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I beginning to get a few more flashes of my childhood, I keep drawing up this picture of a barn on a Hill. I think it's from the last farm. I vaguely remember the layout of the second farm we lived on this isn't from there. Its the only mental image I have of a building from there. I can't for the life of me picture the house, I know I had my own room, I can kinda picture the dresser that was in the room. But I really can't picture the room , It had a lot of books in it . I remember looking out the window Watching E and M unloading Christmas presents the back of his car. Her coming up telling me to go back to sleep so I wouldn't ruin the surprise . I still don't any remember Christmases . I know the room That me and A shared On the second was a horrible purple pinkish color, I think it opened up into E&M Bedroom. I'm not 100% sure about that. I remember hiding a lot, I mentioned the animal Den on the first farm.I remember finding a stripped Out Passenger car Upside down in a ditch, And I hide in it Until A and cousins found me one day. But I don't remember hiding in it after that. I do remember a lot of hiding, In closets, Under beds inside farm equipment and out in the Woods. I remember somebody lost the key To the diesel storage tank For the tractor. It wasn't me because I wasn't allowed to drive the tractor I was too small. So it was either A or E , when A realized that we couldn't find the key he knew that when E got home there be hell to pay. When E got home he had me tell him I lost it. I don't remember what the punishment was but based on past incidents I can imagine it wasn't good. I suspect there was a lot of times That A&J Would have me confess To things that I didn't do So they wouldn't be punished. I guess they figured since I survived the TBI I was OK with taking blows to the head. I mentioned when he came into the bathroom the one time and Held my head under For disrespecting him. And it kind of got me thinking, I don't think I was upset Or embarrassed That he came in on me When I was naked. It makes me think That being naked in front of him Wasn't all that unusual. That could be Just from The naked line up he used to make us do when he was yelling at us. But I suspect there's more to it than that. I think M worked nights a lot, and E was a drinker, so he be all drunk and horny and we were available . When I cant get hold of my wife one of the pictures that flashes up in my head is finding her and my daughter raped and murdered. I always been like that, that could just be the CPTSD or it could be something Leaking past one of the locked doors in my head. E didn't murder any one but I believe he raped J. And maybe us boys as well. My wife has a lot more faith In my ability To do the schooling that I want to do Then I do. I told her she could spend 250 bucks On a device For me to do online school And I'm holding a $600 piece of equipment in my hand. She believes in me a lot more than I do. That's why words are randomly capitalized throughout this post, I'm teaching a new device voice to text With my accent. Voice to text does not like my accent. Lol.

Our first farm wasn't very big it was only about 8 acres . there was a creek running through it and a couple acres of trees , for child as young as I was seem like a forest . This is where I have the clearest memories of the "Games". I remember being in my sisters room , all three of us naked on her bed . We wouldn't have been very old , I believe I was in fourth grade , she was 2.5 years older.. I have a vivid memory of her laying on her back with her legs spread and us using our hands to rub each other . And rubbing up against each other. This is when she said the thing about us peeing in her.It was very bright so I think the curtains were open. Again I think she started playing with us so E could watch. The creek that ran though the farm had cut a ravine , it wasn't very deep , but the sides were above our heads. I remember the three of us going out there , and her saying that we could hypnotize her and she do anything we wanted . I remember all three of us naked down there , playing with each other and rubbing against each other . The first vagina I kissed with my sisters , and the first female who took my penis in her mouth was my sister . And yes me and my brother also played with each other . I think we moved the games outside so E could get a clearer view. Later on we built a lean to out of brush , I believe the games continued in there even though I have no clear memory of it. We couldn't see out but if someone wanted to they could see in. With out us knowing they were there. I remember I found an abandoned animal den, I would worm my way in to hide. I have no idea what animal made it but it was large enough for a 4th grader. It was a dank smelly nasty borrow in a pile of dead trees and brush. But nobody know where I was. There was a family that lived next to us that also had kids about our age . They would come over and play and then one day they didn't anymore . They were very religious. I have the suspicion that J tried to include the older daughter in the games and the parents found out and forbid them to come over . I just have this fuzzy picture of two naked girls in that lean too . I remember being told that we hated the mother and father. That they were religious freaks and we needed to stay away from them . Again we were highly sexualized for children of that age . Me and my brother had G.I. Joe's and my sister had barbies. We would play G.I. Joe on liberty with them where we have the dolls do sex acts. Like I said this was the early 70s , media wasn't as openly sexual then as it is now . So we got these ideas from what was being done to us . I don't think we were there very long , long enough to grow and bale hay. But then I'm not sure, I only remember the summer there . I remember loading the steers and pigs on to a truck to take them to the slaughterhouse . That may have been while we were moving to the second farm . I remember E being abusive and violent because we weren't doing it right . this is all took place in the northern Midwest, so there would of been snow and cold. I don't remember winters , only flashes. As is my habit when confronted with a problem , I do research . Let's collect as much information as possible about the problem we're trying to solve and see how we can apply it to the problem . It appears that not only was I trauma bonded to E, I also have trauma amnesia . I may never fully recover the memories of the abuse . It may only be vague impressions, suspicions and just brief flashes.

When I was very young at the apartments we lived in when E and M first got married. I was maybe 2 or 3 years old. E aftershave got spilled. one of us dumped it down the toilet .I believe he used aqua Velva aftershave . That's the first time I recall him lining us up naked for interrogation. After much yelling on his part it was decided I did it. Hell I might've . I was laid across his lap naked and spanked. I'm getting flashes of other times I was beaten for something . I think that's when I started being blamed for everything that us kids did to anger him, because I was so small he would just use his open hand on me . Fists and the belt would come later . As I got older and the level of violence increased it was just the way we did things . my wife went and bought a container of Aqua Vega aftershave, smell is a good way to recall memories . I had it for about a month now and I will admit I am a little concerned of what will happen when I smell it . I have a memory of him either pushing M or punching her and knocking her down the stairs. She hit the wall so hard she put her head through it . these were apartments that were built previous to 1968 , so it wouldn't have been sheet rock. It would have been Lathe and plaster. That's considerably more solid then sheet rock. She's had multiple back surgeries since then . I remember from the first house her being in a full body cast . I can't help but wonder this is when the back problems started . I've always had the impression that my introduction into human sexuality was I caught the two of them having sex and he made me stand there and watch . I believe more then once. One of my "kinks" is watching people have sex. Not voyeurism but being in the same room and them aware I am there. But that also could be because of the Games. I remember me and my brother playing outside after dark , and him telling me to start looking at the apartments across the way so we could watch people having sex through the windows. Like I said I was very young I hadn't started Kindergarten yet , I don't believe he started kindergarten. This was the late 1960s . I believe that it would be unusual for children this young at ,that time, to be aware of sex. I remember the 3 of us bathing together. We were highly sexualized as children, I remember during one of the games on our first farm J said that we couldn't put our penises in her because she was worried we would pee and get her pregnant. I would have been 7 or 8. This was way before sex education at schools. I don't remember the birds and the bees talk but we were aware ,vaguely, of how babies were made. I did manage to recall a holiday, I remember getting lost on Halloween when we were out trick or treating. There's no real emotion attached to that memory , I remember later in the marriage when he would go on one of his rages or start pounding on me, I would pick a spot just pass his head and stare at it . I believe that even that young I was starting to disassociate with what was going on around me I'm getting flashes of mundane things too. Getting the old school bowl haircut. Playing. Things like that. I don't remember the move from the apartments to the first house . there are still great big chunks of my childhood missing but I'm working on it .

