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My Cult explained. (Hopefully!)

I’ve been wanting to explain what type of cult I was in for a while now, unfortunately the cult I was in is practically unknown, like most cults it masks itself as an established religion, one commonly known to most people and it’s very difficult trying to explain how it isn’t actually related to any religion is hard.

To be honest about my experience with this cult I cannot edit out the imaginary ties it had to Islam, I can tell you that these ties aren’t real, I can assure you that the cult is as Islamic as the KKK is Christian it’s just not as well known.

So please, please do not read this as a reason to fear or hate Muslims do not use it as an excuse to further misguided opinions as to what Islam is as Islam, in all honesty, is just like every other religion. (In my opinion)

My mother converted to Islam when I was 11, at first her beliefs were normal and her conversion had little effect on my life but within a year or so she had begun to constantly preach to me and my siblings in situations we couldn’t get away from – like while in the car.

By the time I was 13 I had also converted, it felt like my choice at the time and it did make me feel peace and happiness. But it can hardly be seen as appropriate for such a young person to make such a big decision and there was constant emotional manipulation at play my mother would have me trapped and would say “I want what’s best for you and I KNOW this is the truth, I believe this is the best thing for our lives” She sounded so sincere and I trusted my mother’s judgement.

For a few years, we were normal practicing Muslims, but things became stricter, at 15 my mother started believing that to truly have a chance at getting to heaven that we must observe more than is requested in Islam as that is secretly what God wanted us to do.

So we covered more and we prayed more, we fasted more we went to more talks, more lectures and more classes.

This is when things became more fundamentalist, this was NOT the teachings we were given but it seemed to be what my mother decided to take away from those teachings, For example;

Islamically as I’m sure most people know, there are 5 prayers a day for Muslims, but there are other daily prayers that you can choose to do and they’re called ‘Sunnah’ prayers, it was never suggested in classes or by other educated Muslims that these prayers were mandatory, in fact I don’t even remember being encouraged to try to do them, most scholars would tell us to ‘relax’ to try our best at what was compulsory and to be patient.

But my mother believed to be a ‘truly devout and pious’ Muslims we must observe everything we learned as not doing so was ‘sinful’. She started having more and more outrageous beliefs, she occasionally would say that while suicide bombing was wrong it was ‘sometimes understandable’ she once told me that if it meant I would go to heaven she would kill me to protect my ‘honor’ because she ‘loved’ me that much!

She believed, and maybe still does, that the earth is flat, the Queen is a lizard-person, the Government was poisoning the water with Fluoride to control our minds and make us more subservient, vaccines contained mind-altering drugs, the world is controlled by the Illuminate and the Freemasons under the guidance of the ’24 protocols’, 9/11 and 7/7 were faked by the Government to blind people from the ‘truth’, that we must prepare for the end of days, that only White, Western people were ever gay, the moon landing was faked – pretty much every conspiracy theory out there my mother preached like gospel.

These views I now know are not Islamic but more the beliefs of a paranoid individual who had just discovered the internet! Yet she had such a way of meshing it all together, using unusual religious doctrine to defend her beliefs and then teaching them to me. I was told that a truly pious daughter would always do whatever her mother tells her so she can go to heaven, my mother would often misquote an Islamic saying that went “Heaven lies at the feet of your mother”

And barring a few of the above beliefs I believed her and followed her.

She then married for the 5th time as a second wife to a man who had also converted and carried even more odd and extreme views than her.

Suddenly my religious beliefs were spiraling out of control, I was confused – when I first started practicing Islam I was told to take things slowly, to try my best and not to expect too much of myself, I was taught that men and women were equal, that I could choose what to do with my life and now I was praying nearly 20 times a day, readying myself for an arranged marriage as this was my ‘religious duty’ my worth as a Muslim woman was to cook, clean and get pregnant and to obey my husband in everything.

All my education was ‘religious’ there was never any question as to my professional future – I could only go to school if my future husband allowed it!

The religious doctrine changed too, I was no longer supposed to read and practice the Qur’an but to read a book that ‘explained’ the Qur’an written by a better Muslim than me and therefore was unquestionable.

