Naked Memories…
5th February 2026
There have only been four people who’ve seen me naked since I was born, excluding medical professionals and running through the shower at school after P.E (I hated those showers). I completely forget about the perpetrator. He saw me naked as well. I have dissociated. There have been five people who’ve seen me naked.
I’ve tried my best to forget about what happened with him. I didn’t want to do it. He convinced me I needed to, to get over the problems I had. I had to keep doing it until I enjoyed it and was fine with it. I didn’t feel I had a choice.
He also took Polaroids of me after the massages. Not all of the time. He said it was to see if I’d lost weight, and I believed him. There was a specific pose he’d ask for, and he took it from my neck down. He didn’t keep the photos. He’d cut them up and bin them. In the context of who he really is, everything looks and feels so different now. It feels so wrong and seedy.
For someone who claimed not to be interested in sex, he brought it up quite a lot. He used to say how a lot of the people he knew were “sex mad”. Those were his words, which he repeated quite a lot. I just ignored him, but I can now see that it was a huge warning sign. I was so naive.
I realised how far his head was in the gutter during the final months. He wanted me to get the Sunday Sport from the newsagents. I wouldn’t do it, and told him to get himself. I felt so angry, ashamed and disgusted with him. This is who he really was without his mask. He no longer hid it. I just wanted to get him to court…
A friend of his occasionally came over. I never felt comfortable with him. There were times when he tried to grab my leg, and the perpetrator did nothing to stop him. I managed to get away. I felt so awful, and neither of them gave a shit. They didn’t see anything wrong with it. This happened before the police came. Again, I ignored it and buried it.
I buried the memories of the perpetrator abusing me, and I couldn’t access them when I was questioned by the detective. My brain couldn’t make the connections with what he was being accused of.
I told the detective that I’d been sexually abused as a child, and that he’d helped me work through it. I honestly thought he had at the time, but all he did was trigger some of the memories. He didn’t do anything to help heal from that trauma. He just added to it. For him, you just needed to unlock the memories and then you’re miraculously healed. Complete bollocks.
When I was giving my statement, the detective warned me that they’d be obliged to investigate if I gave the name of the person who sexually abused me as a child. I knew what was involved in an investigation, and I couldn’t put myself through it. I knew it’s unlikely it would get to trial because there’d be no firm evidence, only hearsay.
My disclosures during therapy would help, but it would be my word against my dad’s and the family’s. They denied the physical abuse, so what chance did I have about the sexual abuse? None. There needed to be another victim. There’s no way my stepmother would testify against my dad.
One of the newspaper articles quoted one of the perpetrator’s victims. She said he told her to undress as if it was a matter of fact. That is exactly how he’d do it. He was very clinical. I guess this also helped give the impression that nothing inappropriate was happening, and that it didn’t mean anything to him. It was just for our benefit. It’s really fucked up, and it’s really fucked me up. It all has.
I feel so ashamed. I didn’t know what was happening. He also put the responsibility onto me, because he made it seem as if I had a choice, and it was my decision. This messed me up further. This is where a lot of shame and guilt comes from as well. It’s made me feel as if I’d done something wrong. I did it willingly.
When I wouldn’t comply, he’d say that my mum wants me to get better as well. He kept saying that I was safe with him. He was only doing god’s work. Jeez!! He was trying to gain my trust through my mum, and claimed to be holier than thou. What an evil bastard. He used everything. Again, it was only when I regained some of my memories of being sexually abused by my dad, that could I say no to the sexual things.
The massages continued sporadically over the years. There weren’t that many, but he did cross a huge boundary with them. He’d tell me to relax, and that what he was doing would help me. That was always his reasoning. It was always for my benefit…
Over the final eighteen months, he kept telling me that I needed a message. The arrival of the police did change everything, and it felt completely inappropriate. It didn’t feel right. I couldn’t understand why he’d suggest it. I felt angry with him for suggesting it, and I wouldn’t let him anywhere near me. It was a clear no.
All of these things would’ve been triggered inadvertently a couple of years ago. I had no idea. Absolutely none. Please forgive me {} xxx
Regarding the case, I’m only repeating what was reported in the press, not what I read in the statements. The young woman who made the statement of him speaking as a matter of fact, disclosed the incident with her mum that same evening. Her mum never sent her or her sister to see him again, but she remained in contact with the perpetrator. She didn’t cut ties with him.
