I like to watch Private Practice. When I can't sleep, it's what I watch. For those of you that don't know what it is, it's a spin-off series from the series Grey's Anatomy. It's what I watch (well, at the minute it is, it used to be the Vampire Diaries, then Grey's Anatomy, or the rabbits frolicking outside my window). Except last episode, one of the main characters got raped.
I don't fall apart when I hear the word 'rape', nor do I break down crying when watching something on TV and rape is featured in it. I haven't quite gotten to the stage where I can listen to rape jokes, but other than that I'm okay. I can watch movies where one of the characters gets raped. I can watch the news as they report a sexual attack. I'm okay.
But this time... I don't know what got me this time. Maybe because it's one of my favourite shows. Maybe because in movies something about the rape is mentioned in the synopsis, or because you expect to hear that kind of thing on the news - which just goes to show what a sorry state our society is in.
The fact that this character got raped threw me. I wasn't expecting it to happen. It gave me a shock. I continued to watch. And I'm watching the other character's reactions to it.
After my rape happened, I shut it out. I didn't tell a soul. I didn't want to tell my parents because I knew it would hurt them. I tried to block it out. Well, we all know how that turned out.
The thing is, since I have told people, I haven't stopped to think about their reactions, their feelings. For so long, I kept it secret. So when I did finally let it out, it was a relief and I could focus on finally healing myself. What I haven't thought about is how what happened to me is affecting those around me.
Some people are uncomfortable; they don't know how to talk to me. They don't know how to act around me. They're scared of doing or saying the wrong thing. Other people are okay, for the most part, but take a few steps back after a blog entry. Some people avoid me. All of that is to be expected. And to those people - it's okay. It's okay to not talk about it with me. I'm still the same person as I was before you knew this about me. I haven't changed. It's also okay to say 'I read your blog, I don't really know what to say, I find it uncomfortable to talk about with you, but I'm still your friend'.
But what really hit me for the first time are how this must be affecting my parents. I hadn't let myself think about this for too long. But... I can't begin to imagine how they must be feeling. I'm their little girl, their baby. Someone hurt me. And I know they must think 'why couldn't I see this was happening? Why couldn't I protect her? Why couldn't I save her?'
As much as my parents want to protect me from the pain, I wanted to protect them from it as well. Because my parents are great parents, and I didn't want to hurt them. Except, I didn't hurt them. He did.
I am finally realising that it's not just me he's hurt. He has hurt everyone that loves me. And that angers me even more. It's one thing to hurt me - it's another thing entirely to hurt those I love.
I can't imagine what my parents must be going through. I know it's a parent's instinct to protect their child. But my parents didn't fail. I want them to know that. Because everyone gets a taste of the real world, eventually. My parents succeeded in raising me. They have given me the strength to carry on, to face my demons, to face him and to live. They are my rock. They raised me to be who I am. They love me unconditionally and support me. With their love, support and strength I am a rape survivor and not a rape victim. They have raised me to be a strong woman that doesn't give up, and is strong enough to seek support when I need it.
I wish there was something I could do or say to make them stop hurting. I know that as long as I hurt, they will hurt. Because they are great parents, and they feel my pain. I guess that's partly why they're great parents. But I want them to know that it wasn't their fault. There was nothing that either of them could have done. The blame lies solely on him.
So I want to take the time to thank my parents, for being the wonderful people that they are. And for my friends. Thank you.
Monday 5 December 2011
Thursday 1 December 2011
Guilt
I just heard from my police liason officer. He said that other evidence has been found concerning someone else. This means that he will have to be interviewed again and another bail date has to be set. It also means that the CPS (Criminal Prosecuting Service) won't review my case until sometime in 2012. He couldn't give me any details. But "concerning someone else" can only mean one thing.
I burst in to tears when I heard this. I was beside myself. All that kept going through my head was 'he did this to someone else'. Deep down I knew that I probably wasn't the only one that he had abused and raped, but I still hoped I was. I didn't want anyone else going through what I'm going through. But to have it confirmed... Knowing that he hurt someone else the way he hurt me... it made me feel sick to my stomach.
And guilty. Oh, I feel so guilty. If only I had spoken out before. If only I had gone to the police before. Then maybe this poor girl, whoever she is, would have been spared. If I had just done something sooner, then this girl wouldn't have gone through this. But I didn't. I kept quiet for six years. How many other girls has he hurt in those six years? Now I know there's definitely another girl, I also know there's bound to be more.
I know I have nothing to be guilty for - he did those things. He is the only one to blame. But I can't help think; I could have stopped this. I could have stopped him from hurting her, whoever she is. But, because I was too afraid to speak out, someone else's life has been torn apart. Someone else has suffered at the hands of him. Someone else is trying to piece themselves back together. All because I didn't say anything sooner.
Logically, I know this isn't my fault. It's his. Logically I know this. Yet... I also know that this guilt is going to be something I have to learn to live with for the rest of my life. Because I didn't say anything sooner, which gave him six years to find and hurt other girls.
Everything I have been through, everything I am going through - someone else is going through the same thing. All because I kept my mouth shut.
So yes, I burst in to tears. I went outside for a cigarette and called my Dad. I chain-smoked and cried. Some poor fresher girl walked past me, saw me crying and sat down and hugged me, and went to get me some tissues. Which made me cry even more - the kindness she gave out to me, would she still be so kind if she realised that because of my actions (or lack thereof) a girl had been sexually abused and probably raped?
I went back to my room. I thought all the tears had left me, then I saw myself in the mirror, and the tears came again. I knocked on a friend's door, burst in and sat on his bed and cried some more. He must have been pretty shocked to see me in that state, and I had clearly interrupted his work. But bless him - he didn't say anything, just held me as I finally, finally, got all the tears out of my system.
I wandered around college for a bit, wanting to socialise, to be with people. Then I realised I didn't know how to interact with anyone. I couldn't tell them what had just happened, what I had just found out. Who needs that kind of darkness in their lives?
So here I am.
I just feel so guilty. Somewhere out there, there is a girl going through what I am going through. There is another girl out there that was groomed by this evil bastard. There is another girl out there who was hurt, who will carry these scars with her for the rest of her life.
All because I didn't say anything.
I burst in to tears when I heard this. I was beside myself. All that kept going through my head was 'he did this to someone else'. Deep down I knew that I probably wasn't the only one that he had abused and raped, but I still hoped I was. I didn't want anyone else going through what I'm going through. But to have it confirmed... Knowing that he hurt someone else the way he hurt me... it made me feel sick to my stomach.
And guilty. Oh, I feel so guilty. If only I had spoken out before. If only I had gone to the police before. Then maybe this poor girl, whoever she is, would have been spared. If I had just done something sooner, then this girl wouldn't have gone through this. But I didn't. I kept quiet for six years. How many other girls has he hurt in those six years? Now I know there's definitely another girl, I also know there's bound to be more.
I know I have nothing to be guilty for - he did those things. He is the only one to blame. But I can't help think; I could have stopped this. I could have stopped him from hurting her, whoever she is. But, because I was too afraid to speak out, someone else's life has been torn apart. Someone else has suffered at the hands of him. Someone else is trying to piece themselves back together. All because I didn't say anything sooner.
Logically, I know this isn't my fault. It's his. Logically I know this. Yet... I also know that this guilt is going to be something I have to learn to live with for the rest of my life. Because I didn't say anything sooner, which gave him six years to find and hurt other girls.
Everything I have been through, everything I am going through - someone else is going through the same thing. All because I kept my mouth shut.
So yes, I burst in to tears. I went outside for a cigarette and called my Dad. I chain-smoked and cried. Some poor fresher girl walked past me, saw me crying and sat down and hugged me, and went to get me some tissues. Which made me cry even more - the kindness she gave out to me, would she still be so kind if she realised that because of my actions (or lack thereof) a girl had been sexually abused and probably raped?
I went back to my room. I thought all the tears had left me, then I saw myself in the mirror, and the tears came again. I knocked on a friend's door, burst in and sat on his bed and cried some more. He must have been pretty shocked to see me in that state, and I had clearly interrupted his work. But bless him - he didn't say anything, just held me as I finally, finally, got all the tears out of my system.
I wandered around college for a bit, wanting to socialise, to be with people. Then I realised I didn't know how to interact with anyone. I couldn't tell them what had just happened, what I had just found out. Who needs that kind of darkness in their lives?
So here I am.
I just feel so guilty. Somewhere out there, there is a girl going through what I am going through. There is another girl out there that was groomed by this evil bastard. There is another girl out there who was hurt, who will carry these scars with her for the rest of her life.
All because I didn't say anything.
Tuesday 15 November 2011
Bail
I have had an email from my police liason officer, keeping me up to date about what's going on.
He said that unfortunately there's nothing much new to report, as the Computer Lab just needs to do their thing. Unfortunately, there's a lot that they're doing, and I'm getting the impression that my case isn't at the top of the 'to-do' list. Which is fair enough I guess - it is after all, an old case.
He said that the Computer people started a new series of searches on the 4th November. It's likely that because Christmas and New Year are just around the corner, they probably won't be finished gathering evidence until at least January/February.
Meanwhile, he has a bail date on the 8th December, with a provisional date set in 2012 to be rebailed.
It just seems to be taking forever. When will it be over?
He said that unfortunately there's nothing much new to report, as the Computer Lab just needs to do their thing. Unfortunately, there's a lot that they're doing, and I'm getting the impression that my case isn't at the top of the 'to-do' list. Which is fair enough I guess - it is after all, an old case.
He said that the Computer people started a new series of searches on the 4th November. It's likely that because Christmas and New Year are just around the corner, they probably won't be finished gathering evidence until at least January/February.
Meanwhile, he has a bail date on the 8th December, with a provisional date set in 2012 to be rebailed.
It just seems to be taking forever. When will it be over?
Saturday 12 November 2011
Dark days
For those that haven’t experienced what I call a 'dark day', it’s really hard to understand. A lot of people can't relate to it, can't comprehend it. I know a lot of people think 'well, why can't you just snap out of it?'
Imagine waking up, and feeling like there is no hope for anything. All your positive thoughts have gone. No matter how hard you try, you can’t think a single good thought. It might be the most beautiful day the world has ever seen, but you can’t see it. Something is stopping you from seeing it. It’s like there’s a black curtain covering your perception of the world.
Add to this, you are overwhelmed by feelings of self-loathing. Every negative thought you’ve ever had about yourself is multiplied by 100, by a thousand. Whatever your insecurities are, on a dark day these insecurities are all-consuming. You’re fat. You’re ugly. You’re stupid. No one loves you. You’re a complete waste of space. You're a burden.
That’s not all though. All the bad memories come flooding back to you. Every bad thing that happened to you hits your like a ton of bricks. When this wave of memories, of bad experiences, hit you, you become completely paralised. It's suffocating. In my case, the worst of these are the thoughts of my rape and abuse. The memories that will forever link me to this man. Who could ever love a damaged woman like me? I’m forever tainted by what he did to me. He destroyed the goodness I had. I didn’t fight back enough. I should have told someone what was happening. I let it happen. I deserved it.
Even though in my head I know that no one 'deserves' for this to happen to them. I know it wasn't my fault. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was vulnerable. He took advantage of that. I know this. But on a dark day, logic goes out of the window.
Add to all of this, you’re exhausted. Completely and utterly exhausted; physically, emotionally and mentally. You can barely summon up any energy to make it to the toilet, let alone put on your usual mask. You can't bring yourself to plaster a smile on your face, to go about your day, to joke and laugh with your friends. You have barely enough energy to roll over in bed, let alone do anything else. But you can’t sleep. All you can do is lie in bed, with everything I’ve just said going round and round in your head.
You want to socialise, you want to ‘snap out of it’. But you can’t bring yourself to talk to anyone. You don’t want to put your problems on them. You don’t want to bring them down. You don’t want to be a burden. Yet locking yourself away doesn't help. It's a vicious circle.
So all you can do is lie there, hoping that when you do eventually manage to get to sleep, you’ll wake up and the dark cloud will have lifted.
Imagine waking up, and feeling like there is no hope for anything. All your positive thoughts have gone. No matter how hard you try, you can’t think a single good thought. It might be the most beautiful day the world has ever seen, but you can’t see it. Something is stopping you from seeing it. It’s like there’s a black curtain covering your perception of the world.
Add to this, you are overwhelmed by feelings of self-loathing. Every negative thought you’ve ever had about yourself is multiplied by 100, by a thousand. Whatever your insecurities are, on a dark day these insecurities are all-consuming. You’re fat. You’re ugly. You’re stupid. No one loves you. You’re a complete waste of space. You're a burden.
That’s not all though. All the bad memories come flooding back to you. Every bad thing that happened to you hits your like a ton of bricks. When this wave of memories, of bad experiences, hit you, you become completely paralised. It's suffocating. In my case, the worst of these are the thoughts of my rape and abuse. The memories that will forever link me to this man. Who could ever love a damaged woman like me? I’m forever tainted by what he did to me. He destroyed the goodness I had. I didn’t fight back enough. I should have told someone what was happening. I let it happen. I deserved it.
Even though in my head I know that no one 'deserves' for this to happen to them. I know it wasn't my fault. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was vulnerable. He took advantage of that. I know this. But on a dark day, logic goes out of the window.
Add to all of this, you’re exhausted. Completely and utterly exhausted; physically, emotionally and mentally. You can barely summon up any energy to make it to the toilet, let alone put on your usual mask. You can't bring yourself to plaster a smile on your face, to go about your day, to joke and laugh with your friends. You have barely enough energy to roll over in bed, let alone do anything else. But you can’t sleep. All you can do is lie in bed, with everything I’ve just said going round and round in your head.
You want to socialise, you want to ‘snap out of it’. But you can’t bring yourself to talk to anyone. You don’t want to put your problems on them. You don’t want to bring them down. You don’t want to be a burden. Yet locking yourself away doesn't help. It's a vicious circle.
So all you can do is lie there, hoping that when you do eventually manage to get to sleep, you’ll wake up and the dark cloud will have lifted.
Wednesday 2 November 2011
A&E
I was taken by ambulance to hospital last week. Turns out I damaged a ligament in my back by putting a joint out of place. I was staying at a friend's house, when I realised I couldn't move. I tried standing up, but the pain was too much. So an ambulance was quickly called.
The paramedics were two men. They seemed nice enough. But even though I was in a lot of pain, the fact that I was in an enclosed space with two unknown men made me very uncomfortable. I was very relieved when my friend decided to come with me in the ambulance. If she hadn't, I think I would have had a panic attack.
My blood pressure was extremely high. The fact that one of the men kept leaning over me and touching my back didn't help. I had to remind myself; 'these men are doing their job. These men are here to help me'. It was still difficult though.
