Cyber-Bullying: Why ignoring it won't make it go away.

The Internet can be a wonderful thing.  It has taught me invaluable lessons, helped answer questions that had long been bugging me, introduced me to some of my closest friends and kept me in touch with school mates who've moved to pastures new.  I can't imagine my life without the Internet and that's no overstatement.

I found THIS thanks to the Internet.  For that alone, it is WONDERFUL.

However, there are downsides to the Internet.  It's not all David Tennant pictures (sadly).  With the invention of social networking sites, such as Twitter and Facebook, as well as blogging and online forums, we've all been handed our own little corner of the World Wide Web, from which to spout our silly thoughts, our angry rants and our idle daydreams.  All of us.

And not all of us are nice.

The term "Internet Troll" is one I take issue with.  Because all too often, the real description for these people who seek out others to belittle, tease or threaten, is "bully."  And in much the same way as victims of school bullying are told "just ignore them," we are told, in our online lives, that we must not "feed the trolls."

There is some reason behind that suggestion.  When faced with someone who seeks only to get a reaction out of you and who won't listen to any reasonable defence you may put up, there's some sense to the notion that it's wise to turn your e-back on them and refuse to engage, particularly if you are sensitive and don't feel able to speak out against them.  They'll get bored soon enough, after all.

The trouble is, they'll get bored and they'll move onto another victim, unchecked and seemingly free to say or do whatever they please.  Being ignored isn't pleasant for a bully - they crave attention, after all - but it's essentially harmless to them.  They learn precisely nothing from remaining unchallenged, other than that they can make hurtful remarks or casual threats and receive no comeback.  And that is a dangerous lesson.

Why should we allow bullying to go unpunished? 

People say that sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you.  And I call bullshit on that.  In big, shouty capitals.  I've blogged about my own experiences of bullying and how profoundly it affected me at the time, as well as the way it has continued to influence me throughout my adult life (you can, if you'd like, read that blog here).

Words aren't like physical blows, although when they're harsh enough, they can feel like it.  They aren't like physical marks that fade with time and gradually disappear altogether.  Heard over and over, insults begin to seep beneath your skin.  They sink into your pores until they become part of your psyche.  Tell someone they're ugly enough times and they'll start to believe it.  And then it becomes more than just a word.  It begins to define who you think you are.  Because once those words are in your head, they cling on and don't let go.  The bully's negative opinion of you eventually becomes your own negative opinion of yourself.  "Words will never hurt you?"  In the words of Jim Royle: My arse.

Never search for "my arse" without Google's "safe search" turned on.  Just so you know.

So, if we're going to quite rightly state that words can and do hurt when screamed at us, or snidely whispered into our ears by someone right there in front of us, I see no reason to argue that those words aren't just as effective when typed on a computer screen.

All too often, people dismiss online bullying as something easily ignored.  "Just don't respond and they'll go away," they say.  "How can it upset you?!  Just turn your computer off!"  Or, possibly worst of all: "Lighten up, they're probably only joking."

Try being the target of cyber-bullying.  Try experiencing relentless threats and insults.  Try, as I had recently, having total strangers believe utter crap about you and write nasty blogs in which they call you a bully because you've called someone out on their own negative behaviour.  Try, again as I had recently, having someone attempt to use your own writing career against you, by posting Amazon links to your books and making nasty little digs, thus encouraging their followers to slag them off as well!  Then tell me it's all just one big joke.  Tell me you can just turn off your computer and forget about it.  Because when someone is actively stalking your Twitter timeline in order to insult you or lie about you, it's not easy to ignore.  

When you're bullied at school or in the workplace, home becomes your sanctuary.  It's your safe place.  When you're being bullied online, it's happening within your home.  Your safe place is gone.  The Internet is everywhere and that means so are the bullies.  If you genuinely can't understand why that idea is utterly terrifying to those who experience this kind of harassment, then you're part of the problem.  Cyber-bullying is very real and has no less power to affect lives as "real life" bullying does.  The Internet is part of our real lives.  The sensation of dreading checking your emails, or visiting a social networking site is just as powerful as the sensation of dreading getting on the school bus.  I know.  I've experienced both.

The subject of cyber-bullying has come to the fore on Twitter, recently.  Feminist campaigner, Caroline Criado-Perez, successfully protested against the Bank of England's decision to replace the only woman on a UK banknote with a man, thus leaving women entirely unrepresented on our currency (the Queen will someday give way to a king, before anyone pipes up about her presence on every banknote/coin and she's there not due to achievement, but purely as a birthright, which is hardly the same).  Following the Bank of England's decision to introduce a new £10 note featuring Jane Austen in 2017, Ms Criado-Perez was rightfully congratulated by hundreds of her supporters.  However, not everyone was pleased by her victory.

Alongside the tweets of support, Ms Criado-Perez began to receive messages of an altogether different nature.  "You're just a media hungry attention seeker," one Twitter user ranted.  "Stop breathing," demanded another.  Both horrible and entirely unnecessary. Then came: "Can I rape you?"  Hang on... WHAT?

These tweets got worse and worse as time went on.  Descending into genuine threats ("Don't come to Newcastle, bitch!") and several mentions of rape and violent sexual assault.  These cyber-bullies attempted to post Ms Criado-Perez's address online publicly. 

"If your friends survived rape, they weren't raped properly," one vile Twitter user crowed.  "Wouldn't mind tying this bitch to my stove," leered another.  "Hey sweetheart, give me a shout when you're ready to be put in your place."

This wasn't a case of one, sick, pathetic little voice, needling someone whose success they were unable to stomach.  This was dozens - hundreds, even - of sick, pathetic loud voices, yelling their obscenities at one person who had done precisely nothing to any of them.

Caroline Criado-Perez is not of the "don't feed the trolls" mentality.  She believes - as do I - that ignoring these disgusting individuals does precisely nothing to solve the problem.  Calling them out, shouting back and reporting cases to the police and to Twitter/Facebook/wherever online abuse takes place, is a much more effective method.  As I write this, one man has already been arrested for his part in the torrent of abuse and illegal threats of rape and violence and I say that can only be a good thing.  I'm glad to see the police taking a case like this seriously.

Every day, all over the world, bullies take to their computers.  They sit in relative obscurity and send hate out across the Internet.  They make threats, they issue deliberately hurtful insults, they victim-blame and lie and they do so because they can.  Because they're behind a screen.  Because they believe they are untraceable.  Beyond punishment.

