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As man who suffered abuse and watched as my mother and sister suffered it with me, here's my story. I have turned it into a book called Book Name that will be published in 2025, in the hopes my story will help others who have been silent to speak up and speak out. Growing up in 1960s City, my father’s explosive temper ruled our house like a storm that never stopped raging. His beatings were a ritual—unpredictable but inevitable. His belt was his weapon of choice, and I was the target. First came the verbal assault. “You’re worthless!” he’d scream, spitting his venomous words before unleashing the belt on me. The crack of leather against my skin was sharp, but what cut deeper was the fear that filled my every moment. His attacks were brutal and relentless, and I learned quickly that crying only made it worse. I developed a mantra to survive: “I’m not crazy; he is.” I scratched those words into the wall beneath my bed and held onto them like a lifeline, clinging to the idea that this madness wasn’t my fault. But no mantra could protect me from the pain or the scars that came with each beating. My body bruised and welted, and I carried those marks into adulthood, hidden beneath layers of clothing and false smiles. When I was six, a moment of curiosity nearly killed me. I had been playing outside, tossing sticks into a neighbor’s burning barrel, when a spark landed on my nylon jacket. Within seconds, I was engulfed in flames. As I screamed and ran, my back burning, a neighbor tackled me into the snow, saving my life. In the hospital, as doctors worked to heal my third-degree burns, my fear of my father overshadowed the pain. When I came home, still covered in bandages, my father’s violence continued. He slapped me across the face for not attending the party he had arranged for my homecoming. The message was clear: no amount of suffering would earn me compassion from him. His cruelty was unyielding, and I realized that nearly dying had changed nothing. As the physical scars from the fire healed, the emotional scars festered. I lived in constant fear, not knowing when the next beating would come. His footsteps sent shivers through me, each step a reminder that I was never safe. Even after his death in year his influence loomed over me. I was relieved he was gone, but unresolved grief and anger remained. I sought to reinvent myself in university, throwing myself into academics and work. I was determined to escape the trauma, but no matter how hard I ran, it followed me. The violence I experienced as a child soon became violence I inflicted on myself. In my twenties, bulimia became my way of coping. I would binge on food and purge, as if vomiting could expel the pain I had carried for so long. It was a twisted ritual of control, and yet I had no control at all. Afterward, I would collapse in a heap, my body drained but my mind still haunted by memories I couldn’t outrun. Each cycle promised relief, but it never lasted. Obsessive exercise became another outlet. I spent hours in the gym, pushing my body to its limits, believing that if I could perfect my exterior, I could somehow fix the brokenness inside. I built muscles to protect myself, but the mirror always reflected the truth—hollow eyes staring back at me, the emptiness never far behind. Even as I climbed the ranks in my career, becoming a corporate executive, the gnawing self-doubt persisted. I was successful, but success didn’t heal the wounds my father left. I also sought comfort in strangers. Fleeting encounters became a way to fill the void inside, offering temporary escape from the relentless pain. But after every encounter, the emptiness returned, more consuming than before. No amount of running, lifting, or sex could fill the gaping hole in my heart. I was numbing myself, not living. It wasn’t until I sought therapy that I began to confront the traumas I had buried so deeply. My first therapist suggested writing letters to my parents, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It took finding the right therapist—someone who pushed me to go beyond the surface—to finally begin the healing process. Slowly, I unraveled the layers of pain, facing not only the abuse from my father but also the self-inflicted harm I had continued to impose upon myself for years. My wife, name became my greatest support, helping me peel back the layers and confront the darkness I had hidden for so long. Together, we built a life of love and connection, but even in those happiest moments, the shadows of my past never left me. When my mother passed away indate, I found closure in our complicated relationship. Forgiveness—both for her and for myself—became an essential part of my healing. Today, I use my story to encourage others to speak up and break the silence around abuse. The pain I endured was not in vain. I believe that our past can fuel our purpose and that, ultimately, our pain can become our power.

