So there I was, a complete mess; emotionally, physically and mentally shot. The relationship I was in with my then girlfriend (now my wife) was falling apart.
But, it’s the littlest things at the most unexpected times that can often start the change. In my case, it was a puppy called Milly.
I was living in a squat on my own, I could come and go as I pleased, get as high, drunk or out of my head as I wanted and it didn’t matter to anyone else. But, as soon as I had Milly it all changed, something outside of me needed me, was reliant on me, depended on me and I couldn’t let her down.
Milly was a rescue pup, if I didn’t take her, I was told she would have been “taken care of” whatever that meant. She was a nervous wreck, the runt of the litter and the last of the pups to be homed and was living in a broom cupboard. If you raised your voice she would hide under the table or behind a chair. From the moment I took her we were nearly always together for the next 14 years.
I couldn’t kick the drink, drugs or destructive lifestyle for myself, but I needed to do it for her. I simply couldn’t neglect her. I wasn’t the perfect owner by any means and made mistakes and let her down at the beginning, but she just kept loving me and slowly over time, I kicked the drugs and then the alcohol.
Even though things had improved, I was still battling the mental illness and depression. I knew, despite how the professionals had treated me the root cause of the issues was the abuse. One evening the BBC transmitted a programme on abuse and there was a helpline you could call after the show. The next day when everyone was out, I picked up the phone and got through to a woman who ran a group in North London. I spoke for about 3 minutes and she spoke for about 40 about her abuse. I was perfect for her group she told me. I never went.
I was now driven to overcome the abuse, I went into Foyles bookshop and bought the book “Victims No Longer”, read it from cover to cover and then reread it. It seemed I was finally on the right track and that book was a significant milestone in helping me in my recovery. I kept it by my bedside and was constantly dipping in and out of it.
I tried to talk to my mother and girlfriend about the abuse, but they said it was upsetting me and that I should stop. If a TV programme came on that had abuse in it my girlfriend would turn it over. I was becoming increasingly frustrated with their efforts to protect me from the pain. I needed to feel it, I needed to express it. I knew they meant well and were thinking of me, but it wasn’t helping.
One of the tactics used by my abuser was making me feel responsible for protecting my family, “they wouldn’t understand our special love” he had told me, “you would only upset them if you told them, so you must kept it secret”. So from the age of 8 I had been groomed and given the burden of protecting others by carrying the responsibility of keeping quiet about the experience.
Again, the abuser was being proven right; if I dared mention the abuse those around me were getting upset, so once more I put the lid on. This time the lid just would not stay in place, I had opened the box and it was staying off. Again, I looked for help, but this time with dramatic effect.