Bisexual relationships- how to get it right.

The girl that we dated sadly was the reverse of this. I feel like she never knew that she was being abusive, but she was damaged by her previously abusive relationship and the loss of her father when she was young.


It’s sad that bi erasure still exists. #StillBi


Equality? Yeah right: A message from 19. (potential trigger: Mentions stalking and abuse)

Hi all, nineteen speaking.

“Why do you always wear baggy jeans and a hoodie? You have a great body! Show it off, I wish I had your physique!”
I’ve been told this, and variants of this, since I was about 18. As I got older, I kept giving answers like “Oh, I felt cold this morning setting out,” or, “This hoodie is really comfy!”

That’s not why I hid in baggy clothes for the longest time. Although they are both valid reasons, they’re not the reason why I did it.

They don’t really come close.

I’ll give you an example of why I hide in baggy clothes.

Today I was in my favourite coffee shop. 25 goes there after therapy with us, treats us all to a coffee and a cake, and we read or write in our journal to pass time. Today, we had a break at work, so we went in to chill out.

25 was doing some wedding planning, which was fun and exciting. We all got engrossed and started asking 25 questions about what to do, and she helped us joint write our emails to important folk.

A guy passed by the shop, staring in as he walked. We figured he was probably people watching, like I often do, and ignored it. Barely paid any attention to it.

Just as we were putting our stuff back into our bag, there was a voice speaking from above us.

“Excuse me, is anyone sitting in that seat?”

It was the same guy from before. He gestured to the chair our coat was sitting on, and we saw he had a friend with him.

25 answered for us.

“No, but I’m just finishing my drink and leaving if you would like the table.”

He mumbled something in the affirmative, so we got our coat and bag, downed the drink… And saw they were leaving. The door opened and shut, and the younger two were puzzled.

“Ok then, why ask for the table and not take it?! Weird…”

As I stood up, my senses were on red alert. Something wasn’t ticking over right. I slid our coat on and looked out of the window. 25 was just as anxious.

There they were. Standing outside the coffee shop, both of them were hanging around as if waiting for someone…
25 and I decided then and there we were leaving the shop through the opposite door. I made a point to say bye to the café staff, because then if anything did happen to us they would be able to say they had last seen a girl in a long grey coat as she had said goodbye to them.

Immediately 25 said to get our phone out and play some anti-anxiety stuff we have saved on there. I kept checking behind me- sure enough, they were still waiting, and luckily hadn’t seen us.
25 and I were on red alert all the way back to work. The younger two were horrified and frightened that they had waited outside the shop, quite obviously expecting us to leave. After all, 25 had said we were just leaving. They knew that… And waited outside!

Whilst this had been going on, there was a man sitting on a table opposite us who would not stop staring.

As it happened, we had a very anxious day the next day and felt pretty horrible about what might have happened.
I wear baggy clothes or my long coat or hide in jumpers because of that. Those eyes permanently on us because we happen to be a young woman who’s attractive. I hate the eyes that looked us over and decided they somehow had the god-given right to wait for us and then, who knows?

I hate that all of this reminds each one of us that once upon a time, a monster thought that because society tells girls and women to “lighten up,” and “don’t take it so seriously!”, he believed it was his god-given right to subject us to six years of abuse.

That’s why I wear baggy clothes. Better to hide away than have those unfriendly eyes all over us. Better to wear unflattering, big baggy jumpers so all that gets stared at is our legs. I am so sick and tired of the eyes, and I want to keep us all safe.

25 often reminds us that we are all safe, that we have the Dutchman and she is equipped to take on potential threats. She says I am capable of telling weirdoes where to stick it and to get off our case.

The thing is, once protected by something that is formless, that risk halves.

So next time I hear someone tell me that I need to wear nice things more often, I’ll just tell them this story and remind them that my work clothes are all form fitting, because they’re dance clothes.

Any questions?

Troubled waters. (TW: stalking)

Unfortunately that weird guy A has struck again. The only place left for him to try to get to me is my Facebook profile, so he’s messaged me on that again.

I’m pretty sure he knows what sort of an impact that has on me.

We are all frightened. This guy found our address from nowhere and managed to send us a letter. We used to be bombarded by calls, texts, emails and IMs from him. Now he sends us one message, and I’m left dealing with all the fallout.

Fourteen is scared. She wants the Dutchman, she wants safety, and she wants to never hear from him again. Fifteen is having trouble concentrating and she’s feeling panicky a lot- she had a stalker who threatened all sorts of horrible things on her, so she’s feeling pretty frightened. Nineteen wants to go after him with a sledgehammer and make him regret scaring the younger ones, and I?

I’m kind of swimming in all these feelings, plus a general feeling of deep  unease.

I thought that messaging his girlfriend and telling her what was going on would stop all of this, but she is as unconcerned and reactionless as you could imagine. She is so beaten down by his constant straying, his petty cruelties and his lack of kindness, that she genuinely doesn’t seem to be able to bring herself to feel scared or upset. The thing that raised eyebrows with us is the fact that she would only be hurt if he left her.


I said those words about my abusive ex all the time.


So now I have confirmation, at least in my eyes, that she is also being abused. I told her that she had no reason to justify his bad behaviour, and that none of it was on her. I hope she realises that he is hurting her and manages to leave.

At any rate, if I do get another message… I am hot-footing it to the police. I have copies of what he’s said to me, so hopefully I will have a case.

That is, if the police in my area have any money left to do anything.

This piece of writing really got to me. (TW for mentions of rape and abuse)

So, it’s been a while since I last posted, but it is luckily due to me being very happy, balanced, and stable. I should have known that this is how it would be with the Dutchman. He is a positive influence, a bright spark. I’m always being asked if I’m ok with whatever we are doing, and he takes care of my anxiety quite often by telling me I can conquer it, that I’m amazing. It helps immensely to have him with me. He boosts my confidence.

