The rollercoaster continues… Part 7

The rollercoaster continues. My emotions are up and down. I went to see a Dr yesterday, and he was saying how, many people that suffered from mental health, had some kind of trauma behind them. I still hate hearing myself referred to as having mental health. He said I had been brave in reporting. Do I feel brave? No. I feel relieved in a way that people are listening, that people are believing. You see, for many years. I grew up thinking no one would ever believe me. That I would be the one in trouble. But it doesn’t make me feel brave.

So it’s been 6 months now, since I opened the lid on the box. So much, has happened yet so little. The first person I had confided in after 25yrs was the therapist on the phone. I still to this day, cannot remember, how we ended up talking about it. All I can remember is the tears that followed, and this incredible person on the other end, listening, advising, not judging. That night I had a conversation with my husband, I tried to explain how i had been feeling. It was tough, as I didn’t want it to sound, like I was making excuses for my breakdown. At the time, I really felt that our relationship was over, that the love was gone. I could not remember the last time we had been close. Even talking to him was like sitting talking to my best friend, not the best friend that I had fallen in love with many years ago. I still loved him but it was now different. (Anyway going off track a little). So I explained the conversation I had with the therapist on the phone. He listened, then I could see the shock on his face, the tears in his eyes when he said. You were raped? He knew my past, he knew about my childhood growing up, he knew that I had issues around sex due to the sexual abuse. But he never knew, how far those issues went. He held my hands, not knowing what to say. I just said it was ok, and told him my plan to see a specialist therapist. I told him that I finally felt for the first time in my life, I was ready, I was ready to talk. I’m glad we had that conversation, I hoped that it may help him understand, how I was feeling. But the truth is, I don’t think he could really. As yes, now he thought that the issues were just past related. It took away any blame that there were still problems within our marriage. So where were we? Were we better off? No! The difference is that now our problems, had a different focus. I’m not going to lie, this is probably as much my doing as his. I replace one problem with a new one, instead of trying to deal with the whole picture.

So what’s changed in 6 months? In my opinion, not a lot. I spoke to the police, I gave my interview. He has been questioned and denied it. I have broke down, really broke down. I have tried to run away, I have cut myself, (once). I have been to the Drs and sobbed so much that even the doctor, shed a tear. You see they do have a heart too. My doctors are fantastic to be fair. I moved out from home, and I moved back again. I have walked into work to quit, and cried in my bosses office. (Thankfully, she just listened advised, and ignored my resignation). My emotions have been so up and down, that most people can’t keep up. But I know now that I truly have a huge support network around me. The hardest thing for me to accept, is that it is so difficult to get the specialist therapy, that I need. The police are doing what they can, but they said from day one it was going to take time. Patience has never been my strong point. I have victim support who I can contact occasionally, but talking on the phone, is just not that easy. I can do it, once I start, but I need to vent, I need to talk face to face. I need to deal with it. I don’t want it to go back to the back of mind again, where the lid is closed and I can not talk about it. One lady from safelink said to me, this isn’t your secret to keep anymore, you need to talk about it. Tell others, don’t be ashamed. You have done nothing wrong.

I do talk about my past more now, it’s not so much a secret as it was. I have confided in my work family, the ones that I trust dearly. I have told relatives, that I never thought I would ever tell. I made myself believe that the day it came out, I would no longer, have any relationship with any of my family. I was wrong, as the ones that I have told, they believed me. But what does that say? He was there nephew too, how can they believe what I am saying. But I am glad and relieved they do.

Having to deal with this, not just the sexual abuse but everything that happened as a child, has been one of the hardest things I have done. My head is in a constant spin, thinking about things that happened, things that are not happening. No wonder why, I feel like I am on an emotional rollercoaster. Did my parents know? Did my other relations know? Who knew and did nothing? How did all that happen in a small cul de sac, and no one knew what was going on?

The hardest thing, I have dealt with, is the constant battle, I have with myself. The self blame, not for what they all did. But could I have stopped it? Did I try hard enough? Was it wrong, that I never said no? How can he be punished for what he did when I let him do it. I unknowingly gave him my consent. One question the police asked me in the interview. Was. Do you think, you liked the attention you were getting? I hated that question, but I hated it because, I had asked myself that same question. Why did I not stop it. Could I have stopped it? I hated the things he did, and I mean I really really hated it, oral sex was the absolute worst. The taste, the smell. I honestly thought, that would be, with me forever. The police asked me at the interview what did I want to achieve from reporting, I honestly didn’t know. Did I want him to suffer, did I want to punish the whole family for it all? I just wanted it out of my head, I wanted to stop living in this world where I had demons inside that occasionally came out and haunted me. I had moved on in my life, I had fought the battles and I had won. I had shown to them all that no matter how I was dragged up I was not one of them. I may have been a single parent at 17, I would raise my children the best I could. I would do my best by them. And I would show them that you can achieve anything if you really want it. So why do I still find it all so hard. Why do I have such low self esteem. Why do I think that everyone has a right to hurt me. Why do I struggle to trust people, even those that I have known for years. Why did I feel the need to leave my husband and my babies, why did I feel so lost and alone that I had to run away. Why do I always try to hurt myself. Whether physically or mentally? Because that is what I did, when I left my family. It wasn’t just them that i hurt, it was me. I was punishing myself. My husband had begged me to stay, but I couldn’t. My older children could not understand my reasonings. I just knew that this is what I needed to do. Was I right? Was I wrong? Did this make me a bad parent? Have I now let my kids down? How can I fix it?

Not one day went by that I wouldn’t visit the children, I love them with every part of my being. I was never going to give up on them, I just needed space away from my marriage. I needed space to face the past. Grieve for the loss of my grandmother. I know this sounds selfish, but I just needed to be me on my own! Truth is though, being on your own, is not the answer either though. I would sit and cry into a bottle of vodka of an evening, I was seriously losing control, I was now punishing myself for everything, the abuse, the way my parents treated me, the ex boyfriends that thought it was ok to treat  me the way they did. For falling out of love with my husband and for leaving my kids, who had I become? Who was this person? Who had I now become? Being alone with your thoughts, was not the answer. My daughter had noticed I was drinking more than normal, I didn’t agree. I only drank on the nights, I knew I had nothing to do the next day. It’s not like I was drinking all the time, but truth is when I did drink on those nights, i really drank, binge drinking the doctor calls it. After those words from my daughter, I gave up the alcohol for a while. She also said some stuff about me moving back home. It was like she was trying to shake me back into reality. For a young adult, she really talked sense. I raised this gorgeous mature girl, that although can annoy the hell out of me sometimes. She has a very sensible grown up head on her shoulders, and she didn’t want to see her mother destroy herself. I had to shake myself out of this self pity. I had to seriously think about what it was I wanted. Was I going to really let my past ruin my future?

