My Fondest Memories

We all know the current news right now and naturally, we’re all worried and with many people (including me!) forced into self Isolation its also driving us stir crazy!

Now I’ve been sitting here trying to think of something to post that could distract you all for a few moments without causing any more distress and as most of you have realised by now that’s a pretty difficult task considering my childhood!

So I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for some of my fondest memories, they’re not necessarily PG but hopefully, 1 or 2 will make you smile!

So when I was a child I was a vegetarian, it was how I was naturally, I didn’t like anything about meat, the taste, the texture, the smell, how it looked all made me nauseous. This wasn’t a big problem at home but the first few years I went to school were horrendous.

I would dread my school lunch, most of the time I didn’t want to eat because I simply wasn’t hungry but other times the meals were just gross for a 4-year-old.
Despite my age, the teachers would punish me for not eating my meal forcing me to miss break time unless I finished my food but worst was when they would tell the whole table of kids that none of them could go out for playtime until I finished and would tell the other kids to “encourage” me to eat and that led to threats and bullying. One teacher even brought my lunch into class to show the kids how ungrateful I was!

Eventually, my mother came down to the school and insisted I be given a vegetarian option making it clear that I had never eaten meat and the school eventually and reluctantly agreed.

One day I was given a vegetarian meal which honestly looked like gruel, it was grey and lumpy and I could not identify any of the ingredients so I refused to eat, sitting alone in the lunch hall my teacher walked by me she stopped suddenly and angrily said “Is that your special vegetarian meal that your mother made such a fuss about – and your STILL not eating!?”

I said nothing so she stormed over sat beside me and started to force-feed me, I knew I was going to be sick and sure I could’ve turned away but I felt that projectile vomiting all over her would have more of an impact – and I was right!
I plastered her in sick, it was like that scene from ‘The Exorcist’, unluckily for her, she was wearing a mini-skirt and no tights, the school had no shower facilities so she had to drive home and change!

After that incident, I got a cheese salad every day and all was right with the world!

Once while home alone I decided to be a little rebellious, my mother was out on a date with her then-husband who was a smoker so I decided to take one of his cigarettes and smoke it.

I went into my mother’s bedroom and I took one of his roll-ups, from a tin which ironically had the term “shit happens” written on it.
I took it to my bedroom and smoked it out the window as quickly as possible.

I don’t remember a lot of what happened next I remember feeling sick and seeing vibrant colours and next thing I know I’m lying on the floor of my bedroom in the middle of the night!

The next day I was filled with guilt and anxiety so I decided to tell my mother what I had done as I knew smoking could kill and I thought I might be dying!
The first thing she said was “You didn’t take it out of the tin by the bed did you?” I said I did and she burst out laughing saying “That wasn’t a normal cigarette that’s the tin he keeps his joints in – they have Cannabis in them! So that’s why you were sleeping on the floor last night”

I had no idea that my mother’s husband smoked Cannabis, he was the only smoker I knew and I just thought all cigarettes smelled funny!

Now I’ve lived a lot of years in a short period of time and it shows, people have always believed me to be much, much older than I actually and -sometimes by decades.

Once I went with my twin into a MacDonald’s, I was in charge of the money and I’d worked out that we only had enough to share a Happy Meal.

My brother was pestering me for a Big Mac as we stood in the queue and I snapped at him saying “I don’t have enough for a Big Mac we’re getting the Happy Meal, now go find us somewhere to sit!”

I like to think I’m naturally authoritative rather than bossy……

I get to the head of the queue and the women taking the order looks at me and says “Kids, huh, how old’s yours?” I didn’t quite understand what she meant so I just answered “he’s 11” she then said “Oh I’ve got a 10-year-old, it’s a difficult age they always want things you can’t afford and they never let it go” and she started to ask my advice as to what to tell her son who wanted an expensive pair of trainers unable to help myself I told her to “get him, trainers, that fit his feet, he’ll only grow out of them in a few months anyway” I also told her not to give him an option.

Honestly, I do not understand why she thought I was so old……!

I hope this is the end of the conversation that I can walk away without having to make an uncomfortable situation but she then asks an inescapable question “How many kids do you have” I feel if I lie here I won’t be able to come back from it and it’ll only get worse so I say; “Um, none actually – he’s my brother” I leave out the twins part and that technically he was born first – no need to rub salt in the would.

Well, she was mortified she dives over the counter and takes my hand saying “I am so sorry!” just apologising again and again until the manager put her on a break!

Also yep, my brother HATES IT when I tell this story!

I usually consider myself to be a wimp/wuss but when someone else is in danger, being treated badly or unfairly I always do something to help. I stand up for others because I’m too stupid to consider the risks involved and because I wish someone had for me.

And this means occasionally, in extreme circumstances things have turned…..physical…

When I was 15 I was helping look after a large group of children in a community centre while the parents listened to a lecture upstairs.

There were just over 80 children and 7 carers, including myself, we decided to divide the children and I went and started playing games with my group, not long after I noticed the group was growing, children were begging to stay in my group I asked why and some of the children said “The other teachers are hitting us”

I was shocked I looked around and sure enough, every other carer were hitting the kids with whatever they had managed to get a hold of – seriously one woman was hitting children with a pack of Styrofoam cups!

I went over and told them all individually and asked them to stop, I told them off and it worked with all but one woman who just argued back at me saying they “deserved it”

She was aggressive – a total bully the few children she had were cowering in fear so I stepped between them and her and told them to run to the other side of the room, most of them did but one boy was so scared I had to promise him I wouldn’t let her near him she dived at him and I had to restrain her but he got free.

Now there were no children in her care and I was telling all of the children to stay away from her when a little boy no older than 5 got too close, she lunged at him, grabbed him in with 1 hand and struck him with a large plank of wood she had in the other around his neck.

He went flying backward I felt sick for a few moments he was in so much shock he couldn’t even cry out. I was terrified he was seriously injured I even thought he was dead for a moment. I picked him up and gave to an older child and told them to go upstairs and get his parents.

After that I lost my mental shit and charged at her I took the plank of wood she had and started hitting her with it screaming “HOW DO YOU LIKE IT!?!” In my anger, I tried to break the plank of wood over my knee but it was too thick and that just pissed me off more before I knew it she was on the floor and I was sitting on her chest slapping the shit out of her.

