by Band Back Together | Nov 2, 2015 | Abuse, Child Abuse, Childhood Bullying, Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Fear, Passive/Aggressive Behavior |
Not a word I ever thought I’d associate with myself. And yet here I am, writing this post.
It’s a little confusing; it didn’t always feel like it does now. I’m the eldest of four kids, and I remember my dad, for the most part of my early years as a different person. He was sweet and funny, he taught art and gave us drawing lessons on weekends. We lived on one farm, then moved to another. He sang this song about a little baby duck. He watched movies with us. He bought us watercolor paints.
Unfortunately, that’s ancient history. And it stops somewhere – I’m not for sure of the date, but I do know that it stops around the time I was seven.
It’s been a long time coming, or it feels like it, but that’s not my dad anymore.
These days, he has almost constant migraines, he treats his kids like something that should be “useful” to him, is critical, cruel-worded, and dismissive.
It’s eggshell territory – I’m always stepping on them, can hear them crunch under my feet when he’s around. He’s not friendly and there’s no camaraderie and joking. There’s only what we’re supposed to be doing, and that we’re not doing good enough.
I don’t know if that was always his personality or if it’s a new thing. I do know that he’s gotten progressively worse, so much so that now, if I didn’t know him before, I wouldn’t realize it used to be different.
My sister, who’s 12, doesn’t realize it. And I remember what it was like the first time I realized that not only was he being abusive in an emotional way, but that I was scared of it.
It was Father’s Day, 2014.
He had a headache, which wasn’t news, and everyone was done with breakfast and scattered around the house. Some tiny thing flipped him out – and it was my fault. I’d been in my room, reading quietly out loud because it helps me concentrate.
My family calls me out on it and doesn’t like it, so I try not to do it often, but for the most part they ignore it.
This time he didn’t.
I guess it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, or something. He blew up, stormed around, slammed stuff on the kitchen counters, screamed his fucking head off at my mom.
Normally when he’s angry, critical, trying to correct something, or give us a job or order, he doesn’t shout. He uses this *reasonable* and patronizing tone that says he’s disappointed in you, that you’ve really just been incredibly incompetent and useless THIS time, and he hopes you’re happy with yourself.
It’s the worst thing in the world.
Well, the shouting was worse.
My sister ran into my room and we hid under my desk until he left the house and my mom found us there. She was half-laughing, half-crying, like she wanted it to not be as big of a deal as it was.
I ran out and hid in the field crying for the better part of an hour, not wanting to be in the same airspace as him. When I got back, he was waiting on the front porch. I remembered that he wanted to talk to me. I sat there feeling sick as he went on and on, this self-victimizing speech I couldn’t stand hearing.
I wanted to tell him it didn’t excuse his actions, but I started crying instead. He put his arm around me, which just made it worse. I wanted to get out of the entire situation, and he wasn’t trying to comfort me. He was using me as a way to comfort himself.
Since I’m at school, I don’t see as much of him. I think my second-youngest brother realized that, because he got a job away from home this year and his own apartment. I don’t have a license, so I couldn’t make that happen, and when I’m not working I’m home all the time. It’s not much different that it was that day or before that day, except that now, I notice it.
Today, it was towels in the bathroom. He called all of us in to see how there was a towel on the floor and another one *improperly* draped over the rack. He gave us this lecture on the *correct* bathroom procedures, and as we were leaving I said something to my sister, which I’ve been using to comfort myself and get myself through the constant tension in my household:
I’m a spy, just witnessing and gathering data.
He heard it and asked me what I said, so I said I hadn’t spoken. He told me I was being childish, acting like a “whipped puppy.”
And the thing is?
That’s EXACTLY how I feel, and I can’t stop it.
I don’t even know if it’s as bad as I think it is. Nobody else in my family goes on crying jags about it. My sister’s a feisty little fireball and fights back. My younger brother doesn’t give a shit. My mom doesn’t like his attitude, but also she defends him and sympathizes somehow.
It’s just me, hiding in the bathroom choking on tears. Because every day in this house I feel judged and afraid and anxious. I don’t like to go anywhere with my father.
