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I was in an abusive relationship for 12 years. I met him when I was fourteen and we came together when I was fifteen. He was nice and lovely and I fell in love with him. I never thought that he could have a dark side. After a few month I began to realize, that there is something inside him. When we had our first fight, he screamed with me and I had so much fear. He apologized and I forgived him. But: It didn‘t stopped. He was verbal abusive. He said that I am a whore. He made me feeling small and like I am the worst person in the world. He said, that I am a psycho. He said I am a joke. He said I am nothing. He said, that he has to talk and scream with me like this, because I don‘t understand his points otherwise. He began to destroy things like my watch or a necklace. The walls had holes and he often grabbed me at my shoulders very hard when he got angry. When I cried, he became angrier at all. I locked myself in the toilet because I had so much fear of him. He also pushed me at the asphalt when he was drunk sometimes. I had bruises. One time he choked me. I never told anybody what happend, because I always forgived him and felt so fucking guilty. I tried to left him, but he always said, that he will kill himself, when I go. I went to therapy but even there I was so ashamed, that I didn‘t talk about the abuse. After two years of therapy I got stronger and stronger. I was ready to talk to somebody about the things that happend to me and that I want to leave him. Suddenly I felt free and was ready to go. He always said, that he loves me and that I am the love of his life. It never was love. I realized that I was in an abusive relationship. There were verbal, emotional and physical abuse. I didn't imagine any of it. I wasn't crazy. Whoever is reading this and is in a similar situation: You are strong! You are intelligent! You are beautiful! You are a good person! You can trust yourself! You can talk to someone! You can do this! You can leave him! You are a wonderful human being! I love you all out there and send you hugs. We have to share our stories and we are allowed to share them. Together we can change something.

Many times I've wondered how to begin narrating my story, whether I should start from the beginning or when "love had arrived." I could start by saying that I fell in love with the person I thought was my best friend. Wow, it’s supposed that when there’s a friendship of that magnitude, love should be great. Time passed, and years later, that friendship turned into a relationship, which, for my heart, was one of the most beautiful things that had ever happened to me. I flew 1,295 miles from my country to the United States for him, believing that finally, my true love story would become a reality. I knew he had a strong character and was a bit egocentric, something that bothered me, but I always tried to ignore those thoughts with the "sweet gestures" he could have with me. In the third year of our relationship, after discovering an online affair (they were only chatting because they were in different countries), he proposed to me. Shortly after we got married, we bought our first house together. Wow, if we weighed it all out, there were many wonderful moments that turned into sad endings because, according to him, I didn’t do something right, and many times I would repeat to myself, “I need to be better for myself and for him,” but for him, I was never good enough. Little by little, I started to fade. His words and actions took me to the darkest places—depression and anxiety. From there, it got even darker: a fight in the bathroom where he was the only one talking, and I had long ago decided to remain silent to avoid making the problem worse. I remember that night we were sitting on the bathroom floor arguing, and when it ended, we decided to leave the bathroom. I was walking behind him, continuing the argument, and that’s when he decided to push me, making me fall back several feet. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life. Among the physical pain I felt in my body, the pain in my soul was even stronger. He apologized and insisted that he thought I was coming after him to hit him. I insisted that I would be incapable of doing something like that, but once again, I was blamed. Shortly after, the problems in the relationship intensified, and there was more crying than laughing. I blamed the depression, but deep down, I knew it was everything that was happening there. I decided to seek professional help and started working with a psychiatrist. For more than a year, I was in therapy and on medication, and that’s when my awakening began. I’ll never forget the day my therapist said to me, "I want you to do an exercise that I know I shouldn’t ask of you." I forgot to mention that I earned my psychology degree in my home country. She continued, “We’re going to make a diagnosis, but it’s not for you. If I’m right, our therapy is going to change drastically because you’ll have only two options: divorce or couples therapy.” Although she didn’t say it, she was leaning more towards divorce. Her request was, "Let’s diagnose, based on observation, whether your husband is a narcissist. You’ve given me many examples that are raising red flags for me." She managed to get an interview with him, and in the end, we reached the diagnosis: I was married to a narcissist. I had been too ashamed to tell her that a week earlier, I was not only a victim of his physical aggression when he pushed me, but he had also pulled my hair. I had never felt so ashamed of myself until I had to talk about it with my therapist. Her only words were, “Run from there; there’s no turning back.” How grateful I am to her for those words. Today, almost a year after our legal divorce, although this path hasn’t been easy, I feel that I’ve become a much more resilient woman. No matter how difficult the situation is, no matter how much pain you may feel, love doesn’t have to be the excuse to push your limits. I knew for a long time that I needed to leave, and it’s not easy. Finding that strength is not easy, but today I can say that when your love for yourself grows every day, it’s that love that helps you move forward. Losing everything and losing myself to find myself has been the most beautiful experience life has given me. NO MORE. Only you have the power to break the cycle.

