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Further Down The Line

September 8, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

The new term at creche, torrential rain, sleepless nights, strained tendons, final demands, tantrums, accidental overdoses on funsize Milkyways…it’s all been happening here in my little corner of the Continent.

Lack of exercise and an abundance of stress have seen me somewhat reclusive in an extended “Duvet Day”.  I am beginning to see it as more of a season actually; one that sees me in a dressing gown until midday, wheeling my IV of Chardonnay around.  I jest. It’s not that bad. I wait until AT LEAST 2 pm (to get dressed).

Today, it all got a bit much, however, and I finally had a very public breakdown in McDonalds, right into my McFlurry (with coffee chaser).  I don’t know what the final straw was exactly, perhaps just a few kind words uttered from my other half/rock/sidekick/emotional punchbag/utility Jason, who was one minute excitedly tucking into his New York Crispy Menu, and the next staring open-mouthed as he saw tears pouring down my face.  No, I reassured him, my burger WASN’T cold.

After 36 years, however, I am finally getting used to my behavioural patterns, and I find that I need to hit rock bottom before I discover, like Yazz, that the only way is up.

Just a bit awkward that I scheduled my “Yazz moment” in amongst the rabble of our local fast food outlet.  I would never normally come between innocent bystanders and their monosodium glutamate.

Promising myself a cup of herbal tea (Jason had already hidden the corkscrew), a hot bath and early night, I arrived home and suddenly remembered I had one thing left to do before I could collapse into bed.

Earlier today I was asked by a very dear friend of mine in the UK if I would make a very important phone call to help out another friend of hers.

I agreed.  I had to.  You see, this friend of hers has only very recently been raped.  She wanted me to talk to her because of my own experience, albeit it that I am twenty years further down the line.  I was attacked way back in the autumn of 1988.  Maybe, just maybe, I could give this woman some hope and direction as to how to get through the next few days, months and years.

I have only just finished on the telephone. We talked for over an hour.  I am not going to go into any kind of detail, other than to say that this particular phone call was one of the toughest things I have ever had to do.  Not only has it brought back some pretty unpleasant memories, but it just upset me so much listening to somebody at a stage of a process that has been forced onto them, when everything is so raw, so fresh, so utterly terrifying.

All I could do was offer some practical advice on how to get support, to a background of a continuous mantra I kept hearing myself say…

“You WILL get through this.  You WILL get through this.”

Right now, she has so many uncertainties in her life and she is in a very vulnerable place.

But that was all I could give her.  It is the only thing I know to be true.  The only other thing I know to be true is that I will call her again in a few days time, to see how she is.

There are many other things I am feeling right now, but it doesn’t feel right to delve any further into it.

What I will say is this.  The positive slant I can get from all of this, from my perspective at least, is that when I walked into the bedroom afterwards and spoke to Jason and suddenly (once again) burst into uncontrollable sobs, he suddenly held my face, looked at me in the eyes and said, “You are SUCH a good person, Jane, to have done that.  You don’t know her, but you were there for her.”

And just hearing that, the voice I love so dearly, speaking so clearly and succinctly over the recent confusing dialogue that’s been going on in my own self-critical head, caused me to like myself again.

And once again, I feel lucky to have survived.

To listen to my story so far, please listen to WHY NOT ME? Part 1 and WHY NOT ME? Part 2.  Part 3 is coming soon.

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I Totally SUCK!!!

August 19, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

Recently, I had some professional photos taken.

The lady that took the photos will probably think as she reads this, “Professional?? WTF?? I totally SUCK!!!”

This lady is called Shannon. And I LOVE her phrase, “I totally SUCK!!!” In fact, I am continuously using it in conversations:

“Que-est ce que vous desirez?”
“I totally SUCK!!!”

“Voulez-vous autre chose?”
“I totally SUCK!!!”

You get my drift. The Swiss don’t, obviously. They are a nation of non-suckers apparently.

I didn’t know Shannon very well. Either as a friend, or as a woman passionately keen on learning how to be a photographer and to be as creative as possible with her new skill. Or at least until recently. I met her through another dear friend of mine and we have taken a while to get to know eachother.

I DO know, however, that her photography skills are a RAW talent.

I asked her to do some pictures for me, so that I had something professional-looking to use on my various work projects. She said she would happily take some shots, as it was great experience for her. She even managed to get her photography teacher to attend and he brought his collection of equipment with him. What I thought would be a quick session of “point-and-shoot”, had turned into a professional photo session. I was half expecting to see a fluffy robe with my initials, bowls of grapes and bottles of distilled water dotted around the place. I did consider chancing it and requesting some freshly squeezed pomegranate juice, but thought better of it.

Settling in to the shoot was tough. I had arrived after getting stuck on the Autoroute for half an hour and my GPS sending me halfway into Italy, so by the time I got there I was a sweaty, stressed-out, muttering mess in need of a touch-up, both cosmetically and psychologically.

As I sat down on the stool and the camera was directed towards me, I started to think. Just who the hell AM I? Other than a Mother, of course. Who is Jane? What is she about? What does she DO, exactly?

I was more than a little terrified what the camera may find. I had heard that they NEVER lie…

From my perspective, the situation could have been incredibly awkward. To go into a situation with someone I hardly knew who was going to take my picture, and to have what I perceived to be possibly unrealistic expectations in my head, well, a lot could go wrong.

But this is where Shannon’s natural creativity took over.

It helped that we could giggle, it helped that she just knew what to say to get the best from me. When her teacher left later on (minus his equipment as he could tell how much fun we were having), we carried on the shoot as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I had gone from a nervous, stuttering, stressed-out Mum to…..well, Jane. Me. The person I remember before kids. Unencumbered. Relaxed. Laughing. ME.

And during laughing, whilst getting to know myself again, I got to know Shannon a little more. Peel-me-off-the-floor-gorgeous, achingly-funny, attitude-laden Shannon. Here is a lady who has worked her backside off to get where she is and this literally SCREAMS out at you when you talk to her.

I met Shannon for a coffee today and got to know a little more about the woman behind these photographs that I LOVE.

I am looking forward to getting to know her even more, as she has helped me to recapture a little bit of myself, a little sliver of my identity, that I felt I had lost somewhere along the way.

That is undoubtedly a RAW talent. A talent for which I will be eternally grateful.