I find commenting on other people's threads very uncomfortable. One of the reasons I do that it's because as a child I was taught that everything I thought and said was wrong. That I was an idiot who couldn't get anything right. I've remembered after the TBI them getting so frustrated with me because I would have difficulty with spelling. And I remember being told how stupid I was ,what a loser I was, how I was going to be this big gigantic failure. So it's difficult for me to comment on the threads Of course I suffered severe brain trauma, and I'm being told now I was in a coma from 3 to 7 - days. But of course according to them that was just an excuse I was just lazy and stupid. But I'm forcing myself to do it, even though I find it very uncomfortable and it causes me anxiety. Because in order to do what I want to do I have to be able help people. So please forgive me if I'm clumsy at it, if I inadvertently say the wrong thing or it's not coming across the way I intended. I'm doing the best I can with my severely limited social skills. And to elaborate on my last post about being a violent drunk, no I never cross the line and hurt a woman or a child. I've never struck my wife in anger or struck my children in anger. And I definitely have never forced sex on a woman or a child. I decided early in the game that if I ever did that my next act would be to eat a bullet.

Since I talked to my brother I had a few more flashes come out. We lived in a house, I believe it was the 2nd farm, that had a basement with a real low ceiling. I was probably only 7 or 8 and my head just barely cleared the joists. I liked playing down because E don't like going down there becuase it was so low. Because I was down there alone I think just me and him were home. I remember him angrily yelling for me to come up. I remember seeing him at the top of the stairs outlined by the brighter light behind him and I remember fear. I remember we were visiting M parents in a different state. And my sister and a different girl were putting on a lesbian show for us boys. I can't remember the time frame.I think she was 12/14 E wouldn't have been there so I guess by now it was how we played together. I remember us taking bathes together. At the first house. Washing each other, with E in the room. That would make me about 4 or 5 A 5 or 6 and J 7 or 8. I remember at the 1st house we have a fort built out of sheets on the clothes line in the back yard. An adult would of had to build it as we were to small. we were playing I show you mine if you show me yours. I think with the neighbor kids. I walked out, for whatever reason and caught E standing there. He was so angry. I, believe now because I caught him peeping. I think we weren't allowed to play with these kids after awhile. I remember their father telling us to go home because J took her shirt off. He was uncomfortable with that. I really don't remember having friends other then E nephews after that. I had school friends but I don't remember going to their house or them coming to ours. I do remember going to spend the to night at a friend's house once. But I can't recall ever doing it again. I mentioned on a thread that we had an abandoned heating oil tank in a basement at a house we lived at. Every time I smell the smell of heating oil I think sex. It was the house we lived in town after E left. M worked nights and A and J were in Hi school so that the place they would have the keggars. They like getting the little 13/14 psychotic boy drunk and watching him go insane. At that time all I wanted to do was drink or die. I remember being in the basement with my brother. But not what happened or why we were down there. So I have to wonder if the games continued after E left. On the net I come across a series of pictures of male rape victims holding up sign of thing their rapist said to them. One of the sign said" All brother do this, it's called practicing" that freaked me out. What can't I remember and just had bad was it?

I fully intend on continuing this voyage of self discovery. I am very goal orientated, and my goal is to know, to the best of my ability to remember. It was decades ago 1 TBI and me trying very hard not to remember. So a lot may just be suspicions and vague impressions. As most know on this page PTSD charges the structure of the brain. And the way it remembers trauma. Some of me trying not to remember all the CSA is they blamed me. And I believed them. That I was just wrong. That I was a thing that should be grateful they tolerate me. Yes I know that's a symptom of PTSD. Then I didn't know that. And they took full advantage of that. From the time the marriage ended till my final suicide attempt after the gangrape, I was a violent self destructive alcoholic. Think of all the worst symptoms of PTSD mix it with Jack Daniels. I can't ask my Mother because she is 77, had several Strokes She was highly trained medical professional and now simple medical terms are hard for her to pronounce. Why put her though it. My sister is a narcissist, a drug addict and a petty Thief who stole all my mother's money after she started to get sick. I will never speak to her again. And my brother will lie. TW If it turns out that I was E cumdump then so be it. I suspect that after my brother was physically able to I was his. Till one of E nephews got a license then all of them stopped interacting with me. They feed me and give me the bare minimum of care necessary to keep me alive. I scared them.

I printed off what I wrote and took the book referenced in part one in to the PhD that I trust. I read it aloud. "May I see the book?" "Absolutely." "That's damaging." "It is and although I despise the men who have made tons of money in law enforcement off of their sales practice, I won't burn the book. I refuse to do what Hitler and many others have done by burning books. I do NOT agree with the parochial 'version' of anger and if anything calling it a sin makes them money by keeping people sick and miserable. Worst longterm gaslight tactic ever."

I am a new member and I am 23 yrs old and I am struggling with a lot of stuff and I was told by a friend that this is a great please to seek help. LDM0426

