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I need to put a sex offender in prison to right the OCD/brain chemistry in my brain. I don't know what is wrong with my brain. I have been fighting it now for over 26 years. The doctors won't give me a diagnosis. I've had OCD for as long as I can remember, its horrible. For the past 19 years I have been trying to get someone who sexually abused me put in prison so that my brain will right again and I can fight off the anxiety and depression and all manner of symptoms in my head. It's really frustrating as no one seems to believe me that it is true. The worst part is that it was the Police that 'arranged' for me to be sexually abused in the first place . I don't know what was wrong with my brain from birth. It might be autism, or learning disabilities? I don't really know. I really struggled with school. Everyone else around me seemed to find school easy. I had a notion that I was going to join the RAF when I left school but I think that seed might have been planted in my head by my abusive sister. I never knew what I wanted to do when I left school. I didn't really have an interest apart from finding a cure for my brain so that I could be a Pilot, even that though seemed to be someone else's idea. I really wanted my brain fixed so that I could fight back. Or at least fight on an even footing. Life always seemed to be unfair. My abusive older sister treated me like ****. I really hated her. The best time of my life was when I was 18 and my sister had left home and I got to go walking on the local national park with my parents. I still wonder if science will come up with a cure for autism in my life time. Aged 14 I was set up by my school to be repeatedly raped by the diseased turd in the back room of a grotty pub.... I was made to leave the Air Training Corps aged 15 for smelling of body odour... of all things. Bloody broke my heart, I had my sights set on a career in the RAF. I just gave up. I used to come home from school at lunch times and get drunk and go back and it in classes not knowing what to do. I was so paranoid that I smelt bad. I was set up by my abusive father and sister to copy the diseased turds crappy drawings in return for a chance to 'suck it off'... I was made to go to art college even though I had no idea how to draw or even any talent. I wasn't even a homosexual and even if I was no one on god's earth would willingly go near the diseased turd! I didn't have any interest in art college and I still don't. I was set up by my abusive sister and her sickening scheming mind of hers. She's had my life planned out for me since the day I was born, I've never had free will, I just get told what to do by my abusive sister and father. My sister can only think in terms of consequences. I was 15 years old. Most of the other people I knew at school had girlfriends. I was forced against my will to get into bed with the diseased turd in the back room of a grotty pub. I could have been in bed with a girlfriend or at least safe at home doing my homework. For the life of me I can't fathom how responsible adults and teachers at my school and social workers and Policemen decided that I should be raped by the diseased turd. It doesn't make any sense.... Aged 16 I was drugged with too much Cannabis Resin, LSD and Pain Killers so that was my health out the window. I had to leave art college as I was too ill to do any of the work. That was in 1992. I am now 42 and I have never done a proper days work in my life. I failed my GCSE's aged 16. Some bright spark decided that I should be made to 'hang out' against my will with someone who is mentally ill. So that was my education and future out of the window. The depression and anxiety from failing my GCSE's got worse over the 5 years of high school. When I was 15 the mentally ill person made to pay for its cigarette addiction, so I become hocked on nicotine. That was my physical health out the window. A few months latter at a house in a nearby town I was introduced to cannabis resin, so that was the end of me... When I was 16 I was made by my abusive sister to the Tourette rapists grotty smelly flat to be used as a fag powered vibrator so that my mentally ill and delusional sister wouldn't have to worry about squeezing out 'retards'.. as she puts it. Up until the age of 16 I never actually had a sex life and now thanks to Claire G** I never will. Melanie G***** and Claire G** and her friends thought that dancing around in front of me with their tits out whilst ethnically cleansing was a barrel of laughs. I was ill in bed. Asleep. I need to put Melanie G****** and Claire G** behind bars... When I was 10 I thought I was going to grow up to be a professional boxer... When I was 11 I thought I was going to grow up to be a fisher man... When I was 13 I thought I was going to grow up to be a fighter pilot... I didn't actually get to do anything apart from be ill... because that is how Melanie G***** planned my life out for me... I used to enjoy playing football. Then when I was 10, Amanda W*** asked me for a tounge job in the play ground in front of the whole school. I haven't play football since... When I was 10, I was told that someone said that I had nice hair. So my mentally ill psychopath of a sister made me wear too much hair gel to school to rot my hair out of my head until I was 17 when she had me raped in my bedroom by the diseased turd and then I was forced against my will to loiter around public toilets with filthy old grotty homosexuals in stench ridden shit holes after being ill all day at college. They called it 'comedy clubbing'. Then on the morning of 10th January 1994 to add salt to the wound I was made to go to a careers meeting at the college so that Stephen B**** could laugh at me in a public toilet so that I would rip all my hair out of my head... now I am 42 and I don't have any hair on my head all because of a comment made to be sister when I was 10... They actually used me as a public toilet loiterer aged 17 after my fathers had me raped in my bedroom... foul shit ridden diseased public toilets... so that my sister could have a bit of a laugh with Claire G** so that Claire G** wouldn't have to worry herself... The foul shit ridden dirty old man in the public toilet on the morning of January 10th 1994 was set up in bed next to mine in April 1997 to be given the chance to masturbate in my face and then shake my hand so that my sister could have a bit of a giggle to herself... The NHS actually wasted money and doctors even gave it some thought before hand... they even gave it a name 'mike'! Mike! returned by some surprise in September 2002 to let me know that I could pay for a t-shirt in the petrol station on the way back from a Beth Orton concert in Bristol so that my father could have me illegally detained against my will so that my sister wouldn't 'feel' bad about showing off her new son after spending years in New Zealand... I am told that the doctors wanted to lock my sister up... by my fathers said no, not my precious daughter you can lock my son up instead and stab his arse with a needle and fill him up with needless pills and torture him for 3 months in a mental home for fun, whilst my precious daughters gets married. joy oh joy!... I just wanted to learn how to play the guitar, I thought why not. My fathers convinced the doctors that I was about to go out a kill people... it was my fathers and sister that are killing people... December 16th 1998, the day of my 23rd birthday. The day after we moved into a new home. Claire G** insisted that we move out of Brixham because she didn't want to feel like a embarrassed Tourette rapist. I was set up in Selina M***** car so that Claire Guy could accuse me of trying to perform oral sex on her after she had been raping me for 8 months... I can't imagine wanted to perform oral sex on Claire G**. I wouldn't p*** on Claire G** if she was on fire... Now Claire G** has been stuck in my front temple lobe for 19 years because of my untreatable OCD and the only way to get her out is to put her in prison for sexual abuse...

I wanted to join the RAF and become a fighter pilot but a mental case got in my way.... Still trying to fight for justice against the Social Services, the health service, the Police, the department for education, the tourrete rapist, the diseased turd etc.. the list goes on and on.... Still can't quite fathom out how to get solicitor on my side so I can fight for justice and compensation... Need to get the Tourette rapist and diseased turd out of my head and system... I need stop the constant harassment and verbal abuse from the social services... Need to put the Tourette rapists child porn scam in front of the crown court to clear my name.... It's been 26 years since I was able to get a good nights sleep...I really need a break....

