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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.

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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.

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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.

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!

Paranormal Problems!

Now I’m a skeptic and I love being a skeptic the feeling that I’m the only rational person is great.
But my rationality has been tested many times and I have to admit I have had experiences I cannot explain.


It started when I was around 8 the first time I saw something I was in bed at my fathers house I was woken by a small noise and I sat up and looked around the room and saw my mother in the doorway – my mother lived more than 40 miles away, she had no car and had been divorced from my father for 4 years so naturally, I asked her what she was doing there.

The thing shook its head slowly and I looked around rubbed my eyes and looked back at her and noticed her feet were missing, I mean her visage ended at her skirt.I was really confused and quite scared so I said “ok well I’m going to sleep now” and I lay back down and turned my back and willed myself not to look and whatever it was moved closer but I refused to look and fell asleep through sheer will-power!
I used to hear very loud crashing sounds – like someone had picked up a drying rack filled with plates and cutlery and dropped it on the floor, I heard laughing, running, thumping – I wasn’t the only one, my siblings heard it too.

I always thought there was a logical explanation for it, I just didn’t know what that logical explanation was!


When I was 13 my mother moved and we went in tow, oddly enough even though this house was a newer build odd things started happening the very first day we moved in.


My sister (who is a very accomplished organizational wizard!) was unpacking boxes alone in the house while my mother and me were at the hospital visiting a friend when my mother got a call from my sister in total hysterics – refusing to re-enter the property.
On our way back to help her we managed to gauge that she had been in the kitchen when she turned to retrieve another box the door slammed in front of her, she thought it must be a breeze but she could not force it open when she managed to burst through EVERY door, window, cupboard and drawer was open she saw this to have happened in EVERY room in the house.


When we arrived she was crying in the driveway, I went inside and she was absolutely right everything had been wrenched open, one very heavy chest of draws and been opened with such force we had to chip some of the wood away to fit it back it!My mother and I went around the house simply closing all the windows and doors etc but I was struck at the amount of sheer force that was used to open them.


After that things did not die down, the running, the banging, thumping, laughing and crashing were heard by us all but we treated it like a pest problem. Until things got physical.
At 16 I was moved into the small box room against my wishes and my mother decorated it to soften the blow. Part of this renovation was a padded carpet, unfortunately, my mother did not have time to shave the end of the bedroom door which made it very hard to open – but I was a teenager with no privacy so I didn’t complain as it gave me valuable seconds to ‘act normal’It did mean that the door needed to be forced open, usually shoved open with a shoulder, several times – jerked open.


Then, one night I was woken by the friction of the door against the carpet (I have terrible insomnia and am one of the lightest sleepers alive!) I turned over and watched the door slowly and smoothly open in front of me, expecting to see someone behind it I said “Who is it” but nothing was there, I looked hard, rubbed my eyes, double and triple checked for anything that could explain it.
Then suddenly all the books and videos (Yes it was THAT long ago!) I had on my desk fell to the floor so I got out of bed and picked them up as I did I heard thudding which made me look around and an invisible open hand full-on smacked me in the face! I yelled “OWWWW SON OF A BITCH!” and woke up the rest of the house, everyone came running in asking what had happened, turned the light on to see a partial handprint on my face even though there was no culprit in sight. It was however gone 4am and so despite the invisible attack, I decided to just go back to sleep.


The very next night I was yet again woken by the sound of my door slowly and smoothly opening I took a quick look but decided to turn away so as not to present a target! I heard what sounded like a woman’s voice say “Come with me” and then it shoved me into the wall which split my lip and bruised my wrist!The next night when the door opened by itself I made no attempt to look but I soon I felt a pressure around my ankle and I was pulled suddenly out of bed, my mother was woken by the noise and came into the bedroom and turned the light on – my back seared with pain and my mother found a large scratch all the way up my back.She took this event quite seriously and asked if I would rather sleep elsewhere but after I calmed down I decided to stay put.


Say what you will about this but I was a teenager and at 4;00 in the morning I had no other desire than to go back to sleep! I didn’t care and on more than one night I said: “If you want to scare me try doing so when I’m not half-asleep, how am I supposed to be scared of you if I can’t see you!?”