"Rape is the only crime where the victim is interrogated as the subject of interest. Little attention is placed on the perpetrator's behavior, if any." Once attacked as a child, the math odds do not improve in the longterm favor of the victim. This establishes a pattern that it's okay for silence and repeat abuse. It doesn't matter who or what is responsible for the original criminal act, what's important is that the victim doesn't internalize the crime. Why would I think this way? Not only does a victim/survivor have to fight the original crime, but the aftermath of the mob. They are mathematically -- atrocious odds. Personally, I didn't come up with the example of math and casinos. It was two males at Stanford who did. That too, pissed me off. It is an opinion that the Reid Technique from 1947 -- is part of this horrible gap in lost time, lost wages, broken families and other longterm consequences that are offloaded onto the victims. Commercial entities also use these interview and interrogation method... but first, as a female, the religious nut jobs have to have their Spanish Inquisition jab. "Is she diseased?" "Is she of childbearing years?" "Is she married?" THIS IS STRAIGHT OUT OF THEIR BOOK, "Blame Victim (Company or Supervisor)" page 217 "Use. This rationalization can be used for theft or damage to property. The victim can be blamed in almost any crime from a homicide, to a sex crime, to theft. The guilt is transferred to the victim by the interrogator who portrays the suspect as a victim of circumstances. The suspect became involved because the victim dressed or acted a certain way, flaunted their wealth, or made advances to the suspect." STOP RIGHT THERE. I want a complete list of every human who has attended this Reid course, used this method AGAINST rape survivors and bought this damned book. While I won't burn it, I will stare holes into it. AND I will stare holes into the website of the two men authors who are of 'lofty credentials' in this so-called fake justice nation. I FLIPPED YOUR 1947 MONEY RETIREMENT STRATEGY SCRIPT YOU BASTARDS. Legally, nobody is required to pass a religious test in this particular country. Nor are they fully required to submit their body to examination without legal representation. MIRANDA -- how odd is this warning label from a foreign rapist trial who got off on a technicality? I have the right to scream decades later because yelling is not against the law. I have the right to insult the academic masses who have financially benefitted off of 'rape research' but have yet figured out how to resolve the K-12 anatomical education in the classrooms. I have the right to tell the male judge and male lawyer that they are assholes when they collude on the insensitivity bandwagon and I'm reduced to tears in a trial. I have a right to interrogate the backgrounds of the medical practitioners who might believe my body is their evidence playground. I have a right to make sure any documentation about me in a file contains no bias about what people think of me... but rather facts. Most importantly, I have a right to laugh, to pursue my own path of healing and to investigate what is best for my life. I am not to be categorically dumped into a group or groups for research purposes, nor am I to be used as a 'rape prevention' tool or mouthpiece. I have a right to my personhood, my thoughts and my future. I have a right to refute Stasi-like tactics from a University-backed funding pool that is propped up by extremist patriarchy political channels. I have a right to my data accuracy and it not being propagated into a big data lake. I have a right to my female brain which is absolutely no different than a male brain. Mine happens to work logically and analytically and I can shut down the emotions just like a male with a light switch. I have a right to work with my anger and find the beauty in it as opposed to the myths attached to female anger. I have the right to my own emotions and I don't need your campy zen Corporate bunny fluff self-coddling because I came from that campy Corporate training environment and played the politics there. Yes -- Yes, I am terribly pissed off that the former Presidential administration used the financial anti-terrorism "fine" to supposedly fund rape kits and forensics. You filthy bastard of Ivy League might not realize some of us have been working on Iran things long before you entered the State of Illinois politics. We had to sit in those long gas lines during the seventies while we were given that delightful shitty government education in the middle of nowhere. Thanks for using our pool as human shields for your Middle East agenda. (In the event you two nincompoops didn't realize that human shields are against the Geneva Convention.) They ONLY went to where the huge foundation money goes -- Universities -- and didn't even dance in the K-12 ring. Common sense says... if you're raped into PTSD as a kid into teens -- college isn't even in the forecast. Thanks assholes. That's the early childhood education your political strategy neglected. In the event the original officers who destroyed a rape kit seven years after the first rape don't see the crime scene tape... they're not allowed to cross that line. I am evidence. I am not property. You'll not stuff me in your evidence lab rat room for observation. I am a survivor... and I also have a right to be mad as hell.

Thirty seven years ago I was raped by what I consider a stranger as a teen walking home in the rain... someone I did not know personally nor had I ever spoken to or been in proximity. The place is small and it is a place where telephones aren't necessary for words or rumors to travel. Everybody "knows" everybody or seemingly so is familiar with the names or families. I'd assume this is quite typical in everywhere remote small places. I do not remember details. What I do remember clearly was where I was previously, what I was doing in the arcade was a very normal social activity and that there was no ride home in the rain and I was told to walk. My mother was sick and unable to come get me. Walking is also something that is a normal activity in a very small town. I wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. There were also no taxis, Uber or Lyft for teens. Bicycles were our only other form of transportation. There were no drugs or alcohol involved. I didn't run in huge social circles and being rather bookish anyway, I wasn't interested in popularity climbs. What I do remember is the luring tactic by the perpetrator who claimed he knew the step-Dad and where I lived. "Hey... need a ride?" seemed to be a kind gesture. That's the lure. An obituary or two clued me in that he'd probably seen me playing in the yard with other kids while he was visiting his uncle on the same block. Yes -- obituaries reveal quite a bit of data that you wouldn't otherwise think would be important. I'm equally as capable of solving my own crime scene -- because I was there. Many months ago, I got up enough wine-induced courage to take that entire PD to task. Yes. Even though the statute of limitations (colorful topic) has passed, I called to re-report the crime on my own accord. Dead parents couldn't back me, but I did it anyway. Dead grandparents weren't there to support me, but I did it anyway. And... the PD hung up on me repeatedly so I kept calling and screamed that they were going to listen to me. Besides... PDs are used to screaming drunks. Might as well temporarily use this to my cathartic advantage. So yes, the 1981 rainy April night was re-reported and that was that. I got my point across that I will not be silenced. After all, telecommunication engineering is in my background. Voila! And wine is not a longterm solution or crutch. I was able to reconstruct decades worth of passwords by loosening up my own cranial archives and getting inside my own head. I'm done with that. Mission accomplished. I figured if it was good for the Ancient Greeks it might work for me, too. Amazing what I was able to piece together that I thought was really permanently blocked... and this time I wrote it down! What I did not know is that a first cousin is related by marriage to both a retired police officer as well as the perpetrator. It's now really no wonder he walked and probably did that over and over as they do. All of these years, she and her mother pretended to act out of concern but at my first hint of "revolt" towards her and not being her technological free support, she turned. She also tried to manipulate me into a fake forgiveness scenario over decades probably out of her own secret guilt. When I told her to stop sending me photos of a truck in a driveway and that it was hurtful, she kept doing it anyway. When she's insecure about her husband sending texts to a woman, she can pay a private eye for the address sleuthing... or actually go find a shrink. As they say, it's actually those closest that do the most longterm damage. I just walked away. I didn't realize that the downstream guilty cling to the victims just as hard as the perpetrators do. In doing so, cutting those ties... I freed myself. This is my healthy decision. And some of that rage subsided.

