Community

Wow, first of all. How empowering. I can't even fully talk to therapists or my family support workers because I'm afraid I'll have to make statements. I've been sexually assaulted and raped more times than I can remember. One particularly tough event, my ex, my child's fathers. Well I was passed out. I woke up to him carefully pulling out of my body. I ran to the toilet. Sick with shock. I had a protection order but I had let my guard down and gotten drunk with neighbours the night before. I called my sister. She came to bring me to an emergency chemist. I took the morning after pill. Month came, the Date and I still hadn't got my period. The test was positive. I had to illegally obtain tablets and have an abortion in my sisters house. Very sad and awful time of my life. This platform is a god send.

I was a prudish teenager in the '80s, an introvert who wanted friend but only on my terms (they had to respect my boundaries, and I had many). It was only in my twenties, while I was working with more liberal people, that I made a conscious decision to cast off my old, narrow way of relating to people because my barriers had become walls. So I opened up more, made myself vulnerable...and attracted perverts. Older men, bosses, colleagues and contacts (I worked in industry). I still had enough boundaries to prevent actual rape, but I would not push them away as forcefully; I would make light of it when a man put his hands on my hips or made some inappropriate comment. This went on for years. I had a a few boyfriends in my twenties including one I stayed with for three years and loved (I still love him but don't want a relationship with him and have to keep enforcing psychological boundaries - he was never a sex pest but he wants to be friends and gets upset when I don't want to meet him). Being an introvert, and possibly Aspie (I have yet to find the courage to look for a diagnosis) I have always felt like an outsider, and in relationships always felt as if I was playing at being "sexy". In my forties, the men who breached my sexual boundaries (with inappropriate comments and the occasional arm around me as I sat beside them on a work assignment) were men my own age and slightly younger; I was still attracting men in the same age group: 40s. They would obviously want to take things further, but I would always put up that barrier...and I noticed that after I rebuffed a man I'd lose a work opportunity. I was frozen out of the cliques in my profession (I don't have family in my industry and I did not go to university so I didn't have the underpinning network to fall back on). I dealt with this by developing a tough, jokey exterior; desperate to prove that I was "not a prude", I merged my career with a rather tarty image (I cannot go into details here without possibly revealing who I am or, worse, narrowing it down - which would not be fair to others who might not want their stories told). At first, it actually helped my career and social life; suddenly I was great craic, a youthful looking middle-aged woman who was happy in her own skin, free-spirited - and "great craic". The men who used to flirt with me would also mock-boast "I'm a prude"; they had respectable wives / partners (indeed many of these women were my colleagues). Eventually, it was time for this middle-aged disgrace to be managed out of the industry. It didn't happen all at once; my mentors and good contacts retired or died (these were the people who never abused me). There were various reasons: cutbacks, personality differences, my political views were at odds with my bosses' views, and there were new people looking to fill my role. I adapted by finding a mosaic career, doing a few courses and muddling through. Now I see my former colleagues (the flirts and their partners) getting on with their careers; I am on the outside, looking in. But I was always on the outside. And I have no doubt that my story is very common (a bit like me, some would say!).

