I was so young.
I was eight.
You were seventeen.
You can't tell me it was a fucking mistake or an accident.
You knew better, I didn't. You took advantage when my older sister and my half older brother went to my Grandmothers on weekends. I was sleeping, I so happened to wake up, you were on a red computer. That dirty red color I now hate. You were watching Porn, you showed me, I was grossed out. You began to touch me, telling me it was your "Favorite game".
I had to be silent, to keep you safe, because that's what family does. I protected you on something I shouldn't have. I then found out it wasn't only me. I hope you never touched my other siblings. I SWEAR.
I was so scared to tell my mom, thinking she would be disgusted with me. I was afraid to tell my dad, thinking he would do the same. I was afraid to tell my siblings, thinking it would happen to them or they would think I was weird and stop loving me.
I hated my life. I hated waking up and seeing your face. When I found out about my older sister, I wanted to.. kill you. But I held back, I started having chest pains from that.
I felt sick when my friends would tell me that happened to them when they were young or it was still happening. I hated that those people turned the sweetest person "bad," they weren't, they were SERIOUSLY misunderstood. I felt so honored to have people feel that comfortable to tell me stuff like that. But it triggered me. I never told them because I felt like, if that happened to me it would be like telling them to shut up or mine was worse.. when it wasn't. I loved them, they were fucking so brave to tell me that. they were so BRAVE.
I had one boy tell me his. I felt honored and SO DISGUSTED. It was harder to hear his. He then told me I was the only person he ever told. I felt absolutely honored. I felt so connected with him on so many levels. I am only FOURTEEN right now. I have been told I am so mature for my age. I am so serious at times. I have been told I have anger issues. I am sorry for any outbursts I have towards anyone. I feel like I can only have that emotion rather than sadness. if you are reading this, I am so sorry. I love you. I wished I could be loved like how I love other people too. GOD BLESS YOU ALL.

I was 14 years old when my boss started touching me inappropriately and making sexual jokes. I did not know any better, I thought this was normal.

I was 16 years old when my bf of the time tried to perform sexual acts on me after blacking out drunk. His friends fed me drinks and led me to a setup behind the bushes. I did not know any better, I thought this was normal.

I was 19 years old when my bf (4 years older) groomed me. I did not know any better.

I am 23 years old and don’t engage in sexual activity with my bf anymore, he thinks I’m ruining the relationship. I still don’t know any better.

After over a year of staying silent about what ______ _______ _______ did to me, I am done being afraid of him. I’m done hiding my truth. My story will no longer stay in the dark—it will be heard, so people can know who he truly is and what he is capable of. A monster.

On July 4th, 2023, ______—my boyfriend at the time—suggested we celebrate the holiday together. I had just graduated high school and wasn’t old enough to drink. He was 28. His idea was to get alcohol and stay in a hotel for a few hours to watch the fireworks. I agreed, on the condition that I wouldn’t drink—I had promised my sister.

But once we were at the hotel, he begged me to have just one drink. I finally gave in, thinking one drink wouldn’t hurt—I’d built up a tolerance by then. After I finished the drink, I felt okay at first. That’s when he asked me if I wanted to sleep with him. I didn’t. I had told him no many times before. I was a virgin and saving myself for marriage. He responded with, “You don’t think I love you? That I don’t want to marry you or have kids with you?” He seemed angry, and I felt scared. He had a history of road rage, a temper, and he was much bigger than me—6'0" Over 170 pounds. I was just 4’9” and 85 pounds. He had told me before that I was “lucky” he had changed, because in the past, he wouldn’t have cared if I said no. I was scared. I agreed. I wish I hadn’t. My one condition was that he wear a condom. He was upset—he said he wanted kids and felt “too old” to wait. But I stood firm. I wasn’t ready to be a mom.

Afterward, I was quiet, not really in the mood to talk. To “lighten the mood,” he offered me molly. I said no—multiple times. I was in the process of enlisting in the military and couldn’t risk it. He then asked if I would at least have another drink. I agreed, just to get him to stop pushing the drugs. As he was pouring the drink, he mentioned he had “lost” the molly anyway. I didn’t even finish that second drink before I started to feel disoriented. Out of it.

