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HEY, THIS IS ALL WRITTEN IN CAPS SINCE MY COMPUTER IS BROKEN... AUH...BIG TW, BY THE WAY.. HERES AN EMAIL I SENT MY RAPIST; ILL NEVER CONTACT YOU AGAIN, I HOPE MY INTERESTS, MY NAME, MY STYLE, MY LAUGH, MY VOICE, AND MY EYES HAUNT YOU FOREVER. I HOPE YOU KNOW YOUVE RUINED ME. I STILL FEEL EVERYTHING YOUVE DONE TO ME, I SCRUB AT MY SKIN UNTIL ITS RAW, I SCREAM AND I CRY BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID TO ME. I TRUSTED YOU, AND YET YOU MANIPULATED AND LIED TO ME. YOU PUSHED ME THIS FAR. I WANTED TO BE YOUR FRIEND, I TRIED TO IMPRESS YOU BUT THE HARDER I TRIED THE MORE I DROVE YOU TO HURT ME. YOU DID THIS TO ME, ____. YOU CAN KEEP LYING TO YOURSELF, AND YOU CAN KEEP TELLING YOUR VERSION TO ANYONE WHO WILL LISTEN. BUT YOU WILL NEVER CHANGE THE TRUTH THAT LIVES IN MY BODY. EVERY TIME YOU SAY IT DIDNT HAPPEN, YOU ARE JUST TRYING TO SILENCE ME. YOU TRIED TO BREAK ME SO YOU COULD FUCKING OWN ME, EVEN IF I 'CONSENTED' YOU KNOW DAMN FUCKING WELL YOU MANIPULATED ME, YOU EVEN TRIED MANIPULATING ME INTO BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP TOO. YOUVE MADE ME REALIZE I DESERVE WAY BETTER THAN YOU. YOU ARE OBESSED WITH TRYING TO FIND THIS VERSION OF ME WHO WILL FORGIVE YOU, WHO WILL BE YOUR FRIEND AGAIN. YOU WANT ME AS A FRIEND AGAIN BECAUSE I TREATED YOU WELL AND YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THAT SHIT. FUCK YOU. DONT LOOK FOR ME ONLINE, DONT LOOK FOR ME IN CROWDS, DONT TRY TO HUNT ME DOWN, DONT TRY TO 'GET YOUR REVENGE', DONT TRY TO GET ME TO TAKE IT BACK, DONT TRY TO RUIN MY LIFE. I SPENT SO LONG WONDERING WHY YOU DID IT, BUT I REALIZE NOW IT DOESNT MATTER. YOU ARE A HOLLOW FUCKING PERSON, YOU ARE PATHETIC COMPARED TO ME, ____. YOU REFUSE TO REALIZE THAT, YOU THINK *I* TRIED TO COMPETE WITH YOU? LOOK AT YOURSELF, IDIOT. YOU HARASS ME BECAUSE YOURE TERRIFIED OF THE SILENCE WHERE THE TRUTH LIVES? EVERY TIME YOU DENY WHAT HAPPENED, YOURE TALKING TO SOME FUCKING BRICK WALL. I OFFERED YOU A FRIEND AND YOU SAW A TARGET. YOURE MANIPULATIVE AND A FUCKING NARC! YOU TOOK MY KINDNESS AND TURNED IT INTO MY OWN FUCKING PRISON, BUT YOU FAIL TO REALIZE IVE GROWN OUT OF YOUR LIES? YOU NEVER LOVED ME, YOU NEVER WANTED ME AROUND. YOU JUST WANTED A FUCKING PLAYTHING. YOU ARE TERRIFIED OF LETTING ME GO, BECAUSE THE SILENCE IS WHERE THE TRUTH LIVES. YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED! I KNOW YOU DO, YOU JUST REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT BECAUSE YOU, YOURE A VICTIM YOURSELF! YOU THINK MY FORGIVENESS OR MY "TRUTH" IS A DEBT I OWE YOU? BUT EVERY MEMORY OF US IS NOW RUINED BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID, I CANT THINK OF YOU IN A GOOD WAY WITHOUT THINKING "OH, RIGHT, SHE FUCKING RAPED ME!" YOU DIDNT JUST TAKE MY BODY, YOU TRIED TO TAKE THE TRUTH AWAY TOO? AND, FUCK, IF I HAD REACTED DIFFERENTLY. IF I HADNT GONE TO THE HOSPITAL, OR GOTTEN THERAPY, I WOULDNT HAVE KNOWN. I HAD TO BE TOLD YOU DID IT TO ME. I HAD TO BE TOLD BY SOMEONE YOU RAPED ME BECAUSE I REFUSED TO BELIEVE SO, BECAUSE I THOUGHT SINCE I CONSENTED, IT WAS OKAY. BUT MY CONSENT UPPED AND FUCKING LEFT THE ROOM. FOUR TIMES, DID YOU HAVE TO BE TOLD NO, THREE TIMES DID YOU HAVE TO BE TOLD STOP. THATS NOT RIGHT. YOU COULDNT HAVE NOT HEARD THAT, ESPECIALLY SINCE YOUR FUCKING HAND WAS KNITTED INTO MY HAIR AND YOUR FACE WAS NEXT TO MINE, RESTING ON MY FUCKING SHOULDER. YOU WERE FINGERING ME, AND I FEEL GROSS FOR IT. IM DONE TRYING TO FIND A REASON FOR YOUR CRUELTY! THERE IS NO 'WHY' THAT MAKES THIS OKAY? YOU HURT ME BECAUSE YOU COULD, YOURE HAUNTING ME NOW BECAUSE YOURE TERRIFIED WITHOUT SOMEONE TO HURT. YOU KEEP LOOKING FOR '(DEADNAME)' WHO WANTED TO IMPRESS YOU. THAT GIRL DIED IN YOUR ARMS THE NIGHT YOU DECIDED TO CHOSE YOURSELF OVER MY FUCKING HUMANITY. DONT GO LOOKING FOR HER. YOU WONT RECOGNIZE WHO THAT IS, YOU CERTAINLY DONT DESERVE TO KNOW THEM. YOU TALK SO MUCH BECAUSE YOURE SCARED OF WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU STOP? YOURE SCARED OF THE QUIET, THATS WHY YOU LIKED ME. I FILLED THAT SILENCE. YOULL FINALLY HAVE TO SEE THE MONSTER YOUVE BECOME. GO AHEAD, TELL EVERYONE IM THE VILLIAN. TELL THEM IM CRAZY! THAT IM AN ATTENTION WHORE. THAT I ASKED FOR IT. IT DOESNT CHANGE THE FACT THAT WHEN YOURE ALONE, LAYING IN BED IN THE DARKNESS, YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE. THATS YOUR WEIGHT YOU HAVE TO CARRY, IVE GOT MY OWN SHIT TO CARRY. I HATE YOU. ILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU.

