Dread

13 years ago today I was raped. 13 years may seem like a very long time but for me it literally feels like yesterday. It hurts just as much today as it did back then. I always feel very fragile on the 22nd April as I will always associate this date with the most traumatic event I’ve ever had to go through. This date brings up a lot of emotions within me and some very very painful memories. I don’t view it as an anniversary as such but it kinda is. It’s a significant date that changed me as a person, I lost myself that day and my whole world fell to pieces in that one moment.

Is this normal?

So I went out for drinks for my mums birthday, I got drunk to the point of my head spinning. I didn’t want that, it fucks with my PTSD, it makes me panic.

As most of you know I was raped in 2009 and was plied with drink when they carried out the attack. Now I’ve been lying here trying to feel more sober 😫 and also having flashbacks my mind flashed to something I’ve never thought of before.

Is it possible that this memory actually happened? If so I don’t want it! It’s a very disturbing and traumatic memory. Is this a thing with PTSD? Can you remember things without setting out to do so?

Any advice welcome, I hope it’s a false memory to be honest cos I’m shaking about this one.

A letter to my attackers

Before you read on: please be sure you won’t be triggered, I go into detail in this letter. This letter is probably the most honest I’ve been. I wanted to share this, to give insight into what being a victim of this type of crime is like. There are people who won’t like this and that’s fine, its personal to me and my experience, it’s also part of the healing process for me. Word of warning there is a little bit of bad language in this letter too so apologies.

I will not open this letter by addressing either of you. You don’t deserve to be addressed. There are a few words I could have picked to address you with, but those words wouldn’t come close to describing you.

I want to start by saying how much I regret ever meeting you in the first place, I regret striking up a friendship with you, then entertaining the idea of having anything romantic with you. I regret our paths crossing, most of all I regret agreeing to meet you that day. 22nd April 2009 when my life changed forever. That date probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but that date is significant to me. It’s the day I stopped being me. The day my life as I knew it had changed, the day that I knew everything would never be the same again.

I’ve spent the last 12 years blaming myself, asking myself questions I’ll never get answered. Torturing myself. A question I have is when you asked to meet me that day, did you know what you had in store for me? Did you have it all planned from the moment you decided to text me? What made you decide to hurt me like that? Was I the perfect victim for you? Why did you decide to “gift” me to your friend? What was it about me that caused you to want to hurt me? Remember what I said about torture? That’s an example of the questions I often ask myself. That I torture myself with. I’ll tell you what you done, you planned everything down to the very last detail. You saw me hesitate when you decided to get alcohol. You knew I didn’t want it, you and all your friends then egged me on. You were all laughing at how drunk I became. It took me 12 years to try drinking vodka again, the smell of it, the taste was too much to bear for the last 12 years. The sensation of being drunk scares me since that day, something that should be pretty normal for most, but for me it scares me, all because of you.

When we went upstairs and you saw how drunk I was, was that the moment I fucked up? Was that when you knew I was too drunk to defend myself? Did you like the power? Tell me, when you made me dance, was that some sick way of you parading me before all your friends, so they could decide if they wanted to join in or not? Parading me like I was nothing more than an object, like I wasn’t even human, like I was just a piece of meat, someone to use and abuse. I guess I made it easy for you, didn’t I? I was drunk and barely conscious.

What gave you and your friend the right to touch me when I was lying down on the bed, with my eyes closed, half conscious? I was lying there battling to stay awake then I had your hand touching me, then your friend from the other side. Both of you persistent. No matter how much I tried to bat you both away you kept on. This next bit is where the other one comes in, your friend who I’ll now address, who helped to destroy my life and everything I knew and cared about, when you attacked me. I put up a good fight though, even when you pinned me down by my wrists, I fought viciously. Thing is I didn’t understand what was happening, but my body did. What gave you the right to attack me when I was passed out pretty much? Did you feel powerful when you saw me struggling and squirming away? And to you my “boyfriend” now ex, how could you enter the room, see me being attacked, watch my eyes frantically begging you for help and then callously turn, leave, and close the door? Leaving me there to meet my fate. When I got away and ran and had a panic attack outside, how did you manage to manipulate me in to coming back into the house? I guess I’m pretty stupid. I didn’t learn from what had just happened, clearly.

