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Part 1 Part 2 ***Trigger Warning – Sexual Abuse Within*** Date: Wednesday 26.01.2022 Location: Manchester, UK Age: 41 Weight: 67.1 Kilos Marital Status: Still divorcing… Dear Diary, I anticipate that this may be the hardest blog post I have written to date. You see, I have always known that I am a bit different than most, but not really sure why. I thought obsession, infatuation, and getting black-out drunk were all normal attributes to a gal, well, to us all, yet I have come to realise that this is not the case. Not at all in fact. For the last 3 months I have had weekly counselling sessions. Not for any specific reason other than I have always felt that speaking to a counsellor may unlock certain things to help me understand why I am the way I am. Certainly not because I have been through a trauma of some kind. Well, not that I realised at the start of it anyway. Since I can remember, I have always been drawn to a particular kind of man. To put it bluntly, the ones that are unobtainable. You know, the bad boys, the ones that do not want (nor are in any fit shape) to have a relationship. And most recently, married (well, separated in their mind but not in the wife’s) ... Why? I suppose you could say that I like a challenge. Mind you, they do say that red flags are not challenges, don’t they…? Anyhow, I ignore all those little warnings in the hopes that this isn’t what they really are, and in fact, plough forth regardless of every omen thrown in my face, because I can see what most wouldn’t; a guy that is simply in need of a decent woman. Little did I know that has nothing to do with it whatsoever! And seriously, am I the decent woman in this scenario? Probably not looking back on things, but hey – it all starts with fixing yourself first I’ve come to learn. Yup, I had been kidding myself for years. Apparently it all began at 14 years old when my shadow self suddenly appeared. At that age, I was entirely unaware that we all have a shadow self, in fact, it wasn’t until I started tapping into my spiritual side when the numbers wouldn’t leave me alone that I finally read up about it. Remember the numbers from one of my previous diaries? Anyway, for those that are like me and had no idea of what ‘Carl Jung’ coined the ‘shadow self’, it’s the dark side of our personality where the fear, shame, guilt, and anger live. In my case quite a bit more that also includes obsession and infatuation - in your case, it could be quite a bit less, but by not embracing that side of us we are subconsciously sabotaging our very own lives. I know, WTF right?! But how was I to know this back then? These days, I’m owning my shadow self, so much so that she has a name. Let me introduce you to Shaniqua. She’s not here right now, no, that’s all me - Lei, but she has been lurking within for all that time without me even realising it. Shaniqua is not a nice person unfortunately. She is an angry being that I’m glad I’ve not personally met. She has been known to launch an ashtray at some poor unsuspecting soul in the soup kitchen at 4am, start fights, sleep with random dudes, and be extremely rude to friends. And no, I’ve really not met her. She is not me. She is someone else entirely. When friends have regaled me with stories about what I did the night before, it’s like they are talking about a different human being, because I simply have zero memory of any of it. Not the guy I pulled, not the fight I started, not being thrown out of said soup kitchen for quite possibly injuring that poor unsuspecting soul, and not for being a vile nasty bitch to friends. Nope, in the words of Shaggy – ‘it wasn’t me’. And that’s the Gods honest truth. Shaniqua appears when Lei has had one too many drinks. Not all the time I might add. It seems to be when I find myself out of my comfort zone, let’s say in strange or unusual surroundings, occasionally with people that I don’t know. What happens is that Lei disappears into thin air and is replaced with the shadow one; I, as in me, quite literally no longer exist when Shaniqua takes over. Shaniqua is all dominant and all enraged. I’m not 100% sure what all of ‘her’ triggers are, but I’m getting there. So yes, it started at 14 so I believe. It could have been earlier, but from what I can make out, 14 was the catalyst. Back then, all the girls in my school were sexually active at that age, mostly with boys of our own age, but not me - nope, I thought I was the billy big bollocks because a 23-year-old was paying me attention, and lots of it. He introduced himself when me and my UK bestie Hannah were hanging around the shops in town one Saturday. He literally walked right up to us and said hello. God he was confidant. Not particularly attractive, but the bants and confidence had me hooked. And that was that, I started seeing him as much as I possibly could. Although, the fucker made me chase him because I couldn’t very well have him call my house in fear of my Mum answering and realising he was not of school boy age and taking him for what he actually was. A bit of a peado. Not that I saw it at the time… So, chase him I did. I found it enthralling. There is definitely something to be said about the thrill of the chase, even at 14 years old. And with that, obsession was born. Not quite Shaniqua just yet, but her embryo let’s say. Just recently, after my counsellor pointed it out in a very tactful way, I have come to see that what actually happened was child abuse. I mean, seriously?! I chased him. I called him to make arrangements! I initiated the dates. How the fuck can this be child abuse? But it was because I was having sex with a 23-year-old man who knew my exact age. In fact, he prayed only on girls of my age. You see, I wasn’t the first in my class to have a thing with this guy, and I certainly wasn’t the