You Are Not Alone You are not alone. So many of us had so much taken from us by people who put pleasing their basal urges over our sanity. For their moments of bliss and dominance we suffer. We blame ourselves for their sickness. THEIR pathology. There is an army of us. That is what these stories teach us. They show us we are legion. We are strong. Our psychological reactions of fear, mistrust, hatred are not crazy. They are normal. It is also normal, but not easy, to climb out the darkness together. I grew up in a large low income black of flats that was like a village. My mum worked and we went about by ourselves. In the winter we were never expected to be seen if we left. We were in some flat mucking about with some kids or neighbor, and it all worked out fine. I did lose my virginity when I was eleven to a friend of my older brother who was in year ten. But that was no bother because it was not uncommon there, sadly. I am half Brazilian on my absent father’s side and was considered quite exotic and fit. My secondary sexual characteristics developed early. I was reasonably careful and in control. True abuse began years later when we moved out to a proper house with HIM. HE was my mom’s dream man. HE was fit for a middle-aged man. By that time my brother wasn’t with us because he took work in Alaska on a fishing boat. HE was ex-Army and seemed like a good man at first. I was a bit of trouble maker and over-cheeky and my mom gave HIM carte blanche to discipline me like father. We weren’t there the length of a full season when HE started treating me like a tart. The spanking part mom knew about and thought it was funny, even with me being fifteen. HE spanked my bare bum even when she was home. She said I’d always needed a man’s hand to block of my rough edges. It was cringe, humiliating, but nothing compared to what HE did when mum was away. Not to get detailed, HE soon got to a point where I was going to get HIS load whenever there was the chance. Since HE got to set my schedule he made sure there were regular chances. It was my HELL and HE was the Prince of Darkness. He was rough but careful not to leave any marks. Unless time was short I had to shower first. Sometimes after there would be something specific sitting out to wear, like a costume or lingerie, or my netball kit. The grating anticipation of what was going to follow was the real torture. HE would tell me to “Pick a hole”. My holes! My foof was one, my mouth was two, and you’d think I would never select three. But you’d be wrong. I hated HIM. I am very sensitive sexually and if I went with one I looked like I loved it and if I chose two I was doing work to please HIM. Three was the way I could shut down and brace myself without him ever seeing me smile, even if I was facing toward him. When I was strong with hatred I would choose three. I compartmentalized that small but brutal part of my life for my mum. If was a mere thirty to one hundred twenty minutes per a week of 10080 minutes. And I saw no other way then. Mum, for the first time was living a happy life. I could have won a BAFTA for how I seemed so cozy and content for her. It gutted me that my fear of upsetting HIM made it appear that HE had smoothed out my rough edges and made me into a proper lady. I kept my marks up and stayed on the netball team in spite of being the shortest. I kept going. I developed a habit of stabbing mechanical pencil tips into my skin and biting my nailbeds to illicit pain. I had one boyfriend for a short time. I went to the dances. Home was my hell so I did everything HE would allow to be anywhere else. I could not work but he made my mum keep her job so he could have me. My birthdays I would get my way of having a just girls’ night out with mum. There were only two birthdays before I got free of him. College cost 1000 pounds and when HE paid it HE did not know I was not going to be his tart anymore. I had a friend with a home much closer to my school. They had spare bedroom because an older sibling had moved out. Being seventeen, HE couldn’t force me to live with them if I had other safe accommodations. I took employment and paid the meager rent. He got me one more time when I was sleeping back at his house on Christmas eve. Probably drugged mum to keep her sleeping. I made sure he never got a chance again. Through my Portuguese class I met a man who lived in Portugal and invited me to come stay with him as long as I wanted rent free. I finished one year of sixth form and went to Portugal. I had fleeting relations with the man I stayed with but he traveled often we both had our own things. I worked at an American-themed restaurant as a server then. I spoke with my mum on the phone most days. She visited once, with HIM. I missed her and tried not to show much of my sorrow about being forced apart from her. Seeing HIM was horrendous, yet I kept it contained inside like a cancer. It helped solidify my decision. I traveled with a friend to Florida and got a job serving in a posh restaurant. I applied for a work VISA and on my second try I got it. I am thirty-eight now. Only three years ago did I confront my demons because I read online stories about other abuse survivors. It opened up a deep wound so I could start to heal. It was and still is hard work and an ongoing process. I confessed to my mum who had split with HIM after years of her own abuse that she also kept hidden. HE had let her go when she started having health problems, showing his true black heart. She lives with my brother and his family. I regret losing years with mum and my brother and being chased away from my home when I was young but it made me stronger. I have never married but I have a loving partner, two dogs and I speak three languages. I am a physical trainer and work near the beach where I go to meditate and body surf. Our journeys and stories are individual but we are in this together. Worldwide. You are not alone in carrying the pain and the shame and the fear and the flashbacks! Even if you are in the dark, start toward a path that looks like others are using to try to climb out. Use the resources, even if just right there on your computer, and build from there. Just start and keep climbing, especially when it seems too hard.

My sexual assaults story is uncommon for most and hard to most people to grasp. Who would believe that children are capable of knowing and doing such gruesome things to person? Most children are not like this and their experiences are different. It first happened when I was 8 years old while, my abuser was 7 years old at the time. I remember the abuse happening gradually as we build our friendship. It first started with us doing typical kid stuff like us playing together and joking around. And one day, he asked me to play this new game with him. I said sure. I thought it would be one of those silly jokes stunts of his. Instead he pulled my pants down and rubbed his private part against my bottom. It was really uncomfortable moment for me since, I grew-up in a strict Christian-based family. I have never witness anyone on television or heard of the things he was doing to me. Afterwards, I remember me being shy to tell anyone and feeling like I would get into trouble. So I remained quiet. How would any parent react if you see children engaging in sexual behavior? Wouldn't you automatically assume it was the oldest child to teach someone this behavior? This went on for almost 2 years. His behavior became more advance and his request got more weirder. One time, he begged me to drink his pee directly from his part. I told him no. And he stomped across the room mad. He kept persisting and demanding that I try it. Eventually, I gave in but, I told him only from a cup. It was the most dehumanizing experiences of my life. It was not long afterwards, that my father caught us. I remember me trying shove the boy off of me. And telling him that my dad was coming and he kept going harder and harder. I guess he thought I was lying to convince him to get off of me. He wouldn't stop until my father walked into the room.

