Hate and Love.

I do what I can to avoid news as much as possible, I have enough going on.. yet unless I shut myself away and never leave the house, I am going to come across some of it sometimes.

Death, destruction, rape, war- so many people dying, famine, disease, persecution. Doesn’t it make you ache?

I have been so bitter the last few days, bitter and angry. Hating God and hating the world around me. I am somewhat upset with myself for that now.

I know I am entitled to feel what I feel, but what kind of person am I if I carry rage in my heart? I don’t want to add more hate to a world already consumed by it.

It’s not who I am or who I want to be. I love, I care, I put everyone in front of me, perhaps sometimes to my own detriment, nonetheless, it is who I prefer to be.


Those turning a blind eye to abuse, those continuing to victim blame- they fill me with rage. I find myself thinking thoughts that scare me, a type of hate that will eat away at you. If I hate, then surely I am no better than them?

We cannot solve things with hate and violence. I don’t believe that, I will never believe that.

There is enough hate, enough persecution, enough rape, enough war, enough murder. These are hate fueled actions that I want no part in.



Tonight, this week, the last month, all have been truly awful. There are moments where I wish for the end. Sometimes, I am so hurt, I can barely control the rage, I cannot see past the red fog that descends where I find myself wanting to push everyone away. Where I fear I will tell you all and everyone I know, to fuck off and leave me alone. In those moments I want them and you to see that hateful side of me, because so often, I fear it is the true me.

Then the storm blows over for a short time and I pull myself out of the debris. The rage subsides and I find my heart- expecting it to be shattered in pieces, but instead, while bruised it remains whole. Full of love and forgiveness, not hate, not rage.

So if you ever see that hating side, I ask in advance, please forgive me, it is not who I am or who I ever want to be.


Alone. One day.

Your family are out and you are busy tidying up the destruction only two small children can make.

In your son’s room, wading through the pieces of plastic and tiny bits of Lego you are trying to find the floor among the chaos.

On your knees, picking up the pieces of a board game, paying attention to the colour, the texture of the pieces of plastic animals in your grip, you are ensuring to keep grounded while you are alone.

When you look up and out of the window at the sun breaking through the clouds, at the beauty of the green trees that almost but not quite, block the sun.

The sun is like a spotlight- you on your knees, looking right up. And you can’t contain it, just for a few moments, you just can’t keep it in any longer.

As much as you fight it, even though you try to block it out with your hand, it keeps on shining down on you. Shining so brightly, which seems so very wrong because you are paralysed. On your knees and paralysed by your grief, by an agony that no one you know could ever begin to imagine.

You fight it, you battle it with every piece of you, but still you can’t move. So you pray. You beg for it to stop and you wonder if He is listening, if He even gives a shit, because He never seemed to back then..

You are alone now, as alone as always. So you push it away and you get to your feet, like a thousand times before.  With a throbbing head, you reflect on the loneliness, the pain and on almost breaking down.

You wonder if it will ever be safe to let go and you reach the usual conclusion:

One day. Maybe one day you will feel safe enough to let it out. Maybe one day, you won’t feel so alone.



Shining your light on the dark.

However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light

~ Stanley Kubrick.


Yes, absolutely. It’s not always easy though, is it? 

Sometimes it seems almost impossible to find the smallest light within the overpowering darkness. I have done it though, back when the dark was all around me, choking any flicker of light. Even then, I found it eventually, I found my way through.  I saved myself back then and I am saving myself now. If I don’t continue to shine a light on this darkness, who will do it for me? 

This week I am aware more than ever at how alone I was. I found myself forced to face that reality this week- the agonising, raw and terrifying truth that has remained hidden in the lies I accepted in order to survive.

I don’t need those lies anymore, so my T tells me- I hope he is right, because I sometimes find myself wishing I was still in the dark, so to speak. I seem to be searching for a safety net I didn’t know existed until it left me this week. The lies are poisonous and secrets keep the memories alive- but oh the truth is so very painful. 

As I have mentioned in previous recent blog posts, I cannot help but remember when I was attacked at 17. It isn’t far from my mind right now. Today I find myself drawing strength from that terrible night, from my own healing and from the freedom I am beginning to feel.

I suspect I am moving to a new stage of healing with that awful night. I have been quite concerned at the timing- I have enough going on with where I am at in therapy right now. However, perhaps this, like so many other things over the last two years, it will actually prove to be perfect timing. 

