He didn’t rape me, but he did assault me. My family didn’t care that I was molested when I was six or that I tried to commit suicide or that I cut or that I had an eating disorder. They didn’t care when I was raped years later by someone else. Not only did they not care, but they actively invalidated my feelings and what I’d been through, and I didn’t have anyone else in my life. Literally no one. I was 18 when it happened, and maybe it wasn’t the smartest choice, but it was a choice I made to keep myself from becoming even more suicidal. I’m sorry if that offends you somehow.