The good thing now about being busy looking for a job is that I just don't have time to feel bad. I just can't let myself, because I really need to focus on getting a job really soon, and if I let myself reflect on the fact that I am only looking for a new job because of him, I will probably break down. I need to stay positive, and I think I am doing a fairly good job at the moment.
And when I do get a new job, I can't exactly break down then either, so hopefully a new role would keep me busy enough to push all bad thoughts aside.
Forget that I am forever a different person.
Tuesday 27 November 2012
Sunday 25 November 2012
The ID parade
Was thinking about when I had to go through the ID parade and identify him. Wanted to write down my experience.
I remember being told by my SOIT officer that I would probably have to do an ID parade, but she didn't know when it would be, or indeed if. So I waited, and waited and waited, and dreaded. I dreaded seeing his face again, and I dreaded the thought that maybe I wouldn't recognise him. What would happen if I didn't. But at the same time I couldn't imagine not recognising him, after him lying on the bed staring at me whilst I was getting dressed. I dreaded how it would make me feel, at the same time I was looking forward to it in a bizarre way, maybe I was hoping it would make it feel more real, like I could maybe associate with everything more if I saw him again, because I was feeling like his face was getting more and more blurry and distant in my memory.
The day came when I got the call from her, telling me that they booked the date for the ID parade, on the 11th of April, almost 2 months after it happened. I was lucky that my family came to visit London a few days before the date, so I had something else to focus my energy on and trying not to think about it. But then, when they flew back home again, I fell into a coma of sleeping pills and weed for 2 days straight, I did not leave my bed.
It's impossible to describe the feelings I had then, it was almost as if I didn't have any feelings. I just felt very numb. My body couldn't handle all the fear and anxiety I think so it's easier to just switch off and stay numb, be protected.
On the day I made my way to Belgravia police station, where the ID parade was to take place. Going there on public transport was absolutely horrific, I remember shaking the whole way there, not looking at a single person. When I arrived I have to wait for another SOIT officer to take me in to the room. I remember sitting in the lobby and seeing some guys coming in to sign in for bail conditions. I was just thinking all the time, "have you done to someone what was done to me, is that why you are here?".
Then she came and we made our way up to the ID suite, the man working there explained to me what would happen, and what I would need to do. I was led into a small room with a computer screen. They had a video of 9 different guys, who would all look into the camera and then turn to the right, and then to the left, and then into the camera again. I would need to look at the 9 guys 2 times, and then I could look at any individual again if I wanted. He told me just to go with my gut feeling. The whole proceedure was being filmed also.
The video started and a guy's image came on. He didn't look anything like G at all, I wondered how many of these I would see before G came on, which number would he be.
The video continued and more guys who looked nothing like him passed before my eyes. Then I saw an image that maybe resembled him a bit, and my heart skipped a beat, but I still didn't think it was him. Then came number 7. And my heart stopped, my breathing stopped. He was number 7. Without a doubt. He looked straight into the camera with those same eyes, it was like he was looking straight into my soul with those same eyes.
He looked like he grew his hair and beard a little, maybe to try and look less like he did. And he had a tiny smile on his lips, like he wanted to mock me, because he knew that I would watch.
I didn't even see the remaining 2 guys, I was just shaking uncontrollably and was not able to breathe properly. I knew I had to watch the whole thing again before I could say anything, so I just stared at the screen again without seeing number 1-6, just counting down until number 7, when I would see the same face again.
He looked at me with the same eyes again. Of course, this was a recording. After the video the man running it asked me if I wanted to see any of them again, and I just said no, I am sure which one it is.
I told him it was number 7, and he asked me to sign a paper stating that, and I did, though I am sure that my signature was just a shaky line as I could barely hold the pen. Then I just broke down and started crying. The SOIT officer came in to get me, and we sat outside for a while until I calmed down a bit.
After that all was finished I went back on the tube to go and meet my friend in Hammersmith, and I have never felt so empty in my entire life as I did after that morning. It was like I couldnt feel anything, I couldn't think, I couldn't smile, I couldn't talk, I couldn't see anything except his face constantly in my vision, in front of everything else. I could move only in a robotic way.
It was like I was dead inside. More dead than I had already been since the incident. This was like a new kind of dead, that I had never felt, and hope I will never feel again.
