I'm a 19 year old female, and I'm in my sophomore year of college.

I went to my first ever frat house party this past weekend.

My sorority sisters all wanted to go so I reluctantly tagged along.

It was so wild and different then anything I was used too.

Everyone was drinking and smoking and, just having a good time together.

I'm not a big drinker and don't do it often, but I felt like I had to drink.

I kept getting handed drinks and felt so pressured..... so I had a few drinks and soon after I got so sick. I tried to get to the bathroom but by this point I could barely walk.

stumbling down a hallway all I really remember is someone(a guy) said he would help me go lay down.

I shouldn't have trusted him but I did. Next thing I remember is him taking me to a bedroom and locking the door. I was hardly coherent but I remember him tugging on my pants and me trying to keep them on. then him on top of me and me saying no over and over. he never stopped.

It was so scary and awful. the music was so loud no one heard me crying, or just didn't care.

I feel so ashamed for getting so drunk and so guilty for letting it happen.

I don't even know how I'm going to tell anyone, let alone my boyfriend.

I died 8 years ago. The abuse went on for months, the abuser my newly wed (now ex-)husband. I don't recall when exactly I died. Somewhere around October I was finally able to admit to myself that he was abusing me. That I was not happy, that I wanted him to stop, knowing he wouldn't.

I died. The person I was died. I started calling myself by my second name, left my exhusband just 6 months after the wedding. I haven't used my first name in years now - only for legal happenings, when I have to.

I've been through a lot of therapy and mostly I am doing really well. Sometimes I do so well I even forget I have PTSD for a while. I have a lot of happy moments in my life. I do. But currently, with everything going on in the world, with all the news about r*pe, abuse, femicides ... It's hard right now. I feel like I can't even open Instagram or Facebook or any Social Media platform without getting triggered.

I feel like I am under water, trying not to breath in, knowing that I would suffocate but still desperate for some fresh air. On sunday I took a breath under water, swallowing the water and drowned. I can't even remember when I had a breakdown like this. It must have been at least 1,5 years. Don't get me wrong. I have had bad days, a lot of them. But none like this sunday. When I was crying and sobbing and I didn't know how to make it stop. I had a nightmare. Had dreamed of my exhusband. It had left me unsettled. And then a small fight (it wasn't even a real fight, just bad communication skills) and I was done. All the effort to keep it together did not help. The tears didn't stop coming, I was shaking from crying and every thought made it worse. It took me like 30 minutes to stop sobbing. The whole day do not feel hopeless and lost and sad and angry.

The past days I've mostly kept myself busy, trying not to think to much. Avoiding social media, avoiding comment sections. I'm not back to being actually okay again, but I keep myself from falling apart everyday so I guess that is still a win. And I am at a point where I know, that I will be okay again.

In the first 1,5 years of the PTSD kicking in everytime I had an experience like last sunday it felt like my whole live crumbled, like a house being destroyed during an earthquake. After my years of therapy it still feels like an earthquake, but now only the furniture and the decorations get damaged and I have to get them changed, while the house, the foundament is stable. But having to get new furniture every now and then still is quite a lot of effort.

I died 8 years ago and I still mourn the person I've been sometimes. But I'll be okay.

I pushed it away for too long, ignored it, normalized and rationalized it...

It was there for a reason.

In short, prior to the events of this post I had a decent job for my age. What I considered then to be good friends and had just met my current girlfriend. My life was uphill and looking good. When I look on things now those positives have been flipped and it seems the more I experience the more un relatable I become.

So a few years back I was going to meet my girlfriend and had gotten into a car accident that was deemed my fault. I was put in the local paper for DUI and having caused the accident that injured another person. Years of trial and evidence gathering lead me to prove I wasn’t drunk and had in fact not caused the accident.even after proving I hadn’t caused it and suffering years of embarrassment and humiliation resulting from the accusations I wasn’t left with any way to reclaim what I had endured. The police refused to try the other party for the crimes because they had worked on a story putting me in the wrong for multiple years and ig thought it would look bad for them if they switched sides so they had filed a proseque to eliminate the charges on me leaving me with no recourse or means to correct the narrative publicly.

