Adult Survivors Discord Server: One-year update

It's frustrating finding out that not only did my parents, the wife, and other family members not do anything to help me or report anything I found out that the police could have done something too and didn't. I recently looked back into the guy who hurt me for a couple of years, and through looking back on it, I was curious what the statute of limitations was. Well, I found out that in my state, for the kinds of things he did and the age I was, there is no limitation and it was like that before I made my report. So not only did my parents fail to report it to the police when I originally told them, when the police did eventually find out they screwed me over as well telling me that they couldn't do anything and he was already in jail at the time so it's not really worth it to pursue this. Honestly, I am disgusted that so many adults found out about what happened to me and did nothing to help. This happened with my father as well; he was more of the verbal and physical kind, but still hurt my siblings and I, and yet so many people knew about it and did nothing. I didn't even really get therapy until an attempt I made, and even then, I only did therapy for a month because my parents didn't really care and didn't want to spend the money. It honestly just hurts realizing, as I work through things in therapy now, that the feeling of no one really caring about me wasn't all in my head. The people whom I was supposed to rely on and trust ended up hurting me further instead of protecting me. Now I have trust issues and feel that I can only rely on myself, which sadly makes it really hard for me to rely on my partner. It's just all so frustrating.

Never diagnosed or anything, but I had a strange obsessive behavior as a kid. I would wash my hands until they cracked and bled but it still wouldn’t stop me. I remember my mom wrapping them like I was a mummy at one point they got so bad. After a while I also started using mittens because I hated how my hands would feel with the slightest bit of oil or dirt. My mom called me Michael Jackson because I’d use a glove for the computer mouse. I grew out of it when I hit puberty. I wonder if it’s related to the abuse. I never thought “what I did made me dirty”, but I physically felt dirty all the time.

I went through my camera roll after a while and got hit by the realisation that even when I was truly happy there was something wrong or could be wrong any second. I spent my life feeling dread, preparing for the worst thing to happen, and planning an escape. For the longest time I have thought that every person is like that until my social worker mentioned me turning my head every time I heard footsteps outside of her office. It still happens but we have learned to laugh it off now.

I don't want to spend my life wishing I was more happy and more relaxed. I want to be able to say ”it was the best night of my life” and not lie.

I was five years old when I first watched porn. I grew up as an only child, living with my mum, dad, and my cousin-though I called him my elder brother. He wasn't just family; he was raised by my dad. His own mother didn't want him. He was born from her abusive relationship, and because of that, she couldn't love him. My dad stepped in and took him in, raised him like his own son. He loved him deeply.

When my parents weren't home, it was him who looked after me. But instead of cartoons, he played CDs-videos of naked men and women. He had so many of them. He kept saying it was normal, that this is what adults do, that even my parents did it. I didn't understand it, but I trusted him. He was fifteen years older.

He would ask me to sit on his lap. He made me touch him. Once, he brought a vibrator and asked me to try it. Some part of me knew it wasn't right. I remember how nervous I would get when we had visitors, how l'd scramble to hide the CDs in case someone found them. But he never yelled at me. He was never aggressive. He was calm, always kind to me. It confused me. And I had no one else to talk to. At home, it was just him and me most of the time.

As I got older, things at home got worse. My dad started drinking more heavily every night it was a routine: a can of Baron, a Guinness, and a stout before he passed out. We had to downgrade our living space. It felt like everything was getting smaller, heavier. Between the ages of 12 and 13, he wasn't around. And for once, I felt safe. I missed him, but I didn't miss what he brought into my life.

At 13, I met a group of people on Facebook. They were older, and I started spending time with them. That's when I tried smoking for the first time. Drinking. I had my first kiss with a boy who called me pretty. We made out. He was 18. I was 15.

I disappeared for three days. When I finally came back home, it was chaos. My parents thought I ran away. I was scolded, slapped, questioned. They were broken, scared. I was their only child and I had vanished without a word. Everyone kept asking me what happened, but I told them I'd only talk to one person-him.