You can see my pictures, including self-deprecating captions, on my photoblog www.jpixi.com

Shannon

Shannon

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A Life In Freefall

August 16, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

Since my interview, the last few weeks have been absolutely insane. Really mad. I have blogged about it and opened up to people online about how it’s been affecting me. Why? Because I love social media and it has changed my life. It feels natural to want to share. I am also insanely “open” as a person and wear my heart on my sleeve always. I cannot change, nor do I want to. In recent years I have finally found a way to be happy in my own skin.

But this post, oddly, is a bit different from my usual ones. Call it “free-blogging”. This is a stream of consciousness rather than formulated thought and discussion.

A few weird things have happened to me today, resulting in it being quite a momentous day. Up until about four o’clock it had absolutely pissed it down here. Seriously, August has been an utter washout. The kids were bored and complaining and Jase and I were tired and tetchy.

Suddenly, at around 6pm, our neighbours’ kids were out in their garden playing football. They had their English cousins with them. The rain had ceased for the previous hour and the sun had come out, so we got the kids togged out in their coats and shoes and off they went outside to go and say hello to possible new friends.

Now this is a first. For the next hour Skye and Noah chatted, played, confided, giggled and ganged-up with these kids. They were utterly lost in their enjoyment. It’s a first only in the way that our kids are so small, not quite old enough to let them go and play with neighbourhood kids, but old enough to play in the next-door garden when we can see them.

The air was filled with my daughter’s giggles, as my heart was growing with a renewed sense of freedom. The last three years have been really tough. Motherhood has been difficult. More difficult than I ever thought it would be, quite honestly. I know that we face a whole load of new challenges as they grow up, but it does begin to feel like we can taste a little bit of freedom again.

I am writing a poem about how I felt tonight, as I’m feeling pretty inspired. As I started writing I was listening to some music and I heard a track that I have not heard in years.

(Actually, in-between all of this I have just had tweets from a “Rape Bot” on Twitter. What a sick concept. I feel that if I think too much about this, it will send me into a spiral of depression. I just cannot understand it.)

Anyhow, when I was 14 years old, in the months after I was raped, I tended to lock myself away in my bedroom and listen to music. I missed nearly a year of school (much of this is talked about in Part 3 of my interview). I think I just needed to be a recluse.

One song that I listened to incessantly was called “The Life” by Wendy & Lisa (ex-backing band to Prince/The Artist/Squiggle etc). It was as if it had been written for me.

There was one day, around December 1988, that I had attempted to return to school, but had failed miserably. I hadn’t really spoken in days and quite honestly, trying to converse with people my own age was a concept I just couldn’t handle.

I managed a whole school day, even though I had barely spoken, but I came home to collapse in my mothers arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

She ended up calling our family doctor and he came to see me at our house. He was a lovely man. My dad had died from a long battle with cancer in the previous year and he had become a friend of the family. He had seen us through many a tough time.

I remember him asking me that night, “How do you feel?”

I really didn’t know how to relate to anyone at that point. So I ended up playing him the song that I had virtually listened to on repeat for the previous three months – “The Life” by Wendy and Lisa.

He listened intently. He paused. And then he cried.

Back then, I didn’t know what he was thinking of course. Now, maybe I have more of an idea, as an adult, and as a parent.

Nothing that horrific should ever happen to a child.

I have nothing more to say right now. Happy thoughts about a joyous day with my kids are mixing slightly with sickened thoughts of the kind of people that exist “out there”; people who are hellbent on causing others harm and upset.

For now, I would like to share this song with you and also the words. “The Life” by Wendy & Lisa.

I will say this: when I went for my next doctor’s appointment, it turned out he had bought the album.

THE LIFE

This is the life
Everyone has to be somewhere
I am here
Testing a dream
The pressure of dreams is the killer
Of dreams
And it only gets harder

This is the life
This is the life
This is my life

Time is the monster
All of us fight the same monster
To win
I scream when I breathe
Fearing that worry will trigger
All my fears

And it only gets harder

(How did I get so serious?)

This is the life
This is the life
This is the life
This is my life

Everyone has to do something
I am here
Doing what I do best

But this is the life
This is the life
This is the life

(Lyrics and music courtesy of Wendy & Lisa)

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Ha Ha! This Is What It Means To Be Raped

August 13, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

Lately, there has been what I can only describe as a comedy of egos on Twitter.  We all like to be funny.  I do know I do.  There’s nothing better than when I get a few LOLs* and PMSLs* coming back to me from people on Twitter.  Perhaps there is: the side-splitting accolade that is the ROFLMAO*, the gold medal of comedic abbreviations, if you will.  It’s great to know when you are responsible for a chuckle or two.

(*Mum, if you’re reading this, please see the key at the foot of this article.)

Humour is, of course, entirely subjective, hence the kind of eruptions that explode across an online community when egos and sensibilities clash.  Take Keith Chegwin, for example.  He was victim to the usual Twitter backlash recently when he was using other people’s jokes on Twitter but claiming credit for them.  Yes, I know.  It’s serious stuff, this.  Poor Cheggers was then subject to the usual storm of Twitter hatred and eventually, on 21 July, tweeted “Dear me – there are some real bullies here on Twitter – I can take rude comments, done that for years, but cyber bullies and threats – NO.”

Yes, Cheggers had played and been popped.  Don’t worry, Keith, I still love you.  In fact, as a dreamy 12 year old I used to snuggle into my puppy fat at night and dream of you waving a torch into my face and suggesting a quick round of the popping game.

Dom Joly is another perfect example of when humour seems to turn nasty.  I’ve lost track of the number of times he has managed to offend people on Twitter.  Obviously a lover of controversy, he chose to stick the boot into Keith Chegwin too and tweeted some scathing comments about him, incurring the wrath of Chegwin supporters Twitter-wide.

Dom responded by calming re-tweeting the jibes sent to him and adding some vitrolic remarks, designed to tear us *normals* down to size.  He didn’t seem remotely phased by any of the verbal attacks coming his way.  I rather got the impression that he was sitting at his kitchen table, absent-mindedly tweeting with one hand and eating a large doner kebab with the other.  I admit I continue to follow him because he is an absolute master at winding people up to the point of near-suicide.  I can’t help but feel that these silly people that try and take him on should just “stay away from the nasty man”.  After a night of particularly vicious insults being slung back and forth, he tweeted innocently the following day, “Morning all, been up in London, think my nine year old was on my account last night…anything interesting happen?”  I had to LOL.

