No One Wants You Read Online Free PDF

the ashes in a metal bucket and I then had to dispose of them by a wall at the bottom of the garden. This area of the garden was where all the household rubbish was dumped. It was considered unsightly and was therefore not visible from the house.
    On September 4, 1956, I was out in the garden, putting out the ashes. As I bent over to empty the bucket of ashes, I felt somebody rushing towards me.
    It was a man.
    It was one of the group of younger men that used to hang around our house.
    He pushed me against the wall.
    He raped me.
    He so brutally raped me.
    It was the speed with which it happened. It was so unexpected. One minute I was turning a bucket upside down, the next minute I was completely overpowered by him.
    I did not have time to react.
    I did not have time to think.
    He pinned my right hand on the ground with his heavy hob-nailed boot. He ripped my knickers away from my body. He pushed my face into the ground. Then he tried to push his erect penis into my body. I was seven years old.
    Blood spurted everywhere.
    He grunted and groaned, and finally withdrew himself.
    My nose and two fingers on my right hand were broken. I felt it when they snapped. It was extremely painful. I endured the pain and did not complain, as I was afraid of the consequences.
    My nose causes me untold trouble to this very day. Today it is still very obvious, as the unset bone protrudes at an odd angle.
    As I grew older, and under the toll of negative comments regarding my entire existence, I began to consider myself entirely ugly in every way. The broken bones in my fingers have never been set or repaired by a doctor. They were never examined by anyone and the breaks were allowed to set as they were left.
    In fact they have caused me much embarrassment, as I now work within the medical profession. My colleagues are often dismayed by my injuries and the obvious absence of any proper treatment. My excuses, which are always lies, do not entirely satisfy them. They are very sympathetic but they usually don’t ask me any more questions. I think they know that I am not telling the truth.
    As he left me lying on the ground, I heard him say, ‘You can’t tell anybody about this, because they won’t believe you and because nobody wants you anyway.’
    I was completely in shock.
    I was unable to move.
    I may have been unconscious for a while.
    When I realised what had happened to me, and where I was, I rose shakily to my feet. I stumbled my way down the garden, towards the house. Covered in ashes and blood, I collapsed in a heap on the ground outside the back door.
    I was shaken to my feet by my foster-mother, who yelled at me, ‘What happened to you? What the fuck happened to you?’
    I told her the story, as best I could. Incredulously, she berated me for telling lies about the man. She must have realised that I was in a poor condition, as she did not beat me physically on this occasion, as she would normally have done. I was undressed and put in my bed.
    My bed was by now two railroad sleepers resting on top of each other, as the tea chest had long since disintegrated. I whimpered in pain, all through that day and the night. Although I was haemorrhaging badly from my vaginal area and my broken bones were extremely painful, my foster-mother did not take me to a doctor.
    After that rape of my young body, at the age of seven, I came to believe that I was there, because nobody ever wanted me, and whatever happened, it didn’t matter, because no one cared. So, I believed it was entirely normal that whatever bones were broken, or tissue torn, they would remain that way. I believed that medical help was not an option for me. I was not good enough to receive it.
    As I healed up after this rape, my foster-mother felt that I had been initiated into the world of sex. But because of my injuries, infection set in. This was extremely painful and it was often itchy.
    The same man, who still came to the house most nights, would watch me. If he caught me