That's all he said.
_____________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________
This is something I've considered writing about for a while now, and have tried to write numerous times over the years. I've put it off for so long out of fear. Fear of judgement, fear of not being believed, fear of the consequences. I don't feel comfortable publicly naming my abuser, so for the sake of this post I'm going to refer to him as Jamie.
I'm writing this in the hopes that it will take some amount of weight off my shoulders, and in the hopes that it can help someone else feel less alone.
After the Harvey Weinstein scandal came to light in October 2017, like many other people I read articles of women around the world who as a result had found the courage to come forward and share their own experiences of sexual assault and soon the #metoo movement began.
At the time I was working in a small office as a customer service advisor. I would frequently procrastinate by watching the TV behind me, drinking in daytime television and BBC news on account of not having an aerial at home and surviving off nothing but streaming services (who wants to pay for a TV licence? Not me!). The subject was difficult to avoid; they were discussing sexual misconduct on shows like This Morning, Lorraine and Loose Women.
When my colleagues eventually switched the channels to only play radio stations, my focus would return back to my computer screen but I'd open up a new Chrome tab and again, there it would be across MSN news, coverage following Weinstein and the rape allegations made against him.
Not long after following this daily news coverage, I began experiencing PTSD like symptoms and my mental health slowly began to deteriorate as a result.
I think of it as a door that had remained shut for a very long time, behind it hiding the memories of what I had gone through years prior. That door had began to open and I was forced to face what was behind it. What began as periodic nightmares, slowly became daily intrusive thoughts and flashbacks which led to frequent anxiety and bouts of depression, destructive self medicating and out of character behaviour over a number of months.
In August 2018, while trying to cope with my trauma and the consequences of my outlandish behaviour, I suffered a mental breakdown, became suicidal and had to take time off work to recover. I tried multiple antidepressants and eventually requested my GP refer me for counselling. I was then given an appointment to meet a community psychiatric nurse, who I visited every two-three weeks going forward. This was the first mental health professional that I would open up to about the domestic abuse I had encountered, or "domestic terrorism" as my CPN would go on to call it.
I've yet to receive adequate counselling in relation to my trauma due to moving home to Belfast in the summer of 2019, and the blame lies partially with myself. The idea of delving deep into my memory bank and revisiting such horrific memories really doesn't appeal to me, so instead I chose to sweep everything under the rug. I'm hoping by writing about my experience on such a public platform that this will be a push to seek proper care. I can no longer bottle this up if it's out there for all to see.
I know it's not something I'll ever fully get over but I want to take the steps necessary to begin the process of acceptance and mental recovery. I also feel it's somewhat of a responsibility for me to speak out, as I'm an avid believer in raising awareness and ending the stigma surrounding many issues.
_____________________________________________________________
When I first started to experience symptoms of endometriosis a number of years ago, I was in a relationship; the first few months of which I so naively believed was based on a foundation of trust, respect and love. Jamie* and I met at work and struck up a very unlikely romance.
This relationship quickly became toxic and abusive.
I was too scared to leave him. For months I endured emotional blackmail, name calling and put downs. I was grabbed and pushed then told I was over-reacting when I ended up with bruises up and down my arms. We now know this as "gaslighting".
I would be humiliated in public because without fail every time we were together he would find something to start an argument over, then he'd shout at me in the middle of the street, causing passersby to stare.
Our first time being intimate with one another, in hindsight, was a colossal red flag, but I was very much in denial that what I experienced was abuse and instead shrugged it off as a man being drunk and horny. He asked if he could perform oral sex on me, while I was on my period, which was something I wasn't comfortable with. I didn't want to. I did not consent. Despite the fact I objected multiple times, he chose to ignore me.
He spread my legs, pinned them down and did what he wanted anyway. I lay there frozen, staring at the ceiling, feeling uncomfortable and nauseous, unable to process the fact that someone who was supposed to love me had chosen to ignore the fact I did not consent to this act. Foolishly, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Around a year later, it happened again. This time was different.
