I Was Silent For Fifteen Years
I’m not going to be silent anymore, James
Note: the following discusses child sexual abuse.
I was fourteen when the first girl came forward.
It was New Years Day. I wasn’t there when it happened. Do I wish I had been? I’m unsure. I wish I could have been there to protect my little sister who was only eight years old at the time – but otherwise, I’m glad I wasn’t there, around all those adults that defended him in front of the children.
I was seventeen when I started to take antidepressants. I was living with my nan and my uncle because my family didn’t feel safe living around people who were still defending a paedophile, even though this man had admitted to most of his crimes and was in prison for them. Members of my extended family were visiting him whilst he was in prison.
I was seventeen when the flashbacks started. I would sit on the coach home from college and it would play like a glitching film in my head.
The man.
Black.
The kids.
Black.
I’m sitting on the sofa.
Black.
Something happened. I could see it. Feel it. I didn’t know if it was real or not.
