“The R Word”: Taking My Personal Journey From Victim To Survivor

I had a good, long think about what I would write this week. My life may have barely started (I am three-and-a-half,now!), but it has indeed been eventful, in both good - and bad - ways. My predecessor could compete with me on the drama scale, as well, so given that this Blog is about both our lives, I was spoiled for choice, as nothing particularly “stood out” for me in terms of what I wanted to talk about.

After much personal soul-searching and thought, however, I decided that now - whilst I have the courage for it - is my time to discuss what I have always referred to as “The R Word”, aka* rape.

NB: For obvious reasons, I must advise that some people may find this post distressing, but I have tried to make it as positive as possible, as with all my Blog posts.

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I have briefly discussed my (here and here) - and Cherie (here) - having been through the traumatic experience on multiple occasions, and it was very, very difficult to write about, for obvious reasons. I have never truly been able to physically talk about it with friends, family or even mental health professionals, either. Even the mentioning of the word in media, conversation, or “comedy”, etc, literally makes me cringe, my heart races faster, I lose my breath, I have flash-backs, and I get very upset. I cannot even say the word aloud. I simply refer to it as “R”, and hope or presume that others will know what it is that I am referring to.

I am not the only victim of sexual assault that experiences this. In fact, it is quite common. Months or even years after such an experience, our assailants essentially still have power over us, because of this, and I have decided that that needs to STOP. I am taking a personal stand against those bastards who do these things to women (and men), and taking back the POWER for those of us they have hurt.

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This photograph - you would no doubt be surprised to know - was taken not long after my "mild" sexual assault**** last year. I find that it is very important to try to embrace the fact that I am still alive, that I survived, and try to have a happy, fun time as often as I can, no matter what.

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I am planning a step-by-step program for myself, which I shall share with all of you, and if you too are a victim I want you to join me.

Firstly, I am going to stop referring to myself as a “victim”, and replace that word with “survivor”. Doing this shall take some thing negative and replace it with some thing positive, and it takes the power away from the man (or men - plural - in Cherie's case) who did this to us. I want to take back my life!

Secondly, I am going to try to say the word, aloud, at least once every day. I am hoping that the more that I say it, the less of a taboo it shall become for me and the less power it shall have over me. I want to be able to hear it without fearing it.

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Cherie is a prime example of what I am aiming for. She had been through horrible sexual experiences, but remained a sexual person. This photograph was taken at The SFX Weekender, a month-or-so before she "killed" herself. 

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Thirdly, I am - and this is difficult given my virgin** status and my attempt to overcome my love addiction - going to take back my sexuality. At present, I am struggling to look in the mirror, to take off my clothing, to find a man (or woman, should I ever choose that sexual preference) attractive or think about kissing them (etc), and the idea of sexual interaction, to be quite honest scares me and even shames me, in a way. I cannot even partake in personal pleasuring, let alone be intimate with a partner, all of which is “perfectly natural” (as my doctor and therapist and friends all tell me), because again, I feel shame. This is quite simply not fair and I intend to change this.

Being a victim - or rather, survivor - of sexual assault is nothing to be ashamed of. The person (or persons) who forced themselves onto us are the ones who should be ashamed. When we feel shame for what they did, we are empowering them, even if they are no longer in our lives, and even if (I hope this is the case***) justice has been done and they are serving time inside a jail cell.

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Cherie (right) and our mother (left) pole dancing at one of Cherie's Birthday Parties. Again, this is a prime example of how she was able to embrace her sexuality, even though she was a victim of multiple sexual assaults.

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This is why I am going to promise myself that when I remove my clothing, I will look at my naked body and - much like I discussed earlier with the word “rape” - I hope that the more that I do this, the less of a stressful experience it shall become. I need to keep looking at my unclothed body and I need to try to think positive thoughts, not negative ones. I need to be proud - not ashamed - of it.

After all, if I cannot even look at my own naked body, how will I ever be able to have a consensual, loving, sexual experience? If I were to remove my clothes in front of some one today, I have no doubt that I would literally break down into tears, and I do not have to tell you that that would be quite a mood killer!

