Now what do I do?

Well, this doesn’t happen often, but I find myself not sure of what to say.  It’s strange, because there are so many thoughts flying around in my head and my feelings are swinging from one extreme to the other.  One minute I am angry, the next so, so sad.  Then I start to accept my situation, only a moment later I am railing against the hand that has been dealt me.

So, let me try and explain what has brought me to this.

Last Sunday, exactly a week ago, as we were preparing to start our dress rehearsal (I am in a thriving Theatre Group and for the current production, was taking the role of Production Manager) when my middle son asked me to come outside.  I knew.  I knew exactly what he was going to tell me.

My Uncle had died.  I cannot honestly say what upset me more – losing my Uncle who had always been so good to me, that I had not been able to say goodbye and tell him how much I loved him, or the fact that I could not be there for my Aunt.

The timing was probably very good.  I had to pull myself together to fulfil my role and I did.  I didn’t let on to anyone the sad news that I had just received, nor did I allow my grief to show.

And that is the way I have moved through the past week.  Again, I have gone back to hiding how I am feeling from those around me.  It is just so much easier.  Only here, can I say how I truly feel.

Of course, my dilemma continues to grow.  No-one in my family has contacted me to tell me that my Uncle has died.  I am plainly not welcome at his Memorial Service, but what about my boys?  My cousin lives a couple of hours away and the train fare for the three of them is exorbitant.

I would happily take them there, but how do we sort out the logistics?  I can drop them at the crematorium and pick them up afterwards, but then that means that they will not have any time to talk to my Aunt and show her that they care.  So how to get them from the crematorium to where ever those attending will be going afterwards?

And what about me?  What do I do with myself for the duration?  I know this sounds entirely selfish, but I feel as though no one else cares how I feel, what I go through.  And surely my feelings matter too.

But that’s just it – I don’t think anyone really does care about me.   And honestly, I probably deserve it.

Losing my family

Today has pretty much been the day from hell.  Well, my personal hell anyway.

Everything seemed okay to start with.  Got up, got dressed and made it to work on time.  A struggle yes, but in control.  During the morning, work went well and I achieved a lot.  By lunch time I was actually feeling pretty good and as I walked home, there was not a hint of what was to come.

As I sat, eating my lunch and gazing pretty mindlessly at the TV, my middle son told me that he had just received a text from Alex’s sister, telling him that their father was in hospital.  He’d had a stroke and was in a coma.  She’d told him that if there were no signs of improvement within the next few hours, the life support was to be withdrawn.

My heart went out to her and my Aunt.  Despite the fact that they had completely turned their backs on me and we’d had no contact for eight months, I knew how close my Aunt and Uncle had been and I knew that my Aunt would be absolutely devastated.  But I also knew that I would not be welcome in their home or at the hospital.  So what could I do?

I decided that the best thing would be to take the afternoon off work, drive down to Southampton (where they live) and drop off my sons with them.  The boys could there help out and support my Aunt and of course, get a chance to say goodbye to my Uncle who had been so close to them throughout their lives.

It then occurred to me that maybe my brother had not heard yet, so I decided to ring him before I did anything else.  What a shock was in store for me!

He knew.  My cousin had phoned him the day before!  When I broke down and asked him why he hadn’t let me know, he told me that my cousin had told him that I wasn’t to be told about what had happened!  And he went along with it!  I know for a fact that had the roles been reversed, I would have told him anyway, but made it clear that he wasn’t supposed to know and wasn’t to contact the family about it.

If my brother had done that for me, I won’t deny that I would have been upset about it, but I would have kept my mouth closed.  But he decided to keep me in the dark.

I shouldn’t be surprised really.  Even in July last year, after I took the overdose, he made it clear that he wasn’t there for me, he was there for my sons.  He told me back then that he didn’t want to know about what Alex had done to me and plainly, he wasn’t interested in how it had affected me.  It hurt!  It has hurt every day over the last eight months, but I have accepted it and kept my pain to myself.  Whenever I have spoken to him, I have ensure that our conversations have steered clear of anything to do with Alex, what he did and how it has destroyed my life.

But to have him keep me in the dark about our uncle and clearly decide that his loyalties lay with our cousin and not me, his sister – that I couldn’t handle.  I can’t handle and I won’t take it.

So I have made a decision – they can have their life and their family and will have mine.  The can do what they want, but they can leave me out of it.  As far as I am concerned, he is no longer my brother and I want nothing to do with him or his family.  If that is pathetic or childish, well, so be it.  I refuse to allow them to hurt me any longer.  I have enough to deal with.

