Dear Matt [+Bonus Blog]

Introduction

Hello, readers. This Blog is an odd one. It comes in two parts; the first being a "letter" of-sorts to someone, which I wrote prior to their Birthday, but am only now posting after their Birthday has passed, and after several weeks of breathing exercises and courage gathering; the second being the originally composed Blog post, dated December 22nd, 2018. Yes, I have been working on writing this for that long... So, without further-ado... [forewarning: this post is longer than a lot of others]

Dear Daniel

I have had to do a lot of really intense, somewhat depressing writing lately, but none of it has been for my Blog. It has been several months, and a lot has happened, so it is going to take some time to catch-you-up, my readers, but I shall try my best.

First-things-first, I want to direct you to the final part of one of my most recent posts, wherein I state “I am going to start by taking some space to try to find myself again,as a single, independent woman.”, and I must now confess that this independent, empowered single woman stance did not last long at all.

After a year of longing looks, almost-kisses, want-to-but-can’t moments, myself and one Douglas [Parkinson] “DTRd” (defined the relationship) and decided to officially date.

What Defines Me? (The Consequences Of A Rash Choice: Part Two)

I have been struggling for weeks now, to find my words. I am not sure I have even found them yet. But, I promised a friend that I would try, so here I am, typing away and just hoping that my heart can speak through my typing fingers.

I am struggling, because I made a choice that I think the best way to describe would be that I am regretting. I am unaccustomed to feeling regret. One of the things that makes me, me, is the fact that I have a strict "No regrets. Ever.” policy. What do you do? How do you move on when something in your life has changed the very foundations of your identity?

The Consequences Of A Rash Choice

 I am not happy. But I am trying to be.

Five months ago, to-the-day, I made a very, very rash decision, and one that I shall have to deal with the consequences of – for good or bad, better or worse – for the rest of my life.

My ex-fiance, Robert-James, proposed marriage to me. Not the “real” kind with rings and a Church and a certificate, however. The “old-fashioned kind”, where it is just the two of us, saying our vows, dedicating our lives to one-another, and living as man and wife. So, we ran away together and eloped. Sort-of.

Living With Sleep Paralysis

The time is 02:43 and I am not sleeping. This is not because I am not tired; I am. This is not because of insomnia; I do not suffer from that ailment. This is because of fear.

I am afraid, because in the past week I have been in four comas, all be they temporary ones. My body has spent literally entire days in a state of utter stillness, and when I finally awake, I feel weakened, stiff, ache-y, tired (ironically), dehydrated, malnourished, and depressed.

Now, unless you have been in a comatose state – temporary or long-term – you will not have an understanding as I do, and that is why this post is so important. The condition that ails me is actually called “Sleep Paralysis” and is very rare, mostly unheard of by the general public, and misunderstood by many.

- - - - 

I slept for seventeen hours yesterday. Seventeen wasted hours, that I could have spent living my life. My “record”, however, is three days. During this three day period, I was unable to move, speak nor open my eyes, but I could feel everything, including the embarrassing, humiliating, incredibly uncomfortable feeling of “relieving myself” during these hours, away from the bathroom and in my undergarment, requiring a thorough shower when I awoke…

However, this is not the worst thing that has happened to me during one of these “comas”… Unfortunately, when one is unable to move one is at one’s most vulnerable, and, unable to defend myself or at the very least say “no”, I have been through several incidents of sexual intimacy that I did not want.

One such incident was when I was sleeping beside a gentleman that I was in a relationship with at the time. He “thought that it would be nice”, that I would “enjoy it” if he removed my underwear and intimately touched me. Given how he and I had only recently got passed the point of kissing and nowhere near the point of sexual intimacy of any kind (even exterior), the fact that he did this was a big setback for us, and when I awoke I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for an hour. We did not see each other for several weeks after this, but I was able to forgive him after much apologising on his part.

Another more recent occurrence was when my date and I were travelling to London on a train to see a theatre production and I feel asleep during the journey, only to find that I could not move, speak or see. Hurrah. Not knowing this (although being aware of my sleep paralysis) was the case, the aforementioned date began kissing, nibbling and caressing my neck. When we arrived at London and he was unable to wake me, he had to telephone an ambulance and our date was cancelled.

- - - - 

I have it easy compared to my twin, however. The sleep paralysis is a “defence mechanism” that has been carried-over from her lifetime of using this body. From what I can tell, she basically decided it was easier to “zone-out”, go numb and unresponsive etc, than to fight against herattacker, Mark [Bryne]. After all, what “fun” is sexually assaulting someone if they do not struggle?.. It is shocking logic, but if you know anything about rapists, you know that it can actually oftentimes be the case. Whether it worked or not, I do not know, as I have – thankfully – little access to those memories.

