It could’ve been long after you escaped.  It could’ve been a breaking point while you were still actively trapped in the cycle.  But I’m sure you were able to stop believing at least one thing your verbal abuser said about or to you since it started.

I never really took to heart anything anyone said about or to me, at least that’s what I thought.  Deep down, I really did care about what my own family thought about me, and knowing I’d never be perfect enough for them stung hard.  I was once told I was the most difficult person my mother ever had to handle — even harder to handle than her brother, who would later become a drug addict.  This stuck with me for a while, along with all the feeling that I was never good enough and my parents always had something to complain about me.  I thought I was relatively obedient, and a calm debater if I thought something was wrong. At this point in time, I had stopped using emotion to argue and would calmly refute arguments instead of yelling pointless quips and ad hominem. Despite this, I still didn’t dress right, I didn’t act right, I was too argumentative and stubborn; nothing about me seemed right to them.  They told me they loved me, that I was good enough for them, though the words hung hollow amidst all the other criticism and complaints I’ve gotten.  Luckily, I had a marching competition the day before, and as the colour guard was doing a positivity circle, I received many compliments that I never thought I would ever receive.  I was told I was a very positive, bubbly member of the team, extremely excited about colour guard and all it pertains.  I’ve never been told I was that much of a happy person by anyone else before, and those compliments clung to me.  After this, I went on a retreat, and during confession, I told the priest about all my home issues with clothing control and expectations.  He told me, as every other clergy I’ve asked, those expectations my parents held weren’t the exact same expectations the Church had.  There was no strict gendered dress code, and I was doing alright, even if I liked ties and suits as a teen girl.  From that moment forward, I decided to turn myself around and self-fulfill the positivity prophecy.  I wanted to choose to be happy and to be myself.  I decided that whatever unreasonable expectation my parents had could be respectfully disregarded.  I started smiling more, and with a purpose.  My demeanour changed from slumped shoulders to a confident upright stance.  It took one week to figure out I could be the person I wished to be.  Though I still have work to do, I feel happier on average, and I hope you did as well once you found the truth.

Was your realisation a huge moment, or a quiet couple of moments that occurred over a span of time?  What did your realisation moment do to you, and how did you start going about life after it?  Did anyone notice a change in you, and did you notice any changes about yourself?  As we approach Domestic Violence Awareness Month in October, I hope you can find yourselves a realisation moment if you haven’t already, and continue healing if you already have.

Everyone has different ways of healing from past pain.  Maybe that way would involve diving deep into the situation that caused the pain to clean it up, like rubbing alcohol on a wound.  It will sting for a moment, but it eventually helps prevent any worsening or infection.  This, I assume, is widely done through therapy/counselling.  Others may seek ways to distract from the pain, which can be healthy when done well.  An adage we all know and love says laughter is the best medicine, and that's not wrong in any way!  Finding some positivity to buffer the negativity can help, whether it's pursuing a hobby or helping others with their issues.  These are probably only two ways out of a whole variety of ways to heal.

I would personally suggest finding a passion you’re extremely into.  For me, that was art and writing.  I would make art and write literature such as poetry that conveyed how I felt, or included tidbits of the latest research I did.  If there’s any demand, I’d be overjoyed to share more of my poetry, writing, and/or art projects.  I also love music and am still playing the clarinet and bagpipes, both of which I’ve been playing since middle school.  I’m also trying a bit of piano and bassoon as well.  I’ve been trying to compose songs lately, though I’m still working on writing sheet music down for different instruments’ keys.  I take time for physical activities as well by aiming for ten sets of twenty push-ups daily, going on a golf outing every once in a while, and keeping up with taekwondo.  I also have an exceptionally busy life outside of those hobbies, so I am usually satisfied at the end of the day and much too busy to worry about anything other than the present and immediate future.  Most importantly, I founded this community and will continue working in order for it to keep running.  Each one of you has a special place in my heart, and keeping that to myself is something I know I cannot do.  I had to make sure I could reach out to some of you, even if behind a screen.  However small we are, even one person’s positive feedback means the world to me.  I’m wishing for a bigger, brighter future for us!

