Rape-Related Pregnancy and Pregnancy Loss

About Me - Fourth Miscarriage, Age 16

Warning for distressing content and graphic details.

Home town, At School, Pregnancy –

I was very, very tired, especially in the mornings and thought maybe I had glandular fever or was trying to do too many things.  I didn’t really understand why I was so tired.  My friends noticed and one friend complained about how I always tried to hide how I was feeling when I felt bad.  She said it was frustrating and I didn’t have to pretend.  I realize now too that I felt very nauseous, not just tired.  I remember throwing up once before school in the metal troughs in the school toilets and wondering what I’d eaten, but thinking that I seemed to often feel sick in the mornings lately and then it would pass.  I didn’t make any conscious connection then about being pregnant because I didn’t remember being raped (and I’d never had consensual sex) so it would have been impossible.  Many of my friends remember how I had an extended period at the beginning of year 11 when I was sick and tired and they were worried about me.  No one thought this was the problem, though, me included.

Home town, At Home, Coat-hanger –

Jan 11 2007, 03:42 PM

I had 4 pregnancies as a result of rape by my granddad .  I lost all 4 to miscarriages.  I know that the first two miscarriages were random and had nothing to do with anything either of us did.  The fourth one may well have been caused by my granddad 's deliberate torture, whether he knew I was pregnant then or not.  But the third one ...

[I wrote about what Granddad had done when I told him about the 2nd miscarriage and all the threats he made to kill me and torture the baby in front of me as I died].

… Later ...  Not knowing I was pregnant (not consciously anyway), not understanding why I was experimenting like this, thinking it was weird and wouldn't work anyway because I wasn't pregnant, after religious education classes and discussions about abortion and abortion laws [and backyard abortions], I put a coat-hanger up inside myself "to see if it was really that bad, if it would really work ..." it didn't seem to go far enough, but I unknotted the twisted end, straightened it and tried again pushing harder ...  I stopped when I realised what I was doing, that it was nuts [and made no sense because how could you test it if you weren’t pregnant, and I thought I couldn’t be], that I didn't know why I was feeling compelled to do that etc.

But I might have caused trauma to the cervix that caused a delayed miscarriage [I spoke to a sexual health nurse about it when I remembered this and she said that there were many reasons for miscarriages but that with trauma to the cervix she would say that was the most probable cause (not the only one, just the most likely).] ...  Did I kill my own child? I can't ever really know ...  I believed him when he said he'd torture it to death too...  In a way was I trying to protect it, before it could feel all that pain and be in so much danger from him, before I would have to go through that too (that feels selfish today ...  I mean bad-selfish). 

… I know there are many possible reasons for the miscarriage, but it feels like I did do something wrong by doing that with the coat-hanger...  I didn't mean to consciously ...  Do you really think that matters? I’m not sure ...  I am sure that I didn't know or think that I was pregnant in my thinking mind because I was puzzled as to how I could possibly test it when I wasn't pregnant...  I was really, really confused.  It just breaks my heart to think I might have done the wrong thing and that it might have caused the loss of someone I love...  I want to be honest about where blame lies and not give my grandfather more than his fair share, or me either - if they were my actions then I feel I am responsible for them, at least in part.  This one is tough, you see, as he was not actually there to coerce me.  But you don't have to be there to have power over someone do you?   The other times I did things I didn't want to he was physically forcing me, or I was so trapped and confused I had no other option but to do what he wanted me to ...  This time I was older and I feel I should have known better ...  As I say, other people have kids at 16...  Er...  My psychiatrist reminds me that it was not selfish - that I knew that people died in backyard abortions, that I was trying to protect my family and prepared to risk my life to do it, and that I was trying to protect my child from being tortured to death later ...  I saw its death as inevitable ...  This is on the basis that I thought anything at all!  He says that is not selfishness - to be prepared to die to save someone from being tortured or people you love from being killed.  Hm.  Feeling unsure today ….

Mar 19 2007, 01:28 AM

…. I feel bad because of how I might have caused the 3rd miscarriage.  I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know I was pregnant, in fact I thought I wasn't so "how could the experiment work?" ... 

