So as far as I was concerned, this was the last I would ever have to do with this homosexual, Jimmy Robinson. I say “homosexual” because that’s what I thought Robinson was. It wasn’t until I got to about 40 years of age when I suddenly heard a new word, paedophile. Upon using a dictionary I found out that my abuser was a paedophile, not a homosexual. That confusion, that fear and misunderstanding, is just one of the after effects of my abuse.
Over the years, I have seen hundreds of reports in the newspapers to do with priests going to court for abusing children. I have never shied away from wanting to know about the subject or to try and find the whereabouts of my abuser. But I never came across anything. I have often thought about my abuse, wondered about any other victims. But something always told me Jimmy Robinson was dead and rotting in hell. With this, I was happy.
The abuse I suffered and the experiences that I had to endure, had a terrible effect on my life. These visions of Robinson, live with me every day. But I learned from a very early age to bottle things up, to switch my mind off. I became very hard mentally, take it or leave it. I have had to learn to look after number one, stuff everyone else.
When the abuse happened, I look back to my schooldays, when they should have been the best days of my life. I see now that I withdrew, went back into my shell. I am ashamed that for the next 4 years at school, I sat looking out of the window. I switched off, I wouldn’t, or should I say couldn’t, learn anything at school. I am ashamed that I have never passed one exam, not one.
In the last year of my schooling, I spent nearly all of the year in the metalwork shops, with a school teacher named Mr. Sam Taylor. I never confided to him of my abuse, but I think he suspected there was something wrong with me, or should I say he thought I had troubles. For nearly a year I spent all my school hours cleaning, tidying and generally helping this teacher in any way I could.
Or is this the story of an idle mind. As I say I could never concentrate.
I have had 51 years to lock away my demons, lock away my childhood, hide my innermost fears. The main thing I learned, so many years ago, was that I am a survivor. I was victimized, but chose to get on with my life. I am what I am, you see what you see. If you don’t like me, that’s fine. I stick up for number one, me. I’ve always had to. I say what I think. I come straight to the point.
I learned one thing, trust no one and I won’t get hurt.
September 2nd, 2011 at 8:44 PM
I am a mother of a 13 year old son. As a survivor I want you to know that you are not alone and that there are some out there that you can trust. I am very glad that you were able to post your story here. It takes a lot of courage to do that.
Love and light,