You Took a Vital Piece of Me, and I Let You.

Dear my Abuser,

This letter is the hardest letter I have ever had to write. I’ve stared at my glaring laptop screen for many hours now trying to force the words out of my head. The irony is that this started because you forced my silence and left threats dangling in the suffocating air. Writing this feels like I’m breaking my code of silence and chancing many people’s lives. You know, the lives you gave me responsibility for day in and day out for many years. I still feel an overwhelming responsibility to keep my loved ones safe from you. Sometimes I do wonder if they were just terrifying threats rather than intentions. And telling a 10 year old girl to have sex with you or you’d kill her mother or sister, was a perfect plan to keep her silence and use her little body. Congratulations because I guess it worked and you got everything you wanted and more. You won.

Or did you? Because here I am and I’m still alive and I’ve survived too many deadly situations. Some at the hands of yourself but many others from my bare hands. Swallowing tablet after tablet to either sleep or kill myself escalated to over a hundred overdoses. Somehow I am physically managing. Sure I have stomach ulcers and a bad liver function, but I could be a lot worse. I could be 6 feet under. It’s horrible sometimes because I do get fleeting thoughts of wanting to die. I suppose when you are hit with flashback after flashback every single day it starts to make you question what’s the point. Feeling your hands straggling me or your fingers dancing along my ribs at anytime and anywhere is terrifying. Always being on high alert is exhausting and my poor heart must beat so incredibly fast I do worry it will give out on me. I have many scars and the one I despise the most is my very first one. I didn’t begin self harming off my own back and you know the reason why I started to cut. It was my punishment, remember? You taught me it and I excelled to the point that my left arm is now covered in scars. Reminders of my failings; when I told you no, not tonight. But even then you still abused me. My actions to stop you meant I was forced to fulfil your needs and then take my punishment after.

I feel sorry for the little girl who’s round face was surrounded by golden ringlets. The girl who loved books and losing herself in stories. She stayed up most nights and read under her dolphin covered duvet. I’ve still got that flashlight. She had so much potential to be a beautiful and confident young woman. Instead she was forced by yourself to become a woman at 10 years old. How can anyone comprehend this? Can you? You must have seen me as something other than who I was. You turned me into a terrified ghost of a child. At school I stayed silent because talking to the grown up people was too hard. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about our special time on Saturdays. So maybe I became mute and maybe that was incredibly stupid looking back. Hindsight hurts sometimes but then I try and put myself in her shoes and they are a little small on me now, but I know she was too afraid to talk. It wasn’t her responsibility to tell someone. And so through the years she lost a fair bit of weight but she did developed breasts and curves much to your disgust. I think Anorexia came about because you didn’t find me attractive as a woman. You wanted me like the 10 year old you specifically chose all those years ago. The problem is that Anorexia is incredibly dangerous and isolating. It made me suicidal from very start and eventually I stopped eating completely until medical professionals intervened. But anything to please you and anything to keep my family safe. I honestly would have died if it would have protected them. Hand on heart. 

Because of you I have struggled to form relationships and it’s still a huge issue for me. Naturally trauma gets much worse when you are intimate with someone. The flashbacks increase and the nightmares become more vivid too. Your actions lead me to associate pain and terror with sex and there always has to be a catch. No one can just like me for who I am because there has to be conditions. Having this belief means I’ve had many failed relationships since the abuse started. As soon as I get close to someone it’s a risk. This big uncontrollable risk because how do I know they won’t hurt me? You taught me that I have to please others and it’s selfish and shameful to even mention my needs. The man is dominant and anything he wants, he will get. End of story. But I’ve realised that not every man is like you. Not every man will force me to do things I don’t feel comfortable with. Not every man will sleep with me and then push me away until they want sex again. It’s going to take a lot of therapy to banish the beliefs I formed during the abuse. I don’t think I’ll ever have a relationship where I will feel completely comfortable. You ruined that for me, by the way. It makes me think life would be better alone or in fact 6 feet under. Relationships, even with friends, are too difficult at times and I struggle immensely to stay grounded. Life is difficult when you believe everyone wants to hurt you. Somedays I don’t leave my flat because I can’t force myself to take that risk. I end lying to those around me saying I’m ‘fine’ or I’m out when actually I’m in my bed hiding under my duvet and having multiple panic attacks. You see, talking about abuse to anyone can make the other person feel a bit awkward at times. I know people mean well but sometimes it’s hard for them to help because luckily they’ve never had a shared experience. 