Dedication: To all of the women and children that are fighting domestic abuse. I witnessed domestic violence between my mother and her boyfriend every day from the age of 6 up until the age of 11. I witnessed brutal attacks, one time my mother actually stopped breathing. He was a very jealous man. He wanted me out the way as much as possible. He even resorted to breaking my dogs leg in a fit of rage. My mother became a victim of ‘cuckooing’ by a local gang and was introduced to drugs. Her boyfriend stole from them and my mother was kidnapped. We both had to go into protective living. I stayed with my nan for 2 months not knowing where my mother was or even if she was alive. The gang found my mothers boyfriend and beat him to an inch of his life. My mother was later given an ultimatum; Him or me. She chose me. After us he moved on to another family. Unfortunately those children weren’t so lucky. They all got split up by the care system. It has not been until these past couple of months that I have learned to accept what happened. It has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Confusion, anger and tears. I had to say goodbye to the innocent little girl that was once me. At a crucial time when my child brain was meant to be developing and understanding the world, I had to skip that part completely. I was quickly brought into an adults world. After it all ended I had to build a whole new foundation and create a whole new person. It was almost like Norma Jean transforming into Marilyn Monroe or Beyonce becoming her alter ego Sasha Fierce. Before this, I had no identity. At the age of 6 I was just starting to find my place in the world which was then quickly taken from me. It wouldn’t be until I was 17 that I would have to come face to face with my mothers abuser again. She came home one night in a complete drunken state with him in tow. I looked him dead in the eyes and told him that I was 17 not 7 anymore and I was not afraid of him and he couldn’t hurt us anymore. The police ended up escorting him away. My mother was always encouraging of me and always told me she believed in me and to believe in myself. That I am so grateful for. I am so grateful for life. Every day I would wake up and wonder if that day would be the day I died. I think the way I got through it was fight or flight. My body chose fight. I had a best friend at the time who I am still best friends with to this day. Her mother was also tackling her own demons at home, so our friendship grew closer. My mother ended up having a hard time coming to terms with dealing with what happened. She is unfortunately a shell of person he once was. The song by Jessie J – I Miss Her sums it up perfectly. She is still breathing but she is not really living.

Was it really that bad? Healing after getting out can be a rollercoaster of emotions and self doubt. You're not alone, sharing your story helps others to stop being silenced out of shame. Sometimes the healing process is hard because we remember more, or feel what we tried not to feel. You don't have to worry about being believable, focus on your own healing journey because you lived it, and need to trust the process. Your story, and what you lived, is testimony enough.

Three beautiful kids later, three houses later, and 10 years later, I finally had the courage to leave.