Stare the Stalker Down The beach is nothing like the soft sands at location, my hometown. It's pebbly with gentle waves lapping it's shore. I sit by the edge. Tears roll down my cheeks. They wet the pebbles and the sand. The Freedom is overwhelming. So many emotions. I had woven a blanket over my pain. It's today's date but my story began on a date in the past. I got married that day. The day ex husband told me he owned me. The day he put a curfew on me. From that day I was his. I will never forget date. My 9pm curfew had passed. I was working late. Panic stricken I fled the office. My boss tore after me offering a life, thus avoiding the 20 minute walk. He insisted on stopping at the chipper. I couldn't say anything. You see, I had never told anyone what my life was like. How could I? What would they think? All I could think was "Oh dear God just get me home". Ex husband was there, absolutely livid. Burger, chips, onions, red sauce hit me like a brick. Smash straight into my face. Humiliated and wretched I felt burger, chips, onions, red sauce stream down my crying face. It was one of two turning points. Next morning, I told my boss everything: how if I stayed I would surely die. The relief. Between us we hatched a plan. I told nobody. Two days later I caught the train to City and signed up with some Agencies. When I got back ex husband was at the station. He was so angry. I didn't know it then but each morning he had followed me to make sure I had gone to work. He manhandled me into the car. People stared but nobody interfered. I thought the end has come and I would lie on that cold wet ground. Back home he straddled my chest for the entire evening. I could scarcely breathe. 5am he fell off me having fallen into a deep sleep. I crawled on my hands and knees, heart pounding in my chest, locked the door from the house and ran. Courage comes in all guises. Gloria Gaynor's song : "I Will Survive". I played it, I sang it, in my mind, out loud and I promised myself I would survive. The prayer "The Memorare". How can I thank that Prayer enough? the words helped me at my lowest point. I believed that I would get help from somewhere and today it holds a special place in my heart. I started my new job in City. I moved into a flat with my sister and her friend. Then it started - the Stalking - ex husband new my every move. When I went home at the weekends, he would linger outside my mam's house waiting for me. He constantly followed me. His shadowy figure never more than a few feet away. Beside me, behind me, in front of me. Never speaking a word but just staring. My peace was destroyed. Threats made in the past had not been forgotten. That night he told me that he would get me "not now but sometime in the future and forever you will look over your shoulder you f........ b......." My mam died in year and I visited her grave almost every Saturday as I still went back down to location. My siblings lived there. Always ex husband was there. Skulking behind or beside a headstone close by. I changed my times and my route but it never made a difference. He appeared and just stared. He never spoke a word. I never knew if "today would be the day". I knew his threat was real. Ex husband would crawl drive down the Main Street if he saw me, staring out of the driver's window and follow me until I got to my destination. Cars would beep at him to speed up but he ignored them. The only gesture he would make would be with his fingers "keeping an eye on you". Five years passed. Everyday without exception he appeared at my workplace in location He would follow me back to the flat. He kept pace behind me but never passed. I puked in litter bins and gutters. He made me sick in every sense of the word. I was a wreck. We moved but he always found me. I later found out that he changed his work schedule to flexi-time so that he could make the round trip Monday to Friday and then at the weekends he stalked me when at home. One day ran into the next. He stalked me. I puked. Who could I tell? Who would help? There was nobody. The Police wouldn't believe you at that time and anyway they could do nothing. I mean he hadn't harmed me!! Mentally I was dead inside. I left my wonderful job and moved to the location. I met a wonderful man, husband. We got married in year and in year our son, son's name was born. You would think the stalking would stop! We would go to location at the weekends. So beautiful. I loved the sea. Husband knew I had been married to ex husband but my life with him was too painful to discuss with anyone so I didn't tell husband about the stalking or anything else and thus it continued, but now ex husband had a new hatred in his eyes. My walks on the beach vanished. Ex husband was like radar. Always there. It was so scary. Little by little my life was vanishing. Ex husband never followed with husband came with us. Ex husband would always try and find a way to interact with son's name. Once at a Vintage Car Rally, I let go of son's hand for an instant and within seconds ex husband had taken it and was trying to give him a Dinky car