I shared my story in part when I introduced myself, but I feel that in order to truly feel comfortable here, I must truly tell it. I was a low risk child. By that, I mean I was raised in a two parent household with a stable income. I was homeschooled from Kindergarten on, and rarely went anywhere without my mother. Be that as it may, I encountered my first abuser when I was just six. He was a 17 year old who attended the church I was raised in at the time. It was a summer day, and the church was holding a picnic at a church members farm. I was playing and he joined in, chasing a few of us young kids around, teasing us. Harmless fun.... Soon, he 'caught' me, and took me behind a tree and began to hug, rub and wrap his legs around me from behind. He then asked if I'd like to go see the horses. There was a barn about 200 yards away from the rest of the gathering, and I consented. My parents were scared of horses and we didn't have the money to get me horse backing riding lessons, although that was always a deep desire for me. We walked in, and I immediately realized that there were no horses. I think he told me they must be in the field - being the innocent, trusting child I was, I believed him without question. He got me to sit down and talk to him. Then he began to kiss me, assuring me that this was how friends 'showed they cared about each other'. The kissing quickly escalated and I became scared. I froze, and by the time I realized that this was a bad situation, he was already raping me. I remember just trying to pretend that I was in a castle with a knight taking care of me and lavishing me with diamonds and gifts. I have fallen back on this coping mechanism in one way or another quite often over the last 17 years. I remember the utter pain, humiliation and confusion coursing through my body after that. I fought to forget, and eventually, I guess I did on some level. About one year later, I was visiting a close family friend who also lived on a farm [I hate farms, two of my assaults occurred on them]. The friend - we'll call her Kate - was planning a barbecue and my sisters, her granddaughter and I had spent the night in the 'granddaughters bedroom' the night before. I remember going up there, I believe to change clothing before the festivities began. A man, who I believe may have worked on the farm, though his face is pitch black in my memory so I may never be certain who he was, appeared. Whether or not he was already lurking in the shadows before I arrived or he came up the stairs, I cannot remember. He walked toward me, and I remember an indescribable terror - I could already sense danger before he said or did a word. He pinned me against the side of the bed and I started to scream. I remember that he grabbed my throat and clamped his hand over my mouth, telling me to shut up. This time was worse than the first, and he was not nearly as 'sweet' as the first one. I remember wanting to run, far far away to a land where men did not hurt little girls in their private place, and daddies were there to stop it if they tried. But I was frozen and my father wasn't there. So I was raped, and once again, told no one. I made myself forget this assault as well. I remember always feeling angry and miserable after this assault. If the first one was bad, this one was a living hell. Fast forward to age 21: I was living in an apartment with my older sister and life had moved forward. I had not entered therapy for my previous assaults, but I had made progress. I had made friends and was trying to learn how to trust again. One evening during a heat wave we invited several people over for a party, which would involve alcohol. I only knew a few of the people, but my sister knew most of them. At some point in the evening, I felt tired and sick, so I went to my bedroom and laid down. I immediately was comatose. The next morning I awoke with a very familiar feeling. I knew that I had, once again, been violated. I scrubbed my body for as long as I could, with water reaching almost burning levels. Two months later, a pregnancy test that was faulty did not confirm my fears, but what happened a short time later did, when I miscarried. I had not been sexually active for a year before that party, and had not had consensual sex at the party. I knew in my heart that I had just miscarried a pregnancy borne of rape. As strange as it may sound, losing the baby made it worse, somehow. Like even my body felt that I was such a bad person, it wouldn't allow me to carry a child. A child that yes, was 50% genetically a rapist's, but was also 100% mine. I began to believe that I was a bad person, that I had 'violate me' scrawled somewhere where only predators could see. I finally entered therapy in August 2012, over a year after the final assault. I attended for seven months and was graduated. The biggest mistake I made was not discussing the assault that led to the miscarriage with my therapist.