And no one questioned it. To everyone, he was my brother. The one I grew up with. Of course l'd trust him. But they didn't know why I was only comfortable speaking to him. They didn't know that I could only talk to him because he wouldn't judge me. Because the things I had done he was the one who had introduced me to all of that in the first place.

There's more to this story. And I'll tell it, piece by piece, when I'm ready.

I keep having dreams related to what happened to me, sometimes I'm being abused, sometimes it's about people finding out what happened, sometimes it's about me confronting my abuser... I try to move on and ignore everything but I can't when I keep dreaming the same things. my abuser is in my family and I try to keep distant contact. no one knows.

I’m frustrated with how much time the abuse steals from my day. Dissociating then getting out of the dissociation, being triggered then calming down from an anxiety attack, and other things I can’t think of rn. I feel like the abuse was the main plot point of my life and I’ll never be able to move forward. How did you get to a point where it’s not running your life? Does it get better and how?

A rebuttal I LOVE to say now is:

“Oh true i guess they’re telling the truth! now that I think about it, why don’t we just ask murderers if they’re the one who murdered? I’m sure if we just ask directly they’d say “yes it’s true I did that”

: ) i let go of a lot of anger through the years with this, when I used to try and reason and prove myself further even though the receipts and facts are there. I love making a person that protects abusers feel stupid and ashamed outloud

My mum recently told me that in the early 2000s she turned on my dad's computer to find multiple inappropriate photos of little boys on the screen. When she confronted my dad, he said that it must've been a pop up and that it's normal and happens all the time. My mum never used technology, she didn't know my dad's password and never used the computer. she took his word for it and it was never brought up again. I was a baby at the time, so I don't know what technology or the internet was like back then, but if anyone does know i'd really appreciate any insight as to whether this is a reasonable situation i shouldn't think anything of or whether it points towards something more sinister?

I know that a part of it is because I don't remember *it* happening or who it was, but I have had so many somatic flashbacks, panic attacks and nightmares that I can't just ignore. I just wish I knew what my next step is, because I feel so lost and alone. I feel like my childhood version of myself and all the memories (good and bad) are trapped somewhere, and I have no idea how to reach them.

This clicked in my head recently. When I was a kid I might have tripped and fell or something that caused me to be terrified of heights. As an adult I’m able to skydive and climb cliffs, although I’m still scared of heights.

Why can’t I get over my fear of this stuff? I don’t need alcohol to suppress the fear of jumping out of a plane.

But when I sit next to an attractive female, I’m scared and seek out alcohol. I keep getting better and still slip with me emotions and fear.

The healing journey feels like a process that I have to put effort into, sometimes id rather not.

I feel like time spent idle just lets me be stagnant.

So I force myself to process, I force myself to confront this stuff. It’s like I have to pay the fines for someone else crashing into my car even though it’s their fault. And after paying for the damage they did, I’m just exhausted.

With all these analogys, the difference is that the damaged car or overcoming fear of heights gets better. The car gets paid off, however as an adult survivor, I don’t feel better. I have to always keep working on myself, and I’m exhausted

What’s the point of any of this??

I F(24) am unsure if what I experienced could even be considered abuse.. I was very young, about 5. I've known about it and kept it to myself, not ever considering this one event could have possibly had an effect on who I turned out to be as an adult. I remember this one event at least once a year.

The event: I was about 5. Because I was so young I can't remember how I got in this situation or how it ended. Only how it felt in the moment. I was touched (vaginally, with their hand and a plastic object.. I don't know what it was) by a female family friend, I remember her name but not anything else about her. She had me lay in her bed and she pulled my pants down. She couldn't have been more than 14 years old at the time of the event. A visit to my hometown last year and saw her, now grown with children of her own. We only made eye contant but didnt talk.. I wonder if she remembers. This made me think about it in a new light.

I should clarify, I never considered this even to be 'traumatic' i didn't like it either but I always remembered this memory, never brought it up in therapy. I did however, tell a therapist I did experience csa by the hands of an uncle. That never happened. I don't know why I lied about it, Im thinking at the time it was hard for me to admit my 'abuser' was another little girl.