that he had purchased mar dhea for him. I grabbed son's name and left. Trips to Tesco were a nightmare. Son's name would be in the trolly. We would be at the checkout and then always at the next checkout stood ex husband. No groceries and that stare. Staring me down and staring my son down. Back then stalking wasn't recognised as anything let alone a crime and I would have been deemed an "eejit". Then turning point two came: date. Husband's younger brother, brother in law's name came on his holidays to location. He hadn't seen the sea before. The excitement. I felt nervous all morning getting the picnic basket ready and our stuff but it would be okay as husband would be with us. At the last minute, husband got an urgent call out from work. He was on 24 hour call in his job. God I couldn't disappoint the kids. Son's name was now 6, and then I had daughter's name and daughter's name and of course brother in law's name coming for the first time. Our house was at the bottom of a lane. There was ex husband behind the lamp post. I tried to ignore him. The beach would be busy. Once he saw no husband that was it. He started to follow us. Up the quayside ex husband walked behind us. He didn't pass, didn't speak. Over the bridge, still behind us a few feet. I could see brother in law's name looking wondering why that man was not passing us out! Passed the duck pond and over to the beach. He still followed. I remember the day so well. A beautiful Summer's day. Hearts bright and excitement in the air but my heart was pounding, scared shitless. I put down the blanket, the kids leapt about with excitement. And then there was ex husband! Practically on top of us. Not more than a few feet away. Lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, facing us, staring and staring. I felt sick. My head pounded and my heart was beating in my breastbone. If I get into the sea with the kids what will he do? I couldn't leave our things. I didn't know what he would do. I was afraid to go, afraid to stay, afraid to let the kids go to the edge, afraid for all of us. I packed up the picnic and headed home. Ex husband followed. Matters were taken out of my hands when I got home. brother in law's name told husband about the man following us and that he was scared of him and he described him in detail. Husband figured it out very quickly and then I told him what had been going on all of these years, since year to be exact! I thought he would be angry at me for not telling him but he just held me close and told me that it was going to be alright. A person doesn't have to be imprisoned for their freedom to be taken from them. I learned to "stare". Husband taught me. I had staring matches with my siblings growing up but now this was different. This I knew was life changing. I need to stare ex husband down and that took practice, a lot of practice. I know it sounds absurd but learning to hold a stare for a considerable length of time is no easy task. Everyday after dinner, we held our staring matches, Husband and I. Our gazes fixed on one another and I knew that I would have to hold that stare for a long time to get the better of ex husband. I felt like giving up so many times. Several weeks later in location I was attending my parents' grave and sure enough just as the sun rises there he was. I knew husband wouldn't let anything happen to me and that I now knew ex husband was a coward and a bully. Once stood up to, they cower and slink away into the hole from which they came. Ex husband stared, I stared. I could see the hatred in his eyes. The date came flooding back to me. I kept staring. He got so angry but his stare never wavered and neither did mine. I prayed to every Saint in Christendom. I prayed that my mam and dad would somehow get up out of their grave and get him. I prayed the Memorare like my life depended on it and I sang in my mind "I Will Survive". I was determined to take ownership of my life. My eyes burned, blurred, watered. Oh God let this over soon, I prayed. But he just stared and stared for what seemed like an eternity. Then as quietly as he had entered the graveyard because I didn't hear or see him come in, he left it. I fell to my knees on my parents' grave and wept. Sixteen years had passed since I left ex husband and the stalking ended but it took until 2022 - a full number of years later - for me to walk on a beach on my own. I know so much more now. In 2020 I contacted a support service. The gave me the skills to cope with ex husband and I continue to work with those skills. I know I should have told husband, and should have told my family, but I never did. I was so ashamed, but I can speak about it now. My friends in location came back out of the woodwork. I thought they had deserted me, but ex husband had warned them off in no uncertain terms and they were scared. date is my special day. It's the day I sat by the calming waters and felt proud of my achievement. I might not ever stop looking over my shoulder but I am working on it. I wanted to tell this story in the hope that it might be of benefit of somebody else.