When I sleep with a man, I close my eyes. I do everything I can to make it be over if it starts taking him too long. I do this even when its my decision and I came on to him; but it always feels wrong. The sweating grosses me out, the body hair, the awkward humping like he thinks he's rocking your world when all he's really doing is drying my out and causing awful friction. When I close my eyes, I don't have to see him anymore, and it separates me from the situation. I wondered when I started doing that; coming onto guys and then waiting for it to end. When I was 16, my first boyfriend Parker took my virginity. Like most embarrassed teenage girls I couldn't look then, either. Then I got comfortable, and eventually I was confident enough to look, to take control, to fuck him back. It was all we ever did when we were together, which the horny teenager in me didn't mind a bit. But then weeks passed, and months. We were still only fucking. Not just once, but at least two times every day. I would go see him every day, pick him up, bring him home with me. Let him fuck me as much as he wanted, and then take him home again. It became routine, to let him have what he wanted even if I didn't feel like it. If I said no, he would keep asking. So I let him. When I couldn't stand him anymore, I ended it. He was the first boy I ever slept with, and he used me like a sex doll. And I let him. I gave him what he wanted, because isn't that easier than fighting it? I think that really created the foundation for other men to take advantage of me. Never by force, but coercion. If they tried enough, I would let them. If I knew that was what they wanted from me, I gave it to them. Again, and again, and again. Sometimes, it was drugs that convinced me. Or alcohol. Or both. They would get me fucked up and then I was even easier to convince. Friend gets me molly, and suddenly a little touching isn't as big of a deal. We're tripping on shrooms together, and the harmless back massage travels to my ass, and I allow it. Give me some painkillers, and I'll take my best friend's virginity. More painkillers, I let you do anal. Some acid and coke, I let you spit in my mouth and call me a w**re. At the time, maybe it even felt good. Maybe I wanted to do it, too. But I didn't want to, not really. I wanted the drugs, to feel better for just a while. I wanted the attention, because loneliness hurts almost as much. It was always him that wanted to. The dozens of hims that I barely remember or remember all too well; I knew what they wanted from me, what every guy always wanted from me, and I let them have it because it seemed like the only thing left of me to give. So I didn't fight, I just closed my eyes. In a way, so did they, because no one ever seemed to notice how much I was cutting myself back then. After a while, I tried to get better. I'd stopped being as reckless, tried to find someone that didn't think of me as a nice piece of ass to destroy. Tried to take better care of myself, and tried to push back the memories of all the things I let other people do to me. And I was doing alright, for a short while. I had just started taking klonopin for my anxiety, and had no idea how strongly it would interact with something to drink. I was on a tinder date, and between the two of us we finished the bottle. He was handsome, and older, and I was trashed. I got on top of him, kissed him hard. When I started to take off my clothes, and he politely slowed it down, then left. Told me maybe next time. Bet you we're expecting that; neither was I. I'd never had a guy turn down sex with me before. I was ripe for the taking, but he knew I was too drunk. He was the first respectful guy I'd ever come across. But then, I invited over my friend, Max. We had also met on tinder, but I hooked up with him roommate a few times and had made it abundantly clear that I was only interested in being friends. It wasn't that he was a bad guy or anything, but for the love of Christ his teeth were so repulsive, the thought of kissing him made me gag. So there we were, me already half blackout drunk, Max having his first drink while pouring me another. I told him all about how I'd just had the most wonderful date, and that we were going to see each other again soon. We chatted and drank and then I noticed how he was looking at me. How he was always looking at me. Then, I kissed HIM. There's a lot I don't remember about that night, parts that got left out because of the drugs. That, I do remember. I kissed him first. I still blame myself for that. See, when you get drunk while also on a benzo like xanax or klonopin, you don't black out entirely. At least, I didn't. While I was drunk, I was there, experiencing everything. It was only the next day that parts were missing, blurred out like someone didn't erase them properly. There were also parts that, for the life of me, I couldn't stop remembering. Images were playing through my mind over and over. Me kissing him, me leading us to my room. Him pushing my head down to blow him, it chocking me. Then it was me, laying on my stomach with him behind me. I was too fucked up to do anything but lay there, too dizzy to move. I remember how much it hurt, how aggressively he forced himself into me over and over again. I remember him spanking me, and how humiliating it was. When the worst part happened, when he decided to take his too big c*ck and force it in my ass, I remember my face in the pillow, eyes clenched shut, almost screaming, my hand grabbing the blankets for dear life. I don't remember how it ended, or much of anything after that, except that I kept laying there, staring straight ahead, and tears hitting the pillow. He slept over, and the next morning, I made excuses about having to be somewhere soon and that he needed to leave. I went back to bed, in shock, and just cried. All day, I cried. Then, I decided to fight. I fought with him, over text, furious that he'd taken advantage of me when I had been so drunk, fresh off a date, after I had been so clear that I never wanted anything like that from him. I told his roommate, my friend, but he wasn't on my side. Said Max told him we were both drunk, that I kissed him first, that I wanted it to happen, but regretted it. Person after person I told, no one was on my side. Except for my roommate; he had been in his room, and heard all of it. I still think about how it must have damaged him, being a witness to something he couldn't stop. 28 days from now it will be a full year since I attempted suicide. I never make it to the one year mark; for three years I've come within a month or two but then relapse in the worst ways. It's like all the cuts I didn't make were building up until the pressure was so great that one touch of a blade to my skin left a devastating wound. The boy I had been on a date with that night stayed with me through the entire winter. I don't know if I could have made it without him. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but it was the worst time. I rearranged my room, made everything look different. I will never put my bed back in the spot by the window, because that's where it happened. I could never lay in that bed there again, knowing that's where my face had been buried in the pillow. For a while, everything was really difficult. Then I buried it deep and soldiered on, because there are always so many other things to worry about. After a while, and after being cut off by that group of friends, I moved on with my life. Then I started a new job, and he was there. He asked the boss to never schedule us on the same nights, because he couldn't stand to be around me, because I made HIM uncomfortable. He played the victim, telling all his friends I went crazy after coming on to him and all sorts of lies. He had his life, his friends, and I had panic attacks in the bathroom. My skin crawled when I saw him. People would say his name in conversation and I thought I was going to be sick. I couldn't keep working like that, and I couldn't quit the job, so I told someone. A manager asked what was wrong, so I told him. Nothing happened. I told the girls I worked with, and turned out, I wasn't the only one. Not one, but TWO other girls had been his friend, partied together, gotten way too shit faced, and woke up next to Max. Apparently, that was just "what he does". He targets women that can't say no. One of the other girls talked to a different manager with me, and still, nothing happened. Every feeling from that night came back into my life and I kept remembering my face in the pillow, the pain. No one did a thing to help me, no matter how many times I asked. I eventually was fired from that job after having a panic attack that sent me home during a busy shift. Fired because I was raped, and no one would help me. I think about how many other girls hes done this to, how many more there are to come. I want to report it, I want to put him away so he can't hurt anyone ever again. There are THREE that I know of, but even if they did come forward with me, who would believe us. Girls getting too drunk, having sex, regretting it. How do you call it rape if you didn't say no, if you didn't fight him off? My name, all of our names, would get dragged through the dirt. They would call us slutty, reckless, paint a picture of drug addicts and mental cases until no one took us seriously. And all that, for my family to witness? There is no justice for people like me, like the other girls. We elect rapists into our Supreme Court and then are asked why it is we didn't come forward sooner, say something when it happened. And besides, I kissed him first, remember? I kissed him first because since I was 16 years old, the world taught me to just give men what they wanted from me, that it was easier that way. How do you explain that to a court? To your friends? Your family? The most ironic part is, I'm gay. And when I'm with a girl, I keep my eyes wide open, and I never want it to end.

