Sherrie
Trigger warning: sexual abuse, rape, abuse.
You enter a new relationship, thinking everything will be filled with puppies and rainbows. You smile thinking he’ll treat you like the princess you deserve to be.
This was what was on my mind when I started seeing this man. It was a journey I did not imagine – one that would change me forever. At the age of 17, I didn’t know anything about abusive behaviour, red flags, and most importantly, sexual consent.
This man was very charming. He was a smooth talker. He knew how to make himself look good.
For a few months, we emailed each other. I would go to the local library every second day after school in anticipation for an email from him. We also texted each other when we could.
I don’t remember exactly what he said to me, but he had me hooked. He was that smooth.
He had separated from his long-term partner who he had a baby with. He was feeding me stories about how she was a psychopath. I believed every word.
He came to Sydney for a week and stayed with me. Prior to him arriving, I let him know that I was a virgin and I wasn’t ready. He said he respected that. I smiled when he said that.
All of that changed on his second night in Sydney.
It was the first time I had shared a bed with the opposite sex. He hid a condom in my bookshelf, and it was that very moment I realised he was going to take my virginity.
We did not talk about sex. We did not talk about what our expectations were. We did not talk about sexual consent.
I do not remember everything about that night, but I remember the shock and pain which happened during sex. I remember putting my hands on his pelvis, trying to push him away because the pain was unbearable. He was too strong and I felt so helpless. I gave up and allowed him to further penetrate me until he was satisfied.
He never once asked if I wanted this. He never checked on me to see if I was okay.
His own satisfaction was his ultimate goal.
I was wearing my Sydney 2000 Paralympic Games t-shirt and I left it on the entire time. I loved that t-shirt, yet after that night I hated it. He had ruined it by creating a memory I did not want it to be associated with.
The worst thing was my baby sister hearing everything because we shared the same bedroom. She was 10. She didn’t need to be exposed to what was happening a few metres away.
I woke up the next morning and I was still in pain. I was still in shock; my brain kept replaying the entire night. I was also emotionally and physically exhausted.
I got out of my bed and went to the bathroom. I had a hot shower to wash him off me. I tried washing my lady bits but I couldn’t because it hurt so much. After getting dressed, I grabbed a bag of frozen peas and wrapped it in a towel. I went back into the bathroom and placed it on my lady bits. The coldness coming from the frozen peas was the comfort I needed.
I still did not know how I felt about having my virginity taken away so suddenly.
He was sitting in the lounge when I walked back to my room. I left him to his own devices whilst I took the sheets off my bed. There was blood on the sheets and I felt disgusted at the sight of it. It was clear evidence of what had happened the night before.
These sheets were my favourite, only to be forever ruined by this memory I did not want.
Walking into the lounge, he smiled at me and said, “You’re shining like a diamond. Last night was amazing”.
I remember that moment so clearly because it was also when my brain was still replaying the night like a broken record. It was also when I felt so dismayed at the audacity of this man. I smiled the best I could and went on with the day.
How dare he do this to me.
The next night, we were sleeping on the sofa bed in the lounge when he asked for sex. I said no. He pleaded. I still said no. He asked why. I knew I had to be straight up with him, so I said I was still sore and I didn’t want to have sex. He wasn’t happy yet he asked for a blowjob. I wasn’t comfortable with the thought of having a penis in my mouth, so I said no. He grumpily went to sleep. I shrugged and went to sleep.
The rest of the week with him was a blur; however, I had sex with him few more times because I felt obligated to.
I remember being dismayed one morning when he said, “Hey Sherrie, last night was bloody amazing. Six times?! Wow.”
I could only remember the three times we had sex the night before — but three extra times? That had me baffled. Until much later on, I realised there was a very high possibility he had raped me throughout the night but I couldn’t prove it.
He went back home. I think I was still in a state of shock because so much happened that week and I didn’t have any opportunity to process everything.
I saw him again in April during the Australian Deaf Games. Again, that week was a blur. Whenever I did not want sex, he would plead until I gave in. By the end of that week, I was conditioned to give sex whenever he demanded for it.