I get incredibly jealous of my friends sometimes because I want my childhood, the one I was supposed to have. I want to not be this freak who hides from the world and spaces out. I hate being who I am. I don’t trust easily and I have this push-pull nature with relationships. As soon as think someone is leaving I push them well away because I can’t handle rejection or abandonment. You have made me into a scared young adult who is incredibly behind in life. I will probably need years of therapy now because you chose me rather than my sisters. What did I do wrong? Why did you choose me? And these questions circle my head a lot and I doubt I’ll ever get answers. All I know is that you had three daughters and you chose me. One in three. And reporting you to the police took guts because breaking a silence so strong was a risk. Telling people what you did to me was a gamble. And then losing my whole family the minute you were arrested absolutely destroyed me. They all chose to listen to your pretty lies and many would yell at me because I had ruined your life. I’m sorry about that. But good news for you, you got off without court. Apparently my failing mental health and being trapped in an Eating Disorder Unit was enough to ignore my 3 hour interview detailing the abuse in immense detail. The mental Health that you created saved you from years behind bars. I was too fragile to attend court and the case was dropped. You’re a free man and I feel incredibly invalidated. I feel terrified of you. I lost everyone for nothing. No justice. No calm. No anything. Really all I got was a stay in a refuge and then homeless accommodation.

I want to hate you but honestly I love you. You’re family. I feel kind of protective of you even though you completely failed to protect me. I hate what you did to me. I didn’t enjoy your games and the way you always criticised the person I was growing to be. You made comments about my body and that I needed to lose weight constantly. Maybe that triggered Anorexia. You always said you wanted me to stay small and dainty; like a rag doll. When I feel you on me I wish I could scrub my skin and bleed you off my body. But I’ve tried this, and all I’m left with is soreness and those same fingerprints in-between my thighs. I tried starving myself and that only made me completely numb for a while. I hate that you made me despise myself to the point that I cry everyday when I look in the mirror. All I see is my eyes and how sad they always look. Something died inside me when you broke my body. Something just lingers behind my eyes almost like I want to cry but no tears come. Sometimes I wish I could get it over with and kill myself already. End the ongoing abuse I experience in the form of flashbacks. I scream sometimes in the night because I’m kicking you and biting you to try and get you off me. I used to lie incredibly still when I was a little girl. I thought that’s what daddy’s do so I let you do everything you wanted to do to me. But in my dreams I try my best to fight like I wish I had done in the past. I wake up completely disorientated and scared out of my skin. I check everywhere for you. And sometimes I can still smell your cologne. That’s just how powerful flashbacks can be for me. Almost like you’re still abusing me even when you’re gone.

You took a vital piece of me, and I let you.

Sophie-Al 

Is Today a Good Day to Die?

I only ask because I suppose I am hit with this very question each time I wake up. That’s how life can be when your mind is buried deep in trauma. I don’t think my brain likes working like healthy people’s brains do. It feels backwards and almost the complete opposite.

How can a body physically want to live and coexist with mind so focused upon dying? You end up in the middle ground flitting between both scenarios. Embracing life one day and wishing it away the next. It’s exhausting being me. I’m not quite sure how anyone could survive my existence, but I do. Being so divided in parts is hard to juggle. Somedays I don’t want to leave my flat because the chaos inside my head is far too great and could cause havoc outside. So I lie in bed and I feel so completely alone. I know I’m not. I have a lot of friends around me. People do care. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like it’s enough but it should. I get so angry because things could be much worse for me. I’m no longer living in a refuge. I have my own flat and I have structure to the majority of my days. Why isn’t this enough to fight those dark thoughts that torture me at night? Maybe it’s me. Or maybe it’s what happened to 10 year old me.

I saw my nurse this week and we spoke about abandonment and losing my mother. It hit a nerve I suppose. And I sat there and looked at the floor and I tried so very hard to say something. Anything. But my mouth wouldn’t work and the more scared I became the more I cemented my lips shut. Because talking is always a risk but talking when you feel attacked and not heard is near impossible. Something bad was already happening so I couldn’t have spoken. Why didn’t she see me? She kept saying to look in my bag and I didn’t want to. She kept asking what was happening. “Sophie calm down and talk about what triggered it”. But honestly Sophie heard the trigger and then she was gone. I didn’t know what had happened. And then I felt so small. I wanted to hide away with Rabbit, our favourite teddy. Hide and never come back. 