I somehow got myself on Tinder at 16 years old. I know, not very smart of me but all my friends were on it at the time and I didn't think about it. I met someone who told me he was also underage, he claimed he was 17. He seemed perfect. We went on a date to a pumpkin patch, we got sushi at a restaurant, and after he came to my home to carve pumpkins. Everything was going so well. We were watching a movie and he asked us to move to my room. Honestly, I didn't really want to but I agreed and we went to my room. His demeanor changed immediately, suddenly he was cocky and dominant. We had sex which I had agreed to even if I felt pressured. Suddenly he put his penis in my anus, pulled it out after a few times, and put it back into my vagina. I was shocked, I was confused. Did that just happen? Is that normal? I am so grateful for the human survival instincts because I mostly checked out. But I remember him saying "You could at least act like you're enjoying it". Still, I didn't react. When he was done he got up and went to get a towel, I asked him to turn on the light and he said "Are you sure? You might not want to see the bed it's going to be graphic." I didn't understand and wanted the light on anyway. My white comforter was covered in blood and had feces stains on it. "wow" I felt embarrassed. He said it was normal. We went back into the living room and a few minutes later he left. Next, I threw out my comforter and went to my best friend's house. She had her older friend over. I told them what happened and they were shocked. Both of these girls were sexually experienced, and they told me that is not normal. You don't have anal sex by accident. You don't have anal sex without a discussion first. You don't "slip" into someone's anus which is the excuse I had thought up for him, "maybe he slipped?". They assured me it was not an accident that happens. I told the older girl his name, Name, it turns out she knows him and he is not 17. He told her he was 20. When he came over to her house before he was really pushy to have sex and her dog hated him so she kicked him out. My dog also hated him. Moving forward I reached out to him, he wasn't responding to my messages, then he said he was sorry but he's not looking for anything relationship-wise, he didn't want to see me again. At this point it started to become clearer "I might have been raped". I spent about 2 years going back and forth between did that really happen, was it rape, was it my fault, did I ask for it? A few days after the rape my vagina became swollen. I know, I'm sorry for the detail but it is crucial to the story. I went to the student based health center my school worked with because I did not want my parents to know I had sex. They did a test on me and I had bacterial vaginosis. The nurse said I had "bacteria that looked like a blooming flower inside of me.", this is because he went from my anus to my vagina a few times and I was bloody. Luckily it was an easy fix with some antibiotics. Another thing that confirmed something seriously wrong had happened. I spent 2 years of my life Junior and Senior years of high school in bed and I do not remember my high school time fully. I slept, I rotted, I removed my bed frame from my room in a mental breakdown, I rearranged my bed to different positions in my room, and I changed mattresses. Nothing was helping me. Eventually, I changed rooms. I began to resent my own home. I did not feel like I had a safe space. I started to be rude to my parents, I was mean when they would not let me go out, and I was snappy anytime. I skipped dinner, and avoided family time. In addition, I stopped going to school. I missed so many days of school, that they sent a letter that they might have a police officer come to our house to do a welfare check. My mom would drop me off at school, I would wait for her to drive away, and I would walk back home to go lay in bed. Until she started to wait until I got inside and then I would maybe go to one class and then walk home. My two best friends started to come to my window on school days and they would knock on my window to try and get me to come to class. One of them, my bestest friend in the world, would continuously knock on my window until I let her into my house. I also have barky dogs so they would be going crazy barking and I had to let her in, she also literally would not leave or stop knocking until I let her in. No matter how disgusting, and horribly messy my room was (I am talking can not see the floor, obstacles to the bed, garbage, huge piles of clothes, deep clothes on the floor) she would sit with me on my mattress on the floor. She would lay with me, she would cuddle me, she would make me watch videos with her on her phone. She would skip school for me. She would eventually coax me into leaving the house, going with her to get coffee, get food, go drive around, go to her house, go adventure outside in the woods together. I can't imagine what would have happened without her. She never made me feel like a victim, always let me talk about the gross details, and let me be my gross rotting self at this time, she made me laugh, she made me feel happy when I was so depressed, and didn't even really know why. As in I was still confused, still unsure if I was actually raped. Eventually, my school told me I would have to repeat my senior year. They never asked me what was wrong, they just told me I was failing bad. I had met a new guy at this time who became my boyfriend, he ended up cheating on me so I can't make him too nice in this story but at this time, he was really helpful, and beneficial, he taught me what real safe sex is and what it is supposed to be and feel like. It is communication, consent, mutual good feelings, and love. I want to add that when I did have sex with him for the first time after the rape my hands locked up. A physical result of trauma, I couldn't open up my hands, I was scared and not of him, but my body responded to this intimate act happening again. It was his first time having sex and I like to consider it my real first time too. He did not "slip" into my anus. Becuase that does not happen. After this, it clicked to me that I was anally raped. I had always searched on Google, Instagram, and anywhere I could for information on anal rape, and I could never find it. I wanted to be confirmed and validated. I wanted to find someone who had experienced the same thing I had and I still have not found it (4 years later). I only saw things about male prison rape. I am making a face right now that is not what I was looking for. Moving forward, one of my friends' sisters started dating the man who raped me a few days later. She messaged me and asked about him. I didn't tell her he raped me but I wish I did. Later on, I saw her at a party, a few drinks in, I went up to her and said I have a really personal question I need to ask. She said absolutely. I asked her if Name (the rapist) had tried to do anal with her. She whipped her head around and said "Yeah! He tried to during sex and I stopped him, I freaked out on him I was so upset.". Everything clicked for me in that moment and I am forever grateful for her and her honesty. She was a turning point in my healing. She confirmed what I had been questioning for years. My at the time boyfriend had gone to a high school that was inclusive, they had personalized education, and they really cared about their students. It was called School Name. He told me I should apply, they work with credit recovery and he thought it would be perfect to help me graduate. He was right. I applied to School Name, they asked me why I was failing high school. I told them I was raped at 16 and I stopped going to school. I told them I didn't want to repeat my senior year. I told them no one at my other high school asked about what was going on in my personal life. The woman on the phone said they could get me to graduate on time and that they could support me. My best friend who helped me through this time also transferred to this school. The two of us were in a new high school in our senior year. School Name changed my life. I enjoyed going to school again, I felt supported, and I was treated like I was smart and not like I was a delinquent who couldn't care less about their future. Every teacher in that building wanted me to succeed and I could feel it. I was in credit recovery programs, taking tests to prove I had the knowledge needed to graduate. My best friend and I finished high school early. It was a great feeling even though I graduated with a 2.3 GPA. Now I am sitting here writing this in a community college with my 21st birthday a few weeks away, and I have finally reached the point where I can think about the rape and not hit myself in the head until I stop thinking about it. I think about the rape and my rapist every day of my life since. I have always wanted to share my story and now I am looking for platforms to share it. I want someone else who was anally raped to be able to read my story, I want someone to be able to feel seen and heard like I wanted and needed. But for any rape survivor, I want you to know that eventually, you will be able to live with this new normal. I won't say "it gets better" because I am not sure that it does, frankly I do not think it does get better, it just becomes something you adapt to. I have gone to therapy and I am in therapy again now. I continue to try and put the work in to heal. I still think about it every day but I am finally less reactive. I still shudder and get angry every time I see his name somewhere. I will never be with someone named Name again. I shudder when I see someone who resembles him in any way. I am afraid of men. I don't like to go on dates, I don't like to be too close to a man, I don't want to be in a room alone with a man, I get angry or uncomfortable when a strange man on the street looks at me for too long, if they compliment me, if they try to have a conversation, or if they flirt. I have attachment and abandonment issues. I don't know if this will ever get better but it is a part of my new normal. Who I was before my rape is no longer me. I have accepted the fact that I am a new person and that I have to get to know myself again. I lost a lot of friends during my time of isolation, I have a hard time keeping a job, and I struggle to do well in school even though I really want to succeed. My depression is overwhelming most days. I want Name to be in a jail cell. I want him to be labeled as the rapist he is, I want him to suffer honestly. I want him to never be able to get a job. I hate him and I hate that he gets to live free and possibly enjoy his life. I hate that he probably still finds new victims. I did report him to the police, but nothing came of it. I also reported him to the Department of Human Services for abuse in my state, and nothing came of it. But I did my part, I can only hope that someone else reports him like I did and they see a flag in their system that he has done this before. I still see him on dating apps, he goes by his middle name now, and he is bisexual. I feel he used me as a test subject. When I was younger I would harass him online from fake accounts on Instagram. I told him that he was gay and that he should be a real man and find a guy to hook up with instead of torturing innocent girls. I told him I know everyone he has raped, even though I don't. I told him karma would catch up to him, and that someone will get you eventually. I told him he is a terrible person, but he never admitted what he did or owned up to it. I would like to think I can move on with my life but this is my story. It is a part of me now, it is why I act the way I do, and it is an explanation for most things in my life. I recently moved out on my own and got my own apartment. I thought I just didn't like having people over at my childhood home because it was the home I was raped in. My family moved out of that house and moved states. And now in my new house, my own personal space, I still can not invite anyone over. It is hard for me to have even just girlfriends, my friendly neighbor, or my best friend over. I do not allow guests to come over, and I never invite a date over. It is a huge step for me to have someone in my home and that is his fault. I only made this connection this year. I am afraid of having my space claimed by anyone else again. Wow, it felt good to get all of that out. It is hard to speak about and share my story when I do not have the justice I would like. It is hard to learn about the justice system when it is supposed to protect you and it does not. It is hard to think that so many people are raped so often. I am angry and I want change. I don't really know what kind of change but something. I wish I didn't have to live in so much anger and fear but that is also a part of my new normal. I am antsy, I can't help but look over my shoulder frequently when I am in public, and I can't help but worry about unlikely things. But I am adapting and you will too. Sending love to you.

Date, around time I went on a date with him (a correctional officer), thinking it was an opportunity to become acquainted with him as a friend, but it turned out to be a horrific night which I would only remember parts of. He picked me up in his white pickup truck; it smelled of cologne and winterfresh gum. Two smells I will never forget. He took me to a dirty dive bar without asking where to go. I already didn’t feel safe, and I regret that I never said anything to this day. I got my first drink, rum and coke. Keep in mind that my glass was smaller than a coffee mug. We started talking, and he told me he used to be in the army. He seemed to be trying hard to persuade and impress me, but I was not falling for it. The taste of my drink was no different than I had before. I was nearly done with my first drink when he asked if I wanted another, and I agreed. He returned with another and asked if I wanted to play darts, and I again agreed. I took one drink of my second rum and coke he brought to me and started to feel dizzy, tired, and weak. I didn’t say anything yet. I continued with darts. By then, he gave me a third drink, I don’t remember if I even had a drink of it. I do recall saying, ‘I wanted to go home,’ and we left out the side door to his white pickup truck. I don’t remember getting inside the front seat, let alone the backseat. My eyes flickered open and closed, waking up only to see him face-to-face with me. Raping me, I am frozen in shock. Disgusted by what he was saying to me. When he was done, he threw a towel on me and told me to ‘clean up.’ He tossed my shoe onto my nude body and said, ‘Now I will take you home.’ Twenty degrees outside, I was fully nude in a familiar parking lot. I got dressed. He took me home; no words were exchanged. Once I got in my house, I went straight into the shower and cried. I was a virgin He took my innocence from me that I can never get back. Date, around time Sitting in my office, He came in unannounced and sat down in a chair by the door. I looked up, feeling uneasy. I asked him, ‘what are you doing?’ He replied as he got up from his chair, ‘I know you want this cock.’ He blocked me between my seat, the wall, and my desk, I had nowhere to go. He unzipped his pants and grabbed a handful of my hair, and forcefully give him oral sex. This time I remember the whole brutal rape. Pushing, gagging, and choking only made him put more force and hurt upon me. His strength was unbearable. When it was over, he threw a piece of winterfresh gum at me and left. Crying, feeling dirty, guilty, and shameful, I put myself together and completed my day. Violated, not only once but twice, by the same guy. Once outside of work and the other inside work. After the first attack, I was broken inside, but the second attack really damaged me. If I told anyone, no one would believe me because he was a very well-liked person at work, and I was just a caseworker. My sisters were the first to know about the first assault in April 2020. I held back on the second as I felt they wouldn’t forgive me for allowing it to happen again. October 2020 I told my sisters about the second assault. I went to internal affairs, who sent me to detectives. They supposedly did an investigation, but boys will boys, and where I worked, they all stick together. The DA dropped the case. January - October 2023 I now moved out of that county because of the triggers and the hope that my PTSD will get better with time. I feel stronger I told my story and know I am a survivor. I hope my story will become someone else’s survival guide. This happens when you are a strong, outspoken woman at the County Name Jail inCity, State Name

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.