It's no secret that I'm uncomfortable around men. I'm extremely wary of them. I realise that this isn't fair to men, as most men wouldn't hurt a woman. But I can't help it - men that I don't know make me uncomfortable. It took me a long time to be comfortable around my male friends at uni. There was no way I was going to be comfortable around these two paramedics.
I was given morphine and gas to help ease the pain. It didn't work. I wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that I didn't want to be out of it? Yes, I wanted the pain to go away, but I didn't want to be knocked out, I needed to be aware of what was going on around me, what they were doing.
The paramedics said the pain musn't be that bad if I'm still paying attention to my surroundings. I was desperately trying to hold back my tears and stop myself from telling him that this was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life - and I've felt a lot of pain, haven broken bones, torn muscles, used to be a self-harmer etc. I just had to know what they were doing, I couldn't afford to let myself become knocked-out and vulnerable.
Luckily, when we got to the hospital, my Mum was there waiting for me. I was put in a room and given 5 different painkillers to take as well as some more gas. That did the trick. I was pretty out of it. I seem to remember telling my Mum that I felt like the caterpillar from Alice In Wonderland, because I kept inhaling the gas.
After about 6 hours I was sent home, with an appointment to see a chiropracter on Friday.
Thinking back now, I feel sorry for the paramedics. They were doing their jobs, they were helping me. But I let my fears take over and wouldn't let them do their jobs. I guess it's something I have to work on. I need to get it through my head - most men are not evil. Most men are not rapists. Most men are nice. It's just difficult for me to actually believe that. But I'm working on it.
Me
The paramedics were two men. They seemed nice enough. But even though I was in a lot of pain, the fact that I was in an enclosed space with two unknown men made me very uncomfortable. I was very relieved when my friend decided to come with me in the ambulance. If she hadn't, I think I would have had a panic attack.
My blood pressure was extremely high. The fact that one of the men kept leaning over me and touching my back didn't help. I had to remind myself; 'these men are doing their job. These men are here to help me'. It was still difficult though.
It's no secret that I'm uncomfortable around men. I'm extremely wary of them. I realise that this isn't fair to men, as most men wouldn't hurt a woman. But I can't help it - men that I don't know make me uncomfortable. It took me a long time to be comfortable around my male friends at uni. There was no way I was going to be comfortable around these two paramedics.
I was given morphine and gas to help ease the pain. It didn't work. I wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that I didn't want to be out of it? Yes, I wanted the pain to go away, but I didn't want to be knocked out, I needed to be aware of what was going on around me, what they were doing.
The paramedics said the pain musn't be that bad if I'm still paying attention to my surroundings. I was desperately trying to hold back my tears and stop myself from telling him that this was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life - and I've felt a lot of pain, haven broken bones, torn muscles, used to be a self-harmer etc. I just had to know what they were doing, I couldn't afford to let myself become knocked-out and vulnerable.
Luckily, when we got to the hospital, my Mum was there waiting for me. I was put in a room and given 5 different painkillers to take as well as some more gas. That did the trick. I was pretty out of it. I seem to remember telling my Mum that I felt like the caterpillar from Alice In Wonderland, because I kept inhaling the gas.
After about 6 hours I was sent home, with an appointment to see a chiropracter on Friday.
Thinking back now, I feel sorry for the paramedics. They were doing their jobs, they were helping me. But I let my fears take over and wouldn't let them do their jobs. I guess it's something I have to work on. I need to get it through my head - most men are not evil. Most men are not rapists. Most men are nice. It's just difficult for me to actually believe that. But I'm working on it.
Me
Wednesday 19 October 2011
Tuesday 18 October 2011
Stronger
I think Laurie Halse Anderson hit the nail on the head when she said; 'I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this; these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?'
I can be enjoying myself and having a great day - talking with my friends, going to lectures. Just a normal day, but a good day. Then suddenly, it hits me. Wham. I was raped. The thought comes from nowhere. You try to surpress it, try to forget. But you can't. It's always there.
Sometimes I'm talking with my friends, we're having a laugh, just enjoying each other's company. Then I'm hit with a memory; I remember his hands, the feel of him. Or I'm watching a movie when suddenly I hear his voice, whispering to me. Or I'm sitting in a lecture when all of a sudden I remember the searing pain that I felt that night.
These thoughts, these memories, they come from nowhere, and they take over. Once you remember something, it's hard to stop other memories from flooding back.
It would be nice to go just one day without a memory invading my thoughts. He took so much from me, why does he have to keep taking my days now? I'm not even safe from him in my mind. He's always there. The memories of him are always there, lurking in the back of my mind. It's as if my brain is deliberately taunting me; waiting until I'm having a good time, before bombarding me with another memory.
It would be nice to go one day without thinking about him, thinking about what happened. I suppose it's normal - it's a part of my life that is still ongoing. As long as the police are still doing their thing and searching for evidence, as long as the CPS are deciding whether or not to go trial, it is still a big part of my life.
I suppose in some ways I have become stronger. In the past, these memories would overwhelm me. I would have to withdraw myself from everything and everyone while I dealt with it. It would leave me in a very bad place. Whereas now I can think to myself 'okay, it happened, you're remembering something, just breathe, realise that you can't hide from your past. Don't try to run from it, let yourself remember, then move on'.
Just because I'm haunted by memories, doesn't mean that I can't enjoy life. I just need to take a minute or two (or half an hour, or however long I need), to ride out the memory. Then I can continue with whatever it was I was doing. I'll be damned if I let him take more of my life than he already has. Yes, those memories will always throw me, but I can recover from them.
I feel stronger now. He completely broke me down, but through God I have found the strength to rebuild myself, and I know that with Him by my side (and my friends and family), I can face anything.
I can be enjoying myself and having a great day - talking with my friends, going to lectures. Just a normal day, but a good day. Then suddenly, it hits me. Wham. I was raped. The thought comes from nowhere. You try to surpress it, try to forget. But you can't. It's always there.
Sometimes I'm talking with my friends, we're having a laugh, just enjoying each other's company. Then I'm hit with a memory; I remember his hands, the feel of him. Or I'm watching a movie when suddenly I hear his voice, whispering to me. Or I'm sitting in a lecture when all of a sudden I remember the searing pain that I felt that night.
These thoughts, these memories, they come from nowhere, and they take over. Once you remember something, it's hard to stop other memories from flooding back.
It would be nice to go just one day without a memory invading my thoughts. He took so much from me, why does he have to keep taking my days now? I'm not even safe from him in my mind. He's always there. The memories of him are always there, lurking in the back of my mind. It's as if my brain is deliberately taunting me; waiting until I'm having a good time, before bombarding me with another memory.
It would be nice to go one day without thinking about him, thinking about what happened. I suppose it's normal - it's a part of my life that is still ongoing. As long as the police are still doing their thing and searching for evidence, as long as the CPS are deciding whether or not to go trial, it is still a big part of my life.
I suppose in some ways I have become stronger. In the past, these memories would overwhelm me. I would have to withdraw myself from everything and everyone while I dealt with it. It would leave me in a very bad place. Whereas now I can think to myself 'okay, it happened, you're remembering something, just breathe, realise that you can't hide from your past. Don't try to run from it, let yourself remember, then move on'.
Just because I'm haunted by memories, doesn't mean that I can't enjoy life. I just need to take a minute or two (or half an hour, or however long I need), to ride out the memory. Then I can continue with whatever it was I was doing. I'll be damned if I let him take more of my life than he already has. Yes, those memories will always throw me, but I can recover from them.
I feel stronger now. He completely broke me down, but through God I have found the strength to rebuild myself, and I know that with Him by my side (and my friends and family), I can face anything.
Saturday 15 October 2011
News
Thursday was a difficult day for me, things just got on top of me. I ended up locking myself away in my room, avoiding everyone and everything. Thursday was a day where I just couldn't function - I couldn't read, or write or watch movies; all I could do was retreat back in to myself and hope that the feeling would pass. Which it did, eventually.
For those that have never experienced a day like this, it's difficult to explain what it's like. You can't think, you can't eat, you can't move. All you can do is lie in bed, being overwhelmed by emotions and memories. All you can do is ride it out. Luckily it only lasted one day, and luckily I didn't have any lectures on the day either.
The police have been in touch with me. I heard from them last night, just as I was about to go out to a houseparty to celebrate the birthdays of two of my friends.
They said that they've found more evidence that directly relates to me, but they can't tell me what it is. They also said that they're currently backlogged and as such haven't been able to collect all the evidence. This means that they've had to move their appointment with the CPS (Criminal Prosecution Service) back. This means that I won't know the CPS's decision on whether there's enough evidence to go to trial or not until mid-December.
I'm tired of all of this. I'm tired of the date changing. First I was told that this would be all over by August, then January, then March, then November, and now December. I have absolutely no idea what's going on and am completely in the dark. Dates keep changing, information keep changing - first I was told they'd collected all the evidence, now I've been told that actually, not all the evidence has been processed and not all the leads to more information and evidence have been followed.
How am I supposed to find any balance in my life when it seems like they don't even know what's going on?
Me
For those that have never experienced a day like this, it's difficult to explain what it's like. You can't think, you can't eat, you can't move. All you can do is lie in bed, being overwhelmed by emotions and memories. All you can do is ride it out. Luckily it only lasted one day, and luckily I didn't have any lectures on the day either.
The police have been in touch with me. I heard from them last night, just as I was about to go out to a houseparty to celebrate the birthdays of two of my friends.
They said that they've found more evidence that directly relates to me, but they can't tell me what it is. They also said that they're currently backlogged and as such haven't been able to collect all the evidence. This means that they've had to move their appointment with the CPS (Criminal Prosecution Service) back. This means that I won't know the CPS's decision on whether there's enough evidence to go to trial or not until mid-December.
I'm tired of all of this. I'm tired of the date changing. First I was told that this would be all over by August, then January, then March, then November, and now December. I have absolutely no idea what's going on and am completely in the dark. Dates keep changing, information keep changing - first I was told they'd collected all the evidence, now I've been told that actually, not all the evidence has been processed and not all the leads to more information and evidence have been followed.
How am I supposed to find any balance in my life when it seems like they don't even know what's going on?
Me
Monday 10 October 2011
Night
I can't sleep. It's almost 4.30am. I've taken my sleeping tablets, but they don't seem to be kicking in. I'm meant to see the doctor about getting a higher dose, just until all this uncertainty about whether there will be a trial or not, is over. I really should make that appointment soon.
Instead, right now, I'm stuck with all my memories. I want to sleep, I want to drift in to a peaceful sleep and not have any nightmares. I want to dream about nice things - fluffy bunnies and angels. Unfortunately, I've not had those kind of dreams in a long time. Not since he stole my childhood from me.
It's the not knowing that's the hardest part. I've done all I could do. I told the police, I gave them all the information I could give. They gathered all the evidence they could find. Now it's just waiting. Will he see justice? It's the not knowing that's killing me.
I don't even care if he goes to prison for what he did to me, or for something else. I just want him locked up. I want him to face some kind of justice. He's a pedophile, so the chances are high that they'll find something incrimincating. I just hope it's enough to put him behind bars.
Mid-november seems like such a long time away. How am I meant to have a decent night's sleep, knowing all of this is up in the air? Not only do I need to sleep, I need to be functioning - I'm in my 2nd year of my degree, I need to focus on my work. It's not easy though.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. It's not that I'm scared of him - not anymore. If he tried any of that sh*t that he used to do to me, he'd have another thing coming. I'd kick his ass. No, I'm not scared of him. I'm scared of the memory of him. It's the part of me that's still 12, 13, 14... 17 years old that's scared of him, the him of the past. When he did have power over me. It's the him in my nightmares that I'm scared of.
That's why I want to go to trial - I want to face him, once and for all. I want to look at him and think 'what a horrible, sleazy, pathetic excuse for a human-being'. I want to look him in the eye and have him realise that he hasn't ruined my life, that he doesn't have any control over me. I want to face him and I want him to face justice. I want him to realise that his actions have consequences, that he can't just go around abusing people, abusing kids.
I want to face reality and see him for the pathetic creature he is. In the meantime... in the meantime I'm stuck with the memories of a terrified child. In the meantime, I wait.
In the meantime I'm plagued with horrible thoughts. What if he's abused other kids in the past 5 years? I could have stopped that from happening if I had just told the police sooner. Everyone keeps telling me that I can't control what he does, who he hurts. In my head I know this. But in my heart... I know I will feel guilty if it turns out he's hurt other kids. It will feel like I could have stopped him, but didn't. By me not doing anything, he could have stolen another child's childhood. That weighs pretty heavy on my mind.
I just want this to be over. I just want to know, one way or the other, what will happen.
I just want a decent night's sleep.
Me
Instead, right now, I'm stuck with all my memories. I want to sleep, I want to drift in to a peaceful sleep and not have any nightmares. I want to dream about nice things - fluffy bunnies and angels. Unfortunately, I've not had those kind of dreams in a long time. Not since he stole my childhood from me.
It's the not knowing that's the hardest part. I've done all I could do. I told the police, I gave them all the information I could give. They gathered all the evidence they could find. Now it's just waiting. Will he see justice? It's the not knowing that's killing me.
I don't even care if he goes to prison for what he did to me, or for something else. I just want him locked up. I want him to face some kind of justice. He's a pedophile, so the chances are high that they'll find something incrimincating. I just hope it's enough to put him behind bars.
Mid-november seems like such a long time away. How am I meant to have a decent night's sleep, knowing all of this is up in the air? Not only do I need to sleep, I need to be functioning - I'm in my 2nd year of my degree, I need to focus on my work. It's not easy though.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. It's not that I'm scared of him - not anymore. If he tried any of that sh*t that he used to do to me, he'd have another thing coming. I'd kick his ass. No, I'm not scared of him. I'm scared of the memory of him. It's the part of me that's still 12, 13, 14... 17 years old that's scared of him, the him of the past. When he did have power over me. It's the him in my nightmares that I'm scared of.
That's why I want to go to trial - I want to face him, once and for all. I want to look at him and think 'what a horrible, sleazy, pathetic excuse for a human-being'. I want to look him in the eye and have him realise that he hasn't ruined my life, that he doesn't have any control over me. I want to face him and I want him to face justice. I want him to realise that his actions have consequences, that he can't just go around abusing people, abusing kids.
I want to face reality and see him for the pathetic creature he is. In the meantime... in the meantime I'm stuck with the memories of a terrified child. In the meantime, I wait.
In the meantime I'm plagued with horrible thoughts. What if he's abused other kids in the past 5 years? I could have stopped that from happening if I had just told the police sooner. Everyone keeps telling me that I can't control what he does, who he hurts. In my head I know this. But in my heart... I know I will feel guilty if it turns out he's hurt other kids. It will feel like I could have stopped him, but didn't. By me not doing anything, he could have stolen another child's childhood. That weighs pretty heavy on my mind.
I just want this to be over. I just want to know, one way or the other, what will happen.
I just want a decent night's sleep.