The next night as the door opened I held on to the corner of my bed determined not to be pulled out again – this time it yanked my duvet off and then tried to pull me but I managed to hold on, once it stopped I got up to recover the duvet only to find that I could not lift it off the ground, this made no sense so I turned the light on and looked to see if there was anything that could be holding it down but there was nothing there, I kept pulling at it and swearing profusely but this had no effect other than waking my mother again! She came to help me pry it off the floor but it still wouldn’t move. After a minute or so she gave up and said “would you like the spare duvet in the cupboard?” and we went to get it while doing so we left the room and the door slammed shut so hard it made the house shake she then said to me “I bet you can pick your cover-up now!” and she was right! And yet again after offering to switch rooms for the night I declined and went to back to bed.


The next night was the last, again the door opened and again I ignored it then something both invisible and very heavy sat on the end of my bed, I sat up I could an actual indentation but still, no one was there, I stared for a few moments and then said “You’re on my foot” and no joke whatever this was LEANED OVER and I managed to pull my foot free. I stared again wondering what I should do but it was nearly 5am and I was tired so I said “Ok well, I’m going back to sleep Ii don’t care anymore” so I laid down and tried to ignore this breach of the law of physics.It stayed for a few more minutes and then there was a gush of cold air some thudding and then the door slammed again with such force that it woke my mother! She came in and said, “Thing again?” I said “Yeah, I think I might’ve pissed it off”


It may have given up on me but the activity didn’t stop, our boom-box radio would turn itself on in the middle of the night, even after my mother had taken the batteries out and unplugged it – it still would turn on, it was deafening and even if you could get close enough to turn the volume down, it wouldn’t budge.


Eventually, my mother could no longer ignore the constant unusual occurrences and she called in a type of exorcist, a very old man walked into the house muttering something but he barely made it past the threshold as the boom-box launched itself off the window sill, at an upwards angle narrowly missing the gay’s head (luckily we had plugged it back in and the chord snapped it at just the right time) he left very quickly, refused to come back in the house and instead sent round his assistant instead!


It’s hard to gauge what effect if any, this had – there was still unusual activity happening around the house but it stayed at a more tolerable level for the most part and we went back to treating it like a nuisance rather than a threat.
I’ve even had a ‘Psychic’ experience! When I was 16 I was alone in the house reading a very large book, it was peaceful and quiet when suddenly my brain said “ANSWER THE PHONE!” the phone wasn’t ringing so I didn’t understand why I was so desperate to pick up the phone.

My body instinctively lurched forward and stood up so quickly that I dropped the big book on my foot (got a very nasty bruise!) ran downstairs and into the living room and then slowly walked up to the phone completely confused by why I HAD to pick it up, I picked it up, the first thing I noticed was there was no dial tone so after a moment I said “hello?” and someone answered!It was an old friend of mine calling from AFRICA needless to say I was so shocked I dropped the phone and the line got disconnected. I assumed she would call back so I waited and then randomly picked it up (as there was still no ringing) and again I managed to catch her.


I still call myself a skeptic and being a skeptic to me is asking questions, not to make easy assumptions so I ask what hit me, dragged me out of bed and pushed me into a wall? How did all the windows open? How did I know to answer a call from halfway around the world from me? – I’m genuinely asking because there may be a logical, scientific explanation for all of this and I just don’t know it!

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!

Too Much Information!

I’m constantly giving ‘too much information’ unintentionally in conversations with others. Just normal conversations are a minefield for me. My life has been nothing but a series of unusual events that very rarely mirror anyone else’s.

What’s happened is I’ve over-corrected myself. As a child I was often told to keep ‘secrets’. We would be driving over to visit family, attend an event and so on and on the drive would go through everything we were not to talk about.

For example; my mother would often give me a list of topics I was not to discuss. We would be in the car and she would say “Don’t tell them I’m dating/married, don’t tell them your not doing school work, don’t tell them the house is messy, if they ask you something tell them *insert lie here*

I was never allowed to show people who I really was. I had to hide a lot of my life. I was made to, threatened, and manipulated into hiding the drama that came from my experiences.