It took 6 adults to drag me off her…..

Once we were separated, things didn’t look good for me, all the people upstairs had seen was me attacking her but suddenly I was surrounded by children they refused to let them take me away telling the adults “It wasn’t her fault!” and “They were all hitting us” “she tried to stop her but the teacher wouldn’t stop”

I went to sit down and they all followed while I sat there covered in children they gave me a Ribena and I packet of Animal Crackers and I knew then that I had their respect!

Unfortunately, I was told I would need to leave because of the incident the kids begged me to stay they were scared that once I left the women would go back to hitting them so I refused to leave until they removed the woman who had assaulted the child and while waiting I told the children that behind one of the curtains there was a lot of rope and to use it if they had to, they asked how they could fight back and I said “There are 80 of you and 5 of them”

When I left there were a group of parents waiting they cheered for me, the parents of the injured child gave me a giant hug and thanked me for doing something.

It was an eventful day….all in all.

A few years later I was in Uni and living in Student Accommodation.

One Friday night I was writing up an essay when I heard some banging and screaming, I didn’t think much of it as the area was rough so this wasn’t uncommon but a few minutes later I heard a woman crying outside my bedroom window.

At first, I tried to ignore it as my essay was going so well but the sobbing continued and it felt wrong to ignore it.
I went outside, sat down beside the woman and we got to chatting and it turned out her boyfriend was abusing her, he’d roughed her up and she’d run away to the back of the building because she was too scared to go back inside.

Eventually, she came inside my flat and we called the police we had to wait for hours but eventually, the police came and removed him.

The next day at 8am I’m woken up with banging and screaming so I dart out of bed and follow the noise wearing nothing but my nightie, and find my neighbour being attacked by her boyfriend – again!
I did the only thing I could think and shouted “OI YOU WOKE ME UP!” which at least distracted him from kicking her – oddly enough he apologised!

Anyway he wouldn’t leave and so I walked right by him picked her up and guided back into my flat again we called the police and even though I never changed when her mother turned up she thought I was a police officer because of what my neighbour had told her!

My neighbour was so grateful for the help she sent me a gift and a “Thank you” card! Even better she left the guy and had him prosecuted so some stories have happy endings!

F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

I am often a bad friend, I cut myself off from those who care about me, ignore their advice, take their friendship for granted, I forget birthdays, holidays and events, in general, I hide my problems or overburden them in weepy phone calls in the middle of the night and I’m not proud of it.

I have good friends, they are kind, compassionate intelligent and mature and I am lucky to have them still in my life, nothing in my life was good until these folks showed up.

As I’ve explained time and time again I find it hard to verbally express myself and I rarely show affection so these people (despite knowing me very well and therefore know how I feel) have probably never heard how terribly grateful I am for their ongoing love and support.

So I’m going to write something about all of them in terms both vague enough to protect their privacy and specific enough so at least they’ll know I’m talking about them!

I hope people reading this will at least understand how much these people mean to me and how much they have changed my life for the better – it’s these people who have helped me survive.

To My Favourite Flatmate!

When you moved in I was so happy to have you there but also sad, I felt guilty suggesting you live in such crappy student flats with me – but hey it was quite cheap!

When we first met on that protest I knew there was something about you that was just like me I spent the day eying you up trying to figure out what it was! It was on the way back we both got to see what it was that we had in common.

You have no idea how much I needed to find you, all these things I’d been dying to say to someone who could understand I had been totally silent about my life until I met you. I got to tell you things and you didn’t make me regret it.

You had a cool, calm, patient demeanour and you listened to me without judgement. You explained so many things to me that I didn’t understand and slowly and patiently you showed me how people were supposed to treat others.

The kind of patience you showed me helped me better understand the real world and the people in it, you helped me come to terms with a lot of abuse I didn’t even recognise was abuse at the time.

I remember a few years ago going through a meltdown, I was suicidal but there was no help available, you stayed up for days with me, keeping me protected, you didn’t try to distract me, you didn’t tell me to “cheer up” you didn’t tell me “things will get better” you just listened to my pain.

Most of all you are still, after all these years there for me when I need you I know I never remember your birthday and I’m rarely capable of getting you a gift. I would dearly love to give you all that you deserve.

To My Sassy Lassy!

When we first met for coffee I thought you were too cool to ever consider being my friend.

How lucky I am that we met and even though I’ve known you for a few years I feel like we’ve known each other for our whole lives.

You’re one of the bravest people I know, I am constantly in awe of your outspoken nature, you demand respect from others something I wish I could do.

Some people mistake your personality as aggressive (something that would never happen if you were a man!) but I know that this is not true, you care so deeply about others and about what is just and fair.

Your bravery runs deep it’s not just about asking for the respect of others but about making sure you have done what’s necessary to deserve it – you have expectations of yourself as well as others.

If you are criticized you analyse yourself and your behaviour even if that criticism is baseless.

It takes a lot for a person to recognise they’re not perfect and you are always the first to admit your faults.

Often people believe that ‘faults’ are a type of failing a wrongdoing, a point of complete personal blame. I think their wrong faults are what make us human, there’s no such thing as a perfect human being but the best kind of human being is the kind that expects things from themselves before expecting them from others.

You work hard at everything you do but while you work difficult hours you always have time for me, I absolutely love going out with you!

You are the only person who can get me out of my flat and get me to enjoy it, seeing you and hanging out is always the highlight of my week!

You are an incredibly loyal friend, you’d go into battle for any of the people you care about and I know you’ll be by my side whatever comes my way.

You believe in me so much you make me feel I can do anything, you encourage me to follow my goals and when I’m with you, you give me a confidence I never thought I would have.

You are a good person, always remember that.

To My Fervent Feminist!

I never thought the strongest feminist I ever met would be a man, I always assumed you couldn’t truly understand unless you were in it, but I was wrong.

You read “Every-day Feminism” literally every day – your more well-read about sexist events around the world and get more outraged than I do and that’s MY thing!

You know there are no real differences between men and women and you truly believe in equality anyone who has EVER spoken to you for even a few minutes knows how much you deeply respect women – so stop trying so hard! Trust me when I say WE ALL KNOW!!

I’m a woman who well into her twenties still believed men were beasts, I feared every man I ever met until I met you in the years we have known each other you’ve never made feel threatened or intimidated – you are a good man and I want to thank you for showing me they exist.