Me
Saturday 1 October 2011
Recurring nightmare
I have a recurring nightmare. I have it at least once a week, normally more.
In my nightmare, I'm preparing to go on a game show. I'm ushered in to a small room and I await my turn to go on stage. There's a TV in the little room, so I can see what's going on stage. As I watch the TV, I start to become more and more nervous. Eventually, someone comes to fetch me and I have to walk through another room backstage. His wife and parents are in this room. They stop talking and glare at me as I walk past. I can see the pain behind their eyes. They start whispering to each other.
'There she is, it's all her fault.'
Their eyes follow me as I'm led from the room. I can feel their hatred towards me seeping in to my soul. I try not to think about it, but a thought runs through my head; 'it's because of me that they're hurting'.
I'm taken on to the stage and have to sit in a booth. In front of me I can see the audience; one side of the audience consists of my friends and family. The other side consists of his friends and family. There are also some strangers with no connection to either of us; they just want to be in the audience of the show.
On the stage to the right of me are the judging panel. There are about 6 of them. All of them are sitting there, staring at me. He is sitting in another booth to the left of me.
The host of the game show starts to ask questions, trying to burn holes into both of our stories. He makes jokes as he asks the questions. I'm trying desperately not to cry, while he is sitting there; laughing along to the jokes. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. It's just a game show.
When we've finished answering the questions, it's time for the panel to talk amongst themselves. They have to decide who they believe.
While they're deciding, a band comes to play on stage. Everyone is enjoying themselves. I'm sitting in my booth, shaking. I can't understand how people can be enjoying this so-called show. How can they be listening to music, while something so momentous is going on?
Once the panel has reached their decision, the host asks the audience what they think. The audience has to press a button, and their verdict comes up on a graph on a screen. Most of the audience votes 'innocent'. The host then says 'well we know what the audience think, but what do the panel say? Remember, it's their vote that counts.'
Just as the panel are about to deliver their verdict, I wake up.
I don't think it takes a brain surgeon to work out what the dream is about and why it has me so upset. I wake up with sweat running off me, shaking. I have to remind myself that it was just a dream.
As a child, I thought the world of him. As a teenager I feared him. As an adult I will face him.
I'm very aware that my dream represents my teenage fear. I just need to remind myself that I will not be facing him as a child or a teenager. He has no hold over me anymore. I am an adult, and I have a team of people around me that are in my corner fighting with me.
He doesn't so much scare me. I can face him. In fact I want to face him. I want to put my adolescent fears to rest and face him as the strong woman I am now. He does not scare me. But the thought that he could get away with what he has done terrifies me.
Me
In my nightmare, I'm preparing to go on a game show. I'm ushered in to a small room and I await my turn to go on stage. There's a TV in the little room, so I can see what's going on stage. As I watch the TV, I start to become more and more nervous. Eventually, someone comes to fetch me and I have to walk through another room backstage. His wife and parents are in this room. They stop talking and glare at me as I walk past. I can see the pain behind their eyes. They start whispering to each other.
'There she is, it's all her fault.'
Their eyes follow me as I'm led from the room. I can feel their hatred towards me seeping in to my soul. I try not to think about it, but a thought runs through my head; 'it's because of me that they're hurting'.
I'm taken on to the stage and have to sit in a booth. In front of me I can see the audience; one side of the audience consists of my friends and family. The other side consists of his friends and family. There are also some strangers with no connection to either of us; they just want to be in the audience of the show.
On the stage to the right of me are the judging panel. There are about 6 of them. All of them are sitting there, staring at me. He is sitting in another booth to the left of me.
The host of the game show starts to ask questions, trying to burn holes into both of our stories. He makes jokes as he asks the questions. I'm trying desperately not to cry, while he is sitting there; laughing along to the jokes. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. It's just a game show.
When we've finished answering the questions, it's time for the panel to talk amongst themselves. They have to decide who they believe.
While they're deciding, a band comes to play on stage. Everyone is enjoying themselves. I'm sitting in my booth, shaking. I can't understand how people can be enjoying this so-called show. How can they be listening to music, while something so momentous is going on?
Once the panel has reached their decision, the host asks the audience what they think. The audience has to press a button, and their verdict comes up on a graph on a screen. Most of the audience votes 'innocent'. The host then says 'well we know what the audience think, but what do the panel say? Remember, it's their vote that counts.'
Just as the panel are about to deliver their verdict, I wake up.
I don't think it takes a brain surgeon to work out what the dream is about and why it has me so upset. I wake up with sweat running off me, shaking. I have to remind myself that it was just a dream.
As a child, I thought the world of him. As a teenager I feared him. As an adult I will face him.
I'm very aware that my dream represents my teenage fear. I just need to remind myself that I will not be facing him as a child or a teenager. He has no hold over me anymore. I am an adult, and I have a team of people around me that are in my corner fighting with me.
He doesn't so much scare me. I can face him. In fact I want to face him. I want to put my adolescent fears to rest and face him as the strong woman I am now. He does not scare me. But the thought that he could get away with what he has done terrifies me.
Me
Friday 30 September 2011
Sometimes
I have good days and bad days. A lot of the time, the reason why I'm having a bad day is because of him and what he did to me. I find myself lost in memories, overcome by anger etc. However, sometimes; a bad day is just a bad day. Not everything in my life is linked to him. Sometimes I can't sleep and I have no idea why. Sometimes I'm in a bad mood and it has nothing whatsoever to do with him.
My parents are just discovering this. Lately, a lot of times when I have been feeling down it has been because of him. My parents know that. They see my pain and it hurts them. So when I was in a bad mood the other day, they asked me why, they asked me to talk to them. I told them I didn't know why, that I was just in a bad mood, that I was tired etc. They, of course, didn't believe me. They sat me down for a chat and told me I could tell them anything. I told them that I know (I lucked out with my parents, they're pretty awesome), but that I was just tired and there was nothing more to it than that.
Which of course, they didn't believe.
Sometimes, a bad mood (or a bad day, or being tired), is just a bad mood.
Now, moving on. I've started smoking again. I had quit for over 3 months. Then I started again a few weeks ago. I was feeling down and stressed (and this time it was because of him), and I went out and bought a packet of cigarettes. It felt so good.
I don't want to be a smoker all my life. But at the minute there is so much uncertainty in my life - will this or won't this go to trial, will he get away with what he did, will he stop haunting my dreams etc. Smoking is a coping mechanism. Probably not a great coping mechanism, but it's better than self-harming, or making myself sick, or starving myself. All of which I used to do. It seemed like the lesser of the evils.
Me
My parents are just discovering this. Lately, a lot of times when I have been feeling down it has been because of him. My parents know that. They see my pain and it hurts them. So when I was in a bad mood the other day, they asked me why, they asked me to talk to them. I told them I didn't know why, that I was just in a bad mood, that I was tired etc. They, of course, didn't believe me. They sat me down for a chat and told me I could tell them anything. I told them that I know (I lucked out with my parents, they're pretty awesome), but that I was just tired and there was nothing more to it than that.
Which of course, they didn't believe.
Sometimes, a bad mood (or a bad day, or being tired), is just a bad mood.
Now, moving on. I've started smoking again. I had quit for over 3 months. Then I started again a few weeks ago. I was feeling down and stressed (and this time it was because of him), and I went out and bought a packet of cigarettes. It felt so good.
I don't want to be a smoker all my life. But at the minute there is so much uncertainty in my life - will this or won't this go to trial, will he get away with what he did, will he stop haunting my dreams etc. Smoking is a coping mechanism. Probably not a great coping mechanism, but it's better than self-harming, or making myself sick, or starving myself. All of which I used to do. It seemed like the lesser of the evils.
Me
Thursday 22 September 2011
Can't sleep
Sometimes I have difficulty sleeping. For a while, when the doctor put me on sleeping tablets, this problem went away. Most of the time it still works. Most of the time I'll be knocked out within 3 hours of taking the tablets. Some nights though, they don't seem to work. Some nights it feels as if my brain is refusing to let me sleep, because it needs to take a time out and try and process my feelings about him.
Unfortunately, tonight is one of those nights. It doesn't matter what I do, my body refuses to let me sleep. Over the years I've learnt every trick in the book to try and stop myself from thinking about him. Then I realised - maybe I should stop that. Maybe I do need to think about him. I need to work through my feelings towards him. I need to stop putting my head in the sand. I need to face him.
I hate him. I really hate him. He stole my innocence. He stole my childhood. I feel such anger towards him.
Yet I know I need to forgive him. This anger that is inside of me, this hatred that I feel towards him, it isn't healthy. It's not good for me. I need to be able to forgive him. I just don't know how. I'm working on it though. But in order to do that, I need to face him.
I want to see him again. I want to be able to look him in the eye and make him realise I am not a scared little girl anymore. I want him to see that he hasn't destroyed me. But more than anything, I want to be able to ask him 'why'. I know that won't happen though. If we do go to trial, there will be no communication between the two of us. Everything will be done through lawyers. And if we don't go to trial...
I do wish I could talk to him, ask him why he did it, if he feels any regret, if he's at all sorry. After all, how can I forgive someone that has no remorse? But a part of me knows that I will probably never get the chance to ask him these questions.
So, I need to figure out a way to let myself be at peace with what happened without speaking to him and getting 'closure'. Yet I'm aware that 'closure' may never come, in which case I need to find a way to live with this, without it keeping me awake at night.
Me
Unfortunately, tonight is one of those nights. It doesn't matter what I do, my body refuses to let me sleep. Over the years I've learnt every trick in the book to try and stop myself from thinking about him. Then I realised - maybe I should stop that. Maybe I do need to think about him. I need to work through my feelings towards him. I need to stop putting my head in the sand. I need to face him.
I hate him. I really hate him. He stole my innocence. He stole my childhood. I feel such anger towards him.
Yet I know I need to forgive him. This anger that is inside of me, this hatred that I feel towards him, it isn't healthy. It's not good for me. I need to be able to forgive him. I just don't know how. I'm working on it though. But in order to do that, I need to face him.
I want to see him again. I want to be able to look him in the eye and make him realise I am not a scared little girl anymore. I want him to see that he hasn't destroyed me. But more than anything, I want to be able to ask him 'why'. I know that won't happen though. If we do go to trial, there will be no communication between the two of us. Everything will be done through lawyers. And if we don't go to trial...
I do wish I could talk to him, ask him why he did it, if he feels any regret, if he's at all sorry. After all, how can I forgive someone that has no remorse? But a part of me knows that I will probably never get the chance to ask him these questions.
So, I need to figure out a way to let myself be at peace with what happened without speaking to him and getting 'closure'. Yet I'm aware that 'closure' may never come, in which case I need to find a way to live with this, without it keeping me awake at night.
Me
Tuesday 13 September 2011
Wondering
My Police liason officer (PLO) contacted me yesterday. He said that they brought 'the suspect' in for more questioning but that he refused to even say one word. So the police have made an appointment with the CPS (Criminal Prosecution Service). It takes 4 weeks to get an appointment. They will then present all the evidence they have to them. It will then take a further 4 weeks for the CPS to decide whether there's enough evidence to take him to trial or not.
So that's 8 weeks in total, which means I'll know by mid-November.
However, I've decided I'm going to ignore the timetable that the police keep giving me. It keeps changing! First I was told I would know by mid-summer whether it would go trial or not. Then it was going to be early in 2012. Now it's mid-November.
Wondering when I'll find out whether there will be a trial and when that trial will be is stressing me out. So I'm going to try and stop myself from thinking about it. I know it won't work, but all this wondering isn't doing me any good. All I can think about is 'when will I know?'
This waiting game is horrible. All this wondering. So I'm going to do my best not to think about it, until I know for definite.
I doubt it will work, but still, I have to try. I need to live my life, not sit there wondering what's going to happen.
Me
So that's 8 weeks in total, which means I'll know by mid-November.
However, I've decided I'm going to ignore the timetable that the police keep giving me. It keeps changing! First I was told I would know by mid-summer whether it would go trial or not. Then it was going to be early in 2012. Now it's mid-November.
Wondering when I'll find out whether there will be a trial and when that trial will be is stressing me out. So I'm going to try and stop myself from thinking about it. I know it won't work, but all this wondering isn't doing me any good. All I can think about is 'when will I know?'
This waiting game is horrible. All this wondering. So I'm going to do my best not to think about it, until I know for definite.
I doubt it will work, but still, I have to try. I need to live my life, not sit there wondering what's going to happen.
Me
Wednesday 7 September 2011
Why?
I wonder about him sometimes. I wonder about what happened to him to turn him in to the man that he is. What causes a man to find children attractive? What causes a man to be so selfish that he thinks nothing of destroying innocence?
True, when he raped me I was 17. I was hardly a child. But the abuse started long before that. He sought me out as a child, he found me attractive as a child. I was a child. I was 12 years old - how can a man be attracted to a 12 year old?
I try to forget what happened between those years of meeting him and him raping me. Sometimes it's easier to think of the rape, than the years of abuse. It's difficult to think that not only am I a 'rape victim' (or 'rape survivor') but I am also a victim of child sexual abuse. Sometimes the weight of that weighs heavily. It's difficult to think about my childhood, because the abuse was interlinked with almost everything.
Don't get me wrong, the rape was horrible. It was devastating. Not just because he was my first, but because I knew then that I had no control of my body, that people are capable of taking with no regard for others. Those few hours haunt me, and I don't think I will ever quite 'get over it'.
But he tainted every part of my childhood. I have happy memories of my childhood, of course I do. But at the edge of every happy memory, he is lurking.
And I wonder, what made him become so evil? What made him not care that he was hurting me? I know people are selfish, I understand that. But what makes someone so selfish that they can abuse and hurt another human being for years? What makes someone so cold that they don't care about the damage that they are causing?
This man is a father himself. I think that's what gets to me the most. He has a daughter. How can he hurt someone else's child the way he did, when he would lay his life down for his own child?
What went through his mind as he was hurting me? Or did I just truly not matter to him at all. Was I completely inconsequential to him? Did I not even register as human to him?
I want to know why he did it. Because the answer that he is a pedophile just isn't enough.
Me
True, when he raped me I was 17. I was hardly a child. But the abuse started long before that. He sought me out as a child, he found me attractive as a child. I was a child. I was 12 years old - how can a man be attracted to a 12 year old?
I try to forget what happened between those years of meeting him and him raping me. Sometimes it's easier to think of the rape, than the years of abuse. It's difficult to think that not only am I a 'rape victim' (or 'rape survivor') but I am also a victim of child sexual abuse. Sometimes the weight of that weighs heavily. It's difficult to think about my childhood, because the abuse was interlinked with almost everything.
Don't get me wrong, the rape was horrible. It was devastating. Not just because he was my first, but because I knew then that I had no control of my body, that people are capable of taking with no regard for others. Those few hours haunt me, and I don't think I will ever quite 'get over it'.