Every day I had to sit and listen to about an hour of preaching from a book called ‘Ta’Leemul Haq’ I was told it was more ‘spiritually beneficial’ than the Qur’an – which is certainly not a typical Islamic belief! I found it to be cruel and scary and it bore no resemblance to my initial understanding of Islam.

I could never do enough I was always falling short of expectations there was always more I needed to do to be a ‘true’ Muslim.

We called ourselves ‘Jammatis’ or at least that is what my mother and her husband called it, it meant that religiously we should always worship together, it was often a duty to stay at another person’s home for days or even weeks doing nothing but pray and read Ta’Leemul Haq. The men went door-to-door trying to get other Muslims to follow our example, like being a Jehovah’s Witness who only preaches to other Jehovah’s Witnesses!

But even though I knew things weren’t normal I couldn’t just leave, my mother would (and eventually did) disown me, my questions were seen as signs of demonic possession my unwillingness to take part was often looked upon with suspicion and I sometimes feared for my safety.

I was furnished with many horror stories about the world made to feel as if I was constantly in danger – Non-Muslims were dangerous they either wanted to hurt me or lead me astray from my religion – I didn’t have a Non-Muslim friend until my 20s!

Everything I did was monitored, my mother checked my emails, my phone, my online profiles, she had me followed when I went out alone, she would call and text me incessantly until I came home.

Because of all this indoctrination, I didn’t enter the real world until just a few years ago! I lived in a pre-Armageddon world, where the smallest action could send me to heaven or to the fiery pits of hell where I’d burn for all eternity – I would often sob with fear at the thought that I might’ve done something wrong and condemned myself unknowingly.

I was miserable and so alone so that when things inevitably turned violent I simply ran away, I couldn’t do it anymore – I’d totally lost my belief in God and I couldn’t keep up the charade I knew that staying there would be more dangerous and even though I had nowhere to go but sleeping on the streets for 12 nights still felt like a better, safer option.

It wasn’t until I was free of this mind control that I finally understood what had actually been going on, I realized that it had been many years since I had been following an actual religion, my beliefs and my understanding of the way life works were not normal, that people generally didn’t have this experience growing up – you have no idea how incredibly mind-blowing it is to realize what you have commonly believed as fact for years is actually total fiction that bears no semblance to a reasonable, rational belief.

So let’s be clear this was not Islam, this was a cult, my mother a leader, a preacher of her own gospel using mind games and manipulation on me, as well as my siblings, to gain total control of my life.

There’s nothing religious about these beliefs and they have no actual basis Islamically.

The control, the mind games, the verbal/physical abuse, the literal demonizing of critical thought are all hallmark traits of a cult and I see no other better way to describe it.

I no longer believe in God – oddly enough my experience has sullied my opinion on the subject! But I respect those who chose to practice any belief that is intended to encourage us to be kinder, more understanding and compassionate.

I never thought I’d be stupid enough to fall for a cult but it’s not like they advertise the fact. I was young and too trusting and now I am paying the price, I’m years behind my peers and still unravelling a decade of mind control and indoctrination – so don’t judge me I’m embarrassed enough as it is.

I Never Thought I Could Do This.

If I had a penny for every person who told me to write about my life I would be rich, but I never thought I’d attempt it.

I never thought I would be able to write down the things I’ve experienced or be able to explain how I feel about them.

I was taken out of school at 8 years old and “Home Educated” which actually meant almost no real education except for cooking, cleaning and indoctrination from the cult I ended up in.

So I know I cannot write, I can’t spell adequately and I have no understanding of grammar I don’t know what Nouns, Adjectives, colons, semi-colons are or how to properly use commas and full-stops.

Nor do I know how to structure sentences – if you’ve read enough of these posts you’ll see the difficulty I have in writing in a uniform manner, I write down what I think and that is all.

Luckily I have friends with a better education than me who at least do some minor editing of the structure of these posts.

SHOUT OUT to Pauline, Emrys and Johnathan – thank you so much, couldn’t do this without your help!

It’s not just my lack of education that has stopped me from attempting to be heard or listened to but the way I was raised not to create waves. I was never to listen to my feelings, as feelings were inherently irrational and illogical.

I was told that expressing feelings was impolite, when I did show any feelings they were met with shock, disgust and would often cause further violence and so I learnt to hold it back and this way of thinking has spilled unconsciously into my adult life.

