Point of View

I recently had a conversation with a new friend whose son committed suicide a couple of years ago.  Listening to her story and how the loss affected her, it set me to thinking of my own failed attempt.  I started considering how I believe my friends and family would have felt if I had succeeded, now knowing how they SAY they would have felt.

To make it clear before I go any further, there have been widely varied reactions to my attempt in July.  Some family members and friends have called me names, including selfish and inconsiderate, some have cut me off completely, totally ignoring my existence.  By contrast, some of my family and friends have drawn closer to me and have been supportive in a way I would never have expected.  From one extreme to the other and pretty much everything in between.

But none of them have really ever stopped to delve deeper into how I was feeling and why I thought that suicide was my only option.  And I don’t think I have ever really gone into it that deeply with anyone.  So here goes.

The basis of it all of course, is the fact that I have no sense of self-esteem.  To me, my life is valueless and of no meaning to anyone.  I genuinely believe that no-one would particularly miss me if I was no longer here.

Yes, of course I accept that in the first instance some people, my sons included would be genuinely upset.  But I cannot accept that the grief would last, nor that there would be any lasting repercussions in their lives.

In fact, I am entirely convinced that everyone would be better off without me around to drag them down into the pits with me.  Not only do I feel that I am worthless, but I also believe that I am not deserving of anyone’s concern. 

Is it so hard for people to understand that whilst I know my sons love me as their mother, I am not convinced of the fact that they love ME.  In my mind, a child automatically has an innate, inbuilt love for their parents which does not need to be earned, though it can be destroyed.

Then there is the type of love that I felt for my parents.  They earned it.  The way they took care of me, made personal sacrifices to make my life better, stood up for me in challenging times and were there for me through so much of the trouble I caused all culminated in a love that will stay with me forever.

I have never done anything to compare in any way that would earn that type of love from anyone, my sons included.  I am just not someone that people can love.  And even if they believe that they do care about me, it is not the real me that they are seeing and therefore, it is not something that I deserve.

The level of desperation that I reached when I decided to take my life still terrifies me.  I just could not see any reason to carry on, causing so much havoc in everyone’s lives.  I could not see any reason to live.

And that is not the fault of any of those who were around me, with the exception of Alex.  I hid my feelings well, just as I hid who I really was.  I still do it to a large extent, because deep down inside, my opinion has not changed.  I know that many of my friends would shower me with messages if they knew this, but although in the moment of reading them I feel better, in time my mind takes back control and I know that the words are not truly meant and are merely things that people think they should say in that situation.

As the title of this post states, this is my point of view.  I am not saying it is right or accurate, but it is mine and just as I accept that others have their own point of view, I hope others can respect mine.

And if anyone reads this who has lost a loved one to suicide, please take it from me – there was nothing you could do, you were not to blame.

What to say and what shouldn’t be said

The central issue for me right now is just how much to say to people.  Will they understand when I cut them off?  Will they realise that although talking about it does help, that talking needs to be in the right environment and to the right people?  People who can help the survivor to develop coping strategies and ways to deal with the issues that arise because of talking about it. 

I know that many survivors have come up against the issue of friends and family who want to help, maybe even feel the need to help.  We get pushed this way and that by kind, well-meaning people who just cannot or will not understand that they aren’t helping.  The conflicting emotions connected with being the victim of Child Sexual Abuse are hard enough to handle without having to deal with where to draw the line between a friend and a medical professional.

I recently had a conversation with a Doctor, not my own GP and was pleasantly surprised when he immediately grasped the fact that the involvement of my friends and colleagues was creating a situation that I just could not deal with.  Just as I do not know how to handle my family who have turned against me, so too, I cannot handle friends and colleagues who want to support me.

It all goes hand in hand with the feeling of being valueless.  When you don’t think you deserve someone’s help and support, it only leads to a further burden of guilt.  Guilt because you feel that they are wasting their time and guilt because you are worthless.  The urge to try any recommendation is hard – trying to please everyone.  But the total inability to handle the inevitable disappointments then lead to bitterness and anger, misdirected at someone who is really only trying to help.

That is where medical professionals provide a necessary outlet.  Yes, it is good to let it all out and talk about it, but it needs to be with someone who has a sound knowledge of all that is involved and an awareness of the ramifications.  And of course, probably most importantly of all, no personal link to the survivor.  They are there to do their job and although I would still feel guilty that I am taking up the time of someone who could be helping a needier person, I could talk myself around.