I remember being told by my SOIT officer that I would probably have to do an ID parade, but she didn't know when it would be, or indeed if. So I waited, and waited and waited, and dreaded. I dreaded seeing his face again, and I dreaded the thought that maybe I wouldn't recognise him. What would happen if I didn't. But at the same time I couldn't imagine not recognising him, after him lying on the bed staring at me whilst I was getting dressed. I dreaded how it would make me feel, at the same time I was looking forward to it in a bizarre way, maybe I was hoping it would make it feel more real, like I could maybe associate with everything more if I saw him again, because I was feeling like his face was getting more and more blurry and distant in my memory.
The day came when I got the call from her, telling me that they booked the date for the ID parade, on the 11th of April, almost 2 months after it happened. I was lucky that my family came to visit London a few days before the date, so I had something else to focus my energy on and trying not to think about it. But then, when they flew back home again, I fell into a coma of sleeping pills and weed for 2 days straight, I did not leave my bed.
It's impossible to describe the feelings I had then, it was almost as if I didn't have any feelings. I just felt very numb. My body couldn't handle all the fear and anxiety I think so it's easier to just switch off and stay numb, be protected.
On the day I made my way to Belgravia police station, where the ID parade was to take place. Going there on public transport was absolutely horrific, I remember shaking the whole way there, not looking at a single person. When I arrived I have to wait for another SOIT officer to take me in to the room. I remember sitting in the lobby and seeing some guys coming in to sign in for bail conditions. I was just thinking all the time, "have you done to someone what was done to me, is that why you are here?".
Then she came and we made our way up to the ID suite, the man working there explained to me what would happen, and what I would need to do. I was led into a small room with a computer screen. They had a video of 9 different guys, who would all look into the camera and then turn to the right, and then to the left, and then into the camera again. I would need to look at the 9 guys 2 times, and then I could look at any individual again if I wanted. He told me just to go with my gut feeling. The whole proceedure was being filmed also.
The video started and a guy's image came on. He didn't look anything like G at all, I wondered how many of these I would see before G came on, which number would he be.
The video continued and more guys who looked nothing like him passed before my eyes. Then I saw an image that maybe resembled him a bit, and my heart skipped a beat, but I still didn't think it was him. Then came number 7. And my heart stopped, my breathing stopped. He was number 7. Without a doubt. He looked straight into the camera with those same eyes, it was like he was looking straight into my soul with those same eyes.
He looked like he grew his hair and beard a little, maybe to try and look less like he did. And he had a tiny smile on his lips, like he wanted to mock me, because he knew that I would watch.
I didn't even see the remaining 2 guys, I was just shaking uncontrollably and was not able to breathe properly. I knew I had to watch the whole thing again before I could say anything, so I just stared at the screen again without seeing number 1-6, just counting down until number 7, when I would see the same face again.
He looked at me with the same eyes again. Of course, this was a recording. After the video the man running it asked me if I wanted to see any of them again, and I just said no, I am sure which one it is.
I told him it was number 7, and he asked me to sign a paper stating that, and I did, though I am sure that my signature was just a shaky line as I could barely hold the pen. Then I just broke down and started crying. The SOIT officer came in to get me, and we sat outside for a while until I calmed down a bit.
After that all was finished I went back on the tube to go and meet my friend in Hammersmith, and I have never felt so empty in my entire life as I did after that morning. It was like I couldnt feel anything, I couldn't think, I couldn't smile, I couldn't talk, I couldn't see anything except his face constantly in my vision, in front of everything else. I could move only in a robotic way.
It was like I was dead inside. More dead than I had already been since the incident. This was like a new kind of dead, that I had never felt, and hope I will never feel again.
Tuesday 20 November 2012
Beautiful video
By the way, this is a video I really want to share with everyone, including people on my Facebook, however I know that I can't do that of course, cause what will people think. People might either put two and two together or think that I am some sort of attention seeker, so I will just share it here instead.
It's insane that one needs to feel that you can't share something beautiful like this with the world, without being judged. Wonder if I had felt the same way had I not been raped.
Rape and sexual assault's aftermath awareness
It's insane that one needs to feel that you can't share something beautiful like this with the world, without being judged. Wonder if I had felt the same way had I not been raped.
Rape and sexual assault's aftermath awareness
My Wall
I find that ignoring this seems to work the best. I think that is what I have been trying to mostly do this year. Ignore and keep control over myself.