I have spent so long being silent for my own safety that I find it’s hard just to even think about expressing them to other people.

Its also not easy to write it down as this is expressing an emotion, just in a written format – I feel exposed and vulnerable I worry a lot about what I write, whether it’s safe to do so and I also worry about the reader, are these too much? Are they overly distressing or hard to read for any other reason? I feel like I’m bothering people.

Recently I took a long journey, several hours several trains nothing unusual but as a disabled person with heavy luggage it was not easy but when I got back I got a call from a friend who asked me “Is everything ok?” I responded “Oh the train journey was longer than expected but not too bad” and he replied “No stupid I’m asking about YOU, I was worried about YOU?!”

I’m so used to being ignored and treated like nothing that it didn’t naturally occur to me that that was what he meant!

But I do have something to contribute – my life experiences can be used for good we can all learn from them – as a child of abuse I can tell you how it affects your life; how it affects your mental and physical health.

I know what it’s like to be homeless, I know what it’s like to live in poverty, I know what its like to be crippled by mental health problems, I know what its like to be suicidal, I know what its like to be surrounded by violence, I know what its like to be raped and sexually abused – I know what its like to be alone.

I know what it’s like to be so unimportant to everybody that if I’m ill or physically injured my main concern is not my well-being but whether the situation will be a bother to anyone!

When we educate ourselves we learn from someone who knows more about that subject than us, someone who has experience.

Yet for some reason we elect and allow people who have NO IDEA about these social problems – people whose lives have never been hard or trying at all and expect them to be able fix these social problems.

How would someone like Homer Simpson be capable of understanding the intricacies of poverty and its affects let alone know how to fix them.

Isn’t it time we asked people with actual expertise and experience rather than people who buy their way into positions of power and can wax lyrical about it.

I know I’m not an expert but my life experiences are worth something, they’re worth understanding because you may gain perspective about life, on a life that’s different to yours.

To be a truly productive society we need to acknowledge that we don’t already know everything and that’s ok – as long as we’re all willing to learn.

Will I ever be ‘Normal’?

This is a bit of a pointless question, rhetorical really, we all know there’s no way I’ll ever be a ‘normal’ person.

We are all shaped by our experiences; it influences us more than we care to admit and I’ve been shaped by countless dangerous, abusive and extreme circumstances they have such an impact on me as a person that even though it may have been decades ago it has stayed with me.

I suffer from CPTSD – Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder – and like it’s famous sister PTSD one of the symptoms is flashbacks.

To truly understand what a flashback feels like – though everyone’s experience is different – for me; it’s like falling and drowning at the same time into utter darkness then my gut tightens, I shake, I start to hear crying and screaming and my limbs feel like lead. I try to speak but I can’t breathe and I’m taken to a time in my life where I felt my life was at risk – I see it all over again. It really feels as if you have to go through it all over again.

When you have CPTSD these flashbacks can be of many incidents as it’s usually linked to sustained periods of abuse as well as multiple types of abuse, whereas PTSD can be caused by one isolated incident.

When I was 11 I was nearly kidnapped – not the first or the last time this would nearly happen. I was raised in the countryside and was overly trusting so when a guy with a minibus(van) said he was a provisional bus service for the local council I believed him and happily took trips with him into the local town with my brother.

He was very inquisitive he asked me lots of questions about who I was, what my life was like and I answered all of his questions

Then one time we were supposed to both be picked up at the same place at the same time but my brother wasn’t there so I travelled with him alone. I didn’t feel uncomfortable straight away but while driving he asked if I wanted to sit in the front seat I said yes and he told me to climb through – this was my first warning I thought it was odd that a bus driver would allow a child to climb through while driving I knew it was illegal; both my parents had allowed us to do that while driving and had both been pulled over!

So I climb through and sit there and we start talking soon I notice he keeps touching my leg and that turned into rubbing – this was my second warning, he was touching me and I knew it was sexual.

Then he said “How old are you, again?” I told him I was 11 He replied (and I quote) “Really cause it’s my daughters 12th birthday today and she’s having a sleepover, would you like to come?” I said I had to get home and he started telling the most perfect 12th birthday I could think of – tents in the living room, karaoke, a midnight feast – just the kind of party I would love.

