Trauma

 I feel that when trauma happens early in life it establishes a pattern that maybe set apart from apparently everyone you’re never quite the same as everyone else. 

I’m not saying that you’re not all there aren’t people out there Who would understand. It just feels that way. There’s a fight that starts At first I was fighting the men off. It was just before after my 11th birthday. On a break from primary school, such as the May half term, Or the summer term that followed.

My parents were at work. One man broken through a little window. He was of stunted growth. He let the other men in. There were six in total. At first the ring leader pinned me down in my bedroom and kissed me. He looked really pleased and turned to the others and said, ‘look she’s doing it’. As an adult was pleased with what I was doing, I was confused. I was being pinned down and I was frightened, but apparently I was doing something to please a grown-up. They then took me into my parents bedroom. They pinned me down with a man on each limb two holding my arms and two holding my legs. They stripped me. I began to struggle because obviously I didn’t like being undressed and being naked it was embarrassing and humiliating. Obviously, I couldn’t yet know what they had in mind. I was too young to have any idea what sex was. They pinned me down spreadeagled and naked. I managed to bite one of them. He yelled, ‘shit the bitch bit me’. And they held me down harder. Then they started to push objects up inside me. For years after I was afraid those objects were still stuck up there. Then the leader raped me. And then he invited the others to follow. I struggled free and got a little bit dressed with a tiny top. They took me to the bottom of the garden. And there I was raped again. My sister and her boyfriend then joined in. She was laughing and throwing things.

Then they dispersed. I was in a lot of pain. I remember that one of them had said to me, ‘when we’re done with you you won’t be able to sit down’. And now I realise what they meant.

That evening, my parents came home from work. My sister told them. My dad started to shout at me, ‘were you raped! He yelled angrily at me.’ I curled up in a ball. Horrified and terrified. Being raped was humiliating and frightening and shameful. And now my dad was yelling at me for doing it. I had done being raped. And I was in trouble for it. My mum started to shout at my dad. I stayed curled in a ball and rocking. 

My secondary school had some kind of sex education. A police officer came in to talk to us. I asked to speak to the police officer after the lesson. I told her I’ve been raped as a little girl. She came in another time to speak to me properly about it. On that occasion she came in plain clothes and we sat in the deputy head mistress’s office . I told her. She said that as it wasn’t incest but had instead been a stranger gang rape there was nothing that could be done. The police never arranged any medical care or a HIV test or an examination or mental health support and they didn’t take a statement. Nor did the School. And given the nature of the lesson and the appointment made for the police officer to come back and to use the deputy head mistress’s office, the School must’ve known. And still, nothing was done.

By the time I was 13, Childline started. 1111. It was highly advertised. I rang them. I told them I’d been raped as a little girl and that I wanted help. They said that I had to go to university to get help. That would be five years away. And I would need to stay on at school and do A-levels. So that’s what I did.

At 16, I went to the citizens advice bureau. I knew I would need to do A-levels to get to university. And then I would be able to get help for the rape. They said that the law had changed that year and if you turned 16, you could not get any help until you were 18. So I had to continue to live at home to get A-levels, so he go to university to get help for the rape. As both my parents worked and my sister moved out when she was 16 so when I was 14, I was usually alone at home. I was always alone at home. I was frightened all the time. I’d let myself in from School. And I’d check every single room every single corner behind every single piece of furniture I check that there was no one hiding there to attack me. I’d sit down to watch TV. And if I left the room, for example to use the toilet, I once again had to check every single corner behind every single piece of furniture to make sure that I was safe that there was no one there hiding to attack me. I was frightened 24 7. Then I met David. I was still pre-pubescent when I met David. And he was about 16. He took a job in the city. It was the time of the yuppies. David had a flat. This meant there was somewhere for me to escape to. He also let me use his School textbooks. And I knew this would help me take a levels and so I would be able to get to university and get help for the rape. David’s particular penchant was anal sex with a child. And this plus the physical beatings he gave me was my price for a little shelter and some textbooks.

And finally I got a place at university. I took the train up. I took lodgings as I could not afford to live on campus or in hall. I wrote to Childline . I did not want to clog up their telephone lines because I was now a I did not want to clog up their telephone lines because I was now an adult . But I wanted to find out what I should do now that I’ve arrived at university to get this help that I was told I would get if I got to university . They wrote back . They told me I could use a Service called Careline . There was a telephone box at the end of the street in this new town. I took what little money I had and made a phone call.  I rang careline. I told them what had happened. Until I ran out of money. And that was it I was broke. When I was next on campus, I went to the doctors surgery and I asked for counselling. I spoke to the counsellor. But on the whole the type of counselling just didn’t seem to be for rape survivors that had spent the last five years doing what it took to get to university for this care that had been promised. I still wasn’t offered a medical examination. I didn’t know if things were still stuck in me. I wasn’t offered blood tests for sexual transmitted diseases and nobody took a statement and no criminal charges were ever pressed. I wasn’t treated or cleaned or cared for, and no one behaved as if anyone had done anything wrong except me - I had been bad by being raped. And that’s all that I’ve ever known. After university, I took a job at a psychiatric hospital. I met my dad there one time as he was visiting to say hello. I asked him if he had any access to medical help that maybe I could access for mental health. He began yelling at me. So I stopped asking.

Over 40 years later I still relive the trauma of the rape. For years I’d see my sister everywhere, even though I had long moved away and ceased contact for my safety. And I would relive the fear. She did used to enjoy stalking me to torment me sending me cards intended to traumatise and re-traumatise me for example of my birthday while I was at university . Throughout my childhood, she did continue to sexually assault me whenever she got a chance she would stick her hand down my top in order to pinch my breasts hard and twist to bruise them . This was clearly designed to humiliate and embarrassed, not just simple sibling fighting. And as my older sister, she knew what she was doing when doing this to me as I went through puberty . Over the years the fear and nightmares continued, changing as my life circumstances changed, but otherwise the same. At work the rape comes to mind whenever I am working with a group of male colleagues, especially if there are 6 men and me in a small meeting room.