Sleep paralysis I believe was also the reason why Cherie missed her “nana’s” funeral service. Was she “defending herself” against dealing with the loss, perhaps?..

I honestly have no idea what causes it with me, however. It seems utterly random, and I feel completely defenceless and I hate it. Other problems that I face, I have at least a small amount of personal control over, but with this, I do not.

It is a terrifying experience and it steals time from me. Time is so, so precious, especially for me, given how I was born into atwenty-three year-old’s body, so wasting time and having no power of it makes me very cross with myself…

- - - - 

Whether or not I will ever learn to control this, I do not know. I do know, however, that it is important to share this ailment with you all, however. If you know any one who is experiencing any thing similar, or heaven forbid you are yourself, then please, please seek the help of a medical professional. And if you encounter anyone who is sleeping but completely unresponsive to your efforts to wake them and staying utterly still, please telephone an ambulance. Thank you.

Living With Love Addiction Part Two: My Happily-Ever-After?

A few months ago I wrote a very passionate post about a mental condition that stems very much from my heart that makes me addicted to the experiences involved with giving and receiving love; be it friendship, family or a significant-other.

At the time of that post, I had decided to take a vacation from love and to develop as a single, independent woman who does not need to love or be loved, but simply wants to when it is appropriate. No withdrawal symptoms, no depression when I am rejected, no overly-needy or overly-giving behavioural patterns or any other such love addiction problems.

- - - - 

Time has passed, and I really feel like I have come a long way. I had my personal time to develop a love of myself and become a stronger person, and although I have a ways to go, I think that a lot of progress has been made. So much so that – after patiently waiting for me – I decided to pursue a relationship with one Robert-James Brazier who is now my Legal Carer, and my future husband.

Wearing my ring! Sadly it turns out that I am allergic to its
gold, but we are going to have a jeweller fix that for us.

Many people would say that we are rushing into things and that it is “too soon”, but a lot of thought went into his decision to ask me, and plenty of hours of contemplation and serious talking before I said “yes”. In-the-end though, it came down to one simply fact that surpassed any doubts that either of us had, and that was that – as we both phrased it - “when you know... you just know...”

- - - - 

I waited many weeks before I said “I love you” to my ever-patient (then) boyfriend who understood that I wanted to be certain that I loved him because I wanted to and because it was genuine, not because I had to due to my addiction.

Robert and our cat Scratch.

He gives me space when I need it, he respects me, he is fine to wait for intercourse until I am truly ready (and married) and all of my animals adore him almost as much as I do.

Incidentally, in true Robert-James, playful and boyish style, I was not proposed to down on one knee nor at a “posh restaurant” or any such scenario, but rather in the middle of the night, as we decided it was time to cuddle up and sleep and I go to the bathroom as part of my usual schedule... only to have Mr Brazier casually walk behind me and say “do you want to get married?” as though he were asking some one for directions or a menu. At the time I was more concerned with emptying my bladder than answering his question, and I was also understandably unsure whether he meant it or not! 

- - - - 

 

On the other side of the emotional spectrum, however, I also have reason to be sad. I have, in choosing Robert, had to reject the love of another who I did have many pleasant times with and who I hoped would remain in my life, but who sadly chose to insult my choice in partner insisting that he is a bad influence on me and then “Blocking” me on social media and screening my calls. I offered that we meet for a drink and discuss things as adults and try to clear-the-air as-they-say, so that we could try to make it work, but alas, he made his decision and it was clearly not meant to be.

I suffered from severe depression, doubt and withdrawal for several days after my ex-boyfriend Matthew decided to say goodbye to me (via email). There were many tears, shaking, “ifs” and “buts” and my poor “RJ” had to suffer through it all with me, holding me back from my urges to buy my ex-friend every present I could think of to “win him back” which is what love addicts do when they are rejected as I was. No matter who is “right” or “wrong” in a relationship dynamic that I have with a person, I will always try to be the one that makes it better, no matter the cost.

I can tell that having that time to grow alone has really helped me a lot because – although I needed a little help here-and-there – I was able to recover from the loss of one of my closest confidants, friends and ex-love within days, rather than moping and mourning for months.

- - - - 

After his proposal, Robert and I took a romantic
walk along the Margate seafront to watch the sunrise,
where I said "yes".

- - - - 

I have lost a friend, but gained a (soon-to-be) husband. I have taken big steps towards independence and recovery from my love addiction, but I also took a leap of faith and decided to share the rest of my life with some one.