So after 6 months of living alone, I moved home, back to my husband and my children. To start with it felt right, it was good to be back. I was starting to deal with everything now, I had opened up to relatives. My husband was supportive. The police were apparently working behind the scenes. I was now 3rd on the list for specialist therapy. Maybe now, I could get back to the woman I had fought to be. Could I save my marriage? I had to try!

 

 

 

 

A down day. part 6

I could discuss where I am now, how it is to be home. But today I am feeling sorry for myself. So today, I am going to use my blog, (after all this is why I chose to do this). to share with you.

Looking back… How is it that I don’t remember a single good memory of my childhood. Well other than the ones from my teenage years. When I used to stay at my best friends and do what normal teenagers do.

Sexual abuse, emotional and physical abuse. I suffered it all as a child, I knew no different. Did I think this was normal? Did I know that it wasn’t? I can’t answer either. I just don’t know. Yet, I do know that I live with it daily, the shame the guilt. The frustration. On the outside, people think I am this strong youngish woman. I’m not, I really am not. I’m broken, I feel like I am damaged goods, unworthy of anyone’s love. Not only that I feel confused, so very confused.

I’m going to go back to my childhood. I want to get this out of my head, these thoughts and feelings. I want to remove it from inside me. Something, I haven’t mentioned yet is that I do speak with my father now. Why? Why? Why? Am I afraid? Is it because I am so desperate to be loved by him? How is it, I can forgive him, yet not my mother? Not my cousin? They all had a part in ruining my life…

So I was 6 years old, playing outside with my siblings and cousins. If I remember right, it was a simple game of hide and seek. My two older cousins, then 13 and 15, called me into their shed to hide. It was dark in there, a small window that gave a little light. It had a chest freezer in there. I can remember being in there, I can remember them both being in there with me. I remember the freezer, the damp metalic smell of the shed. Why, why can’t I remember if something happened in there. Did it? Is this where it began? Why, was I given a fruit lollipop and told not to tell anyone, it was our secret. I just thought this was all part of the game. I don’t know if it was days later or weeks later. But my parents went out and I came downstairs for a drink. My cousin was babysitting. He was in the front room, watching porn on the telly. This was the first time I had seen anything like this. He asked me to come and sit with him. Why did I? Why did I not just go back to bed? I didn’t I sat with him, this is fun I can stay up a bit. He is funny, he is nice. We sat there watching the porn, I think I was a little embarrassed as there were naked men and women on there. I tried not to look. I think my cousin could see my unease, so he started teasing me, then tickling me. I thought it was fun, I didn’t think anything was wrong, but why would I? I was only 6. So we were rolling around the sofa and the floor being tickled. All the while, the telly is quietly showing naked bodies doing I have no idea what! The same? rolling around ticking each other? My cousin put my hand on him and with his hand wrapped around mine, he made me move it. I was embarrassed but he reassured me, said this was ok. So I carried on letting him move my hand around as he wanted. Then he heard steps, he quickly jumped and heard my brother coming down the stairs. Go back to bed he shouted. He then said to me, don’t tell anyone because your dad might get cross if he knows I let you stay up. I went back to bed.  I didn’t tell anyone, I couldn’t, and why would I? Did I know what happened was wrong?

Our house was an open house, doors were never locked, neighbours, relatives would come and go all the time. So how did no one know what went on in that house. The shouting, screaming. Why did no one do anything? To this day, these are questions unanswered!! I saw my cousins daily, we all played together. When father was out to work, mother would be in one of the neighbours houses. Kids would all be out in the cul de sac playing. Mother always made sure that we were home when father came in. A normal evening routine would be the deep fat fryer on. I would lay the table for dinner. And we would be sat in the kitchen watching telly waiting for father to come home. All the while, wondering what sort of day he had. Mother would be busying herself getting dinner ready. It was sausage, chips and beans on this night. She makes father a cup of tea and places it at his spot on the table. He seems ok today. Mother dishes up the dinner, fathers first, when suddenly there it goes flying across the room, inches from our heads, before smashing at the wall. It was a wednesday, he would have sausage and mash on a wednesday. Our heads down, not daring to look at him, we try and carry on eating our food. He would be shouting at mother, her crying. It’s hard to eat, but we know if we don’t it will fuel his temper. Stupidly, I would try and calm the situation, say something, then he would shout at me, you got something to say, f**ing shut your mouth, go to your f***ing room, get me the yellow pages on your way. The f**ing police can come and take you to the naughty childrens home. Mother just standing there quiet. Brother gets ordered out the room too. Upstairs, we can hear the raised voices, things being broke, then the doors slam and it’s quiet. We won’t see him now for a few hours, as he will shut himself in the shed sulking. As I creep to the top of the stairs, I can hear mother crying. I go down to see if she is ok, she is on her knees cleaning the broken plate and food up. I go over to her, put my arms around her are you ok mummy?? She turns and looks at me, pushes me off, go away, get to bed now! she shouts. I walk away, crying. Back to bed I go. The next morning, we come down, the atmosphere is still heavy from the argument the night before, father then walks in and tells my brother and I to put our bowls back. We didn’t finish dinner last night, we would be finishing it this morning, or we can starve. This became the norm, we either ate our dinner, whether we liked it or not, we were not going to waste it! It would be breakfast the next day. Fathers mood swings used to last a few days, then he would be the nicest man you can imagine. Teasing, joking with us. It was always so hard to work out what to expect. We were always living on egg shells.