I am also going to dabble in flirtation, and experiment with my wardrobe gradually to try to wear things that show a little (not too much, as I am naturally a very modest person) bit of skin.

On a side-note, for those of you who have a sex life to speak of, I have been advised that it is very therapeutic to replace negative sexual experiences with positive ones; which again is about taking back your body as yours, making sure that you are able to say “yes” - or indeed, initiating the foreplay yourself.

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My body literally shook for the entire duration of writing this post, but I am proud to say that I did not cry a single tear, so there is definitive progress being made here. If I cry, I am again empowering my assailant.

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If I follow these steps and I am brave, and of course with the help and support of my loved ones, I have every confidence that I can overcome past experiences and move on to become a confident, sexy woman.

I hope that, if you are a victim - sorry, survivor - yourself, or indeed you know some one who is, you will read this post, share it, and join me on my quest for full recovery. It will not be an easy one. As I always say to people (one of my "Illi-isms"): “Nothing in life worth any thing is ever easy”, and this is a truly worth while goal; to be able to take back our lives again!

So, I am sending you all my love and support and God's Blessings in your efforts, or the efforts of your friends or family who might be suffering, and I pray to God that I, and all others, will be able to lose the taboo and trauma of the experience and embrace that we are alive, we are well, we are SURVIVORS not victims, and that life is once again worth living and enjoying.

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NB: Post Traumatic Stress is a serious condition often suffered by those who have suffered from sexual assault, and although I have not discussed it in this entry, I shall be giving the topic my full attention at a later date.

If you have any more recovery suggestions, do please Comment and share them with myself and your fellow readers.

* Also known as

** Although technically not, I consider myself to be this, as I have not experienced consensual intercourse as yet.

*** Sadly this is not the case with me.

**** This is what the authorities referred to it as, as it was not rape, "only" unwanted touching. I shall discuss this at a later date.

“Onwards And Upwards” Or Is It “The Song Remains The Same”?

Myself and Daniel (cut out because he is
camera-shy) atop London, in a London Eye carriage.

This past week has been a rather eventful one. In fact, the week end had more excitement than many others combined! It has been a real “game-changer” for me.

I had decided that a visit to London was long-over-due, so I asked friends if they were free to spend time together, and – in a rather unusual (and brave, I think) move on my part – I also invited my family to spend time with me.

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For the first time since before my “mild” sexual assault last year* I packed my bags, booked my travel, and set off for London alone. I had been to London for my Re-Birthday on November 1^st with a few friends, but this was different. This was a serious challenge, after what I had experienced. But I was not letting my assailant control me. The more that I stayed indoors and refrained from seeing my friends (and family) and doing the things that I love, the more he was winning, even if he is no longer physically in my life.

Before I got the National Express coach, however, my friend David cancelled on me, informing me that his grand mother had fallen ill so he was unable to meet me and spend time with me on Friday. I was scared by this, but there was no thing that I could do about it, so I simply accepted it, and carried on.

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A photograph that I took at London Victoria train station, one of the
busiest in the country, that I navigated alone this weekend.

During the coach journey, I “made conversation” with other travellers and the driver (who was very considerate of my disabled needs), and upon arrival I went to the Disabled Lounge and was offered the use of a mobile phone by a good samaritan so that I could call friends and family and figure out what to do. I spoke with my mother and father who were happy to have me over to visit their home for a few hours, ahead of the pre-scheduled Sunday meeting.

I soon wished that I had not made this arrangement, however, because as soon as I entered their home, my mother was already making me feel like an unwelcome outsider and not like her daughter in the slightest. Father had given me the misconception that mother had accepted “Illisia Adams” and that we would be okay. We were not. She spent the next several hours making me feel very uncomfortable, insulting my life decisions, my dress sense and the way that I speak (apparently I am "snooty" and “pompus”), and taking every opportunity to try to argue with me. We were truly polar opposites, and clashed on far too many levels.

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Myself with Cleo, the Donovan family dog. She and I have never really got along, I think that she knows that I am not Cherie, the human that she knew and loved. But she has gotten used to me, the more times that she and I have met.