How does this fit into what I have been thinking?  Trying to save myself makes sense, but did I do it at the expense of my baby? that seems different ... confused1.gifI didn't know what I was doing at the time, I thought it was weird to experiment that way and felt ashamed, I didn't have a conscious set of thoughts about it - I had traumatic amnesia of the rape that got me pregnant and the other two miscarriages I’d had by then.  I feel as if I’m trying to justify myself, worried that everyone will judge me and say I’m bad, worried that I’m arrogant and wrong to judge myself ...  I am trying to be kind, but also feel the need to understand this rightly ...  Does this make any kind of sense?  Granddad had threatened to come back later in the pregnancy and kill us both and torture the baby and me horribly.  Maybe I was trying to stop that happening ...  I know I thought there was no escape but death (in the part of my mind that remembered) because when I was flashbacking it [the rape preceding this miscarriage and the torture and moral dilemma my granddad made me feel I was in] I asked my partner if he'd kill me blushing.gifweep.gifblushing.gif- I didn't want to die, I just thought that I was going to die no matter what and I couldn't control the situation I was remembering enough to make sure it was the quickest and most painless way, with the least torture or harm to anyone else, removing the choice from me too, and I trusted him to help me, so I asked ...  He was so very hurt, I still feel so very much ashamed about that...

I don't know what I am really asking ...  I just am thinking of it because I was thinking about what was voluntary and involuntary, what was survival and what was defeat ...  Learning that there is no defeat when I’ve survived ...  But struggling to apply it to this part of what's happened to me ... ?  It seems very wrong if I sacrified my baby in trying to survive .... Did I really do that? Did I do something wrong and really did kill it like my granddad said I did?

...  I feel so much loss and pain ...  It’s always there but not always on the surface like it is tonight.  I feel raw and maybe wrong and harsh and cruel to judge myself about this too ...  Wrong whichever way I turn...  I can't just relax and let it go tonight (or maybe ever) ...  Because "it"'s not just something I did, it's a person I love ... 

Home town, At School, Miscarriage 4, Probably 29th March –

[My partner witnessed me flashbacking and having body memories that were a kind of re-enactment of this third miscarriage.  I describe it with the fourth one so I won’t include it here.  But I was reacting as if I was having contractions and I was in severe pain etc.  At first I didn’t know what was happening, but it became clearer as the night went on and the flashbacks kept coming.]

Aug 26 2006, 01:56 PM

… He masturbated and he raped me again, then put me in a "pregnancy-inducing position" [with my feet on the bathroom window sill, while he sat on the bath] and described graphically how he was doing it again, making me pregnant.  How he'd keep on making me "make them and break them".

I should've known that wasn't in his power.  I told myself it wasn't.  But then it happened.  I thought I had a bad 'flu that wouldn't go away.  I thought I missed my periods because I was stressed at school - giving speeches and things as school captain in my final year plus playing netball and three instruments.  I didn't remember being raped.

So how could this miscarriage be happening?  In the toilets after school - cigarette butts and graffiti.  The baby was 13-16 weeks old, so I laboured to give birth to fragments of a little person I could still recognise.  [Little hands.  A little head.]


I loved you, little one.  I did! I didn't understand how the laws of causality had turned over, because I’d never had sex with anyone, how was it possible.  But you were undeniable.  And yet I’d denied you.  For all but those few hours we spent in agony together.  No, you were dead already.  I had already missed you.  I never knew that you were there till you were gone.

But now I know that somewhere I still knew.  I knew and I was scared, scared, scared.  He'd told me he'd come back and kill us both.  He was saving me till then to torture to death and you along with me.  He was fantasizing how he'd come and cut me open, strangle you before my eyes and slowly, then rape me.  He wondered aloud if he'd see his own penis through the hole.

I couldn't let that happen.  I tell myself that's why.  Is it really? is it really? I remember wondering, in the abstract, if that backyard abortion thing with a coat-hanger worked ...  And trying it.  I was very puzzled by myself - what a weird thing to do, and anyway how could I tell if it worked if I wasn't pregnant anyway?! I was so confused.

I really didn't know till a few weeks ago. 16 years later.  It’s no excuse.  I feel I should have known.  I know I cared because the pain I feel when I think of what I did I spent ages separating, gathering every little piece of you, my little one, and trying to put you back together.  I wrapped you carefully in a bloody little package.  Id wanted to take you home and bury you or something.  I don't know - I just didn't ever want to let you go.

But I had to leave that package in a garbage bin.  I missed you.  And then I abandoned you.  Because I had this secret to keep and if I didn't someone might get killed.  Someone else.  And part of me felt relieved - I feel so guilty about that - relieved that I didn't have to make the choice he offered me to kill myself, to kill the baby, to have anyone I told killed.  He told me he'd killed before and I had every reason to believe him.

