Tag Archives: child sexual abuse

I told of our abuse, the lasting effects

This past few weeks has been particularly hard for us. That is because during this month 19 years ago, some of our abuse was brought to light. We do love the xmas season and xmas in general now, but it has taken years to get to this point. The abuse came to light when we were 14. Basically what happened was our then art teacher realised something wasn’t right with us, she noticed we’d become really withdrawn in class, we never said much, too afraid to be found out I guess. But anyway, she noticed. And one day in that December 19 years ago, she sat us down and asked us were we ok. What was wrong. And we felt like falling through the floor. We didn’t want to tell her anything. We were so scared of anyone finding out the secrets we had to keep. But she gently kept talking to us, encouraging us to speak to her. And eventually we did. All we said was…

“Someone touched me”

Three simple little words. That said so little yet so much. Those 3 words let her in a little bit, let her know that no, we weren’t ok. In fact we were slowly dying inside. We needed help. She encouraged us to go straight from school and phone our mom. And we did. Our mom was not much help though, not really grasping the horror and extent of what we were trying to tell her. She asked us if she could speak to one of the care staff who was on duty. Once she did, and it was established that we had been abused in some form, the head nun in charge was told. She asked our mom to come to the school the next day.

So the next day our mom travelled the 200 miles to our school and was interigated by the head nun. She was told how she needed to get help for us, how psychologically damaged we were, that we had severe emotional and behavioural problems. Of course we didn’t, but well…the truth had just come out, a little, and the school needed to try to focus on me, so as not to make themselves look bad.

I’ll never forget our moms reaction though. I asked her on the way home…

“Do you believe me?”

And she said…

“I’m not sure” “I don’t know”

Six little words that devastated me. Six little words that had a profound effect on our subsequent relationship ever since that awful day.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over our moms rejection and not quite knowing whether she believed our story or not. It hurts. It hurt me to know that my own mother refused to hear me, to help me. It fucking hurt.

So 19 years on and I am struggling tonight. The memories of that time haunt me. They creep in and tear at me and leave me breathless.

Carol anne

writing my memoir

I’ve been thinking lately…yes, i know, thats dangerous. But heres the thing. Some of my friends have been encouraging me to write a book. Tell my story. I’m not sure. Part of me wants to. But part of me is scared too. Would anyone read it? Would it be remotely interesting? Its not all sunshine and roses. Butterflies and rainbows. There are horrors in there that no child ould have to witness. Then there is the fact that i don’t think i’m a very good writer. Would i be able to gather my thoughts and coherently put them down on paper? I know you can self publish now on kindle. And, i’m seriously thinking about it. Because of having did it would probably not be an easy task to write a book. I’d have to include the insiders and their points of view, and thats ok, i’d want to do that. Not really sure still what to do, but really leaning towards trying it out. Has anyone got any tips? Experience of writing a book? Advice?

Carol anne

thanks child abuse…

Thanks child abuse, for taking sooo much away from me.

Thanks child abuse, for making my life miserable on most days.

Thanks child abuse, for showing me how bad the world can be.

Thanks child abuse, for making me believe that I was unlovable.

Thanks child abuse, for showing me how inhumane some people really are.

Thanks child abuse, for allowing me to hold back my tears, for fear I’d be ridiculed.

Yes, thanks child abuse. Because of you, most days, i don’t know how to be, act, feel, i don’t know how to be me.

They’re very real

Today I am struggling, no, we are struggling. The flashbacks are so overwhelming. You’d think by now I’d be used to them. But do you ever get used to flashbacks? No, I dont think you do. Sometimes, like today, they are just…so….overwhelming. They’ve been hitting me like a ton of bricks. Smashing into the core of my being. Making me shake like a leaf, sweat, feel raw, emotional, its like I am on emotional overload. Sucking me in, and keeping me in the memories for what slike an eternity even though its probably not that long at all. I’m trying everything I can think of to distract. From listening to music I like, to reading, to breatheing deeply, to pacing around the room, to drinking something to feel something in my mouth other than the feel of hands choking me, or grabbing me, or or or…you get the picture. Thank god I only have an hour before my home help gets here. Then I’ll have some company for a while. And our mom is coming over later too. She’s gonna cut our grass and help us do other house related things. I just need the company. I need to not be alone right now. I’m scared to be alone. I’m scared of the outcome of that. Thanks for all the lovely comments guys. It helps to have comments to reply to distract myself. Your all awesome ❤
Carol anne

PTSD, what it means to us

PTSD…

The overwhelming sense of panic as I start to relive the traumas of my childhood

The panic as I gasp for air

The dizziness as my head spins

PTSD…

The body memories, which threaten to leave me paralysed

The flashbacks of horrendous child abuse, which I am forced to relive every single day

The feeling of terror as I shake and tremble

PTSD….

The uncontrollable fits of tears, for no reason, but then there is one, it is not one that can be explained easily

The feelings of terror as a car door slams, and I think its a gun shot

The panic when using a knife to eat, thinking it is a weapon from so long ago

PTSD…

It is what we live with every day of our life

A stark reminder of our past

It is the vivid reminder that we survived hell