Being disabled and being abused.

Major trigger warning for themes of abuse, assault and rape.

This is not going to be a unique story.

This will not be the easiest thing for me to write, but I feel like it’s time to share the details. I have spent so much of my life bottling up my problems, expressing them through poetry, vague posts or even memes. It rarely felt safe to show that damaged part of me.

Being disabled, being a queer disabled person especially, means you face higher rates of abuse.

I am one of those people, more than a statistic, but a victim who is powering through the lasting damage of trauma.

I grew up with alcoholic parents. I was neglected and abused. I did not know what healthy love or affection was. I was sexually assaulted at a beach party at around the age of 12 and was told not to tell anyone because it would spoil the party.

I did not know his name.

That small ten minutes at the beach warped my view of love and sex. I lost my virginity at 14 so that my first full sexual experience wouldn’t be rape. I was groomed by a 25 year old man when I was 15. His name is Alan.

At 17, I was dating a 21 year old who would physically assault me and drunkenly pressure me into sex. He was drunk a lot. I remember once I didn’t get the chance to tell him I was on my period, I had a tampon in. I remember crying in my bathroom trying to get my tampon out and how much it hurt.

I have a scar on my right hand from where he burned me with a lighter and when I finally broke up with him he threatened to kill himself. His name is Michael.

Just two years ago my drunken friend ignored me saying No multiple times and pushing him away. I ghosted him afterwards, blamed myself for giving in, bought a new bed and mattress and sheets but I never felt brave enough to say the word I’d use if anyone else experienced it. His name is Ryan.

This is one of my first times talking about it publicly.

Then shortly after that, I thought I’d met my match. I thought I’d met someone special.

I remember my speech at the beginning, begging them to take time to think about this. I’m disabled, I explained, it’s a lot to take on and I need you to take this seriously. Please, I remember insisting, go away and think about it seriously. People who date me are dating my disability and will take on extra responsibility.

They told me later it was fine, they cared about me, they didn’t mind my disability.

I’d laugh, if my heart wasn’t still hurting.

Unfortunately, and unorginally, I had my disability used against me.

Not straight away, but slowly. Insidiously. Gaslit, manipulated, isolated. They once bragged to me about how everyone else was so easy to manipulate but I was different and that’s why they liked me.

My abuser who assaulted me on two separate occasions. Once punched and another time had a door bodily slammed into me. Both times left bruises, both times were brushed off as accidents.

The same way I was blocked from my own food, by accident. How my personal belongings ended up missing, by accident. My things got broken, by accident. They leaked peoples nudes and took nudes without consent, by accident. They told me I was crazy, pathetic, a burden, by accident. Used my disability as a weapon against me and told me that needing help with it was abusive, by accident. Self harmed in front of me and blamed me, by accident. Spread lies about me, by accident. Pressured me into sexual acts I didn’t want to do, by accident.

Their name is Spark.

Despite all their accidents, their friends say it’s me who’s the clumsy one. You know, Harley does just… Walk into things a lot.

I thought we’d retired that excuse in the 80’s but apparently not.

I did not walk into an open cupboard door. I did not fall down the stairs. I did not photoshop bruises. I did not fake the trauma. I did not lie for attention.

I wake up in cold sweats at 3am, rushing to check my door is locked. I have scars to remember the abuse I came through. I have shaking hands typing this up, thinking of everything that could go wrong.

The one good thing, about my recent trauma is finding out I’m not the first person to be abused by them. I know now, it wasn’t my fault, that this is a pattern we all went through. Thankfully, we are wonderful friends now we have our abuser out of our lives.

I refuse to be afraid any more. I refuse to stay silent to keep them comfortable. I refuse to let these people have power over me any more. I may be disabled, but I still have power to tell the truth.

I was abused.

And I am not ashamed to stand with every other marginalised victim out there.