The Crux Of The Matter

Lets focus on the proper issue for a while. It’s been wafting near the surface for a while and a few reminders recently have started me off thinking I ought to resolve the issue once and for all. Or at least write it all out in un-mined words and without beating around the bush.

This article cropped up on the bbc http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7592601.stm . I can see her point that she didn’t think it was worth reporting, I didn’t report what happened to me either. And this is the crux of it – getting what happened down onto paper. Easier said than done when you’re used to waffling around the subject and just dropping hints hoping that someone picks up on what you’re trying to say rather than have to say it straight.

When people hear the term rape they automatically think of man in dark alley jumping out on silly fool woman walking home alone at night. There are other circumstances. Sometimes it’s just a case of having just said no – or even finding yourself in a situation where someone does whatever it is they want to do while you disappear off into your head because the alternative of saying no or trying to stop it just brings a whole world of pain. In those circumstances, you learn to create yourself a mental bubble into which you can disappear while anything that goes on physically can happen without recall.

I got into a relationship with an emotional fuckwit at the age of 16. Being an adolescent bag of hormones I didn’t spot the signs and happily continued despite being aware that he would do things in public to embarrass me, the most vivid I can remember was to twist my arm when I disagreed with him until I was bent to the floor, then laugh at me telling me I had no pain threshold. He’d do it in public, so I thought nothing of it. This moved on to pinching the back of my neck – all playground stuff. There were times when I wasn’t interested and he persisted and I just sort of let him ‘get on with it’ – at this point, I wouldn’t have thought of saying no.

Later we moved in together and things just got worse. My self esteem was at ground zero and the playground stuff had escalated. His group of friends were all into drugs and he introduced me to nights of sitting around taking speed and coke alongside a concoction of prescription stuff. By 19 I was taking a variety of anti-depressants and combining this with coke just to get away from my head. I never realized that it wouldn’t be the physical bullying that scarred the most, but the sexual side. There were so many times that I just wanted to say no, but there was no ‘asking’, more insistence and I would just switch off and switch back on when it was over. What I’m skirting around here is that the act of taking what you want, even if there is no verbal disagreement, it’s still rape.

I got pregnant at 20 and in my weird little mind thought that this would be the solution to all our issues. In fact, he demanded that it was aborted and even drove to the clinic with me to make sure I went through with it. Despite me having a complete breakdown in the room where we were herded like cattle, I begged them not to do it so they left me in a side room with him. I just remember being curled up in a ball and him grabbing my arms telling me ‘we discussed this and you’re getting rid of it’. So I came back out and went through with it. No-one thought to ask me what had happened in that room.

I left just over a year later. I finally plucked up the courage (and asked some friends for help) and left. By this point I had continued with the anti-depressants and started to self harm.

To be honest my next relationship wasn’t all that helpful. I needed to grieve for the loss of the last 6 years and it was more of a co-dependant mess of a relationship (certainly not helped by the fact that this was the way in which I “came out” as bi-sexual). I always wondered perhaps if I had jumped into this not because I was actually gay, but because I never wanted another man to touch me again. I still wonder if that was partially true. Perhaps for that particular relationship yes – it wasn’t a healthy one. Recently, I’ve discovered that no, I definitely like girls – DH doesn’t object to that.

I think my point is, I’ve not been near ant-depressants for 5 years now, I understand myself much better and as for cutting, well, it’s been a long time. It’s not that I’m not still tempted occasionally when the stress gets a bit much (it’s a bit like smoking in that respect), but I’m on the right side of the mountain. Writing this means DH gets a frank account of why I’m so messed up sometimes and I’ve stuck it out there for all to see.

This happened to me. It makes me who I am – it didn’t kill me. It made me stronger. Scar tissue is 10 times thicker than uncut skin. I hear people talk about things ruining their lives, but no, you didn’t ruin my life, you stole years, but not my life, and now I’m going to live it, not to spite you, but because I’ve learnt how to be happy.