Memory Trouble - Putting the Pieces Together Again

Bad Memory

The thing that struck me reading the books I mentioned in my last post is how clearly most people seem to remember their abuse. For me, most memories are vague. This is probably in part due to the years of repression where I didn't accept the memories were there at all, but I am concerned about my memory as I have a lot of trouble remembering things. I don't think I should be so forgetful at just 22.

I have often wondered if one of the incidents I do remember had an impact on my brain function. I'm not stupid, I'll give myself that credit at least, but the amount of things I forget is worrying. I also have difficulty recognising faces and connecting them to names, or connecting names to books, films, events, things like that. Like I just can't quite link things up right.

The time I'm concerned about is once when I was 9. I hadn't been abused much at this point, only physically, but this compounded the physical abuse for me. My half brother was about 14 or 15, much taller and certainly far stronger than me. I was with a friend in my room and we were trying to do our homework. He often used to disturb us when she came over, which was about one evening every week while her mother worked late.

Anyway, this time I was really fed up of him always barging in and just wanted to do my homework with my friend in peace. I sat on the floor behind the door to block it, and he tried to push it open regardless. I stood and pushed back with all the strength I could muster but there was really no point, he had the door open in seconds and me trapped behind it. I was in the corner of the room, squashed between the door and a brick wall. My friend had hidden under my desk, about 6' away down the wall. My brother then moved the door violently, with me behind it, slamming my head against the wall and ricocheting it off the door as I bounced back and forth. He was laughing and I was crying in pain. I remember when he stopped and went away I was in a lot of pain and felt dizzy and blurry, my friend said she could feel the vibration of the impact through the wall even from that distance away.

I never told anyone about this, so I didn't have any examination of the head injuries (several lumps and a bad headache for a couple of days) so I have no idea of the damage it may have caused to my brain and memory while it was developing at that age. All I know is that now I'm having a lot of difficulty with my memory, I have to ask people to repeat themselves, I repeat myself a lot, I often forget important things or plans I was told a few times over. It's really frightening to think that you're young and might be losing your mind, but have no way of really knowing. I'm not even sure how to explain this worry to someone without sounding totally mad.

Remembering the Abuse

Because of my trouble with memory I'm finding it hard to recall all the specific incidents in which I was abused over the years. Maybe it was more serious then I remember, maybe some things happened which I've still repressed, or maybe it's all just me losing my mind and thinking things happened that didn't. Well, here is as good a place as any to start trying to piece it all together.

Before I start, I'd just like to mention a part of Breaking Free. I was reading about other peoples stories, and couldn't help but wonder why I was reading, my experiences were not as extreme as these people's, I was obviously being stupid and should put the book down because it's written for people who have suffered real problems... But then, I reached the end of the chapter. Here they explained just my worry, I had been comparing my abuse to other people's and making it seem insignificant to myself and making myself feel worse about it. The truth is child sexual abuse is any kind of sexual advance in childhood that is unwanted, unwelcome and makes you feel bad about yourself. If you're reading what I've written and think, "my experiences weren't as bad" or "she doesn't know what she's on about, I suffered far worse and I'm just fine", well please try and remember that abuse affects us all in different ways. One person may suffer a far greater trauma and cope with it well, while another may suffer in a comparatively minor way and be utterly devastated. I'm finding it personally difficult to accept this still myself, but it is an important part of the healing that we look at the effects for severity and not the cause. Try not to compare suffering, at the end of the day it's all pain we shouldn't have ever experienced, to what extent it happened is nowhere near as important as to the extent it has affected us and what we must do to correct this and live our lives happily. Anyway, enough of the rambling, I should stop procrastinating and just go for this while I feel like I can.

The first incident I remember is my half brother punching me in the arm, for reasons I can't recall. It went red almost immediately and I went downstairs to tell our mother. She believed me at first but then he instantly got all teary and told her I'd made it up to get him in trouble. She believed him over me, because his stepmother and father had hit him for what his other brothers and stepbrothers/sisters had done and blamed on him before he moved to live with us. This just taught me the worst possible lesson, it didn't matter what I said even if the evidence was right there, he could get away with hurting me any time or way he wanted. He knew that too right then, he had his way and he could manipulate mum to believe him with the sob story of his own unhappy childhood.