I am 8 now, I have learnt how to make father a cup of tea, I wash up every night. I even have to peel potatoes ready for dinner. I don’t mind, I like helping out. We had dinner, and I get up to wash up, I can only just reach the sink. Washing up is slippery, as I go to put my mothers pyrex dish on the drainer, it slips from my hand, smashes by my feet. I am crying, shaking. If father comes in from outside, I will be in so much trouble. I quickly get the dustpan and brush, clean it up and put it in the bin. They wouldn’t know, the only one that knew was my brother. I continue washing up, silently crying due to the fear of what I have done. I make father a cup of tea and take it out to him. He is in the shed, working on something. I knock the door, he says hello? I say I got you a cup of tea dad, F** off did I ask for a f**king cup of tea??? I walk away, trembling, take the cup back into the kitchen and go to my room, where I remain for the rest of the evening. I get up in the morning, its the weekend. I have been given a list of chores I need to do. Tidy away all the toys, empty all the ashtrays, wash up. Father seems in a good mood this morning, I must do this right. They are going out, its ok, my brother is here and my cousins and family are around. Where are you going I ask. Mother answers there and back to see how far it is.. This was a normal response when they would go out. I would busy myself cleaning, doing my chores, my siblings playing outside. They would come back, no thank you for cleaning, no recognition. Put the kettle on …. as a good girl I do. Father and mother are both happy today, i’m not ruining it. They had been shopping, they put all there bits away, my cousins would be over, father would be messing around with them, joking and laughing. Friends of my father would be coming and going, borrowing this borrowing that. Or asking for advice or help for something. Father would be in his element.  With people around, my father was a saint, a friendly character a laugh. He would be like the loving father you would want, thanks darling if I went and got something for him.  Most weekends they would be getting ready to go out. My cousin would be coming over to babysit. Did I dread him coming over to babysit. Sometimes I would sometimes I wouldn’t. (Is that sickening that I can say that sometimes, I didn’t dread him coming over). Whenever my cousin babysat he would come into my room and ask me to come down stairs with him. From that first time of him putting my hand on him. 2 years had passed now. The routine remained pretty much the same really. He would call me down, the porn movie playing in the background, he would sit and watch, talking to me about it. Then he would mess around, tickle me. Then he would ask me to put my hand on him. Now though, he would have his hands down in my underwear too.  The first time he had done this was a year ago. I remember it hurt, but he would kiss me down there and say there its better now. My siblings upstairs in bed asleep, and me downstairs with my cousin. I would always have the same warning after, you can’t say anything because your dad will be so cross with you, if he knew you were coming down.

So this was my childhood age 6 to 8. I could continue, but for now. I need to tell you why I’m telling you this. Why today?

Well like I said at the beginning, today is not a good day for me. I am feeling sorry for myself. Last night, the nightmare returned. There I was this 6 year old girl, in this room with my cousin. And then the vivid arguments of my parents, and the threats to me. It was there, last night, I was reliving it. I hate these memories, I hate how it makes me feel. In my previous blog, I mentioned feeling like I am on a rollercoaster. Well yep that’s my life.

I was 13 when I first cut myself, it didn’t hurt it felt good. I hid it well, to be honest, I never cut deep just like a scratch, enough for it to bleed. I was smoking, which my cousin would give me money for the cigarettes. I would walk to my best friends and spend time there. I would try and avoid being at home as much as I could. As long as I had done my chores, I could go out. I didn’t know that I suffered from depression, anxiety. To be honest, I’m not sure I knew what that was. Unless I was out with my friends, I would feel really sad and lonely. I used to watch home and away, god how I wished my dad would phone social services, maybe I could have a new mum like Pippa. That was now my dream.

At 16, I left home, and finally got help from a young person centre. I registered at the local doctors surgery. It was then that, I learnt that, I suffered from depression and anxiety. I started counselling. My therapist was lovely, I used to see her regularly. I felt able to talk her about most things. But then I became pregnant and the focus was on that. I then felt uneasy talking. I was going to be a single parent at 17, I know she was just trying to help, but I wasn’t ready to hear it. Besides, I needed this baby, he or she would give me something to love, to live for, and in return I would be loved back.

So back to today. I had a nightmare last night, I hate these nightmares. It’s like being punished over and over again. So I got up this morning, feeling sorry for myself, it’s my day off work. I woke with a headache and sore throat, now that gets me in a low mood anyhow, I don’t do feeling under the weather. I got the kids ready for school, and dropped them off. Walking back, it’s a beautiful sunny day, people going about their business. I’m thinking about my nightmare, lower and lower I am feeling. I had a call last week from my safelink counselor do I call her, do I tell her how I feel. I don’t know… The thing is I don’t know where to start really. I hate people feeling sorry for me. I also hate people trying to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault. I know this, but I lived it. I let it happen. For years I covered it up, and now I decided to bring it all up, why? why?

I have had times where I have felt low, anxious. But I have always, found a distraction to put it back in the box and lock it. Why not now. I’m angry at myself, I’m angry at those around me that love me. I’m so god damn angry… I should have left the box closed.. How is it all the times in the past that I wanted to shout, I wanted to scream. I never, all those missed opportunities. I sit here thinking about it, thinking about all the wrong choices I made in my life. How, my children and my husband would probably be better without me. Is that true though? I’m a coward, I have attempted twice now to runaway, leave them all behind, I don’t want to end my life. I just want to get away from the pain I feel inside. I want to get away from the guilt I feel, for how my life can affect my children. I just want to run away from myself. But like a very good friend of mine said you can’t run away from yourself, you must face it. So I started this blog. This is my way of dealing with my feelings, if I didn’t sit and write this today, I think I would be thinking about running away again. I could phone safelink, maybe I will. At the moment, I just don’t want to talk to anyone, i’m angry, i’m hurting. Why did I not stop it, why did I let it happen for years. And also why am speaking to father. Yet I won’t speak to my mother, should I feel guilty that I have been told that she is dying.

2 years ago, I started talking to my father. My grandmother was upset and because I love her so much, and I know how much her family meant to her. I decided to contact him, we argued on the telephone, for the first time though, I actually had the strength to shout back at him and I did. He ended up crying, saying he was sorry. Was he? He appeared to be, so after that I would speak when I saw him at my grans house. This made gran happy, so I kept it up. I still chat to him now though, and gran is no longer here. So how is it, I can talk to him after all the abuse and torment, he tried to kill me. How can it be ok to talk to him and not her. How is it ok to report my cousin, yet be ok to talk to father. Even as I write, my head is spinning, I am so confused right now. My nightmare last night was pretty much taking me back to that 6-8 year old.

I can cope with this, I have in the past. So why is now so different? I guess, because now I have the grief to deal with? The fact, I almost ruined my marriage. And the fact, I actually left my young children, what sort of parent can be that selfish, that they leave their kids? I had always vowed, I would never do this, no matter what, my kids would come first. Am I like my parents, I ask myself? Am I just as bad as them? You see with anxiety and depression comes paranoia. I even ask myself, did I do ok by my older children, do they really love me? Have I let them down? Will they soon disown me? like I did my parents.