That’s when it happened. He was on top of me. I was pinned down—he was choking me, I was too disoriented to fight him off. I told him no. He didn’t stop. He wasn’t wearing a condom. He kept talking about how all his friends were getting married and having kids, and he was the last one without either.
I told him I felt like throwing up. He finally got off me. What felt like a few minutes of vomiting was actually hours of me sitting on the floor, completely out of it. Later, he came in and told me to calm down. He said I needed to shower. I said no—I just wanted to sleep.

He undressed me anyway, forced me into the shower, and turned the water to the coldest setting. I begged to get out. I told him I was freezing. He didn’t let me. He stayed in there with me. After a while, he finally let me out. I dried off, got dressed, and laid down. When I woke up, I was fully naked again. But I was past curfew. I didn’t question it—I just got dressed and left.

That night—and another night after—destroyed me.

I didn’t leave him right away. I didn’t want to believe my first time had been rape. I didn’t want to admit what had happened. I was scared of my family finding out. I didn’t want to be seen differently.

A few months later, he asked me if what had happened was consensual. I was terrified—his tone, his rage. I hesitated, but then I said yes. Not because it was true—but because I wanted to avoid a confrontation. I wanted to believe it myself. But it wasn’t true. None of it was okay. I still live with the aftermath. The nightmares. The sweating. The crying. The vomiting. The fear of bumping into him. I’m in a healthy relationship now, but that trauma still lives in my body. It’s not something you just “move on” from.
I never pursued legal action. I had no proof. It would have been my word against his. And my father passed away not long after the relationship ended—I was too broken, too tired. I decided to live with it.

But now I’m speaking. Even if I stay anonymous. Even if there’s no courtroom. This is still a kind of justice. This is me reclaiming my voice. I’m no longer letting him have power over me—not even in my silence.
He lives without fear, knowing he got away with it. But not anymore.

I am not silent.

When I was 14, I sat in a gym class between my 2 best friends and learned that 1 in 3 women get raped. I made a joke about how it might be me because I was 14 and didn't know better. A few days later my boyfriend, who was already pressuring me into doing things I didn't want to do, came to my house. He mentioned how I had said I wanted to be raped. I laughed and said "oh yeah, rape me." He proceeded to push me against a wall. I said no. I said I didn't want this. I cried. I said I was joking. He did it anyway. I dumped him shortly after. He told everyone I liked getting raped. He then formed a band with my 2 friends and their boyfriends. I was not invited. They learned the song "Rape Me" by Nirvana and dedicated it to me. People would sing it to me in the halls of school. I denied anything happened. My friends didn't believe me. They told me every rumor has a kernel of truth, so what he said must have been true.

________ __ __ groomed me as well as other teenage girls. Pressured sexual intimacy, didn't listen to 'no,' and threatened suicide when called out

11 years old. With my 3 friends in an elevator for a harmless birthday party at a hotel. One of my first sleepovers. A man in his 40s-50s comes in, and asks if he can use the bathroom in our suite, we tell him no. Arriving at our stop, my friend improvises a way too get us to the bottom floor, saying she forgot something there. While coming back in the the elevator, he gropes my friends’ butt, and asked while smirking, “ Do you go to the gym? “ We get out at the bottom floor, I am the last to leave. He gropes me in the butt. I ask my friends if it was them, my disappointment and disgust was unfathomable when they all said no. I looked back at the man, still in the elevator as we smirked at me once again, proud of what he did.

I don't know why I put up with this for so long.