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I was very, very glad when it was time to leave to meet with my friend Daniel in the centre of London, whom I would be staying with. I was several hours late after getting utterly lost in the London transport system, but I felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment, having done it myself, and I did not panic or cry, even once. I had a very Heroes moment, proclaiming “yu-tu!” to the sky.

The evening progressed with Daniel and myself playing a (my first-ever in-real-life) Magic: The Gathering game with his ever-brilliant German housemate and her two friends whom she had invited over, and there was also much drinking and general merriment. I was initially nervous, but I know matter-of-factually that alcohol calms my nerves and makes me more able to socialise, etc, so after a little bit of “booze” in me, I was able to join-in, and I had a fantastic night.

Our game of Magic: The Gathering on Saturday night.

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The next day Daniel and I spent visiting The London Eye and The London Dungeon, after I redeemed my Tesco Clubcard Merlin Pass which I purchased off of eBay last year, which gives me access to all of the attraction owned by the Merlin company for the next year, and free entry for a person whom accompanies me also. I discovered that I had already made-back the value of my eBay purchase with the equivalent entrance fees for Daniel and myself for the attractions we visited, which was excellent.

I had great fun at both attractions, although neither were particularly disabled-friendly. Thankfully with my Disabled Merlin Pass I was able to bypass most of the queuing. Daniel and I both agreed that we were glad that we had use of my Merlin Pass, because we did not think the attractions were actually worth the usual price. Free, however, was fantastic value. Obviously.

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The dinner that I had with my mother, father
and grand-mother on Sunday evening.

We reach Sunday, and I make arrangements to meet with my parents for dinner, along with my mother’s mother. I played a couple of two-player Magic: The Gathering games with Daniel first, one of which I won and one of which I lost. The journey to my parents’ home had me on the London Underground and getting rather lost and confused several times, but again, I did not panic, and I was not late in meeting my father in the car park, so over-all I was pleased with myself.

Once again, however, I spent the next few hours tolerating consistent insults and negativity, the result of which is that, sadly, I feel that I must now abandon my efforts to become part of my physical family. I respect and love my mother because she gave this body life, but I cannot abide her company. It is far too stressful an experience. I literally "downed" my galss of wine to help myself cope.

I have also noted that the more time that I spend with my mother, and the more time she insists that I am Cherie and she insults who I am, etc, the more I – subconsciously – try to change myself to please her, and that is not fair on me. I am happy with who I am, and she needs to be too, or I cannot spend time with her. Hence, I have had to fly my white flag and accept that this is unfortunately a lost cause…

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My room, where I stayed for the night in Dover. Alone.
It was terrifying, but also somewhat empowering...

Sunday’s journey home was also a stressful disaster. My father and I had an uncomfortable discussion as he drove me to the train station, where I proceeded to ask one of the staff which half of the train I needed to be seated in to journey to Margate. He told me the second-half, so I walked to “carriage six of eight”, where I fell asleep. When I awoke, however, I found myself in Dover, not in Margate, and it was nearly midnight, so there were no further trains running, and I was utterly lost, confused, tired and scared.

I initially tried using a nearby phone box to call my legal Carer, Matthew [B], but there was no answer, so I presume that he was asleep, given the hour. I had no access to Wi-Fi and no phone numbers for any of the locals that I knew, and the taxis waiting outside the station would have charged goodness-knows-how-much for the journey back home, so after a few minutes of tears and shaking, I decided to be brave and approach the local pub - The Priory Pub/Hotel - for help.

I am glad that I did, because the “regulars” and the staff, etc, were all wonderfully understanding of my plight and helpful to a fault. They got me a Single room for the night for £25, and spoke with me until I had calmed. The scotch that I purchased was also a big help, and a very reasonable price. I made friends, and I “chilled-out” enough to fall asleep fairly quickly when the pub closed for the night and it was time to close my eyes and rest.

The next day I had breakfast there and then arranged for a friend to meet me at Ramsgate Station. I am now borrowing use of his laptop to write this Blog post, as I am still not home as yet, but I shall be soon enough.