And that brings me back to where I started – how to explain to people that yes, it is wonderful that they want to help, but their help is not what I need.  I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I don’t even want their help.

There, I’ve said it at last.  I don’t want their help.  I don’t want their suggestions.  I just want them to be my friends.  Dealing with Child Sexual Abuse and it’s lasting effects is not something that can be done in a few weeks or even months.  It takes years of professional support and therapy.  Maybe in my case, that may never be available, but that is something I have to live with.  Not everyone else, just me.  And I am the one who has to find a way to deal with it.

I know I am not alone in feeling this way.  The same thing comes up over and over again when I am talking to other survivors.  We share our stories for two reasons – to protect others and to help other victims.  From each other, we do not seek healing, but rather ways of dealing with what we are going through.  From those who know.  From those who have been there.  The best coping strategies I have found so far have come from other survivors who have already been where I am now.  And of course, sharing our common experiences gives us a sense of belonging, of not being oddities in an otherwise sane world.

And best of all, of being understood.

Survivors and Victims

Having time off work has had one totally unexpected benefit.  With so much spare time on my hands I have had the opportunity to research Child Sexual Abuse on the internet.  I’ve looked at all sorts of items, ranging from personal accounts through to scholarly articles.  And one thing has become abundantly clear – although we are more aware now than ever before of the signs of Child Sexual Abuse and the damage it does, we still prefer to turn a blind eye to it.

Not just to us, those who have survived into adulthood, but also to the many children who are now being subjected to this horrific crime.  And I have started to wonder why that is?  Surely if we know firstly that Child Sexual Abuse is illegal and secondly that the effects are not just short term, but will remain with the victim for the rest of their lives, then surely we should be more active in preventing it?

And yet it is still something of a taboo subject.  We do not talk about it with our children and young people.  Very little practical information is included in school curriculums.  Survivors who speak out are often treated with contempt, losing the support of family members and friends.

A recurring theme among the accounts from Survivors is the fear of people finding out.  Not only when they were children and the abuse was ongoing, but even now into their adulthood.  Today I read the statement of a young woman who has only recently become known within the Survivors community and my heart was breaking as I read her words of self-doubt and fear.  Fear of people finding out what had been done to her.  Fear of how her abuser would react if she reported the abuse to the Police.  Fear of how her family would react to the revelations.  And of course, the common guilt that all Survivors feel.  

Guilt because we didn’t stop it.  Guilt because we didn’t tell someone about what was happening.  Guilt because we have hidden it for so long.

Why should this lovely young woman, at a point in her life when she should be revelling in her life and enjoying herself, instead be hiding away her true self and her real feelings from the eyes of those around her?  Why should she be carrying such a burden of guilt?  

I knew as I read her words, that there were so many things I could say, but they were all the things that have been said to me, time and again, and I know deep down that I cannot help her.  No-one can.  All that anyone can do is be there for her to talk to, yell at when she needs to and hug her when she feels vulnerable and insecure.

Because I know.  I have been there.  I am there now.  And I will be there again in the future.

So with all this suffering going on around us, isn’t it time for those who can to speak out in support of the Survivors and Victims of Child Sexual Abuse.  Discuss it with your family, talk about it with your children and raise the issue with your colleagues.  Maybe just maybe someone you know has been affected and when they realise that there is support out there for them, they will have the power to speak up.

You might even save someone’s life!

Nightmares

Something that I think is common to Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse is nightmares.  Nightmares containing terrifying images that I have been told are indirectly linked to the abuse.

I’ve had these nightmares on and off for as long as I can remember.  There is always a recurring theme – I am being chased by something or someone that I fear, but cannot see.  It is unclear what the danger is, but I know that if it catches up with me, my life is over.

In these nightmares, sometimes I am flying, but not like a bird.  I am actually swimming through the sky, but the air is thick and I have to fight with every stroke.  I can see my home below me, with Alex’s house next door, but the only place that feels safe is the tree that stood on the boundary between the two houses.  A great big flamboyant tree that I spent hours climbing as a child.  Why this tree represents a safe haven, I have no idea, although I have thought about it often and tried out different scenarios in my head.