I’m sure each of you has your own paths of healing; no two survivors are the same!  I’m anticipating your testimonies and any advice you may have for any of your surviving brothers.  If you had any positive experiences with therapy/counselling, be sure to check out my previous post, where I asked for advice.  I’ve never tried quality therapy/counselling, and am wondering if I should try it out alongside my hobbies to ensure a quality healing experience.  I am especially excited to hear about all the different hobbies each of you enjoy; there are too many to list.  Hobby combos will be especially interesting to know.  Whether you love music, pursue an athletic career, or participate in philanthropy, you’re guaranteed a spot here with us in this community.

Okay, so, this’ll be kind of a hard post for me since I thought I was doing fine, but have been relapsing recently. I thought I had gotten over my experience with domestic violence, but I’ve recently been having a couple flashbacks and even worse — exaggerated hypothetical scenarios that have me much more scared than the flashbacks, which already still stir anxiety. I can’t believe I’ve been so worried that I’ve already planned detailed DV emergency exits of my house and where to run. I definitely remember the emergency exits of my parents’ house, how I’d escape, and where I’d run. Instinct, possibly? I probably went into too much deep detail about this, as I’m not a male survivor myself so not the focus of this community, though I do want my brothers’ opinions on therapy/counselling, and how it went.

I’ve tried telling others, though every time failed miserably. Maybe that was because all my attempts were during my school years and the counsellors had to tell my parents anything concerning such as my strong urge to self-delete. I really loathed the fact that anything I said during a session could be used against either me or my parents and get someone in trouble. I had this fear instilled in me to just take it unless I wanted the police to take me away from my family and put me in foster care or something. I wasn’t always very satisfied at home, though it was certainly tolerable enough for me to prefer home over being taken away (even if for the best/legitimatly for my safety). These failed attempts gave me a resentment for therapy and counselling, and lead me toward other coping strategies. For one, I spent a whole lot of time alone doing things I enjoyed, such as art, music, and writing. I’m still enjoying all my childhood hobbies, though life’s been busy and I don’t have as much time as I used to when I was younger. I also turned to God. I was always devoutly Catholic so in turn, I’d turn to church and confession whenever I desperately needed help. Confession was my source of therapy, and it was the only source I trusted because it was fully free and fully confidential. Priests have this whole seal of confession that they cannot say anything that anyone said during a confession, not even if they were a serial killer and had leaked important information. That seal was highly convincing, so I used confession as my therapy. I also liked it since I was always very convinced that what happened was my fault and so had the opportunity to confess that guilt during confession. I was recently offered to take an actual session, and am now in a huge dilemma. My schedule is tight, and I for sure am not missing crap for a session. I like to get my work done, but my therapist will only be available during times I am not. I may have to miss important things for a session, but don’t want to have to tell anyone it’s because of a therapy session. However, as I relapse and spirl, I know that therapy will do at least a bit of good for me and my mental health, even if I don’t even pay attention to my physical health most of the time either. Sorry this is so long; I guess my point is that I don’t consider therapy important enough to try it out, but also acknowledge I may need it even though I seriously am averse.

What are your experiences? I heard one guy in another male survivor subreddit giving praise and accolades to his counsellor and experience with counselling. I hope I experience that same satisfaction if I choose to do it. Would therapy/counselling be something you consider crucial to healing? Maybe you were like me: thought you had healed, relapsed, then decided whether or not to try it out, which affected your future. I’m confident I’m not alone in this, and I am even more confident that you’ll give me good advice and maybe even a few tips for my first session if I do agree to try it out! Please, feel welcome to post/comment about your experience as well for some reciprocity; I feel a bit out of place for ranting so much about my experience in an androcentric survivor space, a place in which y’alls should feel welcome to rant in. Thanks for the advice in advance, and cheers to a better future!

This question’s a really hard one today. Though I know I can’t speak for all of you, I’m sure many of you can relate to what I’m feeling; this question is hard not only because of the negative feelings it may resurface, but also because it is so multi-faceted that the answer isn’t going to be as simple as a sentence or two. Even the short, watered-down answer that some of you may choose to tell may not be close to even half of the full answer.

