Archive for the 'Father' Category

This is my story

Where do I start? I could talk about the physical abuse I suffered at the hands of my own family or the sexual abuse I suffered as a teenage girl by someone I trusted. Reading back on my life it sounds like something you would find in those woman real story magazines. This isn’t just any women’s story, this is my story.

 I often got smacked about by my own Father who most the time was drunk , the tiniest thing would set him off. If I said I was going to phone the police he would hit me again. The flashbacks are hard to deal with , the thought of me cowering in the corner of my room whilst my Father raised his hand I just cant get out of my head. My brother got in on this abuse as both me & him got older. It’s true what they say like father like son. So when my Father wasn’t around I had my own brother to fear. He had different issues to my Father , he liked to threaten me with knifes and scissors. I was in the back room trying to escape from his violence, he stabbed at the door but that wasn’t anything new. All the doors in the house had holes in from where he had stabbed it or punched it. Oh how I wish I was stronger back then to speak up and tell somebody, but how would anyone believe such a loving and caring family would be capable of this? That is what people saw from the outside in. No one ever believed anything I said.

The sexual abuse happened at a youth club (I wont reveal its real name) I used to attend , I was 13 at the time so having a older man interested in me was flattering at the time. He bought me credit for my phone , paid for me to go on the various trips that my parents wouldn’t pay for and gave me lifts to and from the club. At the time I didn’t know what he was trying to do , how was I to know what he was doing was grooming me?

The first time something happened was on a camping trip , I left my tent to go to the toilets and he was there. That’s when it first happened and of course at the age of 13 I was not aware of what actually happened, back then I was innocent until of course he stole my innocence off me. Of course it was to be my little secret , that’s what he told me. I wont beat myself up thinking about why I didn’t tell somebody/run away.

Of course I carried on going , it was 2 nights a week I didn’t have to be at home.

It carried on in secret , he would single me out often to do stuff with him like clean out the stores. He never raped me but I always thought he was going too , and like everything else at the time I would not of known it was rape.

We got caught at another camp , he sent me a text message whilst I was using someone else’s phone it told me the place I was to meet to him. The messages had stored to this someone else’s phone, they saw and confronted us both but she wasn’t confronting us both. She was confronting him , he was meant to be her ‘secret’ boyfriend. She was 15 and later I found out she was having sex with him but she never admitted to it.

All of it finally can out in the open when some girls got suspicious as they saw me meet him around the corner for my lifts home. They hacked into my messenger account where they talked to him and found out what happened , after they told me that they knew I went to someone high up in the club who was also a Mother. I don’t know why I didn’t go to her sooner. I told her everything , she listened and then called the police.

 I will never forget the time the police came around and sat me down and helped to tell my parents what had happened. At the time it was embarrassing, I cried for weeks on end. I had to talk about it and when I say talk about it I had to give the intimate details. It was a truly horrifying experience. I never had to go to court Thank God , By now I was starting to know the ways of the world and I saw/read stories of worse things that have happened to girls my age. The last I heard he was put on the sex offenders list and was not allowed to work with children ever again.

I saw psychologists these came at the same time I hit the depression/suicidal route. This past has been dealt with and I have moved on, I used to think I was damaged goods until I saw sense and realised that the people who committed these horrendous crimes towards me were damaged. I never had any control of my childhood , mentally I have deleted all of my life before the age of 18.

Writing for me has been a therapy outlet , If there’s something I want to get off my chest I just write it down. Even if I don’t hit that publish button I feel like I’ve released a part of me. A bad part of me that just shouldn’t be locked anywhere and not told to anyone. I experienced so much and at such a young age , please don’t feel sorry for me. If anything it has taught me to be the person I am now. I am thankful for what I have now.

My life begins today.


Domestic Violence

I have been wanting to write this post for a very long time but it’s hard to write for many reasons. One reason is that my family read my blog and I know that this would upset some of them so I haven’t put it down in words, but I think it will be good for me to share.

When I was 6 my mum left my dad for another man, we came home from school one day and all our things where packed and we were buddled into a car and taken to a new life. Me and my sister didn’t know what was happening but we pretended it was a great adventure and it would all be OK.

My step-dad was really nice to start with but he wasn’t used to children and had a nasty temper especially when he had a drink in him. He would hit us and our mum, he scared the life out of us but we never told anyone not even our dad.

My mum has two more children with him, I can’t remember him hitting them only when they were ‘naughty’ but he often hit me and my mum, he picked on us the most.

He was worse when he was drunk, I saw him try to strangle my mum on many occasions and we learnt as we got older to hide the knives (he was a butcher) when the arguments started.

