I Believe Survivors… because I am one of them. This is my story.

Melanie M. Doucet

At age 7, I was sexually abused by the teenage son of a pastor of a non-denominational church my parents joined when I was 6. This abuse continued for many years. It was not until a sexual abuse prevention program came to present to my 4^th grade class in public school that I realized what was being done to me and that it was wrong. I later confronted my abuser and he promised to stop if I didn’t tell anyone about it. I was then bullied by himself and his sister for years, they would beat me, restrain me, pull my hair, tell me I was ugly, tell me that I liked the attention – they were trying to make me weak and afraid so I would not let the big secret out. I became increasingly angry and disgusted with myself and with the abuser the more time passed…

View original post 1,435 more words

Back To Square One.

I created this blog in June with the intention of writing down everything I wanted to/couldn’t say out loud, hoping that it would in some way benefit me, that it would cleanse my mind, my body and my soul.  It’s now October, and considering this is only my second post, i’d say I haven’t gotten very far.

 

I was referred to a counsellor earlier this year, unfortunately I was only able to attend 3 sessions due to unforeseen circumstances, but I feel like this is the one thing that could actually help me.  Talking.  I need to talk.  I need to tell someone what’s happened, what I’ve gone through, what I have to deal with on my own every single day of my life.  I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t carry on having to keep everything in side.  I can’t.  I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO.

 

But I do.

It’s what I’ve done my whole life, or so it seems.  I’ve tried confiding in 2 people – my childhood best-friend, she thought it was a joke and announced it publicly amongst school friends, so naturally I played along and laughed it off; the one, an ex-partner, well, he just plain didn’t give a shit, and so I never spoke of it again.

 

I met the love of my life last year.  He is aware that I suffer from anxiety, stress and depression – I know that he doesn’t understand this side of me fully, although that cannot be helped when I don’t understand it myself.  In my first session with the counsellor she said something which instantly brought back memories of something I have tried to repress since childhood.  In my second session I finally spoke about it properly for the first time, I completely broke down.  She advised me that if my partner and I had a mutual love and trust for one another, that I should tell him too.  I should let him help me, let him simply be there for me.

 

Since this day, my partner has been aware that there is something I need to tell him – he hasn’t pushed me to talk – is he being considerate and waiting for me to find the right time to tell him?  Or is it yet another case of someone not caring what I have to say?

Since this day, what happened to me in my childhood has been at the forefront of my mind.  I feel that it will continue to be until I talk, until people know the truth.  I could list a million reasons why I’ve kept everything to myself; I’m scared, I want to protect people, I was too young at the time to know what was happening and now I feel like I’ve left it too late to do anything about it, I don’t want to lose the people I love.  I wouldn’t know where to start, when was the right time, the right place?  And so, I didn’t say a word to him.

 

Last night we had an argument via text.  To paraphrase, my partner sent me the following:

Blame me or blame your ex or anxiety whatever!

I saw red. I finally spat the words out in pure and utter hatred

Ohhh maybe blame it on the sexual abuse too!!!!!!

To which I received the response:

Nothing to do with me so why should I take the fucking shit!

 

So there we have it.  Back to square one.  Alone, broken, and utterly disgusted at how vile the man I loved turned out to be in the one moment when I truly needed him.  I tried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s Do This!

To cut a long story short, over the past 7 years I have suffered from anxiety, stress and depression.  It crept up on me out of nowhere, with no visible explanation and has tore my life apart.

With very little help and understanding around the disorders, I suffered in silence – it has taken 7 years for the doctors to offer me the support I so desperately need.

Despite it being 2016, these is still a stigma attached to mental health disorders.  I will admit that over the years I have kept things to myself, hidden from family and friends, for fear of judgement.  It’s reached the point now though where I’ve got nothing to lose from standing up and telling my story – I didn’t ask for this to happen to me, so I sure as hell won’t be made to feel like I’ve got anything to be ashamed of.

I want to help break the taboo surrounding this subject, which is why I’ve decided to start talking.  This blog will detail my life since this all began, in an attempt to hopefully fix myself once and for all.

*Deep Breath*

Let’s do this!