Yesterday I was on the bus going to work, and realised that I only had 3 days left, and I got a worse pain in my chest than I have had in a long time, properly panicked. It took all my willpower to control myself not to have a panick attack right there on the bus. I was just sitting shaking, and as soon as I got into the office I stumbled into the bathroom getting sick.
I just couldn't keep the thoughts and images out anymore. Usually I can keep them at bay, but something triggered me I guess, and there they were. All the thoughts about him. I felt him touching me, grabbing me.
But nothing feels worse than seeing him again lying relaxed on the bed in his striped t-thirt and boxers, watching me with his arms up and behind his head, just watching me as if wondering what's wrong.
Those eyes just looking at me all over, as if he didn't understand he had done something wrong. Didn't understand why I was upset, and would want to leave.
I know that ignoring this and not dealing with the pain might not be the best long term solution. But I just can't stand the pain trying to deal with it brings. Every time I try to think about it, my brain just closes up and it feels like there is this invisible wall between me and the memory. And I can't break it, not yet. Maybe some day in the future, but not yet. It is painful enough being close to the wall, that I can't imagine breaking it. If I do, I can't imagine what might happen. So for now, I am happier living in oblivion outside the wall.
Some state of ignorance is definitely bliss.
Yesterday I was on the bus going to work, and realised that I only had 3 days left, and I got a worse pain in my chest than I have had in a long time, properly panicked. It took all my willpower to control myself not to have a panick attack right there on the bus. I was just sitting shaking, and as soon as I got into the office I stumbled into the bathroom getting sick.
I just couldn't keep the thoughts and images out anymore. Usually I can keep them at bay, but something triggered me I guess, and there they were. All the thoughts about him. I felt him touching me, grabbing me.
But nothing feels worse than seeing him again lying relaxed on the bed in his striped t-thirt and boxers, watching me with his arms up and behind his head, just watching me as if wondering what's wrong.
Those eyes just looking at me all over, as if he didn't understand he had done something wrong. Didn't understand why I was upset, and would want to leave.
I know that ignoring this and not dealing with the pain might not be the best long term solution. But I just can't stand the pain trying to deal with it brings. Every time I try to think about it, my brain just closes up and it feels like there is this invisible wall between me and the memory. And I can't break it, not yet. Maybe some day in the future, but not yet. It is painful enough being close to the wall, that I can't imagine breaking it. If I do, I can't imagine what might happen. So for now, I am happier living in oblivion outside the wall.
Some state of ignorance is definitely bliss.
Friday 16 November 2012
Things he took and wounds that open and heal
I just went back to work today again from my holiday, for the first time since I found out my contract was not getting renewed, and all day long I just couldn't stop thinking about the fact that I only have a few more days left there, and all that he has taken from me. Or that I let him take from me.
I was a disgustingly positive person. I am no more, though I try to continue pretending to be, so that people will not notice the difference, cause how could anyone like me if I am not the same?
I had a best friend who said she loved me like a sister. I have no more, she abandoned me at the first sight of hard times.
My mum was very helpful at first. She is no more, she hasn't even spoken to me in months since we had an argument about alcohol, not even to ask how I am, after I lost my job and everything.
I had a job that I truly loved. I will have no more from next week.
I could have sex and enjoy it, I could be near a man and enjoy it. I can't really anymore, without the influence of too much alcohol.
On a positive note I'm starting to feel a bit better again now. I see a small sliver of hope again after the losing of job debacle. I have a couple of interviews lined up for good jobs for next week, so that is something positive to focus on.
And also, if I think back at how bad I was in the first few months, and how many crazy and dangerous situations I got into then because of alcohol and drugs, or anything to relieve the pain temporarily, I have actually come a long way. I might have lost some things, but I am nowhere near as bad as I was a few months ago. I guess wounds do slowly heal. Even the infected ones. Mine was opened a bit again, but I am sure it will start healing again.
I was a disgustingly positive person. I am no more, though I try to continue pretending to be, so that people will not notice the difference, cause how could anyone like me if I am not the same?
I had a best friend who said she loved me like a sister. I have no more, she abandoned me at the first sight of hard times.
My mum was very helpful at first. She is no more, she hasn't even spoken to me in months since we had an argument about alcohol, not even to ask how I am, after I lost my job and everything.
I had a job that I truly loved. I will have no more from next week.
I could have sex and enjoy it, I could be near a man and enjoy it. I can't really anymore, without the influence of too much alcohol.
