to city for a gig , I thought I was grown up and street wise. In reality I was a naive young man - my parents reluctantly agreed as long as we stayed with my friends uncle - this would mean we wouldn’t have to travel back late . The gig was fantastic - we got back to his flat the others went to bed. I stayed up chatting with name - after about half an hour he started asking me if I was a virgin and showing me pornographic magazines . I tried to get away and go to bed - he then attacked me and raped me . I locked myself in the bathroom and waited but he was still agitated - he wanted me to sleep in his bed - I had no idea that a man could do what he did to another male. Two weeks later I went back to stay again after a football match - this time I tried to persuade my parents that I shouldn’t go - but they didn’t want the ticket to go to waste - he attacked and raped me again - I eventually managed to lock myself in the bathroom . I mentally stayed in that bathroom for the next 40 years - never telling - never asking for support - 3 failed marriages - problems with drink - difficulties being a good parent. The first person I told after 40 years was my ex-wife - her response was “I can’t love you - you have violated me by keeping this a secret” - this was crushing and led to a decline to a very dark place. Now with the support of my children, my new partner , a fantastic psychiatrist and a therapist from support organisation - I feel better and believe I can be loved. It is never too late to start to heal .

In the Clutches of Darkness of Sexual Abuse Once upon a time, in a quiet suburban neighborhood, My days were filled with laughter, play, and dreams of a bright future. However, behind closed doors, a sinister presence lurked, threatening to shatter my innocence, and cast me into the clutches of darkness. Within the walls of my own home, My father concealed a dark secret. With every passing day, his affectionate façade crumbled, revealing a monster that preyed upon the vulnerable. The innocent laughter that once filled the air was stifled by fear, as I found myself trapped in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. As my spirit withered, a veil of silence settled upon my shoulders. Fear and shame kept me locked in a prison of secrets, unable to reach out for help. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the weight of my suffering grew heavier with time. One day, however, a flicker of hope ignited within my heart. Through the faint whispers of my own resilience, I realized that I deserved more than the pain that consumed me. In the depths of despair, I found the courage to confide in a trusted friend, who listened with empathy and offered unwavering support. With a glimmer of hope guiding me, I decided to break free from the clutches of darkness. I sought out a friend, who was known for his kindness and dedication to me. Tentatively, I revealed the truth about my father's sexual abuse. My friend's heart was heavy with sorrow and determination. Through therapy and the unwavering support of compassionate individuals, I embarked on a journey of healing. My wounds, both physical and emotional, slowly began to mend. In the embrace of a loving community, I learned that I was not defined by my past but by the strength he carried within me. As years passed, my story became a beacon of hope for others who had endured similar ordeals. My whispers of survival and resilience resonated with those who had experienced the clutches of darkness. I became an advocate, shedding light on the prevalent issue of abuse, and working tirelessly to support survivors on their own healing journeys. In the aftermath of my harrowing experience, I found solace in knowing that I had turned my pain into purpose. My courage and resilience served as a reminder that, even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope waiting to be ignited. Through my whispers, vowed to help others escape the clutches of darkness and find their own path to healing and renewal.

To the multiple guys who have fucked me while I've been incredibly intoxicated and you've been sober; to the guys who go "just the tip" and keep pushing and pushing; to the guy, who after I said I didn't want to go another round, pushed me onto the bed and said it wasn't up to me anymore; to the guy who kept going when I was saying stop, who held a pillow over my face to hide my tears, who afterwards, looked me in the eyes and asked why I kept saying stop. All these men have made me feel like a stranger in my own body. I look in the mirror and don't recognize myself. I take long showers because I want to scrub my skin clean of them. I have spent two years justifying their actions. I got too drunk and wanted it in the moment, I was into it at first. I don't think I'll ever be able to get over what has happened to me. Last year on the anniversary of the one case I feel confident calling rape, I couldn't get out of bed, and as that anniversary approaches again I'm expecting the same thing. I have put myself in dangerous situations and am too scared to say no. I figure if I don't say no, then it's consensual and it won't hurt as much. How messed up is that. That these men had the power to make me scared of a two letter word. I've broken down in front of guys, I still have ptsd episodes where I can't breathe. I have triggers that result in not being able to function for the rest of the day. I get nightmares where I can't move and can't yell out. I have messed up healthy relationships that have meant so much to me because I am so messed up. I haven't told my parents because I'm scared they're going to look at me differently. How do I tell my incredible mom and dad who have watched me grow up and still see me as their little girl that only a few months after they sent me to college all my innocence was stripped away. I can't handle them looking at me with that pity that everybody else does when they find out. Going home is that one constant but doing that feels so exhausting because these assaults have become such a large part of my life that I feel like I'm hiding part of myself from them.