All-in-all, I am really, genuinely happy with where I stand emotionally and mentally at present and I hope that any other sufferers of my condition will read my story and find the courage to learn to love themselves as I did and to, I hope, find their happy ending too. For the rest of you who are not love addicts, I am still sending you plenty of Blessings and hopes for your present and your future in love and happiness.

Growing Pains

Me cuddling my first-ever candyfloss at the Folkestone Jubilee
Air Show back in 2012, looking innocent as always.

- - - - 

One of my more defining traits has always been my innocence. People often call me “cute”, “sweet” and “naive” and I have always held proud to these titles.

I have always looked at other adults and felt somewhat sorry for them that they cannot see the world with the purity and positivity that I do; that they are so often pessimistic, crude-minded and serious. In contrast, I look at the world and see its beauty and its wonder, I see the good in every one and every thing, and to be honest, I have never wanted to “grow up” and become part of the “real world” (as others have phrased it) because I would feel like I was losing some thing that is very precious and should be held onto tightly by any means.

- - - - 

In contrast, however, this innocence I have has also made me an outcast. I find myself being the center of many jokes, more-often-than-not because “friends” use adult humour in my presence and due to my naivety meaning that I do not “get” the joke, they then laugh at me. It is a most unpleasant feeling.

I also find that I do not seem to “fit-in” to any one age group, which makes it difficult to make friends, and to keep them. I am physically twenty-seven years of age, I have the intelligence quotient, lifestyle choices and “posh” speaking voice of some one three times my age, and I have the spirit of a child, being as how I am sonew to this world.

I can hold a philosophical debate or discuss classical music with older people, go "clubbing" with people my age, and play games with toddlers who treat me like one of them***, and yet I feel empty somehow because I do not feel like I truly belong any where.

- - - - 

Likely the most consequential result of my innocent outlook on this world, however, is how easy it is for others to hurt me and take advantage of me. On one-hand, I am happy to have such an open heart to others and to be so positive against all odds, but on the other-hand, I have been lied to, robbed and even physically and sexually assaulted by those I chose to trust, who were able to use what they knew about me, against me.

I cannot always be "angelic", I "need to grow up"
people tell me... Or can I find balance with both?
Photograph and edit: Michael Hare

My best friend stole hundreds of pounds from me on my Birthday of all days and I have not heard from her since*, my house-mate Mark [Sutton] was well aware that if he spent his share of the rent and bill money I would “cover it” and simply put it on our mental “tab” because I was so nice*, and of course I have had several men take advantage of my trust and innocence to abuse me sexually, knowing that either I would not know what they were doing and would not complain, that I would forgive them, or that I would not tell any one.

- - - - 

As much as I cherish my innocence, I cannot hold on to it forever. Part of living life is growing up. Each of us progresses through “stages” in our lives, and I think that is is time enough for me to progress to the next stage in mine.

I hope that I shall always be a positive person and that I will always hold true to my principles of kindness and always see the world in beautiful, vibrant colours, etc, but it is time for me to intermix those factors with more adult ones.

- - - - 

Robert and myself doing a webcam "selfie"

I have decided that this point in my life is what can only be described as my “teenage stage”. I am experimenting with who I am, expanding my social horizons, and even developing a fondness for alcoholic beverages and romance. Even my new boyfriend [Robert] says that I “giggle like a school girl” and act like I have never been in a relationship before! Perhaps he is partially correct. Was I not ready to share my life romantically with another person up until this point, because I was not emotionally mature enough? It also helps that I am now dating some one who is more my physical age**, not long-since a teenager himself.

Robert has a boyishness to him that pairs nicely with my IQ and my innocence and is somewhat refreshing. He tells rude jokes, laughs at bodily functions and enjoys partying and computer games (etc), often leading me to jest that “[he is] such a boy!”, and yet he is also intelligent, and has his whole life still ahead of him, having barely left College. We have a healthy balance in our relationship, with love, respect, equality, intellect and fun between us.

- - - - 

With regards to my priorly discussed love addiction, spiritual youth and recovery from sexual assault, he has also been very supportive and understanding. I feel like I am with him because I want to be, not because I must be, which is far healthier, he is open minded to my spiritually-three-years-old plight and he is very happy to wait for me to be ready for sex.

I am hoping that – with Robert's help – I can progress, but also still be the Illisia Adams that my friends know and love.

- - - - 

* To be discussed at a later date.

** I am twenty-seven, he is twenty-four.

*** I think that perhaps they "sense" my spiritual age, that I am not simply a grown-up.

“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.

