Charlene Wilson (__modernlove) wrote in _survivors_,
Charlene Wilson

Hey, I'm new here. I hope to get to know some of you guys. :)

Basically, what happened to me [triggering, under the cut] happened when I was 9 until I was 11. I'm almost 16 now & I haven't spoken about it properly yet.

I told my Mum my 'secret' almost 3 years ago, & we made a statement to the police. They got back to me, after almost 3 years, last week. I got offered victim support which you are supposed to receive 1 week after submitting a statement. They also said they'd had an interview with him. & that he denied every last piece of it.

I don't know where to start.

When I was 6, my Mum got a new boyfriend. Billy. He seemed nice. Infact, I really liked him. He treated us well & was always making cakes & buying me art supplies. Until he drank. He would sit every night & smoke weed whilst drinking pints upon pints of beer. Then his temper would come out.

Obviously I wouldn't make a thing like this up. So I know I'm not lying. I know it's the truth.

But it started when I was nine & since then I've managed to block my life & forget it. I honestly can't even remember anything about primary school, 5 years ago. It's as if that part of my life doesn't even exist anymore. It's blank.

What I can remember about it, is fuzzy. I can remember silly things, about being on a long bus trip with a packet of Strawberry Tofo sweets. I can remember the violence. I can remember being on holiday (my most clear memory about the violence side), with him & my Mum arguing. I was only little, so I never knew what was happening. All I wanted was my breakfast so I kept moaning, & asking for it. Until he threw it at the walls. Yellow egg yolk ran down the white painted walls. Smashing up plates & making a path of glass from our seats to the front door. It was horrible. Funny thing is, later that afternoon we were all out playing happy families as if it had never happened.

I can also remember silly things, like him trashing my room ever month. He'd literally THROW my bed across the room, tip everything out my drawers, tell me it was a disgrace & not let me out my room until it was spotless. Then there was the rule about sitting in the living room. I was made to spend most of my life in my room, alone, whilst he sat in the living room getting drunk & shouting at my Mum.

But I'm over things like that. I might still be tender around fighting & shouting. The slightest argument might make me shake & cry. But it doesn't hurt me as much as everything else.

It doesn't hurt me half as much as what he done to me. I've never actually spoken to anyone about this. Well, except the police. But even then I didn't go into details, I just answered questions with a yes, or no. Maybe explaining a little bit.

It was at night the worst stuff would happen, though. He would wait until everyone was sleeping, the come into my room. He would sit at the side of my bed. He would stroke my cheek & whisper how much he cared about me. Then he would pull my covers back & rub my stomach. Moving his hands up towards my 'chest'. Or down my trousers. He would play about with me, thinking I was asleep. I was too scared to "wake up". I was awake though, pretending I was asleep. I mean, I wasn't going to go to sleep knowing he could come in... I would just roll about, make moaning noises in hope that my Mum would come & help me. In hope that he'd think I was waking up & leave me alone. But he never did. He would take my arm, & force it to touch him. To rub him. He would put it up to my mouth. But I would always squirm & try to get away.

I can't remember much more than that, detail wise. I can always remember the sound though. The sound of his belt being unfastened, & it clinking when he dropped it. The sound of his jeans unzipping. His breath. & the smell... The smell of the beer that he had been drinking all night. I can still remember that clearly.

I don't know why I kept it to myself for so long. It was my fear of telling people. I was ashamed of what had happened. But now, I wish I had have spoke up sooner. But what's done is done.

I'm worrying about court now. The case has been sent to the procurator fiscal & he decides what happens. I'm thinking that since it happened so long ago, & since we only have my word, nothing will come of it. It sounds sad, but part of me wants to drop this whole thing. I don't think I'll be able to cope if we do go to court. I'd have to face him. I couldn't even say "hello" to the police when they came to my house, nevermind explain this in a court room.

Also, my thoughts aren't clear enough. I'm forcing myself to try & remember more. & it's not working. My memory of what happened before the 1st January 2000 (day he was arrested) is one big blur.

Well, I guess that's my story. I'm sorry if it's long, & sounds really mixed up. But I just don't know how to talk about it, at all.
Tags: abuse: child, abuse: csa, abuse: emotional, abuse: mental, filing a report, introductions
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