Vulnerability

Now that the police investigation has been completed, the Crown Prosecution Service has my case. They have had it since 1st February. I have no idea how long it will take to decide whether or not there is enough evidence to prosecute or not. A part of me wishes I knew when to expect an answer, but I know myself well enough to understand having that knowledge could take me to a very dark place.

I’m staring down the barrel of the unknown, which scares me. There are only two things that can happen. They can say there is enough evidence for a case, and this journey begins. Or, they can say there isn’t enough evidence for a case, and this particular journey ends. If I am honest with you and myself, I don’t know which I am more afraid of. Either path will bring unknown pain. But also relief and possibly even joy.

Since finding out that the CPS had my case, my mind has returned to that night more times than I would like to admit. The heaviness and shadows that surrounded me for a decade are back. Not every day, but as I wait to know what the future might bring, the shadows tend to find me and surround me when I'm alone. They aren't as intense as they used to be, but I feel their presence in the same way animals sense an impending storm. When I'm at my worst, their hold can feel unbreakable. But, I’ve learned not to hide from it but to allow the darkness in and show it the love it needs. Hiding from the dark isn’t going to make my life brighter. On the contrary, it will give everything I do a dull edge of pain and fear. I lived like that for the best part of a decade. At times I was nothing more than an observer in my own life. I don't want to live like that again. I can't.

I always say that whatever happens, I will be OK. I'm not sure if I'm trying to provide comfort to my family and friends or myself. I repeat that sentence daily, hoping that I will eventually believe it. But unfortunately, he wasn't the first man to have abused my trust and used their power against me. I vividly remember lying on the floor in my friend's house when I was 14. Her dad came over to me and knelt on the floor beside me. I can still feel his breath on my neck as he drunkenly whispered to me, "No one will ever make love to you. You will only ever be fucked. But, when you're older, if you want to know what it feels like to be made love to, you should call me." I don't remember ever going back to that house again.

I was 14, a child, that was an adult male. I was in his care. I did my standard push it away, pretend it didn't happen. Still, that sentence clung to me like glue, and in the moments of happiness that followed, it came back and unconsciously reminded me that I wasn't really worthy of happiness, and obviously, my boyfriends didn't love me. I was a fragile mess when it came to love and worthiness way before my "friend" helped himself to my body as I slept. Maybe he sensed my weakness.

I am the one that decided to report what was done to me at the hands of someone I was meant to be safe with. I believe this is part of my journey, but sometimes it's hard to see why I have had to deal with the things in my past and where it will take me.

I don't want to live in the past. I don't want to live in either of those moments or any other where a man has used his strength and power against me as a weapon, to control or abuse me. But I won't pretend they haven't happened. I often wonder if I will stop being triggered by those events. There are moments when the memories come back, and they don't hurt, and moments when I am transported back to the exact moment in time that it's happening, and it shatters me into a thousand pieces.

Going to the police was the hardest thing I have ever done. The second hardest was writing the blog that started this journey. Harder than moving to the other side of the world, starting a career in film with nothing more than a desire or writing a book. The blog and the police meant that I had to be vulnerable, and show the softer side of me, the side in pain. All my life I have been the strong one. Even when I was a child, I was the strong one. I very rarely turned to anyone for help. That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself, and to be put on you as a child.

I know that I am in charge of my feelings that I can turn the negative into a positive, but there are times when doing that isn't as easy as it sounds. I have a lot to be grateful for. I have supportive family and friends that would be there for me if I asked. I have a job that I love, I have passions such as writing and surfing that allow me to have fun and be creative. I live in a country that I love. Even though I have these amazing things going for me, I am so used to having my guard up and being strong that I struggle to let people in. There are days when all I want is for someone to hold me, let me cry and tell me it's all going to be OK. It's hard for me to ask for that, even though it's the only thing I crave. I'm still learning to open up and be vulnerable. Brene Brown said it best when she said.

Staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take if we want to experience connection

I have come a long way in the past few years. I want to lower my guard and feel connected. It may take me a little while to get there as I embrace and push past my fears. I need to let go of the belief that opening up and trusting equates to being hurt. All I can say is I'm trying.