He had already cheated on me numerous times prior to the Australian Deaf Games with the mother of his kid and he continued doing that after the Games when he went back home. I remember asking him why and he said he wanted to see his son. A pathetic excuse.
Something did not feel right. Who would use sex to see their kid?
I left home a month shy of turning 18 and moved up to Brisbane. That first night in Brisbane, I was so exhausted because I did not get a wink of sleep on the XPT train. I was staying at his house, and we had sex and I fell asleep straight after. Approximately 2 hours later, I woke up to find him penetrating me anally. He felt so heavy on me and I couldn’t do anything to stop him so I let him continue until he was satisfied.
It was the most disgusting I had ever felt. I went straight into the shower and cried. I vowed not to allow him to have anal sex with me ever again.
It happened again. And again. Every time it happened, I would experience diarrhoea afterwards. Sometimes I would bleed from my arsehole. I hated it so much. I had told him numerous times I did not like it, yet he continued to rape me anally. The last time he raped me anally, I shat on his penis. He was wearing a condom, yet I shat on him. I was angry with him for ignoring me when I told him I did not like it so I chose to shit on him.
I don’t regret shitting on him. He deserved it.
He never once asked if I liked anal sex. It was always about him.
He used movies to invite me over so he could have sex with me. Every time he asked me to come over for a movie night, I would always think about what movie we would watch and what food we would eat. Not sex.
He would use numerous excuses to coax me into having sex with him. Excuses such as:
- I have blue balls and they need to be emptied.
- Couples should have sex every second day. It’s the rule.
- I need sex so I can sleep well.
It was late August when I realised I needed to stop seeing him. I had turned 18 the month before and I wanted to experience life. I needed to have a life without him. I also knew I deserved to be treated better.
I carried the trauma into my next relationship, where for the first few months I projected it onto my ex partner. The silver lining was that he was very patient with me and he taught me the behaviour, particularly with sex, I was exhibiting was inappropriate. If it wasn’t for him, I would have kept projecting my trauma onto other people. I am so very grateful for Tim* who showed me boundaries, consent and respectful sex behaviour for the two years we were together.
However, I carried this trauma with me for so long. I did not process it until five years ago when I saw a presentation on dating abuse at the deaf mental health conference in Melbourne. It was that very moment I realised I needed to finally process the trauma and start my healing journey.
I am now at this stage in my healing journey where I feel comfortable with sharing my experience with you. Thank you for taking your time to read this and for supporting me during my healing journey thus far.
I look forward to sharing more with you x
Tim* is a pseudonym (fake name) as I don’t want to disclose his real name to protect his privacy.
Editor's Pick
Today’s the third day of Lockdown 6.0 and I’m still processing how I feel about this. I haven’t written in a while, and I thought it was high time I got back into blogging and doing what I love, writing. There’s nothing more cathartic than writing.
Given we only exited Lockdown 5.0 just over a week ago, it feels as if we haven’t been given an opportunity to fully enjoy life post-lockdown before being ushered back into lockdown. How do we process our feelings and thoughts post-lockdown? We’ve barely had the time to process the last lockdown and its impact on us as individuals.
When the announcement came on Thursday morning stating that Victoria would be going back into lockdown as of 8PM, I felt numb. I didn’t have any words to describe how I felt at the time. I thought I was okay about it, but if I have to be brutally honest, I’m not okay about it. Like everyone else, I barely had two days to get used to life post-lockdown after Lockdown 5.0 was lifted. Did I get used to post-lockdown life this time around? Probably not.
Lockdown 6.0 is due to be lifted on Thursday night, but I’m not holding my breath. Delta, a variant of COVID-19, is a sneaky fucker. The transmission rate is higher compared to other COVID-19 variants. If the Victorian Government sees the need to extend this lockdown to get the pandemic under control, then so be it. NSW is seeing case numbers in the high 200s every day, and there’s no way Victoria wants to repeat what we went through last year.
The real question remains: how do I feel about this?
Defeated. It feels like this virus is determined to keep us at home, apart from our loved ones. I’ve been living on my own for 6 months and whilst I love it, I miss being around people. Fuck, I miss hugs. Human touch. Connection.