I hate feeling sorry for myself, I need a distraction, I need to get busy again. Maybe, I should look into online courses, but then that costs money, can I be selfish and add to my professional development. I know, that is how I have come through this in the past. I was busy, I was protecting my young children, I was working. I would be studying to become a nurse. I become carer for my mother. There has always been some sort of distraction in my private life, something to stop the hurt and painful memories of my past. But, I no longer had that distraction in my life, I had a job, I absolutely love, a fantastic family to be proud of and a loving husband. We may not have everything we want. But it was ok.

Then it happened, I could no longer keep the secret anymore, its out. I spoke up.. I don’t regret it. I just wish I knew how I could deal with it better. It seems, I’m only happy if I truly am busy. If I had some kind of distraction.

How long will it be, before I get my specialist counseling will it even help bury this. I don’t know…

 

 

My roller coaster part 5

Three months had passed since the funeral, since my breakdown. Since seeing the man that took away my childhood.. Then the worst thing happened, the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to me. I’m not going to talk much about this, but I will say, I had a very close relationship with my grandmother, she was like the mum I never had. She was taken ill and passed away. As if things couldn’t get any worse for me. Here I am now, living in a flat away from my babies, not sure whether I love my husband or I don’t. And I am about to detonate a bomb on the family. And this amazing woman grew her angel wings. Could life get any worse?

My world was crumbling beneath me, nightmares and flashbacks were a daily thing. I felt like I couldn’t cope with anything. I had recently spoken to the police, they had informed me that they were going to question my cousin, but due to the untimely circumstances, they would wait until after the funeral.. This meant I would see him again, not something I wanted to do. But no way, was I not, going to say, my goodbye. To be honest thinking about it now, i’m not sure I noticed him there, he certainly made no effort to try and speak to me.

It was two weeks after the funeral almost five weeks since the interview. I had a call from the detective to tell me that she had spoken to him, and that he was coming in for an interview. I had a day off work that day, trying to remain busy, to keep my mind off of it but also checking social media in case something was mentioned, by the family. But there was no backlash, nothing mentioned by the family, no news from the police. Had he turned up, or was it canceled. I heard nothing from anyone, I was in the dark.

Three days later, I am at work. And I have a voicemail left on my phone from the detective asking me to contact her. My heart sank, I was anxious, heart pounding and I felt sick. I made the telephone call and she answered. He denied it all!!! Was I surprised not really, but maybe somewhere inside I hoped he admit something, nope. She explained what happens next. I listened and hung up. As much as I didn’t want to cry, as I was as work. It poured out, I couldn’t stop it. I finished my break, put a brave face on and went back in. My boss just so happened to be there, noticed I had been upset. We had a little chat about it, which helped and she then made me busy. This was the perfect medicine. I’m not going to lie, that, I didn’t think of it again, that day. As every so often, it would come to the surface. But as per normal, I have a job to do, this is not the place. Driving home though, different matter. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. How am I going to prove this, it happened years ago. It’s not like I have DNA on my side. My head was going around in circles. The detective explained that she would look through anything relating to my past, if it’s out there she was going to find it and read it.. Medical, school, social work reports, anything she could get her hands on, she would look into.

Well  I know over the years, I had gone to the doctors many times on and off for counselling. Especially when I was younger. I knew that on occasions I had mentioned what I had been through, but what if, its not, documented. What if the records have been destroyed. So many what ifs. I just have to put my faith in the system now. I signed the disclosure for the detective, I gave her a list of all the people that I had confided in, (not that many to be fair only my best friend knew from way back when. And, I had recently, informed a couple relatives, I was close too).

The reason I had kept this secret, for all this time. Was the fears of my father, the police, not being believed. The fear that the family would do something awful in revenge. So now it was out there, and I was constantly living on the edge. Wondering when I was going to have, someone say something. But it never happened, it was silent. No one heard anything, no one said anything. And I was believed, the relatives, I confided in, believed me. The police believed me. And no revenge had been thrown in my direction. I’m going to be completely honest, do I think, if I had known this, would I have spoken sooner. No, I honestly don’t think, I would have. But I am glad. I have now, despite the ups and downs. I do not regret it. This isn’t going to happen over night, the police said it could take up to two years. And even then, might not go any further. But I had started this process now, I can’t give up.

Three months had passed since my break down, since pandora’s box split open. Thing were quiet, I hadn’t heard anything from the police. I was still awaiting to hear from the specialist counselor. I was becoming more and more depressed. I tried to reach out to victim support, who were great, they put me in contact with safelink, who gave me an advisor.  She contacted me and said I could call her and chat anytime. Then a few days later, I had a text to say she was off sick. I didn’t mind as when I had the text, I was feeling ok. You see with this whole thing, it’s like riding a roller coaster, you are constantly going up and down. Well that’s how I describe it. I had a few weeks where I thought, I felt ok. Then I would have, too much time, to myself and the overthinking would begin. And I would start to sink lower and lower.

The worst feelings were how I had let everyone down, especially my family. I had left my husband, I had made some really silly mistakes. I missed my children, I had no money to live on. How could I carry on. I wasn’t suicidal per-say, as even if it had come to my mind, my kids would overrule my thoughts. I could never do that to them. I felt like I had no one to talk to, I didn’t want to talk about it to my friends or family. I didn’t want to admit that it was really getting me down. I just wanted it all to go away. I wanted to stop living in this pretense that I was ok. When deep down, I was falling apart. Every time, I would get in the car, I would think about just getting on the motorway and driving. I didn’t. I always went back to the flat.

5 months after leaving home, my husband and I began talking more. Now that he knew, how bad my past was. It was easier to talk to him. We seemed to start getting on again. I was spending more time there than at the flat, so we decided to give it another go and I would move home. I thought that this would help me feel better. It would wouldn’t it????

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disowning mother. My blog part 4

I’ve been thinking today, what shall I say in today’s’ blog. I will come back to what happened after the police interview. I was thinking, that I would tell you a little about, why I no longer have any contact, with my mother.

It took me a long time before I realized that I was much better off with out her, I have such a caring nature that no matter how many times either of my parents treated me wrong. I would try to forgive them. It took the birth of my last child, to make me realize that I no longer needed this woman in my life.

I always used to feel sorry for mother, having to always be careful of what she said or did. I knew how I felt, it couldn’t have been nice for her. But, what mother would stick up for her husband and not her children. I’m sorry, but I would never let any man treat me or my children like that.

