I always knew it made me feel uncomfortable and it wasn’t something I wanted. I was about six years old the first time, my uncle sexually abused me. I struggle to remember any memories before the abuse started. I often wonder if that is because it was to become such a huge part of my life, it stole any good that may have once existed before.

It started with grooming and he would lure me into this false sense of security, when I was in his presence. He would buy me gifts and tell me magical stories that made me feel like I was so special. He would play with my toys, push me on our garden swing and tell me that I was his favourite girl. He earn’t my trust and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love him. Then he began to get physical. He started to make it into a game where he would touch me inappropriately and I would have to touch him back. As a young child, I knew it made me feel uncomfortable, enough that; I shared a small detail of what was happening to me but sadly it was overlooked and after a short while, the abuse continued again. Over the years the abuse got progressively worse. I just felt powerless, he owned every single fibre on my body. I felt invisible, my body was worn down by being repeatedly abused and raped over and over again and my voice was lost in the midst of all this trauma. How could I have a voice when I spoke once before and no one heard me?

He manipulated and threatened me to the point, I would choose to be raped. If I just lay there lifeless and do what I am told, then I won’t get completely tortured to the point I can’t walk. If I hold in every single tear that is trying to roll down my cheeks, then it will be over quicker. I want to highlight that of course I never chose to be raped but, I was so frightened for my life that I had to take the easiest option and sometimes that was to allow it to happen. I hated myself for a very long time because of the choice I felt I made. Yet, I now know it was merely survival for me and he was the grown adult laid on top of me pinning me down with the weight of his body.

In my later teenage years, I started to become unwell. I was rapidly losing weight and in all honesty, I think I was giving up. I was so exhausted, my body felt broken, and I couldn’t even face spending time with other humans anymore. People in my life started to question my behaviour and after a few long weeks, I cracked one day and shared with them enough to make sure the man who stole my whole childhood from me, would never be able to hurt me again. The Police were contacted and the nightmare I had spent my childhood living, began to slip away from my hold. People often ask me if I felt relieved. Of course, I felt relieved but I was also terrified of what was to come. Would I be believed? Would it really make it stop? What if he comes to kill me? I often refer to the next chapter of my life as continuing the nightmare. Although the abuse had stopped; the trauma of police interviews, a court case and the long lasting effects of a truly horrific childhood were to steal even more of my remaining teenage years and into adulthood.

A few days after I had spoken, I was taken to a Police interview suit where I would begin to have to relive, for me, what felt like the impossible task of sharing my story. I remember arriving at the suit and just feeling an overwhelming sense of fear. One thing I have learnt through my experience, is that fear never leaves you. It’s all around us, every waking moment of everyday. It’s the light that hits your eyes as soon as you wake each day. A bottled smell of the environment, you were once raped in. It sweeps you off your feet like a hurricane of emotion beating against your body. That day, as I sat in the chair with cameras on me, with a stranger I had never met before, I crumbled. I just couldn’t face it. I was battling with my own mind just to be able to speak yet, no words would even leave my mouth. Understandably, the Police had to let me leave with no interview completed, as of course they work to time frames. I left that day unsure if I even wanted to proceed with trying to get justice. In all honesty, I don’t think I cared but one thing that never left my mind was the thought of knowing I might just save someone else by continuing. So fast forward a few weeks and out of somewhere, I found the courage to do it.

The interview was horrendous. It was like being back there again, tightly gripped by his hold and I couldn’t escape. I spent all day there, with breaks in between I shared enough of my story to hope that he would be locked away. It was in some ways harder than the abuse itself. Telling someone who I’d only met once before, the most haunting memories will be something that stays with me forever. But I did it and out of somewhere I found a strength I have begun to learn to nourish. I often wonder if that strength has always been there. That it carried me through the endless torture and devastation I endured. It’s my weapon now on days I can’t face and I hold it closely wherever I go.

The next months of my life were challenging but I somehow kept on going. In between the sleepless nights and suicidal thoughts, I managed to sit my school exams and pass them. Then the trial date arrived, and I found myself walking through the doors of a court. I have really surpressed my memories from the court case and even now, I find it difficult to think about them. It was the last time I saw him and an extremely distressing experience. I find it so difficult to comprehend how a child can be questioned in such a disgusting way. I was a minor and a victim but I was treated like an adult, who had committed a crime. He was found guilty and sentenced to prison. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, that maybe I could actually start to build a life for myself. Sadly, that feeling didn’t last for long and over the coming years, I was to become a fractured soul who spent more time dissociating my way out of finding any kind of happiness. I self-sabotaged my grades, my relationships, my family and pretty much anything that I touched. I felt so lost, I would stare in the mirror and every mark left by his hands was all I could see. It was exhausting, every day I woke up, I felt disappointed that I had to breathe again. I was in therapy but I struggled to express myself. I’d start to explore tiny segments of my past but I’d hit potholes and windy roads, then take steps backwards. It felt impossible and the more time I spent stuck in those memories, the more my dissociation would take hold. Looking back now, that was part of the journey I was on and I am certain it helped me on my way to try and heal but at the time, I felt no change and decided to take a break.

During that time I got worse, then better, then worse again. My family had fallen apart and the long lasting impact of what he had done was evidently killing me. I began therapy again, I guess someone I saw as my last chance of overcoming my turbulent past. From this moment on, my life begun to change for the better. Although I’d never met this lady before she made me feel safe, she gave me some kind of hope that I would be able to move on with my life and accept the childhood I had once lived. When I started therapy with her, I was self- harming, dissociating constantly throughout each day. I couldn’t cry because I was so conditioned to hold back the tears, in fear that it would make the abuse worse. I felt angry, sad, lost, despair, uncertainty, pain that I find hard to describe to anyone because it’s just so powerful. My whole entire identity was that of a traumatised young girl who was struggling to survive each day.

I’ve spent over five years in therapy with this incredible lady. It has been full of ups and downs, emotionally challenging and at times I’ve wanted to walk away from it all. But I have kept fighting. I often wonder what would have happened if I had not found her. If I had continued on that path of self -destruction and disbelief. She always says to me that we’re a team and that I had to want to get better for it to work like it has. I think she’s right but I’m fully aware that it’s not as black and white as just choosing to get better. It’s been incredibly tough, I look back at the girl I was on that first day I walked into her office. I don’t recognise her anymore but I hold her dearly because she is a part of me.

I’m still learning to heal and sometimes there are parts of me that doesn’t believe I will ever completely heal but I do believe I am recovering. The pain I feel still steals parts of my happiness. The memories, triggers, the emotions, they really do take hold in some moments and I am reminded of the harsh reality of where I came from. I will continue with therapy for as long as I need, I am constantly working through the trauma. At times nothing seemed to ease a pain that was so deep. But as time passed I’ve begun to accept my hearts wounds.

I’m sharing my story because in between all the suffering, the horrific trauma, the suicide attempts, harming my own body, endless nightmares and flashbacks, I have managed to find myself a little. It’s taken years and many setbacks along the way but I’ve done it. I’ve wanted to be the abused girl because it some ways it was easier, she was all I once knew. Yet, I’ve kept fighting through and with the help of some incredible people, I believe I have made it out the other side. It will always be a part of me, but I nurture her now and on the days I can’t face I keep her safe like she would have always wanted. I never believed I would amount to anything. I thought I was a waste of space, a useless human being who deserved nothing but torture and pain. But over the years I have begun to accept that all these beliefs are not mine and I am worthy.

This is my message to anyone reading this right now who is experiencing or has experienced sexual abuse, that even when you truly awful things happen to you and you feel like you’ll never survive it, you can overcome it.

Emily