I’ve considered the fact that the feeling of safety that I attach to that tree is because Alex never climbed it.  Or maybe it is because it is clearly visible from both houses.  One day I might find out whether there is any significance to this, but for now it is just a mystery.

In this nightmare, I cannot land anywhere because the ground is absolutely heaving with snakes.  Thousands of them, everywhere I look.  All waiting for me to just get close enough for them to reach me.  The writhing makes my skin crawl and probably explains my fear of snakes.  It isn’t until very recently that I have managed to overcome my fear of snakes and my inability to even look at a picture of a snake in a book.

Other times in the nightmare I am running, but again I am fighting resistance from the air.  Generally though, when I am running, I am not on my own – my parents and my brother are with me too, as much at risk as I am.  But they don’t seem to know that we are in danger.  I have never been able to figure out why they run with me, but am only thankful that they do.  As the nightmare progresses, each of them are caught leaving me running on my own.

In the running nightmares though, I always end up at the edge of a cliff, with nothing below me and only danger behind me.  I have nowhere to go.  At this point, I always wake up.

As strange as it sounds, I prefer the running nightmare to the flying nightmare.  At least with the running nightmare, once I wake up it is over.  I am left terrified and shaking, but I know it is over.

This is the major difference with the flying nightmare.  Because over the years I have learnt that when I wake up it is not over!  I know that the second I close my eyes, even as I am just drifting back into the world of sleep, I will also re-enter the world of the nightmare.  It just picks up right where it left off.

I go through periods when these nightmares are constant, every night, over and over again.  So my solution?  Don’t go to sleep.

Just as I have become very good at hiding how I feel, I have also learnt to stay awake.  For days and even weeks at a time.  I’ve taught myself to catnap during the day, even for ten minutes and this enables me to stay awake through the night.  My most recent bout of nightmares lasted nearly eight weeks.

Unfortunately, there is a side effect to keeping myself awake for so long – when the fatigue reaches a point where I can no longer function properly during the day, my body will not allow me to sleep.  Try as I might, all I do is toss and turn.  It is a vicious circle.

 

But then that is the story of my life these days.  I feel like I am finally getting to grips with what Alex stole from me and then the crash comes again and I am right back to that snivelling wreck who has allowed him to conquer her again.  I have to wonder, will there ever be a time when he doesn’t control my life?

Perspective

It’s amazing how one’s perspective can shift in twenty four hours.  Don’t get me wrong – I still feel like Alex is winning and that I will never get back all that he took from me, but after receiving so much support from friends, I am hoping that I can make something of myself in the future.

It’s not that I am getting my head straight.  Definitely not.  I still feel dirty and useless.  But there seem to be people out there who believe in me and although I believe that they are way off the mark, I don’t want to let them down.  I have already done that to one person recently, who thought he was doing the right thing, and I don’t want to do it again.

No promises though.  That is something else I am learning.  I have a long road to travel and I know that I am going to hit some deep valleys along the way.  Those will be the times when I find it hardest to control myself and my emotions.  That control is something that was taken from me thirty three years ago.  Whether I will ever be able to get it back remains to be seen.

A large part of me wishes that people would leave me alone.  That way I cannot hurt them nor betray them.  It isn’t that I want to be isolated, it’s just that I want to protect them.  Will it make that much difference anyway?  I already feel isolated. 

By the turmoil that is going on inside me that they can never see or understand.  By the terrible pictures in my head that I pray they will never be exposed to.  By the panic that overtakes me when I feel exposed and insecure.  By the visions of vengeance that sometimes crowd into my mind.  Vengeance against Alex and those who protect him, whilst leaving me exposed to all this pain.

Over the last few days I have spent a lot of time trawling through different websites dealing with survivors of Child Sexual Abuse and it never ceases to amaze me that we are called survivors by so many people out there.  Survivors?  This is surviving?  I definitely question whether it is worth it, especially when I see stories from other victims who have already been undergoing treatment for years.

What have I then got to look forward to?  I am still at the point where I am trying to get the treatment I need.  Naturally, it would be much easier if Alex would do the honest thing and offer to finance at least a part of the treatment, but I have no doubt that he doesn’t have a decent bone in his body.

