A social commentator, Abi Idowu has shared a touching story of how she was raped multiple times.

Idowu shared her story in a series of tweets on her official twitter handle on the 3rd of July 2019.

This is my Truth. I’ve spoken with my Brother and friends about this. Please, I won’t be able to take any calls for now as I’m not doing so good. I’ve also explained why I’ve written this like this.

I’m sitting up in bed staring at my computer screen, trying to summon the courage to tell my story but in a rare moment, my usual articulate self is struggling to say something. I’ve struggled for years with the thought of ever sharing what happened to me.

I would make references but for all my boasting of courage in conversations on other topics. I just couldn’t summon up the courage to tell my truth. Even now as I’m finally starting to type, I’m shaking and in tears.

The events of the past couple of weeks got me into a really bad space and after speaking with my brother; a man who though is much younger to me, but whose opinion I truly value, he told me that he’d been thinking along the same lines about me and that I had his full support.

I’ve decided to go against my initial decision to wait until the passing of my only parent before sharing my story and tell it now. In case anyone wonders why I’m writing my account in this format, I have spoken with my psychiatrist and psychologist (yes, I’ve got both&while I know the admission to this is taboo,it should tell you just how deeply I’ve been affected)&they adviced that I put some distance in my account so that my brain doesn’t struggle too much with the pain&I find myself in abject despair as I’ve done before.

When I was 5 years old going on 6 and we lived in Ikeja GRA in the early 80s ( it was very safe and everyone took care of each other’s children), my parent sent me to her best friend’s house to deliver a message.

I was believed to be able to do this as I had started school when I was 2 years old and was quite sharp for my age. Besides, we lived at 14, Ladoke Akintola and this best friend, Mrs Oladipo, lived at number 13. It was a look left and right and safely cross the street errand.

My own best friend who was her daughter was also there and the joy of being able to see her, made my legs go quickly over to their house. It’s interesting how when momentous events happen to us, the amount of minutiae we remember.

My doctors say it’s the way our brains try to protect and process us from trauma. To this day, I remember being told not to be late in coming back. I remember going up the stairs, knocking on the door and being greeted by the eldest son, Bidemi as he opened the door.

Somehow, I don’t remember seeing my friend. I asked for their mother, delivered my message and I remember, him opening the door and walking out with me. Anyone who remembers Ladoke Akintola in those days would remember that the meters were on the ground floor, tucked away in the back and there was a little cubby hole right under the stairs, where people could store things like bicycles, scooters etc if they wanted. The building blocks had 6 or 8 apartments (depending on each block).

The Oladipos like mine lived in a 6 apartment block like ours, in the middle block, just like ours. I remember coming down the stairs and as I got to the bottom to walk out to the compound. I was grabbed from behind, a hand on my mouth and pulled into the cubby hole.

Read more: https://thebelltimesng.com/2019/07/05/this-is-my-truth-rape-victim-shares-her-story/