and I prayed…1990

I was to kill myself. I was prepared, physically and mentally, and had made peace with the whole thing. Waiting for a couple of weeks wasn’t in the original plan…So I had prayed…to whoever was listening.

Because I was raised within Christianity, my belief at this stage, hinged on God, the Devil, heaven and hell. There wasn’t much deviation from this. I had questions about the whole theory, and had found most answers unsatisfactory. I therefore had my own ‘groove’ with God, as such. And I was still searching. A search which is still happening, but one I have more insight about now.

So, at 17, going on 18, my prayer to God, had consisted of, “where the fuck are you? and if your actually real, then show me someone who knows you…because I’m pretty much over the fake ass bullshit”. Well, what he gave me, or what showed up, was one of the most dearest friends; that I still have to this day.

She wasn’t what I had expected at all. She was unintimidating and humble. She said she was a new Christian. Which in hindsight, meant she hadn’t been tainted yet. She clung to ‘God’ with everything she had; so much so that the passion she had, was palpable. But it wasn’t unreal, it just was. She talked about God like he was just there; that he loved her…hung out with her. It was more than intriguing…she had a friendship with her God. Pretty cool I thought.

So I listened to her. She didn’t preach or try to convince; she was just herself…and I loved that. I still do. You can’t beat genuine-ness. And she cared about who I was. You can’t beat that either. I think it’s all anyone ever wants really…its what I needed and I didn’t even know it.

Needless to say, I didn’t kill myself…and I lived to see another day…another birthday actually!

I went back to church. And this was something I did on and off for the next 10 years or so…until I found the answers I was looking for. Funnily enough, they didn’t end up coming from a church, or from ‘God’. But that’s another story.

Things didn’t amazingly get better straight away…or even soon after. In fact I made a series of decisions…based on my ‘beliefs’, that ultimately ended up making shit a whole lot harder. Again.

But for now…me and my baby girl moved into our own place. Which was kind of exhilarating and terrifying all at once. But I did enjoy being a mum to her.

My father showed up after a phone call to say he had been in Australia for the last 10 years…sorry…but was in the country for a tangi (funeral), could he come and see me. Whow. So he came, picked me and my girl up, and we went to meet the rest of family…and tried to catch up with him. I was hugely intimidated and felt hugely vulnerable. I felt a bit like the new exhibit at the zoo walking in there. But in hindsight, once again, they were all grieving, hard out. I didn’t know the cousin of mine that had passed away…so felt nothing personal. But I could feel their pain…the families. But the next day, we woke up, and my father announced he was off…back to Australia in a couple of hours…WTF…sorry he reckons; he’ll keep in touch; its been nice to catch up; see you; love you.

And just like that, he ditched…left us in a town we didn’t know, with a family we didn’t know…all grieving and shit…and pissed off, again.

I came home…pissed the fuck off.

We came home to the pedo cunt moving back into the town. I bought a hu-mung-gous dog! But I was still petrified of having that perve back in town.

In amongst all this, my mother had moved to another town. So in fear really, I left our little house and followed her to her new place. We eventually found a place of our own, just down the road.

This was all ho-hum really…I suppose what life should be like to a certain degree. But once again, in hindsight, I didn’t get what was happening to me. I was always on edge and nervous as fuck. I didn’t like being alone…always locked the doors and windows when I was alone. I didn’t like my girl being outside…vulnerable. I didn’t like going to the shop…just being alone. And I didn’t sleep much and was fucking exhausted all the time. Add to this, my girl, while she was thrilled to be with me, she was on edge too. If I left the room; went outside; tried to get her to sleep by herself, she would howl.

I ended up ringing a support line…for mothers. I was in tears and wanting answers…help really…and God was not cutting it at all. Pray all you like; God does not rock your child to sleep when you are desperately trying to sleep yourself; and he didn’t pay the rent or the power bill! Anyway…this woman on the support line, told me she was not qualified to assist someone with issues like mine…thanks a fucking lot lady! And what does ‘issues like mine’ mean?

I carried on…just. With my mother down the road, the pedo cunt thought he could visit her and me, whenever he liked.

To back up slightly, I hadn’t confronted him at this stage. None of the family knew, except for my mother. And I was still highly scared of him and his unpredictability. And he knew it. I think, looking back, and knowing what I do now, about pedos; he thrived on the fear he created. He relied on it, to get what he wanted. Pig. So he’d come to the door randomly; expect to come in; have a chat…which was always about his own weak assed pathetic issues…have a bit of a cuppa, maybe dinner if it was offered. Fuck I hated him. I hated me for not being able to get rid of him. And I was scared if he stayed around long enough he would hurt my girl. What an asshole.

If I remember rightly, I was really hating men at this stage of my shit ass existence. Are we surprised though. It took a few more years to realize that hate also extended to women…people. I didn’t trust anything or anyone that I didn’t know. And those that I did know, trust wasn’t what I had in them really. I just knew what to expect from them.

I had found an old friend of mine over this time, and she had invited us to go stay with her for a holiday. I decided to take me and my girl and see what a change of scenery may do for us. I met a guy, 7 years older than me. My girl liked him, so did I. He was kind. We started a relationship. One of the first people, relationships, where I had some kind of hope that it may genuinely be ok in the long run.

At this time, I was still basing what I did, or needed to do, on whether it was ‘right’ with God. Well I was trying anyway. I wanted to make everything alright. I wanted to be safe. Not scared. My girl to have a good, ‘normal’ life. I wanted to make up to her for being, what I perceived then, a shit mother so far. Mainly I just wanted to not be afraid anymore, and I thought I had a chance for all those things, with this guy.

We were engaged a few months after we met. My mother was pleased. My grandparents were pleased. My girl was pleased. My friends were pleased. The pedo cunt wasn’t so pleased. His family, not so pleased either.

Me, I didn’t really know.

The pre-wedding chaos started and the nightmares increased and all my insecurities ran riot. I hated being told what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I hated ‘suggestions’ being made. But I let it all happen, and I did most of what everyone else suggested.

We made plans of marriage, moving house, town…starting a lovely new life together. We didn’t really plan past that. We didn’t think about the future, more children, working, money, housing…family. Or my past.

Hindsight is such a glorious wisdom. Now I know, I was trying to fill a void; make the nightmares and demons go away. Make everything ok like I thought I should. With God; in a biblical marriage covenant where my whoring ways, my filthy past, would all be put to rest.

But I took my demons with me, again.

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