After spending a year being single on purpose, I had decided that I was finally ready to invest myself in a relationship. The very next morning, I opened my phone to see a message from someone on Facebook asking me out on a date. Apparently they were following my photography page on Instagram and we had a mutual Facebook friend, and they decided they would shoot their shot. From the very beginning they were extremely funny, our sense of humor seemed to mesh really well, and they were easy to chat with. We met at a pub, and it seemed to go pretty well for a first date. It ended up getting crashed by their coworkers, so it turned into some drinks and karaoke. My cheeks hurt from laughing, they seemed really outgoing which I appreciated and their coworkers said really great things about them. On the second date we talked for hours - I felt like I had known them my entire life. No nervousness, I felt seen and accepted right away for who I was, and it was comfortable. It was a dream come true, which is how it felt for the first few months of the relationship. They appeared to check all of my boxes: self aware, empathetic, honest, open-minded. We fell in love quite quickly. The early signs of psychological and emotional abuse started within the first 6 months, but I didn't recognize it as abuse at the time. They were extremely jealous and would often say very hurtful and derogatory things about me. I'd catch them in lies and then they would break up with me stating indifferences in morals, but then would return the next day with heartfelt apologies and promises to work on their insecurities. I believed them. Of course I did, because I excused this behavior as a result of their trauma, the stress they were enduring at work, they were drunk, etc. I thought I could love them through it, so we made plans to move in with each other. That was when the insults, gaslighting, stonewalling worsened - and new aspects developed. Now I was being criticized daily, punished if I didn't tell them where I was going before leaving the house, threatened to send emails to my boss or intimate photos to my family, and my things would be written on with permanent marker or urinated on. That was when the violence started. I didn't feel safe in my own home because my things would get smashed and broken regularly. Police came to the house twice and told me if they came a 3rd time, they would make an arrest, so I ensured they never got called again. However, if I tried to call someone else for support I would get chased, held down, grabbed so I couldn't make the call. I locked myself in the bathroom once and the door was kicked down. I didn't see that as abuse at the time though, because they never hit me. I was so lost in this disillusionment of "love" that I thought they just needed my support, I needed to be more compassionate, I needed to love them better, that's what they told me anyways. This was my fault and I had to fix it. All areas of my life had been threatened: my home, my job, my relationships with my family, my pets, my safety, my health. I became extremely depressed and lost in a state of dissociation. My family became aware of some things (I kept most of it secret until near the end of the relationship, but there was much I wasn't able to hide), and they told me they feared for my life. I didn't respond, as that thought had crossed my mind already many times before and it no longer evoked a reaction in me. I was completely dissociated by this time and I had accepted the possibility. One night while I was driving, they grabbed the steering wheel and steered us into the ditch. That was when the fears became a reality for me. I started safety planning with the hopes that we could still make the relationship work. The trauma bond was strong. One night they started drinking and things were escalating, so I left the house and went to my sister's. In the past I would stay to ensure the things I loved most didn't get destroyed, or I would leave and sleep in my car - but this time I chose to see my family. I started getting text after text all hours throughout the night with horrible things being said. They hinted that my new kitten had "escaped" from the house, and my family had me back at the house, kitten and bags packed, and out the door in 20 minutes. At this point my family had seen everything and there was no turning back. Ending the relationship was confusing, because I didn't feel like I consciously made the choice myself. My family drafted my messages to kick them out of the house. I accepted it, because I just felt so drained and defeated by that point, I had absolutely nothing left to give. We continued to talk for a few months and both discussed how we missed each other and wished things could work, but I knew I could never go back to that, I didn't have the strength. My heart hurt and I definitely grieved - on the floor sobbing - for months on end because I truly felt as though this was my person, this was someone who I thought knew me and saw me for who I truly was. But the truth was, they didn't know me. They didn't even know the color of my eyes after 2 years together. I eventually realized I was grieving a version of them that didn't exist. I was grieving the life I thought we could have, the future family, the relationship that I thought we could work towards. I also realized I was grieving myself. My self esteem was diminished, I felt a huge loss of identity, I couldn't make a decision to save my life, I was exhausted and irritable and angry. I didn't recognize myself for a very, very long time. I felt betrayed and manipulated, and there was a lot of shame towards myself as I felt it was my fault for not seeing the signs or for somehow finding a way to make it work, or for staying as long as I did. I felt like I couldn't trust my judgment anymore. It's been two years now, and I am finally feeling closer to my old self. I struggled for a year and a half with my grief and learning that what I had gone through was abuse. I experienced survivor's guilt, hypervigilance, nightmares, depression, and panic attacks for months. I would start to feel better with the support of my therapist and the domestic violence specialist that I was working with, and a new trigger would happen or another development in my story would occur and I would be back at square one. I felt like I had no hope in finding myself again. I missed the person I used to be and it seemed impossible to ever shake these feelings. But even when I felt the most stuck, I still pressed forward. Even if that meant just making it to work that day, then staying in bed for the rest of the weekend. Or eating a piece of toast before bed if nothing else. Or attending the therapy appointment even if I didn't have the words. There would be weeks of darkness, but then I would have one day where I would cry and felt a little bit lighter. I would visit my family and a genuine laugh would escape my lips. It took very, very small steps, but I do believe I am finally at a place where I am surrounded by the light. I know there is still so much more work to be done, but once I started allowing myself to feel the anger, feel the hurt, feel the pain without shaming myself for it, things started getting better. Keep going - after everything you have survived, I know you can survive this.