As much as I try to separate all the many incidents I have suffered, the further forward I journey, the harder that is becoming. Perhaps those boxes I have relied on for so long are broken down enough to enable me to see and feel multiple incidents at once. While that is scary, maybe it isn’t just about pain, maybe, those that are well on the way to healing can help with those that are still in the early stages? 

That night has so many similarities with where I am at now, not just actual memories of other incidents, but in terms of how I felt before, during and particularly after. Perhaps this has something to do with the need to dredge up that night again, to look at the feelings, to look at the rejection and abandonment, to feel the loneliness and pain.

And there’s also another need, a desire and a want for some kind of closure from that night. As much as I hate it when my T uses that word “closure”, I need it. I need closure. Can I work on that at the same time as everything else? Can they help each other along?

Maybe this doesn’t make sense, yet I believe that my continued healing from that awful night could actually be the very light I need right now. The light that will shine through the darkness that is so close right now. 

The importance of telling your story.

I think most survivors reach the point where they want and need to tell their story. They need to be heard, not just about what happened to them, but how much it hurt and how it still hurts..the damage it did, the damage they are still trying to repair.

I have been in therapy for some time now, telling my T about my past. As time has passed and I have become more used to telling, I have noted a difference in disclosure versus telling my story.

Disclosure to my T feels almost medical, like a necessary procedure in order to kick start the process that is healing. Now I have reached the point of feeling, it is as if I am sharing my story, rather than disclosing. The more I feel, the more I need to be heard and the more I need to share that story with (some of) the world. 

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you. – Maya Angelou


In recent weeks I have been telling my T how it was for me back then, how much it hurt-while I was still able to feel (before I shut off emotionally). We talk “incidents” but sort of skirt around them, talking about them, but not in detail. I have been talking to him about it as a whole- at least the “stuff” that was done to me when I was 14. That is new for me and it’s horrible. I hate it. But, I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t healing for me. He hears me. My T sees me and he hears me. He is hearing my story. It helps, it’s necessary and I need this, so, very much. 

I have talked and continue to do so to a few individuals about my past. It is becoming increasingly more important and the benefits are greater than ever before. It helps to tell. I want to tell. How it felt, what he did and how badly I was hurt. I need to be heard. Not for sympathy, nor for attention. Simply, because I need people to know and to witness what no one knew back then. I deserve to be heard and understand as much as is possible. 


The last few weeks have been rough- more than rough. Unfortunately, I have had other issues and memories contributing to an already difficult time. I am doing my best to shelve them as much as possible and in some respects I am succeeding. One particular “incident” though continues to bother me. 

I don’t feel it is on my mind because I have issues or concerns. I don’t need to disclose it again. I have done that, but what I haven’t done with this, is tell my story. I am issue free as far as this is concerned. I would even go as far as to say that I am not just living with it, I am living beyond it. A few months ago I posted on here to say I felt free from the men who did it. That still stands. I think. Yet the need to tell my story remains. 

I don’t mean I need to tell all the vile details- that is for me and my T only, instead it is simply a want and need to share some of that awful experience with another person. 

I see my T tomorrow and I desperately do not want to side track to this incident.I am hoping by reaching this understanding that I need to tell this story will be enough to sort of appease that need for now. 

Does anyone else ever feel that way? Desperate to share? I am at the point where I even considered putting my story out here and that has always been a huge NO NO (and after a mental shake, remains so).

“Chances of getting a rape case to prosecution at lowest levels…”

So, I came across an article the other day and have been meaning to share some of my outrage and hurt over it:

“Exclusive: Chances of getting a rape case to prosecution at lowest levels since records began” 

“Everyone with an interest in the protection of women is encouraging rape victims to come forward and it seems that they are starting to.

Good news, that seems like it could be a step forward, so why haven’t the number of convictions or even prosecutions risen also?

It is therefore profoundly disappointing that we have not seen a surge in the number of decisions to prosecute. In fact, the proportion of rapes being sent for charges, prosecuted and convicted have been shrinking every year under this Government.

How is this progress? This is no better than almost 10 years ago when I reported rape. I hoped, stupidly perhaps, that things were getting better. It seems the right noises are being made, but ultimately too little is changing. 

the Safer London Foundation reported that gangs were switching from knifing their rivals in revenge to raping their girlfriends because criminal charges and a lengthy jail sentence are so much less likely to arise from a rape.