The main problem with the whole situation was both mum and dad worked until late, leaving a couple of hours when it was just the kids home. I was living with 3 older half brothers who had moved in with us from their homes. 2 were on my mum's side, and had moved out of their father's house because he and their stepmother were alcoholic and abusive. The 3rd was my father's son who had been living with us for a little longer anyway. The youngest, the abuser, was my mothers younger son. The other boys would often be out with friends after school or in their own rooms, but the other one liked to disturb me.

He often made sexual comments towards myself and the few friends I ever brought home with me. He had few friends of his own and would insist on disturbing what we were doing and messing it up or joining in. I didn't have anywhere to go to be away from him, no safe place, and if I refused to let him join us he would hurt me or find a parent and complain until he was allowed to join.

I remember one time, he showed a page in his porn mag, of a woman sat on a chair with her legs open. He bet me I wouldn't dare do that. In that kind of way he would make things a game. It would be a game to hide from him and he would find me. It would be a game that when one day the house was empty and he made me strip and stand naked in front of him in the living room. It would be a game that he would put on a latex glove and touch me, and make me touch him. It was a game in the back of the car from family counselling that he would play with his erection like a joystick and make me do it while my parents continued to argue or ignore each other in the front of the car.

Although I cannot recall many specific incidents, I remember it wasn't consistent. He would go a week or so leaving me alone then come back again. One time, he made me bring the hoover to him in his room. He was particularly stupid, laying there in his bed, because we had a Dyson. He made me plug it in and pass him the nozzle and gave me the signal to turn it on. I inwardly laughed at his scream of pain as he told me to turn it off again, and considered leaving the damn thing on to teach him a lesson, but I caved to his demand and pulled the plug. He then told me to get something cold. Confused and scared I ot a latex glove and filled it with cold water, bringing it to him to use as a compress. Why I ever helped him I'll never know.

I remember as I got older, he was less frequently interested in me, and would leave me alone for much longer. We moved house when I was about 12 and I spent the first week or so feigning illness and staying in bed so I didn't have to see him or meet the new neighbouring children. Nobody really questioned it, just accepted I was ill and needed to sleep all day. I don't think much happened in that house, though I do remember him being underneath my bed rubbing his crotch along the side of it and gyrating on it. The last time he came to me he offered me 10p to lift up my top and expose my chest. I was about 14 and so fed up and scared of his strength that I just agreed. I even got annoyed when it wasn't 10p he gave me but a stupid football coin which he said was worth 10p. It was after that I guess I was too old, not interesting to him any more, or maybe he decided I was no longer any use or that perhaps girls his own age were more attractive.It wasn't too long after that that he moved out and I was left with the blissful peace of mind I'd been hoping for all those years.

You know, there are times I honestly wish I could've just been raped by a stranger rather than suffer the prolonged indignation of being molested by my half brother. Couldn't it have just been over and done with in one horrific act rather than years of uncertainty and fear? Even now just the words "molest" and "incest" make me feel like vomiting, they make me feel filthy and like I want to tear off my own skin.

One thing that bothers me slightly is I can't even remember if I was only 9 when it began or if things had happened before then. I was a very quiet and withdrawn child, I had difficulty socialising even in my first school and absorbed myself completely in study from day one. I have thought sometimes what if someone else abused me when I was younger and I just don't remember because I blocked it out? I didn't bleed when I lost my virginity, I just don't remember if there's anything else that could have stopped that. His vile gloved fingertips never to my knowledge made me bleed, but then it's natural sometimes for it to be broken before sex with a first boyfriend anyway right? I mean, not every girl has to bleed?... I'm just not sure.

I think I should stop now, my head is pounding and I've been writing for nearly 6 hours straight. I need to give myself a break. I feel better for putting some of this on to the safe anonymity of a screen, and though I cannot remember it all and haven't let out all of the pain in this one night, this is the start. This is the first part of relief I hope to feel when it's all over, when I can stop just surviving and start truly living.

The Choice to Seek Help

Well I've mentioned a little (or rather a lot) about the problems I've had over the years as a result of my past, but I've not really covered the recent issues that lead me to the decision to write this blog and seek help.

I think it can really be pinned down to going to the library. Stupid thing really, but hear me out it does make a little sense. I'd been thinking about studying mental health, and was looking about for some research to do while I was waiting for a bus to arrive. I ended up reading a little book about caring for someone with an alcohol problem, with the thought in mind that I might be able to help or advise someone I know who is living with a parent suffering the effects of alcohol addiction.  I looked around further in this area and by complete accident came across Breaking Free - Help for survivors of childhood sexual abuse by Carolyn Ainscough and Kay Toon. I highly reccommend reading this by the way. Anyway, as the library had switched to an automatic system for checking books in and out I was fairly confident about giving this one a read. I checked it out, popped it in my bag and went home.