I find seeing doctors and nurses incredibly difficult. They explain people away as illnesses and they don’t tend to spend much time on the reason behind it all. Ask me what happened to me, not what’s wrong with me. And if you do, you can then build upon the foundations broken many years ago. Being seen as an illness triggers me inside. When I was growing up, in that house, there was no such thing being unwell unless you could measure it and visibly see it. Meaning my mum always needed to know the diagnosis to provide the care. And this creates a difficult tug of war internally. Because I don’t want to have to overdose to get the care I am desperate for. I don’t want to starve myself. I don’t want that. But what if that’s the conditions? I’m used to having to be physically poorly in order for my mum to care about me. It was the only way. And the problem with learned behaviour is that the more you age the harder it is to argue with that mentality. People can respond quickly to physical discomfort but mental pain makes many feel awkward. I self harm sometimes just to bridge that gap so that people can care for the harm I’ve caused and possibly help the metal torture lurking in the shadows. Sometimes I hurt myself subconsciously because a part of me is desperate for my mother to care. She never will but the hope is naively still there.

I stay up late most nights under many covers trying to will my eyes closed. I’m too scared to close them for longer than a blink. My hands grip the blankets closer and I try to feel comforted. Trying to cover myself up because I am so ashamed of my whole body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I feel like there is this blackness that has grown and expanded to fit securely over my skin and I can’t risk this poisoning the people I love. The words still echo through my head. You’re a liar. No one will ever believe you. We don’t care about you. 

My need to feel wanted and loved is greater than anything I’ve ever experienced before. My parents should love me but instead they hate me and I have tried so very hard to change their mind. I did everything right and I tried to be everything they wanted me to be, but their expectations changed too frequently. No sooner had I done one thing, another popped up and I tried my hardest to cover all bases. The problem is that when you have to be someone completely different to who you are, it’s hard to keep that act up. It also kills you because you know deep down you will never be her and therefore your efforts are futile. It didn’t mean I gave up though. I tried to, but each time I felt even worse. At least if I kept trying I was still holding a hope for more. More love. More respect. Just more.

There has to be more, right? Because I feel so very alone sometimes and at night the dark thoughts breed my paranoia. They breed those voices that say I’ll never be good enough and I’ll never be emotionally stable. Is it time yet? Time to let it go. Sometimes holding onto something hurts more than actually letting it go. Do I just say goodbye to a little girl’s dream for her parents to love her? Do I walk away and just put hands up? Give up. Enough now. No more talking. No more professionals. No more people saying we lied. Just no more. I don’t want to talk about the abuse ever again. I want to destroy every little mark on my body. Every scar he caused. I want it over now. I must accept that I deserved it. End of story.

But it will never be over. That’s the worst part about trauma. I might want it gone and do my best to erase it but there isn’t an eraser big enough to rub away what he did to me. 14 years of it. Too many memories to destroy. It’s not fair and this injustice takes me right back to the question I asked at the start. Is today a good day to die?

If anything this whole situation has made realise that I don’t want to be this person anymore. I want to put good into the world because I have tried taking care from multiple people and it has never been enough. I’ve learned that it’s not what you take from the world that’s important, it’s what you leave. I think this very sentence sums up what I aim to do. And dying will mean he won. It will make me a victim and not the survivor I know I can be. I might stumble and I might end up back in hospital, but it’s all part of the journey. Trauma likes to pull you back just when things are picking up. It’s sneaky like that. But with time and compassion I will be able to pick up the broken pieces and make something beautiful out of them.

One thing I’ve learned from being in hospital numerous times, is that you can’t know whats going to happen. I might kill myself tomorrow or next week. Or never. No one can stop someone from dying. You can’t stop the inner torment suicidal people feel day after day. You can support them and listen to them. They are no different from you and I. They are just a little stuck on this long path of recovery. They need your help and your love. So please don’t judge a person for wanting to die. Don’t guilt trip them and list all the wonderful things they have in their lives. They know about those things. Trust me, they do. But sometimes those wonderful things are not enough. It’s not their fault. It’s not your fault either. It’s just the way it is. 

Is today a good day to die?

Have a Lonely Christmas and a Terrifying New Year.

Over the past few weeks it has really shocked me to discover how sparse the support from Mental Health services is over the festive period. Suicide rates peak during this time but for some reason the professionals, that are there to provide support, dissipate and the leftovers who are in their place are simply unable to adequately support patients. It’s a complete train-wreck and something needs to change because there are too many vulnerable people suffering when really all they need is human to human contact. To connect with someone and feel heard and supported. It’s not rocket science and it’s definitely not something you need a degree in nursing to achieve. 

