I’ve always lived in fear of something, or someone. Its just always been there., an unavoidable, indescribable fear. After “HIM” I feared nobody.
There was nobody on this earth that could hurt me like he had. The pain he caused me that night was immense. Overwhelming. It seeped out every pore I have, every second of every day.
I was convinced people could see it, could see what he did to me. That’s when I stopped looking at people, instead I feared what they saw. What I looked like, covered in scars inside and out.
That night he didn’t just take my life, he took me. My identity. My confidence, my feelings, basic things. He took everything and walked away laughing, while I scrubbed bloodstains out of my carpet, and picked glass out of my face.
I was frightened of being his victim. I was frightened of living with what he had done.
I didn’t choose to be a survivor, it is just the way the cards were dealt to me. I chose to die. I didn’t care how, just dying was better than living with his touch burned in my brain.
Fate, Doctors, whatever way you look at it I was kept alive.
By the time I could no longer find the strength to sink any lower down four years of my life were gone in this haze of tablets, tears and hospital wards.
I lost that time when my mind went to that dark place that couldn’t allow me to know, to see, to think.
When I found a way through that, Istill wasnt a survivor. I didn’t feel I had earned the title.
I moved on, found someone, had children. Four boys and my daughter. The day my girl was born I promised her I would never let a man hurt her. Ever. I would protect her with every bone in my body. Like my mum should of with me.
I buried my past and him deep inside me, determined my children would never know I suffered.
And I did suffer.
How Do I Tell My Daughter I Was Raped?
Tonight my daughter found out by accident. She read something she should never have seen.
My beautiful girl now knows my darkest secret, my ugly truth, my story.
Instantly I was back there. That night.
Darkness swooped in and gripped me and I wanted to cut it out of me.
The dirty, hateful shame.
I was sat here with the razor blade looking at my arms, and all I could think was its OK I can do this then it will feel better. Cut him out of me.
Then my phone flashed a notification for Facebook.
It distracted me long enough to ask my friend for help. Help to talk to me, to keep me calm as I was panicking .
Sarah talked to me, and reassured me. Helped me. I told her about self harm and that she had stopped me without knowing it. Sarah asked me to message her if I felt like that again. I then spoke to Steph, and Emma who both continued to reassure me my daughter wouldn’t hate me.
Emma was adamant my daughter would see my strength. I cant bear it that my daughter knows what he did. Those terrible things. I’m scared she will look at me now differently to how she does usually. More than that, I don’t know how to tell her the truth.
Emma has faith in me. Steph and Sarah have faith in me. They believe I am strong.
Tonight when I was falling apart at the seams they were there to pick me up. I wasn’t left alone.
I’m so grateful to Sarah who gave me her time and patience, for Emma who gave me her strength and guidance, and to Steph who gave me her support and her kindness. Without these three tonight I would have been in a worse place. Cut to shreds and in pain
I’m going to talk to my daughter tomorrow about him. The truth. I wouldn’t have the mental strength to contemplate that without support. Thank you isn’t enough.
But How Do I Tell My Daughter I Was Raped?
This inspirational post was written anonymously by a mum who is either a member of my Facebook mums group, a Twitter follower or has been submitted to me via email. I have full permission to share her story. If you can relate to this post and would like to share your own anonymous post please contact me. You could help us share the blogs love to helping others by sharing via the social sharing buttons.