Which came first?

I have noticed something really interesting today.  I’ve been aware for a long time that many people seem to find me easy to talk to and confide to in, but never really gave it too much thought.  If I am honest, it’s probably because a situation has never arisen before, where the information that has been confided to me should really have been discussed with someone else.  And that got me thinking.  Somehow, I must send out some sort of signal that makes me seem more approachable and the question this raises for me is this – have I always been approachable and that is part of how I ended up a victim, or has this part of me developed because of all that I have been through.

To me, it’s a really interesting question and one that, because I have come so far over the last few years, I can actually face and mull over without getting mired in the ‘why me’s’ and ‘what if’s’. 

So I wonder, has this approachable part of me always existed?  And if it has, was that what made me prey to Alex’s attentions?  Is there a facet of my personality/make up that rendered me susceptible to the abuse?  And if so, is there any way that I could take that knowledge and use it to help others who would otherwise not have a clue.  Because really, being approachable is a good thing.  It enables others with burdens the chance to offload on someone else.

On the other hand, does this part of me exist because I was a Victim?  Is it because of the trials I have survived that has brought out this part of me?  And then, does that not mean that something good has come out of something terrible?  Do I in fact owe Alex a strange kind of thank you?  Because I love it when people come to me when they need someone to talk to.  I love the fact that people who don’t really know me very well find it easy to confide in me.  And it gives me even more reason to go on and adds to my self confidence and sense of self worth.

Either way, what Alex did to me robbed me of so much, but as I have healed, it seems that I have got back what he stole with interest.  Because I have been in such a terrible place I can better appreciate the things that to others would seem small and inconsequential.  I was talking to a friend the other day and the words I spoke have stayed with me ever since.  These days I appreciate the bad things in my life because without the darkness, we would be unable to appreciate the light.  The dark night sky only serves to draw our attention to the beauty of the stars.

And so it is in my life.  I can look back on my life and it makes me appreciate even more, all that I now have.

Musings and ramblings

Who would have thought that coming to work in a war zone would introduce me to other Survivors!!  It seems so strange to me that I came out here to help myself heal and whilst that has happened, I have also met up with other Survivors and have been able to help them on their path to recovery.

It was not something that even crossed my mind when I applied for this job and when I shared my blog on Facebook I never thought that any of my new friends and colleagues would be affected by my posts.  Yet this is exactly what has happened.

The first approach was not a complete surprise if I am honest.  I had already got to know the person involved, but had never been in the situation where I was able to question them about their past.  But I just got that feeling.  Something like recognising parts of myself in someone else and knowing where those parts originated and how they came about.  The revelation that this person was also a Victim raised mixed feelings in me of course.  Firstly sadness that here was another person who’d had their childhood stolen, then happiness that my blog had given them the strength they needed to talk about what had happened to them.  Because being able to share our pain is really important.  We all experience it differently, but it is nice to know we aren’t alone.

The second person was a shock at first, but once I had reflected on it, so much made sense.  Isn’t it funny how sometimes things are staring us straight in the face, but for whatever reason, we just don’t see it.

But since then, I have become firm friends with both of these people and it has only added to my belief that I really am helping by working out here.  Maybe not in any big ways, but a little at a time.  And my determination to keep working on this blog has been reinforced.

So, to those who follow it, I am sorry that I have been so erratic in my postings over the last few months.  My new environment has been very distracting and I admit, that as I have healed myself, I haven’t felt the need to post as strongly as I did before.  But I can now see how selfish that is and will make every effort to mend my ways.  My healing continues, and hopefully by sharing it with you I can reach out to others who will be helped by my ramblings.

I am thriving!!

Right now I am feeling somewhat reflective.  I have just returned to work after a five week holiday and stretching in from of me is another 6 month tour.  It’s purely my choice of course, but I have started really thinking about why I am here and what I hope to get out of it in the end, especially in the light of the events of the last couple of weeks.

To be honest, when I returned this time I did not get the posting that I was hoping for.  I was deeply disappointed, but accepted the fact that everything was not about me out here, so decided to get on with the job in hand and make the best of it.  A few days later an opportunity arose which I would never have had if I’d got what I wanted originally.  I am now heading in an entirely different direction, but am still want to focus on the reason I came here in the first place – to serve.