I knew it was too good to be true and I knew I was in trouble. I started watching the road waiting for the turning to my village to come but my gut told me he wasn’t going to take it he tried to persuade me that it’d be fine and that I could call my mum from his house and he’d explain and she’d be fine with it all I could think was “I bet she wouldn’t” – even my mother who is probably a good contender for ‘The Most Neglectful Parent Award” would definitely NOT be okay with it!

I tried every excuse, I told him I had homework and he said “But you’re home educated, you’re so smart you don’t need to worry about that,” I told him my mother would be worried and he said “She’s a single mother with four kids I don’t think she’s mind!” I realised he’d paid a lot of attention to our previous conversations and this only fuelled my fear.

As the turning came up I noticed he did not slow down he was acting like he didn’t see it but I knew it was deliberate – this was my final warning – as the turning passed us by my heart sank into despair but as soon as it did my brain turned on and a calm steady voice told me to take off my seatbelt and unlock the door without him noticing so I started to pretended that he’d convinced me and he relaxed a little so as not to notice.

I thought of just jumping out but I looked out the window and it didn’t seem like an option – we were going too fast for me to just jump out. Remember it was the countryside and short of livestock and the occasional train crossing there was not much traffic.

Luck however did strike me – there were two or three cars in front of us and then a large hay-truck started backing onto the road we came to an almost complete stop.

I slid my arm to the handle and BOLTED I ran to the verge and through a hedge across a field and into a wooded area I sat down on a tree stump and my brain said “Stay where you are, stay still, be quiet”.

I stayed on the tree stump for nearly two hours then I got up walked out of the woods and started walking back home, alone.

When I got home I told my mother what had happened and she seemed almost excited like I’d had a fun adventure, she said she would report him to the local authorities but like a true contender for “The Most Neglectful Parent Award” she did not.

It was not an adventure. It was yet another experience of total fear and hopelessness, I felt so vulnerable and alone I was totally at his mercy. I was only 11 and yet again I had to save myself from yet another adult who was crossing some dangerous boundaries.

I have lived these moments over and over again I relived all the thoughts that passed through my mind like; “He’s going to rape me.” “Why isn’t anyone here to help me?” “What do I do?” “Why is it always me?”

I’m constantly reminded how hurt I was that my mother didn’t do anything – didn’t even get a hug!

I’m constantly reminded of a time when nobody was there, that no one helped me where I would’ve loved nothing more than to be rescued and how worthless I must be for no one to even try.

It’s as fresh in my memory as the day it happened – this and much, much more swims around my head all day every day giving me real life examples of why I’m not a normal person.

I can’t just ‘forget about it’. It won’t let me move on. It just keeps attacking me.

It makes me act strangely; to this day I don’t like sitting in the front seat, I avoid being alone in cars with male drivers, I keep one hand of the door handle and the other on the buckle.

This is second nature to me and it makes up part of who I am. I’ve had to save myself so often that it doesn’t even occur to me to ask for help, I’m so used to having to fight alone.

I try to move on, I try to have every day as it comes and want to have a more prosperous future but I’m so used to being attacked I’m stuck in a defensive mindset just waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

I suppose what I mean by the question is not “will I be ‘normal’?” It’s “Will I ever be accepted for who I am now by society in general?” and perhaps even more pertinent “Can I accept who I am?”

From my experiences thus far I fear the answer is “Probably not”.

What is Betrayal Trauma? Sunday Special

The term betrayal trauma was first introduced by Jennifer Freyd in 1991 at a presentation at Langley Porter Psychiatric Institute. According to Freyd “Betrayal trauma occurs when the people or institutions on which a person depends for survival significantly violate that person’s trust or well-being: Childhood physical, emotional, or sexual abuse perpetrated by a caregiver are examples of betrayal trauma”

I experienced betrayal trauma when both my parents used me in a paedophile ring and offered me to numerous men from the age of 4-18 and then when I turned 18 turned me out onto the streets of Dublin as I was too old for the men. Rejection by your parents is the ultimate betrayal trauma. They are meant to be trusted caregivers in whom children place complete trust and care.

