Tag Archive: Abuse


I lied.

I’ve only got one rule on here. Just one. Tell the truth. I designated this as a safe place. Its why I don’t ever want people that know me to have access to this place, so they can’t judge, can’t know how dark I am inside… well I broke my rule. I lied. I lied to myself. I lied in my words on this page. I said I didn’t know when deep down I did.

To try and move forward? I’m going to right that wrong, or try to… this might jump around as my thoughts spill and I’m not going to correct the order if it does.

The beginning.

I had this friend. She was amazing. You know those women that instantly light up a room and they don’t even know it? That was her. Her laugh and her smile. I can hear her voice now in my mind. It hurts to write about her. I miss her greatly. My friend got ill. Badly ill. This was 4 years ago. She’d already been ill and then it got bad. Lots of hospital visits. I was friends with both her and her husband. We’re Londoners in a place that is far North from London. We were from different times them being in their late 60’s at the time but we knew the same places, even a couple of the same families.

When two people have been married a long time, they become a part of each other. They become balanced against life. When one can’t give as much the other gives a little more until they can. It’s a harmony that makes the relationship strong. They know each other. They have those solidly built foundations. But when something happens to one of them, the other is left to give and give while worry eats at them. Their perfect foundations are being lost a brick at a time. They start sinking. The oncoming rising waters start to suck up their happy and that person is left floundering and trying to grasp onto anything that can give them normality. From the outside it’s heartbreaking so see. One slowly dies through illness and the other flounders in the depths of what they have no control of. Despair comes out of every pore. It affects their words, their tone of voice, their sigh, their walk, movement, eyes, the very vibe they give off. When two people have been together that long? One may be going to lay in the ground, but the other? The other disintegrates and becomes the ghost.

So… my friend was ill… I visited her lots, at home and at the hospital. I later found out she thought of me as a daughter, that made me cry buckets. At her funeral I openly cried because she meant so much to me. I go to her grave 3 times a year and cry every time. For the first year I got up and thought I’d message her before being hit with the knowledge that she’s gone. Knowledge I refused to believe. Denial. I know that now.

Where’s the lie in this? I know you’re thinking it. Its there. You just don’t see it yet. There’s another side to this. One you’re not seeing but I know you’re thinking, you’re thinking and believe me, it’s not that but… its close to it. Am I to blame? Did I do wrong? Is it all my fault? See, I’ve blamed myself consistently for this. I’ve said it’s my fault because of the way I naturally am. If you knew me you’d know. I hate me but how can I change what makes me… well… me? So I’ve blamed myself for this entirely. It has to be my fault because thinking that it might not be? That’s why I took 2 overdoses last year and wanted to die. I don’t want these nightmares that torment over this. Am I to blame? Is this my fault? Is it?

I care. That’s me. I don’t like people hurting. I don’t like them sad. I noticed my wordfued player only playing sad words yesterday and spoke to them through the chat function doing my best to make them smile(they told me they burst out laughing and were looked at funny), I’ve never really spoken to them before other than “good game.” ” Well played.” “Last play, good night.” You know… simple stuff but we’ve played against each other a fair while now 1 of my 4 regular players, My fifth is taking a break from the online world. Anyway… gives you an idea of me. I always want make a sad person smile, I want to be there and support friends going through hard times. I care.

I’ve dropped words about my past on here over the years, I’ve been honest about the nightmares, abuse, I had in my childhood and that my biological egg carrier and sperms donor are NOT my parents. My dad? He was my second Foster dad called E… and it’s incredibly rare I talk about him. He was my dad. There’s a poem on here for him. As for a mum? She died 2 days after my 6th birthday(when I was taken into care). I went to her funeral when I was 9(when I was made a full ward of court and all her rights were taken away and the last time I ever saw her as a kid). My childhood broke me, it crushed something inside and ground it to dust, can’t fix that kind of broken but can live with it.