I cannot stress enough that I got extremely lucky to have been taken seriously after I reported that rape threat that was made behind my back. My conditioning taught me damn well that even verbal sexual harassment is a serious offence and should be treated as such. I am very grateful that everyone involved handled that situation well despite the fear we were struggling with. I can only wish every other survivor could’ve had it this easy; alas, I know many unfortunately didn’t. I’ve mentioned this a select few times in previous posts that the domestic violence I was met with was highly normalised from a young age. Reading my previous posts may give more insight into that, but what really had me minimising my experience that hadn't been mentioned at all yet was that I was a really obedient child starting middle school, which really alleviated the abuse and prevented me from ever disclosing to anyone other than a little vague clue here or there. I was very rarely ever struck again after I started middle school. Maybe that was also because I had naturally outgrown the age when spanking is appropriate. Still, I also wasn’t insulted and didn’t hear as many typical toxic parent phrases as often as I used to. The gears shifted toward my younger sister, and she was much more rebellious than I. I can vividly remember a few violent disputes that left my mind more messed up than my sister could ever wreck my bedroom after every physical confrontation. Just witnessing it felt like way too much like collective punishment, which I am highly averse to. No matter how violent anything got, I kept quiet and kept minimising since I really did adore my parents. Legitimately, they really did prepare me for life. I admit that tolerating what I shouldn't have tolerated made me stronger. However, I also admit that being in the midst of it, even when not the target, possibly contributed to my anger issues and violent fantasies. I am barely over them as of now. I didn't want to bother anyone, as my parents were the ones who provided for me, apologised even when things got harder later, and taught me crucial life skills, especially driving. Later, simply knowing how to drive would really break the chain between me and the sporadic horrors of that house, though those in that very house were the ones who taught me how in the first place. I had more to be thankful for than to complain about at the time, so I was always able to just let go and naively believe in any apology after an ugly scene the night before. Those apologies may have been false hope at times, though sometimes they gave me the best shot at hope I could find.

Whether you cared about your abuser enough to stay silent, society/others demanded silence from you, or it was just your “rub some dirt on it” mindset, you are not alone. I’ve felt all three of those before; I personally understand each barrier and the unique consequences that accompany each one. Though I feel relatively free and safe to express what happened now, there are still those days when I am haunted by the memories, or suddenly relive a bad feeling during an already stressful moment. I hope every one of you can break free from these and take some quality time to heal from the pain associated with your experience. Once you break one chain, that could lead to a domino effect that might as well shatter every chain up to your freedom.

Disclosure can be really hard, depending on who you are and what you’ve gone through. You could’ve disclosed right after, or maybe it took you decades to finally tell that first person. Perhaps you’ve chosen never to disclose at all, ever, though there might’ve been that one person or even a few people you would have told if you really had the heart to.

My experience with sexual violence was much, much easier to disclose. I actually recognised that the verbal sexual harassment was absolutely inappropriate and was taught about consent and what it being breached looks like at an appropriate age. I was able to report to the school administration at the end of that very day I was notified of the threat. My experience with domestic violence was definitely a more complicated story. Domestic violence, as I was taught, was only really serious when people actually got injured so badly that physical marks were present. It was only considered abuse if there were actual physical injuries on the abused — a sign I never displayed. All my injuries and trauma were mental, more agonising than any physical injury I’d ever acquired. This made my ability to disclose very minimal, even though I always had a feeling that something was off and I barely ever felt happy in that house, being insulted all the time just for being a “bad, disobedient child.” Even after a lot of physical punishment, I still had trouble discerning it for myself. I remember trying to tell counsellors that I wasn't happy at home, but the protocol was that they had to tell my parents everything I said. I tried at least once each in elementary, middle, and high school, but all three (or more) instances ended poorly, with my parents chastising me for telling, saying it would get them in trouble with the police. If you're afraid of law enforcement finding out, watch what you’re doing; easy! Law enforcement never did intervene, and I ended up fine in the end, yet still mentally scarred from all the hurtful words and sometimes physically violent nights. School administration and counsellors were the only options I thought would lead to the best outcome, but depending on my issue, the outcome may not have been what I wanted or needed.

Hopefully, things ended/will end up better for you guys! Whether you have or haven't disclosed, who was/would be the first person to know your story? When did/will you disclose? Why did you think that person or that group of people would take it well, and were you right in your assumption? To those who haven’t disclosed yet, I encourage you to think of at least one amazing person in your life to trust. You don’t have to tell them, but just knowing that person and why you choose them will really help. I assure you, these struggles are heavy, like a huge backpack on your shoulders, and it does wonders when someone can stay by your side and offer to alleviate some of that load. I’m sure there should be at least one person who will be there to support! You just have to look closely, as they may not be a person you’d expect!

