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I could never remember my childhood well, even as a kid. But I started to be hypersexual at 3, and so thats when I believe me and my brother started touching (hes 3 and a half years older). When I was 12 I remembered and told my parents, my mom freaked out and screamed at me. She said it was my fault and that it wasn't too bad if I didn't tell anyone. I fear thats she's right. When I was 14 and in deep psychosis, I felt like there was more to remember. I started to feel my brother's hands over my body and mouth. I remembered us having sex 3 times. The first time when I was 6 and the last when I was 8. One of those times he was hitting me and pinning me. I dont know how real those memories are because I recovered them in psychosis. I started doing really bad cus all I could think about was me and my brother fucking. A couple of months ago I remembered my brother fucking me with his hands around my neck (which was painful). Im so scared that really happened because I see my brother daily and hes my best friend. Im worried ill remember more.

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

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.

I Saved Myself Every system that was supposed to protect me failed me. My family. The police. The courts. Children and Youth. I had to save myself. This is how. I met him in 2016. After my son was born. He came in like a knight in shining armour. The devil was hiding inside him. I moved in with him the day I met him. The control started right away. One summer day he went through my phone. He threw it and it shattered. He pushed me on the porch. I fell with my son in my arms. My body became his shield. The neighbors called the police. They arrested him. His mother showed up and asked me what did you do. Not what happened. Not are you okay. What did you do. Then she turned off the air conditioning and left my son and me to sweat in the summer heat. She was our landlord. I should have left then. I did not know how. One year after the porch I stood in Walmart with empty pockets and a hungry three year old. He had made sure there was no food in the house. Not because we were broke. Because he did not care. I stole an entire bag full of food. I did not make it past the door. Security stopped me. The police came. I broke. They put me on a 302 hold right then. And they took my son. Not to family. To foster care. The system does not ask why you stole. It just sees a crime and punishes you for surviving. A month later my mom got him. She fought through paperwork and background checks from out of state. She brought him home. I stayed behind. I did not know how to leave anymore. He decided we were moving. Hours from my mom. Hours from my son. Hours from anyone who could help. Then I was raped to have a baby. I tried to get an abortion. He refused. He abused me for trying. He drove me hours back home against my will instead of to the appointment. I told him I could not do this. He said we are keeping it. I said I do not think I can. He said you do not have a choice. Four words. Final. When my daughter was born they put her on my chest. I felt nothing. Not love. Not relief. Just emptiness. I thought I do not know how to love you. I do not even know how to love myself. A few days after we got her home he grabbed my weeks old daughter from her crib and threw her into her swing. He called her a fat fucking pig. He propped her bottle on a blanket so he would not have to hold her. I stood frozen. If I moved it would get worse. We moved to city, state. The house had holes in the floors. No heat. It was winter. We lived in one room with a space heater. Two days after we moved in I could not take it anymore. I left her in her swing. He was home. I walked to the nearby school and called an ambulance. I told them I slapped my daughter. I lied. It was the only way to get a 302 hold. The only way to be taken seriously. They kept me for weeks. I finally slept. Then Children and Youth knocked. The caseworker said his mother had temporary legal guardianship of my daughter. I believed them. I had no lawyer. I was drowning. So I complied. What I found out much later is that it was a lie. She never had guardianship. But by then I had acted like she did. And the system called that abandonment. We moved into a camper on his mothers front lawn. My daughter lived inside the house. We lived outside in the cold. They expected me to visit her. I could not walk through that door. His mother was in there. Watching. Judging. The woman who enabled everything. So I left. A few days later he texted that I could get my things. Everything I owned was destroyed. Clothes ripped. Photos torn. Deliberate. A message that said if I can not have you you get nothing. Everyone asked what are you going to do about your daughter. Not how are you healing. Not what do you need. I fought for custody because that is what mothers are supposed to do. Then the court gave me a choice. Sign over full custody or keep fighting and lose anyway. I signed. He texted me. If you want to see her you have to pay. He turned my daughter into a transaction. Years later I tried again. Every other weekend she came to my apartment and screamed for her dad for hours. He had told a four year old she was not allowed to like her mother. Then I found out I was pregnant. Not forced this time. Chosen. With someone safe. He started texting me constantly. Telling me I was worthless. Telling me to kill myself. Just off yourself. Everyone would be better off. Over and over. I was pregnant. I called Children and Youth. The same system that failed me before. They said there is not much we can do unless there is immediate danger. And just like that I was the problem again. Not him. Not the system. Me. So I made a choice. I stopped seeing my daughter. I stopped answering his texts. I stopped performing. I moved three hours away with my partner and had the baby I chose. The baby I wanted. I pay child support every month. On time. Because that is my legal obligation. But I do not call. I do not visit. And I do not feel guilty about it anymore. I am writing this from my living room. My baby is asleep in the next room. The baby I chose. For the first time in my life I understand what people mean when they say motherhood is beautiful. Because it can be. When it is chosen. When it is supported. When it is safe. People ask if I regret it. I regret that she exists in pain. But I do not regret leaving. I do not regret choosing myself. I do not regret finding peace. This is not a redemption story. Forced motherhood does not always end with healing. Sometimes it ends with walking away. And that is okay. Because my life matters too. My survival matters too. If you are reading this and you see yourself in my story. If you were forced into motherhood. If you are drowning and no one believes you. You are not alone. You are not broken. You are not a monster. You are surviving. If you need permission to choose yourself. If you need someone to tell you it is okay to walk away from something that is destroying you. I am giving it to you. You are allowed to survive. You are allowed to choose peace. Healing is not the ending. It is the direction. And I am still walking it.

March 15 — The Day I paid my rapist. I was 18 years old. I was a virgin. It was March 15, and I was so excited because I was going to get my first tattoo. I had chosen two phrases with deep biblical meanings: Tattoo Details I had no idea that I would leave that day feeling as though my dignity had been taken from me, having paid the very man who raped me. I didn't know what I was walking into. I didn't say the word “no,” but I did say, “I have to go. I have to go. I have to go.” I kept saying it, but he wouldn't let me leave. He pushed me against the counter and pulled down my sweatpants, my leggings, and then my underwear. He penetrated me with his penis while touching my vagina with his other hand. I didn't know what to do. I was frozen, terrified, and completely overwhelmed. It was just the two of us. There were no cameras, no one else around, and I felt like there was no one who could help me if I called for help. There was a baseball bat in the corner, and I was beyond scared. I have always had a fear of men because of things I experienced in the past. Imagine how terrifying it was to find myself in a situation where I felt so powerless. He didn't stop until I said, “I'll come back later.” In that moment, I thought those words were my only hope—my only way out. I wasn't thinking about what I wanted to say or what I should have done. I was trying to find a way to get out of that situation. He finally pulled my pants back up, but before he did, he slapped my butt and grabbed my vagina. And then I left. I had gone there excited to get my first tattoo, choosing words that meant so much to my faith. I never imagined that I would walk away carrying the weight of an experience I never wanted and never deserved. I had just paid my rapist. Needless to say, you broke me. You broke me in more ways than one. I don’t think I will ever fully recover from what you did to me. It has simply become a part of my story one I never asked for and never deserved. I lost myself. I haven’t been able to look at myself the same way since. I don’t know how to love myself anymore. Some days, I don’t even know who ******* is. I lost a piece of me that I feel like I will never get back. I blamed myself for something that was never my fault. I went to get a tattoo, but I left without my dignity. I paid for a tattoo, but in reality, I paid my rapist. This is my story. I am a survivor.