But he tainted every part of my childhood. I have happy memories of my childhood, of course I do. But at the edge of every happy memory, he is lurking.
And I wonder, what made him become so evil? What made him not care that he was hurting me? I know people are selfish, I understand that. But what makes someone so selfish that they can abuse and hurt another human being for years? What makes someone so cold that they don't care about the damage that they are causing?
This man is a father himself. I think that's what gets to me the most. He has a daughter. How can he hurt someone else's child the way he did, when he would lay his life down for his own child?
What went through his mind as he was hurting me? Or did I just truly not matter to him at all. Was I completely inconsequential to him? Did I not even register as human to him?
I want to know why he did it. Because the answer that he is a pedophile just isn't enough.
Me
Sunday 4 September 2011
Insomnia
I am currently on holiday and using my mobile phone to update my blog. Ah, the wonders of the modern world. I do apologise for any spelling mistakes - using the keypad on my phone isn't the easiest of things.
It's currently gone 3am where I am. I can't sleep. He keeps popping in to my head just as I'm drifting to sleep. This of course makes me jerk awake. So, sleep is impossible. What can I do instead?
Not much. The friend that I'm staying with is asleep in the next room, with no door between our rooms. So watching TV is out of the question. Before you suggest watching it with no sound; I'm in Finland, any subtitles that a show will have is in Finnish. I do not speak or read Finnish. Besides, I doubt there's anything interesting on at this time of the morning anyway.
So TV is out of the question. As is using her laptop to browse the net - it's password protected. So no laptop. What about reading? I've just finished the only book I brought with me. Besides, the light would probably wake her up.
As you can see, there's not much I can do to distract myself. I'll have to stop using my phone to go online soon as well, as it will be costing me a fortune.
It seems that I'm stuck with nothing but unwelcome memories tonight.
I just want to sleep. I'm meant to be up reasonably early tomorrow to do touristy things with my friend. I'm going to be absolutely exhausted. Great.
Why won't my past stop haunting me? Why won't it let me enjoy these few days I have with my friend?
I just want to sleep. Can't he leave me alone for one weekend? He's taken so much from me already, why does the memory of him have to take this weekend as well?
Me
It's currently gone 3am where I am. I can't sleep. He keeps popping in to my head just as I'm drifting to sleep. This of course makes me jerk awake. So, sleep is impossible. What can I do instead?
Not much. The friend that I'm staying with is asleep in the next room, with no door between our rooms. So watching TV is out of the question. Before you suggest watching it with no sound; I'm in Finland, any subtitles that a show will have is in Finnish. I do not speak or read Finnish. Besides, I doubt there's anything interesting on at this time of the morning anyway.
So TV is out of the question. As is using her laptop to browse the net - it's password protected. So no laptop. What about reading? I've just finished the only book I brought with me. Besides, the light would probably wake her up.
As you can see, there's not much I can do to distract myself. I'll have to stop using my phone to go online soon as well, as it will be costing me a fortune.
It seems that I'm stuck with nothing but unwelcome memories tonight.
I just want to sleep. I'm meant to be up reasonably early tomorrow to do touristy things with my friend. I'm going to be absolutely exhausted. Great.
Why won't my past stop haunting me? Why won't it let me enjoy these few days I have with my friend?
I just want to sleep. Can't he leave me alone for one weekend? He's taken so much from me already, why does the memory of him have to take this weekend as well?
Me
Thursday 1 September 2011
A long wait
The police contacted me today. They told me that because of the riots, my case has been put on hold. They need all the man-power possible to gather evidence and convict the rioters. I can completely understand that - the public needs to feel safe and secure, they need to see that these criminals are dealt with.
However, just because I understand it, doesn't mean I like it. I was told that they'll pick my case back up in January. The trial (if they decide there's enough evidence) will be held around June. That's a hell of a long wait. I had been told that it will all be over by December, instead I've been told I'll have to wait almost a whole year.
My parents think that it's a good thing, as it means that the trial will happen after my exams. I don't feel that way. I want it over with. Instead, I now have to live with another year of uncertainty, of waiting. I want to be able to close the chapter on this part of my life. I don't want to constantly think, 'do they have enough evidence?' or 'what will the prosecution be like?' or 'I hope I don't cry on the stand'. I want it to be over.
Instead, I have another year for my imagination to run wild. I'm picturing the trial as you see it on TV; with a bored judge, a defender from hell and him, sneering and gloating at me. My mind is automatically conjuring up all the worst-case scenarios; not enough evidence to go to trial, the defence destroying me, him being found innocent, him being given only a caution. I now have another year to imagine what it will be like to see him face-to-face after all this time.
I have nightmares about seeing him in court, where no one believes me and he's seen as the victim, even while he's raping me in plain sight of everyone.
So no, I don't think it's a good thing that I have to wait another 10 months. I want it to be over. I don't want to be in limbo, I don't want to live with this uncertainty. I just want it to be over, one way or another. If they don't have enough evidence, I want them to tell me now. I want to know if we're going to court. If we are going to court, I want it happen sooner rather than later, so I can try and move on with my life and focus on the future.
How am I supposed to try and 'move on' with my life while I have this hanging over me for another 10 months? How am I supposed to focus on the future when my past is hanging over me like a black cloud, refusing to leave?
Me
However, just because I understand it, doesn't mean I like it. I was told that they'll pick my case back up in January. The trial (if they decide there's enough evidence) will be held around June. That's a hell of a long wait. I had been told that it will all be over by December, instead I've been told I'll have to wait almost a whole year.
My parents think that it's a good thing, as it means that the trial will happen after my exams. I don't feel that way. I want it over with. Instead, I now have to live with another year of uncertainty, of waiting. I want to be able to close the chapter on this part of my life. I don't want to constantly think, 'do they have enough evidence?' or 'what will the prosecution be like?' or 'I hope I don't cry on the stand'. I want it to be over.
Instead, I have another year for my imagination to run wild. I'm picturing the trial as you see it on TV; with a bored judge, a defender from hell and him, sneering and gloating at me. My mind is automatically conjuring up all the worst-case scenarios; not enough evidence to go to trial, the defence destroying me, him being found innocent, him being given only a caution. I now have another year to imagine what it will be like to see him face-to-face after all this time.
I have nightmares about seeing him in court, where no one believes me and he's seen as the victim, even while he's raping me in plain sight of everyone.
So no, I don't think it's a good thing that I have to wait another 10 months. I want it to be over. I don't want to be in limbo, I don't want to live with this uncertainty. I just want it to be over, one way or another. If they don't have enough evidence, I want them to tell me now. I want to know if we're going to court. If we are going to court, I want it happen sooner rather than later, so I can try and move on with my life and focus on the future.
How am I supposed to try and 'move on' with my life while I have this hanging over me for another 10 months? How am I supposed to focus on the future when my past is hanging over me like a black cloud, refusing to leave?
Me
Thursday 25 August 2011
Clothes = healing?
Not long ago, I was having a conversation with a friend. This friend told me, in no uncertain terms, that I should be over my past by now. I was told that I was obviously stuck in a rut, that I had surrendered to my misery and I needed help to get out of it and to get over everything. This person then said that she knew exactly how to heal me. By taking me clothes shopping.
Yes, you read that correctly. Clothes shopping. Apparently, buying new clothes would help me, as a childhood abuse and rape victim, to 'get over it'. I was told that I have no taste in clothes, that I lack style and that my lack of style makes me unnatractive. She told me not to worry though - it's understandable that I want to be unnatractive, given what has happened to me. But it's really about time to move on. So I need to go out and buy clothes that make me stand out from the crowd, that make a statement about myself. And being the wonderful person that she is, she will help me with my fashion sense. In letting her make me over, I'll be halfway there to 'getting over it'. Clothes will, apparently, make me heal.
I am so glad that someone has finally told me what I need to do in order to 'move on'. Buy new clothes and make myself attractive. Wow, I never knew it was so easy! Just imagine, I'll no longer have to work through and come to terms with all the years of abuse, denial, pain, anger, insecurity, fear etc. No, instead, all I need to do is buy new clothes!
As you may have guessed by now, I have many, many issues with this. I don't even know where to start. There are so many things wrong with what she said to me.
Firstly - don't you dare trivialise what I went through. Suggesting that something that has changed and shaped me so monumentally can be 'undone' by a simpe shopping trip is insulting. I can't even begin to describe how belittling and undermining that is. You are basically telling me that what I went through is nothing, that it shouldn't have had this much impact on me. I'm still trying to grasp the extent to which this has affected me, but I know it's more than a simple shopping trip can 'fix'. I'm sure my past has affected me in ways I can't even begin to imagine. However, I'm slowly finding out just how much of an impact this has had on my life. It has skewed my perception of what a healthy sexual relationship should be like. It has almost destroyed my faith in men. It made me fall in to a pit of dispair. It has left me with scars (physically and emotionally) that will never quite go away; they may fade, but they will always be there. So don't you dare try and tell me that what I went through is no big deal, that it is of no significance and is inconsequential. You have no idea how much this has affected me. But there's one thing that you can be sure of, and that is that a shopping trip will not 'fix' this.
Secondly - there is no time frame to recovering. Everyone recovers at a different pace. I suffered through years of sexual abuse. I suffered through rape. Then I spent the next few years living in denial and trying to bury something that was desperate to surface, something that was screaming to be brought out in to the open. I only let it out a few months ago. Over 10 years worth of buried emotions have just been allowed to surface. It's going to take me a hell of a lot longer than a few months to sift through them all. I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and think; 'Oh, it's been a few months now, I better be over this by now'. It's going to take a long, long time for me to work through everything. You rushing me is not helping; in fact, it's making it worse. Not only do I need to focus on working through everything, I now also have to worry about working to someone else's expected time frame. Will people think I'm weak or a drama queen if I haven't reached "step 5 of the grieving process" by tomorrow? Back off and let me heal in my own time.
Thirdly - who gave you the right to judge me? I am not, as you may think, stuck in a rut. I have not surrendered to my misery. In fact, I'm fighting it with every piece of strength I have. I was completely and utterly stripped to the core. It felt like I was left completely and utterly broken, cowering in a cave of despair. You have no idea just how much I am working to come out at the other side, to start to live again and see the beauty in life again. Yet you judge me, saying I'm just a misery guts. You are completely ignoring just how far I have come, how much work I have put in to putting myself back together. Don't you dare belittle all the hard work that I have done - and am still doing - to get my life back on track. I am working damn hard at finding my inner peace, at finding my happiness. So don't you tell me that I'm not working hard enough, or that I'm not working at all, because you have no idea just how hard I'm working.
Fourthly - I may never 'be over it'. It's not like it's the flu - I can't just rest a lot and take medicine and then be better in a couple of days. I won't suddenly forget what happened. In a sense, I will never 'get over it'. The memories will always remain. However, what I hope will happen is that I will find a way to live with it. I'm trying extremely hard to get to the place where I can live with it, but I don't think I will ever 'be over it'.
And finally - I'm sorry that my fashion sense isn't up to your standard. You find me unnatractive? Surprisingly enough, it's not the end of my world that you're not attracted to me. In fact, it may shock you, but I just don't care what you think of my style. I am not, nor will I ever be, a 'girly-girl' or 'chic'. That's not who I am. I am most comfortable in jeans and a tshirt, not an expensive skirt with a designer belt and a cute top. I am me, and I am - finally - getting to be comfortable with who I am. I will never be a fashion designer. I have absolutely no idea what the latest 'in thing' is. And I don't really care either. You may not like what I wear, but I do. I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm just me. I wear what I want to, depending on my mood on that particular day. Sometimes I dress in what you may call 'goth' wear. Sometimes I wear what you may call 'girl next door'. Sometimes I wear what you might call 'tom-boy', or 'urban', or 'butch' and yes, sometimes even 'girly'. You may not like that I don't just stick to one sort of style, or you may not like the style I wear most days. But you know what? Tough.
Right, that's my little rant over! I just had to get that off my chest.
Me
Yes, you read that correctly. Clothes shopping. Apparently, buying new clothes would help me, as a childhood abuse and rape victim, to 'get over it'. I was told that I have no taste in clothes, that I lack style and that my lack of style makes me unnatractive. She told me not to worry though - it's understandable that I want to be unnatractive, given what has happened to me. But it's really about time to move on. So I need to go out and buy clothes that make me stand out from the crowd, that make a statement about myself. And being the wonderful person that she is, she will help me with my fashion sense. In letting her make me over, I'll be halfway there to 'getting over it'. Clothes will, apparently, make me heal.
I am so glad that someone has finally told me what I need to do in order to 'move on'. Buy new clothes and make myself attractive. Wow, I never knew it was so easy! Just imagine, I'll no longer have to work through and come to terms with all the years of abuse, denial, pain, anger, insecurity, fear etc. No, instead, all I need to do is buy new clothes!
As you may have guessed by now, I have many, many issues with this. I don't even know where to start. There are so many things wrong with what she said to me.
Firstly - don't you dare trivialise what I went through. Suggesting that something that has changed and shaped me so monumentally can be 'undone' by a simpe shopping trip is insulting. I can't even begin to describe how belittling and undermining that is. You are basically telling me that what I went through is nothing, that it shouldn't have had this much impact on me. I'm still trying to grasp the extent to which this has affected me, but I know it's more than a simple shopping trip can 'fix'. I'm sure my past has affected me in ways I can't even begin to imagine. However, I'm slowly finding out just how much of an impact this has had on my life. It has skewed my perception of what a healthy sexual relationship should be like. It has almost destroyed my faith in men. It made me fall in to a pit of dispair. It has left me with scars (physically and emotionally) that will never quite go away; they may fade, but they will always be there. So don't you dare try and tell me that what I went through is no big deal, that it is of no significance and is inconsequential. You have no idea how much this has affected me. But there's one thing that you can be sure of, and that is that a shopping trip will not 'fix' this.
Secondly - there is no time frame to recovering. Everyone recovers at a different pace. I suffered through years of sexual abuse. I suffered through rape. Then I spent the next few years living in denial and trying to bury something that was desperate to surface, something that was screaming to be brought out in to the open. I only let it out a few months ago. Over 10 years worth of buried emotions have just been allowed to surface. It's going to take me a hell of a lot longer than a few months to sift through them all. I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and think; 'Oh, it's been a few months now, I better be over this by now'. It's going to take a long, long time for me to work through everything. You rushing me is not helping; in fact, it's making it worse. Not only do I need to focus on working through everything, I now also have to worry about working to someone else's expected time frame. Will people think I'm weak or a drama queen if I haven't reached "step 5 of the grieving process" by tomorrow? Back off and let me heal in my own time.
