How do I start to put into words how dealing with the abuse
my supposed grandfather put me through?
How can I describe what it’s been like these past twenty years not
talking about something that should never have happened? The task of removing the mask of pretence and
actually letting people find out how I’ve been affected is a daunting one as,
for twenty years, I’ve hidden behind a mask of “I’m ok”, and “nothing’s
wrong”.
The abuse itself was never on threat of someone’s life, or
“If you tell I’ll...”, on the contrary, it was under the guise and pretence of
love and normality. While the abuse
itself was going on, I had no reason to believe anything out of the ordinary
was going on. This has lead to many,
many feelings of blame and guilt and shame that I’m still dealing with, I mean,
how could I *not* have realised something was wrong, or could have I done
something differently so he didn’t do ‘it’ to me? It’s all the “what if’s” and “buts” and
“maybes” that I’ve continued to torture myself with over the years. I’m not even going to go into the shame of
realising you’ve been enjoying things your abuser was doing to you – I mean,
part of me knows that the body is programmed to enjoy certain things, and
that’s normal... the thing that wasn’t
normal was that it started at the age of 6, and was being done to me by my
grandfather. The blame, even now, lies
with me, and not with my abuser. My
counsellor tells me I’m not to blame, and I was only a child, and I didn’t *do*
anything wrong. I hope that, one day,
I’ll believe her.
I still remember now, sitting in the PSHE lesson at school,
and finding out that what was going on was wrong. I felt horrified. I’d been lied to. I thought there must’ve been some mistake –
there was no way my grandfather would have been abusing me, he couldn’t have
known it was wrong either. There’s no
way he meant to hurt me, did he? I mean,
he told me he loved me – did this mean he didn’t really love me? Did I do something to make it start? Should I have stopped it sooner? How could I have believed him? These feelings and questions are one’s I’m
still battling with.
When I told my family, and everything turned to chaos, I
knew I’d been the one to make this mess, and so had to fix it. I wrote my grandfather a letter, which
apologised for telling anyone about what had happened, and saying I wouldn’t
talk to the police as I didn’t want him going to jail, and that I loved him,
and knew he never meant to hurt me.
Everything stayed buried for years. Until my mid to late teens, everything was
fine. I’ve been depressed on and off
since the age of 16, and have been on anti-depressant medication on and off
repeatedly – and now, have been on medication for depression continuously for 9
years, and anxiety for 2 years, only coming off of the medication to have my
children. I have even been unable to
breastfeed as going back onto medication to ensure my mental stability was considered
more important. I have had severe mood
swings, so much so that the first psychiatrist I saw believed I was
bipolar. Later, this diagnosis was
changed to one of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and anxiety related to
unresolved issues surrounding the abuse I suffered as a child.
Dealing with the abuse, and its repercussions initially
began in 6-monthly cycles. I’d have a
period of 6 months when things were awful, and I struggled to cope, I was low,
felt desperate, had constant flashbacks, and didn’t want to leave the
house. For the other 6-months though,
everything was ok – as soon as I’d managed to put all the memories and thoughts
and feelings back in a big box in my mind, and close the lid again.
Until the age of 19, I kept promises made to my grandfather,
and didn’t talk to anyone about the abuse.
I was bound to him by his professed love for me, and wanting to keep him
happy and not “rocking the boat” for my family.
Things were very dark at times, and the periods of having to deal with
the abuse grew longer, and I sought out psychiatric help recommended by my GP,
and counselling, and then individual and group therapy.
I tried counselling while at university, but found myself
too tongue-tied to talk about any details of the abuse at all – I couldn’t
betray my grandfather’s trust and love.
Things reached their peak for me in the summer of 2012 when
my step-father had a heart attack and I saw my grandfather over his hospital
bed. That visit, where my abuser did
nothing except sit in a chair across from me, led to some kind of breakdown. Suddenly, not only were the flashbacks
difficult to deal with, but they were so constant that some days it felt I was
stuck in the past for longer than I was in the present. Even the most mundane day to day activities
were difficult – I’d come to from a flashback, and realise I was stood hanging
out the washing, with a peg in my hand, and find that I’d lost 10 or 20 minutes
of time. Things got so bad that I was
suicidal, for the second time in my life.
This time though, my husband stepped in, and when the NHS couldn’t help,
took me to a private psychiatrist, who listened to my story, encouraged me to
explain what was truly going on, and made a new diagnosis and recommended a
wonderful therapist. Through those two people, Jeremy Broadhead and Andy Flack,
things slowly became bearable again.
Therapy with Andy Flack meant talking around my feelings
about the abuse, and EMDR therapy to help cope with flashbacks. It helped my levels of anxiety and panic
become bearable, and I could begin to live again. I couldn’t share any physical details of what
happened to me, of what my grandfather did to me, as I felt too ashamed, and
embarrassed that I let him do that to me.
It became apparent, however, that I felt very responsible for incidents
that happened to others since my abuse, and felt I wasn’t protecting the
children in my abuser’s life now.
When I spoke to the police in 2012, it was the first time I
told anyone other than my husband my “story”.
It was the first time I had to tell someone every little detail of what
happened to me. It was one of the
hardest things I’ve ever done. It
terrified me to consider what another person may think of me if they knew – I
felt different to other people, I felt dirty and ashamed. I didn’t do it for me though, I did it to
protect other children in my family that my grandfather, my abuser, still has
regular contact with. I did it because
members of my family don’t believe him to be a threat any more. I believe differently, and because I’m
desperate to protect those children, I had to act. This is what drove me to find the strength to
take the action I have, and it’s what had given me the courage to stand up in
court and do what needed to be done.
Over the years I’ve had to work out the ‘triggers’ for my flashbacks
– things like Extra Strong Mints, the ‘Top of the Pops’ theme tune and ‘Old
Spice’. I’ve had to learn to avoid
things that can make me feel like I’m back there all over again.
My family have had to bear the brunt of my mood swings –
some days, it causes me flashbacks even to let my children touch me. On those days, they can’t have cuddles, or
sit on my lap. They put up with me when
I’m tearful, when I’m irrationally depressed, or when I’m irritable. My husband has been my rock for the last 10
years or so, and has seen me at my best and at my worst. Without him, I don’t know where I’d be. He’s made sure I take my meds when things are
particularly tough, he’s distracted me from self-harming, he’s taken time off
work when I can’t cope, and done more than his fair share around the house and
with our children when I just couldn’t do it.
I’m hoping that through this reporting process, I can
finally tell my story in its entirety, and start to get some closure on the
abuse I’ve suffered, and all its related issues. I’ve recently restarted counselling, and hope
through the new relationship I’ve made with my counsellor, this matter can be
finally be put to rest, and after spending 28 years of my life so far under the
control of my grandfather, I can break those chains and start to live.
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