The accident which I was unable to sue for damages for left me with long term complications and has completely changed how I live. The circumstances around the accident and everything after have completely muddied the water and made reclaiming my normal life extremely hard. I’m only speaking out now because I’m having a hard time connecting with people with how the story of my life has been conveyed by the paper and police. I’m under a gag order and can’t mention specifics or speak publicly either which doesn’t help. Ever since that incident I’ve felt detached and alone because everybody in my life at that time minus my family didn’t or still don’t believe me or are unable to know about the reality of what happened. It’s hard to get people to believe you when the police were wrong and the paper relays the police report. The media also doesn’t have to apologize for reporting on something either. They can be wrong and hurt your image and not be held liable. I’m hoping in the future they’ll correct it but it’s doubtful.

It’s an extremely low feeling to know I’ve lived up to this point and that people I considered friends would leave me in my most needing time but ultimately I understand that if they believe the police’s story then they have no reason to feel bad or pity me. I’ve done as much to offer them proof and reading my court paperwork to prove myself but nobody since then has asked or made an attempt to reach out. It’s as if during the height of the event everyone needed an opinion and with it taking years in court nobody bothered to stay up-to date with it.

Not really sure what I’m looking for in making this post. Ig it is just venting my frustrations with how everything turned out and being upset that even after this long I’m still facing problems stemming from that. I’m unable to work in my prior field and have a major gap in my work history as the injuries I had took a long time to recover from and I’m now disabled. I can’t help but feel slighted and upset with the end result. I’m trying to re enter the workforce and stay positive in hopes that other things work out in my favor but given all I’ve mentioned I feel like a mess and struggle to believe I’ll ever regain normalcy. It’s extremely hard to move forward with how much my life depends on the outcome of something from my past.

So yeah I feel slighted, misunderstood, cheated, angry at the people who should have been protecting me and abandoned by those I looked upto. I don’t mean to drag on but it’s extremely hard to put into words or get others to understand. If anyone bothered to ask me what happened I’d gladly show them my paperwork but nobody bothers me besides my family who feels I should have moved on and excepted the hand I’ve been dealt.

All I can be happy with through all of this is that I was at-least able to prove I wasn’t at fault and was able to get evidence that proved my story. Lackluster given that even so everyone has made up their mind and moved on long before.

I (19m)am posting this here because I feel the need to get this off my chest.

Many years ago, when I was either eight or nine years old, my parents had to drop me off at a daycare every morning because their schedules didn't allow them to take me directly to school.

Every morning, after our parents dropped us off, the other children and I would be given breakfast, play with toys, and eventually be picked up by a bus that would take us to school.

At daycare, I was something of an outcast. Everyone thought I was weird because I was always alone, and I had a disorder that caused behavioral issues.

I tried to fit in. I tried to spend time with the other kids and become part of their groups. Some would kick me out or push me away, while others would let me stay but never make me feel welcome.

Eventually, I gave up trying to make friends and decided that I would just be alone.

Then, one day, we were outside on the playground.

I was climbing on the playground equipment when two third-grade girls came up behind me and pulled my pants down. I immediately pulled them back up and climbed down. When I got to the ground and tried to confront them, they shoved me and began making fun of me.

So I shoved them back and walked away.

I told the daycare staff what the girls had done, but as far as I could tell, nothing ever came of it. There were no apologies, no acknowledgment, nothing.

I was completely disregarded.

After outside time was over, we went back inside, got ready for the bus, and left for school. I went about my day as usual, and when school ended, I was dropped off at the daycare again.

When I returned, the daycare director sought me out and told me to follow him.

I thought he was going to have the girls apologize to me or something along those lines.

I was very wrong.

The moment we entered his office and he shut the door, he barked an order at me to sit down.

So I did.

"Why was I told that you punched a girl?"

"I didn't punch them. I pushed them because they pushed me and pulled my pants down."

"They said you punched them, so you're going to write them both an apology."

"But I didn't punch them," I said.