I don’t feel I HAVE the same father I did when I was six and loved him. I don’t feel like I love him now. I don’t respect him anymore, and I don’t even particularly LIKE him.
And for some reason the same thought keeps going around and around in my head.
Someday, if I get married, he’s going to want to walk me down the aisle, this person I don’t respect or even particularly like.
And I won’t be able to tell him “no.”
by Band Back Together | Oct 30, 2015 | Date/Acquaintance Rape, Depression, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self-Esteem, Teen Depression, Teen Rape |
I’ve been reading people’s stories on The Band and decided it might help me to share mine. Most of the stories I’ve seen included violence, fortunately mine doesn’t.
I am now 16.
He was my boyfriend of two years. I still don’t remember everything from that night, but I feel that it is time to let go of what I do remember.
We were at his house and he decided to watch a horror movie on his laptop, so we were lying on his bed watching this movie. I rolled over and gave him a kiss, then I rolled back over on my side to continue watching the movie. He tugged on my sweatshirt and said, “I wasn’t done with you yet.”
I thought he was just teasing.
When I rolled to face him, he grabbed onto my waist. I knew then what he wanted. I told him that I wasn’t ready. I told him no.
I did, I said no…
(sorry this is really hard for me to share).
He put more pressure on me so I wouldn’t be able to get away, though I tried. I truly tried to get away.
I will never say that I gave up fighting him, because I didn’t. But, I clenched my eyes shut. I felt him start to pull my pants down so I started kicking. That didn’t stop him. Then…
Then it happened.
My virginity was taken from me.
I’ve had nightmares ever since.
I didn’t leave him after it happened. I felt like I was too weak to be on my own. I also kept having sex with him because I was so scared that if I didn’t, he would do it again…and he ruined the little bit of self-esteem I had.
So, since I felt so low about myself, I kept doing it because I felt like I deserved it.
Like I said before, I’m fortunate that my situation wasn’t violent.
I am sixteen years old, almost seventeen, and I am currently in a relationship with my seventeen year old Navy boyfriend. I came into this relationship scared to death to let myself love someone again.
But, my boyfriend taught me that what I went through was tragic and devastating, but I am beautiful and have my whole life ahead of me. He has turned my life around completely and made me realize that I have to learn to love myself before I could be happy and love someone else.
I still have nightmares whenever I sleep. I still go through periods when I blame myself. I still have severe depression, but everyday is a new day.
I guess, part of me is still seeking for help and advise on how to keep fighting after a rape. Being raped has made me who I am today.
Yes, I wish it hadn’t happen, but at the same time, I’m glad that it did because it has made me become the strong, beautiful young lady I am.
by Band Back Together | Oct 27, 2015 | Divorce, Economic Abuse, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem |
Has anyone else experienced a feeling of extreme dissatisfaction with the society in which we live in? I’m sure most, if not all of you, have. I get really sick of paying my taxes when they’re spent to fight countries. We buy guns and our kids get substandard food and education. People starve, have no home or prospects for finding a suitable job.
Our culture is draining; it puts the emphasis on all the wrong things; status, money, possessions. It’s no wonder that depression and anxiety are on the rise in the Western cultures.
I fantasize about getting a van, refitting it to be a little rolling house and just traveling. I’d take my acoustic instruments, books, and yes, my laptop. I’d seek odd jobs to get just enough money to buy simple food and fuel. I would chase the spring and summertime, leaving the cold and icy winters behind.
I’d get in contact with my higher self by shedding all these damn possessions, objects that thirty years ago we didn’t even know we needed. I’d go to Burning Man. I’d seek out music and art festivals.
The only thing that really keeps me from doing this is my kids. There is so much I still have to teach them. I hold no degrees but there isn’t much I haven’t thought about. I don’t think that they would understand that I have not been living the life I want.
I work because my children need clothes, money for their activities, food, school. I don’t work to attain higher status. In fact, I’d say that although my occupation involves being the leader of several men, my job is humble.