It happened to me once in a relationship, I had a controlling boyfriend very much like my father, I was in my 20’s, friends would warn me that he was wrong, that he had been violent to his previous wife. But he managed to convince me that he was not like that, and it was lies. Then 2 weeks before xmas, he went down on one knee and proposed, I accepted. We were only engaged a couple weeks, and he showed his true colours. We argued and he strangled me in front of my sister and daughter. Thankfully they got out the house. I managed to fight him off, and he left in a strop. Stupidly I let him back later that evening, but the fear of what he had done, I couldn’t live with, so two days later, I told him that he had to leave and if he didn’t I would contact the police. I’m not saying he left easily but eventually he did go.

Anyway, I guess my mother and I never really had the kind of mother daughter relationship, that most had. She seemed to adore her firstborn, but me, I suppose I reminded her of my father. I dunno. I remember times when she would be crying and I would try to console her, she pushed me away. She would always stick up for father, nothing I did was good enough. From as far back as I remember, I would have a list of chores to do, yet none of my siblings would! I suppose you would think, that I’m jealous. Maybe as a child I was. As I would see the others get affection but not me. Also, other than the odd occasion that my younger brother got shouted at. I was the target of their abuse. If I so much as spoke at the wrong time, I would be told to get the yellow pages, as I needed to be sent away. Even becoming a regular joke to them. When I was 11, I had a cat, I absolutely adored her, they used to kick her out at the night, yet she would climb up the porch and into my bedroom window. She was like my best friend, always there when I was sad. One day, she had kittens, that was ok. Parents rehomed them all, well that’s what I was told. After that, they would both say that if she got pregnant again, father would drown her as well as the kittens. So to my terror, one night I was woken by my beautiful cat to a noise of tiny meows, under my bed, there she was with four kittens. I tried to hide them for as long as I could, but after a few weeks I could no longer hide them. Yep, I was in trouble!! The only thing I can be thankful of is that they were not all drowned. Parents found someone to take them all away. Including my beautiful cat, I think I would have preferred a beating as the pain from this was unbearable. I honestly never thought I would get over losing my best friend. A couple weeks past and I returned from school to find that they had rehomed a dog. He was gorgeous, but unfortunately for him, he wasn’t very well toilet trained, so he would get a kicking for making a mess or for barking. I used to try to clean up before anyone would find it, or I would take him for long walks. To be honest, he probably got a beating because he became my dog, you know always coming to me, trying to hide by me, when they were around. Mother never kicked, but she would hit him too. We had him him a couple years, then one day I came home from school, and my mother said he ran away. He had done a couple times before but he always came back. (I’m convinced they got rid of him, or someone called the RSPCA, here’s hoping).

My mother never really physically hurt me, not that I can remember. Might of had the odd slap on the legs, but that’s normal isn’t it? So why do I hate her, well I will try and explain the many reasons why I finally decided that I did not need her in my life. What mother would lock you in a room, or leave you in the house all day alone with a list of chores to do. While they all went out. I’m not kidding, it was a joke that I was the real life cinderella, she would have me doing the housework, while my siblings would be out playing having fun. I remember one time arguing with her over the fact that I had a lot to do yet they didn’t. She would make up an excuse, tell me off and that I had no choice. I had a really close relationship with my mothers father. He was my world. He would do anything for me, we used to talk for hours, when I would visit. He hated my father, but back then knew he couldn’t do anything. My granddad had a weak heart and at 15 my mother got the call to say that he had passed away. I was there, when she took the call. My legs gave way, beneath me and I fell to the floor. I begged her to let me go with her to say goodbye. But she wouldn’t let me. She didn’t even let me go to his funeral, apparently he had always said he didn’t want grandchildren at his funeral, I accepted as this was his wishes…  A few years later well quite a few years later, I found out that was a lie, it was her that didn’t want her children there. The year I did my exams, my parents decided to be extra nice to me, and asked if I would like to go and stay at my best friends for a few days. I was ecstatic so was she, her parents agreed and off I went. To find out later that they had all gone on holiday without me..  A few years later, they even gave me a copy of them all together at the holiday clubhouse. Apparently, my older brother just so happened to have turned up on that day.

How could my mother, be so cold towards me what did I do wrong. She was never there for me, she would always stick up for him. She never made any effort to do anything nice for me. She made sure I knew that when it comes to her children I was at the bottom of the pile. I needed her to be there for me when I went to the doctors for an infection down below. I wanted her to realize that something happened, instead i’m convinced that she put the dirty underwear idea in the doctors mind, I don’t know. She promised me when I got back in contact with them, that she would be there for me when I gave birth. She wasn’t. Yet to all the neighbours she would put on an act that she was there. My father left her for another women, shortly after.  For a little while, mother and I became closer. But then she would get jealous if I chose to see friends other than her. We would argue, and I would bring up the past, ask her why she never stuck up for me. She would say I imagined it all. (That hurt). I always forgave and forgot, but she showed her true colours, she found herself another man, who was lovely, but the selfish woman that she was, would say he came first before her children or her grandchildren. So every weekend my sister and my younger brother would come to stay. At 13 my sister moved in. Still mother always managed to talk me around and I would see her, talk to her. She even continued to collect benefits for my sister refusing to give me a penny of them. To be honest I didn’t care, we managed. After a couple years her boyfriend left her, we weren’t close but we were in contact. She came to me asking for help, she wanted a new carpet, I had a catalogue, I agreed to let her get a carpet. She would pay me monthly for it. She then asked if I could help with her council tax bill and water bill. We had an agreement, that i would pay her bills by direct debit, and she would pay my provident loan (lady would come to door to collect cash weekly). I agreed, I didn’t have much to pay off so this suited us both. I cleared her debts and 6 months later, I found out that i was in trouble for not paying my provident bill. They had a CCJ for me, I argued with mother of course she denied it, said she paid it. I had no choice, pay up or debt collectors, so I set up an agreement and paid it off. Never got a single penny off mother. Our relationship remained strained for a few years after that. But I would always end up falling for her lies and thinking she would change, I would let her become close again. I was at college one day, and my sister in law called me to say she could not pick my daughter up from school as her daughter was ill. I had an exam to do in the next half hour. I thought well that’s ok I will ask mother. So I called her and she happily agreed, its only a 5 min walk from her house. I came home an hour after she collected my daughter. I thanked her for helping me out, to my shock she said, that’s ok don’t make a habit of it!! (I was gobsmacked are you kidding, she is your granddaughter). I didn’t retaliate, whats the point, its not like my daughter liked to go there anyway, in fact she hated it. A few months later, mother became unwell and needed a lot of help, I let her come and stay with me for a few weeks, while she recovered, put a bed in my lounge. Helped her build her strength to go home. I almost thought, this changed her for the better. I continued to help care for her for 2 years, while I juggled my kids, college, and a part time job. I have no idea how. But I liked to keep busy. One day though, I had made plans to take the kids out for the day with my best friend. Mother became jealous, started to have ago at me, saying that I didn’t care, I was torturing her as she was stuck in the house and couldn’t go anywhere. (She went everywhere with me). I was so angry, I was doing everything for her, often would choose to do stuff for her, than take time for myself and the kids. Her jealously continued. She would try and make me choose between her and my best friends. My best friends have always been there for me, they were more family to me that my family. When I left home they were there, they have always been there to help with my children, and thanks to them I was able to work and go to college. Why would I choose her over them, to me they were my real family. So I started to distance myself from her, by then she had lost contact with all her children except the youngest.