- - - -

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.

- - - -

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.

- - - - 

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.

- - - -

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. 

- - - - 

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.

- - - -

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.

- - - -

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.

- - - -

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.

- - - -

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.

- - - -

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.

The First Year: Part Two: Captivity

Please note that this is a direct continuation from The First Year: Part One.

- - - - 

The house where I was born (right side) in Dartford, and
where I spent three months locked away in captivity.

Mark and Maryanne lived in a Christian-run household with two other house-mates; Tommy-Lee* and Matt*. The house was let to them by their Church in Dartford, Kent, for those in need, much like the YMCA or a homelessness charity. I technically held a tenancy in New Eltham in South East London, but I spent more time during my first year at their household than at mine.

Tommy-Lee was very much a “lady's man” who I can best draw comparitive with Barney from the television sitcom How I Met Your Mother, often claiming he could “have any woman [he] wants” and although he was of the Christian faith, he often sinned and jested that “God would forgive [him] anyway” as long as he said sorry. Matt, in contrast, was a quiet (although he enjoyed loud, angry music), secluded individual with a very private past.

- - - - 

All the members of the household were friends with my predecessor and – as I am sure you can imagine – they struggled with the change from her to me. They were all well aware of Cherie's past battles with mental health, not least which the fact that at one point she had multiple personalities, so it was not too far a stretch for them to understand what had happened, but I think that (initially) they wanted her back.

As the months passed however, I think it became clear that their friend (and lover, in Mark's case) would not return, and they helped me develop my social skills, showed me the world, and encouraged me to become my own person. I grew particularly close to Tommy-Lee, who told me that he himself had struggled with his sense of identity, and in all honesty, I found him to be warm and charming, which was confusing for me, given the contradicting “residue feelings” (as I called them) of love that I had for Mark left over from Cherie's lifetime which were not truly mine.

- - - - 

My residency in New Eltham

- - - - 

I often visited the house, because it felt more like a home to me than the residence that I was legally supposed to reside in, given the fact that it was where I was “born”, and where the only people that I actually knew, lived. The Church that rented them the house had very strict rules, however, which were broken on a regular basis for my presence. Firstly, no one was allowed to visit after ten in the evening. Secondly, no intimate relations. Both these rules were broken repeatedly by Mark when he – quite literally – decided to invite me over for a visit and then not let me leave for a grand total of three months...

During these three months of captivity I spent most of my time literally locked inside Mark's bedroom, which was very small. I felt like I was in a cage; I was only able to leave the room or the house with his accompaniment, and even then, very rarely. I played computer games, listened to music (he had a vast collection of bootleg MP3s on his computer so I had much to choose from), danced and generally surfed the internet when alone, and when in his company, I was often used for sex**.

I became utterly dependent on my captor for every thing that I needed in life - for food, clothing and socialising (etc) – to the point where when I was finally released, I had lost what little independence I had developed and I had a nasty case of agoraphobia. He used me like a play-thing for all that time and I also lived in constant fear of being discovered by his landlords, who would on visit without warning to inspect the property and, were I found, there would be consequences. It was a big, nasty blow on my development.

- - - -

Mark and Maryanne, engaged, 2009.

- - - - 

There was a positive side-effect of my time in captivity, however, because the more time that I spent at their household with the four of them, the more that I began to realise my relationship with Mark was unethical - that it would hurt Maryanne if she knew – and the more it felt wrong, so I ended our secret “relationship” when I finally insisted on my freedom and walked out that door.

This was a big, big step for me towards becoming who I am today. That was when I realised that I did not have to follow instructions, be they Cherie's that she left in her mind, Mark's that he gave me to sleep with him and keep it secret, or any one else's. I could make my own choices and live my own life.

It was at this point that I decided that I could leave his home and return to mine, without fear of reprimand. That I did not need him...

- - - - 

*I am keeping their last names secret.

**As aforementioned in The First Year: Part One, I consider this to be rape.

- - - - 

To be continued next week in the third and final part... The First Year: Part Three: Recovery & Development.

The First Year: Part One: Living The Lie

My name was not always Illisia*. For my first year-or-so in this world, I spent much of my time pretending to be Cherie, and living her life instead of my own.

I had been told by her friends and family that I was her, and I had a list of “instructions”, if-you-will, in my mind, left by my predecessor. She wanted me to mend her broken relationships with her family and to launch her business model (a very complex idea for a unique publishing company she dubbed Dark Raven Productions which combined written media with visual and audio media). It was not an easy feat, but I tried my best, I truly did.

