‘I would have these vivid nightmares, flashbacks’
These are excerpts from Elisheva (Elly) Sapper’s victim impact statement, read by her in the County Court of Victoria on Wednesday, June 28, 2023.
“SO, so long I envisioned this moment, to stand here and have my voice heard, to feel empowered. I thought and wanted this to be a healing moment. When I sat down, day after day, trying to articulate my thoughts, being compelled to label myself as a victim, I felt overwhelmed, panicked, and exhausted. My mind was reluctant to confront the immense pain, buried within me. I am a survivor …
“Immersing myself into the writing [of the victim impact statement] meant feeling and reliving the trauma all over again. It’s not a pain that fades quickly. It’s all-encompassing, stretching itself into every corner of my existence, leaving little respite. And that is why I have so often felt that today, I would have rather said nothing. How does one try and capture how almost 18 years of their life has been impacted? It is more than half the time I have been alive. Where would I even start? … And for those close to me who are unable to speak today, I raise my voice and echo the often-silenced impact that sexual abuse inflicts upon its victims.
“[Malka Leifer] was the first person who said to me that she loved me. It was a feeling that I had never experienced before. Growing up in a home devoid of love and affection, my heart yearned for love. And when confronted with the painful truth, that her love wasn’t real, it was a betrayal of such magnitude it left me utterly broken.
“This was the first of many painful realisations. I try so hard to run away. I refused to allow myself to feel, to acknowledge. I needed to run to stay alive. And so I did. I would distract myself in any way possible to not have to deal with the pain and confusion. I didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand what had happened to me or what I was a victim of.
“I would have these vivid nightmares and flashbacks, my body trembling in a fear of state of panic, frozen in a time and space of being in a room with her. It would feel so real that at times someone would have to shake me out of it and tell me I was no longer there. These experiences became so debilitating that I often ended up in hospital. I’ve tried so many medications to stop the intrusive thoughts. The ones that ambushed me without warning. But the medication only touched the surface, barely able to drown out the noise, offering only fleeting relief.
“Sometimes I feel that I have spent more time feeling disassociated than alive. And after almost 18 years, I’m still running.
“I might use more sound methods to regulate my anxieties and my emotions. I do have stable relationships and a beautiful family. But the chaos in my mind, in my body, and in my heart, that just doesn’t stop. I am still running … The trauma is inside me, embedded in every fibre of my being. I cannot hide. The unseen scars run so deep, we often feel that I am suffocating under the weight of it all. Other times I just feel empty.
“For many, touch can be a beautiful thing. It can be a source of comfort, pleasure, reassurance, it can give warmth and love. Her touch was a fraudulent lie and robbed me of the security that can be found in someone else’s arms. Once I understood that the heard of it was almost too much to bear …
“And six days before the verdict, we lost our little girl [in a miscarriage]. Her heart stopped beating. There were no concrete answers, there were no abnormalities. I will never know if the stress the word anxiety, or the years of trauma played any part [in] the loss of my little girl.”
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