They are not.  When we raise our voices against these hateful bullies, we can become noisier than they are.  When they shout abuse, we need to shout louder. Our social network providers need to sit up and listen.  We need easier reporting methods when we come under attack from these bullies.  We need to know that we're protected by authorities who take these vicious threats and harassment seriously.

Imagine rape threats - hundreds of them - being sent to your mother.  Your daughter.  Would you be able to ignore them?  Would you be telling her that it was just a laugh and that she should turn off her computer and get a life?!

When we do nothing to challenge abuse, it will only worsen.  I know that from my experiences with my ex.  Not standing up to him only ever made him nastier.  It's no different with bullies, hiding behind their laptops. Ignore them and they'll eventually move onto someone else.  But why should someone else suffer?!  Why should any of us?

Speaking out is hard.  I have been guilty of silence too many times.  I've even told others to "just ignore them hun," with nothing but the best intentions.  But it's time that we took our heads out of the sand.  There is a problem - a very real problem - with bullying online.  According to the Cyber Bully hotline, roughly 20% of all teenagers who experience cyberbullying will consider suicide.  One in ten will attempt it.  How can we ignore a problem that causes our young to attempt to take their own lives?

The time has come to stand as one and shout back.  It doesn't matter who you are; what gender, nationality, sexuality or religion you may be.  Nobody deserves abuse.  It's time to support each other and say "enough is enough."  If you see cyber-bullying, report it.  Call the person out on their behaviour.  We don't have to "feed the trolls."  But we don't have to tolerate them either.

Dear Westboro Baptist Church...

Yesterday, the news broke that 31 year old Glee actor, Cory Monteith, had been found dead in a Vancouver hotel room.  Cory had spoken with searing honesty about his past addiction to drugs and at the age of 19, he had spent time in rehab.  Whilst the cause of Cory's death is currently still unknown, earlier this year, the star had checked into rehab for a second time.  Now, there will always be narrow-minded people who claim that any death that may have even the slightest connection to substance or alcohol abuse is somehow less important the death of a "clean-living" person.  That the deceased person "had it coming."  But Cory Monteith was open and honest about his issues with drugs and had sought help.  He was 31 years old and, according to rumours, hoping to marry his long-term girlfriend and Glee co-star, Lea Michele.  He most certainly didn't "deserve" to die.

Try telling that to the Westboro Baptist Church.  Yes, yes, I know.  The Westboro Baptist Church are despicable maggots, crawling on the face of our planet and polluting it with hatred, bigotry and intolerance.  Their words are to be taken no more seriously than the words of Tinky Winky, Dipsy, La La and Po in a particularly silly episode of The Tellytubbies.  However, they have a large platform and their disgusting words reach a big audience.  And even more dangerously, they honestly seem to think that they're right.  So this is how they chose to announce Cory's death to their followers on Twitter:

"STRUCK DOWN BY GOD."  Yes, according to the WBC, Cory died because he was a "fag enabler."  He had gay friends and was part of a TV show that appealed to gay people and which featured gay characters.  So far, so pathetically predictable.  But wait...  What is that underneath the words "STRUCK DOWN BY GOD?"  Ah yes.  They tweeted this to Lea Michele.  Let's rephrase that in nice, big words, shall we?

These parasites tweeted the grieving girlfriend of a man they never met, in order to inform her that the person she loved and was hoping to marry had been killed by God.  On purpose.  And that they plan to picket his funeral.

Now I know what you're thinking.  I'm giving these useless excuses for humans the oxygen of publicity just by writing this blog.  But you know what?  If we don't make our voices heard against them, then theirs become the only ones shouting.  And of course, all reasonable, well-adjusted people know that the WBC are just shouting ridiculousness.  That their words are vile, ludicrous and not to be taken even slightly seriously.  So maybe we should leave them to yell obscenities into the ether for all eternity.

Or maybe we shouldn't.

Why should we allow anyone a platform from which to preach hate?  Is it because this group calls itself - laughably - Christian, that we feel no need to intervene?  If this was a Muslim society, would we be quicker to pour scorn over their words?!  Why is that fair?

For a start, the WBC is as far removed from true Christianity as lard is from freshly churned butter.  For all their anger, vitriol and bigotry, here's what the Bible actually says about God's forgiving nature in Psalm 103:8-12:

"The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.  He will not always chide, nor will he keep his anger forever.  He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities.  For as high as the Heavens are above the Earth, so great is his steadfast love..."

HE WILL NOT ALWAYS CHIDE.  HE DOES NOT DEAL WITH US ACCORDING TO OUR SINS.

Now, I'll admit here and now that I'm not particularly religious, but even I can see that that psalm doesn't point towards a vengeful God who will STRIKE DOWN a man purely because he has gay friends.  Yes, the Bible famously contradicts itself, but I still see no reason to believe in the God that the WBC claim to be serving.

The WBC however, opted not to stop at that first tweet.  They then sent this one:

So, in case you didn't get it the first time, Lea, that guy you're devastated over losing?  These people are thrilled to bits about his loss.  So happy, they feel the need to tell you personally.  I actually don't have words for how abhorrent this is.  I can't even go down the "what if someone tweeted YOU to tell you that YOUR partner deserved to die?!" route, because these people are so utterly unable to see beyond their own atrocious opinions that they'd simply tell me that their family members are pure and perfect and will sit in God's Heaven for all eternity, pissing on gay people from on high.  Or something.

They didn't stop there, either.  The above tweet was sent to every actor on Glee.  Every producer, director and assistant they could find.  Every fan page.  And in case you weren't aware of it, Glee has some pretty young fans.  Fans who would have been mortified to discover that their beloved "Finn Hudson" was gone.  The Westboro Baptist Church was sending this message not only to Cory Monteith's family and friends, but to children.

The WBC then took to using the name of the show that made Cory famous, in order to further express how pleased his demise had made them.  Phrases such as "we are GLEE-ful!" made an appearance.  Because God hates fags, but he just loves a pun...

Still, this was as low as they could stoop, right?  Right?  Wrong.

In case this tweet/photo causes any confusion, let me explain:  An organisation, claiming to be a CHURCH OF GOD, has tweeted a woman whose partner died less than 48 hours earlier, encouraging her to COMMIT SUICIDE and just for added extras, encouraging her fans (some of whom, to reiterate, ARE CHILDREN) to do the same.  

