I haven’t laughed since the 21st June of this year. Not genuinely. That’s when time just stopped for me. It was the day I told the police that I had been sexually assaulted by my step-father for the past three years. I’m nineteen years old and have now been officially diagnosed with mental health problems including Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and depression and it’s horrific. To be told I’m not normal. That my mind is different, fragile.

I share this story for many reasons, selfish and otherwise. I tell it to get it off my chest, I know I’ll never understand why he did it. I’ll never understand why I didn’t stop him. Couldn’t stop him. I share it to remind others they’re not alone and to remind anyone who’s been sexually assaulted that; you do not have to be raped to be abused. My abuser couldn’t rape me. He had issues in that area and was never able to penetrate me, though I believe he would have.

He would tell me I’m beautiful, stunningly gorgeous, that I had an amazing body to be desired. That he just needed love and affection, that he wouldn’t hurt me. But he did. He hurt me in the way that I have horrendous nightmares now, that I was scared to be around him then and that he’s still walking around a free man. But not for long. I was one of the few women that went to the police and I urge anyone suffering from this to tell someone, take action against your abuser.

It’s a horrible road you have to go down but trust me it is so worth it. I’m currently waiting for my abuser to be charged by the CPS. We should hear about it soon and then I’ll have to go to court and then I’ll have to live with the fact everyone I ever knew knows now that I am a victim of sexual assault. But here’s the thing. I’m not.

I’m a survivor.

And so are you.