My name is Name I am a lifelonglocation 1and relocated to location 2 3 years ago. I never thought in my most horrific Nightmares that I would have a devastating story like this to tell. But now I do and this is my location 2 life. Welcome to location 2. The land of delusion. I have been trying to file a lawsuit for the following abuse and mental/psychological cruelty that has happened to me since relocating to this God forsaken state: -False Imprisonment -Medical Malpractice/Medical Negligence -Defamation of Character -Falsafying Records I have been trying to file these claims against Mental Institution Name in location 2. I have been working with Name 2 of Organization Name since last year regarding ordering a site inspection against this facility due to all the violations they committed that have gone unnoticed and undocumented from the inspection done by Agency Name Please see below for an outline of what has occurred: ========================== Date: Followed up on my rape kit done at the Rape Crisis Center Name a few weeks prior with the policewoman assigned to my case, Name 3. I went to the precinct to speak to her because I missed her call and they told me she was going to come to me later that day. Name 3 of the Name of Department came to my apartment later that day with 2 other policemen/women, bullied and forced me out of my home, Name 4 Acted me and sent me to Psych Ward Name via ambulance and restraints. I was told by all 3 police that Hospital Namewas going to examine me and look into why my stomach was so enlarged. I was kept at Psych Ward Name all night. No one examined me nor did the ask about my stomach issues or my vaginal soreness from being REPEATEDLY raped. I was then taken by ambulance in the middle of the night to Mental Institution Name 2. All of this was STRONGLY AGAINST MY WILL. Date 2: 1st day at Mental Institution Name 2: --Violently ill and throwing up nonstop from the medication, which they stated they had no record of the next day in their charts, I was then given a shot in the buttocks because I refused the medication that made me ill and then reacted terribly from the shot, jumping out of my skin for a straight 24 hours. --Complained of my vaginal soreness throughout my 2 week stay due to being repeatedly raped and no medicine was given to me for this, I was completely ignored. --Was unable to shower for days due to lack of towels --Badgered/Harrassed by another drunk patient who threw her dirty diaper in my room in the middle of the night and frightened me. When I complained to staff about this nothing was done. ---Changed my medication the first time with a new medication which caused my tongue to swell up, was unable to talk the entire day/evening. --Psychiatrist who was assigned to me decided to change my medication again throughout my 2 week stay which made me more anxious, feeling like I was going to have panic attacks. She then decided to give me an injection to treat skyzophrenia in my left arm. I am NOT SKYZOPHRENIC. My left arm blew up and was very achy. She wanted to keep me for an additional 4 days after that to give me the second injection so I then petitioned the court to be discharged with the help of the public defender, Public Defender. Public Defender never mentioned anything about the mandatory 72 hour hold for LegalActs, as I was already kept against my will for nearly 2 weeks before reaching out to him for assistance. I Learned that on the police report Name 3 stated false 911 calls. THIS IS A BLATANT LIE and the report was falsified. I followed up on a rape kit and responded to Name 3's call ONLY WHEN SHE CALLED ME. Date 3 Discharged from Mental Institution Name 2 I was traumatized for a week after being discharged. I was unable to drive or leave my house due to constant panic attacks. To this day I still baracade my front door with 3 dining room chairs due to lack of protection from the police, as my rapist is still at large. In addition to this, I was told the police threw out my Rape Case due to insufficient information. REGARDING THE INSPECTION FROM Agency Name: It was 7 months from point of complaint sent to the field office for them to inspect. We are no longer in COVID so this does not make sense why it took so long. I was held for 10 days with no hearing and no sign of voluntary admission. There is no evidence in the medical records that a petition was even requested per law. This is CLEARLY false imprisonment! I have been continually suffering from PTSD, Nightmares & Panic Attacks since this horrific incident has occurred. I am seeing a Psychiatrist and have been prescribed 3 psychotropic drugs to help assist in my suffering. I have already called 20Location 2 ATTORNEYS & 10 Location 1ATTORNEYS since last year to try and seek justice however no one is willing to take on my case. I have been walking around for nearly 3 years carrying all this pain of sexual and emotional trauma and there are days that destroy my peace so much that I get physically ill. I have several health issues that have developed since relocating to Location 2 and Doctors that are unable to cure me. I am grateful for the few people I have in my life who offer support and so happy yo have this platform to assist in my healing. Thank you for listening. ❤️