There are many, many more tweets of this nature, even including messages suggesting that George Zimmerman murdered Treyvon Martin because we live in a world that "allows fags to exist" (don't even get me started on them bringing that case into their shitty little world of hate) but if those reading this blog are anything like me, they will have been shocked, saddened and disgusted enough for one evening.  I don't need to post any further evidence that these inhuman parasites are dangerous and morally wrong.

So I'll say again:  To give the Westboro Baptist Church the oxygen of publicity is no good thing.  To draw attention to their hate is negative.  But to stand back and do nothing is worse.  

I'm aware that I may be inviting hatred on myself.  But hey, I've been stalked online this year and had malicious lies written about me already, so it's nothing new.  I would rather stand up and shout back than sit down and keep my mouth shut.  It's not good enough to quietly say "I disagree with that" when you see something wrong.  It's not enough to shake your head and watch as minorities are treated with contempt and disgust.  We need to do more than wring our hands over racism, sexism, homophobia and all other forms of bigotry.  We need to speak.  We need to stand as one and speak with our voices united when we say we will NOT accept hatred.  We will NOT accept intolerance.  We will support those who need justice, we will encourage those who want and deserve equality and we will comfort those in need.  Because, Westboro Baptist Church, if there is a God, that is what he'd want.

“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgement you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye."  Matthew 7:1-5

OMG this blog is SO GAY!

I've just been for a walk with my dog.  It was your typical trip into town, with an over-tired one year old Labradoodle, in that my primary thought whilst walking was "bugger, why didn't I give him time for a nap before we came out?!" I wasn't planning on blogging once I got home.  But then, I wasn't planning on overhearing blatant homophobia, either...

Whilst strolling alongside the river, I chanced upon a group of teenage lads.  They were sitting around in the grass, chatting amongst themselves and to be honest, I thought nothing more of them, until one of them announced that he'd have to leave soon, as he was getting a haircut.  The loudest of the group then shot to his feet and yelled: "YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!  ARE YOU GAY?!  THAT IS SO FUCKING GAY!"  Everyone joined in and I was almost at the other end of the park, before the shrieks of "you're gay!" died away.

To be frank, my first thought on the situation was: "Why is having your hair cut, gay?!"  But my second, more pressing concern was: "Why is "gay" being used as an insult?"

It's not a new insult.  When I was at school, "bender" was the term bandied about in jest, when the boys in my class wanted to insult one another, but it does seem to have become even more prevalent since.  Why?  And why the Hell is it even remotely acceptable to use that word in such a fashion?  Okay, with right-thinking people it isn't acceptable in the slightest, but it's all too common and I'm sick to my back teeth of it.

My abusive ex is a good case in point.  He frequently used the word "gay" in a derogatory sense, in spite of knowing that my sister is gay and that I find that use of the word offensive.  He'd simply say the word, no need for anything else - his tone would provide the rest. 

Me: I really want to go and see that show at the theatre if it comes down here.

Him: Gay.

Me: I had to call the RAC for help today; I felt a bit stupid, but I don't know how to change a tyre on my own.

Him: Gay.

Me: I don't like hearing that word used as an insult; I find it offensive.

Him: GAY.

Pictured: Me.  

The thing is, using the word "gay" as an insult says so much more about the person saying it, than it ever could about the recipient.  You may as well respond to something by saying: "I have nothing original or useful to say, but I disagree and want to make you feel stupid and, being utterly devoid of intelligence myself, I'm going to pick on a minority group that's somehow acceptable to offend, what with my being a massive, insecure homophobe."  Except that response would require too many brain cells for your average idiot.

It wouldn't be thought of as remotely okay to start responding to something stupid or annoying by using a term for any other minority group, so why is it alright to use "gay?"

In my eyes, the only people who can get away with using the word "gay" as an insult are gay people, should they choose to do so.

I didn't hear what the teenage lad I walked past said in response to his friends, once they all started picking on him for the heinous crime of getting a trim.  Sadly, I'd imagine he probably leapt to his own defense, insisting on how straight he actually is, as though being thought of as homosexual, even in jest, was the worst thing in the world.  And that just upsets me even more.

It's time we all grew up and found some more adjectives.  Don't like something?  Call it "stupid," or just plain "shit" if you want.  Don't show yourself to be prejudiced and lacking intelligence by labelling an entire group of people's lives as an insult.  People don't choose to be gay.  But you can choose not to be a moron.

Dear Nick Ross...

I'm writing this blog in response to comments made by Nick Ross recently and I'm going to say right here and now that there should be a trigger warning to anyone who reads this.  This blog is in response to this article (and in the coming days, I may well blog on this further Nick Ross controversy too).  In this article, I will be discussing female rape victims only, as Mr Ross' comments centred on women.

Nick Ross, former presenter of Crimewatch, believes that there are "degrees of seriousness" to rape/sexual assault.  Nick compares women going out whilst dressed "provocatively" to a bank "storing sacks of cash by the door," or to a laptop, left on the back seat of a car, in full view of potential thieves.

Rape is a crime that frequently goes unreported.  This is for many reasons, one of the most prevalent being fear.  The victim may fear that they will not be believed.  It may be that the victim doing the reporting will be blamed for what happened.  Unfortunately, attitudes within the media - such as Nick's - don't help to ease this fear.  All too often, our society chooses to question the victim, rather than the perpetrator of a rape or sexual assault.  Did she dress in a manner that left little to the imagination?  Did she lead the man on?  Had she been drinking?  Was she walking alone, late at night?

What society fails to mention, is that not one of those questions has an answer that really changes the facts of the situation.  If a woman says "no" to full, sexual intercourse, or if she is not in a position to consent (i.e. drunk, drugged etc) and the man continues to have sex with her anyway, that is rape.  Plain and simple.  Her outfit doesn't matter.  Her actions up until the point of saying "no" (or becoming unable to consent) don't matter.  Her alcohol intake only matters if she has drunk so much that she can't actively consent and the man has sex with her anyway.  Her decision to walk alone doesn't matter.  When a woman says "no," it means STOP.  When a woman is too drunk to actively consent to sexual activity, you STOP.

The responsibility for rape lies solely with the rapist.