last… Although I almost see it now for what it was, I struggle because it was me that did the chasing. It couldn’t possibly be considered grooming, so what the fuck was it? Fuck’s sake, if I could only go back to that point in time and give myself a stern talking to... Not that younger me would listen. She didn’t listen to anyone or anything, hence ending up living it large in Turkey at sweet 16. Which is where the story really begins. And the funny thing is, I only realised this last night… At 16, I thought I was all grown up. Looking back now I realise I was nothing but a cocky kid, playing at being an adult. I wanted to do exactly as I pleased, and that’s just what I did. God, my first season in Marmaris back in ‘97 was nothing short of one long piss up with a bit of work as a transfer rep in between. I was out every night that I wasn’t working, and even some of the nights that I was - if I could make it to Daisy Bar before it closed at 4am. Sunworld uniform still on, with no fucks given! Unfortunately, I did not get on with the 2 girls I lived with which made life difficult, but as I had always felt like an outsider both in the UK and overseas, I just went with the flow as best I could. After all, we were all three there for the same reason, to live our best lives. And we did a lot of the time. Well, before the arguments got really out of hand and I moved out. But that’s another story for a different blog… There are 3 major events that happened during that first season. I believe that all of them contributed to the birth of Shaniqua. The second I remembered (finally) last night whilst lying in bed when I burst into tears at the sudden jolt of memory. It had been locked away in my subconscious for a very long time, quite possibly since that very first season. I’m not sure why I’ve not remembered it, but I guess it’s like I’ve always said; my subconscious blocks out memories that the conscious simply can’t or doesn’t want to deal with. Shaniqua deals with them instead and they are stored in her memory bank and not mine. You see Shaniqua is braver than me, and although I have always been confidant, Shaniqua will say and do what Lei wont. Shaniqua, I have come to realise, is a detached persona. A split personality. Does this make me a crazy person? Yes, when black-out drunk, but not during normal waking hours. Then I’m just me. Lei fucking Lawson. And me, Lei, is a kind, caring, empathetic friend. Shaniqua is none of those things. She is a cunt. Major Event Number 1: Not as major as the second two that I shall detail, but the memory of it even now makes my skin crawl. It was right at the beginning of the season in April, I was walking home alone from doing a supermarket run in Migros, slap bang in the middle of the day. I noticed this weird little red car following me. I always remember it as a Noddy car as it was so small and the driver looked like he took up the whole of it. The car kept turning around and driving past me, but as it was broad daylight, I thought nothing of it. Then finally, as I was on my last stretch home, not even 2 minutes away from my apartment, I saw the noddy car pull over and the door open. The fat sweaty driver did not get out as such, he put his feet on the road and simply sat there. I wondered what he fuck he was doing while feeling ever more anxious as I got closer. He was parked a little way from the road where I was walking, and thank God for that when I realised what the filthy fat fuck was doing. No word of a lie, he was sat there with his gut hanging out of his tight white vest, his dick in his hand - wanking, making grunting noises, while beckoning over to me in Turkish. I dropped my shopping and ran home as fast as my flip-flopped feet would carry me. And that was that. I told people about it of course, but this was Turkey in 1997, at the beginning of the season when the men folk had been starved of sex for the winter season, and this behaviour was considered normal to some. Fuck all normal about it if you ask me, but as it was my first few weeks in the country I was to call home for the next 22 years, what the fuck did I know? Major Event Number 2: I’m gonna say it was around May or June of ’97 and I was walking home alone from the beach front after a night of partying. I would peg the time to be about 04.30am. I was tipsy yes, but certainly not drunk drunk. It wasn’t a long walk back to the apartment that I shared with the 2 girls, in fact it only took around 10 minutes - and no one wants to spend money on a taxi for a 10-minute walk now do they? I noticed a guy quite a way behind me, so I kept my eye on him every so often by turning around and checking his distance. The fucker was catching up to me quickly so I picked up the pace and was practically sprinting home in my skirt and heels. Just 50 feet from the entrance to my apartment, this cretinous creature caught up to me and grabbed me. I couldn’t tell if he was Turkish or Kurdish, but what I do know is that his breath stunk of stale cigarettes as he tried to force his tongue into my mouth. His hands were everywhere, grabbing and groping. I screamed for help, but no one was around. I screamed and screamed then he shoved one of his hands in my mouth to stop the noise, while his other hand forced its way under my skirt, into my knickers and finally into me. At that point one of the balcony lights went on and an old Turkish woman came rushing out yelling at my attacker. He immediately ran away, leaving me stood there in shock at what had just happened, and, what could have happened had that old dear not have heard my screams. I feel extremely uncomfortable writing about it now. Probably because the memory has only just come back and it feels so fresh. But the only way to get past discomfort is to deal with it, and that’s hopefully what I’m doing by writing about it. The funny thing