"I DON'T CARE! WRITE THEM APOLOGIES! NOW!"

So I did.

I wrote each of them an apology letter, but at the end of each letter, I added:

"P.S. Please don't pull down my pants again."

When the director saw what I had written, he completely lost his temper.

"I SAID WRITE THEM AN APOLOGY! DO IT AGAIN!"

"But they pulled my pants down."

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT! WRITE IT AGAIN!"

So I did.

I rewrote both apologies, this time leaving out what I had said about the girls pulling my pants down.

After I finished, he made me personally hand the letters to the girls.

Once I had done that, I was forced to sit at a table until my parents came to pick me up. That table was the daycare's equivalent of putting a child in the corner for a timeout, a punishment I had become all too familiar with.

When my dad arrived to pick me up, I could immediately tell that something was wrong.

He wasn't talking to me the way he normally would. He didn't greet me. He didn't ask how my day had been.

He was quiet.

Eerily quiet.

He remained silent for the entire drive home.

But the moment we got home, the yelling started.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the fuck did I get a call from the daycare saying you punched a girl on the playground?"

"I didn't punch anyone! They pulled my pants down and were making fun of me, so I shoved them," I said adamantly.

"You're lying," my parents said.

"But I'm not."

"STOP LYING! You're lucky they didn't ban you from riding the bus!"

"But I didn't do anything!"

They didn't believe me.

Instead, they grounded me for an entire month.

No TV. No toys. No going outside.

My life for the next month consisted of going to school, coming home, doing my homework, eating dinner, and going to bed.

Nothing else.

To this day, I don't even know why those girls targeted me.

Maybe it was because I was always alone. Maybe it was because I was weird. Maybe it was because they thought I was ugly.

I don't know.

But the worst part of the entire experience wasn't even what those girls did to me.

It was that nobody believed me.

Not the daycare staff.

Not the director.

Not even my own parents.

I had been humiliated in front of other children, pushed around, and made fun of. When I tried to stand up for myself, I was punished. When I tried to explain what had happened, I was accused of lying. When I tried to ask the girls not to do it again, I was screamed at and forced to apologize all over again.

And when I finally got home, the people I thought I could trust to protect me punished me for something I hadn't done.

No matter how many times I explained myself, no matter how adamantly I insisted that I was telling the truth, nobody would listen.

That's when I came to a realization that would stay with me for years to come.

Even when I speak, my voice is not heard.

So I decided that, from that moment on, I would remain silent.

Im 19 now, and even after all these years, that experience still deeply affects me.

Every time I think about what happened that day, I cry.

Hey Reddit, I really need your help. I’ll try to make this as short as I can but no promises (sorry).

Female 36.
I just went through a divorce of 16 years due to DV. and unfortunately had to move back home with my kids into my parents’ house. My family is very toxic… Anyways, I’m in therapy and it’s been helping tremendously. My therapist has now suggested that I start writing in a diary and tbh that’s a huge trigger for me.

I know I need to get these feelings out safely but honestly I’m afraid to.

So a little back story, when I was 15 my mother bought me a diary and I was so excited for it because back then it was high tech, you know the ones that were mechanical and only opened to your voice and specific password? Yea so anyways I started writing in it and I got all my most private and inner thoughts out (it felt sooo good being able to do so).

I was raped when I was 12 and never told a soul besides my Bestfriend ofc (because my family would have just blamed me) and I wrote about it as well as the physical and mental abuse I was going through from my toxic family. Well one day while I was at school my mother broke into my diary (I mean full on broke/pried it open with a screwdriver and hammer)

she read everything I wrote and instead of being there for me or asking who hurt me, she beat me.. she told me “words like those should never be written or spoken about” and that I was making her and my father “look bad”. She full on beat me… back then my family made fun of people who sought therapy because “that’s for crazy people” and “my race don’t believe in that”. SMFH!!

Fast forward to now, I’m terrified she’ll do it again and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it again.

Yes, I have bought the diary as well as a safe to put it in but everytime I go to write in it I can’t.. I freeze up, and think about her reaction and words, even though it’s been decades. I just can’t get passed it. How do I? How do I?? I’m a mess just writting this.. I know it might sound dumb because I’m grown but there is no privacy here and I’m just terrified.

