Your fine just the way you are

Dear Mini Me

I’m sorry no one told you how sweet and pretty you were. You were an innocent and honest little girl, and you deserved to be loved and cared for. No one deserves to be called stupid, fat, or told eyes. You were given too much responsibility from a young age and you had to learn to look after yourself and your siblings.

I’m sorry your mother abused you under the umbrella of strict discipline. No child deserves to drink their own blood, whipped with a wire or poked in the eye and all the other cruel things she did to you. Constantly living in fear of attack and being told “I bought you into this world and I can take you out” no one deserves to live in fear of dying. It’s not a nice way to live, and it unfair and I’m sorry you had to live like that. I know you weren’t allowed to have friends, and that shouldn’t have been allowed to happen. You are no bodies’ property and you deserve the right to have freedom to play to laughs and to make friends with who you choose.

Im glade you found a way through all the heart ache and pain. I know you spent many minutes, hours, and days day dreaming and you very much enjoyed the ability to escape from reality.

I also know you learnt to turn off you feeling and emotions from a very young age , I’m glad you were able to protect yourself. I’m sorry no one came to help you but I’m proud you made it own your own.

You sheltered life and your obedient quiet personality made you a target from sexual predictors. I’m sorry you had to endure so much pain in silence. I hope you know you are not to blame and have never been.

I have and I always will always love you and it’s important that you remember that, because without you I would not have become the bright, articulate, loveable young lady you see today.

So I went to southgate college to redo my a-levels. It was hard and I struggled to fit in with the average 17 year old because we had little in common. In two years I had made no friends there and I struggled to complete the course.

Law a-level made me realise my aspirations of becoming a barrister were much future away than I imaged. Even if I was bright enough to get through college I had no idea how I was going to afford university on my own. A-levels were really tough and my grades will embarrassingly low. I didn’t want to use my circumstance as an excuse so I kept my private life private.

I decided I would study business since I didn’t really have a back up plan from law at university.

I struggled through a two year foundation degree. Still finding it difficult to make any new friendships. I had been a loner at college so that was no surprise. Lucky I alway had my secondary school friends and one from M&S one from my first college.

I had got my own flat and things were looking up. I had a bought a better car and my loan meant I had enough money to work less hours. I was happy with everything. I had a small garden and I would spend hours alone gardening in the tranquility of my space. I started volunteering as a mentor for children in care and it was then that I found a purpose in life that filled my heart with joy. Helping disadvantage child achieve their goal and potential.

I went to work in the betting industry and quickly climbed up the ladder. I had enough Money to be comfortable but lacked job satisfaction. I wanted the feeling I got when I was mentoring children that work was not just about financial gain and it had a purpose.

Me and my son father were in a stable relationship and he treated me like a queen. He wanted a child before he was 30 and after a few years of gentle persuasion I gave in. I wanted a child but I wanted an establish career first and I saw my work as only a job.

In 2007 I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. And I slept all night while his dad watch over him adored the ground he walked on. It wasn’t easy but I loved him dearly.

I loved my son dad and he loved me. I told him about my past and we could talk about anything. He was my soul mate and there was nothing I wouldn’t share with him. Some of my past had been hidden from my memory so I only really so difficulties stemming from the abuse I had from one man.

I defined my mother as a disciplinarian and he hated the stuff I told him about her.

He was surprise I had some many old scares and marks on my body but those meant nothing to me. I was unable to make the connection to my mother abuse and assumed it was growing up cut and bumps.

Intemacy had been a big problem and I would view intercourse as a chore rather than a desire. I would avoid it and withdraw frustrating my partner sometimes. I could turn hot and cold.

When he was 5 month old our 5/6 year relationship came to an end. I found out he had been unfaithful to me when I was pregnant and had numerals other partner. One woman told me she was pregnant with his child and he done a runner so she had to abort the baby.

I reached an all time low in my life and attacked him several times. I attempted to murder him in a angry state. I locked him in my flat and hid the key whist I attacked him. In my head all I could think about was that he had turned me into my mother I was going to be another single mother and I would rather kill him than let him walk away from us. Not that he wanted to walk but I couldn’t let him stay now he had crushed my trust.

I punched him in the face kick hit slap. Succeeded in strangling him until he began to vomit. Tried to stab him with scissor and did all kind of horrible things to him while our son lye awake in his cot.

All the time I attacked him with my full force, in a raging fit he never once hit me back. When I realised he wasn’t going to let me kill him easily I took out a lighter and set one of my son vest on fire. I throw it on the floor and I want us all to die together. He came in and stamped out the fire. He was really concerned and he never seen this side to me.

He went to the kitchen and I wrapped our son in a blanket and climbed out the window. I started to run away but with no key no money I was trapped siting in the park. I called a friend who came to rescue me and bought us home.

He left my flat for good and I took grate pleasure cutting up all his designer clothes and telling all his friends and family what kind of man he was.

My actions and anger got the best of me that day, I was the angriest I had ever been in my whole life and I exploded.

All I could think about is that I was becoming my mother and I would rather die than be her. So a few days later I tried to end my life by overdosing on every tablet in my house. I told him and he came straight away because I didn’t want anything to happen to our son in my absence. He knew something was wrong and I pleaded with him not to call and ambulance and I drifted into sleep.

Every day was a challenge and I did want to raise a child alone especial since I had spent most of my adult life wishing I had a father and promising myself that I would never do that to my child. As far as I was concerned history was repeating its self and my life was doomed.

I got help from my best friend for support and I told her how I wanted to end our life and she helped me find hope.

When you reach rock bottom there’s only one way to go and that’s up. I soon started putting my life in perspective reading parenting books and applying to university to get the career I dreamt about.

I enrolled on a social work degree and I went to seek help for my difficulties I always had a education which held me back. My spelling and memory restricted ability to express myself and cause my confidence to dwindle. I was assessed for dyslexia which came back positive. And I started to peace together many of the difficulties I had in life which I had hidden away.

Now I knew why I always lost things and could never remember lots of little things directly after they happened. This confirmed to me that I was not and never had been stupid and that feeling I had that I had of myself as smart person was always correct.

I had always been a clumsy person spilling things and knocking things over and now I knew why. I had Dyslxia with signs of dyspraxia.

I got help to find strategies which work for me and I was able to unlock my creative side to fill in some gaps I had. University empowered me for the real world and gave me a new lease of life.

I needed to get away and starts again. I needed a new beginning

I desperately wanted to be out of that area I lived in

.