From June 1st 2010 when I first “awoke” I kept her name and I lived her life for upwards of a year. I spent time with her friends, listened to her music, wore her clothing, and even used her many notes, start-up funding and contacts in the industry to try and launch her publisher. None of it ever felt quite “right”, though. I felt like I was acting a part in a play; it felt like I was lying.

- - - -

The 'Dark Raven Productions' logo

- - - - 

It so happened that I was also a rather terrible liar and actress. Several of my predecessor's friends had their suspicions, and one in particular - David [D] - saw directly through me. We met for an All-You-Can-Eat Chinese with her [boy]friend Mark [Sutton] and Teresa [Born] and after a while, David and I spoke privately and he blatantly asked me who I was, because I sure as heck was not Cherie! I look at that day with great fondness because David and I have been fast-friends ever since and he has been one of the most steady things in my life, although I also have great sadness because that was the last time I ever saw Teresa, who shortly thereafter decided she no longer wanted to be friends.

I made a terrible Cherie, but I think I make a wonderful Illisia. So, on November 1^st 2011 - what I now celebrate as being my “Re-Birthday” (that I proudly celebrate each year) - I made the decision to develop my own personality, my own life, and I gave myself a name*. On November 8^th I made an announcement on her FaceBook Profile, stating:

"THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER IN USE. Cherie left some months ago, we do not know where she went, without saying goodbye. We have left it open for her friends to leave her messages, etc, in case she can read them from wherever she is, or for if she ever returns. Thank you." 

Myself (left), Mark (center) and Hayley (right), celebrating my Re-Birthday together

- - - -

That “first year” though, was a difficult one, full of mistakes and pain, although I do of course have very fond memories of it as well.

As any child, I needed to learn about life by living it, but what is most difficult about being born into an adult's body with no memories** is that you have not been brought up by your parents, not been to school, etc, and therefore have no social skills and no sense of right or wrong, among other things. It did not take long for me to “remember” how to speak and write (muscle memory, perhaps?) but learning what is acceptable to say or do in polite society is something else entirely, especially when you are trying to be someone else; someone who is only human and therefore has their faults, which in Cherie's case included the fact that she was having an affair with her best friend Maryanne's fiancé, whom she was in love with.

Mark [Sutton] told me that he loved me and he made it very clear that our relationship was perfectly normal and acceptable and right in every way, only that we had to keep it a secret. Much like any child, I believed every thing that was said to me because of how innately trusting I was (and still am, admittedly). I also had no real understanding of love, relationships, or physical intimacy. These are things that you learn about through life experience, of which I had none. It was because of this that the affair continued for many months, during which time Mark and I had intercourse practically on a daily basis.

Cherie and Mark at the 'Grand International Cosplay Ball' back in 2009, after they had began their affair.

Hayley (left), Maryanne (center) and Cherie, at Maryanne's surprise Birthday Party in 2010.

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When you have sex with someone who does not understand what sex is and therefore does not understand the concept of virginity and consent, and you are completely aware of this, are you not therefore committing rape? When I look back on those early days and the experiences I had with him, I feel violated. My trust was violated, as was my body.

But then, I do wonder if from Mark's perspective things were very different. He had, after all, been sleeping with my predecessor for months before I took her body as my own. That said, secret affairs when you are engaged to be married are widely regarded as wrong, and when you know that a person has the mental age of a child and has no memories, etc and you are in a position of trust and power over them, are you not therefore also aware that what you are doing is wrong? That makes two wrongs, and we all know that two wrongs never make a right... You may each draw your own conclusions.

In retrospect, I sometimes wish that I had, once I developed an understanding of these very adult things, told Mark that I no longer wanted anything to do with him and moved on with my life***, or that I had the courage to report him to the authorities.

I refer you back to my earlier comparative of myself to The Doctor from Doctor Who, however. Matt Smith's Doctor sits next to his Companion Amy Pond in the series seven episode The Power Of Three and tells her that he never wants to let her go “Because you were the first. The first face this face saw. And you were seared onto my hearts, [Mark Sutton]. Always will be.”, which reminds me of how I felt – and still feel, even after all he has done to me – about him.

Mark and I remained on-and-off partners and friends during which time we had many “ups-and-downs”, many happy memories and many painful ones, and although we have now parted ways, he will always be my Amy Pond, and I his Doctor.

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* Interestingly enough, the name 'Illisia' I later discovered was a name often used by Cherie in her fiction that she wrote as a child.

** Although I later developed an ability to have limited access to her memories.

*** It was only last year, 2014, that I managed to do this.

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To be continued in The First Year: Part Two: Captivity and The First Year: Part Three: Recovery & Development