He didn’t just abuse us physically he was really good at emotional abuse, he would tell me I was fat and threaten to send us to the ‘naughty girls’ school if we misbehaved, we were terrified. I remember once dropping and breaking a plate and I started sobbing and having hysterics because I thought he would hit me.

My mum stayed with him for 8 years and they were horrendous, I know we should have told someone but we were scared he would kill my mum. There is a part of me that hates my mum for putting us in that situation, on their first date he hit her and yet she still left my Dad for him and put us in the violent home environment.

We don’t talk about it, my younger siblings can’t really remember their dad being like that and my sister only remembers a little bit of it, but I remember it all and find it really hard to be around him.

I find it hard to trust men; actually I find it hard to trust anyone, my childhood went from bad to worse and sometimes I really struggle with it. I have nightmares and often suffer with insomnia, l also have bouts of depression. I don’t talk about it and it eats away inside, I feel bitter and twisted.

The one bright spot in my life is my daughter who makes it all worthwhile and I know I will try my hardest to make sure her life is a happy one.

Dear Dad

Dear Dad

I’ve always loved you.

You’ve always been my hero. I never thought I could be disappointed in you. Did we really all mean so little to you?

Thirty one years. My whole life. Could you really have branded it all a mistake? Do you really think it’s all been hell? I get that you’re angry, though I can’t figure out why. You are the one who has been unfaithful. How can you be angry at mom for being angry at you. I know she wouldn’t let it go, your loving someone else, but perhaps its because you kept lying to her and telling us she was going crazy. I know the other woman. She is nothing on your wife, my mother. Could you really give us all up, for her?

How could you say you’d never taken her to those restaurants, yet not contact the bank about the charges on your card?

How can you say you never went on that weekend with her, yet the booking confirmation is in your inbox?

How must I believe there was no relationship, when I know about the naked picture of you on her phone?

If mom was a mistake, then I was a mistake. My sister and my brother. A mistake.

Is this what thirty-one years of struggle and hardship amount to. Living out your years on your own anyway. Did mom live frugally, budget, not expect the things other women had, just so you could build up to this great place, and give the best years, the best of yourself, to someone else?

I must admit I’m floundering here, Dad. I’m at a loss. I can’t help but wonder if it’s worth it at all. Why work at my own marriage? Why build for a future there’s every likelihood I’ll never have? Why quit my career to raise our children, just so I can end up with no pension, no savings, nothing. Like my mother. The woman you promised to love and to cherish.

Till a two-bit floozy came along.

I have no words Dad. I dont know what to say.

Dear Dad

This is the letter that I often contemplating writing to my father. The words that I want to say but know will only add fire to an already turbulent family. See how I call him my father, to me a dad is someone much more caring, considerate, dependable and reliable. A father is just that, the man who fathered you and brought you into the world.


You have now been out of my life longer than you were part of it. It has been 17 years and yet I still recall going to sleep in my bedroom yet waking up in bed with mum while you slept in mine. One rare morning I woke up in my own bed, you returned later that day to explain that you and mum were separating, you promised you would be there for me but you haven’t been. Weekends were supposed to be our time together, you were supposed to come and collect me. Occasionally you were late, more often you called to say something had some up but more often than not you simply did not turn up. Each week, without fail I waited and waited, sat on the living room window ledge waiting to see your car pull around the corner to collect me. Week after week, no matter how often you let me down, there I sat.

You were against me having a job and against me dating. You felt they would both disrupt my college studies, I tried to show you they would not. My tutor could not fault my work, efforts or grades yet still this was not enough for you.

We drifted apart, meeting became fewer and fewer, when we did meet it was more a meeting of necessity than desire.

Predictably you made new promises after the birth of your first grandchild. It seems that yet again your promises will be broken. Each time you visit neither of us can remember when we last saw each other. You regret that we do not see enough of each other, you assure me that things will change. But then the days and weeks and months pass by and your promises are forgotten.

You dream of a day when you can take my son out to the park, I doubt this day will ever come. Each visit is like starting from scratch, my son trying to work out who you are and how you fit into his life. You do not know his likes and dislikes, his little ways, what he is asking for, I doubt he would go with you let alone me be happy to send him with you.

Despite all of this I still seem to crave something from you, acceptance? Love? Pride? I do not know. What annoys me even more is that you can still make me feel like this, I still look for you for approval, I know that it will never come and I know that if it ever does it will not change how we are.

I often wonder if parting would be better than the polite exchange of hurried visits which we currently make.

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