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.

Things look darker

So, I had my visit from the Psychiatric Intervention team.  Two lovely ladies who asked me a hundred questions and gave me absolutely no answers.  I don't blame them, but I came to realise that there is a lot of to-ing and fro-ing when dealing with mental health problems.  I've now come to realise that no-one can ever be certain what will or won't work.  Something that may have a positive effect on one person, could have the exact opposite with another.

At the end of a two hour session, where my emotions swung from one extreme to the other, it was decided that they could not offer me what I needed.  So guess what?  Back to Health in Mind!  And a whole new referral process.

This time my GP sent the referral and I waited patiently to hear from them.  After the proscribed two weeks, at the urging of a friend, I phoned them to find out where I stood.  It was explained that there had been a delay, but someone would get on to it as soon as they could.  This only served to reinforce my opinion that I wasn't really worth the bother.  

But other symptoms were now emerging.  Symptoms that really distressed me.  The initial one was shaking.  It is difficult to explain it to anyone who has never experienced it, but I will do my best.  It's more like trembling than shaking, but only down the right side of my body.  The feeling is almost as if something is quivering just under my skin.  But when I put my hand out, the shaking was actually visible.  The trembling comes and goes without any warning and I still have not been able to figure out how to stop it.

The next symptom to appear was what I have been told is called Hyper Arousal.  Not as sexual as it sounds.  What it means is that all of my senses are on constant alert.  An example of how this manifests is probably the most common way it is triggered in me.  I could be walking along quite calmly, round a corner and see someone in front of me.  I react as though the person has crept up on me and pounced on me.  Another common trigger is when someone touches me unexpectedly.  I ask you to try and imagine what it is like just trying to carry out a simple task like shopping, for me, an horrific experience of constant fright.

Than came the night terrors.  Not nightmares - night terrors.  The ones where you wake up in a total panic and the fear and trepidation carries through to the real world.  Generally I am being chased.  I can never see what is chasing me and it is always just behind me.  I know that if I turn to see what is behind me, I am finished.  It will have me.  This world is populated by people from my past and my present, in locations that I recognise, but aren't quite the same.  No-one is willing to help me - I am totally isolated.  The terror is just indescribably.

Of course, the night terrors then set off the next symptom.  Not consciously, but sub-consciously, I try to stay awake.  I realise I am doing it, but nothing I do seems to stop it.  Why would anyone want to go to sleep when they know what is waiting for them in that other world?  So the fatigue just slowly builds up until the darkness of sleep takes hold and the terror begins.  The longest I have managed to stay awake so far is 6 days and maybe that is what has contributed to the next symptom.

Flashbacks.  I am that little girl again, defenseless and frightened.  But in these flashbacks, I carry the knowledge of the adult me.  I am there, being sexually molested by Alex.  I can feel it, I can taste it, somehow I can even see it.  The fear is real.  The pain is real.  The smells are real.  I know I can stop him, but somehow, although I know how, I can't.  It is as though the adult me is trapped inside the little me, experiencing it all, but powerless to do anything about it.

So back to the GP I went.  Only to be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  This is the point at which my anger at Alex truly began to emerge.  I was doing everything that I could do, getting help, talking about it, trying to deal with it, but still it wasn't enough!  And he was sitting, with his family around him, as supportive as ever, living the life of Riley!  How fair is that?  How could I turn the tables?  Did I have the strength to deal with this all?

Next Steps

Unfortunately, there is no way to go back in time and undo all the damage that has been done to me and those that I love, but at least I can try to go forward with a more positive outlook. 

I really wish that my parents were still alive to see the changes that are taking place in my life.  I have never blamed them for what happened to me – back in the 1970’s sexual abuse was not something that people were really aware of, so it was understandable that no-one would recognise the signs.  To everyone else, Alex was this lovely young man who could do no wrong and they had no way of knowing what a despicable animal he really was. 

I still haven’t forgiven him, nor am I sure that I ever will.  But I am trying to accept that what happened is in the past and I cannot change it.  All I can do is look ahead and not allow it to control my life and my decisions.

Easier said than done, I know.  I am absolutely certain that I have some very dark times ahead, but I also suspect that I might have the strength to make it through.  And if I don’t, it seems that I have a lot of friends who care enough to help me get through whatever comes my way. 

I need, of course, to learn to accept the help that is offered to me without that feeling of guilt that I am undeserving.

So next steps.  

My referral to Health in Mind eventually came through and I met with a lovely Mental Health worker at my doctors surgery.  Going in I knew that it was absolutely essential for me to be as honest as I could.  I do want to get better.  I do want to learn how to cope with what has happened to me and how it has affected my life.  I know that I have to find a way to forgive myself.  As strange as that sounds, I think that will be the hardest thing of all. 

So I sat through the assessment, doing my best not to hide the truth.  Maybe that wasn't such a good plan.  She picked up that I was still considering suicide.