I am Name years old single mom of two beautiful kids ages 10 and 12 years old. I was once a victim of abusement, harassment, assault, defamation, and rudeness of other people when I am just a simple, kind and silent person. Until now, they still look down on me and I don't know what have I done why they hate, angry and so rude to me. They are treating me like I am not an educated person when I am and they keep on look down on me because we are just simple and in a middle class person or family. And they think that they think better than me and I don't have any complain of it but they keep trying to argue with me that I am a better dumb person to them. And it's kind of abusing to think of that way that they think like that to me and that's insult me of my human being. I don't know what to do right now on how to express of this. My family I dont know if they doesn't know about this or they know about this or just hiding from me that they know everything but they really dont agree with me all the time or don't believe in me. What help should I seek for this matter of existence!?

There are pieces of different stories that fit my situation. I’m a successful executive and I am so embarrassed that I ignored all the red flags and got myself into this mess. I feel so unworthy, a combination of childhood emotional neglect, sexual assault as a teenager, and a 25 year marriage full of emotional neglect and infidelity. I even feel unworthy of putting myself in the same category as the survivors on this page, like my story isn’t as valid. He is a sexual assault survivor himself; he was molested by an older female cousin when he was little. That was part of the attraction at first. I thought we understood each other’s pain and would help each other heal what still remained. At first the attention felt like caring, like someone finally gave a damn. The requests to text where I was at all times, wanting to track my location and share his, wanting to talk or FaceTime all night on the phone, even sleeping with the call still going, next to me, when we weren’t together. Now I know it was about control and a deep lack of trust. I have learned over time to never look around at a restaurant or I will be accused of staring at another man. I have unfriended most of my male friends on social media and I am afraid to post anything in case one of the remaining ones comments. He demands that I show him any communication from any man on social media. He wants to know my work meeting schedule and gets upset if I don’t text him back right away. One time, he was out of town and my phone wasn’t plugged in correctly so the battery died during the overnight FaceTime call. I panicked when I woke up and realized what had happened, and he was furious with me. He wanted to know if I had cheated between 4 am and 8 am when the phone was dead. And I haven’t asked him to leave yet. I don’t know why. We have almost broken up several times, and every time I believe him that it will be different. It won’t be different. I am exhausted and I don’t recognize myself anymore. I am too ashamed to tell my friends or family the extent of it, although they know things are off.