But maybe I did choose? I don't know.  Is that coat-hanger a choice? I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I never meant to kill anyone.  I never meant to hurt you.  I never meant to forget you.

However you got there you were mine and I should have looked after you.  I should never have let you die like that.  But do I think I’m all-powerful too?  Am I really what he said - a murderer like him?

What a tangle.  I’m sorry if this makes no sense ….  I’m so tired I can't make any sense any more.  I don't know why I’m writing this.  Well, maybe ...

I felt so alone.  I feel so alone.  So much else is going on that everyone else has forgotten you too, my little ones.  And I’m pushing you away still because still more is pouring out about how he tried to kill me, how hard he tried to make me kill myself, programming me to do it from an early age.  Things have moved on too fast again and your space is once again denied you ….  Denied me?  Do I even know who I am talking to here? …

Mar 19 2007, 01:28 AM

…. But the 3rd one ...  I’m feeling bad about my little nearly-person-precious-soul again.  I saw this one.  I collected all the pieces from the floor of the school toilets, strained out cigarette butts, put it all together again, wrapped it up, held it to my heart ...  Carried it with me in my school backpack, thinking maybe I could take it home and bury it properly, then realised that I couldn't ever risk anybody knowing or he might really kill them or me like he'd said (he'd already tried to kill me by then and done very risky things - I needed CPR when he drowned me in the pool at 6 or 7 for example), so I had to leave it in a rubbish bin ...

I’ve been doing things to remember my very little ones – making donations in their name.  I don't want to forget them now... 

 Sep 13 2006, 02:59 AM

If I write it here maybe it'll seem more real.  I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to pluck up courage.  It’s past 1 am and I turned off the computer but I had to turn it on again, looks like I’m not going to go to bed until I’ve written something...  Forgive me, I’ve probably written this before but I’m trying to believe it and fit the bits together.  It’s a constant background pain (it feels wrong that it should still be forced into the background) but it seems to need to spill out somehow before I go to bed...  It all feels very new and fresh and raw - this is not how I remembered it, that's another story, but maybe I can put it in some order ...

In chronological order for this sequence.  It started with telling my grandfather about the 2nd miscarriage.  He had me pinned against the bathroom door and I was pleading with him not to rape me.  I told him I couldn't keep it secret even if I wanted to and that he might get me pregnant.  And then, I wish it hadn't, but it came out.  I told him about our baby (God, that hurts - no, he had no rights in it, my baby, my precious little not-quite person).  How I’d held it in my hand and broke the sack and watched it die (so I thought, when it changed colour).  How I’d thrown it on the floor in an impulse of disgust and fear and horror.  How I’d picked it up again and wrapped it tenderly in toilet paper.  How I’d flushed it down the loo.  I wasn't sure what I was seeing.  I thought maybe I had cancer and I’d die but I couldn't tell a soul.  Not a soul.  I knew what he would do to them ...

I didn't meant to tell him but in a way I thought he had a right to know - it was his child too.  There was nobody else that I could tell and I needed to tell someone.  I realised now that what I’d been frightened of, that it was a baby, was true.  I hadn't remembered him raping me before, but here he was about to do it again and I knew, I knew and I told him.  And as I told him all the details - he asked me all about it - how I’d stroked out it's little fingers in my hand - he threatened to cut off mine.  He pushed his erection against me and rubbed his penis with one hand while he pinned me with the other, but I was limp anyway, all the fight gone out of me as I remembered.  My little one, my own little one, so innocent and I had just thrown you away!

He raped me while the tears streamed down my face - it hurt a lot but it seemed I hardly noticed.  The one and only person I could tell and he treated my grief as a turn on! I struggled at one point but he asked me if I’d rather that he did it to my sister? no, no, no, no, no, no, never!

I was sick in the toilet and he washed himself off in the bath.  There was more.  I can't tell all of it this time.  But he made me lie on the cold tiles and put my legs up on the window sill and he sat on the edge of the bath and told me how this was a position that would make me pregnant and described in graphic detail how second by second I was getting pregnant and there wasn't a thing that I could do.  How I would have to choose because he'd kill anyone I told - he told me he had killed a little girl up in Cairns and they'd all believed she'd been lost in the scrub.  He said it was easy to do - he'd done it before.  I’d have to kill the baby to keep it a secret.  Or, he was flipping out and fantasising now, he could kill me.  No, it would be better if he waited.  He'd come back and cut the baby out of me with the razor he was running down my naked stomach and still lower.  He traced the lines.  Then he'd strangle it with it's umbilical cord and I would watch it die, slowly, in pain.  Or maybe he'd dismember it while it was still alive.  Then he'd rape me and watch his own penis through the hole.  Then he'd kill me.  Or he'd take me out into the bush and let me die there slowly, in the cold and all alone ...  More again ...  I have to skip bits.