I am a cis-gender, woman. For as long as I can remember, I have identified as bisexual. I was never "closeted", but I did grow up in the mid-Atlantic suburbs in the '70s, so having a girlfriend who was anything more than a "buddy" wasn't even available to me. In fact, it wasn't until 1973 that homosexuality was removed from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). So I didn't grow up thinking that I could ever act on my feelings for women. As I matured, I dabbled a little bit, but not anything fulfilling. My longing for sexual intimacy with a woman increased in intensity once I hit peri-menopause. At a certain stage in my adult life, I found myself obsessing 24/7 about having a sexual relationship with a woman. That day came when I ran into someone from my past - someone whom I knew was gay - someone to whom I had a strong, physical attraction that was so unbearable, it nearly drove me mad. Seriously. I still question whether I was in my right mind when we were together because in hindsight, I tolerated behavior from her that was incredibly abusive and abnormal, just so I could get laid. Because in the beginning, the sex was great. The first time we kissed, my head almost exploded. And when we finally had sex, I felt as if the whole world came to a stop, and I realized that THIS IS WHAT HAD BEEN MISSING FROM MY LIFE! But, just as adolescents confuse chemical changes associated with sex with love, so did I. When she gazed into my eyes and told me that she had always loved me, I believed her. It felt magical. I was enchanted. And, I thought that I was in love with her too. The abuse started a few months after we began "dating". I put that word in quotes, because she was so closeted that we didn't dare hold hands in public or get caught kissing. (By the way, her reaction to getting "caught" was SO extreme, that she violently pushed me away with both hands, the day her landlord caught me hugging her goodbye, as he took out the garbage.) We were in the car, driving home from a day of hanging out in the city. Much of her abuse happened in the car because there, I was a captive audience who couldn't escape her ranting, raving, screaming, punching the door, the windshield, throwing things … We'd both had too much to drink that day, she had flirted with someone else (as she always did, I realize now in hindsight), words were exchanged between us about the incident, and she flew into a rage. She punched the car's rearview mirror so hard that it snapped off and flew across the car, missing my face by inches. I sat mutely in shock, frightened because we were in a moving vehicle on a major highway. It was then that I should have ended it. It was then that I should have seen her for who she really was, rather than who I was dreaming she could be. It was then that I realized that something didn't feel good about 'this" anymore. I stayed with her for 5 more years, during which time she trapped me in the car with abusive tantrums regularly. That night was just a preview! During the on again / off again time that we were together, she made grand, romantic promises to me about a life together; living in a nice house, all the money she was going to make, blah, blah, blah. In her next breath, she would berate ME for not making enough money, for not having more important or more interesting friends. She taunted me for not being - as she put it - "a spectacular fuck". And - more than once - she put me down for having had sex with men before we met. Or as she put it, "All the dick you sucked before we met". This, despite the fact that she had undergone two abortions (after having unprotected, reckless sex with men of course) and that she constantly flirted with them when we were out. She also bragged to me about her former lovers (all of whom had either died or cut her out their lives completely). She was homophobic. She said that she hated being gay, and that she hated me for being gay. She would insist that I wasn't gay at all. "You're just a straight chick who gets off on fucking women", she said to me. A laughable statement, because THIS is what turned HER on! I was not the first woman that she believed she had "turned", despite my protests that I am and always have been, bisexual. She delusionally thought that she had some kind of special power to turn straight women gay. She would have melt-downs any time that I wanted us to be a visible couple, insisted that I could not "come out" - even though we traveled to places that were gay friendly, had gay friends and that we WERE gay. The emotional abuse increased in frequency, but took place in secrecy, so I had nowhere to turn. I began to live with a knot in my stomach and depression started to take over my life to the point where I not only lost my identity, but I lost my desire to live. The secrecy that she forced me into kept her abuse of me a secret too, even from our mutual friends. Each time that I tried to break up with her, those big, fat, alligator tears would start. For me, that's really hard to take from a woman. I've seen men cry, but HER tears sucked me back in every time. Sucked. That's a good word for it, on many levels. She was sucking the life out of me and I was the sucker who fell for her lies, every time I tried to break it off. She reeled me back in each time, like a fish on a hook. One day, as she stood in my kitchen berating me once again, immediately after I had taken her on another miserable vacation where all she did was put me down, I finally snapped. "Get the fuck out" I said. My calm tone must have really frightened her, because she left. Finally. I'd had enough mental and emotional abuse. There was nothing wrong with me and yet, she berated me and criticized me constantly. I had gained weight, I had lost friends, my own family didn't recognize me anymore. "Your attention span is so short, maybe fingerpaints would be good for you!" She actually SAID this to me! This is how she treated me. Constantly. But I stayed with her, for the promise of what I thought we might have. Promises that she filled my head with, in bed when we had sex. Sex, that she slowly began to use as a weapon of control and manipulation over me. She withheld physical affection, flirted with other women, and treated me like shit. Then, in the very next breath, she would suggest that we open a joint bank account, "For our future", she said with a warm smile and a sparkle in her eye. Thankfully, I never fell for that lie. I've always worked hard for my money, and I wasn't going to share it with someone who turned out to be a fucking monster, a liar, and an imposter. I already suffered from PTSD, and she preyed upon it. It increased in intensity while we were together. When I met her, I was a very pretty, self-confident woman in great physical shape. My years with my abuser turned me into an overweight, anxious, angry, depressed person who trusts no one, and drinks too much alcohol. Therapy and breathing techniques help, along with a prescription for Xanax that I take occasionally, but I still feel shame over having stayed in an abusive relationship for so long. I'm not a mental health professional, nor do I think it's appropriate for any layperson to "diagnose" someone (some of those "professionals" shouldn't either, by the way), but several personality disorders come to mind when I think of her such as ... Narcissistic … Histrionic … Borderline … even bipolar. In closing, I despise her and what she did to me. I'm glad that I finally rid my life of her, even though she tried several more times to weasle her way back in. I will always HATE her … but I'm beginning to love myself again.

For years, I thought I had escaped the horrors of my childhood. My father’s overt abuse was a storm—loud, angry, impossible to ignore. So when I met him—the man who seemed so different—I thought I had finally found safety. He wasn’t my father. He didn’t yell or scream or raise a hand every other day. At first, he was kind, charming even. I thought everything was great. But over time, the cracks started to show. The cold, distant days where I felt like an inconvenience. The subtle digs and underhanded comments that weren’t enough to call mistreatment but were just enough to make me doubt myself. I’d lie awake at night, crying, unable to understand why I felt so anxious and stressed. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. After all, he wasn’t my father. Yet, deep down, I knew. I knew he could hurt me if I ever pushed too far, and that fear controlled me. As the years passed, the emotional manipulation evolved into something far darker. What started as control turned into sexual abuse. At first, I didn’t see it for what it was—maybe I didn’t want to see it. I clung to the idea that things would get better, that I could fix it, that it wasn’t as bad as it felt. But the progression was undeniable. I couldn’t look away anymore. By the time it ended, I found myself at a police station, hoping for justice, for someone to finally stand up for me. But nothing was done. Nothing. I left that station with no real resolution, but I did leave. That was the day I decided to start over. Healing wasn’t immediate. It’s still day by day. But now I get to choose what my days look like. I am no longer silent. I am no longer hiding. The mask I wore for years is gone, and I speak openly about what I endured, not because it’s easy, but because someone needs to hear it. Someone out there needs to know that they’re not alone, that their perfect-looking marriage may not be so perfect, and that they deserve better. I poured my story into a book, Book Title. It’s not just a story about abuse; it’s a call to recognize the subtle signs, to question the system that so often fails victims, and to challenge the way society dismisses our pain. I know how hard it is to rise, but I also know it’s possible. If you’re in that darkness, know this: you can rise too. Healing isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. And every day, you have the power to choose a better life. Because still, I rise. And so can you.