COCSA has affected me deeply its warped my mind along with my memories. My views on sex are distorted im a hypersexual who craves intimacy but is so afraid of it. Im ashamed of all that has happened especially the times I didnt fight and let it happen infact sometimes I wanted it to happen and im so ashamed but i was just a kid exposed to this shitty world with even shitter people who prey on the innocent and the weak. I wish someone protected me back then..

It’s been 4 years since I was first sexually assaulted. It started the first week of my internship at company in June 2018. At 19, I landed my dream job and was living outside of driving distance from home for the first time. A college friend and mentor introduced me to a full time employee buddy of his at company’s PRIDE parade float in city. I remember feeling on top of the world and a sense of belonging and safety when they announced “Next is city’s very own pride and joy, company - company mission statement”. I had a lot in common with him and was blissfully marching with the powerful couple hundred of our trusted colleagues and mutual friends. Just as we were drilled at orientation to take advantage of, I took up his offer to have a networking meal. He claimed he lived nearby and walked me home. Feeling an onset of grogginess, I said goodbye and saw him walk away as I closed the door. An unknown time later, I suddenly felt like my whole body was experiencing heartburn - as if a building sunk into me during an earthquake. I discovered much later that I had been drugged and he must have held the door and sneaked back in. From the stagnated .5x speed vision I had in the weak light through the window shades, I realized that he was on top of me. My arms were pinned down so violently that my shoulders should have dislocated. The chokehold could have killed me when I fought back with every fiber. I vividly remember how I used muscles and bones in my body I didn’t even know existed. With the little brain power and drugged brain cells I had functioning, I called my partner at the time, but it was dawn and went to voicemail. I put pillows between the assaulter and me and my mind went blank. The next morning, I woke up alone and thought it was all a nightmare. I got a text from him saying he left his laptop with me and he’ll be in the lobby soon. I confronted him in person and asked what happened last night. He vehemently denied everything and said he was drunk. I was still in shock but managed to get to the office. He then texted me saying “I could never hurt a sweet girl like you. I know you felt something between us. Don’t let this ruin Indian guys for you.” Just as he intended, I doubted myself and replayed every dialogue in my head to identify any “mistakes or signals” I sent. However, I only remembered emphasizing how happy I was with my partner. At work, my 1 week old colleague turned lifesaver friend pulled me into a team room when they saw me in distress. They persuaded me to speak up and immediately took measures to contact HR. In that moment, I thought “Wow, I’m ahead of the curve here by reporting it asap. Most women I’ve seen in movies/news don’t until it’s too late. I think I’m going to get justice… this is all going to be okay.” I was so far from the truth. Speaking up felt like a cruel and unusual punishment. It dug my coffin deep into the earth's core and this deeply messed me up for years. I painfully explained what happened end to end 3 times before I had to in front of 2 lawyers. One neutral faced man and one stone cold faced woman. This experience made me wish I had never opened my mouth. I was asked where his penis touched me, how erect it was, what measurements it was, did he ejaculate, what was its temperature, draw the room layout and your positions on the whiteboard. The last question was “Were you roofied?” I couldn’t fathom what that meant, so I said no. How could I possibly separate an unknown substance from shock, hurt, and trying to place my body being violated. I was barely of legal age. The human mind (and date rape drugs) work in a funny way - I can only imagine what more memories will unlock as I continue to heal. Over the years, my emotions shifted to anger against the vile monsters at Company Department. They cared about their company alone. Why didn’t they have a process that protected me in place? If they had me tested, if they took pictures of my wounds, things would be different. They strung me along for 3 months after I followed up several times - living in fear. In between, I saw him in my cafeteria for 1 second and I physically felt my heart drop to the ground. On the last day of my internship, they called me in and said “Your stories match up until the end. We’re telling you this only because you can look it up in the company directory, but he still works here.” After dodging my questions for 5 min, I’m speechless and decide to lock this away and focus on some of the good that happened to me that summer. I went to an intern party that last night and saw him. I immediately wanted to get out but my friend said he should be the one to leave, given that he’s preying on underage interns once again. He refused when we told the host to remove him. Then, my friend personally went to tell him to leave. These 20 min alone were the most horrifying of my life. I felt like I was in a horror movie. Every footstep I heard, I thought it was the end. I would be trapped if I went in the elevator or stairwell. When my friend returned, they heavy heartedly said it did not go well. He mentioned he got a slap on the wrist for giving underage interns alcohol and called me a liar, while simultaneously mentioning details of the night he claimed to not know in front of HR. I ended up telling my manager, recruiters, and received a very generic email back from the Head of University Recruiting - name, who’d been there over a decade. I was asked to have a call with someone who reports directly to the EVP of HR- employee name, but nothing happened to my knowledge. 