Unfortunately, Nick Ross is not alone in his views.  It doesn't take much digging around online to find people victim-blaming, or defending rapists.  Welsh footballer Ched Evans is currently serving a prison sentence, having been found guilty of rape.  Ched is accused of taking a drunk girl back to his hotel room (along with a second, male friend) and having non-consensual sex with her. Only Ched Evans, the friend in question - Clayton McDonald - and the victim herself truly know what happened in that hotel room.  Yet Ched's girlfriend, who is - somewhat shockingly and some would argue blindly - standing by him and protesting his innocence, frequently points to the victim's drunken state and her willingness to engage in sex.  She argues that the girl has ruined Ched's life (whilst conveniently ignoring the fact that the girl's identity became public and the ensuing storm of abuse she faced from Ched's supporters caused her to flee her home).  A jury convicted Ched Evans and he has twice been refused the right to appeal against his sentence, yet a quick stroll around Twitter will lead you to fans using the "justice for Ched" hashtag and saying things such as: "Ched comes out of jail in October next year,  CANNOT WAIT!  I miss him SO much!"  That last tweet was written by a fan of the football club Ched played for.  Because football is much more important than a woman being sexually assaulted.

Speaking of which, when a sixteen year old girl was violated whilst passed out at a party in Steubenville USA, media outlets were seen to be mourning the loss of the rapists' promising football careers, rather than showing sympathy for their victim.

So it's not as though Nick Ross is the first person to heap blame onto a rape victim, or to show solidarity with the person who carried out the crime, rather than with the victim.

Yet his voice is being heard, louder than most.  And it's a voice that has no place being listened to.  Any person who claims that a victim of rape or sexual assault may have "brought it on themselves" is clearly coming from an unhelpful place and we shouldn't be handing them newspaper column inches, or TV interviews.  Because the fact is incredibly simple:  I could be naked, strolling down a dark alley at midnight, drunk out of my skull and it would still give nobody - NOBODY - the right to lay so much as a little finger on my body without my permission.  To assume that it somehow would be an invitation to rape, is to also assume that men cannot help themselves.  That if they see a bit of flesh, they have to have it.  Personally, if I were a man, I'd find that hugely offensive.

Now, if you've read this far and you're thinking "nope, I disagree with this woman; if girls go out, get drunk and wear revealing outfits, they're asking for trouble," then I suggest you click the "X" in the top right hand corner of your screen.  Because this is where I'm going to tell you the story of something that happened to me on a night out.

I was around twenty years old and out for the evening with a former friend (the reason for the "former" will become clear).  We'd gone to a bar for a couple of drinks, with the intention of heading to a nightclub later.  After a while, a group of 3-4 lads came over to our table and asked if they could join us.  One of them looked a lot like the lead singer of my favourite band and as shallow as it might sound, I thought "HELL yes, you can join us..."

It turned out that I wasn't the first to tell him he looked a bit like the aforementioned singer and the guy told me that he was a fan of the band, too.  We chatted about favourite albums etc and after an hour or so, my friend suggested that the lads come with us to the club.  Whilst walking down the street, the guy stopped and kissed me.  I kissed him back.  I thought I'd met someone who was good looking and nice and we had at least one thing in common.  I was enjoying myself.

On arrival at the club, we discovered that my friend and the rest of the guy's mates had already gone in without us.  The guy told me that one of the others had his wallet and he therefore couldn't pay to go into the club. He suggested that we go "somewhere quiet, just us," instead.  I've always been a bit old fashioned and I wasn't quite sure that I wanted to go off somewhere with a guy I'd only known for an hour, so I told him I'd pay for him to get into the club and he could pay me back when he was reunited with his wallet.  Needless to say, that was money I never saw again.

When we got into the club, I started looking for my friend and for the guy's mates.  Spotting them on the dance floor, I suggested to the guy that we joined them.  He agreed.  Once on the dance floor, he kissed me again and I kissed him back.  Again, I was just a girl, out having fun.  And I thought I'd met someone nice.

That was when things changed.  He took me by the waist and pulled me off the dance floor.  He found a dark area and pushed me against a wall.  He started kissing me much more roughly and I didn't like it.  I moved my head away and told him to stop.  He pinned my arms to my sides and told me: "You know you like it," as he started trying to give me a lovebite on my neck.  I told him that no, I did not like it.  He called me a prick tease and said that I'd "been asking for this all night."  He then grabbed the hem of my dress (which, Nick Ross, was almost knee-length, so my "laptop" was definitely not visible to "thieves") and shoved a hand up between my legs.  He started trying to pull down my underwear.  I tried to push him away, but he was stronger than me - a rugby player, with a solid physique.  I told him to stop.  I said "no" in the strongest possible terms.  He told me to stop fucking around and said I'd led him on by kissing him and now he wanted what was owed.  He tried to grab at my breasts when I managed to push his arms away from my thighs.  He used words like "this is going to fucking happen."  At NO point did anyone interrupt, in spite of the fact that I was, by this point, in an obvious state of panic and distress.

Somehow - and I really don't fully know how - I managed to push him off me and I ran over to where my friend was on the dance floor.  She was in the arms of one of the guy's mates and as I approached, they started kissing.  I called her name and when she turned, I told her what had happened and said I needed to leave.  She laughed and told me "I've pulled, Emma!  If you don't fancy that one, find someone else."

The guy came back up to me and went to grab my arm again.  I darted out of his way and spotted a security guy - a member of the nightclub's team of bouncers - heading upstairs to the club's upper level.  I ran over and told him that a man had tried to force himself on me and I needed help.  The guy had followed me and was busy making "she's been drinking" mimes behind me and laughing.  The bouncer paid no attention to what I was saying, focusing only on what the guy was doing behind me.  He laughed and walked off.

In order to avoid the guy getting hold of me again, I rushed into the ladies' toilets.

Thanks to paying for the arsehole to get into the club, I hadn't got enough money for a cab home by myself and - stupidly - I didn't want to call my parents for help, as it was late and I didn't want to wake them.  So, knowing that my ex boyfriend was a taxi driver and it was the firm that he worked for that had dropped my friend and I into town earlier that night, I called his number, hoping he might give me a freebie, or at least agree to let me pay him for the lift back another time.  When he answered, I told him what had happened.  His response: "Typical you, getting yourself into trouble!  I bet you're wearing a little dress aren't you?  And if you kissed him, what did you expect?!"  Then he laughed and hung up.

My friend and I had a cab home booked, but it wasn't due to arrive for another couple of hours.  Thanks to not one, not two but three people laughing when I asked for help, I felt as though I must have been making a fuss over nothing and that what had happened was entirely my fault.  I spent the rest of the night locked in a toilet cubicle, too frightened to come out, until my friend sent me a text saying that the cab had arrived.  Before we got into the cab, one of the guy's friends told me: "Sorry about tonight.  He gets like that after a drink or two.  He's quite intense, that's all."