Over the following week I read it cover to cover, one night I was up until 3am because I just couldn't stop reading. It brought up the old memories, old feelings, and gave me a new sense of clarity to my own mental state. I've been thinking about it fairly often since then, and went back to the library last week to check out another book, The Courage to Heal, which I've now started to work through as well. They have both given me a stronger resolve to seek professional help and work through my past rather than burying it in the back of my mind and pretend it's not there.

In the lead up to finding these books, my mental state had been deteriorating. I had been ecstatic since leaving my ex boyfriend, and barely taken aback at all by losing my job and my home. I moved happily away to a different town, started looking for a new job and felt overwhelmingly happy almost all the time. I thought nothing more of it than I was just learning to enjoy life again after so long being miserable. After a few months I had found my new boyfriend and couldn't imagine being happier, until I started suffering periods of depression again. It seems like it comes on at random, like there's no real trigger to it.

If I'm with my boyfriend, and we're out somewhere when I start feeling low, it has recently developed further down into feelings of panic. I don't  want to make anyone around me feel bad just because I do, but I feel suddenly so low I can't stop myself crying, which only makes me more distressed because I can't tell my boyfriend why I'm upset when I don't even know what has caused it. He gets anxious because he feels like people will think he has upset me somehow, and he worries that he has and wouldn't want to do that, I feel worse for making him think like that. It all boils over into the feeling that I have to escape, to get away so that I can't make anyone else feel any worse. I can only really describe it as being most similar to a panic attack, and though I can calm myself down by deep breathing and sitting down or going outside or away from crowds, I still can't control the feelings. My mood has once again begun to randomly and uncontrollably switch from one extreme to the other with no obvious reason. My eating pattern is worse than ever and I am exhausted most of the time from this.

I realise that I cannot continue to hide from my problems, I have to face up to them and look them in the eye no matter how much it hurts, so as of next week I'll be sucking up the courage and going to see my GP to see what I can do. I don't know where it will lead, whether I'll be sent to counselling, or psychotherapy, or simply given pills to control myself. I don't know if I can trust the GP enough to tell him about the abuse but I would like to think if I can see another professional in time I will be able to talk openly about it. Another possibility I'm toying with is simply showing them this blog, and trying to write absolutely everything I possibly can here.

Whatever happens from here, dear reader, I know that I cannot turn back. I must force myself to deal with this no matter how hard it gets. I will learn how to take control of my own life, I will find the words to tell my boyfriend why I can't stop crying sometimes, and I will find the courage to make it out to the other side. Everything I go through, I will go through with you as I write it upon these anonymous pages, this simple anonymous outlet for the burden I've carried for far too many years. I hope that maybe someone else may be inspired to seek needed help, or at least comforted by the knowledge that none of us are alone.

I refuse to be his victim now. I am a survivor, it's time I lived up to that name.

Relationships

After reading other survivors stories in various books I've come to realise it is only natural for us to end up in abusive relationships sometimes, but not leave them for fear of not having a relationship again or fear of being rejected, or sometimes for fear of the partner themselves. For me, it all started fine. We had a few arguments, and at the beginning I was still going through my turbulent mood swings and in therapy. He was unsympathetic at times, and didn't like me trying anti depressants. After I was off them he would berate me for considering going back on them, saying that I wouldn't be me if I was taking pills to control my mind. This put me off seeking help again while I was with him, and it gave him an element of control over me because I cared too much what he thought of me.

Later in our relationship he became possessive, and emotionally abusive. I went for over a year not going out other than to work or to the shop. I didn't see any friends or family in all that time, because he was agoraphobic, couldn't stand being left on his own and was paranoid that any time I was away from him I'd leave him or do something with another man. He even began to restrict who I contacted, always wanting to know who I was talking to, what about and why. As time went by he became even more controlling, and would not accept me wanting to do my own thing to the point of looking over my shoulder all the time or even getting violent over disagreements.