We make the products that make soils more fertile through natural means. It’s just above farming as far as humble goes. My employer is generous, giving production bonuses of a significant amount, above and beyond the wage we make.
When my wife left, my mortgage was nearly two thousand dollars in the red along with several other bills that hadn’t been paid. She’d hidden this from me and denied it when I asked about it.
My boss was the one who helped me.
I know in my heart that there aren’t many people who would have done this. Most employers would have said, tough titty, kitty. Of course, I paid the money back but it remains: I’d have been evicted and my house repossessed without his generosity.
Still, I feel that the life that I live is far from genuine.
I don’t know.
I just want to have some kind of change in my life, yet I just cannot seem to summon the strength to change anything. I want a companion, but that fucker low self-esteem, whom I call Benny, keeps the litany of insults going.
You’re a loser. How could anyone want a weak and pathetic animal like you around? Didn’t you learn anything from your marriage? You’re a useless unlovable creep.
It’s time for a huge change.
– See more at: https://web.archive.org/web/20151228102447/https://bandbacktogether.com:80/all-posts/page/7#sthash.NeSQ2fNp.dpuf
by Band Back Together | Oct 26, 2015 | Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Bipolar Disorder, Child Abuse, Child Sexual Abuse, Grief, Loss, Murder, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder |
I had a younger aunt that was like a sister to me.
My sophomore year in college, I took her on spring break with me. When I moved out of state, and I would come home to visit, I didn’t stay at my parents, I would stay at her house. We were that close.
Then it all was gone. I got a call from my mother at 1AM one morning and my world stopped.
My aunt had been brutally tortured, murdered.
She was gone.
Murder brings out intense emotional reactions.
The emotional pain and anguish of murder seem unbearable. I feel an overwhelming sense of loss and deep, deep sorrow. I constantly experience thoughts about the circumstances of her death.
I relieve what I think happened and I see her being tortured and killed. I imagine the pleas for her life she was making.
Grieving for a murder victim is unlike any other grief. The murder of a loved one results in the survivors grieving not only the death, but how the person died.
I have intrusive visualizations of the murder and I see her suffering. I have flashbacks of the moment when I was notified of her death. I have flashbacks of the last time I saw her alive.
I dream of her knocking at my door and, when I open it, I see her, and she tells me, “It was a mistake! It wasn’t me.”
I never got to see her dead body, so I think part of me has denial about her gruesome death.
Her life was cut short through an act of sick cruelty. The disregard for human life adds overwhelming feelings of anger, distrust, injustice, and helplessness to the normal sense of loss and sorrow. Sometimes, I cry like I am never going to stop.
I don’t think a person can rebound from this.
I have suffered lots of childhood abuse, both childhood sexual abuse and childhood emotional abuse. I suffer from bipolar disorder and PTSD. My mother has narcissistic personality disorder.
I’ve got my hands full, but dealing with a murder is a baffling head game.
I don’t think I will ever come to terms with it.
by Band Back Together | Oct 20, 2015 | Anxiety, Childhood Bullying, Depression, Eating Disorders, Restrictive Eating Disorders, Self Injury, Self-Esteem, Suicide, Teen Depression |
Hello The Band,
My name is Sarah and I am 22 years old.
When I was 13, I was bullied, and in response I began my nine year (so far) journey with depression and self-harm, followed by a seven year journey with a restrictive eating disorder.
Until now, The Band I have never written or spoken about my story in complete, honest detail. It’s more important than ever that I come to terms with how that individual made me feel.
I still don’t feel brave enough to open up this much to people who know me, so opening up to you, The Band, is the first step.
I was always a shy child growing up. I first found myself a victim of bullying at the age of five. I can’t remember much, apart from trying to hide from those two boys in my year and their cruel words – even then, I never told anybody about what was happening. Despite that experience (which was thankfully short-lived), I always had a good number of close friendships and grew up as a happy, quiet, attentive, little girl.
I moved through the next eight years of my education without any significant hiccups. During the usual childhood friend tiffs, I’d always find a new handful of friends right around the corner. I enjoyed school. I guess the only problem I had (although I didn’t notice it at the time) was that my family was not particularly open.