Basically, Sorry my friend attempted to force himself on you.  He does that sometimes.  Well that makes it alright, then.

During the journey home, my friend told me that me that I was making a drama over nothing.  I felt so humiliated, so totally stupid for "letting" the events happen, that I continued to blame myself and never said a word to anyone for years.

I was extremely lucky.  What happened to me was nowhere near as bad as it could have been and certainly not comparable with an actual rape.  I wasn't raped and I was able to move on from what happened.  But that incident isn't uncommon.  I've spoken to friends and discovered that many of them have similar tales to tell.  Tales in which they said "no" and were ignored.  Tales in which nobody came to help.  Tales in which they were blamed, or simply not believed.  Tales in which the person responsible was defended by onlookers.

And that's the crux of the issue.  The guy I met was entirely responsible for his actions.  He chose not to listen when I asked him to stop.  He chose to try to take things further after I'd said "no."

I was not drunk.  I was not wearing a particularly skimpy outfit.  But even if I had been, it would make me no more culpable.  If, God forbid, that man had taken me out of that club and done God knows what to me, it would've been HIS conscious choice to do so.  Nothing I said or did, nothing I was wearing, nothing I had drunk would excuse it.

Nick Ross says "rape is not always rape."  Let's make it really, really crystal clear:  If you're a man who has sex with a woman after she says "no," or whilst she's in a state in which she cannot give her consent, then you are a rapist.  If you make excuses for that man and blame the victim, then you are a rape apologist.

If a woman wears a dress, she is not inviting rape.
If a woman goes out drinking, she is not inviting rape.
If a woman walks alone, she is not inviting rape.

To use Nick Ross' own analogy, if a bank stored piles of cash right by the door and someone stole it, that person would've chosen to do so.  If a person left their laptop on the back seat of their car and someone stole it, then that "someone" is displaying the actions of a person who knows that what they're doing is wrong and does it anyway.  It is no different with a rapist.

It's time we stopped questioning what a victim did to bring about her attack.  It's time we started realising that "no" means "no" and that when someone ignores that, the only person we should be blaming is the person who chose to rape.

The Big Reunion

I turned 30 last year.  It wasn't a big deal, really.  I was quite excited to enter a new decade.  This year, I turn 31.  That's a much bigger issue.  There are a few things that I've discovered in the last few months, which annoy me a little more than I'd care to admit.  A few small signs that I might be approaching middle-age.  For example, I can't casually eat whatever I fancy without gaining weight anymore and I have visibly more "laughter lines" than I used to.  And believe me, my life really isn't hilarious enough to justify them...

There is, however, one thing I like about being in my 30's and that is the fact that I feel I can be justifiably nostalgic for my teenage years.

Before I go on, let me clarify: I loathed the majority of my teenage years.  I've blogged about how horrendously bullied I was and the enormous void it created where my self-confidence should have been.  But I'm not talking about that aspect of the era.  I'm talking about the nice bits.  Writing "boobless" on my calculator.  Passing notes to my friends in class.  Getting kicked out of Miss Selfridge for testing ALL of the make up on display (that happened to us all, right?!).  Taping the charts off the radio every week and trying to press "pause" before the DJ started talking all over the songs. Planning my wedding to the popstar of my dreams...

Aaaah, yes.  Reminiscing over teenage crushes.  There's something about those first, hormonal experiences of "love" - it's a feeling that takes hold of you and never quite lets go.  At 14, the object of my adolescent lust was a member of a boyband (as they so often are!).  His name was Lee and he looked like this:

Finding this photo made me go wibbly and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Let me give you a little bit of back story, to explain how important this particular crush - and the band Lee belonged to - were to me.  

Music is an important part of most teenager's lives and mine was no different.  At 12, when I was being spat at and told I was too ugly to live (if you're reading this and you're a bully, f*ck you in the eye with a spoon), I would go home and listen to Take That and all the horrible words I'd had screamed at me would melt away.  I'd wear my Walkman (oh God, just typing that makes me feel old) on the school bus, to drown out the nastiness and I'd come home and make up dance routines to my favourite songs.  Because I was effortlessly cool, obviously.

By the time I was 14, Take That had long since split and I was planning to become the 6th member of the Spice Girls.  Who cared about bullies?  I had GIRL POWER!  Everything was going to be great.

And then, on November 5th 1996, my Paps (my Greek grandfather) passed away, following a stroke.  He was the last of my grandparents and I felt terribly isolated from my friends, most of whom still had all four of their grandparents, alive and well.  Suddenly I was being bullied every day and I was dealing with grief and it was all just too much.  On November 7th, we got in the car and headed to London (where Paps had lived).  I'd taped several songs from the radio onto a cassette to cheer myself up and bought myself a copy of Smash Hits with my pocket money, to read on the journey up from Cornwall.  In a moment of fluke-ish synchronicity, as I turned the page in the magazine, I saw this:

Are his feet not cold?!  PUT SOME SHOES ON, LEE!

And at that very second, the song "Don't Make Me Wait" started playing on the tape I was listening to.  As it did, for the first time in 48 hours, I smiled.  An actual, proper smile.

I know, I know.  As a 30 year old, I can look back rationally and I can see how shallow that might make me sound.  But at the time, all I thought was: "Wow, I don't feel terrible at this precise moment in time and it's all thanks to this band!  I LOVE THEM."

911 became the band who saved me from going out of my head with 14 year old angst.  I listened to that song over and over, during the next few days and weeks.  The eve of my grandfather's funeral, I listened to it a lot.  It was the only thing that took my mind off everything going on around me.  The song was great (I stand by that) and Lee was gorgeous.  He - and the band in general - was my ray of sunshine at a dark time, as dramatic as I know that sounds.  

