did you know what you were doing on friday night?
you thought i was just drunk and crying
i wasnt drunk
i was crying for a reason
you shouldnt have done what you did to me
was it a joke
im glad i was so tired i dont remember your hands on me
sneaking round and laughing laughing laughing
i dont even know your names but i HATE YOU
“Because everything that goes around comes around. Maybe it's luck or maybe it's fate, but either way, it comes back around."
Rest in Love Sar-sis. I'll see you the next time around hopefully <3 12/11/92-05/18/16
AJs mommy ❤️ 11/26/17
Married to my best friend and Soulmate 3/5/18 ❤️💍
I don't hate you. I used to, when I first realised what you'd done, when I first gave a name to it although I couldn't speak it at that point. Then I wanted you to die. Now I mostly feel nothing about you.
Sometimes I wonder if you remember me, remember what happened and if it bothers you, makes you feel guilt, shame, remorse. Does it keep you awake at night? It could be a good memory for you. I wonder why as well sometimes. You were young, a teenager although you seemed pretty much like an adult to me. You must have known it was wrong though because you said I mustn't tell anyone. I remember that clearly 'it's a game, I have something to show you but you mustn't tell anyone'
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I remeber the rust on the fence, the blanket on the ground (sometimes there wasn't a blanket, that's how I know it happened more than once). Your jeans with the fly undone and how your skin felt to m yhand. If I want to, and sometimes even if I don't, I can be there again, nit just remmeber it, but feel it, be that little girl again. I remember that I was curious, a lot of guilt has come from that curiosity
I never really forgot, I just pushed aside the things I couldn't understand, until something happened that meant I couldn't avoid it anymore. You'd gone by then, moved away. I've heard a few things about your life through friends of friends, asking in a throw-away, makes-no-difference-to-me sort of way 'you know _________, what's he doing now?' Just because I worried you might be working with children, or have some of your own. You don't. Though I guess that doesn't mean anything, afterall I can't ask does your brother have kids? do your neighbours? But it's the best I can do.
I hope it was only me. If it was, I can't wish you happiness or offer forgiveness, all I can say is that I don't hate you anymore.
There's more I could say, but won't - not that I would ever send this to him even though I know where he lives. But other people did things that hurt me so he's not totally responsible for some stupid decisions I made to cope.
for delicate were the moths and badly wanted
here in a world by mammoth figures haunted!
You didn't mean to... at all... you were trying to show me you loved me... but I said no. I meant no. And it still hurts. I'm scared to say no to you now. Sometimes I can't even stand to let you touch me, or simply hold my hand, even though you have cried and apologized a million times over for it... it's been months, and you meant nothing bad by it, but it still has scarred me deeply. I love you more than anyone will ever know... but the next time I say no, and you continue, there is no way I can continue our relationship. And even that is probably going easy on you.
Love,
Me
Life:
it's all about perspective.
So when it isn't going well for you,
just try looking at it in a whole new way.
in white cos pointless and rambling and triggeringDear P
I hate you. I hate you the most, because you made me so impure, you made me so confused, doubting myself, I was still doubting myself afterwards when all the rest happened, because you made me thnk that maybe it was okay
I don't have an excuse -there was a girl in my class who was doing it with boys, so I can't say that I was a child and didnt understand. But I DIDN'T understand, maybe I was just that naive. Maybe I WANTED to not understand, because it made me not have to think about wanting you, wanting what you were doing to my friends on a weekly basis, making me stick my chest out and suck my stomach in because please oh please, this week let me be pretty enough, let me not have to sit there in my shame while your eyes roll lazily over my hair and my face and my wonky half-milk teeth and my clothes over my fat fat stomach before moving on, wanting to know what it was like, just once.
I hate that I tried to make myself good enough for you.
Luke, he's ill. he has to be. Karen, she was young. she had it all. it went to her head. but you?
year after year, strictly 12-16 year olds please
grinning because you could make them compete, because you had the power, because we believed that you were in the right.
you made ian hate me. i had a crush on him and you knew it. you knew how much it meant to me when he stood iup and tried to stop you. so you hurt him. you did... things to him. and you did it in the next room so we all had to listen, while they all stared at me and i had to LISTEN while you did those things.
touch of death, right? ian, lesley, sion, patrick. everyone whos unlucky enough to catch my eye. one raped because of me. one in prison because of me. one DEAD because of me. one suicidal, possibly BPD because of me. and i want to blame you. i want so badly to blame you.. god why did you do it? did you get any kick out of it at all? doing it to a boy, getting hand jobs off them was alright, waasnt it? you said blow jobs from boys was gay. but you did THAT to him. which means you did it because you knew it would hurt me? and to keep us in line, and punish him for speaking out. maybe he was getting dangerously close to telling rachel and chris. maybe youre just an evil evil person. i dont know. but i hate you.