I like to think I'm not affected by this but my whole life I've struggled with body issues, been diagnosed with an eating disorder, have issues with intimacy, deal with sh and si from time to time.. I also have an incredibly low self esteem. Does any of this possibly stem from trauma?Nobody knows the truth. I haven't seen a therapist. Im married now and I'd like someone's perspective from the outside because I have no clue what to even make of this. Is this why I turned out this way? I don't want this burden on me anymore. I don't have a therapist anymore but am considering reaching out. I'm married now and I want to move on from my past.. Please help

Throwaway account

As the title says, coming to terms slowly that it was what it was. Emphasis on slowly. I’m 25 F and it’s a bit of a blur but getting slightly clearer as my healing progresses.

I don’t know if this is the right flair, sorry

It started before I was 4, I can’t remember exactly when it stopped. When I was transitioning from nappies and potty to the toilet I couldn’t go number 2 on the toilet I was so scared. It wasn’t a family member in my household. My parents are the best but they just didn’t know. I couldn’t poo in the toilet. It lead to me holding stool in for days and it made me quite sick. It came to a point where I would just go on the bathroom floor.

Is this a sign of csa happening? I’m just learning that some of the things I did were my own survival techniques through therapy and it has me thinking through everything. I didn’t poo in the toilet until I was nearly 9 just for context. Was put into therapy but I never felt I could talk until I met my current therapist in 2021

I don’t really know what I’m looking for here but thanks in advance

My abusers included at least three people and one is a close family members. The events happened over 18-20 years ago. My brain has tried to erase all those things, but the parts I remember haunt me.

Remembering back, I faced huge mental and health shifts after those events. I went from being a chubby, happy girl to a weird, sickly child who rarely smiled and was extremely shy, sensitive and easily afraid and tearful.

My eyesight went very bad, I had no appetite, i got sick often. I would not go to sleep or to the bathroom at night alone. I was sad, anxious, irritable, shy, quiet and a strong temper.

I would start crying out of nowhere for no reason.

I was overly sexual. I remembering drawing pictures of people having sex, making comics stories of sexual activities, thinking of sexual stories and closing the door and taking my naked body photos just to look at it and then delete it later. I had no access to internet at that time and had no knowledge about pornography.

I even went on to play sex games with another child, where we played doctor and it involved removing clothes.

Now I realize that these behaviors are very abnormal for a child. And now I am trying to convince myself that these were a result of the abuse I had suffered.

Those memories resurfaced after many years. I bury it and then it comes back stronger next time.

I have been really struggling and now I’m at a point where I feel like every problem I have today is a result of the child sexual abuse I went through.

I hate who I have become and hate that the people who were supposed to protect me as a child failed to do so.

All the hate inside me bursts out sometimes and I don’t feel in control of myself.

I feel I’m slowly losing my ability to learn new things and to think clearly. I have to struggle really hard to focus on anything - like writing this. I’ve lost all my interests and lose interest soon.

Sometimes the pain is so unbearable that I think the only way out is to end myself.

I live with my parents so I think that it’s time I tell them about it. I don’t know how they will take it, but I think they deserve to know it. But then I think about how it might affect family relationships as one of them is a close family member.

The person hinted an ‘apology’ at me few years back saying, I was a bad example to you. I know they also feel regret and shame. They even went to my parents and said I ‘bullied’ her as a child and feel bad. I learned it later that they did that. I had almost completely forgotten, but when they said that, the gears in my brains started moving and slowly I started remembering everything.

I wish they had never brought up the topic. Maybe they thought I remembered it and wanted to fix things. But I never used to remember those things and now since they talked about it, my condition is getting worse.

I really don’t want to live with this. Maybe I should only reveal it in my suicide note. But then I’m too scared to die. But if I did, I would do it by jumping off the roof or a bridge.