Thirdly - who gave you the right to judge me? I am not, as you may think, stuck in a rut. I have not surrendered to my misery. In fact, I'm fighting it with every piece of strength I have. I was completely and utterly stripped to the core. It felt like I was left completely and utterly broken, cowering in a cave of despair. You have no idea just how much I am working to come out at the other side, to start to live again and see the beauty in life again. Yet you judge me, saying I'm just a misery guts. You are completely ignoring just how far I have come, how much work I have put in to putting myself back together. Don't you dare belittle all the hard work that I have done - and am still doing - to get my life back on track. I am working damn hard at finding my inner peace, at finding my happiness. So don't you tell me that I'm not working hard enough, or that I'm not working at all, because you have no idea just how hard I'm working.
Fourthly - I may never 'be over it'. It's not like it's the flu - I can't just rest a lot and take medicine and then be better in a couple of days. I won't suddenly forget what happened. In a sense, I will never 'get over it'. The memories will always remain. However, what I hope will happen is that I will find a way to live with it. I'm trying extremely hard to get to the place where I can live with it, but I don't think I will ever 'be over it'.
And finally - I'm sorry that my fashion sense isn't up to your standard. You find me unnatractive? Surprisingly enough, it's not the end of my world that you're not attracted to me. In fact, it may shock you, but I just don't care what you think of my style. I am not, nor will I ever be, a 'girly-girl' or 'chic'. That's not who I am. I am most comfortable in jeans and a tshirt, not an expensive skirt with a designer belt and a cute top. I am me, and I am - finally - getting to be comfortable with who I am. I will never be a fashion designer. I have absolutely no idea what the latest 'in thing' is. And I don't really care either. You may not like what I wear, but I do. I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm just me. I wear what I want to, depending on my mood on that particular day. Sometimes I dress in what you may call 'goth' wear. Sometimes I wear what you may call 'girl next door'. Sometimes I wear what you might call 'tom-boy', or 'urban', or 'butch' and yes, sometimes even 'girly'. You may not like that I don't just stick to one sort of style, or you may not like the style I wear most days. But you know what? Tough.
Right, that's my little rant over! I just had to get that off my chest.
Me
Sunday 14 August 2011
Fear
When you've been raped, or assaulted, it changes your whole world. You always knew that the world can be a dangerous place and that you should be careful. But (everyone always says this, I know), you never think it will happen to you. You never think that someone - someone you know, or a complete stranger - will hurt you.
So when it does happen, it turns your world upside down. You realise what a horrible and dangerous place this world can be. You realise that there people out there that don't think twice about hurting you. Suddenly, every place you visit has the possibility of being dangerous. Every person you meet could possibly hurt you.
Being so close to danger makes you think about your own immortality and vulnerability. The world isn't a safe place, someone could come at you any minute and hurt you again. Actually realising that, knowing that, shakes you to the core. Being powerless to stop yourself from being violated and hurt, knowing that there is nothing you can do, that you are at the mercy of someone else - there are no words to describe that feeling. Everything you knew about the world dissappears and is replaced with the knowledge that your body, your life, isn't always yours to control.
And that is terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.
After the rape happened, I tried to block it out. I tried to pretend it didn't happen. I tried to act normal. Then I went to university and threw myself in to life there. I went to lectures, did my work and enjoyed student life. Then one night, the bubble I had tried to build around what had happened to me, burst. I was out clubbing with my friends when I managed to get seperated from them. I ended up dancing with this guy, another student, who then proceded to grope me. He had his hand around my wrist and wouldn't let me leave. His hands were all over my body, feeling me. I couldn't get away, and the people around me just ignored what was happening. I completely freaked out. Eventually, one of my friends found me again, and the man left. But I was shaken. I was close to tears and was completely and utterly terrified.
The first thing I did when I got back the halls of residence was have a shower. By being groped, all the pain, shame and fear of being abused and raped came flooding back to me. I broke down in tears, sobbing and shaking in the shower. Something then switched in my mind - no longer could I pretend everything was fine. Nothing was fine. I had been groomed and sexually assaulted as a child, raped as a teenager and forcibly felt-up as a student. The world was a horrible and dangerous place. I wasn't safe anymore. There was a potential threat everywhere.
I refused to leave my apartment at the halls of residence. I locked myself away - refusing to even go downstairs to check the mail. The only place I was safe was inside. If I tried to leave the flat, I ended up having a panic attack - breaking out in a cold sweat, shaking and gasping for breath. I couldn't bring myself to confront the world, it was just too dangerous.
Luckily, my friends and family were extremely supportive - though they couldn't understand what had made me develop this fear of the outside world. The staff at the university were also very supportive and allowed me to do everything online.
Eventually I came to a realisation; if I didn't do something now, I would develop full-blown agoraphobia and end up living my whole life indoors. I didn't want to leave the flat, but I knew I had to. So, after a month of not leaving my apartment, I started to go to counselling. It was terrifying. I was shaking with fear. The only thing stopping me from breaking down in the street crying, were two of my friends. They said that they wouldn't leave my side and that I would be okay. They took it in turn to walk me to my counselling session and wait for me. I honestly think that without them, I wouldn't have found the strength to leave the apartment.
Eventually, I was able to go to shops - but only if someone was with me. I started to venture out more and more. The breakthrough came when I was able to go down and get my mail - alone. Then when I was out with a friend, she went to the toilet, and I was able to stand there outside the toilets, by myself.
I was still absolutely terrified of the world, but I knew I couldn't live my life caged in.
I'm a lot better now, but there are still things I refuse to do. I refuse to walk anywhere alone at night. Even if it's twilight and the place I want to get to is 5 minutes away - I will not walk there alone. I will find someone to walk with me, or I will drive or take a taxi. If I'm going somewhere and I know I will be there for a while and it will be dark when I want to go home, I will drive there. One or two times I've walked alone in the dark - and I've always regretted it as I ended up working myself in to a right state; heart pounding, sweat dripping, adrenaline flowing etc. It's not worth getting myself in such a state.
People think I'm being lazy or weird - but I refuse to do it. This does mean that I sometimes miss out on social events, but I figure it's a small price to pay.
I still get frightened - a lot. Most people don't realise, as I can come across very confident and strong, but a part of me is still scared. No matter where I am, I always know where the nearest escape route is. If I'm walking around, alone, during the day, I always have my keys on hand, ready to defend myself. I try to always be aware of my surroundings and the people near me.
It also takes me time to trust people. I once trusted a man, and he ended up hurting me, badly. So I'm careful with who I trust. Once I trust someone, I will be at ease around them. It takes a lot to trust someone, but it also takes a lot to break that trust.
I know that there are horrible people out there. However, I know that most people are decent human beings that wouldn't dream of hurting anyone. That doesn't stop my fear though, but it is something I'm learning to control.
Maybe one day I'll be able to walk to the corner shop alone when it's twilight. But right now, that day is a long way away.
Me
So when it does happen, it turns your world upside down. You realise what a horrible and dangerous place this world can be. You realise that there people out there that don't think twice about hurting you. Suddenly, every place you visit has the possibility of being dangerous. Every person you meet could possibly hurt you.
Being so close to danger makes you think about your own immortality and vulnerability. The world isn't a safe place, someone could come at you any minute and hurt you again. Actually realising that, knowing that, shakes you to the core. Being powerless to stop yourself from being violated and hurt, knowing that there is nothing you can do, that you are at the mercy of someone else - there are no words to describe that feeling. Everything you knew about the world dissappears and is replaced with the knowledge that your body, your life, isn't always yours to control.
And that is terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.
After the rape happened, I tried to block it out. I tried to pretend it didn't happen. I tried to act normal. Then I went to university and threw myself in to life there. I went to lectures, did my work and enjoyed student life. Then one night, the bubble I had tried to build around what had happened to me, burst. I was out clubbing with my friends when I managed to get seperated from them. I ended up dancing with this guy, another student, who then proceded to grope me. He had his hand around my wrist and wouldn't let me leave. His hands were all over my body, feeling me. I couldn't get away, and the people around me just ignored what was happening. I completely freaked out. Eventually, one of my friends found me again, and the man left. But I was shaken. I was close to tears and was completely and utterly terrified.
The first thing I did when I got back the halls of residence was have a shower. By being groped, all the pain, shame and fear of being abused and raped came flooding back to me. I broke down in tears, sobbing and shaking in the shower. Something then switched in my mind - no longer could I pretend everything was fine. Nothing was fine. I had been groomed and sexually assaulted as a child, raped as a teenager and forcibly felt-up as a student. The world was a horrible and dangerous place. I wasn't safe anymore. There was a potential threat everywhere.
I refused to leave my apartment at the halls of residence. I locked myself away - refusing to even go downstairs to check the mail. The only place I was safe was inside. If I tried to leave the flat, I ended up having a panic attack - breaking out in a cold sweat, shaking and gasping for breath. I couldn't bring myself to confront the world, it was just too dangerous.
Luckily, my friends and family were extremely supportive - though they couldn't understand what had made me develop this fear of the outside world. The staff at the university were also very supportive and allowed me to do everything online.
Eventually I came to a realisation; if I didn't do something now, I would develop full-blown agoraphobia and end up living my whole life indoors. I didn't want to leave the flat, but I knew I had to. So, after a month of not leaving my apartment, I started to go to counselling. It was terrifying. I was shaking with fear. The only thing stopping me from breaking down in the street crying, were two of my friends. They said that they wouldn't leave my side and that I would be okay. They took it in turn to walk me to my counselling session and wait for me. I honestly think that without them, I wouldn't have found the strength to leave the apartment.
Eventually, I was able to go to shops - but only if someone was with me. I started to venture out more and more. The breakthrough came when I was able to go down and get my mail - alone. Then when I was out with a friend, she went to the toilet, and I was able to stand there outside the toilets, by myself.
I was still absolutely terrified of the world, but I knew I couldn't live my life caged in.
I'm a lot better now, but there are still things I refuse to do. I refuse to walk anywhere alone at night. Even if it's twilight and the place I want to get to is 5 minutes away - I will not walk there alone. I will find someone to walk with me, or I will drive or take a taxi. If I'm going somewhere and I know I will be there for a while and it will be dark when I want to go home, I will drive there. One or two times I've walked alone in the dark - and I've always regretted it as I ended up working myself in to a right state; heart pounding, sweat dripping, adrenaline flowing etc. It's not worth getting myself in such a state.
People think I'm being lazy or weird - but I refuse to do it. This does mean that I sometimes miss out on social events, but I figure it's a small price to pay.
I still get frightened - a lot. Most people don't realise, as I can come across very confident and strong, but a part of me is still scared. No matter where I am, I always know where the nearest escape route is. If I'm walking around, alone, during the day, I always have my keys on hand, ready to defend myself. I try to always be aware of my surroundings and the people near me.
It also takes me time to trust people. I once trusted a man, and he ended up hurting me, badly. So I'm careful with who I trust. Once I trust someone, I will be at ease around them. It takes a lot to trust someone, but it also takes a lot to break that trust.
I know that there are horrible people out there. However, I know that most people are decent human beings that wouldn't dream of hurting anyone. That doesn't stop my fear though, but it is something I'm learning to control.
Maybe one day I'll be able to walk to the corner shop alone when it's twilight. But right now, that day is a long way away.
Me
Saturday 6 August 2011
Anger
I used to be filled with such anger, such rage, it was difficult to contain it. I was so angry at the world. It's hard to find words to describe my anger - no words seem strong enough. It wasn't just anger either; it was tinged with sadness. Sometimes I didn't know whether to scream or cry. I often did both.
Growing up, I couldn't understand why I always felt so angry. I thought there was something wrong with me. It took me years to realise and to admit to myself that I had been sexually abused and raped. Growing up, I hadn't realised what was happening to me. After all, I was a child - I didn't know what grooming meant, I didn't know what sexual exploitation meant. So how on earth could I apply those words to myself?
I didn't understand why I was so angry and upset. I would talk to him about it. He tried to soothe me, to calm me down. I felt like he was the only one that I could talk to, that could understand me. I didn't realise that he was the one that was creating my problems and using them to control me.
I thought he was my best friend, when in fact, he didn't care about me at all. All he cared about was himself and satisfying his urges. He knew exactly why I was feeling the way I did. He knew he was hurting me. He knew he was destroying my innocence. He just didn't care. The more angry and depressed I felt, the more I turned to him to help me and the worse I felt. It was a vicious circle that I wasn't even aware of.
Yet he knew exactly what he was doing. And he decided that the fall-out was worth it. He decided that my emotional, physical and sexual well-being were a small price to pay compared to the satisfaction he was getting. He knew that years in the future I would fall apart and he didn't care. I would be out of his life by then, so what did it matter to him? By the time that I crashed and burned, he would be long gone.
It is a difficult thing to realise; that you are less than nothing to someone. That you are worth less than something you would scrape off the bottom of your shoe.
I often wonder what my life would have been like had it not been for him. Would I have self harmed? Would I have suffered from bulimia? Would I have developed anxiety and suffered from panic attacks? Would I have purposfully made myself fat to try and make myself unnatractive? Would I have been so insecure about every aspect of myself? I believe the answer is a big, fat 'NO', but I will never know. He made sure of that.
Realising just what he has taken from me makes me so angry.
He decided that it was okay to try and destroy and break me. He had no right to change my life like that. He had no right to do what he did, but he did it anyway. So, I find myself filled with this rage. He took my childhood from me. I will never get that back.
But I'll be damned if I'll let him take my future from me.
Now I know why I was filled with so much anger. Now I understand my anger. And in understanding it, I can begin to move on. One day I will no longer feel this anger, but for now it is directed where it should be; not towards myself, but towards him. No longer will I punish myself for something that is not my fault. I have managed to break free from the self-destructive cycle that I had been caught in for so long. I am now growing and becoming strong. Yes, I am still angry and frustrated. Yes, I hate the man. But I will not let him take anything else from me. I am worth more, and he doesn't deserve my tears.
I don't know how long it will take for this wound to heal, but I know it's a hell of a lot better than it was a year ago. I am finding healthy ways to cope with my anger. The most important thing that I'm doing is talking about it. I am no longer letting it eat me up. I am giving my feelings a voice to be heard, so that they can say what they want and leave. I am taking back control of my life.
God, my family and my friends give me strength. They make me realise that I don't have to go through anything alone - they make me realise that I am loved. I am no longer scared by my anger, and my anger is no longer overwhelming.
I know an important part in letting go of my anger is to forgive. I also know that I'm not yet ready for this. I want to, it is something I am working towards, but at the moment I'm not in the right place. I just can't bring myself to forgive him for what he's done to me - yet. I know it will come, but at the minute I just can't do it. Instead, I am slowly letting go of my anger.
In the meantime, I am not letting him control my life anymore. I have stopped self harming. I haven't had a panic attack in a long time. I no longer make myself sick and I am losing weight. I am slowly taking my life back. I am facing my fears head on, and in doing so some of my demons are being conquered. I am becoming the person I imagine I would have been had he not been a part of my life. I am ro longer running away from myself - I am facing myself head on and I am becoming the person I want to be.