I’m sharing here because I hope I can reach out to other women who may have gone through marital rape or may still be going through it and I want you to know you are not alone. For years I felt as if I was asleep as I couldn’t face up to what was happening to me, why I was losing weight and why I so depressed. I minimised everything, even to him. I would try and make him feel better afterwards. Most of the time it was as simple as me saying no to sex and him doing it anyway while I was completely disconnected, and it was so often, I would lie there and wait til he was done most of the time, but each thing built up to him pushing the boundaries further, sometimes when we were out in public, always after I went out with my friends, it was part of the deal. I always told myself he’d be in better form if I just went along with it. He was always so stressed and so angry. And I loved him and sometimes I enjoyed sex with him. It made things very confusing in my head. And I was eating barely anything, which he encouraged, he was constantly buying me exercise equipment and sexy outfits. I kept getting sick, I was tired and low all the time. My family and friends were saying I wasn’t myself. There were 3 incidents that I play over and over in my head that I couldn’t minimise (although I tried). And they led to me telling him our marriage was over. That was a year ago. I thought it might help me to write one of them down and maybe someone will identify with me and it might help them. It was at his best friends wedding and as usual, he wanted us to do something exciting sexually. So we went to the men’s toilets. We were kissing and we started to have sex. I was quite drunk. All of a sudden he turned me around and bent me over the toilet, my hands on the window sill. I started to say no. It came out in what sounded like a little girls voice. I don’t know why I remember that so well. I don’t know why I didn’t shout. He raped me anally in the men’s cubicle and I was crying looking at a dirty window sill and I could hear strange men outside commenting. Afterwards I kept asking why did you do that, I didn’t want that, it hurt me, you were too rough, I said no. But he he didn’t want to talk about it. He left me sitting with one of his male friends that I didn’t know to go outside with his best friend and have cigars. He saw I was in pain and bleeding for days after. I stayed with him for years after that. Other things happened after that too. I ended up feeling like his stress ball, a rag doll, good for nothing else. I was with him since I was 18 years old and we have children together. He was all I knew. He was my husband and I loved him. No one knew what was happening. Everyone thought we were a couple in love. It wasn’t until I told him I couldn’t share a bed with him anymore and I was starting ti have panic attacks that we went to a marriage counsellor and it all came out. I woke up. It was her face. Her reaction. I felt so stupid and embarrassed. And he tried to explain it away to her shouting at her that he was a man. I was sitting there thinking how did I let this happen to me? I always saw myself as quite a strong, intelligent, bubbly person. I’m in my 40s, I should know better. I was looking at the counsellors face and it somehow didn’t feel as if it was happening. I realised I was shaking and she was worried about me and he was shouting at her. I felt so embarrassed and helpless. And stupid in front of another grown woman. I was thinking what if this was someone I loved telling me this happened to them? But still in my head I kept thinking its not really rape because he was my husband, and I loved him and so many times I wanted to have sex with him so how could it be rape. But why did he want to hurt me? I kept thinking this couldn’t be happening to me. Anyway thanks for reading. I hope it helps someone. I feel it helped me to write it down.

My name is Survivor and I live in Huntsville, TX. In 2004, at the age of 15 I was introduced to a man who was a pedophile. This was just after my parents divorced and after growing up with a severely abusive father, I was desperate from male leadership in my life. Needless to say, I was an easy victim. This man began grooming me and would eventually begin molesting me. This happened once or twice a month for the rest of my high school. Little did I know, this man was working alongside a college ministry called Chi Alpha and the Assemblies of God for at least 2 decades and had already molested other boys. For which he served a mere 90 days in Alaska jail. Pastors in our ministry tried to convince students, many of whom who were victims, to write letters of lienance on behalf of the abuser. You would think after high school and turning 18 I would have moved on and left him. After all, why would anyone continue to let themselves get abused? Unfortunately, that’s not how grooming or the mind of a victim works. So, I’m sad to say, the abuse continued. When I was abused in 2005, the statute of limitations in Texas at that time were until the age of 23. At the age of 23, I was still being molested by this man. For a significant amount of time the leadership in the Assemblies of God, which was the denomination I had been apart of my whole life, knew that this man was a registered sex offender and did not take needed steps to rid our ministries of him. I was one of the first victims to publicly come forward in 2023. For nearly 20 years I told no one, not even my wife. Myself and 5 friends, some even pastors in the Assemblies of God, started making calls to friends figuring other men had been abused heard dozens of stories of abuse because we were trying to help over 40 victims get help, seek justice, and heal. We all watched in horror as NDAs were used to insulate organizational leadership to cover themselves, using the NDAs as a fog of ignorance and hiding behind it. Because of this, Justice has not been served. Since then the Assemblies of God has tried to dismiss valid civil claims of negligence, has sidelined victims in the investigation process, and has sneakily tried to get victims to sign NDA’s. I’ll also add that I am a high school teacher here in Texas, and every year I hear stories from students who have been sexually harassed or abused in all kinds of scenarios. The happy side of my story is the abuser is currently in jail and awaiting trial. My wife and I have a rule in our house with our kids - no secrets. Last night I talked to my 8 year old daughter (in kid language) how NDA’s are used. And she said “but if you keep it secret doesn’t that bad person keep hurting children?” I had the privilege of working with Elizabeth and everyone involved with Trey’s Law. It helped my healing so much to be able to meet and talk with other survivors. To hear their struggles and to know I wasn’t crazy or alone. Through that legislative process I found my voice and gained confidence in sharing my story. Thank you Elizabeth for helping me tag along!

I dated him for less than a few months back in 2020. After the breakup he began hacking my home wifi and all devices on it. I spent years changing passwords and devices which cost me thousands of dollars. Regardless of how many times I replaced them he hacked the new ones within hours. This continued for nearly a decade. FBI, SBI, and local police did not investigate him and likely never will. When an immediate family member died, he destroyed my laptop with the damage he did to it from all the spyware, effectively isolating me at a time I needed support. He preferred I only think of him rather than grieve a lost family member. When I attempted to go back to university at my dream school he hacked the access point there and all my devices on it. His spyware survived multiple factory resets and he damaged my laptop which caused me to nearly fail out of university. When I got a decent job after graduating he hacked all my devices when I moved again. He would crash the network multiple times a day every day while I worked and sign into my work email changing the background multiple times a day. Each time I reported him even on my phone not on wifi he would crash the network for hours preventing me from being able to work out of retaliation. When I would buy new devices, they would mirror his browsing as if I was browsing as him and vice versa. He put high level spyware on my computer and phone tracking my photos, texts, and activities in real time. He would also play music like the song “Sucker for Pain” which discusses taking pleasure in torturing someone while hacking my devices. To this day he refers to me in derogatory terms such as a narcissist, immature, delusional, etc and people believe him not knowing the side of him I know. He lied to people telling them he broke up with me because I was “too immature” for him. He often spoke of other women he dated previously in similar terms to me, but I never realized it was just a pattern that I would be another continuation of. I regret not seeing the warning signs earlier. To date he is in his 40s and still takes his anger at his mom who abandoned him out on me, because apparently that is easier than him seeing himself for what he truly is. He would rather feel powerful through whatever means necessary than acknowledge how powerless he actually is and his lack of self-control. Regardless of what he does to me, I often think about how weak a person would have to be to go to this extent of evil to feel they are in control of their life.