We were friends for a year before we dated. Our friend group knew he had substance abuse issues and some decided to cut him out of their lives until he seeked therapy/medication. I felt angry for him. Why didn’t they believe in him? Why couldn’t they stand by him? If friends are meant to be our biggest supporters, I felt they left him in his lowest time. He called me one night about to commit suicide. I called an ambulance. He had to get his stomach pumped in the hospital. After that, he told us that he was going to a therapist and was getting better. Time went by. I went through a breakup and he supported me through it. He ended up falling for me. It took me a while to fall for him as at the time I saw him as a friend. But eventually through his elaborate romantic gestures and our time together, I fell for him too. We dated for 2.5 years. The first time he hit me was a nonconsensual slap across the face during oral sex. It had been a magical night before that at his fraternity’s semi formal. He apologized, got me flowers, and claimed he’d never do it again. The second time he got blackout drunk, was on opioids for his “chronic migraine” (which we believe was actually from the drugs… he would mysteriously get tons of opioids on unmarked bottles that none of us knew where they came from and use them to get high), and he had been smoking marijuana. He shoved me outside of a bar after causing a scene at his fraternity formal. I had been late because I got locked out of a hotel room. He blamed me for it even though our friends were drunkenly inside having sex. He unnecessarily tried to cause drama between us. That same night he punched one of his best friends in the face (giving him a black eye) and hit a pledge. When we got back to our college town after the formal, I asked him if he remembered doing that to me. He left without even caring to address it. I took a pregnancy test a few days later and found out I was pregnant. We had a condom break. I hoped it wouldn’t have resulted in anything but it did. I knew that this baby would mean everything to me even despite the difficulties. I told him I was pregnant. He gave me a sweet tea and I ended up miscarrying a few hours later. I’ve always wondered if he put something in that sweet tea as the timing was too strange and it didn’t taste right. Throughout the relationship, he promised he would do right by me. He promised he’d quit substances. He even promised my parents at one point to win me back. He made a million promises. By the end of it, I found out he slept with my best friend, tried to sleep with numerous other women, got me pregnant again and left for several months which left me in complete agony, he threw things at walls, he hit me, he shoved me, he mocked me for the state of my mental health after all of his abuse, he dumped me on the day my dad got cancer, he begged to get back together only to get me pregnant again after finishing in me nonconsensually, cheated on me even more, and hit me across the face after I found out. All of those years came crashing down around me as I realized I spent the best years of my life in college (3 out of 4 years) trying to protect someone who only hurt me. I found out he raped a girl, sexually assaulted other girls, and was dealing drugs. The relationship wasn’t all bad otherwise I never would’ve stayed, but I spent the most formative years of my early adulthood believing in a man who was immensely harmful. I relate to Lily’s story. My dad was abusive my whole life. I grew up with an abusive father figure and I learned to tolerate abusive red flags. I couldn’t discern them. It wasn’t until it was too late and I was in too deep that I realized what it was. I have PTSD now. I will be forever changed from the abuse that man gave me. Before he left, he told me that I had to lie to his mom. I found out that he had told her we were in an on/off relationship so that every time he cheated she would think we were just broken up. I told her we hadn’t been. He said that I had to tell her that he never cheated on me or else he’d leave. I told him that I didn’t care to live a lie anymore. I wasn’t going to be gaslit anymore. I stood up for myself and he left. After that, he threatened to leak nude photos of me (as if everything else he did wasn’t enough). His entire family was crazy. I spent years trying to be friendly with them only to realize at the end that the Apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He claimed his mom was abusive and his dad used to be in a gang. They seemed normal in the beginning. Happy to see me. Thrilled to have me around. She’d get me little gift baskets and we’d go to art classes to bond. When I got pregnant and found out about his cheating, him and his family did a 180. It was the worst experience of my life. I have PTSD triggers about the idea of being pregnant again. It’s hard to imagine having a family one day again after everything he did to me. I broke the cycle by leaving but I will be left with scars for the rest of my life.

Remember those 80s rom-coms? The struggling, mysterious soul, charming yet obviously troubled? Tough guy exterior, Jud Nelson type with a soft heart. He is exciting, but he is also a big wall of red flags? Yeah that’s what I thought was love. The first time, we had just started seeing each-other and he was helping me shop for a cute outfit. I tried on a top that was cute but absolutely not too revealing. He said absolutely not, so I stood my ground ( his objections were baseless and I’d never been told this by anyone). We were seeing MY best friends and their boyfriends, people I had partied with and hung out with for YEARS before meeting him- I wasn’t meeting his parents. I wasn’t going to church. And I absolutely looked just fine. He stormed out and left me at the mall by myself. I walked home and finally he chased me down as I was almost home and dropped to his knees crying apologizing for what he did and said. We had great sex and argument was over. The cycle continued. I spoke to someone too long ( my friends nerdy cousin about my upbringing- nothing gross or inappropriate- he just thought it was cool and was talking to me with ny ex right there) my ex - now husband - refused to hold my hand and told me my touch made his skin crawl- why was I flirting with that guy? I am in shock thinking we’d had a great day in the city and made new friends. Then the emotional abuse and withdrawal from sex almost immediately followed after we got married. He wasn’t turned on by me, he’s dated more petite girls… I went on diets. He still withheld sex and affection and I started to become a shell of insecurities. Then the anger, we had a son who had to manage two people in constant conflict. My ex punched walls, broke iPads, remotes. He was never around and I was alone yet never enough to him, the home we made was a giant disappointment, we were a giant disappointment, and our son is seeing his father destroy his house in anger and u treated manic depression. No one knew this. He was loved at work, he was smart, funny; charming - I mean they all asked me - are you X wife? Heard so much a out you! We love him! Our dry cleaning lady who spike limited English, my coworkers and friends, my family. They saw who I fell in love with but not who I lived with. Who got to see the charm suddenly turn off- like a magnet, the instant we walked out of the restaurant or closed the doors to the car. The sun suddenly went dark and I was the emotional punching bag. This culminated at my sisters wedding in Spain. He almost didn’t go- but then went and my mother saw how he dragged my son to bed mid festivities when it was late and he had been watching my son like a hawk. He carried him like a sack of potatoes she said , dragging him off the floor and my mom asked me if I was ok with this. I wasn’t. It was my daily struggle. She finally saw my life, she finally saw my terror. I asked him to leave when we returned and I continue to coparent with him. I continue to redraw my boundaries. I get therapy and o rebuild myself bit by bit. It’s been 6 years and because of our child I will always be exposed to his cruelty. I have to teach my son to do better. I have to undo behavior he still sees. But now I am stronger and I have done what I need to to shield my son as much as I legally can. To balance the good parts of him and protect us from the bad. It continues to be a job but I am here. I am loved by someone new. I give my son a different ending and a different view of love.