Then we had our ‘incident’ and I started to really think about my reasons for taking on this job.  Was it really entirely selfless or was there an element of selfishness in the choice?  And the more I have thought about it, the more I have realised that the two go hand in hand.  Yes, I want to do something for others.  I want to make other people’s lives better in any way I can.  Because at the end of the day, this is what makes me feel worthwhile.  This is what gives me a reason to live.

And then it struck me – I have never felt this good about myself!  I have never had this much self-confidence!  And for the first time ever, I am not putting on a front or a performance to fool people into believing that I am something that I am not.  I am actually being me!  The real ‘me’ has finally come to the fore!  I am stunned.  And I am overjoyed. 

I’ve accepted that what has happened in my past is just that – in the past.  It no longer has a hold over me and the pain is no longer unbearable.  In fact, I really, truly know that my past has made me a better person in many ways that more than make up for all that was taken from me.  I finally believe that I have moved on not from a Victim to a Survivor, but from a Survivor to a Thriver.  And it gives me such a thrill to be able to type that, knowing in my heart of hearts that it is true.

I think I will probably be posting fairly regularly over the next few weeks as I need to record all these feelings that are flowing through me and all the thoughts rolling around in my head.  I also want to share it with those who follow my blog, especially those who have given me so much support over the last few years.  

Thinking!

I’ve been thinking quite a lot since my last blog post, about the fact that now I am feeling so much happier and more confident, I am telling fewer people about the issues from my past.  In the main, I rarely mention these days that I am, in fact, a Chronic Depressive.

And while I am sure I will continue to thrive, I wonder how I would cope if the rug was suddenly pulled out from underneath me.  For example, right now my job is my life.  It fulfils the need in me to serve others and almost every day something comes along to reinforce the knowledge that what I am doing makes a positive difference to other people.

I know my boys are doing okay back home without me.  I have the support of all those who really matter to me and many I would never have expected it from.

But what if things go badly wrong?  Am I strong enough yet to deal with it?  Especially when I am so far away from all those who know me, who may recognise the signs and who could possibly pull me back from the edge if it comes to that.

So, I think about it and wonder whether I should be ensuring that those around me over here are aware of where I have been and what could happen.  Should I take a few people into my confidence and spill the whole sorry story?  And give them some idea of what to watch out for?  Or would that be feeding back into the guilt I’d most likely feel, because people are worried about me?

And of course, it all comes back to the question – have I come far enough from the brink to ensure that I won’t fall over the edge again?

Changed for the better

Today I was looking back over the last two years and considering all that has happened.  And it amazes me!  Truly, I am not the same person.  In fact, very little remains of the woman who believed she was so worthless that people would be better off if she was dead.  I don’t know how much of it can be attributed to the various therapies I underwent or the different medications I still take, but I do know that three major factors have contributed to my moving away from being a Survivor and becoming a Thriver.

First and foremost – my sons!  Without their support in the days following my failed attempt, I know that I would have tried again – successfully.  I learned enough to know exactly where I went wrong and how to combat that failure.  That knowledge will always be with me, stored in the back of my mind, like a security blanket.  But my boys were amazing, taking me in, caring for me and not just telling me but actually showing me that I was loved and valued.  Yes, it took me a while to accept that their actions were more than a mere familial reaction, but eventually that understanding came.

Secondly came my return to the stage.  Not only did this provide me with a route towards escapism – it also let me do something that I know I am good at.  And as a result it allowed my confidence to begin building.  Naturally, being surrounded by like-minded people helped, but the fact that they were and still are a wonderful group of people was an added bonus.  I know that I have true friends who care about me and will be there for me when I need them, just as I would be in return.  And amazingly, now I can accept that.  I no longer feel that I don’t deserve it.

But the final factor I believe, is the one that has made the most difference, something I would never have been able to do without the first two.  And that is coming to Afghanistan.  I know I only work in a shop, but on a daily basis I get the opportunity to serve men and women who have made a conscious choice to put their lives on the line for their country.  When they come to me, hot and tired, stressed or sad, I can share a smile, help them to laugh. 

Of course I do provide access to the cold drinks and other items that they need, but to me that is actually only a small part of what I do.  I have seen it day in and day out – that expression of deep satisfaction as I hand them a cold drink with a smile on my face and even a little banter.  The exchange of money seems inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, though it is obviously a necessary evil.

But to think that not so long ago I believed that I was worthless and now when someone calls me a legend or an angel, I can smile and say ‘it’s only a pleasure ‘, without feeling like a fraud.

