My last ever blog

My voice

Less than a week: That’s how long my crime reference number was in my possession and valid. 11 months: that’s how long I carried a secret that poisoned me. The rest of my life: that’s how long this will stay with me. 

Less than two days: that’s how much time it took for people to insinuate I might not be being truthful. 

Less than a week: that’s how long it took for this country and it’s legal system to let down yet another vulnerable, scared person who thought that coming forward was the “Right” thing to do. 

Let me explain a little of my experience. Actually, first, let me explain a little about me. 

I am, fundamentally, a good person. I strive for kindness in all I do. I try to help, to care, to nurture. My core beliefs and driving forces are empathy and fairness. 

I always believed that empathy was the strongest influencer. I was wrong. 

My sense of fairness gave me the strength to speak about something that turns my stomach, something which makes me want to scrub at my skin and run away from everyone and everything. 

It was knowing that the vulnerable voices rarely get heard that made me choose to use mine. 

I spoke out about something that should never have happened. I told the truth of a man who touched repeatedly without permission and then made me witness to a degrading and humiliating act of self pleasuring. 

I told of saying “no”. I told of my feelings of shame, self criticism and fear. I opened up and voiced every fear. Because I thought that in sharing my terrors I could help to prevent others. 

I have NEVER sought to destroy or punish. That is not who I am. I seek to rehabilitate, to help. I used the only routes left available to me. 

I used our Great British Justice System. 

Do you know what they needed? 

Evidence! 

Of course they did. 

But where is the evidence of a dress unzipped and a hand inserted? Where is the evidence of a thigh being squeeze and a skirt being lifted? 

There is none. There never will be evidence of this kind of crime. To ask for it is a ridiculous notion. 

So it comes down to words. 

100’s: the number of words I have poured out, sobbing, distraught, frightened. 

12: The number of times I have HAD to recount what happened to me and relive the experience whilst others listened and judged. 

Endless: the number of nightmares, waking and sleeping, where I have replayed every single moment. 

4: the number of words required for a perpetrator to walk away. 

“I didn’t do it”

That was the extent of the case. Not enough evidence. Case closed. 

Another person left to deal with the fact that their voice was devalued by the system and by people who once were trusted. 

I can’t change the outcome. I can’t change what happened to me or how others have reacted but I can say this. 

You have let me down. Not just me. Hundreds of women. And men. Victims whose voices you denied when you denied mine. Do not EVER sit on the throne of equality and diversity and PREACH! Because you are not worthy. You whose hands groped and you who defended that! Look to yourselves and know what you are. You are the PROBLEM. You are the disease. I will not feel ashamed but you should. 

Those who listened, supported and believed have earned the trust of a fierce, loyal and HONEST friend. I have no personal gain in this! My career is not boosted by the misfortune of a group of people. My platform does not depend upon the sycophancy of others. My voice is mine and it is heard because it true not because I curry favour and lie. 

I can live with being me. I will work on the hurt that is hollowing me out and the painful gap will be filled with the genuine love and support of people I know are there for me, whatever happens. 

Can you live with being you? 

Can you live with the one thing that will NEVER change? 

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.