My parents had been together throughout my childhood (and are now celebrating their second year of – finally – being married) and I had an older sister. Both of my parents worked full-time throughout my childhood, so my grandmother would often walk me to and from school, and look after my sister and I at home.
I have few memories of spending time with my parents but those I have are happy ones. I wouldn’t realize until years later that the emotional distance between my family and I made me a very closed person.
For the record, I’m beyond the blaming stage – we are all consequences of our experiences and we can’t change the past. Now we just have to try to learn how to move forward.
I made it to secondary school without too many problems. My first year was similarly successful – I was in the top sets for everything and had a close group of friends. About halfway into my second year of secondary school, not long after my thirteenth birthday, the bullying began.
I remember the first time so vividly.
I was walking home from school with a girl who I didn’t usually talk to much, and the boy in question (let’s call him B for “bully” for convenience) was walking with his friends some way behind us. There was nobody between us.
The next thing I knew, I heard him shout “Sarah, get your tits out!”
Instinctively, I turned around, stuck my middle finger up at him and continued walking. The girl I was with asked me what he’d said, but I pretended that I hadn’t heard the exact words.
I still remember my heart dropping a beat when he’d shouted, but I went home and got on with the day, not thinking much of what had happened. I didn’t know that it would change so much.
The next time it happened, I was walking home alone with B walking with his friends behind me. This was the start of countless occasions almost identical in content:
He would, on an near-daily basis, shout three words down the street at me: “Sarah saggy tits.“
I was (and still feel) so ashamed but I didn’t feel I could tell anybody. I’d never even judged my appearance until that point. I hadn’t noticed that I was developing faster than the other girls my age, and it made me feel like I was disgusting.
I hated my body, because (in my head) that was the reason this was happening. It didn’t take long for the self-hate and anger to kick in.
The first time I purposely hurt myself was following one of these incidents. I got my mathematical compass out of my pencil case, took off my trousers, and dragged the tip over my thigh several times. It felt so good to actually DO something, because I’d felt so helpless.
The next day, after B had done exactly the same thing, I tried to self-harm again. Problem was, I didn’t have quite so much anger and self-hatred built up, so had trouble making myself do it.
I was desperate for that release. I started drawing lines on my legs with pen and methodically scratching at them with the compass until all the pen had been scratched away. It didn’t take long before I didn’t need the pen, or before I used more harmful instruments, and moved to other parts of my body.
All the while, I was doing whatever I could to avoid walking in front of B on the way home from school. I would stand around the school gates, until the number of people dwindled so much that I was almost sure that he’d already left (sometimes it succeeded, other times it didn’t). I also started slowing down to the pace of a snail if I saw him ahead of me on the path.
After avoiding B on the way home for a while, he started bullying me in other ways, although he never used those words anywhere but on the walk home.
He began trying to trip me up around school. Having to see him in classes every day was torture. For the first time in my life, I hated going to school. I’d be anxious every morning and would feel sick at the thought of going in.
Then, the bullying started on the Internet, too.
We all had these “websites” and he would use his to bully me further – publicly. He’d post comments on his page, pretending to be me, saying horrible things (the most memorable being that I masturbated at the image of this unpopular guy at school).
Everyone saw it.
Nobody said anything, but I knew they had.
And B was relentless in his bullying, both in person and cyberbullying.
The first time I tried to be more aggressive to stop the bullying was after the online bullying had begun. Apart from what he’d said about me, he’d also followed a young teacher home and posted her address online. I used this to report him to the site host and his account was deleted.
For a short while, the bullying paused. However, my friends told me that B knew I was the one who’d gotten his site taken down, which meant that he was clearly still saying things about me.
After a few weeks, the three word harassment on my walk home began again. The next step I took was to tell my head of year about what he’d put about that teacher online. My friends were called into the head of year’s office and she asked them about what he’d written. They told her about the teacher and that B had written things about me on there, too. This teacher didn’t speak to me again, but B was suspended for a grand total of three days.