It could be said I have a pretty off-the-wall, even dark, sense of humour at times.  For example, I did tweet *Eats popcorn faster, grabs quick gulp of Slurpee* during a Tweet Marathon very late at night when Raoul Moat was surrounded by police during his BBC-televised final hours in Rothbury.  Was I really laughing?  No, of course I wasn’t.  I felt uncomfortable and was resorting to my most reliable of defence mechanisms: humour.  I think most people were watching with a sense of fear, sadness, excitement and also with the feeling that, like the townspeople of Rothbury themselves, they just wanted the whole thing to be over and done with.  Despite knowing that I had a 6 a.m. start awaiting me, I couldn’t tear myself away.  That’s human nature, I suppose, just as it is to make light out of uncomfortable situations.

I am sometimes quite proud of my ability to turn things around, to make light out of darkness and to turn the negative into the positive.  But even I, with my off-the-wall sense of humour, have limits.

The other day I was on Twitter and came across a tweet from journalist, writer and Brighton resident, Sali Hughes, commenting on the state of Brighton’s streets after the Pride Festival. “Oh dear. Brighton has been raped”, she declared “Respect to the street cleaners.”

Yes, I know.  It was a joke.  Harmless.  But, bearing in mind that I am known for nothing if not my sense of humour, why was I NOT laughing?  You see, this is where my sensitivity kicks in.

Lately, I have seen the word rape being used so light-heartedly and it has begun to disturb me, just the teeniest bit.  Sali’s innocent tweet was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Now let’s be clear.  Sali Hughes is a very talented writer and journalist, she writes for the The Guardian, Red, Marie Claire, Elle among others.  She has written articles about motherhood and the quest to be a Proper Mum that had me crying with laughter and shared stories of her first tattoo cravings that saw me itching to get down to the Ink Parlour to add to my collection.  I have been a follower since I first opened a Twitter account.

But to me, she is symbolic of a growing trend in using the word rape out of context.  And, frankly, not doing us, the survivors of rape, any good at all.

I am not comfortable with the implication that someone (or in the context she used, something) that is raped is therefore unclean.  As a survivor of rape, I have never felt that way and hate to think of anyone offering the merest suggestion to a victim of recent onset that this is something they perhaps should be feeling.  It is a subconscious suggestion, of course, no-one in their right mind would suggest it purposefully.

The word rape is batted around casually and jokingly and it seems it can mean anything these days: to be made barren, violated, unclean, the list goes on.

But this is what these kinds of jokes have the danger of doing: putting out a very subtle, subconsious awareness that is really not helpful to those of us who are forced to come to terms with the true meaning of the word rape.  This is about changing stereotypes not buying into them.

I have no wish to berate Sali Hughes for this.  Indeed, when I voiced my displeasure on Twitter about the use of the word in joke tweets, I was asked why I didn’t approach her about it.  Er, no thank you.  I have no wish to enter into an argument with someone with in excess of 5000 followers.  I’d be a sitting duck for idiots that wish to retaliate on her behalf and who are hellbent on seeing me crying hysterically into my espresso before deleting my account and organising a proper burial.  I have seen this kind of thing before and I do not wish to expose myself to it.  Besides which, and most importantly, she hasn’t done anything wrong.  Although I did receive many messages from other rape survivors and fans of hers who felt a little disappointed in her choice of words.  I see it as more of a symptom of our society.

It didn’t end there, incidentally.  That same day, American actor Gary Busey tweeted this gem that got repeatedly re-tweeted by his followers, and their followers in turn:

“Rape is R.A.P.E. (R)ejecting (A)nother (P)erson’s (E)motions. So don’t R.A.P.E. people.”

Quite.  Lovely sentiments, Gary.  Thanks for that.  Actually, Mr Busey, I don’t connect the objective of rape as anything to do with rejection, or indeed emotion.  In my understanding and experience, a rape victim is seen to the attacker as devoid of emotion, a non-entity, a thing to be overpowered, controlled and violated.  I’m sure you meant well though, Gary.

Of course, rejecting another person’s emotions is indeed not a nice thing to do.  But is it on a par with committing the act of rape?  I think not.

I sent Mr Busey a message asking him where he got this little pearl of wisdom from, but I fear my tweet was lost amongst the sea of adoring followers who were RTing his every muscle movement without really knowing what it might mean to some people.

So what IS rape?
In criminal law, rape is an assault by a person involving sexual intercourse with another person without that person’s consent.  Though definitions vary, rape is defined in most jurisdictions as sexual intercourse, or other forms of sexual penetration, by one person (“the accused” or “the perpetrator”) with or against another person (“the victim”) without the consent of the victim.

Yes, yes, yes.  But that’s just words.  What does it actually mean?  What does it actually feel like?  Sadly, countless people, women and men, have suffered at the hands of a rapist.  They could tell you.  Or could they?  Many choose to keep quiet, believing they have to suffer alone.

Since Part 1 of my interview Why Not Me with Karl of The Dialogue Project, I have had hundreds of messages and stories from other rape survivors.  Some who have only recently been attacked, but also others who lived through experiences many years ago, but still find these experiences affect their lives now.

I wrote about some of the reactions in my last blog post From The Men’s Room & Other Places.  What has shocked me to the core, however is the sheer number of people who have had some kind of personal experience of rape or sexual assault.  Even close friends have come to me with their own stories that until now they have been afraid to talk about.

Each experience is different, unique.  We also need to remember that it is not only the victim of the attack that has no choice but to endure a time of suffering and embark upon a journey of recovery after the crime of rape is committed.  It affects everyone: partners, families, friends and acquaintances.

Imagine a heavy stone being thrown into a small pond and watching what happens in slow motion.  At the initial impact, the entire environment changes.  Everything that lives in the pond is affected, thrown into turmoil, confused, frightened.  It takes time for things to get back to normal.  But actually, things cannot be normal again.  It’s impossible.  The landscape is forever changed.

Therefore, please don’t judge me too harshly for not laughing at the current trend of rape jokes.  I’m still swimming in that pond, you see.