May 2013 we had just moved in to the new house. I was trying to hide the bruise for him and the cuts on my wrists. I just wanted to die. Weeks pass and me and him don’t talk I find out that I was pregnant and at age 15 that info can scare the crap out of you. I cried for days. I couldn’t let my family know they would be so mad at me. About a mouth after I found out I was pregnant I got in a fight with a girl at school because her boyfriend was leaving her for me.( I had left him because he just wanted me to runaway with him and I didn’t want that. So I left him and went to date let’s call him guy. Guy and I were together for a mouth before he raped me to. The night it happened I brought him to my house and let him in though my window no body was home but I still had to hide him . He and I sat there talking for a hour or so and then he did it pinned my to my own bed in my room and just ripped close off and forced he way I want he wanted. I cried but couldn’t scream my sister would wake up and I couldn’t have that so I just layed there crying and when he left I didn’t leave my bed for three days and one day I took a shower and next thing I know I am no longer pregnant. Guy stayed in my life for far to long December of 2013 I tried to kill myself in my bath tub by cutting my left wrist I had six stitches and three days in a mental hospital. When I came home from that guy called me and I started to talk to him again because I thought he would change his ways but it never changed. Between December 2013 and June 2014 I had two more miscarriages and guy and Sam the threed guy raped me at least 10 time before me and guy get arrested for trying to kill my family I needed help and nobody wanted to get the help I needed so I put my self where they had no other option but to help me I have been in therapy for five years I was on probation for two years in foster care 7 mouths and in treatment and year and one mouth and in jail a mouth. Now I am happily married going to school to become a hairdresser and now life couldn’t be better my past has beat me down for years and still does but I’ll get though it I have this long..

I don’t know how to really start this off ….it’s hard to talk about because the only person that knows about this is my husband.. it was may 17th, 2013 we were getting ready to move to cripple creek. I really didn’t want to but it was whatever I had no say back then I was 15 yrs old. Nothing I said mattered well it felt like that sometimes. One reason I didn’t really want to move was because my boyfriend at the time lived kinda far from me and if I moved we would be farther apart. Me and him it just wasn’t a healthy relationship at all we were 15 yrs old we know nothing about a good healthy relationship. But the day we started moving to the new place he came and see me at the park by my grandmothers house he got a ride just to come see me and had to walk all the way home. Witch I felt bad for because he was being an ass and making me feel bad about. But that day was may 17th , 2013 we walking up the hill behind the building over there. Next thing I remember is him on top of me with my pants off and shirt and all I could do is cry I couldn’t scream or call for help I just cried.. it hurt so bad ….I had to act like all was good when I got home I could let them know what happened, I thought I loved home and I thought that if I say something he will leave me. Will the next day he texts me and treats that if I tell anybody he will personally kill me with his bare hands. I still to this day have never told my family my husband is the only one that knows about him and what he did to me. I stayed with him for four mouths after that and one day he left me cuz he thought I was cheating on him………. He was the first one to that advantage of me...

To begin with I am 17 and was raped 2 years ago and it still sometimes causes nightmares. I was 15 years old and my parents had just gotten divorced so i rebelled. I went to party's and was not making good decisions, but I was still a virgin. One night at a party i was so drunk because i was trying to make my problems go away so i was dancing. then one of the people who i thought were my friends asked me to play spin the bottle. I agreed and proceeded to play i was having a good time. This time the bottle landed on this guy who i thought was actually cute so i was hoping it was me, and it was. he told everybody not to wait up so i thought still a little wasted we would just make out. I was having a good time and then he trys to touch me and I immediately push him off and tell him no but he proceeds. he pushed me up against the wall with his hand over my mouth and begins to touch me. i was squirming trying to get away but he was much stronger than me. ll of a sudden theses three other guys walk in and i think i`m saved but they were his friends and he told them to join in so they did. one of them pulled out a knife and began to cut my clothes off as the others were laughing. he comes really close once hes taken off my clothes and said if i make one move or sound he will cut me and i tried to get away and that`s what he did he cut me on my stomach just enough to draw blood. Then the other two slam me down on the bed and i just hear zippers and change falling out of pockets. then they began touching me down there and i scream so one of them gave me a huge scar on my knee that i still have this day. then they all took turns raping me laughing and calling me a sl*t. eventually he had cut me 22 times and 10 left scars after about 45 minutes i passed out and when i woke up they were gone with a girl standing over me asking if i was okay. i didn't talk that whole way to her house and i didn't know her now she is one of my closest friends. she let me stay cleaned me up gave me new clothes and took me home the next day. when i got home i wore long sleeve stuff for three months and maybe 8 hours of sleep a week i just kept having nightmares and when school started i had panic attacks frequently eventually the panic attacks went away only showing up when something really triggers them and the nightmares still happen just not so often. eventually i told the girl and immediately felt better. i am now very afraid of knives to the point where i wont touch any except now a butter knife which took a while to do. I am now better than ever and know that it wasn't my fault and i know i am stronger for it. i made this so u guys can tell me your story and trust me i understand.

I was 14 years old and studying for my GCSEs the day that the diseased turd was brought into my class room. I have since been told that it was brought to my school with the sole purpose of raping my face. It was the local social services, they had set me up. I don't for what reason or under what law they were able to do such things. It really doesn't make any sense to me. I had wanted to join the RAF since the age of 6, I was my long term goal. It's what I had dreamed of doing, its what I studied for. I didn't have a plan 'B' I didn't however have an interest in David Spring's cartoon's or indeed a interest in 'sucking it's di*k'. I am not a homosexual. I can't imagine anyone wanted to go near David Spring. I didn't have an 'interest' in Art. I didn't need to pay for Jamie Conway's cigarette habit. I didn't want to go to Jamie Conway's alcohol birthday party. I didn't want to 'do' LSD. David Spring is beyond ugly and foul and gross and sick and mentally ill and psychically disgusted. I can't quite imagine how a social worker could legally dream up such a thing?? Still my Policeman father 'paid' David Spring to repeatedly orally rape me. Apparently it was done for my sister. What 'mental illness' she suffers from, I can't quite fathom. Being a 'teenager' is hard enough without being raped by the diseased turd. Jamie Conway cost me my GCSE's. Emma Gibson (or whatever the fuck her name is?) cost me my place in the ATC and my career in the RAF. Claire Guy cost me my health and my wife and children...

I could have gone home a started my long recovery in early October 1996. I could have got well again. I would have only been 20 years old. I had my entire life ahead of me. I would have been in joyous recovery after 18 months of mental torment and not being able to breath. I was fighting for breath 24/7 for 18 months. Peter O'Brian CPN and who ever his team were, set me up at Derriford Hospital on the 28th October 1996 for 24 hour sleep deprived electroencephalogram. It's now 2017 and I have yet to recover... I don't know how a mental health team could be so irresponsible to put someone like me with my condition in such danger?? Unless they did it on purpose to make me ill?? It was Detective Sergeant Stephen Blair and his foul toilet dweller and its Cauliflower cheese that did it. I don't know if they had it planned out in advance or it was a spur of the moment thing but it cost me my natural born life. I was almost out the door and on my way home to recovery when... it really isn't fair. I could have recovered. It wasn't until 1998 that I was given a second electroencephalogram that I started to recover only to be taken to the Buggerist house in Plymouth for Julie Burgoyne to trigger me again with 'Stephen, what haven't you been eating?' and it started again. I was ill. I could have been home and dry on the 16th December 1998 when we moved into our new home in Paignton, if it wasn't for Claire G asking me what my room was like which triggered me again. I was ill again. This time it has taken 19 years and counting and I'm still ill. It could have been a fresh start in a new home in a new town. I could have been in recovery, I would have been 23 years old. Instead because of Claire G bi-polar brain and big mouth I have wasted most of my life trying to fight off Claire G. A complete waste of time and energy. I saw when the pain shot across my forehead when I was made to say 'It's like a room' that I would have to put Claire G in prison for sexual abuse for me to be in recovery. My whole life has been on hold for 19 years while I try and figure out how to sort my brain out because Claire G can't keep itself to itself... Claire G offered to make me a millionaire when I was 18 if I kept quiet about the sexual abuse she had subjected me to when I was 16...