The mother of another woman took the perpetrator’s side, even after the jury came out with their guilty verdict. Liron has always said it was like a cult, and I feel she is right. I didn’t question his spiritual teachings. I believed everything that came out of his mouth. This is what made him so dangerous. Thank god he didn’t have access to too many people.
It took a while for his spiritual beliefs to completely leave me. I can see it for what it is now and how he used it to his advantage. He didn’t live by what he taught. I think this is what pissed him off about me towards the end. I reminded him of who he should be, and he was never that person.
I spent just over eleven years with him. I felt happy for the majority of that time. We got on really well. I helped him with everything, and in the process I completely lost myself. I lost who I really was. The only time I really went out was to the shops. I even stopped going to galleries and barely had any contact with friends. He completely isolated me.
Thanks to him, I even lost my confidence with my creativity. This was a huge part of who I was. It’s the thing that always kept me going. He claimed that creative ideas are given to us by the guides/guardian angels. I believed him. I believed him when he said I’d only get these ideas when I got myself right. You see the pattern here don’t you?!!
He would get ideas for paintings and pass them onto me. I’d do them, but I completely lost my confidence because they weren’t mine. I wasn’t getting any creative ideas. This led me to not painting after a year of meeting him, and I didn’t paint for ten years.
I only started painting after the police came, and they were fully mine. I remember him criticising them, saying that they all looked the same. They didn’t, but he was trying to put me down. The difference between my paintings and the ones I did with him, was that mine felt alive, the others were dead.
As the years with him passed by, nothing changed. I was desperate for change, but he kept telling me to be patient. The guides know what they’re doing. I still desperately wanted to create, but I put it off. Taking care of the house, helping him organise his teachings, and looking after him took precedence. I had lost all my confidence and I was scared to even try.
I was so glad when each year ended, it gave me hope that things might change in the New Year. Despite now being completely stuck in this house and in my body, I wish the time would slow down. So much happens, and the biggest changes are happening internally.
I’m also in a much better, healthier and happier place than when I was with the perpetrator, but I thought I was happy with him at the time. I had stability for the first time in my life since my mum died. I think this overrode everything else. I’m sure it did.
I honestly don’t know what was real anymore. Knowing who he really is, I do feel ashamed for having felt happy with him. The truth is, it wasn’t all bad, and this makes it extremely confusing.
From where I was coming from, it was the happiest I’d ever been. The perpetrator was the first person to show, what I thought was genuine care for my wellbeing. I saw him as family. He was my father. The father I wished for. I never knew how close to the truth that actually was. He was exactly like my dad.
I can’t tell you how much it upsets me to know that I was just twenty three when we met, and he deliberately stopped me from living my life. It does feel extremely cruel and painful, especially with how I can no longer do anything. My life in that respect is over. I never had a chance to live it. One way or another, it was always taken away from me.
I just had my session and it feels like a huge dam has burst. I told my therapist everything about the perpetrator, including all the things I feel ashamed of. I felt the raw emotions. There’s so much pain and anger, but a lot of guilt, shame, distress and confusion as well. I’m so glad she’s there, and that it’s safe for me to feel these things with her.
I also broke down in tears and felt the immense pain, when I told her that I wished my friend hadn’t taken me to him for a tarot reading. It was for my 23rd birthday. I’ve never thought or felt this until recently. This is how I really feel. I wouldn’t have met him if it wasn’t for that birthday present…
He knew the minute he saw me. Predators instinctively know when someone’s been abused. He also put himself in my reading, saying that I’d be with a much older man who I got on with extremely well, in every way. That disgusts me now. He knew exactly what he was doing from the moment we met. I didn’t have a chance.
My therapist told me that I’ve taken a huge step today. It is a big breakthrough. In all the years I’ve had with her, this is the first time I’ve actually talked about the perpetrator. He never really came to mind, only briefly, but now he’s consuming me. It is time.
I do feel a lot of shame and guilt for his actions as well, even though it had nothing to do with me. I didn’t do anything wrong. The only thing that gives me comfort, is knowing that no one else was harmed during the years I was in that house.
My sense of self did slowly die over those years, but it came back fighting right at the very end.
This is a huge mess to work through. Little by little…
I just remembered, there are six people who’ve seen me. I completely forgot my aunt, who gave me a bath for a while after my mum died. She used to scrub me quite hard. I dreaded it.