There is no innocuous topic with me. I’ve had no normal experiences so when I try to empathize I sometimes end up giving an extreme example of a similar experience.

I’ve done many, many things – if I believed it was the right thing to do I would do it without question.

I don’t know whether in the big picture some of those things were right but I believe in general I did what was best.

You may have had a medical emergency in your life or in the life of a loved one and I can relate. I’ve nearly died dozens of times in my 20s. I caught the infamous ‘swine flu’ went without treatment for too long and developed pneumonia and a pulmonary embolism. In A&E one doctor told me if I had been just an hour later they may not have been able to save me! I could go on and on each disaster more convoluted and dramatic than needed or necessary.

I’ve been a nanny, a teacher, a legal adviser, I’ve been a support worker, a social worker, a police officer, a nurse, and a carer. I’ve done hard labour like farming, I’ve been a midwife, a Human Right’s advocate, a public speaker, a newspaper delivery girl, a professional singer – all underage and underpaid. Even though I’ve never been trained formally for most of these jobs I did them anyway as was necessary.

I never intended to do so much when so young, but I had no choice. When I was 13 I had to deliver a friend’s baby after she went into labour in her flat on the 10th floor of a high rise in a blizzard. I didn’t expect it, it certainly wasn’t planned by anyone involved!

I wasn’t aware that it was unusual for a 9 year old to work on a farm or for an 11 year old to give speeches on peer pressure and bullying, nor did I consider how inappropriate it was to ask a 14 year old to teach a sex education class at a community hall for young girls.

And what was I supposed to do when I came across a man beating his girlfriend? Pull up a chair and watch? No of course I immediately tried to shield her from further harm as is only right. (I took her into my flat for safety while waiting for the police. When her mother arrived to pick her up she turned to me and said “Thank you Officer” followed by “Are you a plain clothed officer or off duty?”. She was very shocked to find I was just a neighbour!)

I’m aware that sometimes people see it as a type of ‘one-up-man-ship’ but for me I share the experience because I see the similarity. Mine is perhaps an extreme example of emergencies that do inevitably happen to most.

Now I share these extreme examples because I am bursting at the seams with them. I’ve hidden these many outlandish adventures to protect others most of my life. When I was older I realised that I kept them secret because I was ashamed. I thought people would judge me that I’d be ostracized for being different.

The hiding had to stop. The more I came to know my community and the people around me the more I realised they hadn’t the faintest idea who I was. I tried to show my competent side, I wanted to be known for being in control, hard working and professional.

Yet I still cowered if a male lost their temper around me. I still shook with nerves when I was asked a question and I had panic attacks when my mistakes were highlighted at work. Even in a normal setting it made me feel as if my colleague would dive across the table and hit me!

Part of who we are is undefinable. We’re just born with certain qualities that make us who we are but so much more of who we are is made from our life experiences, more than most will admit.

As a person in order to understand me you have to look at my life experience and admit the impact this has had on who I am.

And I do deserve to be fully understood, as does everyone. I need to make real connections with people because until recently I in public, in society in general presented myself in a more pleasant/positive light. It’s easier to pretend everything’s fine and you don’t have any problems you have less to unpack, less to explain to everyone.

I have so much more than most to unpack. I’m in need of patience and understanding and it’s so hard to do with every person I meet that you just leave the odd parts out. That creates distance between you and that person because while they may be comfortable being themselves, being open and honest with you they know very little about you because what you share is monitored and edited for appropriate content.

That’s not a real friendship or relationship of any kind. It has meant that I find it hard to connect with others. All human beings are like foreign entities to me.

Realistically I know I cannot condense my entire life story to everyone I meet, in fact writing down my experiences and sharing them with those who are willing to listen is my only way of sharing.

It’s not you who has to walk on eggshells around others but me who has to constantly hide my past in order to make you feel more comfortable. it’s you who gets treated with kid-gloves because you can’t handle the truth!

So I might share more than you’d like and it may make you feel uncomfortable but perhaps we can agree that we all deserve to be ourselves and go from there.

