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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.

Date, around Time I went on a date with him (a correctional officer), thinking it was an opportunity to become acquainted with him as a friend, but it turned out to be a horrific night which I would only remember parts of. He picked me up in his white pickup truck; it smelled of cologne and winterfresh gum. Two smells I will never forget. He took me to a dirty dive bar without asking where to go. I already didn’t feel safe, and I regret that I never said anything to this day. I got my first drink, rum and coke. Keep in mind that my glass was smaller than a coffee mug. We started talking, and he told me he used to be in the army. He seemed to be trying hard to persuade and impress me, but I was not falling for it. The taste of my drink was no different than I had before. I was nearly done with my first drink when he asked if I wanted another, and I agreed. He returned with another and asked if I wanted to play darts, and I again agreed. I took one drink of my second rum and coke he brought to me and started to feel dizzy, tired, and weak. I didn’t say anything yet. I continued with darts. By then, he gave me a third drink, I don’t remember if I even had a drink of it. I do recall saying, ‘I wanted to go home,’ and we left out the side door to his white pickup truck. I don’t remember getting inside the front seat, let alone the backseat. My eyes flickered open and closed, waking me to see him face-to-face. Raping me, I am frozen in shock. Disgusted by what he was saying to me. When he was done, he threw a towel on me and told me to ‘clean up.’ He tossed my shoe onto my nude body and said, ‘Now I will take you home.’ Twenty degrees outside, I was nude in a familiar parking lot. I got dressed. He took me home; no words were exchanged. Once I got in my house, I went straight into the shower and cried. I was a virgin He took my innocence from me that I can never get back. Date 2, around Time 2 Sitting in my office, He came in unannounced and sat down in a chair by the door. I looked up, feeling uneasy. I asked him, ‘what was he doing?’ He replied as he got up from his chair, ‘I know you want this cock.’ He blocked me between my seat, the wall, and my desk, I had nowhere to go. He unzipped his pants and grabbed a handful of my hair, and forcefully give him oral sex. This time I remember the whole brutal rape. Pushing, gagging, and choking only made him put more force and hurt upon me. His strength was unbearable. When it was over, he threw a piece of winterfresh gum at me and left. Crying, feeling dirty, guilty, and shameful, I put myself together and completed my day. Violated, not only once but twice, by the same guy. Once outside of work and the other inside work. After the first attack, I was broken inside, but the second attack really damaged me. If I told anyone, no one would believe me because he was a very well-liked person at work, and I was just a caseworker. My sisters were the first to know about the first assault in Date 3. I held back on the second as I felt they wouldn’t forgive me for allowing it to happen again. Date 4 I told my sisters about the second assault. I went to internal affairs, who sent me to detectives. They supposedly did an investigation, but boys will boys, and where I worked, they all stick together. The DA dropped the case. Date Range I now moved out of that county because of the triggers and the hope that my PTSD will get better with time. I feel stronger I told my story and know I am a survivor. I hope my story will become someone else’s survival guide. This happens when you are a strong, outspoken woman at the Location County Jail in Location, Pennsylvania.

He would break up with me and then win me back. This went on for over a year. We were staying at a local hotel for the weekend to celebrate his birthday. We got into an argument in public so I went back to the hotel room by myself. I didn’t let him back in the hotel room when he first got back and instead, packed up all of his belongings. Once I let him in, he threw some of his things. I asked him to leave. He got on his phone. I asked him to leave again and he pushed me down onto my back. He proceeded to punch me over and over again in my eye and head. After the first punch, I said “I’m sorry, please stop”. His response was, “so NOW you’re sorry”. When he finally stopped, I immediately ran to the wall and got crouched down, as blood gushed out of my nose. I again pleaded for him to leave as he cussed at me. He did leave after that. He broke my orbital floor in my eye and my finger. I filed a protective order and was granted it for a year.

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.