I was assaulted on Christmas Eve and I took myself to A&E on Christmas Day after being in intense pain all night and emotionally feeling very fragile. This was my first Christmas without my family and also not being hospital. It was something I tried hard to discuss with my team to which they told me to plan the day myself. But what if I have nothing to do? I don’t have a family and they know this fact because they were there when I lost them. I didn’t plan and although I went to church in the morning, I spent my Christmas in hospital. I can’t fault the doctors and nurses I saw because they were sympathetic and really listened to me even when I needed more time to discuss challenging topics. They even got a female nurse to come in with the doctor so that I felt safer during the examination. 

After having multiple X-rays and blood tests I was told I had broken my ribs but I had no other ailments. The doctor asked if I wanted to see the Crisis Team and I didn’t at first but eventually I agreed because he didn’t want me to go home without support. A female Crisis worker saw me and said that she was going off shift soon and that she would send a colleague along after 8pm to do a complete assessment. She also said that they would be able to offer a package of support. I felt heard and I was hopeful that finally I wouldn’t have to struggle through this period alone. I waited until 9pm and then this man turns up and he tells me to go into a room with him. I go and he closed the door and locked it. I freak out and panic and I tell him to unlock the door and get a female to sit with us. He grumbles but does as I say and then a female crisis worker walks in. I sit uncomfortably at first and start to shake because I want to leave.

He begins by asking very inappropriate questions about who had assaulted me and he neglects to ask about my mental health. I don’t say a word because I feel interrogated and the woman then asks me what I did straight after the assault. I respond saying that it doesn’t matter and I get very snappy with them both. Eventually he asks if I have any thoughts to hurt myself and I respond that I haven’t but I want to be unconscious. The woman laughs and says that I mean sleep but I say no. He says I mean sleep but, again, I say no. The woman then says to cheer up because the sales are on tomorrow. I couldn't care less about the sales. I tell her I want to go home and make myself unconscious. There’s a silence and the man says I can go in a minute. He then says he’s reporting the perpetrator to the police and I say I don’t want that. He replies saying it’s tough luck. Tough luck? The sympathy just isn’t there. The ability to talk to me as a human is not there. I feel so hopeless and I start to cry hysterically. They get up and as they leave the woman says she hopes I sleep well. I walk home alone at 11 o’clock that night in tears. I ring a Crisis worker at The Glade and she calms me down and books me in to have an examination that Wednesday. When I finally get home I look around and I'm reminded of my creativity and that I can't let one man destroy my safety.

The next morning I wake up to missed calls and a text from the police. I freak out and call The Glade again and they tell me to ring the Crisis Team. I speak to a woman who is jokey about the police ringing me and says not to stress about it. I get snappy and end the call. After a few hours I ring them back and tell another woman to ring the police and tell them to stick to the safeguarding agreement because they are not supposed to directly contact me. She says that she will go and do this, then ring me back within the hour. She does keep to her word and informs me that she’s told the police I will meet with them later that week to give a statement. I didn’t ask her to do that and my anger just reaches new heights. My ribs are killing me and my mental health is so unstable that the stress the Crisis Team are causing is not helping; it’s making it worse. 

On the Wednesday I speak to my CPN and she’s very jokey and upbeat which I feel isn’t helpful. She says she’s just doing a Safe and Well check and I respond saying I am neither safe or well. To this she says that technically I am and ticks the box. Apparently I don’t need Crisis support and I’m coping. I tell her about my experiences in A&E and she just says it was clumsy of the man on Christmas Day. It was far more than clumsy and I tell her this. She then asks me what she should write on my notes. I’ve always thought this is a nurse’s job, yes? She tells me to have a nice day and ends the call. I then go to The Glade and the nurse who is taking the samples asks about mental health support. I tell her what I told the man about my desire to be unconscious. She isn’t happy at all with the Crisis Team and also my CPN, so she decides that I need to be seen that day. Duty of care is now on her head because I’ve told her about my suicidal ideation. I inform her that Crisis didn’t react or offer anything to help me manage. She proceeds to ring my team and a worker, who I don’t know, tells her they are going to send someone to The Glade right now to assess me. Good. So we continue the examination and then the phone rings and it’s my team again and they lied. No one is bothering to come. They’ve passed the buck to Worcester because technically I am currently in Worcestershire. My team treat me like this? The people I am supposed to go to if I feel unsafe. The people who are supposed to care about me. Yes they have passed the buck because it’s nearly 5 o’clock and they want to go home. 