THE AFFECTS OF BETRAYAL TRAUMA

Freyd further tells us that when trauma involves a betrayal we are less likely to be aware of what is occurring or recall the details. Why? Because when we confront the perpetrator it threatens an attachment that we feel is necessary to our survival. Those awesome survival instincts can kick in and literally erase our memory or change it to make the betrayal seem like less of a threat. I felt like I was all these monkeys combined into one! I refused to hear or see the abuse in my childhood and definitely terrified to say anything about the things I did notice.

When our conscious mind is protecting us, and our subconscious mind is screaming that everything is not ok it can lead to some pretty severe problems. In a recent study it was shown that ~70% of wives of sex addicts could be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Yep, the same thing that military folk come home with is what traumatized wives deal with. Lucky me, I got both! I will say, however, that my trauma from deployment was VERY minimal to the extent that I didn’t even really realize that it existed for a long time. My betrayal trauma due to abandonment has been much more in my face and in control of my life. PTSD comes with a lot of really fun symptoms including:

Spontaneous or cued recurrent, involuntary, and intrusive distressing memories of the traumatic events
Recurrent distressing dreams in which the content or affect (i.e. feeling) of the dream is related to the events
Flashbacks or other dissociative reactions in which the individual feels or acts as if the traumatic events are recurring
Intense or prolonged psychological distress at exposure to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic events
Physiological reactions to reminders of the traumatic events
Persistent avoidance of distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic events or of external reminders
Inability to remember an important aspect of the traumatic events (not due to head injury, alcohol, or drugs)
Persistent and exaggerated negative beliefs or expectations about oneself, others, or the world (e.g., “I am bad,” “No one can be trusted,” “The world is completely dangerous”).
Persistent, distorted blame of self or others about the cause or consequences of the traumatic events
Persistent fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame
Markedly diminished interest or participation in significant activities
Feelings of detachment or estrangement from others
Persistent inability to experience positive emotions
Irritable or aggressive behavior
Reckless or self-destructive behavior
Hypervigilance
Exaggerated startle response
Problems with concentration
Difficulty falling or staying asleep or restless sleep

Yeah, that’s a lot. All of these symptoms can also take their toll physically. Adrenal fatigue, thyroid problems, joint and/or muscle pain, headaches, weight gain, and even more often manifest themselves when a person is suffering from trauma. “The Body Keeps The Score” is a great book to read if you are more interested in this topic. It’s WAY too much to cover here.

HOW TO HEAL FROM BETRAYAL TRAUMA

Quite frequently all these symptoms are lumped into one happy little diagnosis of anxiety and/or depression. Here pop a pill and be on your merry way! While I’m all for medication if and when you need it really healing trauma requires far more than that.

First and formost you need to get out of your isolation! That is why I have ripped the curtain off my life and decided to start sharing here.

Second, and equally important, is counseling with a qualified therapist. Finding the right therapist can be very difficult. While there are all sorts of certifications you can look for ultimately it all comes down to do they know and understand betrayal trauma. It is also really helpful if they are trained in EMDR and/or neural feedback therapy (more on those in a future post). Both of these help to integrate the mind/body connection and speed up the healing process. Betrayal Trauma Recovery is an excellent resource for finding a good counselor. They are coaches rather than certified therapists, but they have focused their training on betrayal trauma and most are victims as well.

Third, become a learn it all. No one is ever going to care as much about your healing as you do. Knowledge is power and you need all the power you can get to escape the pit that you find yourself in while dealing with these issues. For dealing with your own insecurities adn regaining your individuality and muchness anything by Brene Brown is pure gold. I’m currently working through “The Gifts of Imperfection” book via the art journaling class.

Fourth is some solid self-care and self-love work. Self-Care is NOT selfish! You matter. You are important. You can not give to others what you don’t have for yourself. Your capacity to love others, including and even especially your own family, is limited by your ability to love yourself. If you struggle with this I would encourage you to find ten minutes every day where you can just do something you love. Take a walk, do some art, sing in the shower, just do whatever makes you happy.

The Emotional Equivalent of Cardboard

When I was young my mother told me never to listen to emotions as they were irrational and illogical. My mother believed that getting upset didn’t help so it was always better to keep your cool than to have an emotional episode.