Me
Growing up, I couldn't understand why I always felt so angry. I thought there was something wrong with me. It took me years to realise and to admit to myself that I had been sexually abused and raped. Growing up, I hadn't realised what was happening to me. After all, I was a child - I didn't know what grooming meant, I didn't know what sexual exploitation meant. So how on earth could I apply those words to myself?
I didn't understand why I was so angry and upset. I would talk to him about it. He tried to soothe me, to calm me down. I felt like he was the only one that I could talk to, that could understand me. I didn't realise that he was the one that was creating my problems and using them to control me.
I thought he was my best friend, when in fact, he didn't care about me at all. All he cared about was himself and satisfying his urges. He knew exactly why I was feeling the way I did. He knew he was hurting me. He knew he was destroying my innocence. He just didn't care. The more angry and depressed I felt, the more I turned to him to help me and the worse I felt. It was a vicious circle that I wasn't even aware of.
Yet he knew exactly what he was doing. And he decided that the fall-out was worth it. He decided that my emotional, physical and sexual well-being were a small price to pay compared to the satisfaction he was getting. He knew that years in the future I would fall apart and he didn't care. I would be out of his life by then, so what did it matter to him? By the time that I crashed and burned, he would be long gone.
It is a difficult thing to realise; that you are less than nothing to someone. That you are worth less than something you would scrape off the bottom of your shoe.
I often wonder what my life would have been like had it not been for him. Would I have self harmed? Would I have suffered from bulimia? Would I have developed anxiety and suffered from panic attacks? Would I have purposfully made myself fat to try and make myself unnatractive? Would I have been so insecure about every aspect of myself? I believe the answer is a big, fat 'NO', but I will never know. He made sure of that.
Realising just what he has taken from me makes me so angry.
He decided that it was okay to try and destroy and break me. He had no right to change my life like that. He had no right to do what he did, but he did it anyway. So, I find myself filled with this rage. He took my childhood from me. I will never get that back.
But I'll be damned if I'll let him take my future from me.
Now I know why I was filled with so much anger. Now I understand my anger. And in understanding it, I can begin to move on. One day I will no longer feel this anger, but for now it is directed where it should be; not towards myself, but towards him. No longer will I punish myself for something that is not my fault. I have managed to break free from the self-destructive cycle that I had been caught in for so long. I am now growing and becoming strong. Yes, I am still angry and frustrated. Yes, I hate the man. But I will not let him take anything else from me. I am worth more, and he doesn't deserve my tears.
I don't know how long it will take for this wound to heal, but I know it's a hell of a lot better than it was a year ago. I am finding healthy ways to cope with my anger. The most important thing that I'm doing is talking about it. I am no longer letting it eat me up. I am giving my feelings a voice to be heard, so that they can say what they want and leave. I am taking back control of my life.
God, my family and my friends give me strength. They make me realise that I don't have to go through anything alone - they make me realise that I am loved. I am no longer scared by my anger, and my anger is no longer overwhelming.
I know an important part in letting go of my anger is to forgive. I also know that I'm not yet ready for this. I want to, it is something I am working towards, but at the moment I'm not in the right place. I just can't bring myself to forgive him for what he's done to me - yet. I know it will come, but at the minute I just can't do it. Instead, I am slowly letting go of my anger.
In the meantime, I am not letting him control my life anymore. I have stopped self harming. I haven't had a panic attack in a long time. I no longer make myself sick and I am losing weight. I am slowly taking my life back. I am facing my fears head on, and in doing so some of my demons are being conquered. I am becoming the person I imagine I would have been had he not been a part of my life. I am ro longer running away from myself - I am facing myself head on and I am becoming the person I want to be.
Me
Sunday 31 July 2011
A touchy subject
When you have been raped, it's important to control who touches you. You had been touched in a way that destroyed your faith in humanity, and you don't want that to happen ever again. At least, it's that way for me. For a long time afterwards, I didn't want to be touched in any way. I didn't want to be hugged, I didn't want to people tapping me on my shoulder, I didn't want to be touched at all.
I needed to control who touched me and when. I wanted to be the one that initiated hugging or any other form of touching. It's not that I minded being touched - I just wanted to initiate it and know it was going to happen. I hated it when people surprised me by touching my arm whilst they were talking to me, or tickled me or did anything that involved physical contact.
More often than not, when someone touched me and I wasn't expecting it, I would either jump or flinch. Even though it was all completely innocent, I hated it. I had been touched against my will once, I didn't want it to happen ever again. I knew that people touching me were doing it in all innocence. I knew it wasn't in a sexual way. I knew it was friendly. But if I wasn't expecting it then I didn't want it to happen.
I stayed like this for a long time. People just thought I was distant and aloof. They thought I was rude or a bit weird. I didn't care - I just wanted to be in control of who touched me and when they touched me.
I remember once incident, when a friend of mine accidentally brushed his hand against my backside. It was completely innocent - he hadn't even realised he'd done it, but I went crazy. I started shouting at him and asking him what he thought he was playing at. The poor guy - he had absolutely no idea what was going on.
Things are slowly changing though - I don't jump or flinch as much. I enjoy being hugged. It's nice to have human contact that is friendly. A hug is not violent, a hug is not sexual and a hug is not awful. In fact, being hugged is quite nice. Unfortunately - most people think that I don't want to be hugged because of my past behaviour.
Most times now, I don't mind when people touch me and I wasn't aware that they were going to. I've learnt that being touched isn't a bad thing. Being touched does not equal being violated in any way. Being touched can be nice - a hug is supportive and friendly, not evil.
However, there are still times though when I don't like to be touched. Those times are always when I am about to do something that confronts him. All my thoughts are focused on him - the last thing I want is to be touched in any way. The memories are too strong, the thoughts of him are too strong. When I'm in that state of mind, I don't want any physical contact - even if it's meant to be supportive. All that happens is that I end up thinking about the way he touched me.
Luckily, those moments don't happen very often - they only happen when I'm doing something that relates directly to him; like reporting him, identifying him etc. When he is all that I'm focused on, I build an emotional barrier around myself so that he can't hurt me. That barrier is also around my body - if anyone breaks through that barrier and touches me, the barrier in my mind starts to break and I feel myself crumbling emotionally.
As I said though - that doesn't happen very often anymore. For the most part, I don't mind being touched anymore. I've discovered that I quite like physical contact with other people. Hugs are nice, they make you feel good.
For me, finally admitting that is a major breakthrough - it means I'm letting the walls around myself down and letting people in. I'm not letting what he did to me dictate how I act around my friends. I'm not letting what he did to me stop me from enjoying hugs from my family and friends. I'm taking back control by opening up and enjoying physical contact.
There was a time, before I was raped, that I enjoyed hugs. He stole that from me. Well, now I'm taking that back.
A hug? Yes please!
Me
I needed to control who touched me and when. I wanted to be the one that initiated hugging or any other form of touching. It's not that I minded being touched - I just wanted to initiate it and know it was going to happen. I hated it when people surprised me by touching my arm whilst they were talking to me, or tickled me or did anything that involved physical contact.
More often than not, when someone touched me and I wasn't expecting it, I would either jump or flinch. Even though it was all completely innocent, I hated it. I had been touched against my will once, I didn't want it to happen ever again. I knew that people touching me were doing it in all innocence. I knew it wasn't in a sexual way. I knew it was friendly. But if I wasn't expecting it then I didn't want it to happen.
I stayed like this for a long time. People just thought I was distant and aloof. They thought I was rude or a bit weird. I didn't care - I just wanted to be in control of who touched me and when they touched me.
I remember once incident, when a friend of mine accidentally brushed his hand against my backside. It was completely innocent - he hadn't even realised he'd done it, but I went crazy. I started shouting at him and asking him what he thought he was playing at. The poor guy - he had absolutely no idea what was going on.
Things are slowly changing though - I don't jump or flinch as much. I enjoy being hugged. It's nice to have human contact that is friendly. A hug is not violent, a hug is not sexual and a hug is not awful. In fact, being hugged is quite nice. Unfortunately - most people think that I don't want to be hugged because of my past behaviour.
Most times now, I don't mind when people touch me and I wasn't aware that they were going to. I've learnt that being touched isn't a bad thing. Being touched does not equal being violated in any way. Being touched can be nice - a hug is supportive and friendly, not evil.
However, there are still times though when I don't like to be touched. Those times are always when I am about to do something that confronts him. All my thoughts are focused on him - the last thing I want is to be touched in any way. The memories are too strong, the thoughts of him are too strong. When I'm in that state of mind, I don't want any physical contact - even if it's meant to be supportive. All that happens is that I end up thinking about the way he touched me.
Luckily, those moments don't happen very often - they only happen when I'm doing something that relates directly to him; like reporting him, identifying him etc. When he is all that I'm focused on, I build an emotional barrier around myself so that he can't hurt me. That barrier is also around my body - if anyone breaks through that barrier and touches me, the barrier in my mind starts to break and I feel myself crumbling emotionally.
As I said though - that doesn't happen very often anymore. For the most part, I don't mind being touched anymore. I've discovered that I quite like physical contact with other people. Hugs are nice, they make you feel good.
For me, finally admitting that is a major breakthrough - it means I'm letting the walls around myself down and letting people in. I'm not letting what he did to me dictate how I act around my friends. I'm not letting what he did to me stop me from enjoying hugs from my family and friends. I'm taking back control by opening up and enjoying physical contact.
There was a time, before I was raped, that I enjoyed hugs. He stole that from me. Well, now I'm taking that back.
A hug? Yes please!
Me
Saturday 23 July 2011
I identified him
It's just gone 1AM on Saturday morning. I am yet to fall asleep. I want to stay up until I am absolutely exhausted, so that I'll be too tired to dream (or to remember my dreams). I don't want to dream about him.
I was on edge all day yesterday (Friday). I tried to eat, but couldn't bring myself to stomach more than a few bites. I tried to busy myself with anything - but I kept thinking about what lay ahead. I was dreading it and just wanted it to be over.
Finally, the time came to drive to the identification unit of the police station (the detective on my case was kind enough to travel up here, instead of me having to travel down there). I sat in the car and my Mum (Dad drove down in his car) keyed in the address on the SatNav. I got a shock when she said the name of the street that the station was on - it was his name. I thought that must be an omen, but couldn't decide whether it was good or bad.
I also think I may have damaged my Mum's hearing - I played my music extremely loud and sang (or rather, shouted) along with the songs. I wanted the music to drown out my thoughts.
Eventually we arrived at the station and one of the officers led the three of us in to a waiting room. I tried to distract myself by reading the posters that was up on the wall.
One of the posters was of four handwritten letters, sent by children. The children had obviously been on a school trip to the station. It said something along the lines of 'I had a great time and enjoyed standing in the line-up. I was number 7 and my friend was number 8. I hope I never have to be in that room again.'
That got me thinking. None of us imagine having anything bad happen to them, and none of us can imagine doing anything that warrants them a trip to the police station. I know I certainly didn't imagine myself standing in a police station waiting to identify the man that groomed, exploited and raped me. And I'm sure he would never have thought himself capable of doing that. He was once a child himself - what had he been like? What made him turn in to the monster that he is?
Then another officer came and led me into a separate room. I had to answer some routine questions and then I was told to face the computer. I was told that 9 short video clips will be played. I wasn't to comment or say anything until they had played through twice. The videos started playing. I was nervous. I was so scared I wouldn't recognise him.
Number one - it wasn't him. Number two - not him. Number three - looked a bit like him, but not really. Number four - not him. By this point I'm thinking 'oh God, what if he's not here? What if he is and I just haven't recognised him?'. Number 5 - I stop breathing. It's him. My mind goes blank, I can just see him. He's changed over the years, but it's definitely him. I barely even notice the other 4 people.
After the second time, the officer asks if I would like to see any clips again. I say number 5. I need to see him again. I don't want to - but I need to. This is the first time in six years that I've seen him - I want to scream at him, I want to shout. I want to see if he has a conscience. I want to know that he knows that what he did was wrong and hurt and changed me in so many ways. But of course - none of this happens. All I'm looking at is a 15 second video clip.
I identify him as the man that raped me. I am then led back in to the waiting room. My parents asked me how it went - I couldn't answer them, I had to rush to the toilet. I sat over the toilet, dry heaving. I felt sick to my stomach. Seeing him had completely thrown me. I realised though that I wasn't going to be sick, as I had an empty stomach.
Sitting back with my parents, we waited for the detective on my case to join us. It's a new detective that I haven't met before, as the other one has been promoted and is no longer in the same unit. I like the new detective, she seems very nice and a hard-ass - the perfect mix. I like that she's fighting with me, I like that she wants to see him punished.
She said that yes, I had identified the man that they had arrested. I breathed a sigh of relief - by this point I had been second-guessing myself. 'What if I picked the wrong man?' I didn't think I had, but the insecurity was there.
Now it's just a waiting game. Waiting for more evidence to be collected. Waiting for reports to be filed. Waiting for, hopefully, charges to be filed. The detective thinks that it will all be finished in less than 6 months.
Right now, my head is all over the place. I still feel slightly sick about seeing him. I feel relieved that that part is over. Angry at him. I'm also aware that it's not just me he has to deal with - it's my family, my friends and the police. I am not in this alone. He will never be able to hurt me again.
Yet every time I close my eyes, I can see him staring out at me from inside the computer. It felt like he was looking right at me. And I stared straight back at him.
I'm ready to fight him. I'm done hiding away from him. He knew me as a weak girl - he's going to get a shock when he realises I am a strong woman.
Me
I was on edge all day yesterday (Friday). I tried to eat, but couldn't bring myself to stomach more than a few bites. I tried to busy myself with anything - but I kept thinking about what lay ahead. I was dreading it and just wanted it to be over.
Finally, the time came to drive to the identification unit of the police station (the detective on my case was kind enough to travel up here, instead of me having to travel down there). I sat in the car and my Mum (Dad drove down in his car) keyed in the address on the SatNav. I got a shock when she said the name of the street that the station was on - it was his name. I thought that must be an omen, but couldn't decide whether it was good or bad.
I also think I may have damaged my Mum's hearing - I played my music extremely loud and sang (or rather, shouted) along with the songs. I wanted the music to drown out my thoughts.
Eventually we arrived at the station and one of the officers led the three of us in to a waiting room. I tried to distract myself by reading the posters that was up on the wall.
One of the posters was of four handwritten letters, sent by children. The children had obviously been on a school trip to the station. It said something along the lines of 'I had a great time and enjoyed standing in the line-up. I was number 7 and my friend was number 8. I hope I never have to be in that room again.'
That got me thinking. None of us imagine having anything bad happen to them, and none of us can imagine doing anything that warrants them a trip to the police station. I know I certainly didn't imagine myself standing in a police station waiting to identify the man that groomed, exploited and raped me. And I'm sure he would never have thought himself capable of doing that. He was once a child himself - what had he been like? What made him turn in to the monster that he is?