On a positive note I'm starting to feel a bit better again now. I see a small sliver of hope again after the losing of job debacle. I have a couple of interviews lined up for good jobs for next week, so that is something positive to focus on.
And also, if I think back at how bad I was in the first few months, and how many crazy and dangerous situations I got into then because of alcohol and drugs, or anything to relieve the pain temporarily, I have actually come a long way. I might have lost some things, but I am nowhere near as bad as I was a few months ago. I guess wounds do slowly heal. Even the infected ones. Mine was opened a bit again, but I am sure it will start healing again.
I didn't know his last name, only him and his brothers first names. But somehow through many hours of searching the internet I managed to find him and his whole family on facebook. I thought at that point that that was what I wanted, to be able to maybe find out more about him. To see what kind of person he is, maybe not to forget his face, even though that seems like what any normal person would want. But I guess I wanted a face to hang on to somehow, in order to keep it real.
At first I couldn't bring myself to stop looking at his photos. Just staring into his eyes with pure hatred all day long. But seeing how happy he seems just made me feel even worse of course. Seeing that he is engaged to some stupid naive italian girl who is clueless about what he did to me.
I keep wondering what brought me to search for him for so long, and what made me keep checking his page all the time. Normal people would want to steer clear of the person who hurt you right? I'm not sure if I am the only one who feels this way maybe.
Every time I see his face now my heart skips a beat and I just get so angry all over again, so I try never to go on it. The problem now however is that I can never unknow his name. Before I found him, I had no choice, but now I have the choice and even though I know it makes me feel worse checking his page, I feel the need to do so sometimes.
I even sent a message to his girlfriend and brother once when I was really drunk. I fell into an anxiety coma of sleepingpills, weed and alcohol for days after that. I just wish I could forget his name. All their names. I don't want to risk sending any more messages to them. Even though at the same time I want to send messages to them all the time, telling them all what he did. But I know it would be to no avail, cause why would they believe some stranger over their brother/boyfriend/son.
At first I couldn't bring myself to stop looking at his photos. Just staring into his eyes with pure hatred all day long. But seeing how happy he seems just made me feel even worse of course. Seeing that he is engaged to some stupid naive italian girl who is clueless about what he did to me.
I keep wondering what brought me to search for him for so long, and what made me keep checking his page all the time. Normal people would want to steer clear of the person who hurt you right? I'm not sure if I am the only one who feels this way maybe.
Every time I see his face now my heart skips a beat and I just get so angry all over again, so I try never to go on it. The problem now however is that I can never unknow his name. Before I found him, I had no choice, but now I have the choice and even though I know it makes me feel worse checking his page, I feel the need to do so sometimes.
I even sent a message to his girlfriend and brother once when I was really drunk. I fell into an anxiety coma of sleepingpills, weed and alcohol for days after that. I just wish I could forget his name. All their names. I don't want to risk sending any more messages to them. Even though at the same time I want to send messages to them all the time, telling them all what he did. But I know it would be to no avail, cause why would they believe some stranger over their brother/boyfriend/son.
Wednesday 14 November 2012
When he read my journal
I can't stop thinking about that customs guard at Heathrow airport reading my journal. He was going through my things because apparently I arrived back from a high risk country, Belize. He found the journal and opened it, and I asked him does he have to read it, and he said he would have to.
I just said he was welcome to read it but it is personal. As soon as he started reading the first page I knew what he was seeing and I started crying. He finally understood why I had asked him not to read it, but he continued to read it anyway.
I felt so extremely vulnerable standing there in front of him, like I was somehow being violated again. He asked me if I went to the police and I said yes, that is all behind me now.
He explained that they have to read journals because sometimes people write in them how much drugs they swallow. Obviously he found nothing else but sadness in there so he let me go.
But somehow this event affected me so much. I can't stop wondering how he felt, if he told his colleagues after, that he thought he was maybe gonna find something about drugs since I asked him not to read it, but instead he just found a sad girls story about a rape.
The unspeakable uncomfortable word. Rape
I just said he was welcome to read it but it is personal. As soon as he started reading the first page I knew what he was seeing and I started crying. He finally understood why I had asked him not to read it, but he continued to read it anyway.
I felt so extremely vulnerable standing there in front of him, like I was somehow being violated again. He asked me if I went to the police and I said yes, that is all behind me now.
