I've been wanting to get this off my chest for the longest time. I've only ever told my former best friend. I never forgot what happened to me, never repressed it, never thought it was a dream. I just kept it to myself.

I think I was four the first time it happened. My brother and I liked to sleep in our parents' bed or on the couch at the end of the their bed. We were definitely clingy kids, and looking back on it, I've realized we both just craved a connection with our parents that we never truly had and still don't have.

One night, I was sleeping on the couch at the end of the bed, and my father woke me up. He didn't say a word. I remember him putting his hand in my pants and not thinking it was weird at first. But very quickly, I realized it was weird and I couldn't figure out why. I just knew I didn't like what was going on.

He eventually put a finger inside of me and it hurt, but I was too scared to tell him to stop. I'm not sure how long I was laying there waiting for it to be over, but once he did stop, I felt like he pulled something from me when he did. He never told me not to tell anyone. He never told me he would kill me, or even hurt me. That night was the first night I was ever scared of people, but not because they could hurt me or kill me. I was scared of people because they could shatter your soul without an explanation.

In the morning, I waited for him to go to work so I could say something to my mom. The fear that I felt was almost painful, but I was more scared to go through it again than I was to tell her. She was in the kitchen, doing the dishes. At the time, I didn't realize how peaceful her morning must have been before I spoke up. "Mommy, daddy put his fingers inside me." She dropped the plate she was scrubbing and it shattered at the bottom of the sink. My heart dropped with it.

She wouldn't even look at me. She just looked straight forward and asked, "What do you mean? Where inside you?"

"My peepee."

As far as I know, she never confronted him, and I know she never called the police or CPS. So I just thought it was normal and I hoped I would get used to it. It only ever happened a handful of times after that and they never escalated further than they had the first time, but I always felt isolated and alone when it did. My parents stayed together until I was fifteen, and never brought up the pain my dad put me through.

Every human should read this:

Twitter and other tech companies simply do not do enough to protect children on their platforms.

As as result, child sexual assault material (CSAM), circulates online at alarming velocity. This is not only a dark web problem. It is a mainstream one.

Instead of using all available technology to help solve the problem, tech companies turn a blind eye, literally leaving survivors to search for their own images and beg for their removal.

Its time we demand change. From tech companies, from government and from society.

Thank you Canadian Centre for Child Protection Inc. for taking on this fight. For standing up for children and for telling the truth.

On its 15th Birthday, The Centre has called on Twitter to lead change.

It's time we all join this fight.

#twitterbirthdayplea birthdayplea.com

Hello all,

I am an artist who is working on a project about domestic, sexual and/or mental abuse. I started off by telling my story but I need more stories to make an impact.

If you are willing to anonymously share your story with me please get in touch. I can share my story in return and also show you the progress of the project. (Mithilamalaviya.com/ntbe - project proposal - u can see the project proposal here.)

Hit me up on Instagram @maakasamartiste or here.

I hope I can help you and together we can help others who are still suffering in this space.

The aim of the project is to create a safe space for people to speak up more or stand up and break out of their bad condition and also raise enough attention and money to donate to three separate charities.

Thank you so much for reading this :)

https://www.centralfifetimes.com/news/19075970.dunfermline-woman-left-four-year-old-home-alone-go-drinking-life-nightclub/

I was with my ex for almost 3 years. I really did think I loved him. Recently I found out he would drug me without my knowledge. Put some drops in my drinks to “loosen me up” in his words. So I’d have sex with him. He had been doing it for so long I’m starting to question whether or not it was really ME feeling my emotions towards him, or all the drugs I was hopped up on with him, both to my knowledge and without it. I’m hurt. I trusted this guy with everything and now I just feel so mentally lost and confused. I’m sad. I’m hurt. Literally I was raped by the person I trusted and loved most. I need to speak about it somewhere.

I’m 20 years old and i told my darkest secret to the first person ever today, my mom.

For a long time i tried to convince myself that what happened to me was a dream. I was so young when everything happened, my experiences somewhat foggy, that it was easy to disassociate for everything and write it off as a nightmare. But it wasn’t. I know in my heart what happened. I don’t remember each time, or exactly what occurred each time, but I’m done trying to convince myself I’m crazy.

When i was around 6 or 7 i was molested by my older sister. She is 6 years older than me. She would call it “kiss and touch time”. We were close when i was little but she got addicted to drugs at 16 (me 10) and has been in and out of my life since.

I try not to think about it too much because I’m honestly really ashamed. I don’t ever remember it being painful or aggressive, to be honest, the part that really fucks me up is i thought we were playing, that this was normal. Why would my sister hurt me?

I’m older now and I think I’m starting to see the implications of it all. I’m afraid to be around people when i wear my bathing suit, i hate undressing in front of anyone, even my boyfriend of 2 years, and i have to forced myself to have sex with him. It’s awful because i absolutely love my boyfriend and the sex is great, but something about the intimacy makes me feel uncomfortable and out of control. I have depression, anxiety, OCD, and insomnia. I wonder a lot if it’s from this.

I’ve kept this with me for years and have never ever mentioned it to anyone. Today, me and my mom were watching a true crime show which included a case involving molestation when she said something to the effect of “if someone did that to one of my babies i wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I’d be heartbroken” for some reason we made eye contact right after she said it and something in me broke. I bursted into tears. My moms face grew in panic. After a few minutes of endless questions i finally told her. Not everything, just that my sister had touched me and done things to me when i was younger. You should have seen her face. It was true horror.

Now I’m sitting here writing this. I wonder if i should have just kept it to myself. It’s my sister, she’s always gonna be around, and I love her and don’t want my parents to disown her or anything. So what was the good in telling my mom? My sisters not going anywhere and she really can’t do anything but beat herself and stress about it at this point. Sooo my options are: 1. Get over it and 2. There is no 2.

Idk why I’m posting this honestly. I guess i have no one to talk about this to.

This year has been really tough since April. At that point I had found out about Dahvie Vanity and what he did to me was abuse and not unique. It was tough finding that out, but as I followed the story and watched videos and asked questions; I realized that a lot more has happened to me that is abuse.

I finally had the courage to ask my gynecologist (nurse practitioner) something that has troubled me my entire life. I think I was repeatedly molested by my pediatrician until I was around 3 or 4. I was my mother's first child and she's open about how ignorant she was to parenting and babies at the time (she tells me). I'm pretty sure he passed off what he was doing to me as a normal part of the exam. It happened every-time and in the same room. Which makes me think there may have been a camera in that particular room. When I eventually went to other doctors as a kid we would always get a random room.

Being a baby and a very small child during this, I only remember a few snapshots of this happening. The only thing that points me to believe he was doing this to me as a baby is that I have sexual memories and behaviors from that age (being in diapers) outside of the visits that I remember getting in trouble for.

I really want to know from a real, practicing pediatrician what the standard exam for a female infant to toddler would be. I trust my NP that she's correct, but she admitted to only doing rounds in pediatrics and never practiced. I don't have kids and don't know where to go to ask. Maybe the internet isn't the best, but I'm willing to try anything. This doctor is still practicing at several offices and if what he did to me was wrong then he must be doing it others.

This was such a hard thing to ask in the first place because I never felt right about it and I wondered how I would feel if someone told me it was normal. And now I'm finding it hard to believe and my brain wants to keep lying to me, telling me that it must be normal. But it explains so much about the problems I'm having as an adult.

