“No matter what happens in life, be good to people. Being
good to people is a wonderful legacy to leave behind.”
Taylor Swift
So, I woke up with this Taylor Swift song in my head (Never Grow Up) and with the therapeutic tools that I’ve learnt over the years, I decided to try ‘flooding’ myself with the song… but instead of playing that one song over and over, it ended up turning into a marathon of all my favourite Taylor Swift songs!! And in the process of my little appreciation concert(!), I found myself – as I’m sure we all do when listening to music – thinking about everything that the lyrics reminded me of. In doing this, I got to wondering whether the meaning of those songs for me, would be a surprise to others…
So, even if
you’ve been reading, I’m NOT Disordered for a while, you may not know that the
abuse I experienced when I was younger was a result of a very well-respected
man being given an opportunity.
The reasons you may not know is because for legal reasons I can’t name my abuser and this side of the abuse – the details of how it started – has always been difficult to describe without disclosing identifiable information about my abuser. I’m at a point now though, that if I don’t disclose his name, but can give sort of abstract details about him and people will know who I’m talking about, that says more about him than it should about the legalities of the situation. And to know that this is the case, is actually really helpful for my mental health.
So, in 2006,
I was attacked by a complete stranger on my way to school and at the time,
there was a person in my life who was in a position of trust and of power. And
after the attack happened and I began experiencing panic attacks, he suggested
that if I were to struggle during the day, I could be excused from my
commitments with the condition that when I do, I find him and stay with him
until I felt better.
I mean, in
all honesty, even just saying the idea/plan feels like it should’ve been kind
of obvious that it would all go wrong! And I think that the fact that thought
or worry didn’t even occur at the time, just illustrates the amount of trust,
respect, and appreciation I – and those around me who also supported the plan –
held towards him.
So, I think
that in a way, I wish he’d been horrible from the offset… because at least then
I would have either known or been better prepared that the abuse would happen
if I went along with his idea. Like, it wouldn’t have been a surprise and I
wouldn’t have felt so utterly stupid and naïve for not predicting it. And if I
were to feel more prepared, I may have created my own little plan about what I
would do if he did those things because instead, I was caught completely
off-guard and left floundering in the dark in terms of figuring out what I
should do about it.
Better
Than Revenge
I never saw
it coming, wouldn’t have suspected it
I underestimated just who I was dealing with
For so many
reasons, I reached the decision – or maybe I even felt like I was backed into
that decision because of all those reasons – not to report the abuse when it
started.
One of the
biggest reasons for this, was that he made so many comments to lead me to
believe that reporting it would do no good. He told me everything I already
knew. Firstly, he said that no one would believe me. That everyone looked up to
him and if I said anything, he’d deny it and it would him who would be believed
because “look at us” he said “look at me and then look at who you are. No one
would believe someone like you!” And he said that when I wasn’t believed, I’d
be in so much trouble for making those ‘allegations.’ That I’d be removed from
the building he worked in, the area of my life he and that building were a part
of would suffer, and that would have a huge knock-on effect with my future –
going to University, getting a job, having a life away from him… None of it
would happen because I’d be branded a liar and would be in so much trouble for
that.
It wasn’t
just about education and a career though, he also reassured me that my Mum
would hate me. That she wouldn’t believe me either. Honestly? This was probably
the one threat he made which took no numerous mentions for me to believe it.
And that definitely isn’t a slight at my Mum as though I could instantly trust
she wouldn’t believe me. It’s actually a huge compliment to my Mum and our
relationship because I appreciate and love her so much that the thought of what
he was saying absolutely terrified me.
The irony of
not reporting things earlier with the fear I wouldn’t be believed, is that had
I gone to the Police at the time, there would’ve been so much more physical
evidence which would’ve aided in actually prosecuting him. Instead, because it
took me over two years to report it to the Police, the only real evidence was
me being able to list some of the dates and times things happened and me being
able to describe details which I wouldn’t know if it hadn’t happened. Unfortunately,
the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) decided that it wasn’t good enough and
after the Police arrested him, he had to be let go.
Something
which actually really helped in my reporting of it was that when CPS made their
decision on the case, the Police told me and my Mum that it was really
frustrating for them because they believed me, but there was no more they could
do. And believe me, I recognise how lucky (if that’s the right word in this
situation!) I am to have the Police believe me because there are so many abused
people whose validity of their allegations is questioned, and they are
massively doubted. Whilst it’s understandable that the Police must see people
lie about being abused, their disbelief in already vulnerable people, can have
a hugely detrimental impact. So, I really appreciated their belief in me and my
report.