Speaking of connection, I miss being with my fellow Deaf people. I miss getting my Deaf fix. Catching up with friends on FaceTime or Zoom is wonderful, but it doesn’t replace the feeling of being able to sign with your Deaf peers in person.
Being able to see your language in its wondrous 3D form, like it’s supposed to be.
That feeling you get when you laugh merrily with your friends. Laughing so much until you cry.
Being present with your Deaf self whilst being with others.
I’ve seen many older Deaf people reminiscence on the golden days of Deaf Clubs, and how they wish for Deaf Clubs once again. Having been through five (soon to be six because this one isn’t done) lockdowns, I can empathise with them on the loss of Deaf Clubs. Opportunities for us to get our Deaf fix are now rare.
It’s funny how you don’t realise you miss something until it’s gone…and you realise you’ve taken it for granted.
I wanted to be able to celebrate my birthday(s) with my loved ones, but I hesitated on making plans because of the uncertainty. I do still want to be able to let my hair down and hit the town at some point, to celebrate me with my loved ones.
Goddamn it, I fucking miss being with people.
As a Deaf person and professional, I also miss face-to-face appointments with Auslan interpreters. For more than 18 months, like many Deaf people who use Auslan interpreters, I’ve utilised video remote interpreting for personal or professional appointments. Whilst VRI is fantastic and has grown so much the last two years ago, I miss being able to engage with my interpreters in person. The opportunity to debrief and/or chat with the interpreter(s) afterwards is rare as hen’s teeth nowadays. These 10 minutes you get to connect with your interpreters – oh how that feels rather sentimental.
Zoom closes. Interpreter moves onto their next job. I (or other Deaf person) move onto the next task or meeting.
I do love being able to stay in touch with family and friends through social media, text messaging and video calls. It does get tiring at times – so I need to keep reminding myself that other people are doing their best to stay in touch too.
It’s also hard to stay motivated during this time, too. I’ve had to put my platform – I Sign. I Wander., and Deaf Stories on hiatus – simply because I don’t have the motivation. I also have a few personal projects planned, but I haven’t been able to find the motivation to get started.
I’ve been trying to stay kind to myself, but when things become repetitive, it gets to the point where I say “fuck this, I’m just doing the bare minimum“.
I shower, I feed myself, I go to work (at home), and I make sure I am warm and healthy. I have things I can do around the house. I have books. I have Netflix.
Until this outbreak eases, there’s not much I can do but to keep doing what I’ve been doing and to remain connected with my loved ones in ways that works the best for us.
So, to say… I still don’t know how I feel. I’m getting there though. Maybe next time I write, I’ll have a better idea. But until then, I’ll continue processing this.
See you on the flipside,
S xx
Deaf Stories was originally established with a vision of deaf people sharing their experiences as business owners. With Janelle Whalan as my filming assistant, we interviewed four deaf people – Neil Wood, Bobbie Blackson, and Ivan Callaghan & Nicole Cooke about their businesses. The first round of Deaf Stories was funded by Deaf Services’ Life Enrichment Grant which helped us to cover expenses such as travel, software, equipment and other costs associated with Deaf Stories.
After filming, editing and releasing each interview, the engagement from the deaf community I envisioned wasn’t happening. Something was missing.
I saw there was a dire need for deaf people to share their stories on a public platform. With deaf clubs disappearing from our very own eyes, where were opportunities for deaf people to share their stories in a casual and relaxing environment?
One of my favourite memories from my childhood was when deaf children from various schools across Southeast Queensland would get together for a day to celebrate Deafness Awareness Week at New Farm Park in Brisbane. Every year I wound find myself sitting with my fellow deaf peers watching Julie Lyons tell stories through Auslan and visual vernacular. The feeling of being captivated and being taken into another world through a deaf person’s storytelling skills – that was something I carried with me for so many years. I still carry this feeling with me today.
Deaf people are notorious for being excellent storytellers. This is because storytelling is a fundamental part of the deaf community. Ledwith (2011) stated that stories act as social-cultural glue, which means they define societies, cultures, and communities. Like sign language, storytelling acts as glue to bring the deaf community together.
