I Am Nobody

by Greg Gilhooly

  Hurting the ones you love and need the most makes everything worse, so you think even less of yourself, so you hate yourself more, so you have even less desire to interact with the outside world. Having commenced therapy, I was now on a downward spiral. I had alienated many friends over the years, especially following my inability to come forward after Sheldon had. I repeatedly made plans and then canceled, not because I didn’t want to be with others, but because I couldn’t leave the house because of my panic and fears of self-doubt. My friends initially referred to me as “Gil No-Show” until they just stopped referring to me at all. I missed them more than ever, I needed them more than ever, but all I had ever done was put up walls between us, effectively shutting them out of my life.

  In my mind, I was a unique patient with the most bizarre story to tell, one nobody would ever understand. I’d believed for so long that I had been suffering alone and in my own way, one nobody else could ever possibly understand. Yet my doctors instantly knew all about me, they were now telling me that my actions during and ever since the abuse were virtually textbook, entirely predictable, and easily understandable.

  So, I wasn’t unique. I was a victim like so many others, a survivor who had been strong enough to make it through and get to the point where I could engage in recovery, a recovery that would take time but that in the end might lead to an understanding that would allow me to accept that I had been a victim and was now a survivor. To my surprise, the doctors could explain me to myself.

  It was readily apparent to my doctors that I was suffering from extreme clinical depression, a common result of abuse. I was also diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), an injury to the brain that negatively impacts the way in which the brain processes emotional responses and responds to stress. In my case, it arose from the intense stress inflicted on it by the abuse.

  Slowly, we attempted to answer the questions in therapy, with the answers to the questions always leading to more questions. Going through therapy meant reliving the inner dialogue that had been playing in my head year after year after year.

  Why couldn’t I stop him?

  Why did I keep going back to him?

  Why can’t I just get over it?

  Except now there were people providing me with something other than my own twisted perspective.

  Who were you before you met him?

  Why do you think you first met with him?

  Who was the adult with power back then?

  Can’t you see that you could never stop him?

  Did you know that most victims like you suffer as you do?

  Did you know that your self-abuse and destruction is perfectly textbook?

  Do you know you’re actually an amazing survivor?

  It’s easy to speak the words, quite another to live the answers. It’s easy to research the issues and understand at an intellectual level how everything works. Living that new reality, however, is a different matter entirely.

  Why can’t I just move on?

  I discovered early in my treatment that I may never truly understand how somebody seemingly so smart could have let the abuse happen and persist for so long. Despite the therapy, it still doesn’t make sense.

  I was starting to better understand that Graham held all the power, that he was lying and manipulating me when he said I was gay, that I kept going back to him because I didn’t think I had a choice, that he was also the only person I had to talk to in my darkest moments, that he had me right where he wanted me—in awe of him.

  I saw that although Graham had committed the abuse, I was left to punish myself for it. I had to forgive myself. My therapist assured me that cutting, bingeing, purging, and other forms of self-abuse are common among those who have been abused. They were ways of showing that I could and can do things in addition to what Graham wanted. They were also subliminal cries for help.

  Being overweight is also common among those who been sexually abused as children because it makes us feel safe. This has been a big problem for me. My issues with body image and the association of physical fitness with danger has time and again left me grossly overweight and out of shape. After having tried so many ways to self-destruct, I found that not only did weight gain offer safety from abuse, it was also the best way to remove myself from the mainstream of society and find the ultimate self-destruction I had been seeking.

  I’ve seen the world from the perspective of both a fit athlete and an overweight recluse who wants to dissolve into nothingness. Being overweight is without a doubt the most effective way to kill yourself without actually dying. Not dying in the physical sense, but in the way that the world looks at you, or rather doesn’t. People look away. They don’t want to see you. They make assumptions about your personality, about your character. You want to self-destruct? Put on weight.

  That can be a problem in recovery. I have said for years that an alcoholic on his or her first day of AA presents to the outside world as a “normal” person. The morbidly obese person on his or her first day of recovery presents as, well, a morbidly obese person. For a person whose mental state is so fragile, who is in the midst of a reprogramming that will supposedly open up a new future, the mirror is an enemy. Even worse, while the plan is to re-emerge and once again live a real life, who wants to present to the world as somebody morbidly obese, who wants to make first impressions, or renewed impressions, as their very worst physical version of themselves?

  I wanted to emerge, re-engage, and yet I also wanted to hide from view. And so, while I was in recovery, I reverted to old habits, old behaviors. I tried so hard to break the pattern, yet I was reminded of my past mistakes because I was still living them. One step forward, two steps back.

  Through treatment I gained a new perspective on my failed relationships. I had to admit that it must be difficult to be in a relationship with someone like me who was dealing with what I was dealing with and who self-abuses and self-sabotages. I also had to admit that, because I believed that I didn’t deserve to be with good people, I often ruined very good relationships with very good women.

  I discovered that, because I had no sense of self and believed myself unworthy, I was actually more comfortable in situations that were bad for me than in ones that offered me the possibility of real success.