I have a memory of me needing to be propped up to sit. I remember slipping down the walls. Did you and your mate formulate a new way to get what you wanted from me that night, after you talked me back in? I’ll be honest there’s a huge chunk of memory that is missing other than the main event. The part where you stole so many things from me. You started by taking away one of my senses. Sight. You needn’t have bothered I was unconscious for the most part. You created some sort of sick sex game. Knowing the sex wasn’t wanted. I remember feeling the kisses and pain down there. The rest of that part, gone. I was passed out. I have tortured myself with questions of, what else did you do? There are things you did that I only know based on facts, but not from personal memory. How long did it go on for? Was your other mate on the balcony waiting for a turn? When I took the blindfold off and started getting hysterical, how could you watch someone that hysterical and not feel anything? How could you and your friend do what you did to me? How could you treat a person like that? Your mate further degraded me by saying “I don’t want to fuck her no more” as if I had invited either of you to do such a thing. I was a body to him, an object, a toy. I’ve never been more vulnerable in my life, naked and sobbing on the floor, without really knowing the gravity of what had just happened to me. That memory haunts me. I’ve never cried like that before and have refused to since.

I’ll tell you what you both did, you caused me 12 years’ worth of pain. You stole a lot from me. You took my body, what I mean by that is, after you did what you did, I felt this sense of intrusion, like it wasn’t mine anymore. Someone had touched it without my say so. I felt violated and intruded upon. My body felt tainted, next you stole the last scrap of confidence I had. I doubt myself and my emotions because of both of you. I was too trusting, to naive, too gullible, and too timid. I took those qualities of mine as a flaw and believed this was what caused me to be preyed upon. My fault, I just wasn’t wise enough. You stole the thing that is most precious to a woman. My virginity. I was saving it for someone special and you took it from me, something I’ll never get back. This will always be my first time. This disgusting violent crime is my first ever memory of sex. That is a hard pill to swallow, and it makes me so fucking angry.

I felt as if the old me had died that day. You destroyed everything forever and you both got off scot-free, no justice, no nothing, just another thing I failed at.

I no longer want the responsibility of that day and your actions. I want the blame to lie solely on both of you, where it belongs. I got drunk that was my crime, I got drunk and put my trust in the wrong people. What you did, was degrade, violate, disrespect, betray and attack me. This was all done without my consent. That part isn’t my fault. I was out cold and was defenceless.

I’ve given myself 12 years of self-blame, self-hate, I’ve felt shame and guilt because of what you did. I hate what you both did and despise both of you. If you both died tomorrow, I would be happy. I am going to move past this one day. You’ve taken my past and present, I will not allow you to take my future.

By a thread

Mentally I’m hanging, by a thread
Too many thoughts, going round my head
I have so much hurt, I have so much pain
Feelings of doubt, feelings of shame

I’m the girl, who stands alone
Always smiling, putting on a show
My smile never falters, never breaks
But the smile is my mask, it’s a fake

I’m completely unlovable, nobody cares
Why am I like this? It’s just not fair
I’m trying so hard, to remain strong
This is me now, barely hanging on

Written by Danae Brandon AKA wordiness 24

Instagram. (malesmattertoo)

Hey guys,

So just thought I’d jump on to see if any of my followers would be interested in this.

Me and my friend have recently set up an Instagram account, it’s aimed at men who suffer with mental health. The reason for this is to end the stigma that seems to affect men. Men aren’t listened to or taken as seriously when it comes to mental health. Any help they seek seems to take way longer, which doesn’t give them the support they need.

I say this is aimed mainly at men, but of course if there are women who have been affected by the stigma men face, be it a partner, mother, sister, daughter e.c.t then of course it’s open to offer support to those people too.

The Instagram account is called: malesmattertoo

What you can expect to see on there is a safe place for men to reach out. We will slowly be building up towards creating a charity. But we wanted somewhere to give some positivity to men who are struggling, give men an opportunity to share there stories and just get their voices heard.

If anyone is interested don’t hesitate to follow and recommend the account on Instagram.

Thank you for reading this and I hope to see some of you over on Instagram.

Haunted

12 years on, and it still feels raw,
The memories haunt me, cut to the core
The memories I have, leads me to shame
I’m sick of carrying this, carrying this pain

The sounds of their laughter, still haunts me now
I wish I could forget, but I just don’t know how
The smell of their aftershave, still fresh in mind
All the red flags I missed, I was so blind

I was used for amusement, I was like a game
I still feel the guilt, I feel I’m to blame
My virginity was taken, in the worst possible way
The old me died, died on that fatal day

Written by Danae Brandon Aka wordiness24