< 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.
i always found my own fault in what happened. when a stranger touched me in the subway, i blamed myself for wearing a short skirt; when my drink was roofied — for the fact that i drank alcohol in the first place.
but at 22, i realized that i cannot find my own fault. that there is no fault of mine after all.
then, i got a job as an administrator at an escape room. the pay wasn’t great, but at the time i was interested in this particular field. i really liked the team, we started becoming friends.
my boss was a 45-year-old man, Viktor. his wife also worked with us (as an administrator at another location), and she probably became my closest friend at that time.
i was recovering from nervous anorexia, i looked quite sick, so my colleagues supported me: they gave compliments, treated me to food, took care of how i was feeling. viktor was less involved in the last two things (and he often asked me to work overtime), but he did give compliments, although rather strange ones. at the time, i thought he just didn’t know how to draw boundaries (now i understand those were already warning signs).
i worked there for several months. everything was great, i thought i had found incredible friends at work. viktor supported my idea of someday opening my own escape room, gave advice, but often talked about the connection between fear and sex. i got used to ignoring such comments, especially since, because of my eating disorder, i believed that i definitely could not be attractive.
one day, a group of visitors damaged a wall at the location. according to the rules, i told viktor about it. he asked me to go with him and show him where exactly it had happened.
having worked there for several months already, i obviously didn’t even think this could be dangerous.
i don’t know what exactly disoriented me: the darkness (he turned off the lights), the fact that he hit me, or the overall unexpectedness. i bruised my knees and elbows, injured my wrist. describing how it was probably makes no sense. i’m not sure i can.
it was an isolated room, and people often screamed there from fear anyway, so no one came to help.
of course, he blamed me. i wasn’t wearing a bra, i was smiling, i was “sending signals.” then he humiliated me — started saying that i only worked there because of his interest, because overall as an employee i was “a complete nobody.” and “what happened” was just a game, obviously. because in reality i liked it, he could feel that.
i was never able to wear the clothes i had on that day again. and the bruises and wounds on my knees and palms took a long time to heal.
i didn’t go to the police. i generally denied that it had happened, but there was a feeling as if my body no longer belonged to me. i simply didn’t feel a connection, even between movement and my brain.
and i couldn’t go to doctors, any doctors at all. i took STI and HIV tests a year and a half later. all that time, i lived with the certainty that one day i would simply die of some incurable disease, and only then would everyone understand what had happened.
i mechanically performed some actions. and, most painfully, i went to work. i don’t know how to name this feeling properly, but i was waiting for something. probably an apology, an explanation, at least some reason for why me. but that didn’t happen. he simply stopped appearing at our location for a while.
but, after a few days, all my colleagues turned on me. when i tried to understand the reason, i found out that he had complained to his wife that i had seduced him. using that general word. she forgave him, but not me. she hated me.
only then did i leave that place — and promised myself to never tell anyone about it.
the trigger for me was that a year and a half later, my friend experienced rape within marriage. i supported her, helped her find a safe space. and then i started talking. to her and to my mom. i went to doctors, found out that i have certain health problems as a result of internal physical injuries after the rape. that was the beginning of my fight.
i worked with a psychotherapist (and a psychiatrist), read a lot of literature on this topic, and it helped me find my voice. now i can talk about this calmly, because my trauma does not define me as a person.
i do not blame his wife, because she was in an abusive relationship herself, she was being manipulated. maybe, if this topic weren’t taboo, she could have understood me. because back then, i really needed support.
i hope that my story will resonate with someone. because it is very important to talk about this.
Anna, 25 years old; story shared in 2024 as part of the campaign “16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence.”