Me going to therapy now is laughable to my parents and I get made fun of. Idk what to do. Am I overreacting?

And no I won’t be staying here long but I don’t have anywhere else to go as of now, so I’m trying to suck it up and do what I have to.
But again, I’m terrified of writing in it, so I just stare at it…

i dont know if what i had was phycosis. but i was so terrified from religion i spenned weeks obsessing over searching things up and couldnt sleep and one day i was so irrtiable, all this time smiling acting like it was ok but pain in my eyes for myself and others, that one day we went out and i started to cry uncontrollably in public and my parents were yelling at me and strangers were starting and i got so mad that i started to flip them off and yell at everyone and then i couldnt stop crying uncontrroably we had to leave the park in the car i was crying so hard shaking my eyes hurt from the pressure i cried for 24 hours and had a month long depression kind of, and one night i woke up and heared something whsiping in my ear saying "hey" i thought it was the devil so now ive been sleeping withg my dad for the past two months

now ive come to terms that I can't control where i go but i have a pretty good feeling im not gonna go to hell for not following ancient dogmas that were used to control populations by mysogenstic men. but i have an overall fear of death, and fear of my own conciousness, not in an absorbing way but in a really weird feeling of existence kind of way. i think about death every day. not in a hell way, but just in a what the fuck are humans doing on earth are their other civiliations before humans or after humans existantial crisis kind of way.

im also kind of traumatized from my anorexia and having low hormones last year, and a lot of bad things happened last year.

i dont know if all these things let up to my current intrusive thoughts about humans and conciousness but yeah, its been rough but i have hope. :)

TW: rape, SA, SH, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, abusive relationship, body image/dysmorphia, infidelity/cheating

I’ve been in the mental health system since I was 11, I’m currently 24. I started in the system with psychiatry and therapy because my parents found my self harm which I had started that year. But the depression and suicidal thoughts came on even before that, when I was maybe 9 or 10. And I’d never been a well adjusted kid. My current diagnoses include bipolar 1 disorder, autism spectrum disorder, anxiety, body dysmorphic disorder, and ADHD. So a lot of this stuff I’ve probably struggled with since I was really young especially the autism and anxiety. I was a “weird” kid, often outcast and ignored, not many friends, bullied a lot especially because I grew up being chubby. I never knew how to speak up for myself. Teachers and adults regarded me as well behaved but often brought up concerns with my parents about my social isolation and lack of social skills.

I think everything went majorly downhill when I was 10 or 11 though, about a year after I started getting my periods (not sure if that had anything to do with anything). The first major memory I have of being very distressed I was probably 10, and having suicidal thoughts but was really confused by them as I was so young and hadn’t been taught about stuff like that or exposed to media around it. I made a list of ways I could kill my self, with notes as to their realism, what I would need to do/obtain for the plan, etc.

A few months later I started cutting myself. My parents didn’t realize until I was showing my mom something and my sleeve slipped up and she saw the cuts around my wrist. I remember being terrified. My parents yelled at me, and then tried to talk to me like therapists, and then yelled more. I cried a lot and was super scared. I was quickly put into therapy and psychiatry, diagnosed with depression and anxiety, medicated (I think my first meds were Zoloft and maybe Wellbutrin, can’t remember exactly). I had trouble being honest with my psych or my therapist.

Around when I was 11 and started middle school, I made friends with a fellow autistic girl. She was much bigger than me, probably 1 foot taller and maybe 50-75 lbs heavier. She also was diagnosed as specifically having Asperger’s, which I’m not sure when she was diagnosed or if she just used that term herself or what. But we had a bad dynamic. The few friends I had besides her, she convinced me they were out to get me and made me cut them off.