I eventually got married, and we had 2 children together. When my last daughter was born she was really poorly in intensive care. Not once did she come and visit. She finally came to see her granddaughter, when she was 6 weeks old, when we were home. Her excuse being that she wanted to give us space. I was so upset and angry at her, I had been to hell and back, and she could have been there but no. Not her.

It made me think, I was also poorly when I was born and in, intensive care, how could my mother or my father had treated me the way they did. That realization was the final straw, and I stopped all contact with her. And I can honestly say it was the best thing I ever did. I don’t have any regrets.

I did it. My blog part 3

About a month had past now, since I walked into the specialist counselling centre. No news of a date for therapy. At times I thought I was ok with everything. Then I would suddenly find myself really down again. Overthinking, depressed, anxious, helpless, worthless. If it was a feel sorry for yourself feeling, I felt it. It’s funny really I hate being associated with mental health. I know I’m a sufferer, but those words, I can’t explain it. If I meet anyone that has mental health, I don’t think of them any differently. Yet myself, It feels wrong, it feels like I shouldn’t be a sufferer. I can’t even believe I am saying this in my blog. But I feel for me this is a like a diary. I’m just going to say what I think.

So I am a sufferer of mental health, I’m not ashamed, I just don’t like admitting it. I feel that I should be this strong young women that I believe people see. But inside, I have many broken pieces. I need to be reassured, shown love. I have such a low opinion of myself, I am insecure. If I feel I am in the wrong about something, I will make sure I punish myself in some way. Not physically but mentally. So how have I managed to get where I am today? If you asked me I always say its a fluke. I don’t do self praise. The same as if someone gives me praise on how well I have done to be who I am. I will shrug it off.

I had always wanted to be a nurse, leaving home at 16 without any GCSE’s I gave up on the idea. I worked in various places, to provide for my children. But as they were getting older, I started thinking more and more about what I wanted from the future. Then one new years eve, at my sister in laws. We were sat talking about where we would like to see ourselves in 10 years. I joking said that well I wanted to be a nurse. That was it. LOL. They basically told me that, I was using the kids as an excuse not to try and pursue it. So the new year came, and I phoned local colleges to find out what I needed to do. With the fantastic support of my sister in law, and in time my husband. I did what I needed to do, plus 2 more children later and qualified as a nurse. I DID IT.. So many times I thought I would give up, that I’m no good at it. But this force of nature inside me, made me continue. I sometimes wish I could find that again.

I love what I do, I love being a mum, a wife and I love the job I do. During the first few months of what I am now going to refer to as a breakdown! The only place I felt happy was at work. But everyone has to take time off occasionally. And I had a week of annual leave to take. The start of it wasn’t so bad, I spent time with the children. But by the end of the week, I found my depression getting deeper and the thoughts of what had recently surfaced, more and more on my mind. By the Sunday, I was contemplating reporting to the police. The more I thought of it the more, I would talk myself out of it.. But then the evening come and I was at my husbands house, and I told him what I had been thinking, and said I am going to do it. I’m just going to do it. Honestly, i’m not sure I believed myself, let alone my husband. But I drove to the local police station. I managed to get a parking space outside. Now I had to walk in the door. Heart pounding, hands sweaty, i’m not sure I have ever walked in a police station before. I got in and didn’t have a clue how to get to the front desk, all panicky I missed the huge sign that said take a seat wait to be called.. I waited about 10 mins, felt like a lifetime. I was called forward, and a lovely lady was at the desk. I said i’m not sure if I should be here, but I want to report sexual abuse. She was lovely, she could see that I really didn’t want to be there, but given the fact it was quite late in the day. There were less staff on. She said she had someone there that could talk to me, but I would have to wait half hour. I promised I would wait. I’m here now.. I’m sure the lady behind the desk was convinced I would go, but she took my contact details down. And I waited.. I was soon called in and spoke to a lovely female police officer at this point, I wasn’t reporting it. I was just asking what would happen if I did report it. The police officer explained that I couldn’t go into detail, but to give a brief outline for her. I did so, and as I left, she gave me a hug told me I was brave. And I promised I would have a think as to whether I want to go ahead and report it. She said someone would be in contact, in a few days. I missed the first call as I was at work, and to be honest, I panicked and still wasn’t sure if I could go through with it. So I gave  it a couple days, then I phoned the detective. For a few days, we seemed to miss each other. But the more I thought of it the more I wanted to get it off my chest.

So I agreed to a video recorded interview. (and I thought I was scared walking into the police station, this was a whole new level). I arrived at the destination where I was asked to meet, there were video cameras subtlety placed around the room, I was met by the detective dealing with the case and another. They explained what they were going to do, and we began.

I started talking, the worst part was how I had to explain in detail. I had kept this inside for years, now I am having to not only talk but in detail.. I was there a few hours, I admit it went quickly. But I was drained, and never expected what would come next…

The nightmares, now I had really opened the box wide, I hadn’t relived this nightmare since I was in my early twenties, now I was reliving it every night. And sometimes flashbacks in the day. It was exhausting. I was falling a part, I went to the doctors and got signed off for a couple weeks. I honestly thought, I would full to pieces if I carried on working. So I took some time. My doctor has been brilliant as well as my employers.. After a few weeks, I felt well enough to get back into it, staying home isn’t going to help either, I need to be around my work family now..

More to come, thanks for reading!!!

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So why now? My blog part 2

I hear you ask, how did I come to the decision to finally, reveal my past. Well I will try and explain.

I should have been in a happy place, perfect job, good friends, loving family. What more could one want? Well, I had started to become depressed, I left my husband and children, made some terrible choices. Thought, that I would be better off alone, and that they were better off without me. Guess, truth is, I was a little jealous. I had been working full time, and my husband was a stay at home dad. He seemed to have a fantastic relationship with the kids. And I felt pushed out so I did what I do best. I leave! Don’t get me wrong, I stayed in regular contact, visiting as much as I could. I just needed a place to hide I suppose. My husband was beside himself, so confused, had no idea why I was doing what I was doing. Looking back I was awful to him. But true love shows, I am home where I belong, and we are trying to rebuild the foundations…

But why did I revel my past??