We were having consensual sex, and I began to experience pain. Pain which I am now able to identify as endometriosis related, but of course at the time I was unaware that I was living with the condition. This was pain I had experienced numerous times with him, that resulted in us having to avoid penetrative sex almost entirely. It was this pain that made me withdraw my consent. I asked him to stop, explaining that what he was doing was hurting me, but just like the first time, he chose to ignore me.
Again, I asked him to stop, this time adding a "please". I even tried pushing him off me, but he was too heavy, and at this point he had me pinned again. I remember the pain vividly, it was sharp and white hot and got worse the more my body tensed up and the more he thrusted inside me. But he didn't care. I eventually stopped fighting him off and allowed my body to turn limp.
The whole ordeal felt like an out of body experience. As I lay on the bed, my body like a rag doll, with this fucking cave man thrusting away inside me, I remember feeling like I momentarily left my body. Nothing felt real. Maybe it was my body's defense mechanism and my brain chose to shut itself off so I didn't have to process that this was really happening; that I was being raped, in my own bed, with my dad and brother in the next room and my mum in the room below.
When he finished, he climbed off me panting. I said nothing, I just got up and sat on the edge of the bed, tears silently streaming down my cheeks. As soon as he heard me sniffing and snivelling, that's when he said it: "how do you think I feel? You're always sore, I never get to finish". No apology, nothing.
I blamed myself for a long time after that. Telling myself it was my fault, my body's fault and that he was right, I was a bad girlfriend who couldn't do what she needed to do for her partner, but something deep inside me knew what happened wasn't right.
I'm happy to say I found the strength to break up with him a month later. I sobbed for hours because I think it was at that moment it finally hit me that what I went through shouldn't have happened. It was also at that moment I chose to forget and kept the secret locked away for years.
That was eight years ago now, and I'm still trying to process it all. This is the first time I've spoken about it publicly, and my hands are shaking as I type this.
I'm telling my story because I'm done blaming myself. I'm done blaming my body and my condition for what happened. For so long I've felt like a prisoner inside my own body, having no control over what's happening on the inside, but I want to take back that control. I want to feel empowered and be proud of my body, despite my illness. I don't want to feel the need to apologise for my endometriosis.
So this is my story. Please help me in ensuring that I can take this negative experience and turn it into a positive one. Thank you to my family and close friends from the bottom of my heart for supporting me over the years and for remaining by my side.
Kiera xo
I'm writing this in the hopes that it will take some amount of weight off my shoulders, and in the hopes that it can help someone else feel less alone.
After the Harvey Weinstein scandal came to light in October 2017, like many other people I read articles of women around the world who as a result had found the courage to come forward and share their own experiences of sexual assault and soon the #metoo movement began.
At the time I was working in a small office as a customer service advisor. I would frequently procrastinate by watching the TV behind me, drinking in daytime television and BBC news on account of not having an aerial at home and surviving off nothing but streaming services (who wants to pay for a TV licence? Not me!). The subject was difficult to avoid; they were discussing sexual misconduct on shows like This Morning, Lorraine and Loose Women.
When my colleagues eventually switched the channels to only play radio stations, my focus would return back to my computer screen but I'd open up a new Chrome tab and again, there it would be across MSN news, coverage following Weinstein and the rape allegations made against him.
Not long after following this daily news coverage, I began experiencing PTSD like symptoms and my mental health slowly began to deteriorate as a result.
I think of it as a door that had remained shut for a very long time, behind it hiding the memories of what I had gone through years prior. That door had began to open and I was forced to face what was behind it. What began as periodic nightmares, slowly became daily intrusive thoughts and flashbacks which led to frequent anxiety and bouts of depression, destructive self medicating and out of character behaviour over a number of months.
In August 2018, while trying to cope with my trauma and the consequences of my outlandish behaviour, I suffered a mental breakdown, became suicidal and had to take time off work to recover. I tried multiple antidepressants and eventually requested my GP refer me for counselling. I was then given an appointment to meet a community psychiatric nurse, who I visited every two-three weeks going forward. This was the first mental health professional that I would open up to about the domestic abuse I had encountered, or "domestic terrorism" as my CPN would go on to call it.