At the end of my freshman year of college, I was at a house party. Towards the end of the night, after I had already been drinking, I said I wanted to go smoke and a guy who had been interested in me asked if he could come with me. We were friends at the time so I agreed. We went to the area in the back, which was an enclosed greenhouse-type porch and no one was back there. After we finished smoking, he leaned in and kissed me. I was shocked but went along with it at first. He proceeded to kiss me more intensely and started to touch me. Feeling uncomfortable, I stopped and told him I wanted to go inside. I sat at a table inside and he was next to me. I started feeling the high from smoking as I was having a conversation with my friends who were right across from me. Suddenly I felt his hand move up my thigh and he proceeded to rub me over my shorts. I was in frozen in shock thinking, "what the fuck is happening right now? This is really weird and i'm not enjoying this. Am I too high to do something right now? There are so many people around me. and no one knows what is happening. What is going on?" After a what felt like forever I felt him try to go in my shorts and that's when I snapped out of it and just looked at him. I didn't know what to say, and I don't really remember what happened at this point. I was just. in shock. He said something to me, I probably said something back, and then he just walked away. The day after I cried and had breakdowns in the bathrooms of the student center. I was confused and conflicted with myself trying to process what had happened. I felt like it was my fault because I googled things like "what constitutes as sexual assault/harassment?" because I wasn't sure if what i had gone through had "counted." I thought that since it was only touching it wasn't a big deal. I thought that because I was under the influence it was my fault. That I shouldn't have been that fucked up. That I shouldn't have been leading him on and making him think that I was into him. That I should protect him because he was friends with so many of my friends. But at the end of it all, HE WAS IN THE WRONG. I WAS PUT IN A SITUATION WHERE I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE AND HE HAD VIOLATED ME IN A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE. I'm here to say that no matter the action, no matter how small, if you were violated your feelings are VALID. If you did not give consent and you felt uncomfortable, it IS ASSAULT. It is still your story. YOUR trauma that you have to live with. Do not brush it off or belittle it because you don't feel like it's worthy of being labeled. You are worthy. You deserve to be heard.

I dedicate this to the 7 year old little girl and the sister that deserved more. Seven years old, little girl, baby girl. Full of big wishes and hopes, wanting to twirl. Seven years old, little girl, baby girl. Robbed of her innocence, her wishes and hopes, wanting to hurl. I was so happy, finally, a room of my own. But what would happen was unknown. Backstreet boys, NSYNC, Brittany Spears, TLC, posters plastered on the wall, Seven years old, little girl, baby girl. But even that didn't make him stall. Friday night? Or maybe Saturday morning, I don't remember, but I was scared crying and silently moaning. My big girl room, who would have known that day my life would be ugly and cold full of gloom, and not like my favorite, beautiful days full of gloom that only come in June. Seven years old, little girl, baby girl, my witness that night? The beautiful bright moon. That night I was forced to bloom. I'm sleeping, a weird feeling wakes me up, I promise you the door was closed shut, I watched it slowly crack open, my dad, comes in but he's not my dad, because my dad is supposed to protect me and save me. This version of a dad makes me so fucking sad, I want to scream, I want to cry out loud "mom!!!!!" but he says "shhhh, you better not tell your mother, or you'll be in trouble ". Seven years old, little girl, baby girl, he popped me like a bubble and left me feeling like rubble. Every time he drinks I know my night is going to stink. My world is crashing around me and no one knows the pain im in, I'm just a kid and my life feels so fragile and thin, wondering if I will ever win. Seven years old, little girl, baby girl, this little girl doesn't have an honest grin. I lay there shut up and take it. My life goes on because I just fake it. 8 years, 9 years, 10 years old, I swear this man has been bold. During the day I have to play"Daddy's little girl" pretending I love to twril. By night? All I want to do is hurl. Because this man stole my pearl. Tonight is different, before he can get started my mom walks in, and I thought I'd finally win. "Name" she screams. He mumbles and stumbles out the door. I run to the bathroom and splash water on my face, I walk back to my room, she tucks me in and says it will be morning soon. Morning comes, mom calls me to her room, there he is standing tall and straight like a broom. He says I'm sorry for what happened last night, I don't remember, it will never happen again, I promise. I knew he wasnt being honest. I want to scream you're a liar, you're a fraud what kind of father hurts his little lad? But I don't, I nod and agree, I knew I wasn't free. She sat there and believed, but did she really? After all she was a survivor of abuse from her brother, the same brother abused my aunt and my mother. Maybe she thought I had the perfect father? It happens often the scars won't soften all I want is to be put in a coffin. Dad, you fucked up our casa, and had me committing COCSA, as if I wasn't shamed enough, I hate to say this, it makes me sick to my stomach but while my father hurt me I was hurting my sister, I gave her the same blister, baby Im sorry, I know sorry is not enough, but I promise it's not a bluff. Saying this out loud is fucking tough. My "I'm sorry" will never be strong enough. May 2001, our home is raided by cops, he was a Japanese cook with the biggest side hustle in the book this guy thought he was a capo working for El Chapo, turns out he was just a fucking naco. I loved my dad but I hate the man that hurt me. Years and years on endless nightmares of him creeping back into my bedroom again and again. Knowing damn well he couldn't hurt me again. 20 years of no contact and he decides to die.Date he didn't get to see I turned into a beautiful queen, he died all alone, but I'm not like him, no, my heart isn't made of stone. I cried the day he died, the feeling I couldn't hide. I mourned "Name Chan Nah" twice that day. The first was the day he killed me and put my soul in an urn, when I was just seven years old. The second was the day he died, and I don't even know if he put up a fight. I forgive you for your sick mentality, and your death was a fatality. But my daughter? She has the perfect daddy, and that's my reality. My strength now? Is pure vitality. 35 years old, happy girl, babygirl, ALWAYS wanting twirl. Making her wishes and dreams come true no longer feeling blue. I now have a family who loves me and a husband that trusts me. I can hold my own, I promise you. These hands? I can throw, I am woman hear me roar, my power God has sworn, but if you touch me your life I will mourn, because my husband has sworn. He doesn't play when it comes to me and your life will end and he'll set your soul free. A meeting with God, you'll see. To the underworld? Maybe? Idk I just know that I'm happy and free to be me. What's to come? You'll see.

My husband and I met online in 2004. He was an actor and we began chatting on one of his movie's IMDb boards. In 2006, he flew to Tennessee from California to meet me in my hometown, and after a year together, we moved to Los Angeles. He'd grown up here; I'd never been west of the Rockies. Once settled in LA, we had a tumultuous relationship, caused partly by having very little money (an understandable conflict in a partnership). But the main cause of trouble for us were his family and friends, and he rarely defended me to or protected me from them - an unforgiveable conflict in a partnership. Most of them decided right away that they didn't like me for reasons like my anaphylactic peanut allergy preventing him and me from attending the family Thanksgiving because they insisted on deep-frying the turkey in peanut oil. His mother and siblings didn't like me because I wouldn't answer the door if they dropped by unannounced, and because I asked them not to call either of us past 10pm. A lot of his friends didn't like me because I would come home from working all day and get upset that my unemployed boyfriend and his friends were sprawled out on the couch playing video games, and I eventually put a stop to those visits. A very vocal and cruel critic of mine was one of his ex-girlfriends, who had sent naked pictures of herself to him as a "Christmas present" the first year he and I were together. After I innocently found them (we shared passwords/accounts), I questioned why he needed to keep her as a friend, as "friendship" didn't appear to be what she wanted from him. She blasted me as insecure, possessive, controlling, and immature, and for the duration of our entire relationship, she would badmouth me and try to convince him to break up with me - even after we were married. Those are only a few examples of my setting boundaries and the people in my husband's life trampling all over them and then making me seem like I unreasonable, unstable, and undeserving of being with him. We married in 2016. The aforementioned ex-girlfriend begged him not to marry me, one of his siblings refused to attend the wedding because he didn't like me, and five days before my wedding - which was on my parents' 50th wedding anniversary - his mother sent my mother a long letter detailing all the things she didn't like about me. Despite the attempted interferences, we had a beautiful wedding and about two happy years of marriage. The awful treatment of me continued, but I felt I had won: he married me, and I deserved the happiness I was enjoying. In March 2018, during an argument about how sick I was of how his family and friends treated me, he headbutted me. It truly came out of nowhere. He had never been violent in any way before, and whilst we were exchanging angry words - not even yelling - he simply walked over, grabbed my shoulders, and headbutted me, twice. I immediately developed two black eyes and a bump on my forehead. I was devastated, but I didn't tell anyone. We didn't speak about the incident after that night. In August 2018, we were having a heated conversation whilst eating dinner. I don't even remember what we were talking about. But he stood up, walked around the table, grabbed my shoulders, and headbutted me again. This time I had black eyes, a bump, and a gash above my nose. After this incident, I started seeing a therapist, but I didn't want to tell him about the violent incidents because I was concerned that he'd have to report it, and my husband might get arrested. Instead, I unloaded all the frustration about the horrible treatment I received from his family and friends. I also nurtured two of my own friendships I'd had for awhile, with a woman and a man (who didn't know each other). I told them, separately, about the violent incidents. The woman immediately told me about an act of violence (shoving) she experienced with her fiancé, and offered no additional support. The man encouraged me to leave my husband. I also told my parents about the violence, and they did not believe me. In August 2019, my husband slapped and strangled me. I went to urgent care to be treated for the strangulation, and the nurses called the police. My husband wasn't arrested, but he was sent to court due to the police report the urgent care initiated. I decided that I was afraid to live with him, and asked him to move out. My male friend helped me with rent money so I could afford to live on my own. My husband told his friends and family that I'd been having an affair for months, possibly years, which was not true. They believed him, and they believed that they'd been right about me all along - that I was unreasonable, unstable, and undeserving of being with him. His mouthy ex-girlfriend is a psychologist, and she convinced my husband that I have narcissistic personality disorder and that he is the victim. I went to court on his behalf to prevent him from going to jail, though he did need to complete anger courses and pay fines. His family is trying to help him get his record expunged, because they don't think he deserves to have this follow him for the rest of his life. I, however, have to carry the memories of harassment, cruelty, violence, and devastation for the rest of MY life. My therapists in the years since have not diagnosed me with a personality disorder. Rather, I have been diagnosed with PTSD from what one of them called "a lifetime of abuse". I was abused for years by my husband's mother, siblings, ex-girlfriends, friends, and finally by my husband himself. They're right about one thing: I didn't deserve him. I deserved so much better.