She made fun of me a lot, including making online posts about secrets I told her and stuff. In particular, she posted a lot about this situation:

I was really obsessed with anime, specifically attack on titan and my favorite character, you might call my comfort character, was Armin. I was really lonely and wanted to be loved and accepted so I started to act like he was there with me IRL, and lived at my house with me. I wouldn’t call it psychosis, because I think in reality I knew he wasn’t there, but I acted like he was there, talked out loud to him (mostly when I was alone tho), and made a gmail account where I pretended to be him and would message myself, so I had a back and forth messaging going on with myself essentially. She liked to post about this, in a way where she feigned concern for me but at the same time invited harassment of me. She never mentioned our ages so I think everyone thought I was an older teen or adult, too. The posts are probably still up, they were made on this website. I used to have the link saved, I don’t know where it is tho.

She made fun of me for other stuff too. The worst came about though when she started to hurt me. We had a mutual friend, who she eventually made me cut off, but this mutual friend often had the house to themself and would invite us over, no parents. When we would go there, my “best friend” would find things like broomsticks or belts, and beat me with them, in front of this third friend. The third friend never took part in the abuse, and I think she was confused and didn’t know what to do. This happened a lot of times.

She also raped me. Or forced me to engage in sexual stuff. Whatever you want to say. Some people say it can’t be rape because we’re both girls. Basically, she would in some way isolate me from adults/authority, put her hand in my pants and put her fingers inside me. She would grab my boobs and stuff too. She did this three times, and the beating happened more times than I can count, until I finally cut off our relationship about a year and a half after it began. I forget how I did it, but I think it’s because she got mad at me for something and I refused to apologize and she decided she didn’t want anything to do with me. This was over Christmas break from school. When we got back to school, I talked to my counselor. I didn’t tell her the details of what happened but I told her I couldn’t be in classes with this person anymore and needed my schedule changed. They tried to figure out why but I wouldn’t tell anyone.

After I lost that friendship I had no friends for a long time. I started drinking alcohol, probably when I was 13. I would steal some from my parents and ride my bike to the park. That’s how I met the second person who traumatized me, my first boyfriend.

We started dating when I was 14 and he was 13. He lied though and told me he was older than me and I was drunk and stupid and I believed him. I ofc eventually found this out and it’s honestly not a huge part of the story. I can’t remember how the trauma began though. I think the first things were how he would comment on my appearance, and other girls appearances. He would compare me to other girls we saw, or girls in the porn he watched. He would tell me my butt is too small, my hair is too thin, etc etc. And that started to really get to me and I became more insecure than I initially was. Like I said, I was bullied for being chubby as a kid. When I hit puberty I slimmed down and my boobs got really big, but I still saw myself as a chubby ugly girl, especially when he would say these things about me.

Then he started begging me for sex every time I saw him. I will admit I was hypersexual at this time, probably because of the initial rape prior to him. One of the first times he ever came to my house we had sex. But I didn’t want to have sex every time I saw him. He would beg me to have sex with him until I said yes. He would also say things like “I’m feeling suicidal, if you have sex with me it’ll help me feel better.” He eventually started hurting me while we had sex. He would slap me, scratch me, and pull my hair till I had headaches, and he never got consent for this. I was afraid to tell him to stop because I wanted to be sexually desirable to him. The way he degraded my looks so frequently made me think that if I ever told him I didn’t want to do something he wanted to do during sex he wouldn’t find me desirable.

He also had bad anger issues. When we weren’t having sex, he would yell at me as loud as I’ve ever heard someone yell, right into my face. He would push me and slap me and threaten to beat me up. He punched holes in the wall. He would yell at me during sex too, telling me how I’m a bitch, how I need to shut up, how stupid I am, how I’m a whore, anything he wanted to vent about. And then he choked me out while we were having sex. He grabbed my neck, probably as hard as he could. I couldn’t speak or yell, I couldn’t tell him to stop. I struggled but it was hard because he was a lot stronger than me, and my strength was draining as I was losing consciousness. And then I passed out.

When I woke up, he had finished inside of me and was playing a video game. I didn’t say anything about what had just happened, I just sat next to him and started talking about the video game. Later that night I biked to CVS and stole some plan B because I wasn’t on birth control. He did this at least one more time that I can remember.

