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I was sexually assaulted between the ages of 18 and 19 by my then-boyfriend. I remember when it first started, I didn't even think of it as sexual assault, only that I knew I didn't want to and always felt upset after it happened. There was one specific event that made me realise what I was experiencing was not normal. I remember repeating "no" to the point of almost yelling and trying to push him off me with all my strength. He had a grip of my jumper which ripped when I eventually broke free. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I went to dinner with his family that evening and cried in the bathroom. To this day, I still haven't told anyone and I wonder if he even understands the gravity of what he had done.

Hello, My name is Name & I would like to share one of my poems to (hopefully) be read at Event😊 This poem is called "He Didn't Hit Me" and it is based on my own personal experience with an abusive relationship. I hope that anyone reading this poem & it resonates with them will take comfort in knowing that they are not alone ❤️ He Didn't Hit Me He didn't hit me, but his words cut like a knife, He didn't hit me, but he upended my life. He didn't hit me, but he made false accusations, He didn't hit me, but he had unreasonable expectations. He didn't hit me, but destroyed my hopes & dreams, He didn't hit me but ripped my confidence at the seams. He didn't hit me, but I always had to take the blame, For his shortcomings, moods & his manipulative game. Abuse isn't just physical, this I know to be true, Gaslighting & manipulation are powerful tools, Knowing I deserve better, I am finally free, For I am much more than what he tried to make of me.

“Imagine an ending”, said the counsellor. “See it as you want it, as you need it to be. Write your story and those in it as it should be in a just world”, she suggests. I think “no!”, it needs it to be real; a conversation with live faces across real tables, with a hug, a strong handshake, and a glance that lets me know it really happened in amongst the unreality of it all. Those conversations, as yet unsaid, will anchor me in truth, bathe me in facts and create a storyboard with pins and thread for me follow home. Those people, as yet unseen, will interpret it with me, a Watson and Holmes quest - in the room together as the facts reveal themselves. The institutions, as yet faceless, will now permit me to be a fly on the wall of those interviews where untruths were told. I need all this, I think, so that finally the lost threads are found, and I can write my story, now coloured with the gaps I have craved to fill; revealing me to myself. The words shared will help me to find my own. ……………………………………... Us women are left outside a system hoping that something or someone will ground us in the facts held at arms lengths- the facts about us, our assault, or experience. Many women who report sexual assault to the authorities face multiple hurdles. Some remain open to responding to this system that offers no guarantees for all we give to it. Others shut down before the act has concluded, resigning themselves to a painful silence in the hope it will be less so than the alternative public ordeal. The burden of proof lays solidly with us as we concurrently grapple with processing our own trauma. If we are able to share a palatable version of our story with other women, we soon realise how much worse it could have been. But we knew that already. Grading our experience with a perfunctory “at least”. It lives in us: this learned and inherited shame. We carry that burden before we are assaulted, and it is further cemented by the knowing glance or stern word spoken before we leave the house in those clothes. Later that night we are escorted to a beige room and asked to remove them all, still sticky with fearful sweat and told that without us in them, these articles might determine his guilt. There is always some authority acting as sartorial dictator, taking away our carefully chosen outfit with worried words or procedural hands. As such, we continue to hold the weight of their assigned moral value, and determine little of their impact, for that is decided by the viewer, whomever they may be in the room that day. ……………………………………... I am caked in heavy layers of dread, pending success or failure. Why did I start this thankless task? I enter another world, an office of sorts, where you catch a glimpse of the story not told to you, because by knowing you may contaminate the truth. Despite my bodily contamination, I am not permitted to know the full facts, as they say. The most personal and invasive event, prolonged by paperwork. This manufactured situation demands intimacy and yet requires, by law, complete professionalism. Their job, an often-thankless endeavour to find and prove the truth to a wig not made for this century. I try to picture my good egg behind the mask that doesn't fit his face. I saw more of him than ever before on our day in court. It was our day. I needed to see his eyes as he spoke; for the real-life connection to mirror the intensity of our past dealings. He is the only one who knows who I am in this. Until this happens, I float here, suspended in the delay, waiting to be anchored to the tangible earth beneath. To feel the bench and smell the varnish. To be present and audible. To be where life is being lived. We leave court and enter a room with my sister-in-assault. Kept apart for many months to protect us from further injustice. Unsure of the protocol and fearful of our matched pain, we join hands. We hug on my request – despite our fear of emotion and viral spread. How odd to have a thing such as this in common. To be joined together by an act of harm by a man with less years than us, so far away from home. We all came to this city with hopes - for opportunities – for a life beyond the limitations, however different, of our respective hometowns. Joined by this recurring act, we three meet again in a room filled with wood and plexiglass, unable to see beyond the thing itself. This dirty touch has smeared us all with a single colour, marking us out as dirt. Her wide face and open eyes meet mine in tears, a flood after a personal drought. Guilt shades my face pink – I wish she would cry. We share past fears and eventual overcoming and know from this moment on we are allowed to let go. The words have been spoken, by us, the good eggs, and the wigs. The ordeal is over, and permission is granted to lock our fear away with him in the middle of our land, far away from the hopes of this Eastern city. This is the end and the beginning.