Barriers to Help-Seeking Among Male Victims of Female-Perpetrated Intimate Partner Violence: Insights From Black, Latino, and White Men

Abstract

"This study examined barriers to help-seeking among male victims of intimate partner violence perpetrated by female partners, comparing differences across non-Latino Black, Latino, and non-Latino White men in the United States. Using a sample of 1,194 men recruited through the online panel Centiment, this study assessed the prevalence of specific barriers to help-seeking and examined differences across racial/ethnic groups. Data were collected through a structured survey with an additional open-ended item to capture barriers not reflected in the checklist. Results indicated that men across all racial/ethnic groups reported similar core barriers to help-seeking, including viewing intimate partner violence as a private matter, fear of retaliation, shame, and concerns about not being believed; however, the pattern of barrier endorsement varied by group. Latino men were significantly more likely than both Black and White men to report difficulty knowing how to disclose their experiences and were more likely than White men to report language- and immigration-related barriers. In contrast, Black men were less likely than Latino and White men to report concerns about bias or disbelief, a pattern that warrants cautious interpretation given broader historical and structural contexts. White men, meanwhile, were more likely than Latino men to report difficulty recognizing or labeling their experiences as abuse. Together, these findings highlight the need for culturally responsive, gender-inclusive interventions that address stigma, structural barriers, and institutional biases shaping men’s help-seeking and service engagement following intimate partner violence victimization".

I get it. Telling your story can be difficult. Some stories are more difficult to tell than others. Sometimes you feel like you really want to; you really wish you could, but you’re either not ready, under-supported, or you’re totally able to say something, but you aren’t in the right mind and/or place. Some stories are ready to be told, but you feel like something isn’t right. Is it the setting? The environment? Or perhaps it was a negative feeling that had never been there before, or one you felt had been long gone, that hit you all of a sudden just as you were about to share? Whatever it may be, it’s really hindered your progress. Maybe next time, you think to yourself, or maybe never. If you’re commenting now and/or have commented on any previous posts, chances are you have come out to tell your story. How long did it take you? Why did you choose that setting? What made it just right?

I have two stories, one of which is much easier to tell than the other. At first, I just wanted my experiences confirmed, first with myself and then with others. I didn't think either story was worth telling if neither was confirmed. Was it really sexual harassment? Is verbal abuse even a thing, or is it some made-up concept for “weak bums” to cry about, as I had always been taught since forever? I learned that I did experience both of those quickly enough to move on and change my purpose for telling my stories. I wanted attention. If I had the opportunity to have gone on the world’s centre stage and blasted those stories, I totally would have. I wanted validation, sympathy, and support, which were valid enough, but my victim complex took over other, better reasons to have my story told. I’d bring up oddly specific examples to prove my victimisation. When the experience of the second story had completely passed (after everything was resolved, including my healing), I finally took the time to notice that I had survived alongside others. The verbal abuse I faced was very internal, in my own house, different than even my sister’s experience with it. That, I felt, I had to prove, but my experience of facing verbal sexual harassment was more external, and more experiences were relatable among the survivors and witnesses. I had absolutely nothing to prove that time, but I felt a strong urge that I still had something to give. I needed to help my brothers find their voice, as I had already done a while ago. After a long period of research and meeting more amazingly strong male survivors along the way, I decided that from then on, I’d tell my story to empower, inspire, and even encourage others to share.

To expect vulnerability from others, one must be vulnerable as well. I share my stories to empower you, to inspire you, and most of all, to allow you to reciprocate and share your story. I’m hoping this vulnerability can start a healthy cycle of coming out and sharing! Good health to you, brothers!

From the Google Form, so you don’t have to read it once you open it:

Looking to be a moderator for r/StrongMaleSurvivors?  Whether you’re joining the team to actively help your surviving brothers, take your moderating skills out for a spin, or simply help with moderating efficiency and be there to listen and support, we’re sure you’ll find your place among the rest of the team.

We are always actively searching for helpful and sympathetic moderators who will be open to male survivors’ experiences.  No prior moderating experience is needed, and even first-timers are encouraged to step up if they feel up to it!  There should always be at least one male survivor in the moderation team at all times in order to fulfill our motto of “founded and moderated by survivors, for survivors.”  As of 15 July, 2026, we are doing well with one survivor (not including the founder) on the team.  Moderators can be as unique as they like, as there are no strict requirements, though moderators must be able to collaborate well with other moderators and community members, and also be ready to receive private DM’s from community members who need private, individual support (bound to change if privacy concerns arise; DM requests from anyone can always be rejected/ignored).  Moderators must have good morals and be in good moral standing, while participating in good faith and handling disagreement with grace.  Moderators are not afraid to make hard decisions or be ready to change them if needed.  Moderators are open with their schedule and will contact other moderators if they will be out for a block of time.  Cooperation with all the criteria listed above (and on the form) will make participating in this community much easier for everyone.