Open letter to my paedophile Father, Jack Libregts From the book, “The Price of Silence” Trigger Warning: Childhood Sexual Abuse

Dear Dad,

This is an open letter to you that exposes a litany of your historical serial sexual abuses of my family members when we were all children. I am now a 54-year-old male, and in 2019 I only first truly learnt of just exactly who you were then and now. I already was certain that you were a violent, angry, manipulative, and soulless little man, as I disengaged as much as was feasible from you, as I was developing into a young adult. However, I now have first-hand accounts from my cousins that you were so much despicably more.

You were a cult-like curse that was visited upon my two younger sisters, myself and the entire family of my Mother (nee Veneman). Over so very many years, you preyed amongst such a large cohort of my Mother’s families’ girls. Your disastrous legacy amongst these psychologically scarred women, is shame, hurt, humiliation, attachment and addiction issues, that has permeated into their adult lives. They then go on to handing on down, like falling dominoes of dysfunctions and disorders: a virulent, vile virus of trauma-induced vulnerabilities to their unsuspecting children. Your sickness reverberates throughout generations of my and my Mum’s entire family.

Digging now into all these sexual assault accounts from your numerous victims, so many years later, has not been easy for me, but it is a small consolation in knowing that you exist as a scared, frightened, and miserable creature, who is desperately trying to hide from your ugliness and your shameful truth. Your past is now literally coming back to haunt you, Jack. You are now my new project of tragic perversion, and I am committing my future self to reignite the dying embers of your evil legacy, until it flames into a bright light of recovery potential, for any survivors anywhere of childhood sexual abuse. I am indeed your Son. I am now also your Nemesis.

I will further seek to publicly expose your life-long predilections of sexually abusing children, and though this letter’s contents are likely only merely the tip of an immensely offensive iceberg, my research on you and your current location remains a matter of record and will be made available to any accredited journalists, appropriate police authorities, or state, territory or federal courts of appropriate jurisdiction, upon their request.

Last year you instructed my sister, Yvette, to make an offer of $5,000 from you to my cousin Emma, in return for her maintaining her silence regarding your abduction and sexual assault of her when she was a child in Adelaide, South Australia. Are you now wondering if you should still pay Emma since she has already talked? Maybe you should offer her even more money? Maybe $6,000? Ha, maybe you should just save your money for any potential criminal or civil law defence fees instead.

This was your price for her silence of your horrendous secret; a feeble $5K. You always were a fucking cheapskate, Jack. In any case, this open letter to you has already been published as a matter of public interest on numerous websites, before you are even likely to be reading this yourself. Why didn’t Emma’s Mother, Henriette have you arrested way back then when she thankfully rescued her pre-teen daughter from your attempts to “teach” a girl how to kiss? Oh, that’s right, long before you had abducted and molested Emma, you had already raped her Mum, my Aunty Henriette, the younger sister of your wife. Your wife, Elizabeth, who was 14 years younger than you to start with when you married. I am imagining that you targeted her to gain easier access to her younger sisters, and then later their female offspring years later.

After decades of my nearly successful efforts in forgetting about your existence, and my experiencing trauma-related memory loss of nearly my entire childhood, my last memories of you is the very last time I saw you. Immediately following my Mother’s death, you disgracefully stole a car, and a full station-wagon load of your dead ex-wife’s belongings the day after she passed, from her home estate in 2006. I resorted to the booking of two security guards, family friends Keis and Lout De Ryke, and later Police SA, to be in attendance to safeguard my youngest sister, Danielle from your violence, when she had you physically removed from our barely dead Mum’s home. I will never forget your trying to convince me to turn off Mum’s life support in the last few days of her life. Did she and your secrets not die fast enough with her for you, Jack?

That same year you also made unsuccessful attempts to gain access to my Son, via my ex-wife during our marriage breakdown, while I was also suffering from cancer. The Federal court did not fail me, and cancer did not kill me, while I endured a workplace injury also. Your futile efforts failed spectacularly. How much did you pay my ex-wife I wonder, for her complicit actions in your evil schemes to destroy other’s lives, with no final result for you? I had already moved my Wife and Son to another state shortly after his birth, and despite my thriving entertainment business in Adelaide, to safety and to escape the foul stench of your predatory proximity. It is apparent to me now, that I had not moved them nearly far enough from you.

During this same time, I was travelling back to South Australia every weekend as my Mum was nearing the end of her life. She unburdened a lot of herself in writing a journal on her deathbed to me, mostly regarding the atrocities that you were responsible for throughout her life, perpetrated against her and her siblings. She also reported your serial tax evasions and the hiding of your assets scams, amongst a myriad of your other Obsessive-Compulsive Disorders. It seems odd that both you and Yvette did not bother to attend her funeral, there was a cast of family member mourners there, who I am certain also would have just “loved” to see your face. Mum was released, not through your divorce years earlier, but in the final freedom from your tyranny, and I trust that she and her regular night-terror screams still haunt you in the darkness of every night. (She promised that she would do that for me.)

Emma said something to me last year in regarding your abuse, only weeks after your pathetic “price of silence” bribe to her; “Dingdong Doorbell”. Do you know what I saw inside my head when I heard these words for the first time in decades? Your flaccid penis. Your game was that of sex offender grooming the defenceless children in your care, into the normalising of them touching your genitals.

I have now connected with many other of my family members in the past year, and my cousin Cathy has some horrid memories of you, as well did her Father, my Uncle Arnold. Your young brother-in-law knew what you were, and I know for certain that he wanted you dead all those years ago, leading up to his suicide at the age of 36. I was with him the night that he died. He told me what he knew about you too before he went home and shot himself.

I miss Uncle Arnold even after all these years, and I wrote a piece of music called “Widows and Orphans” for two violins at the time, as part of my grieving process, as he was one of the few adults I could trust, while trapped and enslaved inside your misery factory. I will most likely finish and publish a book, but I will never write or publish a song about you after you are dead. I will surely go check to make sure that you are dead though. You best hide your burial plot from near your sister Magdalena’s resting place from me, otherwise, it surely won’t fair well, at least while I’m still alive.

Like his sister, Henriette, my Uncle Arnold also had to come to rescue his daughter from your “care”. When I recently asked Cathy for an overall memory sense of you, she described you in two words: a “creepy cunt”. She recalls her sleeping over at our house as a young girl. Cathy once got so scared of you, that she secretly rang her Dad from our phone and Arnold immediately came to take her home and also wanted to kill you. Before that, she also remembers how you would brazenly sneak into your daughter, Yvette’s bed at night, even though Cathy was staying over there in the same room with her. Children’s bath-time must have been a delight for you. We all remember your evil smiling face when you would stand in the bathroom watching.

Yvette seems to have been your greatest, and most tragic victim, stealing her from the rest of her family as a child and then even an adult, and her still living under your control, stuck in a backwater town in the support of her dream of one day emptying your bank account when you finally die. I’m sure she has constant fantasies about your death, as do others I know that have been exposed to decades of your predatory behaviours.