I know that I am sounding bitter and rambling a lot, but I feel like I am rotting from the inside out.  The anger is eating away at me and leaving a pathetic shell that merely looks like me.  I know my anger is turning against people who are only trying to help and leaving them burned and hurt.  But I just can’t stop it.  I cannot seem to bite off the words before they burst through my lips.  

You win!

Okay, you win.  I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.  I know what you did to me and I know what you made me do.  The thing is I know it wasn’t my fault now, but it has taken more than half my life to realise that.  I spent the first half blaming myself for what happened, for not telling anyone, for not stopping it from happening, but now I know it was you.  

And do you know what?  Now it’s even worse.  Now I am remembering it all and I can feel what you did.  You’re actually doing it to me all over again.  I’m overeating, I can’t concentrate, I dream about it every night and now I don’t want to sleep.  But I am so tired and I know that I need to sleep.

Just when I think you have gone, it kicks my insides again - the hurt and pain.  How could you do that to me.  How could you do that to a child.  I hate you.  I want to hurt you the way you hurt me.  I want you to know how it feels to be an innocent child and have it all taken away from you.  I want to take everything away from you. 

But this is where you really win.  I am absolutely powerless.  You have a family who will protect you, where mine failed to protect me from you.  You have people who care about you, while everyone just looks at me as though I am pathetic.  I can only see the pity in their eyes.

And you have your son, who worships you.  I have my sons too, but these days all they seem to have to do is take care of me, to make sure I am okay!   And I worry.  Do you still do this kind of thing?  Are you doing it to someone else now? 

Could you?  I have reported it, but it is so complicated.

And even though I know exactly what you did to me and that it was your fault, I am terrified of telling anyone too much.  Just little bits but not enough.  And I can’t say when it started or how many times it happened.  It’s all jumbled up.  I don’t even how you managed to get away with it and I still feel so ashamed of myself.  I hate myself.  When I look in the mirror all I see is someone dirty and all I feel is disgust.

I want to know why you picked me.  Did it just happen or did you deliberately target me and then move on to my friends from there?  Did you know that you could get what you wanted from me?  Did you decide to go for me because you knew I felt unloved?  Did you know that I would keep it all to myself?

So, you win.  I give up!

More conflicting emotions

Although I am feeling a lot better today, my emotions are still running pretty high.  It is quite frightening when you can feel everything bubbling just below the surface and have to try and keep a tight rein on it all.  It’s at times like this when my reactions can actually be totally inappropriate for the situation and I have to be constantly on my guard. 

It makes it extremely difficult at work.  Normally, I can think things through properly before I respond, but feeling like this I find it really hard to think before I react.  And reacting is all it is.  But I am not in fact responding to what is said or done, at least not totally.  My reactions are tempered by my past experiences and everything seems to be somehow far more personal.

Added to that, any reactions seem to be magnified a hundredfold.  For example, something slightly amusing can have me in fits of giggles for hours, whilst something that is only mildly upsetting will make me sob.  Controlling it is something I have been practising for years, but I am not actually sure just how healthy that is.  Controlling my emotions is so close to hiding my true feelings and I am afraid of crossing the line from one to the other.

Don’t get me wrong.  It would be much easier for me to just go back to hiding how I am feeling and it would probably a lot less stressful to those around me too.  But if I have learned anything over the last couple of months it is the fact that I can only hide for so long before I explode.  And with the anger and sense of hopelessness that is now a permanent part of my life, things can only end badly.

Until now, I had never considered myself to be irrational, but in the state I’m in now, there can be no doubt that if I let myself go and speak from my heart, nothing rational will come out. 

It is also making it hard to concentrate on anything.  Oh, believe me, I try.  I pick a task, run through it in my head and get down to it, but within seconds I lose that vital thread of concentration.  My situation is only made worse by the fact that I am in a pretty peculiar position at work and cannot afford to take time out to get my head straight.  But it does worry me what standard of work I am producing.  No-one has said anything yet, but it won’t be long before my lower standard of performance is noticed.

So where do I go from here?  I am sure that is a question that has been asked my many victims of Child Sexual Abuse before me and will come up for many others in the future.  I wish there was a way that we could all get together and share our experiences.  But I can count on the fact that here in the UK at least, that is a long way off.

Ranting

Today I am having a rant.  I knew that my path to recovery was not going to be a smooth one and I thought I was prepared for those times when I slipped backwards.  However, it seems I was not.