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The external view of the Donovan home. It is lovely and cosey!

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I had every intention of this week’s Blog post being titled Onwards And Upwards, and being centered around my efforts to form a mother-daughter bond and how we are moving forward and being a family at last, with a group photograph to share with you all, etc. Unfortunately, the fantasy did not match the reality.

However, in retrospect, there was indeed a lot of moving onwards and upwards, just not in the way(s) that I had hoped. I travelled alone, socialised, and even managed to maintain my “cool” through extreme stresses.

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A lot has stayed unchanged, however. I am still living alone in Margate, still held back here by many of my fears (several assaults, for a start) and the constraints of a physically disabled person. Add to the mix the fact that I am starting to realise I seem to be incapable of relaxing in Thanet, compared to London, where when I visit, even though my surroundings are new and things are a little noisy, etc, I feel happier and healthier and stronger as a person. Which leads me to wonder, if I stay in Thanet, am I holding myself back? Will “The Song Remain[s] The Same”? Or could I consider saving up money to move back to London?

I have a lot of thinking to do. But, there is no rush. I am still very young, and I know that I have friends who will help me through these decisions to hopefully a more positive future.

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NB: I shall be seeking compensation from National Rail for the distress and the money that I had to spend because of them.

* To be discussed at a later date.

Living With Love Addiction

Myself and (ex-)partner Matthew at our prime. Photograph credit: NChanted Photography

I have spoken in prior entries about my time incaptivity, and how I returned to my capture after I escaped and remained on-off romantically involved and friends with him for years, against my better judgement. Now I must speak out about why.

It is clear that I suffer from Stockholm Syndrome, where one becomes attached to one's capture after such an experience. However, there is more to it than that. I am also a love addict, a person who becomes so obsessed with and addicted to the euphoria (or “high”) associated with love, that I would do practically anything to please a person who shows me affection, and I suffer very negatively if I am not in a romantic relationship.

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I have always been a person who is very dedicated to her friends, her family, and her romantic partner(s). What I have discovered, however, is that I prioritise other's happiness before my own and any form of rejection or time away from the people that I care about causes me to suffer from withdrawal symptoms.

Love addiction is usually limited to romantic love, but mine is one of the rarer cases that extends to the love experienced through friends and family.

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When I first moved to Margate several years ago, I learned through third parties that two of my closest friends – one of which I had developed a romantic attachment to, but decided to not become involved with* - had got married and been through a pregnancy, all without informing me and without inviting me to their service, etc. This was utterly heart-breaking for me. I felt betrayed, and unloved.****

During the same week that I discovered this, I was also sorting through many of my predecessor's belongings and discovered a signed Lexx DVD addressed to Lorraine (my sister), Cherie (my twin/doppelganger) and Hannah (my mother). I was aware that my mother was a fan of the show, and that because of Cherie having passed on and Lorraine having moved to the US, having such an item might be something that my mother could cherish, so I called her and attempted to discuss an exchange.

Unfortunately, my mother has some mental problems of her own, and this has meant that accepting me has always been a difficulty for her. As such, the telephone conversation ended very abruptly with her insisting that she never wanted to speak to me again, that I was not her daughter, and in her “hanging up on me”.

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Myself and my ferrets Rambo, Luna and Hatti

The combination of both these experiences - along with the fact that I was single at that time - was too much for my heart to bare, and I fell into severe withdrawal and depression. I spent the next three months barely eating, sleeping, leaving my residency, interacting with my house-mate (Mark [Sutton]), or even speaking.

I some times suffer from a mental-physical disorder known as Selective Mutism* which reacts to extreme stress or some times even social situations by tightening my throat to the point where it cannot produce sound.

In fact, I did not speak a word for the entirety of those three months, and the only thing that made my voice return was when I decided to take in two ferrets into my home, who I developed a bond with, therefore returning my heart to a positive place where I felt loved, and felt my own love appreciated by others, hence my throat un-tightened and I was able to speak, and after some time, I was able to smile and be happy again.