Nearly two years later I moved to Ilford and it was a welcomed change I needed. I was given the distance and space from everyone I wanted.

I was happy our relationship ended because it allowed me to refocus my life and follow my destiny and aspirations.

I had managed to put my hateful feeling aside and reconnect my son and his fathers relationship.

There’s a small part of me that knows my difficulties with intimacy were the cause of his infidelity. He still loved me but I could not except him.

I spent years hating him not for being unfaithful but for turning me into a single parent. A concept I hated from the pit of my belly.

It was pretty lonely at times when your in a different part of London and you don’t know anyone. University kept me grounded and hard at work. Everyday was a struggle to mange childcare and the 2 hour journey to university. Somedays I left my son at 6:30 and collected him at 7am.

As part of my course I went on placement I went to a residential metal health(MH) unit for adults with server psychosis. I had no interest in MH in fact is scared me to the pit of my stomach. I was put in a terrifying situation and that’s when the images of my mothers treatment started intruding me my mind.

For year I live with no major memories and in a instant I was transformed back there. I started to remember feeling and images I stored away so tightly that I temporarily forgot.

I wanted to be section under the MH act because I felt like I had lost my sanity. Flashback, nightmare waking up crying, couldn’t sleep, life just stopped moving. I didn’t recognise the my face in the mirror and I didn’t now who I was. I stopped functioning and all I wanted was an end to the suffering I was feeling.

It was at that point I went to seek counselling, because I didn’t want to throw my life away and I was convinced I was going crazy. I felt suicidal scared and alone. My best friend held my hand and walked me through my darkest hour.

Counselling was amazing and joined a online support group and started reading everything I could on abuse. I soon realised I was not alone and I was not having a mental breakdown. For a short time I acknowledged that child inside.

Counselling had to stop because of finances but I decide I would have to continue alone.

I have found a grounding technique which help me live in present and I discovered that if I accepted my pass instead of fighting and rejecting it I would find inner peace.

That worked for me and I start writing again and that gave me all the outlet I needed. I kept reminding myself that I survived the years of abuse and now I have to leave it in the pass. Exercising was my punch bag and writing were my tires.

I went back to placement and finish my 70 days a stronger person. I was no longer scared of mental health and truly believed they were individual just like me who had struggled to cope with life pressures. I wanted to help disadvantaged children even more. Because in my mind there was clearly a link between traumatic life experience especially in childhood leading to damaging coping mechanism drug alcohol prostitution which could all lead to mental health concerns.

There always a suspicion in the back of my head that one day I may Crack especial if I’m not true to myself and true to my feelings.

My uncle and younger brother have both suffered from schizophrenia and I now I may have the trait inherited somewhere. I use to smoke cannabis socially sometime but working in MH helped me lay that habit to bed for good. I no longer want to suppress my feeling with drugs and alcohol I want to work with them and through them processing them and moving on.

MY STORY

For years I’ve been trying to write the story about my childhood and how I have manage to overcome many obstacles over the years.

But most of the time I find myself stuck in the process of healing from previous trauma’s and unwilling to let anyone into the darkest parts of my life.

I hope this blog gives me the space and time I need to confidently tell my life story in my own words. Some parts of my life story I struggle to allow words to touch the pages and I hope I can one day get it all out.

I’m 35 now married with 4 children, I’m confident, hard working and a problem solver but it’s taken a lot of soul searching and personal development to get to where I am today. I’m a happy and content person who is always looks for the best in people. But that wasn’t always the case.

I want anyone who reads my blog who needs help or who is struggling to know they are loved and cared for, and to take care of themselves. I know what it’s like to hit rock bottom I’ve been there a few times as an adult and I know it’s not pretty but the main thing is you get back up and keep going..

As a child I have been physically and emotional abused by my mother and sexually abused by two different men all before I turned 13 years old. As an adult I have made some pretty embarrassing mistakes and turned to unhelpful coping mechanism to deal with the pain. But I will take it one section at a time and see how far I get with my story..

Thank you for taking the time to read my post!!!

I’m not sure where this journey will take me or how much of myself I’m willing to uncover but I hope and pray I’m able to help and bless someone including myself.

Deep breath …

With a heavy heart I realise my personal thoughts and diary entries over the years written at different periods in my life.