My Domestic Violence Abuse began when I was five years old and continued until this last May. In my first Foster Home, I would be locked in my room at night with a lock on the outside of the door. I would have to drink my own urine if thirsty out of a chitterling bucket. I had my meals in the basement and made to lean against the oven if disobedient. Being hit in the eye with a belt buckle for trying on her makeup was just the tip of the iceberg. The second Foster Home was just as bad. I begged the Social Worker not to send me there because even at the age of eight, I knew that the Father was a creep. But, of course, I was forced to live there anyway and by the age of ten, he raped me. Fast forward to 2012 when I met Name of Serial Killer. After dating him for two weeks, I told him that unfortunately, I didn’t think a Relationship would work because he idolized Name (another Serial Killer). He walked over to his drawer, pulled out a 357’ magnum, and asked me if I were ready to die. Fortunately, my Faith in God saved my life because instead of being terrified, I was angry and asked him if he had lost his mind and demanded that he get that gun out of my damn face!! The next time I saw him was on the News in handcuffs after Authorities found the bodies of the victims he murdered. This past May, I finally found the courage to leave my abuser after 8 years. He pulled out a gun on me and my two Autistic Adult Children. I was ugly, fat, deserved to not have Parents or a Family. My children were demons and retards. Although my children and I are finally in a Home after living in a Roach infested Hotel for four months, we’re suffering financially. Sleeping on deflated air mattresses and an old couch. I find myself wanting to contact my Abuser because at least when we were with him, we had nice clothes, furniture, and an abundance of food. I’m extremely depressed and confused right now.

As a domestic abuse survivor, I can tell you that our scars are not always visible. I think the emotional, verbal, and sexual abuse is sometimes worse….. because it takes longer to heal from. My ex had me so turned around, backwards, and upside down. I didn’t know whether he was coming or going and often found myself desperately wanting him to stay, like it was all my fault and I had done something wrong….., the sad part is…. I am my healthiest and happiest self every single time he left. Then just when I thought I would be, could be ok…… he’d be back agreeing to counseling or being a better dad or whatever it took . This time I hope to have the strength to not let him back in .

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I was sexually assaulted when I was a child, raped when I was 18, and have been mentally emotionally and verbally abused since I was 19 and I am now 25. The saying is true, it does get worse the more you stay but what people don’t talk more about that needs to me, is the reason people like us don’t just get up and walk away. It’s hard, it is. It takes willpower, mental strength. Cutting that tie from the abuser seems like it will never happen, but once it does, it is the best feeling ever.

I come here today with the utmost need of to tell my truth no longer be silenced and the need to be able to break these chains rather invisible or not they're there I have suffered for 20 plus years from abuse from an individual who suffers from narcissistic personality I'm pretty sure the subtype is passive aggressive covert malignant narcissism . He has shown documented behaviors of being a sociopath. This individual also suffers from substance abuse and sex addiction. My needs for housing transportation and financial support is a means of causing intentional harm by exploitation of my imminent needs for human basic survival and he knows that my disabilities cause me to not be able to get proper help because of my social and communication disorders and brain injury. Being a victim who also has disabilities of all kinds creates a much bigger barrier because I can't do communal living spaces. There is no way to get free every phone call to national special victims I get a recorded message and no one calls back..I'm posting a link for my fundraiser because I've gotten no help and if help doesn't come soon I will just be a statistic but helping me get free is way bigger than me it gives a ability to bring about systematic change to help others not have to suffer in silence anymore Please help me Link

Last year, I was Lilly. The first time he shoved me down on the couch, the second time he threw me across the room into our daughters bouncer, the third time he broke his entire knuckle on my face causing two black eyes and my forehead to be three times its size. It only continued from there. I spent so many nights begging him to not kill me, he would me hold on the bed and try to suffocate me. He dragged me into the woods once, and grabbed me by my throat and threw me. After he broke his knuckle on my face, he took me to the store to get the make up to cover up my black eyes and we laughed about it. After every incident he would cry to me and tell me he didn’t want to be like this. I finally got out, you can too❤️

