My story

[Pages:4]My story

I was just 11 years old the first time I was sexually assaulted. I used to visit this old guy who had a false leg and couldn't get out much, so I'd go over there to keep him company. I didn't have a Grandad and had a horrendous relationship with my father, so I guess, having an older male around was really appealing. He'd buy me sweets and chocolate for every time I went there and let me borrow his VHS tapes. I adored him.

It was Sunday the 27th of February 1994. Just over a week before my 12th birthday. My mum and dad dropped me off and went out for the day to see family friends. I didn't know what time they would be back and after a vicious row with my dad, I didn't care.

I sat telling my `friend' about the vicious row between myself and my dad...one of many. I accidently swore and then he said `don't worry, you can say what you want here'. Well that made me feel grown up so of course, so I really went to town. I hated my dad and felt that he hated me.

Then `my friend' said `next time he does anything like that to you, call a taxi and I'll pay for it when you get here, you can come and live with me'. I wasn't a stupid child and was quite perplexed at this idea, mainly because he lived in a one bedroom bungalow, so where would I sleep? I asked this question. His reply was `you can sleep in my bed with me'.

It was at that moment that the energy in the room changed. I felt it like a heavy cloud filling the room. He started to tickle me and before I knew it he had his hand up my top, massaging my non-existent left breast. I froze. I literally froze and didn't know what to do.

Then I stood up and made excuses about needing to go to the toilet. So that's what I did. His toilet was by the front door and while I was in there he had a knock at the door. I could hear that it was another little girl that wanted to come in. He told her he was busy and to come back later. Then he knocked on the toilet door and asked if I was ok. I had to get out of the toilet. I spent a couple more minutes in there but knew I couldn't stay in there forever. Even then I was being polite.

When I walked out of the toilet and back into the living room he had shut all the curtains. I was absolutely fucking terrified. Even at that young age I could sense what he was going to do to me... he wanted to rape me.

So, I did the only thing I could do. I sat down on the floor, as far away from him as I could and politely made conversation. Every time he asked me to come and sit next to him, I politely said that I was comfortable on the floor and thanked him. He had a gold clock on the mantel piece and I watched the seconds and minutes go by on that clock like they were days.

Inside, I begged my mum to come and get me. I tried to send her telepathic messages, anything to get me out of there... I genuinely couldn't tell you how long it was before she

came, even though I know I watched that clock constantly, but my mind was racing. I was trying to survive. In my 11-year-old mind, he couldn't get down onto the floor easily because of his false leg, and the few feet between us gave me time to run, to get to a door or something... as long as I could just keep him away from me until my mum came, I would be alright.

When she finally got there, he had the audacity to ask if he could take me on holiday to Germany. I looked at her with terror. She looked at me and said she'd have to ask my dad. When we got into my mums work van, she asked me if I was ok? I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know how to describe what had just happened and I was terrified. I just wanted to get home. To get away from him.

We had take away that night. KFC. I loved KFC but tonight I couldn't eat it. I felt sick. My dad got angry with me again and shoved the plate towards me. I slapped his arm away from me. He stood up, kicked me in the leg with his steel toe cap boots on and told me to fuck off to my room...

Yeah... returning to safety, to the comfort of my family home. Right. As I ran up the stairs I heard him say to my mum, "Sort that fucking little bitch out." How could I tell anyone what had just happened to me when I wasn't even safe in my own home?

The next day I went to school and told my best friend. We spent the whole of lunch time trying to figure out what we should do, but in the end we decided to tell my form teacher. Mr P.

I approached Mr P and in the most grown up way said `Sir, I think I was sexually assaulted yesterday and I need to speak to someone'.

I had to tell him the whole story.

Then I had to tell my Head of Year the whole story. Then I had to tell my Head Master the whole story. Then they called the Police.

And my mum.

And social services.

I was terrified.

I remember having to go and speak to the Police in a room, with a video camera and some colourful shapes that you could sit on. But I can't remember much else.

I remember my mum asking me why I didn't tell her? I didn't know what to say.

I remember the Police coming to see us (me) a few months later and telling me that some people (the CPS) wouldn't take the case to court `because the Jury would take pity on him because of his false leg'. I remember begging them to speak to the little girl and warn her

about him, to make sure he wouldn't hurt her. They said the girl's parents refused to speak to the Police so I offered to speak to them and tell them what happened to me to make sure they protected their little girl from him.