My friends husband has always given me a vibe to be wary. But I loved her so ignored it. I can’t remember how it came about, but he knew I’d been abused as a young child. He’d ask questions or make remarks when he knew only I’d hear. It used make me uncomfortable and red flags up all over the place. He would pay me compliments and just general make a point to talk to me. I’d usually talk about his wife. I want to point out that they have 3 children. 2 boys around my age and a daughter. I never even knew they had a daughter for the first 2 years of knowing them. When saying goodbye to his wife? I’d always hug her, remember I absolutely adore this lady. I’d feel I was being rude if I didn’t hug him goodbye to so reluctantly I would. So I guess because I started it I made all this my fault… at some point he started asking for kisses. I have always refused. I’m taken. Taken by a fucking Saint who has loved me despite me being tainted by my past. He’d say do you love me? I know you love me. I’d said love you to his wife, My friend. She was ill. Seriously ill. Really seriously ill. Looking back he was breaking then. I just didn’t quite see it enough. When she was finally admitted to hospital with no coming out, I saw her regularly and rang often and messaged every single day and we’d message back and forth when she was up to it or one of her sons would type for her or message me to say she was sleeping. I will never have a bad word to say about this lady. I love her like you love a family member. I adored her. Her husband I’d see maybe a couple of times a week as our social circles intertwined. First thing I’d always ask is how is she? I could have seen her the day before and I could have just had a text message conversation,but still first thing I’m asking. I’d ask how he was? I’d could see this man breaking and needing just someone to be there that wasn’t his boys. I’d always give him a hug. I didn’t know his pain but I knew how I felt about his wife and it was hurting me. Somewhere through this, he started trying to kiss me on the cheek, tired on the lips. He’d ask for a kiss. Always I get out of it, I’d move, I’d say no. You need to know this… I didn’t want this. Alarm bells would be screaming everytime he was around. It got to the point where I spent an hour in the toilet at an auction to hide because he only turned up to the auction looking for me. He would ask me to come round to his house by myself for a couple of hours. The phone calls started, things he’d say, things he’d ask. He’d ask who was there and who could hear him talking to me. I’d later started to ignore it when he rang saying sorry I was busy when he’d ask. All the time I was still going to see his wife,My amazing friend. This beautiful kind hearted amazing lady that I was so damn lucky to be able to call a friend. Then came the day of that phone call… I was walking to go pick my youngest up from school, she loved seeing me at hometime and that smile on her face when she saw me would make butterflies and rainbows and sunshine explode from me in happiness. Didn’t matter that she could walk by herself. She liked me there. So I’m walking to the school and my phone rings, I didn’t even look. Why didn’t I look? I just swiped it and said hello? Then his voice asking where I am, who am I with? Then he started talking about his wife. I asked if she was ok? How is she? I’ll come see her tonight if that’s ok? Then he starts talking about his wife in a different way, something they “did” then says that he hasn’t had it in over a year. Then asks for something from me and explains in great detail what he wants and how I’ll enjoy it as its what I want and after we can go back to before if I want to. I said no. No. No.

Ok… so if you’ve been reading this blog for a while? Then you’ll know the deep effect that had on me. It opened something up and now the words I’m scared are here. Now I feel scared. I’m afraid deep down. But did I cause this? What did I do that gave him these signals? I tried to be a friend. How did I do so wrong? What was it I did? I need to make sure I never do it again. This is my fault, I gave him some green light into thinking I “liked” him. I most definitely NEVER have. NEVER. I just wanted to be a friend to a man that was losing his wife. My talks were about her. She was my Beautiful Sweet kind friend that would light up rooms with her mere presence, without knowing. It was just the way she was. Its my fault isn’t it, I shouldn’t have tried to be a good friend when I saw him breaking and crying and falling apart. He was breaking, floundering, trying to grasp onto anything. This shit spins around in my head where I say I didn’t ask for any of it but I must have mustn’t I? Otherwise none of this would have happened. The darkness inside me was finally starting to win about this time. And that day by his car when he spotted me and called me and told me to walk to his car with him in the car park as he wanted to ask me something about the Bluetooth in his car. Why didn’t I say I couldn’t? See? It’s my fault. I should have said I couldn’t. But no. I connected his phone to his car again. He put his arm around my waist and again tried to kissed me as I pushed

