Was I sexually abused as a child and if, so by whom?
Night after night, morning after morning, I wake up silently telling someone to leave me alone or go away. Or wake feeling frightened by the nasty man. I used to have nightmares - people trying to get in through the door or window - me desperately pushing against the barrier, struggling to keep them out. Then there's half-formed memories of darkened rooms, wandering hands, men and boys invading my personal space. I know that as a teen and adult I was sexually abused many times by different boys and men. But was I abused as I child? I think that I was, but I don't know that I was. And that is it's own mental torture in itself. I am obssessed with knowing and with not knowing. Desperately seeking clarity, yet fearing it. There are constant triggers too and the anger this brings. Hearing of sexual abuse in the media, in books, tv, dramas, the news or, more recently, disclosures from those close to me, makes me furious, sad, disgusted in the extreme. I want to protect others from those monsters but don't know how. I can't even protect myself. So I cry, I rage. I feel angry, desperate even suicidal at times. Yet I carry on. I put on a brave face, or a mask as I prefer to call it, and go through each new day pushing the fear and resentment down so that I can be there for myself and for others. Because I know that I am loved and that I need that love. I also need to love others with a love that is pure and selfless and true. Maybe that will keep the monsters away if only for a while.