Although I was a victim of childhood sex abuse, I have found my own experiences too confused to purposefully write about. I believe that is changing as memories are being ordered and the patterns and strategies of denial are becoming clearer.
But when I wanted to write my way out of it, I was far from ready, so I turned it into a cosmic drama. And indeed my own inner child, with Christ like pomposity, thought he could take on & resolve every victim’s suffering.
I based the details of abuse on that of a friends from the Welsh care home scandal – several decades before the events of my story. Politicians & other powerful people used the care home as a brothel. (I fear & suspect that nothing has really changed & it is still happening now.)
For the sake of accuracy I asked my friend to share what he was comfortable with talking about. A lot filtered through into the story. But here is one snippet that had no place. It bothered me, though, so I will let my friend tell you, in his own words:
“Or as a certain police officer put it to me. “you don’t get anything for nothing in this life you know, you should think yourself lucky to be in such a nice children’s home. You could easily fall down this bank and smash your head against a rock in the river and not be found for days.”