I woke up yesterday crying.  And I just couldn’t stop!  I bullied myself and told myself that I had to get it together.  I tried telling myself that I could not allow Alex to do this to me again.  Not the physical stuff of course, but the mental anguish.  The anger, the despair, the feeling of uselessness.

In the end, I had to ring my boss and ask him to help me out.  For the first time in months, my problems directly affected my work and that just made me feel worse.

I wonder if this is something unique to me – I feel guilty for being upset and angry, then I feel even angrier and more upset because I feel guilty.  Because after all, this isn’t really my fault, is it?  Or so they say.  But that is just so hard to believe, let alone live.

And my boss was terrific.  He was supportive and kind, stepping up to the mark and taking control where I couldn’t.  Today, he arranged an appointment for me to see Occupational Health, in the hopes that there would be something they could do.  And stupidly, I allowed myself to be convinced that maybe at last someone would help.

What the hell was I thinking???  I have spent four months being referred from one agency to another, from my GP to a Medical Crisis team, back to my GP then to a Counseling Support Service.  Then guess what?  Back to my GP and on to a Mental Health Team.  And lucky me, back to my GP again!  No-one can help me.  It seems that because I am ‘functioning’ ie holding down a job I do not qualify for any help through the National Health Service!

Can someone please explain to me how that makes any sense?  On any level.  If I was living on benefits and not making any effort to try and sort out my life, I could get free counselling, psychotherapy and any other help I needed.  And to make matters worse, if the tables were turned and I was the sex offender, I would be put in jail, with a roof over my head, three squares meals a day, medical and dental treatment including mental health services all for free!  Is that why I am paying taxes?  To pay for men like Alex to get all the help that I need?

It’s ridiculous.  I mean, a realistic picture of what it would cost me to get the help that I so desperately need – firstly counselling.  I have been reliably formed by the Doctor employed by our organisation that I would need a minimum of  thirty to fifty sessions at a cost of approximately £40 per session.  Then there is the Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing (EMDR).  Approximately 30 sessions at a cost of £100 each.  And about 50 sessions of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) costing £130 each.  I would need thousands of pounds to get the help that I need.

And yet, if Alex was locked up for what he did to me and my friends, he would be given access to all of these treatments at no cost to himself!  Is that fair?  Surely the world has gone mad when the perpetrator can access help for free, whilst his victims would have to scrape the money together and pay for it privately?

That is leaving out the Anger Management course.  Because I am angry!  Bloody angry!  Maybe if I just gave vent to my feelings and went on a rampage I could get myself locked up and would then qualify for the help I need.

Do I sound bitter?  You better bloody believe I am!  Really, really bitter and angry.  I am a decent human being and I am being left to rot whilst people who are supposedly being punished for their crimes are being helped.  And Alex?  He is just a bloody coward and is living the life of Reilly.  I hope for his sake that his path does not cross mine any time soon, because I can pretty much guarantee that I will qualify for all the help I need shortly thereafter!

Memories from the Theatre

The theatre of course has also been at the forefront of my memories.  

This is probably linked to the fact that I have recently ventured back into that arena.  Last week, another member of the group called me by a nickname that I had not heard for many years and so much came pouring into my mind.

My parents named me after a famous dancer from the 1950’s, someone I have admired for many years.  This dancer had the most phenomenal legs and featured in many a hit movie of the time.  Before the birth of my children, I was also the lucky owner of a fine set of pins.  As a result, many in the theatre called me by her first name.

Thoughts were flooding through my head and I came to a major realisation.  Not only did I have the two Bella’s, but there was a third me.  But unlike the other Bella, this persona was real.  Neither Bella was worth anything to anyone, not even the other Bella, but it didn’t matter.  I knew the other Bella was not real and therefore did not count.

With the other Bella, it even got to the point where I started to create a whole new background for her, with younger siblings who loved her and looked up to her.  A family who cared about whether she lived or died and looked out for her.  This Bella was worth something, but totally fake.  She was merely someone to hide behind so that people did not see how worthless and dirty I was.

With my theatre personality who emerged during my teens, everything was different.  In the theatre I was good at what I did – I could dance, I could sing, I could act.  There was no way I could allow this person to become tainted by what had happened with Alex.  So, as time went by she became more real and on stage, I was her.  This of course is why the theatre was so good for me. 