  My healing began not all at once but with an odd good day among the usual bad days where all I could see was futility. Incrementally I was getting better, though it took a while before I could see it. It’s a long road back. You don’t just show up, have the carnage explained to you, and then say, “Well, I’m better now.”

  Nevertheless, I was on my way back when it happened once again. One evening in 2009, there on the television was a story that Theo Fleury, of the Calgary Flames, was retiring from hockey. Except it wasn’t just the usual press conference announcing a retirement. He was also announcing that he had written a book detailing the sexual abuse he had suffered as a young hockey player at the hands of Graham James.

  Graham’s picture was once again all over the news. The same pictures, his dead shark eyes once again looking back at me.

  But unlike the moment when Sheldon Kennedy came forward, I didn’t bend over and throw up. It was jarring to see Graham’s face again, but this time I was already dealing with him every day and in my weekly sessions.

  I had gone to my doctors to fight for my future. In my mind, all I had ever wanted since that night on the bridge was to live again. I never thought of doing anything other than working hard, in private, to secure my own recovery.

  I had regretted for years that I had not come forward when Sheldon had. I wasn’t going to let anybody down this time, no matter how unready I may have been for what was about to follow.

  My recovery was about to take a bit of a detour. This time I wasn’t going to remain silent. This time I was going to stand up to him. This time I was going to take my power back and assert myself.

  This time I was going to live again.

  NINE

  COMING
FORWARD

  I HAD ALREADY BEEN in therapy for almost a year when Theo came forward publicly. Once again I was required to confront the reality that there was yet another victim who had come after me, another victim who wouldn’t have been hurt had I stood up to Graham.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse. I was alone. While therapy had allowed me to manage the past on my own timeline, Graham’s face was now everywhere pushing me to act, while deep down I knew that I wasn’t yet strong enough and still wanted only someplace to hide.

  Graham had long left the public eye, so the only pictures of him were from the past. They showed a pudgy, shortish, disheveled mess. Back then, I hadn’t seen that. Back then, I had seen a powerful, intelligent man who held the key to everything I had ever dreamed of. The disconnect was startling.

  The focus in therapy was for me to try to understand things from the viewpoint of the young boy who had first met Graham so that I could learn to forgive myself for what had happened and to understand that it wasn’t my fault. This was very difficult now that Theo had come forward, as I was caught up once again in blaming myself for what had happened to those who came after me.

  But in contrast to when Sheldon came forward, I had now emerged from my night on the bridge and was in recovery, taking steps to become stronger.

  I had always intended to conduct my recovery in private and just try to move on with my life. The thought of going to the police or anybody else about Graham wasn’t ever on my radar. My only goal was to try to live again. However, after Theo came forward there were rumblings that a police investigation was underway and that new charges might be laid against Graham. This presented a new problem for me.

  Recovery would be much more possible for me if I could work with my doctors and professionals without interference, on my own timeline, and in a way that respected my relative abilities at the time, given the inevitable ups and downs recovery involves. At the same time, I knew how damaging it had been for me when I didn’t come forward when Sheldon had. There was no good option. I could either come forward and risk my recovery, or remain silent and risk becoming suicidal again.

  After hearing that the Winnipeg police were investigating and considering what to do, both alone and in therapy, I made multiple tentative approaches to the police. I say “tentative” because, as with my experiences with a new doctor or therapist, I couldn’t simply open up and discuss my innermost secrets with strangers until a certain trust had first developed. My initial approach was less than direct, and I was nowhere near strong enough to think that I would be believed. I went back and forth with the police for a few months before I let them know that I was ready to come to Winnipeg and give them a formal statement.

  While I was debating whether to make a formal statement to the police, I discovered that Graham had been pardoned by the National Parole Board of Canada. Pardon me? Yes, Graham, having received a ridiculously short jail sentence after Sheldon and the unnamed other had come forward, was now not only out of jail and a free man, but he had also received a pardon.

  His pardon wasn’t widely known and it didn’t make sense. How could a sexual predator convicted of hundreds of individual sexual assaults ever receive a pardon? I was angry. I knew that if this was true, and if word of this ever got out, there would be immediate political fallout. How could a pardon for a convicted child sexual offender ever be considered just? I knew there would be enormous pressure on the government to make immediate changes to the law if the public ever learned of his pardon.

  His pardon offended me to the core, so I wanted to come forward with my story. But I also knew that I was not ready to do that, that my recovery was still in its infancy. I started to regress. The situation was getting the better of me—until strength came to me from the strangest place.

  Princeton’s official motto is Dei sub numine viget (Under God’s Power She Flourishes). I’ve never been religious (though I remain open-minded and support all who are, provided they respect all others’ beliefs), and with the mention of “God” I had always looked past it while preferring the second, unofficial motto: In the Nation’s Service. As I mulled over what to do next, for some strange reason that second, unofficial motto came to me over and over again. I have no idea why, given that the definitive article “the” likely meant it referred only to the U.S., but it gave me strength when I had none. I came to believe that I had to live up to it and come forward and tell about Graham’s pardon and my abuse no matter how unprepared I was for whatever would follow.