I really wish my sister could have left me alone when I was 10 years old and not have made me wear hair gel to school to humiliate me. It has really damaged my hair and my mental health, there really was no need for it. Both my father and sister ganged up on me and forced the hair gel onto my head. It was really upsetting. Apparently someone at Primary school in the 4th year said that I had nice hair. I don't know what psychiatric condition my sister has but she went mental and found it necessary to smother my head in hair gel o ruin my hair. I was only 10 years old, I couldn't defend myself against both of them. I looked ridiculous, people laughed at me, it was horrid!!. My sister had it all planned out, every step of the way! She's a psychopath, its really frightening what she has subjected me to over the years!! It wasn't until the 3rd year of Secondary school that I was introduced to The Stone Roses on a Brittany Ferries ferry on the way to France, that I stopped using hair gel and started to grow my hair back that I realised how much damage the hair gel had caused to my hair. That was when the Diseased Turd Rapist was brought into Brixham Community College by the maths teacher Stella Boundy in order to rape me and stop me from joining the Royal Air Force. (It's only now at the age of 41 that I begin to realise how much damage my father has done to me since the age of 18) The Doctor says that I am mentally unwell because the diseased turd raped me. I have lost count o the amount of times that the diseased turd (David Spring) has raped me between the ages of 15 and 17. Being buggered by Gary Burgoyne at the age if 14 didn't help my mental health. Being made to 'get my own back' aged 15 by buggering Gary Burgoyne made things all the worse. Which is what stole my sex life. I haven't been able to get an erection since that night in December 1990 at the Burgoyne's house when my parents came home as I was buggering Gary Burgoyne. I know, my bad, I'm not even a homosexual. I don't fancy males, nor would I want to have sex with one. I was just so bloody angry about being repeatedly buggered when I was 14. I was under age. I'm not a homosexual as I say, I didn't want to be buggered. It's really upsetting and distressing. It took my sex life away. Apparently I have to tell a girl/women what happened to my penis to get my erection back, or so I am told. How on earth do you tell and girl you got caught by your own father buggering another boy up the arse when you were 15 years old?? I'm not even a homosexual. Nor would I want to buggera boy up the arse. I only fancy women. I became really ill in the summer of 1990, when I was 14 years old. I wanted to buy a baseball bat from that 'trendy' sports shop in Paignton to batter the diseased turd to stop it from raping me. I became really angry. I didn't know that I was being set up by the school to be raped. Apparently my sister had it all planned out to stop me from getting married and having children. She must be mentally ill or something. I need to get a solicitor and set a Law Degree to figure out how to sue the school for rape. They set me up with Jamie Conway how has bi-polar disorder on September 2nd 1987 as well to stop me from doing my GCSE's which I need to sue the school for. I needed my GCSE's to join the RAF. As I say Melanie Graham had it all planned out and as far as I know she has the rest of my life planned out for me as well. I don't have a life of my own. I have to do whatever my Father and Sister tell me to do. It's grossly unfair, in England we live in a democracy, there are Laws and Free will and Freedom of speech. I need to bring the Law down on Melanie Graham to stop her form what she is doing. She is mentally ill and needs to be stopped. I want a life of my own, not something she has dreamt up in her sick brain. Apparently my sister set me up aged 30, to live next door to a dirty gross foul sick old homosexual known to both Claire Guy and my sister in order to make me physically unwell and to stop me from having children. I am now 41 and I have yet still to come to terms with what I was subjected to in that flat living next door to John Barker for 4 years. I came within a knats whisker of saying to the Police there is a dirty old man in my bedroom please could you help me. Which I m told would send Trevor & Claire Guy to prison for 10 years a piece for their Child Pornography Scam. I was on the phone to the Police, I am hoping they still have recordings of my conversations with the Police call centre to try and fathom out how John Barker stopped me from reporting him to the Police. Apparently he was making death threats. I'm sure it must still be possible to prove that John Barker sexually assaulted me in my bedroom that morning in August 2010 so that Claire & Trevor Guy can be sent to prison for 10 years. I just need a Law Degree to fathom out how. John Barker scarred my body for life in that flat. I want Justice!!