There I was all gunked up still, naked, wrapped in a black tarp in the boot of his car while he speculated on whether to kill me now or wait until the baby had developed.  He shut the boot and I was trapped, waiting.  The smell of petrol and semen, tarp.  And rubber matting.

Eventually he got bored and let me out. [I think I had a gap in my memory still when I wrote this … but it might be that the events themselves overlap with something that happened later.  I think that the time he took me in the boot of the car to the Bicentennial Quarry – written down below – was later that year, after I’d already had the 3rd miscarriage and when I’d begged him yet again, telling him that it wasn’t possible for me to keep it quiet … that it had happened again and that people had noticed things about it, about me growing fatter etc.  I think he might have done some similar things with the different times and they blend together a little.  But the Quarry incident was not long before my second-oldest brother’s wedding.  I was sure that he wanted to kill me then.]  He was all cold.  All calm again.  [Not excited any more] Saying almost nothing.  He left me standing naked and at a loss in the laundry as my parents' car pulled in and I had to find somewhere to hide.  Not his problem any more ...

I had the 'flu and I was stressed.  Sure it was taking a long, long time to get over and I felt so very sick and I was so very tired.  I’d put on a little weight - my friends teased me a little bit about my belly.  They thought you should be flat.  Those guys had eating/image problems! I was hot and cold that afternoon, flushed and crampy.  Maybe this was my period at last.  I knew teenaged girls could be irregular and there was reason why in being sick but I’d never been irregular before.  Well only twice.  I’d missed about 3 now.  I felt so sick I couldn't wait for it to start and so be over.

My friend and I always walked to the station together after school but I had to go to the toilet.  I felt really sick! I didn't want to hold her up.

Somewhere in my mind I had been scared, scared, scared.  Could I be pregnant? how? I’d never had sex with anyone.  Why did such an impossible idea keep cropping up - it was frustrating.

I remember now - I didn't know it then - experimenting with a coat-hanger.  It was silly.  How could I tell if that stuff worked when I wasn't even pregnant.  Embarassingly, dangerously silly.  I should stop.  It didn't reach in very far.  I didn't see how that could work.  We'd been talking about abortion laws.  This is how they did it in the bad old days, apparently.  It was cold.  I took it out and untwined it so it'd reach further.  I don't know what happened then.  Nothing I think.  I felt stupid and took it out again ...

This was more than just cramps.  I was so hot.  I had to take my clothes off and keep them out of the way somehow.  I put them on the toilet.  I hated those toilets.  They were always so disgusting - graffitI and water running, hairspray and cigarette butts - one day they'd all go up in smoke! since yr 7 I’d never been there voluntarily.  I was always sure that I could wait till home - I planned it so! but I couldn't wait and I was doubled over with the pain.

I found myself screaming periodically, curled up in fetal position in my bra and my skirt up round my shoulders.  Trying to keep my shoes inside the toilet door.  I might be heard like this.  I took the strap of my backpack in my mouth and screamed and screamed as quietly as I could.  What the hell was going on???? there was blood and mess everywhere.  Watery.  With bits and pieces in it.  I took my skirt off round my head and tried to keep my socks clean.  So much pain.  I pulled my bag down onto my head and my books dazed me.

I sat with my back against the cold partition wall for a long time when it stopped.  Just staring.  Trying to get my breath back.  Trying to find the right way up for the world.  Because there it was undeniable.  I knew what had happened.  There was it's little head, recognisable and bits and pieces I could see were human.  Like a broken doll.  No, never, not a doll.  Oh my baby, oh my darling ...  Oh my God.  This wasn't possible.  I’d never had sex with anyone.  How could I have had a miscarriage? had I killed it? was this my fault? again ...  Much more ...