And I’m not the only one.  “He” (the man who raped us, I still have difficulty saying his name) had a wife.  He had two small children aged 4 years and 4 months respectively when he chose to come after us.  They continue to live with his legacy as I do, and I feel that they are just as much victims as I am.  In fact, maybe even more so.  His children lost a father, not only because he was taken away from them, but also because they will never be able to know him without the label of “rapist” that he will carry around with him for the rest of his life.

Yes, I suffered a loss too.  I lost myself.  But I’m finding myself again and I am now ready to talk about how I continue to recover from rape, even after 22 years.

Once again, this is my tale to tell, I am not a voice for anyone but me.

THIS is what it means to ME.  This is what is means to be raped.

You can hear about my journey to find myself again in Part 2 of Why Not Me, which is available to listen to today.  I would urge you, if you haven’t already done so, to listen to Part 1 first.  There will be two more instalments to my story and these will be available in the next few weeks.  Check this blog for details, or visit Karl’s blog.

Part 1:    Why Not Me? (Stereo Version and introduction from Karl)

Part 2:    Why Not Me? (Stereo Version and introduction from Karl)

Audioboo (mono version) Part 1
Audioboo (mono version) Part 2

*MUM’S KEY
LOL – Laugh Out Loud (I would describe this as a belly laugh)
PMSL – Piss Myself Laughing (Something a little less controlled, something along the lines of hysterical giggles)
ROFLMAO – Roll On Floor Laughing My Arse Off (Laughing that might require attendance by the emergency services)

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From The Men’s Room & Other Places

July 30, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

It’s been very stormy in our little corner of Lac Leman in the last few days. It’s a welcome change after weeks of stifling temperatures; after sun-baked days in over-crowded playgrounds with over-heated, over-tired children and over-stuffed bags bursting at the seams with water-bottles, sticky lolly wrappers, already-drying-out baby wipes and greasy bottles of melted sun lotion.

Suddenly, we’ve found ourselves rain-dancing! Hopping around, barefoot in the grass, giggling and rejoicing at feeling bursts of cool droplets on our frazzled skin. After last summer’s patch of storms, I am pleased to say that my little girl is no longer scared of them. Like me, she now matches her excitement to the increasing pressure around her, as the storm gains momentum and menacing grey and purple clouds form a canopy above her. I no longer have to close the doors, as instead she and her little brother insist on standing on our picnic table on the terrace to watch the storm’s progress in the valley, letting forth squeals and claps of delight as they do so.

I think it’s simply that now they are getting older, they can begin to sense and understand that blissful feeling of relief; when oppressive, stagnant air is cleansed and purged, making way for fresh air, fresh thinking, a fresh start. Change. It often isn’t something to be afraid of. With what can often be perceived as unsettling change, something to be feared, there comes a new-found space of comfort and possibility.

Fear and comfort are words that have come up in my life many times recently. This is mainly due to the conversation I recently had with Karl from The Dialogue Project. The interview was published online on 16 July. Many of you know about this interview, indeed many have helped me to publicise it far and wide. Many of you have listened. Indeed, I have had an overwhelming and often shocking response to it, but it has taken until now to let the dust settle a little, for me to gather my thoughts and to make some kind of sense of my feelings about the reactions I received.

The following are descriptions of some of the reactions I received. Only some, however. The actual volume of the response was overwhelming and I continue to express my gratitude to those who have taken the time to listen to the interview and who have contacted me to express how they felt…

The Victim
Unfortunately, there were some negative reactions, or at least ones that unsettled me a little…

The reaction that saddened me the most was from a lady who found herself to be incredibly emotional after hearing the conversation. She contacted me to say that I had given her a voice. Although as I reiterated to her, this was not something I was intending to do, as I believe with all the passion possible that a person’s own situation is entirely unique. It transpired that she was a victim herself and was obviously having a few issues surrounding her own situation.

What was odd, however, was that having contacted me for a couple of days after the interview was published, suddenly, and inexplicably, she was gone. She didn’t answer my messages, she unfollowed me on Twitter and simply disappeared into cyberspace.

I was shocked, saddened, but that wasn’t all. Her disappearance happened on the day I tweeted and indeed blogged about the fact I was struggling. I felt abandoned. My so-called strength was a double-edged sword. When bystanders, onlookers, friends see you as strong, as someone who bounces back constantly, it is easy to think that you don’t need any help. There was I, putting it in black and white that I was feeling vulnerable, frightened, emotional, and the very people who had previously confirmed that they had cause to understand were the very people to remain silent upon hearing my call for help.

Don’t get me wrong, everyone has choices and I utterly respect her decision to no longer correspond. However, bearing in mind that she had been the subject of some negative Twitter reaction to her tweets about being a victim, I cannot help but feel that this disappearing act was just a way of reverting back to what she might have felt was expected of her by her followers. To me it felt like something was being conveniently swept under the carpet. However, this is not my situation and I can only speak for myself. I sent her a brief, but heartfelt message finally, wishing her all the best for the future.

Those Questioning My Motive
To talk during the interview so honestly and openly of a situation where I had no power, no control and no choice, and essentially was in fear for my life and that of my Mother’s, was intensely difficult. Many have asked how I was able to do it. The answer is simple, to talk about it is easier than being attacked. I will try to explain this further. I lived through the attack, and indeed have lived through other extremely difficult life situations both prior to it and since (see below about subsequent chapters to my interview). My theory is this: live through this and it makes anything else seem like a day at the beach. There is simply nothing to fear from a conversation.

Equally, there were those that asked why? Indeed, one person asked what I was getting from doing the interview in the first place and also what were others getting from it by listening? For a brief explanation (a detailed one taking a day at least), I can only answer in numbers, essentially: 1500 blog hits in one day, over 500 responses to my interview, new friendships, new conversations, new opportunities, but perhaps most importantly, I feel that this is another piece of my life’s healing process.

I can, however, understand these kinds of questions. As I have grown up in recent years and have been on a journey of learning self-acceptance, I have had to learn to accept others. I have come to understand that just as I am intensely open and wear my heart on my sleeve, there are equally people who are intensely private and who do not. These are people who perhaps have felt uncomfortable listening to such a detailed and graphical account of what happened.

