TW:
child sexual assault, rape, anal rape, child pornography, police, denial, abusive parenting, pinned down/restrained, abuse: Verbal, Psychological, sexual, Physical
I was born in April 1996. I was two weeks premature. Apparently in the womb babies have a downy hair called lanugo. I still had this when I was born so mum says I was born furry. I take pride in this, I am a fox cub. I was born this way.
By the time I could walk my mum gave me a new label. I was a changeling. I’m somewhat inclined to believe her, since I did have night terrors about being kidnapped by fairies and teddies. I would wake, paralyzed, trying to scream and cry out for my parents but not able to make a sound it move a muscle. But this wasn’t the reason mum called me a changeling. I think the technical term is ADHD. I couldn’t sit still except for the cinema and mostly for restaurants, because I really enjoyed them. I ran away constantly. I broke things, sometimes deliberately to fix them, I had verbal diarrhoea, got very easily bored and had hyperfixatations that occupied me for hours.
I had 2 friends on my street, me and my siblings would play out on the back alley or the garden for hours, either as werewolves, red-indians, cops and robbers, families or making dens.
At school I was different. I had no confidence, I was selective mute through most of primary school. I got bullied. I sat very still and kept to myself and took in very little of what was being taught unless it interested me. I drew. I read. I enjoyed art, English, science, history. I loved stories. I hated being called out. The teachers thought I was unintelligent.
My brother and I were both anally raped as children, I was 8-9, he was 10-11, by the same nextdoor neighbour (who was about 14.)
We didn’t tell anyone because he was a scary and I suppose shame and because I was used to dealing with things on my own and didn’t feel like I could go to my parents. Not long after that we moved house, at which time I got amnesia. I couldn’t remember the trauma at all.
When we moved house I went to a better school. I was no longer being bullied. In the interview with my parents about getting me into the school the headteacher asked if they wanted a cup of tea and I said that I’d like one, I think he found me plucky. The teachers there didn’t think I was stupid I liked the teachers and they liked me and suddenly I really cared about doing well. I was enthusiastic and energetic and I felt almost safe. I made friends in year 6, it had taken a while to trust anyone enough and I felt like by the time I made friends I was leaving. I was proud though and happy.
Around age 12-13, puberty hit and I started getting memories. Flashbacks. Life was already stressful at the time, as my mum and dad were looking after my grandma and great aunt who had dementia. It was a slow and unpleasant deterioration. My great aunt went first. She let go and regressed to child like behaviour, it was hard to watch but she was not aggressive. My grandmother was once an artist and a very clever woman. She was strong willed and independent. When she got dementia this stubborn determination did not go. She became violent. Sage was incontinent, but couldn’t clean herself, so my mother had to do it and she got my father and my sister to help. She tried to get me to help, a couple times I did, mostly just to lift my grandma when she fell. But I had seen grandma hit my mum and I listened to them swearing, screaming, yelling, at one another on a daily basis. Once she hit my sister and mum was so angry my sister always handled it calmly and gently. When dad got involved he often blew a fuse very quickly and I think he slapped her back more than once. The tension in the house was awful.
I suppose it rubbed off on me and my brother. We were always prone to fighting one another, but it got worse and more frequent. He would dig for that which would upset me most and use it against me, trying to riel me up. He’d tell me I had no friends, that I was never invited anywhere with them because everyone hates me, that I’m unlovable, pathetic, stupid, aggressive, immoral, annoying, using names such as bitch and monster. Then it would get physical, normally I started that because it was all I could do to shut him up. I learnt to kick him in the balls when he strangled me and he was outraged at it.
After fighting he’d tell on me to my parents. He relished in watching me get told off and I always got told off for hitting first and for kicking him there. He got told off too sometimes. I always said that what he was saying was way worse than being punched. Something I’d stood by throughout my childhood. And I’d argue that my parents smacked us so why is it so bad. If you can do it why can’t we. They never had an answer. Obviously because they weren’t right to smack us. My parents always explained his behaviour as stemming from loving me so much, which figures since they were as bad.
Around this time I kept a diary. I thought it’d help. I wrote about getting nightmares. My parents read it and they pressured me about it every day for weeks when I couldn’t escape from them. In my room they’d sit on the bed or block the door so I couldn’t get up, or get out. Often times when we were in the car so I’d be unable to get home without the car or we were in a moving vehicle they’d use the opportunity to bring it up pressuring me like an interrogation.