For the second round of Deaf Stories, I was planning on reframing it to include stories from various deaf people around the country. My original plans were thrown out of the window when Australia was hit by the COVID-19 pandemic. With travel restrictions in place, this meant I was now unable to travel around the country collecting stories from deaf and hard of hearing Australians.
The first couple of weeks in lockdown, I watched numerous creators change their plans and projects. I also saw a number of friends in the arts make changes to their projects. Everything had to be moved online. That gave me the idea: why not make Deaf Stories an online platform for the deaf community watch interviews happen in real time? Give the deaf community a sense of belonging, similar to being at a deaf club. Hence the decision to reframe it as Deaf Stories LIVE.
The first Deaf Stories LIVE interview with Andrew Wiltshire was a huge success. I saw the engagement I had longed to achieve. I saw deaf, hard of hearing and hearing people respond to the interview.
Through the first interview, Andrew displayed his skills as a brilliant storyteller. According to Davis Haggerty (2007), being a skilled storyteller becomes an influential trait in the deaf community. Andrew is considered a role model to many deaf people.
Role models like Andrew are essential in the deaf community, particularly for young deaf people who are still figuring out their identities. Young deaf people should have access to role models within the deaf community, as Sutton-Spence (2010) believes it helps young deaf people to develop their personal, linguistic, and social identities.
Nović (2016) says deaf culture is founded on storytelling; it’s a culture obsessed with its own language. With the use of sign language such as Auslan, we work on the art of storytelling in various forms such as poetry, visual vernacular, sign singing, etc. It’s not something that is perfected overnight; it takes a lot of practice and consultation by our fellow deaf peers to ensure the stories are easy to understand through Deaf eyes.
Deaf people often learn best through storytelling. We are encouraged to participate through participation and understanding; belonging and confidence grows as we are listened to, valued and taken seriously (Ledwith, 2011). Without storytelling, how can change occur within the deaf community? How can we learn about the world around us? How can we connect with the deaf community using the Deaf experience?
“We tell our stories to transform ourselves; to learn about our history and tell our experiences to transcend them; to use our stories to make a difference in our world; to broaden our perspective to see further than normal; to act beyond a story that may have imprisoned or enslaved us; to live more of our spiritual and earthly potential.” ~ Rachel Freed (2011)
Storytelling empowers deaf and hard of hearing people to share their experiences; to start discussion; and to create change within the community and in the mainstream. Change doesn’t occur without sharing personal stories. Stories also encourages us to connect with and understand each other better.
I strongly believe in the power of storytelling and it’s why I chose to frame Deaf Stories around the notion of storytelling we have come to know and enjoy for many years within the deaf community.
In my next blog/vlog, I will be talking about vulnerability and why it’s an important element in storytelling.
Big love,
S x
References:
Davis Haggerty, L. (2007). Storytelling and leadership in the Deaf community. Rochester Institute of Technology, USA.
Freed, R. (2011). The Importance of Telling Our Stories.
Ledwith, M. (2011). Chapter Three: Doing Community Development in Community Development – A Critical Approach.
Nović, S. (2016). At Home in Deaf Culture: Storytelling in an Un-Writable Language.
Sutton-Spence, R. (2010). The Role of Sign Language Narratives in Developing Identity for Deaf Children. Journal of Folklore Research.
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Today’s the third day of Lockdown 6.0 and I’m still processing how I feel about this. I haven’t written in a while, and I thought it was high time I got back into blogging and doing what I love, writing. There’s nothing more cathartic than writing.
Given we only exited Lockdown 5.0 just over a week ago, it feels as if we haven’t been given an opportunity to fully enjoy life post-lockdown before being ushered back into lockdown. How do we process our feelings and thoughts post-lockdown? We’ve barely had the time to process the last lockdown and its impact on us as individuals.
When the announcement came on Thursday morning stating that Victoria would be going back into lockdown as of 8PM, I felt numb. I didn’t have any words to describe how I felt at the time. I thought I was okay about it, but if I have to be brutally honest, I’m not okay about it. Like everyone else, I barely had two days to get used to life post-lockdown after Lockdown 5.0 was lifted. Did I get used to post-lockdown life this time around? Probably not.