My life story

I was born at North Middlesex hospital in Enfield in 1983.I lived with my mother and older sister.I met my father once when he came to our flat and my mum introduced me to my father.  I remember where we were standing in the corridor of our apartment and being so happy that this guy had just agreed to buy the dolly with the magic hair.  I was so excited I never did see the dolly or him ever again.I remember my sister use to try and run away a lot, she was 5 years old and she couldn’t reach the lock on the door so she would put a chair by the door and try and get out. I remember my mother trying to teach me my alphabet and hitting me on my hand with a ruler every time I got it wrong which was often.  I never did learn my alphabet and eventually she became so frustrated she gave up.  She always reminded me how stupid I was compared to my sister at my age who had been so clever.My mum had a partner  who had a son .  I remember we went to Butlins together on holiday.  I remember moving house very quickly and lots of rushing around.  We left our two bedrooms flat and went to a bed and breakfast.  Just before we left we were crossing the road at a pelican crossing when my mother told me and my sister that her ex-partner was going to knock us down saying the car went out of control.  I remember smiling at my sister who gave me an evil angry look. Unable to understand what ‘knock you down’ meant.  My mother explained how he would hit us with his car and he would say the car went out of control.  Suddenly I became fearful crossing roads and I would always stand behind the yellow and white box because it was just big enough to cover me.I started school behind my peers and no matter how hard I tried I struggled with everything except Maths. We moved around a lot I went to four different primary schools.  I remember never really fitting in and always feeling like a loner.  I would fight the kids in the playgroup and I had no respect for authority.  I was allowed to get in trouble at school I remember my mother would openly encourage me to push the boundaries.I remember one day walking to school and seeing a boy a few meters in front of us (me+sister+mother) the child got run over by a motorbike.  My mother took us right up close to his body and my foot touched his leg there was a lot of shouting a noise a women walked up to mother and told something and my mother shouted at her and told her leave us alone.  
We eventually moved into a Mans one bed room flat with me and my sister sleeping in the living room.  This man was my mothers long term boyfriend and later became my brothers father.  I would call him Dad and he liked me in a fatherly way.  I was obident respectful and I would always follow instructions.  However he would hate my older sister because she wasn’t like me.  Being mixed race she didn’t fit into our family.  He would take us out often introducing me as his daughter and disregarding my sister.He use to beat me and my sister with a thick gym belt on our hands.  My sister always use to get way more punishment then me.  He use to beat my mother too and be angry with her for going to church.  He use to smoke cannabis and he enjoyed having three females to boss around and clean the house.
My mother got anger and angrier at us and the usual slap across the face became a punch a kick or a hit with whatever she could get her hands on.  
Whatever one of us got in trouble for we would both get punished for.  When she was angry she would not  stop hitting us until we would stop crying.  Crying and winning made her more angry, and trying to stop her or moving around made her furious.  Me and my sister were the complete opposite she would scream beg and plead and run and hide cry which made matters worse.  I was quite a still and would except any form of punishment.The routines was get beaten then we would have to have a bath together to reduce the swelling.  I hated sitting in the bath in silence staring at my sister back swallow red and bleeding as she shaking uncontrollable and I sat still.  A few times I felt remorseful as I would blame stuff on her to save my own skin.We would never talk to each other and the few times she looked at me it was pure hate in her eyes.On a few occiacciaons she would be knocked out cold on he floor and I would pray please god let her wake up.  But a big part of me didn’t want her to wake up just so she could be still and stop making matters worse for herself.Once she swore at an auntie and my mother broke the wooden table leg in one snap and beat her badly with it.  Because she refuse to stay still my mother asked my auntie to hold her down so she could get her.  The table leg had a nail in the end of it and it pieaced through her finger and made horrible marks all over her body.   Luckily my mother knew first aid and could always patch her up.I only remember my sister going to hospital once with a broken arm.My sister use to steal from primary school and one day things got really bad I think the school called the police because she stole a few teacher purses and bank cards.  My mum removed her from school.My sister was sent to Jamaica for three year to learn how to behave and when she came back they cut her long hair like a boy. We moved houses another few time and I don’t think mum partner came with us. Two more children came both boys and they were princes in my mothers eyes.  I loved them dearly and promised one day I would run away and take both of them with me.  I enjoyed feeding them and looking after them.  They were my human toys. Our house in Edmonton, I suffered a lot of physical pain in that house.  I remember getting hit in the face a swallowing  my tooth because I was laughing at bed time.  Me and my sister were left alone in that house alot and we would fight like cat and dog.  She would always boss me around and do silly things.  She always use to hit me with a broom stick and I would fight her back.  My sister hated the fact that no matter what she did to me she couldn’t see my pain or tires.  After a while I would flip and that’s when I knew I could kill her.  I would lose all control.  I often heard her telling people I wasn’t human and she wanted to beat me up. Once she stabbed me with a pencil and the lead got stuck in my leg I calmly tried to pull it out as she looked at me in shock horror.I remember we feel down the stairs together and she landed on top of me I dislocated my wroist and it flapped on my arm.  I cried and went to my mother for help whp tured around I told me it served my right that I got hurt.  I jumped up and down that day until I wet myself.  My mum partner returned home and took me to the A&E. I remember our asian neghboour very well who me and my sister use to call a paki.  She always use to call the police and they would turn up hours after and go throughthe same old routine.  Making us get in more trouble.  I hated that lady so much she was an interfering  cow back then. We had a cat it got run over I was happy to see it lying in the street. I never understood why my mother loved that cat more than she did us children.  I remember my mother had a few broken bones and cast here and there but I didn’t think anythink of it.     I was de-sensitized to violence and it was part of everyday life.  I remember watching chucky and thinking oh that was a good film.  I always remember being allowed to drink alcohol and the giggling my sister and I  would do.  Those were the happy times.  I also remember once building a snow man which was fun.I often felt like the head of the family collecting mother giro book from the post office and paying all the bills.  One day at this house I was washing up and I didn’t want to, I was tired of feeling like a cleaner. I made a plan to get out of washing up.  I broke a glass and cut my hand to avoid having to do it. I broke a glass and carefully cut several lines on the back of my hand.  It was bleeding and liked the look of the blood as it dropped into the water. It kind or reminded me of my sister back in the bath once we had been beaten but it felt cold strange. I watched it drip for little while before I held my breath and told my mother that I had accidently broken and glass and cut my had.  I was sure I was going to get in trouble but she just said go upstairs and gets your sister to wash up.  I was ecstatic frilled but I dared not show it.  That was a victorious day when I felt I had won the battle.  I still have scares on my hand which remind me of my triumph. And to this day I still smile remembering how happy I was that moment. My mother poked me in the eye and stated I hope I blind you on day.  We were in Edmonton green waiting for the bus to take us home.  I asked for 50p for a packet of crisp and decided to buy a chocolate instead.  When I returned to the bus stop my mother was furious. I didn’t see her hand approach my face put instantly I felt the sharp pain in my eye as I heard her shout I hope I blind you.  This was one of those day I couldn’t  hold back the tires.  I couldn’t see and truly believed I was blind.  My mother continued to tell me to should up.  I wiped and wiped my eye but I could see my eye was filled with blood and I was filled with fear how I would live with no sight.  Someone said something to my mother another passenger and I remember her tell them to mind their own business very loudly.  This was one of those day that no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t  fight the tiers.  My chest moved up and down so vigorously and I could only see blerred through one eye and the 10 minutes walk to our house was the hardest walk of my life.  All the threats and abuse that was shouted at me didn’t matter because in that moment I was sure I was dying.  