That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
In less than an hour I was transformed from a beautiful, vibrant, 14 year old girl to a victim.
As a young teenager, I was innocence and naivety personified, never really having an interest in boys, apart from the usual teenage giggling behind hands. And, of course, the occasional gossip about those bad girls who were ‘doing it’ and that one girl who had left school the summer before because she was actually pregnant. To me, those things never made sense. After all, wasn’t sex something for adults? I was nowhere near adult enough to have sex, to understand sex, or to want sex.
My parents brought me up to understand sex as something to be shared between two people who were in love, who had full trust in each other, and who fully wanted to. I’ve never been given the whole ‘sex is only between a married man and woman’ talk – my parents were fairly liberal. The emphasis was always on desire, and, more importantly, love.
I knew I wasn’t ready for a physical relationship with anyone, I did not desire and I did not love. I realised that I was too young to fully understand these concepts. It was a personal thing – maybe these ‘bad’ girls who were having sex did have the ability to desire, to love – I only knew that I did not.
However, I never thought that I wouldn’t get the choice. I always believed that I would wait until I was ready, and I’d know when I was. But at 14, that choice was taken away from me. My ability to wait until I was ready; my chance to fall in love first; my innocence and naivety were taken out of my hands.
At the tender age of 14, I was sexually assaulted. And for two years this dominated my life.
During those years I spiralled into depression, I began drinking heavily and taking drugs to numb the pain. I was a cutter, plagued with severely suicidal thoughts. I stopped going to school, and started to lash out. I pushed everyone away - my family, my friends, and even strangers – because I was unable to trust anyone.
It took me eight months, and an alcohol and drug binge, to admit to my brother what had happened. He told my mother, and she finally understood what had happened to her sweet little girl. In turn, it helped me to understand what had happened.
The next year and a half was a constant battle. I was put into counselling, the woman there finally allowed me to re-learn how to trust people. I began opening up to my family more and more. I stopped taking drugs and gave up alcohol. I developed new methods of coping rather than self-mutilating. I had some good days, and I had some terrible days. I could go for weeks surrounded by blackness, tempted by the razor, or the thoughts of suicide. But I chose not to be a victim, I decided that this one night was not going to control who I was.
My assault nearly tore my family apart, it nearly tore me apart. But it is a part of me now, it is who I am. I’m glad I got help when I did, and I’m glad I had a strong family network around me to help me deal with the pain and the depression. I haven’t been a cutter for over three years. I haven’t taken drugs for the same amount of time. Although I no longer associate myself with being depressed, depression is always there in the background. Like a hand reaching out of the dark, always trying to grab you.
I remember everything, but I would never want to forget.
Brave, well-written and no doubt a huge relief for others - we can talk about these things, put them out in the open, and overcome them. Thank you.
Thank you so much for sharing this. This is horrible; it's brought tears to my eyes. There isn't really anything to say to sufficiently encapsulate my shock, horror, and admiration for your strength.
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