That is shocking. Horribly, sickeningly shocking. These men rape, because they know they can hurt their rivals with little chance of prosecution. The wrong message is being sent to these people. Yes, they should be afraid of prosecution if they knife someone- I hope it deters them, but similarly, they should be deterred from rape for the same reasons. Men should know that if they rape they are going to be detained, prosecuted and then removed from society. It’s like we are giving rapists a free pass.

To be a victim of rape is hell- I don’t quite know how else to describe it. Unless you have been raped, you cannot truly understand what it is to live through it, and then with it. I am confident I am on a journey to healing, yet equally confident that my rapes will be with me for the rest of my life. It is a life sentence.. and what do the rapists get? For many- most even, nothing.

I read a comment on a similar article to this and someone had written “it’s like a slap in the face to survivors of rape”. No, it isn’t, that doesn’t even come close to the pain and the disgust I feel right now. It makes me feel like we don’t matter, that I don’t matter.

So, what are our government doing to ensure rapists think twice before raping? What are they doing to show those victims they will do everything they can to find justice for them? Sweet F A from the looks of it.

It is all well and good to publish stats showing the rise in reporting of rapes, but that doesn’t get rapists off the streets. They are not doing enough. Putting a victim of rape through the hell of reporting and then not seeking justice for her is a crime in itself.

I have heard (read) women describe their experience of reporting as feeling raped all over again. I concur. I have done it, reported and re-lived my ordeal, yet nothing was done. Nothing.

Why encourage victims to come forward, what is the purpose?  It sure as hell isn’t to bring the rapist to justice.  It may make the numbers look good for the government, but that is all.

So UK Government, don’t bother encouraging victims to come forward if you aren’t going to do anything about it. Prosecute- find justice for these women (and men). They deserve it. We deserve it. I deserve it. 

QotD: “Women being badgered for anal sex appears to be considered normal”


Porn has a lot to answer for. Just UGH, that teenagers, or anyone becoming sexually active think this should be the norm.. and deeply sad that girls/ women feel it’s something they should do.

Originally posted on Anti-Porn Feminists:

A study on why teenage heterosexual couples may engage in anal sex has revealed a climate of coercion, with consent and mutuality not always a priority for the boys who are trying to persuade girls into having it.

Researchers at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine interviewed 130 teenagers aged 16-18 in three sites across the country to “explore expectations, experiences and circumstances of anal sex among young people”.

The qualitative study found that anal heterosex appeared to be “painful, risky and coercive, particularly for women”, while males spoke of being expected to persuade or coerce reluctant partners.

“Anal sex is increasingly prevalent among young people, yet anal intercourse between men and women – although commonly depicted in sexually explicit media – is usually absent from mainstream sexuality education and seems unmentionable in many social contexts,” the study, published on BMJ Open, says.

It found that some young…

View original 515 more words

Seeing you and finding me (to my abuser).


In the beauty of my garden, with the sun warming my back, surrounded by pretty flowers and amazing trees and all I can think of is you.

All my thoughts are on you. I see you, I see the ugliness of your heart and the iciness of your soul. You have my attention now. You, the man (and I can barely bring myself to type that) who broke me. Broke my heart, crushed my spirit, made me want to die. It’s you that has my attention. Not the love, not the tenderness, nor the compliments or the gifts- no not the lie.

I see you. The monster abuser, the sadist. My rapist.

You never saw me, you didn’t know me, you don’t know me. I see you. I couldn’t then, I didn’t dare look, the truth was too much to comprehend, even the idea was unbearable, but I see you now.

I am no longer 14, I am grown and I am strong, I am so much bigger than you and you know what? Even at 14 I was stronger than you, I survived more than you ever could. And if I were standing before you now, it is you who would quiver, it is you who would break. I would look into your eyes and I’d stare you down.

You cannot hurt me now, you don’t scare me. I swear I’d force you to your knees in the way you so often forced me to mine.


This week I thought you had broken me again, I feared you were destroying me all over again. I could smell you, I could feel you, Oh God, you were so very close. I wanted to die. I admit it, a part of me was done, so very done.

But today, my T stood with me as I faced you again. And he saw my pain. He saw what you did. He saw me in a way you never ever did and in a way you never, ever could. He reminded me that you are weak, you were always weak and me, well, I am survivor, a true survivor.

So it is true, I cannot help but think of you right now and though I hate that, I need to see you, so I can find myself.


Don’t you dare get comfortable, don’t you dare think you are at home within my mind or settled in my heart. I am no longer your ghost, I will no longer be your shadow. This is for me, this is so I can let you go.

One day soon, you will be on your knees (and when I am done standing over you) I will turn and I will finally walk away.