Of course,
the main bit you’re probably waiting for is about his plea; he claimed to be
completely innocent of each charge of abuse and the one charge of rape.
Mean
All you are is mean
And a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life
And mean
The first
piece of anger around the abuse was simply the fact that it was happening! I
mean, I really believed that only I should have the power and ability to hurt
my body… Like, it’s mine – it’s up to me how much pain it’s in! But apparently
not. Learning that I was wrong was annoying because I’m someone who will admit
when I’m in the wrong, but I really like to be right! And the anger from that came from the fact
that it was him who was proving me wrong.
Then, when I
realised that my anger at him wasn’t going to change the fact that it was
happening, I turned it on myself. I began wondering whether the abuse was
actually all my fault and became furious with myself for deserving it. I
thought that all of my bad behaviour over the years, had brought this hurt and
upset on me. That I had earnt all of this horrible-ness! And it was this anger
which made me so unsafe.
When I was
angry at my abuser, I would argue and swear and be rude to him… Being angry
with myself meant I had to find a way to punish me. And the best way I could
think of was through causing pain. I kind of thought ‘well if he thinks he can
do it; why can’t I?! It’s my body!’ And so, the self-harm started…
The next
rush of anger came from my abusers claims of innocence in response to my report
to the Police. Honestly? The thought of him being arrested and put in custody
was so reassuring, comforting, and rewarding – it seemed to make all the tears
I’d shed worth it. Like, spending all those hours answering the Police
questions, writing the statement, describing details I was so uncomfortable
discussing… even the self-harm – it was all worth it because now he couldn’t
hurt anyone else. And that comfort felt ripped from my hands, my heart, and my
mind, the moment he said he wasn’t guilty. The moment he didn’t own up to what
he had done and just accept the consequences of his actions. And for him to not
take responsibility, was a huge learning curve for myself. It left me confusing
thoughts and conflicting feelings around right and wrong. I mean, if he was
allowed to reject his responsibility, why should I take the consequences for
all of my actions, thoughts, and feelings?!
Over the
years, this anger honestly ate up my insides; my heart, my mind, my soul –
everything became contaminated by this deep, dark, all-consuming, hatred I held
towards my abuser. It took a lot of therapy and hard work and time for me to
come to accept and learn to cope with a lot of the things fuelling my anger. I
learnt that his lack of ownership for his actions, wasn’t an excuse for me to
do the same. I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps and every time I blamed
someone else for my actions, I was doing just that. And I knew I was better
than him. I had to be better than him.
So, I tried
to find comfort in the little things around the abuse – the fact that my Mum
believed and supported me, that the Police believed me, and this helped me to
realise that actually, I could turn this hugely negative experience into
something that was… not positive – but productive. Something which would almost
cancel all that anger out and then use the remainder of it as fuel to do
better.
Bad Blood
So, don’t
think it’s in the past
These kind
of wounds they last and last
Now did you
think it all through?
All these
things will catch up to you
And time can
heal but this won’t
So, if you come in my way, don’t
I first
started to self-harm not long after the abuse began, and that anger and hatred
started to bubble and boil.
Part of the
self-harm was centred around my hatred for my abuser because for some reason I
seemed physically incapable of just slapping him across the face and hurting
him in some way! And with taking my anger out on him being off the table, my
anger had to come out in some way. I needed some release. Some sort of outlet…
I guess that
in a way, it became a sort of adrenalin thing… and not getting help for it from
the start, seemed like a totally understandable reason why the self-harm
escalated. I mean, obviously at the time; it wasn’t. Like, I didn’t realise
that my lack of motivation to get help for it, would result in what it has
because the adrenaline and all the anger of the self-harm meant that a damage I
would have previously been ‘satisfied’ by, stopped being ‘good enough…’ And I
guess this happened (the escalation) because I didn’t have someone reassuring
me that it would never really ‘help’ and who could teach me other, healthier
and safer coping strategies.
Not getting
that help sooner meant that eventually, it wasn’t my choice whether people knew
about my self-harm and – occasionally – it wasn’t my choice whether I could even
actually do it. Because then the hallucinations came. I mean, their first words
were ‘you’re useless, kill yourself’ so how could I have imagined any different
a result than me making my suicide attempts and having my self-harm escalate?
You know? Like, why would anything good ever come from those snide, spiteful,
angry voices?