I attended a family funeral, to be honest, didn’t think much of it. If he was going to be there that’s fine. I’m strong, seen him a few years ago. I can do this.. I was wrong, I was sat in the church, and the anxiety started to build, surely this is just a little grief??? But then he walked in, my heart raced, I become sweaty. I managed to sit through the funeral, and I left, he stopped and spoke to me, like we are long lost friends. I said hi, and walked away. Walked so fast, I could have run. I got back to my car, shaking, angry. A huge mixture of emotions pouring through my body. I remember driving back to my lonely flat, planning to get a knife and cut myself. (This was my outlet as a teenager). I decided that it would be best to cut my legs as I can’t possibly cut my arms, as they would be seen at work. So driving home, getting more and more worked up, then the tears flowed. I have no idea, how I managed to drive the 25 miles back to my flat. But I did, as soon as I walked in. I sat in a crumpled mess and I cried really cried. Then quickly ran to the bathroom to be sick. What felt like hours, was probably half hour. I pulled myself together, I did not cut myself, why should I? why do I want to become that scared teenager again? I got changed and went to my husbands house and spent time with the kids.

My husband knew I had been upset, but thought it was just grief. Bless him, although really annoying at the time, he fussed over me.

When I had moved out, I knew that I was feeling low. So I made contact with NHS counselling service. A few days after the funeral, I had a call from a lovely counsellor, unbeknown to me how this call was going to go. You see, I have seen previous therapists, I never mention my past. I did once about 2 years ago, and that therapist was really pushy for information, wouldn’t let go. I left feeling worse than Ii had when I went in. I clammed up to be honest, and refused to discuss further.

Back to my telephone conversation. A lovely guy called, I started telling him about how I had been feeling the past few months. He listened and we continued to talk. To this day, I can not remember how he broached the subject, but suddenly I found myself talking about the past I grew up in. He seemed to understand, by now I don’t know how as I was sobbing down the phone. He was fantastic, he explained why I felt my job was so important to me. He could see why I ran from home. Everything, he said made sense. But… That was it, and the end of the call, he confessed that I needed specialist counselling, not something they could offer. He gave me the details of a specialist service and told me to call.

It took a few days, for me to pick the phone up and make that call. The day I did, I got an appointment for the following week. The lady on the phone was surprised, she says normally, we have to wait a lot longer, but she had just had a cancellation.

That evening, I decided to sit down and talk to my husband about the telephone counselling session. My husband knew I had a traumatic past, but never knew to what extent. I had even kept the secret from him. I explained what the counsellor said about my reasons for leaving and why work meant so much to me. I then started to talk about the abuse, I explained that I was going to be having specialist therapy. As I was talking my husband grabbed my hands with tears in his eyes, and said I knew it was bad, but I honestly never knew you actually were raped. I hate that word, to be fair, up til now, i wouldn’t say the word rape. If I was talking I would say sexually abused. I’m glad I had this conversation with him, it finally opened a new door, to recovering our relationship.

The day come for me to go for my assessment at the specialist centre. I met a lovely lady, we sat in this small room. Not your normal clinical room, there was cosy seating and had a nice feeling to it. We chatted for an hour and half, discussing snippits of my childhood, from the terrified emotional and physical abuse from my parents, to the sexual abuse from my cousin. Obviously, due to the time, it was only a brief opening. But the lady I spoke to was great, she put me on the list for counselling, said I definitely would benefit from it. She said I would need the extended therapy over 26 weeks. And may need more after, or alongside it. Her leaving words to me was you will go to the police and report, may not be now, but one day you will find the strength to do so.

I will save this for my next blog!!!

Thank you for reading.

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Will update again soon!!

Introducing myself

Hi there.

Welcome to my new blog! This is completely new territory for me, so you are going to have to bear with. I have taken the decision to write a blog, to see if it helps me and maybe will help others too.

My name is 25yearssilent… (yeah i hear you say, no its not. what is it?) Well unfortunately, you will have to get to know me as this for now. Hopefully as I continue to babble on, you will see why I chose this as a name.

I live in a lovely town in the United Kingdom, lots of countryside around!! 🙂 I am in my 40s, a hardworking nurse! Wife and Mother.

Whats my story…….

Sit down, this could take a while.. Well I came into this world in the late 70s, grew up on a small council estate, with lots of family all living close by. I lived with my younger siblings and an older sibling! As well as a couple of half siblings that visited occasionally!

My parents? Can I call them that? Father worked, mother stayed home doing, i’m not sure as our house was always a complete mess! Both used to have a lot of friends that visited and went out a lot.  Can’t say they were alcoholics or drug users. Both smoked like chimneys, but that was normal in the 80s wasn’t it?

So a little about the parents, my father worked in a garage as i remember, and could pretty much put his hand to anything that needed a fix. Hence, why his popularity around our neighbourhood. He wasn’t what i call a proud man that dressed to impress, as I remember, i think he always looked a little scruffy. People on the outside of our little house thought he was a saint, i am sure. Was he? From as far back as I can remember, there would be good days and bad days. I remember often waking up with this heaviness, listening for raised voices. If silent, gingerly heading down the stairs to see if its a good welcome or a bad welcome. Times when it would start off on a good footing, you’d think yay, its OK today. To then make to much noise or sit in the wrong spot. I dunno, its anyone’s guess. But off like a firework he would go! His favorite thing to say to me is go and get the yellow pages, i’m going to get them take you away to a children’s home. Funny how now, I think that would have been the better option.

That’s not all! On a regular occasion he would drag my mum around the house by her hair beating her! For cooking the wrong meal, making a cup of tea to weak or strong. Or just for interrupting him when he had a friend around! (Please don’t feel sorry for her just yet). He seemed to have taken a dislike to myself and my younger brother, the other 2 couldn’t do a thing wrong. One day my 2 year old brother was screaming, can not remember why, i think he wanted more milk! Next thing i know father grabs the bottle from his mouth with force, almost taking him with him, and throws the bottle in the bin. Shouting at the little man! It took some time to consul the little feller and father just hid in his shed! None of us would dare go out to see him! Mother I think, was in the hospital at this time with the youngest of the brood. She wasn’t innocent by no fact! I suppose you could argue she was scared of him. Sometimes they would go out and lock us in the bedroom upstairs, with a bucket and the door handle removed so we couldn’t get out. Mother may have been scared. I admit for many years, i thought so too, but later in life. She proved her worth! Will come back to that later.

