Again I start this with an apology. I am sorry that I am not writing as frequent as I would like but time and energy does not permit me so at the moment. Its funny though as writing has made me 'live' again and its not because I am writing on here but I am writing my books again, after years of writers block. I feel whole again and that's not because of The Big Reunion and the fact that Atomic Kitten are singing it but because I feel me, for the first time in a long time. You will understand this if you have ever suffered depression because one of the things that really got me was the fact that I would look in the mirror and not recognise myself but recently I have, I can see me again, the woman and I was and the woman I am now and the woman I mean to be.
So I have wound up the abuse side of my story and why my life took a turn for the worst when I met TR. Now I want to concentrate on the aftermath and the way that I reacted to such trauma the way I did and basically left it till last month to actually come forward to the police. I must also add here that it has been two weeks today since I spent 7 hours in what felt like prison giving a statement, and as of yet TR has not been arrested and I have not been contacted by the police since. I've rang and left messages at the officers involved desk, to no response. I have also rang Victim Support who says they have not had my details reffered yet (which means there is no case as of yet to get support for). I have rung WAR women against rape who I downloaded the most wonderful booklet about the police process so I thought just maybe they could help. The woman at the end of the line had no idea really, and said she would ask a member of staff to ring me back. That was four days ago. It seems that society knocks you back everywhere you turn. I cant get support from my orginal worker as I am better now, although I could get bad again during this process I slip in the middle which is basically nowhere. I fit in no-ones service at the moment but my own. So my own it is, I've gone it alone before so whats the difference? I need to make it clear that this is how a woman is treated for coming forward, and they wonder why we dont, because we have a sixth sense that tells us, errr you know what, you are going to make me feel worse than I already do, why bother?! Well, thats up to strength I think and I have to stand tall my head high and say 'DAMN IT EVERYONE I WAS RAPED STOP SHUTTING ME UP, SHUT THE FUCKER WHO DID THIS TOO ME UP' god the silence is the worst of it all. No one talks to you about it, like its rotten or something. Maybe think they might get infected or something, like its contagious. Even my bestest friends dont say anything, they just wash over it, I dont even know if they believe me or not. Are they then my friends? Well that's up for debate.
Anyway enough moaning in the present, back to the breakdown. When I gave birth to my daughter, I could not tell you how I felt. I had had a son before, I knew the wave of love that comes, the utter gorgeousness of holding something you have made. I also knew the reality of late nights, sick and poo which seems to pop up all over your furniture and clothes. I had no rose tinted glasses on, I knew what to expect. But it didn't arrive. The immediate love at least and the late nights swam into day, I never knew if it was night or day but I was awake all the time. She was gorgeous, and I did love her but something was wrong, not with her with me. I, like everyone else put it down to the fact that I had 'just had a baby' and that my cat had died unexpectedly whilst I was giving birth. I was miserable for weeks after, and my baby was difficult, extremely difficult. She cried all the time, she curled up in pain. She only ever slept for 30 mins tops and would take another hour and a half to get back off. She would only then sleep if it was silent, the slightest creep would wake her. She is still the same now. I was exhausted and haunted.
Every time I slept if I slept, I saw TR's face. He was always dressed as he was The First Time. White shirt, grey trousers. Sometimes the dreams were flashback dreams, bits I had forgotten and then things I had not seen. I witnessed each rape as myself, a fly on the wall and as my husband and his wife. I even was TR in my dreams looking at the image of me. Flashbacks came vividly and usually would be the first or second time rapes. Other times I would dream of being his wife, as myself in a nice loving dream. Mostly though I had this recurring dream that I would report him, and when I did he was questioned then set free. No one believed me. He would then come after me, and kidnap me. He would lock me in the basement of his house, his wife and child upstairs. I would be tied to a beam naked sat on an old mattress Bare, cold and dirty. He would visit me at times and leave me food. But I could only have food if he could fuck me. He would untie me and anally rape me, cum on my face and spit and smack me. It sounds like a bad porno or something but this was my fears. I know that this dream was part of mixed memories of watching an episode of Eastenders (to which I never watch) about a nasty man locking his wife in the house next doors basement and grooming her. This episode was aired round the time I was raped so it was vivid in my mind although Eastenders version was tame in comparison to my own. This nightmare fed my whole world. I was paranoid this would become reality. That I would end up alone and dirty in that cell, with only him to speak to and to comfort me. Lost to others and a slave to TR. I began not wanting to sleep. I hated dreaming and thinking of him all the time. I hated him, I really did but he possessed my every thought like poison, like love.