Growing up the idea of a husband (or a partner of any kind) being forceful with their partner was romanticized everywhere. Luke and Laura on General Hospital were portrayed as this grand romance, all the while knowing there was a rape in their history. So when my now ex-husband started forcing me to have sex when I wasn’t in the mood and was physically in pain right after I had had a miscarriage, and continued afterwards, I had this misguided belief that it was acceptable and just part of a relationship. It wasn’t until I finally reached out for help due to depression and anxiety, after years living as an alcoholic to try to self medicate other abuse trauma, that she helped me grasp I had been repeatedly raped and sexually assaulted on top of being physically and emotionally abused. Coming to terms with this finally helped me understand there was a root to my unhealthy relationship with sex. Grasping that no, it wasn’t OK and just something that happened to be forced. The change in the way these things have been seen and portrayed has also helped me find a better balance within. I’ve survived that trauma, and lived to see marital rape removed from the rape penal code exemption. Taking back my power over my life afterwards has been difficult, but I’m still here. I can still help others. No More!

Es fängt an im Teenager-Alter. Ich war 14 und mit meiner Freundin unterwegs - wir wollten dazu gehören. Oftmals wurden wir überredet und genötigt sexuelle Handlungen vorzunehmen: Zuerst mit Alkohol und Cannabis "abgefüllt und willig" gemacht werden, dann stetiges überreden zu sexuellen Handlungen bis hin zur Androhung von Gewalt. Sagte ich nein, so wurde mein "Ruf" geschändet und im ganzen Dorf sprach man über mich, wie über eine Hure. Es waren viele Männer, immer die gleiche Masche. Ich fühle mich schuldig, da ich kaum verstand, dass das nicht richtig ist und "normal" ist. Immer wieder suchten die Täter gezielt Situationen, um diese auszunutzen.  Meinen ersten Freund hatte ich mit 16. Er nötigte mich, mein 1. Mal zu haben, als ich betrunken war. Ich habe mich danach schrecklich gefühlt und hatte Schmerzen. Ich hatte ein strenges Elternhaus, oft Hausarrest, wollte aber dazu gehören und Freunde haben. So lief ich oft weg und feierte oftmals mit meiner Freundin und geriet in gefährliche Situationen. Wir sind z.B. per Anhalter gefahren: 3 Männer haben uns nicht aus dem Auto gelassen, uns in Gegenden gefahren, die wir nicht kennen, uns nicht raus gelassen. Ich schlief dann dort in einem Bett, damit wir am nächsten Tag mit dem Taxi heim können. Im Schlaf bemerkte ich dann, dass ein Penis in mir steckte - ich bin davon aufgewacht. Von einem Mann, den ich nicht kannte und mind. 10 Jahre älter als ich war. Ich war zu dem Zeitpunkt 17. Ich erstarrte und lies es über mich gehen, in der Hoffnung es passiert mir nicht mehr. Mein zweiter Freund nahm mich mit zu seinem besten Freund. Er wollte dort Sex haben - ich fühlte mich dazu gezwungen, da ich sonst nicht heimkäme. Dabei kam sein bester Freund dazu, war wohl eine abgesprochene Sache (nur ohne mich). Ich hatte keine Möglichkeit nein zu sagen oder zu entkommen. Ich ließ es über mich ergehen. Ich wusste es nicht besser. Ein anderes mal war ich ebenfalls in einer Clique draußen unterwegs. Sie wollten rumfahren, ich fuhr mit. Dann war ich mit einem Mann allein in der Wohnung. Er sperrte mich ein und wollte mich zum Sex überreden. Ich entkam, indem ich mich stark gewehrt hatte. Er drohte mir Gewalt an. Ich stand an der Straße, wusste nicht wo ich war - über 1 Std. weg von meinem zu Hause. Eine Frau nahm mich dann per Anhalter mit. Mit 20 lag ich oftmals am nahgelegenem See und genießte das Wetter. Drei Vorfälle gab es am See: beim 1. Mal stand nackt ein Mann hinter mir und befriedigte sich selbst. Beim zweiten Mal, an einem anderen Tag legte sich ein Mann nackt nur ein Meter entfernt von mir sich hin. Er war locker 50 Jahre alt. Ich erstarrte und hatte Todesangst, das wenn ich mich bewege, er näher kommt und mir was antut. Erst als eine weitere fremde Person auftauchte, zog er sich an. Beim dritten mal, ähnliches und ich schrieb meiner Freundin, dass sie bitte kommen soll. Als sie kam, ging der Mann davon. Im Urlaub war ich mit einer Freundin unterwegs, wir waren 24. Es entblösste sich ein kleiner alter Mann vor uns, zeigte seinen nackten Penis und rief, ob wir Sex haben wollen.  