Really angry and upset as I right this. I have had to recently call the Police out due to abusive neighbours and verbally abusive social workers. The Police don't seem to have yet to have solved the problem, I will have to call the Police again. We moved to a new address back in December 1998, it was the day before my 23rd birthday that we moved in. I thought it would be a fresh start, a chance to start again and move on from past abuse. I have since found out that my mother had been asked by the family of the female perpetrator that abused me for my mother to move my family out of my home town when I had been put into a mental hospital and had no reaction to medication and it was found out that I had infact been abused by the female perpetrator and they had been lying to try and cover the sexual abuse up. So, it hadn't been a fresh start it had been blackmail. Why would my mother agree to move out of the town just because the Guy family didn't want to be embarrassed?, it just doesn't male any sense why wouldn't my mother stand up to them and tell them No! if you want someone to move, you move out. I'm really angry. My mother had been blackmailed by the Guy family to make us move out of town so that Claire didn't lose face. To make matters worse, the day after we moved into the new house, the day of my 23rd birthday I was supposed to be going shopping to a nearby town with my sister and one of her friends. Only for my Father to receive a phone call in the morning to say that, and I quote 'Claire is 'cuming' is that a problem'?. I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't realise that my own father had been involved in the sexual abuse I had been subjected too. I wanted to say, 'Yes, that is very much a problem' 'I don't want Claire anywhere near me or my home'. I wanted to scream my head off. There was something in my fathers voice that threatened me into replying. I few weeks previously I had typed out what Claire had said to me whilst an before she was sexually abusing me and sent it to her last known address, her mothers house. I now think that I was made to this so that they could entrap me. My sister, Selina and Claire arrived at the house. I hadn't even unpacked. I don't know why I just didn't spend the day unpacking and help to move into the new house. Why would I want to go shopping with Selina and my sister anyway? There was loads to do around the house why didn't I just stay home. It would have saved me a life-time of stress. We went out to the car, my sister demanded whilst laughing and giggling that I 'sit in the front'. I am sure my sister has a mental health condition. Claire made a demented 'Mooing' sound then said 'What's your room like?'. It wasn't said in conversation, I wouldn't want to speak to someone who had sexually abused me anyway. She said it with sarcasm in reply to the letter that I was made to send to her mothers house. Claire insinuated that I really had infact wanted to try and perform oral sex on her and hadn't been put up to it by my sister. I felt really ill and dirty... I wanted to get out of the car... I knew what would happen to my brain if I answered and that it would last for many years to come. Infact so far it has been 19 years of pain and mental torture. I said reluctantly, 'it's like a room' and then the pain shot through the left hand side of my brain just like it had walking out of the Ben Peppers bedroom after they made me do LSD all those years ago. Then the panic started to set in... and the anxiety and depression.. We got to the town and Claire just wandered off without saying a word. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I could have been safe at home unpacking my stuff. Claire didn't stay to do any shopping... it had been a set up. I now know that in order for the pain, anxiety etc to stop and for my brain to 'flick out' again I would have the monumentally task of putting Claire in prison for sexual abuse. It has been 24/7 for the past 19 years and still, I have yet to convince the Police of the sexual abuse that I had been subjected too. It turns out that the set up the day we moved to the new place had been part of a child pornography scam that Claire had dreamed up in order to try and put me in prison so that Claire and my sister wouldn't had to go to prison. In 1999 and 2000, my sister and Claire and her social worker friends had infact been behind my bedroom wall in the flat next door screaming their heads off at me threatening to force paracetamol down my throat if I didn't do as they said and download child pornography to a laptop that they had made me purchase in order to put me in prison. It is now 2017 and the social workers are still behind my bedroom wall. To make matters worse members of the Guy family have moved into the house next door to me. For what reason I have yet to fathom. Claire G was not welcome at my home and she knew it, she had to get my father to threaten me in order to come to my home to verbally abuse me because it was 'getting high'. Claire G was feigning distress and head butting the air and making involuntary hand movements and making noises at me. I was forced to answer but I didn't want to I just wanted to get out of the car. Claire G is a pest. 19 years ago I could have spent the day unpacking in my new home. It would have saved me distress and mental torment the likes of which you have yet to imagine. I could have been happy at home and been out working, instead of being knocked about by Claire G, her abusive sister, my sister and the social services. What a waste!! Claire G needs to be put in prison. Claire G's child pornography scam doesn't prove anything other than Claire G is a paedophile. I need to call the Police about the social workers screaming at me through the walls of my home. There is no need for it, it just aggravates my nervous system. Claire G is so mentally diseased I can't stand to think about it. I was actually forced between its legs by my father and made to grin and bear it for 8 months against my will. If I ask for Claire's current surname or address I get threatened by the Police with arrest. How backwards is that?? Claire G forced her tongue into my mouth on Brixham harbour and I get my mouth swabbed by the Police, my DNA goes on record and I get a caution for harassment?? What kind of a sick joke is that?? I don't like Melanie Graham, she aggravates my nervous system. Claire G 'arranged' a revenge rape in my bedroom by David S and I'm the paedophile?? What planet do these people live on?? The Guy family are now trying to fit me up for a spell in prison before trying to use me a some kind of prostitute whilst living on the streets. They do it by hanging around my home and screaming through my walls and verbally abusing me. They are so sick in the head that they think its funny. They actually use their jobs as social workers in order to carry out their crimes, and as of yet no one has raised the alarm. They have been hanging around my home for 19 years verbally abusing me. Why hasn't someone stepped in to stop them??? I don't understand the mentality of these people. The morning of the set up in Selina M's car, someone stole my wallet out of my bedroom. Where they using it to blackmail me into answering Claire G's verbal abuse? Why would I waste time shopping in Torquay on the day of my 23rd birthday with someone who has arranged for me to be raped in the past? When I could have ben at home unpacking my things into my new home? Was Melanie G jealous that I might have a new home and she didn't. She lived in New Zealand, it was nothing to do with her. Claire G has ruined my home life and my brain and wasted 19 years of my life. She has cost me my mental and physical health, my career, my family, any children I might of had. Just so she could have a cheap 'dig' at me because it was getting high. To make matters worse, to get it self over the fact that I turned around in Selina's car to point out that 'I am not going to answer that' Claire G made me through out of my things. The entire contents of my bedroom and home, the very things I could have been unpacking the day I moved in. It did it by screaming though my walls at me. I didn't even know they were there. A counsellor said that I had been brain washed. I want my bedroom back. I want to be 23 again, its not fair. I've been cheated.

I was set up in 2006 by a female perpetrator to be abused, stolen from and made morbidly obese all so the female perpetrator could feel better about herself and so that she could lose some weight. I'm not quite sure how to define selfish by someone who 'uses' another person as a 'fag powered vibrator' in order to sexually satisfy ones self and to have an orgasm, Jesus!. C. would make me sexually abuse myself between its legs in order for it to 'cum'. I was black mailed by the fact that my Policeman father would find out that I was in trouble with illegal substances, I couldn't go home and ask for help, I was only 16, I didn't know any better. I was terrified. I was saw 'J' outside C's house in early 1999, it said "Oh there's the nutter who's threatening court action, because Claire, because he's schizophrenic because he took some drugs!". Then in August 2010, the very same person walked into my bedroom after letting it's self into my flat with a key, sexually assaulted me before walking out again. I have yet to find out how J stopped me from telling the Police but I was on the phone to the Police. I was 10 stone whilst at college in 2004. I was 18 stone after being abused by J for 4 years in 2010. All because C hasn't got the brain to keep its vagina to its self. I have yet to find out how over weight C did become. Apparently C would have died a super-morbidly over weight obese person of half a ton due the abuse she subjected me to, if it wasn't for the fact that they went onto mistreat me even worse. I am now obsessed with weight lose and healthy eating. I was never over weight growing up and didn't have to worry about what I ate. Now thanks to C and J, worrying about my weight is about all I do. I feel ill all of the time and am physically scarred and disfigured from the abuse I suffered at the hands of J in that flat. I haven't been able to go to the beach since 2006. My mind is a total mess, I'm completely paranoid and hear voices. I'm too scared to go outside the front door. C actually gets off on abusing me and find its funny.