I had become accustomed to being called horrible names (fat, bitch, cunt, stupid,whore, hairy,pathetic, ugly) being screamed at, shoved, pushed, hair pulled, my wrist grabbed so hard that I think I have nerve damage. But the day he punched me, choked me and I thought I was going to die is when I had enough. It was the lowest scariest moment in my life. Before it got to that extreme I felt I had to tolerate the abuse what I then labeled bad behaviors because that’s what loving someone else was. I accepted it as part of his short comings and believed I was so mentally strong they did not affect me. I also believed I could change him if I just showed him I loved him enough. That I could heal his wounds. It was a lie I told myself not realizing how toxic that was. When someone that claims to love you and who you love treats you with such disrespect, it wounds even the strongest of us. Eventually, that love became hate for him and for myself. I carried so much shame too because I couldn't believe that I allowed him to treat me with such cruelty. I believed myself stupid and weak. I was vulnerable because I craved affection. I was codependent and did not know it. I was easy prey for a narcissist. After I left him a part of me was relieved but another part was so hurt and lost. I had days I felt like just crying and staying in bed, days going to work was almost impossible because I hated myself for everything specifically where I found myself at 27. I soon realized that what I thought was weak was actually the good in me. The understanding, emphatic and caring parts of me were not weakness, I was just giving that to someone that did not deserve it. Did not deserve me. I had to learn to heal by showing myself the compassion and love I gave him. I had to learn to love myself and I did. I realized I am strong and resilient and deserve to be happy. I found my joy to live and an inner strength I had no idea I possessed. To anyone that feels trapped in a cycle of abuse I say you are not alone and you are NOT crazy. I remember the first time I allowed myself to speak about all the abuse. It was to a therapist and I only seeked out therapy because I no longer recognized myself. I was either sad or angry and began suffering from anxiety. She said to me, I can't imagine how it feels to live with all those feelings and I remember crying. For the first time, I felt like my feelings mattered and I was not insane because I had been gaslighted and manipulated to the point I didn’t trust my feelings. Most of that hour I was balling and could not stop. It was like the flood gates opened and there was no closing them. I just had to wait for it to empty out. The pain I was holding in was indescribable. I just know I do not wish it to anyone. It was also the start of my healing. The last few years on my own have forced me to grow and really love myself. I can say today that I look back at that time and feel like this all happened to someone else. There are moments, triggers that remind me of the sad girl I once was but I am so much stronger now that they do not last. It took years to get here, and there is still work I got to do like learn to be vulnerable again but one thing I know for sure, I will NEVER go back to that version of me.

I dated someone for 4 years and they were very abusive I forever wish I would’ve reported the abuse that went on but instead I kept quiet. I am forever thankful that I was able to wake up mentally one day and realize it was not fair to keep being with someone who was physically violent with me and that person did not love me. I am still recovering even years later from this but every day is a new journey and you have to take each day by day because it will get better.

I do not know if it’s because I am a woman, because I am Hispanic, because I didn’t have Mommy and Daddy swooping in to shield me from accountability-probably a mix of all but one thing is true.. Evil Lives in Small Court Houses I am a survivor of domestic violence whose life has been destroyed not only by years of physical abuse, but also by coercive control, legal retaliation, and harassment that began the moment I tried to protect myself and my children. This is not a custody dispute. This is criminal misconduct, perjury, fraud, and public endangerment. The abuse began in 2021. I endured physical violence, including strangulation, intimidation, and control. In August 2024, after he slammed me into a wall with a door, I finally removed him from my home. That should have been the end. Instead, when the physical abuse stopped, the legal abuse began. Since then, I have faced relentless harassment. My ex and his attorney weaponized the courts, filing retaliatory restraining orders, false allegations, and motions designed to erase me as a mother. My own restraining order—based on police reports of injuries to me and my daughters—was denied without being heard. On the same day, they filed a retaliatory order against me. This wasn’t about safety. It was about control. Inside the courthouse, the abuse only escalated. I have been mocked, harassed, and threatened in open court. A bailiff physically covered my microphone and told me, “Stop talking or you’re going to lose your kids more.” When I pleaded with the court to recognize my daughter’s needs as a child on the spectrum, the commissioner mocked me: “I see you are crying, but I don’t see a single tear.” (with the most evil voice)As if I was acting. I have audio. What man in power says that to a mother losing her children? This wasn’t justice — it was cruelty, and it violated my rights. And I am not alone. Other parents in this courthouse describe the same treatment. The consequences have been devastating. Had my restraining order been approved back in November, I would still be with my daughters. I would still have my home. I would still have my business. Instead, my children have been withheld from me for over two months. I now live out of a bag after a self-help eviction, forced from my home while a retaliatory unlawful detainer is on appeal. I was coerced into signing a stipulation under distress, another example of being taken advantage of at every angle. The safety risks are undeniable. My ex is a convicted felon with multiple DUIs. He lied under oath about his firearms, refused to surrender them, and has since purchased more guns illegally. Meanwhile, his attorney impersonated an appellate court clerk—on audio—just to get my address. This is fraud. This is criminal. Yet the court has protected them while punishing me. This is not due process. This is coercive control—domestic violence that has evolved from fists to filings, from physical intimidation to psychological and legal warfare. My children have become pawns in a campaign to erase me. If the system had worked as it should, I would still be with my daughters, in my home, running my business. Instead, I am homeless, silenced, mocked, and still unprotected. Justice should be for all—not just for those who can afford a malevolent attorney willing to do anything to destroy the other parent. #tipswelcome #❤️