Make sure to also apply here, so we can take a better look at your basic Reddit details, such as your community contributions and karma! Thank you for your consideration! As we start with growth, please help us out by contributing frequently so members can come back and new members can find us! Being active is the number one thing to help a small community grow!

Though limiting factors (as discussed in a previous post) can really prevent a survivor from coming out, that survivor may decide to acknowledge the truth for themselves or even tell others one day, and that is what I mean by “breaking point.“ My breaking point was when I was about fourteen or so, when I realised for myself that my treatment at home shouldn’t have been considered normal. I was constantly thinking about hitting the exit button of life and didn’t enjoy family time anymore. I hated the house I lived in because it meant being around the people who made that house so hard to live in. I never got any physical marks from anyone, though the mental injuries hurt much worse than any physical injury I’ve ever had. They were there, they were real, and they were extremely agonising. I never told anyone “I was verbally abused,” though at around that time, I didn’t doubt that fact anymore. I admitted the harsh truth to myself, which was already torturous enough. I still loved my family, and still do to this day, but I will carry those mental burdens for a long time moving forward. My experience with surviving sexual violence was luckily much easier, as those in authority really cared about us students and our well-being. Even though my fellow survivors and I were all afraid, we still found the courage to tell the school administration about the harassment and assaults we faced. I cannot stress enough how grateful I am to have gotten lucky in that situation. I know that many other survivors had it much harder, and I can only wish that the luck I had would also be granted to them. Now it’s your turn, brothers, to share what your breaking point was like and how you perceive it now. Whether it be commenting or posting in this community for the first time or even years ago to someone you trusted, we’ll be here to listen to any experience you may have had in coming out.

This is my opinion after personal analysis, because I think ‘lingo really matters, and there is a huge difference between a survivor and a victim to me.

The term survivor conveys much more agency, like there’s almost something to be proud about. When I say survivor, I’m talking about those who experienced violence but still endured it all and is still here to stay. A survivor survived, that’s the important part to me. A survivor didn’t quit when things got difficult; instead, they chose to stay on this earth for a purpose, and rightly so. Survivors know there’s much more to their lives than the suffering they’re enduring or have endured, and they stay because of that notion. Yes, survivors can doubt and may have doubts all the time. They can be scared, tramatised, worried, or doubtful. That doesn’t make them any less of a survivor than anyone else. As long as they have stayed alive through it all, I’d proudly call them a survivor.

I use the term victim sparingly, though I have differentiated victims from survivors. The term is much more passive, feels stripped of any agency, and can sometimes give me a negative connotation. A victim feels more like a person to pity and only pity, rather than a person to celebrate. This is why I’d say the only difference between a survivor and a victim is that a victim passed amidst the violence. That’s the only difference I can make, since victims didn’t survive to see the end of the violence. Whenever I use “survivors/victims,” I always am referring to people who were targeted of violence, both living and deceased. Very normally, I’d just default to survivors if I’m not including the deceased. I understand some grey areas around all this, but I’d just default to survivors unless the person passed during the violence. Even if they passed after the violence, I’d still regard them as a survivor since they did stay after the violence, even if it was only for a short time.

This ‘lingo analysis I did is a huge part of how I chose the subreddit name, since the word survivor has a much more positive, active connotation. The label of survivor makes me feel strong, and makes me feel worth of more than just pity, but also praise for doing hard things and support to continue. I’ve been labelled as a victim before, and that label doesn’t always feel the best, even when the person using it doesn’t mean anything negative by it. It hurts much more when it is used to purposefully point out lack of agency, and I have experienced that before. I wouldn’t want anything of the sort to happen to anyone else. Brothers, you’ve survived, and you derserve to be seen as more than just a victim, a person to pity and only pity. You derserve to be seen as a survivor, a person who was strong enough to stay and therefore should be praised for that. You can do hard things, and you will receive the support you need to keep going. I’ll always be rooting for you.