He never bullied me again, clearly knowing that that had been his punishment without me mentioning what he’d put me through.
About half a year after it started, the bullying was over.
However, the damage was already done.
I was depressed and self-harming on a daily basis. Self-harm became my way of coping with every negative feeling I had. I tried to stop a number of times, but always ended up self-harming worse when I gave in. It was also around this time that I learned my closest friends were talking about my self-injury behind my back. Everybody knew about my self-harm, but nobody approached me about it. Again, I changed groups of friends and, thankfully, was not alone.
I was 15 and just about to start my last year at that secondary school. My appetite was greatly suppressed by my depression and I’d often only eat one meal a day.
It was just before starting school that I consciously decided to stop eating. I began weighing myself every morning, before putting a few drops of milk into a bowl to make it look like I’d eaten, throwing away my lunch on the way to school, and reluctantly eating dinner with my parents each night. About three months later, I was at a BMI of 16% and my parents had noticed something was wrong.
I spent a few days pretending to be ill so that I didn’t have to eat anything, when my mother told me that they thought I was starving myself. I laughed it off and went back to eating properly. I lasted a week (and a 5 pound weight gain) before my emotions caught up with me.
It was then that I became trapped in the cycle of trying to lose weight and self-harming. Sometimes, I made myself sick, I over-exercising, one or two times of laxative abuse, quite a few minor overdoses, and lots of self-harming and cutting.
Since this started, I’ve seen quite a few different therapists.
The longest I’ve been without cutting is four months, and I’m currently coping better with the eating disorder than ever before. I’m still struggling quite a bit, but without this experience, I wouldn’t be where I am now.
I’m 22 and I’m on my way to my dream career as a researcher. I am just starting my PhD in psychology, with my research topic greatly inspired by what I’ve been through. I’ve come a long way since the first time B shouted at me. I still have problems with depression, anxiety, self-harm, and making myself eat enough, but I’m so much more confident, knowledgeable and open than I was back then.
I have a massive way to go, but I’m encouraged by how far I’ve come.
There were a couple of times that I came really close to telling a teacher what I was going through, but I never had enough courage to do it. I can say now that things may have be a lot easier if I’d been brave enough to say something.
Please, please consider reaching out to someone if you know they are being bullied.
by Band Back Together | Oct 19, 2015 | Cyberharassment, Cyberstalking, Infidelity, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Harassment |
Where do I start, The Band?
I’m a middle-aged woman working in a man’s world – always thought I could laugh at their jokes and play along.. One man in particular assumed my lack of offense was a “come on.”
It was not.
Let’s start at the beginning.
I rejoined my company, and at first, I shadowed my colleagues to refresh my knowledge. M was one of these colleagues.
We got along well and I enjoyed attending events with him. At the end of October, M and I attended an event together. It was an early morning start so he stayed overnight in a hotel.
I invited him to dinner with my husband, my son, and I. It was a friendly gesture. We enjoyed a few glasses of with dinner and afterward, my husband and I walked M back to his hotel.
When we returned home, there was a text message. My husband said, “Oh you have a text from M!” I assumed he was thanking us for dinner so I asked my husband what it said. He read the text to me:
“Fancy a f*ck?”
The following day, I told M my husband had read his text to me. He was mortified but I assured him we’d laughed it off, blamed it on the wine. M’s response was “Well. Do you?” I told him no and explained that I was very happily married.
This didn’t stop M from flirting.
I’m not completely innocent, I’m also guilty of flirting. I had a wicked sense of humour and an outgoing bubbly personality. This could be misconstrued, however I made it entirely clear to M that I was not interested.
I explained that I’d been with my husband since we were teenagers and that I’d never cheated on him. M stated that he didn’t want me to leave my husband, he just wanted to have sex with me.
I explained I don’t do casual sex and never wanted to be anyone’s “bit on the side.” He stated that he loved his wife but he enjoyed sex with other women.
Again, I told him I didn’t share his methods and wasn’t interested.
I should have distanced myself from M. I now deeply regret not doing that.