He explained that they have to read journals because sometimes people write in them how much drugs they swallow. Obviously he found nothing else but sadness in there so he let me go.
But somehow this event affected me so much. I can't stop wondering how he felt, if he told his colleagues after, that he thought he was maybe gonna find something about drugs since I asked him not to read it, but instead he just found a sad girls story about a rape.
The unspeakable uncomfortable word. Rape
Sexual Assault Prevention Tips
This is such an amazing Sexual Assault prevention poster. I first saw it on Lizzie's blog but it originally comes from here.
Seeing this was probably one of the first and only things rape related that has put a smile to my face.
Seeing this was probably one of the first and only things rape related that has put a smile to my face.
Tuesday 13 November 2012
His brother and me
His brother.
The one I went home and had consented sex with. I can't stop thinking about him. It's like I created this imaginary link between us that will always stay there. If none of this would have happened, I would have gone on my merry way home and probably never thought about him again, but now I can't stop thinking that he was the last person I had great sex with, and that I will never be with anyone again like that.
Maybe because he was the last person who touched me before I was violated.
I used to feel so guilty toward him. When they first told me he was arrested I just broke down into tears. I so badly didn't want him to think I had accused him of anything. Then thinking that he stayed in jail for a whole night before they could even question him, and tell him that he was not accused of anything by me.
But the police told me that he had to be arrested, that he was the only witness and that they needed his DNA to exclude him, as we had had consented sex earlier.
It's hard enough thinking that someone you had a one night stand with regrets it the next morning. But with him I keep thinking that he thinks it was the biggest mistake of his life to go home with me, and that I ruined his life. Even though it was all his brothers fault that he was arrested and had to sign in at the police station every day for more than 4 months.
I still remember the last time I saw him, and will probably never forget. It was the second time that I went to drive through Fulham with the police to identify the house. I had to get out of the car with my SOIT officer N and a detective to point out the exact door, and as I was pointing it out he looked out of the kitchen window and saw us standing there.
At that moment they ushered me back to the car and the police station. Moments later he was arrested.
It is so weird in this situation because it is not only me and the rapist involved. It is also his brother. It's like this weird threesome. I am sure that he doesnt believe me, and that hurts in a way that is so hard to explain. Of course he would take his brothers side. Maybe he wouldnt care anyway. Maybe that's what they normally do. One of them goes home with someone and then she is fair game to the other.
I will never know the answer to any of these questions. Especially now that they both fled back to Italy.
The one I went home and had consented sex with. I can't stop thinking about him. It's like I created this imaginary link between us that will always stay there. If none of this would have happened, I would have gone on my merry way home and probably never thought about him again, but now I can't stop thinking that he was the last person I had great sex with, and that I will never be with anyone again like that.
Maybe because he was the last person who touched me before I was violated.
I used to feel so guilty toward him. When they first told me he was arrested I just broke down into tears. I so badly didn't want him to think I had accused him of anything. Then thinking that he stayed in jail for a whole night before they could even question him, and tell him that he was not accused of anything by me.
But the police told me that he had to be arrested, that he was the only witness and that they needed his DNA to exclude him, as we had had consented sex earlier.
It's hard enough thinking that someone you had a one night stand with regrets it the next morning. But with him I keep thinking that he thinks it was the biggest mistake of his life to go home with me, and that I ruined his life. Even though it was all his brothers fault that he was arrested and had to sign in at the police station every day for more than 4 months.
I still remember the last time I saw him, and will probably never forget. It was the second time that I went to drive through Fulham with the police to identify the house. I had to get out of the car with my SOIT officer N and a detective to point out the exact door, and as I was pointing it out he looked out of the kitchen window and saw us standing there.
At that moment they ushered me back to the car and the police station. Moments later he was arrested.
It is so weird in this situation because it is not only me and the rapist involved. It is also his brother. It's like this weird threesome. I am sure that he doesnt believe me, and that hurts in a way that is so hard to explain. Of course he would take his brothers side. Maybe he wouldnt care anyway. Maybe that's what they normally do. One of them goes home with someone and then she is fair game to the other.
I will never know the answer to any of these questions. Especially now that they both fled back to Italy.
Potential rapists everywhere
When I look back now at the days and months that has past, I can barely associate with any of it.
It used to be so painful, now I just feel a numbing sadness pretty much all the time.
I know I have changed. I know he changed me. Into someone I don't want to be.