I was angry and upset and hurting all the time. And when I got too emotional My parents would pin me down which was triggering in itself. My brother stayed silent about what happened to him.
Eventually my parents got the truth out of me. They didn’t stop pressuring. They would bring it up frequently, insisting I talk about it on their terms, that I needed to go to therapy, and that they can talk about it whenever they want and should be able to talk about it to whomever they want.
Mum said I was broken, she said I was a monster, she said I was selfish, lazy, aggressive, cruel. She still says such things.
Again she pressured me repeatedly until I agreed she could tell family. I hoped that at least it would mean that maybe she’d talk about it less to me. She didn’t. I remember one time after an argument where I was trying to force them out of my room so I could have some space and privacy and I punched my dog in the ribs and bruised his ribs. Another time I hit mum and dad slapped me across the face and busted my lip. I wished I had a lock on my bedroom door. I would run for the bathroom as fast as I could and lock myself in and hide in the cupboard. It was stuffy but dark and a bit quieter and small. I used to be claustrophobic but somehow the cupboard felt safe. One time when I locked myself in the bathroom mum decided that wasn’t ok, to the extent she had to bust the lock. I was begging to just be left alone. I just needed to be alone, please just go away. They broke open the door and pinned me to the ground, while I screamed and yelled and begged and cried myself to exhaustion till I nearly passed out. They still think it was justified and I have no idea why. Maybe because I had kicked the other bathroom door and cracked the wood? I don’t know.
In secondary school, by around age 14 I was making friends. Good, real friends and I opened up to them about the sexual assault before my parents found out.
Around age 19 years I found pictures in my brother’s room. Drawings of young boys being sexually assaulted in various ways and I’m thinking what the fuck am I looking at and my heart was pounding…
I asked my closest friend, she said that it’s messed up, and wondered if it’s even legal, she tells me I should go to the police with it. I do. I call Childline and then I go to the police. It was terrifying but I knew I had to. The police came to our house, they talked to my family. I feel my family’s rage and I scarper. I make plans to meet with my friend at Weatherspoons and catch dinner since I haven’t eaten. My parents kept texting me to come home and I ignored them because I wished to eat.
When I do go back after talking to my friend about everything, my family are sitting at the table wanting to talk. Which terrifies me so I stay standing and they tell me that my brother was also raped by my neighbour as a child. That he told the police all about it and that the drawings were his outlet. He didn’t just do drawings. Later I remembered things I’d blocked out. He had a tablet which he’d smashed with his fist because he had been looking up child pornography and he was disgusted with himself and I remember him smashing it and my parents talking to him while in the car about how to get rid of the tablet because if they have it recycled they might find the browser history and the police might be involved. My parents never made him get therapy or anything and he is still allowed around kids on his own and noone ever mentions it.
Through all of this I somehow managed to get good grades for my GCSEs. I didn’t manage to get the required ALevels to study psychology at University and I was burnt out. I had wanted to be a psychologist. I spent my spare time moderating mental health groups on palringo, I was just too burnt out for my psychology Alevel, I got a D. So I took a year out, had a paradigm shift and became vegetarian. Mum was very angry about it and we had many arguments. Eventually she allowed it. I wanted to go vegan but to that she’d said “not in this house!” I cut my loses, and eventually their meat intake as well. After a year out and some therapy I decided to redirect back to art. At 19 I went to college and did a 2 year course in art and design. I picked up new hobbies there, I already did several crafts and I learnt more. I specialised in graphics art and I got the highest grades possible, triple distinction* Extended deploma in art and design.
I didn’t know where to take art. My uncle was a computer games artist and I did my work experience with him. I enjoyed it and studied game art at university. Despite getting a First, I couldn’t find a job in it and I’m not sure I want to anyway. I like digital art. And I like helping people. I still help people via mental health servers, now on Discord. Sometimes it feels easily as intense as a job but I know I’ll never get paid for it. I’m considering becoming a social worker and I am going to sell art, graphics and books. When I can I plan to buy some land and buil my own eco house. This has been a dream for as long as I can remember. I will adopt a dog. I’m unsure if I want children yet, but I know I’m not ready for that yet.
I am now 28. Last year I found out I am going to be an aunt. My sister is pregnant. I am trying to move out. I love children and my sister will possibly be a good mum. She means well, I’m sure of that, however we all live with my parents still. The baby will be raised not only by my sister but by my brother and my parents.