I was first molested by my cousin, he was a teenager, I was a toddler. He climbed in my bed one night startling me awake and he touched my privates and made me touch his all the while telling me “it’s ok”. I knew deep down it wasn’t ok, but at the same time I trusted him, he was like my brother. He was caught and sent away to another state, I never saw him again. He left me with a fear I had never experienced, I was afraid at night in my room, the shadows of my toys seemed ominous, the sounds of my mother moving about terrified me, I believed someone or something was going to get me in my sleep. My mother let me sleep with her and she loved me and nurtured me for many nights and I finally was able to sleep in my own bed again. Then maybe a couple of years later, the memory of my cousin faded, my grandfather began to molest me. It happened several times, him touching me and making me touch him. He too was caught, but I was punished, blamed and shamed by my grandmother. I was devastated and profoundly changed as she shouted at me. I became silent, willing myself invisible for years. When I was raped at 10 or 11 by 3 neighbors, I was already programmed to tell no one because I would be blamed, so I carried the burden. As a teen I went into rebellion, acting out in harmful ways, abusing alcohol and drugs until I was almost 30 years old. Jail was my bottom and I started on my journey to not only survive, but thrive.

Why is it up for debate if he is a perpetrator when he already made me his victim?

If I hear one more time how he is a good person… he obviously wasn’t one to me. You are not neutral, you are simply shitty friends. If you don’t want to take sides… you are taking sides. Because there is no way that you believe and understand what happened to me and keep being friends with him. There is no way that you are there for me when I have to explain why you should be mad at him. Either you believe me or you don’t. But don’t pretend that you have my best interest in mind when you question my reality when I’m already falling apart. You made this ten times worse for me. Don’t take the moral high ground on how you can’t judge, have to be neutral or can’t hate anybody while simultaneously silencing me. Be honest. You don’t wanna know. You don’t want to know that someone you care about is capable of doing something this horrible.

It's easier to think that I misunderstood something or am too sensitive because then the world is still a safe place. I hate to tell you, but it is NOT safe. Your friend, however lovely he is to you, hurt me beyond repair. He violated me, just because he felt like it and yet I’m the one who has to defend myself. I have no words for how disappointed I am. You know me! You know me and yet you don’t believe me. What am I supposed to think? When you tell me you don’t think he is capable of doing something like that… all you are really saying is… you are capable of lying, imagining things and ruining the life of someone innocent. What about my life? Why does he get to ruin my life but when I ask for accountability and protection I’m supposedly the one ruining his. As if speaking up about it isn’t causing me already enough pain. What reason should I have? What do you think I would gain from this? Do you think I enjoy losing friends and having the worst night of my life exposed, examined and up for debate? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t like someone asking intrusive questions about your sex life, so what makes you think that I have to tell you about mine, especially when it involves violence. I’m so mad at you! I wish you the best for the future and I’m really grateful for the friendship we had up to that point, but I never want to see you again. You couldn’t choose, so I did it for you. I choose me.

we were 14. he was my boyfriend, he manipulated me, forced me to think that’s what love was, that i was alone and no one else would be around for apart from him. every day he would pressure me, guilt trip me with sayings like, this is what everyone does, ur not normal, you don’t love me, i’ll leave you, i’ll tell everyone we had sex (even though we didn’t). every day for weeks— until i finally gave in and sent pictures.

for weeks and months into our relationship he would get angry at me for not wanting to have sex, he would get moody and call me names, tell me i was useless and ugly and no one would ever want me. we would kiss and he would push and push at my head trying to force me to suck him off, and emotionally manipulate me everyday. he forced me to do it. he forced his finger into my ass and then after, laughed and said it was a joke and just a bit of fun. he was abusive for months on end, telling me that no one cared about me and that i had no one. and then i tried to leave.

threats after threats of sending the pictures to everyone, and he did, pictures i didn’t want to send in the first place. i would get spammed with messages everyday of being slut shamed saying it was my own fault they were out because i sent them. girls and boys telling me i was a slut, ugly and no one was gonna date me now. an instagram account was created using my first name where he and his friends would post pictures. i went to school and was bullied for it, being called names while all my friends left me for his side because it was my own fault. the school did nothing to help me.

he threatened to kill me and sent threats to my only friend i had left, and repeatedly called me names.

i felt suicidal for months on end.

it ruined my life. nothing happened to him. i spent years thinking it didn’t count as assault. i can’t do anything i want to do and i hate my body every time i see it because i think about this. the shame. i have nightmares, flashbacks to what happened.