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more more more.... i cant stop thinking about you... any of you... lining up one after another to do whatever you want to me!!!!
and i need it now, dont i? because you did that, you broke me, one after another, a bit at a time, until i need abuse to even feel like me. because otherwise i'm NOT me, because otherwise i dont belong, because otherwise i dont have a purpose.
so tell me what to do. because you made me, all of you. this is wat you created and if you can make a monster you must know what to do with it, how to teach it? i coudl be your frankensteins monster, i could fight and smash and scream but youd always be there to show me where to go. but you dont.... you do what you want and you leave.... and im left to pick myself up and figure out what to do, and what i do is go home and take it out on myself or people who dont deserve it.
patrick, by law youre a physical abuser. but then by law i'm a physical abuser. so do i trust you? i love you. and if youre borderline, i made you that way. if youre bipolar or psychotic, thats how i moulded you, the way thjey moulded me, and i hate them for it. for changing me. but i never meant to change you. are you an abuser or not? youre not, but by law you are. but by law, ive never had sex, just been raped, cos i was always 'under the influence'
but that was lukes fault, thats not being able to go near a guy unless im smashes woohoo drunk partying me right? etc etc etc
so who am i supposed to listen to?
i'm so confused.
but then, if i can give patrick leeway, what about the others? what about all of you? if you touch me when i ask you not to, or kick me, or any of it, do i give you leeway? is it ok to hurt me phsycailly, but not sexually? if i'm so desperate to count sexual crimes, but not physical crimes, is that denial? is that 'methinks the lady doth protest too much?'
does that mean i wanted it>
i didnt want it
p, i didnt even want it from you! most of me thinking i did has come from long twisted thought processes years later. i WAS young, and it was still illegal, but even if it hadnt been it still would have been abuse! i never said no but that was because none of us did! and none of us wanted it!
god i dont know what to do
i dont know what im meant to think
id accept guidance from any one of you right now
and thats killing me
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Dear X,
how bad it that... I do not even know your name lol.
I don't know what to think of you, not sure if you were an abuser or not really. I mean afterall Tristan essentially sold me to you, and I can be sold I must be an "object" and it I am an object I can't be abused can I?
anyway... I am writting this as we did some maths today. I almost wish Tristn was still alive to tell this news to as he would be PISSED...
it turns out, that night... that awful night when you raped me repeatedly at knife point... that night... you got me pregnant! Tristan raped me not long after so we always assumed that the child was his, but.... well mathmatically tat doesn't add up... it must have been yours... You were/are Sams father...
so... ye... and do you want to know the best/worst bit of this? this means that you raped me, beet me and stabbed me. But I killed your child.
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I think the cleverest thing you ever did was to make me believe you were stupid. That way you had me just where you wanted me, where you could manipulate me. You manipulated me so I would tell nobody what you did. I hid it from my best friend. From my sister. From my MOTHER. When I found the strength to tell her about my self harm she kept asking me "why?" and even though you were out of my life and had no way of hurting me anymore, I could never tell her. I was always scared. And that's the thing that's so messed up about the whole thing. Despite everything you did to me, all the abuse, emotional and physical, part of me always wanted to PROTECT you. How ridiculously ****ED UP IS THAT? I wanted to PROTECT you. Even though I dreamed of you in prison, you getting what you deserved. But I never had the strength to do it.
I will never be able to blank out the thought of you touching me. Or of your face so close to mine, the look in your eyes. It makes my skin crawl. I have a completely warped sense of sex now. Although it's a surprise I have ever let anybody touch me again. Boyfriends always find me too needy. But I feel so ashamed about what you did to me that I can't tell them what happened. I feel ashamed that I was the victim of somebody's disgusting perversion. I was with somebody for three years and I loved him so, so much. And still love him. Yet I never told him what you did to me. He knew everything about me, EVERYTHING. Except that. Because you made me feel dirty and ashamed.