Ok, trigger warning! The piece of text I’m writing about talks about rape prevention and how bullshitty it is, and about how men don’t do anything to prevent themselves from being assaulted… Yet, somehow, women have to. Stay safe everyone. I also briefly mention my abusive ex, but not for long.

What I wanted to talk about today was this, however. This piece of text was on a social media site I’m on, and I had to read it a good few times. It is true. I used to do all those things on the list- thumb over the bottle neck at parties, sticking with a friend when out, walking down the road with my keys in my fist- never once realising that the real danger lurked behind my door at home.

I wonder what would happen if men had to walk the street in fear like that, jumping at shadows, at a second pair of footsteps behind? What if they had to watch their drink in a pub, looking out for weird people hovering near their table? I wonder how they would feel if they constantly, constantly had eyes in the back of their heads?

That will never happen.

Gaslighting- an article I’ve found that all should read.

Gaslighting is what makes psychiatrists diagnose wrong, makes victims continue to believe that the abuse was caused by them, and that they are the evil ones. Society does a pretty twisted job of re-inforcing this, because the words, “There are two sides to every story,” are often used thoughtlessly and indiscriminately. I’ve been on the receiving end of disbelief over the gaslighting that happened to me, but this article explains what used to happen to me on a daily basis very well indeed.

That phonecall I actually made, and its aftermath…

I went into therapy feeling really really spacey. I had a head floating away into the clouds, a mind that retreated away somewhere safe.

Dr K noticed it straight away and asked what the problem was. I told her I had psyched myself up to call the sexual assault referral place, and she made sure with me that I was ok to do this seeing as we aren’t able to see each other next week (she’s on holiday). I said that the longer I left it, the worse my anxieties would get.

She sat with me whilst I dialled, encouraging me and helping me just by her presence. My fear was there but I pushed on through it and spoke to two separate people about my confusion and worry.

The receptionist and the doctor who talked to me both agreed that I need to talk to my GP about the problems with the pain and bleeding I’m still getting, but the doctor also said that she would get an independent sexual assault advisor to contact me and help me out if I decide to report what happened to me. They were both so kind and respectful, and believed me without question. The doctor also told me to contact them again if I felt upset or needed any more information.

Dr K was so proud of me and all of my fractured jigsaw-piece parts. The younger parts, fourteen and fifteen year old me, were both upset but ok with the fact that I was trying to get help and also that they were believed through me. I floated out of therapy feeling like I’d achieved something but wanting to curl up and sleep.

Tomorrow I travel along the country to teach. I have a train journey to master, two classes to teach, socialising and responsibility for myself in a station I’ve only recently had a panic attack in. I think I can do this. I will just be careful with myself, take a puzzle book, and try to sleep well when I’m there.

I feel scrambled still but I hope that I will feel more with it tomorrow. I am so proud of myself, but I’m tired too.

Thank you for supporting me today.

Hard Times.

I’m so sorry I’ve been AWOL recently. This latest discovery in therapy has rocked me to the core. I am now a person abused in childhood, someone I always felt sorry for but rationalised that I never was that person. I knew what I was doing. It was my fault.


Now, I’m realising that it was not my fault, that I was fourteen, a child. I teach children who are fourteen. I don’t want them hurt, and I certainly wouldn’t blame them if someone cruel took advantage of them. Why have I been blaming me?

I’m so tired and fragile at the minute- the smallest thing sets me off. I cry at things that wouldn’t bother normal people. I was sent the third smear test reminder letter in a row today, and it floored me- I was so upset at its callous tone, it’s schoolteacher-style nagging, its overtone of disappointment. I’m fighting a battle with trauma here, and I’m struggling to cope. I’m not having it done- I’m sending the smear test refusal letter back to them. Yet another moment when someone else wants me to do something I’m not comfortable with and doesn’t understand how much pain they’re causing.

I pretty much cried all session with Dr K today. The very hurt fourteen year old was out and upset, and didn’t want to talk but just wanted to cry. I sat there, feeling very small and very afraid, and also very shameful and dirty. Dr K spent the whole session trying to calm me down and to stop me from feeling so horrific. The fourteen year old inside me wanted suicide,self harm, an end to her pain and an escape into the dark. Twenty five year old me wants peace and J and just to curl up on his chest and let him hold me. The only person allowed that close to me is him. I brook no trespass from doctors thinking they can swab me and expect me to be fine. I won’t be.

The doctor at my local surgery is the one who pointed out to me that I’m officially a person abused in childhood. She’s trying her best to help me. I’m terrified of the pain I end up in after sex, or even just when I’ve over-exercised, and she wants to help me find out what it is. She also wants to help me to report the abuse, and for that, I need an examination. I’m terrified of that too, but that one less so- that’s something I can choose to opt in or out of, to be able to tell them I can’t and leave or to be brave and do it. I have the control there. I’m just terrified that they’ll find that he scarred me and that I’m broken, or that maybe there’ll be nothing there and I will be told I’m making it all up. I’m not: I know what happened to me.

I became childlike again today, drawing on the paper Dr K had in her office, explaining all the pain and hurt in pictures. She believes that I’ve done some good today with them, that I’ve made progress and been able to explain what’s wrong and how she can help. I feel like we made progress there too. The drawings I did two weeks ago were just as powerful, the things I wrote from fourteen year old me. I’m so tired now, and all I want to do is curl up in bed and watch something pleasant.

If anyone has any advice for me over all this, I would love some. I don’t know how I’m going to cope with this and what it really means that I have parts of me. I dissociate, floating away, but I remember it all and I know that I’m there. Is this DID? I don’t know.

I need hugs, sleep, and a rest from everything. I’m so tired, everyone.