My mum would mock our emotional behaviour, if we reacted in any way that showed emotion she would throw a tantrum and say “This is all I saw when you said/did that”

I remember this time my father was beating my siblings and me, I was 7 and he’d punched me in the face a few times (I had been the last one he’d beaten) all my siblings were crying – but I was unable, I knew it would help if I cried as he would usually stop hitting us when we were sobbing, but I just couldn’t cry – I felt completely numb, mentally, emotionally and physically and I remember thinking “I need to cry” so tried to fake it, I licked my fingers and rubbed them on my face in the hopes that it looked like tears I hid my face and made whining noises and it seemed to work.

I was 7 years old, I had a broken nose, I had been thrown around like a rag doll and made to watch the violence my siblings had to endure yet I was totally incapable of crying about it. All I could here was my mother’s voice in my head saying “How would crying about it help?” “How does getting upset fix this problem?”

You know why he beat us? Because one of the curtains fell down in one of the bedrooms and he blamed us – it fell because it wasn’t nailed into the wall but stuck to the wall with Poly Filler. Afterwards we were sent to our room and told that if we tried to come out he’d kill us – we were kept there for 2 days without food, water or use of a bathroom in almost total silence except from a few whispers. We were just too scared to talk (my sister protected me she rationed us a cup of water and emptied a draw for us to use as a toilet, which we then would throw out the window she was very practical for 9/10 years old) I’ve never discussed this with my siblings as adults – we just avoid the subject and pretend it wasn’t that bad because we’re conditioned that way.

To this day I can’t express my emotions verbally, the only physical expression I make is when I cut myself or overdose these are the only ways I can express myself,. Because after being silent for so long you forget you have a voice and when you do realise, like I have, that you do have a voice you don’t know how to use it.

It’s why I write this because I can express myself in the written word far better than in any other context. This may be a good thing in some ways but it’s hard to apply it in real life, it’s not easy to have to write a strongly worded letter to some total stranger who upset you, or stop in mid conversation to write down what you actually mean and don’t even get me started on the shit show that is any kind of therapy!

I’ve never lost my temper, I’ve never screamed at anyone, I’ve never even had a heated argument in the few decades I’ve been alive I’ve never done anything that could seen as aggressive or violent I am always calm and rational even in the face of terror I can’t lose control. I would dearly love to scream and yell and make a fuss but I don’t know how.

My mother would mock any expression of emotions and my father would beat you for them and so it was for my entire childhood, even some of my adulthood.

I’m scared of confrontation I worry that bringing up any kind of grievance to someone might result in violence which brings me to an important message – with me and people like me, you won’t know you’ve hurt us, we’ll swallow it and most likely deal with it in an dangerous way, even if you directly asked we’d be so scared we couldn’t tell you.

I’m not saying you have to walk on eggshells around everyone but this would be a better world for all of us if everyone thought about the impact that their words and actions have on people. I wish people would take a leaf out of my book and at the end of every day think “Did I do the right thing today?”

Sleep! Part 1

I cannot remember a time I slept well, but it has become especially worse over the last decade (12 years in fact) I haven’t slept the night through since I was a teenager – I once had a friend who said I was such a light sleeper that “A fly could fart in your bedroom and wake you up” but now my sleep is interrupted with nightmares, flashbacks and a near constant state of anxiety, you can’t properly rest when your stressed and I have never not been stressed.

As a child I was on the alert all the time, I never knew when the abuse would hit so I would sit quietly and wait trying to mentally prepare for whatever may come my way, it’s like being in a perpetual state of paralysing fear, you’ll never know who or what it will be.

My anxiety was at it’s worst with my father, as a child when he was around I couldn’t sleep I was so scared that every night I would be sick, I remember once at 8 years old being sick in the toilet and my father was naked, rubbing my back he said “Is it because of me?” I knew if I said yes I’d be beaten, I was smart enough to say “No”. It had been the middle of the night and even though I was ill and tired I was never off guard.

Thing is when you’re used to being attacked on all sides all the time it’s hard to tell when your safe, as an adult I have really struggled with this.

I remember getting my first job and making a mistake someone pointed it out and all I could think was “Oh my god he’s going to hit me” like a typo would make my superiors fly into a rage and attack me!