I am really upset to realise that it has been 19 years since I moved to 8 The Glen, the day Claire G. deliberately and knowingly caused my brain serious harm because she was 'getting high' if you ever. I have been fighting Claire G. off 24 hours a day for 19 years and I'm bloody exhausted. I have just one goal in mind, to put Claire G. and all those involved in prison for sexual abuse. I didn't even know that I was being used a something to laugh at. I didn't have the slightest clue that my sister, Claire G. and her friends and social workers not to mention my own father were situated in the flat behind my bedroom wall screaming at the tops of there voices (or with loud speakers), verbally abusing me. They did it to set up a child pornography scam on a Compaq Presario Laptop that my sister made me buy to try and discredit my claim that I had been horrifically sexually abused by Claire G. aged 16 in a flat set up by my father and Stephen Blair. Their goal in doing so was to prevent me from having children which would upset my abusive sister. Pain shot through my temple like you would not believe, the depression that followed was heart breaking, to the point that my blood boiled. Claire G. said to me in Selina Moores car on the morning of my 23rd birthday outside 8 The Glen, "wot's your room like", insinuating that I had 'really' wanted to perform oral sex on Claire G. I really didn't. I was screamed at and made to go around to Claire G's flat to be sexually abused. I didn't want to have sex with Claire G. I just wanted to ask my parents help with being poisoned with LSD at Ben Peppers house. I had never had consensual sex with anyone, I was 16 years old, I was supposed to go to College (even tho that was another set up by my sister to humiliate me and to stop me from getting a job). I didn't want to perform oral sex on Claire G, I didn't want to go near her or have anything to do with Clare G. The upset that my father caused that morning is beyond comprehension. he said to me in sarcastic tones "Claire is 'cuming' is that a problem?" I felt sick to my back teeth. I was expecting my father to put Claire G and my sister in prison. Not to have something to do with the abuse itself. My head span and I felt ill. I don't know if the problem is OCD or something else to do with my brain. I just knew that I had to put Claire G in prison to stop the pain from happening. Easier said than done, and now 19 years of my life have passed by (19 years that I could have been out working) and all I have done is waste my time trying to get help. It was my parents new home, where I live. My sister lived elsewhere it had nothing to do with her and absolutely nothing to do with Claire G. I was so bloody angry at my father for allowing Claire G to come to my house. The betrayal makes my skin crawl and my stomach sick. I thought he would have been on my side. How wrong I was. Every dinner time around 18:30pm they scream there heads off from the flat next door to 8 The Glen, I can't quite hear what they are saying it like a white noise of screaming. The stress that it causes to my nerves is really painful and makes me feel ill. I have tried to involve the Police to try and stop them from doing it. I guess I will have to take matters in my own hands. In around 1999/2000 they were screaming through my bedroom walls all kind of threats and abuse, death threats and insults to try and get me to masturbate over child pornography to try and make Claire G feel better and to stop me from having children as I grew older. It was set up by Claire G and Stephen Blair (a child protection officer if you ever!) in 1998 when I was 22. They made me study and take exams at a college in basic computer study to try and entice me into the world of computer and child pornography in order for Claire G to try and save her job. I have been told she works with children. I have been told that they would threaten to force paracetamol down my throat if I didn't masturbate over Child Pornography to make Claire G 'feel better'. I now live in constant fear and ill health. I am afraid to go outside my front door. Life is one big nerve wrecking nightmare. I don't know when the screaming started but I am told that my sister whom I thought was in New Zealand was infact behind my bedroom wall screaming at me to masturbate over child pornography in order that only 'she' would have children and that she would remain Queen 'shit'. I now live in constant fear in my own home. it's not safe to be in my own home. I am afraid to go outside. I never know when the screaming is going to start again or whom is behind my bedroom wall verbally abusing me. I have pleaded with my parents to try and make it stop but they just lie to me. Apparently the Child Pornography scam was Claire G's idea. A sort of 'cure all' for the crimes she had committed against me when I was 16/17. Show me up as a paedophile to try and stop Claire G and my sister from going to prison. Apparently Claire G 'got over' me turning my head around in Selina Moore's car on the 16th December 1998 by screaming at me to throw out all my possessions. I have yet to get over being made to answer Claire G's question of "wots your room like?". It is my bedroom, it could have been a fresh start for me, I could have been in recovery. Now I just suffer from anxiety and depression. I have been told it's what you can prove in court that matters. How do I prove that Claire G was sexually abusing me? I now have to stop the abusive idiots who are screaming at me every dinner time from Flat 6A, its really getting beyond a joke. To make matters worse members of Claire G's family have moved into the house the other side of 8 The Glen. This really has to stop. Full stop.

Claire (Surname?) is a Paedo, I was under-age and I am very angry about it. She defiled my body, mind, brain and spirit with it's diseased brain. Claire (Surname?) needs to be put in prison for the rest of it's unnatural defiled life...

Really angry and upset today. Relatives of sex offender/sexual abuser 'C' harassing and verbally abusing me in my local supermarket. Relatives of 'C' shouting and verbally through the walls of my bedroom, relatives of 'C' living on property next to my parents house verbally abusing and shouting at me. Can't seem to escape 'C', have been suffering it now for 25 years. 'C' arranged for me to be raped in my bedroom aged 17 which made me very ill both physically and mentally. 'C' is facing 10 years in prison for a child pornography scam that she set up to try and put me in prison for. 'C' sexually abused me for 8 months when I was a 16 year old, they did something to my brain with LSD so that I couldn't fight back or fight 'C' off. 'C' used to hang around my school hall when I was a 15 year old and stare at my genitals and laugh. 'C' had planned the poisoning and sexual abuse out months in advance. I need to sit a Law Degree to fathom out how to put 'C' in prison.

I never knew what I wanted to do for a living. Age 4 I was set up with 'N' and 'E' so that my sister could laugh and pick on me and to make sure I never had a girlfriend. It was done by my Policeman father. I was told that if I didn't do what my sister told me to do I would be made to go to war to be shot and killed. Age 13 I joined the Air Training Corps with a view to joining the Royal Air Force to be a Pilot. I always knew I wasn't bright enough to be a pilot, but I thought I would kid myself anyways. Apparently my CO said that I wasn't bright enough to get into the RAF, I would have to join the Army if I was lucky. I didn't really want to be shot and killed, but that didn't happen either. Aged 15 I was made to leave the ATC. The ATC was the best thing I ever did I really enjoyed it. I as made to leave the ATC to be turned into a 'drugs hole' someone with Bi-Polar Disorder. Aged 16 I was poisoned with LSD. Staying in the ATC would have saved me from drugs and alcohol. Think I will Law Sue the Social Services and Education Department. What is wrong with joining the Army anyway? Don't think I would have passed the medical though. To this day I have no idea what I would have done for a living. I haven't got the slightest clue.. My father says that I would have been an homeless alcoholic living under a bridge.

Hi. My name is Marta. A few weeks ago my life has changed. I hope that not forever. I was raped by my friend. After that incident, I wanted to end my life. I was ashamed and afraid to look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t sleep 3 consecutive nights. And only a psychologist - friend of my cousin have found a right decision. This man believes in me and the most importantly, thanks to him, I also started to believe in myself and in my future. He convinced me to talk about pain and fears. I am sure I’ll feel better when I can tell you about all that happened to me. Thanks to the support I get now, I’m ready to do this step. I’m not ready yet to name the rapist, so in my story I’ll call him Jack. March 25, about 7 p.m. I got a call from a friend who lives in Bedford and with whom I have not seen for a long time. We became acquainted with him about 2 years ago. He invited me for coffee, we were walking and talking about nothing. He was telling me different things, a lot of jokes. He told me about his romances at a veterinary clinic. At the same time he was trying to be a gentleman. From that moment we met no more than 5 times. Jack is much older than me. He seemed to me a strong and intelligent person. However, on March 25, 2017 something happened with him. That evening I was going to Irving. Jack called me and when he found out that I was going to Irving, he offered to let me down by car. Of course I agreed. Why not? The first 15 minutes we were talking and joking. All was good. But then he suddenly decided to move out of the highway on the road where cars hardly drove. But even then I was suspected nothing. I was afraid when he stopped the car and locked the door. He took out a knife and told me to not twitch otherwise i’ll regret. He tried to stick his hand under my clothes. I didn’t let to do it and told him to stop. But he didn’t hear me. In front of me there was another person. At that moment I saw the real beast. Jack opened the door and pulled me out of the car. Pressed me to the hood and threatening with a knife, he raped me. This is an extremely difficult and painful to remember all details of that night. But I can’t keep silent. It’s even more painful to me. When he was over, he said that he will kill me if I’ll go to the police. It’s been over two weeks. Thanks to all the experts consultants. I became much more easier. Today, I realize that the silent is a wrong decision. I don’t want to live in fear.