2 Years Later

A couple of things happened today which have made me realise just how far I have come in less than two years.

To put things in perspective consider this – two years ago, I started putting in place my plan to end it all.  I believed that my life was worthless and that no one would particularly care if I was no longer around.  In fact, I believed that everyone would be better off without me there to mess up their lives.

Less than two years ago, I put my plan into action.  I can now say that I am happy that my research was not quite as good as I thought it was and I failed.  And funnily enough, now that I know where I went wrong I have absolutely no intention of using that information now, or in the future.  Never again will I grant HIM that power over me.  Because I can now accept that my life does have some value!

Okay, so I still have low self-esteem and I still doubt myself a lot, but the way I feel now bears no resemblance to the way I felt two years ago.  The incidents today have shown me that.

Neither occurrence was anything huge – simply customers making positive comments about me.  One stated that he loved coming into the shop at the end of a hard day and seeing my ‘beautiful smile’.  His words, not mine.  The second incident actually involved a group of younger customers, frequent visitors to the shop.  After bantering back and forth with them, which mostly involved me insulting them and them trying to defend themselves, one of them turned round and told me I was ‘a legend’!!  I was somewhat taken aback and laughed – only for these young men whose work involves them risking their own lives for others, to assure me that the banter we share regularly in the shop cheers them up and distracts them from where they are and why they are here.

I realised that I do that!  Yes, of course, that is why I wanted to come here, but the offshoot of it is that my own self-esteem has been boosted.  I actually feel better about myself and not so bitter about the life that Alex stole from me!  How is that for a positive result? 

And the strangest part of it all?  I enjoyed the compliments!  They made me feel good.  Instead of laughing it off and believing ‘I had them fooled’ I accepted that I had made a difference to their day and I felt good about myself.  Even now, hours later, I still feel positive and satisfied that I have done something worthwhile.

Drought and Rain

This post is totally off topic and like nothing I have ever posted before, but considering the unusual situation I am now in and the fact that it is Mother’s Day I feel justified in sharing something different.

I may be in the middle of a war zone, miles from my home and my roots, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get the news.  And the latest thing to catch my eye is talk of a drought in England.  Now remember, I am on a military base, in the middle of the desert!  And of course, I grew up in a country where we knew the true meaning of drought!  It wasn’t a case of we didn’t get enough rain during the previous rainy season, but rather we didn’t get ANY rain in the previous rainy season.  Or the one before that.  Or the one before that!  And it brings to mind a funny but rather fortuitous event which I’d like to share.

As I have said before, my mother was a very active fundraiser in our community when I was growing up.  She staged many a variety show, pantomime and fashion show over the years with the proceeds going to various causes.  Around 1985 (I am not too sure of the exact year) she decided to stage a fashion show with a bit of a difference.  Instead of using the theatre as the venue, she decided to use the pool deck of the local hotel.

As per usual, the fashion show was not merely a bunch of models walking up and down the catwalk, but included appropriate routines to show off the clothes to their best advantage.  The catwalk itself ran along the side of the swimming pool and the audience were seated around the open terrace.  The issue of rain was raised on a number of occasions, but naturally we all laughed and brushed it off.  After all, it hadn’t rained in Redcliff for 4 years!

One of the routines we did was during the sportswear section of the show.  It involved a number of girls and women, wearing various items of sports gear, doing an exercise routine a la the dance workouts that were so popular at the time.  One model, who shall remain anonymous, had great difficulties mastering a specific section of the routine.  It wasn’t that it was complicated, but more a case of she wasn’t a dancer and therefore was unaccustomed to memorising a series of steps and movements.  She really tried, but we teased her endlessly and no-one had much hope that she would get it right on the night.  In fact, it was often jokingly stated that if she did get it, it would probably pour with rain..... have you figured it out?

She did get it right on the night!  And the silly moo then proceeded to jump up and down and proclaim to the audience at large ‘I got it!  I got it!’  The rest of us endeavoured not to dissolve into fits of giggles and to continue with the routine in a professional manner – as the heavens opened and the rain we hadn’t had for the previous 4 years descended on us within the space of about 5 minutes.  And no!  We didn’t just run inside!  We were too shocked!  We just stood there like statues.  Just as the audience froze in their seats.  And once we were all well and truly soaked, everyone rushed for shelter!  Amid much laughter. 

