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I wanted to break a rule that my parents had set me: no boyfriend whatsoever. They aren't strict but they have rules: you don't choose your clothes (so no crop tops ever, no skirts without leggings underneath, etc), no candy, no choosing of my future studies myself, always get good grades (8/10 would not be considered enough), no drinking sodas, no socials so no Snap chat, no Tik Tok etc. The list goes on. I understand that they care about me, and that they want the best for me but sometimes I find it too much. But I should enjoy it while it lasts because this might be the closest thing to freedom I will ever get. Here's why. At the age of 15, I met this sweet guy that was really my type. He, as a first impression, seemed to be the type of guy my parents would like: same age only half a year older than me, hardworking, caring, didn't seem to be driven by lust, and really sweet to me. I told myself this might be the same love as my parents have, who used to be high school sweethearts. After a couple months, a few kisses and cuddles, without my parents knowing, came the day that started this mess (or so I think, maybe I was too blind to realise it happened progressively before). I remember ringing the doorbell of his house and when he opened the door I saw he was tired. More than usual. I don't know if I could say he was acting strange (now I know, or his excuse was, that he was drugged by his older brother of 23 at the time). We go up to his room, he asks me if I need something to drink and of course, like always, I ask for water. Only this time I should have thought before drinking from the glass that had a spoon in it. It was stupid of me, because the next thing I knew, I was laying on my back, naked, my wrists cuffed behind me to the bed, him on top of me with this face I will never forget (it still haunts me) and the pain in my lower belly too. There was blood of course, he'd just taken my virginity. I was scarred of him after that, but he threatened me, told me he'd hurt my loved ones if I told anyone. Do note I didn't know how to say no to people back then, and I'd been taught and raised to obey. So I did. I kept my mouth shut. He made me sneak out during the night. At first it was just him to please, then also his friends. My throat grew sore, the more they made me do orals. I got cuts and bruises (never in visible places though, like my face, so that they could keep on using me without other people noticing). I grew more quite at school, but honestly no one would really notice, as I was already pretty quite. Grades started slipping, parents got mad at me for that, called me useless and told me I'd achieve nothing in life. It didn't help. It hurt a lot because I had tried to maintain good grades, and it was all just going downhill. I also noticed that his older brother was busy with a girl too (judging from the noises coming from his room). I would see that girl from time to time, she was older maybe 19, not sure anymore. She was sweet, she even gave me the pill so not to get pregnant and some pregnancy tests. But she was in a way worse state than me: scars and all, and her fingertips weren't just burned like mine, she had bandages on all of them as they bled. I was scared of the older brother. Scared being an understatement. And then after a month, she was gone. I had no idea where, just silence in his big brother's room. That's when his big brother approached me. All I can say is: he wasn't gentle. At all. That's also around the time when I realised that his big brother beat him up, because I came out of that room, limping as he'd pushed my hip too far (now I have a partially dislocating hip that is permanent), and his younger brother yelled at him for 'f*cking his toy'. He was left in a ball on his bedroom floor with a broken rib while his older brother walked off. I felt bad, because even if he had said I was his property/his toy, he had still tried to protect me, so I decide to go get him an ice pack from the freezer and take care of him. He eventually told me more about his older brother, and I got to know he sold drugs and all, and made him (and me) take them. I asked where the hell his parents were in all this, but it was only his mom now (and she seemed to have no control over her sons) as his father had left for another women (or multiple, not sure). I decided maybe I should tell someone about this and ask them what to do, but then came the thought that: who would believe me? We lived in a pretty safe country, or at least one that people thought was safe. I didn't want to bother others and worry people, neither did I want them getting hurt if they tried to help, so I kept my mouth shut. Now the following is even harder to talk about. It has changed me. It will change my future too. By now I was 16. One night, he made me dress up in this overly sexualised bunny outfit and brought me to an apartment id never been. There were multiple guys waiting. They were all around his age I think (I'm bad at guessing people's age, plus I don't think they were bothered telling me the truth), they didn't seem