You are better than you believe, so many people behave as if their actions have no consequences whereas you consider every step you take and the impact it might have, despite your struggles you are selfless – too selfless.

I want for you the things you don’t believe you can have – I know you can, I mean I know it I can feel it in my bones.

I hope you know that I respect you more than I ever thought I could respect a man! You have shown me what a real man looks like with your gentle kind heart you have rescued me from a dark pit of anger and bitterness towards men.

You have saved me from so many things and you never stop!

Thank you.

To My Angry Artist

When we first met I was a little intimidated, as I always am around men, but after a coffee and a cigarette, we got to talking.

You have this ability to look into me and know what I’m going through, your eyes look as if they have seen everything, they’re like deep wells of knowledge.

Your intellect overwhelms me, your ability to comprehend what most couldn’t understand in a lifetime of actively trying you just know instantly.

You read too much!

No artist is truly understood in their own generation but your dedication to your artistic self-expression will I’m sure be appreciated eventually, you’re like Van Gough, you see the world in so many ways I cannot imagine – just DON’T cut off ANY part of your anatomy!

You once drew a picture of me while we chatted and I was surprised how quickly you captured my likeness – you have a real talent don’t let anyone tell you otherwise like you always say “Only mentalists can understand”

I am both in love with how you can express yourself and yet totally afraid of it at the same time. You can tap into your anger and I can’t I’m scared if I start I’ll never stop but when I’m around you I know you will keep me safe and I feel more capable of feeling the anger and bitterness I’ve suppressed my whole life.

I remember getting black-out drunk in your flat, I puked everywhere and you looked after me – like actually looked after me I wasn’t used to not being taken advantage of and while I woke up in your bed I was alone, you slept in the living room – which I can’t imagine was pleasant or comfortable!

You are one of a handful of people I can trust, we’re just two crazy peas in a totally mental pod! Yes, we’re fucked up but so is this world we live in, thanks for helping me navigate things a bit better!

(I know how much my use of exclamation points annoys you but I can’t stop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

To My Big Brother

When we first met I thought you didn’t like me, I wanted to impress you but I’m pretty sure I was just getting on your nerves!

You were so quiet in the beginning, I thought you were shy, obviously I now know that you were showing me patience, you quietly listened to my crazy religious beliefs and then once in a while you’d say something that would completely stump me. Things I had NEVER considered in my entire life you came up with instantly.

You made me think for myself and you made me feel safe enough to do it.

I’ve always wanted a big brother like you, someone sensible and realistic someone who saw through my unusual upbringing and could see me as a sensible person too.

You connected with me and helped me see that I am a rational person who’s lived an irrational life. You helped show me the difference between normal and abnormal and I trust your judgment more than I trust my own.

You call me just to talk to me because you like talking to me! Your a person with a tough outer shell and I’m honoured you trusted me enough to let me in.

You have this uncanny ability to distract me from my past when I’m around you I don’t think of it as much and your the only one who can do that. Yet when my past does come up you always have a perspective that reminds me to fight back.

You make me feel stronger, more in control than I generally feel and you totally get how little I understand subtlety!

I’ve not known you that long in comparison with most of my other close friends but you know me just as well I love that I can count on you to give me what I need to save myself – not just want I want.

The Christmas I spent with you was the best Christmas I ever had!

To My Soul Sister

We’ve known each other for a few years and despite all my baggage, you treat like one of the family! Spending time with you and your lovely family makes me happy.

For a long time, I have felt alone I’ve either had to abandon or been abandoned by almost all of my relatives, but you make me feel as if I will always have family in you.

You show love for me, for who I am and no matter how hard things are for you I can always count on you for a delicious homecooked meal!

I’ve never known such a dedicated woman, you do your very best for everyone you can and you have the most open heart of anyone I’ve ever met.

Sometimes people don’t treat you with the respect you deserve but you never stop showing respect, patience, love, and kindness to everyone regardless of how they treat you.

You are worth more than you can see, you have plenty to offer this world I can’t imagine what you could achieve if you had just a little time for yourself.

You are so strong and you don’t even see it! You get up every day and no matter how much pain you’re in you are always there for those around you, you just never stop giving!

Your devotion to your family shows as you make everyone around you shine just a little brighter, you are a wonderful mother, you make their happiness your top priority while giving them gentle structure. You treat them like individual but equally and they love you so much for this they prefer spending time with you and not with their friends – which is a flipping miracle when you have teens!

You have shown what real families are like and I’ll stop being grateful you let me be a part of yours!

Featured

My Cult explained. (Hopefully!)

I’ve been wanting to explain what type of cult I was in for a while now, unfortunately the cult I was in is practically unknown, like most cults it masks itself as an established religion, one commonly known to most people and it’s very difficult trying to explain how it isn’t actually related to any religion is hard.

To be honest about my experience with this cult I cannot edit out the imaginary ties it had to Islam, I can tell you that these ties aren’t real, I can assure you that the cult is as Islamic as the KKK is Christian it’s just not as well known.

So please, please do not read this as a reason to fear or hate Muslims do not use it as an excuse to further misguided opinions as to what Islam is as Islam, in all honesty, is just like every other religion. (In my opinion)

My mother converted to Islam when I was 11, at first her beliefs were normal and her conversion had little effect on my life but within a year or so she had begun to constantly preach to me and my siblings in situations we couldn’t get away from – like while in the car.

By the time I was 13 I had also converted, it felt like my choice at the time and it did make me feel peace and happiness. But it can hardly be seen as appropriate for such a young person to make such a big decision and there was constant emotional manipulation at play my mother would have me trapped and would say “I want what’s best for you and I KNOW this is the truth, I believe this is the best thing for our lives” She sounded so sincere and I trusted my mother’s judgement.

For a few years, we were normal practicing Muslims, but things became stricter, at 15 my mother started believing that to truly have a chance at getting to heaven that we must observe more than is requested in Islam as that is secretly what God wanted us to do.

So we covered more and we prayed more, we fasted more we went to more talks, more lectures and more classes.