For years I questioned what I was doing wrong and how someone who loved me could be so comfortable hurting me. But they didn’t hit me so I never looked at it as DV or myself as a victim. Through different type of relationships, it was a revolving door, but they didn’t hit me so I wasn’t a victim. Until my last relationship. In 3 1/2 years, he put his hands on me once, but if I had just let him leave, he wouldn’t have done it. For the longest time, he was planting it into my head that I was the issue. The good times were really good so I overlooked the bad cause I loved him more than I loved myself in that moment. The way he loved my kids (who were not his) also kept me around for a lot longer than I should have. I planned a life with him in my head cause he was helping raise kids that weren’t his so he must be an amazing man to step up, until he started lacking. Then I realizing me being unhappy with him, was hurting my kids more than I knew. He made me believe that I was so “mentally unstable” no one would ever love me & that being 6ft down in a grave was the only way I was going to be able to get away from him. Then I left & I was so proud of myself. I started doing intensive therapy & working on myself & then the thoughts he planted in my head came back. “No one could ever love you the way I do because I was there for you in your lowest” & I broke the no contact & let him back in. Things were good at first, and then he would shove the past in my face & tell me how much he hated me & the verbal & mental abuse cycle began again. But this time, I knew better. I found out about mental & physical abuse, I did research, I was in groups & I was learning to love myself again. I had boundaries for the first time in a long time. And then I found out about the cheating a year prior while he was living at my house & the summer of the downward spiral had begun. I blocked him again & was so depressed, I began drowning it with alcohol. I felt my heart just break as this man had spent so much time accusing me of cheating while I was working to support my kids, just for him to turn around & do it to me. I almost lost everything & it took me losing 1 of my jobs to finally get back on track. I stopped drinking for a while, I found a better job, I spent more time with my kids & began re-evaluating what made me happy in life. I re-discovered my healthy boundaries, I was working more, I was laughing again & generally meaning it. I started talking to my friends about my feelings & where I was in life. For a year, things were going better (there’s always going to be the ups & downs but it was better). And then the 1 year of me blocking had come up & I caved & unblocked him on his birthday. At first it was to be petty, and then I found out he was seeing someone. I played it like I didn’t know anything, we hung out a few times & then the old him came out again but this time, I was in a better place & I knew what to accept & what to correct. I finally seen him being in my life was not good for me mentally & as much as I miss the him he pretended to be when we first met, I am learning to mourn the person who never existed. I don’t want to call him for every little thing anymore (good or bad). He doesn’t get access to me or my kids life anymore & I love the strong, independent female I am becoming. I’m so proud of the scars I’m healing & acknowledging that I’m human & I am going to have weak days that I might want to message him & I’m taking it 1 day at a time. Going from planning a future & a life with someone you thought was them to mourning someone who never actually existed is something most people will never understand (& I hope they never have too). Some days are easier than others & it’s ok to get lost as long as you find your way back to the track. I am strong because I have no other choice but I’m learning it’s ok to have weak days & I don’t always have to be so strong. Cry, scream, punching a pillow is healthy ways to let all of that out. I’m not perfect & I don’t have to be but I will be there for others going through this & let them know they’re not alone, it’s not their fault & they are very so much loved

Ok it all started as at a friend on Facebook and then it went to messenger then it went to Zangi app there a a friend and another friend that are in danger and they show sign of self or want to harm theme slef their a group of uk bad boys where they are hurting people and my friend I tried to call the uk police and it was restricted.But why is it so hard for a perosn in USA to seek help to help a friend out in uk she want to harm herself all Becuse of those criminal out their they are trying to prevent me from helping me there a criminal group where my friend said it on location, city.there a group called uk bad boys they are a group of criminal out their harming my friends and they want me to pay a gift card for her safety pls messsge me back ok thank il talk more about my storie .

My first experience was with an ex girlfriend when I was still young, I didn’t know that when they wouldn’t take no for an aswer and I gave in, it would make me feel so horrible. I continued to date her and give in to her whims until she left me. The next time was similar, but it made me feel even more terrible because that’s when I knew he only wanted to date me to fuck me. We didn’t get very far before being caught, and the relief I felt for being found was incredible, but the shame was unbearable and gut wrenching. Five years after, still struggling with the burden of my previous experiences, struggling with the shame, I couldn’t talk about it with anyone. I went to a house party to see an online friend from overseas, there was only one other girl at that party and I immediately felt unsafe. I was right. I can not say what was done to me while I was drunk off my ass, or while I was half asleep in bed, but again I feel shame for not being able to fight back, for being so scared that after my no or my drunken state weren’t taken seriously, I just gave in again. I feel dirty, I feel like a burden for being traumatized, I feel like a whiny bitch for feeling like this when there are others who have gone through so much more.

I felt so alone until I watched it ends with us. It was the first movie I saw alone in a long time. I walked in thinking it was some sort of romantic comedy until I was watching the movie and realized I was lily bloom. I married the man that I thought was this incredible and passionate person, who only ended up cheating on me and physically and mentally abused me. The scene of being pushed and her thinking she fell is exactly what I experienced. Shortly after my own personal experience I realized I was pregnant and wanted so badly to fight for my marriage until ultimately I had no choice but to leave. I’m 8 months pregnant now and have had the hardest time connecting to the life inside of me until I watched this movie. When I saw lily setting up her baby’s room, and the words she said to Ryle in the hospital was exactly what I needed to accept what it is I am going through and realizing I will never go back to the abuse I endured. And truly it ends with me and my new baby that I have yet to meet. Thanks to this movie it gave me strength to set up things for my new baby. I gave him a new name. And I am ready for a new chapter in my life. Thank you to Justin baldoni for bringing awareness to people like me. I left the theatre crying not because I was sad but because God brought me alone to that theatre to watch this movie that I felt was made just for me…

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.