Mit 25 hatte ich eine Affäre. Der Mann wurde beim Sex so aggressiv, beginn mich stark zu schlagen und zu würgen. Ich sagte, das ich das nicht möchte - er ignorierte mich. Ich fühle mich dermassen missbraucht. Von einem weiteren Freund lies ich mich in einen "Sex"Club überreden. Ich dachte, ich bin cool und kann das und das das normal ist und von einem erwartet wird. Dort wurde ich extrem begafft und von extrem älteren Männern angefasst. Anschließend sagte mein Freund mir, dass ich schmutzig sei (andere haben mich angefasst und ich sei dafür verantworltich) - er könne nun nicht mehr mit mir zusammen sein.  Ich war in Mallorca im Urlaub mit 25 und buchte eine Ferienwohnung über AirBnB. Der Host war sehr freundlich, es war seine 2. Wohnung die er stetig vermietet- so stand es online. Ich war dort immer allein und fühlte mich wohl. Da ich die ganze Wohnung gebucht hatte, sperrte ich das Schlafzimmer nicht ab. In der letzten Nacht wachte ich von einer Berührung auf: Plötzlich saß der "freundliche" Vermieter nackt an meinem Bettrand und streichelte mein Bein. Ich war so perplex und fragte ihn, was das soll. Er meinte nur, er habe seinen Schlüssel verloren. Ich zeigte auf meinen und sagte ihm, er solle diesen nehmen und raus gehen. Erst nachdem ich mehrmals ihn aufgefordert habe zu gehen, lies er von mir ab. Ich war in Panik danach. Es waren "nur" noch 4 std, bis ich zum Flughafen musste. Ich packte dennoch sofort meine Sachen und floh aus der Wohnung. Er wollte mir dann dabei noch behilflich sein - und akzeptierte mein Nein nicht. Als ich rausging, sah ich, dass die Besenkammer offen stand und dort eine Matratze etc. lag - ich glaube, dass er dort heimlich jede Nacht geschlafen hat. Ekelhaft, ich hoffe es ist mir nicht mehr passiert. Ich schrieb ihm eine schlechte Rezension und erzählte dies öffentlich und meldete es der Plattform. Er stellte mich als notgeil da, dass ich lügen würde und das ich was von ihm wollte.  Mit 25 war ich mit guten langjährigen Freunden auf einem Geburtsag. Wir übernachteten dort auf einem Sofa: ich alleine auf einem Zweisitzer, ein "guter Freund" und seine Freundin auf dem angrenzendem Sofa. Dann bemerkte ich im Schlaf einen Finger in mir und wachte auf. Als ich sah, dass er mich anfasste, sprang ich auf und schloss mich ins Bad ein. Ich konfontierte ihn damit, er verhamrloste es. "Ich hätte es gewollt". Seine Freundin bekam nichts mit. Doch diesmal schwieg ich nicht! Und war das erste mal stolz auf mich: Ich öffente mich Freunden und erzählte davon. Rückhalt war hier wenig zu finden. Ich erzählte seiner Freundin davon, sie verteidigte ihn. Seine zwei besten Kumpels ebenso und es wurde totgeschwiegen. Heute sprechen mich Fremde darauf an, nur wegen "sensationsgeilheit" und glauben mir nicht - schließlich war ich ja früher für meinen "Ruf" bekannt. Meine Perspektive der damaligen Zeit meines "Rufes" interessiert sie nicht  - schließlich bin ich schon immer extrovertiert, kontatkfreudig, "reizvoll" gekleidet und an allem selber Schuld. Ich würde mich immer anbieten. Ich hasse es so sehr, ich möchte nicht an die Zeit erinnert werden. Es war Winter, ich 29 Jahre alt: Meine Oma hatte einen Schlaganfall und musste an den Rollstuhl gegurtet werden, kann nicht sprechen oder sich bewegen. Ich lief mit ihr im Park spazieren. Es war Mittags gegen 15h und hatte einen langen Mantel, Schal etc. an. Auf einer Anhöhe tat ich mir schwer, den Rollstuhl hoch zu schieben. Es kam ein fremder, alter Mann mit Hund und fragte, ob er mir helfen kann. Ich lehnte höflich ab. Er kam dennoch hinter mich, fasste mich am Po an und schob mich hoch. Ich konnte kaum glauben, was ich da erlebe. Er ging erst von mir weg , als ich lauthals sagte, dass ich es alleine schaffe. Passanten waren unterwegs - niemand bemerkte meine hilflose Situation.