This is when things became more fundamentalist, this was NOT the teachings we were given but it seemed to be what my mother decided to take away from those teachings, For example;

Islamically as I’m sure most people know, there are 5 prayers a day for Muslims, but there are other daily prayers that you can choose to do and they’re called ‘Sunnah’ prayers, it was never suggested in classes or by other educated Muslims that these prayers were mandatory, in fact I don’t even remember being encouraged to try to do them, most scholars would tell us to ‘relax’ to try our best at what was compulsory and to be patient.

But my mother believed to be a ‘truly devout and pious’ Muslims we must observe everything we learned as not doing so was ‘sinful’. She started having more and more outrageous beliefs, she occasionally would say that while suicide bombing was wrong it was ‘sometimes understandable’ she once told me that if it meant I would go to heaven she would kill me to protect my ‘honor’ because she ‘loved’ me that much!

She believed, and maybe still does, that the earth is flat, the Queen is a lizard-person, the Government was poisoning the water with Fluoride to control our minds and make us more subservient, vaccines contained mind-altering drugs, the world is controlled by the Illuminate and the Freemasons under the guidance of the ’24 protocols’, 9/11 and 7/7 were faked by the Government to blind people from the ‘truth’, that we must prepare for the end of days, that only White, Western people were ever gay, the moon landing was faked – pretty much every conspiracy theory out there my mother preached like gospel.

These views I now know are not Islamic but more the beliefs of a paranoid individual who had just discovered the internet! Yet she had such a way of meshing it all together, using unusual religious doctrine to defend her beliefs and then teaching them to me. I was told that a truly pious daughter would always do whatever her mother tells her so she can go to heaven, my mother would often misquote an Islamic saying that went “Heaven lies at the feet of your mother”

And barring a few of the above beliefs I believed her and followed her.

She then married for the 5th time as a second wife to a man who had also converted and carried even more odd and extreme views than her.

Suddenly my religious beliefs were spiraling out of control, I was confused – when I first started practicing Islam I was told to take things slowly, to try my best and not to expect too much of myself, I was taught that men and women were equal, that I could choose what to do with my life and now I was praying nearly 20 times a day, readying myself for an arranged marriage as this was my ‘religious duty’ my worth as a Muslim woman was to cook, clean and get pregnant and to obey my husband in everything.

All my education was ‘religious’ there was never any question as to my professional future – I could only go to school if my future husband allowed it!

The religious doctrine changed too, I was no longer supposed to read and practice the Qur’an but to read a book that ‘explained’ the Qur’an written by a better Muslim than me and therefore was unquestionable.

Every day I had to sit and listen to about an hour of preaching from a book called ‘Ta’Leemul Haq’ I was told it was more ‘spiritually beneficial’ than the Qur’an – which is certainly not a typical Islamic belief! I found it to be cruel and scary and it bore no resemblance to my initial understanding of Islam.

I could never do enough I was always falling short of expectations there was always more I needed to do to be a ‘true’ Muslim.

We called ourselves ‘Jammatis’ or at least that is what my mother and her husband called it, it meant that religiously we should always worship together, it was often a duty to stay at another person’s home for days or even weeks doing nothing but pray and read Ta’Leemul Haq. The men went door-to-door trying to get other Muslims to follow our example, like being a Jehovah’s Witness who only preaches to other Jehovah’s Witnesses!

But even though I knew things weren’t normal I couldn’t just leave, my mother would (and eventually did) disown me, my questions were seen as signs of demonic possession my unwillingness to take part was often looked upon with suspicion and I sometimes feared for my safety.

I was furnished with many horror stories about the world made to feel as if I was constantly in danger – Non-Muslims were dangerous they either wanted to hurt me or lead me astray from my religion – I didn’t have a Non-Muslim friend until my 20s!

Everything I did was monitored, my mother checked my emails, my phone, my online profiles, she had me followed when I went out alone, she would call and text me incessantly until I came home.

Because of all this indoctrination, I didn’t enter the real world until just a few years ago! I lived in a pre-Armageddon world, where the smallest action could send me to heaven or to the fiery pits of hell where I’d burn for all eternity – I would often sob with fear at the thought that I might’ve done something wrong and condemned myself unknowingly.

I was miserable and so alone so that when things inevitably turned violent I simply ran away, I couldn’t do it anymore – I’d totally lost my belief in God and I couldn’t keep up the charade I knew that staying there would be more dangerous and even though I had nowhere to go but sleeping on the streets for 12 nights still felt like a better, safer option.

It wasn’t until I was free of this mind control that I finally understood what had actually been going on, I realized that it had been many years since I had been following an actual religion, my beliefs and my understanding of the way life works were not normal, that people generally didn’t have this experience growing up – you have no idea how incredibly mind-blowing it is to realize what you have commonly believed as fact for years is actually total fiction that bears no semblance to a reasonable, rational belief.

So let’s be clear this was not Islam, this was a cult, my mother a leader, a preacher of her own gospel using mind games and manipulation on me, as well as my siblings, to gain total control of my life.

There’s nothing religious about these beliefs and they have no actual basis Islamically.

The control, the mind games, the verbal/physical abuse, the literal demonizing of critical thought are all hallmark traits of a cult and I see no other better way to describe it.

I no longer believe in God – oddly enough my experience has sullied my opinion on the subject! But I respect those who chose to practice any belief that is intended to encourage us to be kinder, more understanding and compassionate.

I never thought I’d be stupid enough to fall for a cult but it’s not like they advertise the fact. I was young and too trusting and now I am paying the price, I’m years behind my peers and still unravelling a decade of mind control and indoctrination – so don’t judge me I’m embarrassed enough as it is.

I Never Thought I Could Do This.

If I had a penny for every person who told me to write about my life I would be rich, but I never thought I’d attempt it.

I never thought I would be able to write down the things I’ve experienced or be able to explain how I feel about them.

I was taken out of school at 8 years old and “Home Educated” which actually meant almost no real education except for cooking, cleaning and indoctrination from the cult I ended up in.

So I know I cannot write, I can’t spell adequately and I have no understanding of grammar I don’t know what Nouns, Adjectives, colons, semi-colons are or how to properly use commas and full-stops.

Nor do I know how to structure sentences – if you’ve read enough of these posts you’ll see the difficulty I have in writing in a uniform manner, I write down what I think and that is all.

Luckily I have friends with a better education than me who at least do some minor editing of the structure of these posts.

SHOUT OUT to Pauline, Emrys and Johnathan – thank you so much, couldn’t do this without your help!

