When I was a child, I was sexually abused by one of my parent’s friends, for 3 years. He was your typical paedophile, started off with the grooming process of gaining my trust. He knew I wanted attention I was not getting at home. Paedophiles know how to home in on dysfunctional families with vulnerable children.
For three years I endured abuse including molestation, being made to watch porn. By the age of about 9, I knew the difference between hard core and soft core porn.
As he increased the abuse, he also told me if I ever told my parents, they wouldn’t believe me and would be angry with me and I might have to go into foster care. That frightened me into silence.
At 12, I found out this abuse was also occurring to a sibling. I caught him. It is a picture in my head and a recurring nightmare, I will never forget. I was frozen to the spot unable to know what to do. I can’t even remember what happened next.
I was devastated my sibling was being hurt, the same way I was. I talked with my sibling later, told her we had to tell our parents. I was scared to tell them, because I knew they wouldn’t be happy. I told them, my sibling confirmed the abuse. My parents were annoyed, acted like this was a big problem for them. I was ‘told off’ for not telling them sooner, because if I had, the same wouldn’t have happened to my sibling. I was blamed. They didn’t ask me details. I was so upset and felt such shame at letting my sibling down, I didn’t tell them about the porn, or the extent of the abuse. What he made me do and did to me. They didn’t care. I was told to keep quiet and never tell anyone. A year later, my step father was seen by me talking to that paedophile, like they were still friends. Sick, totally perverted and not the actions of normal loving parents, at all, in any way.
This level of psychological abuse is profound. The damage of being blamed and the neglect of helping me to deal with this abuse, was massive. This haunts me still, to this day. I know it wasn’t my fault. It was my parents, and their blaming of me, was cruel, despicable and was very telling of the fact that they probably knew something was going on, but didn’t care.
I think the only reasons they believed me, was because my sibling was also abused. This was proof and I knew I needed proof to be believed.
Between the age of 16-20, I endured a severe abuse captivity. I had been extensively groomed again, this time by a psychopath. The abuse suffered during this period, was so severe, I have blocked a lot of it out. I have amnesia, because it was prolonged over a log period and my heightened sense of fear, made my brain dissociate. I remember enough to know the abuse was every kind, including torture with threats made to my life and my family.
I got hurt a lot more when I resisted, so mostly I didn’t, so I wouldn’t have to deal with more pain than would be inflicted. Unless, pain was on his menu that day, which meant I got it, regardless of whether I resisted. It depended on his mood.
When I finally got out of that captivity, with the help of some people where I was doing a work placement (to retain my benefits, the only reason I had been allowed to attend this work), I went to a solicitor to get an injunction. But it was too serious, so I had to go to the police. They did the usually good cop bad cop routine. It was horrendous. They believed me, he was arrested. The cops made it very clear they knew this man was dangerous and a psychopath.
There was a court hearing. It is very difficult for abuse cases to even reach court, let alone get a conviction. But, there was plenty of evidence. Physical evidence of physical and sexual abuse. Evidence from neighbours and my work placement colleagues. This got twisted into something else by the defence, I got called everything under the sun. But, the prosecution still had good evidence.
Evidence again – that much needed to show I was telling the truth. But, the prison sentence he got, due to him having a good lawyer and barrister, was pathetic, in terms of it not being justice at all.
Evidence, does always lead to justice, does not always support you fully. Does not mean you get the help you need.
Recently, I have a situation with some people, who I thought were good friends, who I thought cared about me, loved me.
Turns out they didn’t.
I had evidence – again. Evidence of things happening, things being said that were not okay, where they had let me down, hurt me.
I stood up for myself, again. I told the truth, produced evidence. But, again, it got turned into something else. I got attacked back, with exaggerations and things that did not occur. To make me look bad. To make them look better. To make people doubt me. All I did was stick to the truth, completely.
But I got attacked back.
Just like my parents did.
Just like I was attacked in court.
Evidence, does not always mean fairness occurs. It does not always mean justice occurs.
In fact there has been so little justice in my life.
But, I am glad and thankful for the evidence that has occurred, otherwise people would have chosen to not believe me at all, even though I was telling the truth.
Evidence for me, gives me peace of mind, that it did occur. It did happen and I hold on to that.
My life would be far worse, without that evidence.
My only hope and peace comes from knowing God will deal with all this injustice. One day.