I've yet to receive adequate counselling in relation to my trauma due to moving home to Belfast in the summer of 2019, and the blame lies partially with myself. The idea of delving deep into my memory bank and revisiting such horrific memories really doesn't appeal to me, so instead I chose to sweep everything under the rug. I'm hoping by writing about my experience on such a public platform that this will be a push to seek proper care. I can no longer bottle this up if it's out there for all to see.
I know it's not something I'll ever fully get over but I want to take the steps necessary to begin the process of acceptance and mental recovery. I also feel it's somewhat of a responsibility for me to speak out, as I'm an avid believer in raising awareness and ending the stigma surrounding many issues.
_____________________________________________________________
When I first started to experience symptoms of endometriosis a number of years ago, I was in a relationship; the first few months of which I so naively believed was based on a foundation of trust, respect and love. Jamie* and I met at work and struck up a very unlikely romance.
This relationship quickly became toxic and abusive.
I was too scared to leave him. For months I endured emotional blackmail, name calling and put downs. I was grabbed and pushed then told I was over-reacting when I ended up with bruises up and down my arms. We now know this as "gaslighting".
I would be humiliated in public because without fail every time we were together he would find something to start an argument over, then he'd shout at me in the middle of the street, causing passersby to stare.
Our first time being intimate with one another, in hindsight, was a colossal red flag, but I was very much in denial that what I experienced was abuse and instead shrugged it off as a man being drunk and horny. He asked if he could perform oral sex on me, while I was on my period, which was something I wasn't comfortable with. I didn't want to. I did not consent. Despite the fact I objected multiple times, he chose to ignore me.
He spread my legs, pinned them down and did what he wanted anyway. I lay there frozen, staring at the ceiling, feeling uncomfortable and nauseous, unable to process the fact that someone who was supposed to love me had chosen to ignore the fact I did not consent to this act. Foolishly, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Around a year later, it happened again. This time was different.
We were having consensual sex, and I began to experience pain. Pain which I am now able to identify as endometriosis related, but of course at the time I was unaware that I was living with the condition. This was pain I had experienced numerous times with him, that resulted in us having to avoid penetrative sex almost entirely. It was this pain that made me withdraw my consent. I asked him to stop, explaining that what he was doing was hurting me, but just like the first time, he chose to ignore me.
Again, I asked him to stop, this time adding a "please". I even tried pushing him off me, but he was too heavy, and at this point he had me pinned again. I remember the pain vividly, it was sharp and white hot and got worse the more my body tensed up and the more he thrusted inside me. But he didn't care. I eventually stopped fighting him off and allowed my body to turn limp.
The whole ordeal felt like an out of body experience. As I lay on the bed, my body like a rag doll, with this fucking cave man thrusting away inside me, I remember feeling like I momentarily left my body. Nothing felt real. Maybe it was my body's defense mechanism and my brain chose to shut itself off so I didn't have to process that this was really happening; that I was being raped, in my own bed, with my dad and brother in the next room and my mum in the room below.
When he finished, he climbed off me panting. I said nothing, I just got up and sat on the edge of the bed, tears silently streaming down my cheeks. As soon as he heard me sniffing and snivelling, that's when he said it: "how do you think I feel? You're always sore, I never get to finish". No apology, nothing.
I blamed myself for a long time after that. Telling myself it was my fault, my body's fault and that he was right, I was a bad girlfriend who couldn't do what she needed to do for her partner, but something deep inside me knew what happened wasn't right.
I'm happy to say I found the strength to break up with him a month later. I sobbed for hours because I think it was at that moment it finally hit me that what I went through shouldn't have happened. It was also at that moment I chose to forget and kept the secret locked away for years.
That was eight years ago now, and I'm still trying to process it all. This is the first time I've spoken about it publicly, and my hands are shaking as I type this.
I'm telling my story because I'm done blaming myself. I'm done blaming my body and my condition for what happened. For so long I've felt like a prisoner inside my own body, having no control over what's happening on the inside, but I want to take back that control. I want to feel empowered and be proud of my body, despite my illness. I don't want to feel the need to apologise for my endometriosis.
So this is my story. Please help me in ensuring that I can take this negative experience and turn it into a positive one. Thank you to my family and close friends from the bottom of my heart for supporting me over the years and for remaining by my side.
Kiera xo