He was never as outwardly physically violent as the most common abusive partners, but he was restraining. He would pin my to the floor by my neck or drag me across the floor out of the room and leave me crying on the landing. He sometimes pushed me across the room or down onto furniture, and all of this played on my hatred of weakness. He was stronger than me and made sure I knew it.

Eventually, when his depression turned him towards alcohol I found the struggle even more difficult, I would often come home to him laying on the bed clutching a half empty whiskey bottle knowing it was most likely full just a few hours previous. He would be barely conscious but have enough energy in him to fight me if I tried to take the bottle from him to protect him from his own self destructive habit. He was threatening, to his own safety and to mine.

It didn't take long with him drinking and my own problems still unresolved for me to turn to alcohol too. I was drinking dark rum, mixed with energy drink, so I'd be up all night with no sleep, blind drunk just to cope with him being drunk, and isolating myself by spending all my time online. I tried to start going to another room overnight, taking my pc with me just for some peace, but he wouldn't leave me alone because he was dependant on my presence. My work suffered, and I nearly lost my job. I'm amazed I didn't crash some days, driving after several days without a wink of sleep and doped up on as much caffeine as I could get. Days went by me completely without my noticing.

When that relationship came to an end I was a wreck. It ended one night with us both drunk, in seperate rooms. I was at the end of what I could take so told him it was over, at which point we went through various stages of arguing, violence, struggle and times when I was utterly terrified for my own life and for his. He tried to shut himself in the kitchen and turn on the gas to kill himself that way, thankfully I was able to push in, open the windows and turn it off before he killed us all in an explosion.

Later he had the air rifle we'd bought years previous for fun and was threatening to shoot himself or me if I didn't do what he asked. I called the police while barricading myself in a bathroom and though he got me to put the phone down insantly they rang back, and I had to talk to them. I lied and said I'd had a panic attack, hoping they would accept that and he would be pacified enough to leave me alone. They sent a car and a couple of officers anyway to get a report, I hid the gun and he tried to hide himself in a cupboard. They came and found him, while he made a half arsed excuse about being in the cupboard to get paint for decorating. We gave them the story seperately and they left, he had to agree to leave me alone or I'd call them back.

He went quite for an hour or so, and I got worried why I could hear nothing from him so I went upstairs. I found him paraletically drunk having kept on drinking over a litre of whiskey on an empty stomach, and terrified I called paramedics. They came out and tried to help him, getting him to sit up and letting him vomit whiskey back up into a bucket (I can't even stand the smell of it now after that night) but he was swearing at them, being verbally abusive and asking to see me. I had been taken downstairs, and was sobbing over a cup of tea waiting to see what happened.

The ambulance crew were afraid to go near him, so they called the police. 2 or 3 cars turned up, including the officers who'd been there earlier. They advised me to pack up my essential belongings and move out in the morning. A short while later I was moved to another room out of the way so they could get him out of the house and into the ambulance. I was so relieved he was out I practically collapsed on the bed. I must've fallen asleep after a while because at 3am I was woken by the hospital calling ot say he was ok and could someone pick him up. Well, I didn't have a car so I couldn't do it. I gave them his father's number to call instead and sent a text message to my boss. I didn't know what else to do but I knew I wouldn't be able to work the next day. Unfortunately they didn't listen to me or try to understand I'd been through the worst night of my life and had to move out, and they called me in the morning to berate me for letting them know in such a manner.

By 7 or 8am I was woken by his father bringing him in, both of them were angry and his father refused to listen to me trying to tell him how much misery his son had put me through and instead kept trying to reconcile us. I believe he just wanted to avoid the burden of his suicidally depressed offspring and would rather I was the sole live in carer putting up with his crap for a few more years. Well, I agreed only to stay in the house that day because I had to pack a few things and contact my mother to see if I could go and stay there. She picked me up in the evening after work, and after what had probably been the longest day of my life babysitting the man I'd just dumped for trying to hurt himself and me. I spent hours cleaning up the broken glass coffee table, light fittings, and other things that had been broken in the various struggles overnight. I guess after that I learned my lesson about how violent men could be once again even if they seemed trustworthy at first.

Now I still find it a little difficult to trust my boyfriend. He's younger, shorter, and physically weaker than me, our mutual friends have assured me he's a complete pacifist and I never have to worry about him being anything like my ex was or hurting me that way, but for some reason I still can't feel at ease completely. We don't argue, but any time we don't agree or he disagrees with someone else or argues with another person I see elements that terrify me and make me want to run away, even though I know it's perfectly natural for people to argue sometimes.