I no longer want to be with a man, though at the same time I so desperately want someone to feel safe with. Feel that someone cares. But how will I ever find that when I can't bare to think of letting anyone getting close to me. It's like I put up these barriers. The only time I can bare to let a man touch me is when I have had way too much alcohol, and barely even then.
I keep thinking any man can be a rapist. I see a potential rapist in anyone.
The man(or should I say boy) who raped me looks like this normal guy who goes out drinking with his buddies, and when I am in a bar I keep thinking that any of the men in there could have raped someone at some point.
When I think of him going out trying to be with girls it makes me sick, sick that they will never know what a monster he is, sick that they will never know what he is capable of. Sick that they might trust him, and willingly go home with him and willingly sleep with him.
And when I think of the fact that he just got away with it, it makes me even more sick.
I think that is what ruined me, the fact that I was holding on to the investigation, and when it went nowhere, I just broke. I was waiting for so long for the investigation to be finished, and all I was, was that investiation, and when that was over I was no one anymore. I still feel like I am no one anymore.
I keep wanting to be stronger than this, everyone told me I was being so strong. I think it was just because I was in this bubble where only I existed and I was able to just power through somehow.
I can't stop seeing his smiling face and I just want to avenge him so badly. I want him to hurt. Hurt as much as he hurt me. He probably doesnt even think about it anymore. He probably just lives this happy life back in Italy and here my life is just crumbling at my feet.
It used to be so painful, now I just feel a numbing sadness pretty much all the time.
I know I have changed. I know he changed me. Into someone I don't want to be.
I no longer want to be with a man, though at the same time I so desperately want someone to feel safe with. Feel that someone cares. But how will I ever find that when I can't bare to think of letting anyone getting close to me. It's like I put up these barriers. The only time I can bare to let a man touch me is when I have had way too much alcohol, and barely even then.
I keep thinking any man can be a rapist. I see a potential rapist in anyone.
The man(or should I say boy) who raped me looks like this normal guy who goes out drinking with his buddies, and when I am in a bar I keep thinking that any of the men in there could have raped someone at some point.
When I think of him going out trying to be with girls it makes me sick, sick that they will never know what a monster he is, sick that they will never know what he is capable of. Sick that they might trust him, and willingly go home with him and willingly sleep with him.
And when I think of the fact that he just got away with it, it makes me even more sick.
I think that is what ruined me, the fact that I was holding on to the investigation, and when it went nowhere, I just broke. I was waiting for so long for the investigation to be finished, and all I was, was that investiation, and when that was over I was no one anymore. I still feel like I am no one anymore.
I keep wanting to be stronger than this, everyone told me I was being so strong. I think it was just because I was in this bubble where only I existed and I was able to just power through somehow.
I can't stop seeing his smiling face and I just want to avenge him so badly. I want him to hurt. Hurt as much as he hurt me. He probably doesnt even think about it anymore. He probably just lives this happy life back in Italy and here my life is just crumbling at my feet.
The Forensic Examination
Forensic!
It's that kind of word that you hear on TV.
Never would I think that I would go through a forensic examination. Nor did I really know what it was.
But thanks to G, I now know.
My Soit officer who I shall refer to as N, picked me up in a car and drove me to the Sexual Assault referral centre in central London called the Haven.
Sleep deprived, food deprived, not showered we arrived after battling London morning traffic.
Me and N walked in and sat in a small room with a nurse.
Whilst sipping my coffee (by the way, I realised that coffee was something that held me together for the first days, maybe even months) the nurse explained the procedures, what would happen during the next 4 or so hours. I think through the first entire week I was in a bubble of not really believing anything around me was actually happening. Everything felt pretty distant.
Once the doctor had taken the statement from the police, she read it out to me, so again I had to hear my story from someone elses view. Then we went through it again together, so I told her my story of evens, filled in any gaps. Filled out many different paperworks and then we were all set to go. First they swabbed my hands and fingernails for any DNA, then they swabbed my mouth and throat. Then it was time to get naked and into a gown, so they could examine my body from head to toe and take swabs and looks for any bruises or injuries, that they then marked down on a piece of paper.
After that, time to lie down on the scary chair and spead your legs. They took DNA with long swabs from places where long DNA swabs should not be. In and around and poking about in both holes.