They gently smiled at me and said they wished they could, but it doesn't work like that. Even then I could tell they believed me and they were angry that their `bosses' wouldn't listen to me. That he would get away with it. But the message was loud and clear, he would get away with it. It had all been a waste of time telling people.

At school everyone knew what had happened. I guess my friend had told others and before I knew it I was being relentlessly bullied. `'Serena* (surname) got raped by a dirty old man'', `'Serena* (surname) is a little slag''...blah blah blah, this went on for two years. Victim blaming at its very finest.

None of teachers did a fucking thing. I wasn't offered counselling. I wasn't offered any support from anyone. So, I stopped going to school. I skived as much as I possibly could. I'd sit in the town park and spend my days just wishing the time away...

I remember one day, shortly after the assault, my dad grabbed me and pulled me onto his lap and I completely freaked out. Tears, screaming, the lot. My mum said to me in her outrage `'what the bloody hells the matter with you.'' I screamed at her `'what do you thinks the matter with me? I don't like people touching me and I certainly don't want to sit on his lap.'' She looked at me and said `'for gods sake Serena*, he only touched your nipple, or did he do something else that you're not telling us?'' It was like she slapped me in the face.

How the fuck could these adults not understand? Why was no one listening to me? Why was I the one getting all this shit?

Two years later I lost my virginity when I was raped by a 17-year-old lad. I was 13 years old. I started my periods after he raped me. I didn't tell anyone. What was the point? He raped me twice more in what can only be described as an abusive `relationship'. The last time he raped me he did it in front of his friends. Anally. They watched through a window as he took me in the back room of his mum's house. When I realised after that they had been watching, I started shouting at him, so he dragged me outside and beat me in front of his friends while they all stood round laughing.

By the time I was 17 and pregnant with my eldest child, I had fucked I don't know how many guys. In a way I think I was trying to take control of my body and I didn't believe I was worthy of anything else. I had been abused, raped, neglected, abandoned, used and called so many vile names and I believed it all... I hated myself. I didn't know what love was. I didn't recognise what safety was. I was broken...

That was nearly twenty years ago. In that time, I found counselling. It saved my life. For the first time in my young life (I was 23 at this point) someone was listening to me. She cried with me when I described my first parents evening with my daughter's teacher, when she was told that I was doing a good job. No one had said that to me before. She heard me and she offered me unconditional comfort. She wasn't judgemental, she didn't look disgusted with me, she didn't criticise me. She actually fucking heard me!! Amazing!!

After my 8 sessions I decided I wanted to be able to give that gift of listening to someone else. So, a couple of years later, at 25 I started training to become a counsellor.

Over the years I have battled depression and entered and left various abusive relationships. I raped two more times by my youngest son's dad.

It took two years of intense therapy while training to become a counsellor for me to understand what I went through and to forgive myself for the things that happened to me. We blame ourselves so easily when we are victims of sexual violence. Partly, because the blame is so readily laid at our feet, by society, by family members, by friends, by professionals, by Police, by social workers who accuse children of putting themselves in harms way, by defence barristers who aggressively question victims... the list is endless. But it wasn't my fault. And the blame and guilt are not mine to carry.

It is not yours either!

It is theirs! The abusers, the rapists, the ignorant and the silent by standers. It is not our guilt to carry and we have nothing to be ashamed of!

Since 2008 I've worked in mental health, the youth offending service, pupil referral units, charities and the NHS. I took every bit of training and opportunities I could, to learn, to understand.

Now I am a qualified Independent Sexual Violence Advocate. My job is to help and support victims of sexual violence, right from the very start to the very end. I am part of a beautiful machine that creates a web of support and unconditional love, acceptance and belief around a victim. I challenge people's attitudes and beliefs at every chance I get. I use my own experience in training sessions as I understand now that my actions when I was 11 were natural. I froze. I fled (going to the toilet) I acted as a friend (sat on the floor and talked) Freeze, flight, friend... I tried to survive in the only way I knew how. And I'm sure you did to.

Once I was a little girl who no one listened to, no one protected, and no one respected and no one supported. Now I am an advocate for victims. I am their voice when no one is listening. I am their shield when we walk into court rooms. I am the ear that listens and believes them. I am what I needed all those years ago.

I am a survivor...and this is my story.

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