Then another officer came and led me into a separate room. I had to answer some routine questions and then I was told to face the computer. I was told that 9 short video clips will be played. I wasn't to comment or say anything until they had played through twice. The videos started playing. I was nervous. I was so scared I wouldn't recognise him.
Number one - it wasn't him. Number two - not him. Number three - looked a bit like him, but not really. Number four - not him. By this point I'm thinking 'oh God, what if he's not here? What if he is and I just haven't recognised him?'. Number 5 - I stop breathing. It's him. My mind goes blank, I can just see him. He's changed over the years, but it's definitely him. I barely even notice the other 4 people.
After the second time, the officer asks if I would like to see any clips again. I say number 5. I need to see him again. I don't want to - but I need to. This is the first time in six years that I've seen him - I want to scream at him, I want to shout. I want to see if he has a conscience. I want to know that he knows that what he did was wrong and hurt and changed me in so many ways. But of course - none of this happens. All I'm looking at is a 15 second video clip.
I identify him as the man that raped me. I am then led back in to the waiting room. My parents asked me how it went - I couldn't answer them, I had to rush to the toilet. I sat over the toilet, dry heaving. I felt sick to my stomach. Seeing him had completely thrown me. I realised though that I wasn't going to be sick, as I had an empty stomach.
Sitting back with my parents, we waited for the detective on my case to join us. It's a new detective that I haven't met before, as the other one has been promoted and is no longer in the same unit. I like the new detective, she seems very nice and a hard-ass - the perfect mix. I like that she's fighting with me, I like that she wants to see him punished.
She said that yes, I had identified the man that they had arrested. I breathed a sigh of relief - by this point I had been second-guessing myself. 'What if I picked the wrong man?' I didn't think I had, but the insecurity was there.
Now it's just a waiting game. Waiting for more evidence to be collected. Waiting for reports to be filed. Waiting for, hopefully, charges to be filed. The detective thinks that it will all be finished in less than 6 months.
Right now, my head is all over the place. I still feel slightly sick about seeing him. I feel relieved that that part is over. Angry at him. I'm also aware that it's not just me he has to deal with - it's my family, my friends and the police. I am not in this alone. He will never be able to hurt me again.
Yet every time I close my eyes, I can see him staring out at me from inside the computer. It felt like he was looking right at me. And I stared straight back at him.
I'm ready to fight him. I'm done hiding away from him. He knew me as a weak girl - he's going to get a shock when he realises I am a strong woman.
Me
Wednesday 20 July 2011
This Friday
I had a fantastic time on my course - I found it amazing.
The night before the first day I only managed to get about 3 hours sleep, as I was plagued by nightmares - which wasn't surprising. After all, being so close to the place where it happened was bound to bring it to the surface and make me think about it, which in turn will make me dream about it. I was absolutely exhausted, but also determined that he wasn't going to ruin this for me. So, dosed up on caffeine I not only made it through the day; I loved every second of it.
There were, however, some times on the course that was difficult. Especially since one of the helpers looked like him. Now he was a kind of average guy that looks like a lot of people, so I'm used to that. I just think it was more difficult because I was on edge and I was thinking about him a lot. But it was fine - I managed to move past it and realise that the helper was a decent guy and not him.
I also decided to not hide away in my hotel room when the day was over. Why should I hide myself away? I'm not a scared little girl anymore. So I explored the surrounding area, making myself familiar with the area. I must admit - I was uncomfortable walking around alone by myself, but I forced myself to continue. By the end of my little exploration, I was even enjoying myself.
Night time was the worst though. Everything is always worse at night. Nothing too bad - just a lot of nightmares. I think 3-4 hours sleep was the average amount.
The police called as well. Luckily I didn't get their message until after the course was finished.
I'm going to be doing the identification on Friday. I won't lie - I'm extremely scared and nervous.
What if he's changed so much I don't recognise him? What will seeing a picture of him do to me? I haven't seen him (in person or a photo) since it happened six years ago. Yes, I see him in my nightmare - but that is completely different.
At the minute, every time I find myself with nothing to do, he pops in to my head. Every time I close my eyes; I see him. He's there, lurking, ready to jump out when I least expect him to.
I'm just very unsettled at the minute. And I'm worried that this will all be for nothing - what if I mess up and don't pick him out? It will all have been for nothing. I would never forgive myself.
Me
The night before the first day I only managed to get about 3 hours sleep, as I was plagued by nightmares - which wasn't surprising. After all, being so close to the place where it happened was bound to bring it to the surface and make me think about it, which in turn will make me dream about it. I was absolutely exhausted, but also determined that he wasn't going to ruin this for me. So, dosed up on caffeine I not only made it through the day; I loved every second of it.
There were, however, some times on the course that was difficult. Especially since one of the helpers looked like him. Now he was a kind of average guy that looks like a lot of people, so I'm used to that. I just think it was more difficult because I was on edge and I was thinking about him a lot. But it was fine - I managed to move past it and realise that the helper was a decent guy and not him.
I also decided to not hide away in my hotel room when the day was over. Why should I hide myself away? I'm not a scared little girl anymore. So I explored the surrounding area, making myself familiar with the area. I must admit - I was uncomfortable walking around alone by myself, but I forced myself to continue. By the end of my little exploration, I was even enjoying myself.
Night time was the worst though. Everything is always worse at night. Nothing too bad - just a lot of nightmares. I think 3-4 hours sleep was the average amount.
The police called as well. Luckily I didn't get their message until after the course was finished.
I'm going to be doing the identification on Friday. I won't lie - I'm extremely scared and nervous.
What if he's changed so much I don't recognise him? What will seeing a picture of him do to me? I haven't seen him (in person or a photo) since it happened six years ago. Yes, I see him in my nightmare - but that is completely different.
At the minute, every time I find myself with nothing to do, he pops in to my head. Every time I close my eyes; I see him. He's there, lurking, ready to jump out when I least expect him to.
I'm just very unsettled at the minute. And I'm worried that this will all be for nothing - what if I mess up and don't pick him out? It will all have been for nothing. I would never forgive myself.
Me
Monday 18 July 2011
Twenty minutes
I'm in the city where he raped me. It's a big city. It's the biggest city in the UK. I'm here for a 3-day course. The course starts tomorrow and I'm very excited about it. I want to be on this course.
Yet right now, I can't sleep. My hotel is very close to where the course is held. Yes, it's a big city. I'm just very aware of the fact that the place where he raped me is less than 20 minutes from my hotel. The thought that keeps going round and round in my head is 'twenty minutes'. That place is the place that plagues my dreams and turns them into nightmares, and it's so close to me.
It also means he won't be far from here either. The place where it happened isn't far from where he lived. Which means he's not far from me.
Everywhere I look I'm seeing him.
My Mum wanted to come with me to offer me support. I declined her offer. I've travelled alone so many times I've lost count - I'm not about to let fear stop me from being independent. I do not want to be afraid. I refuse to let him stop me from enjoying myself. I know the probability of seeing him is beyond miniscule and really, what is there to be afraid of? He can't hurt me anymore - there's no way in hell I'm letting him hurt me ever again. So what exactly am I scared of?
I suppose part of me is still that scared and trusting child that he hurt and molded and almost destroyed. I know I'm an adult. I have grown a hell of a lot since he last saw me. I'm not the meek little girl I once was. I am a strong woman, not a weak, frightened child. Yet a part of me will always be that child. I put my trust in this man and he betrayed me, badly. He stole my innocence, he stole a part of me that I will never get back.
I fear him because he took a part of me. I fear him because he hurt me. I fear him because when I remember him I remember the weak child I once was.
As I said before, the chances of seeing him are tiny. I am not going to hide myself away in my hotel room just because there's less than 1% chance of running in to him. In fact - I went out for dinner with an old friend of mine and I had a lovely time.
I'm just very aware of where I am and I know I'm extremely jumpy and wary right now. Being this close to where it happened and where he lives also means that memories are coming flooding back; hence why I can't get to sleep. I don't want another nightmare about him and with all these memories and fears, the chance of not having a nightmare about him is small.
It's just that, in the back of my mind there's a small voice whispering 'twenty minutes'.
I won't let him beat me though. I am going to enjoy this course and I'm going to enjoy seeing friends while I'm here. He's not going to stop me. I will not let him ruin my time here. Now let's hope that I can put on my armor and stop myself from being so damn jumpy and wary.
Me
Yet right now, I can't sleep. My hotel is very close to where the course is held. Yes, it's a big city. I'm just very aware of the fact that the place where he raped me is less than 20 minutes from my hotel. The thought that keeps going round and round in my head is 'twenty minutes'. That place is the place that plagues my dreams and turns them into nightmares, and it's so close to me.
It also means he won't be far from here either. The place where it happened isn't far from where he lived. Which means he's not far from me.
Everywhere I look I'm seeing him.
My Mum wanted to come with me to offer me support. I declined her offer. I've travelled alone so many times I've lost count - I'm not about to let fear stop me from being independent. I do not want to be afraid. I refuse to let him stop me from enjoying myself. I know the probability of seeing him is beyond miniscule and really, what is there to be afraid of? He can't hurt me anymore - there's no way in hell I'm letting him hurt me ever again. So what exactly am I scared of?
I suppose part of me is still that scared and trusting child that he hurt and molded and almost destroyed. I know I'm an adult. I have grown a hell of a lot since he last saw me. I'm not the meek little girl I once was. I am a strong woman, not a weak, frightened child. Yet a part of me will always be that child. I put my trust in this man and he betrayed me, badly. He stole my innocence, he stole a part of me that I will never get back.
I fear him because he took a part of me. I fear him because he hurt me. I fear him because when I remember him I remember the weak child I once was.
As I said before, the chances of seeing him are tiny. I am not going to hide myself away in my hotel room just because there's less than 1% chance of running in to him. In fact - I went out for dinner with an old friend of mine and I had a lovely time.
I'm just very aware of where I am and I know I'm extremely jumpy and wary right now. Being this close to where it happened and where he lives also means that memories are coming flooding back; hence why I can't get to sleep. I don't want another nightmare about him and with all these memories and fears, the chance of not having a nightmare about him is small.
It's just that, in the back of my mind there's a small voice whispering 'twenty minutes'.
I won't let him beat me though. I am going to enjoy this course and I'm going to enjoy seeing friends while I'm here. He's not going to stop me. I will not let him ruin my time here. Now let's hope that I can put on my armor and stop myself from being so damn jumpy and wary.
Me
Wednesday 13 July 2011
Finding God
Growing up, I was an atheist. I didn't believe in God and I didn't want to. Christianity had nothing whatsoever to do with me. After he raped me, I was convinced there was no God. After all, if He did exist, why did He allow this to happen to me? I just couldn't believe a loving God would allow this to happen.
Not believing in God also meant that I had no reason to try and better myself - I had nothing to strive for. I was extremely self-destructive.
It was my housemate JW that suggested I should go to something called 'Christianity Explored', a kind of class where you learn about God and Jesus and can ask those tough questions. Going to that class was the best thing I ever did. Something inside me changed. It felt like an emptiness in my soul had been filled. I realised that He does exist, and that He does love me.
God's love and strength is what keeps me going in those dark days. He is what gives me the strength to carry on. He is the reason I want to better myself.
As I said in yesterday's entry - I still have days that I stumble, but instead of giving up, His love and forgiveness means I can get up and try again.
You may ask how I could have changed my mind so drastically and in such a short period of time, especially as for the first 22 years of my life I was an athiest. I wrote an article about that, so if you're interested, you can read it below. I would also suggest reading 'Mere Christianity' by C.S Lewis.
Here's the article I wrote:
People ask me how I can be a Christian when there is so much suffering in the world. We are bombarded by the effects of suicide-bombers, murder, rape and natural disasters from the moment we wake up to the moment we go to sleep. So many deaths, so much suffering. Surely a kind, loving God would not allow this? The answer to that question is not a simple one. It is not an easy one.
Firstly, you must look at why there is suffering in the world. Is it God’s doing, or is it a consequence that we as humans must suffer for all the sins before us? Our whole world is made up from cause and effect – you throw an apple up in the sky, it will come crashing back down to earth. The same goes for everything we as a human race do. You pollute the environment; the younger generations will suffer by living in a dying world. You kill someone; you will have to live with yourself and have to shoulder the grief of your victim’s family and friends. You cheat on an exam; you will have to face being kicked out of college. Whatever you have done, you must live with the consequences. Expecting anything less would be asking for a free pass. If your choices have no negative consequences, what is stopping you from repeating yourself over and over again? How do you learn from your mistakes?
Many people, when faced with their own mistakes and wrong-doings, beg God for forgiveness. Are they really asking for forgiveness or are they asking God to fix their mistakes, to stop the natural law of cause and effect? If you do something bad and that gets changed into something good by God, how are you learning anything? The only thing you then learn is that if you do something bad you get rewarded by God. If He were to grant everyone their wishes – how do we learn from our experiences? Not only do we first curse the name of God by either denying Him or judging Him, we then expect Him to fix the problems we have made for ourselves. “Since you object to what God does, can you expect Him to do what you want?” Job 34: 53
By asking God to help us, we are asking Him to stop the natural law and to save man from man’s own actions. We are asking for a miracle. Of course miracles happen, of course God can perform miracles. Jesus cured the disabled and Jesus himself rose from the dead. Miracles are about suspending natural law – they happen every day, if you are just willing to look for them. But you can’t expect God to stop every bad decision that man makes. You can’t expect God to perform miracles because you have made the wrong judgment call.
The question that I am then often asked is, why does God allow us to make these bad decisions? Why give us the power to destroy ourselves? The answer is simple. God gave us free will and with that free will comes great responsibility; responsibility to do the right thing and the chance to learn from our mistakes and wrong-doings. He gave us free will so that we can choose how we live our lives. He gave us free will so that we aren’t robots, so that we experience emotions. If we had no free will we would not feel love and joy. And you can’t feel love and joy without feeling pain as well. It was with the free will that God gave us that the first sin entered the world. Because of that sin, we experience shame, embarrassment and humiliation. Because of that sin we experience pain - and only with true pain comes true happiness.
You may ask me how on earth I can think this way. I have been told that nothing bad must have happened to me – surely only someone who hasn’t suffered can say ‘by experiencing pain we experience happiness’. What pain can a middle-class white girl have really experienced? So let me tell you a bit about myself. Like many people, I have seen those closest to me die. I have experienced grief. I was also sexually exploited as a child and I am a rape survivor. I have experienced pain, and by experiencing that pain I have become a stronger person. That pain has also brought me closer to God.
We are owed nothing in this life. Life – and God – should not bend over backwards to ease our suffering and to make our lives easier and happier. You only need to look at the story of Job and his suffering to understand.