I was conditioned to think catcalling was a compliment, that if someone held your waist a little too long at work it was just cause "ahh they're just a bit touchy", that it's easier to just "go with it" than to say no and risk their response. It took me years to identify that no matter the degree of your experiences it still is never ok. We often get told sexual violence is one way but it isn't, it comes in many forms and sometimes you can't identify it at first - and that's ok. I am only recently coming to terms with the varying degrees of experiences I've had. I didn't want to say anything because I was made to believe I'd "rock the boat". Well some boats are meant to sink. Let's rebuild the boat so everyone can stay afloat, included and safe.

For 15 years we were together. Three kids. But he would have sex with me when I slept. Sometimes I would wake and pretend to be asleep, other times I’d wake in the morning, pyjamas pulled down sore and covered in his ejaculate. It was like what happened at night wasn’t real, even though I hated it. I hated sex with him because not, I feared bedtime, I’d occasionally convent to buy myself a few days knowing he would leave me alone. Until the day he did it while I was awake, when I said no, and that I didn’t want to he replied ‘but I want to’ and then he did. I froze, that one time is the one that 5 years later never leaves my head, I think of it every day. But I’m good now. I left him, I’ve a partner who understands and would never do anything like that. I’m happy. But the ptsd is always right there

A little over A number of years ago, when I was 19, I ended a numbermonth relationship with a man I had met in college. We had met during orientation, and he pursued me romantically very quickly. I was so delighted to be finally seen; I had never been in a relationship and no one had ever been interested in me before. Things moved very quickly, and in hindsight, it should have been a sign of what was to come. He kissed me suddenly one day when we hugged and I didn't turn him down. He was very pushy to progress things along faster than I felt ready for, but I convinced myself that I should be ready. Naively, I agreed to be in a relationship with him a week after meeting. Within a month, our relationship had become more sexual. He had forced his way to take my virginity when I just wanted some foreplay, but again, I didn't object and soothed myself that at least I didn't have a one-night-stand. Two months later, he wanted me to go on birth control when a condom and emergency contraception failed and I had an early miscarriage. He was particularly interested in me getting an implant. I didn't think it was a bad idea, as I didn't want to get pregnant again. Unfortunately, this enabled him to abuse me even more. The relationship turned violent as well as sexually abusive, and he wore me down psychologically, saying I was a terrible girlfriend and pointing out everything I was insecure about. He was very suspicious of my friendships with my male classmates (I was one of four women in a class of 40, I hadn't much choice) and accused me of emotional cheating and flirting with them when it wasn't true. Eventually, I had struck up a friendship with one of his friends he introduced me to from school, who I confided in that we weren't having a happy relationship. I didn't disclose any real detail during our conversations, but he was horrified by his verbal treatment of me and what my boyfriend said to him about me, and encouraged me to leave him gently over several months. I eventually did break up with him in a public space in order to try to be safe. Strangely, he was fine with it. He took his belongings from my apartment and left without any issue. The following day, he had already moved on to kissing another girl in a neighbouring college and ended up being in a relationship with her for many years - his insecurity about me cheating was a projection of his own behaviour. I ended up dating the friend who helped me to leave that relationship and we are now very happily engaged and cut ties from my ex completely, so I'm thankful we met despite the circumstances. Unfortunately, I never had any real evidence besides anecdotal to bring a case against him for what he did to me without my consent. Dates of those events are non-existent in my memory because I accepted it as being my duty as his girlfriend, and I remember very little now (possibly due to my brain wanting to forget the trauma) unless I get nightmares and flashbacks - there are a few moments that won't leave me. I am currently attending counselling and I'm so lucky to have a fiancé now who has always respected and loved me how anyone deserves to be treated, never been pushy for sex, and supported me so strongly when I disclosed to him fully about what happened in that relationship. I'm sad that my abuser walks free and I don't have any way to have justice, nor protect other women from him without facing defamation legal implications. It is hard to feel safe on my own if I am back in the same city where we went to college. I have seen him a few times in public, but thankfully he never saw me or didn't approach me. I have had some panic attacks out in public when this has occurred. I can only hope that maybe he has changed.

I thought we were friends. I was told it was a mistake, what I thought was a blossoming friendship was apparently just general “friendly chitchat.” He sexually assaulted me one evening, I learned afterwards he was in a long term relationship while discovering even later he was after another girl. When I tried to warn her through having been suggested her profile on Instagram (algorithm etc.), I was threatened physically and legally. When I later learned he was abusive to his ex and was now in a relationship with this new girl, he reported me to my job for harassment as I tried to warn her one last time. Rumours were spread in my workplace and left me with nobody to trust. He ruined my life, while making it impossible to rebuild. Here’s to all the women who have escaped or are trying their best in life. You’re not alone.