Sincerely,
𝕋𝚑𝚎-𝕊𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛-𝕆𝚗𝚎 (u/Intelligent-Bird-313) — surviving founder and moderator

TW: abusive parents, drug abuse, sexual abuse, unaliving attempt, abusive partner, and I think that's all? I'll come back and add more if needed. Gonna add cussing too cause uhhh... Yea I got emotional...

So yea, with that out of the way I'm sure y'all can tell it's gonna be a messed up story already. But it's been my life, and I'm still thankful for it.

I was born to a drug addicted prostitute of a mom and a workaholic dad who soon became an alcoholic thanks to the stress mom put him in. Stayed with her for us (the kids). Which ultimately led him to becoming drug addicted too... Getting ahead myself, hold up.

So yea I was born to some pretty cruddy parents. Was starved, woken up with a studded belt to the face or anywhere across my body if I covered my head with my blanket, got waterboarded cause I pissed off my mom when she was hyped up on drugs, pretty sure she used us to test her drugs but I've also read that children will remember their parents injecting them with drugs if they see their parents using drugs so idk really. My siblings and I would often run away and sleep in 24/7 laundromats, under dumpster, or wherever else we could find to get away from her when she brought her dealers around us or when she was using. We ate from dumpsters, begged for food, and even shoplifted to stay alive. Whenever we were at home we were often woken up randomly in the middle of the night (with a belt), told to grab one thing, and that we needed to gtfo. I still remember the one night we didn't get out fast enough and was shot at as dad raced down the road... Ended up with us flipped over in the middle of a creek (it was shallow). I still sleep fully clothed due to that night... Then again at least I don't sleep with my eyes open anymore...

Then December 3rd, 2004. I was 6 years old, and yes everything I mentioned above happened before I was 6. I never got fetal amnesia so I remember my entire childhood, including being born... Not fun ngl... Anyway, December. Mom laced dad's beer, don't know with what but I saw her sticking the needle in his beer. He went on a drug induced rage and beat her to a bloody pulp right in front of me. I saw first hand the blood splattering from her face as she cried out after every hit. He had a moment of clarity, called the cops on himself, then forgot and continued beating her... My sister pulled me into our room cause she didn't want anything happening to me, and I was too fear struck to even move. Cops showed up, dad reached for their gun, cops tazed dad, and dad went down. Mom DID NOT press charges, because she knew that would lead to an investigation and they would've figured out what she did.... However, dad got 9 years for reaching for the officer's gun.

I got emancipated so mom couldn't fight for legal custody over me. Grandparents got custody over my sisters. How that worked I still don't know, evidently my great uncle (who was a lawyer) pulled some strings and got me specifically emancipated. Him and my great aunt then became my legal custodians, which is different from guardians because they didn't have legal custody over me. They could just make financial decisions on my behalf.

So I grew up separated from my siblings, and the entire time wondered why... I couldn't even talk, I was 6 years old and couldn't talk!!! My sisters could, both my older and younger sister!!! But I couldn't!!! I could count to 500 in units of 5 and 10 but I couldn't count to 10 and I couldn't speak!!! So why me?!?! What made me special?!?!

But I was saved from a physically abusive situation to end up in a mentally and emotionally abusive situation... Great uncle was a lawyer, so I had to get straight As and couldn't quit any sport once I started. Great aunt was head of the suicide prevention partnership, so I wasn't allowed to be depressed or show emotions because that would look bad for her reputation. Which she told me point blank when I was 13. Like nearly word for word.

So yea, I grew up with a lot of CPTSD, anxiety, and depression which all probably could've easily been avoided... Made me one hell of a weird kid, and I became a prime target for bullies. Granted I made it so much worse for myself because I started taking Judo and then started defending all the other kids they'd pick on until I was essentially the only target... Showed up at my boss stop to beat me up and everything else.

Well as if all that wasn't enough, we're now getting to around the midway point? If I had to guess? Cause I was unfortunately born with rockstar genetics... Long flowy hair, sharp cheek bones, an even shaper jaw line, and I know this probably sounds like me bragging or whatever but for me it was a curse. Cause in middle school, 6th grade orientation, a high school girl in 12th grade claimed me as her boyfriend.... I did not consent to being her boyfriend, and I'm sure some of you already know where this is going... I'm gonna skip the details but she raped me... I then became the sex toy for her friend group, and they'd pass me down to the next generation for the entirety of my middle school years.... So every year it was a new group who'd have their way with me....