I can’t do this any more. I want to sit here and cry but every damn feeling is locked and I don’t want to touch that door. I’m here afraid and scared and I’m here alone. I don’t want to write this any more. I tried to push him away. Yeah he was like 68 or 69 or around that. He was bigger, stronger and I felt like a rabbit. I got away and told him no. Always saying no.

His wife died at 9pm. Not that same day. A couple of weeks later. A couple of weeks of avoiding calls and turning off voicemail. Of him learning to text and messaging me and me straight deleting them without reading. Then she died. I sent a message addressed to him and his sons and the daughter that was never spoke of. That only visited the hospital once the whole time she was there. The daughter that didn’t even sit with her dad and brothers at the funeral. But she looked like hell and she didn’t cry and didn’t go to the wake. I sent a message because I’d lost my friend and she meant so much to me and I was crying loads and I wanted them to know how sorry I was that they’d lost not just a mum and a wife but a truly rare beautiful sweet kind person. After about 4 days the phone calls started again. I turned my phone from buzz to silent. Even now my phone doesn’t have sound. Didn’t stay more than 20 minutes of the wake. Both their boys came up and gave me massive hugs, these boys are built like their dad and intimidate the hell out of me,they are around my age. The husband tried to call me over but I pretended I didn’t hear and someone came over to him stopping him. After I’d left he rang and wanted to know why I hadn’t come to him at the wake and why I’d left? I said that I was emotional and I’m sorry. It’s been a hard day and I hope he and the boys are ok. They all have my thoughts, him the boys, their wive’s and children. I actually met the wives for the first time at the wake. They sat in the pew behind at the funeral.

There were 2 more times he actually succeeded in getting me alone, one of which although he only tried to hold me scared me the most and blew away any hold I thought I had on the darkness inside. I don’t want to talk about either. I changed my phone number and didn’t give it out. He originally got my first mobile number from his wife’s phone.

I haven’t seen him since he got far to close and tried to give me a kiss me at the cemetery on her birthday last year. He’s told me that I hurt him and owe him a big apology. He’s asked why I keep my love away from him and he’s asked if he can take me out for a meal, specifically to a Chinese restaurant. What did I do wrong? Because I need to make sure I never do it again. I hurt him and I don’t know how to say sorry for being a horrible person. I’m so confused over this but under everything? I’m scared of this man. So 4 years ago, all the cracks started in me because of everything that was happening. Now I don’t want to go out. I get panic attacks, I sleep terrible, I have nightmares nearly every night. I’ve put weight on. I don’t see anyone if I can help it. All my friends are gone where I’ve pushed every one of them away. I don’t want to leave the house and I hate myself. Every memory that my mind uses the emotional block to protect me of my past,my childhood torments me on repeat. I quit writing on here my blog. I don’t do anything that I used to do. I don’t even take care of myself like I used to. Can’t remember the last time I did my nails that were always long and decorated, my nail kit is in the shed. Rarely wear makeup anymore. Live in comfort clothes, big baggy t-shirts. I don’t want to be touched by anyone. Even giving the kiddos a hug is so much harder than before. Shopping is an utter nightmare that I just don’t want to do. I can not shop in tesco at all, even the one closer to me. He shops in the bigger tesco. Any thoughts with regards to intimacy, just the thoughts of it I mean, make me want to be sick. I have more dark days than good. I cry way way to often and I don’t even know why. A lot of days I don’t want to be here. A lot of days I believe I’m a bad person that I only deserve to not be here. Life would be better if I weren’t. I tried for so long to say that everything that happened wasn’t the reason for this well of darkness to open up inside of me but in my truths? I know it is. So there’s my lie. That’s the lie I told on here. I said I didn’t know why things had got so bad. I lied. I did know. I do know. I just have never wanted to admit it. Because I can’t pinpoint the thing I did wrong. I know I’m at fault, why would he have told me I owe him a huge apology if I wasn’t at fault? Because I did wrong. I gave him some green light that I didn’t even see was green. Where is that point that I went wrong? I need to know it so I never ever ever ever do it again.