It speaks a lot about our community that no one asked for their ticket money back.  It also speaks volumes that the local club immediately offered facilities for us to relocate the show and continue.  An hour or so after the heavens opened, we recommenced the show.  Maybe the environment was not as attractive, nor did we have the catwalk or decorations.  Instead of a dressing room, we changed in the toilets.  But there was no mistaking the joy in the room – the drought was broken, we were all well and a member of our cast had got it right!  And my amazing mother triumphed again!

Where ever you are Mom, whether you are looking down on me and watching over me, I miss you and I love you and I thank you for giving me so many wonderful memories to share with those I care about.  Happy Mother’s Day to the best Mother anyone could ever ask for xxx

Loss

Well, for the first time I am writing a blog post not knowing when I will be able to publish it.  Op Minimise is on here, for the second time in as many days.  In fact, it has now been on for more than twenty four hours, after the first instance lasting nearly 8 hours.  And it has made me think and reflect on the feelings of those affected by what has been going on here.

I know how it feels to lose a loved one.  Losing both my parents within 6 months of each other was nothing short of devastating, probably made worse by the confusing dynamic within my family.  My parents were among the few people who I had told about what Alex did to me and although their initial reaction was not exactly supportive, once they got over the shock, they did the best that they could.  I fully understand that they found it difficult to talk about and to face up to.  As a parent myself that makes sense to me.   I know that if I was in their position, I would feel that I had let my child down and failed as a parent.

And yet, I have never felt that way.  I don’t believe they let me down and I do not blame them for not protecting me from Alex.  I formed an unholy alliance with him, as a result of his veiled threats and although I tried in small ways to lead people to an awareness of what was being done to me, I can see now that it wasn’t enough!  Not in the less aware era of the 1970’s when child sexual abuse was not something that people were really aware of.

But to get back to the point of this post.  Losing a loved one.  Yes, I lost my parents, but I cannot imagine the pain of losing a son or daughter, a husband or a wife.  I can only think of how I would feel if I lost one of my sons and my heart breaks for the family and friends of those who have lost their lives here over the last couple of days. 

There is an air of sadness across the camp although most of us do not know exactly what has happened.  We are probably less informed than those back in the UK which has led to a lot of speculation.  I’m not sure whether what we are imagining is worse or better than what has really happened (if anything could be considered better in the circumstances). 

But it certainly makes one appreciate one’s own mortality.  Two years ago, I didn’t believe that my death would affect those around me, as I thought no one cared that much.  Now I realise how mistaken I was.  But I also realise that my own self-worth depends a lot on my sons and their well-being.  And because of that, my heart goes out to those who have lost their loved ones.  I pray that they have a strong support structure to help them through the days ahead.

It's back again

I suppose it was inevitable, but I really had hoped it wouldn’t happen!  It’s back ... not debilitating – not even close to the level it has been in the past.  But back just the same.

Of course, I am talking about the Depression.  Yes, I know it was never truly gone, but it was so well masked by the medication that I honestly believed I had a handle on it.  I didn’t need the therapy any more, nor the support group.  Or so I thought.  And strangely, the fact that the Depression is back makes me more depressed!  I know the Doctor has told me that I will most likely battle with it for the rest of my life, but I was beginning to think that it would just be odd moments that would be numbed by the tablets.

Not so.  It’s a real kicker!  I feel inadequate and broken.  The feelings that I am not good enough are lurking in the back of my mind, niggling away at my consciousness and causing me to question everything I do and say.  Please, don’t think that I am saying that I feel anywhere near the absolute low that I experienced two years ago, because I don’t.  But the sad fact is that I need to accept that this is it.  This is what I will have to deal with for the rest of my life. 

And I look at the people around me and wonder how I would have turned out if I’d had their life.  Not so much their opportunities or lack thereof, but the sexual security with which they grew up.  I am again finding myself hating Alex for what he stole from me.  As much as I am telling myself that I cannot let him ruin the rest of my life, right now I am finding it hard to believe that.  I can’t seem to fight it.  The anger is building up inside me yet again and I admit, I am frightened!  I just don’t know how it will manifest itself this time around.

I question whether I will be able to control the destructive tendencies that take over my psyche.  One way or another, I always end up doing or saying something that results in pain.  Pain for me and pain for those who care about me.  And that is the one thing that I am clinging on to ... this time around I realise that there are people who care about me.  There are people out there to whom it matters whether I live or die.  And that makes the difference!

What is it?