So as you can see, my childhood was not the greatest, in fact, I don’t have one single happy memory of homelife!

I’m not going to bore you with the complete in and outs of my childhood, because honestly I think you will get bored after a while, as it will be repetitive!

Did I try to seek help, yes I did. My father ripped a maths book in half, due to myself and brother having an argument. I admit I lied to my teacher. I was only 11 and in my first year at secondary school. I had a fantastic tutor, and eventually learnt to trust her, she was my maths teacher to. She always seemed really caring and understanding. When I was 13, I was really upset in class, I talked to her and she spoke to someone else. Later that evening, my parents received a phone call from a social worker called Steve. Well, guess what. I have no idea how they did it. But they made it look like they were saints and I was a problem child! Case Closed!

I had developed a fear of Police, due to the constant threats of being taken away. Honestly, even as an adult, I used to start shaking, and my heart would race, if a police car was driving behind me. I think, my job helped me overcome the fear!

Moving on, a month after leaving school, I argued with father, which led to me being thrown to the floor with his hands around my throat. My mother and brother pulled him off me, and I ran out the door! Did not go back. I stayed with friends, and eventually was helped by a young peoples institute. They found me a bedsit. I lived there for 6 months, becoming unwell as I wouldn’t eat, I was scared to go out. These lads kept trying to get into my room, which occasionally they managed. So, with the help of the young persons unit. They found me a lovely little flat, it was small, My bedroom was open plan with the living room area, there was a separate kitchen and bathroom. I was given help to get furniture. I was 17 and living alone. But for the first time, I felt like I had a home, I felt safe. My younger siblings would come to stay at the weekend, and we used to have so much fun. This is how life was supposed to be. I then met a really nice man, a few years older than me, we dated and quickly become pregnant! He left, wasn’t ready for a child. I knew though that I could do this. This is my chance for something good, and someone I can love and will love me back. During my pregnancy, I started talking to my parents again. I told my mother I was pregnant first, thinking she would be ok with it. Nope, she was cross at making her a grandmother at a young age, and putting shame on the family. HaHa…  But she soon came around. I was terrified to tell father but when I did, he was brilliant about it. Father used to like going to the local social club, so after I told him I was pregnant, he would come and regularly take me out. I think I went, because somewhere inside I wanted what I never had. But the fear of him was always there. A few months later I went into labour, I was terrified, my god the pain that seered through me. I had a fantastic midwife, however, the ward was busy, so she couldn’t stay with me the whole time. I begged her to contact mother, as mother had promised to be there. Mother and Father were both at a party, Mother told the midwife she would come later. As the hours ticked by and I wasn’t progressing, they tried to speed up the contractions to see if that would help. I remember screaming in so much pain and pleading for my mother. Honest, I thought I would die. I had been in labour 24 hours alone. Finally the moment, came where my baby had enough, and I was whisked to theatre for an emergency C section.  A daughter is born! Oh and surprise, I wake up to see my parents had finally arrived.

Thanks for getting this far.. Are you wondering why the name still?

I’m going to go back again to my childhood. As you remember, my parents regularly went out, so often we would be left with a babysitter. Either a family friend or relative. At 6 my parents were in the hospital as my brother was born, i stayed over at my aunties house with my older brother. It was late afternoon we were all outside playing with our cousins. I think we were playing hide and seek. I was asked to go in the shed. To this day, I do not know what happened except, I was given a lolly and told that I couldn’t tell anyone! After this if my cousin was babysitting, he would be sat watching porn on the TV and he would call me down, to act out some of the scenes. I’m not going to give details, all I will say it wasn’t all the way, not yet! I have memories of my brother coming down the stairs, and being shouted at to go back to bed. I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening or what I was doing as I would be beaten or taken away by the police. So I learned to accept, so as soon as my parents went out, whether it was day or night, if my cousin was around stuff would happen. At 10, it happened! I remember after, feeling so dirty, I sprayed myself with deodorant, I scratched so bad, that my labia became swollen and hung out of me! The Doctors gave me cream and assumed it was down to poor hygiene. Not sure they would think that in this day? Anyhow it continued, I just went along with it, I would get a pound to keep quiet. Kept me in cigarettes I suppose! At 15 I started my period. My cousin wanted to meet, I told him. And that was it, he never touched me again!

Moving on!!!

I had some bad relationships with men, a single parent with 2 children, and my sister also came to live with me. By the time I was 21, I had 2 young children and a teenager to care for, I’m not complaining as I had never been happier. I had good friends, I occasionally spoke to my parents, who by then had split up! Things weren’t so bad! Fathers ugly temper did appear once more, and for sometime, I didn’t speak to him! I can’t have him around my children. I eventually found a little part time job, and become more confident. My best friends had married and life was good, we all went on holidays together, as a family, this was how life should have been! I became good friends with my best friends brother, he would often come to stay with his girls at weekends. We became close. I had found my soulmate. I finally passed my driving test! I had freedom, we often went out to beaches, cinema, carnivals. My children (I include my sister in that text, as I felt more like a mother to her than a sister). and myself were having a happy childhood. With the help of my best friends, I looked into how to become a nurse. It wasn’t going to be easy, as I had left school without any GCSEs. I was determined though, I went to evening classes, and got my Maths and English. I was then accepted onto an access to nursing course at college. To pass and offered a place at university. It took me 5 years to complete, as in that time, I had married my soulmate and we had 2 more children together. I made it though, I look back now and to this day, I honestly don’t know how I managed it. I’m a nurse, a mother, a wife. I have the perfect life…

Do I?

Occasionally I would suffer bouts of depression and anxiety, but always found away around it. Until this year. You see I went to a family funeral, and saw my cousin. Its not like it was the first time, as I had seen him at a family gathering a few years before. But this time, it upset me, I wanted to cut myself. (I used to in my teens). I was beside myself, I went off the rails a bit I think, I left my family, and wanted to live alone, who was I punishing? I continued to work as it was the only place where i felt happy. I knew it wasn’t right, so I sought help with talking therapies and for the first time in 25 years, it all came out. I don’t think I ever cried like that! They put me in contact with a specialist local Sexual Abuse Help Centre. I went for my first appointment, and we talked. I cried. I finally felt that I was able to deal with it. She put me on the waiting list!

A month later I walked into my local police station and reported the abuse.

I’m going to stop here, catch a breath! To be continued……..