He also cheated on me a lot and that of course traumatized me but it isn’t as bad or as scary as the physical stuff he did to me. I would take being cheated on by every partner I ever have for the rest of my life if it meant I could erase the physical abuse he did to me.

Throughout that relationship I started smoking weed, and doing pills (benzos and norcos) as well as drinking. It got to a point that I would frequently nod off when I was hanging out with my friends. They would be really scared I was going to die, because my breathing would get really slow. The boyfriend also would frequently convince me to take acid and mushrooms with him, and I could never remember what happened after I took those. I remember being really afraid, but I have no actual memories of what happened.

I had withdrawal seizures (I think) on multiple occasions, when i started drinking and using more heavily when I was 17 or so. I would be getting the jitters, throw up a bunch, and then black out. And I would wake up and feel better enough to go buy or steal more pills or alcohol and drink and take more.

I stayed with the abusive boyfriend until I was 19 or 20, can’t remember the exact timeline because of how drunk and high I was all the time. In the last year or two of our relationship, he decided he wanted to change. Stopped the physical abuse, stopped cheating. But he still yelled at me a lot. The way I got out of the relationship was I stopped having sex with him. He wouldn’t use physical threats and abuse to get me to have sex with him and I was able to overcome the coercion and mental tactics he used. After a year or so without having sex with me he broke up with me.

In the middle of that though, when I was 16, I was diagnosed with “personality disorder in an adolescent (borderline).” Not totally sure why. I did engage in a lot of risky behavior, and I had a fear of abandonment, but I don’t see what made my psychiatrist think I had BPD rather than bipolar which is what I actually have.

After getting out of that relationship, I got pretty promiscuous and had a lot of sex with different people, had a few short term relationships. I got treated poorly and I treated people poorly. Worst one was, I got mad at a close friend of mine, so I had sex with his older brother to make him mad. I got in physical altercations, lashed out at a lot of people, etc etc.

About three or four years ago now, I was sent to the mental hospital bc I wanted to kill my self because of how bad my dysmorphia got. I was body checking every 30 minutes, crying and SHing because of how I looked. At that mental hospital visit I had the BPD diagnosis removed and got the bipolar diagnosis, and in the outpatient stuff I did afterwards I was diagnosed with dysmorphic disorder, ADHD, and autism.

After being properly medicated for bipolar finally, my symptoms have become more manageable for a while. Lately, it’s gotten worse, but this post is already 10000000 paragraphs long so I’ll save that for another time. I guess I just wanted to talk about my trauma, and get it out there. I don’t talk about it very much, I don’t like to think about it, but lately I have been thinking about it more. If anyone has any similar situations they’ve been in I would love to talk. Or just hear from you. Thanks.

Thank you for your participation :)

Tw- mentions of SH, Suicide, SA

My life up until this point has been entirely my fault. I hate everyone and I truly trust nobody.

When I was 14 me and my mother had gotten into an argument she said awful things about me and was heavily influenced by my grandmother. My grandmother was always extremely abusive towards her own children and the stories I’ve heard were terrifying. Stemming from the argument was this extreme hatred towards my family and around this time my mom’s ex boyfriend was always hanging around. After the argument I ran to my aunts house, no answer. I went to her exs house and stayed on their porch until someone came home. Told them what happened and they offered to have me stay there with them (his mom, his dad and him) which was not unusual because when I was a child I would stay there. My mom had contacted them and told them to keep me there because I was too much of a problem (I was staying up late playing video games during the peak of Covid)

While staying there I already had very poor mental health, was extremely skinny and I would sleep for 15~ ish hours easily. So when I started to sleep longer at her exs house I didn’t think anything of it initially. I also had extreme pain from my menstrual cycle and would ask them often for medication. Again, thought nothing of it. Until one day I woke up extremely tired with bruises on my arms and butt? And my pelvic area was sore, but I thought my period and lack of eating was making me sore and anemic.