Another incident that has made me weary was with my second boyfriend when I was 17.I was ill, he had just dumped me on the way home from the pub(he was drunk, I was sober and at the time teetotal) but I was in a town far from home supposed to be catching the train back in the morning. After he ended our relationship on the grounds of my psychological problems at the time, even knowing my past which I had foolishly entrusted him with, he asked me if we could have sex "one last time" before I went. I remember clear as day wanting so much to please him even though we'd just split up, feeling so ill I could barely walk into his room, but submitting to his request for sex. I cried through the whole thing, though he kept asking if I was ok I just said yes, wanting him to finish as quickly as possible so I could cry myself to sleep with the illness, the heartbreak and the shame. I should have said no, but I just couldn't. Even though he had just hurt me, we'd broken up, and I was so ill I could barely think straight I couldn't deny him from using me for his pleasure. I guess at the time it was all I felt I was worth, or like I owed him something for being so insane he didn't want to be with me.

I think the one thing I should tell survivors from all of my experiences is that if someone hurts you they do not deserve your affection. It's they're fault they are hurting you and not yours, you shouldn't suffer for a single moment at the hands of someone who claims to love you. Even if they are mentally disturbed, they should be sent to get help and if they cannot stop hurting you or themselves either they or you need to go away and be safe. You always have the right to refuse someone's sexual advances, you don't owe anyone anything in that way and your needs can come first even if it feels selfish. I might have trouble believing all that myself, but it makes more sense to advise others to trust the common sense that we all lack sometimes in the haze of emotions.

Long Term Issues and Negative Effects of Abuse

I've had a lot of long term psychological issues as a result of the abuse I suffered as a child, some of which have proven very problematic in my life. These below are the ones I have found to have the biggest impact on me over the years.

Physical Strength

I'm overly physically competitive, and can't accept my own weakness and have become violent when told I am weak. I spent the whole of a summer in London when I was 17, travelling there to see a boyfriend at the time, but spending most of my days while he was at work going around the city with a friend. He was taller and stronger then me, but I always felt the need to try and beat him, and we spent many a sunny day in london fighting with each other. In the streets, in the parks, wherever we felt like we would go and try and beat the crap out of each other. We never really meant to hurt each other, and both enjoyed a good laugh, but the serious side of it was that I could not accept being weaker than anyone, to the point that I once painfully and potentially seriously injured my foot. I went to kick, but the top of my foot connected with his elbow instead. I found it difficult to walk for a few weeks but refused to see a doctor or let my family see that I was in pain for fear of questioning. I got a rush from the combat, the physical exertion, and the pain seemed like nothing compared to what I felt inside. Even since then, when there's something physically competitive, even a tickling playfight with my boyfriend I come dangerously close to taking it too far.

There was another time, with an ex boyfriend, and despite saying he forgave me he never let me forget that it happened. Funny thing is I don't actually remember the event, just him and other people telling me it had happened and that as I calmed from that state my memory faded while they were talking to me. I was upset, and he had called me weak, so apparently we got in a scuffle where I pinned him to the wall by his throat with a bit more pressure than was neccessary to make my point, then walked off punching his friend who was in my way. I returned apparently after hitting a wall in the school bathroom (I was still in 6th form at the time) with a knuckle bleeding from the impact. We then walked home, and I calmed down, and the first part I actually remember is being halfway down the road talking and not being able to remember what had happened in the 20minutes previous. He held that one incident against me for all the years I was with him.

Body Image

Another issue I've had is not being able to accept my body. There were some episodes when the memories first resurfaced where I became extremely distressed at home at night, and couldn't stand to see any part of my own bare skin, so dressed myseld head to toe including gloves before I could consider sleeping. Though not as extreme now I still have a severe dislike of my body, and feel myself repulsed by looking at any part of it. Whether it's my weight which nobody else can seem to see is obviously a problem, or just the scars I made for myself, or the stretchmarks from where I grew through puberty (on my hips, thighs, breasts and arms), I pick out every flaw whenever I see myself and honestly wonder how I ever managed to find a boyfriend.