I wanted to die and I was sure the pain in my eye and chest were slowly killing me. I’m sure I said the lord’s prayer in my head like I often did when I was convinced it was the end.  I don’t remember getting home other than that long walk in pain all other memories are lost.  I have a permanent blood shot in my eye which has served as a reminder what it was like to be me growing up. It is mostly young children who comment on my women made eyeball beauty spot now-a-days.   ‘If had 1p for every time I heard if you don’t listen you will feel’ I would be a millionaire. That was normal accompanied by a slap across the face or the ‘wait till I get home’ and that stare which hurt ever part of me being.  I hated waiting a few hour whilst we were at church or shopping to receive my punishment.  Half the time I didn’t understand what I had done but I knew I would always get a full explanation with every hit that was going to come way.   From accepting sweets or food from people who went to our church to saying something out of turn.  The classic situation would be someone asking me or my sister a question like and we don’t respond with the answer my mother has hoped.  I always looked at her before answering but sometimes it was impossible to tell what I should say.    But after I had answered I would look at her and there was only ever two different types of look i would receive back.  I tried desperately hard to please my mother I didn’t want to mingle with other children or adults for fear or repercussion.  Plus I was a happy little girl when I was left in my own world to day dream the places I would go, it would be much more satisfying then the real world.  I loved being alone and I always had it in my head that I was invincible.    At primary school there was a weeklong trip in year 6,  I had made another plan.  I knew Wales had lot of hills and mountain as I had been taught.  I was going to commit suicide on the school trip. Accidental fall of he top of the mountain.  We went hiking as all the other children had done before, to the top of sugar loaf mountain.  I climbed with a purpose  I don’t remember talking or seeing anyone there.  As we got to the top we sat and had lunch and I sat with me back towards the group thinking maybe this is heaven.  I was in my own world and I felt at peace.I could not  find an edge to fall off and I was so disappointed that when you fall over you can just get back up, I sank deep into my shell died inside.     We moved to Wood Green the house I remember the most.  I feel that house holds the secrets of most of my childhood.  A four bedroom house and for the first time I was to have my own room.  We started attending a new church and quickly became the good Christian girl I had been taught to be. I got baptised I loved the church. I sang on the youth choir and enjoyed it.  I use to go to kings cross and give out leaflets to convince people to believe in god, I was the only child with the adult but I’ve always had a strong desire to stand up for what I believed in.  And apart from church I wasn’t really allowed anywhere else.  I use to have to follow my sister where ever she went to keep an eye on her but that was no fun. The the man who stole my virginity  I was abused around the age of 11 or 12.  This man was seen as a fine upstanding member of the church. At this age in my life I didn’t know much about sex. I know what sex was but no one had sat me down and told me about the type of thing that happened to me.  This man was a close friend of the family and my mother trusted him.  He was married man with two small children. A man  I was to call uncle. One night my mother had gone out and he looked after me and my young brothers.  When my brothers went to bed he started to talk to me about how because I didn’t have my father around he was going to show me things a father would.  He told me he had done it many times before and he had loads of daughters.  Then he asked me to sit on his lap. I sat side wards and he asked me to sit forward with my legs apart infront of him.  I respected this man so I obeyed his orders.  He began to tell me about boys. He started puttinghis tounge down my throat . no one had ever done that before and rember clearly the way his touge felt bumpy and rough it was a horrible feeling. He started telling me he was going to show me something and i should not worry.  He put his hands down my shorts and i begain to feel uncomfortable.  I had a leotard on and he asked me questions about it and told me that leotards were good protection.  He told me his wife wear them.  He undid the leotard while talking to me. He made his way into my knicker whilst kissing me.  I drew back and he stopped kissing mehe reassured me that he was teaching me something.  I did’nt like him kissing me my eyes were open and his were closed his toumgue moved around my mouthwhile I froze.A little while after he explained that he was going to put his hand down my privates and how it was not going to hurt. He told me to ease up and I did. He told me that if I did want to kiss him i didnthave to. His hand was cold and big he kept talking to me as he slowly pushed his fingers up my privates. I didn’t like it it made me feel funny.  When his fingers reached the top he stopped, he asked me ifit hurt and told me he could tell i was a virgin.  I said yes to his question put he kept pushing his finger up.  His lip began to suck on my lip and his tongue begain to suck my tongue.  The pain of him pushing was hurting more and more.  I didn’t want to be rude but I felt I could cry.  I moved back but he kept sucking my lip harder.  I said stop your hurting me referring toboth his hand and mouth.  He then eased up and stopped pushing his finger so hard and sucking my lip so hard.  I felt a pain there and although he had stopped pushing his finger so hard I could still feel it.  It was the type of pain you feel when someone punches you and the whole area hurts.  I tried to act brave and not cry the pain echoed through my belly.  I asked him to stop agin he was hurting me. He became gentler but the pain was still there.  He moved his fingers slowly up and down my private whilst kissing me.  I felt uncomfortable and sore but I didn’t complain.   His hand got faster and more rough and his tounge begain to pull me in like a vacuum.  I sat and endured the pain until i couldn’t take no more tell i complain and told him down there was hurting.  He responded to me once again by become more gentle.  After a while he stopped and started to talk to me.  He removed his hand and wiped it.  He was talking to me about pennies and he asked me if i had ever seen one i said yes. He told me never to sit on a boys lapthe way i sat on his.  He pressed my privates through my short and told me it was an easy entrance.  He talked to me about sex and how it was wrong and other stuff around the same subject.  Afterwards he told me to get up he was going to show me something. It was then that realized how big he was compared to me.  He was talking to me and telling me not to be afraid as he removed some of my clothes uncovering my breast. He began to suck my nipple and to told me it was nice and imagen what it would be like to suck it all.  After he had finish talking to me i went to bed, i felt confused and i was hurting down there.  I was glad I didn’t have a dad because i didn’t like ge things that dads do. I lay awake that night and when my mum came in I pretended to be asleep.  That night and many to follow all i could think about is what happened to me.  I didn’t know what you call happen to me all i knew it was a lesson from my uncle.  A few days later the pain i felt down there went but ever time i think about what happened i feel that pain again.     Secret House (the rape I didn’t feel) I was in park on day as I often spent my free time in when it was cold and most children weren’t there.  I use to sit at the top of a tree house out view from most people and just dream.  I loved it there and not often was I disturbed.  It was a small park four roads away from where I lived and that was me secret hiding place from the world.I slim black guy had become very friendly with me over the month we lived in that house. At first I never use to talk to him he would smile at me or say hello and I would avoid him as I did any other stranger.  Then one day he poked his house around the corner of my hiding place.  He would try to give me sweet and I wouldn’t take them but he would leave it on the floor and walk away. When I was sure he was sure he was gone I would eat them. I soon started speaking a tiny little bit with him and one day he bought me chip from the chip shop and I was so happy.  He never stayed long but I looked forward to our brief encounter.  One day he poked his head around the corner of my secret house and asked me if I wanted to play a game. I said yes he told me to follow him on the other side of the road he had a present for me. He lived one road away from the park 3 roads away from my house.  He went inside a house very similar to mine and I crossed the road and followed him in. Inside the house was separated into flats and went through another door. I stood in the middle of a room with a double bed dressing table lots of aftershave and belts and stuff around.  There were no seats.  Hesaid I got a surprise for you and picked upa lovely looking bag.  I could feel the excitement racing through my mind as I woundered what was inside.  He handed me the bag an I tried to contain the excitement.  The bag was buatiful unlike anothing I had seen before. It wasn’t made of plastic it was made from carboard and shinny. I took the bag and looked inside but the contains was covered with tissue paper.  I was confused so I just sood still he emcouraged me to look inside. I placed one hand in but I couldn’t finad anything.  