I became this other person and when I went home, I took a part of her with me.  This made me stronger and began the process of burying the memories of what had happened with Alex.  If I could forget about it, it would be as though it had never happened. 

The buried memories are surfacing, but so is my theatre personality.  And in my view, this is a good thing.  Because she is a strong and capable person and most likely the person I would have been without Alex.

Memories

Maybe it has been brought on by the fact that I am spending a lot of time lately thinking about the past, but so many memories, long buried have begun to surface.

Strangely, they are a random mix of good and bad, but the link between them is that they all occurred around the time that Alex was abusing me.  My mainstay, dancing, features a lot in these memories as do my parents.

I remember my Mom as she was back then – so strong, so sure of herself, so confident.  I so wish I could be like her.  And I wish that I could turn the clock back twenty years so that I could tell her.  She was the way that I aspire to be.  The day someone says to me that I am just like my Mother, I will know that I have really achieved something amazing. 

I remember that whenever someone was in trouble, my Mom could be counted on to help out.  Whether it was a work issue or a personal issue, she was there.  And she always seemed to be such a stable influence on whatever was happening.  I know that my brother and I were fortunate in that we always had her there to help us, if only I had appreciated it back then and confided in her. 

But back to my memories.  I also have some much darker ones that are haunting me of late.  HIM!  I think about what he did to me and the incident on the mat in his bedroom.  Just laying there waiting whilst he collected toilet paper to clean me up. 

One thing that has come back really clearly is my terror of falling pregnant.  I was far too young to realise that pregnancy was not a possibility as I had not yet reached that stage in my life. 

This fear had many aspects to it.  I did not know if what he was doing to me could result in my getting pregnant.  If I did fall pregnant, how would I explain it to my family and friends?  I know he did not use a condom – they were not exactly readily available back then.  Of course, I am certain he didn’t as I have the clear memory of him bringing toilet paper to me to clean myself. 

It was this fear that led me to start asking questions about the differences between men and women and the process of procreation.  Until that time, I had so wanted to be loved and craved approval, even from Alex.  Did he realise this and capitalise on it?

This is probably why this memory is so strong and the one that haunts me the most.  It is linked to the first time that I started to question what Alex was doing.  The time I realised that it was not right, nor was it normal.  But it was too late for me to do anything about it.  Or so I believed.  If I came forward at that point and told my parents what had been going on, I knew for a fact that I would be in so much trouble and my life would be over.  

Random Musings

Today I am having a pensive day.  Thinking back over the last 33 years and contemplating all that has happened.  Especially all that has happened over the last few months.

It’s amazing to me how far it is possible for a person to move in such a short space of time.  Just over four months ago, I had a close family that I was really proud to be a part of and felt that I was the one who was letting them down.  My cousin, Aunt and Uncle were really important in my life, especially my Aunt as she was my closest link to my mother.

I had a home of my own that I loved and cared for.  I was independent and outwardly appeared to be happy and balanced.  Inside I was already dying and only awaiting the opportunity for the public me to comply.

Now people know that my life is a mess.  I live with my sons and depend on them and my friends to help me through each day.  Of course, I no longer feel that I only have one choice and though I still believe I am a burden to those I care about, I more or less accept that situation.  Don’t think for one second I am happy about it, but acceptance and happiness are worlds apart.

And I wonder how many others there are out there who feel the way I do.  Is there much chance that they will find their way to my blog?  

And if they do, will it really help them?

Undoubtedly, this blog has helped me.  It has opened my eyes to the fact that I do have friends out there and they do genuinely care about me.  They have started me thinking that maybe I would be missed if I was no longer around.  Total belief of that fact is still a way off though.  But I need to know that putting my most personal thoughts and feelings here for everyone to read is helping someone else.  I still cannot get past the need to be there for others. 

I wouldn’t say that I feel valueless, but nor would I claim to accept that I matter in any way.  Especially not in the grand scheme of things.  And of course, I am having a hard time dealing with the fact that I have lost my Aunt and Uncle.

I don’t blame them at all.  It has got to be hard to hear someone accusing your own son of being a Child Molester and my revelations must be really hard for them to cope with.  He is their son after all and in some ways I would think less of them if they turned on him.  But that doesn’t make it easier for me to deal with the loss of my relationship with them.