Food

Eating is another prominent problem that right now is causing me more issues. Some days or weeks I find myself constantly eating, binging on sweet foods or snacking when I'm so full I can barely eat another bite. then other times I go through the day with nothing and don't even realise. Yesterday, for example, I realised at 3pm I'd only had a glass of milk in the morning and forced myself to make and eat pancakes, it kept me busy for a while I guess. Today I had 3 sausages and 2 toasted waffled at....about midday? I forced that down and haven't been bothered at all since apart from a pint of milk and some orange juice. I'd like to think I'd lose some weight sometime but it fluctuates up to a stone every week or so, anything I lose goes right back on when I inevitably binge again. I'd probably be anorexic if it wasn't for the damn food cravings those days.

Sex

I guess it's obvious someone who has been abused will have sexual problems, and I feel I've been from one end of the spectrum to the other. As a teenager I was obsessed with sex and found myeslf easily aroused, which produced confusing feelings of guilt and shame which I've now learnt are more natural for someone with negative childhood experiences. My few relationships at 16 were highly sexually charged and I found one of my boyfriends had far less interest in it than I did which became frustrating. I didn't feel the need to cheat on him but I found it difficult to understand how a man, who I'd believed were always interested in sex (particularly in teen years), would not want to do it at every available opportunity. I ended up in relationships doing things which I found physically and sexually uncomfortable, because I was so eager to please my partner, putting their wants and needs before my own.

To this day I still have problems sexually. My last boyfriend was partcularly....explicit with several fantasies and fetishes which I explored partly through my own desires and partly through my wish to please him. Unfortunately this has left me yet more damage by exploring feelings and arousals I feel a lot of guilt over because they are so close to the abusive experiences of my past. Now I am with a caring and in every way amazing man who I would like to be comfortable with and enjoy sexual experiences and fetishes but I can't bring myself to cope with anything other than basic sex.

I find male genitalia to be unattractive, and though I have bisexual urges I have never felt close enough to many women to make a relationship work, and still find myself attracted to men despite their more repulsive parts. In the bedroom this translates to difficulties looking at my partner naked, and can't even begin to consider the prospect of touching him there. As I have not yet been able to speak openly to my current boyfriend about my troubled past I'm worried it may cause difficulties between us in the long run. But, for now, he is sexually undemanding, and though we do have a fairly good sex life I don't feel pressured and I no longer feel the need to constantly have sex for the sake of it. My sexual appetite does suffer ups and downs but I'm not too worried by this now as I was when I was younger.

Fear of Men

Unfortunately I also have a longstanding fear of men. Not all men though, as I actually feel happier in the company of men because I get along witht hem better and have more in common with most then I do with most women, but I am intimidated easily by older men or particularly taller men. Luckily, I'm fairly tall anyway for a lady (5' 10" roughly) so if I put heels on there are few men actually taller than me, but I'm still uneasy. I feel I mistrust men's motives and often find myself wondering about them sexually which I find disturbing and unwelcome and I don't know why such thoughts cross my mind. I even distrust the male members of my family who I know should be safe and always have been and find this even more distressing when I think about the possibility of them abusing me as my brother did or considering they might think of me sexually. Socialising and dating have been difficult in this respect, as I've only been in very few relationships, all of which have been with younger men. I feel the most comfortable and safe with my current boyfriend, a year younger and an inch or so shorter than me. Maybe it doesn't seem like a big problem but maybe it led me towards making bad choices.

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There have been other effects, long lasting from the abuse and its impact on me as a person, but those above are probably the most profound, apart from the obvious depression and emotional difficulties mentioned previously of course.

The Effect on the Mind - Resurfacing Memories After Repression

The mind can be our greatest ally, and our greatest enemy also. Some survivors automatically repress the memory of their experiences as a way of coping, by believing they never happened we are able to move on and go forwards with our lives. Unfortunately we can only bury memories for so long before they resurface.

It all started really when I was 16. I'd had a couple of years of blissfully repressed memory, not really affecting me in the slightest, but then I began to have some severe problems. I was studying for my A levels when I started suffering from depression. The condition quickly worsened and I started self harming and having episodes of amnesic dissociation. Basically, I would wake up, or just come to my senses, and realise I had a black spot in my memory. This would often turn out to have incorporated a violent or destructive outburst. I remember once waking up in my room one morning surrounded by ripped up paper of an essay I was supposed to be handing in, with cuts on my ankles and still fully clothed. I'd have no memory of falling asleep, no recollection of how things were damaged or of hurting myself. Sometimes I'd just find bruises or cuts and have absolutely no clue how or when they'd happened.