Indeed, in regard to the graphical nature of the conversation, I received one comment on how, when I recounted my ordeal, I was surprisingly unemotional.

I can say that, when you listen to the audio, you will hear me describe how my tummy is tight and there is an uncomfortable feeling in my chest. I was NOT unemotional.

But actually, as regards the mechanics of the attack, it is simply that I have largely dealt with it. Yes, I have had my nightmares. I still get them at times. But I find describing the in-depth details of the attack as easy as describing a recipe or discussing what happened on Eastenders last night. It has taken several years of counselling to get to that stage, but I’m there.

I would hope that this is something to be proud of, it is not something that belittles my ordeal or indeed that of any other person who has suffered at the hands of an attacker.

The Men’s Room
I suppose the most surprising wave of reaction I received came from men. I was in awe and delighted at how many men contacted me after the interview and were keen to give their viewpoint.

I don’t know why I was so surprised. Maybe I felt that my interview might be taken as me “jumping on an anti-male bandwagon”. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I have never had a problem specifically with men. I love men! When I feel confused as a woman, I envy their logic and their matter-of-factness. I often envy their detachment; and by that I do not mean a lack of passion – but their ability to compartmentalise aspects of their lives. It is a skill I often wish I had.

I sometimes wish I had the ability to see the world in black and white, as I feel that many men have the ability to do, instead of these confusing hues of charcoal and grey that I find my vision filtered with.  Again, this is simply my perception.

At the risk of sounding patronising, however, I often feel sorry for men. Particularly in situations when someone they know has been raped.

To some of the men I spoke to, I wanted to swap roles and be their protector. Indeed, with some I was; I was the comforter, the consoler, the one to tell them it was all OK.

But I am more than qualified to do that, because I am the character in the story and I am OK. I have survived.

The Protectors
One close male friend simply couldn’t listen to the interview for longer than 5 minutes because he felt so angry. He sent me a message apologising, but explained that he felt almost violent. He just could not face listening any longer. No apology was necessary.

An understanding of the wave of angry male reaction came from a really helpful conversation I had with Jason, my partner. He told me:

“As a man, it is entirely normal to feel angry. When I listened, I was clenching my teeth as I thought of what that man did to you. It was extremely harrowing and difficult to listen to. You have to understand that as a man, I felt ashamed. I find it hard to tolerate that “one of my kind” would do that to another human being. It offends and angers me. And, of course, I wanted nothing more than to be transported back over twenty years, just so that I would have a chance to protect you”

The Fearless
One of the sweetest, nicest reactions I had was from a man that I correspond with online quite frequently. He is a married man with a child, hopelessly in love with this wife, bearing the strain of being a new Dad; a thoughtful, funny, intelligent guy. I would say that he and I have become close, in that I have shared things with him that I do not with others, except Jason. I do not know what our connection means, as I don’t really analyse it. I simply think of him as a good friend.

He contacted me halfway through listening to the interview, explaining that he was upset and had to take a break before carrying on.

Later he contacted me and said, “I have an overwhelming urge to tell you that I love you.”

He continued, “I don’t know how I feel, it’s a confusing combination. I feel sick. I feel sad. I feel strangely elated too. I want to talk to you about it, but I don’t. I want to look into your eyes. I want to hold you.”

He clarified, “It feels different to the love I feel for my friends and family.”

He then went on almost apologising for this reaction, as if he shouldn’t have said it.

But I understood what he meant. And I told him I loved him back.

There have been times in my life when I have developed relationships with people of any age or gender and have felt an overwhelming rush of love for their spirit, for their outlook, for what they represent, for who they are.

I would hate to have to go through life being unable to express love for someone. I loved his honesty and the fact that he was not scared to tell me. It made my day.

After all, if we cannot express love, then why are we here?

Saving The Best Until Last
Finally, and perhaps most poignantly, Karl received some reactions from close friends and colleagues who voiced concerns about the true state of my emotional well-being.

They asked him, “How could you possibly know that she was ok with doing the interview? She might have said she was, but how do you really know?”

There is no easy answer to this, as to understand fully, you would perhaps have needed to be a fly-on-the-wall during our conversation.

How can I explain? We shared something that day, almost from the very moment he got off the train at Villeneuve station. It was an understanding. Only the two of us can ever know how special that conversation was. Of course, I dearly hope that the connection we shared and the naturalness of the situation translated onto the audio. Perhaps my apparent ease in describing how I was violated, perversely translates into me being “unemotional” as previously described?

There are many questions that will remain unanswered…

Perhaps the questions Karl received regarding this lead me to the most important point about doing the interview in the first place.

I chose to do the interview.

This was a situation to which I had choices open to me and I made my decision with strength, forethought and in a time in my life when I am finally happy, on solid ground and, perhaps most importantly, surrounded by love.

I also made the decision with a very open mind as to the reaction I would receive and what might follow in terms of publicity after the interview was published online.

And, I made the decision knowing that it would be extremely hard for friends and family to listen to. But I felt that, so long as I spoke from my perspective only and in no way tried to convey that I was a voice for anyone else, no one close to me would feel the need to voice any serious objection to it.

I am sorry for those of you that felt uncomfortable. I am sorry that you had to experience those feelings. But I remain without regret at doing the interview. The rape happened, it wasn’t nice, but it happened.

To sum up everything, as to why this interview took place, I will say this:

To take back my power and control over twenty years after it was stripped away from me, is a very healing thing indeed. It is not something I have been able to do properly until now. I needed to be heard as Jane the adult, Jane the Mother, Jane the almost-healed.

And, to me, THAT is the entire point.

Please note:

There are two more chapters of my interview to come. There is a lot more to this story. The second chapter will be published online in around a fortnight’s time. I will publish the date as soon as it is available.

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A Message of Love

July 23, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

Since the web publication of my interview last Thursday, I have been swinging from the rooftops to the gutter and back up again. I always knew I would, so I am “comfortable” with this state of uncertainty.  I have lived through this many times.

This is just a “mini-post”.  I have much to write about, but I guess I can’t let the words “flow” until I can actually say out loud “I Am Struggling…”

I’ve been listening to music most of the afternoon and, yes, the tears have come. They are positively gushing.  I will feel better for it, I always do.  I am comfortable embracing a breakdown or two, so long as they are small ones, not the sort that threaten to “take me down”.