I tried to hang myself with my bag strap from the hook on the back of the toilet door.  But when I started choking I looked at the mess I’d made and knew I had to clean it up.  My feet slipped and I panicked but I found them again and stood up and took the bag from round my neck.  I clean up.  I panicked completely then, like a caged animal trying to get out.  I clawed at the 3 "walls" and finally came to the door and fumbled till I found the catch.  I opened it and breathed.  But I couldn't leave ...  How could I leave you, my precious child, however you had happened, it was not your fault.  If your mother didn't care for you, who would.  You were still mine ...  So I sat on the floor and I picked up every piece and I separated every part of the baby that I could from all the mess and I tried to piece it bag together.  A very, very gory jigsaw puzzle.  And I strained out the cigarette butts from the floor and I wrapped the baby in toilet paper - a soggy little bundle.  And I wiped the floor clean and flushed the mess bits down the loo.  I mustn't leave a clue or no one would be safe ...

I kept passing out on my way to find a phone.  I lay down on one of the school forms (benches) and fell off and hit my head.  I lay down on one just inside the school gates too.  The ground was making waves and the little bloodied bundle in my backpack - I could see it in my mind, even on my back - there was an angel on my back.  A guardian angel.  I summoned strength, pulled myself together and went out onto the street.  Surely people were looking at me funny.  Did I still have blood on my shirt, where I had held the little body to my heart? no, I’d covered that up with my jumper.  But if I looked as strange as I felt ….  Demon shapes flitted at the corners of my vision and a great black and white swirly whirlpool tried to suck me in.  I needed to stay upright.  My parents would get home from work soon and they'd be worried that I wasn't there.  I had to call them.  Everybody had an angel with them - a small shining light like the angel on my back.  But I didn't have one.  Why didn't I have one? God mustn't like me very much.  This was all my fault!

I had to wait for Mum to get home from work - it was 5.36 when I rang her, funny how all the details stick so in my mind - and she was still in transit.  I sat near the edge of the road and thought about throwing myself in front of the cars as they came past.  The swirly thing had me fast by the ankle, but I fought it.  Besides, I couldn't do that - I still had a job to do, I had to find a way to bury my baby.  But as I thought I realised that I couldn't keep it with me.  I would have to let go.  How could I explain it.  Would they think I was a slut?  He'd said they would.  I couldn't explain it anyway.  The world was upside down! I knew the facts of life and this just wasn't no way possible.  I had to leave my little one in a rubbish bin.  I was so sorry.  I am so very sorry.  But nobody could know.  It might kill them.  If he thought that I had told them.  The baby was dead but we were still alive...  Did I do that on purpose? I just don't have the words ...  I had to work hard not to jump out of the car on the way home, to make normal conversation with my mum somehow.  She mustn't know.  It wasn't safe.

My grandfather was disappointed when he came to visit later in the year.  He'd lost the chance to torture my baby to death before my eyes.  He'd been cheated of his fun.  But he made the best of it.  He gave me some drugs to help my headache, to help me calm down.  I had no reason to doubt him.  He was my grandfather.  He said they'd help.  Again, it came out of the blue that he was being violent with me.  Was I dreaming? - it all felt so unreal.  But I found myself explaining again just what had happened.  He told me he'd show me how to do it properly for next time.  He'd raped me just a few days before.  I thought maybe it was too late already.  I remember sitting in the bath, trying to get clean and thinking just that - it's too late.  I always seemed to be too late, too slow.  This time I tried to fight, really hard.  I’d tried before as well but he was bigger and stronger and I was extra slow, clumsy, I couldn't really move - he'd drugged me out.  So he showed me with a knitting needle, then a knife, how to be a killer just like him.  How to "do it properly" next time I needed an abortion.  The knitting needle was cold and when he punched it in it hurt.  The knife ...  I don't remember very well ...  It was serrated ...

There is so much more, but I’ll never get it just right in the telling.  I can't find words for the pain anyway.  I’m not sure if there's a point but I hope I can now sleep.  I feel so depressed.  I miss my little ones.  I feel so guilty and ashamed.  So messed up.  I feel so hurt and betrayed - that one's so deep I can't really go there.  They were his children too.  I can't believe he didn't care at all.  I don't know why - my mum was his daughter too and he obviously didn't care for her.  I was his granddaughter.  I thought he cared for me.  Grandparents are supposed to care.  But it made no sense.  He flipped about all over the place - gentle one minute and trying to kill me the next.  I tried to stay ahead.  I tried but I couldn't save them.  There was never a thing that I could do.  I am sorry that I made them.  I am sorry that I wrote that - how could I ever be sorry for even a moment of their almost-not-quite-maybe lives? how could I miss them and ignore them and think only of myself? what kind of mother does that make me? he said I wasn't fit to be a mother, that's why they had died.  He said I was a killer now like him.  He said everyone would just think I was a slut and they'd be right.  He said all kinds of things.  I am too tired now ...

