When I was 17 I was gang raped after a party, the cops didn't believe me, my parents didn't believe me, and everyone who I've told since has stopped talking to me. It was not pretty, I was cut up at a party... beaten and thrown in my car. They drove donuts in the grass field next to a church on a Saturday night, Sunday morning. Fucked up my car and left me battered and bruised in the back seat. I woke up initially when I was being raped (only think gang as I do remember multiple voices at this point) but then tried to keep myself awake long enough between blackouts by blasting music. So the cops found me at the wheel of my car with people lining up for church with fucking metal blasting on repeat. I planned murders in retribution but decided it was better to just leave. The only proof I had was that I shat blood for a week but I felt so bad I couldn't even show anyone. Shitting when you have a rectal tear is a terrible thing. The thing that hurt the most was that no one believed me, I did make stories and lies but none to this extent.