At age seven, I told my mother I was being sexually abused by my paternal grandfather. In the middle of a contentious divorce, my mom believed me, but I was forced to tell the story over and over again to police officers, counselors, and attorneys. My dad, an up-and-coming attorney, who worked in the same county where my grandfather resided assisted him with his defense in court. I testified in court for an hour and a half and had to be in the same room with my grandfather. The verdict: not guilty. Life after the trial was a tangle of coping mechanisms. My relationship with my dad fractured, and I lost contact with every member of my paternal family, not knowing that only 1.5 to 3 percent of all child sexual abuse cases end in a guilty verdict. All I knew was that my dad did not protect me. After high school, I moved across the country to attend college in the state my college was in, where I found myself first through drinking and smoking, and then an eating disorder. I developed relationships with both men and women, often in overlapping time frames, rarely fully honest with my partners. As my unhealthy coping mechanisms sent me into a spiral, I began recovery multiple times—until, finally, I started to regain control of my life and the autonomy that was taken from me so long ago. Today, I'm a business owner, at work on a memoir about my experience testifying with a real estate side hustle. I am more than my abuse.

At the time, my sister and I were bathing with a man my mother had described as "the man who would become my father." My sister was probably only about three years old, so I don't think she remembers it, but the man made my sister wash his genitals. I suddenly remembered it recently, and I'm tormented by the thought that it might have been sexual abuse, and blaming myself for not protecting my sister. I want to disappear.

I always struggled with my words even before that night happened. Using alcohol as a mechanism to survive in social spaces I never belonged. Maybe that’s how he picked me out he saw his victim: lost, voiceless and out of control. After that night, I felt the loneliest and most out of place I’ve ever felt. That girl was lost, she felt out of control, she felt voiceless. Now, nearly 10 years later. I have found my voice. I am not a victim but I’m a survivor. I speak for women whose voices are lost too, so one day they will have the courage to find them and speak up too. You are never alone and anytime you use your voice I promise you, you’ll be heard. We are women, we are powerful!

i was sexually assaulted in my house, but i don't remember how old i was or his face. it makes me feel it's not valid, but i know it happened. i was sexually abused by a teacher in pre-k, a man who i didn't know the name of. he molested me more than one occasion. he followed me to the bathroom and raped me. i tried to fight back, but a four year old doesn't have that much strength. i was sexually assaulted multiple times at gymnastic camp. she would touch me knowing it made me uncomfortable. i would try to avoid her, but it never worked. these made me feel weak, and still does at times, but i know im strong. and i know it's ok to feel the way i feel. feeling are valid and you are strong.

Es fängt an im Teenager-Alter. Ich war 14 und mit meiner Freundin unterwegs - wir wollten dazu gehören. Oftmals wurden wir überredet und genötigt sexuelle Handlungen vorzunehmen: Zuerst mit Alkohol und Cannabis "abgefüllt und willig" gemacht werden, dann stetiges überreden zu sexuellen Handlungen bis hin zur Androhung von Gewalt. Sagte ich nein, so wurde mein "Ruf" geschändet und im ganzen Dorf sprach man über mich, wie über eine Hure. Es waren viele Männer, immer die gleiche Masche. Ich fühle mich schuldig, da ich kaum verstand, dass das nicht richtig ist und "normal" ist. Immer wieder suchten die Täter gezielt Situationen, um diese auszunutzen.  Meinen ersten Freund hatte ich mit 16. Er nötigte mich, mein 1. Mal zu haben, als ich betrunken war. Ich habe mich danach schrecklich gefühlt und hatte Schmerzen. Ich hatte ein strenges Elternhaus, oft Hausarrest, wollte aber dazu gehören und Freunde haben. So lief ich oft weg und feierte oftmals mit meiner Freundin und geriet in gefährliche Situationen. Wir sind z.B. per Anhalter gefahren: 3 Männer haben uns nicht aus dem Auto gelassen, uns in Gegenden gefahren, die wir nicht kennen, uns nicht raus gelassen. Ich schlief dann dort in einem Bett, damit wir am nächsten Tag mit dem Taxi heim können. Im Schlaf bemerkte ich dann, dass ein Penis in mir steckte - ich bin davon aufgewacht. Von einem Mann, den ich nicht kannte und mind. 10 Jahre älter als ich war. Ich war zu dem Zeitpunkt 17. Ich erstarrte und lies es über mich gehen, in der Hoffnung es passiert mir nicht mehr. Mein zweiter Freund nahm mich mit zu seinem besten Freund. Er wollte dort Sex haben - ich fühlte mich dazu gezwungen, da ich sonst nicht heimkäme. Dabei kam sein bester Freund dazu, war wohl eine abgesprochene Sache (nur ohne mich). Ich hatte keine Möglichkeit nein zu sagen oder zu entkommen. Ich ließ es über mich ergehen. Ich wusste es nicht besser. Ein anderes mal war ich ebenfalls in einer Clique draußen unterwegs. Sie wollten rumfahren, ich fuhr mit. Dann war ich mit einem Mann allein in der Wohnung. Er sperrte mich ein und wollte mich zum Sex überreden. Ich entkam, indem ich mich stark gewehrt hatte. Er drohte mir Gewalt an. Ich stand an der Straße, wusste nicht wo ich war - über 1 Std. weg von meinem zu Hause. Eine Frau nahm mich dann per Anhalter mit. Mit 20 lag ich oftmals am nahgelegenem See und genießte das Wetter. Drei Vorfälle gab es am See: beim 1. Mal stand nackt ein Mann hinter mir und befriedigte sich selbst. Beim zweiten Mal, an einem anderen Tag legte sich ein Mann nackt nur ein Meter entfernt von mir sich hin. Er war locker 50 Jahre alt. Ich erstarrte und hatte Todesangst, das wenn ich mich bewege, er näher kommt und mir was antut. Erst als eine weitere fremde Person auftauchte, zog er sich an. Beim dritten mal, ähnliches und ich schrieb meiner Freundin, dass sie bitte kommen soll. Als sie kam, ging der Mann davon. Im Urlaub war ich mit einer Freundin unterwegs, wir waren 24. Es entblösste sich ein kleiner alter Mann vor uns, zeigte seinen nackten Penis und rief, ob wir Sex haben wollen.  Mit 25 hatte ich eine Affäre. Der Mann wurde beim Sex so aggressiv, beginn mich stark zu schlagen und zu würgen. Ich sagte, das ich das nicht möchte - er ignorierte mich. Ich fühle mich dermassen missbraucht. Von einem weiteren Freund lies ich mich in einen "Sex"Club überreden. Ich dachte, ich bin cool und kann das und das das normal ist und von einem erwartet wird. Dort wurde ich extrem begafft und von extrem älteren Männern angefasst. Anschließend sagte mein Freund mir, dass ich schmutzig sei (andere haben mich angefasst und ich sei dafür verantworltich) - er könne nun nicht mehr mit mir zusammen sein.  Ich war in Mallorca im Urlaub mit 25 und buchte eine Ferienwohnung über AirBnB. Der Host war sehr freundlich, es war seine 2. Wohnung die er stetig vermietet- so stand es online. Ich war dort immer allein und fühlte mich wohl. Da ich die ganze Wohnung gebucht hatte, sperrte ich das Schlafzimmer nicht ab. In der letzten Nacht wachte ich von einer Berührung auf: Plötzlich saß der "freundliche" Vermieter nackt an meinem Bettrand und streichelte mein Bein. Ich war so perplex und fragte ihn, was das soll. Er meinte nur, er habe seinen Schlüssel verloren. Ich zeigte auf meinen und sagte ihm, er solle diesen nehmen und raus gehen. Erst nachdem ich mehrmals ihn aufgefordert habe zu gehen, lies er von mir ab. Ich war in Panik danach. Es waren "nur" noch 4 std, bis ich zum Flughafen musste. Ich packte dennoch sofort meine Sachen und floh aus der Wohnung. Er wollte mir dann dabei noch behilflich sein - und akzeptierte mein Nein nicht. Als ich rausging, sah ich, dass die Besenkammer offen stand und dort eine Matratze etc. lag - ich glaube, dass er dort heimlich jede Nacht geschlafen hat. Ekelhaft, ich hoffe es ist mir nicht mehr passiert. Ich schrieb ihm eine schlechte Rezension und erzählte dies öffentlich und meldete es der Plattform. Er stellte mich als notgeil da, dass ich lügen würde und das ich was von ihm wollte.  Mit 25 war ich mit guten langjährigen Freunden auf einem Geburtsag. Wir übernachteten dort auf einem Sofa: ich alleine auf einem Zweisitzer, ein "guter Freund" und seine Freundin auf dem angrenzendem Sofa. Dann bemerkte ich im Schlaf einen Finger in mir und wachte auf. Als ich sah, dass er mich anfasste, sprang ich auf und schloss mich ins Bad ein. Ich konfontierte ihn damit, er verhamrloste es. "Ich hätte es gewollt". Seine Freundin bekam nichts mit. Doch diesmal schwieg ich nicht! Und war das erste mal stolz auf mich: Ich öffente mich Freunden und erzählte davon. Rückhalt war hier wenig zu finden. Ich erzählte seiner Freundin davon, sie verteidigte ihn. Seine zwei besten Kumpels ebenso und es wurde totgeschwiegen. Heute sprechen mich Fremde darauf an, nur wegen "sensationsgeilheit" und glauben mir nicht - schließlich war ich ja früher für meinen "Ruf" bekannt. Meine Perspektive der damaligen Zeit meines "Rufes" interessiert sie nicht  - schließlich bin ich schon immer extrovertiert, kontatkfreudig, "reizvoll" gekleidet und an allem selber Schuld. Ich würde mich immer anbieten. Ich hasse es so sehr, ich möchte nicht an die Zeit erinnert werden. Es war Winter, ich 29 Jahre alt: Meine Oma hatte einen Schlaganfall und musste an den Rollstuhl gegurtet werden, kann nicht sprechen oder sich bewegen. Ich lief mit ihr im Park spazieren. Es war Mittags gegen 15h und hatte einen langen Mantel, Schal etc. an. Auf einer Anhöhe tat ich mir schwer, den Rollstuhl hoch zu schieben. Es kam ein fremder, alter Mann mit Hund und fragte, ob er mir helfen kann. Ich lehnte höflich ab. Er kam dennoch hinter mich, fasste mich am Po an und schob mich hoch. Ich konnte kaum glauben, was ich da erlebe. Er ging erst von mir weg , als ich lauthals sagte, dass ich es alleine schaffe. Passanten waren unterwegs - niemand bemerkte meine hilflose Situation.