I really don’t see a way out. I’ve read about people going through therapy and all and still not getting any better. I’m just cursed. I really am. I’m a curse to myself and everyone. I really shouldn’t have ever existed.

EXTREME TW. ACSA. CSA. abuse. ASA. vent post— i have shared my story before. but lately ive been dealing with severe memories of ACSA. this means ‘animal child sexual abuse’. its when a predator forces a child and animal to do sexual actions and behaviors. both the child and animal are victims. it makes up 40% of all CSA cases

my parents trafficked me and my 7 siblings. my parents held us hostage in their home since the days we were all born. they preformed RAMCOA (religious abuse, mind control, organized abuse) on us. with us. i was sexually abused by my mother snd father many times. my older brother was a large perpetrator of the sexual abuse. and forced me to do sexual things with him often. so did my other brothers. as they were taught by him. all of us did COCSA whether by force or just because it was so normalized. my brother and parents taught me and my siblings to abuse animals, they made us sexually abused the animals and touch them. my brother would make me do it. then id do it on my own, id repeat it and do what they taught. i didnt realize this was wrong. i feel disgusting m. the memories haunt me.. my brother would take me in his room and tell me im disgusting, he told my mom and she said i need to pray to god to be clean and pure. we’d pray on her blanket by the pond outside and shed force me to beg god to sacrifice me. she said shed take me if she could. she said i was disgusting then did the abuse again, made us watch the animals in the living room. she would laugh and laugh and enjoy it. i hold the weight of doing COCSA to my siblings as well. we all did it at multiple points in our childhoods, evey single child was subjected to extreme CSA and ACSA. i was sexually abused almost daily until i left at 18. my parents raised me in the cult, made me experience and be exposed to varies kinds of sexual assault and behaviors. i was never able to escape it. i was abused in so many ways that its impossible to ever list it all.

i am ashamed. how can i live with it. they made me harm animals. i will never get over this. i cant work theough it. the dogs were our house pets. i miss them but i always feel like i cant. that im vile. i want to own a dog but my intrusive thoughts and dreams make me terrified. i woild never harm anyone but my brain says since i did it. then i am never deserving of a normal relationship with animsla as my companions. i wosh i could cleanse my brain. i am holding so much inside. i only came to terms with the ACSA in the last two years. it ruined me. its ruining me. im staying up right now because i keep crying about it. why wokd they harm animals and us together. why me snd my siblings. why

I recently had a memory surface of an assault and I would like to find out if the person has a criminal record. I found him on basic web searches and believe he is still alive as he has an address listed in my city. He does have relatives that I could reach out to but I do not want to stir things up with them or really even put it out in the universe that I remember.

Are there any reputable websites that will let me find this information? I am willing to pay a fee to the site. Last month, I did a paid search on a relative that I know had convictions but they didn’t show up. Unfortunately, I have hit the limit of my searching skills!

About two weeks ago I remembered being molested as a child. It’s been kicking my ass As you would expect. I’ve had a complicated relationship with mu body since a young age. I’ve never felt comfortable in my body and always felt grossed out by it. Which also has affected physical intimacy for me as being naked with anyone makes me dissociate. I didn’t understand why until I remembered the abuse. How do you cope with this?

I was 12 when I was groomed and abused. I’m in my 20s now and I look at 12 year olds and they seem so little to me. But when I look at myself… I don’t know. I feel like I look exactly the same. I was such an old looking child, I looked to be in my 20s when I was that young. I’ve shown my friends and they agree (they don’t know about the abuse), that I look exactly the same in every way.

I’ve only recently reconciled with the fact that I was abused, now that I’m at the age of my abuser. But sometimes I think that he’s not as guilty as everyone else, that the way I was must’ve been confusing for him too.

CW: CSA and everything that comes with that topic.

I have to write all of this down and I have to include as many details as I can muster. It's like bloodletting, I need to purge it all. These memories are like a knife in my brain, so I need to let them all out.

