to remind me, that theres beauty in the world
The epic #throwback from Jul 1, 2015 @ 12:07 … and I still can’t read it all in one go. I’m not sure what this says about my ‘progress’ … whether I’m becoming more ‘in touch’ with whats really going on in my head / heart, whatever the fuck it is. I’m hoping that this is a good thing … that the pain I get from reading more own shit, is because I can actually feel shit now. Hmmmm, sounds pretty plausible lol.
I did enjoy reading the old comments … I miss Johanna and her encouragement … but am also profoundly grateful that she was around for these first few steps into the past and into recollections, that this time, I wasn’t really alone for.
I started 5th form back at college. As I recall it had been a rocky summer vacation time. I had decided I didn’t want to ‘go back home’ for Christmas after telling my mother what had happened to me. It started a sort flood gate for me and a feud that continued for a LONG time. I didn’t want to go and sit in the mix with the cunty pedo uncle doing his typical bullshit and ruining Christmas celebrations for everyone; and nothing was going to happen to him for what he had done to me. I was still scared of him and I knew everyone around him was scared of him.
To put him into perspective…he wasn’t just a straight-laced looking guy. He was scary as shit. Looking and demeanour. He was unpredictable and violent when he wanted to be. At this stage he had limited tattoos, but what he had screamed ‘i’m fucked up’. He would froth at the mouth when he became angry and that was at anything that didn’t agree with him. At this stage he was aligning to the white supremacy movement and skin head logos adorned his personage. What a two-faced cunt. But it wasn’t this that scared me the most…it was that no one every stood up to him. In hindsight he was a spoilt little shit really. But I hated him with every fibre of my being…and I was scared of him with every fibre of my being.
I had asked my mother not to say anything about what had happened…to anybody. I guess I was still grappling with the whole thing myself. I was peaking when it came to nightmares…having extremely vivid and horrific repetitive dreams. So when it came to going back to school, I wasn’t up for it.
I went reluctantly but gravitated more towards friends who didn’t want to be there either…for whatever reasons. And theirs were as legit as mine. I’d found weed by this stage and alcohol had become one of my best friends.
I had a part-time job round here somewhere. Working in a fruit and vege shop. I didn’t like being alone in there all the time, but I enjoyed the pay. It went towards the aforementioned!
And I got my driver’s licence at this age! This was the era when 15 was the age to get your licence; as long as you passed the 20 something questions and were able to perform a hill start and a 3 point turn, you were good to go. The guy that taught me to drive, was a genuine sort…and patient. We lived in a small town surrounded by open land so he used to take me out the back of this place and get me to go 140ks on the straits. His reasoning was that if I could manage 140ks without wobbling then I could handle anything. Fair enough. I got my licence, so his theory must have held some validity.
I found another couple of really good friends during this time. They were both a lot older than me. One lady had 4 kids, she was about 28ish. Single parent and trying to do the parenting and church thing. She was judged harshly but the church peeps, but she was a good lady. I used to stay there when I’d had enough of home. We’d have long conversations on inequality and music and where she came from and what she wanted for her and her babies. The other good friend was still ‘in the closet’ around this time. He too was trying to do the religious thing, hoping it would bring him peace. It didn’t. And he tried to top himself a few times; unsuccessfully I’m pleased to say. He’s out of the church now, and out of the closet.
I found another friend at this time. I ended up ‘flatting’ with her for awhile…it was more like we drank copious amounts of piss and took shitloads of drugs in a flatting situation. It wasn’t really much more than that. Her and I were inseparable for a long time. She had a couple of kids and from what I know she went on to live a pretty good and full life. She died at 42 though, I think; cancer.
Well it was in this flatting situation that I first had ‘consensual’ sex. Well as consensual as it can be when your off your face. As you can imagine this worried my mother. She had taken me out of school as it didn’t seem to be working there. And she’d put me on Correspondence. I did well, again. Academics wasn’t my issue really. When I put my mind to it, I did it well. But I had other things going on, internally, and school was not my priority. Being numb was.
So midway through my 15th year I became pregnant with my first child. This was inevitable really. And at the time there was huge horror and disbelief…but what were they all expecting really? My Grandmother was the only person who was thrilled. Her first great-grandchild, and I guess she could see beyond all the not so important bullshit to what was important…another baby to love :). She called me regularly and told me what I should be eating and doing :)
My ‘in the closet’ mate and his mother took me under their wings too. He made sure I was eating and resting and not doing what I shouldn’t be. It didn’t work of course but his love for me was evident and I appreciated it.
The father of my unborn baby, was an asshole. But hey, that was inevitable too really. He didn’t start that way, and I had all the 15-year-old romantic notions that we would have a little family and go on picnics and go to the park and love and take care of our little bundle of joy and we would eventually get married and live happily ever after behind the white picket fence in our lovely little house with our pretty flowers and washing drying at the back and blah blah blah. Yeah, well it didn’t quite work that way at all.
His family was drunken violent fuckers. I’d never met any persons like these ones. They didn’t eat. They drank. They didn’t buy food. They bought alcohol. They didn’t talk. They yelled, and drank more. I’d never met anyone that appeared to detest their kids as much as this lot. They had two boys living with them and they treated them worse than mutt dogs. They didn’t bring food home for the kids. In the two-ish years I was with him, I saw groceries being bought once…and it was like Christmas for them. Most of it was junk food but they ate it up like there wasn’t going to be any the next day…and there wasn’t. In its place, were crates of piss.
He was 16 when I got pregnant and he had started taking harder drugs in there somewhere. As I was giving it up, because I was pregnant, he was revving it up. And as he started loosing his mind, literally…so my white picket fence dream started to go up in smoke. I hung on hoping that it would all change once our baby was born. But it didn’t. Instead, he became violent. The first beating came while I was in the hospital after having my daughter.
I guess I had hoped that escaping home, escaping church, escaping what I thought were suffocating situations…I would find freedom; and peace. What I didn’t get then though, was it was never going to go away…these were my demons. They weren’t going anywhere. I might not have put them there…but 40 years later, I’d still be exorcising them.
Love and lots and lots of light to me as I continue to unfold xoxo