As time went on, the band became my escape.  My walls quickly became plastered in pictures and I'd talk to them about my troubles, however crazy that may seem.  When the bullying got worse and I was at my lowest, I'd tell Lee all about it.  Okay, he never answered back, but the strange little ritual made me feel less alone, anyway.  When I moved from Cornwall to Gloucestershire in early 1997, I told myself not to be nervous and to look forward to the release of 911's debut album, rather than worry about having to make new friends, or whether or not I'd be bullied at my new school.  When I moved back to Cornwall the year after that, I had two 911 albums to listen to in the car, instead of one.  Throughout all the moving, all the bullying, all the usual trials and tribulations of being a hormonal teenager, the band were my constant.  They were always there and when Lee gave an interview in which he spoke out about bullying and how he hated it, I decided he was someone I could actually trust.  I rarely had crushes on any of the boys at school (there were a few, but only my closest friends knew about them), because I was picked on by so many of them that I was usually too busy hating them, or hiding from them, to actually think about whether their faces were nice or not.  Lee not only had a face I definitely liked, but he sang pretty songs about love and he seemed so much nicer than the horrible boys I was forced to sit on a school bus with.  As far as I was concerned, I was a one-man woman.

My diary.  I was 14.  I was hormonal.  I was practising my signature...

Of course, the thing about being a hormonal teenager is that one day you reach a point where you shake yourself like a wet dog and go: "WHAT AM I DOING?!" and set off on the path towards being an actual "grown up."  By the time I was 17, I was a Manic Street Preachers fan, writing tortured poetry and wondering where the heck Richey went.  And then the whole "growing up" thing just sort of happened.  I got a boyfriend and stopped thinking I was an unlovable freak (until he dumped me, but we're all allowed to have a mini meltdown when we're 19 and broken hearted for the first time, right?!).  I got a job.  I fancied real people that I actually knew.  I went clubbing.  I learnt to drive.  I went on holiday without my parents.  I had to start explaining to younger people what Walkmans actually were...

By the time I turned 30, I was a published author.  I'd survived an emotionally abusive relationship and was getting my life back together.  I was happy and healthy, with a good set of mates and those heady days of kissing posters goodnight were long behind me.  The music I'd once loved - the soundtrack to my teens - was still around, hovering in the background, but the pictures on my walls were of family and friends.  I'd been lucky enough to see 911 twice "back in the day."  They were gone now and whilst I occasionally thought fondly of them (and wondered whether Lee might be as heart-stoppingly gorgeous now as he was then...), that was that.

And then this happened:

I keep thinking this looks like a Sixth Form photo.  Coolest Sixth Form EVER.

ITV2 announced a new show called The Big Reunion, in which they'd bring back six pop groups from the 90's and early 00's.  "Cool," I thought.  "I'll probably watch that!"  And then I saw the line up.  

B*Witched.  "Aw, I used to love them!  I saw them live in the 90's.  I wore double denim in their honour!"

Atomic Kitten. "They were awesome.  Whole Again is such a fab song."

5ive. "I loved 5ive!  I remember taping their performance of When The Lights Go Out from Top Of The Pops!"

Liberty X. "I saw them live, too.  They were so cool, back in the day!"

Honeyz. "I remember singing End of The Line and Finally Found with my friends, trying to do harmonies."

911. "ghwkfmdxqocrthJHBFHWINDWKJHCLHQWDNDXMCBXFHCWUGRIUNS.  *breathes*  SERIOUSLY?!"

From the first week it was on, The Big Reunion pretty much became the show I watched religiously.  There were to be no excuses for missing it.  I had to know what had happened to "my boys" since they'd split, 13 years earlier.  I wanted to find out what had become of the man who'd inspired me to support Carlisle United for the last sixteen years!  If anyone texted during the show, they'd be lucky to get a reply during the ad breaks.  Once a week, I took a trip down Memory Lane and I bloody loved it.

Last time 911 were on breakfast TV, I taped it and watched it so many times the video went all warped...

A funny thing started to happen.  The more I watched the show, the more I reminisced.  Not just about my teenage crush on Lee, or about trying - and failing - to bodyshake.  But about my life back then.  About the friends I had, the places I visited, the dreams I held.  I contacted old school friends on Facebook, some of whom I'd not spoken to in years.  I realised that in spite of what I thought at the time, 14 year old me was actually a decent girl.  Someone I'm proud to have been.  She was funny and bright, even if she never knew quite what to do with her hair.  She was loyal to her friends and she aspired to big things.  So she slept with a cardboard cut out of a member of a boyband... WE WERE ALL YOUNG ONCE.

And those songs!  Listening to them all again - not just 911, but all of the bands' back catalogues - brought back so many memories.  Dancing at youth club with my mates.  Listening to The Day We Find Love every night religiously before going to sleep.  Recording "demo tapes" with friends, covering our favourite songs.  It's not an overstatement to say that some of the songs recorded by the bands featured on The Big Reunion really were the soundtrack to my growing up.

So when a Big Reunion tour was announced, there was no question of not going.  Luckily, I have a best friend who understands the significance of seeing your favourite bands from your teenage years live again.

I love 911.  Lydia loves 5ive.  We were destined to be best friends, due to our mutual love of numbered bands.

Of COURSE I made a top for the occasion!

Settling into our seats at Cardiff Motorpoint Arena on Saturday May 11th 2013, both of us were, it's fair to say, more than a little bit excited.  The phrase "I might actually be sick" was bandied about.  But then again, so was the phrase "he has a head like a potato," so...

The lights went down, 5ive (now 4our) came on stage and we went from being quite sensible grown ups to hormonal teenagers in seconds flat.  We - and those around us -  screamed so loudly that the sound was reverberating in my ears for hours afterwards.  And the concert itself?  AMAZING.

5ive were brilliant show-openers.  They harmonised, they danced, they got the crowd going and were just generally awesome.  B*Witched jigged their way through C'est La Vie as though it was still 1997 and Rollercoaster (sort of my theme song, after my birthday trip to Alton Towers last year) was a highlight of the night.  The Honeyz harmonised beautifully and brought some sass to the proceedings with Won't Take It Lying Down.  Liberty X were sexy and edgy.  Atomic Kitten were bursting with energy.  And 911...  Seeing them again after all these years reduced me to a jelly-legged, jumping, singing fourteen year old, all over again.  

None of the bands were a disappointment.  Every dance move was polished to perfection.  Every song brought back memories.  The whole night made me realise how important those trips down Memory Lane actually are.  We are only the people we are today, because of the experiences we've had in the past, after all!  Who knows if I'd be quite the same Emma now, had I never seen that advert and heard that song.  Who knows if I'd even be here, such was the level of distress I was living with at the time.  The fact is, that slightly geeky girl who used to practise signing her name "Emma Brennan" and who plastered her walls with 911 posters, is a huge part of the woman I became.  Reminiscing over those days, thanks to The Big Reunion, gave me a chance to remember so much more than songs.  It reminded me of the times I'm happy to have lived through, as well as the times I'm glad to have put behind me.

