Shame around Sexual Abuse.

I've been debating whether I should write about my experiences of sexual abuse in a way that feels shameful to me. I suppose I want to use my words to work through my shame and also help others with similar experiences to not feel so alone. For many years I've felt like the only person to feel these reactions to abuse. It's certainly not spoken about and it's something that feels too terrifying to even write down. But feel the fear and do it anyway, right?

After a discussion with my current psychologist I feel that I need to explore this in more depth in order to move forward in my understanding. Simply hearing her say this is a normal reaction to trauma was a relief; but I'm not saying the shame has reduced all that much. Opening up a conversation, even with an experienced professional, is hard and sharing my personal experiences with the world via a public medium is even harder. However, I created this blog with the sole purpose of breaking the silence and challenging stigma around mental health. And this my friends has a lot of stigma.

I enjoyed sex with my father.

There I said it. And to those of you who haven't experienced childhood abuse or abuse by a loved one, this sounds probably shocking and very wrong, am I right? It's okay to admit that you're currently thinking I'm insane and this is the real reason I've been in hospital for 8 months. That's okay. But before you stop reading or begin judging my interpretation of abuse, I want you to continue to read on.

So here are the facts:

Experiencing an Orgasm is a biological response to repeated stimuli. Anyone who has had sex knows that stimuli from a partner often feels good if not euphoric. But you need to understand it can be an involuntary physiological reaction over which the survivor has NO control. And if you're being abused by someone who loves you and who you love back, you will have some sort of reaction. I want to make the next sentence VERY clear. Having an orgasm during sexual abuse does not mean that the victim/survivor wanted to be raped and it doesn't mean that they should feel ashamed for "enjoying" it. In fact biology says that it's more than normal to enjoy sexual contact.

However, this is about my father. And as much as I hate every abusive contact I've ever had with him I cannot for one second deny I wanted it. I wanted it as a child more so than an adult because at 10 years old I was conditioned to want it because sex equated to love. And isn't that one of the main needs children thrive upon? So is it any wonder why the little girl inside of me is desperate for that contact to feel loved? Should she feel ashamed about this? The silence is painful for her and until this week she was unable to even say the words on paper.

A child weaned on poison begins to consider harm a comfort. They begin to associate love with abuse. And anything that doesn't fit into this belief? Well that's even harder to make sense of. How can someone love me and not want to abuse me? Sometimes in my flat I'd get very drunk, which happened to be a regular occurrence for a very long time, and I wanted my father in my bed. Yes, the man who has ruined my life and the same man making me feel ashamed of myself right now. Him. It makes me hate him for loving him. And when he's touched my hand in the past I've had mixed signals making me unsure as to whether I should flinch or increase my grip. He used to make me so very happy which always turned back to feeling sad. And then my internal anger would increase leading to the desperate need to punish myself for feeling this way. But I could never make him love me in the way most fathers love their daughters. Nobody can force that kind of love and it's not anyone's fault. It just happens.

When I sat in that room on Thursday I felt my face become hot and I couldn't look my psychologist in the eye. I feared she'd ask me to leave and say I'm completely abnormal. I was on the edge of my chair ready to bolt from the room if she uttered the words "I can't help you". But she sat and she listened to me and didn't look away. She was warm and compassionate; she explained the facts and how common this is. I expressed just how much I struggle to comprehend that more survivors have felt this shame. This inability to talk about it when it is so very common. Maybe people will now.

I hope so.

Shame is something we all avoid in one way or another. We cover it up and push it away with other emotions and unhelpful behaviours. The problem is that these only lead us straight back to even more feelings of shame. Over time this shame eats away at us until we are completely consumed by it. To all the survivors out there, I'm going to tell you to not feel ashamed if you feel this way which I know makes me sound like a hypocrite. I want you to know it's normal and it's nothing to shy away from. Speak out and maybe, just maybe, we won't live with shame associated with experiencing enjoyment from something that "should" be traumatic and terrifying. Enjoying it doesn't take away the criminal offence or the trauma. It doesn't make your experience any less horrific. It's a reaction. And it's common and normal. You are not a freak; you are a survivor.

Living with Trauma.

Let me tell you what it’s like living with trauma. Sure you could guess, read a book, and even assume what it’s like, but that isn’t ‘real’ life. I’m not a page in a textbook and I certainly don’t fit into a neat little box. They don’t tell you that, although significant, the act of Rape is only the beginning. That in the grand scheme of things the afterwards is much more significant than the during. Admittedly being raped is horrific and violating but it doesn’t end when he goes away. It doesn’t end when you’re lying on the ground bleeding. In fact, it never ends. Because that event has a domino effect upon everything that happens next in your life. It impacts upon your grades at school, your work, your relationships, your self esteem, and it can even lead you to commit suicide. It’s not just about rape; it’s about everything and anything after it.

I’ve been close to death many of times in my life. Many times through him but most by my own hands. It’s usually when I feel invisible, like I’ve vanished. By this I don’t mean everyone has left me. Not at all. I mean I’ve left me. I’ve walked further from myself and become this body which feels so foreign. A scarred and violated and pale body that flinches at any touch. This body that holds no laugher but no tears either. Empty. Yes, that's the best word to describe it. It’s like I don’t feel anything at all and therefore there is no reason to continue living. You have to feel something to connect with someone and without connections you die more and more inside. I know this because at school the kids treated me like dirt on their expensive shoes. They ignored me. I was invisible and that killed me. Not physically but it killed parts of me that make me, well, myself. I started losing myself when I was nine years old, when the abuse started, and every year I lost another chunk rather than gaining a new element of Sophie. Who the hell was this girl anyway? I don’t even think she was ever real; just a mismatch of a person people decided she was. But the parts didn’t fit right so I never really felt like a complete person. How could I? Nothing made sense because virtually every person saw me differently.

I’ve not always been unlucky in terms of finding people who care. Maybe my problem isn’t this at all, it’s more that I never truly believe I deserve them and therefore I find ways to make them hate me and leave. I push and pull them and wear them down to almost nothing. I do it to prove to myself they either don’t care or I’m a horrible person; usually it’s both. Men have made me feel loved, safe, and visible. But these relationships never last. People fall for me quickly and I don’t know why this is, but they do. The problem is that they do it so fast that I feel the need to tear myself down to make them not like me at all. It’s comfortable for men to dislike me or for me to have to earn their love. What’s not is for a man to simply love me. I see a person and I can recognise that they are kind, good, and decent. I might have been with a fair few bad choices but I know a good man when I meet one. This is why I get scared; because they will end up leaving. With the bad guys I know what they want and how to make them stay. With the good ones? I only know how to screw it up and force them to walk away. I haven’t mastered reversing this.

The impact upon my interpersonal relationships has been huge. I fear being abused but it’s all I know so I end up gravitating towards it. I don’t know how to allow someone to love me and for me to feel like I’m worthy of this love. Do I deserve to be cared about? Am I all that important? My head says no and that means I only accept the love I think I deserve which isn’t a lot. People get close and I don’t know when they will leave me; it’s unpredictable. That’s why I find it easier to be alone. But then being alone comes with it’s own problems and feeds the thoughts around deserving to be alone forever. I just have considerable amounts of evidence that most people leave. I get too much for them; I have tonnes of baggage. Do you really want to be handling all this? Some say they will and then it gets too much. Friends, boyfriends, and even professionals back away and then it’s reinforced all over again. Don’t get me wrong, I will never judge or despise people who decide to leave, I know I am tough to handle especially now. But it is lonely and it is always terrifying being left or anticipating someone leaving.