I was a young teenager. I’ve never been ultra skinny, so I started to develop curves on a young age, hips, boobies, ass. Apparently for my uncle that was a reason to go and touch my boobs. He would come in my room when I was studying or chatting with my friends. He would give me a hug, and he would touch my boobies, squeeze them. He always told me it was our little secret. Because everybody in my family loved him so much, I didn’t dare speak out, but I started to keep away from him more and more.
Than I met a guy via a friend. He was nice to me and we chatted away. With a girlfriend I went on working holidays at a camping. We both worked in the restaurant. Within 2 days, my friend had gotten 300 text messages, most sexually tinted, from our boss. We were brave enough to go to the police and to report it. They tried to brush it off and it took us a long time to be taken serious. It was hard for me to take, knowing that things like that can happen, that you have the proof in your hands, and people are still not quite believing you. It also scared the hell out of me. For the first few days after that I stayed in my house. That guy friend, whom I been chatting to, would come over every day. We talked, and talked and he was really sweet to me. He cared for me at a time that no one else cared for me. A few days after I’ve come home, he and my mom decided it would be good for me to go to his house. His house was a couple of blocks away from mine. He took me with him in his car, introduced me to his dad and than took me to his room, where he locked the room behind me. We had talked about sex before and I had told him that I wasn’t ready, that I wanted it to be something special. There in his room he managed to undress me and to rape me. He didn’t actually get into me that easy. It hurt like hell and I screamed so loud. The tears were falling from my eyes. It felt like the last bit of me was drained out of me. My trust in the world, in other people left me. He kept on using me for another half a year, doing things against my will. Locking me inside my house, threatening me and my family. I was lucky that my parents ended it, because they found out he was using weed. I couldn’t tell them what happened, because I was so afraid they would be harmed. They were so angry at me.
Now, 7 years later, I still haven’t told them. I have told friends, but it’s not an easy thing to talk about for them and for me. I’ve fought very hard to get my life back and others around me tell me that it is amazing to see who I am today, knowing what I went through. I’m not there yet and I might finally get some therapy, but I’m glad I survived. I don’t feel very brave, but I guess I kinda am. Thanks for letting me share my story.
— Survivor, age 23