There was a night out with my house mate during college. We were having a great time- she was single & was enjoying chatting to guys in the club while I, being in a relationship, was enjoying dancing either on my own or with guys if they wanted to dance. We had a few drinks while out but I know we hadn't drank that much because we were broke students. Whenever a guy would try make a pass at me, I'd politely explain I wasn't single, etc,etc. Near to the end of the night, my housemate was still chatting to this group of guys & she asked if I would like to go back to the guys' house with her for a house party. I said OK because I knew she really fancied one of the guys. I remember being handed a drink but then after that I don't have all the pieces of the picture. Everyone else must have gone off to bed because it was just me & this guy in the living room. I remember it being later in the night/ early morning & I wanted to sleep on the couch. He put all the sofa cushions on the floor - that this would be more comfortable. He was trying to kiss me as I was lying down but I was trying to turn away from him. I definitely remember telling him no, that I had a boyfriend. I can't remember if I had fallen asleep/ passed out but the next memory I have is of him pulling down my tights & underwear. I find it so hard to think of this.. because I'm constantly battling with myself over it. He wasn't rough, didn't hurt me... but wouldn't accept my "no" & if I'm being perfectly honest, from the bits I can recall- I remember actually enjoying it. That is why it is so hard- I felt so guilty after that. I felt like I had done something wrong, that I had cheated on my boyfriend. That they didn't do anything wrong if I enjoyed it. I have never told anyone about that night. I realise now that there must have been something in the drink I was given & logically, I know he was in the wrong for not getting my consent. I can't shake this feeling of shame though.. this guilt.. years later.

“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 never associated my assaults as sexual assaults. I always just saw it as a thing that happened me that was upsetting until recently. I was groped, forced into having sex and preforming oral sex on him. I remember one time he offered to drive me home. I lived over 40 mins from town so I thought i could save myself €60 in a taxi. Until I realised we were going in the opposite direction to my house. He drove me to secluded area. I knew it wasn't right I said no said I was due my period I tried everything I could to deter him. It didn't work. I can't drive that road without a feeling of dread. I do feel part to blame and I know that's wrong. I hate how it makes me feel. When I hear stories in the news I can't help but think my story isn't as bad as theirs or that maybe mine wasn't rape or a sexual assault. I hate myself for thinking it.

I was raised by a misogynistic narcissist so in my early 20s I thought my boyfriend's behavior was at least better than I was raised with. His behaviour spiralled over the years and there was gaslighting, financial abuse and finally rape. I didn't see the warning signs, sex would be very rough but I thought I enjoyed it. He had lost his job and had not worked for a year at 23, he used to smoke weed and stay up all night playing videogames. More than a few times I woke up to him masturbating so vigorously the bed would shake. One day I was sitting on the loo and I was in a bit of pain and I noticed semen in my knickers that I didn't know how it got there. I remember the ringing sound in my ears, but I decided to ignore it, I mean he couldn't possibly have. Then one night I woke up and he was rummaging in my pajama shorts and I realized he was penetrating me. I remember freezing in the dark and then calling his name. He said he wasn't doing anything, rolled over and went to sleep. I repressed this memory completely. I dumped him a few months later and thankfully moved on with my life. With my current partner (a wonderful man), we were having sex one night early in our relationship and the incident that happened with my ex hit me like a trolley and I had a flashback and a full body panic attack. I had to face what had happened to me then, I thought I was crazy and that no one would believe me, it's not your classic rape case. The incident tortured me mentally for about a year and thankfully I eventually sought help. I still think about revenge every day and am afraid to run into my ex in the city where I live. But we carry on. I am grateful to so many women who have shared their stories or managed to find justice when they report they were attacked in their sleep. We are a powerful bunch us ladies, and I am so thankful I could share my story here today. Bless you all xx