A rhetorical question – what is it about me that makes people comfortable?  I honestly don’t know what it is but for some reason I seem to be able to talk to anyone and generally, people respond in a friendly manner.  In fact, in many cases if they are given the opportunity they will confide in me.

I don’t understand it.  It’s not that I don’t love it – I do!  But I question why it happens time and again.  Yes, I have learnt over the years to show my confident and together face to the world.  Very few people can see past the facade to the me who is cowering inside, dying cell by cell as I fear that I am being judged and found wanting.  So is it that false confidence that pulls people or is it something deeper?  Maybe a sense of the pain inside me?  Is there maybe some kind of signal that I give out that let’s people know that I have suffered and through that suffering, learned how to cope?

I stand in a shop each day, serving customer after customer.  I greet them all in the same way – with a smile and a friendly hello.  Of course, there are many occasions when I am dancing around, singing along to a song on the radio or generally goofing about.  But my nutty behaviour only seems to bring out the smiles.  And the chatter commences.  No matter what level the customer, how important their job or how tough their day, they mostly seem to respond with a smile and a willingness to chat. 

And it starts me wondering again – why are they willing to talk to me, a complete stranger?  Why are so many of them happy to discuss their personal circumstances with me when they really don’t know anything about me? 

In fact, I feel truly blessed.  I am thankful every day that I have – well, whatever it is!  I wish I knew what IT was, but I am grateful!

Differences

This is way off topic , but working with our Locally Employed Civilians (LECs) today brought home to me the way different people deal with various races and cultures.  I have always believed that we are all created equal and the only difference is how we deal with what we get in life.  Obviously some of us are more fortunate than others and receive many benefits in our lives, but I believe who we are is defined less by what we have than by what we do with what we’ve got.

Despite what happened to me as a child, I believe I had a good childhood.  I had a secure home, in a nice area.  I never wanted for clothing or food.  My education was well taken care of and really my only limitation was my lack of self-belief.  But my parents also raised me in such a way that skin colour meant very little to me.

Obviously, due to the law of the land, my exposure to different races was somewhat restrictive, but when the barriers came down it actually meant very little to me in real terms.  The confident and secure front I put on means I will happily interact with anyone – my problem lays within me and not with those around me.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been lucky to be exposed to a culture that is totally new to me.  I want to grow as a person and so am endeavouring to learn the local language.  Yes, it is hard and slow, but amazingly it has earned me the support and respect of our LECs.  And yet today I saw how a lack of respect for people of different races and cultures can directly affect how a person performs and behaves.  Never before have I seen this so clearly and it does make me look back at my life and wonder if I have always been fair and respectful to others.  I’d like to say that I have, but how to be sure?  I wish I knew!

--

'I believe that friends are quiet angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly' 

No, you don't know how I feel

Talking to a young squaddie today made me realise that no matter what your underlying problem there are still many parallels.

I’m not going to go into what his issue was, as that would be betraying what was told to me in confidence, but I can talk about the issues that it raised for me and how it relates to my own experiences.  It brings up the burning question – why do people believe that they know how you feel when they’ve been in a similar situation?  We are all unique; we feel things and react to situations differently.  And there are always contributing factors that differentiate one situation from another.

Okay, yes, I admit it – I am not the first one to have been sexually abused and as child and sadly, nor will I be the last.  But that does not mean that another victim would feel what I felt or react in the same way that I did/do.  I’m not trying to take away from the suffering of other victims, but my pain is unique to me.  You can have a basic understanding of what I feel, but you can never truly know.  That is not to say that I don’t appreciate it when someone offers me support and comfort, but it does mean that the eternal platitudes – I know how you feel, I’ve been there, etc – only result in the walls going up.

I would never have got to where I am now without the love and support of my friends and my boys, but ultimately the path to complete healing is mine alone to navigate.  I just hope that I can use what I have learned from my own experiences to ease the burden of even one person over here.  That is why I am here!  That is what keeps me going when the road ahead is dark.

Moving right along

Well, not entirely sure how to format when posting directly on to my blog, but as I am in an unusual situation this will just have to do for now.

Before I go any further, I would just like to leave a message for anyone new to my blog.  Yes, I am a Survivor of Child Sexual Abuse and that topic is central to my blog.  It isn't necessary to go back to the beginning of the blog and read all the postings, but it would certainly help to put things into perspective and give a much clearer picture of who I am and why.  So...