I can't adequately describe how brilliant the night was, so have some photos:

Who gots da funk, 5ive gots da funk, right? 

"I fight like me da' as well!" - B*Witched.

Lydia took this photo of 911.  I was very busy at the time.  Screaming my ass off.

"Money can't buy ya Honeyz..." Except it can, cos I paid for my ticket and they were there.

Atomic Kitten.  I'm sure my Nan once had a lampshade that looked like Tash's skirt...

"L to the I to the B to the E to the R to the T-Y." X.

Guess what this band is called?!

Everyone looks cooler in dramatic silhouette.

Lee looked over and my inner 14 year old wet her knickers.

So that was that.  The lights came up, Lydia and I had had an amazing night and we prepared to leave, grabbing our things and gushing over how brilliant the show had been.  We decided, on the off-chance, to do a spot of stage door lurking.  Because, well, you never know...

...And as it turned out, that half an hour or so of standing about ended up being amongst the highlights of the entire night.  No, weekend.  No, year so far.

First of all, Lydia ended up having a good old chin wag with Kerry Katona from Atomic Kitten, who, it turns out, is a total sweetheart.

Lydia has a new best friend.  Woe. 

And then something happened that had already happened a million times in my head.  I've mentioned Lee a few times, so I'm pretty sure you know where I'm going with this, right?  Yes, you guessed it.  Reader, I married him.  Well, okay, I held his hand and gave him a hug.  To him, I was just another fan, after just another show.  To me, he was the only man my 14 year old self actually had any faith in (besides my family members, obviously).  The person I'd quietly poured out all my troubles to.  The only constant during those turbulent, hormonal years.  And oh my God, you've no idea how relieved I was that he was nice.  See, had I met him when I was 14, he could've stabbed an old lady, whilst wearing a puppy-fur coat and I might (MIGHT) have shrugged it off, what with the fact that I was besotted with him.  But as a 30 year old adult woman, had I met him and he had been a bit of a dick...  Well, it would have required a lot of alcohol to forget, that's for sure.  But no, he was as sweet and friendly as I'd hoped he'd be all those years ago and I privately applauded my clearly excellent taste in teenage crushes.  Oh and for the record?  I totally still would. ;-) 

It's blurry, but damnit, it's proof. ;-)

So my advice to anyone reading this blog now?  Take your own trip down Memory Lane; you never know what you might discover!  Dig out your old music collection.  Listen to the songs you grew up with.  Find out what became of your teenage crushes and be proud of the awkward, shy, hormonal mess you might once have been.  Because that person helped make you what you are today.

A Few Things You Might Want To Avoid Saying To An Abuse Survivor...

This isn't the clearest image, but my tattoo says: "This world will not impose its will.  

I will not give up and I will not give in."  

There are many things I've done in my life that I'm proud of.  There are also many things I'm still yet to accomplish.  However, one thing I never expected to have to do, is survive an abusive relationship and recover from the damage it did.  Still, here I am, in that position and using the knowledge it gave me to attempt to raise some awareness.  

On average, abuse affects 1 in 4 women and 1 in 6 men.  That means that you almost certainly know somebody who has experienced it in some form.  And yet, on an almost daily basis, I see people discussing the subject and using language that will only ever offend anyone who has experienced abuse.  Why are we so bad at talking about it?!  It's my belief that it comes from a lack of understanding.  And that's not surprising; abuse is an incredibly complex subject and awareness needs to start earlier, with discussion in schools.

Since I began speaking out against 50 Shades, I've obviously encountered a lot more discussion on abuse than I might otherwise have done.  Some of the discussion/debate has been genuinely fascinating, with respect on both sides.  Some...  Yeah, not so much.

With that in mind, I want to explain a few things that you might want to avoid saying to an abuse survivor and why...

1. Why the HELL didn't you leave?!

Leaving a relationship is a complicated decision at the best of times.  Finances and the presence of children might be a consideration in the decision-making process.  But when that relationship is abusive, there are suddenly dozens of other factors at play.  A person might be afraid of what their partner will do to them - physically or emotionally - if they try to walk away.  They may be concerned that the partner will harm themselves.  Never forget that emotional manipulation is present in all abusive relationships and therefore, the person trying to decide whether or not to leave might not be thinking rationally as a result.  I know from looking back at my own relationship, that there were several points where I should have ended it.  But I also know that it's easy to say that now, when I'm no longer being manipulated.  At the time, I believed my ex couldn't help his behaviour (because he told me, frequently, that he couldn't).  I believed him when he told me he loved me and needed my help to change.  I had also been manipulated into thinking much of what was happening was my fault and that he was simply a vulnerable man with a terrible past, who needed me.  The thought of leaving him made me feel like I would be abandoning him; selfishly putting my own need to end what was happening, over his need for my support.  That made the act of walking away almost impossible for a long time and that's without the added fear that comes with a relationship that involves physical violence.  

Also, as hard as it is to believe, people stay in abusive relationships because they love their partners.  I loved my ex.  Even when he was calling me "weak and pathetic," I loved him.  I realise that's almost impossible to understand, but it's the simple truth.  I'd never have stayed as long as I did, had I not loved him unconditionally.  When things were good, they were great.  And I really believed that some day, it'd be good all the time.

Often, the person being abused believes all the nasty, cruel things their abuser says about them.  They might think they're unlovable, or that they'll never find anyone else.  Abuse sends your self-esteem plummeting and sometimes, as surprising as it sounds, a person will feel grateful that their abuser stays with them, when they're so unworthy.

To summarise: It is NEVER as simple as "just leave."  And not being able to leave does not EVER mean that a person "deserves" the abuse they get.  Walking away is one of the hardest things a person will ever do.

Victim blaming is just a load of waffle.  But less tasty than this one.

2. You must have done SOMETHING to piss your partner off...

For the last 9 months, I've been having counselling sessions with a support worker from a women's abuse charity.  Every few sessions, we fill in a questionnaire, to see how well I'm progressing (and since my next session is my last one, I think we can say I've progressed pretty well...).  To each statement on the questionnaire, I have to decide whether I very much agree, or very much disagree (or am somewhere in between the two).  One of the statements is: "I am not to blame for my abuse."  The highest response on the questionnaire is "5," which means "I very much agree."  I have never been able to answer higher than a 4.  Why?  Because victim-blaming is so embedded in our culture, that whenever I tell myself "no, I was not at all to blame," someone makes a comment that trips me up.