The only thing that makes me feel better about this experience, was that I was in a nice safe environment with nice ladies, whilst he had to give DNA by getting his penis swabbed in a prison cell by police officers.
All in all, I felt relatively good at the Haven, all the nurses and doctors were absolutely great. Made you feel so safe and good. They really felt caring. And they do provide excellent after-care also.
After that ordeal was over and done, harder times was still to come. Just after, we had to drive around the area of Fulham where it happened, to see if I could identify the place. More on that later.
It's that kind of word that you hear on TV.
Never would I think that I would go through a forensic examination. Nor did I really know what it was.
But thanks to G, I now know.
My Soit officer who I shall refer to as N, picked me up in a car and drove me to the Sexual Assault referral centre in central London called the Haven.
Sleep deprived, food deprived, not showered we arrived after battling London morning traffic.
Me and N walked in and sat in a small room with a nurse.
Whilst sipping my coffee (by the way, I realised that coffee was something that held me together for the first days, maybe even months) the nurse explained the procedures, what would happen during the next 4 or so hours. I think through the first entire week I was in a bubble of not really believing anything around me was actually happening. Everything felt pretty distant.
Once the doctor had taken the statement from the police, she read it out to me, so again I had to hear my story from someone elses view. Then we went through it again together, so I told her my story of evens, filled in any gaps. Filled out many different paperworks and then we were all set to go. First they swabbed my hands and fingernails for any DNA, then they swabbed my mouth and throat. Then it was time to get naked and into a gown, so they could examine my body from head to toe and take swabs and looks for any bruises or injuries, that they then marked down on a piece of paper.
After that, time to lie down on the scary chair and spead your legs. They took DNA with long swabs from places where long DNA swabs should not be. In and around and poking about in both holes.
The only thing that makes me feel better about this experience, was that I was in a nice safe environment with nice ladies, whilst he had to give DNA by getting his penis swabbed in a prison cell by police officers.
All in all, I felt relatively good at the Haven, all the nurses and doctors were absolutely great. Made you feel so safe and good. They really felt caring. And they do provide excellent after-care also.
After that ordeal was over and done, harder times was still to come. Just after, we had to drive around the area of Fulham where it happened, to see if I could identify the place. More on that later.
You can go up but then you go down
Ok, I haven't really been posting anything. I have been writing mostly in my journal, so it has felt a bit like writing double really. Will try to write more here now.
Will start to say that I thought, honestly thought, not like those times when you feel ok for a moment, but actually thought I was great, and I was pretty much over it.
Then I found out that my contract is not getting extended. Because I have had to much absence this year. Even though they know it was because of the rape.
So basically he has taken everything from me now. He has taken a piece of me, he has taken friends, family, he has now also taken what mattered to me the most, and what helped me come back; my job.
Went downhill again from there.
I went away on holiday which was great, but I made the stupid mistake of bringing my journal, because apparently the customs guards need to read them in case they find something dodgy in there. So the customs guard at Heathrow starts reading my journal where I wrote about my rape from the first page. I can't explain the feeling of standing there watching him read my personal pages that no one has ever read. Words I wrote only for myself.
After that I realised that I am definitely not still over it. And I have no idea when I will be.
It has been almost 9 months since that Italian scumbag felt the need to stick his dick somewhere it didnt belong, but it still feels like yesterday, even though at the same time it feels so far away in a distant world, that none of it happened. Like it was all just a bad dream.
Will start to say that I thought, honestly thought, not like those times when you feel ok for a moment, but actually thought I was great, and I was pretty much over it.
Then I found out that my contract is not getting extended. Because I have had to much absence this year. Even though they know it was because of the rape.
So basically he has taken everything from me now. He has taken a piece of me, he has taken friends, family, he has now also taken what mattered to me the most, and what helped me come back; my job.
Went downhill again from there.
I went away on holiday which was great, but I made the stupid mistake of bringing my journal, because apparently the customs guards need to read them in case they find something dodgy in there. So the customs guard at Heathrow starts reading my journal where I wrote about my rape from the first page. I can't explain the feeling of standing there watching him read my personal pages that no one has ever read. Words I wrote only for myself.
After that I realised that I am definitely not still over it. And I have no idea when I will be.
It has been almost 9 months since that Italian scumbag felt the need to stick his dick somewhere it didnt belong, but it still feels like yesterday, even though at the same time it feels so far away in a distant world, that none of it happened. Like it was all just a bad dream.
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