1 year later, while my world had turned upside down, I looked up the assaulter and he has a bigger better job at company 2. I used to thank God I had my clothes on. But to some people I told, they emitted a high octave “oh!”, a sigh of relief, and relaxed their shoulders. This immediately crushed me and slowly, silently fucked me up. When those “worse” things did happen to me, I subconsciously put them aside. All harassment and assault hurt the same. Pain is not meant to be compared. A seemingly simple compliment from a “big brother” turned creepy man or reliable colleague can have you feeling violated beyond means. ` If you’re wondering why I ever returned to company, a big reason is that I didn’t want this to uproot my life. I didn’t want my career to be derailed by one event one day. I wanted to be bigger than him. I had no idea the implications this would have. I had no idea I would try to change the ending and put myself in danger for years to come. I could not process my feelings properly nor did I have the professional support to. I was so elated by the corporate bells and whistles and thought they had to have my back, or at least be afraid of me going public. However, I was most likely a repetitive case in their stack. I saw women CEOs, founders, politicians, and my biggest role model with the best legal team be treated the same way and I thought “How could a nobody like me deserve the time of day, justice or attention then?” The road since 4 years ago has been everything but that. A topsy turvy bewitched track where you fall at a carefully calculated turn and regenerate when you jump. Something of a mind boggling equation that looks cyclic, but reveals an uphill graph when you zoom out. I knew this day would come where I’d be ready to share a snippet and here’s to the days ahead. May they have clarity, light, love, healing, and joy. No, I can’t find that forever peace. But, I’m getting stronger with every incident. I’m a survivor for the rest of my life. That’s not a scarlet letter. It’s awareness at its finest. Being present takes you forward. Afloat, ready to be triggered and not okay at any given time. This is my newfound superpower. My livelihood is not being a victim. It’s joy, colors, kindness, and empathy.

Hi, thanks for letting me share my story. To understand it, I have to start from the very beginning: My parents got divorced when I was 7 years old, and my mother took care of me and my two siblings. My mum remarried within a few months of the divorce and my dad remarried after 4 years. But, I was never told what happened. It was never discussed. And I was afraid to discuss it with my Mum in case I would upset her or make her angry at me. But finally, when I was 11 years old, I finally asked her about the divorce. At first, she consoled me saying that she was sorry if the divorce ever hurt me or my feelings. But, as I continued to talk about it, she got angry and told me to stop "self-pitying". My Dad is a businessman, so even at childhood (back when my parents were married), he was always away for months at a time for meetings. But, I still loved him (obviously). Now, as for my stepdad, me and him were never close. But I still called him "Dad" - even though I didn't want to, that was just for my Mum's sake. He always used to say I was his "favourite" but I never understood why. When I was in 7th Grade, my Dad moved to a different country. When I was in 8th Grade (13 years old, nearly 14), me and my stepdad started getting closer. Eventually, he would start doing inappropriate things. He would touch my breasts and once, he put his hand inside of my trousers and rubbing between my legs. Before this incident, I thought that everything he was doing was "normal", as I never had a father figure to look up to. A few days later, I got the courage to tell my Mum. I went to her and told her and she looked so panicked and asked me if I was sure that this happened. She told me it was probably an accident, and maybe as he was giving me my goodnight hug, his hand accidentally went there. I realised at that moment, if I were to say something, my life would be ruined. So, I accepted that nothing happened and stayed silent. In the next 3 years, I pretended everything was normal. I pushed the sexual abuse to the back of my mind and pretended as if it never happened. Now, from my cultural background, it was weird and shameful for women to get remarried after a divorce, so my Mum never told anyone (other than immediate family) that she got remarried - even my Dad didn't know. My Dad also didn't tell my Mum or even us that he got remarried. He used to spend time with us every Sunday in parks before he moved away. The day I found out was when suddenly he brings this 1 year old boy and tells me he's my brother and introduces me to his wife. I was so shocked and so hurt, that I ran away back to my mother's house. My mother consoled me and said that I'm lucky to have another sibling. Now, when I was in 11th grade, we went back to our home country for my uncle's wedding. Before we went, my Mum said "we are planning to tell everyone about our wedding. Are you OK with that?" I pushed my feelings aside, and said it was OK. I just thought she would announce it. But, one night, we were all sitting down and she tells her friends about her plans for her wedding tomorrow. I had no idea she was getting married! I ran to the other room in tears. My Mum later came to the room and asked me why I was making such a big drama over nothing. I told her that I never knew about it, and she replied she didn't have to tell me anything. Eventually, I left it alone and the next day, I acted as if everything was fine. I took photos, I wore a nice dress, I chatted with my stepdad's family - did everything the "perfect daughter" would