Hey! I'm 18, and all this happened a year and a half ago, I was 16. It's a really weird and messed up story, I never heard a similar one. I was going home late afternoon and got literally attacked by a group of I think 3 or 4 people older than me, all male. I dont know which language they were speaking. I really really tried to kick them and scream and resist but there was nothing I could do. I dont know how long it lasted, I was scared what they would do when they're done, if they would kill me or let me run away. They let me go when they were done, I picked up my things and literally ran home without stopping. I am so grateful there was nobody home and that nobody saw me going home. It was this feeling of emotionless and numbness when you cant feel anything that saved me. I showered, last time next 9 months, got dressed and prayed no one gets home soon. I didn't go out much next few days, acted normal enough that my parents wouldn't notice and tried to not think about it. I only told people online: a close friend and anonymously to hundreds who would read my reddit post. After a few months of constant crying in my room, I tried to kill myself, every time I decided I'd rather not die yet and threw up the pills, then be mad and try again... I cut myself, hit myself, would cry and scream in a corner of my room and hit myself with something when nobody is home. Hid all pretty well, parents would tell me I've changed and tried to get to me, mom would cry and ask me what's wrong but I would, barely holding it in, tell her shes making it all up and go to my room rolling my eyes. I still cut myself, sometimes hit myself and pull my hair, subconsciously pick the skin around my fingernails so it bleeds, my hands look absolutely horrible. My thighs are covered in 30cm long scars from knee to hip and it's sometimes a pain to walk and even sleep. Idk how I survived the summer, people at the beach would look at my leg but nobody ever said anything. I've still never told anyone in real life, I am extremely ashamed of all of it, cant walk down the street with my head up, cant imagine telling parents or talking to a therapist. I really just dont want to be sad anymore. This text is poorly written and doesnt really transfer all emotions well, I didnt really see the keyboard because of crying. But thank you for reading this. Knowing someone knows I'm going through this helps. And that there are other people. Thank you really.