Perhaps I’d been naive, but I believed we could talk openly and be friends without a physical relationship. We got along well and had a great rapport. I thought I could handle this.
His flirting became more sexually explicit which I took as banter. He began texting me after events telling me how sexy I looked. I enjoyed the attention and the compliments and did not discourage him.
I was always clear that I would not cheat on my husband.
His text messages became more sexually explicit as he sent me messages about what he’d like to do to me, what he’d like me to wear, and what positions he’d have me in.
I told him it was not going to happen and he had no respect for me. I asked him how he’d feel if someone was sending messages like that to his wife. He apologized.
A short time later, started it again.
Around about this time, someone told me that M had had an affair with another coworker, E. I asked M about it. He said that she’d chased him, and what had happened between them.
E and I were friends on Facebok and we had a late night chat. She was tormenting me about my friendship with M and I explained that it was only friendship. I told her, he’d sent very inappropriate texts. She confessed that he had been sending her these too. We discovered the content of these messages were nearly identical.
She told me that he’d been doing this for 14 years. He’d pressed himself against her in the office and suggested he pop by her house when she was alone. He had stroked my legs under the table at events and told me he had a fetish for nylon on skin.
It became clear that M was a sexual predator and he’d been grooming me. I confronted him and he denied it, saying E had “lead him on.” I knew that one day he’d try blaming me too, so I saved E’s conversation. M is very charming and convincing. He started to behave better around me – and again, I thought we could be friends. I’d hoped we’d moved on.
What followed was a really bad period in my personal life. My father had terminal cancer. I held one of my daughters as she gave birth to a dead baby. Someone lodged a complaint at work claiming I’d been acting fraudulently.
Although management dismissed it as nonsense, I felt my reputation had been tarnished. I struggled feeling I was being judged. I knew I’d done nothing wrong and invited a full investigation. The matter was closed.
My father died and family issues meant that I couldn’t attend his funeral. I thought I could handle it but the pressure; I was being judged for not attending my father’s funeral.
M had remained a friend and I spoke with him about some of these issues. He told me his marriage was going through a bad patch and that he no longer loved his wife. Around this time, he started to tell me that he had fallen in love with me. I was emotionally fragile and wasn’t sure how to handle it.
He blew hot and cold – one minute he was telling me he loved me while the next, he ignored me while he sorted things out with his wife. I still refused to sleep with him as I maintained that I loved my husband and would not cheat.
I had developed feelings for him but there was no sexual attraction. I didn’t trust him. I knew he was a womanizer who had no respect for women.
On a few occasions when we were on the phone, it became clear that he was masturbating. I’d put the phone down when that happened. He was always sorry afterwards (especially when his wife caught him).
I went to meet him at his hotel one morning for an event. We were going to travel together, and I was early so he invited me to have a coffee. I felt I could handle the situation. As I was drinking my coffee, he went to the toilet and came out exposing himself.
I was mortified.
Immediately, I stood up to leave.
He asked me to touch it.
I told him he was out of order, he buttoned up, and we left. He said he was sorry; it wouldn’t happen again. I feel incredibly stupid now reading this, but I really believed we could be friends. He sent me a photo of his penis to our private email accounts, I didn’t report it at work.
At the beginning of April, his wife contacted the hotel where we’d both stayed on a business trip. She suspected that I’d spent the night with her husband. Of course I hadn’t – I spent it with a number of colleagues – including her husband – at dinner together.
Afterward, he came to my room with a bottle of wine – I felt safe. He sexually coerced me and had sex with me.
I froze.
I did not stop him. I did not say no. He left immediately afterwards.
I felt dirty and confused. He had worn me down. I didn’t want to have sex with him but I hadn’t stopped him. I sat in the bath and sobbed. Then I showered. Then bathed again.
I just couldn’t feel clean.
The sex was unplanned and unprotected. I felt contaminated. I felt raped but I thought I couldn’t have been as I didn’t say no.
I felt nothing as he was doing it. It was like someone flipped a switch and turned me off. I remember feeling like I was standing at the bottom of the bed watching it happen to someone else. Like watching the TV with the sound off.