I know I’m writing this on here but irl? I never want anyone to know. This man is an upstanding man in a community, well known and well liked and very much used to getting his way. He scares me and the fact of anyone knowing frightens me. But at the same time? I need a safe place to let it out. I can’t deal with it all locked inside me anymore. I am being consumed by darkness and its eating my will to live. I am a bad person, that’s how I feel. I feel dirty and tainted and defective and like I shouldn’t be here. I’m confused. How do I fix this? Can I fix this? I just want to be me again. I want my mind to stop. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

A chapter from the book of Nem…



     It’s 22:31 or because I’m constantly getting moaned at over using the 24 hour clock? 10:31pm. I’m in the kitchen(as usual). I noticed going back over my posts on here that more are written on the kitchen floor than anywhere else and it doesn’t matter which house… always the kitchen floor. My safe space in the house. This kitchen is so small that when I sit with my legs out? I touch the other side. But its my place. Always my safe place over so many years…
      I’ve spent the day today like one of those indulgent adverts on TV… you know the ones with some model like waif who’s wearing hardly any clothing, a chunky cardi and fluffy socks. Well scrap the model bit, I probably look like I could eat her and I’m nowhere near that tall. But a day spent in a MLP(if you know? You know) short strappy nightshirt, fluffy socks and you guessed it… long chunky knitted cardi. Dinner was my favourite comfort food, that just so amazingly happens to be something the kiddos love(THANKFULLY!!). and the only time I’ve actually completely covered my legs and maroon undies is when I put bottoms on to go for a walk in the fresh air and discuss relationships with my eldest girl and run my fingers along icicles…
    And now I’m here… the walk didn’t help to clear my mind. I want to cry. Maybe crying will ease this whatever it is inside me thats hurting so much. But I cant. “Good girls dont cry” remember. So here I am… what am I doing here? I dont even know to be honest… but something inside me is breaking and I’m afraid. I’ve been pulling myself further and further inwards this last week. I feel like the wire I’m pulling on won’t take much more tension before it snaps, and then what? I dont want to find out.
    There are certain things in this world I can’t cope with… dont give me a compliment, I dont know what to do with it and you’ll just get an awkward thanks followed by an even more awkward silence as the floor becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Even worse? Dont care about me. See if you care? It means I can let you down. I’m set up for a fall, you’re going to be disappointed in me. Its means I might, just might, let you in. If I let you in? I’m going to get hurt. I cant get hurt any more.
     Many years ago there was a woman, she had the biggest most amazing job that can ever be bestowed on a woman… she was a protector. Her job was to love and protect the a boy and a girl. She failed. The little girl grew up cracked and broken, she was pushed from pillar to post in the care system. She was failed again and again. She didn’t have the love that children so desperately need. But what she did have? She had a voice and that is something incredibly important. The boy? The boy was both mentally and physically disabled. His mental age and developmental skills grew to that of a very very young child and never went further. He had no voice. No one to protect him. He went through sheer hell that would forever be locked inside him with no voice to let it out. I am now grown and as much as possible have tried to move on and in my awake hours, forget what happened to me. But awake or asleep? I remember every scream from my brother, every disgusting vile thing I saw, every heartbreaking moment. That breaks me more than I have ever told anyone. Its etched in jagged pieces across me soul. The amount of times as a little kid I pissed myself in terror and then realised I was gonna get a beating for it or worse, one of their “friends”. So don’t tell me you care. You really want to do something? Be there and dont leave.
    Sigh… the music has ticked on and on as I’ve sat here deep in thought… look at the time… I give up.

