Sexual Abuse – The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

My story.

In my opinion Sex Offenders, are the lowest form of life on the planet. They are Psychopaths. They use sex, violence and cruelty to empower themselves and show no empathy or remorse for their violent and disgusting behavior.

I believe that from their very first victim they abuse, their urge for more of the same just grows. I liken them to a Vampire. They have an enigmatic personality and can convince all around them that they are a great person and someone to be trusted. They will immerse themselves in any community and just blend in like anyone else.

However, when they find their victim they crawl out from the shadows and strike. When they have finished with you, you are discarded as if you don’t exist. One thing I know about these opportunistic vampires, they never bite off more than they can chew. Only the meek, the outcast, the loner, that shy one, that’s the most attractive victim of all – because they won’t fight back and usually nobody cares. A sex offender takes the path of least resistance.

A sex offender or paedophile can come in the form of a stranger, friend, family member or a member of the Clergy (or other position of authority). For me, my abusers came from all of the above categories. For now I can’t talk about the Clergy abuse for I am involved with Australia’s Royal Commission for Clerical abuse. More will follow later this year.

Now I had several abusers, both sexual and torture. Between them, both my body and mind lay fractured. To top of this nightmare, as I turned about 11 years of age and started to become more aware of the wrong that was being done to me, the mental torture started.

I had a big dirty secret and I had to keep this secret! My mother decided to show me what would happen to me if I didn’t keep our family’s secrets. One night in absolute rage she clenched her hand around my left wrist, and pulled out my fingernails, one by one. The nails were ripped out of their nail beds. I had five fingers bleeding, the pain was agonizing, and through my stream of tears, on the kitchen table, lay my full fingernails in a red bloody mess.

My mother left me standing there, sobbing. She scooped my nails up in her hand and tossed them into the fireplace as she went to bed. The next day she did the same to my right hand. I needed no further convincing. What when on under our roof, stayed under our roof.

For the next three weeks I was kept home from school with a mystery illness, however, there was no mystery to it. We just had to wait for the nail beds and cuticles to heal. So back to school I went with no fingernails at all. A note for my teachers said that I had contracted an infection in my hands which made my nails fall out. Not one of my teachers said or did anything.

Over the years I have visited my fair share of Mental Health professionals. They all have a common line they run past you about your sexual abuse. It’s not about sex, it’s about power. For me this just does not sit right. I was being ripped and torn in a million places, it felt pretty much about sex to me. Even the notion of my abuser being in some way using me to feed their feeble egos, I have only hate and disgust for them. I was the victim…not them…

Looking back at the toll these five abusers took on my body, the cuts the bruises, the broken bones – they left me with a parting ‘gift’. A ‘gift’ that took away my basic human right. No-one will ever call me Mummy. I will never know what it is to be a mother. So for me it didn’t matter how far I could run or how many years ago this happened. They still have their bony evil hands around my life.

Now it’s been a long hard road for me to get to this point and open up and share with you the madness that has and is, still my life. For many of us the road still has a long way to go, but I understand more than you will know, the aftermath, the hard work, the guts and determination it takes to keep on going.

I can say with true love in my heart, to the thousands and thousands of victims that suffer these horrors on a daily basis, just keep marching, don’t ever stop fighting, for life as you know can send you wonderful things and beautiful people to feed your soul.

As I have said before, this is my story, no better or worse than yours. I am no guru, or expert, I am just like you. One of the faceless many, who sit at work or at home, who carries on with the day to day and nobody ever notices what’s behind those sad eyes.

What I know for sure is, you are your own best friend. You have in the past and will in the future be the strongest, bravest, Hero you will ever know. Believe in yourself and acknowledge the friend within.

Be kind to yourself,

Love Big Fat Dee