At the time, I was put on anti-depressants and sent to appointments with both a psychiatrist and a psychologist. The psychiatrist mainly just prescribed the anti depressants, and we had to change them several times because of their side effects. Eventually he gave up on them entirely because only the last one I just began responding to had the side effect of making me bruise extremely easily, which is a risky sign, and I was too young to be tried on any other drugs at the time. He once spoke about wanting to put me into hospital for observation and further evaluation, but decided against it purely because I was due to take my exams soon. I've sometimes wondered what would have happened if I had gone into hospital care back then, would it have really helped?

The psychologist was always giving me tests, multiple choice or questionnaires to find out what was going wrong in my mind. This was how we discovered the dissociation was a part of the problem. The thing neither of them evre found out was the memories that were troubling me. I actually recall few details of my visits there because I was so distressed when I went that I found myself having panic attacks. I would sit there in the chair shaking and sometimes crying a little, not saying much unless asked a question. I didn't make their jobs easy but I am unsure if they really noticed what was going on. I never spoke up about the abuse because I was still so terrified, and wanted to get better but couldn't even bear to go near the building in the end. I recall the last visit to the psychologist he started pressuring me with questions about abuse specifically, I think at that point he had figured it out but I was far too scared by the pressure in the way he was asking that I clammed up completely and didn't go back after that.

For a couple of weeks after I was sent to group therapy for people with emotional problems, because I said I often didn't know what I was actually feeling. Unfortunately I panicked more, I was 16 in a group full of people old enough to be my parents being patronised by the people running the group giving me forms with lots of words describing emotions. I knew what they were, I just couldn't tell how I was feeling inside.

I was also assaulted around that time, a couple of girls at a fair decided they didn't like the way I dressed so they got me in a headlock and twisted my head around, ripping all of my neck muscles, then tore out a lot of my hair and kicked me, kneeing me in the face a fair few times as well. Although the injuries didn't come out for a few days, I spent months in a neckbrace in agony trying to exercise my neck to rebuild the muscles and suffered another devastating blow to my already shattered confidence, which made it virtually impossible to consider continuing therapy.

Another problem I had back then was the flashbacks. I know other survivors are probably familiar with this experience, the vivid reliving of traumatic memories which flood back almost without warning. Because the memories had been repressed and in effect forgotten for so long I found it particularly troubling to go through it all again in my head. A lot of these episodes were accompanied by the amnesia again, I know this because people I was with at the time had since told me what happened to help fill in the gaps. I still don't remember but I have no reason not to believe them. Apparently one time I thought my boyfriend at the time was my abuser during a flashback, which was traumatising for him as well as me. I can't imagine what it must be like to try and deal with someone who is reliving the past and thinks you are trying to hurt them...

Emotionally I was a yoyo, I found myself bouncing backward and forward between happiness and extreme depression, often without reason. My moods would switch like a light in the space of anything from a few minutes to sometimes weeks at a time in one state of mind. It was impossible to control or describe, but I can only assume it is yet another effect of the repressed memory resurfacing.

In the end, all of these issues resulted in the dissolving of my first real relationship when my boyfriend could not support me, my next boyfriend leaving me because he couldn't cope with me "being crazy" and my academic results plummetting, leaving me to abandon my dreams of going to university and acheiving highly and settle for whatever crap job I could get.

Introduction

Hi. I'm a victim. I was emotionally, physically and sexually abused as a child. Now I'm older and still alive, I guess that makes me a "Survivor" as so many describe it. I'm remaining anonymous, because I wish to protect those who do not know and who it would hurt to find out the darkness I've hidden inside for many years. What I can tell you is that I am 22 years old, female, and live in the UK. I was abused by my half brother from when I was about 9 until I was 14. These are my memories, this is my story. Please be aware that you may find elements of this blog distressing, do not continue to read if you feel overwhelmed by your own feelings or memories.

This is where the healing begins then, or so I've read. I'll admit, I'm sceptical, but I no longer have a choice in seeking help because these problems are beginning to take over my life. In order to help others in their journeys of healing and self discovery, I have chosen to write a blog about my experiences as I learn how to deal with the issues I am having.

I may write regularly, or I may write a huge load in one day then remain silent for a week or so. I'm not really sure yet, because this is only the beginning of something much bigger for me. Please contact me if you would like to discuss anything on this blog, or just want to talk to someone who shares a familiar burden.

Thankyou.

A Survivor.