I feel anger toward my father. To me, my father is a monster. He's bound by patriarchy. He's been a very problematic person since I was a child. He was verbally and physically abusive toward my mother. He had a big attitude at home. He put on a good face. My father moved around a lot due to his job, but I ended up skipping school. I was sexually assaulted in high school and went to a mental health clinic, which led to him calling me weird. I loved creating, but he said that was weird too. My older sister was also a victim of my father, but she was always smiling, no matter what my father did to her. He was emotionally attached to her. He was like a lover or a mother to me. I was rebellious, so he ignored me. My father used me and sexually harassed me (he did the same to me), and even when I told others, I was only victimized. He sometimes spoke as if he were some kind of great person. He was abusive toward my mother. Weird women give birth to weird children. Women become weird when they get their period. I myself wondered why I created art, and at times considered getting tested for Asperger's syndrome. I quit, but... My older sister was exploited by another man, married him, and committed suicide on their wedding anniversary. As my father gets older, I feel nothing but anger toward him, and in Japan, there's a culture that makes it seem like we have to take care of our fathers. My father deserved it, and I want him to take his sins to the afterlife, but unfortunately, he has surprisingly not changed his behavioral principles. Perpetrators never change. My mother's cognitive function is declining slightly. I may be the one who survives in the end, even though I'm the only one who's completely devastated. I'm wondering whether I should be present at his end or go to his funeral, but at this stage, I don't have any plans to be present or go to the funeral. I also have some memory loss about where my father's hometown is. On exhausted nights, I sometimes wish I could die. My doctor recommended that I publish my creative work. I'm considering my interests (Western music, etc.), the fact that I've earned a certain number of credits from a correspondence university, and the fact that I took the Eiken exam a long time ago. Taking these factors into account, I'm pondering how I want to live the rest of my life. Part of me is social anxiety, so I'm a recluse. Is my life worth living? There is still no answer.

I always thought I'd never be married to an abuser, then I was. I didnt understand how i fell for it. But I did. That's when I realised I wasnt tricked. I wasnt fooled. It was calculated, planned and organised. It wasnt clumsy, it was methodical. Healing has been like letting a fresh wound bleed, messy. Chaotic. But needed. To realise I am still whole, still loveable, still wonderful... while carrying so much.

Hello Reader, We are a 5 month survivors of domestic violence. When I say "we" I am speaking for myself and my 3 year old daughter. On date, I met the hardest day of my life. I was assaulted by my ex boyfriend ( my daughters father ) , he punched me three times in my face knocking me unconscious while I was holding my 3 year old daughter in the front seat of his car without a carseat . When I came do he held me hostage for over 2 hours telling me I fell and hit my head . I was brave when this first started and I started recording on my watch instantly. He broke my nose, and left me with multiple bruises , mouth and jaw pain and severe panic attacks and anxiety. What I will tell you is I am stronger then before. He violated the restraining order more than 9 times all which I have proof with recordings, video , etc calling the cops everytime. I will tell you this , I pushed the police and the justice system begging them to help me because I was in fear for my life. This man put a tracking device on my car and refused to leave me alone. I felt bad at first, I had moments of sadness, various panic attacks and anxiety . But one thing I knew is I would protect my daughter at all costs .I fought so hard pressuring my advocate and the justice system that they finally caught him and he is in jail . Your VOICE needs to be heard , you are stronger than you know. You are worthy , loved, and matter very much. Please don't let anyone make you feel otherwise . Do I have moments of sadness? OF course that's my daughters father and I did love him. But I love myself and my daughter more . I found God and know I am worth it and I belong on this earth ..stay strong, stay beautiful and speak up . Find help anywhere you can . 1 quarter is better then 25 pennies . I send you all my love and wish you all make it through this . I am going to go to his sentencing and i will reas my victim impact statement to allow the justice system to hear and feel my pain . You GOT THIS !!! Sincerly , a strong domestic violence warrior/ survivor

Hi I'mName. I felt violated when this person who I looked as a second protector, did things to my body. Then mother would scold me and hit me for having normal childhood needs, just because I lived unattended. I got burned each bruise getting worse and worse, my chest not belonging to me. Ever again. Everything felt injured and me; empty.

I grew up in violence- my neighborhood, my school, my home. I grew up with constant insults and indignities because of poverty and a violent brother. So when I met Jack when I was 22 and he was a bully, dismissive, insulting and emotionally difficult for me, it all felt normal. But, as I got older I knew I had to get away from him. He limited my relationships and always found ways to subvert my work while belittling me for not keeping jobs. I tried to leave many time but he bulleyed, frightened, pleaded, coerced, apologized, threatened until I took him back. Then when I was 68 and he was 69 he left to have a “selfish bucket list fling” with a former girlfriend. He expected to come back after 2 months. He didn’t believe me that I was divorcing him and signed the papers without reading them. It has been 2 1/2 years and I am still fighting the battle in court to actually get the court ordered alimony that is coming to me. I am not homeless. In fact I live in the home we bought and remodeled. I have a very good life. He had me convinced that I would be back in poverty if it were not for him. I feel more well off than I ever did with him. Plus, his negativity, meanness, and general bad behavior are out of my life at last. I wish I had had the courage and strength to leave years ago and save myself and my children from his abuse. But I am happy to heal my relationships with the people I love who he kept away from me for all those years.