It’s not just my lack of education that has stopped me from attempting to be heard or listened to but the way I was raised not to create waves. I was never to listen to my feelings, as feelings were inherently irrational and illogical.

I was told that expressing feelings was impolite, when I did show any feelings they were met with shock, disgust and would often cause further violence and so I learnt to hold it back and this way of thinking has spilled unconsciously into my adult life.

I have spent so long being silent for my own safety that I find it’s hard just to even think about expressing them to other people.

Its also not easy to write it down as this is expressing an emotion, just in a written format – I feel exposed and vulnerable I worry a lot about what I write, whether it’s safe to do so and I also worry about the reader, are these too much? Are they overly distressing or hard to read for any other reason? I feel like I’m bothering people.

Recently I took a long journey, several hours several trains nothing unusual but as a disabled person with heavy luggage it was not easy but when I got back I got a call from a friend who asked me “Is everything ok?” I responded “Oh the train journey was longer than expected but not too bad” and he replied “No stupid I’m asking about YOU, I was worried about YOU?!”

I’m so used to being ignored and treated like nothing that it didn’t naturally occur to me that that was what he meant!

But I do have something to contribute – my life experiences can be used for good we can all learn from them – as a child of abuse I can tell you how it affects your life; how it affects your mental and physical health.

I know what it’s like to be homeless, I know what it’s like to live in poverty, I know what its like to be crippled by mental health problems, I know what its like to be suicidal, I know what its like to be surrounded by violence, I know what its like to be raped and sexually abused – I know what its like to be alone.

I know what it’s like to be so unimportant to everybody that if I’m ill or physically injured my main concern is not my well-being but whether the situation will be a bother to anyone!

When we educate ourselves we learn from someone who knows more about that subject than us, someone who has experience.

Yet for some reason we elect and allow people who have NO IDEA about these social problems – people whose lives have never been hard or trying at all and expect them to be able fix these social problems.

How would someone like Homer Simpson be capable of understanding the intricacies of poverty and its affects let alone know how to fix them.

Isn’t it time we asked people with actual expertise and experience rather than people who buy their way into positions of power and can wax lyrical about it.

I know I’m not an expert but my life experiences are worth something, they’re worth understanding because you may gain perspective about life, on a life that’s different to yours.

To be a truly productive society we need to acknowledge that we don’t already know everything and that’s ok – as long as we’re all willing to learn.

Will I ever be ‘Normal’?

This is a bit of a pointless question, rhetorical really, we all know there’s no way I’ll ever be a ‘normal’ person.

We are all shaped by our experiences; it influences us more than we care to admit and I’ve been shaped by countless dangerous, abusive and extreme circumstances they have such an impact on me as a person that even though it may have been decades ago it has stayed with me.

I suffer from CPTSD – Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder – and like it’s famous sister PTSD one of the symptoms is flashbacks.

To truly understand what a flashback feels like – though everyone’s experience is different – for me; it’s like falling and drowning at the same time into utter darkness then my gut tightens, I shake, I start to hear crying and screaming and my limbs feel like lead. I try to speak but I can’t breathe and I’m taken to a time in my life where I felt my life was at risk – I see it all over again. It really feels as if you have to go through it all over again.

When you have CPTSD these flashbacks can be of many incidents as it’s usually linked to sustained periods of abuse as well as multiple types of abuse, whereas PTSD can be caused by one isolated incident.

When I was 11 I was nearly kidnapped – not the first or the last time this would nearly happen. I was raised in the countryside and was overly trusting so when a guy with a minibus(van) said he was a provisional bus service for the local council I believed him and happily took trips with him into the local town with my brother.

He was very inquisitive he asked me lots of questions about who I was, what my life was like and I answered all of his questions

Then one time we were supposed to both be picked up at the same place at the same time but my brother wasn’t there so I travelled with him alone. I didn’t feel uncomfortable straight away but while driving he asked if I wanted to sit in the front seat I said yes and he told me to climb through – this was my first warning I thought it was odd that a bus driver would allow a child to climb through while driving I knew it was illegal; both my parents had allowed us to do that while driving and had both been pulled over!

So I climb through and sit there and we start talking soon I notice he keeps touching my leg and that turned into rubbing – this was my second warning, he was touching me and I knew it was sexual.

Then he said “How old are you, again?” I told him I was 11 He replied (and I quote) “Really cause it’s my daughters 12th birthday today and she’s having a sleepover, would you like to come?” I said I had to get home and he started telling the most perfect 12th birthday I could think of – tents in the living room, karaoke, a midnight feast – just the kind of party I would love.

I knew it was too good to be true and I knew I was in trouble. I started watching the road waiting for the turning to my village to come but my gut told me he wasn’t going to take it he tried to persuade me that it’d be fine and that I could call my mum from his house and he’d explain and she’d be fine with it all I could think was “I bet she wouldn’t” – even my mother who is probably a good contender for ‘The Most Neglectful Parent Award” would definitely NOT be okay with it!

I tried every excuse, I told him I had homework and he said “But you’re home educated, you’re so smart you don’t need to worry about that,” I told him my mother would be worried and he said “She’s a single mother with four kids I don’t think she’s mind!” I realised he’d paid a lot of attention to our previous conversations and this only fuelled my fear.

As the turning came up I noticed he did not slow down he was acting like he didn’t see it but I knew it was deliberate – this was my final warning – as the turning passed us by my heart sank into despair but as soon as it did my brain turned on and a calm steady voice told me to take off my seatbelt and unlock the door without him noticing so I started to pretended that he’d convinced me and he relaxed a little so as not to notice.

I thought of just jumping out but I looked out the window and it didn’t seem like an option – we were going too fast for me to just jump out. Remember it was the countryside and short of livestock and the occasional train crossing there was not much traffic.

Luck however did strike me – there were two or three cars in front of us and then a large hay-truck started backing onto the road we came to an almost complete stop.

I slid my arm to the handle and BOLTED I ran to the verge and through a hedge across a field and into a wooded area I sat down on a tree stump and my brain said “Stay where you are, stay still, be quiet”.

I stayed on the tree stump for nearly two hours then I got up walked out of the woods and started walking back home, alone.

