This is a space where survivors of trauma and abuse share their stories alongside supportive allies. These stories remind us that hope exists even in dark times. You are never alone in your experience. Healing is possible for everyone.
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Original story
Thank you for reading this. I wish I could give you a hot cup of tea and a big blanket to wrap yourself in. I'm sending you my love and hope and prayers. Please remember me.
Healing would be not feeling so afraid and not running away from things that might not be a danger to me. Healing would be me in a safe, loving, intimate relationship with someone who respects and cares for me. I want intimacy, but I need to know that my partner would stop if I asked them to. I'm in my local Renaissance Faire as part of a historical reenactment group. There are so many genuinely nice people in it, and they make me feel safe. Connecting with people will help me heal.
One morning sometime during Covid, I was at a cafe near my house with my family. My parents both worked at home, so we made a tradition of walking to coffee shops near us and sitting outside of them, drinking coffee and tea and playing cards. It was good to be able to excersize and spend some time outside of the house. That morning, both of my parents stepped into the cafe for some reason or other. I stood outside on the cafe patio, talking with my sister, who is two years younger than me. We were both teens, but I can't remember exctly how old we were. A man walked into the parking lot towards us. His clothes were dirty and he looked like he was homeless. He started walking around us silently. I was too scared to do anything. He grabbed my asscheek and squeezed it. I didn't see, but he did the same thing to my sister. I wish I'd punched that fucking excuse for a human being. I was in shock, so I just stood there, my mind going 'what the bloody hell is happening to me...' It didn't quite feel real. I don't usually cuss so much, but even all the dirty words don't express how angry I was. I was so damned angry for weeks afterward, and I'm still angry thinking and writing about it. That bastard walked away, still silent, as if he hadn't just started putting me through hell. I told my parents a few minutes after they came out of the cafe. Thank God they believed me. The next day we made a report to the police. As far as I know, they never found him. I hate that someone like that is walking free and unpunished. I wanted my first experience with sexual touch to be with someone I loved. I've had other bad experiences with homeless people. There was a homeless person yelling and flailing around (not at me) a month or two ago right after I got off the bus from college. I sort of logically knew the yelling wasn't at me, but I was scared and my instincts took over. I ran like hell. After the assault, the flight reation in situations that might be fight-or-flight got extra sensitive. I feel like a car with an alarm that goes off whenever a big truck goes past. I'm going to therapy at my college. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to trust anyone enough to have an intimite relationship. Having a long-term romantic relationship is something I want for myself, but I'm afraid that a future partner would touch me when I didn't want them to. Thank you for reading this.
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For immediate help, visit {{resource}}
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