Messed me up so much that even in high school I cheated on every partner I had. Saw myself as nothing more than a sex toy, so what other purpose did I have? Horrible mentality. Started seeing myself like a prostitute just like mom, and that's when everything really started going downhill...

Shortly after all that I went to visit my sisters and my older sister introduced me to weed and alcohol. I'd never touched the crap despite being offered, but when she offered it it seemed.... Safe... Like she wouldn't betray me or lead me astray, so it must've been fine right? Wrong... Oh how stupid I was back then....

Yea I got hooked. It was an immediate release from all the flashbacks, anxiety, depression, and just everything. It felt like heaven, and I'd go into an anime world where all the colors were so vibrant and everything was so pretty and I felt so good and happy. Then weed wasn't enough... So I started taking dabs... Then dabs wasn't enough... So I moved on to shrooms... Then acid... Then Oxy... And it just kept getting harder and harder until I was doing coke and meth.... Wouldn't touch heroin, that was my one line. That was Mom's drug of choice, and I refused to be her.

But long and behold, I had already become her... I wasn't doing heroin sure, but I was already doing such hard crap.... Tried admitting myself to rehab, they denied me saying I didn't have an issue if I was trying to willingly admit myself.... Tried going to aunt and uncle for help, they kicked me out at age 16 once they found out I was doing drugs... Found a domestic abuse shelter for men near where I live, it got protested and was shut down... I was living in the woods with no job and only the clothes on my back at 16 years old.... Doing drugs whenever I could and just being a plague on the world....

One day they let me move back in, and I just couldn't stand any of it anymore... I looked myself in the mirror after a huge party with vodka bongs, coke, and who knows whatever else.... Saw my mother staring back at me.... I was too far gone, nobody was helping me, I didn't know what else to do but I refused to become like that GOD DAMN FUCKING BITCH!!!! I ALREADY LOOK LIKE HER!!!! I REFUSED TO BECOME ANOTHER FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT JUST LIKE HER!!!!! YET I HAD ALREADY FALLEN DOWN AND WAS A NEAR PERFECT MATCH AS HER!!!! I COULDN'T FUCKING STAND IT!!!!

So I grabbed my crossbow, sat down, aimed right between my eyes, and pulled the trigger. But safety was on. I had that extra moment to think "is this really what I want to do?". My life flashed before my eyes (I'm starting to cry at this point so give me some grace here). When it finally caught up, I made my choice. "Hell yes it is." Took safety off and fired. But I stayed conscious, so I started twisting the bolt around to make damn well sure it did the job. Somebody called an ambulance, I walked myself to the ambulance, and I remember blacking out. Evidently I got amnesia, but I still remember bits and pieces of it.... I stayed conscious through most of the surgery, until I flatlined... Then they had me on life support and I don't remember anything from the 10 days I was on it.

Had to relearn how to walk, how to talk, and how to function in general. Was bedridden for a month, also bled from my head for a month straight... Could barely stay conscious during that time, tried watching "Big Hero 6" like 20 times but kept falling asleep before I got to the end. Then after that month they sent me to the psych ward for another month. Freaking sucked... They really don't treat you like a human in there... At least not to the one I went to... Nearly starved myself to death while I was there... Intentionally...

Then another month finishing up summer vacation, and my aunt and uncle forced me back into school despite me BEGGING for a year to recover... Wasn't allowed... Well I couldn't keep up with school and a social life and work (I know I mentioned I didn't have a job earlier, tbh I think I'm getting some of the timeline mixed up but I'm trying). So I quit my job and broke up with my girlfriend at the time. She didn't take that too well... Falsely accused me of raping her, and everyone believed her at first... I was immediately assumed guilty with zero evidence!!! THANKFULLY I had evidence that I DIDN'T rape her. So I didn't get in any legal trouble, but I was still kicked out of school. So then my aunt and uncle forced me to go to online school right away, and I SUCKED at it. Idk, I struggle enough to learn as it is, trying to learn online was freaking hell cause I couldn't just raise my hand and ask a question. I had to email the teacher and wait for a reply back and ask clarifying questions and it just didn't work for me... Somehow passed though...

Then I was immediately forced into college, despite me once again BEGGING for a year to just recover!!! Well this time the injury really showed and I flunked every class.... Even the math class, which is my best subject... I was so disappointed in myself even...

