So I guess I'm doing this? (Diary thing)
(Blanket TW for nonconsensual sexual stuff)
I don't want to talk about this. Because if I write about it, if I speak it into existence, I have to acknowledge that it happened. Because for a long time, I've been hiding behind denial - just shoving it down, "forgetting" it ever happened. But the thing is, that it happened - and hard as I try, I can't forget.
I don't know what to say. There's so much I could say - so much I don't want to. I still haven't told anyone. The last time it happened was over 6 years ago and I've never told the story face-to-face. I've typed it so many times it feels like rote - less like something that actually happened to me, and more like a combination of words typed over and over. I could talk about how I still feel invalid, because he was also a child - 2 school grades older. I could talk about how His grandfather is my nan's partner which makes it that much harder to forget. I could talk about all the many ways he still affects me - like dreams so frequent they aren't even nightmares, always containing some reference to SA. I could talk about how I told my story one too many times to the wrong people - and even though nothing has come of it in over a year - I feel constantly on edge, waiting for the day i come home to cops on the door, or my mum gets the call, telling her what happened - because I happened to tell my story on a site with mandatory reporters. Even though I am 9 months from 18, from aging out of confidentiality breaks. I could talk about how I'm scared to tell my story anymore, because what is stopping that from happening again? But I know that I need to talk about it; It's not going away until I deal with it. So, I guess I'm soing this.
(TIme to press post and run away so i can't rethink this)
Well....It's been a while. I've officially graduated high school so that's fun, and its a whole new year! Same old me though. Although, maybe not?
I've been kind of flirting with the idea of telling my mum lately. See, a lot of my fear revolves around this whole thing being one big secret that no one knows that I have to carry around daily. So, logically, if I take away the secret, I take away what makes it scary? But also, my plan was to go to uni, move far away, turn 18, and be able to talk to a therapist and get my sh together free of mandatory reporting. But it's really hard to get a clear answer, and lately my research seems like maybe I don't magically age out of confidentiality breaks and mandatory reporting once I turn 18. Becuase just because I am no longer a minor, and have been free from risk of harm for many years, its the idea that the person is still out there, possibly doing it to others. And then, I feel like its different, since he was a kid, and what went on wasn't really that bad - I mean that it wasn't violent, or actually r/pe - so maybe it doesn't apply.
Anyway, I got off on a tangent there. But yeah, I've been contemplating telling her. But then, you know, every reason why I haven't mentioned it in the 7ish years since it ended are still valid reasons why I shouldn't/wouldn't do so now. Like, i have no idea how she'll react (overreact, underreact, keep it a secret between us, tell everyone) and therefore I won't know the outcome. I don't want it made into a big thing. I don't want her to tell my nan because her partner is the grandfather of the person. I don't want her to blow it out of proportion and bring it to the cops, or to use it as yet another reason as to why I am not ready to move 7 hours away for uni. So yeah, idk what to do really. I'm so tired of dealing with it all alone, but I'd rather do that then end up living through what i've been panicking over all year
@Itgetsbetter122 Hey there, congrats on your graduation! This is a very crucial time in your life, and it is wonderful that you are taking the time to think things through. No matter what you decide to do, I wish you the very best. We are here for you! I hope making these posts have helped you out. It takes great effort and courage to open up, especially to strangers, so major kudos to you. We are here for you! All the best. :)
In an alternate reality, I'd get help. I'd tell someone about the stuff I write about here, and my past self-harming and current urges - everything. And it would be terrible at first. I would struggle to choke out the words and seeeing people's reactions would be torture. But I'd get help. Eventually, things would get better. I wouldn't be struggling alone anymore.
And it would be so easy to make this my reality. But so, so hard. I don't have the strength to get through the inevitable awfulness off telling. I can't deal with the whole 'emotional reveal' thing. It's why I haven't legitimately come out - just teased it and waited for people to work it out. If I could skip past the telling, the reaction, and the "why didn't you tell me sooner", I would do it in a heartbeat.
