I don’t remember when it started or even much about it. I know it began when I was quite small and went on until my late teens. It was often rape, and violent. My mother was a lonely woman with a deep need for comfort and I was the thing she used to give her that. She would tell me “this is special”, “this is private,” and, of course, “no one will believe you if you tell – they’ll blame you…”
I thought of myself as a ‘thing’. Later on, that was what stopped me from killing myself – feeling that I was there to make others feel better about their lives. Because mine was such shit.
I felt too, that this violence and sex had a life of its own. It just happened. I always felt out of control inlater life, too. Most of my relationships were violent and abusive. With men and women. It really screws your sexual identity when you’ve been sexually abused by a woman.
I was in my early 20’s, in hospital again, the inevitable result of a string of negative and violent relationships. I told a friend a bit about my past and she believed me! She actually believed me. It was the best thing she could ever have done for me.
It’s taken a long, long time, but that was it, my beginning…