Dear Victims' Commissioner,
I wanted to write to tell you about my experiences of going through the criminal justice process as a victim of sexual assault. From my first contact with the police to my last the process was incredibly gruelling, it took three years from start to end and at times it felt cruel and intrusive.
I reported the crimes against me to the police in October 2019 and at many points since then I felt desperate, my mood plummeted with the constant stirring up of the trauma and intrusion into my private life, interspersed with periods of what seemed like interminable periods of waiting. I was left damaged by the criminal justice process.
Reporting the abuse to the police in the first instance was traumatising. All my traumatic memories were brought to the surface and painfully stirred up. For three years it felt like those memories did not have a chance to settle because with every turn of the criminal justice process my trauma was re-agitated. I had to live with this stirred up unsettled trauma throughout this process. The trauma has always felt like razor sharp shards circulating through my body making my physical existence intensely painful. And for three years that did not stop, there was no break, there was no chance for it settle for a while so I could catch my breath and rest. All the churned-up trauma was my constant companion during my days and the re-visiting me at night in my dreams.
Being interviewed by the police was one of the most intrusive and gruelling conversations of my life. I had to tell the most painful and shameful experiences of my life to a stranger. I had to withstand the probing questions, one after another which seemed to never end. I had to hold back my tears, to steady my voice, to be clear about what had happened, to say the words I struggled to speak. And through it all I thought about the faceless members of the jury who would be watching and judging the truth of my words, when and if my case would go to court. When, one year after the police first interviewed me, they called to let me that they had in error deleted the video recording of my interview, I was devastated and inconsolable for weeks. And then I had to stop my tears and do it all again.
After recording my evidence there was no respite from the police investigation. It was incredibly intrusive. I had to waive all rights to any privacy if I wanted justice. It seemed like nothing was off limits. My medical records, my mobile phone and my therapy notes were all requested and trawled through in a process that at times felt soul-crushingly intrusive. For me the most harmful of these requests was that of my therapy notes. I had asked my therapist* not to write notes. But she did anyway, and I only came to know of the existence of these notes when the police contacted her and asked her for them. I felt completely betrayed and my most intimate moments in therapy were intruded on. The trust that I had worked so hard to build with my therapist was severed and I discontinued therapy with her. I was completely alone with my most painful thoughts and feelings. I felt like I was free falling and there was no safety net. When I refused to give consent for the police to access these notes, I was told that the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) would apply for a court order to access these notes if my ‘consent’ was not forthcoming. I was left in an impossible position. My choices were to either withdraw from the process and let a paedophile who was a GP go free or to hand over an account of my most vulnerable and painful moments. I couldn't bear the thought of either. In the end I handed over the therapy notes, and while the police, the CPS and the barrister searched their content looking for anything that would discredit me, I felt tormented. I re-ran the scene from every therapy session in my mind with not just me and my therapist in the room but also the judge, the jury, the police, the CPS, the defence barrister and most painfully my mind conjured an image of my abuser standing in the corner of the room taking notes and conferring with his counsel. This felt intrusive and abusive.
After this I felt there was nowhere for me to turn to for support. I would not speak to my new therapist about the nightmares that came fearing that my words would be forcibly taken and used against me. I would not speak to my GP about how desperate I was feeling in case the police wanted more information from her. I would not send messages to my friends asking for support in case my phone messages were requested again, and my life trawled through afresh. And when my mood dropped so low it started impacting on my ability to work, I would not bring myself to accept occupational health support in case notes were written and later requested. I felt as though I had been stripped of any form of support and I felt isolated, alone and desperate. I felt like I was gagged and silently choking on the words I could not speak.
And while I was being tormented by this forced disclosure of my therapy notes the offender was free to share the details of his crimes to his legal team in the protected space of legal privilege. He could say what he liked and none of it would ever reach the ears of the court. So, whilst I self-censored every conversation I had with my therapist and would not open up to her about my wounds he could speak openly without consequence about his crimes. I was left struggling alone and he had all the support his money could buy. I had been forced to waive my right to any privacy and as a result any recourse to appropriate support, I lived under constant threat of more of my life being scrutinised.
Then as the court proceedings started the offender was permitted to put in application after application for a stay of prosecution. First there was an ‘abuse of process’ claim and then a claim that he was not ‘fit to stand trial’. He claimed he was not fit on grounds of mental health difficulties. I understood the basis of one of his claims to be: his mental health was severely impacted because I had accused him of sexual assault (that is I had accused him of doing the things that he had done) and because he was so depressed, he should not stand trial. Even to my lay mind, this felt absurd. It seemed to me that he was trying to manipulate the legal system and wriggle out of the charges. The fact that this claim was entertained by his legal team and allowed to be heard in court heightened my distress. He was doing what he had always done throughout my entire life which was creating some sort of false narrative where he was the real ‘victim’ and I the ‘aggressor'. He was doing what had always done which was to manipulate those around him and painfully distort my reality.
Then the offender submitted his defence statement. In another cruel turn I heard about my mother’s dementia diagnosis from the police because it was on the offender’s defence statement. Somehow, he had found out my mother had recently been diagnosed with dementia. My mother was a key witness in the case and the offender was using her dementia diagnosis to undermine the credibility of her testimony. It was another flooring punch that I had to withstand.
In the run up to the trial I was told I was not allowed to get any legal advice, I was not allowed to be prepared for court, I was not allowed to talk to anyone about what questions I might be asked. I was alone in my mind thinking through what his defence barristers might say to me, not knowing how or even if I could withstand the onslaught of questions that would come. I was tormented by the idea that he was innocent until proven guilty. That his presumption of innocence could only mean that I was presumed to be lying.
In the three years of being in the criminal justice process it felt like every inch of my skin was forcibly stripped from my body. Until I was left completely raw with all my flesh and nerves exposed, trapped in what has seemed to me the most brutal storm of my life. In the last few weeks in the run up to the trial even the gentlest of breezes felt like my flesh was being rubbed with the most abrasive sandpaper. Every interaction, ever conversation no matter however kind or well-meaning became excruciatingly painful. I isolated myself more and more. I took time away from a job that I loved. And I held everyone, even those closest to me at arm’s length in an attempt to try and limit the pain of what had become of my existence. I spent more and more of my time on my own curled up in bed contemplating my existence no longer having the energy to move or even speak. In those three years I battled against thoughts of killing myself every day.
I was one of the lucky 1% whose report result in conviction. I was lucky that the police always treated me with respect. I was lucky that the CPS barrister and solicitor took the time to meet with me before the trial and answer my questions. I was lucky the witness service arranged a court familiarisation visit for me before the trial. But despite this the process felt traumatic and intrusive it felt like being raped not knowing how and when it would end.
From start to finish it was never the offender on trial. It was always me. It was my credibility that was in the dock from the start. Even though the end result was positive the process to get there felt like state sanctioned torture. This is how the criminal justice process fails us.
Yours sincerely,
An Anonymous Victim
*This was a British Psychoanalytic Council registered therapist