There's nothing anyone can do now.  I should really just keep it to myself.  But I hurt so very much.  I can't describe it - there's too many feelings here - but I hurt so much.

Hugs maybe? I really long for something to know I’m not rejected because I am too horrible to look at, because what happened is too terrible to speak about, because it's only a small fraction of what happened then and so many other times...  I feel so outside the human race with this.  Am I still here? I know this is true ...  How can I fit it into my life suddenly somehow???

Oct 9 2006, 04:01 AM

I keep saying this ...  I don't think God can like me very much.  When I am in flashbacks I say it.  I’ve asked for help so many times and I feel so ashamed when I am back in that place that I feel abandoned.  I know God would never abandon me - at least I feel that way - but my grandfather messed even with my sense of my soul, my relationship with God.  He told me I’d made a bargain to be the bad one, to take on all his evil.  I felt like I’d made a pact with the devil.  When I was hallucinating after a miscarriage [the third one] I saw guardian angels for everyone, including my baby, but not for me.  Last night I wanted to plead for God to protect my little ones (in the middle of a flashback) but I said I don't know if he'll listen - I was very ashamed, and hid my head - "I don't think God likes me very much".  It is tangled up with shame and with this evil, insane and impossible bargain.  I never sold my soul to the devil.  It could never be taken from me.  But I’ve felt wrong so long...  It’s hard to think right.  Do you think he really cares? does he set things up and then just let them take their course? how could he let this happen to me or to my children (they feel like children although they never made it - I don't know what to call them).  I am scared to go into his presence.  I know he is loving me and giving me strength to go on, to fight, to love.  But ...  I wish someone could give me some encouragement … can anyone relate and understand what I mean about thinking that you fall outside the normal group of humanity who, of course, God cares for? I feel outside ...  And I’m not sure.  I feel sorry if this doesn't make sense.  It’s 3 am! I should be in bed.

Home town, Abortion Video at School –

I went to a Catholic school and when we were in year 11 we were shown an anti-abortion film called, “The Silent Scream”.  My reaction to it was out-of-character in that I was not usually physically affected by the sight of blood etc.  I had been one of the few people who was interested enough to overcome not wanting to dissect a rat in our science class.  I didn’t know what the connection was but I realize now that I was seeing a lot of very graphic images that reminded me directly of my recent miscarriage.  I was angry that we were being made to watch this without any counseling or support for the people in the class who the students knew had had abortions.  We were allowed to leave if we asked permission, but that was like telling the whole year group that something like that had happened to you.  I thought that was very cruel to do to people who’d been through so much already.  I still think that on behalf of the other people in the group, but I realize now that it applied to me too.  My friends can remember me going red, then pale, finding it hard to breathe and needing to breathe slowly and calm down, then being very dizzy and looking like I was going to faint, stumbling as we left the Religious Education classrooms and walked over the little open bridge to our normal classrooms.  I remember one friend asking if I was OK, and she remembers it too.  I said I felt very sick and faint, but I found it very hard to explain or say anything else.

Home town, Quarry, Attempted Murder –

Nov 1 2006, 01:42 AM

I was only just 16 [I’m not sure if I was referring to my exact age or to feeling that I was young and not “too old” to live, like he said I was … the latter I think.]

He said that he'd burn my face off and cut my hands off with his knife, or maybe just my fingers, hands might be too hard
He said that he'd have to check because maybe he wouldn't need to do that, because I’d be unrecognisable after falling from so far off the cliff
that my skull would be split open and I’d be smashed all across the stage (of the open ampitheatre) - splattered
And he'd push a boulder down on top of me too - he laughed about what a shock that would give the next people who wanted to perform there - that they'd have to scrape me off there first
He said it'd look like an accident that way
That no one would ever know
That I would have just disappeared and my family would never know what happened to me
That I would be really lost and lost forever
So lost ....
All this would be scary anyway, I think but ...
At the time he'd raped me, he'd taken me outside all naked, but for a towel that was too small, he'd stuffed the end of it my mouth so I could hardly breathe, he'd wrapped me in a black tarpaulin so there wouldn't be any evidence in his car, then he'd driven me to a service station and put a petrol soak rag to my face till I was nearly passed out
He'd left me naked in the middle of an oval
Lights on
Grey light