If I did catch any sleep, I would wake up screaming and sweating. My husband would comfort me and calm me, but sometimes I would push him away thinking it was TR and screaming for help. The kids would wake and it would take my husband most the night to recover them from the event let alone me who would up cleaning instead. The health visitors had realised something was not right and quite rightly so made an appointment for the doctors. I was put on 10mg of Sertraline and put on my way, despite the fact they knew my history they still thought I was only suffering with Post Natel Depression. I began to push everyone away. Somedays I would not talk, some days I just cried. I could not see any light only black. My husband did not know how to cope and reached out for help again. This time the doctors increased my dose, appointed me a parent support worker and a counsellor. This helped for a time, he even got me a new cat to cheer me up. But the cat died after six weeks. I felt cursed. The more I got sick so did my baby and I was the only one who knew she was ill too. It took five months for someone to realise that she had severe burns down her throat and in her stomach due to the fact she was allergic to milk protein, including breast milk. Thats why she cried so much and did not sleep. When she was diagnosed, we were in hospital. Thats when I was left alone to shower one morning. As I did I saw my own reflection in the mirror. I was naked and dirty. I began scrubbing. I looked again, and the dirt was still there. I was fat and my belly looked swollen, there were strecth marks too. I began to scrub the stretch marks as if they were streaks of mud, scrubbing as hard as I could. I scrubbed my c section scar, it looked filthy and wrong. I kept scrubbing and I began freaking out too when the mark would not come off. I kept going an going and screaming at the 'mud' to go away. My husabnd heard me and walked in. By this time I was red raw from head to toe and bleeding around my mid section heavily. The blood looked like mud to me, and I rejoiced in seeing it flush down the drain.
J quit work after that. He no longer thought I could watch a young baby alone nor take care of myself. Luckily we still had my maternity wage for a year so it wasn't too bad financially. He didn't trust me alone, nor did my family. I had begun inflicting pain on myself at any given moment. My wrists were covered in slashes and I was binge eating. I would sit all day staring into space or rocketting around and cleaning manically. J did not understand and it was only when I said to him in a fit of tears 'I want to die. Its the only way out' that things started to get worse for him.
I tried to take my life, I said before. It was the most thrilling and most blackened day ever. After I had recovered and sickened that I had not managed to actually kill myself. I lay on the bed crying. J asked me 'why?'
I replied 'because of him'
'who is he?' he still did not know his name at this point.
'I will tell you, but you will leave me, you wont want me anymore if you knew what I do, therefore I cannot live with myself.'
'I will never leave you, never, I love you'
'You know who it was J, I know you do'
He sat and thought for a while. 'Are you sure?'
'look into your heart, search your instincts, I know you know somewhere in you'
He looked at me and said this 'I can only think of one name and I could be wrong but was it (TR)'
I nodded. The relief was immense but I could see his pain. And that alone made things so much more vivid to me. I had tried to avoid this, tried to protect him but I had failed. I was no longer strong enough to do so. I was no longer strong enough to have a husband, nor kids. I was a failure in my eyes. A slave and a slut to TR in every sense for I had protected him for far too long too. I was broken and my reality was not a reality I wanted to be in. J needed time to process this information, I was convinced it was the end. Of course J had always thought TR was my savior my protector at work, the fact he was the perpetrator was too much. He had shook hands with him and shared wine. He had trusted him to a degree but somewhere he knew it was not right. I had built up such a lovely story around TR that who was J to dispute that? But now I was telling him the complete opposite and I could see it was tough on him. By now and with the suicide every body had got involved from parents to doctors, to therapists to counselors to hospitals to social services, I was smothered in help. But it didn't help, not much anyway. I was still not sleeping, I refused to and I was still self harming. My husband who had always been susceptible to drinking when in a tough situation started to drink every day and night. More and more. He was not getting any help at all, he was lost in the fact that I was the damaged one, but in reality we both victims to TR.
Our relationship got worse. Arguments and debates. He even asked if our daughter was his or TR's. He knew the answer already but he did not want to hear it so stopped me from answering. He wanted to leave, I new he did but how does someone leave his wife when they are already as low as possible. He felt guilty that I would try and kill myself again, or that I others (who did not know the facts) would see him as 'the bastard who left his wife and kids whilst his wife was ill'. He did not want to be labelled, he did not want to leave me with the kids, quite rightly so and yet he needed out, it was killing him too.
If I was not dreaming of TR he was in my every waking thought. I began to wonder if I actually was 'in love' with him. The idea of sending him to prison made me psychically sick to my stomach. The thought of him being arrested because of me, sent me wild in fear. What would he think of me? What would he do when he knew it was me that dobbed him in? Would he think we were friends, that I should not betray him like that? Maybe I shouldn't betray after all he took care of me in my time of need, unlike my husband. I wanted to see him, I admit it. I needed to see him face to face but the decision was bad, I knew it was wrong to want to see TR, to be close. To watch him, to keep him in sight. Like the person I needed most was TR, the one that when I broke before knew my pain and cuddled me close and stroked my head till it all went away. I hated him but I loved him too? This was the biggest mind fucker of them all. I loved my husband that I know but TR had consumed me so much I was beginning to doubt myself and this pushed me beyond my limits. At one point I think I even drove to his house, I wanted to see it and I wanted to expose him, remind him I still knew the truth, but hoped that he would offer me some resolution at the same time. Thankfully I did not see him on my visit but the fact I went spoke volumes.
Friends all knew now, to a degree, bystanders such as playground mothers and neighbours all just thought I had post natal depression. I kept to myself and never left the house. I put on weight and stayed in bed. All the time J stayed with me, and I thank him for doing so as god knows how much strength that took and how much courage to not go and report TR himself or kill him. But his drinking got worse and my paranoia grew. Soon we were far from the couple we had been and I was barely even human.
I AM GOING TO STOP THERE AS I NEED TO SLEEP. I WILL WRITE AGAIN ON THIS TOMORROW. I PROMISE.
Night All.
xxxxx
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