I must have been about 4 years old. I’m an only child and my parents took me to visit some relatives who lived on a farm out in the country. I remember I was in bed with my male cousin, who is about one year older. I don’t remember if we were sleeping in there or if it was just play-time but I know we were there unsupervised. We both had our pants off and he proposed that we play a game. I know I was young but I remember this vividly. He said we were going to play a game where he would “give me power” and then I would “give him power.” Those were the words. And the game was that he would insert his penis into my anus and then I would reciprocate. We traded back and forth several times.

I have no idea where he learned these things or why he wanted to do them to me. I guess he must have been abused, probably by somebody else in our family. But he was older and bigger and just generally more advanced, so I followed along with anything he said. I never forgot what happened. I don’t have many vivid memories from this stage of my life but this one never left me. I knew I felt weird and uncomfortable about it even though it was a long time before I really understood it.

Some time later, I told my mom what happened. I told her my cousin and I played a game where we put our “peters into each other’s butts.” She said something to the effect of “oh, well you shouldn’t do that.” And that was the last that we ever spoke of it. My parents got divorced and I didn’t stay as much with my dad, so I never told him about it.

The only other people I told were two of my friends in school when I was about 9 years old. We were gathered in the bushes and we agreed to share our “deepest darkest secrets.” They each shared one so I told them what I did with my cousin. But when the subject came up again later that day, they told me they made up their stories, meaning only mine was true. I don’t know if their stories were really made up but I know I felt deceived and betrayed and I swore I would never share a secret ever again. I remained friends with one of those guys. But one time when we were a bit older, I was pestering him about something and he told me to knock it off or he would “tell everyone what I did with my cousin.” He later apologized to me for threatening me like that.

There was also a second time with that same cousin when I was about 11 years old. Once again, we were alone in his bedroom. He asked me if I remembered what we did when we were little kids. I replied that I did and we both agreed that it was “gross and gay.” But then he said he wondered what it would be like to do it again. We talked about it for a while and I asked him if he was sure he wanted to try it again.

I can see this day clearly in my mind just like the first one. The lights were on and he was wearing a red shirt. I can remember him laying on top of me and humping me. I don’t think our clothes came fully off but I could feel him. And once again, we took turns and I remember that I hated what was happening. But my memory does get shaky here. Sometimes I think I was the one who initiated or that I had invited him onto me. I don’t know but I don’t think I ever told him “No.” Later that night, we were lying in his bed with the lights off to go to sleep. He asked me to give him my hand and he placed my hand on his genitals. Finally, I told him to stop and he let me go and we went to sleep. I have never told anybody about this.

I always remembered all of this and it has always been a memory that I hated but I never really accepted that I was a CSA victim. I still can’t fully accept it. Maybe we were just playing and I’m worked up over nothing. Maybe I was a consenting partner. But I always wanted to forget what happened. The vivid memories have always flashed in my mind and I hate myself for telling my secret to those friends. I hate myself for letting it happen a second time. I hate myself for going to his wedding and seeing him with his kids. Ahhhh what the fuck.

This post is already getting long but I could write a whole second post about other times I felt weird or uncomfortable visiting that side of the family. I saw the bedroom when I was visiting for the wedding. I wished I could have set it on fire. This whole saga has been like a cloud of shame hanging over my head for most of my life. I could write for hours about all the ways it affected me and how those lists of CSA victim characteristics read like a profile of my personality. How I have major trust issues and patterns of self-destructive behaviour and a hell of a lot more. But I feel sick to my stomach having written all of this, so I’m going to end it here. Thank you to anyone who read the whole thing.

I’ve never been able to tell anyone. I was 10. It literally wasn’t possible, but I thought I was pregnant. I developed IBS at that age so I was constantly bloated. I didn’t know why, but I decided that, if I had to tell my parents, I’d blame a guy who my dad caught trying to kidnap me. I was protecting someone, but I don’t know who or why and I don’t think I knew then either. I suspect it was my friend’s dad, but I don’t know. I’ve never been able to see a face in my flashbacks.

I named her Kenzie. I dreamt about her for years. She never existed, so why was I so fixated?