It's so easy for someone outside a situation to casually judge it.  "Oh, if he didn't like you wearing a low cut dress, why wear one?!  You were asking for trouble!"

The fact is, there is NO excuse for abuse.  Ever.  If dinner is burnt, it does not give your partner the right to slap you.  If you wear a short skirt, it gives nobody the right to rape you.  No one is perfect and we're all capable of doing or saying things that piss off our partners.  But it never gives them the right to abuse us.

Also, bear in mind that in an abuser's eyes, we will never get it right.  What is deemed acceptable behaviour one day, will incur their wrath the next.  As a case in point, my ex used to tell me I was "weak and pathetic" for not standing up to him.  The point was, of course, that I didn't stand up to him because he had manipulated me into feeling sorry for him and thinking he knew no better than the way he behaved.  I viewed his callous outbursts, or his sleeping with other girls, or his constant turning attention back to himself, regardless of my needs, as symptoms of his terrible childhood.  Because that's exactly what he wanted me to think.  But he saw my failure to call him on his behaviour as "disgusting."  So I decided to try to be tougher and the next time he told me he was going out drinking and was planning to fuck someone else, I told him to sort his act out and grow up.  There I was, standing up to him, just like he said he wanted me to do.  And he told me I was an ignorant c*nt and said I clearly didn't understand him and he'd do as he f*cking well pleased.  I could never get it right, because he would always move the goalposts.  That's a common feature of abusive relationships.

So yes, someone being abused is just as capable of saying or doing something to piss off their partner.  But bear in mind that a) that's NEVER an excuse and b) it's probably much more easily done than with a non-abusive partner, who doesn't have such ridiculous expectations.  Don't ever blame the victim for the actions of the abuser.

3. It's only abuse if they hit you...

If you think this, you are wrong.  If you SAY this to a survivor of non-physical abuse, you are beyond wrong.

Constant emotional manipulation = abuse.

Controlling you against your will = abuse.

Excessive possessiveness = abuse.

Making sexual demands you are uncomfortable with = abuse.

Belittling you and putting your needs second at all times = abuse.

Constantly moving the goalposts so you never know what to expect = abuse.

Coercive consent = abuse.

Stalking = abuse.

That's just a small list of non-physical forms of abuse, but there are many more.  If you genuinely believe that it's only abuse if a person is beaten, then I encourage, no implore you to educate yourself.

4. Your ex is a really nice person.

All abusers wear a mask in public.  Not a literal one (although that would make them much easier to spot), but a metaphorical "cover" for their abusive persona.  My ex could be charming, witty, intelligent and generous.  If you ask someone who's still close to him, those are just some of the positive adjectives they might use to describe him.  The fact is, someone can be all of those things and more in public, whilst remaining angry, bitter, manipulative and cruel behind closed doors.  And on a related note...

5.  Your ex can't even stand to hear your name mentioned...

Nobody who has been through the emotionally draining process of leaving an abusive relationship, coming to terms with what happened to them and trying to move on from it, wants to hear that their partner harbours anger or resentment towards them.  We don't want to be told that our ex is telling people we're "mad," or that they're turning the situation round to make themselves look like the victim when they speak to their new partner about us.  We're aware that it happens, but we've spent a long time learning not to put ourselves down or blame ourselves.  Don't open a can of worms that will inevitably wriggle into our brains at night and cause us to dwell on situations we're well out of.  If you know someone who has been through an abusive relationship and you also know their ex, do yourself a favour and don't tell that person anything about their former partner.  We don't want or need to know.  

Me on a rollercoaster.  Note I'm not quite over the edge.

6. Shouldn't you be over it by now?!

People are all different.  There is no standard response to trauma.  I'm sitting here, 20 months after leaving my abusive relationship, thinking: "Yes.  I'm ready to be with someone new.  I'd like to date again."  Some people might think that's far too soon to be considering starting afresh.  Others might believe it has taken me too long to get to this point.

There really isn't, however, a point where you're magically "over it."  Abuse changes you.  It can rob you of beliefs.  It can change your entire perception of the world in which you live.  Even when you're in a new relationship, happily moving on with your life, you may never be over what happened to you.  A word, or an action can trigger a memory.  A memory can trigger a feeling and you may find that years after leaving, you're still having bad days as well as good.  

Last weekend, I went to a show at a venue in the city my ex lives in.  I went to see someone we'd previously seen together, at that same venue.  I consider myself to be in a good place, emotionally and I know I'm ready to be with someone else.  But I still spent the time waiting for the show to start, obsessively scanning the crowd for my ex, with a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.  What he did to me left me hating myself.  Wanting to die.  You don't just casually "get over" that.  A part of it will probably always be there, however well I'm doing with my life.

Never tell an abuse survivor that they ought to be "over" what they went through.  Never assume that someone who seems "fine" doesn't still have deep scars because of what they experienced.

7. I don't believe you.

Never, ever, EVER say, either outright or as an implication, that you don't believe a person's story of abuse. It takes enormous courage to speak out about what they've experienced and part of the reason for that is the fear that they won't be believed, or that their situation will be trivialised.  

One of the first people I told about my abusive relationship, outside of my immediate family and friends, was a man I'd known for a while and thought I could trust.  He took me out for lunch and we chatted about exes.  I told him what had happened.  He sat thoughtfully for a few minutes and then said: "Sounds like you just couldn't handle his rejection of you very well and you're quite bitter."

In that one sentence, he undid all the hard work I'd been doing to try to get myself into a healthy emotional space again.  The implication was that it wasn't abuse that I'd experienced and that in fact, there was a problem with me, not my ex.  As a result, it would be several months before I would get help through counselling and I began harming myself, thinking I was to blame.

Yes, people can lie and make things up.  But never assume that someone is.  If someone confides in you that they're being abused or that they have been previously, please show them that you believe what they're saying.  Just doing that will help them more than you know.

8. I wish I had my very own Christian Grey!!

I can't talk for ALL abuse survivors and I know that there are some women who've experienced abuse and still love 50 Shades.  But there are MANY of us who recognise all the signs of abuse that we experienced in the pages of this so-called "romance."  And telling us that you wish you had a man like Christian Grey comes across as though you're telling us you think our abusive exes are sexy, exciting and wonderful.  They're not.  They're poisonous and they came close to destroying us.  Enjoy the books if you like, but please don't ever tell us to believe they're anything but abuse-glorifying, dangerous tripe.