Medicine among 68,505 participants revealed that children who were subjected to sexual abuse were 49 per cent more likely to experience the early onset of menstruation, and the severity of the abuse increased the likelihood. In later life the abused can also look forward to an increased risk of cardiovascular disease, metabolic dysfunction, cancer and depression. So unfortunately the abuse doesnât end with the perpetratorâs last act, victims are stuck with it until the end of their days.
The Stilboestral (otherwise known as Diethylstilbestrol) of which I had been given a daily dose for a number of years was phased out in the late seventies when it was found to cause cancer in human beings. After researchers discovered its harmful properties, Stilboestral was confined to veterinary use.
But despite the army of social workers and psychologists and doctors who were supposedly looking after my best interests, nobody asked me what was going on. Nobody asked me about the supposed âgrass seedâ, which could have only gotten there by human intervention if it had existed at all. Nobody asked me about the blood on my underpants which was a result of his endlessly probing fingers. They just questioned my foster mother while I sat in silence beside her burning with shame.
But arenât human beings amazing creatures and even at an early age we can choose to let the bad things in lifedevour us and we sink or we can make the most of the good bits and swim. A report by the welfare officer in Adelaide on the eleventh of November 1968, five months after my last hospitalisation, shows that I chose to swim:
Marie is at present in very good health, vivacious and attractive in appearance ⦠Because of her bright personality Marie has few problems in her social relationships and appears to be very popular at school and with family friends â¦
Somewhere around that time Welfare decided that my placement was a success and I didnât need any more monitoring so obviously my ability to present a good face despite the circumstances was working. Whether Iâd learnt this skill during the brief three years with my real family or whether compartmentalising my life into good and bad was an instinct, Iâll never know, but I do know that it helped me through some very tough times.
As I got older I managed to escape any more hospitalisations by fighting off my foster father when he tried to poke his fingers where they werenât wanted. He still persisted in shoving his hand between my legs or grabbing my breasts when I had to walk past him though, and this continued until I left home when I was eighteen.
Although I knew Iâd be able to get away from his endless shit one day, it still wasnât easy. Sitting in the same roomas him was an effort, I have never felt so much hatred for a human being in all my life. If anyone had given me a gun and told me I was free to use it I would have stuck it in his face and pulled the trigger with no hesitation. I hatched a few murderous plans, like planting a knife in his chest, or smashing his head in with a hammer when he was sleeping, but I had the good sense to stop myself from carrying them out. I knew I would never be believed: he was a God-fearing man who went to church every Sunday and I was just some black kid he and his wife had âsavedâ, so I acted like I didnât care, which irritated him even more. Unfortunately I wasnât his only victim â he molested other close family members and the children of family friends as well, including the younger sister of a schoolmate of Julie. Nothing could take away the suffering his actions caused so many people, but having a letter Iâd written telling him to rot in hell read out to him on his death bed did give me the greatest pleasure. I think he had a lot of pain in his heart because I never saw him happy. I found out many years later that our mother had known what her husband was getting up to,
The Stilboestral (otherwise known as Diethylstilbestrol) of which I had been given a daily dose for a number of years was phased out in the late seventies when it was found to cause cancer in human beings. After researchers discovered its harmful properties, Stilboestral was confined to veterinary use.
But despite the army of social workers and psychologists and doctors who were supposedly looking after my best interests, nobody asked me what was going on. Nobody asked me about the supposed âgrass seedâ, which could have only gotten there by human intervention if it had existed at all. Nobody asked me about the blood on my underpants which was a result of his endlessly probing fingers. They just questioned my foster mother while I sat in silence beside her burning with shame.
But arenât human beings amazing creatures and even at an early age we can choose to let the bad things in lifedevour us and we sink or we can make the most of the good bits and swim. A report by the welfare officer in Adelaide on the eleventh of November 1968, five months after my last hospitalisation, shows that I chose to swim:
Marie is at present in very good health, vivacious and attractive in appearance ⦠Because of her bright personality Marie has few problems in her social relationships and appears to be very popular at school and with family friends â¦
Somewhere around that time Welfare decided that my placement was a success and I didnât need any more monitoring so obviously my ability to present a good face despite the circumstances was working. Whether Iâd learnt this skill during the brief three years with my real family or whether compartmentalising my life into good and bad was an instinct, Iâll never know, but I do know that it helped me through some very tough times.
As I got older I managed to escape any more hospitalisations by fighting off my foster father when he tried to poke his fingers where they werenât wanted. He still persisted in shoving his hand between my legs or grabbing my breasts when I had to walk past him though, and this continued until I left home when I was eighteen.
Although I knew Iâd be able to get away from his endless shit one day, it still wasnât easy. Sitting in the same roomas him was an effort, I have never felt so much hatred for a human being in all my life. If anyone had given me a gun and told me I was free to use it I would have stuck it in his face and pulled the trigger with no hesitation. I hatched a few murderous plans, like planting a knife in his chest, or smashing his head in with a hammer when he was sleeping, but I had the good sense to stop myself from carrying them out. I knew I would never be believed: he was a God-fearing man who went to church every Sunday and I was just some black kid he and his wife had âsavedâ, so I acted like I didnât care, which irritated him even more. Unfortunately I wasnât his only victim â he molested other close family members and the children of family friends as well, including the younger sister of a schoolmate of Julie. Nothing could take away the suffering his actions caused so many people, but having a letter Iâd written telling him to rot in hell read out to him on his death bed did give me the greatest pleasure. I think he had a lot of pain in his heart because I never saw him happy. I found out many years later that our mother had known what her husband was getting up to,
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