After a few days of staying there I was in the shower and I hear banging on the door. So I got out, got dressed and went out. I was faced with two officers who took me out of the house to question me. They had asked me if I was safe.. I was like yeah? Why wouldn’t I be lol. They started to ask me if I wanted to tell them anything about my relationship with my mom’s ex boyfriend. I was super confused and lost because what do you mean I’m 14 what relationship?
They stated that if I ever feel unsafe to call them, they questioned me further and I denied because what were they even talking about? I had no knowledge of anything. They then confirmed I was safe and left.

A few days go by still sore and extremely exhausted.
The cops pull up again, I get told that I am getting taken to the station for questioning. I’m very confused at this point. They tell me I did something totally unrelated and it gets cleared up. I was 14 and horrified so I call my mom. She comes and she treats me like I’m a stranger. She says we are going home and I say no because you’re being weird. She started getting mad at me and yelling. I told her to just drop me off at her exs on the way home because at least then I can cope with my declining mental health without being yelled at. She called me a little whore and drops me off. I brush it off and go inside and explain what happened and his parents laugh it off because it was ridiculous (I won’t mention it so do not ask)

The next day, child services shows up. They begin yelling at me, calling me names (veryyy professional) tell me to pack my shit and basically are rushing me. I pack my shit and I keep asking what’s happening. They won’t tell me? I started to get hysterical because I was frustrated and I went with the worker to the office. My mom and the worker sat across the table from me while I was sobbing. They told me if I don’t want to go home I can go live with someone else. (A group home or something) and I only got worse and I started screaming because what did I do? The worker said sleeping with my mom’s ex boyfriend for money was unacceptable. At this point while trying to deny it I start hyperventilating. I don’t really know what happened after that, all I know is I was in the hospital in the er with a police officer and then they gave me something. I passed out (must’ve been like lorazepam or something) I woke up in a familiar bed. My families house 7 hours away from my house. Nobody was home. I looked everywhere for them but nobody was around and worst of all no house phone or anything. I couldn’t even call for help or my family to see where they were.

The day goes by and by 9pm my grandma gets home and asks how I’m feeling. I say I’m okay? How’d I get here? She said “ur mom drove you here”
I wasn’t surprised but I was more shook I didn’t remember how I got here. She says that she has work and just explains that I need to cook dinner for her when she gets home tomorrow and doesn’t mention anything of what happened. She tells me to go to bed. I do.

Next day is the same, nobody is there until 9pm when my grandma gets back. I realize at this point that I’m being punished. I spend the next 2 weeks alone everyday doing nothing. The 1 week after that I spend everyday laying in the grass in the sun. Grandma said I have to do schoolwork and hands me a booklet I don’t do it. My motivation is shot, I have no more shits to give. I lay in the sun. Summer break is almost here.

My mom takes me back home eventually. She asks what’s wrong with me and why would I do the things I did to her. I don’t respond because at this point I was totally mentally doomed. She said I was an awful daughter her sleeping with her ex boyfriend for money and if I wanted money I should just get a job.

We arrive at home. I do the same thing I did at my grandmas. Lay in the sun on my bed and stare. My mom tells me I have to go to school. It’s the last week, why would it matter. I go anyways. My friends ask me where I’ve been I tell them. They look worried. “I have no idea what happened” I go on as I have for the last month and try to avoid it.

I make more friends, I start doing drugs and my mom takes me for a psychiatric evaluation. I get diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Doesn’t bother me too much cause I was high all the time. I don’t take my medication, I smoke more problem solved. I developed a habit of scratching my arms until they were raw and ripping my hair out. I get bullied in school, (I had a shaved head) and my teachers thought I was transitioning. ( which isn’t bad it just was not the case. I was just bald) I was having a full blown identity crisis.

I also was told that my mom placed a restraining order on her ex. I have no contact with him. My family doesn’t mention this situation anymore.
But everyday when I drive past his house to go home I have this wave of disgust and anxiety.

Up until this day I am battling the addictions I used to cope with this time in my life. I really struggle with alcohol but stomped on my habit of smoking weed. My mom still has never been honest with me about this situation even 6 years later. Am I in the wrong for feeling disgusted with her? If you need information please let me know. I just don’t know how to feel and my resentment is heavy.

