Warning: Some of these blog posts will contain real life content that may shock or confront some readers, or trigger PTSD.

Saturday, 7 April 2012


According to wikipedia...

"A chain of events is a number of actions and their effects that are contiguous and linked together. 

A chain reaction is a sequence of reactions where a reactive product or by-product causes additional reactions to take place.

A metaphor for chain reactions is a snowball - causing larger snowfall - until finally an avalanche results (also known as the snowball effect)."

Image Source

As I sat in the office, alone, I found myself fixating on the most random things.

Things like the bland beige paint on the walls.  And either my eyes were a magnifying glass or the fibres in the carpet were huge.

Although I was sweating profusely, the air conditioning was freezing, sending cold shivers up and down my spine.  

I was so uncomfortable that I felt the need to continuously shift in the chair.  Each time I shifted I almost had to prise my leg off the vinyl.  What were they thinking having vinyl covered chairs in the tropics anyway?  The sweat between my legs and the vinyl kept building up and I could feel it trickle down my legs like tears.  

My heart was beating so hard in my chest it felt like it was going to burst through.

I couldn't fathom the chain of events I had just set into motion.

My hands were clammy and my legs felt weak. I had to keep trying to place my feet flat on on the floor. Each time I raised my foot a particular way, my leg would begin to shake, like it had a mind of its own.  

The shivering got worse.  It seemed like my whole body was shaking.

I was running on raw, nervous energy - not just an ordinary rush of adrenalin - this fear was constant.  

This was dread.   

Someone had torn a hole in me and my entrails had spewed out onto the altar of life. Someone had exposed what was inside of me to the world. That someone was me. 

What was I doing?  I didn't know what was going to happen next.  

Finally the Deputy Principal appeared in the doorway, with two men (one was really tall) and a lady. The men were was a detectives from the CIB, the woman was a social worker from the department of family services.

So this was it. There was no turning back now.  

As I talked about the sexual abuse, they looked at me with their piercing eyes. Judging Me.  Reading my body language to see if I was telling the truth.

Eventually it was time to go. But I would not be going home.  We were going to the office of the department of family services, where I would need to give my official statement.

My mind was spinning.  Trying to comprehend.  

I didn't know how this was going to work. 

couldn't just not go home.  

People were expecting me.

I rode my bike to school and couldn't just leave it there. 

Someone might steal it.

Did I have to ride my bike to the department of family services office?  

No - I had to go in their car?

The Deputy Principal told me that they would put the bike somewhere safe.  She got me to describe what it looked like and where it was and I told her the lock combination so that they could lock it somewhere safe.

When we got to the office, I sat at a large round polished table, recounting all of the things that my stepfather had done, while they took notes.  This seemed to take hours. Finally, it was finished and we waited while the statement was printed out.  They gave it to me to read over, so that I could make sure it was all correct, and if there was anything else I needed to add.

Then my Mum was there.  She had to give a statement too and I could tell from the look on her face that she had been crying.

After a while, the two of us were in the room alone, waiting for what was going to happen next.

Mum said to me, "Why didn't you tell me about this?  Now 'J' is going to lose his job, and we are going to lose the house".

I can't even remember my response.

Eventually, the social worker came back and we talked about what was going to happen next.  

That is when I found out that Mum was going to stay with 'J' and help him fight the charges that were going to be laid against him.

I would not be able to live in my home any more.  

I was being cast out.  

And it wasn't because my mother didn't believe me.  She knew that all of it was true.

But I was being cast out anyway.

While 'J' was at the police station, I was able to go home and pack some things.  

The first thing I did was to get the cassette walkman out of Mum's cupboard that was put aside for me for Christmas. A walkman was the only thing I wanted for Christmas and I had pestered Mum for one for months.  I had only chosen it a few weeks before, so I knew it was there and there was no way I was missing out on that.

I gathered up some clothes and things that I needed, and went back to the department of family services.

While all this was happening, they had contacted my Nan (my mothers mum) and it had been agreed by all that this was the best place for me to stay for now.

Amazingly, they even asked me if that was O.K. with me.  I was grateful to stay there.  I didn't want to go to some kind of foster care - if there was even anything like that available in our town.  

By the time I got to my Nan's place, I was exhausted.  I was numb. It had been a long, tiring day.  I don't think I had any more tears left to cry.

All the time I had kept my secret, I had feared that my mother would not choose me.  My worst fear had now been realised and my world had crumbled beneath my feet. 

I felt hurt, scared, and very, very alone. Unloved. Worthless.

My one bright shining light in all of this is the love, strength and support that my Nan had for me.

I didn't know what was going to happen.

I knew that there was going to be a court case.

I would have to go to court.

Things were about to get a lot worse before they got better. 

And they did get worse.**

But my Nan was my rock through all of this strife.   

She helped me to survive.

My past does not define me.

I am not a victim.

I am a survivor.

** I will talk about this in my next post.

For new readers who want to start at the beginning, start here.