My heart goes out to my aunt and uncle and they are both in my thoughts and prayers.  But that is where it ends.  My links with my Mother’s family are now gone and they are nothing to me.

Why are we silent?

This question is driving me insane.  On the one hand it really doesn’t make any sense.  But then on the other, I can sort of understand it.

Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse!  That is what we are.  

There are a lot of us, I know.  Personally I have already met or talked to many of them, both here in England and from other countries around the World.  Our stories are all different.  We come from lots of different backgrounds; handle our plight in different ways.  We’re different ages now and live in differing circumstances.  We are women and men.  There are so many differences between us.  But we all have one thing in common – we were sexually abused as children and are now trying to find our way out of the horror that lurks within.

And we have another thing in common – we hide our dirty little secret.

Why is that do you suppose?  Why do we need to keep the facts of what was done to us tucked away in a dark place, where it festers, eating away at us, lurking in the shadows, waiting to thrust itself into our consciousness when we least expect it?

There are many reasons – we feel guilty that we allowed it to happen; we fear the reactions of other people; we fear not being believed; we don’t want to upset our families; we fear our abusers; these are but a few reasons.

But when I start to think about it a little bit more, I become angry.  Why should we have these fears and concerns?  Why should we be considerate of the sensibilities of other’s?  Where were these same people when we were being subjected to the most terrible abuse a person can imagine?  Why did they not protect us?

And maybe this is the answer to the question.  Society does not want to know about the suffering of the adult survivors because if they acknowledge what we have gone through, if they allow us to come out into the sunlight, then they would have to accept some of the responsibility for this massive failing.

Because if you think about it and I mean really think about it, how often do you hear the story of an adult who has survived sexual abuse as a child?  We hear so much about people who are starving, people who are carers, people who are addicted to drugs and/or alcohol, bullying, the list is endless but when did you last hear the story of an adult who is suffering as a result of child sexual abuse?  I don’t mean to belittle the plight of these others, but I cannot help but get angry when I hear about all the money that is donated and directed towards them, only to notice that as always, we have been forgotten.

And yes, I do think we are partly to blame, because we don’t make enough noise.  But honestly, there actually aren’t many of us who can.  Most of us fight daily with our lack of self-confidence and low self-esteem and have very little strength left to try and get our plight noticed.  But even when one of us succeeds in getting the issue into the news, it seems that no one wants to acknowledge it.

I think it’s time that people started to realise that child sexual abuse has been happening for many years and the victims from 30 and 40 years ago are still suffering at the hands of their abusers.  We need help and support that is just not there for us and it isn’t fair.  It’s time that we got this imbalance corrected.  For all of our sakes.

Memory Blocks

Why, oh why can’t I remember??

I so wish I could understand how memories can be blocked out.  I know they are there, but try as I might, I just cannot access them.

I am of course talking about what Alex did to me.  As sick as it sounds, I want to remember.  I need to remember.  I don’t know why, but this is becoming a major issue for me.  I know that it will be painful to remember it and I can’t be sure whether I will be able to cope, but this business of living with huge holes in my memory is getting to me.

It’s not that I want to remember what it was like, but deep inside there is a part of me that questions whether the sexual abuse actually happened.  Yet I know it did.  Not only do I have the two memories of the incidents in Alex’s bedroom and then in his caravan, but I also have the confirmation of my friend, his other victim.

But it is getting to the point where it is just not enough anymore.

It’s got a lot to do with the articles that have been published covering the issues of false memories, implanted memories and of course, the sick women who make fake allegations.

You may think I am weird and need to take a step back and allow things to progress at their natural pace, but that just isn’t enough for me anymore.  I research Child Sexual Abuse on the internet on a daily basis.  I have come across numerous blogs written by other victims, survivors and even thrivers.  There are quite literally hundreds of scholarly articles covering everything - the psyche of the abuser, the experiences of the victim and the effects on the victim in later life to name but a few.  Peppered throughout are items about women who have made false allegations.  And I can’t help but question my own memories.

It’s totally irrational – I have all the confirmation that I need in what I do remember, how the memories surfaced and of course, my witness.  But it just isn’t enough.  Is it really a matter of the events having been so traumatic that my conscious mind could not deal with the implications?  Or did I make a semi-conscious decision to block it all out?  I just don’t know.

Thinking back, I know that the things Alex did to me have haunted me throughout my life.  But it has never been in a literal sense.  I do not remember whether he ever had oral sex with me.  I could not say with any level of confidence that he ever manually penetrated me.  And I cannot actually remember him ever actually having sex with me. 