When a
suicide attempt in 2012 resulted in me being sectioned under the 1983 Mental
Health Act and admitted to a psychiatric hospital, I was robbed of my ability
to cope in the ways I had taught myself. The ways which I thought were the only
reasonable means of coping with the abuse memories and the voices. After a
period of ‘stabilisation,’ I finally began Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT).
Though it took a while for me to begin engaging and cooperating with the
Therapy, the exercises the Therapist would ask me to do, and the time and
effort I had to put in, it helped!
After two
and a half years in hospital, I was finally discharged, and a few medication
hiccups occurred which taught me that the self-harm was only still there and
only still happened because of the hallucinations. DBT had really impacted my
self-harm thoughts which were caused by feelings and experiences around the
abuse. So, once I was back on a medication for the hallucinations, I had no
motive or sense of need to self-harm anymore.
Blank
Space
You can tell
me when it’s over
If the high was worth the pain
I felt that
these lyrics perfectly sum up my thoughts on the beginning of mental illness
because I think the key word for every single milestone in my mental illness is
‘change.’
I’d say that
every single day from the moment I recognised my mental health had declined in
2009, there was a change. One day the hallucinations would get louder, then
there’d be another one, and then I’d start hallucinating rabbits, and then I’d
stop taking my medication, and then I ‘needed’ to self-harm to a more dramatic
and debilitating level, and then I felt suicidal, and then I was being
hospitalised, and then I was being called an attention seeker…
Initially,
the changes came from me in that they were largely to do with my thoughts and
feelings and memories around the abuse. I mean, for a long time, all the
emotions around the abuse which started during the abuse, were actually still
there even when the abuse had ‘finished.’ In fact, in a way, they were even
worse because I felt as though I had no excuse to think and feel that way when
I was no longer being abused. It meant I wasn’t entitled to continue to
experience those things.
After a
while, the changes started to become about the hallucinations. It was like my
life had to resolve around something and if it wasn’t going to be the abuse anymore
than it needed to be the hallucinations!
My thoughts
on the hallucinations and that they were souls who were trapped inside of me,
was perpetuated by the fact that they felt as though they were constantly
changing. I mean, it started with one auditory hallucination on a man’s voice.
And then there were two. And then three! And it honestly felt like I couldn’t
keep up. It was like the hallucinations were just racing ahead of me and every
time I almost caught up, they’d change! And it made me think that if they were
really just parts of me then surely, I’d be in control of when they changed and
how they changed…? Like, why would I put myself through it if I could control
it?
And it didn’t just become about voices… I then
started to experience visual hallucinations of rabbits. And it was frustrating
because I felt as though I had just learnt to tolerate and manage the voices
and then this huge, new challenge comes along and I’m back to square one and at
a loss as to what to do about it! And still, the rabbits changed over the
years… Sometimes there were more than others. Sometimes they were muddy, and it
symbolised that something bad was going to happen. Sometimes they were clean
and fluffy, and it was reassuring and comforting to have them with me.
Everything
felt so inconsistent and at a time when stability and sureness were really
crucial and important for my mental health, it was like it was just digging
itself a deeper hole or something! Or like it had already struck me so it
thought it may as well go to town on my head!
Everything
Has Changed
So, dust off
your highest hopes
All I know
is pouring rain and everything has changed
All I know
is a newfound grace
All my days
I’ll know your face
All I know since yesterday is everything has changed
I try not to
have regrets in my life because I think that doing so, does no good to you. In
fact, if anything; it’s bad for your mental health. And the Crisis Team taught
me that as long as you can learn from it, it shouldn’t be wished away.
So, I think that one of the biggest lessons
I’ve learnt from my years of being unwell with my mental health, was that you
should always be aware that something which feels like it will last forever,
doesn’t always! And so, be cautious and conscious of what you do to cope
because your actions might have a longer aftermath.
This has
been especially true around self-harm. You know? Like, I would feel overwhelmed
with memories of the abuse or feeling crowded and outnumbered by the
hallucinations, and I’d hurt myself. And yes, those things went away or become
easier to cope with, but only temporarily and then, when they were gone, I was
left with the consequences of my self-harm – whether that meant stitches, loss
of blood, an admission to A&E, or even surgery!
I’ve shed so
many tears over the fact that now I’m in recovery – now that I haven’t
self-harmed for almost a year, I’m still dealing with the consequences of
everything I did when I wasn’t in recovery. But I’m having to learn to accept
that. To see it as a lesson and believe that if I were to ever feel so hopeless
again, I would remember that it does end.
The
Archer
And I cut
off
My nose just
to spite my face
Then I hate
my reflection
For years
and years