‘Too bad another guy spoilt my fun’ ... ’your so broken no one will ever love you like I love you’ ... ’never speak of this again with anybody else - no one should know this about you’ ... ’you are being over dramatic, get over it’ ... ’you are not fun anymore’ ... words that follow me and shape my life. Words that people have said in response to me telling them what happened. Words hurt

I haven’t posted in a while and tonight I feel like I have no where else or any one else to turn to so I’m here I started cutting again and started to hate my self more and more every day every minute every second I’m terrified and scared and I hate myself and I want to kill myself and I just want to die I just want to it all to end I hate it I can’t sleep I’m scared I’m paranoid I’m not even sure how to end this but maybe with a question... what if you were asked” where are you gonna go live with a rapist or with your brother so he can rape you too” by your significant other what would you do?

Today has been a long rough day all together I feel like if it wasn’t one thing it’s another!!! I had counseling today and I decided I was gonna write a letter to my abuser and send it off... I hate the unknown of not knowing if he’s gonna open it or the unknown is what drives me even crazier. I’m the type that constantly has to be in control and when I’m not I get anxious and stressed out and depressed and I don’t know how to handle it!! I hate feeling this way!!! Now I’m stuck have stupid Father’s Day dinner with all the in laws and every time we have dinner I end up at the end by myself on my phone (like now) playing games or just keeping myself occupied... it makes me feel so alone and unwanted but this is what I married into I love him to much to let this mess up our marriage. Dot get me wrong he try’s to talk to me a little bit but I get so depressed I just don’t want to talk to anyone!!! I hate it I hate today I hate everything I just feel like cutting crying and sleeping!!

I’m having such a bad night I just wish it could be over with already!! I just wish I didnt have to feel this depression I’m feeling. Like I’m so down in a funk and I can’t get out. I hate not being able to talk to anyone about it. I know I can call someone but I don’t want to be a bother to them. I don’t want them to feel like I’m a burden or I’m pestering them about my stupid problems. I keep trying to push through all these feelings and I just end up finding myself sitting on the couch crying. I wish I could just shut off all my emotions and just act like everything is okay there’s no hurt there’s no pain there’s no depression there’s nothing. I hate that my mind keeps going back to all the abuse I’ve dealt with all the neglect all the physical abuse all the sexual abuse and rape and the running and the sleeping around and all the drugs and all the cutting and all the other stupid crap I’ve done and all the other stuff I’ve had to deal with. I feel overwhelmed like I can’t manage to eat I can’t manage to sleep I can hardly take care of my own kids. It’s getting bad tonight but I’m trying my best to push through it until both kids are sound asleep. I don’t want them to see me freak out or to see me sitting her pathetically crying on the couch. I don’t want them to see how unstable I truly am. It’s so hard to deal with the unpleasant presence I feel like someone is standing here watching fail watching me be weak and just laughing at me. I feel like I have to be strong for the sake of me. But why can’t someone else be strong for me? Why do I always have to be strong for me and everyone around me?? Why can’t I just have flaws for once? Why can’t I just be the irresponsible person I want to be sometimes? Why can’t I have a break? Why can’t I just be a happy normal 22 year old girl who hangs out with friends and who isn’t paranoind about leaving home or even paranoid just to walk to her car? I guess these are all questions I will never get an answer to. This is the moment I’ve been dreading for a while now. This is the moment I have to gain some balls and finally talk about it.

Today I’m feeling so lost. I just want to stay home I don’t even want to be here at work. Last night my mom called me and was telling me my brother wanted to see me and wanted to talk to me and that we were siblings and we needed to act like it. Like seriously he should of acted like it when we were growing up and he was being a douche bag to me and before he decided to stick his nasty ass hands down my pants!! He should of thought about that every time he would barge in when I was taking a shower. So seriously why in the hell would I want to even Want to see him let alone talk to him?? Granted my mom doesn’t know but still I don’t want anything to do with him

I’ve been in and out of my sleep all night crying and trying to process everything. I’m not crying like hard like balling my eyes out it’s like a silent cry ig you can say. I’ve cried so much that my head hurts and I can’t seem to stay asleep. I just want to be okay. I know yesterday was a big step but man I feel like I’m starting all over from the beginning. Like I’m having to find different ways to heal which I’m okay with. I want to be able to heal the right way this time and not want to cut or pop pills or whatever stupid thing I decide to do at he time. I want to be able to live my life and nothing seem to bother me. I want to actually be as strong as I portray myself to be. Everyone seems to tell me I’m strong but as soon as I get home I’m a complete mess. I can keep my shit together in public but at home everything seems to disappear. I just want to sleep for longer then an hr and get some rest. I feel so unglued and I’m flying myself back together slowly and with with better glue this time.