In fact, it is really hard not to be bitter.  Not only did Alex steal my childhood, but now he has stolen my link to my mother.  Because it doesn’t matter what anyone else says or believes, this is all his fault.  I refuse to accept the responsibility for the repercussions of my actions in revealing the truth.  He made a decision 33 years ago and that decision took away a lot of my choices, then and now.  It hardly seems fair, but someone very wise once said that life isn’t fair!  And boy, can I testify to that!

Blending

Well, I have spent the last week analysing how I am feeling and trying to figure out why.  I know that the time has come for me to move on, but I need to be sure that the decisions I make are the right ones.

Somehow or other, I seem to have progressed a lot in a very short space of time.  I am pretty sure that I am not going to continue going forward and that at some point I will slip backwards, but I finally believe that I have what it takes to make it through.  I have not even thought of my escape route for days now.

So what has changed?  First of all the theatre.  Being back on the stage, even if I am just in the chorus is fantastic.  Somehow when I walk through the door, I know exactly who I am and I’m comfortable in my own skin, being the person that I am.  In the theatre I am the other Bella and not just pretending to be her.  I don’t have to try.  I can just be.

And of course work.  Spending three weeks working with a professional theatre group has been phenomenal.  Not only have I been able to stay close to something that is dear to me, but also the energy of the actors has rubbed off on me.  In a way, I have absorbed some of their confidence.  I am looking at the world in a new way and long may it last.

I have had the chance to look back over my life in a more objective way and although my little Bella is still hurting, I can see my way clear to integrating the two parts of me.  It isn’t going to happen overnight, but it now seems like a real possibility.

And what this means?  I cannot continue to live as one Bella or the other, but I need to find a way to bring the two together.  A way to draw on the best parts of each one and cope with the parts that I don’t like or cannot deal with.  I will never leave the pain and hurt behind, but I think maybe, just maybe I can draw on it to make myself into a better and more complete person.

Oh yes, I still want to see Alex pay for what he did and I am still angry that he is getting away with it.  And I am still pursuing every avenue to ensure that what he deserves will ultimately come his way.  But it’s no longer a driving force in my life.  It is just something I want to do and I will not allow it to rule my life.  I’ve said that before, I know and probably in the future I will slip back into my old habits and allow the pain to overtake my life, but for now I think I have the balance right and long may it last.

Hostage to my emotions

It’s strange.  I know exactly what is wrong with me.  I know exactly what I need to change to improve my life.  But the power to do it seems to be just outside my reach.  I feel as though I am a hostage to my own emotions.

It isn’t that I want to feel this way, nor behave as I do.  If I could just flick a switch and change it, I would.  In fact, more than anything, I would just like to blank out all that happened and the effects it has had on my life.  Just somehow forget it all happened and move on.

One thing I have come to accept is that there are people out there who think that it is as simple as that.  I have had quite a few people tell me that what happened is all in the past and I need to just forget about it and get on with my life.  Hah!!!  Do they really think that if it was that easy I wouldn’t have done it all ready?  Me and every other person going through this?

I try not to be angry with them, just as I try not to let it hurt me.  I don’t honestly expect anyone to understand what I am going through, unless they have been there and one thing I hope is that they haven’t, but I do hope that they can at least be open minded enough to realise that I am trying. 

Sorry if I sound so bitter and angry.   But I am.  Angry that I am not getting anywhere.  Angry that Alex is getting away with what he has done to me.  Bitter when I look at how much of my life has been ruined by him.  Angry that although I have sworn not to let him control my life any longer, I cannot seem to break free.

To add insult to injury, it seems that my own brother has withdrawn his support.  Many years ago, he discussed what had happened with the boy’s father, actually confirming that he had known it was happening.  I don’t blame him for not doing anything about it, but I would like to know why.  I’d also like to have his support. 

Yes, my coming forward about what Alex did to me has hurt his family.  But should I really be held accountable for that?  Surely the blame should be laid squarely at his door?  But my brother obviously doesn’t see it that way.  He won’t even talk about what has gone on and when I try to raise the subject, he just clams up.

Having spoken to other survivors, this seems to be quite common.  Families often treat the victim like a pariah or try to act as though the sexual abuse never happened.  Acting as though it will go away if no one talks about it.

But that is not possible.   In my mind, families should be there to support us.  They should realise that their rejection of the facts merely adds insult to injury. 

