Why do I need the help

We would like to thank an anonymous survivor who has asked us to share this poem.  It explores how difficult it can be to reach out for help as doing so means acknowledging that the abuse was real.

*The poem contains material that will trigger some survivors.  Please do take care of yourself when reading this poem; particularly paragraphs 3,4 & 5 that are in blue italic font.*

 

Why do I need the help when it should be for others?

There are those who need it more, deserve it more, not me

Feeling I can’t function, even with a long to do list, my mind it has again wandered

Recalling, remembering what he did to me all those years ago

Trying to grapple with the fact- it did happen

Not wanting to believe this, not wanting it to be true

 

My mind goes in to overload-‘He got away with it because I did nothing!’

Even though I know that this is not true

I did what I was told each time but just once resisted

Yet I was the child, wanted to be loved, kept safe and not challenge him

I remember too many details- like it was yesterday

Snippets of time returned into the present from over 30 years ago

 

The following lines might trigger survivors of sexual abuse.

 

I can still feel his hands on my body, smell the aftershave he wore

and the newness of his leather belt against my bare skin rubbing it sore

I can hear the whispers of his voice in my ear that he was pleased with me

That I would be ‘his princess, his best girl’

if I smiled at him as he touched me deeper inside rather than cry as that didn’t impress

 

But most of all I recall the fear of when, 8 years later I said no to him

The anger on his face, raised voice, now not ‘gentle’ with his intentions

The violence that followed, the pain of penetration inside my body, going in deeper, further this time with his rage

I submitted- although stripped and pushed against a table it was hard not to

A cigarette butt jabbed into the back of my leg

“That’ll teach you to say no next time I want it!” are the words that filled my ears with dread

 

His grasp around my waist and arms left bruises, I was so sore between my legs

My body bled for yet another time that year

Yet the fear of that afternoon stays with me…. Just no longer locked away inside

I don’t like the remembering yet I’m finding it so hard to let go

Of feelings, of images and the sensations of him inside me and on me

Did I imagine this? Could I imagine this? Where would these ideas come from?

I don’t want it to be real- I need it to be other people’s experiences not mine- not me

I want them to leave me alone

Carefully packaged away they were, until one day it all just came out, from one thought-

Like a bomb going off in my head it was- the trauma so terrifying, so real, I was distraught

 

It’s been a long journey these last 12 months and a roller coaster ride I am on

Yet I am getting better- I have moved on so, so much

it’s just difficult at times for me to see the progress when I am in it.

 

 

I sometimes wish my family knew- to share this pain and feeling of unworthiness I carry,

Yet at least for now I know, it’s only me that has to have this burden and worry.

Just me, not them feeling shame and despair.

And I now know, however alone I feel, I am not alone

There are those that listen, support, believe and help the path ahead seem clearer.

Those who help when I feel ‘unhealable’ and explain the reasons I feel like I do.

To know my journey is progress forward not giant steps back and it is restorative.