The mad tea party.

This is the post I’ve been dreading to write, I knew this day would come though.

It’s time to write about an experience from the pits of hell.

I was 9 maybe 10. I can’t say the age for sure. I never wanted to remember the specifics.

We went for tea with my grandparents, I loved their home. Playing in their garden, finding the toys my Pop had made, being in awe of both of them. Their skills from a different time. It was a safe space, once upon a time. We were going to see my brother, he had just moved in with them. I didn’t want to see him, only wanting to see my grandparents. We sat down for tea, they were discussing their lives and world affairs. Then my brother asked me to look at his new room. He was a lot older than I was, already an adult. I followed, because what else could I do? I didn’t yet have the ability to identify the pain of his actions. Still in the darkness of innocence and running off instinct. I didn’t want to go, but I did. He showed me his room, our parents and grandparents in the other part of the house, enjoying their conversation and tea. I thought I was safe with them in the same house at least. How wrong I was.

He promised me things as he normally did, trying to coax me into willing submission. I didn’t want to. But eventually succumbed. I’ve tried my best to hide this within the depths of my mind, attempting to shove it down. But that’s just unhealthy. Time to face my demon and attempt an exorcision with my written word. He took my pants off, then my underwear. He removed his own pants. I remember he tried to straight away, to unleash himself within me. I remember the pain and friction, the burn. It didn’t work, so he placed his spit in his hand. I still remember the smell vividly of his saliva. He used it to on me, to lubricate me up. I hated every moment. He then pushed himself in, stretching me with agony. I kept quiet and moved my mind elsewhere, not wanting to be present in this moment or memory. He did what the devil himself would shun away from. True evil seeped from him. Then there came a moment of potential salvation. My nan knocked on the door, we moved quickly, my brother got up and retrieved his pants, I moved to the cupboard and dressed myself. Then comes that part that haunts me and ate away at me for years, the guilt consuming me. My nan opened the door and asked what we doing, my brother stuttered and looked to me. I had dressed myself behind the cupboard doors and to my deep shame, told my nan “we were playing hide and go seek”. My deepest and most despicable shame. I had a chance to be saved and instead covered for this monster. He seemed proud with himself. I took myself to the bathroom, hating the smell that lingered on me, and remembering the pain. I sat there trying to clean myself, a child wiping away the most vile and disgusting thing known to mankind. I went home with my parents, showered and retreated to my books. Doing anything to ignore what had just happened, still lacking the maturity to understand the depths of hell I would be facing in future years.

I have blamed and hated myself for so long. Hated the monster that resides in him and that then infected my own mind, soul and heart.

How could I have done that? How did I not scream for help? How the fuck was I able to cover for him?

I hated myself. For years. I tried multiple times to take my own life. Not willing to submit to the onslaught of my thoughts torturing me in my waking and sleeping hours.

I’ve had therapy session after therapy session. I still have a long way to go. But he was 18-19 and I was just a child. How could I have comprehended what was happening? For years he was the one in charge of looking after me while my mum was sick. This wasn’t the first time, but was the last time. The time that has haunted me every single day of existence since.

I don’t hate myself anymore. I feel sorry for the little girl that I was. I feel sorry for the woman I am. I’ve got a long way to go on my journey of healing.

But I’m no longer hopeless, or full of self loathing.

I am hopeful for the little girl within me, and love the woman I am. I have grown to be better, working to help other young people to overcome their own struggles. It’s my time though to re-centre and focus on truly recovering. From changing my identity from the victim, to survivor to finally whatever the next step holds for me.

This is my deep dark secret, the pain that held me captor, little did I realise, it was never my secret to keep. It was my pain to grow from , to become the person who is full of love and the need to help others. To help them, like I should have helped myself all those years ago. To finally now help and forgive myself.