My story was 24 years(18-42) of abuse. I was controlled by my narcissist same sex Ex. She was super controlling. I wasn't allowed to have friends or to wear jeans or pants.. Everything was always my fault and I had to earn her forgiveness. All this time het older brother started by raping and sexually abusing me Then he started human trafficking me. First it was to get into BDSM gatherings and then when he lost his job it was for money for him. I wss kept in place by threats against my now Ex and her son who was 4 when it started. I got out December 2012.. I was taking taxis because my ex had hurt her leg and I wasn't allowed to drive or have a license.. I met my now husband that way. I don't know why but I felt a connection with him for some reason. The day that ended it all in my mind. Was I had to take s train to my then therapist. She mafe me take her brother with me and said I could only go to therapy if I did that. Ot was my taxi driver who picked us up and he loed to get senior rate and didn't tip. I went back out to settle the money and wound up talking to my now husband, Husband for like 45 minutes. Husband figured out who he was and didn't eant to leave me there. I wasn't ready yet. Eventually, I left amd left everything, but she had him there all the time and she wouldn't allow me to bring Husband. So my stuff wasn't worth it. I am out and safe now, but am still plaqued by flashbacks and memories. I have been without a therapist since right before Covid. My therapist went on a two month cruise and didn't set me up with anyone to see while she was gone. Thst is sll for now I don't want to say to much Survivor

Leaving my ex was a decision shaped by years of isolation and physical abuse, but the breaking point was when he tried to control my livelihood. He wanted me to quit my job, and when I refused, he didn’t care. Another time, he looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re not leaving this apartment alive,” before laughing. That was the moment I realized—why was I letting this man decide what I did with my life? Why was I letting him determine whether I got to be alive at all? The day I finally left, I called my mom and told her I wanted out. When my ex threatened to throw all my belongings away, I called the police. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could. I grabbed whatever I could carry and walked away. But leaving wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. He stalked and harassed me relentlessly. Social media messages. Presents left on my car. Showing up at my parents' house. Nonstop calls. I eventually had to change my phone number. Even then, it took me a while to file for a Protection Order because, somehow, I still felt bad for him. Then, after months of no contact, I ran into him at the gym. He made a threatening remark, so I reported it, and he was banned. That set him off. As I left the gym, he tried to run me off the road. I managed to pull into a parking lot where bystanders gathered around me while he screamed. The police arrived and told me I should file for an Emergency Protection Order immediately—something I had put off, thinking I had to wait for regular business hours. I got the order and thought that would be the end of it. But exactly one day after it expired, he showed up again—and this time, he wouldn’t let me leave where I was parked. Panic took over as I desperately tried to get someone’s attention to call the police. Finally, I managed to get to safety, and someone had already made the call. As I started driving home, I realized he was following me again. Instead of going home, I turned back and told the police. They offered to follow me, and as I drove off, I spotted him on the other side of the road. I motioned to the officer, who immediately pulled him over. A few minutes later, the officer called me and said I needed to get another order against him, warning that he was "mentally unwell." He hoped that pulling him over had given me enough time to get home safely. This time, I had to file for a Peace Order, which only lasted six months. He even tried to appeal it—but in the end, it was granted. Looking back, I learned that the most dangerous time for a survivor isn’t during the relationship—it’s when they try to leave. Those months after I walked away were far more terrifying than any moment I spent with him. But in the end, I made it out. And that’s what matters.

Learning about the different forms and signs of abuse saved me. I never thought I would end up a victim of domestic abuse. My lack of knowledge on what abuse looks like resulted in me falling right into my abusers trap. The five year long relationship began normally, I quickly fell in love with a partner that showered me in compliments and exciting experiences. About 6 months in, the warning signs began to show, and my family expressed concern, but I brushed it off, as I was overall happy with them at the time. Things quickly got worse, and I was isolated from my friends and family. I was subject to frequent criticism and belittling, name calling and being mocked while I cried, fully believing that I was the problem. I was comforted by calm talks from my partner after explosive outbursts, agreeing that things will be better once I learn to do better. Despite my efforts, this never stopped. I was constantly walking on eggshells around them. God forbid I upset them while they were driving, or they would speed and weave through heavy traffic, screaming and slamming their fists on the steering wheel. Then they began throwing things during outbursts. Screaming at me so close to my face I could feel spit landing on it. They angrily grabbed my wrist once, and looking back I see now the progression that was being made toward more physical violence. Resources online and finally reaching out to my family opened my eyes to what was happening. I felt brainwashed, and it took time to fully accept it for what it was. When I left, at one point my abuser stood in front of the door so I couldn’t leave. They yelled and knocked things over. Another form of physical abuse. I am in therapy now, and working through PTSD. I am so grateful for my family and friends, and the support online that gave me the strength and knowledge I needed to get out. I now know that what I went through was not my fault. My abuser was a master manipulator, as most are. Everyone can benefit from being knowledgeable on the many forms of abuse that exist.