When I got home I told my mother what had happened and she seemed almost excited like I’d had a fun adventure, she said she would report him to the local authorities but like a true contender for “The Most Neglectful Parent Award” she did not.

It was not an adventure. It was yet another experience of total fear and hopelessness, I felt so vulnerable and alone I was totally at his mercy. I was only 11 and yet again I had to save myself from yet another adult who was crossing some dangerous boundaries.

I have lived these moments over and over again I relived all the thoughts that passed through my mind like; “He’s going to rape me.” “Why isn’t anyone here to help me?” “What do I do?” “Why is it always me?”

I’m constantly reminded how hurt I was that my mother didn’t do anything – didn’t even get a hug!

I’m constantly reminded of a time when nobody was there, that no one helped me where I would’ve loved nothing more than to be rescued and how worthless I must be for no one to even try.

It’s as fresh in my memory as the day it happened – this and much, much more swims around my head all day every day giving me real life examples of why I’m not a normal person.

I can’t just ‘forget about it’. It won’t let me move on. It just keeps attacking me.

It makes me act strangely; to this day I don’t like sitting in the front seat, I avoid being alone in cars with male drivers, I keep one hand of the door handle and the other on the buckle.

This is second nature to me and it makes up part of who I am. I’ve had to save myself so often that it doesn’t even occur to me to ask for help, I’m so used to having to fight alone.

I try to move on, I try to have every day as it comes and want to have a more prosperous future but I’m so used to being attacked I’m stuck in a defensive mindset just waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

I suppose what I mean by the question is not “will I be ‘normal’?” It’s “Will I ever be accepted for who I am now by society in general?” and perhaps even more pertinent “Can I accept who I am?”

From my experiences thus far I fear the answer is “Probably not”.

What is Betrayal Trauma? Sunday Special

The term betrayal trauma was first introduced by Jennifer Freyd in 1991 at a presentation at Langley Porter Psychiatric Institute. According to Freyd “Betrayal trauma occurs when the people or institutions on which a person depends for survival significantly violate that person’s trust or well-being: Childhood physical, emotional, or sexual abuse perpetrated by a caregiver are examples of betrayal trauma”

I experienced betrayal trauma when both my parents used me in a paedophile ring and offered me to numerous men from the age of 4-18 and then when I turned 18 turned me out onto the streets of Dublin as I was too old for the men. Rejection by your parents is the ultimate betrayal trauma. They are meant to be trusted caregivers in whom children place complete trust and care.

THE AFFECTS OF BETRAYAL TRAUMA

Freyd further tells us that when trauma involves a betrayal we are less likely to be aware of what is occurring or recall the details. Why? Because when we confront the perpetrator it threatens an attachment that we feel is necessary to our survival. Those awesome survival instincts can kick in and literally erase our memory or change it to make the betrayal seem like less of a threat. I felt like I was all these monkeys combined into one! I refused to hear or see the abuse in my childhood and definitely terrified to say anything about the things I did notice.

When our conscious mind is protecting us, and our subconscious mind is screaming that everything is not ok it can lead to some pretty severe problems. In a recent study it was shown that ~70% of wives of sex addicts could be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Yep, the same thing that military folk come home with is what traumatized wives deal with. Lucky me, I got both! I will say, however, that my trauma from deployment was VERY minimal to the extent that I didn’t even really realize that it existed for a long time. My betrayal trauma due to abandonment has been much more in my face and in control of my life. PTSD comes with a lot of really fun symptoms including:

Spontaneous or cued recurrent, involuntary, and intrusive distressing memories of the traumatic events
Recurrent distressing dreams in which the content or affect (i.e. feeling) of the dream is related to the events
Flashbacks or other dissociative reactions in which the individual feels or acts as if the traumatic events are recurring
Intense or prolonged psychological distress at exposure to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic events
Physiological reactions to reminders of the traumatic events
Persistent avoidance of distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic events or of external reminders
Inability to remember an important aspect of the traumatic events (not due to head injury, alcohol, or drugs)
Persistent and exaggerated negative beliefs or expectations about oneself, others, or the world (e.g., “I am bad,” “No one can be trusted,” “The world is completely dangerous”).
Persistent, distorted blame of self or others about the cause or consequences of the traumatic events
Persistent fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame
Markedly diminished interest or participation in significant activities
Feelings of detachment or estrangement from others
Persistent inability to experience positive emotions
Irritable or aggressive behavior
Reckless or self-destructive behavior
Hypervigilance
Exaggerated startle response
Problems with concentration
Difficulty falling or staying asleep or restless sleep

Yeah, that’s a lot. All of these symptoms can also take their toll physically. Adrenal fatigue, thyroid problems, joint and/or muscle pain, headaches, weight gain, and even more often manifest themselves when a person is suffering from trauma. “The Body Keeps The Score” is a great book to read if you are more interested in this topic. It’s WAY too much to cover here.

HOW TO HEAL FROM BETRAYAL TRAUMA

Quite frequently all these symptoms are lumped into one happy little diagnosis of anxiety and/or depression. Here pop a pill and be on your merry way! While I’m all for medication if and when you need it really healing trauma requires far more than that.

First and formost you need to get out of your isolation! That is why I have ripped the curtain off my life and decided to start sharing here.

Second, and equally important, is counseling with a qualified therapist. Finding the right therapist can be very difficult. While there are all sorts of certifications you can look for ultimately it all comes down to do they know and understand betrayal trauma. It is also really helpful if they are trained in EMDR and/or neural feedback therapy (more on those in a future post). Both of these help to integrate the mind/body connection and speed up the healing process. Betrayal Trauma Recovery is an excellent resource for finding a good counselor. They are coaches rather than certified therapists, but they have focused their training on betrayal trauma and most are victims as well.

Third, become a learn it all. No one is ever going to care as much about your healing as you do. Knowledge is power and you need all the power you can get to escape the pit that you find yourself in while dealing with these issues. For dealing with your own insecurities adn regaining your individuality and muchness anything by Brene Brown is pure gold. I’m currently working through “The Gifts of Imperfection” book via the art journaling class.

Fourth is some solid self-care and self-love work. Self-Care is NOT selfish! You matter. You are important. You can not give to others what you don’t have for yourself. Your capacity to love others, including and even especially your own family, is limited by your ability to love yourself. If you struggle with this I would encourage you to find ten minutes every day where you can just do something you love. Take a walk, do some art, sing in the shower, just do whatever makes you happy.