Hi, I am new here. I decided I wanted to start talking about some of my experience with other survivors because it's not something I can really discuss with friends and family. A bit of my background. I was raped when I was 18, I'm now 32. I had/ have a very small support network because my family is neglectful due to my mom having a personality disorder. I was alone and silent for a VERY long time. Its only in the last two years or so that I have begun to really face my past. All the best

I don't know the first thing about writing a blog. All I know is I survived. There is more of me broken than functional - but something small, somewhere inside me persists that that will not always be the case. So here I am, writing about it. (For all intents and purposes, and I still wan't nothing to do with them, my abuser will be called "X") I was with someone, who didn't care. I was with SEVERAL someones who didn't care, at least about me. However, this one in particular had brought me lower than I have ever been. We met under incredibly ordinary circumstances, nowhere I would consider special, and he was so handsome, confident, driven and direct. He knew what he wanted in life. He was charming and exotic, and I was definitely interested. He approached me, we exchanged numbers and I stepped on the path that many of you readers unfortunately have traveled. I like to think it was because I was young, or maybe that I was naive that I didn't see all the red flags. Down the road though I genuinely believed it was my fault that everything went down as it did because I wasn't strong enough and felt like I couldn't say no - even when I did. He used me however he pleased - regardless of if I said "no". He'd just go for it; wherever he wanted, however he wanted, and on his terms. Most of the time I'd go along with it because it was easier, less hassle and would be over with sooner. I felt obliged - I was with him. I remember searching for help and seeing articles of people staying in crazy relationships - but when you're with someone long enough, certain things become the norm, and you adapt and become numb. That's what I did. How could I leave the one I loved? The one I'd given up everything for? I was so invested, I left everything for him and his family. I spent countless hours helping his family run/build a business for free (which is still successful), writing their business plan, legalities, taking his siblings to school, getting things for the business, taking care of the animals, helping his mom with things around the house, working at a new job one of his brothers had finagled for me because he liked the lady who was later my boss(so I felt indebted to X's oldest brother). You name it. I had obligations, they depended on me and I began to live with them because I didn't want to let them down, and I wanted to matter so badly (This I chalk up to my home life as well as how X treated me). Also, I felt obligated. How could I say no? I was scared to say no. I fought endlessly with my mother about my living situation and defended him because I believed that I loved him, that he was really worth it, loved me and would treat me better when I deserved it. He still doesn't know everything that happened to me. Really, I don't think anybody does. Not even my therapist. I refused to admit that I was raped when coming out of the hospital because I didn't want to see X or deal with him or any of my other aggressors again and if I caused them real trouble they'd come after me. I refused to see his dark side! I countered it with good qualities or at least mentally altered his qualities into good ones just so I could get by. I tried everything I could to make us work because a committed relationship is something you've gotta work at right? I knew I was so helpful to these people, and that was good for me but I also knew I was incredibly disposable at the same time. I couldn't just LEAVE, could I? Well, X wasn't my first assailant and I hadn't had any REAL lessons in creating boundaries or learning to say no at this point in life. I was the perfect prey and I hated myself because I didn't know what I was doing wrong or what it was that I couldn't see. I was the pretty, caged canary forced to sing at his leisure...either that or he was the prowling cat looking to eat its favorite parts one piece at a time. He'd force himself on me, occasionally promising "just one more time" - swearing that it would be the last - but it never stopped and it only got worse. All the way until the only way I thought I could end it would be dying. Yes. Dying. "Dying? Isn't that extreme? Couldn't you just leave?" No. No, because in my mind there was no way out. I tried to leave, but he was so good at the mind games. He'd have me crawling back saying sorry, feeling guilty that I had left and grateful that I had returned, often turning to extremes to get me to come back. When things would get so bad he'd make grand gestures to show he'd "changed" and every damn time I'd believe him. There was no way that all of this was happening and he didn't see it as wrong. Surely he would change, wouldn't he? For me? For love? Spoiler alert: It got worse. He wasn't just sexually abusive and emotionally - physical abuse came swiftly after discussing marriage. You have to understand that THIS was my world of relationships. I didn't really SEE how horrendous this was because I didn't know any better, and I was numb. Whatever better there was out there just wasn't for me or didn't exist. I still grieve that I wasn't loved the way I deserved. For many a partner I was mistreated, abused, and expected to be fine. It was a never ending roller coaster of feeling strong and then weak on a loop from standing up after being broken. The day I decided to die, I had moved out, but come back to say sorry because I didn't tell him when I was leaving. I told him I was leaving him, but I didn't say when or how or where. I thought he was going to kill me. He glared saying "how could you do this to me, I loved you" while standing in the bathroom doorway because he came back while I loaded everything into my mother's truck. Do understand how messed up I was that I felt like I needed to go back to say how SORRY I was for leaving HIM??? I stayed the night, and he said he wouldn't take me back. If HE of all people who cared the least and yet the most about me didn't want me back - no one would. I officially lost my value and that morning I didn't go to work, I hid a large kitchen knife in my waistband and told everyone there (his brothers were living with us at the time for free and I was the only source of income because he refused to get another job after leaving his other one) I was going to shower. Blood can't clot if it's still wet. I closed the broken bathroom door, and went to work. The first few cuts were almost nice because the pain was better than the emptiness I felt and I felt alive, but my body shortly decided to numb the area and I was able to go deeper and farther running my arms and the backs of my ankles under water to prevent the clotting. One of our dogs pushed open the door because I was crying, I pushed them out and got blood on his face. X saw this and screamed at me "What did I tell you??? WHAT did I tell you?!" He told me that if I was gonna go die I should do it outside by the parking spot of our duplex. So, I proceeded to the door to go do so and he slammed the door in my face to prevent me from going out and hit me so hard across the face. The force that he hit me with registered, but I was light headed and numb from blood loss and filled with adrenaline and anger - so I didn't feel it and I hit him back - which I had never done, at least like this. I had lost so much blood in my arms that my hands were in fists and curling back to my body downwards, so hitting him was more like swinging a club or dead arm, and I couldn't feel it, but I know it was hard - and he hit back, even harder. We went at it for a moment as he continued to say that all he cared about was how much the blood on the carpet was gonna cost him, how stupid I was, how all this was gonna make him look, what he was supposed to tell people about what happened, etc. One of his brothers came to wrap me up and I wouldn't let him, I just kept screaming that I wanted to die. I had no value, I had no self worth, and the people that had ever claimed to love me did unspeakable things to me. I was nothing. I passed out from blood loss, his brother took me to the hospital because X wanted to shower and get spiffed up before going to the hospital. How do I know this? He said so "YOU go take her to the hospital. I need to go take a shower first." I just wanted to die. I gave everything I had and I had no will to live. I hated him. I hated that I loved him. I hated that I loved him and he didn't give a _____ about me. I did everything for him and his family, and he couldn't have cared less. Maybe he could have? He could have not come at all. He could have just locked the door behind me while I died outside, but as far as I'm concerned I was nothing to him and it was his appearance he was trying to save. It was never about ME, it was always about HIM. I had small moments of consciousness like being carried to the emergency room by his one good brother Q, being put in the wheelchair, getting my 20+ staples, seeing X & Q standing in the hallway, X looking and smelling like he was going to a formal event.... X never visited or called me in recovery/rehab, and his reasons for why were lies. I called him to see if he was coming, and he always said he would, but never did and had the cleverest of excuses which were validated as lies by S. I went to therapy and rehab and never admitted to being repeatedly raped, or abused. I didn't want to get him in trouble, nor did I want to get involved with the police, court, or with any of the other miserable people who had done similar things to me. I knew that If I caused problems, especially legal problems which would compromise their business and a dozen other things, I knew that they'd come after me. I blocked his number and cut as many ties as I could conceive and one day he called me from a number I didn't recognize. He wanted me back. He was making a grand gesture again for change that we could be happy and promising all the things I wanted to hear. However, enough was enough, and I said no. I said no and when he persisted I reinforced my no, with REASONS! I wasn't helpless anymore. I was done, I was out, and in my own little way I had won. in rehab and therapy I didn't want to confess or share my abusive truths because I wanted to escape the pain, block it out, pretend it never happened, and I couldn't do that if I ever saw them again, especially a court hearing or someone coming after me because X was in jail etc. Many of my exes were incredibly physical while others were strictly verbal and emotional and I didn't have a clue on how to get better. I just went into rehab as a depressed teenager who had a lousy home life, low self esteem, particularly bad relationship and break up, self harmed, and opted for suicide. My brain did a miraculously terribly thing which was block out all my traumatic events. Miraculous because there were times after my safety plan was made and I was released from the hospital's rehab facility that I was normal. I didn't have that darkness haunting or plaguing me. However, it created abrupt triggers when my brain made connections to real life and my barricaded memories, like it dug under the wall and leaked it out. Because of it, I get the worst PTSD episodes and I am back in the moments where I am not safe. I'm starting to master not suppressing, and learning not to be overwhelmed, but let's be real here, it still happens more than I'd like to admit. This caused me problems in my marriage which is now over - which is an entirely different can of worms as he was very mentally controlling and abusive - thank goodness and am now in the arms of the sweetest, most gentle man who is my best friend, know no bounds of building me up, making sure I know I'm his top priority, understands why I may react in strange ways, knows my pain and why I am the way I am - and I could never be more grateful for the love, and compassion he gives me without guile or expectancy. Dear reader, Just because hell was your romping ground doesn't mean you can't find your way to heaven. There is hope even when there is none and if you look you will always be able to find it. Dark times and hard times can make for a beautifully strong, unstoppable, unyielding spirit and mind. I am still healing, but I'm in a safe place, and SO much more of a person than I was. What once was a whisper is now a shout and the times that ensnared me made me who I am now. I can stand up for myself, I know my worth, I know more aspects of myself. I am weak no longer. I came out strong and I conquered. You can conquer too. I needed help, but ulitimately it was up to me to make decisions towards a better destination. Only I could save myself. I am my own hero.