Suddenly I felt a small piece of fabric which i could quite make out. I put it back in the bag unsure Of what it was.  He asked if I liked it I smiled and said yes not to be rude.  He told me to try it on, my head began to spin because I didn’t know where to put t and I felt stupid.  I reached slower into the bag and felt around to see if there was any thing else in there.  I was so small so stringly I besided it must be a glove. I but it on my hand as best I could and held my hand up.  It was a pair of tongs ……I remember he placing me on his be naked. As he entered my body I felt the weight of his body squash mine.  I lye perfectly still as he rocked himself on top of me.  I felt like I left my body and I was a on the ceiling looking down.  I could see the blank stare on my face as my body was motionless.  I don’t remember getting dress or placing the tong in my pocket.  All i remember is the way he held me tight in two hand bent down and said don’t you ever come here again in an agry perofying voice.  I was unsure what I had done wrong but I knew how easy it was for me to upset people without knowing why.  I walked the short distance home woundering if I was going to be in trouble when I got home.  I tough me mother knew every thing I did and I was sure I was going to be punished for sone reason or another. Maybe I was late home I walked fast unable to grasp the time scale.  I was scared and I hated that feel so scared I was crippled in my mind thinking what she would do to me.  It was that fear that kept my quite and made me behave al the time.I didn’t get in trouble that night so I said a quick prayer to god and said thank you. My knickers were fully of blood and I tried hard to wash them I was thinking I must be a really dirty/unclean little girl.  I tried hard to scrub them clean praying that I could get them clean but nothing worked.  I knew my mother would be angry if she thought I had dirtied my white cotton knickers I hid them behind the heater and squashed them into a ball hoping they would not be found. I never did see that guy again. But I hoped I would because he was one of the closes things I had as a friend.     Starting secondary school was awkward all these children I didn’t know.  I soon made sure everyone knew I was not going to bullied.  I wanted to be a lawyer and I was always going to stand up for myself.  I wasn’t scared of anyone and more over confidence spoke volumes.  Once I bust into the principal’s office and told her about my feeling of grave injustice at been spoken to horrible by a teacher.  When refused to take mt complaint serious I inford her that I would write to the school governs and the local paper.  I soon got he public apology I wanted. I was felt smart but my grades were below average in mot subject apart from maths.  I had excellent verbal communication skill but struggled with any form of written work.  I gave the teaching staff hell after all my mother did care what I got up to so I was about to be controlled by any outside authority figure.I challenged the teachers every opportunity I got.I made few friends and played football on a five a-side football team.I was being my usual disruptive self when a teacher told me it doesn’t matter if I don’t learn a thing in school because she is still going to get paid at the end of the month.  My attitude changed slowly after that day and I begain to relize my acting out in class was going to cost me my education.  I knew it was the only place I could tell an adult or child to shut up walk away from someone who was talking to me.  But slowly I learnt to behave better.My friendship grow grow stronger with one girl and she was smart and everything I wasn’t.  Everyone liked her just the way she was.  Our friendship bloomed and her mother welcomed me into their family.  When ever I ran away from home I knew I could always sleep there.  Most people did like me because of my poor attitude and bad behaviour but not this girl she saw me for who I was.  She was my first real friend who did find me awkward stupid or annoying.  And she didn’t have violent or unkind bone in her body.  We set our dreams together and worked towards our goal we were going to university she was going to be a doctor and I was going to be a lawyer.  We had lots of great time together and for the first time in my life I felt like a child.  And the best thing was my mum liked her, normally my mother didn’t like I want me having friends but she like this one and was allowed to come around my house and I hers.  Her family was very different to mine, I considered them very poor living on a council estate sharing a room with her teenage brother.  But that did not matter because in their house I was welcomed and treated with nothing but kindness.  Many nights I gave up my lush double bed and beautiful bedroom to share a single bed with my friend in hers and her brother’s room.  As far as I was concented she was the luckist child in the world and I was happy that I could have a small part of it.But her and her brother did see it like that, and I never understood why.  She is still my best friend today and I’m so proud of her for fulfilling her dreams and becoming a doctor. We are like blood sister and closer. I started expressing myself through poetry and quickly found it safe outlet for all me codied up emotions. At 15 I was given permission to go away for a weekend with a school friend and her family for a party weekend trip.  I fell in love with a guy aged 21 I told him I was 18 years old. We danced and talked the whole weekend.  When we got the couch back home we spoke every night on the phone for hours and hours. I eventual told him my age. I liked him and loved the ground he walked on.  I would take a two hour bus ride to go and see him.  He didn’t really treat me like a girlfriend in public but in private he did.  At the time I knew he was right for me treated me nicely and gave me love and affection.  At the time I believed I was a virgin as the previous sexual abuse had vanished from my mind.  We had sex when I was 16 and remember him him slow and gentle with me.  Once he had fully enteted me he looked deep into my eyes and said I you sure you’re a virgin and with a clear and honest heart I said yes.  He asked me several time am i hurting you and I said no, he appeared shocked but I have always none I am very strong. I enjoyed what we had and years to come he was the only man in my life.  I had introduced him to mother and had me to his family.  He had a 6 month old baby from a previous relationship who I saw rarely. I had my fist Job when i was 15 my mum asked me if I wanted to work and I jumped at the opportunity.  My best friend already had a secret job and I wanted money too. I asked if my best friend come come and she said yes.  We worked in a factor in Enfield folding clothes a packing them into see through sleeves.  I enjoyed it but my back hurt from spnding long hours standing.  And I forgot to write my name on some of the boxs which meant i didn’t get paid for them. I starting havint to contribute towards rent and stuff but as long as I had £5 left for myself I was happy.  The other women and the factor where funny and happy too.At 16 I went to work for M&S 3 days a week and with that 346 pounds a month I was rich.  Of cause my mother demanded more of my money but I loved it there.  Working with girl my own age meeting lot of people I felt like I worked for the queen and I was in her presitgous company.  I felt that I belonged there and working always felt grate.  For as long as I could remember it was my goal to move out and now this job was going to give me the finance to out of that house. One day when I should have been a school I went for a interview with dominos pizza and got the Job.  I was 16 and I managed two jobs and studied for my GCSE and a-levels. I got a car when I was 17 and paid for the entire lessons and test myself.  This car helped me escape my hell hole I called home. I searched for a year and half and approached lots of charities before I came across a room I could rent for £285 a month.  I was 17 years old when I moved out and this is where my life began. For the first time in my life I was allow to eat sleep and do whatever I wanted.  I didn’t care that my mother had kept all my belonging and I only hand the clothes I was wearing I was free and that meant more to me than anything else in the world.I left my brothers behind and that hurt my mother told me you will never see them again.  I loved those boys more than I loved myself but at the moment in time I could only think of my freedom.  I knew there weren’t treated half as badly as me and my sister were.  And I told myself as soon as I would get settled I would return for them. I never did and never could. Life went on and it was struggle to go college and look after myself properly.  I managed I lived on tea and biscuits and sometime I stole food from my local asdas when I had to.  Mostly 9p noodles and stuff but I survived.I failed that year of college and had to start again.  I blamed myself for not working hard enough.  But I return the next year to a different college to start me a-level again. One of the charities I had approached years earlier offered me an interview and a place in a hostel in east London.  I took it a moved out of the only area I knew.  I got a two new Job and life continued to move.  One Christmas I turned up at my mothers house with presents for my brothers and she opened and slammed the door in my face.  I had no convince myself that family meant nothing to me a continue this journey alone. How I hoped my boys were ok I just wanted to see them. I throw the presents in the bin and got on with my life    