Yvette must now surely disgust you sexually. Her not being a child anymore at all, but an overweight heroin addict in her 50’s, living under your ongoing control for so many years, presenting no innocence for you to corrupt and conquer any more. Does your actual girlfriend know of your twisted relationship history with your daughter and the generations of children that you have abused? Her children and grandchildren should be alerted at very least. Seeing as this is an open public letter, you can feel free to show it to her anytime. If you don’t, then someone will.

Aunty Leny lived in our caravan in our backyard for some years and was never allowed in our house. My Mum despised her presence there. I can only imagine the depravity of your relationship with your sister.

I met one of the De Ryke’s daughters some years back, and she spoke of how you would place your extended arm between their young girls’ legs, then launch them into the air from underwater in a swimming pool or the sea. I witnessed this behaviour of yours with so many young girls all too often. I knew then, even as a very young boy myself, that your you’re your public behaviour with all the girls around me in my childhood was openly devious and inappropriately sexual. I knew you were wrong and the fact that no witnessing adult parent did not stop you, is bewildering to me to this day.

If you are reading this and would like to meet me, I would be happy to oblige you. In the meantime, I will ask a mediation service to contact you on behalf of myself, Cathy and Emma soon when possible. The three of us went together to sexual abuse counselling last year and are in regular contact, and they both have said to me that they would love the opportunity to sit down with you sometime. We will all travel to the Riverland in South Australia at our own expense if you agree. We have mutually agreed to offer you a written exemption from any future civil prosecution by us if you simply agree to a meeting with us at your convenience.

Yours sincerely,

Tony

https://preview.redd.it/xv8fu5am88q51.jpg?width=828&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=42daf89de584a541288b8b9c58acd49039480c63

Ironically one of my most recent professional roles was as a Trauma-Informed Care and Attachment Issue Educator for workers with children in out-of-home care with the Centre for Excellence in Child and Family Welfare. This was around the same time that I re-discovered and learnt of my cousins’ ordeals, at the hands of my Father.

I hope that some reading this may simply feel the grief and outrage of my own experiences and that those who can resonate personally through their own unique experience, might also find some inspiration in these writings, and the courage to come forward and to safely and openly expose and shame their childhood perpetrators in the name of recovery and survival. Take responsibility for your future selves, people. That is your universal gift, and your blessed choice to reconcile with your past. That person is only one decision away. Forgiveness and shame are powerful tools. Use them both wisely.

I was sexually abused as a child until I was about 11 years old by my stepfather.

I am now 28 years old and told my mom when I was 26.

I know I need help but who should I see? What type of counselor or therapist?

The reason why I know I need help is because I’m afraid of dating having the fear that person will do something. I feel like I’m also always depressed.

I was born in 1967 in Newark NJ. Around 5 years old I remember being outside on my swing set when my mother came out and said, "Your dad and I are breaking up and who do I want to live with?" I said I'd go with her, but I wish I had made another choice.

When I was 7 she moved me to Denver Colorado. Not long after she moved in with a man named William Alan S. He was a biker and my mom liked the lifestyle. We moved into his home at 590 So Sherman St in Denver. It was a huge old house. I had a bedroom in the home, but I don't really remember it much. I think my first memory of when I started feeling weird about living there was the morning when he walked through the house naked to sit on the back porch to have a cigarette. I guess you could say from there it just got stranger.

He would often grab me, I don't feel the need to go into detail here, but it was constant. Yes, my mother saw it, but nothing was ever said. If I did smart off to him either he would beat me or my mother would tell me its not my place to talk back to him. We lived in the house maybe 2 years before we left to move into a house at 3656 Federal Blvd.

I was ashamed to bring friends home as he had wallpapered the entire kitchen with images of naked women. My bedroom was at the back of the house right by the kitchen. At the address on Federal Blvd is where I remember most of the abuse, not just to myself, but to at least 3 other girls. I will not go into details on who they were as it is not up to me to put their full stories out there with names. One was a baby, 6 months old. Her mother caught Bill sucking all over the child's body. There were the telltale marks all over her. No one called the police, because, you see, he was drunk and so these things happen is what I was told.

One was a girl about my age named Jerri. She was pretty, long red hair, and my house was one of a few that she was allowed to spend the night at. Her stepdad had a "special relationship" with her and liked her to be home most of the time. That day we played in my room, then I remember him being in there, taking a pen and drawing on the private parts of her body. My mom walked in and started yelling at him. She left the house for a walk, never said a word.

My mother's relationship with him would last until he died. She insisted on having a relationship with him even though she knew he was a child rapist. She made tons of excuses, she didn't know (that's a lie), he was a drunk and didn't do it anymore (another lie), it's too late to do anything about it now "Maybe if you said something when you were younger I would have been able to do something about it." I guess seeing it with her own eyes over and over wasn't enough.

Bill would eventually meet another woman and have a baby with her. She had issues of her own, as did everyone who was with him. I wasn't supposed to say anything about my experiences with him, as my mom always insisted it wasn't up to me to make trouble. As a matter of fact, even when my mom and he had broken up and my mom was remarried, she would let him rent a room with us. As I'm writing this I'm trying to figure out who was sicker, Him for being the scumbag he was, her for insisting we all remain friends, or me in the end, for almost thinking this was all normal.

Years later Bill would get custody of his daughter. I will not tell her story as it is hers, but I will say this. I'm grateful for her existence every day. It is through her that any of his victims had any form of revenge. Bill died from killing himself, not because he had any guilt, but because he was caught distributing drugs and he didn't want to go to jail again. He was never caught for the endless rapes I'm sure he committed against numerous children. Nope, it was selfishness. As the city came to take care of the body and put it in the hands of their closest relative, they called his daughter to claim the useless scrap of meat he was in death as in life. She made the move only a hero could muster. She told the morgue to keep him, she wanted nothing to do with him. They called her a number of times, trying to get permission to do something, anything with the body, but nope. She let him rot at the city morgue. Beautiful. Perfect. Well played. The City of Denver had 2 shots to do something about Bill that I personally instigated. They never acted.

I called the Denver Police Dept 3 times in the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s to report him. Once for me and my family, once for his daughter whom he got custody of for a time and once when he died, to let them know that he killed himself in a trailer park and they might want to see if he had any victims there as he died with AIDS and might want to make sure all the kids around him were ok. I never got a phone call back. Today I called again. Again I was told there was nothing they could do.

I've tried to make people understand that this is something that is almost unexplainable to anyone who has not gone through it. There are polaroids out there of me somewhere, images he took of me for his own enjoyment that I'm sure was passed around. If I had been young in today's world, I would be on the internet, trafficked for the drugs that he wanted, and was willing to sacrifice children for.

These groups that claim pedophilia is a kink, a need we have to understand, are out of their minds. That's like saying the beaten wife isn't a victim because her husband need's it and we should all back off.