I struggled to accept I had been sexually harassed. I was out, but in a group of friends. There were witnesses. I told myself it "wasn't that bad". But, she touched me without my consent numerous times. When called out about it, she pretended like it was innocent. She was a total stranger. I had no idea who she was. She claimed she was too old and I was too young to be taking this seriously. I asked the venue for CCTV, but they wouldn't share it unless i went to the gardaí. What happened wasn't criminal but it wasn't right. I feel shame for not standing up for myself more and making myself smaller in the moment. I am angry that I am angry that others didn't speak when I couldn't. It isn't their fault. It was hers. I am not the typical victim; whatever that means. She wasn't the typical perpetrator; whatever that means.

date my own boyfriend done it to me many times , I would sleep over at his gaf and he would always make me tea from “his culture “ but hmm lookin back I would knock out right after and I had never done anything sexual before , when I was waking up in pain , bleeding , i thought there was something wrong with me and I would always be confused . Lookin back I knew what he was doing in the back of my head but I was In denial I felt bad for assuming that was happing “he doesn’t give off rapey vibes “ thats what I would think little did I know . dateof being with him he did get very mentally and phsysically abusive but things were bad at home and I thought his house was better bc “I could actually sleep “ BUT I DIDNT KNOW I WAS ONY SLEEPING BC I WAS GETTING DRUGGED . The story use to make me soooo mad but looking back i cant judge the past with what I know now . Anyways so one day in date I have some “tea” and I pass out on his couch and I wake up to him molesting me and starting to do stuff to me while I was passed out and I start freaking out and I low-key cant rember anything after that I just rember the next day i woke up in his bed he was rushing me to get ready and I was so confused and was like ??? Huh Ajd i didnt know how to process what had happened lastnight and I can’t txt my mam bc she didn’t even know where I was she didn’t know I was seeing this fella she thought I was at a friends and I thought she’d be more mad at me lyin than me gettibg raped and finally realising whag was happening , he lived in the middle of nowhere his hoise was gated no one lived there i got in the car hoping HED bring me home like he usally does but nope i was in that car he drove me for over 4 hours to theplace no stops , he took my phone , and yea I was stuck in the placewoth his , he drove to sn underground parking lot,no people , we went in an elevator , got out on theplace and I was locked in a place(no idea how he could even stay here and how he booked it ) anyways that was the worst week of my life i was gettin raped over and over again , drugged ,physically abused , for a week staright I felt like I was going insaneeee but it was weird like I was on survival mode and I tried to escape and I remeber vividly I was drugged , undone the locks , but I was fighting the drug and I got to an elevator and I was pressing the button over and over and he obviously caught up i rember backing up into a corner of the elevator and bro dead ahhh grabbed my ancle and I rember feelin ny head hit smthin bc I got pulled wi sn force abd i woke up like 24 hourssssss later the next day in bed , sooooo yea then I can’t even REMEBER how but I convince him 3 days later that I love him and I don’t mind him VIOLATING MY BODY and I would “stay wi him forever I loved him “ but yall I just wanted to get home I missed my dog , for once things at home seemed way better , I was greatful all it was I had to deal with at home were my parents arguing at night and I couldn’t sleep , yk a lot better than this shit so yea ended up getting home , still to this day my parents and family have no idea this happened , I blocked my horrible ex on everything hes gone from my life thank god , this is the first time im telling the whole story not even my councillor knows all this , but yea thats the summary , after I came back I didn’t know what to do , my friend forced me to go satu , they helped , mentally struggled for a longgggg time YHIS wss a rough journey but finally i can say it wasnt my fault screw him and no one deserves something like this to happen to them .