T here are many people that supported me through my writing. Therefore, Im not sure where to start, I just hope that I dont miss anyone out; if I do, then you all know that I really do appreciate your support. First of all, Id like to thank Linda, my closest friend, with all my heart. You supported me through a very tough time and Im sure that your head must still be banging. Bruno, thank you for the lengthy telephone conversations. They cost us both a fortune, but they were worth it, you are a true gem and a real clever clogs.
Id also like to show my appreciation to Denise Robertson, the effort that you put in to helping so many men, women and children is amazing. I truly admire your strength. And Im so glad that I had yours and all of your friends support on Dear Denise during those dark moments when I felt like giving up. Thank you.
To Michelle Signore. Thank you for seeing past the odd few spelling mistakes and having enough faith in my story to put it to print, for all of your hard work and patience and for helping me to fulfil my promise to Nana. To John Blake and all at John Blake Publishing, a really big heartfelt thank you.
To Mum and Dad, I wouldnt be the strong-willed person that I am today if it wasnt for both of you. I now know how to be a real mother and, something which neither of you can do, I can walk with my head held high and have strength that even both of you put together could never have.
W e sometimes feel like a tiny speck when we consider how huge the universe is. In truth, we all have a part to play in keeping the world going and making sure that we leave something behind for future generations to learn from. Keeping that in mind has helped me to keep my life in perspective. Im now left, at the age of thirty, with a wider view, and able to look at the whole picture, not just concentrate on the huge things in life. I can also look at the tiny details and figure out why, and how, I got where I am today.
Until I started writing this book, I went through life feeling victimised, holed up, bullied and angry with the world, to the point where I hid myself away and often felt trapped, scared and very much alone. But I convinced myself that to be cautious is very wise and that I was doing the right thing by protecting myself from any more harm. Now that Ive faced my demons, I can see that while I was hiding myself away I was missing ample opportunities for nourishment and growth.
Because of the abuse in my early years, I was bullied out of what I deserved a normal life, with love, comfort and safety and a family I could confide in. I gave those out there that have abused me more power than they deserve, and now its my turn to live, succeed, socialise and speak out without fear of being shot down.
I came to the conclusion that, although my past couldnt change, I could definitely change my future by putting a stop to the way I kept on reliving my past. Every day my father would constantly be on my mind, and lots of little reminders were there, simple things like walking past a father and daughter and feeling jealous because Id never be able to do that. I felt cheated, hurt and desperate for some answers, which is another reason for my putting pen to paper and writing this book.
I cant say that Ive found myself again, because Ill never know who I should have been. I was a child for many years, a child with many personalities, a child that wasnt sure of herself, because she didnt have room to grow, a child that most of the time was lost in a dreamlike state to distract herself from the pain and suffering she was enduring. No, Ill never know who I should have been, but I like the new me, and it feels good to be living for the first time in my life. At last Ive been born and, although it may be a little late in the day, Im ready to take my life and turn it around to the full.
I have not written this book to try to pull on anyones heartstrings and gain sympathy, nor do I want to come across as though I have a holier-than-though attitude and I know it all, because, quite frankly, I dont. I dont have all the answers. I couldnt begin to tell the individual how to move on from any painful experience that theyve endured as a child. I have simply written this for me and, hopefully, to show all those who have suffered, or are suffering, physical, mental or sexual abuse that all is not lost. That it is possible to find the strength and resolve to break out from the cycle of abuse and make a new life. It is not easy it takes courage, determination, self-belief and good timing, especially as life after abuse is full of uncertainties.
The decision to write about my life was a very difficult one because this is a true story. While some of the events described here may seem like a fictional horror tale, they are fact. And they are not as rare as the authorities would have you believe. Names and places have been changed because this account tells of vulnerable people on whom further suffering must not be inflicted.
I hope that my story will help many to see that, after such a terrible invasion of ones childhood, trusting ones fellow humans is very, very hard. Most abusers are very convincing liars, so getting to the point where you, the abused, are actually believed is a very big step, and one that can be extremely difficult to take.
The message I am trying to get across to all sufferers of mental, physical and all other forms of abuse, whether as a child or as an adult, is: be strong, be resolute and freedom shall be yours!
I dare not, I cannot sleep. He may enter my room. What if hes drunk? Surely he will be. He always is, and the pungent smell of alcohol is in the air whenever hes around. I hope he doesnt hurt me too much.
Those are thoughts that ran through my mind again and again from a very young age. I had many sleepless nights, never knowing if Id be safe in my own bed. Terrified of the one man that I should have been able to feel safe with. My father.
I was raised on a characterless estate not a very nice place to live, but we got by. My father was the local drug dealer, my mother worked in a local factory. Father was a well-respected member of the community, with a number of friends from different racial backgrounds and lifestyles. My mother and father held all-night blues parties most weekends. Id often help out behind the breakfast bar. Wed serve up spicy, salty food cooked by my mum. She believed that by giving them enough to make their throats burn theyd keep on coming back to me for the booze. Fathers friends werent fazed at all by the fact that a child was selling them alcohol, but they would occasionally call me over and give me the odd fiver. I suppose, when I think about it now, it was their conscience biting back at them.