It took 10 years of emotional, physical and financial abuse from a narcissistic man to realize that I stayed because it felt normal. My childhood wasn’t a healthy environment. So when I met my ex his avoidant and violent nature felt right. The gaslighting and love bombing were so common in my childhood home, I didn’t see the red flags when they popped up. Today I’m still struggling with imposter syndrome. How much of it was real affection? How much was more manipulation and lies? I wanted to share this, because sometimes I need to be validated that it all did happen, it wasn’t a fever dream. So I hope this helps someone out there. You’re not alone. What you’re feeling is valid. It’s scary and confusing at first, but it gets so much better. One day at a time. One small healthy decision at a time. It’s not gonna get better overnight, it will take a while. It’s been 1 year since we split, 2 months since the divorce. I’m taking my time to reset my nervous system and figure out who I am, without his narrative over me. You are loved.

This happened back in 2023. I had met this guy through my sister because she had told me that he had seen my picture and had asked about me and wanted to talk to me. At the time I was living out of state, so we were talking and we got together a couple days later. During the time that I was living out of state I had to be on the phone with him 24/7 if he was home and I wasn't at work which should've been the first red flag, but the second red flag should've been when he didn't let me go out drinking with my parents on my 21st birthday and told me I had to be on video chat with him during my birthday party. A couple weeks after my birthday I moved back to my home state to be with him and things were going fine at first. But then things started progressively getting worse, the first job I got when I got back he also got a job there because he didn't trust me being alone. I couldn't go to my therapy appointments alone, I couldn't go to the store alone, I wasn't allowed to have friends but yet he was allowed to talk to other girls, I wasn't allowed to go to work alone when I got a new job even though it was an hour away from where we were living. It eventually got to the point where he had introduced me to a few of his friends over video chat and one night he had gotten drunk and accused me of cheating on him with one of his friends when I was in the other room making a Tik Tok video, we got in a fight and when I was trying to leave he grabbed ahold of my bag and shoved me into the bathtub. As I was trying to leave after that he took my phone and wouldn't give it back to me, he tried breaking it and was doing everything in his power to keep me from leaving the house. When I finally was able to leave and just go for a drive he was blowing my phone up trying to call me and when I went back to the house and decided to sleep on the couch until his mom got back from work he knew I was talking to a friend and he told me to choose between him and the friend. When I went into the bedroom to sleep for the night because I had given up with the fighting he took my phone while I was asleep and blocked that friend which I didn't realize until I left him 2 days later but the following day acted like nothing was wrong except wouldn't offer to buy me anything at the mall even though I was the one that drove us there and paid for gas to get there. When I finally got the courage to leave him it was because I had to go to work one day and as always he forced his way along. When we got to my work I was told that I wasn't needed that day which meant I was able to go home, the only issue with that was that I didn't have enough gas in my car to get home and not enough money to put gas in the car. So I called my mom and stepdad who live in another state and asked for help but told them what was happening and decided that day that I was done with everything. My mom told me that she would only help me if I left him which with the help of her I was able to. After I dropped him off I made my way to a safe location in town and locked my car waiting to be able to go get my stuff, while I was waiting he walked from his house to where I was parked and tried to get me to talk to him. After I finally left for good he was blowing my phone up calling and texting asking if I was seriously leaving.

No matter what your abuser says, it isn't your fault. You are braver than you think and stronger than you know. Your truth is THE truth, and your voice matters. My abuser would gaslight me constantly to where I was no longer certain of what had actually happened in a given situation. He emotionally, verbally and psychologically abused me yet claimed it was all my fault. After I ended our engagement and finally left him for good, he put an AirTag on my car and used it to track my location and stalk me. According to him, this was also my fault. He was convinced I was cheating on him - something I never did and would never do. I got an Order of Protection against him, and we went to court multiple times. It was the worst time in my entire life, but I survived. Two years later, I've moved across the country, started my own business and rebuilt my life. You aren't alone. Even if you feel like it, you have the strength of the survivors who've gone before you that will carry you through your darkest days. We stand by you and with you. It ends with us.