My journey as a Survivor continues.  To bring this blog up to date, here is a run down of where I am now and how I ended up here.

First of all - where am I?  Afghanistan.  Or to be more precise Camp Bastion in Afghanistan.  And that naturally leads to the question of how I ended up here.

Well, it must have become blatantly obvious to everyone who knows me by now or who has been following my story so far, that I have exceptionally low self-esteem.  I feel valueless and like a waste of space most of the time and to compensate I do things to help other people, even if it is only to make them smile.  By doing that, I then feel that I am worth something.  Yes, yes, yes, I have been told hundreds of times that I am better than that, but no matter how hard I try I just can't believe it.

So, I heard about a job that involved working in the shops on military bases in Afghanistan.  Upon investigating it, I found that the whole ethos of the organisation (which I cannot name) is to bring a little bit of home to troops serving in war zones overseas.  Staff are recruited as much for their skills as for their personalities and their outlook on life.  A prerequisite is an ability to smile and listen, no matter how difficult the situation.

I jumped at the opportunity and after a six month battle with illness, here I am.  And I am awestruck!!  How could someone like me be given such an amazing opportunity?  At first, upon landing here, everything seemed somewhat surreal.  Then, whilst travelling by bus between camps I witnessed a casualty being flown in ... suddenly where I was became all too real.  Up to that point, despite a number of explosions and the constant sound of aircraft, 24 hours a day, I felt more like I was on holiday! 

Even more sobering, the next day when Op Minimise was announced - a soldier had died and all our lines of communication with the world outside camp were terminated until his or her family had been notified.  I almost held my breath for the next few hours, waiting for Op Minimise to be declared over, thinking of that poor family, receiving such devastating news whilst we all lived another day thinking only of ourselves.  It has certainly made me think.

Catching Up

I know it has been such a long time since I updated this blog and over the last few weeks I have spent more and more time thinking about it.  And then it struck me.  I didn’t believe that anything happening to me was pertinent to the central topic of the blog – Child Sexual Abuse.  My life has changed so much in the last year as to be almost unrecognisable.  And that is such a good thing.

But then I realised that underneath it all the effects of what happened to me are still there, just manifesting differently.  My journey to becoming a whole person is not finished and in fact, I have only really just started.

Yes, I do believe that I have now moved from being a Victim to a Survivor.  Deep down what happened to me is no longer in control of my life and my decisions, but rather, it is now a factor that influences my perspective on life.  I’m not saying that the abuse and it’s effects are behind me, but rather that they are no longer the central and driving force in my life.  I have wrested control away from Alex and put him into a place that is more appropriate.

So really, I have come to the realisation that this blog is actually about the journey, rather than the event that sent my life careening off in a new direction.  For anyone else who has been through this type of abuse, maybe sharing my experiences and feelings, I can give them not only the strength to keep going, but also that feeling that they are not alone in their fight to survive.

And who knows, maybe in time I will have shared my journey not only from being a Victim to a Survivor but taking my life a step further to being a Thriver!

Lost Memories

Isn’t it strange how something totally unconnected with an event can trigger memories?  Or, in my case, start me wondering about the memories I have lost or at least don’t have access too.

I am of course, referring to my memories of what Alex did to me when I was a child.  Whilst watching a television programme which dealt with suppressed memories my own thoughts turned to the gaping holes in my recollection of the abuse I suffered at his hands.  And I am again confronted with a dilemma that has plagued me on and off for years now – should I seek help in recovering the memories or should I sit back and wait, on the off chance that they will return on their own?

It is a question that I have spent many hours turning over in my mind.  I’ve tried to weigh up the pro’s and con’s of actively seeking to remember and the obvious repercussions of doing so.  And I can never come to a satisfactory decision.  On the one hand I want to remember.  Not because I want to be able to see in my mind what he did to me, but because there is always the chance that as long as the memories are hidden from me, I will be unable to move on.

But then I worry that remembering the abuse will be too much for me to handle.  I fear that my mind is deliberately repressing the memories because is some deep, unknown part of me I know that recollection of the abuse will be more than I can take.  Maybe I am not strong enough or just not ready to deal with it. 

There is the belief amongst many professional counsellors that repressed memories will resurface once the ‘subject’ is in an emotional space capable of dealing with the trauma.  And of course, it will be traumatic.  Of that I have no doubt.  Recalling that the abuse had happened at all was enough to nearly destroy me and then openly admitting it had happened brought me to a point where I felt that my life was no longer worth living.