Well I couldn't stand living with my aunt and uncle anymore, and by then I had a new girlfriend. She asked me to marry her (I was 19 by this point), and I said yes out of guilt and desperation ngl. We were both desperate to leave our parents so we kinda used each other to attain that goal. Was great at first, really lived happily for a year there. Then covid hit.... Lost our jobs, couldn't afford rent, and we had to move in with her mom (who she did not live with previously). Turns out her mom is a man hater who dates a bunch of gang bangers and blames all men for her poor decision making... And she quickly turned my wife at the time against me... She ended up getting a conure to torture me, because they caused me to get phantom pains of the crossbow event.... For 3 years I dealt with phantom pains on a daily basis.... I opted to sleep in the trunk of my Honda Civic Coupe to get away from THAT FUCKING BIRD!!!!

Needless to say I stopped being sexual cause I was in too much pain. So she said I was satisfying her needs, and used it as an excuse to cheat on me. Like a dumbass I tried fixing the relationship for a month, then decided to just divorce her cause I obviously wasn't happy. She delayed it for a year so she could try to take my cat away from me.... She got the bird, I keep my cat, that was fair to me. Evidently not to her... Thankfully I did keep my cat in the end (IF YOU'RE STILL STALKING ME THEN FUCK OFF ALREADY!!! SHE'S MINE AND SHE IS SPOILED!!!)

So after all that I was forced to move back in with my uncle, aunt had passed away by this point. Decided I would start making a life for myself, and went back to college for myself this time. Started getting straight As because I wanted to, not because I was expected to. Got into PTK Honors Society, The Dean's List, and The President's List!!!

I have a job as a baker now, which is what I'm in college for. I make random things for my coworkers all the time. S'mores fudge, creme brulee cookies, cinnamon toast crunch frozen souffles, a low fat low sugar high protein baked blueberry custard, and just so much more.

Life is looking up, but honestly? My mind is still so brutal... Flashbacks and all this and that just make it rough to get through life... I mean, I guess I'm doing it so that's something to be proud of right? Ha, who am I kidding. I start tearing up anytime I even try to say I'm proud of myself. Guess I'm just not there yet, but I want to be... I'm working on it, so maybe one day I'll finally be proud of myself... I really do hope that one day I see myself as enough... Sorry, tried leaving it off on a positive note... Kinda butchered that up huh? Idk... Just going through the motions I guess... Kinda hard when I'm reopening all these old scars... But I hope somebody gets some encouragement or meaning from it.

With that I wish you all a wonderful day, many blessings in life, and thank you all so much for reading this far. I know it's a loooooong post, so it means a lot to me that you took the time to read it.

There are so many factors that can play in preventing survivors from coming out to others, or even to themselves! My founder’s experience post will give more context to what happened, but what stopped me from even acknowledging the abuse I was facing was a lot of normalising it. I grew up in a typical Asian household, and physical punishment was highly normalised, even joked about. I used to partake in laughing at those kinds of jokes and still do sometimes, but I’ve gotten much more wary of that. I was taught that Americans have too many labels for every minor inconvenience and I have to toughen up and deal with it. As I grew older and did my research, I started to think that maybe the Americans were right, and I thought that coming to terms with abuse wasn’t weakness — it was really strength. Very luckily, though, I was taken seriously when I reported the rape threat behind my back to the school administration. The administration knew how to handle the guy who threatened me and other classmates, and he was expelled within a week of our report. I am so grateful for that, though my parents refused to see me as a survivor (they told me I am not a “sexual victim”) even after that. Though they did take it seriously, they constantly reminded me that he would’ve said any girl’s name when that was false; he had assaulted more guys than harassed girls. Unfortunately, they had a very gendered way of seeing sexual violence, and were pretty dismissive even when I brought up the fact that I have some male survivor friends who’ve survived much worse than I have. This experience was a large factor in my inspiration to create this community. I had a limited amount of safe spaces to go to when I was vulnerable, and don’t what any of you to experience that same dearth of safe spaces. Whether those limiting factors were gendered lenses of sexual and domestic violence, fear, minimisation, or anything else that may be specific to your experience, I want you to know those factors shouldn’t have stopped you, and I am so glad that you’ve broken through the barriers to tell others and comment. Stay safe, happy, and healthy, brothers!

Sincerely,
𝕋𝚑𝚎-𝕊𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛-𝕆𝚗𝚎 (u/Intelligent-Bird-313) — surviving founder and moderator