I remember meeting the detectives that investigated my case. I was just a kid in the 7th grade trying to make it through jr high and now I had to deal with going to court and talking to strangers. I can’t remember there names but I remember the guy was so tall and built and he made me feel like nothing or nobody could ever hurt me while he was around. I can remember how when we first got to the police station and I went into there office they gave me a bear and started asking me questions about the days. I remember my middle brother being there and just sitting there while I was telling them what happened. I never really told them much in detail they just kinda ran with it. After I told them that one time they got a warrant for his arrest made. I can still remember coming home from school one day and they had ransacked my room and took a whole bunch of y journals (which I never gotten back) I was so devastated because they were all I had that kept me sane and from doing stupid things. One day my mom tells me to get up and get dressed and that I wasn’t going to school and I never asked why I just told her okay. It turned out we had went to talk to my lawyer. He had my journals and had went though them asking me all these questions about what I had wrote. I felt like my life had been dissected into little pieces and I had no more secrets and that I couldn’t hide anything else because he had all he needed. I can remember a little while after that my mom took me to this building and a whole different town and said I was going to the doctor. Turned out patty( the doctor) ended up doing an examine I can’t remember what it’s called cause it was after a year so I don’t know if it’s still considered a rape examine or something else. Now that I’m older it actually similar to getting a papsmear they both used some of the same tools ( btw I absoulutly hate papsmears) I remember laying on the table with my legs open wide and her asking me if I’ve ever been sexually active. Like seriously at that time sex was the last thing on my mind let alone letting some random women I’ve never met exploring my vaginal area for whatever she was looking for. Afterwards she had me sit in What looked like a big confrence room and it was kinda dark while I waited for her to talk to my mom about whatever she had found. A week later maybe longer I remember missing school again and we go to another weird building and this place a lady gave me a pamphlet and told me to take my time and fill it out so I did then she gives me another one to take home and finish and then mail it back to her. Turned out it was a physic evaluation to see if I was able to stand trail or not. I remember when court finally came around it was the pretrail first. I remember walking into the court room and going to to this little waiting area and seeing his mom and sister there and all they did was make fun of me and talk crap to me and about me. I had took along a teddy bear that I’ve had since I was like 5 years old and come to find out they made such a big deal about me having it I couldn’t even take it with me I had to leave it in the room. During the pretrail all I had to do was point to my abuser and let them know I knew the difference between rape and molestation. So that was over with finally and then we had the big trail. I don’t remember much of it all I really remember was the judge claiming a miss trail because he had failed a lie detector test (which he asked for) and switched lawyers in the middle of the whole thing. So since it was a miss trail they asked if I wanted to try again. At that moment all I could think of was his smirking face he gave me when I got on the stand and how he turned to his lawyer and started laughing. At that moment I knew I wanted him to go down I knew I wanted him to suffer as much as I had. So I decided to keep fighting. At the next trail this Time the big y’all male detective stood right in front of me but across the court room so I felt a lot safer. I told them what had happened and yes I knew what the differences were and I didn’t let anything stop me.that trail ended up being 2 days long and the second day I was so exhausted I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t understand why it was taking so long. I felt as if they didn’t believe anything I had said. Now that I’m older and actually went through all the court files it turned out they were also trying to convict him of incest and indecency of a minor so something to that affect but nothing stuck but the R charge. Even though those days were one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do I would t change anything about them. I stood my ground and I defended myself when nobody else could or would. Theres so much more i want to put but I don’t even know how to continue from here

Today’s session went really well. This time I went in prepared. I had made up my mind that I was going to talk about some of the hard stuff. So this morning when I woke up I made a list of all the things I wanted to talk about. I gave her the list and let her pick what ever order she wanted. I felt like it was way more progress then we would of with out the list. I felt like I finally opened up more to her and I’m glad i did. I’m ready to heal and move forward. We actually got to start talking about my Csa. And I finally start vocalizing my story for the first time ever. I’ve writren it out and posted about it but I never actually said my story out loud. Saying it out loud is a lot tougher and I realized some things I never realized before. It was all kind of over whelming and I couldn’t stop shaking I don’t know if it was because I was couldn’t of becaus I was so upset. I’ve been wanting to cry all day but i haven’t been able to.

Sometimes I just want to cut. I feel numb all the time like I have no real emotions if that makes sense. I’ve even had really rough sex (I usually like it) but I didn’t feel anything It didn’t even feel like we were doing anything. So I just cut it’s like it’s the only thing I ever feel anymore. So when i feel numb or just blah I just cut. I know it’s not a solution but it’s the only thing that I seem to actually feel and I don’t cut because I want to die or anything just so I can feel. I don’t know if it makes sense or not but that’s what I feel.

I talked to my middle brother today and he started talking about my oldest brother that Sa me and he kept taking his side and kept talking about he’s his protector and how he’ll always be here for him no matter what and I just stayed on the phone and didn’t say anything I wish that I could of just told him what happened and maybe he would take my side and maybe he would actually protect me sometimes I get so mad because I always wanted my middle brother to be there for me and even when my dad R me all I wanted was for him to be there for me and he wasn’t but it’s not like I can really get mad at him because I never told him I wanted him there I just kinda wanted him to be like hey I’m here for you but maybe one day I’ll tell him or maybe not I’m having such a bad night I don’t know what to do anymore I just want to start cutting and hope I start feeling something instead of feeling numb all the time and it sucks because I want to go talk to my counselor but she’s out of town right now till Monday and she said can call her but I don’t want to bother her maybe I can make it till Monday and then I get to have another session ugh I just want to scream!!🤯😭

This is a letter for my future self whenever I am PTSDing hard and start blaming and getting angry at myself: It's not your fault that he texted you again out of the blue It's not your fault that you went to his apartment to ask him to stop texting you It's not your fault that you started to get intimate with him after he manipulated you saying that he "liked you and liked spending time with you" It's not your fault that he was not listening to you when you verbally made it clear (with valid reasons) that you did not want to have sex It's not your fault that his roommates, in the living room, heard the two of you and started to cheer him on and yell out "take her virginity" It's not your fault that he felt pressured to impress his bros and continued to push you for sex It's not your fault that you were just in your underwear with him as you made it clear to him multiple times you didn't want sex It's not your fault that you were confused and not processing things fast enough, and that you were not able to simply get up and leave It's not your fault that he went around your underwear and went inside you for a bit until you pushed away It's not your fault that he repeatedly tried to slide his fingers down your underwear even though you fought it off every time It's not your fault that your mind decided to shut down because it was trying to protect you It's not your fault that you cannot remember how the assault ended and you have no idea if he committed worse things, like, actually rape you It's not your fault that his degenerate drunk friends saw you as a piece of meat and encouraged him to rape you It's not your fault that he and his friends were trying to change your 'no' to a 'yes' It's not your fault that the toxic & boisterous side of frat-like culture fuels rape culture It's not your fault that you were not able to recognize for a long time that you had been nearly raped (maybe even actually raped) It's not your fault that you went to a small college and had to see him everywhere around campus (library, dining hall, classroom buildings etc.) after that night It's not your fault that you were subconsciously silenced when you heard victim blaming talks all around you saying things like 'these girls are lying and regretting their escapades' It's not your fault that you did not realize, at the time, what about him caused you to be so severely traumatized It's not your fault that you reached out to him again because you were in so much confusion & pain that you had to look for 'closure' It's not your fault that he continued to play his manipulative games, played the carrot or stick approach and had you on his hook It's not your fault that you got infatuated with him, your sense of boundaries were lost and you let him repeatedly play with your emotions for a long time It's not your fault that his memories have been haunting you for over three years now It's not your fault that you have to battle almost everyday with minor/major episodes triggered by emotional & visual flashbacks It's not your fault that you have to pretend to the outside world that you are fine and that nothing is wrong with you It's not your fault that he, along with his degenerate friends, broke your soul and made you feel like your worth was less than human It's not your fault that you just can't get over it None of this was your fault. You will get through this! Just meanwhile be gentle with yourself