This guy was my best friend. He knew everything I was dealing with. He was the reason I got out of the abusive place I was in. Less than 2 weeks after I got out of that abusive place, he raped me when I needed a safe place to stay. I had trusted him so much with absolutely everything and he not only violated me, but my trust aswell. He then text me the day after telling me not to tell anyone what happened. But I didn't remember anything about what happened until 5 days after it happened. He denied and denied and denied when I confronted him until eventually he admitted to what he did. Its been numberyears and I still can't walk around my hometown alone anymore out of fear, I can't hear his name or see anything remotely near to what he was wearing or I was wearing. But I'm in therapy now and it's making me realise so much. I'm working on trusting the world again. I didn't deserve it. No one does. As difficult and painful it is to deal with something like this, we can all survive. We can get through it. Someone wants to listen to your story. Someone wants to help. Don't deal with it alone xx

What would you know? It's a question that was directed at me by someone who never considered that sexual violence could pertains to men as victims. This is what I know: What would I know? How do I even begin To talk aboit what I know About how I learned Too much, too soon Held in and on For far too long What do I know? I know that you never, ever, No matter how hot the water Or abrasive the cloth Will ever feel clean Even if you wipe until you bleed I know that your body My body, will never be your own My own That some part of it No matter the healing Will always remember Being forced to share itself But sharing is the wrong word Because sharing is given Not taken with force I want to say invasion But that sounds too Clinical Polluted, that's it You, I feel polluted. Its just in one small, dark corner now When it used to pervade Everything Every taste, every joke Every public shower And locker room Every smile, scalding touch And mention of intimacy But healing does that It shrinks the poisonous sludge Of memory Until there's almost none of it left And you, we, can live Not just survive But on certain days Anniversaries, birthdays On odd days when someone else Learns what it means to feel like you Me And we cry in the soft darkness Of our own beds Horribly alone yet never truly alone Because it never left They never leave. To take the finger from my lips I have learned to stop hating To understand their brokenness I am afraid of the dark and more afraid Of the light But only in giving voice to the feelings Can I shape them And in shaping them I give limits To the memories that created them And in doing so I take the shards Of who I was and might have been Putting pieces of me back together Alongside those I imagine into being The potential to be anyone I choose Has become the reality Of who I am What would I know? I know surviving is only an opportunity I know living is something else entirely I know that secrets are pervasive and corrosive I know that I carry fears within me And that gives me comfort because I will always be bigger than they are. And I know, I know, I know In my soul of soul of souls That I don't carry any of it alone anymore.

I don't imagine that you are lying in bed, thinking about number of years ago. That's my curse to live with. The Mark you made upon me. You raped me, in that miserable and dark car park. Held against my will, and now I lie here thinking, reliving, or simply just living with what you did. Wishing I could change The past. Wishing I could change Your past that you probably don't even remember. Lucky you. Rape and move on. Lucky you. I didn't save your number. Lucky you. I don't know your last name. Lucky you. I didn't report it. Lucky me. I didn't report it... because what was I wearing? And how much had I drank? And why didn't I scream or fight? And why didn't I run or take flight? Facing fear, I froze. Lucky, lucky you.

I have been stalked by a professional for the past 7 years. One evening I agreed to meet up with him, as I was afraid of saying no to him. He made sexual advances towards me and I rejected him. He then set about using friends, associates, paid and willing accomplices, to harass and stalk me relentlessly for the past four years. I have been drugged and sexually assaulted in my own home, presumably so that he could share these images online with whoever pays to see them. I have now decided to speak out about my experiences redacted true story of being stalked against a backdrop of no stalking laws. Enough is enough. Women are not safe, and more needs to be done to protect us from predators. Name

High Priest, You are not my superior Nor would I say equal The darkness overtook you? Abdication of responsibility - not good enough "Call to my house" You opened the door to naivety and trust Vulnerability at the worst You - only lust. In this now New Earth With the light streaming in I see your cowardice, your sin You took the phone off the hook Now, two decades later, to be disturbed The light won't let the dirt hide any longer Now I am stronger. I forgive you to set myself free You have played your part I am at peace, in my power and to reiterate, free.