To the people I didn't name here, you know I keep your story close. I'm doing this for us all, but if you feel you want to add yourself, tell your story. You can use my name. I love you always, Michelle

So this memory popped into my head. I hadn’t thought of it for quite some time. But I smoke weed for my depression/anxiety. I know there’s been some research about the possibility of weed bringing up repressed memories. So when I had just turned 15(freshmen) I joined marching band. Now up to this point I hadn’t had much of any interactions with guys. (Was a late bloomer) So first day of band camp during the summer. I noticed an older guy(20s was a section leader(like paid as teacher for a specific section) was always staring at me. I don’t remember how it proceeded to being friends on MySpace(yeah it was awhile ago). I remember him messaging me talking to me and I remember him saying my parents couldn’t know and it would have to be a secret when we were in person eventually lead to him saying he really cared for me. But he asked me to meet him after practice. So I did and there was kissing and heavy petting. Now I look back at it now and say I didn’t know any better, here is this older guy wanting me. Never once did it cross my mind that it was wrong. It even went as far as his sister that also joined the band from 8th grade “my brother says he misses you, idk why tho it’s weird.” So was it weird because of her brother or because I was only a year older and her older brother missed me? Eventually my parents found out, they were furious said if I didn’t end it they would get him into trouble. At this point I cared for him and I remembered him saying my parents couldn’t know. So I did, they were mad at me. I don’t think anything was ever done to him. I think my parents just let it go. But now as I sit at 29, I realize none of it was okay. He should have never pursued me. It was never made to be a big deal that it was wrong so I just over looked it and eventually kind of forgot it. Then I became a mother and older, I realized it wasn’t okay but no one would ever believe me if I came out in real life. So I came here to finally talk about it. It’s taken me a few days to even post on Reddit. I hope this makes sense.

I’m in college and last semester a friend at the time sexually assaulted me while I was sleeping. I woke up when he was groping me, but I froze and pretended to sleep still because I was scared of what would happen if he knew that I knew. This guy has stalked me, and is on the same campus and in the same club as me. I’m afraid of what he might do if he knows that I know what he did to me. I’m afraid because he might be in my building this year as I’m a first year RA, and I’ll most definitely see him in the club we’re both in. I don’t want to have to quit the club, or move my life around for him. But I just want an apology or for him to feel bad for what he did.

A memory has come up outta nowhere. I was 5 and my parents were out of town and they hired a babysitter. She was nice and kind. She told me about All these things that I WAS NOT ready for. And she had me do them. 12 years later, I’m sitting here and I can’t get that night out of my mind. Please. Help me.

I’m thankful for a page like this. I want to share my story because it’s something I’ve held onto for many years but it brings a heaviness to my heart, if you’re a sexual abuse surviver I hope you know you’re not alone.

Some of the memories are fading because of trying to repress them. But they come up randomly. The PTSD makes me have depression and suicidal thoughts. I unfortunately tried reliving the trauma by doing the same thing with another and another person.

We are not damaged, we are warriors. We are strong. We can get through this and live fruitful lives full of joy and peace.

I know the hard moments though...the memories. The shame. It’s been an uphill battle. Now I feel I have control.

my 21M long time boyfriend recently took his own life. this was the kind of suicide that no one ever would’ve seen coming. this kid was the life of the party, a ball of energy when doing something he loves, always talked about his goals/passions, made me feel like a fucking queen. everything was perfect until June 20, 2020. he took his own life in the early morning hours of that day and wrote a note on his phone to me right before he did it. he described a situation he experienced at some point in his life where a friend touched him. he gave no time or age of when this happened. he didn’t name any names either. it was a very vague description but he said things like “i feel so fucked up” “i’m so ashamed” i had no fucking clue. i thought we had told each other all of our secrets but this is something i never had heard of. i feel so much pain for him. i cant imagine the pain he was feeling and god how i wish he would’ve opened up to me or anyone. he was scared to open up to his parents bc his dad is a homophobic toxic overly masculine guy. my bf knows i never would’ve judge him or thought of him differently. i don’t think he is weak. i don’t blame this on him. although i was incredibly hurt, i couldn’t be angry with him. we considered each other soulmates. he apparently wanted to propose to me after fall semester. i hope he is safe now and no longer in pain. i just hope he knows that i am not holding anything against him. that i still love him just as much as the last night we had together, when i kissed him goodnight for the last time.

i am not personally a SA survivor but this stigma against male SA survivors is horrible. i was already a criminology major focusing on sex crimes but this whole tragedy has just increased my passion for just that. specifically with adolescent SA. i think so many men think that because their body reacted a certain way, they automatically are gay or “weak.” it’s a biological reaction it is not your fault.

i just hope that if any male SA survivors read this that they take it as a sign to open up to someone you unconditionally love and trust. there is help out there i promise.

During the duration of my high school to college, I’ve apparently been sexually assaulted by two different guys constantly and I thought what they were doing was actually normal...

During high school, I had this really close guy friend (let’s name him Kevin). We’ve been close friends since elementary so I didn’t think of him to be sexualizing me throughout high school until recently. He constantly passes off his sexual remarks as compliments so I thought it was normal even if they made me very uncomfortable. He’d comment about my body frame and talk dirty around me ALL of the time which was very awkward to hear at the age of 16. He’d also frequently touch not just my waist but different parts of my body and when I told him I was being uncomfortable, he got mad and told me they were compliments. I shrugged it off.

In college, I had a partner who was pretty much the same. Because I didnt know Kevin’s actions already counted as sexual assault. This time was apparently worse because he was already my partner and it, to put it mildly, involved a lot of touches which i didn’t consent to, even in public. He said I shouldn’t get worked up about it because we were a couple and this is what couples do.

It’s crazy that I’m already doing my post-graduate studies, and only recently did I realize that these experiences were not normal and already counted as sexual assault. And honestly, if women didn’t come out with their stories, I never would’ve known that you can be close with someone or be partners with someone, but they still don’t have the right to sexualize you and pass them off as compliments nor touch you without your consent.

Keep breaking the silence.

I’m going to put the TRIGGER ALERT at the beginning... and apologize for the length.

When I attempted (and nearly succeeded) suicide at 18 it left me permanently disabled. I was hospitalized for months and was “lucky” to get out of the state hospital where I had been committed. No one even asked why, no one wanted to talk about it. No one wanted to know. No aftercare. They wanted me to “just stop it”. I was an embarrassment to my family. So I did what was expected of me. Pretend nothing happened. Become “successful”. Live the American dream. Until I couldn’t anymore. 

The physical injury was obvious, but the psychic injury was invisible.

I have recently diagnosed myself with high functioning autism (AKA Aspergers syndrome). I went to some length to differentiate that diagnosis from C-PTSD and ADHD (which I have been diagnosed with), through research and self testing. Also by recalling early childhood behavior that did not indicate (a reaction to) trauma, as well as many examples from my childhood that would confirm an ASD diagnosis. I was bullied and beaten and experienced incest and sexual abuse/exploitation throughout my childhood and adolescence. I self medicated myself to oblivion, starting around 11 years old. At 25 I quit using and chose life.

I was married for 32 years to a woman who I adored, who had also been severely traumatized and struggled with bi-polar depression, C-PTSD and ADHD. She had also survived earthquake and revolution in her home country. Social order collapsed. At one point having a gun held to her head by a would be rapist who had broken in to her family home one night. She had the presence of mind (I don’t know how) to walk to her parents room in the dark, instead of the room where she had been told to go. Her father was able to disarm the intruder and then proceeded to nearly beat him to death with his own gun, dragging him into the street to the cheers of the wakened neighbors until he was “rescued” by the police (who waited while the beating continued). Weeks later the “nice boy” down the street also tried to rape her and she was so scared she literally ran out of her shoes. But she was afraid to tell her father what happened to her shoes, for fear of what he would do to the boy. 

