“I am turning five today, it’s October 2003. Mother is getting frustrated that I am asking for so many showers today ‘I am filthy’ I say. ‘Need to be clean, Mamma, need to be clean.’ She tells me I can’t keep having showers, I’ll waste the water. I tell her I am unclean, that I need to be clean I am too dirty, a thick layer of grime is accumulating on my skin. She locks the bathroom door from the outside and lets me cry myself to sleep as I beg outside the door to please have her shower me. I’m six years old, it’s Christmas Eve 2004. Mother is dressing me in pyjamas because we are staying the night with Grandpa and Grandma. Mother has left my underwear at our house, ‘It’s okay.’ She says. ‘You don’t need to wear underwear to bed.’ I begin to cry, and tell her I do not want to go to bed without underwear on. I do not tell her- that Grandpa touches me while the rest of the house sleeps and not wearing underwear will make it easier for him to put his filthy hands on me. Mother hits me until I stop crying and tells me to go to sleep, or Santa will not bring me anything for Christmas. I am seven years old, Grandma is drunk and it’s Mother’s birthday. I am staying the night with my Grandparents so Mother can “have the night off” I ask Grandma if I can sleep in my jeans, ‘It’s more comfy.’ I say. ‘I’m too tired to take them off.’ I say. I do not say, ‘wearing jeans will make it hard for Grandpa to touch me in the places that bleed when he’s finished.’ Grandma says she is too tired for my games, and forces me out of my jeans. When she goes to bed, I stuff socks and tissues down my pants, but he laughs as he removes them. I am nine years old, the doctors office smells of sanitiser ‘I just don’t understand.’ Mother says to the doctor. ‘She’s nine and she’s still wetting the bed!’ The doctor tells her that there is a lot of things that could cause my incontinence But Mother tells him to help her, so he gives her stuff to spray up my nose and tells her to put me in dry nights I will not wear them, I do not want to wear them I am not a child, he only wants me when I am a child. Mother twists my arm and forces me into the dry nights and I cry and beg and cry and beg some more But she only tells me to shut up and puts me to bed He has no trouble in removing the dry nights and I still wet the bed. I am eleven years old blood covers the bathroom floor along with my hair. Mother is screaming, shaking me and yelling in my face ‘what did you do!?’ She yells. I tell her I cut my hair, as well as some skin because I feel ugly inside, and I want people to see it on the outside, too. She cleans me up as best she can and cries a little too. She can’t believe what I’ve done, I tell her it’s okay skin heals and hair grow back I do not tell her that I wished I was born a boy, because if I had been, he’d never has put his hands on me. I am thirteen years old, and I flirt with my Dad’s friends, and they flirt with me too. Mother calls me a slut and Dad stops having friends over. Mother asks what I think I’m doing and I do my best at playing dumb and say I don’t know what you mean.’ But I know that I am acting like a real whore, because that’s all I have ever been. That’s all I know to be. I was his whore and now I am my brother’s whore. The only boys, who seem to like me, are older than me and want to only stick their dicks between my legs. I am fifteen years old; I am throwing up in the hallway. I have had too much to drink, and I pass out in my vomit. Mother is furious with me she begins to punch and swear and spit and wants to know why I drank my weight in alcohol I tell her to leave me alone, I want her to go I do not tell her that he put his hands on me again and I am trying to cleanse myself of the parts of him I swallowed. I am seventeen, It is 2016 and I am lying on the bathroom floor, its become hard to breathe and I am trying to count how many pills I have taken. I can’t quite focus, but I manage to vomit into the tub, I wonder if I’m going to die. I am not scared and I do not cry, I’ve been playing dead all my life, so why stop now? Grandma is banging on the bathroom door, asking if I’m alright. my only response is to heave into the tub and choke on my own vomit. When the ambulance arrives and they ask if this was a suicide attempt i tell them it was an accidental overdose. I do not tell them that I am sad that it did not work. I am eighteen years old, my new therapist is missing two front teeth and she asks me if I am angry that no one helped me. I tell her that I am disappointed that no one tried to help, the signs were all there. I was beaten into silence, scared into the void and I was abandoned within myself. I tell her that nobody bothered to take care of me, I had to learn to take care of myself. I was a child on fire and everyone around me drank the water meant for my flames and let me burn out.”
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