is, I’ve always commended myself on being very resilient, and thought I had brushed that incident off like water off a ducks back. As it stands, I didn’t. It simply festered deep within. Major Event Number 3: Another not very pleasant tale I’m sorry to say, but hey – when is life changing trauma ever pleasurable? So, this one happened toward the end of my first season, around September, I think. I was dating a lovely guy called Fatih. Oh my, how I liked him! He was not only attractive with his long swishy black hair, but he was also right up my street as a bad boy biker with his chopper and leathers. Yup, I was smitten. We’d had an argument over something small and silly earlier that particular day, so I had gone out that evening in the hopes of finding him and apologising. I called in a few bars, but no Fatih in sight. He usually didn’t hit the beach front till gone 12 anyway, so I decided to have a few drinks with friends I had bumped into before carrying on the search. As the night went on, and still no sign of my fella, I went to one last bar. I saw a friend of his, asked him if he knew where Fatih was, and was told that he was at this particular friend’s house. So, off we went in his car out to Aktas which is a 20-minute drive out of Marmaris into the sticks. Fatih was not there, but another guy was. So, we sat in the lounge and waited. The friend of Fatih proceeded to tell me that he was part of the Turkish mafia – nothing unusual about this as all the beach front boys thought they were ‘mafia’ in some way shape or form, but all they actually were, were walking penises. This one however may have been the real deal as he pulled out a gun and twirled it around in his fingers in expert fashion. Gobby little gob shite me was not impressed, and asked to see if it was real, and if so, loaded. Turns out it was and was. That’s when the fear set in. We as people, when faced with an uncomfortable situation, find that fight or flight usually kicks in. These days my ‘go to’ is fight, but back then, in this particular situation, it was very much flight. I was paralysed with fear. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t even speak. It was alarming to say the least that I had found myself out in the sticks with 2 dudes that claimed to be mafia, and no boyfriend in sight. Now I’m not entirely sure how the following event went down as my memory has a blockage still going on, but I woke up the following morning in a bed, naked, with Fatih standing over me demanding to know what happened. I believe that some sort of sexual act had occurred, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what. Fatih said I had slept with his friend – and yes, I undoubtably did - but was it consensual? Was it because I was scared? Was it because I feared for my life? Or did I actually want to? I couldn’t tell you because I simply don’t remember – yet. Maybe one day I will, just like I remembered the second major event last night. One thing I know is that every time I think back to that situation, I feel sick to my stomach. Maybe regression is the way to go if I ever want to truly know what went down that night. But do I really want to know the details? Of that, I’m really not sure. And there is it – that is when Shaniqua turned from an embryo to a real live being. Someone to deal with my trauma so that I didn’t have to. You could call her my protector. My saviour. My angry second self fighting for survival. My Mr. Hyde. My dual drunk personality disorder. Which is a real thing in case you wondered. I think I finally understand who Shaniqua, or my shadow self, is. And that is a layer of repressed emotions and anger that claws her way to the surface when that one too many drinks have taken a hold and she no longer gives a fuck. She wants to be seen and heard, and so she should - after all she has dealt with a lot over the years. Funnily enough, since moving back to the UK, she has not been seen as much. Maybe this is because I don’t go out partying hard like I used to back in Turkey, maybe it’s because it’s a different environment entirely, and maybe it could be down to simply changing my drink from light spirits to dark a couple of years ago. Either way, I’m not sure she’s needed now I’m back here in the UK on a permanent basis. Maybe her job here is done. Maybe there is no more threat. My ex-fiancée who got the briefest of mentions in my first diary, said just this weekend, that he thinks Shaniqua’s triggers were Marmaris itself. In fact, it was him that jolted that last major event into the forefront of my memory. He may not have got the best of write ups previously, but now that we are friends and not toxic partners, he may, just may, have helped me figure something out about myself. But I tell you what, if I can help it, I will do my utmost not to repress my emotions again. I didn’t think I did initially, however that has proved not to be the case from realisation after realisation I’ve been hit with since starting the counselling process. And a process is what it is. I know there is more to be uncovered, and I welcome it. I want to fix myself after all. I want to remember what Shaniqua has dealt with and lay it to rest. Believe me when I say there must be over 200 or more black-out situations that I thought was simply the norm that need the memories unlocking. And black-outs can mean only one thing – Shaniqua. All my love, Lei XXX ***New to my blog? Wanna know where it all began? Catch up right here with my first book 'The Final Summer of Vodka'***
2 Comments
Pikey
1/29/2022 11:23:55 am
I’m both sad and glad that this has come to fruition
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Charlotte
1/29/2022 02:52:00 pm
I’m so sorry you went through this but happy that your now able to speak about it and start heeling!
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