A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING…
A blogger friend of mine has given me the courage to speak out about an experience i went through but have never spoken about, at least not publicly. and OMG, why am i doing this? Am i mad, or stupid, ignorant perhaps? Maybe, all three, as i’m sure society in general would agree.
It was in my early thirties. I am in my early fifties now. I didn’t tell anyone until twelve years ago when i blurted it out to my therapist one day, followed by a moment’s silence, then followed by me bursting into floods of tears and trying to speak but all that was coming out of my mouth right then was absolute ‘gibberish’! After a while, i remember my therapist telling me to take some deep breaths because by then i was hyperventilating, and to try and speak slowly. I suddenly said amidst the tears, “IVE BEEN RAPED”! There, i’ve said it!
I had seperated from my abusive husband: I had two young children asleep in their beds upstairs. HE was a friend of my ex’s who often used to pop in for coffee and the occasional sandwich and chat I didn’t think anything of it. Why should i have? Then on one of these days, he’d come in for a coffee, i presumed, and i chat as he said. Nothing unusual in that. We did just that; sat on the sofa watching TV, drinking our usual coffee and had had a cheese and chutney sandwich each. “Anymore coffee going?” he asked nonchalantly. I got up to go to the kitchen when suddenly, WHAM! I found myself thrown to the floor, face down into the pile of the brown shag-pile carpet of the living-room. I was shocked, my nose was bleeding: I tried to get up but quickly felt him sitting above me and tugging my jogging bottoms down. I wanted to scream “NO!!!” but nothing came out and i couldn’t get away. He had me pinned to the floor; his legs pinning down mine. He quickly unfastened his trousers and then pinned my arms to the floor with his. “Oh, my God, I’m trapped and i know he’s going to rape me”, flashed through my mind, in terror.
Then suddenly i felt him shoving and shoving himself against me, over and over again and then to my horror he pushed his penis, not into my vagina, but into my bum. The pain was horrendous; i’ve never felt anything like it. I screamed into the carpet as i felt my flesh tear as he was pushing at me over and over again. Then, quickly, he pulled away, yelled at me “DON’T MOVE’ and bolted for the front door and his car. I started sobbing; there was blood all over the carpet and at first i couldn’t move because of the pain and the i was in.
When i could move, i slowly got to my knees, grabbed a handful of tissues and pulled myself up onto the sofa, In a state of shock, i remembered that he was bisexual (not that i have any negative views of either bisexual or homosexual men or women at all), but i realised that what he he done was not officially rape; he had buggered me!
Those of you, my friends, who have followed my blog, will know that i was severely sexually abused and raped by my father and my piano teacher right through my childhood. I had it drummed into me so firmly that i MUST NOT tell anyone; that it was a secret; it was me that was a bad and dirty girl, so much so that i didn’t tell a soul, no-one about this until i told my therapist that day. Until this day, i have vivid flashbacks that reduce my to tears as writing this has done at the moment. I remember the pain. I remember the humiliation. I remembered not to tell extremely well!
I can’t believe i’ve said all that. I still feel bad, dirty, contaminated so will you all think that too. I almost feel a traitor for telling the truth. Now, have i got the courage to press the ‘Publish’ button. Well, either i do it now or i press the delete button. I’m in a dilemma but here goes…..