And that is the main reason I am so grateful for my friends and colleagues.  They have been unstintingly supportive and for that I will be eternally grateful.  In some ways it has eased the pain of rejection by my family.  

Am I strong enough?

I cannot describe what it’s like to feel so powerless and out of control.  It is hard not to resort to old habits and start hiding again.  Hiding behind the other Bella.  Putting on a brave face and a big smile and just keeping it all locked away inside.  Who would really know?  I know that I can fool everyone around me, but the question is, can I fool myself?

And of course that is the crux of it all.  Deep down inside, I know I can just become the other Bella again and go about my life as though none of this has happened.  But I also know that one way or another it will all eventually come bubbling back to the surface again.  And am I strong enough to cope with that once more?

It is just so demoralising knowing that whichever way I turn, it is going to be a struggle.  And I doubt myself.  Hell, I truly believe I am worthless anyway, so why would I think that I can cope?

I am doing all the right things at the moment, well almost and it just seems to be getting harder and harder.  Over and over again I am turning to the other Bella to get me through the day.  When I have to walk out of my flat, when I have to walk into the office and face my colleagues, when I have to walk down the street, fearing that everyone can see the real, dirty me.  When I have to stand in front of a group of strangers, praying that I can fool them into believing that I am something I believe I am not.  How can I expect people to accept it, when I cannot accept it myself?

I truly wish that I could believe in myself, but it is just not possible right now.  And I am not entirely sure that it will ever come to pass.  I just cannot see that I will ever get to the point where I believe in me.

But still, I am determined to persevere for now.  I have joined a local Support Group for Adult Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.  I’ve only attended one meeting so far, but I can’t really say that it helped.

If anything, I came away feeling worse.  The people at that meeting had been through so much more than me.  Not only had those that spoke been Sexually Abused as children, but they had also been physically and emotionally abuse.  Some of them came from broken homes, some had even been in foster care.  Many did not have any supportive family members.  And yet there they were – strong and apparently coping with it!  What did that say about me?  

My self esteem plummeted, lower than ever and the nightmares only seemed to worsen.  I started wondering whether to carry on or whether to just give up hope.  Surely if I was so weak I did not deserve to go on?  But there was still the hope that somehow I could find a way to believe in myself.

Then I had another hurdle to get over.  My evaluation with the Mental Health team.  I was terrified.  What would they ask me?  What would they say?  What would they think of me?  Would they think me weak?  I should have believed in them.  They were supportive and insightful, recognising things in me that others never notice.  They don’t notice them because I hide them, because I know what to say to throw people off the scent.

Isn’t it strange how people believe so many different things, attach certain values to various signs and symptoms, but don’t seem to realise that I know exactly what they believe and precisely how to fool them.

Forgive me for saying this, but there was one thing that I decided when I started this blog – to be honest about what I think, feel and do. 

And one of those things that has become a fundamental part of me is my escape plan.

I call it my security blanket.

Should things reach the point where I know that I can’t carry on anymore, I have the security of knowing that my exit strategy is all in place.  As foolproof as I can make it, with hopefully minimal impact on those around me.  And of course, my research has shown that there is a commonly held belief that if you talk about it, people believe that you won’t do it. 

Maybe I won’t.  Maybe it is just something I need to have right there.  As I said earlier, my security blanket. 

But back to my evaluation.  Apparently I have anger issues.  Really?  Imagine that!  I don’t mean that in a nasty way, but surely it is to be expected!  My cousin stole my childhood and destroyed my life.  I have struggled for 33 years trying to come to terms with it all and went as far as to try to take my own life!  I’d say I have anger issues!

But anger management?  Correct me if I am wrong, but surely I need to deal with the issues that are causing the anger?  I suppose I just have to accept that I am not an expert and they are.  So anger management classes it is.

They are also sending me on for a full Psychiatric Evaluation, in the hopes that the Psyche team will take on my case.  This would then open up doors for me to receive Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, which would deal with the underlying issues. 

Oh how wonderful it is to me!  Not!  As usual, I don’t quite fit into the usual boxes and everything is going to be complicated.  I don’t self-harm, I don’t have drug or alcohol problems.  I hold down a full-time job and have my sons and friends to support me.  I suppose I should feel grateful, but all I feel is guilty.