Job was one of the most faithful servants that God had when Satan asked Him the question “would Job worship You if he got nothing out of it?” Job 1: 9. Satan took everything from him – his family, his wealth and his health, to which Job responded “I was born with nothing, and I will die with nothing. The Lord gave, and now He has taken away. May His name be praised!” and “When God sends us something good, we welcome it. How can we complain when He sends us suffering?” Job 1: 21 and Job 2: 10. It is easy to worship and praise God when we experience happiness. But is that really worship, or is that our arrogance in thinking that we are above sin, that we deserve all the good things that God has to offer? Do we learn anything if we have never had to work for anything in our lives?
“God teaches people through suffering and uses distress to open their eyes” Job 36:15. Only by suffering and loss can we know that we serve God for the sake of serving God – not by gaining health or wealth. Serving God is not a ‘quid pro quo’. We do not serve God for our own well-being. We serve God because He created us, because we owe our lives to Him. Through suffering we learn that faith can grow, through suffering we learn that God is our only refuge – in this world and the next.
And yet... despite all the suffering that we endure in this life, God loves us so much that He sent His only Son to be tortured and to die for us. He sent Jesus to suffer and be killed for us, so that He can take away our sins. He did this so that we can live eternally and know true happiness and peace by being with Him.
We all feel that we are suffering – all of us, at times feel that we are being judged unfairly; that no sin we have committed warrants the pain that we are feeling. So the next time I feel that I’m suffering through no fault of my own, I will not curse God’s name or tell Him how He can help me. Instead I will ask how I can help Him and be thankful that I have been given the opportunity to be that much closer to Him.
Me
Not believing in God also meant that I had no reason to try and better myself - I had nothing to strive for. I was extremely self-destructive.
It was my housemate JW that suggested I should go to something called 'Christianity Explored', a kind of class where you learn about God and Jesus and can ask those tough questions. Going to that class was the best thing I ever did. Something inside me changed. It felt like an emptiness in my soul had been filled. I realised that He does exist, and that He does love me.
God's love and strength is what keeps me going in those dark days. He is what gives me the strength to carry on. He is the reason I want to better myself.
As I said in yesterday's entry - I still have days that I stumble, but instead of giving up, His love and forgiveness means I can get up and try again.
You may ask how I could have changed my mind so drastically and in such a short period of time, especially as for the first 22 years of my life I was an athiest. I wrote an article about that, so if you're interested, you can read it below. I would also suggest reading 'Mere Christianity' by C.S Lewis.
Here's the article I wrote:
People ask me how I can be a Christian when there is so much suffering in the world. We are bombarded by the effects of suicide-bombers, murder, rape and natural disasters from the moment we wake up to the moment we go to sleep. So many deaths, so much suffering. Surely a kind, loving God would not allow this? The answer to that question is not a simple one. It is not an easy one.
Firstly, you must look at why there is suffering in the world. Is it God’s doing, or is it a consequence that we as humans must suffer for all the sins before us? Our whole world is made up from cause and effect – you throw an apple up in the sky, it will come crashing back down to earth. The same goes for everything we as a human race do. You pollute the environment; the younger generations will suffer by living in a dying world. You kill someone; you will have to live with yourself and have to shoulder the grief of your victim’s family and friends. You cheat on an exam; you will have to face being kicked out of college. Whatever you have done, you must live with the consequences. Expecting anything less would be asking for a free pass. If your choices have no negative consequences, what is stopping you from repeating yourself over and over again? How do you learn from your mistakes?
Many people, when faced with their own mistakes and wrong-doings, beg God for forgiveness. Are they really asking for forgiveness or are they asking God to fix their mistakes, to stop the natural law of cause and effect? If you do something bad and that gets changed into something good by God, how are you learning anything? The only thing you then learn is that if you do something bad you get rewarded by God. If He were to grant everyone their wishes – how do we learn from our experiences? Not only do we first curse the name of God by either denying Him or judging Him, we then expect Him to fix the problems we have made for ourselves. “Since you object to what God does, can you expect Him to do what you want?” Job 34: 53
By asking God to help us, we are asking Him to stop the natural law and to save man from man’s own actions. We are asking for a miracle. Of course miracles happen, of course God can perform miracles. Jesus cured the disabled and Jesus himself rose from the dead. Miracles are about suspending natural law – they happen every day, if you are just willing to look for them. But you can’t expect God to stop every bad decision that man makes. You can’t expect God to perform miracles because you have made the wrong judgment call.
The question that I am then often asked is, why does God allow us to make these bad decisions? Why give us the power to destroy ourselves? The answer is simple. God gave us free will and with that free will comes great responsibility; responsibility to do the right thing and the chance to learn from our mistakes and wrong-doings. He gave us free will so that we can choose how we live our lives. He gave us free will so that we aren’t robots, so that we experience emotions. If we had no free will we would not feel love and joy. And you can’t feel love and joy without feeling pain as well. It was with the free will that God gave us that the first sin entered the world. Because of that sin, we experience shame, embarrassment and humiliation. Because of that sin we experience pain - and only with true pain comes true happiness.
You may ask me how on earth I can think this way. I have been told that nothing bad must have happened to me – surely only someone who hasn’t suffered can say ‘by experiencing pain we experience happiness’. What pain can a middle-class white girl have really experienced? So let me tell you a bit about myself. Like many people, I have seen those closest to me die. I have experienced grief. I was also sexually exploited as a child and I am a rape survivor. I have experienced pain, and by experiencing that pain I have become a stronger person. That pain has also brought me closer to God.
We are owed nothing in this life. Life – and God – should not bend over backwards to ease our suffering and to make our lives easier and happier. You only need to look at the story of Job and his suffering to understand.
Job was one of the most faithful servants that God had when Satan asked Him the question “would Job worship You if he got nothing out of it?” Job 1: 9. Satan took everything from him – his family, his wealth and his health, to which Job responded “I was born with nothing, and I will die with nothing. The Lord gave, and now He has taken away. May His name be praised!” and “When God sends us something good, we welcome it. How can we complain when He sends us suffering?” Job 1: 21 and Job 2: 10. It is easy to worship and praise God when we experience happiness. But is that really worship, or is that our arrogance in thinking that we are above sin, that we deserve all the good things that God has to offer? Do we learn anything if we have never had to work for anything in our lives?
“God teaches people through suffering and uses distress to open their eyes” Job 36:15. Only by suffering and loss can we know that we serve God for the sake of serving God – not by gaining health or wealth. Serving God is not a ‘quid pro quo’. We do not serve God for our own well-being. We serve God because He created us, because we owe our lives to Him. Through suffering we learn that faith can grow, through suffering we learn that God is our only refuge – in this world and the next.
And yet... despite all the suffering that we endure in this life, God loves us so much that He sent His only Son to be tortured and to die for us. He sent Jesus to suffer and be killed for us, so that He can take away our sins. He did this so that we can live eternally and know true happiness and peace by being with Him.
We all feel that we are suffering – all of us, at times feel that we are being judged unfairly; that no sin we have committed warrants the pain that we are feeling. So the next time I feel that I’m suffering through no fault of my own, I will not curse God’s name or tell Him how He can help me. Instead I will ask how I can help Him and be thankful that I have been given the opportunity to be that much closer to Him.
Me
Tuesday 12 July 2011
A vicious circle
People think that the most common reaction to rape is to shy away from human contact. Or rather, that is the reaction that society expects - any other reaction and coping strategy is frowned upon. How did I react? I craved love; I needed to feel wanted. However, because I was groomed from an early age (an age where most kids are just starting to discover what love is) my view on love was (and is) completely different to most people's.
When I was 12 until 17, he was my best friend. He was the person I told everything to. He made me need him – I couldn't imagine not having him to confide in. I know that a lot of people struggle with the idea of grooming and can't quite get their heads around it. It's very similar to Stockholm Syndrome (where you bond with your captor in order to survive). In the beginning, there was nothing sexual about it; he was there when I needed someone to talk to. Whatever drama was going on in my 12-year-old life, he was there for me. Slowly, he started to worm his way into every aspect of my life, making me think that without him I would crumble. Eventually, he would be asking me for 'favours' in return for 'supporting me'. So from an early age, anything sexual was intertwined with being friends and having someone to listen to.
I grew up thinking that if you wanted to bond with someone, that if you wanted someone to be there for you, listen to you and be a shoulder to cry on, then you should give them something physical in return. I thought that was the way things worked. Sex, close friendship and love were so completely tangled up with each other they all seemed like one thing. I didn't think you could have one without the other.
Then he raped me. For a long time afterwards, yes, I did withdraw in to myself. I didn't want to get close to anyone for fear of what might happen, for fear of getting hurt, both physically and emotionally.
I don't know when or why I started to change, but I did. Part of me wanted to take back what he had stolen from me. I wanted to say "see, I’m moving on from being raped, you don't affect me anymore". I wanted to prove to him that I had control of my body, that I could choose to be with someone. However, an even bigger part of me just wanted to be close to someone again. I suppose I was lonely and wanted to reach out to people - I wanted a normal, healthy relationship, yet I had no idea how to get close to someone and have a relationship without being physical.
It soon became very clear that even though I wanted more – that wasn't what most people wanted. In their eyes it was "wham, bam, thank you ma'am". This of course just meant that I ended up feeling even worse than I did before – I felt used, I felt like a faceless one night stand, I felt empty. It was a horrible, horrible feeling. I truly felt alone and unloved. So, needing to feel loved, I would again seek out someone to be close to, which in turn made me feel much, much worse than before. It was a vicious circle that I couldn't seem to get out of.
In all honestly, I still haven't managed to completely untangle those three things. I still have moments where I stumble – if I'm feeling low then of course I look for something – someone – that will make me feel better, that will make me feel wanted. Or if I start to develop feelings for someone, or I think that someone is interested in me, then I always seem to manage to chase that person away by 'giving it up' too soon. Again, I always end up feeling much, much worse afterwards.
All of this is something I'm working on though. After all, how can I expect someone to respect me and want to be with me, when my actions say that I don't respect myself? Yes, it's going to take a long time to completely untangle these three things, but bit by bit, I’m getting there.
Me
When I was 12 until 17, he was my best friend. He was the person I told everything to. He made me need him – I couldn't imagine not having him to confide in. I know that a lot of people struggle with the idea of grooming and can't quite get their heads around it. It's very similar to Stockholm Syndrome (where you bond with your captor in order to survive). In the beginning, there was nothing sexual about it; he was there when I needed someone to talk to. Whatever drama was going on in my 12-year-old life, he was there for me. Slowly, he started to worm his way into every aspect of my life, making me think that without him I would crumble. Eventually, he would be asking me for 'favours' in return for 'supporting me'. So from an early age, anything sexual was intertwined with being friends and having someone to listen to.
I grew up thinking that if you wanted to bond with someone, that if you wanted someone to be there for you, listen to you and be a shoulder to cry on, then you should give them something physical in return. I thought that was the way things worked. Sex, close friendship and love were so completely tangled up with each other they all seemed like one thing. I didn't think you could have one without the other.
Then he raped me. For a long time afterwards, yes, I did withdraw in to myself. I didn't want to get close to anyone for fear of what might happen, for fear of getting hurt, both physically and emotionally.
I don't know when or why I started to change, but I did. Part of me wanted to take back what he had stolen from me. I wanted to say "see, I’m moving on from being raped, you don't affect me anymore". I wanted to prove to him that I had control of my body, that I could choose to be with someone. However, an even bigger part of me just wanted to be close to someone again. I suppose I was lonely and wanted to reach out to people - I wanted a normal, healthy relationship, yet I had no idea how to get close to someone and have a relationship without being physical.
It soon became very clear that even though I wanted more – that wasn't what most people wanted. In their eyes it was "wham, bam, thank you ma'am". This of course just meant that I ended up feeling even worse than I did before – I felt used, I felt like a faceless one night stand, I felt empty. It was a horrible, horrible feeling. I truly felt alone and unloved. So, needing to feel loved, I would again seek out someone to be close to, which in turn made me feel much, much worse than before. It was a vicious circle that I couldn't seem to get out of.
In all honestly, I still haven't managed to completely untangle those three things. I still have moments where I stumble – if I'm feeling low then of course I look for something – someone – that will make me feel better, that will make me feel wanted. Or if I start to develop feelings for someone, or I think that someone is interested in me, then I always seem to manage to chase that person away by 'giving it up' too soon. Again, I always end up feeling much, much worse afterwards.
All of this is something I'm working on though. After all, how can I expect someone to respect me and want to be with me, when my actions say that I don't respect myself? Yes, it's going to take a long time to completely untangle these three things, but bit by bit, I’m getting there.
Me
Monday 11 July 2011
Poems
Some poems I wrote a while back. Bear in mind I'm not a poet, this was just me to trying desperetaly to expel some of what I was feeling on the inside.
That Night
I just can’t get that night
That Night
I just can’t get that night
Out of my mind
I wish I could just
Leave the past behind
It needs to stop
This silent agony
I need to find a way
To set myself free
When I close my eyes
When I start to fall asleep
I can almost hear him
Laughing at me, knowing I’m weak
I can almost feel his hands
Touching and grabbing me
Demanding what is not his
Laughing at my quiet struggle to break free
I can almost taste him
As he forces my mouth and tongue
To pleasure him. Can almost hear him;
“Don’t stop until I’m done”
My breathing becomes harder
I’m fighting back the tears
I can hear him laughing
Even though it’s been years
I open my eyes
Stare at the ceiling
It was just a memory
When will I start healing?
It’s my dirty little secret
My only regret
I wasn’t strong enough to fight
My penance; I can no longer sleep at night.
Pain
I hurt myself;
When I'm filled with despair,
When my mind hurts so much,
When this pain I can no longer bear.
The physical pain helps me
To see it all through.
So hurting myself
Is the only thing I can do.
It's the pain in my head,
That's the real agony
So I turn to my knife;
It sets me free.
No one really understands,
So it remains a secret.
No one realises that the physical pain
Is my only outlet.
The knife cuts my skin,
The cig burns my arm,
These are the only things,
That will keep me calm.
The pain helps,
And wounds will heal,
But the blood is the only way,
To express what I feel.
I can't cry,
Or say I've given up,
That I wish to die.
So all I can do is cut.
Memories
His hands groping,
Feeling all over my body
I can't escape.
Oh God, why me?
His hands; they’re everywhere.
A tear rolls down my cheek
He laughs,
He knows I’m meek.
His breath, heavy on my face
I close my eyes, try to keep it out.
There's nothing I can do,
Can't even shout.
He's too strong,
He'll hurt me if I fight.
He says that if he wants,
He can do this all night.
He forces my hands, my mouth, on him,
Ignores my pleas.
Laughs again, his hands touching,
Sliding above my knees.
Finally, he's stopped, it's over.
But I have to live with it every day.
No amount of showers can wash the dirt away,
The fear disgust and shame is here to stay
Me
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