Her family were able to leave their country in the aftermath of the revolution, and came to NYC where my wife finished high school. When we met I was utterly bewitched by her beautiful smile and the way she flirted with me. It took a lot for me to recognize when a woman was interested in me, but she left no doubt. Even so it took me seven months to summon the courage to ask her out. I told her (most of) my story on our first date. I figured I might as well get it over with, before I fell any harder for her. I asked her if she wanted me to take her home. She said  “No, I want you to take me to dinner”. Years later she told me she knew she would marry me after I told her that night, that I would never judge her. That I would understand. We became inseparable and bit by bit she told me her story. I couldn’t believe she was still smiling. I had stopped smiling when I was around 8 years old. We got married 4 months after our first date. In all our time together neither she nor I ever used our respective histories as a weapon on each other, ever.

The “me too” movement was triggering for her. When something would come up that touched on sexual abuse she would often get up and leave the room. But I believe that knowing other women were stepping forward publicly, resonated with her and ultimately emboldened her to reveal her abuse to her mother. Although I knew her story, she said she would take that secret to her grave. Her mother had been verbally attacking her (every phone call for over a year) for everything from how we raised our children, where we chose to live, our cultural differences, accusing us of favoring my family (who we have been estranged from since my parents died in 2004 and 2005), and insisting that she was a better mother, parent, provider etc., etc. This was a recurrent pattern, over the years it would reach a point that my wife couldn’t take anymore, and she would cut her mother out of our lives. Finally, during a particularly hateful phone call, my wife broke her vow of silence and told her mother that her father had raped and molested her starting when she was 8 yrs. old. The only reason the abuse stopped was because he died about three months before I met my wife at 21. Her last words to him were “I wish you were dead”, during an argument because she wouldn’t leave her bedroom door unlocked at night. In the midst of this her mother had come home and saw that he had been drinking and she started fighting with him, physically. He ended up leaving their apartment and 45 minutes later the police knocked on the door to inform the family that he had died in the street. So... my wife had mixed emotions about her father. He had hurt her, but had also saved her and now he was dead and she felt responsible. And there was more, much more...

I have always tended towards unfiltered discussion (like now) of painful things, my wife was incapable of discussing anything that approached sexual abuse. She had been in therapy for the last 15 years, and with her last psychologist for over 10 years. As well as having a psychiatrist who prescribed her medications. I had also sought treatment. One (painful, disabling) feature of our relationship was that over the years there had been transference of her family dynamic which had crept into our own, which she acknowledged. I would sometimes need to remind her that I was not her father. As much as I understood where the animosity was coming from, it could be hard to bear. It deeply saddened me to know she was in such pain, and that she wasn’t getting better. On occasion I would accompany my wife to her therapist. The point was made that she would never be happy until I could provide a steady income. Which was a valid point, but instead of motivating me I would just shut down and withdraw. When we had met I was running my own business in NYC. When it came to choosing my career over getting my wife somewhere safe (2000 miles from her mother), I chose my wife thinking I could always repeat my success. Not taking into account that there were dynamics in Manhattan that allowed me to excel, that didn’t exist elsewhere. But I also felt that what really troubled her was less about money, more about trauma. She could talk about my failure to provide. (And avoid talking about her trauma.) Despite our financial difficulties I had managed to pay off our mortgage and we owned our farm, free and clear. Our children had emotional and addiction issues over the years, but had always had our support and unconditional love. There was no abuse within our home, sexual or otherwise. That is not to say that our kids weren’t traumatized by events, because they were. I felt that we had what was most important; each other, our family and our home. Also that I would ultimately find a way of providing consistent financial security.

So, in all those years of treatment... what was the focal point, the root of her suffering that her therapy centered on? Our finances. He advised that she “pressure” me, I asked him afterwards if it had occurred to him what “pressure” from her would look like? Why hadn’t he suggested encouraging me instead, or that my issues might be a factor? I was already struggling and felt like a dismal failure in that regard. She had stopped seeing her therapist in October, because he suggested that she could leave me. She was suicidal, and had made several serious attempts over the years, but leaving me was not an option she would consider (as she told our daughters). As it turns out she had stopped taking her medications and had been hoarding them. She wrote in her journal that she would rather be dead than live with her mother. When she told her mother what her father had done, her mother called her a liar.  Insisting that her husband had been a good man, and that my wife was making it up. So my wife called her brother who initially seemed to believe her, but by the end of their conversation decided that if it had really happened she would have told him long ago “because they were close as children”. She never heard from either of them again. Ten days later on Thanksgiving eve my wife took an overdose of her medication, and died on Thanksgiving day 2018.

So... to anyone who finds the discussion of abuse uncomfortable. Consider the alternative. 

I’m 63 years old, and I’m not sure where to start.

i was assaulted by a group of my older brothers friends when i was very young (i want to say approx 7-9, i’m 18 now). i know it happened but very, very vaguely. i got it incessantly drilled into my head that i wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about it, so i repressed it to the point of feeling physically ill when i try to think about what exactly unfolded. i’ve only started to open up about it the past year and i told my therapist it happened. lockdown started before we could really properly discuss it, but i’m unsure if i’ll even be able to tell her about the incident because of this weird mental block. it’s also extremely emotionally exhausting repressing and ignoring the trauma, id like to just accept that it happened at this point. so does anyone have any advice for getting past some heavy repression??

In my previous relationship I remember feeling like sex was something I just knew was going to happen everyday. I wouldn’t say I didn’t enjoy it, as it is an act of pleasure. But I vividly remember lying there on more than one occasion and thinking “I don’t want to do this” although I never spoke up. There were things that if I choose, I would not have chosen to do. I told myself that this experience was just uncomfortable and wasn’t ‘assault’. But last night I was being intimate with my current partner (something we have done countless times now) and some positions/movements we explored shot me back to my past experience with my ex and felt a deep urge to burst into tears...I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know how to react but then I laid there afterwards crying realizing that the things that I experienced in those other sexual experiences have harmed my view of myself and how I navigate sex. This is something I am only just realizing..the emotional toll it has actually taken on me. And I don’t know how to tell people close to me about it or how to explain it to my current partner because a part of me feels like it’s such an insignificant experience

So I was molested as a kid, by an older man. I’m now 21. I had oral sex with an older man last night and I feel so guilty about it because I have a gf. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. Will I have kids, I’m a complete mess idk why I did that last night. I didn’t really enjoy it. I guess I’m just writing here to let it out because I feel guilty and ashamed of what I did. The guy who molested me was like a father figure for a while as much as I hate to say it. I feel so bad about myself.

So I don’t know what this is going to result in, but the purpose of me posting this story here is to see if anyone can give me advice and/or if anyone that’s been in this position can relate and know they’re not alone ..

A side note: For privacy reasons, I’ll be changing the names of the people involved in this story.

My best friend Mary lives in another city .. about an hour away. She invited me and Karen (another best friend) to go down to visit her for the weekend. We were free so we headed down on a Friday night.

Mary lives in a two bedroom apartment with her younger brother(Justin) and her brother’s girlfriend (Nina).

We started the night by drinking and smoking.. eventually got drunk by playing Kings Cup. I noticed her brother would stare at me very often, but I would ignore it and think it was just me being drunk.