Self Harm *TRIGGER WARNING*

It’s really common when you have mental health problems to use self harm as a crutch. For me it’s also a form of expression. As I’ve said before in this blog I find it hard to open up verbally and emotionally so self harm, for me has been a way of silently screaming.

I started cutting at 16. I’d just been badly sexually assaulted and no one I told cared. I don’t mean that in a dramatic way, I mean in a very literal way – my twin actually said “I don’t care”.

I was only 16 and I expected my family to do something. I’d done everything I was supposed to do. I told someone (my mother) as soon as I could and the response I got was “You must be mistaken”. She went out afterwards and came back with KY jelly, a sexual lubricant.

I was a teenager and I was slowly realising that the people around me I expected to care and protect me just didn’t, I’d gone from person to person asking for help and I got nothing but excuses from “He’s your husband, that’s his right you just have to get used to it” to “It’s a test from God to help you become a truly faithful person, ask God for help and you will get it”

I gave up and withdrew I became incredibly depressed and spent most of my time in bed barely speaking to anyone and would get up in the middle of the night to watch reality TV shows until the early hours of the morning.

I had never felt so alone and I couldn’t help wondering what was wrong with me that no one ever, even considered helping me.

I decided that I was too fat and that made me disgusting and worthless and so I began to diet.None of these diets were healthy. Instead of eating less I stopped eating altogether. It made me feel in control and it gave my mind a distraction – I weighed out my food I counted calories obsessively. At one point I went two weeks without a single piece of food I had nothing but 1 cup of tea at 84cal and 2 cups of orange juice at 45cal each.

I felt proud that I had such will-power but I was still a teenager living at home. My mother started to notice my change in eating habits and started to act suspiciously – she constantly offered me food – not unusual for most mothers but my mother had put me on a diet since I was 7 and constantly criticised everything I ate so actually offering me food was very unusual.

I made excuse after excuse but she kept upping the ante with offers of my favourite meals and I decided that if I ate a meal in front of her she’d lose interest and I could wait until she was occupied and throw up to ‘get rid’ of it.

Later that night I couldn’t sleep. I heard a constant voice telling me how gross and disgusting I was, that I deserved nothing and that now I needed to prove how committed I was to losing weight by punishing myself for eating.

I went downstairs and found an old kitchen knife, then went back upstairs and cut myself. I never felt so relieved in my life – it felt like all the stress in my body washed away. The negative voice stopped and I suddenly felt relaxed enough to sleep.

I started self harming every time I ate and soon it was a daily ritual – it felt freeing like my body was filled with poison and cutting was a way of letting out the poison.

For a few years no one noticed but one day I took things too far. I won’t go into what happened now – lets just say I broke my toe and I ended up admitting this to my mother.

She didn’t care, she just made fun of me – much later she forced me to get blood-letting, I really didn’t want to and when I said cautiously “It sounds painful” she replied “Not as painful as breaking your own toe”. That was the only thing she said about my self harm. Ever.

At one point my mother told me I had been cursed by “the Evil Eye” and made me go see an exorcist – I didn’t want to go but I was bundled into a car and forced, I had to go through some silly ‘test’ and was told I was possessed and then made to drink blessed water with bits of paper in it several times a day for weeks.

Shockingly this had absolutely no effect on me at all.

To hide the scars and the fresh cuts I wore long sleeves, cardigans, boleros for over a decade in all weather – no one ever found out, not friends, or co-workers or family and I didn’t tell anyone until my mid twenties.

It didn’t occur to me to seek medical help as I didn’t see it as a problem and I didn’t want to stop.In all honestly I still self harm I’ve been doing it for so long it’s just second nature BUT I have had some help from therapy for my self harm and I do now see why it’s a bad thing.

Self harm doesn’t fix the problems in your life its just a way of mentally running away from those problems. No one deserves to be injured for any reason, neither do you!

I know it’s so easy and addictive but take a step back and honestly look at yourself you’ll see it’s not actually making you feel better it’s at best hiding the problems – your pain isn’t any better.

Once you feel better about yourself, happier – you’ll notice you self harm less and less – what used to be a daily occurrence is now a rarity in my life I haven’t cut in months because I don’t feel as bad I as did.