do. When my Dad found out my Mum was remarried, he broke off all contact with me. When we came back to the country we live in, it was my Mum's turn to host a party (we have this friend circle and every month we have a party at someone's house). Suddenly, they all came in with wedding decor and started surprising her. I was not aware this was happening so I just went into panic mode. I didn't say anything that whole night and tried to hold back my tears. After they left, my Mum and I had a discussion about the divorce again. She told me "Me and your father are separated, ACCEPT IT". I said "I do accept it, but all I'm saying is I wish you told me". And she replied "I didn't know they would do this much of a party, but don't you think it hurt me to see my eldest daughter not happy to see me married?" This is when I broke down and finally told her about the sexual abuse again. This time, my Mum got furious and asked me why I lied the first time. She also slapped me. She said since I lied the first time, I could be lying right now. Once again, I took back my statement thinking that I'd tell her after I had enough money to live by myself (because I was financially dependent on my Dad and Stepdad, as my Mum didn't work). But, later on that year, in the summer of 11th Grade, we went back to our home country and my baby cousin was born. As soon as I saw her, saw how innocent she was, I knew that I'd protect her at all costs. Then, my uncle was giving her to my stepdad to hold and I couldn't believe it. I also properly realised that my little sister, who was 11 at the time, was only 2 years away from when I was abused. I knew I had to tell, for their sake if not for mine. At that time, the two people I loved and I trusted more than anyone were my Mum and my aunt. I decided I would tell both of them. But, neither believed me. My Mum kept asking me questions saying that if I was telling the truth, then why didn't I say it earlier and she kept mocking me. My aunt said she didn't know who to believe, but she said my Mum already went through a difficult divorce so she can't go through that again. I pleaded to my Mum to divorce him but she said that wasn't even an option because she loved him. She then told me she got sexually abused herself by her tutor when she was 17. She said she knew the signs of sexual abuse and that I didn't have any of them. She also said that my Dad sexually abused her a few weeks before their wedding. Since my Grandfather died, my Mum had no one to rely on. She said that the reason she divorced my Dad was because he also used to physically abuse her. I was shocked to hear this and I started crying more. In the end, we all came back to the country we live in. I still lived with my stepdad and my mum, but me and my stepdad would ignore each other. He still spent his money on us like normal. My Dad stopped giving child support that year. Now, at the time of writing this (20th May 2023), I was looking for something on my Mum's phone (a document I wanted to send my friend) and I came across these messages of her and my stepdad telling my aunt that she was pregnant. In those messages, my Mum said she already told my Grandma and everyone is excited. I couldn't believe it, I started getting a panic attack. I confronted my Mum and asked if it was true. She said it was and asked what was my problem with it. I said "I don't want this baby". She said it was not my decision to make and that I shouldn't dictate her life. I asked that why did she have to get pregnant this year, why the year where everything in my life was going downhill. She told me to shut up and concentrate on my final exams. I told her that I can never tell her anything. She started mocking me and asking me what I couldn't tell her. I told her "this year has been so hard that sometimes I wish I could end it!" She started mocking me once again and said "Oh by living with your amazing father, is that it?" (My Mum still thinks I care about my Dad, but I couldn't care less about him). I said "no, ending my life" (at one point in the year, I thought it would be easier if I was just gone, then all the suffering would end, then I realised suicide is not the answer). She got up and stated hitting and slapping me. Then she started hyperventilating and screaming. She started screaming "Get out! Get out! I am NOT your mother! I don't want you! I don't love you!" repeatedly. I tried to go back and console her and she told me to just get lost and go to the other room. She told me that as soon as my exams were over, she wants to send me back to our home country to live with my Dad. I begged her to not do that and she told me that no amount of begging would make her change her mind. She said all love for me was finished in her heart. Later on that day, I tried talking to her again and she kept ignoring me. Then, she started crying and said "you said you hate living with me so much that you want to kill yourself, maybe if I send you to your Father, you'll get some sense". She didn't understand that it was my stepdad causing that, that it was her reluctance to believe me that was causing me to have these thoughts. She said "before I had a suspicion he did this, but now I know you are lying, you are just jealous!" I told her everything was true but she told me that she knows me better than anyone and that I was lying. In her words "In my 42 years, I have understood EVERYTHING but I have never managed to understand YOU. Why are you like this? Why must you make me miserable?" This happened yesterday, and now I keep getting panic attacks. The only people talking to me are my siblings. I feel so alone. My Mum refuses to acknowledge me. What I know for definite is that it was not my fault. It is never the victim's fault, we never asked to be abused. We are constantly told we are weak but my God, we are so so so strong. So proud of all of us for enduring this disgusting reality.