Hi, my name is Susan H. I'm 19 years old and I live on the west coast. I was a victim of a lesbian r*pe when I was 13. At first I was embarrassed about my situation as far as how it happened and why. But I am very slowly getting over it and sometimes need someone to talk to. Thanks Susan

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.

•Few days ago I contacted my Rapist from Alabama....i asked him if he could mail me my guitar. He said he'll try his best. Then he asked me if I'm coming to Birmingham anytime soon. I said maybe In December. For a whole day I tried my hardest to find his location and Facebook but no luck. Closest thing I have is home address and number. I feel empowered in a way knowing where he lives...hopefully I'll be strong enough one day to do something about that son of a bit*h.

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Hi there. I know I've only been here 57 days, and there hasn't been many posts, mainly due to my life off of the internet, but I would like to change that. So, I thought I would start off by introducing myself and explaining my first post, just in case anyone was confused. Anyway... Hello, again. My name is Nikita, but my nicknames are Niki or Pepper. I was born on July 27th, 1995 in New York. I am currently 21 years old, and I reside with my parents. I've been mentally ill since I was five years old. I've been diagnosed Major Depressive Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, Insomnia and I've been told I border on Borderline Personality Disorder. I didn't start getting treatment (medications and therapy for these diagnosis) until 2008, which was also the year I began self-harming. I've been in CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) and have been on numerous medications such as: Abilify, Ambien, Ativan, Celexa, Effexor XR, Klonopin, Prozac, Trazodone, Wellbutrin XL and Zoloft since being diagnosed. I am currently taking Klonopin, Trazodone and will hopefully soon be starting Cymbalta and Naltrexone. The use of the Klonopin is for my Social Anxiety Disorder, Trazodone for Insomnia (although it is also another antidepressant), and the Cymbalta will be for an antidepressant and the Naltrexone for impulsivity (self-harm). I was almost three months clean this October 31st of self-harm, but ended up relapsing on the 27th. Although I don't really approve of medications, I am going to give it one last time, before fighting my insurance for an alternative method that I approve of, which is TMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation), because I refuse the treatment of ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy). Due to my mental health, I've missed out on a lot of things, such as achieving my high school diploma. I couldn't handle being around all the students, so I stayed home all the time, or I would need to be medicated, which only worked for about the first two hours anyway. To be honest, I felt like I was cheated out of my high school diploma because of my mental illness. I was a good, smart student, even when I wasn't in school. My homework was done on time, and when I went to take my regents exams, I passed. However, the school opted to put me into foster care, as if that would fix anything, but my family and I won. Not long after, I dropped out of school. In that time, I should've gotten my GED (General Education Diploma), but my best friend at the time had different plans: do drugs, drink alcohol and shoplift. I can say this is not a part of my life I regret, because if it wasn't for her, my Social Anxiety Disorder wouldn't have gotten better. Although I do feel like it has gotten worse with the recent rape/sexual assault. Besides not achieving my high school diploma, it took me until August or September of this year to achieve my driver's permit, even though I have been driving since 2014. Moving on... In 2011 I stumbled across a couple bad sites when I was in a bad place. I was depressed and suicidal. A couple years after belonging to these websites, I had my first suicide attempt in 2012, and until May 2015, I've had a total of 10 suicide attempts. I also gained my first fiancé, who was emotionally and verbally abusive towards me. We were together on and off for three years (since 2011). In November of 2014 I got my first job, where I was sexually assaulted three times by my supervisor. In my post, "Hello, new member here" it says that "I've come to the final phase (renewal phase)" with my first (three) sexual assaults, and I have. So, I see no reason to discuss it. The second time I was sexually assaulted, I was in a psychiatric ward, on my 10th suicide attempt, by another patient, which also happened three times. I've come to the final phase with those sexual assaults, too. The third time I was sexually assaulted, was yet again, another three times which then lead to rape by my second job supervisor. When I began working, I ignored my supervisor outside of work like the plague due to what two other co-workers told me: he plays mind games and will try to sleep with you. Especially because one of those co-workers was a female he had tried pursing. Unfortunately, I played the game after avoiding him for two months, seeing if I could beat him at his own mind games, because of my background of psychology. Sadly, I didn't know I was dealing with a sociopath. At the time, he was in another relationship with a co-worker, who was also pregnant with his child, but I didn't know this until the time she gave birth. In December, after two months of not putting up with his mind games, I fell victim and I became a second woman. The biggest thing I am not proud of. He manipulated/sweet talked me for a couple months, before meeting my ex-fiancé. You know, the whole, "I have romantic feelings for you", "I'm going to leave her", "You're (insert compliment here)", etc. I even wiped his crocodile tears a few times. When I had met my ex-fiancé, I told him (my work supervisor/SA/rapist) that I couldn't see him anymore and that we could only have a work relationship, nothing more, and he said he was happy for me. For months I gushed about my ex-boyfriend, then turned ex-fiancé, and in return I think it made my work supervisor/SA/rapist infuriated because he couldn't have me to himself or my happiness, maybe. One night, my work supervisor's boss made me upset, and I had asked him (work supervisor/SA/rapist) if he was doing anything after work since we both were getting out at the same time. I asked to grab a drink, but since I was underage at the time, I couldn't buy. He did, though. Three 12 oz cans of beer. I slammed the first two while we sat by the river the leads out to the lake because I was so pissed off at his boss. We just sat there, talking about anything and everything. I watched him cry, and I wiped his tears. Finally my ex-fiancé called telling me what time he'd need to be picked up from work. My work supervisor/SA/rapist helped me up the stairs, and into his truck, where we talked a little bit more. It was time to leave after awhile, so I got out and got into the car I drove in. He came by when my door was opened, and knelled besides me. I told him I feel sick, and that I'll eventually get sick. He then kissed me, and I pushed him off of