The main purpose of this post, however, is that I have had many people contact me this week who, like me, are struggling a little.  Some have said it is because my interview has brought things to the “surface” for them and made them look at things in their life that perhaps they didn’t want to.

I can’t really say that I am “sorry” for doing the interview, but I can say that I am sorry for causing any upset, if indeed I have.  I am thinking of them, and will help when and where I can.

For now, a little dedication to you all.

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My ANGER at second Rape at Latitude Festival

July 18, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

I couldn’t believe it either.  Another rape has allegedly taken place.

To think of all of this going on during such a poignant weekend in my home county is becoming too much to bear.

I am sure that the facts about each of these cases will unfold during the fullness of time, and of course because of this I am at risk of sounding like I am jumping onto a very wobbly bandwagon, perhaps in need of a little more firm structure.  But I am finding it impossible to hold back.  All of this has left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and has brought back some horrible memories of my first few days after I was attacked.

It has been very emotional indeed.

Late last night, I hit a kind of “breaking point”.  After reading a wonderful comment on my WHY NOT ME? post, I just couldn’t hold tears back any longer.  The floodgates opened.  The person leaving the comment is someone that I correspond with a little on Twitter and I like her immensely.  But that wasn’t the main reason why it meant so much.  It was because it felt to me that finally, because of my writing and my interview, someone who I have never met has been able to see into my soul and has recognised the painful and often soul-destroying journey I have undertaken to get to this point.

Is it about ego-stroking? Perhaps a little. I would be a liar if I said I didn’t want any recognition in trying to get my story published.  But it is more than just about getting my name known.

I have worked my ARSE off for the best part of 20 years to try and recover from this horrific thing that happened to me, and to my family.  We will never be the same people again and we have all had to work so hard to try and get our lives back on an even keel.  It is no mean feat.  We are still not “there” yet and I honestly don’t think we ever will be.  I have simply decided to accept it and to live life to the full, because this joyous gift we have is all too short.

I want people to recognise the severity of these crimes and the hardship involved in “recovery”.  It is not something that should be swept under the carpet with a kind of exasperated “Oh, shouldn’t you be over this by now?!”

Awareness about rape and making it a subject that we can talk about more easily can only help the victims: the person attacked and their extended family and friends.

The last few days have seen me lay myself wide open in a way that I have never done before.  Yes, I write my blog and yes, I am hugely open about my experiences on it, but essentially my blog is still just a load of words on a computer screen.

Suddenly, after hundreds of messages from people, I am realising the magnitude of what I am doing.  I feel that I am finally reaching people.  And it has hurt.  A lot.  But I won’t stop.

My emotional state now?

I am so ANGRY that now it seems two more people, at least, have to begin a new life because their old one was so cruelly taken away from them, or at least changed beyond choice.  I say at least because they are not the only victims in these kinds of circumstances; partners, family members and friends are affected forever.  Nothing remains the same.

And for that, I am livid.

The women that it happened to, of course, will not know me, but for the sake of my headspace and to enable me to move on with my day, I need to write a message for them now:

What has happened is neither right nor fair.  You may ask yourselves Why Me? and it is entirely normal to feel this way. The truth is, you will never find the answer, just as parents who lose a young child, or a newlywed loses a partner, will never truly find the answers to their questions. That is the nature of life: its unfairness, its darkness.

I would urge you to take each day at a time and to surround yourself with family and friends’ support when available.  Talk. Hug. Cry. Laugh.  Don’t ever feel guilty for laughing.

Most importantly, and this may be a little too early to say, but “those men” can never really truly “have you”.  They took control briefly; do not let their control continue, otherwise they have won.  YOU own your soul, they didn’t even scrape the surface.

Jane x

Suffolk Skies

Suffolk Skies

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Rape at The Latitude Festival

July 17, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

Yesterday was a very special day for me. My interview with Karl at The Dialogue Project was played to people in the forest at The Latitude Festival.  The Festival is especially important to me, as takes place in my beautiful and much-loved home county of Suffolk.

I have been so very touched by countless messages from friends on Twitter who have read my blog and from some of those people who took the time to listen to my interview.  I have read messages that have really touched my heart, both from people in support of me, who applaud the way I am trying to be so open about such a terrible ordeal, but also from those who have suffered themselves and who, like me, continue on a journey to make sense of it all.

It was truly uplifting.  So I ended the day on a high.

Until I heard the news.

Yesterday, a woman was raped at The Latitude Festival.

I voiced my heartache at this last night on Twitter:

@janeprinsep: CRYING. My interview is being played at Latitude about #raperecovery, just as another victim’s journey is beginning.

It seems so utterly devastating and ironic to me, that potentially whilst people were sitting in the forest, listening to my voice talking about recovery from an horrific crime, somebody, somewhere close by, was having their control stripped away from them, their choices wiped out and their life path altered in ways they will not yet even be able to understand.

Karl emailed me just now and voiced his sadness at this attack happening.  He, like me, however, feels that it makes it even MORE important now for the interview to be heard.

To me, the whole point is this:

Rape, abuse, call it whatever you want, it keeps happening.  And sadly, it always will.  I do not claim to be in any way a kind of “voice for other victims”.  I can only speak for myself.

But if hearing my voice can help another victim in some small way, even if it is just to get them out of bed on one particular morning, then this is all worthwhile.

You have a choice.  Please choose to listen.

Thank you.

Jane x

Aldeburgh

Me & the kids at Aldeburgh beach, Suffolk

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Why Not Me?

July 16, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

It’s here! Please click on this link to go to Karl’s blog and hear my conversation with him.  It’s approximately 20 minutes.  There is also a longer version, elaborating further on many parts of my story.  I urge you to listen when it’s available.  It’s a story of HOPE.  Thank you, as ever, for reading and listening.  Jane xx

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I May Not Be A Lady…

July 16, 2010 by Jane Prinsep

Recently, a very dear friend of mine, Olivia Mackinder, asked me on Twitter what my latest blog post would be about.

I responded thoughtfully, “Femininity, Judgement and Listening.”

“Quite an epic then!” She replied.  She wasn’t wrong.