So starting this month I've been on one dose of Wellbutrin right when I wake up and two doses four hours apart of Adderall, each per day. I've noticed I get really anxious and depressed if I am alone after my second dose wears off. Some nights almost suicidal. Two weeks ago over the weekend meds wore off and I got so anxious and hopeless that I self harmed for the first time in years. The next morning I had to have someone talk me out of committing suicide (as in, I was seriously considering it but I worded it to them that I was just triggered and tempted to self harm) and walk me through some grounding techniques. Then the next day in the evening I was feeling ignored by some friends and didn't wanna walk home alone, so I kept trying to hint that I couldn't walk home without someone to stop me from thinking some REALLY BAD thoughts when crossing over the bridge to my house. They were able to talk to me and calm me down (even when I wanted the two of them to tell me how much they hated me and wanted me to go away permanently). My mood has been all over the place this last week. At least the last two days have been good. I got one exam grade back Monday that I failed, two more exams on Tuesday that I failed. Wednesday morning I just did not want to see or be seen by anyone. I went to class anyway and got back the exam itself, but was too self conscious to ask for help from ANY of my classmates. I was feeling ignored again by the same friends and had to leave to go to my car and cry. But then once the friend that I am seeing casually messaged me and walked with me around campus, I felt better. They (singular) are still hung up over their ex (the other friend) so I understand them being in their own little world and not paying attention to me. I expressed to them my concerns and we were able to compromise. Their ex is also my roommate, so it's really hard to say if I am jealous of my roommate for having someone who loves her so strongly or if I'm jealous over my casual partner because I'm catching feelings for them. My weekend is looking up. I didn't sleep much last night but I am still feeling the (platonic) love and affection from last night, which is enough for me. I have a lot of projects to do, but I actually feel confident I can do them compared to the weekend from two weeks ago. I hate being so dependant on my friends for love and affection, but I've been alone for such a long period of my life that I need constant reminders from my friends they appreciate me. I've always struggled with the fear my friends secretly hate me and are just tolerating my existence, but not when I am around my casual partner or some of my other friends. My fears have been assuaged more and more over the last month the more I talk about my feelings of paranoia, and people have been inviting me out more it seems. So that's nice. It's hard to say what effects from the meds have been helped, worsened, or have stayed the same. Like, they say "alert your doctor if you have suicidal thoughts." But I have always had them, and my PTSD and focus are so much better on these meds. It only gets that bad if I hyperfocus on my anxiety and feelings of worthlessness, which I have successfully avoided this week through friends and therapy.