On Feb.Day, Year my live in boyfriend of 9 years tried to murder me with not 1, but 2 aluminum baseball bats. It started around 10 p.m. on the night of the Date and nobody found me until 8:30 on the morning of the Date Needless to say they thought they had their first murder case for the year of Year. As I sit here today I am blind in one eye. I had facial and cranial reconstruction. I am left with metal plates in my face. I also have metal rods, pins and screws throughout both of my arms. I have some brain damage. For the first 3 days of being in the hospital I was in surgery. I was in a 5-day coma. And as I was in surgery on that first day, they had to hunt him down. They finally tracked him in City, State. And they charged him with attempted murder, kidnapping, terroristic threats and also having a stolen firearm while being a felon. And he is in prison where he will die. And I am here to warn women and men that are in violent relationships to get out as soon as possible!

The first time someone raped me, I was fourteen. Summer before high school. I didn’t know what rape was. I didn’t have a word for what happened. I didn’t know it was wrong, even though it felt terrifying and ugly and dirty. I figured it was just me. Turns out when things like this go unaddressed, we’re at higher risks of repeating the trauma. That’s what ended up happening to me in different ways. I hated myself. I struggled with eating disorders. I felt inherently poison. I don’t remember a lot because the majority of my thoughts were consumed by pain, and wondering if anyone cared. It didn’t feel like anyone did; in fact, all my trauma responses (before I knew them as such) were blamed on me being difficult. Ten years later, I realized and disclosed the impact rape had on my entire understanding of myself and the difficult roads I had traveled. And so I began a long healing journey. A few years after that, it happened again. Turns out old trauma responses die hard. The difference was that this time, I knew what happened. I had words for it. It was brutal, but I fought for myself and became the advocate I needed as a kid. I didn’t abandon her, the terrified girl battered in a dark room. I stayed. I was exhausted, I grieved, I did it all. But I stayed. Three years have passed. While the DA couldn’t prosecute, I found a lawyer willing to take my case as a civil case on contingency. I can’t say that was easy, or that any part of the process felt fair. But again—I stayed. What I think most about in my healing is that living freely is a luxury even though it shouldn’t be. I think about the chains that tie us up over time, the intersections of violence and our identities, of feeling in my body or out of it, what feels safe for my presence, how I can grow into that so I can enjoy pieces of life I’ve cut off out of fear for their being an opening for more harm. I’m still healing. Aren’t we all? And what I’ve decided is that healing lives not only in what you reclaim but how you reclaim it. Wholeness is what we deserve. Every one of us. Including me. Including you.

I married someone who was safer than my home life, but not safe overall. It wasn’t until some maturing kicked in until I realize I was with another abuser. I married a habitual boundary crosser, then I had a baby with my rapist, then I stayed after rape 2, then I stayed after bruise 1. These are all the same person. I wish I made myself safe before seeking safety in someone else. I wish I waited for my brain to set at 25-ish. I wish I didn’t let him convince me that rape 1 was a misunderstanding. I wish I wasn’t financially trapped. I wish the world payed woman to raise their own children versus paying women a different job to pay someone else to do so. I wish men would take the time to get to know and love women, the way we deserve to be loved, instead they trick, abuse, and mock us. I wish I could put in jail, but I cannot be responsible for putting my sons father in jail. He doesn’t deserve to be that kid because I was too ignorant. But most of all, I wish he was the person he convinced me he was, because I’d be happy, my cup would be filled, I wouldn’t be drained, I would be content, I wouldn’t be in survival mode, we’d get to stay a family. As for now, all I have is playing house until my exist plan is ready. Thank you for reading.

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.

Six years have passed, since fleeing the abuse. No one prepares you for the struggles your mind goes through consciously and subconsciously. Almost everyone you meet along your healing journey does not understand, nor know how to navigate your emotions and actions. Expected to just move forward and put all psychological abuse in the past. Folks who knew you before the abuse, expect you to snap back to reality. For many like myself, snapping back to reality was a sense of being stuck in auto pilot. On the outside, working to please those around me. Not knowing who I was, hobbies or interests. I began my journey an empty shell. My emotions and actions scrambled. Struggled with mind numbing substance, became evident to me, that was not a solution. A couple years after, still struggling with waking night sweats and the same nightmare playing over and over. I set out on a mission to help myself help others. I discovered I was not alone through the different platforms. I began writing out all the difficult memories, using just a notebook, and any writing utensil available. Some years have since passed. Beginning my personal journey, has liberated me and I discovered how beautiful I truly am and how complex the healing journey truly can be. I do not have the nightmares anymore and I am the strongest I have ever been in my adult life. I have been empowered through self awareness. While documenting my experiences, I have learned how to write more than just my name. I am still learning how to speak to people. And everyday since, I set out to help others overcome their nightmares as well. It took some time to realize the grass on this side is breath taking and in a positive way.

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.