The truth is, there is so much going on in my life right now that I do not know where to begin. For those of you that read my previous post about my interview with Karl from The Dialogue Project, and who know me well, you will know that since the interview, I have been on an emotional rollercoaster. Not least because I have had to listen to the interview to give Karl the go ahead. But I’ll talk more about how that felt later…

For now, I guess I’ll just start with the description I gave to Olivia and try and elaborate on what each part of that sentence means to me.

Feminity.  I have struggled with that word.  Not in my understanding of it, but merely in my embracing of it, as part of me; a woman.

In 2004, during a time when I was dabbling with things of a tree-hugging and crystal-dangling nature, I attended a course in Birmingham called “Love Yourself, Heal Your Life”.  It was a week long course, based on the book by Louise Hay.  The course included 40 participants and concentrated on activities and exercises designed to “strip away” negative thinking patterns, encourage positivity and, ultimately, leave the participant with an understanding of how to love themselves fully.  Why I embarked upon that course is, again, part of my story that I would like to expand upon in book form.

That course marked the start of a chain of life-changing events that saw me uprooted from my home in a beautiful, sleepy part of rural Suffolk and tossed me effortlessly through a whirlwind, and intensely difficult, few years.  I finally came back down to earth and a peaceful, albeit it possibly temporary, resting place in a tranquil part of Switzerland.

The course itself was intense, upsetting, awkward, joyous, terrifying and hysterical.  From six minute hugs with complete strangers (and I mean big bear hugs, body against body, cheek to cheek) to beating pillows with fists and screaming like banshees, it was utter madness; Underpants-On-Heads-And-Pencils-Wedged-In-Nostrils MADNESS.

Patricia Crane, the course facilitator and author of Ordering From The Cosmic Kitchen said that our group had been one of the “most vulnerable she had encountered in several years”.  Personally, I think she was referring to me.  I was particularly loopy.

So loopy, in fact, that when I left the course on Sunday evening, vowing to make my marriage work and become a different person (essentially to “make him love me again”), it only took me until the following Thursday to leave my husband and have sex with a stranger in a pub toilet. I was in utter turmoil.  And this turmoil marked a time in my life when I began to “freefall”….

But what had “unleashed” this part of me? During intense moments on the course, I realised that I had a problem with beauty and femininity.  It had dawned on me that I simply felt I wasn’t feminine. I wasn’t beautiful. I had nothing to offer. Nothing to offer anyone at all.  I was just a thing that took up space.

So, of course, it stands to reason that, at the end of the course, when I had decided to try and like myself and not to buy into an idea that had previously been sold to me that I was unattractive, undesirable; unwanted, the first person to show me some interest and affection would receive nothing but interest and affection from me.  Perhaps a little too much…

That was then.  After leaving my husband and being sexually promiscuous for a time, I realised that my reaction to being starved of attention for so long was unrealistic and that I needed to calm down.  What had been fun and exciting was turning into yet another way to damage my self-esteem.  I was sabotaging myself.  I found equilibrium once more through abstaining from relationships and travelling on my own around Borneo.  I came back refreshed, cleansed; at peace.  I did not know that some time after my return to the UK, I would find a new relationship, one based on love, equality, partnership, respect and, above all, friendship.  Another story, for another time…

Jump forward four years and the word femininity has come into play in my life once more.  After three years of being at home with small children, the time has come to once again embrace my womanhood.  Sick of feeling like a drudge, a carer, even a slave at times, I recently went out and bought a few summer dresses.  After a rare night out, tarted up to the nines in a summer dress and high heels, I vowed on Twitter that I wanted to wear dresses more.  That same night I stayed up until gone 2 am, just clattering around the parquet flooring in my new heels like a drunken Bambie, and not unlike a small child refusing to take off new slippers at bedtime.  In fact, I seem to recall placing my heels next to my bed when I slept, so that they would be the first thing I would see when I woke up. Forget the unspoilt angelic faces of my beautiful children gently waking me from my slumber in the morning, I wanted to see my Fuck Me Shoes.

That was three weeks ago and I am proud to say that I have worn a floaty little number every day since making that statement. And man, I feel like a woman!

That brings me to judgement…

Many of you know that these days, Twitter is my social media of choice.  I find it great to make new connections and, above all, publicise my writing. It works well in both areas.

But it has its downsides. I just happen to have unwittingly slipped down two of them in the last fortnight.  Whilst innocently tweeting with friends the other night, a mysterious user by the name of @TrueLoveQuest tweeted me.

The conversation thread went something like this:

(To my followers) @janeprinsep: So to summarise, my previous threats of GOING GIRLIE have been carried out. I’m wearing a dress. I have legs not wheels. It’s utter madness.
(In he comes…) @TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep After years of careful research I arrived to a very important conclusion about women. I like them.  Good for you.
(Forever the Court Jester) @janeprinsep: @TrueLoveQuest Me too. Especially the soft, sweet-smelling ones that down a pint, tell a filthy joke and go home and make raspberry coulis.

Now at that point, you would be forgiven for thinking I was being flippant.  HOWEVER, if you had also taken the time to read my tweets, I am often joking and it is meant to disarm, not offend.

The conversation continued:

@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep If you’re not doing it for love you’re wasting your time. Life is more fun when love is involved.
(Intrigued…) @janeprinsep: @TrueLoveQuest Er, that’s very deep indeed. Doing what, precisely? I am a big fan of the FUN + LOVE mashup.
@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep We measure our lives, not by days of years, but by how many times we have loved and been loved.
(Spying a challenge…) @janeprinsep: @TrueLoveQuest If someone has never been loved or been in love, does that make their life worthless? If their deeds and words come from love?
(And like a dog with a bone…) @janeprinsep: @TrueLoveQuest When you say “we”, who are you speaking for exactly? Surely we only speak for ourselves?
@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep When our lifetime is complete we don’t get a chance to speak for ourselves. Those that we leave behind speak for us.
(Flippantly…ok, ok, SORRY!) @janeprinsep: @TrueLoveQuest Evasive. If I was standing at a bus stop with ALL my friends and family, and a bus mowed us all down, I’d be FUCKED, yes?
THEN THIS SET OF CORKERS!!!
@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep Have no fear my dear. All is not lost for I love you. And always will. I can see the beautiful child hiding inside.
@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep I hope someday you regain your faith in love.
@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep Every day we are given a choice, to love or to hate. That includes ourselves.  It is your choice, not mine to make, every day.
@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep May you find peace, and love, and happiness on your chosen path thru life.  I have on mine.
@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep It is when we share our differences of opinion that our view of the world grows larger.