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Fast-forward three years, and I have been in two relationships since then (including returning to the unhealthy relationship with Mark). Both times, I think that I chose to be with the men that I was with, not because they were good men and we had chemistry, etc, but rather because of my need to be with someone.

Mark was definitely not a good idea, but I lived with him, so he was convenient. In contrast, my second partner Matthew [B] was a good man who actually “saved me”** from the abuse of Mark. As romantic as being whisked off your feet and saved from abuse like a “damsel in distress” is, it also meant that the relationship started very abruptly, rather than being allowed to progress naturally, over time, which is not very healthy.

Matthew and I at the Manston International Air Show together.
You can really see how in-love I was in this photograph!

I met Matthew shortly after Mark attempted to strangle me*. When he did so, I told Mark that enough-was-enough, I still loved him, but that I could never, ever be with some one that had done such a thing to me. It was difficult to let him go, especially given my love addiction (although I did not know at the time that I had this problem), but I had to be strong.

I did not tell any of my friends or family what had happened with Mark, as I felt obliged to keep quiet about it due to the fact that he had never before been violent towards me and the strangulation was so out-of-character that I did not want him to be judged by it. When I met Matthew, however, I felt the need to escape from my own home, where Mark also resided, and broke down into tears in his arms, telling him about the near-death experience that I had had with my house-mate. It was at this point that he insisted that he would not let me go home alone, and as the weeks passed, he even offered to help fund my moving to a different residency, to support me going to the police, or any thing else that I needed to escape my abuser. How could I not fall in love with such a saviour; love addict or not?!

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Robert Palmer - Addicted To Love music video.
The lyrics sum up the experience of love addiction rather well.

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Matthew and I were together for one-and-a-half years*** and – as with any normal relationship – we had our “ups and downs”. Looking back in retrospect on the break-up, it is hard to even remember why or how it happened. When we talk about it, we both remember things very differently, and I am not sure that either of us is “right”. I think that we were both just going through some rough things in our lives and being in a relationship was just not practical. There was a huge fight with yelling and snapping and slamming of doors and neither of us can even remember much of it.

We have been apart for more than a year now, and we have both evolved as people, separately. We are on good terms again after several months of arguing and/or not speaking, and we have both commented to each other about the positive changes that we are noticing in one another.

As tempting as it is to return to a relationship with him again, I have been honest with myself - and with him - and realised that I need to take my time and not put any “labels” or pressure on the idea at all, letting any thing that happens, just, happen, naturally. It has meant having to actually restrain myself from allowing us to go on any dates and to try not to hold hands or kiss, though, because those things are all far too addictive for me.

There are other gentlemen who have also shown interest in me, or whom I am also feeling a “spark” with, but again, I have been honest with myself and with them and insisted that I need to give myself the time to feel real feelings for whoever I develop those feelings for, rather than just grabbing on to the first man that shows me affection and being with them, for the sake of being with them; for the addictive feeling of being in love, and being loved.

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Myself and friends at my first public appearance as a single person:
Sci-Fi By The Sequel, a convention held in Herne Bay.
I went on a few dates with Jon - the gentleman in the center - soon after.

Last year I dabbled in “casual dating”, but it was far too intense for me. I was getting very attached, very quickly, and suffering from serious depression and withdrawal whenever I was not on a date, holding hands or kissing. I also unfortunately suffered at the hands of a mild sexual assault by one of the men who was interested in me*, having allowed myself to trust him more than I should have, which has been a major set-back for me.

So, for the time being, I am remaining “single”, but also refraining from dates and intimacy, etc, because I want to be able to function healthily on my own, before I can be comfortable functioning healthily as part of a pairing.

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NB: Cherie was not a sufferer of love addiction, interestingly enough.

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For more information about love addiction, here are some links.

NHS: Clare Catford: I Was Addicted To Love

Love Addicts Anonymous: 40 Questions To Help Determine If You Are A Love Addict

e-Harmony on love addiction

Psychology Today: Love Addiction

Wikipedia entry on love addiction

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* This will be discussed at a later date.

** This is how I describe it when I talk about what happened

*** Which is quite literally half of my life!

**** It should be noted that I am very happy for them and we are good friends again, now.