I know how annoying it is to be told ‘it’ll get better’ from anyone let alone a stranger so I won’t tell you that because it doesn’t, I’m still haunted by it – and it’s been well over a decade for me – but realistically time does pass and other things happen and that mere passage of time makes the trauma feel more distant and it does fade. Now I’m left with hundreds, if not thousands of lifelong scars all over my body and far from helping me they’re just constant reminders of an ugly past and now I can’t forget it.

Self harming won’t help you in the long run, after a while it’s the only way you know how to cope with anything and so you never try to learn a different method of coping.

Life continues whether it feels like it does or not and one day you realise you’re a fully grown adult, paying the bills, working, living life in general but you have no idea how to stop hurting yourself.

Stay away from self harm – do as I say not as I do!!

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.

We Are NOT family

As some of you may have noticed this post is late, this unfortunately is due to the never-ending  drama of my life.

I have found that on average I have one dramatic thing happen to me each week – for the last 20 years of my life – and it’s not a joke I’ve actually calculated this!

This time the drama has been centred around my abusive parents’ attempts to get me to “talk” to them.I have had no contact with either of my parents for many years and occasionally each of their own accord (they divorced when I was 4) try one way or another to get in contact with me regardless of my wishes.

I have done everything I can to stop them from finding me; from changing my name to erasing my social media accounts, and being very careful with who gets my details, I’ve had to completely lose contact with almost all my family – including my twin – because they can’t be trusted with my information, so far this approach has worked well – until it didn’t.

I have one person who has been able to give me the information necessary to stay safe and recently I was put on alert that my mother was yet again looking for me.Usually I’d hide away in my flat for a week or so and then get over it but this time my mother has upped the ante and enlisted reinforcements –  asking her friends to search for me and contact her should they see me, according to my source.

She has also tried contacting the only two relatives I still have contact with asking them for my details. It’s incredibly annoying to have to read and respond to these manipulative messages with any kind of grace – I do not now nor do I ever wish to have contact with my mother or father again but it doesn’t stop my relatives trying to persuade me to change my mind.

“Oh she’s changed” they tell me, “She’s back on her feet” “She’s left her abusive husband” as if this will make me feel better. You know what would have made me feel better? If many years ago when she called me at work in tears begging me for help getting that abusive husband to leave and actually following through with it!

Instead I rushed home from work to protect my mother only to be physically assaulted by that abusive husband right in front of her, claiming to have seen it she then took his side and blamed me.

She didn’t care then that I didn’t feel safe living with him in the house, and she didn’t care that even though that was husband number five and I was working two jobs and studying part-time that allowing him to stay gave me no choice but to become homeless.

Then while out with a friend recently I was sat in a waiting room and a woman I didn’t know started at me with shock and excitement – it was odd and even my friend noticed this unusual reaction to a stranger, this woman feverishly whipped out her phone and started texting – I’m a naturally suspicious person (who wouldn’t be in my situation) and I had a heightened awareness knowing I was in the area in which my mother lived.

Just two days later another strange woman seemed to follow me and then not so subtly tried to take my photo.

I don’t believe either of these were unrelated or a coincidence, there’s no reason whatsoever to take my photo.

Naturally I freaked after these incidents – my mother is strong willed and controlling, she’s used to being the boss and getting what she wants.I called the police and they agreed to remind my mother yet again to leave me alone.

I can’t imagine she would take this well and so for now I’m on the run, at the moment I’m as far away as I could get staying with an understanding friend.

Depending on how she takes being told to back off I envisage having to travel around the country to many a understanding friend until she’s finished with her tantrum.

So while I’m hopping around the Country trying to evade my crazy parents there might be times I am unavailable to keep this blog updated and as such I hope you can bear with me during this tumultuous time.

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”.

A Daring Escapade

Some situations seem to just happen with me I don’t seek danger or excitement I’m honestly quite a boring person just a boring person to which interesting things happen to – constantly.On the other hand there are times I have been known to say escalate situations. I only do this to protect or help another person, you never know when someone is going to need help.