I was raped about three years ago. It wasn’t like you see in tv shows where it’s down a dark alley way by a stranger. It was a guy I was friends with. It wasn’t violent either which is why it took me so long to realise what had happened. He kept asking to do an*l even though I told him on multiple days and about seven or eight times that day how I really didn’t want to do it and that I’d do anything else. He wasn’t giving in and I felt like I owed it to him. He told me he would stop when I wanted which made me feel like it was my choice. He guilted me into sex often and then verbally abused me and and horrifically emotionally abused me when I didn’t do what he wanted. He would often threaten to kill himself and I would believe him. It wasn’t until I finally escaped, about three months after I was talking about it with a friend and how I really didn’t want to do it. I had previously “bragged” about doing it because I was lying to myself. It wasn’t until I told her the truth she explained that I was in fact raped. It took two years to fully get my life back, I went to therapy and did a lot of self work. I went from upset, to angry to terrified and I did it all alone. I had no one but I made it through. I remember writing a note to myself about how I felt, how I thought I would never experience happiness again but I did. Every time I achieve something I look at that note and the photos of me crying and know I did myself justice. My justice may not be legally achieved but knowing he is an unhappy person, tormented by his own mind and will remain alone for life gives me peace.

I was assaulted for the second time in Month multiple times on the same night by the same person. He removed the condom without my consent. He had sex with me multiple times while I was barely conscious and he had gotten me extremely drunk. I hadn’t realised what had happened until we broke up. I am still struggling to get intimate with men since

I wrote this poem today after hearing of guilty verdict in current court case with taxi drive and two separate victims. Title: Me Too Taxi Driver I too have been where you two have been. I too went out with friends. I too had one too many. I too got in the taxi. I too expected safety. I too was raped. Followed in through my front door by a taxi driver who wanted more than the fare that I had paid him. I too reported my assault. I too made my statement. Then our stories diverge. My case went nowhere. My trauma went inwards. My anger turned septic. My shame imploded. My mother does not know. My case went absolutely nowhere. Insufficient evidence and no identifiable suspect minimised my experience. So I thank you for standing strong, for speaking up, for getting some of the justice that I have craved. My taxi driver will never hear the judgement of a jury, and probably never even felt guilt. But he raped me, and in the court of my mind, the jury is unanimous, he is guilty, guilty, guilty.

I was assualted, sexual assualted by a man I trusted, who I looked up to. I was 21 at the time, modeling, doing shoots, stepping into the modeling industry. Little did I know how dark things would get. These women who would stand by these abusers. He groped me from behind and touched me sexually on a shoot. I froze, I couldn't say anything. Couldn't process what was happening. He drove me home, told me to play with myself and let him watch. I ignored his requested and he told me if his wife found out, she'd die from the stress (she was sick at the time) and it would be MY FAULT. I strongly believed this and held everything in for three months. I pushed everything to the back of my mind, denied it. Everywhere I looked I saw the make of his car, his name, thought he was following me. I eventually I had a breakdown, went to the guards. Who were absolutely useless and laughed at my five page statement. There was no evidence but my word against his. So he got models to read off scripts and tell the guards how I was in love with this man and "asked for it". Told everyone in the industry that I was "unstable" and how he feared for HIS life. As if I was the predator. The coward couldn't even come forward himself...turned everyone against me. Feeling so alone, I confided in my dance instructors who I really trusted. Only for them to be STILL working with this man to this day. I gave up fighting as no one around me believed me. Taking me 7 years to open up again about my trauma. Everyday it still effects me..seening his name everywhere on social media. People singing him praises, if only they knew... would they believe me?? Do I risk going through the trauma all over again??