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“Sorry, Bear With Me – I’m Still Getting Used to Being Treated Like A Human Being!”

After decades of constant attacks for little to no reason by everyone around me it became what I expected from people.As a child I thought that the only common denominator was me, hundreds of attacks by dozens of people and they couldn’t all be wrong? Right?It led me to believe that I just be doing something wrong to warrant this behaviour – logically it had to be my fault.

Once when I was 8 my sister went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and flushed the toilet: This terrible transgression was punished by my father who made me and my sister drink gone off whole milk, so off it was chunky – to this day the smell of whole milk makes me nauseas.

Then we were made to stay up all night, every time we started to fall asleep he hit us and say “You asked for this”I came to the rationalisation that I didn’t deserve to be allowed to go to the bathroom at night, that disturbing my father’s sleep would get me beaten so from that day forth I would stay in bed for hours unable to sleep because I needed to pee – just to avoid the danger.

I did not see it as unreasonable behaviour because I was taught from a young age that if children didn’t do anything wrong they wouldn’t be punished, as I’ve explained before on my blog it was ingrained in me from a young age that even an unfair and unreasonable rule must be obeyed by a child.

So when abused I looked to a default within my behaviour which was the cause of the outcome – injury. The slightest error was enough, let me give a different example:When I was 5 I got beaten by my father for eating 2 pieces of his father’s day chocolate bar I remember being thrown around the living room, into the sofa and into the mantlepiece, slapped punched and screamed at – I remember bleeding from my head and reeling from the attack I just went to bed.

Many years ago I brought the incident up with a friend I explained how my father had made all us kids sit on the stairs until someone confessed and being coerced into it by being told “Your his favourite, he’ll go easier on you” by one of my siblings.I told my friend about the beating. Instead of leaving the story there I added “But it was Galaxy chocolate and that is a superior chocolate” as if this completely justified my father’s actions. After a moment my friend replied “Oh well that makes it alright then! I was just thinking how disgusting it is to beat a 5 year old over a piece of poor quality chocolate but it was nice chocolate so that makes it alright – if it had been like Dairy Milk THAT would be a total overreaction!”

He said it so sarcastically that for the first time that ever I thought that even if I had taken the chocolate no adult should ever behave the way he did – it was actually the first time it occurred to me that HE was in the wrong, not me!

That happened to me when I was 5 and I didn’t tell anyone until my 20s and so for at least 15 years I believed that this attack was my fault, my wrongdoing – karma punishing me for thinking about taking the chocolate.

(You know something weird? Even though didn’t take the chocolate, I remember seeing it and wanting to take some but I was too scared to and I thought it was stealing but to this day I feel guilty that I NEARLY did like it makes me a bad person)

What I’m getting at is for years so many minor things were worth more to others that my safety and wellbeing that when someone does show me a kindness or doesn’t attack me for a small mistake it’s really weird… I remember on my first job making a small mistake which someone pointed out and for a second I actually thought they were going to dive across the table and hit m -, they didn’t (obviously) but the point is that this is what naturally occurs to me.I’m not used to being treated like my comfort, safety, thoughts or feelings matter. Practically this means that I can act oddly in social situations, sometimes it’s just a look of confusion other times I may seem suspicious, overly aggressive or guarded.

I can’t help it and you can’t fix it so when an inevitable uncomfortable moment occurs, don’t bother trying to comfort me, no need to try and calm me, just leave it, leave me alone.

You cannot undo the decades of my life where I’ve learnt to expect abuse, it takes time, care, patience and dedication to help someone overcome even 1 traumatic event and let’s be honest you don’t have any of these requirements to actually help so do the next best thing – ignore it, pretend it didn’t happen, sweep it under the rug so I can at least maintain some dignity.

Sunday Special

I write a piece every week but I’ve decided that on Sunday I’m going to give a voice to someone other than myself a fellow survivor with a story to tell.

Today is shout out to a close friend of mine whose compassionate actions deserve recognition.

What SHOULD you do?

Most of us come into contact with people acting unreasonably in public in some way at some time in our lives, when this unreasonable behaviour is towards a child it never ceases to surprise me how little people are willing to do to help protect that child I’ve heard all the excuses – “There not my kid” “It’s not my business” “Maybe they’ve been acting up and the parent has just snapped” (like that makes it ok!)

And recently I was speaking with a friend who said to me “What should you do then?” and that’s a really good question most of us don’t see how our involvement can help or what that involvement should be.

Be assured that getting involved directly is very rarely a constructive, productive way to help usually the best way to help is to “Observe and Report” take a step back and take notes, as many details as you can, when, where, for how long, descriptive details that can help authorities track the incident. I told my friend this and recently she put it into use!

My friend was in public and she watched a father abuse his toddler, slapping him and kicking the back of his legs – the way she handled this situation was just perfect!

She first observed – she noticed that the man was with a group of adults so did not approach which would have been incredibly dangerous and may have caused the situation to escalate putting herself in danger and potentially further endangering the child. She watched from a safe distance and quietly followed these people trying to obtain better information to give the police. She took note of the street and descriptive details of the people involved. She saw them go into an address and noted it.
She then called the police giving all the details she had noted during this time plus the address they all went in to. She formally reported it to the correct authority – that child was in immediate danger and while you can call social services the lack of funding and large case load can mean they cannot get involved as quickly as is needed. When you have an immediate concern for someone’s safety always call the police.
Most importantly she took the time needed to do the right thing, she could’ve easily been disapproving and gone back to her day, shrugged it off as “someone else’s job” and “not my business” but she showed a level of compassion and concern towards a vulnerable person in need of a good Samaritan. She took the time needed to do as much as she could to help that 3/4 year old child. She treated that child like her own, the way you would want someone to protect your child/grandchild/niece/nephew.

What’s great is that not that long ago I was sat with this friend who asked me what she should do when she sees child abuse in public and she LISTENED.

We had been exchanging some public abuse situations that we had seen and been involved in and she was stating she didn’t feel comfortable confronting people. It’s so rarely a good idea to directly confront someone it can escalate the situation to a point where more violence occurs it can even cause more abuse towards the child later when you can’t do anything.

