Three months had passed since the funeral, since my breakdown. Since seeing the man that took away my childhood.. Then the worst thing happened, the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to me. I’m not going to talk much about this, but I will say, I had a very close relationship with my grandmother, she was like the mum I never had. She was taken ill and passed away. As if things couldn’t get any worse for me. Here I am now, living in a flat away from my babies, not sure whether I love my husband or I don’t. And I am about to detonate a bomb on the family. And this amazing woman grew her angel wings. Could life get any worse?
My world was crumbling beneath me, nightmares and flashbacks were a daily thing. I felt like I couldn’t cope with anything. I had recently spoken to the police, they had informed me that they were going to question my cousin, but due to the untimely circumstances, they would wait until after the funeral.. This meant I would see him again, not something I wanted to do. But no way, was I not, going to say, my goodbye. To be honest thinking about it now, i’m not sure I noticed him there, he certainly made no effort to try and speak to me.
It was two weeks after the funeral almost five weeks since the interview. I had a call from the detective to tell me that she had spoken to him, and that he was coming in for an interview. I had a day off work that day, trying to remain busy, to keep my mind off of it but also checking social media in case something was mentioned, by the family. But there was no backlash, nothing mentioned by the family, no news from the police. Had he turned up, or was it canceled. I heard nothing from anyone, I was in the dark.
Three days later, I am at work. And I have a voicemail left on my phone from the detective asking me to contact her. My heart sank, I was anxious, heart pounding and I felt sick. I made the telephone call and she answered. He denied it all!!! Was I surprised not really, but maybe somewhere inside I hoped he admit something, nope. She explained what happens next. I listened and hung up. As much as I didn’t want to cry, as I was as work. It poured out, I couldn’t stop it. I finished my break, put a brave face on and went back in. My boss just so happened to be there, noticed I had been upset. We had a little chat about it, which helped and she then made me busy. This was the perfect medicine. I’m not going to lie, that, I didn’t think of it again, that day. As every so often, it would come to the surface. But as per normal, I have a job to do, this is not the place. Driving home though, different matter. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. How am I going to prove this, it happened years ago. It’s not like I have DNA on my side. My head was going around in circles. The detective explained that she would look through anything relating to my past, if it’s out there she was going to find it and read it.. Medical, school, social work reports, anything she could get her hands on, she would look into.
Well I know over the years, I had gone to the doctors many times on and off for counselling. Especially when I was younger. I knew that on occasions I had mentioned what I had been through, but what if, its not, documented. What if the records have been destroyed. So many what ifs. I just have to put my faith in the system now. I signed the disclosure for the detective, I gave her a list of all the people that I had confided in, (not that many to be fair only my best friend knew from way back when. And, I had recently, informed a couple relatives, I was close too).
The reason I had kept this secret, for all this time. Was the fears of my father, the police, not being believed. The fear that the family would do something awful in revenge. So now it was out there, and I was constantly living on the edge. Wondering when I was going to have, someone say something. But it never happened, it was silent. No one heard anything, no one said anything. And I was believed, the relatives, I confided in, believed me. The police believed me. And no revenge had been thrown in my direction. I’m going to be completely honest, do I think, if I had known this, would I have spoken sooner. No, I honestly don’t think, I would have. But I am glad. I have now, despite the ups and downs. I do not regret it. This isn’t going to happen over night, the police said it could take up to two years. And even then, might not go any further. But I had started this process now, I can’t give up.
Three months had passed since my break down, since pandora’s box split open. Thing were quiet, I hadn’t heard anything from the police. I was still awaiting to hear from the specialist counselor. I was becoming more and more depressed. I tried to reach out to victim support, who were great, they put me in contact with safelink, who gave me an advisor. She contacted me and said I could call her and chat anytime. Then a few days later, I had a text to say she was off sick. I didn’t mind as when I had the text, I was feeling ok. You see with this whole thing, it’s like riding a roller coaster, you are constantly going up and down. Well that’s how I describe it. I had a few weeks where I thought, I felt ok. Then I would have, too much time, to myself and the overthinking would begin. And I would start to sink lower and lower.
The worst feelings were how I had let everyone down, especially my family. I had left my husband, I had made some really silly mistakes. I missed my children, I had no money to live on. How could I carry on. I wasn’t suicidal per-say, as even if it had come to my mind, my kids would overrule my thoughts. I could never do that to them. I felt like I had no one to talk to, I didn’t want to talk about it to my friends or family. I didn’t want to admit that it was really getting me down. I just wanted it all to go away. I wanted to stop living in this pretense that I was ok. When deep down, I was falling apart. Every time, I would get in the car, I would think about just getting on the motorway and driving. I didn’t. I always went back to the flat.
5 months after leaving home, my husband and I began talking more. Now that he knew, how bad my past was. It was easier to talk to him. We seemed to start getting on again. I was spending more time there than at the flat, so we decided to give it another go and I would move home. I thought that this would help me feel better. It would wouldn’t it????