This post is in response to the recent ‘red box’ for Stuart Catto, Scotland.
Trigger Warning: SA
Today I spotted that my perpetrator received a red box
It sideswiped me.
I’m sending this via a friend
Mine wasn’t CSA, it was SA.
I was 20, travelling in Scotland.
I was naive
He was an elder, well respected.
He and his wife were the host family for where my brother boarded month on, month off. I was visiting my brother. I had barely met the man.
He cornered me leaving the bath room, I couldn’t get past him out of the room.
He’d been waiting there silently, creepily for me to unlock the door.
It was gross
I was frozen to the spot.
But, I have to say, More than the physical abuse was the taunting blame he laid on me
It was like a game he played
When I escaped him, then later rejoined the group downstairs, he sat there, at the head of the table, like the lord of the manor- directing questions at me, knowing full well – what he’d done upstairs.. seeing me lost and shaken.
it was all a game.
The blatant silent challenge to me to ’dob’ him in..
I remember his smirk from the head of the table, daring me.
Somehow he was making me complicit in a dirty secret..
ugh
A shared dirty little secret.
‘ come on [my name].. would you like some more nips and tatties?!’
Upstairs He’d said
‘Go on.. you asked for it, you loved it.. it’s what you wanted.
You’re the one wearing this~(It was a pastel purple fluffy jumper) and were asking for it.
I know you enjoyed it.’
Downstairs he taunted me to tell.
He challenged me- trying to draw me into conversation with questions: ‘did you find your bedroom?’, ‘was the water hot?’.
I wanted to hide.
Everything was strange and incorrect and fake. He was an ‘elder’, so I was supposed to look up to him, but nothing made sense. I thought these things didn’t happen in ‘the only right way’
Of course I didn’t speak up, I didn’t breathe a word
You see..his dear wife seemed the sweetest kindest lady, she was hooked up to portable oxygen and found it difficult to talk and breathe. And she had gone to great trouble to make the evening nice..
How could I say anything about it.. it would destroy her.
He knew that.
My brother would lose his accommodation arrangement
He knew that.
It would mess up the night, other visitors arrived for tea, I was alone and uncertain
It was a farm in the countryside- I couldn’t leave and be somewhere else
He knew that
He controlled the narrative, I didn’t stand a chance, he could smell the fear..
He knew that
And he knew I knew that
I knew he was a big dog amongst the eldership of Scotland
He knew I knew that
I would never sleep a wink that night and
He knew that
I had never realised these things happened, in this ‘way’, I was in shock.
He knew that.
He relied on all of this.
The lasting effect on my psyche was.. it was my fault.. even though I sensibly knew it wasn’t.. something within me believed, (like he said), that there was something about me being ’bad’ .. difficult to explain.. but it affects your ‘enoughness’;
Somehow, you’re just ‘bad’ and it’s your fault.
This has all been in a box
And I haven’t lifted the lid for years
~~~
To those who might scoff, and say.. ohh it’s historical,
you’re right of course it is, it’s 35 yrs later.
(The average is 23.9years)
I’m a laggard on the bell curve.
I’d minimised it to myself
I was my worst cover upperer.
Something compounding my coverup.. was this other matter, of being raised in a religion of fear based, works based, innately sinful and needing to do better, be better, thinking.
Inherently broken, born bad, and taught to be fearful of the judgement day ~ never enough.
Somehow I believed him, that it was weirdly my fault, there was something bad ‘in me’.. it backed up my ‘not enough’ core belief.
So yes
I covered it up
Why would I speak of it?.. to do so would expose my badness.
Look at me, now, still hiding behind anonymity,
also knowing this story may be twisted and misused.
~~~
To those who knew about this man back then, knew he was hurting the young and vulnerable and covered it up,
I wish you hadn’t.
It created a mountain of unnecessary trauma, for many.
At minimum, it was your duty to step up.
At most, it should have been your love and compassion, wanting to speak up.
It’s still happening, again and again and again and again.
The world over, Same group, different creep.
The real tragedy is in still covering it up. Still walking past.
Perhaps in trying to hold onto being the only true way ~ these things must be covered up and minimised..lest the ‘friends’ be discouraged.
Saying that out loud, It feels so flimsy.
While we’re here, sitting quietly, scrolling, mulling.. if it’s ‘scripture’ you prefer, consider, the only thing the ‘rich man’ was guilty of, was indifference.
Suddenly
It hits you like a ton of bricks.
Where is the love?
The essence of love, is in acknowledging hurt.
It’s not love to cover up abuse, diminish it, or to walk on by.
That looks more like complicity, it’s not love. I’m sorry
Not my rules
It’s just the way it is.
The only hero in the ‘man in the ditch’ story didn’t cross the street or avert his eyes. He stopped and acknowledged and cared.
He did stuff, when he knew someone was hurting.
~~~
To those sitting silent,
Silence is a response.
Doing nothing, is a response.
I know it’s hard, I was as indoctrinated as you are.
It’s heartbreaking to discover ‘the truth’ is a lie.
~~~
And finally
To other survivors and the survivors of this man.
I’m sorry
I don’t know any of you
But I do know what this feels like
I’m sorry that I didn’t jump up and down and make a public fuss at the time, I’m sorry that yours may have happened since, and if only I’d reported him…
I’m sorry, I wish I had.
~~~
May we all move forward and hold space in our hearts for love.
I’m a laggard on the bell curve.