It was around 2am when I decided to go to bed b/c I was just tired and I didn’t want to be too hungover and tired to do stuff the next day. Mary kindly offered her bed for us and she was going to stay in the couch. I went and laid at the edge of the bed and left space for Karen to sleep on the other side.

Within an hour of me falling asleep( at least that’s what it felt like) .. I get woken up by a hand down by butt and going down my vaginal area. My heart started racing and I FROZE. I’ve read documentaries of sexual abuse , and how some girls would say that they were too scared to move or do anything .. i thought it was honestly bullshit . Guys, I’m tearing up as I type this out, but it’s true. I couldn’t move, I was in complete shock and started tearing up while I had my eyes closed.

I was able to move a leg and he immediately walked out from the room. When he walked out, I turned and was able to see the back of his shirt.. it was Justin. The crazy part is that I’m 4 years older than Justin... I’m 24....

I panicked and remembered being high and drunk, but I know I wasn’t blacked out and couldn’t be imagining things.. It was confirmed later on. I’ll tell you how.

I couldn’t fully process everything that was going on . I was questioning myself and was debating on getting out of bed to go and confront him, but I felt like i should of done it on the spot and it was too late and nobody was going to believe me because one: I was on weed and alcohol, but two: they were on too and I would look crazy walking out making these allegations to my best friend and his girlfriend.

So I ended up rolling myself in a burrito with the blankets to feel secure.

He came in a second time. I lost track of time so I didn’t know how far apart he took to come in again, but I was woken up to him feeling my shoulders and his hand making its way down to my vagina again.. this time my friend Karen was walking in and as she was about to enter the room, he took off his hand and grabbed another blanket to put it over me and make it seem like he was doing something nice for me. Then left the room.

I cried a little bit under the blankets and when my friend laid down, I asked Karen if she seen anything and she was surprised that I was awake, she herself was super drunk so she didn’t see anything because she was trying to just make it to the bed and only saw him putting the blanket over me and walking away.

The third time he came in....

Karen and I were completely passed out, I cried myself to sleep and of course, I should of expected it. I got woken up to him touching me again. This time he removed both of my socks and started smelling and kissing my feet. I was in shock, my body was paralyzed but I can hear my screams inside my head. I hate myself for not putting him on blast. I really do. I somehow moved so fast and made a “waking up” noise shuffle that he crawled the room immediately . After that I didn’t go to sleep and he never came back.

He had taken my socks off and dropped them by the door.

I waited the next day to tell Karen what had happened and she immediately told me to tell Mary what happened. But for some reason I was afraid and I didn’t. I asked her not to say anything until I process everything and be ready.

A week passed and eventually I texted Mary that I had To talk to her about something, but I wanted to tell her in person. She ended up being impatient and she pretty much pressured me to tell her what I needed to tell her through text.

One of the things that she texted me saying was ;

“Does it have to do with my brother or dad. Answer that”

I said “not ur dad, ur brother.. and I didn’t hook up with him if that’s what ur thinking ”

She said “ Haha. I know u didn’t , but I know my brother , you aren’t the only friend “

I WAS OUT OF BREATH !!!!

WT$&%!

You aren’t the only friend ?!?!?

But then after reading over our texts .. I didn’t think it thru, but why did she say “ my DAD or my brother?”

Like , is your dad also a sexual abuser ??

Idk man.. I don’t even know what to think anymore. Any advice will be taken into consideration.

So this is difficult to write for me . And this will be extreamly long , so im sorry in advance. But if you've ever dealt with incest and or the sex trade, it's worth the read. I promise. My names M**** ,im a young mom to a Beautiful babygirl, and pregnant with my handsome son. Im currently happy with life. But im still coping, everyday, with trauma. Now much more has happened in my life. Many forms of pain and forms of abuse. But i try to not let that defy me. But rn ill tell you about the sexual abuse ive endored . First off, i have extream ptsd. So my memory is fucked. I do not remember my child hood, before i was 14. And everything after all the way up to my daughters birth is spotty . But my father was very abusive towards my mom growing up, n went to jail when i was 10. For yrs after my mom told me my father raped me. I didnt believe her tho since i cant remember it.
But after my father went to jail, my mom got into drugs. I was to young to understand but she started neglecting my physcial basic needs and my mental health. So i started acting up. By 14 was admitted to treatment for suicide n self harm . N was in treatment n juvie on n off from 14-18. Well in betwern that time, when i was 16, i ran away.... 7 states away. I made it Vallejo Cali, and my car broke down. This man came to help me. N drew out a stack of hundreds n said it was all mine if i slept with him. I didnt realize he was a pimp, not a john. I ended up being trapped n kidnapped in the sex trade at 16 for 3 months. When i finally exscaped. The pimps drug dealers son was the one who helped me. N he was murdered for doing so. I made it back home n had my first very serious suicide attempt by drinking a whole bottle of bleach. After 9 months of intense treatment thru a juvinal prision, i started to recover. But when i turned 17, my mom threw me out. So i turned to exscorting as a way to survive. I made good money for 2yrs. But then with my loser ex, concieved my daughter. I swore id nvr go back to exscorting bcuz up until i had her, i fully thought she was a rape baby from a meet up gone wrong. I have not escorted in over a year. Well skip ahead to my daughter being 3m old. My ex abandoned us. So i ended up moving in with my dad, who has only been outta prison for 2yrs. Him n I at the time were on good terms, n his own po and therapist confirmed it’d be safe for myself and my daughter to move in. Within a week living there he started to get creepy. But i was trying like hell to get into housing n i was just waiting for my application to go thew, so i blew it off like nothing. Then 3weeks into staying with him, i got really sick. N i was taking a bath n my dad came in n tried to touch me , like stick his fingers in me. I hit him n told him to f off, he didn’t. I broke down crying n he stopped. I asked if he’d ever touch my daughter this way n her responded with, “if she’s pretty like u all grown up yes.” Hed always make comments like , "let me show u how a real man pleases a woman" and "dad n daughter shit is only taboo bcuz of the birth defect shit" . Well the next day i moved into my apt with my daughter. I was still in the same building as him, n he was security with the apartment complex so he had keys to everyones apartments. within a few days my dad got angry at me for being with my current bf. Broke into my place . And threated to kidnap my daughter n violenty groped me one night in a rape attempt. The next morning i went to the police. Only for them to dismiss it bcuz of lack of evidance. My father touching me did more to me mentally than the sex trade ever could. Just yesterday i broke down to my bf bcuz i still dont understand y ME. why he had to hurt ME. He was supposed to be my superman and turned out to be the villian instesd. I know ill be.okay. i know ill survive this. Ill nvr understand y. But i know ill get thru this. Im a very open person. N ive struggled with way more than just sexual abuse. The only thing i haven't struggled with was drugs. Self harm was my thing ,nvr drugs. And not relapsing on self harm has been a battle within itself but my daughter deserves a mom strong enough to chose her over a razor blade. I know with all ive survived. Ill survive again... to anyonw struggling , im so sorry . Youre not alone 😭 you did not deserve what happened to u. I cried the whole time i wrote this . So i hope it made sense. Thank you to anyone that has read this.