But I know he did.  Because I remember the occasion that he left me lying on his bedroom mat whilst he went to get some toilet paper to clean his semen off my thighs.  I remember lying there, feeling totally exposed.  I can clearly recall that I was terrified, but not what scared me so much.  What was I scared of?  Was it because of what he had just done to me?  Or was it something else? 

My other memory, the incident in the caravan has become a little clearer though.  I remember how I felt.  I was laying on the long bench that ran along one side of Alex’s caravan.  I was still wearing my t-shirt, but he had removed my shorts and panties. 

My parents had been visiting with his parents in the house and were on their way home.  As was their practice, my Aunt and Uncle had walked my Mom and Dad to the top of the driveway and it was as they were walking past the caravan that my Aunt was talking about the fact that Alex was very quiet and seemed not to have much interest in girls and dating.  My father replied ‘You never know.  Still waters run deep’. 

I can actually clearly recall the feelings that ran through me when I heard that.  The terror that something would make them come into the caravan and see what we had been doing (bear in mind, I was only about ten years old).  I was petrified that we would be caught and I would lose my family and my home.  I felt guilt about the fact that by not telling my parents what was happening, I was lying by omission.  And a part of me was laughing – if only they knew!

How could a part of me laugh?  What had broken inside me to release such an inappropriate reaction?  I wish, wish, wish that I could remember so that I could answer at least some of the questions that are whirling through my mind.

Feelings

This is a hard one.  The way I feel changes all the time, not just day by day or even hour by hour, but even as quickly as minute to minute.  I can be happy and feel secure and in an instant, for no apparent reason, I find myself in the depths of despair and wondering whether it is worth the effort to carry on.  It is hard to explain all the emotions I experience every day and I should imagine it is even harder for the people around me to understand.  Heck, even I don’t understand it sometimes.

But someone said something the other day that has really struck a chord – ‘You are entitled to feel the way you feel’.  

Such simple words that at first glance don’t mean very much.  Even to me, at first I didn’t really get the meaning.  Then I thought about it and it was as though I had been hit by a speeding bullet.  Entitlement!  People take so much for granted in their lives and it is only when we think about it that we realise how much we have and all the things that we feel are our right.

Like most victims of Child Sexual Abuse, my feelings traverse a highly convoluted course, winding their way through happiness and calmness to terror and agitation and passing through panic and desperation in the blink of an eye.  And underlying many of these feelings is the guilt.  

Guilt because I feel like crying and people around me are sympathetic.  Guilt because I feel insecure and my friends and family take a moment to reassure me.

 

And worst of all is the feeling of guilt when I succumb to the depression and just want to sit and wallow.  Because for some reason it is hard to accept that I am allowed to feel this way.

It all comes down to the fact that we generally do not feel that we have the right to impinge on other people’s lives.  And of course, the deeply ingrained belief that how we feel does not matter, we are not important.  This belief that has been taught to us by our abusers, who constantly tell us that we must consider other people – ‘think how angry your mother would be if she found out’, ‘how do you think your parents would feel if you were taken away and put into care’, ‘what do you think people will call you when they find out what you have done’, the unending litany of scarcely veiled threats used to keep us quiet.

So for me, to suddenly be told that I am entitled to feel this way comes as something of a shock.  Because I realise that it is true.  One of the gifts that God has given us is the ability to feel a huge range of different emotions, an ability that does not seem to be shared with other living creatures on earth.  Yes, animals will feel basic emotions such as fear, cold and hunger, but the gamut of emotions that are evident in a human being is unbelievable when you really think about it.

And if we have the ability to feel all these differing emotions, then surely it is alright to feel them?  My head is spinning as I consider the possibility that it is alright for me to feel frightened and insecure, sad or even angry.  Naturally, it isn’t pleasant, but the added burden of guilt is unnecessary.  That is something I have never considered before.

I have always made every effort to hide my true feelings, for no other reason than I feel guilty about it when I have so many other wonderful things in my life, like my work and my children.  I don’t want people to be supportive and kind because I don’t believe I deserve it when there are so many others out there who are worse off than me.

So I know that I now need to stop and think. To remember those amazing words – ‘You are entitled to feel the way you feel’!

Love

Everyone wants to be loved.  Whether they are a child or an adult or even somewhere in between, love is something we all crave, whether we admit it or not.  I know I do.  I know my best friend does.  Admittedly we all look for it in different places and in different ways, but at the end of the day it all comes down to the same thing.  Finding it isn’t the only problem though.

