It wasn't a celebrity. It wasn't my dad. It wasn't my brother. It wasn't one of my uncles or grandfathers or anybody at all I was related to. It was people who I could now pass on the streets without recognising.
This is hard to write, because it's a subject that both consumes me and one that I am still trying to come to terms with the reality of. I believe Dylan Farrow, because as I read her letter, I kind of thought, well, yes. Yes, exactly. Yes, Dylan; I believe you and I believe in you. It's too raw and expresses the fear, the consequences of abuse, far too perfectly to be anything but the truth. People have been very quick to shout that Allen was deemed innocent in a court, seeming to say that she is the guilty one. Guilty until someone decides she's telling the truth.
The hospital ward I'm on is full of physical and mental survivors. Most of us were abused. Most of us have come very close, in our attempts at leaving the world, to finding ourselves 6 foot under. Sometimes, when I'm feeling like there's no hope left and that my past will forever prevent me living in the present, I look around and realise that despite it all, we're here and that's kind of beautiful. But it also makes me think of had we been the ones who died, rather than the people who actually did, the ward, never mind the actual world, would be so completely different. I believe Dylan Farrow, because of the horrors I survived and the horrors I'm still living.
Dylan Farrow isn't the only person I know of/know who has been attacked for speaking out. It was a long time after the events had happened that I actually told anybody. It's been 5 years since I started speaking out to professionals, and a hell of a lot less since I wrote about it on here. Part of why I never told, even long after it had stopped, was because I was afraid of not being believed and of being attacked for it. Hypothetically, whether what Dylan says happened or not, if I was on the edge of spilling out the poison of secrecy, I really don't think I would. The media has a lot of responsibility and influence, but at times no bloody sense. There is every reason to spill out the poisons, every reason apart from the fact you might be treated like Dylan, of course.
That brings me to you. I believe you. I believe that if someone was 'sick' enough to make something like sexual abuse up, there is something genuinely wrong there and they need help (unlike most people, telling someone they need help is more of a suggestion than a insult). I believe that years later, often more comes out than did as a kid, because you have more insight. The head is an over-full shed and when you open the door and walk in, you don't know what's going to fall on you, or how long it'll have been since you shoved it away.
Again, I believe Dylan Farrow and I believe you. And more than anything, I believe in us.