Anonymous Story: 14 Years of Youth

Anonymous Story: 14 Years of Youth

At the age of 14 my friends were all older by atleast a year and all sexually active which meant I felt like there was something wrong with me. I went with two of them to a party with a

Ana’s Story: Never Lose Hope

Ana’s Story: Never Lose Hope

Please follow the link to view Ana’s video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyo9eyXTir8 A Message from Ana: If you are being abused or have been abused, please seek help. Never give up hope. I love you and you matter. RAINN.ORG is a good source

Anonymous Story: My Biggest Fear

Anonymous Story: My Biggest Fear

Even today, I don’t think I fully comprehend what exactly happened to me, or what it means. After ten years I’m still unable to let myself process it. I know that I am the one in the way of my

Kate’s Story: I’m Tired of Not Speaking Up

Kate’s Story: I’m Tired of Not Speaking Up

Telling anyone is sometimes the hardest thing imaginable. Let alone going through with the process to seek this person out and doing something about it.

Jean-Paul Bédard’s Story: A Culture of Silence

You’re dirty. You’re disgusting. No one is going to want you now. It’s your fault. You shouldn’t have been there in the first place. You’re an idiot. Why didn’t you fight back? Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you think. Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone what happened.

Angela’s Story: Here I Am

Angela’s Story: Here I Am

I was closest to my Grandmother. We didn’t talk much, but I never felt the need to always talk with her. I was comfortable with her, and thinking back now I think she was the only person I was truly comfortable with. I trusted her. It was my Grandmother who realized something else was going on. I was pregnant. I may, or may not have fallen down the stairs, but one thing is for sure. I was raped. We didn’t discuss it.

Anonymous Story: Scared Little Girl in the Basement

Anonymous Story: Scared Little Girl in the Basement

Turning off the lights and putting on the movie Speed, she retreated to the living room where she completely forgot about us. How the event came about is a mystery to me, but the four boys eventually ran out of things to occupy them and decided to experiment with me. Some older and some younger than me, they pinned me down, removed their and my underwear and simulated a gang rape.

Joy Ward’s Story: Broken Bottles

Joy Ward’s Story: Broken Bottles

This is my story –of a 13-year-old victim who reported to the police in 1956. Ancient history? Perhaps, but it may give some insight into why victims don't report and the surreal experience of doing so. That said, I firmly believe that victims should speak out and identify themselves. It is not their shame! Not publishing names "in order to protect the victim" implies that somehow it is the victim's shame. Rapists are the ones who deserve to be identified and shamed.

Dawn’s Story: Knowing No Childhood

Dawn’s Story: Knowing No Childhood

Life went on as normal, everyone pretended that everything was fine and that nothing had happened. No one but a few close friends that I had finally confided in knew what had happened. But that kind of secret, festers and boils below the surface until one day the cracks start to appear.

Lisa M.’s Story: I was just a little girl, all alone and scared.

Lisa M.’s Story: I was just a little girl, all alone and scared.

I was 12 years old when I became "the victim" of the unspeakable and life has never been the same for me and it never will. I can't tell you honestly how many times I was sexually assaulted as a child because I've hidden from the memories for so long by the age of 14 I could no longer cope so I turned to drugs,alcohol and anything else I could find to make me feel better if even for a moment. Maybe that's why I can remember only bits and pieces of those years.

Finding Fierce’s Story: The Fight Inside

My mother once told me she had had second thoughts
about getting us vaccinated, my brothers and I.
About sullying our pristine, trusting little bodies
with dark potential.

This is how I feel about something else
that happened to me then.
The unwanted touch like the needle.
An unfamiliar dis-ease shot under my smooth, new skin.