Orange lights
Cool, wet grass sharp underneath me
I’d tried to get up and run somewhere, naked and ashamed ...  But I couldn't move, everything was spinning round me, I was sick into the grass, petrol fumes
He'd doused my face with methylated spirits before we left home, and he'd flicked a lighter close enough to singe my neck
Then he'd come back with the dog's choker chain and put it round my neck, so I couldn't run away, humiliated, down on all fours
He dragged me, naked, through the bush above the park on the site of the old quarry - a natural ampitheatre, where he'd raped me before it was a park just the old quarry
I got all scratched with the bushes and I was trying so hard to keep my weight a dead weight to make him drag me, to make it hard
But if I did it too much I choked, chain around my neck
A jogger came past with his dog and my grandfather held me and put his hand across my mouth, hiding in the bushes, nearly dark, dark in there
And the dog came after its tennis ball and noticed me and came over just to sniff
a black Labrador/Retreiver kind of dog, a beautiful dog, I was wishing it over, wishing that its owner would come back for it and see us, wanting to call out but I also had a knife to my throat...  Silenced, so silent, trembling with cold and shock
And he got me to the edge of the cliff
But it was fenced now with a big fence, sloping in at the top - how I loved the council then!
But he wanted me to climb it and jump
He was threatening me with the knife, with just burning me beyond recognition
So I agreed to do it - thinking - if I climb the fence then I’ll be on one side and he'll be on the other - he'll at least have to take this chain off to let me do it
So I climbed the fence above this drop - a big drop - about 7 stories I guess
And the fence wobbled just a bit
And it was hard to get over and I was still naked and so ashamed, so exposed, still mucky from the rape, in so much pain
And I climbed the fence and started trying to walk around the edge so I could get away and I had to clutch and stop and hold on tight because there were bits where the ground crumbled out from under my feet
And I smelt of metho and him and petrol and sweat and dirt and car boot
And the bush smelt clean but dusty
It was almost too dark to see the edge - it was hard
He was on the other side - sometimes knocking at my hands, trying to prise them off and make me fall
Then it got too bushy on his side and I got hopeful
I tried to go the way that would take me closer to people - there were people practicing cricket in the nets on the upper oval ...  But I was also very ashamed and scared, since I was bleeding from all scratches and had nothing, not even the towel any more ...  I was cold and so messed up...
And that way suddenly got blocked because the ground had crumbled away for too far for me to try and jump or bridge it from under the fence - not the posts, just the fence in the middle
So I had to go back the other way
And when I got there he was waiting for me, smiling, sure I’d have to come back to him somehow
He hit me, hard, so I was reeling and holding my face
He told me what a failure I was
But he'd run out of time.  He looked at his watch as I came into sight and he started acting kind suddenly -
"You'll catch your death of cold", he thought that turn of phrase was funny, "we should get you home".  And he let me wrap the towel up properly and let me sit in the front seat, as long as I kept quiet and didn't cry or anything.  I don't know why he took that risk.  It wasn't so far from home.  I’d thought about if I could run the few blocks home ahead of him, but I couldn't.  He had the car.
the gravel in the carpark had been sharp when I’d fallen out of it.  Trying to hold the door to keep me up.  Dizzy and disoriented.
It's hard to go in cars a bit at the moment.  Seat belts feel like being tied up...
And he said that I would be lost and lost forever
And we made it back just before my mum and Grandma came back from the all night chemist in a nearby suburb, where they'd gone before this started
Not too long before my dad came back from teaching his late class
And we had tuna and cheese toasted sandwiches with salad for dinner
He left me in the laundry next to the carport just as Mum pulled into the driveway with a grin - "this is your problem now" kind of thing
And I locked myself in the downstairs bathroom just in time
And I tried so, so hard to get clean
I sat in the tub for a while
But I knew it was already too late, that what he'd said, how he'd propped my legs up and told me what was happening...  That he was right, that I was already pregnant
There was no way I could know that ...  But it turned out true...
The little girl lost in the scrub
Me lost forever - nowhere for Mum and Dad to even come and cry, if they cared enough to do that, he had said
Such cruelty ...  I feel really sad ....
Hugs?  Or at least a bigger towel ...  I feel disgusting and messed up ...

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