Lockdown 6.0 is due to be lifted on Thursday night, but I’m not holding my breath. Delta, a variant of COVID-19, is a sneaky fucker. The transmission rate is higher compared to other COVID-19 variants. If the Victorian Government sees the need to extend this lockdown to get the pandemic under control, then so be it. NSW is seeing case numbers in the high 200s every day, and there’s no way Victoria wants to repeat what we went through last year.
The real question remains: how do I feel about this?
Defeated. It feels like this virus is determined to keep us at home, apart from our loved ones. I’ve been living on my own for 6 months and whilst I love it, I miss being around people. Fuck, I miss hugs. Human touch. Connection.
Speaking of connection, I miss being with my fellow Deaf people. I miss getting my Deaf fix. Catching up with friends on FaceTime or Zoom is wonderful, but it doesn’t replace the feeling of being able to sign with your Deaf peers in person.
Being able to see your language in its wondrous 3D form, like it’s supposed to be.
That feeling you get when you laugh merrily with your friends. Laughing so much until you cry.
Being present with your Deaf self whilst being with others.
I’ve seen many older Deaf people reminiscence on the golden days of Deaf Clubs, and how they wish for Deaf Clubs once again. Having been through five (soon to be six because this one isn’t done) lockdowns, I can empathise with them on the loss of Deaf Clubs. Opportunities for us to get our Deaf fix are now rare.
It’s funny how you don’t realise you miss something until it’s gone…and you realise you’ve taken it for granted.
I wanted to be able to celebrate my birthday(s) with my loved ones, but I hesitated on making plans because of the uncertainty. I do still want to be able to let my hair down and hit the town at some point, to celebrate me with my loved ones.
Goddamn it, I fucking miss being with people.
As a Deaf person and professional, I also miss face-to-face appointments with Auslan interpreters. For more than 18 months, like many Deaf people who use Auslan interpreters, I’ve utilised video remote interpreting for personal or professional appointments. Whilst VRI is fantastic and has grown so much the last two years ago, I miss being able to engage with my interpreters in person. The opportunity to debrief and/or chat with the interpreter(s) afterwards is rare as hen’s teeth nowadays. These 10 minutes you get to connect with your interpreters – oh how that feels rather sentimental.
Zoom closes. Interpreter moves onto their next job. I (or other Deaf person) move onto the next task or meeting.
I do love being able to stay in touch with family and friends through social media, text messaging and video calls. It does get tiring at times – so I need to keep reminding myself that other people are doing their best to stay in touch too.
It’s also hard to stay motivated during this time, too. I’ve had to put my platform – I Sign. I Wander., and Deaf Stories on hiatus – simply because I don’t have the motivation. I also have a few personal projects planned, but I haven’t been able to find the motivation to get started.
I’ve been trying to stay kind to myself, but when things become repetitive, it gets to the point where I say “fuck this, I’m just doing the bare minimum“.
I shower, I feed myself, I go to work (at home), and I make sure I am warm and healthy. I have things I can do around the house. I have books. I have Netflix.
Until this outbreak eases, there’s not much I can do but to keep doing what I’ve been doing and to remain connected with my loved ones in ways that works the best for us.
So, to say… I still don’t know how I feel. I’m getting there though. Maybe next time I write, I’ll have a better idea. But until then, I’ll continue processing this.
See you on the flipside,
S xx
Deaf Stories was originally established with a vision of deaf people sharing their experiences as business owners. With Janelle Whalan as my filming assistant, we interviewed four deaf people – Neil Wood, Bobbie Blackson, and Ivan Callaghan & Nicole Cooke about their businesses. The first round of Deaf Stories was funded by Deaf Services’ Life Enrichment Grant which helped us to cover expenses such as travel, software, equipment and other costs associated with Deaf Stories.
After filming, editing and releasing each interview, the engagement from the deaf community I envisioned wasn’t happening. Something was missing.
I saw there was a dire need for deaf people to share their stories on a public platform. With deaf clubs disappearing from our very own eyes, where were opportunities for deaf people to share their stories in a casual and relaxing environment?