• I have recurring nightmares.  Most incomplete incident i know nothing about.
• I have difficulties  with trust and intimacy in relationship
• Diffulties trusting all men in general
• I have a phobia of Mice
• I actively seek men who are
• I find it hard to except love and warmth from anyone

I’m really confused at the moment because until recently I was very happy with my life.  Iv always known that I don’t remember much about my childhood but Iv come to accept that.  Iv also always know that I was sexually abuse/ molested around age ten which I been able put behind me.  But recently I was put in a situation whilst working on placement which left me scared and frighten as someone was shouting at me.  Since then I have had consistent flashback and nightmare about being physically and emotional abused by my mother.  That  feeling of fearing for your life and feeling helpless is overwhelming me.  Recently I feel like I don’t know who I am.  
A few days ago I remember having sexual intercourse with a man I thought was my friend when I was in primary school.  I’m 26 now and after all these year I don’t know why now I choose to remember it.  
I don’t feel hurt or upset about it at all.  What bothers   me most is the feeling of fear I remember walking home believing I was going to be physically punished    For not staying in the park.
I keep asking myself am I going crazy ?  Why is my mind haunting me now?  
I feel stuck and lost and I’m starting to think that my past is catching up on me.  
I’ve started to make connections to my life now how I lack trust and have difficult in intimate relationship due to my horrible childhood.  
What’s scares me most is I’m a mum and I have a 3 year old to look after.   Suddenly my son the only thing keeping me going knowing his solely relying on me.  And not wanting to let him down.  
I’m also really angry at my self for become so overwhelmed by my resent memory that I have not gone to university or work and allowed myself to stay in bed all day.  I badly want to turn the clock back but I know thats not possible.  Tomorrow I will go to university and find a way to smile through the pain because I know sitting at home doesn’t help. 
Well writing this e-mail making me feel slightly stupid for e-mailing a stranger.  But at the same time it feels grate to finally be able to tell someone.  
From. Jade

Seven sisters Primary School. 

This school was only a short walk from where we lived in turner avenue off seven sisters road.  It was a non-uniform school but my mother made us a uniform for me and my sister. We wore plaited skirts knee high socks and matching waist coats.  We always had Ribbon in our hair.  I don’t remember too much about this school. 

Highbury quadrant primary school

This school was only short walk from my mother andpartner flat where we were staying.  All I remember is how lonely the playground felt when you don’t have any friends. I quickly learnt how to copy work from the person sitting next to me. I also have a detailed memory of the child I witnessed get run over by a car. 

Church field primary school

This school was located in Edmonton Green and as always with another new place to live came a new school.  This time we moved to house on a short road with corner shop at the end.  We lived at number five and the sweet shop was number one.  I liked to idea that the shop was four doors away.  Across the road from the house was a primary school I was glad I didn’t attend a school so close.  

I started travelling to school alone and I remember the journey to and fro.  I liked this school and I got to play many sports.  I had a few friends but I was torn between to different groups of girls.  One group of girls where very popular and the other very friendly.  I spent most of my time in-between the two groups that it became stressful.  All I know about this period us that my life was surrounded by a black cloud at school. My sister stealing had spiralled out of control. The school called the police and everyone was talking about it. I had a lot of things on my mind. I was worried about my sister and what would happen next.  My home life was particular difficult. School confirm my belief that I was a misfit. 

Because of my sisters problem school was tence. I didn’t like the feeling that someone was always watching my and that they was a spot light on my family. Loytatawas my best friend she was a big girl and like me didn’t fit in with others. I enjoyed her company.

Church

Church was constant part of my life.  We attended every Sunday and I attended Sunday school.  The church was located in the hall in the school across the road from our house which was convenient.  I enjoyed going to church and learning about because it meant that I had something or someone to believe in that knew all my problems without me having to speak a word.  Church was a safe place much like school but better more welcoming without the pressure of trying to fit in with my peer group and complete work.  I enjoyed the singing the prayers and people.  The people at church often appeared happier than the outside world but so did my mother.  Sunday morning was a special day, where we would put on our best clothes and shoes to attend church.  Sunday was the day of rest as church bought out the calmer respectable side to my mother.  I loved the paster (paster riyan) an older lady who always made me feel important like a real person, not just a silly child.  I found confidence in going to church and although a fairly shy and withdrawn child I was encouraged to take part in plays and special events.  I don’t remember being punished before or during service.  Sometimes mother would stare intensely at me or my sister or whisper in our ear “wait till you get home” and those word or that stare would send a cold chill down the back of your spine and leave your belly in painful knots.  For however many hours we would be fretting and worrying about what punishment would follow. Those were the times when I would disappear within my own world unable comprehend what was happening around me.  I hated those hours and the crippling tummy ache.  The good thing about Sunday’s after church was that if we were to be punished we had to change out of our church clothes first.  My mother always speared us the a few second grace whist we changed out of our pretty dresses.  My sister would look at me and without saying a word I knew what she was thinking.  We should pad ourselves up and try not to leave any bare skin exposed as this would cause more pains marks. I wondered if her belly hurt as much as mine from the moment we were given a warning of whats to come but we never spoke about those things.  I had long since realized that we were very different I was quite obedient scared terrified she appeared angry.  