Don't get me wrong.  I there is a huge difference between considering suicide and actually planning it.  For me suicide is my emergency escape route.  Like a security blanket.  It's nice to know that I have the option, all planned out and ready to go if I need it.  My options are open and I have a selection, depending on the situation.  Strangely enough, my plan also includes making sure that my choice will have the least effect on those that have to pick up the pieces.

I have actually had a friend who told me that my concern for the effects on others shows that I am not really suicidal.  How little people understand.  No offence to my friend, but considering other's feelings is an integral part of my personality.  I cannot help but believe that I am worthless and hand in hand with that goes the belief that I do not have the right to interfere with the lives of others.  And that also means the inconvenience caused to the emergency services who would have to deal with me.

This does not mean that I am not serious, it just means that although suicide is viewed as a selfish act a fact I cannot disprove, I see it as a way of relieving the stress of those who have to live and work with me.  Why should they have to live with any amount of concern over my welfare?  Can they not see that I am just a waste of time?

Of course, being honest about the fact that I am still researching the various methods of suicide and have not ruled out the possibility only resulted in the Mental Health worker referring me over to the Psychiatric Intervention Team.  Oh and that just helped me feel better!  Not!  Now I was wasting someone else's time.

But I accepted the referral.  If I was serious about trying to move on with my life, I had to accept any and all help that was offered.. 

Concerns

But things are never as simple as we expect, are they?  I didn't consider how slowly things move.  Not being financially flush, I am totally dependent on treatments through the NHS.  My first port of call was Health in Mind, a local NHS initiative that provides people who have mental issues with support.  


Supposedly, the Psych team from the hospital had sent a referral to Health in Mind and upon leaving the hospital, I was advised that I would be contacted within five working days.  Hah!!  If only!!  Five working days later, still nothing.  And did I do anything about it?  Of course not.  One of the hardest things about suffering from Depression is the inability to motivate yourself to do anything, even things that you know will help.  So I just waited.  After all, I knew that there were people out there who needed help far more than I did.  My low self-esteem has never allowed me to believe that I actually deserve anything other than a kick in the teeth.


I slowly spiraled downwards, inside feeling more and more worthless whilst trying to maintain the public face, portraying a woman on the road to recovery.  I had never found it so hard before, but there was something bubbling inside me.  I had reached the end of my tether and believe me, having failed a suicide attempt for something like me just makes it even worse.  Not only was I failure at life, but I was also a failure at death.


Oh yes, I knew exactly what people wanted to hear.  I was glad that I had failed.  I had seen first hand how hurt my family would be if I had died.  I believed that I could get better.  I had something to live for.  Blah, blah, blah.  Please!!  I still believe that my family would be better off if I was dead.  Yes, I know, they would be sad for a while, but there is no doubt in my mind that they would soon recover and without me to hinder them, they could get on with living happy and productive lives.  The only thing I have ever done to my family is hurt them, so how can I believe for even a minute that I have anything to offer them?


After coming out of hospital, I was off sick for a week.  My boss and my friend from work visited me, trying to support me and show that they cared.  The other Bella just took over, saying and doing all the right things.  The internet was my best friend.  I spent hours searching various websites to find the warning signs of a suicidal mentality.  I studied various online support groups to learn the right things to say and do.  And I became an expert.  I fooled them all.  And I was proud of it.  I still am.


I don't want people caring about me.  I don't want people coming up to me and asking if I am okay with that concerned look on their faces.  Couldn't they see that they were wasting their time on me?  I was an inconsequential waste of space who did not deserve even the air she breathed.


So I did what I thought would be the best thing.  I told everyone exactly what I had done and why.  Surely once they knew the truth, they would turn their backs on me?  If my own family thought I was a waste of space, people who knew me better than anyone else, then that was representative of what everyone else would think.  Added to this of course, was the fact that I don't like lying to people.  I am what I am and I did what I did.  And people deserved to know the facts about who and what I was.  Then they could stop wasting their time on me.


But it backfired.  My revelations have been received with almost universal concern and caring.  The only ones who turned on me were my family.  Not my sons, but pretty much everyone on my mother's side of the family.  Every one of them.  Eventually, even my own brother.  It's funny, but not so long before he had amazed me by being such a pillar of strength and support.  And I fell for it.  That is probably why when he did turn on me, it came as such a shock.  One of the people I had thought would always stand by me ... it only went to prove that I was worthless and nothing but trouble to those who cared about me.  


But back to my friends and work colleagues.  The messages came flowing in.  All supportive.  And they had two opposite effects on me and I can only explain it by using the two Bella's.  The one Bella was heartened.  Maybe there was hope that I could get through this.  But the other Bella was distraught.  How could I live with the fact that I was fooling these people into believing that I was worth even a minute of their time?  I was torn apart.  The two parts of me each pulling in their own direction, each opposite to the other.

Trying to move forward

Sadly, in the end, I told Hilda by text message!  In a fit of rage.  I know it was the wrong way to go about it, but after spending 33 years considering everyone else’s feelings and never my own, I took the selfish route.  