Once when I was 21 I went on holiday to Norway to visit an old friend who was living there. It was my first independent holiday and I was terrified about getting lost in a foreign Country, where I knew only 1 person and spoke none of the language unfortunately for me this was only the beginning of my problems.

My friend lived with a relative who was very abusive toward her and I knew this when I went to visit but for some deluded reason I believed this abuse would lessen with me around I thought that he’d try and make himself look better with a guest but if this attempt was made I did not see it!

There came a day where my friend came to me and told me not to leave the bedroom under any circumstances and then she left. I listened to the banging and the yelling and I really wanted to burst out of the room and help but I stayed put. When she returned from this fight she was shaken and very quiet, I didn’t know what to say that I hadn’t already said to her before and so I repeated a speech to her I’d used many times and essentially I said “You deserve better, you shouldn’t have to live like this you know you could come live with me, you could come back with me on my flight if you want”

I’d suggested this to her many times and she had always refused so when I asked I really thought she’d say “No, I’ll be ok” but unbeknown to me that day was her breaking point and she said “You know what? Fuck it. Yes” I was shocked – I really hadn’t thought she’d said yes, but I wanted to help and I had offered.So my 2 week holiday became a reconnaissance mission – we had to plan her escape, there was no doubt that things were dangerous and if he found out it would be worse so we covered our tracks booking and paying for the ticket online and then deleting the history and rebooting the computer as a cover – then we needed to get hold of her passport.

We were lucky that at the time it was at the passport offices in Oslo and her relative did not have it. So we made our way to Oslo one day to get the passport unfortunately for me her relative had stolen the soles out of my shoes they were the only pair I had so I had to use them it was not long until my feet were bleeding and eventually I gave in and just went barefoot around the streets of Oslo I have no idea why he took the soles of my shoes but I can at least admit it was effective! It literally hobbled me and it made going out really hard.While he had no proof of anything he was certainly suspicious of us and he made things as difficult as possible he stopped giving her money to buy food and didn’t buy any for us so I had to spend a lot of my holiday money making sure we had food as well as budgeting for travel.

He was self employed and kept odd hours and sometimes he would pretend to leave for work but then actually sit in his car watching the bedroom window, we would keep the light off and hide waiting for him to leave then when gone we would pack and prepare to leave quickly and quietly in the middle of the night.

On the very day of our planned escape the relative found out we had her passport and burst through the bedroom door demanding she gave it to him – we were supposed to leave in the evening but from that morning on my friend kept wanting to leave early she kept saying “I think we should go now” she had a really bad feeling about staying but I didn’t listen as I was worried about being out in the open all day and as the flight wasn’t for another 20 hours I urged her to wait. Hindsight is a splendid thing if I had known that we would lose her passport I would have taken the risk!

Again we waited for him to leave and then called the police and explained the situation they simply told her to ask for it back and if he refused to call back and they would then deal with it. After much discussion we waited for him to get back and then my friend snuck out and got it while he was in the bathroom!At around 11pm we rushed out the house and ran to the edge of a wood with a small road we knew he wouldn’t be able to get down in his car and we felt safe.

Now when you think of Norway I’m sure that most of you think of cold weather but for 14 of the 15 days I was there were it was lovely and warm, but the night we ran away

IT. WAS. FREEZING!!!!!

It was so bad and we were out from around 11pm to 5.30am around half way through my friend turned blue and was groggy I had to keep waking her up and trying to get her to move. I convinced her that we could take better shelter closer to the train station and while she got slightly better I started feel tired and confused – no matter which way I turned there was this bitter, unending icy cold wind everywhere, the last hour was the worst I was tired and dizzy I had to be constantly woken up and as the first train arrived my friend had to help me onto it.

We made it to airport just in time – we were the second to last people on the plane and we had to run to the gate – but we made it!It was an experience that I will never forget. I spent the entire time scared out of my mind, but I did it anyway I have always lived my life on a knife’s edge but usually it wasn’t by choice.

Looking back this was the first time I ever felt that I had to do the hard thing and be brave and I learnt that being brave is not about feeling brave but doing the right thing – despite being terrified.