Now I think about it in my adult life we are not that different, we coped with pressures of our traumatic childhood in different ways.  Her years of physical punishment made her volatile extremely violent but she was confident.  I admired the way she would openly stand up to mother but I didn’t see if doing her any good because she would be punished more.  I told myself that she would be the first to killed out of us too because refused to be still and expect her beating.  The running the screaming trying to escape she was even bold enough to call the police.  The front and the back door were locked to prevent her from escaping. It was a game of cat and mouse and the older she got the worse it became.         

South Haringey primary school 

I remember sleeping on a mattress on the floor and the mice running around. It was a long wait before I got into this school.  

I started having piano lesson which I loved.  I was pretty quite in class but would fight in the playground. 

We played conca battles and I was obsessed with a band called E17 and I use to collect their stickers in a book.  They was a girl called Angela who always had a own special teacher next to her and I use to call her spastic and stupid . Horribly hurtful words and I didn’t even know why.  School wasn’t important it was a prison aways prison. I never felt welcome or cared for just another number along a long line. I had no desire to do well at anything because I had already been told I was stupid by my mother.  I wasn’t interested in the outside world because my dreamworlds was much my inspiring.    

The thing I remembered most about school is the lunch. The freedom to choose what you want. Not like at home where you have to eat whatever you are given. Even if it made you physical sick.  I liked the freedom I had a lunch time and I enjoyed the desserts chocolate cake and chocolate custard were my favourite. 

I became pretty good at iron my uniform.

I learnt to swim at this school as it had it own swimming pool. 

It was in the last year of school that I tried to commit sueside and failed. I know from experience that normal this would have been viewed as a cry for help but at that time I truly did want life to end. 

Year 5 & 6

My summer project of 94′ gave me something to do in the long 6 week holiday. I hated the summers because it meant no need to worry about unexplained cut marks and bruises.  My mother was free to treat us however she wanted.  6 week felt like a life time and a never ending nightmare. Bored stiff and walking on egg shells trying to be good.  

I was happy to have homework, I gave me a good reason to leave the house. I spent my summer in the Libaray researching black History and individual who had made a contribution. I loved reading their stories of courage and determination.  I was inspired by individual I had researched. I wrote a page on each person and draw a picture of them. I complied a A4 folder with a content page of names from A to Z.  I was particular interested in Martin Luther king and malcom x and how they both used different method to fight their battles. As I read the words the stored resinated deep with my heart. I wondered what I would have been like in the slavesdays a weather I would have had to courage need to stand up for what I believe in.  I had hoped I would.  I met many grate individuals through the text I sought and their memories lived on in my dreams. 

Sleeping 

Some of the worse moment of my childhood are the times when I was beaten whilst sleeping. Lying in bed sleeping peacefully to be awaken by the bed covers been snatched off me whilst the wire snaps against my skin for a rude awakening.   

I would never want to believe this my reality as thinking about this brings a tires to my eyes. 

How I cried and scream with my bare legs exposed by my thin nightdress. Caught completely off guard my brain unable to catch up and comprehend the intense pain and the wire curls around my legs and back. An immediate intense panic as I am powerless to move. I beg and plead and apologise several times “sorry mummy I won’t do it again” I repeat this phase several time. Unsure what crime I have committed my head is spinning around and around. 

These are the worse moment of my life because in the confinement of my own bed with a knee and a hand holding me down I am powerless to move. I know if I make her very angry she will strangle me or sit on me as she does my sister. 

My brain is frozen I focus all my energy on  squeezingmy muscle to not wet my bed. I know she will kill me if I wet my bed. Every part of my body hurts my legs are pulsating along the path of the lashes have marked out. Why do I never learn? God knows I try hard to be good. The message is beaten into me word by word, ” how dare you, how dare you speak to ??? Last night”. All I can say is sorry a hundred times and promise not to do it again. 

As quick as she arrives she releases her grip holding me in place and turns and walks away. I stop apologising and watch as my legs shake uncontrollable with tremors. I wipe my eye several time and I notice me arms and hands are shaking too. 

When she get me when I’m sleeping it hurts even more. Now im angry with myself for sleeping and speaking out of turn. I say I quick prayer “please god just let me die” I want to wake up from this nightmare but my body still shakes and I look at the wire marks along my lower body which have swallowen up I know I’m awake. 

I have to get up quickly and prepare for my bath. My Cotten night dress is difficult to remove as the sweat has stuck it to my skin. I’m angry with it for not protecting my legs and riding up to my waist to leave me exposed. I feel an eruption of tires ready to escape but I swallow hard and bite my inner lip. I taste the salty blood in my mouth and a sallow it before moving.  I suck my inner bottom lip which provides me with  comfort. 

I still do this today when I’m distressed I suck my inner bottom lip and I find it comforting.  It prevents me from crying and helps steady myself emotionally. To me it feels like Iv been given a hug and I tell myself everything will be ok. 

I often hold onto my bed sheet tightly and react instantly when they are pulled when I’m sleeping. I tense my muscle and I prepare to be lashed. That when I tell myself I’m ok and no one is going to hurt me. Sometimes when I’m sleeping I hear that distinctive sound the wire made as it cuts trough the air  whistlingon the way.  Sometime I wake up by jumping on my feet into the middle of the room, as if Iv been ejected from my bed with a wake up button.  This never falls to give me a instant headache but I have to remind myself I am safe.)

My missing tooth.

Me and my sister were messing around in our room. We had been told to go to bed. My sister said something funny and I started laughing. As the door swung open with excess force I held my breath regretted my actions. I was sitting at the end of my  bed She stepped towards me with two big heavy stamps. I heard the thump sound as her hand whacked me lower face. As the bloody instantly fillied my mouth I swallowed not realising it was my tooth that got knocked down. She screamed and shouted at am me to go to sleep now and I obeyed. As I lye down I was preparing for another hit in the face but she turned a left.  I continued to swallow my blood in my mouth and I went to sleep as tires slowly ran down my face. I was worried that my blood mat drip out of my mouth when I was sleeping and get me in more trouble. I didn’t say a word to my sister didn’t even look in her direction because it was unfair and she was to blame. 

Well that’s what I though at the time. 

The amount of time I got slapped in the face and had my lip busted open were many.  My mother would say do you want to drink your blood as warning when she was getting angry. But whenever she did slap us across the face there was no real warning. Just the taste of blood as you ran your tonge down your cut. My lip would always swell up on the half that got hit.  As my sister was lighter you could see hand prints and ring marks along her face.  A slap across the face didn’t hurt as much as our normally punishment but it was normally done in public and was a quick sharp slap that was the beginning of a attack. The rest you would recieve when you got home away from the public eye.