Hey everyone I’m a 16 F and want to share something. Let me know your thoughts thank you

I have always had a great relationship with my dad but it all changed a couple years ago. I think I was about 13 or 14 and we were at a stop light on the way to pick up some food. My dad says “I need to get something off my chest” I was like ok and he says “when you were younger I was really drunk and you were on the couch. I thought you were your mom. But you had your cloths on” I think he was saying he touched me. I don’t remember this at all but it must’ve been bad because he brought it up. At that moment I was horrified. The wY I see him is so different.

If I bring it up I cry so much I’ve never spoken about it even since and it just hurts me so much. I don’t know what to think because I don’t remember this accruing.

My mom and dad are divorced since I was like 3 and I want to tell my mom on my 18th birthday.

Again I don’t know what to say. It’s so scary ANY advice on what I should do please help me.

I had a lot to drink. You knew that. You took me outside as the restaurant closed, and acted like you knew what I wanted. I told you about my boyfriend, You told me he was nothing compared to you. You said you could treat me like a princess. You told me I wanted you. Over and over and over. I said nothing. Why did I say nothing? I let you get me in your truck, and thought you were actually concerned. We sat there and you pulled the truck to face away from the restaurant... You didn’t want people to see. I remember looking at my car and wishing I was sitting there instead. I looked at you and you tried to kiss me. I turned away. I started to get scared. You told me what I wanted. I wanted you... I wanted you... I wanted your dick in my mouth. I stayed quiet. When you pulled me closer I said no. I didn’t want you. When you unbuttoned you’re belt I said no. I can still hear the zipper of your pants. I said no. I saw your erection and I said no. I said I was drunk. I said the cops would see. I said it’s illegal. I said people would be leaving work. I said I didn’t want you! I said whatever I could until you took control. The alcohol numbed me. I felt your fingers grip my hair and pull me down to your undone pants. I pulled back but I wasn’t strong enough. You knew that. I said no. You gripped me tighter and I heard you moaning. I said no. I pulled away and you pushed me down and said “Don’t stop.” I said no. I felt it in my mouth. Warmth and the feeling of vomit in my throat. You held me and told me to swallow. I said nothing. I sat there. You put your pants back on. I said nothing. You said you had to go and told me to drive home. I sat in my car.

Did she say no? She had a lot to drink.

When I woke up that early morning, all I could feel was excitement. I knew I was going to leave the girls home. After a year and one day. Finally, I got right out of bed when the staff turned on the lights. I was the first one to finish getting ready. Standing by my bunk I thought to myself, “I’ll never have to make my bed again.” And I was right. No more folding corners. No more making everything look perfect. I was going to be free today. Sometime today. The worst part was that I couldn’t even tell anyone. I wasn’t supposed to know.

The staff called us to line up for breakfast. I was the first in line. I was going to make this day the best, last day here. I led everyone to the cafeteria. We all sat down and read our Bibles for an hour. I was too excited to read. I skimmed through all of it. We were told to pray, and who to pray for. When I closed my eyes all I could imagine was leaving that place. I would never have to pray again. After prayer I quickly lifted my head up and waited for the staff to say we could line up for breakfast.

As I waited in line to get disgusting grits, I sat down and ate. Everytime a staff said a word I turned my head sharply in hopes they were calling me into another room to pack my things. The staff called for chores. Mine was dishes. I finished all of them in half the time I’ve ever done them. I lined up and waited. After everyone else was done they lined up behind me. A staff member told us we could head back to the dorm to grab our school stuff. While I was walking all I could think to myself was “They are going to keep me back from school. That’s when I am getting out of here.” A couple hours of school passed and nothing happened. They called for a snack break and the teacher said she wanted to talk to me. My heart skipped a beat and I raced up to her, only for her to ask me how I was feeling about school because I was passing all my classes. I told her I was really happy with myself and how I was exceeding.

“Maybe this is my way out. I just have to stay positive” I thought to myself. She smiled at me when I said that, then told me I could finish my break. My heart sank because I wasn’t leaving. She didn’t ask me to go to the dorm with another staff member to pack my things. What was going on? Did I fail that test? What did I do wrong? I went back to my desk instead of talking to any of the other girls. I started doing more school work. “What if I’m stuck here until I graduate…? I would rather die… Should I just run from this place? No I just need to wait it out a little longer.” I convinced myself.

After they called for school again, I continued to work. I got as much done as I possibly could. Finally, the staff called for us to line up for P.E. I stood up slowly. Feeling a little defeated, I got in line with all my things. ‘This has to be it. I'm getting out of here now or never’, I think to myself, while standing in the back of the line. As I gain the adrenaline, while thinking about the quarter mile long gravel driveway I’ll have to run on, my heart begins to race. I feel so excited about escaping, I feel my face turn red. What if someone notices? They always said ‘Girls who run get caught’. I’ll be in so much trouble. Where will I go?

As the teacher opens the door, I feel my heart skip a beat. This is really happening. I feel myself hiding a smile. As I start to step out of the door the teacher stops me.

“Nicolette?”, the teacher sounds stern. My heart beats faster. Has she caught me? Does she know? I look up at her.

“Yes ma’am?” I ask politely trying to hide my internal freakout.

“You’re going to come with me to the dorm.”

She seemed kind of stern, yet she was still smiling. Should I be excited? Should I be worried? If she found out, how will I talk my way out of this one?

“Okay”, I say smiling back. Is someone here to pick me up? Probably not. I’m not that lucky. I must be in serious trouble if she wants to talk alone.

I follow her to my dorm. I sit on my bed as she says, “No, stand up. Pack your things.” I jumped up. So I was wrong. I’m actually going home. I’ll be able to talk to all my friends again, play with my dogs, and even live how I want to again. I smile really wide.

“How much should I pack?”, I almost screamed.

“Pack as much as you can '', she hands me a large suitcase.

I start packing everything in sight. Then the thought came over me. What if I was just being transferred? What if they found out my plan, and they are just moving me to another place I can’t run? I look up at her, a little worried.

“Am I going home?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t seem too happy, but I crack the biggest smile. I knew they would come for me. This is a dream come true. I can’t believe this is actually happening!

I’m almost done packing when another staff comes in. She looks at me and frowns. She looks at the teacher and says, “She is going to have to pack a lot smaller than that.” My heart sinks. ‘It’s only a visit. I’m not going home permanently. How could I be so stupid? I get angry with myself and just sit there looking at them.

“How much should I pack then?” I sound defeated. She hands me a backpack. This is my old school backpack that I had at home. I grab it and start thinking while I shove everything I can into it. I’m not being transferred because this backpack was at home. Either mom, Matt, or both are here to get me. If I’m packing so small, I am probably just going on a visit. I can convince them that I am a different person, and maybe they will keep me at home forever. As I finish packing my heart skips a beat. Did I forget anything? Am I ready to do this?

I stand up and they guide me to the office. I look for a car, but I don’t see one. Is this a set up? We enter the office and the staff members leave. It’s just the Director, my stepdad, and I standing there for a second. I run up to my stepdad, tears welling in my eyes.

“I knew you would come for me.” I say quietly. I back away smiling, they both stand up. The director is looking at me smiling, Matt starts walking toward the bathroom. I watch him confused. He comes out with a backpack.