You need to assess the situation take the time, the date, the exact location, the physical description of those involved, if you can do so safely take a photo or a video, try NOT to get noticed so you can freely observe these situations and get as many details as possible.

You can do this, you can change your attitude, learn how to help and you can make this world a safer place for all – you could even save someone’s life.

The Emotional Equivalent of Cardboard

When I was young my mother told me never to listen to emotions as they were irrational and illogical. My mother believed that getting upset didn’t help so it was always better to keep your cool than to have an emotional episode.

My mum would mock our emotional behaviour, if we reacted in any way that showed emotion she would throw a tantrum and say “This is all I saw when you said/did that”

I remember this time my father was beating my siblings and me, I was 7 and he’d punched me in the face a few times (I had been the last one he’d beaten) all my siblings were crying – but I was unable, I knew it would help if I cried as he would usually stop hitting us when we were sobbing, but I just couldn’t cry – I felt completely numb, mentally, emotionally and physically and I remember thinking “I need to cry” so tried to fake it, I licked my fingers and rubbed them on my face in the hopes that it looked like tears I hid my face and made whining noises and it seemed to work.

I was 7 years old, I had a broken nose, I had been thrown around like a rag doll and made to watch the violence my siblings had to endure yet I was totally incapable of crying about it. All I could here was my mother’s voice in my head saying “How would crying about it help?” “How does getting upset fix this problem?”

You know why he beat us? Because one of the curtains fell down in one of the bedrooms and he blamed us – it fell because it wasn’t nailed into the wall but stuck to the wall with Poly Filler. Afterwards we were sent to our room and told that if we tried to come out he’d kill us – we were kept there for 2 days without food, water or use of a bathroom in almost total silence except from a few whispers. We were just too scared to talk (my sister protected me she rationed us a cup of water and emptied a draw for us to use as a toilet, which we then would throw out the window she was very practical for 9/10 years old) I’ve never discussed this with my siblings as adults – we just avoid the subject and pretend it wasn’t that bad because we’re conditioned that way.

To this day I can’t express my emotions verbally, the only physical expression I make is when I cut myself or overdose these are the only ways I can express myself,. Because after being silent for so long you forget you have a voice and when you do realise, like I have, that you do have a voice you don’t know how to use it.

It’s why I write this because I can express myself in the written word far better than in any other context. This may be a good thing in some ways but it’s hard to apply it in real life, it’s not easy to have to write a strongly worded letter to some total stranger who upset you, or stop in mid conversation to write down what you actually mean and don’t even get me started on the shit show that is any kind of therapy!

I’ve never lost my temper, I’ve never screamed at anyone, I’ve never even had a heated argument in the few decades I’ve been alive I’ve never done anything that could seen as aggressive or violent I am always calm and rational even in the face of terror I can’t lose control. I would dearly love to scream and yell and make a fuss but I don’t know how.

My mother would mock any expression of emotions and my father would beat you for them and so it was for my entire childhood, even some of my adulthood.

I’m scared of confrontation I worry that bringing up any kind of grievance to someone might result in violence which brings me to an important message – with me and people like me, you won’t know you’ve hurt us, we’ll swallow it and most likely deal with it in an dangerous way, even if you directly asked we’d be so scared we couldn’t tell you.

I’m not saying you have to walk on eggshells around everyone but this would be a better world for all of us if everyone thought about the impact that their words and actions have on people. I wish people would take a leaf out of my book and at the end of every day think “Did I do the right thing today?”

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An introduction to ‘Nothing’ and ‘No One’

As a survivor of physical, sexual, mental and emotional child abuse I’m used to being manipulated into silence but I never expected that when I left I would yet again be required by society to keep the silence.

It’s a social rule – it’s impolite or incorrect to express something so abnormal, so unusual – the embarrassment you get when you share ‘too much’ so you keep quiet, the more you do this the more it becomes second nature to hide away the ugly things people don’t want to see.

When you are entirely made up of ugly things it envelops you, you become invisible I don’t mean a type of magical invisibility, it’s not a superpower it’s like you don’t exist in anyone’s thoughts, you’ve tried so hard and so long to make yourself socially acceptable, erasing things that people don’t want to see that you disappear, what’s left is barely a shell of a person, practically hollow, emotionless, thoughtless.

I am one of millions of invisible survivors whose life is too ‘upsetting’, too ‘horrific’ too much to be allowed to openly explain or own.

The likelihood is there is someone you know like this, it may even be you, a bit like an extra on a movie set, it’s like a person-shaped nothing, practically unnoticeable to society in every way.

When you go through abuse a lot of time and attention is paid to not telling others about it, most of it was literally “Don’t tell so-and-so I did such-and-such” but there’s also gas-lighting, manipulation and grooming where your lead to believe that it’s your decision, that you chose to do it;

I remember at 10 years old a 16/17 year old boy asking me if I wanted to have sex with him, he told me it would be fun and it would “prove I was more mature” so I said yes, he raped me behind a caravan in a car park in the middle of the night – for more than a decade I didn’t believe I was raped by him (on that occasion) because I said “Yes” it took months of a very patient therapist to explain to me that I was conned into it and that complying isn’t the same thing as consent, and to say the very least a 10 year old can’t consent to sex.

This one incident out of thousands and thousands is consuming me, pulsing through my veins and screaming through ever pore of my body, yet I remain silent for fear that you hearing it, merely reading it will cause you distress, I was always told I would be “spreading the misery” so I fell into silence for so long I’ve forgotten how to speak it, to express it verbally, burying my trauma made me a No One so incapable I have Nothing to offer I have no use and no purpose – my very existence is questionable.

Yet like most invisible people I don’t want to be invisible, I’m not looking for anything more than acknowledgement of who I am, I want the freedom to be able to speak openly without fear of giving ‘too much information’ and making people uncomfortable.

More than this I want to be understood I didn’t have a normal childhood and that affects me now as an adult so I’m going to try my best to help you understand me, I hope you learn some of the things I learned through my life and if you can get me you can get all of us and then maybe we can all use this understanding to help ourselves and others.

Maybe one day I won’t be no one and nothing, but something and someone.

If you follow me on this there will be moments that will sicken you, distress you and may stay with you, if so I want you to know I’m not trying to upset you, it’s part of a reality I live every day and moving on is so hard. So be warned this may not be pretty but I will do my best to be informative more than shocking.