Too painful to be true. – Denial

The opposite of «Too good to be true» is:

Too painful to be true.

It is sexual abuse committed towards children we are talking about. Therefor we are in denial in the same way as we are for the good things in life too…

Denial was the reason why my abusers were allowed to continue as they did even if I told things straight out.

1986 «He is fucking his sister». «No you are lying» says the babysitter.

1992 «He has stuck hairbrushes, screwdrivers, his dick inside of me too. “What are you saying? No, I will take care of this, and you are not telling anyone about this”. Did the person that gave birth to me say. .. Adding to it, she hits too :-O .. She asked me to pick it back up from the dustbin some of the dirty things he used to abuse me, and to wash and clean them and place them back in place too. Something she is standing in the doorway watching me do :-O This before the following conversation takes place..

1992 “What did I see there, why did you pinch him and ran away?» Said the lady from the health office that is at our house and witness an episode between me and the abuser. “He pinched my breast under my jumper. He is doing even worse things, so talk with her that knows it, she is in the kitchen». I answer her back. … In a conversation with both of them another day does the person that gave birth to me hear me say: “He has been using hairbrush, screwdriver and his penis inside of me”. I am taking a look outside the window, black heavy clouds passes by, I am about to leave the room when I look up at the birch hanging at the line in the kitchen. “And she also hits us all with that birch that hangs up there». Then I leave at the same time I hear the lady from the health office say: “This will your “mother” take care of, this will end”. … Nothing more…

1993-1996 After he had molested me in the livingroom, I could be tired and fall asleep. Naked under the blanket, guest could come and sit all night.. I had to stay under the blanket, preteding beeing asleep, and keeping me from going to the toilet.. And once I just had to get up and run to the toilet she took notice, “are you laying here naked?” :-O .. She did nothing more about it… And my clothes, bra and other was placed on the livingroom table for everyone to see :-O … When asked why I always answered back “ask him, he knows it”… :-O Just plain given over by it all…

2000 – For the first time I place a written story on the net about my story of abuse. Even writes the full name on my abuser.. Any response? … «Awful, but get on with life» …. No talking about reporting it or any form of help officials… What are people thinking with???

… 2001 My doctor gets to know in a conversation and asks for an abortion. “ I have to go see a psychiatrist and talk about the sexual abuse that happened in my childhood”. She sends a recommendation for an appointment with one… She speaks vaguely about the police, but why don’t she report it? I told my parents would lose their farm if I told them anything, because the person that gave birth to me told me he had taken mortgage in their property for his education. (My abusers education).
2002 The psychiatrist gets to know about things from my childhood, making a overlook map of it. And I had been raped by a man in England. “No, it is normal to experience intimacy like that after abuse in childhood” :-O … “ I have had a different sexual relationship without calling that for rape». .. “No this was your normal reaction” :-O …I was raped, but wasn’t believed in by the psychiatrist. She wasn’t willing to listen to me telling about my experience. He did do exactly the same as my abuser used to do in my childhood, when I was asleep. At the same time I was engaged to another man… She said « Continue the relationship to the man you have had sexual intimacy to, he hasn’t raped you. We will talk about sexual intimacy in our sessions so you can make it work together. Write your sexual fantasies to him». … From there the abuse continues to happen, and I get a son with the rapist. .. The result after boundaries has been wiped out through repeating abuse in childhood, and people in the help officials system can’t manage to distinguish or listen what the person is saying…

2002 In daze of the appointments with the psychiatrist I visit the police station. At first I have to sit and wait a couple hours to get to talk with someone, then a police officer comes and tells me it is closed for the day. “What was it you wanted?” I then answered, “I want to talk with someone about sexual abuse, perhaps report it». .. “I will take your name and phone number”. .. yeah on a small yellow post it note he write this and what it is about, “You will hear from us or you contact us again”. I return back a couple weeks later and sits in the cold for another couple hours without anyone coming.. Upset by the cold I walk out, but leave a notice back at the station counter that I want them to contact me, I heard nothing from them…

2003 moves to England

2004 my ex proposes to me.. some months later I tell him I don’t want to stay here, I have no feelings for him, he gets desperate and threatens with suicide, I get locked up in old patterns from my childhood.. I am staying, but against my will..
2005 gives birth to my son, married, moves to Norway
2007 separation, son and ex moves to England
2008 the divorce a fact, diagnosed with MS
2009 reporting my abuser, and cut contact with family (only keep touch with my youngest brother)
2010 District Court
2011 court of Appeal, sentenced. .. 2 years plus 6 months with 2 years’ probation :-O

2012 Life after the nightmare is going to be lived. … It will take long time with trauma therapy… And trust in my fellow human beings? … Putting boundaries will be a challenge, but now it is up to me alone to look after myself. At the same time try be a mother for my son, more than what I have been…

About Jane Helen

40 year old and single. Have a 15 yr old son that live in England with his father and family there. Got MS and PTSD.
This entry was posted in Abuse, All latest posts in English, Janne Helen's life and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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