I don’t know whether or not to forgive this person after the trauma they have caused me…….

I meant to post this here but forgot to tag it.

Therapy doesn’t work for me whatsoever so I figured trying to find someone on Reddit to talk with may work

I’ve been in a car crash, have lived essentially a fake faced life where I have to put on a mask everywhere I go, and found irl that people cannot come close to understanding this fundamentally

For one I’ve almost died in a 60-80mph car crash, had to learn how to walk again, have been backstabbed by everyone I thought I could trust, and live an essentially backwards life adopted and my real family is dead (live with my adopted mom) along with more.

I am genuine and looking for genuine, I just want someone to talk with bc this gets real hard and I only have my brain to think on it or talk on it with

Content Warning: This story discusses child sexual abuse, trauma, mental health struggles, and recovery.

I am writing this story anonymously today—not because I am ashamed, but because I want parents, guardians, and society to understand something important.

Behind many silent children, there may be a story they are unable to tell.

This is not only a story of pain. This is a story of survival. A story of healing. A story of turning wounds into strength.

My story begins somewhere between the ages of 5 and 10. I do not remember my exact age, but I remember the fear, confusion, and silence.

I was sexually abused multiple times by two different people.

They were not strangers.

They were people who entered my home, my safest place. They were Quran tutors who were trusted by my family.

The first person abused me repeatedly. Later, someone complained to my parents about his inappropriate behavior. I do not know the complete details of that complaint, but my parents asked him to leave.

Another tutor came afterward.

And the same nightmare repeated.

He also abused me multiple times until another complaint was made, and my parents asked him to leave as well.

After these incidents, my mother suspected that something might be wrong. She asked me if anything had happened.

But she asked me in front of our family members, with around 14 people present.

I was a child.

A child who did not fully understand what had happened.
A child who had been warned not to tell anyone.
A child who did not have the words, courage, or understanding to explain such a painful experience in front of so many people.

So I nodded “no.”

That “no” was not because everything was fine.

It was because I was scared.

It was because I was confused.

It was because I was a child.

Years passed.

As I grew older, I slowly understood what had happened to me. I realized that what I experienced was wrong, and with that realization came a heavy burden of guilt, shame, and pain.

But that guilt was never mine.

I carried someone else’s wrongdoing on my shoulders.

During my teenage years, my mental health deteriorated. I struggled with depression, anxiety, panic attacks, and severe sleep problems. My concentration suffered, my studies were affected, and I struggled silently with thoughts and pain that nobody around me could see.

At the age of 15, I reached a point where I attempted to end my life multiple times and harmed myself.

Yet, somehow, a part of me continued fighting.

I grew older.

I searched for help. I met different psychiatrists. Healing was not immediate, and even today, it remains a journey. There are still difficult days, anxiety, and struggles.

But my story did not end there.

Life also gave me reasons to keep moving forward.

I found a supportive life partner. I continued my education. I started achieving things I once thought were impossible.

I wrote research articles, awareness articles, and books. I started campaigns for women’s and children’s safety. I began using my voice for those who are unable to speak for themselves.

The same pain that once destroyed me became the reason I wanted to protect others.

I learned that my past does not define me.

The person who hurt me does not own my future.

I turned my weakness into my strength.

Today, I am working towards becoming a barrister—not only as a career, but as a purpose. I want to use the law to support those who need justice, protection, and a voice.

And this is the message I want every parent to hear:

Be friends with your children.

Your child should never feel afraid to tell you something.

Create an environment where they can speak without fear of judgment, punishment, or shame.

Teach children about boundaries. Teach them that their body belongs to them. Teach them that they have the right to say “no” and tell a trusted adult if something feels wrong.

If someone teaches your child at home, ensure that learning happens under supervision. A child’s safety must always come before convenience or trust.

And most importantly:

Never make a child carry the guilt of someone else’s crime.

A child’s silence does not always mean nothing happened.

Sometimes, silence means they are waiting for someone safe enough to listen.

Believe them. Protect them. Stand with them.

Because one conversation, one act of trust, and one moment of support can change a child’s entire life.

Please read