< Translator’s note: The original formatting of the stories has been preserved. The translations aim to remain as close as possible to each author's original wording and expression.

 

Since I was 9 years old, I was sexually abused by a man my grandma lived with. I couldn’t understand what was going on; it was not explained what was okay regarding my body, and what wasn’t. I didn’t tell anyone, thought it was all just games.

 

With age, I started realising that it was not okay, but still hesitated to tell anyone. I tried to help myself on my own by resisting and threatening that I would tell everyone. But he still would come to my room and use force. When I turned 14, I started using my strength against him, too. I got angry so much so that I hit him and left a bruise on his face. He stopped coming, and I thought that was it… but…

 

When I was 16, it so happened that I stayed at home alone with him. He pinned me to the wall and started touching and saying how much he missed that. At that moment, I got scared and understood that I needed to tell someone, otherwise he would just continue. I started fighting and, for the first time, screamed — that scared him, and he left. I called my mom and told her we needed to go file a report with the police.
 

But afterward, I faced the main issue because of which I had been afraid to tell anyone — the police opened a case but never did anything. That bastard disappeared, and he was never searched for. After a year, I demanded for a court hearing, and they interrogated me for an hour. At the end, the judge (the only man in the courtroom) asked me, “What were you wearing?”

 

Now I’m 18. When I called the head of police inquiring about my case, he said that I didn’t have enough evidence and the case was going to be closed.

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Olena, 18; story shared in 2024 as part of the campaign “16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence.”