10/04/2025
SCARS THAT STILL BLEED
📍 this story is reposted with full authorization from UCnian Freedom Board
Trigger Warning: This story contains sensitive content about s*x*al assault. Please read with care.
Hi everyone. I’m Jen, from B***w**, Negros O**i**tal. For years, I’ve kept this story locked away inside, afraid of sharing it, but I’ve come to realize that carrying this pain alone is unbearable. I’m not sharing this for attention, but because I need to let it out—maybe, just maybe, it will help me find peace.
This happened when I was still in Senior High School. We were dismissed from class around 5 PM, but I stayed behind to finish a school project I needed to leave at school for submission the next day. By 6 PM, the guard came by, telling me to head home since I was the last student left and it was already getting dark.
I stepped out of school and looked around for a tricycle, but there were none in sight. Deciding to take a shortcut, I walked down an isolated path surrounded by trees. I knew it wasn’t the safest route, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I just wanted to get home quickly.
That’s when I noticed them—three men standing in the distance. They were wearing N**S* crimin*l*gy uniforms, smoking and drinking. They didn’t seem familiar, but something about the way they looked at me made my heart race. I tried to keep my distance and ignore them, but it was impossible.
One of them called out, “Hey, miss. It’s so dark here. Are you sure you should be walking alone?”
I forced a nervous smile and replied, “Gani, kuya,” trying to sound calm, though my heart was already pounding in my chest. I kept walking, silently praying to reach the main road without incident. But they started following me.
My anxiety turned into fear. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as they came closer. They were moving faster, and before I knew it, one of them grabbed me. My mind went blank. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t run. I tried to fight back, but they were stronger—three of them, one of me. They gagged me, dragged me deeper into the woods, and one by one, they took turns.
I was powerless. My body fought, but my spirit felt broken. I wanted to scream for help, but my voice was smothered. I wanted to run, but my body betrayed me. It felt like the world was closing in on me, suffocating me with darkness and fear. They laughed while I cried, their words echoing in my ears as they violated me.
I remember praying to God, hoping for someone, anyone, to hear me, but no one came.
When they were done, they left me there, trembling, bruised, and broken. They threatened me not to say a word, or they’d find me again. They didn’t care what they had done. To them, I was just another girl to torment. Then they walked away, leaving me in the woods, alone.
Somehow, I managed to gather the strength to stand up. I walked home, my clothes torn, my body aching, covered in bruises, but no one noticed. Everyone at home was asleep. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried under the shower for hours, hoping the water could wash away the shame, the pain, and the violation. But it didn’t. It stayed with me, deep inside.
I didn’t go to school the following week. My family asked why, and I said I was sick—fever and body aches. But I wasn’t just physically sick. I was emotionally broken. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to tell my family. I feared they would blame me for walking alone.
As the weeks passed, I became paranoid. I was terrified I might be pregnant, so I drank Coke excessively, hoping it would help me, or at least distract me. I took anything I thought might prevent a pregnancy, desperate for a sign that I wouldn’t have to face the consequences of what had happened. Every day, I feared the worst. Every day, I asked myself, *What would I do if I were pregnant? What would I tell my family?*
Thankfully, I wasn’t pregnant, but the fear lingered. It became a constant shadow, always there, always watching.
Days and weeks went by, but the trauma didn’t fade. I couldn’t focus in class. My mind kept going back to that night—reliving it over and over. I became numb to everything around me, unable to escape the memories that haunted me.
One night, in a desperate attempt to distract myself, I downloaded the NGL app. I thought maybe it would be fun to get anonymous messages. But one message stopped me in my tracks—it said, “hello, remember the day you were ""****? I was there and I did nothing.”
That was it. The pain that I had been trying to bury came crashing down on me again. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. Instead, I cried. I cried for the helplessness I felt. I cried for the fact that no one came to help. I cried for the fact that someone saw and did nothing.
A month after graduating from Senior High, I enrolled at N**S*. I thought it was my chance for a fresh start, a chance to leave the past behind. But fate had other plans. One day on campus, I saw them again—the same three men. They were still wearing their crimin*l*gy uniforms, laughing and talking like nothing had ever happened. They didn’t recognize me, but I would never forget them. Their faces were burned into my memory forever.
My heart sank. My knees went weak, and I couldn’t breathe. I avoided them as much as possible, always looking over my shoulder, wondering if they remembered me. But they didn’t. They were just three men, living their lives while mine was still shattered. I waited for the day they would graduate and leave campus. Thankfully, they eventually did.
But the trauma never truly left me. I no longer walk alone at night. If I do, I carry a Swiss knife and pepper spray in my bag—just in case. The fear is still there, always lingering, but I’ve learned to live with it. To survive it.
To this day, I’ve never received justice. No one has ever been held accountable for what they did to me. But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.
If you’re reading this, thank you for listening. I don’t know if sharing this will ever take away the pain, but maybe, just maybe, it will help me find some peace. You are not alone in your struggles. Your story matters. And if you’ve ever felt broken, remember—there’s strength in survival.
— Jen
Update from Jen: https://bit.ly/wwwfacebookthefreedomboardstoriescom1021983291388posts1219813989983905400000000
Summary: Please read the update to avoid generalization. This is the story of Jen from Negros Oriental, who bravely shares her experience of surviving a traumatic attack during senior high school. She was assaulted by three men while walking home and lived in silence for years, burdened by fear and trauma. Although she later encountered her attackers again, justice was never served. Now, by speaking out, Jen hopes to heal—and to help others find the strength to do the same and seek justice, if it is still possible. Her story is a testament to courage and resilience, as she uses her voice not only to heal, but also to inspire others to speak up and seek justice—not just to address the past, but to help create a safer and more compassionate future.
This story is reposted with full authorization from The UCnian Freedom Board.
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