I was mortified that I’d cheated on my husband. I was so ashamed. I decided no one would ever know. I pretended nothing had happened. I thought I could go back to normal and forget it.
A few days later, I complained about M’s wife phoning the hotel. I felt I was being stalked and management queried why she was suspicious.
At this time, his line manager queried M’s mobile phone usage. He was my friend so I lied and said he’d never been inappropriate. I didn’t want anyone to know what’d happened and I didn’t want him lose his job.
I felt partially to blame for not stopping contact with him.
As soon as I’d given M a clean slate, he changed completely. He was doing his best to convince his wife that he’d done nothing wrong; he blamed me for leading him on and stalking him.
Around this time she started checking my – and my husband’s – Facebook page. M told me she was obsessed; that was going to contact my husband to tell him I’d had an affair with M.
She wouldn’t let it drop. I emailed her and asked her to stop cyberstalking me – I explained I wasn’t interested in her husband and if she wanted to talk to me, just call or email.
M enjoyed all the attention and wound me up about it. I reacted badly and struck out at him for his behavior. He’d told me he was my best friend; that he loved me.
Now, he treated me like a bunny boiler.
At home, my evening relaxing glass of wine became a bottle. It helped me forget. I became angry and argumentative. My husband desperately wanted to know what was wrong. I told him nothing yet became increasingly distant.
I drank to get to sleep but woke up three hours later when the wine wore off. I’d spent the rest of the night watching the clock.
For eight long weeks.
I argued with M, and told him I was disgusted at what he had done to me. He laughed at me and put his hand between my legs. I punched him in the face.
He was not going to touch me again.
Two months after the sex, I suffered a serious house fire. I broke down. I had nothing left to fight with. I told my husband what had happened. He was devastated, angry. I couldn’t cope and went to the doctor.
M’s line manager asked him not to contact me. I was off with stress and they knew he’d been sexually harassing me at work. We’d been chatting one day, and the next?
Nothing.
I asked him what the problem was. He ignored me. I was so, so stressed and couldn’t understand it! He’d groomed me for so long that I depended on his friendship. I was frustrated, humiliated, used, and lied to.
I emailed M and told him this. I’d lied to protect him and had (stupidly) thought we were still friends. He took my correspondence and using it to make me look like a stalker. He took a picture of his black eye and when he was told not to contact me, he reported me to management for assault and said I’d been harassing his wife and family.
To defend myself, I raised a grievance for sexual harassment. The case was heard and they believed him – we’d been having an affair for two years. He said I’d been blackmailing him to keep seeing me. I’d harassed him and his family after he ended the affair.
I was distraught.
After the house fire, I contacted rape crisis for counselling. I found the strength to ask my doctor for STI testing. Thankfully it was clear. I called the police and reported M for the sexually explicit images he’d been emailing me. As I was so distraught, they questioned me for ten hours solid and wrote a 35 page statement for a rape inquiry.
They took six weeks to get around to questioning M.
He told them we’d been having an affair and produced my emails. They charged him with nothing and spoke to me like I’d been wasting police time.
Work completed their investigation and found M was in the clear, but I’d face disciplinary action for assaulting and harassing a member of staff. They concluded that I was trying to ruin his reputation.
Talk about a no win situation.
I had a severe meltdown and called the Samaritans – I was suicidal.
Since, I’ve had a few relapses and have taken sleeping tablets together with wine. My husband is scared to leave me alone.
My rape counselor says I am suffering from PTSD. I have lost 8 kilos and now weigh less than 55 kilos. My guts are constantly on fire. I cry at the drop of a hat. I haven’t worn a skirt for 6 months as I feel vulnerable.
I have forgotten what normal feels like and have aged about 20 years.
My husband is supportive, but he’s also a wreck. M stole our exclusiveness. I appealed the work decision a month ago and have a union rep supporting me. My employer has not yet given me a date for my appeal. M is back at work like he’s done nothing wrong. What M did to me was horrendous and I’m being punished for it.
I have lost my faith in Justice.
I begged him to leave me alone and now I’m paying the price.