Learn…. I will….

There’s this saying….
“Leave the past in the past….”
But what if the past won’t stay there? What if it constantly follows you? Like a shadow, tripping you up every damn chance it gets? Tainting your every move, reminding you that you are bad….
So most of you know I was in care, most of you have probably figured out the basics of why…. damn I feel so full of emotions I don’t understand but what I do know is that I just can’t understand why I let my mother back into my life?
Why? I ask myself why? But I don’t know. It’s like all of a sudden my mind goes to mute or starts singing saying i can’t hear you!
I wanted answers. I needed answers. I still want those answers…  See I can find reasons why it can be explained, for all the things that happened to me. I still say it’s my fault. I must have provoked those men to do what they did to me. I must have been a bad child to get hit and thrown down the stairs and so many countless other things that my memory just says no.
But….
My brother. My brother had no voice, he couldn’t protest, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t tell anyone. The images of what happened to him still haunt me nearly 30 years later. Why? Why did she think it was ok to do those things to him? THEY are the answers I need. And the more my children grow, the more I try my hardest to be the sort of parent my children can be proud of. The sort of parent that has good strong bonds with their children and helps guide them to be the best they can be…. The more I am disgusted with her. The more I hate her.
My dad I just wiped from my life. Easy as that. In my mind, the words mum and dad are just that. Words. My parents died with the 6 yr old that used to wake every night screaming and hysterical.
My mother lives in her own world, where lies and fairy tales and make believe are all real and it’s been like that so long that I doubt she knows the real from the lies anymore. But I need those answers…. why did she touch him and worse? That tears me apart.
Ok you can never understand why a sick individual would do something like that just like you wouldn’t be able to understand a killer or rapist or well the list I guess goes on….
I figured out a while ago that it was hopeless. That I was never gonna get those answers. That even if she once had them, they are gone now, disintegrated beneath all those lies and wonderful tales she spins. I doubt she knows anymore….
But that doesn’t help me sleep better at night….
So I wrote on here that Peter, her husband, had died. I wonder how much he truly knew?  Peter was a nice guy. Not like her. He lived in the world. The real world. Not her fairytale.
I blocked my mother’s number to my phone. She’s blocked on Facebook. And as I’m moving she won’t know my new address. I should have done this a long time ago…. why didn’t I? Simple…. I still had hope I’d get those answers….
Between her, my dad, those men, what happened in my early 20 ‘ s and being in care…. I can accept that yes I’m a fuck up. Yes I get so much wrong and yes I’m so afraid of getting hurt that I struggle to even accept love. I have no doubt that my past is why I have more male friends than female, I don’t really like women. <—- is that the right word? I think not…. uncomfortable around them? No. I don't know the right word….
What I do know is she is out of my life and I should have done it sooner….
But I also know this…. I always wanted a mum to have a close bond with…. to talk to about kids with, to be there as I went through my pregnancies,  when I got told my baby would die unless they operated on him while he was still inside of me, when they pulled my children’s dad to one side and told him I was that ill the doctors didn’t think I was gonna make it through labour and have my youngest son. There are many more times. To many to write….
What I am thankful for is that I am not like her. So what I never had a mum…. 
I don’t have what most would call a normal family, most of the people I’m actually related to think I’m a bad person.
I have a brother. I have another brother (who was fostered with me) and I love him like my full blood brother. I have a half sister (one of many) who I love like full blood to. Apart from them and my kids? I don’t need any other family.
For every backwards step I take, I remind myself that I just need to keep walking…. everytime I feel low and it feels like life’s not worth it…. I remember there are people out there who go through worse….
I can do this. Even though I feel so stressed out and so mixed up and so damned lost in this sea of emotions that at times I feel like I’m drowning….
I’m stronger than I know. I just need to start believing in myself….

.x.

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