me. Next, he went towards kissing my neck, where I pushed him off again and told him to stop, that I'm engaged. He did. I told him to leave now so I can get sick, which he did and so did I. The next time was after work, too, which he insisted on buying alcohol, and I was okay with that, just that I would drink slower this time. By this time, Pokémon Go had came out, so we would walk the city with our alcohol in cups you could conceal them in. Almost nearing the end of my night, since I had to pick my ex-fiancé up from work, we went to this park near the lake. We walked around a bit, catching Pokémon. The sprinklers were on in the park, I thought it would be amusing to shove one another into the sprinklers and then get back to catching Pokémon, but that didn't happen. We had ended up wrestling. The grass was wet. He shoved his hands down my pants, as I told him to stop, and back up away from him, but the grass was too damn slippery and he was strong. He stopped after a while, and I scurried to my feet and over to his truck to grab my belongings. When I got there though, he turned me around and pushed me against the truck, slipping his hand down my pants again, demanding I orgasm. I faked the orgasm so he would get out of my pants and off of me sooner. I think he assumed I "needed help" because I had told that my ex-fiancé and I were having sex issues, and in return he talked about the types of issues he was having with his girlfriend, because I had hoped the first sexual assault was the last and we could become friends again and move along. The last time, I was home and he was home. He had asked to hang out, but I was hesitant. Before leaving home, we got into an argument through text message, which pissed me off, so I brought along the tools I use to self-harm with and baby wipes to clean myself up with. I headed out towards a secluded area near the lake in the city where we've been before. When I got there, I noticed Border Control. I didn't bother to bring my tools with me, so I went on a walk to the secluded area and decided to watch the sunset and listen to some La Dispute. It was nice. About halfway through I looked over, and who do I see coming my way? Him. I panicked, but couldn't go anywhere because the way I needed to go to go back to the car, was the same direction he was walking in. I laid there, staring at the sky. He came over, asking me if I was still mad at him. Of course I was. He tried cheering me up. Said he had already bought me alcohol and would let me drive his truck. I rolled my eyes in a, "yeah, let's see if you can cheer me up" kinda way. I was practically quiet or sarcastic to him the whole time, until I got alcohol in my system. We drove around the city for a while because the park where he first sexually assaulted had just finished having an event. By the time we got back to the park it was 11:00 PM, cleared out. Not a single person around. This time I took my bag with me. We walked down the stairs to get closer to the lake, to make our round of catching Pokémon, but halfway through, he grabbed me, forcing himself onto me, kissing me. I told him to stop, that this wasn't acceptable, I'm engaged, what we (technically him more than me) was over, but he pushed me on to the ground, dropping my bag out of my reach. He got on top of me and put himself inside my mouth, which is also when I also noticed he had a pocket knife on him. Not even a couple minutes afterwards, he unbuckled my belt, pulled my pants and panties down, flipped me over where I was on my knees, and inserted himself. I remember bits and pieces, like how much it hurt. My head was pushed into the ground and my nails dug into the dirt. Then my ponytail being grabbed, and him telling me to call him "daddy". Within a few minutes after that, he was finished. He looked into my bag, wiped myself and himself off, and threw the wipes into the bushes. It hurt so much to sit and stand, but I got up so quickly and starting walking fast to the car, feeling tears swell in my eyes and a panic attack coming on. We both reached our vehicles. He demanded a hug from me, so I complied and then left. I got in the car, and left him at the park. I cried and had a panic attack all the way to my ex-fiance's parent's house. No one was home. I rushed in, and jumped in the shower. I examined myself and I couldn't take the pain and how swollen I was. I didn't even wash off. I just stood there in the shower, crying. Eventually I worked myself up to get out of the shower, get dressed and go to my ex-fiancé's work. I didn't tell him right then and there because I was so ashamed. He didn't know until the next day, and he saw me still in pain and swollen. After that, it was the hospital, police, and the workplace... Right now, I am unemployed but interested in getting my GED out of the way so I can become a Phlebotomist and Phlebotomy Technician and then hopefully going through 11-12 long years of college and medical school to become a Medical Examiner. So, yeah, that's about my life right now. Thanks for taking the time to read.

Hello, I am new to this group. This is my first post. I was raped 29 years ago at the age of 18. I delt with it by blaming myself for getting drunk. (Now, I know that's not true, he is the one who took from me what I did not give. He is to blame.) I never reported it, never told my parents. For reasons I can't explain, it's coming up and out now. I am feeling the pain, fear, and panic of my 18 year old self, NOW. The nice people at rape call centers didn't know what to do to help me. I am having trouble finding people like me. Who understand how and why I was able to keep all these painful feelings hidden away for so long, because they did the same thing. I'm sure there are other people like me. I hope to get help here. The help that comes from listening to other people's experiences and stories. The help that comes from hearing how someone was able to move out of the darkness into the light. I don't know how to change myself from victim to survivor. Thank you for reading this. one more thing. I am old, and I am having trouble navigating this site. If anyone has suggestions of where to look, how to look, and what to look for, I'd appreciate it. I don't even know if I am posting this in the right place...

Hello everyone.I am new here .I wanted to share what happened to me when i was very little.I don't remember my exact age when it happened , but i am sure i was less than 6 year old. My memory is still little fuzzy as i was very young , but i remember what happened very clearly . I don't remember how i got there , but i do remember what happen and it still haunts me. i wish i could forget but i can't . I was raped/molested/abused (i don't know what to call it) 2 times by two different men(assholes). For a long time i thought whatever happened was my fault ,that i wanted those thing to happen . Maybe in some Conner of my mind i still think that it was my fault ,that i wanted those things to happen . I don't know . This is the first time i am sharing this with anyone. I have never told about it to anyone . I cry myself to sleep sometimes when images of that time get stuck in my head . I don't know what i can do to move on from this. It has been approx 18+ years to those incident.