Over the last few weeks, I have realised that love also means different things to different people.  And of course, there are different types of love.

Firstly, and probably the most important of all is familial love.  The love a parent feels for a child, that the child feels for their parents and for their siblings.  This love lays the groundwork for how a child will develop and determines who they will be as an adult.

Then there is the love that we feel for our friends, both male and female.  This is obviously also critical.  Without developing these caring friendships during childhood, it is impossible for someone then to grow up into a balanced adult.

And naturally, there is romantic love.  The love that binds two people together through good times and bad and is the most fragile love of all.

How we perceive these different types of love develops as we move through our lives and experience differing relationships.  And of course it follows that any difficult relationship experienced in our formative years will have a profound effect on our views in later life.

I am by no means a professional analyst, nor any type of expert in terms of psychology, but my personal experiences have not only left me badly scarred, but also with a perspective unique to those with similar experiences.

The strangest part is that I can see it so clearly.  I craved the love of my parents in so many different ways and it has taken me years to realise that I had their love all along, I just couldn’t see it.  Because it was not demonstrated in the way that I had seen in families around me.  I watched my friends and relatives hug their children, cuddle them close when they were sad and express their love in words that could be plainly understood.

But my parents were not like that.  They didn’t show physical affection nor did they speak of it.  At least, not to me or my brother.  I know now that they loved me, but this knowledge would have made a profound difference if I had come upon it whilst I was still a child.

I don’t blame them, I am sure I have said this before.  But this hole in my life made me a target for a predatory swine, whose actions then determined the path for the next 33 years of my life. 

And I do blame him.  I hold him totally responsible.  As a result of his actions, I became a child isolated from my friends and separated from my parents by a lie that I could not share with them.

 

His lies also led me to associate sex with love.  Not by any assumption on my part, but because he told me that he did these horrible things to me because he loved me.  How sick is that?  And because I was too young to know better, I believed him.

So I took that belief into my teenage years and allowed myself to become a toy for any young man to play with and abandon once they had what they wanted.  I remember so many days, sitting waiting for the phone to ring after allowing a man to use me the night before and crying quietly to myself as I realised that I had been used again.  But because of Alex, the belief that sex and love was the same thing was deeply ingrained, so off I would go again, allowing someone else to use me and discard me.

Even now, looking back, it hurts me so much to realise that I allowed myself to be used so badly and to accept that there were so many men out there who were happy to take advantage.  I wonder whether any of them ever stopped to think of how they were hurting me or to wonder why I behaved as I did?  Do any of them look back now and regret the way that they used me?

I have so many regrets about the way that I have lived my life.  I know that I need to accept it and move on, but I fear that nothing will ever be able to take the pain away.  I just wish there was a way that I could turn back the clock and live my life again, whilst still retaining the knowledge that I have now.

Maybe then it would be possible for me to believe that anyone could ever love me.

Returning to work again

Well, have now been off work for a few weeks and am hoping to go back on Tuesday next week.  But the really hard thing is that whilst there is the part of me that is looking forward to returning to the job I love, there is the terror of facing the people with whom I work.

I made a choice after the overdose, to be honest with everyone about what I had done and what I have been going through.  I truly expected disbelief, disgust and anger.  I did not want sympathy.  What I got was friends and colleagues trying to help and support me and that look.  It’s not hard to describe the look – it’s all in the eyes – pity!  And that tone of voice that shows they actually do care.

Normal people (I use that term very loosely) would be able to accept and understand it, but I hate it.  I don’t believe I deserve it.  I feel that they are wasting emotions on me.  I dread the moment that they realise that I am a dirty, worthless waste of space. 

I have been working so hard with trying to deal with the anger that I feel, directed at Alex and his family and don’t have the time or the inclination to work on my self-esteem.  Probably because I fear that it will be too hard and I will never achieve any form of belief in myself. 

Not to blow my own trumpet, but I have had a number of people lately tell me that they think I am strong and capable and I do know that somehow I emit an aura that makes people feel comfortable around me.  


But inside I cannot accept this.  I know that I am deceiving them.  The real me is hidden deep inside myself and I cannot find the strength to totally expose the sense of vulnerability, the fear of being judged and found wanting, the isolation that would result when they see who and what I really am. 

But I bite the bullet, grab myself by the bootlaces and drag myself into the situations that I fear.  Not through courage, but through necessity.  I have to function within society, even if it is all just a facade.  The only place I truly feel comfortable is on the stage and that in my eyes, reveals so much.

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!