to be friends really they looked like they knew each other just because they did business together, and I new from the moment I had walked into this room that I was noting but a f*cktoy to them. Its weird that feeling, when you enter somewhere and just know who has the power. I definitely had zero power here, they wanted me to feel that way too. I know it. I felt it. After the pain, the kneeling in front of them, and the pictures I begged them not to take, came the first time I'd seen someone hand money to the older brother. I realised with pain in my heart (and literally everywhere else where they'd touched me) that I had just been sold. Like some piece of bread at the market. Sold. My brain physically couldn't process what had happened. Some days I still can't. I didn't sleep for some time after that and eating was something I had to force myself to do and it was a challenge not to throw up. It went on. Money turned into contracts, pictures into videos, and my body falling apart before my eyes, but not enough that it was so obvious that everyone would see. I did my best to cover it, so no one would get hurt. Concealer became my best friend. Except a teacher at school did notice and I ended up telling her everything. Well, almost everything. I told her I'd been rapped just once maybe twice and that I didn't remember very well for most things that had happened. In a way it wasn't a lie but I was too scarred those boys would find out I had told someone and then they'd hurt all the people I care about. It is also true that some things I just couldn't remember, like a gap in my memory when I try to remember what has happened after I'd been brought somewhere by his older brother. It felt strange, like I was missing something but it just wouldn't come back to mind. The teacher called the police and I was interrogated. I had to do it multiple times with recorded sessions and all. No one prepared me for how tiering it would be to repeat what had happened to me over the past year because of those boys. It hurt so so much. They asked question after question as the memories of those nights came haunting me all over again. I wanted to forget, because I realised there is no real solution, and on top of that, I wasn't allowed to start therapy without first trying to remember every single detail that had happened for the police investigation. Those boys, some that new me and I had no idea who they were, hurt me and the threats pilled up. It was too much for me. I couldn't do this. So I lied. I lied and said it never happened. That I hadn't been rapped. I had prepared some fake conversations that were very obviously fake for them to find on my phone, planned them out so that it looked fake. And I told them to stop the investigation. And that was that. My parents were of course mad at me, they took my phone away and all. I can't say I'm addicted to phones but, more than six months without one is just, a lot, for me at least. I'm honestly not sure what to do now. My memory is really bad, still worsening, I'm not doing so good in classes, I feel sick to the bone but its no big thing like cancer or diabetes or something that a doctor can diagnose. I just feel sick, but that means nothing apparently. I just remember the last thing that the big brother told me, that when I'm 19 and out of the house he will take me away as his f*cktoy. That's why I said at the beginning that I should enjoy my life now while it lasts because this might be the closest thing to freedom I will ever get. And to stay positive I just tell myself , as my father would say: it could always be worse, appreciate what you have. I know I can't go back, but it's so painful. Everyday, it never leaves my mind. To be honest, the only reason why I don't kill myself is because it would be horrible for others to loose a daughter, a sister, a friend and so on. I can't do that, I don't want to be selfish. All I want is to find a reason to live, and that it isn't just living for others.

I was six when I first saw pornography, in my own house. There are a lot of forgotten memories from 6-18. By ten I was in chat rooms. By eleven a man was grooming me, and for years I performed on live video for adult men who told me I was mature, special, chosen. I believed them. I thought my popularity was proof I was grown. I was a lonely kid in an empty house being trained, and there is a difference. At fourteen I was with a man in his twenties and called it willing, because nobody had ever taught me that a child can't be. I'm an adult now, a mother, and I spent years searching the internet for any sign that what happened to me was real and witnessed. What I found were investigations, statistics, and other survivors. So I'm leaving this here for the girl who is searching tonight the way I did: you were not willing, you were groomed. You were not mature for your age, you were unprotected. And it was not your fault, not even the parts you went back for. Especially those parts.

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.

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.

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.