Hello, my name is Name, and my entire childhood I was sex trafficked. In the beginning of my childhood, my home life was seemingly perfect. My mother was very motivated in holistic healing and teaching me and my younger brother mindfulness, she was sweet and caring, though she was in the middle of starting her own business and was constantly busy, not noticing when me and my brother needed help, she was also an alcoholic. We were often left unsupervised and were physically punished. My father seemed very lighthearted and innocent most of the time, though I didn't know at the time deep down he was the opposite. My grandparents were also very involved in my upbringing. We would stay with them or they would stay with us every 2-3 months, and then me and my brother would stay with them for a couple weeks to a month and a half. The first time I remember being raped, I was only 4 years old. My grandfather was staying at my house, I don't remember where my parents, brother or Nana was. This memory is very fragmented for me. I remember crying very hard, and I remember bleeding everywhere. I can remember how painful it was. I was so scared. There's a gap in my memory, the time from when it was over, and then the next day. Next thing I knew the memory had repressed itself inside of my mind, there was a sudden split in my consciousness. One part felt the pain, the other was oblivious. My grandparents left afterwards. A couple months later I was registered into a preschool, owned by a puerto rican woman and her family. Because of how young I was, I do not know how to full narrate this part of my life. My memories are scattered. I do know that at this daycare there was a woman, she was the owner's daughter's boyfriend's mother who often helped out there. And a man, the owner's husband. Let's call the woman Name 2 and the man Name 3. One day early on in attending the day care, I was taken into a room with both of them alone, and again I was raped. I remember the fear and the confusion, then I remember the numbness that again took over my body and mind. I remember the split of my consciousness happening again. After this I have scattered memories of it happening again and again. Sometimes I remember other children being involved, but I'm not sure if those memories are accurate. They often took photos and videos of me. Half of the time, my life felt like a horror show, and the other half I was completely oblivious to it. Though, the oblivious part always knew something was wrong. She would often take things out on dolls, destroying the space between their legs with whatever she could find. She would often rehearse exactly what had happened to her onto the dolls, not knowing where these horrible ideas had come from, and what they meant. She also often took these things out on other children, trying to initiate sex with anyone she knew. The rape continued, until Name 3 murdered his wife, the owner of the daycare. He had been physically abusing her for a long time. Her death was sudden and was probably caused by a head injury, but nobody said anything about it. Name 3 was not persecuted. So, my parents registered me to another daycare. I was safe from being violated for a year. Until Elementary school started. My grandfather started molesting me again. My kindergarten year went by fast, and in the fall of my 1st grade year my parents divorced. They had been fighting every day on and off for a long time, my Mother decided to just leave. I don't remember how long I went without seeing her. She was now struggling on and off with homelessness. My father took all the money he could get his hands on. This is when the abuse from my father started. He beat me and my brother until our backs were covered with black and purple bruises. He'd pull me out of bed by my hair before school every morning. He was constantly irritated. He hired babysitters to watch me and my brother after school while he was still at work, some of them were from the daycare where I was raped. Soon after my mom started coming over twice a week to see me and my brother. One night, I believe my Dad had gotten drunk, he told me to get ready for bed. I did and went into my room. He followed. My memory gets spotty here, my father raped me. He was angry, he wanted revenge on my mother for leaving him. I couldn't do anything against him. Afterwards, he buckled his pants back up. And he left me. I had an accident and my mother came in to help me, not aware of anything that had happened. After that I had many more accidents. Nobody suspected anything. I had nightmares of monsters eating me alive, ripping apart my insides, wolves tearing me to pieces, bears chasing me, being forced to touch my family members inappropriately. Still I was mostly oblivious. The abuse went on, there were times when things would be good for a couple weeks and then it would go back. I started going to my moms apartment on weekends. Later that year, my grandfather started raping me again. My Nana was working, and he was a trucker. He was off most of the time we were together. To keep me quiet about it, he often attempted to murder me. He would hold me by my head and tell me he was gonna snap my neck, he'd choke me until all I saw was darkness and I couldn't speak, and when he'd bathe me, he'd hold the back of my neck and push me under the water until I stopped struggling. He'd slap me across the face so hard my ears would ring so loud, when I fell over onto the carpet he'd kick the shit out of me, and sometimes he'd whip my back with an extension cord. He told me no matter what if I told anybody I would be dead. And that I would go to hell. My family was baptist. Soon after men would come over and pay to rape me as well, sometimes in the privacy of my grandparents bedroom and sometimes together right in the middle of the living room. Some were from the church, some were family friends, and others were truckers my Grandfather knew. I remember my grandfather leading me to the bedroom with one of the truckers. He paid my grandfather, looked at me from outside and then he closed the door behind him. The lights were off and the dim light of the sun was shining through the sheer curtains. He forced my mouth open and I choked on him, i ran to the trash can and threw up. As i was leaned over, he raped me. I couldn't stop throwing up, when that was over he moved me and forced himself into my mouth again. His legs were pinning my arms down onto the carpet. I couldnt move or struggle. I could look over and see myself in the closet mirror. After he was done, there was throw up on my face and neck and semen stuck in my hair. He left the room and my grandfather told me to wash myself in the bathroom sink. I was crying and sniffling and trying to brush the fluid out of my hair. I tried to scrub my tongue with my hands. Everything stunk. When I wasnt with my grandparents, I was at home. Name 2 started babysitting me, and one day she told me and my brother we had to go with her to a doctors appointment for her feet. We went with her, as me and my brother sat in the room with her the doctor kept injecting things into her toes. They laughed and smiled at me and my brother as it was happening, we were very uncomfortable and confused. After that she told my brother to go sit in the lobby. We were alone in the doctors office and she brought out a video camera. The doctor laid me down onto the table and raped me while she recorded. I struggled as much as I could but again I was powerless. Afterwards I was numb and repressed again, I remember she told me to go pee afterwards and I did. I was disoriented and confused, not remembering how I got there. A couple weeks later I had told my mother that I got raped by a doctor. I had acted out what he did but I didn't have the words to say rape or assault. My mom told my dad and they sat me down and told me that what happened to me was wrong, and that I needed to tell them about it. At that point I had forgotten even mentioning it, i had completely forgotten that it happened, so I had nothing to say. Life moved on, they asked Name 2 about it, and she lied, saying that I left the room with my brother afterward. I continued being assaulted and trafficked by my grandfather for the following years. Constantly forgetting. When I was 11 it ended. I assume he was no longer interested because I had started puberty. I spent the next years living with my mother. She was neglectful and constantly drunk or high. I was constantly starving and underweight, when I saw my father on the weekends we fought but I didn't remember anything that had happened. Every part of me became depressed and confused. I dropped out of school in 8th grade. My mom told me that I had told her about the doctor that year, My entire life changed. At that point I didn't even remember being raped once. I went into a state of bipolar mania and psychosis. This went on for 7 months, then I went to my grandparents again. They were moving far away and there was a family reunion before they left. I remember being alone with my grandfather on the couch, he caressed my thigh with his hand. I was oblivious to everything that happened. I kept looking at things on my phone and ignored him. He said something odd, which I can no longer remember. I looked at him with confusion, and he sighed and left me alone after a prolonged silence. It didn't sit right with me. That month, after I went back home, memories started coming to me. I didn't know that starting then, I would spend all of my highschool years in a cycle of recovering memories, getting used to them, and then recovering more. I lost every friend I had. Except for my boyfriend I met online when I was 13. He was the only one who cared about anything that happened to me. I told him almost everything. He was a survivor of constant sexual abuse throughout his childhood as well. We understood each other. Now, I have just turned 18. I start college in the fall. I've gone no contact with my father. I've told my mother about everything, she told me my dad had sexually assaulted her and other women as well. And that they found money in my grandfathers mattress, also that he was probably selling drugs as well. Though she has not given me an apology for her neglect, and shows that she doesn't feel sorry for me at all. I'm dedicating every day to nurturing myself, since my parents can't. My journey isn't over, there's so much I don't understand still, but I know now that I will be okay. Most days I feel this awful shame. Like Im not meant to be alive. Like my body is all I was ever good for, like nobody cares about me at all or will ever understand. While most people couldn't understand the pain of what I've gone through, that's not what's important. I'm here for myself and I'm soon getting engaged with my boyfriend that I mentioned earlier. Things get better every day. I will not allow myself to feel this shame anymore. I'll share my story until I physically can't anymore. As soon as I submit this story I will not let it control me any longer. Thank you if you read this far.

It was a cold snowy winter night just before the COVID shutdown spread across the country. I was attending the second-year graduate school class reception with a group of friends from the second-year graduate class. My "date" as my invitation to attend that class's event was really someone everyone knew was in a committed long-distance relationship and just using the extra ticket as a fun excuse to invite me as friend. It was a fun time to explore a historic mansion while having food and wine. An hour later, as it was about to conclude, one of the second-year's partners turns to me and tells me she would really like to meet me at a bar, and a group of people from that class are planning to go there. I turn to my "date" and we both agree to go. We drove to the vintage bar, one I never had been to before. I walk in through the snow and ice in my black high heels in a cocktail dress covered by my winter jacket, trying my best not to trip. A cocktail and a few conversations among classmates of my "date" later, I find myself in the corner chatting with the person who invited me to the bar from the reception. Something seemed off from the start of the conversation -- and it only got worse. The 30-something-appearing cis woman was a faculty member, yet seemed to serial date younger, new students at the same professional school -- a fact a classmate mentioned in passing with an eye-roll earlier. The one-to-one conversation with me appeared to go in circles, with her repeating the same stories over and over again without realizing that she was doing so. Awkward conversation, but it would just be a temporarily annoyance, my thought was. Yet it took an even more bizarre turn. She kept getting closer to closer to me as she was talking. At one point, she touched my shoulder, ostensibly to make a comment about how she liked my dress. She was mentioning her professional expertise and connections in the field I was, and still am, most interested in entering. She then started asking me awkward questions about how I was visibly trans, and then mentioned as a complete non-sequitur how she was the dominant "masculine" partner in her relationship. And then, to my horror, I noticed her abruptly lifting the bottom of my dress up and reaching underneath my dress to attempt to grope either my inner thigh...or worse. This wasn't just a slight motion; her hand was fully underneath my dress and moving fast upwards, from what I could clearly see from the brief glimpse I took. I immediately stepped backwards with a wide-eyed look on my face, in total disbelief of what just happened...and what did not happen that was mere seconds away from fully happening. She turned away in a hurry and walked back to her partner at the bar -- who was oblivious to what just happened -- grabbed him by the arm, and made an excuse to request to leave. This was not the first time I had experience attempted or completed sexual assault. Just like when I experienced rape the year of my college graduation, during a different cold winter night years earlier, I remember feeling puzzled, confused, and very much *not* wanting to put a label on what just happened to me. The events of each night leading up to the sexual assault always seem so random and not predictable as they are happening, but in retrospect, it is so easy to attempt to scrutinize every detail as a possible warning sign of what was to come. Yet I do not even want to think about the likely reality that the attempted sexual assault I experienced that night seemed to happen due to being visibly trans. When people think of post-traumatic stress disorder from an evolutionary perspective, it is typically thought of as an adaptive way to avoid situations of future danger. But when you're scared of social events and comments about personal identity, just think of how unpredictable the healing journey is.