Now, bear in mind at this point, that Mr TLQ has been following ME, not vice versa…

He then went on to tweet on his general timeline, to his followers:

@TrueLoveQuest If you don’t believe in yourself you forfeit the right to expect others to.  So what did you expect, the truth or a lie?
@TrueLoveQuest Surrender is not complete until both sides have laid down their weapons.
@TrueLoveQuest Unless you learn to forgive and forget, when the anger fades fear will always rush in to take its place.
@TrueLoveQuest There will always be times when we feel the courage of our convictions begin to fade and we seek the consolation of friends to renew us.
@TrueLoveQuest I am having one of the those moments.
@TrueLoveQuest There are so many in the world today who have suffered so much, and lost the desire to love and be loved.
@TrueLoveQuest As their hate slowly consumes them they wreak havoc upon those who venture too close to the locked and bolted door to their heart.

He then addressed me again:
@TrueLoveQuest: @janeprinsep I am sorry if I have annoyed you.  If you find no value in our conversation then I will quit.  But, I will remember you.
(Wanting to end this now…) @janeprinsep: @TrueLoveQuest You’re so at peace & basking in pure love, but WHY is your voice fighting to be heard on others’ timelines UNINVITED?
(And to hammer it home…) @janeprinsep: @TrueLoveQuest You haven’t annoyed me. I would only get hurt and annoyed by someone who mattered.  I just find your viewpoint invalid.
(And finally…) @janeprinsep: @TrueLoveQuest I wish you all the best. I won’t take any of this personally, as I understand it is purely projection.  Good luck.

Some VERY strong words and implied accusations were thrown at me that evening. Hate, Anger, Fear. Losing the desire to love and be loved.  And they applied to ME?

Upon checking his timeline, NOT ONE person had tweeted him during the period of this exchange. Several had tweeted me in support.  I am in no way saying that the number of times a person is tweeted has any correlation with how much they are loved.  BUT, he had made the accusation that I did not have love in my life. What does that mean?  Does it mean that he understands the true meaning of love and I do not?

He wasn’t the only one.  After a brief exchange the other morning, a follower by the name of @David_Standard branded me immoral, depraved and banal.  This was after I had offered him a “cyber-towel” because he had tweeted that he was hot.  He took offence to this because he thought I was trying to chat him up.  He reminded me that he was married.  I reminded him that he was insane and of a one-track mind.  Cue some thoughtfully-worded tweets from the Twitter Mob (my loyal followers) and within half an hour Mr Standard-By-Name-Standard-By-Nature had deleted his account and was swallowed up into the mush that is Twitter History.  Actually, I am not proud of that, I am not proud that he deleted his account essentially because of me.  However, I do think that if you sling mud, you should expect to get dirty.

But, as with every new experience in life, that lead me to think a lot about judgement.  Here was a stranger, two in fact, questioning my behaviour, whether or not I was happy, whether I knew what true love really was.  Am I? Do I?  One thing I do know, is that I am my own judge.

The way I see it, everything in life is multi-faceted. That’s what makes it, and indeed us, interesting.  Am I happy? Yes, sometimes.  Am I angry, yes, sometimes.

Am I depraved because I give my daughter Reiki before she goes to bed, and then go online and make jokes about wanking?  Am I immoral because I like to write about sexual fantasies, and then have a coffee break, change my son’s nappy and watch a bit of This Morning?  Am I banal for writing, talking, joking about sex?  Does the fact that I do all of those things make the relationship with my partner any less sacred?

I want to be a “good person”.  I strive to be “balanced”.  But that does not forgo the desire to explore new experiences, languish in light and shade and jump off the springboard of joy to delve into the “darkest depths” of the human psyche from time to time.

I suppose in some ways you could say that I am on a quest for True Love.  Not some Mills & Boon love story with a knight in shining armour, however.  I already have my Geek Boyfriend and I love him beyond all measure (I am so glad I decided to “think outside the box” when I first met him).

Maybe I could describe my life as being a quest to love myself.  But in doing that, I am learning to accept and love the darker sides to myself too.  Those that can’t, well that’s entirely their business…

And so to listening…

Recently I listened to my interview.  I poured a glass of wine, sat on my terrace overlooking the mountains, lit candles and plugged myself into my headphones.  Within 20 seconds I was in tears.  Not because I was “ripe” for a breakdown, but simply because it was the first time I had been able to step outside myself and think, “Wow Chick, you’ve been through A LOT!  Well done for getting this far!”  I wanted to hug that girl, I wanted to hold her tight and never let go.

And after an hour of listening, crying, gulping wine and blowing my nose, I learned something about the “darker” sides to myself that some may not approve of…

The very fact that I can enjoy sex, whether doing it or talking about it, is a miracle.  One that I am prepared to rejoice about until the day I shuffle off this mortal coil.

For that I remain resolutely unashamed.

I hope that @TrueLoveQuest listens to my dialogue with Karl, if nothing else, just on the basis that he expected me to listen to him and I think it would show his good manners if he would return the favour.

I actually think he might learn something about True Love.

And as for everyone else, tomorrow you get to see for yourselves.  You will learn a little more about me, if you indeed choose to sit down and listen.  I hope you do.  I hope you will listen so that you can recommend to any other victims of a sexual attack to listen to it too.  My dearest wish is that this piece of audio will reach someone who lies on their bed at night, terrified, disturbed, alone and can give them just the tiniest flicker of hope that life WILL become joyous again.

Because it WILL.

I also hope you will listen because it will make my journey to this point even more worthwhile than it has already become.

Tomorrow is the day you get to listen.

I am fully aware that everyone will make their own judgement.

Go on, judge me…

This blog post is dedicated to Olivia Mackinder.  Olivia features in my whole “story” in other ways too. I’m not giving too much away as there is plenty of time for that, other than when I think of when I first met her I will always think of mittens-on-a-string.  It ALWAYS makes me smile.  What I will say now, is that if it wasn’t for Olivia, I would not have met Karl. I would not have had this life-changing conversation with him.  For that, and for many other things, I am truly thankful to her.

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