Growing up since a young age I’ve always saw “love” from different views. When I got to high school I met a guy, I was 16 years old when he started to abuse me, I loved him & I thought it was okay.. no one at school believed me either. Everyone was his friend & no matter what I said it didn’t matter. No one understands that it stays with you, & trust me it hurts I didn’t think it would hurt still but you carry it. The pain was real, the scars are real, & I carry them. I was so young & scared, you want to know how many times someone asked me well why did you stay? Why didn’t you leave? I don’t know. I will never know, all I know is that I didn’t deserve to carry this hurt.

For years, I lived through something no one should ever have to go through. It started when I was young, and the person who hurt me was someone I was supposed to trust, my stepfather. He was supposed to protect me, but instead, he took advantage of me in the worst way. Growing up, I thought my stepfather was someone I could trust. He was supposed to be part of my family, someone who would keep me safe. But instead, he became the person who hurt me the most. The abuse started when I was just a little girl, too young to understand what was happening. It began with small things, touches that felt wrong, words that made me uncomfortable. But over time, it became something much worse. It happened mostly at night, when everyone else was asleep. I’d wake up to the sound of the door creaking open, and my heart would start racing. I’d pretend to be asleep, hoping he would leave, but he never did. He would sit on the edge of my bed, and I could feel his weight pressing down on me. I would lie there, frozen, too scared to move or say anything. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to make it stop. I just wanted it to be over. Sometimes, he would wait until my mom was at work or when she traveled. Those were the worst times because I knew no one was coming to save me. I would hear his footsteps in the hallway, and my stomach would twist into knots. I would try to hide, to make myself small, but it didn’t matter. He always found me. He would come into my room, and I would feel so helpless, so alone. I wanted to scream, to run away, but I was too scared. I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to stop him. I hated myself for not being able to fight back. I hated myself for not being brave enough to tell someone. But I was just a kid. I didn’t know how to protect myself. I didn’t know how to make it stop. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. The worst part was the silence. I couldn’t tell my mom. I was too scared of what would happen if I did. What if she didn’t believe me? What if she blamed me? What if it made things worse? I didn’t want to hurt her, and I didn’t want to tear our family apart. So I kept it all inside. I carried the weight of my secret every day, and it felt like I was drowning. The pain and shame were too much to carry. All I thought about was committing suicide just to end it all, so that I wouldn’t feel the weight of what was happening to me. I felt dirty, broken, and like I didn’t deserve to live. I thought if I was gone, the pain would stop, and maybe everyone else would be better off without me. But somehow, I kept going. I don’t know how, but I did. I found little things to hold onto—a friend, a book, a song, anything that made me feel even a tiny bit okay. It took years, but I finally told someone what happened. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was also the first step toward healing. I’m still healing now. Some days are better than others. I still have nightmares, and I still struggle with trusting people. But I’m learning to be kind to myself, to remind myself that what happened wasn’t my fault. I didn’t deserve it, and I’m not defined by it. If you’ve been through something like this, please know you’re not alone. It’s not your fault, and you deserve to be heard and supported. Healing is possible, even when it feels like it’s not. You are stronger than you think, and your story isn’t over yet. You don’t have to carry this weight alone anymore. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to let someone in. You are not broken, and you are not defined by what happened to you. You are so much more than that.