If I wasnt standing strong that one slap would send me falling or cause me to bang into a wall. But what hurt most was the way it dented your pride and was public ally humiliating.  It was so embarrassing I would make my way to the toliet and cry and check my face there if I was allowed. Some times I would spit out the blood in my mouth but mostly swallow it. 

How it feels to not have a father, why I like silence, and me questioning my identity and why my mother treated me like her punch bag. 

I have always had an apprechiontion for stillness and thranquilty that comes with it. I am most at peace and content when my environment is quite. In the early hours of the morning when the birds sing and most people are sleeping that’s my peaceful time. Any place heavily populated by people  background noise and movement takes me out of my comfort zone. Those places where I am unable to drown at the background noise I find over stimulating problematic.  My ears are very sensitive to noise and I prefer to work and live in silence most of the time. 
Which living in London is practical impossible. In my car some time I like to drive with no music playing.  

I do not have any real love of passion for music, or television. I don’t have a favourite artist or actor, not that I know many of them. I’m not interested in celebrates.  Once when I went to job interview they asked me if you could meet anyone person in the world who would it be and why. I struggled to answer this question honestly because I don’t have anyone. I think i said god at the time. I don’t know if it because my I spent most of my early childhood in a bubble that caused me to cut off from the outside world. But I lack any interest in something’s that most people adore. 
Thinking back now in my adult years there’s only one person I would love to meet, if I had the chance and that would be my biological father. The image I have held onto since my toddle years has long since become distorted I can no longer recall the contortion of his skin or looks within his eyes because his face is blurered and his outline is all I have to hold onto. I don’t remember his smell or the way his skin felt. I don’t recall him ever touching me but I would have like to known what it would have felt like to interlock my hands with his. One brief visit where we stood in the hallway is all I have to hold onto.  And a broken promise to return with a dolly I desperately desired. 
I don’t talk about the void I feel in my life not having a relationship with my father. It hits a raw nerve knowing I will never know one half of who I am. Simply little things play on my mind, like what country is he from, does he remember me and what that’s side of my family like.  I have a million question I would love to know, but just to be able to close my eyes and see face in my head would bring me comfort. 
Every so often I am asked so where do your parent live, or where are your parent from. And it scratches an unopened cut. Because the truth is I know little to nothing about my father, that vivid image in my head holds no comfort. 
I wish I could say something plausible my fathers died or my fathers in another country, but I can’t bring myself to lye on this matter and the truth as I see it I’ve never had a father never have and never will. There’s always that awkward moment when taking a family history in medical examination when I respond with I don’t know my father side of my family. I think that easier to say then I don’t know my father. The fear of the unknown rakes havoc, if you give into it. 
I’ve accepted the fact I may never know, and whatever information my mother knows she would pefer to take to her grave then share. Which is not surprising because I know very little information about my mother’s life  outside of the way she treated me. 
I struggle with my identity and my sense of belonging, and the only thing I can do is create new positive memories to identify myself by. Even though I know my mother family originated Jamaican I have no desire to find them.  

One positive aspect of being a fatherless child. Was I decided from a young age that when I do have children I am going to make it my priority to ensure there is a strong relationship between father and child/ren.  I don’t want my offspring growing up experiencing the void that I have become accustom too. I truly believe that two parents are better than one, if they can work together.  I can only fantasise what that must be like. But I know the grass always looks greener on the other-side.  Would I have been better off with no mother than one who used me a punch bag. Only god knows because without my mother  care in my early years I would have died.  Growing up I always questioned in my head why did you have us then if we were such a burden to you. When my mother use to state you ungrateful bitich look at all I have done for you ( I always use to think but I didn’t ask to be born) in fact most days I wished I wasn’t back then. My primary needs for food, shelter and water were always met, I always had clean clothes and adequate shoes. This made it easy for the outside world to pass me by, because on the surface I appeared cared for. 
But what I lacked was emotional warmth and love and the safety that comes Along. One day in my twenties I ask my mother why did you never say I loved you to me growing up or hug me and she looked at me puzzled and said I fed you didn’t I, I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t love you.  

Within the last year things have changed, Now she makes a habit of telling me every time she phones me she loves me but my heart refuse to except her love. No matter how hard I try to move on from the past an except that now she no longer a threat or that cural spiteful person I desperately need to understand why. ? Why would anyone treat their children like an object of hate and disgust. Surely if parenting proves to difficult and challenging for you it would be better to give your children away then to torturous them. How can you sleep in your bed knowing your children are in bed crying them self to sleep in pain. While you shout ‘shut up or I will give you something else to cry for’. It makes no sense to me. It makes no rachalionale sense to me  now, she doesn’t appear to be mentally ill, she’s not under the influence of alcohol or drugs. So if anyone could explain to me how you can love someone and treat them so unkind ? Because let me know. 

I miss you fro  

I miss you terriblely, sometimes I close my eye and pretend you are still hair.

I miss you so much that sometime I have to bring out a picture and remember  when you there

I can’t even talk to anyone about how I feel about you- I don’t think anyone would understand.

 I believe a big part of you helped define me  

Now I am forced to re-evaluate 

I miss you so much I’m always looking for you when I’m walking on the street 

I know your not here but most days I forget until the Alwful evidence stares at me in the mirror.

Then I’m angry , I’m upset and I’m longing to I return to time you were there. 

I miss the way you gentally tickled against my shoulder 

I find myself bobbing my head from side to side waiting 

I miss the way you use to smell. Sweet Amorim of coconut oil and mango

I even miss the not so happy times .. when I would feel that you were taking up to much of my time 

The hours I spent moaning.

The moments I spent begrudging the hours I had invested in you

Once I even calculated the money you cost me

Now I have a lump in throat trying not to think about how I wish I could go back in time. 

Today I kissed your picture and I closed my eyes 

I need to let you go but I don’t want to …. I feel like I’ve been robbed and I desperately want you back 

I will take half, I will take a quarter anything 

I know I need to move on its been 7 long COLD months and life keeps on ticking over.

I just wish you would tick with me fro 

My beautiful long hair sitting in a mind-field somewhere.

https://youtu.be/yWDV4-VE78M

Last year August 2018 I had to cut my Afro. My hair decided to fall out due to stress and having two babies. I was going through a difficult parenting my step son and signs started to manifest in my Hair.