I have weathered those storms, but do I have the strength to take that final step and confront what actually happened?  Am I ready to see it all laid bare before me?  Will it finally destroy me after all I have been through?

Or am I just being a coward?  Am I just afraid and using anything I can to avoid coming face to face with the abuse?  

Mother’s Day

Today is Mother’s Day across the Southern Hemisphere and my thoughts have turned to my Mom and what she meant to me.  It is hard to see people out there talking about their Mom’s and how precious they are, knowing that my Mom is gone and I will never be able to touch her or hold her again.

And of course, I have started thinking about my relationship with her as I was growing up and how that affected what has happened to me.  If only it was possible to go back – I wonder what I would do differently?  Would I be able to use the knowledge that I now have to change what Alex did to me?

Because at the end of the day, what he did, he did to a child, with a child’s mind and a child’s perspective on life.  As I child, our understanding of the world around us bears little resemblance to what we know and understand as an adult.  And that is what is so horrific about Child Sexual Abuse.

It is actually impossible, as an adult, to understand how a child perceives not only their abuse, but also their abuser.  Usually, a child’s experience of the world is tempered by the love and nurturing of their parents.  They are protected from harm by the adults around them and are not exposed to the seedier side of life, nor the harm that one adult can do to another. 

More specifically, a child has no knowledge or understanding of the adult world of complex emotions.  To a child, emotions are simple – love/hate, like/dislike, afraid/secure, etc.  The light and shade of adult emotions do not open up to us until we hit our mid-teens and our own needs change to include romantic attraction.

And this of course, determines the way a child reacts to Child Sexual Abuse.  Not only do they understand what is being done to them but also, they cannot grasp the emotions that drive their abuser. 

So when it comes to trying to deal with the abuse once the child becomes an adult we, the victims of Child Sexual Abuse, are left in a situation where we are looking at what happened through an adult’s eyes, rather than those of a child.  Which naturally brings its own sets of problems.  We cannot accept the fact that we did not get help, we grapple with the fact that we ‘allowed’ it to happen, we rail against the idea that we let it carry on and on and on.  We are seeing what happened through an adult’s eyes, with adult knowledge, experience and perceptions and find it difficult to accept that we were not to blame.

Understanding

Well, the loss of my Uncle and my exclusion from everything connected with his passing has brought so many things swirling to the forefront of my mind.  I don’t want or expect sympathy from anyone, especially not in connection with my alienation from my family.  Although my mind tells me that what has happened over the last few months is Alex’s fault, I still feel responsible for the pain that I have caused my family.

Don’t get me wrong – for the most part, I do not regret speaking up, but there is still a small part of me that longs for the loving arms of my family and wishes that I had just kept it all to myself.  I may have continued to suffer but my family at least, would not have all of this hanging over them.

But I have learned one very valuable lesson.  No-one out there understands.  Oh yes, they can come out with all of the platitudes and they can try to see it from my point of view.  But they haven’t been through what I have, so they can never truly no how I feel. 

I have one very good friend who herself, was a victim of Child Sexual Abuse.  From what she has told me, her abuser was a much older man and abused not only her, but many other girls from the town where we grew up.  We’ll call her Di.

Di understands some of what I talk about, having been in a similar position herself – the total lack of self-esteem, low self confidence and feeling suicidal.  Like me, she also attempted to end it all, also unsuccessfully.  In fact, Di made many attempts.  However, she now seems to have come to terms with what was done to her.  She does not feel any anger towards her abuser, nor does she constantly wrestle with the memories.

Another stark difference is her recollection of the abuse.  She remembers it and did not go through any period where she had blocked it out.  This could possibly be because she was older than I was at the time of the abuse, or it could just be due to a different mindset.  Di did not have parents like mine, where the only lack was the demonstration of love and affection.

But talking to Di over the last couple of weeks has not helped me as it has in the past.  It has actually increased my feeling of isolation.  If she can come to terms with the abuse and ‘let it go’, why can’t I?  Is it another failing in me?  My anger and bitterness are festering inside me and I am afraid that I am doing this to myself?  Is it really within my power to say ‘enough is enough, just let it go’ or am I just too weak? 

I do want to move on with my life, but I really do find myself unable to let go of the negative emotions connected to what happened.  I want him to pay for what he has done to me and I cannot convince myself that is wrong.  Why should Alex be allowed to get away with it?

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.