Most people have heard of ”Fight of Flight’ where in response to danger you either fight back or run away but it’s different for survivors of abuse, especially child abuse because whether you fight back or not it rarely has an impact on the abuse – you learn again and again how utterly powerless you are and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Sleep is supposed to be a time of rest and it’s when any normal human is at their most vulnerable and I know that which is why I can’t sleep.

Now no one is attacking me I should feel safe, but I don’t, because I’ve never been safe before and I’m having to convince my mind that no one will hurt me, that it’s not some long elaborate trick meant to hurt me, this is all new to me.

I cannot let go mentally and my mind races with awful memories all day every day so how I can get anything done is a total mystery to me, I’m exhausted I’m too tired to have the mental fortitude needed to start healing my mind, there are 1000’s of hours of sleep I haven’t had and being forced into ‘constant threat mode’ all the time gives me total blackouts, where time doesn’t exist once I went to bed and woke up 3 days later with pierced ears! I have no memory of doing it, no memory of what happened in that 3 days, basically I’m short-circuiting all over the place.

This total lack of sleep means my brain doesn’t work as well as it should, I’ve learnt to adapt in many ways, I can go an entire week without a wink of sleep and still manage to get by, but sleep is important you need sleep to heal the mind to give your conscious self time off without it your brain can’t work as clearly and your mental health suffers, there aren’t many people with mental health problems who sleep well, remember that as I’m so tired I may forget it!

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An introduction to ‘Nothing’ and ‘No One’

As a survivor of physical, sexual, mental and emotional child abuse I’m used to being manipulated into silence but I never expected that when I left I would yet again be required by society to keep the silence.

It’s a social rule – it’s impolite or incorrect to express something so abnormal, so unusual – the embarrassment you get when you share ‘too much’ so you keep quiet, the more you do this the more it becomes second nature to hide away the ugly things people don’t want to see.

When you are entirely made up of ugly things it envelops you, you become invisible I don’t mean a type of magical invisibility, it’s not a superpower it’s like you don’t exist in anyone’s thoughts, you’ve tried so hard and so long to make yourself socially acceptable, erasing things that people don’t want to see that you disappear, what’s left is barely a shell of a person, practically hollow, emotionless, thoughtless.

I am one of millions of invisible survivors whose life is too ‘upsetting’, too ‘horrific’ too much to be allowed to openly explain or own.

The likelihood is there is someone you know like this, it may even be you, a bit like an extra on a movie set, it’s like a person-shaped nothing, practically unnoticeable to society in every way.

When you go through abuse a lot of time and attention is paid to not telling others about it, most of it was literally “Don’t tell so-and-so I did such-and-such” but there’s also gas-lighting, manipulation and grooming where your lead to believe that it’s your decision, that you chose to do it;

I remember at 10 years old a 16/17 year old boy asking me if I wanted to have sex with him, he told me it would be fun and it would “prove I was more mature” so I said yes, he raped me behind a caravan in a car park in the middle of the night – for more than a decade I didn’t believe I was raped by him (on that occasion) because I said “Yes” it took months of a very patient therapist to explain to me that I was conned into it and that complying isn’t the same thing as consent, and to say the very least a 10 year old can’t consent to sex.

This one incident out of thousands and thousands is consuming me, pulsing through my veins and screaming through ever pore of my body, yet I remain silent for fear that you hearing it, merely reading it will cause you distress, I was always told I would be “spreading the misery” so I fell into silence for so long I’ve forgotten how to speak it, to express it verbally, burying my trauma made me a No One so incapable I have Nothing to offer I have no use and no purpose – my very existence is questionable.

Yet like most invisible people I don’t want to be invisible, I’m not looking for anything more than acknowledgement of who I am, I want the freedom to be able to speak openly without fear of giving ‘too much information’ and making people uncomfortable.

More than this I want to be understood I didn’t have a normal childhood and that affects me now as an adult so I’m going to try my best to help you understand me, I hope you learn some of the things I learned through my life and if you can get me you can get all of us and then maybe we can all use this understanding to help ourselves and others.

Maybe one day I won’t be no one and nothing, but something and someone.

If you follow me on this there will be moments that will sicken you, distress you and may stay with you, if so I want you to know I’m not trying to upset you, it’s part of a reality I live every day and moving on is so hard. So be warned this may not be pretty but I will do my best to be informative more than shocking.