“You’ll just be needing this. Anything you packed in that backpack won’t be suitable for the ride home” He smiles and kind of laughs. He hands it to me, and before I can open it, he says, “Go ahead and go to the bathroom to get dressed.” I walk into the bathroom with the backpack and open it. I pull out the clothes on top. Jeans and a t-shirt. I have been wearing skirts for a year now. How am I going to walk out in front of the director in jeans and a t-shirt? I put them on and smile. I’ve missed this. I walk out and Matt smiles. “It was your old pair. I’m happy they still fit.”

The director looks at me. He always smiles so it’s hard to tell when he’s happy or pissed. Matt says, “Let me go grab you something real quick”, and he leaves the office. I stand awkwardly, not saying a word or looking at the director.

“You look rad” he says and starts laughing uncomfortably.

I laugh, “It’s kinda weird but I don’t mind it.” I look at him with a ‘fuck you’ smirk on my face. He looks away and doesn’t say anything else. Matt comes back in with a helmet.

“Try this on. It’s going to be a long ride home.” As I'm putting it on, I start thinking about how on my last phone call with my mom she talked about how I used to ride motorcycles with my dad.

“It fits perfect” I smile and look the director in the face. He puts a rock sign up and says “Yeah!”

Matt realizes it's getting awkward and says, “Alright we should get going. It’s a long ride ahead of us.”

As I'm walking out to the motorcycle with him, I see all the girls doing stretches for P.E. I smile while hopping onto the motorcycle and Matt turns it on. He revs the engine so everyone looks. Everyone is smiling and waving goodbye to me. I think to myself, ‘If i do come back, I’m going to have so much cred for this.

We start pulling off and I get a horrible feeling. Something isn’t right. Tonight isn’t going to be as good as I thought it would be. I look around me, look at the trees, trying to calm myself down. Then I look at Matt. The bad energy is coming from him. He is going to do something horrible. Trying to think of what he could possibly do, I couldn’t wrap my head around what it might be. ‘Is he going to get into a wreck? No, he has been riding forever. Is he going to try to kill me? No, he wouldn’t have showed up today. He wouldn’t have an alibi.’ I thought of every possible situation, but one didn’t even cross my mind.

Something is going to happen tonight that would change my life forever.

As I child I was sort of the black sheep. I wasn’t very behaved due to lack of attention. My mum moved us to Scotland when I was 9 and I hated it. I was naughty most of the time. Eventually my mum sent me back to England to live with her ex boyfriend. We lived on his dads construction site in a caravan. His dad was very inappropriate with his choose of words with me and also hugged me for a little to long. My mums ex boyfriend and I shared the same bed. One night he started rubbing my vagina and saying my mums name. I just froze in silence. The next morning he apologised & said he thought I was my mum. I can’t remember the rest of my time at the site apart from the moment really. Also two big German Shepard’s. My mum moved back to England they got back together & nothing was mentioned. We moved back to our home as a ‘family’ and everything went back to ‘normal’. After a while I wanted to get back in contact with my real dad. I had not see him since I was 5. Me contacting my dad sparked my mums and dads relationship and they ended up together. My mum had a child with her ex also my other brothers still see him like a father I never said anything so he we would go & stay there for a weekend every two weeks. I had a lot of freedom when I stayed there compared to my dads strict ways. I brought a friend with me once. She was my best mate. She come into my room and told me that my mums ex boyfriend had put his hand up her skirt. She wanted to go home. We slept in my bed together and that is when all the thoughts come back. I told my mum what happened to me when I was young & also what had happened to my friend. She stayed with us that night. I don’t know what happened but someone was called and we had to have a big meeting with social services. We were both taken out of class a lot on separate occasions and according to social services our story’s did not match. My friend was polish so there was a language barrier. Her mum beat her black and blue for bringing so much trouble to her home. When I see my friend I felt sad. I felt like it was my fault and I should not have said anything. I was called a liar by a lot of people & I think after that I went awol. My mum and dad eventually split up & she moved us to another town in England. Where her mum and brother live. Me & my mum had a bad relationship and I used to run away a lot, stay out all night drinking and I refused to go to school as much as I could get away with it. I didn’t like my Nan much and she pretty much lived with us. She was a very vindictive person. I ran away from them both & went to my uncles house. He had bars on his windows and bars before his back door. His flat was very strange but nice. He phoned my mum and she asked to talk to me. On the phone my mum was begging me to come home, she had never done that before so I felt I had the power to say no so I did. I stayed the night. The next day my uncle took me shopping and brought me new clothes & a hand bag. He asked if I would like to stay again. I said yes. He said he needed me to do him a favour and message some people on Facebook for him. It was his ex and his son. They wanted no contact and made it very clear. The night before I had slept on the couch but that night he told me I could sleep on the bed if I wanted to. So I went to sleep in the bed. I woke up with him next to me rubbing my inner thigh and leg and my boobs. He didn’t do anything but again I froze. I stayed awake for the rest of the night. I asked to leave early the next morning. I sat in the park for a long time before I went home. I didn’t know if I should say or not because of being called a liar last time & he hadn’t actually done anything to me like the last time it wasn’t rape. I was confused. I just went home & told my mum I had fun. For the next week he kept calling me in the night and I just ignored the calls. One day he just walked into my mums house, I was washing up for my mum. He come behind me and said boo, it really did scare me. I told my mum that night. Her mother begged her not to call the police although she said she wanted to. My mum was afraid to phone the police because she did not want social services in her life again. Social services were not involved for me they was involved due to my mum drinking and my dad drinking. That stuff back then just come out at that time so I understand her fear. I later found out that my uncle was actually jailed for child abuse as was not allowed near children. Nothing ever come of it but of course my Nan called me a liar and spread it around the family. They also called me a liar despite the fact they all knew the man he was. I also found out he had abused my mum as a child and the whole house lived in fear of him. I have never seen him since and never want to. I spent the rest of my teenage years a drunk. Then I tried weed and i smoked it every day. I continued to meet men who would take advantage of me and I couldn’t say NO. I knew I didn’t want to but just didn’t say no. I have met a man who loves me, he says he does and everyone else says he does but I find it so hard to believe him. They way we got together was messed up. I fell pregnant and had an abortion and I went down hill from there. Our relationship was a mess he cheated on me with his ex, I lost my trust and went and cheated on him with 3 other people but I was absolutely out of my face on all 3 occasions also I can’t not properly remember how it had started just flashbacks of each. I was consumed by guilt for the rest of the relationship. He only knows about 1 of those times because I can not bare to tell him. I don’t want him to see me that way. We are in different towns now due to how bad our relationship got. I billed him for a lot of my past also found my life very hard to cope with since the abortion. I’m now on some tablets for depression and bi polar. How do I let go of all of this so I can love this man the way I want to?

I am a preschool teacher of 3-5 year olds and I love my job. I have one student who I think is in trouble. My other teachers and I are really watching her and paying extra close attention to her and if we ever really do expect that it’s going on we are mandatory reporters. I know her parents are going through custody battles and her dad just got visitation rights. But after a few visits we have come across some concerning behaviors. My heart hurts for her because I went through the same thing with my parents and my father sexually abused and molested me from 3-7 and once more when I was 12. I am listening and watching her closely, I also have told her that she is safe at school and no one is going to hurt her here and that she can always tell her teachers anything and she told me she’s had nightmares about her dad and that’s a sign and I’m just so worried about this beautiful, bright, energetic little girl who might be going through hell.