Isn’t it strange that the one thing she was accusing me of would directly affect her?  I’d had a massive argument with My middle son, an argument that was caused by Hilda.  I thought that I had lost him and that was something I just could not handle.  I wanted to punish Hilda and hurt her the way that she and her brother had been hurting me for the last 33 years.

I haven’t heard from her since I sent it.  As far as I know, neither have my sons.  I also have not heard from Alex.  And I am still justifying my actions by saying that he is the one who should be thinking of his family, not me.  

He did this, he is to blame and it’s time that he took some of the responsibility for what he did.  And if he is gutless enough not to do so, then so be it.  I am not willing to let him make me suffer any more.  I am not going to allow him to control me and my life any longer, even if he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.  I am working at wresting that control away from him and I don’t plan to give it back.

I have no idea what is in store for me.  I don’t know whether I will be able to cope with life from now on, but I do know that it isn’t going to be easy.  I’ve got a very long way to go.

I am still sleeping on my beanbag in my son’s lounge.  I don’t really have a home of my own, nor do I really have much of a plan.

But I have the knowledge that I have started to take the necessary steps to begin putting my life back together and on to the right track.  The realisation has dawned that I am always going to be two people, but I need to find a way to meld the two together into a united whole.

For now, I go from day to day, taking one step at a time, relying heavily on the people around me for support.  And for now, they don’t seem to mind.  I have two motto’s – the first is that I need to deal with today and let tomorrow take care of itself.

The other is something that a member of the Psych team at the hospital told me – a crisis is just an opportunity for a new beginning.  I had reached my crisis point and now needed to take the opportunity to start again.  To start afresh and deal with the issues that had been ruining my life.  

Starting to write

So I took the only route I could.  I started to tell them, one at a time, what had happened and was surprised by their reactions.  No-one judged me harshly.  I was only back at work for three hours a day, which allowed me time each day to try to get myself back together.  And it gave me the chance to start writing this book.

This book, which was originally just a means of getting it all out and maybe filling in the gaps in my memory.  As the days passed though, and the words came pouring out, something different became to take shape in my head.  Was there a chance that my story could be published?  And if it was, could there be the possibility that someone would pick it up, read it and see something of themselves in it?  

Maybe, just maybe, I could help someone else who had reached that point where they could no longer keep fighting what seems to be inevitable.  Could it maybe help someone suffering the way I had been – give them the strength to confront their demons and win?

Then, of course, more doubts set in.  How could I try to get my story published when so many people around me were unaware of the true me?  How would they react to discovering that I had been portraying myself as something that I wasn’t?  And how could I put my story out there if there was the remotest chance that it would hurt my Aunt and Uncle who had always been so good to me?

My best friend helped me a lot with this dilemma.  She never told me what to do, nor did she try to influence my choices.  But she was always a sane and caring voice at the end of the phone.  And I knew that I could trust her.  Maybe because I knew that she had nothing to gain by betraying me.  Or maybe because in my time of need she dropped everything and came straight to my side to support me.

She helped me to come to the realisation that I should not be the one worrying about the effects of any revelations on Alex’s family.  He was the guilty party, not me.  His family should be his concern, not mine.  

It just goes on and on

When I was released from hospital, I moved in with my boys.  Not only was it not a good idea for me to be on my own, but other problems with my flat precluded my return there.  My middle son took control of clearing out my flat and moving the things I would need into their home.  Not the ideal situation – sleeping on a beanbag in the boys lounge, but better than nothing.  And at least I had my sons near me.  I knew that one way or another, I had a long road ahead of me.

But I had also realised something else.  I had friends who cared about me.  It was really hard to accept, as I didn’t believe I deserved it.  There was still a feeling hanging over me that when they realised the truth about me, they would run away from me as fast as they could.  But there was another part of me that was aware that I was not a total waste of oxygen.  Conflicted just does not begin to describe how I felt.

I needed to make some major decisions, some really hard choices and I just was not sure that I could do it.  And I know I would not have been able to do it without the support of some very special friends.  Firstly, the friend who supported me when I came to the decision to report the sexual abuse to the Police.  Who went with me to the Police Station.  It’s funny, but I honestly expected the Police to be a lot less supportive.  There was no negativity and the officer who took my original statement remained detached and matter of fact, which was exactly what I needed.

Later, the two officers who came to take my full statement were also amazingly supportive and kind.  One of them, to his credit and my eternal surprise, actually stopped me at one point to tell me that he thought that what I was doing was incredibly brave!  Another boost that I needed.  Maybe, just maybe, I did not need to hide any longer.

But still the fear stayed with me – that it would all come out and I would be judged and found wanting.  Despite the fact that everyone who I had come into contact with and that knew the whole story was supportive, I still could not believe that I deserved there kindness.  And of course, Alex’s total silence and Hilda’s judgement were weighing me down. 

I started wondering how people would react if they knew what I had tried to do.  When I returned to work, the eyes of my colleagues weighed heavily on me.  I felt like a total fraud.  How could I lie to these people, who I was supposed to admire?  But what could I do?  

On the one hand, I believed that the best thing would be to tell them all the truth, but on the other hand I didn’t think that I had the strength to handle their rejection.