It's no laughing matter. I'm no laughing matter. I don't know which is worse, the abuse I endured at the hands of someone I knew for 10 years or the utter joke it became for the city that it happened in. The joke, the filth I became. My head has never been clear enough to get out exactly what I'm trying to because it's filled with so many unanswered questions and the knowing that I could of been saved from years of pain, suffering, had anyone including the authorities taken what was happening to me seriously. I was married 6 weeks when I discovered the guy I married was nothing like he said. In fact he had been spending his nights on the computer and to this day it haunts me at the content he was watching. The next year I was subjected to numerous beatings. Twice his own apartment complexes managers either refused to give me help or lied to the police on his account. I was abused in my sleep , I suffered a tbi, no one would help me. He was so sick that beating on me made him happy and would try and get me to do things to him. I didn't know what to do because like i said no one including the police took me seriously or to this day 10 years later as I try to file on him,they are more concerned with "why did you go there" or "you're the one who didn't get her way in a domestic violence incident. " If this wasn't enough I moved over 3000 miles away and was told by City law enforcement that I now am responsible for their lies to social security. I had just got a home after swelling on both sides of my brain and had been trying to work on what happened to me however I took it very personal and I tried to end my life and ended up losing my home. I feel like I paid to be raped, I feel dirty, I feel useless. Over the 10 years since I have contacted City law enforcement hundreds of times a year, no joke, hundreds and nothing. They are still refusing to do anything to him even though I sit in my house with documented facts on what he did to me but no one cares to see it. It's emotionally destroying me, it hinders ever aspect of my life. I've had rape crisis case managers try and get answers, I've filled out every paper the Mayor's office sent me. I will get my hopes up and see an email from them and then like always, nothing. No one should be abused is what I say but this feeling of I deserved it consumes me and I'm always trying to explain why I don't. I'm obviously not through the healing process but I want what happened to me out there. I was never aware of the true evils in this world. Never knowing that the police too can cause so much pain but literally laugh it off. I Pray I find the answers I'm looking for. All I can say is my Faith in God was the only thing that kept me able to go. I was robbed, walked until my feet bled so much trauma that I know one day there will be peace. I do know together WE can and I'm so grateful to my AA group and other places I go. Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.

I thought he was the most perfect guy in the world. He was romantic, smart, funny, loving, kind, everything I had ever wanted in a guy. When things started to shift, I deeply believed it was my responsibility as his girlfriend to comfort him, take care of him, fix him. But as the breakdowns became more consistent, as he became more violent, as the words grew heavier and more hurtful, I was left feeling drained. My belief that I was supposed to stick by his side no matter what, that love was forgiving and forgetting, destroyed me. He was broken, and it was selfish to leave him. He didn’t mean it, he apologized eventually, he comforted me when he hurt me, so it was okay. But if I could go back in time, I’d scream “leave now, save yourself.” Because these excuses I was making were just that. Excuses. It was not normal. It was not okay. No excuses could be made to make his behavior normal. I just want everyone out there to know that it is not your fault. You are not weak. You are not stupid for not seeing it sooner. You were in love with someone who only showed you a small aspect of themselves, and then revealed the rest when you were already in too deep. One time is enough. It wasn’t an accident the first time, and it won’t be an accident the next. The recovery process is hard. But it’s so worth it. And you are worth so much more than what he declares over you. Please know that you are not alone. I’m rooting for you and I know others are too.

On Date, I escaped an abusive relationship and embraced the freedom of living without my abuser’s control. Just four months later, he was sentenced to five years in prison for the abuse he inflicted upon me. Although it felt like an eternity to reach that day, I’m grateful I didn’t have to wait as long as some survivors do. Many survivors never experience justice; some victims never become survivors. Life will never be the same for either of us or our families, especially our children. What's beautiful is that I am no longer the woman who accepts abusive behavior in any form. I don’t want to be the woman who tolerates less than what I deserve because I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be the woman who dims my light so that the man I love can shine brighter. I don’t want to be the woman who hurts myself in an attempt to save a broken man. Had my abuser had his way, I wouldn’t be here today. My children’s world would be a lot different. I have an amazing circle of family, friends, and coworkers who have supported me the best way they know how during this difficult and very emotional time. I love them and thank them for loving me by showing up and being there. I am now able to fully enjoy my children and live for them every day. I show up for them, strive to be the best version of myself, lead them, and love them by loving myself. It’s easy to say that life is a gift until you face a moment when you realize it could be taken away. I still have triggers and am taking it one day at a time. I have accepted that some people don’t deserve to be in my life. I am choosing me! I am choosing real love! I am choosing healthy relationships!