  Why did I happen to think of that unofficial Princeton motto just then? Well, maybe I was wrong about the official one. And, in another twist of fate, the unofficial motto was subsequently expanded to cover not just the U.S. but all of humanity.

  I took a leap of faith and opened up to Gerry Arnold, a friend from the local Oakville minor hockey coaching world who held a senior position at the Canadian Press. He was both sympathetic and helpful and put me in touch with two writers. There was only one condition: I was to remain anonymous. I had no interest in ever going public with my name. I just wanted the story of Graham’s pardon revealed. I did not wish to have anybody but close contacts ever know what had happened to me. Throughout the process, everybody at the Canadian Press was extremely diligent and respectful of me and my privacy.

  I didn’t want the government to be embarrassed or caught unawares by my disclosure of Graham’s pardon. It would be best to bring the government up to speed so that it could respond in a proactive rather than reactive manner. I was not coming forward so that somebody could scoop anybody or make the government look good or bad. I was coming forward because I had discovered something that distressed me. I thought everybody should know about it so that the right thing could be done irrespective of political stripe. I was upset that Graham had been pardoned, and I wanted that corrected.

  A former colleague from law school, Nigel Wright, was at that time Chief of Staff in the Prime Minister’s Office. I gave him a heads-up as to what was about to happen. Nigel is a very good man, and I am proud to call him a friend.

  I told my mom, brother, and sister what was going on. They responded perfectly, taking time to listen, saving questions that I know they must have had until later, when I would release more and more information to them slowly, over time, at my own pace.

  The story of Graham’s pardon and its impact would be told in reference to me as an unnamed victim. I was clear that I never wanted my name to be publicized in association with Graham. The story was simply to be that Graham James, my abuser, had been pardoned, and that he was out there, somewhere, living just like the rest of us, as if nothing had ever happened. Nobody seemed to know where he was. Nobody was shining a bright light on him.

  That was about to change.

  On Easter Sunday, April 4, 2010, the Canadian Press published a feature article written by Bruce Cheadle and Jim Bronskill. It was picked up nationwide and then internationally.

  The article was explosive. It began:

  Graham James, the junior coach convicted of sexually abusing his players in a case that rocked the hockey world from house leagues to the NHL, has been pardoned by the National Parole Board, The Canadian Press has learned. Though the pardon was granted three years ago, it comes to light only now as a result of a previously unknown accuser contacting Winnipeg police.

  The Prime Minister’s Office was ready. The pardon was “a deeply troubling and gravely disturbing” development that demanded an explanation from the parole board. The Prime Minister, “while noting the independence of the parole board, expressed shock that the government is learning of the pardon only three years after the fact,” and he “has asked for explanation on how the National Parole Board can pardon someone who committed such horrific crimes that remain shocking to all Canadians.”

  I, the anonymous victim, was very clear in my comments that the authors chose to quote in their article:

  “To say that the parole-board process has been abused would be a grotesque understatement
. Here you have an incredibly high-profile pedophile—and there’s no other word to use to describe him—who clearly has not been able to take responsibility or show any accountability for his actions.” The man said he considers the mere act of seeking a pardon as an illustration of Mr. James’s absence of remorse. That it was granted, he said, is like a fresh wound. “I can’t explain in words the extent to which this just cuts right to the heart of the pain again, in terms of who he is and what he did.”

  Graham’s story was, of course, placed in its hockey context. He had been “a smooth-talking, savvy rising star in the Prairie coaching ranks of junior hockey when he committed the crimes for which he’s been pardoned.” In 1983 (shortly after I had left for Princeton), Graham had recruited “Fleury and Kennedy, both of whom would go on to NHL careers.” The piece reported that Theo’s recently released book relates that “James began molesting him at age 14” and describes one “occasion when James drove Kennedy and Fleury to Disneyland for a vacation, allegedly assaulting the pair on alternate days.”

  Notwithstanding the hockey context, to me he was just my abuser, no different from the all too many others out there you never read about. His hockey story is fascinating, but he really was nothing more than a previously convicted child sex offender being called out once again for his sins.

  THE FALLOUT WAS predictable. The story of Graham’s pardon was on all the front pages, it was the lead story in all of the newscasts, and it was featured on all major sportscasts. Had I wanted attention and fame, I could have put my name forward to claim credit for disclosing the pardon and for allowing the government to prepare itself for that disclosure. I could have taken some credit for the eventual change in the applicable legislation and regulations pertaining to pardons generally so that people like Graham could never again receive one. But I wasn’t doing any of this for attention or fame. I was anonymous and wanted to remain that way. I was already in therapy, I was already taking steps to get better, and I knew that I still had a long, long way to go to get there, if I ever could get there. Coming forward anonymously was already so stressful that it was jeopardizing my very survival, let alone my recovery. It was unthinkable that I’d ever be able to go public.