The night started in the local Rite-Aid parking lot. "If only I hadn't have used the restroom," I torment myself. the little things. I warmed up to them and we hit it off; they even joked about me joining their friend-group. After a while, the self-proclaimed ‘leader’of the group asked for my number. Innocently, I gave it to him. After making small talk with the boys for about an hour, I decided to head home. “What a cool crowd,” I thought. Shortly after arriving home, the boy–Simon–texted me and asked for my snap-chat. The conversation continued, which included his casual, light-hearted requests for nudes and my virginity confession. I didn’t overthink the sexual content; it’s typical teenage conversation. Plus, he said “LOL” like every other message. Soon the messages became about we still being ‘strangers’ and how we should hangout that weekend. I was excited! I wanted to expand my tiny social network. Eventually he invited me to his house that night, but I told him I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I didn’t think it was wise to go to stranger’s home, but I appreciated his hospitality. He offered to meet me at the neighborhood elementary school playground instead. “Sure, that’ll be chill! Lit, now I don’t have to be home alone on a Friday night,” I thought. I changed from my slacks and sweater into a black jacket over a black tank-top with blue jean shorts–appropriate dress for beautiful Southern California weather. I threw my hair in a messy bun, slipped on my flip-flops and grabbed my phone, keys and backpack with a water bottle. I said goodbye to my dog and headed out the door. “Just left!” I messaged Simon. In no longer than 5 minutes, I approached him sitting at the picnic benches, anxious as usual. I removed my jacket, set my things on the table, and sat down. He asked me if I wanted to tell anyone about this, and confused I replied, “Uh, I don’t know?” Before I knew it, he kissed me. Surprised, I kissed back, and he slipped his hands behind my butt. I was perplexed, but fine. In all honestly, I was flattered that he found me attractive enough to kiss me, and I was comfortable with making out with boys. I shyly touched his hair and he felt me up. I was still okay. But before I knew it he was tugging at and removing my clothes–first my shirt, then bra, then shorts and underwear at the same time–before undressing himself. He pulled my onto his lap and things went in a new direction. I was no longer okay. Immediately he rammed his fingers in me, quickly advancing to finger-banging with who knows how many fingers. All I knew was it hurt. I was too speechless to tell him to stop yet, so I insisted he be gentler and slow down, but with no reply he laid me on my back and I was submissive. I didn’t know what else to do. “This is happening. Okay, this is happening. You’re okay, Tiffani. You’re okay. Just be still,” the voice in my head repeated. I scanned for cameras on the building–none. I felt the cold metal against my bare skin and clenched my eyes. I should have left, but I didn’t know how. I should have fought harder, but I didn’t know how. I should have just let him do what he wanted, but I didn’t want to. Over the course of the next 25 minutes, Simon exercised power over me by ignoring my contentions and pleas. Anytime I moved, he repositioned my body the way he wanted: when I lifted my hips in a flinch, he pressed my pelvis flat on the bench. When he wanted to touch my torso, he lifted my arms from my side. When my legs bowed, he spread them. Simon continued thrusting his fingers in and out of me, ignoring my demands to be more careful. Still, I was fearful of what he might do if I protested more–even though I wanted to. I stared at the sky and drifted in a daze before I felt a massive amount of pressure and sharp pinching. I looked down and realized he was forcing his penis in me, which I did not consent to whatsoever. “No! No! No!” I argued, but he did not stop. Wait, is this sex? Am I having sex? Whatever this is, it hurts. I didn’t agree to this– how is this happening? Why did I come here? This isn’t supposed to be happening. I don’t like it. I want him to stop. “Stop!” “It’s okay,” he tried to solace me. His coercion ploy was to no avail: “No! Stop, stop. Please,” I begged. “Come on,” he insisted. “No! I’m saying no!” After however long, he pulled out and scowled at me. “Will you give me head at least?” he requested. Frustrated at my refusal, he yanked on the roots of my hair, jerking my neck forward. He was dominant over me, and he knew that as much as I did. He returned to aggressively jabbing at and twisting my insides. More finger-banging punctuated his grinding against my vulnerability. I closed my eyes and wondered how I could get out of this situation. My thoughts raced. “This can’t be the ‘R-word,’ is it?” My heart raced faster than my thoughts. “No. Rape happens behind dumpsters in dark alleys. No. Rapists are hooded men that lurk in the shadows. No way. Rape can’t happen to me–ouch!” He spread my labia and soon came that all-too-familiar pressure again. I opened my eyes and saw his naked body hovering over mine. Confused, scared, and overwhelmed, I resorted to more verbal denial and repeatedly demanded triplets of “stop; wait; don’t; no; I’m not ready,” but he only thrusted deeper. My words were not convincing enough, but I was too scared to be physically violent. I bowed my legs to obstruct his entry, so he spread them again. “Stop!” He tried to conciliate: “Just the tip, just the tip; come on, let me please.” Aw, what a gentleman. He said ‘please.’ “No, stop!” “Come on, just like it was before. You have to let me get the hard part over with.” “No, I don’t want you to!” “Okay, okay I’ll go slower.” My mind shrieked, but anxiety silenced my words. “No! That is not what I said. I told you to stop. I want you to take your penis out of me.” “Quit!” I protested sternly. There went that voice in my head again: “What does he think he’s doing? Why is he doing this!?” I wanted to leave; I wanted to go home; I wanted to get away from him. I wanted him to get off of me. More finger-banging. I lowered my hands to my pelvis to gain control. “Stop!” I said. “It’s not my di*k.” “whatever.” “I know. But I don’t care; you’re hurting me,” I said. Unrelenting, “It’s–,” he began. “No, don’t!” I plead. “It’s not ‘it‘” “I. don’t. care. Hell, you can’t even say what ‘it’ is,” my mind shouted. But I said nothing, because what more could I say? For the third and final time, he inserted his penis in me. I felt so helpless–so defeated. I stopped staring at the black, starless sky and watched his body thrust erratically. “He’s not wearing a condom!” my conscience reminded me. “Dammit, do something, Tiffani!” ‘Fight’ mode: on. I tensed up and sternly commanded, “No! You’re not wearing a condom!” My right hand pressed against his chest and my left pushed on his stomach. “What?” he asked, thrusting. “Stop! You’re not even wearing a condom!” I exclaimed. I wanted to fight, but I felt like all the power I had was to beg and try to push him off. I wanted to know what diseases he was giving me and how I was supposed to raise a child at 16. I wondered what I did to deserve this and what made him think this was okay. “No! Stop!” I demanded. I pushed harder on his torso but he didn’t budge. My hands pressed against his intimidating abs. He looked me dead in the eyes and initiated a series of pitiful persuasion: “It’ll feel good, I promise; I won’t cum; I won’t nut; it’s okay; I will pull out; I always pull out; you have to trust me.” The voice in my head groaned and ferried with questions. “Grrrr. Do I look like I am enjoying this? What does he mean, ‘I have to trust him’? I just met him! Will he ever stop? Am I still a virgin? Did I allow this to happen? Can he not–“ He interrupted my thoughts with collisions of his lips against mine. I closed my eyes and squirmed my face away from his. He thrusted against my persistent demands to stop. My legs quivered. “No, I can’t, I can’t! I’m sorry, I can’t! Stop!” I contended. “You can’t. You’re hurting me,” I whimpered. “It hurts the first time. You just have to get it over with,” he told me and crashed his lips into mine. Nevertheless, my mind submitted to reality. It became clear to me that he did not want nor need my permission: he was going to have sex with me whether I consented or not. I was no longer confused. I lost all consensus of time. I remember wondering if I were capable of making him stop hurting me, but I was so overwhelmed that I forgot it was an option to scream, scratch, kick, punch, or show any physical violence. And frankly, I was too petrified to. I laid there on the cold bench protesting and begging him to stop, flinching against his thrusts. I felt his cold hand pushing my pelvis down. After what felt like an eternity, my phone rang—I knew it was my mom’s text message. I asked him to read me the message since my phone was facing upright closer to him. He did: “Hi, be home in 15 min ” That was my excuse to leave. I told him I was worried about getting home, and he asked if I wanted to get dressed. I said yes, but I sat frozen. He quickly re-clothed, starting off almost immediately. He left me there on the bench, abandoned. I hated myself for idealizing his company, but it sounded better than sitting naked, abused at an empty school playground. I ceased my loathe and quickly redressed and grabbed my things. Nonplussed, all I could think to do was catch up to him to ask if he came. “I didn’t. I’ll text you tomorrow.” “What?” I thought to myself. This exchange of words was seriously confounding and left me to feel like he did not just rape me. “Well, did he know? Was I not clear enough? Did he enjoy that? Am I overreacting? Why does he think I want to hear from him again?” Trembling, I began my walk home with a flood of questions and concerns. I had no idea what to make of what happened, and I did not have time to think about it. I just knew I had to get home. “Ok! ,” I texted my mom back. On my way home I tried calling my friends out of state, but no one answered. Time zones made it too late. I decided I was not ready to decipher this alone, so I would block it from my mind. “It did not happen; that did not happen. It was not rape: it couldn’t be,” I convinced myself. I was on a mission: get to my condo on the second floor—may I add unrecognized—and prepare for my mom to get home. I unlocked the front door and blabbered nonsense to my dog as I rushed to the bathroom to pee, because my virgin research taught me to pee after sex to prevent UTIs. I was too afraid to inspect myself, but I cleaned the blood and discarded my clothes in a pile in the corner of my room. I went to the living room and sat on the couch, priming my stellar acting skills. I greeted my mom and put on a façade. She asked me what I did, and I lied. I asked her about her night in attempt to divert the attention to her. Luckily, it worked. For more than 24 hours, my mom thought I was entertaining myself with YouTube videos, when the truth was I was being raped. I woke the next morning after a restless night’s sleep in denial with an aching neck. I desperately needed some sort of closure, and the only way I could think to get that was through a friendly message from him. I thought it would reassure me that all was okay—that he was not a rapist and that I had not become a rape victim. But in reality, all was everything but ‘okay.’ I snap-chatted Simon twice, both opened but unanswered. I wanted to convince myself that that night had just been an ‘experience,’ not rape. So I blamed myself. “You cannot rape yourself,” I repeated. But the truth is, he raped me. But did he really? Yes, he did.

Today I talked to someone on the RAINN crisis chatline. I had a really honest talk in a way that I never have with someone about my most scarring trauma. We discussed how my sexual preferences don't change the way consent is experienced. I for the first time ever felt confirmed that I did experience SA. I don't know how I feel about it. I mostly just feel numb. I realized that I need to work on getting a better support system and that I can do that by being honest and letting some people in. I think I have moved past day 1.