It's not like I want to hide it. It's a weight I can barely carry, and It's been mine to bear for so damn long. But I don't know how to let anyone in. I don't know how to let down the walls I've had around me for years. I've just always gone on, figuring it out for myself. I don't know how to let anyone else figure things out.
The idea of autnonomy feels more like a novelty
a far-off idea that has never belonged to me
My story, my body, my human autonomy
i can't safeguard these things i was told had belonged to me
Been too young all along, now I lack the capacity
took away my control and they say it's what's best for me
All i've ever been shown is that they'll throw away the key
So i don't ask for help, just keep bearing the weight on me
Soo I'm back again, reviving this diary thing after a couple of years because I've been thinking about things lately, and I find it helpful to put these thoughts somewhere other than my notes app. Even with no replies or whatever, I still feel less alone when I post these. (Fair warning, this is hella long and stream of consciousness-y, but then it is my 'diary' so I wont apologise for it).
I've been thinking lately about an experience I had in year 7 (12yo). A boy in my grade showed me the thumbnail of a certain type of video, if you know what I mean. Being the goody-two-shoes I was, I immediately went and told on him. To my surprise, that teacher took this very seriously, and I found myself in a school counsellor's office, having it explained to me that what he did was in fact wrong, and actually considered sexual harassment. I then ended up having to give a statement to the police about the whole thing, and was asked if I wanted to do this thing where victims and the perpetrators met in a group to talk about the impact of it, or something like that. That thing didn't end up happening.
I remember when I had to give the statement, I told the officer that I was certain of what kind of video that was, even though I had only seen a still image of the thumbnail. She asked me how I knew for sure. I made up some excuse that I had seen my brother watch it. It makes me sad to think about the truth, that I knew what it was, because this wasn't my first exposure to that material, that at 12 years old, that wasn't my first SA experience. If only they knew.
In journalling about these experiences, one sentence keeps coming up with intensity, "they would have taken it so seriously."
"If I had told a teacher about [him]. They would have taken it so seriously. They would have called me up to the school counsellor. She would have asserted that it was his fault. That it was wrong. That if it had happened to a friend, I wouldn't say it was their fault for starting it. I would have been taken to a police station to give a statement. They would have taken it so seriously."
I've been trying to work out why this "realisation" is feeling so intense for me, trying to discern what its making me feel. It's a weird mix of validation and sadness, I think. It feels so heavy, like, he did something to me. It was wrong. They would have taken it seriously. Like, they were so so serious and 'upset' over that single small exposure, like, what happened to me was actually bad. Like I've been invalidating myself for so long, convincing myself that its not that big a deal, or it was my fault because I was curious sometimes, or because I didn't tell him to stop some times, or I told his it was ok the first time. (and even as I write this, I feel the need to defend my self, say only sometimes I was curious etc, because I still feel like curiosity/ laughter/ not outright refusal means that it was my fault and therefore not bad). But it was wrong. It was bad. If they had known, they would have taken it so serious.
I'm repeating myself a lot. I think I'm still trying to convince myself that it was wrong. always. Yes, it was wrong when he did it when he thought I was sleeping, or when I was actively trying to get away. But it was wrong, even when I went along with it. Even when I parroted him and said it "felt good", even when I was laughing. Because I was 9 or 10 years old and incapable of consenting. Because he was 2 years older than me, bigger, and further developed physically, developmentally, and emotionally. I write this like I know it for a fact. But I have always felt like there are two sides to my brain. And though the factual robot side of my brain can parrot these words, I still have trouble fully accepting it as fact.
It's hard to accept, because it still doesn't feel cut and dry. Because if I was abused, that means he was an abuser. It's hard because he was so young. With the perspective I have as a now 20-year-old, it's hard to place blame on an 11-12 year old. Just like me, he was also well below the age of consent. And yes, there was a power differential in his favour, but I can't say he did it knowingly or with harmful intent. And so how can I say I experienced abuse, when i can hardly call an 11-year old an abuser?