One of my favourite memories from my childhood was when deaf children from various schools across Southeast Queensland would get together for a day to celebrate Deafness Awareness Week at New Farm Park in Brisbane. Every year I wound find myself sitting with my fellow deaf peers watching Julie Lyons tell stories through Auslan and visual vernacular. The feeling of being captivated and being taken into another world through a deaf person’s storytelling skills – that was something I carried with me for so many years. I still carry this feeling with me today.
Deaf people are notorious for being excellent storytellers. This is because storytelling is a fundamental part of the deaf community. Ledwith (2011) stated that stories act as social-cultural glue, which means they define societies, cultures, and communities. Like sign language, storytelling acts as glue to bring the deaf community together.
For the second round of Deaf Stories, I was planning on reframing it to include stories from various deaf people around the country. My original plans were thrown out of the window when Australia was hit by the COVID-19 pandemic. With travel restrictions in place, this meant I was now unable to travel around the country collecting stories from deaf and hard of hearing Australians.
The first couple of weeks in lockdown, I watched numerous creators change their plans and projects. I also saw a number of friends in the arts make changes to their projects. Everything had to be moved online. That gave me the idea: why not make Deaf Stories an online platform for the deaf community watch interviews happen in real time? Give the deaf community a sense of belonging, similar to being at a deaf club. Hence the decision to reframe it as Deaf Stories LIVE.
The first Deaf Stories LIVE interview with Andrew Wiltshire was a huge success. I saw the engagement I had longed to achieve. I saw deaf, hard of hearing and hearing people respond to the interview.
Through the first interview, Andrew displayed his skills as a brilliant storyteller. According to Davis Haggerty (2007), being a skilled storyteller becomes an influential trait in the deaf community. Andrew is considered a role model to many deaf people.
Role models like Andrew are essential in the deaf community, particularly for young deaf people who are still figuring out their identities. Young deaf people should have access to role models within the deaf community, as Sutton-Spence (2010) believes it helps young deaf people to develop their personal, linguistic, and social identities.
Nović (2016) says deaf culture is founded on storytelling; it’s a culture obsessed with its own language. With the use of sign language such as Auslan, we work on the art of storytelling in various forms such as poetry, visual vernacular, sign singing, etc. It’s not something that is perfected overnight; it takes a lot of practice and consultation by our fellow deaf peers to ensure the stories are easy to understand through Deaf eyes.
Deaf people often learn best through storytelling. We are encouraged to participate through participation and understanding; belonging and confidence grows as we are listened to, valued and taken seriously (Ledwith, 2011). Without storytelling, how can change occur within the deaf community? How can we learn about the world around us? How can we connect with the deaf community using the Deaf experience?
“We tell our stories to transform ourselves; to learn about our history and tell our experiences to transcend them; to use our stories to make a difference in our world; to broaden our perspective to see further than normal; to act beyond a story that may have imprisoned or enslaved us; to live more of our spiritual and earthly potential.” ~ Rachel Freed (2011)
Storytelling empowers deaf and hard of hearing people to share their experiences; to start discussion; and to create change within the community and in the mainstream. Change doesn’t occur without sharing personal stories. Stories also encourages us to connect with and understand each other better.
I strongly believe in the power of storytelling and it’s why I chose to frame Deaf Stories around the notion of storytelling we have come to know and enjoy for many years within the deaf community.
In my next blog/vlog, I will be talking about vulnerability and why it’s an important element in storytelling.
Big love,
S x
References:
Davis Haggerty, L. (2007). Storytelling and leadership in the Deaf community. Rochester Institute of Technology, USA.
Freed, R. (2011). The Importance of Telling Our Stories.
Ledwith, M. (2011). Chapter Three: Doing Community Development in Community Development – A Critical Approach.
Nović, S. (2016). At Home in Deaf Culture: Storytelling in an Un-Writable Language.
Sutton-Spence, R. (2010). The Role of Sign Language Narratives in Developing Identity for Deaf Children. Journal of Folklore Research.
Oh my god. I”m really sorry it happened to you and I’m glad you came out of it. Thank you for sharing your story.
I’m so sorry to hear that has happened to you. I was a survivor of child abuse. So trauma is a very complex thing to deal with.
I’m sorry that it happened to you. Hope you’re doing ok.
Thank you, Danny 🙂 I am doing well — writing this has really helped me to unpack and process my trauma.