So the day unfolds and eventually an ambulance arrives at 8pm to take me to Worcester A&E. I outright refuse because I am from Hereford and so the Crisis Team in Worcester can’t offer anything so I’d transferred back to Hereford eventually anyway. The paramedics can’t take me to Hereford because I have to go to the nearest A&E so there is the long winded debate because I have capacity so that throws a spanner into the mix. The head of the Worcestershire Ambulance Service turns up and they all conference call the Crisis worker in Worcester A&E. As a compromise they decide to allow the ambulance to take me to Hereford. I am exhausted but hopeful that I will get home that night. I am very lucky to have had the support of someone who I refer to as my sister and also the support of a mother too. They got me through the hours stuck in a room waiting to find out where I would end up. I love them incredible amounts for this.

After arriving in Hereford A&E I am seen by Crisis fairly quickly, it’s the man again but this time with a different woman. They take me into a room and proceed to insinuate that I lied to the nurse at The Glade about wanting to end my life. Now, I’m not being funny but why would anyone lie about this? So I get snappy because I am so exhausted and these people lack empathy. I explain and point to the man about how I told him I wanted to be unconscious. She quickly says that I don’t anymore and basically tells me they can’t offer much at all. The man says I can get a sleeping tablet and they will organise an appointment with a Crisis worker from their team and my CPN the following day. I agree to this and get dropped off home by my friend. I take my sleeping tablet and just when I’m nice and comfy, I hear the door. I am livid and I go to the door in my pyjamas and it’s the Police. She tells me the Crisis Team had contacted her that night and asked for her to get a statement from me. I send her away and scream very loudly into a pillow.

The next morning I wait and wait for this appointment I was promised. I hear nothing until the afternoon when I ring my CPN. She starts by saying that it’s just another Safe and Well check and I am about to hit the roof with anger. She says Crisis rang her that morning but didn’t mention a meeting. She tells me that I don’t sound suicidal on the phone. I’m sorry but how does one sound suicidal? I really wish I could figure this out. She tells me that I must have acted distressed at The Glade to make the nurse contact the team. I tell her I was a little anxious but I was more stressed afterwards because no one was caring about my safety. She sighs and then says that general nurses tend to overreact to suicide. Overreact. How can you overreact to suicide? I give up at this point because I am clearly not getting the message across that I need help right now. She asks me what she should tell the police and I remind her that she was at the safeguarding meeting last week. She grumbles and says that there are too many services involved and acts like it’s my fault. She’s a care co-ordinator, it’s her job to manage all the services involved in my care. I’m very concerned that she’s not adequately trained to be able to support me and co-ordinate my care. Finally she tells me to rest up and put on a movie. Apparently this solves everything.

I ring Crisis because they promised this meeting and I am not coping with all this added stress. I speak to a woman first and she doesn’t know anything about me. She passes the phone to a man and he says he will ring me back in 10 minutes. After TWO hours I ring them back and ask to speak to the manager. I rant to her about how disgusted I am with her team and I tell her I will be putting in a formal complaint. She looks over my notes and informs me that my CPN told them I was Safe and Well before actually talking to me on the phone. My CPN also said she was reluctant to fit me into her schedule that day. So basically me being suicidal was a huge inconvenience to my CPN of whom I should feel safe with. I start crying because it’s absolutely shocking how terrible the care Mental Health services have provided these last few days. It hadn’t even been a week at this point. She tells me that she’s sorry I feel like this and that she will send two Crisis workers from the team to see me that night. About two hours later I get a call and it’s the man who said he would be 10 minutes after about 4 and half hours. He apologises and says the office just gets too busy and people forget. It felt forced and I am guessing the manager had a word with him. If he was a paramedic the person would have died. How is this treatment okay for mental health but not for physical health? Something needs to change.

What’s struck me the most over the last few weeks is how little is available to those who are vulnerable over the festive period. This is not adequate and this is definitely not right. Patients shouldn’t have to feel like they have to pause their struggles for the two weeks their teams are away. They shouldn’t have to cope and manage the holidays alone. Why are there no groups? Or face to face appointments? I wasn’t asking for a lot on Christmas Day. I was just simply wanting someone to talk to. To be able to ring someone if I felt alone or suicidal. I just wanted to feel heard and connected to someone. It’s not too much to ask.

This has been the hardest Christmas of my life. I’m proud of how brave I have been and how well I have advocated for myself on numerous occasions. I could have given up so many times but I haven’t because I am reminded of how much work needs to happen. I want to change services for better and I hope that this article is the start of something quite big. Let’s all rally together and make positive changes to a system that is long out of date. We can change things but we need to be alive to do this. So please reach out to each other over the next few days. You’ve got this and you will make it through this challenging time. I need you.