When I heard that you had killed yourself and I read your suicide note, it made me so angry that I wasn't happy. I felt numb about the whole thing. And yet it has opened up everything for me again. You made me want to die. And I know that you deserved to die, because I'm sure as hell it wasn't just me that you hurt. But I wasn't happy. I didn't even feel any satisfaction. I felt sad. Desperately sad. Because of what you did to me. I know you probably died alone and despising yourself, which I suppose is how it should be. But that makes me sad. Not because I have any respect for you, at all. I think you're disgusting. I felt sad because you have ruined my life. My life is pretty "ordinary" now. My friends at university have no idea even about my self harm. I go out, I get drunk, I dance, I laugh. To most people I look "normal". But you have ruined my chance of ever embracing that life fully. I will always have the urge to hurt myself, to try and erase the pain.
I got a tattoo on Saturday. It was to remind me of everything I've gone through, and to remind me that if I got through that, through everything YOU did to me, I can deal with anything life throws at me. I love it, and so far it has stopped me harming myself, which was its main duty. It's beautiful. But it makes me sick that I even had to have that sort of reminder. I hate you for making me hate myself. I hate you for ruining my life. I'm glad you're not here anymore to hurt anybody else. You deserved to die, and I'm glad that you recognised that yourself. I hope you hated yourself as much as you made me hate myself, and as much as I will always hate you.
You stole my toy, my Lemur. Her name was Pomfritte. I bet you don't know her name either. My Pomfritte, do you still have her? Is she locked in a cupboard somewhere? Is she on a tip somewhere, is she covered in rubbish and forgotten? I haven't forgotten here.
Have you forgotten me?
Because of you, the first thing that I can remember is being abused. I can remember other things from being little too. I remember the time we took the shed down in the back garden, my dad and his dad and my mum's brother, I remember taking the pieces down and how we had Greek salad and ham for lunch afterwards. I remember our Siamese cat and how she used go, "Na na na," at the birds and how she'd lie in the sun on the kitchen floor. I remember being small enough to sit on the kitchen table.
But before any of that, or maybe at the same time, I remember the things you did to me. Do you remember them? Do you remember the ways you used to hurt me? How you'd seperate me from the other kids because I was 'bad' and take me upstairs and 'punish' me. It was difficult for you to rape me, wasn't it? I was too small.
Were there other kids? That's what makes me feel so guilty. If it had just been me, that would be ok. What makes me worried is that maybe you took someone else too. That you did the same things to someone else as to me. That by saying something I could have stopped someone else from being abused. But I never said anything.
The creche you worked in has closed down now. The sign is no longer on the door. It's all packed up, the house of horrors is sold. Who lives there now? I wonder sometimes. But that's not important.
I don't know what I would say to you. Please give me back my lemur? I don't even know if I hate you. I hate these memories. My psychatrist keeps telling me that I should tell the police. I don't want to. But what if you're hurting someone else?
I'm a bad girl. And I miss Pomfritte. And I guess what I have to thank you for is that the first things I remember is being abused. But don't worry, for seventeen years your secret was safe with me. And now I can speak of it, I don't really know who to tell.
Ros thats really brave hun *hugs* you did really well, and you're not a bad girl, Sorry you lost Pomfritte. Well done done for writing that, try to take care xx
Well done everyone else as well for being brave enough to write these letters you're all doing amazing and you're braveness is an inspiration to a lot of people! Hope you're holding up ok, take care x
"It is not the strength of the body that counts, but the strength of the spirit"
-J.R.R Tolkien
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Dear Daddy.
I still don't understand. Even after all these years. You've been dead since 2001, so I can't exactly come up to you and go, "I've been wondering about some things... Why did you rape me? Why did you hit me? Why did you **** up my life and taint my memories of you?" I guess part of me is thankful that you're dead and scattered at sea. Yes, i scattered you near Saint Mary's lighthouse, like you asked. Because I'm a good girl. A good puppet.
And Mum. You could have saved me. You ****ing knew everything that was going on, and you still left me with him. I will never. EVER. ****ing forgive you for that.
You never gave me answers to of why... Why did you think it was ok to have a relationship with a 16 year old? Why did you think it was ok to get away with it? What the **** were you thinking? You promised me so much ****.. For what? Only for another ****ing person to let me down. Why did you take my cutting away? The one thing that was keeping me together.. The one thing that helped me forget the abuse of him. I've forgiven you.. But have you forgiven yourself?
____
Dane,
Why did you attack me that night? It's one thing I will never forget. I remember every single detail of that night..
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I remember the way you threatened that you would rape me. The way I turned my ankles, The way you shoved me against the building. The way you kicked me. The way you made me promise that I wouldn't tell anyone.
I hate that I had to see you again 2 years later. The way I had the panic attack at school. The way hatred built up in me.
