This post was written anonymously and submitted to Blognonymous for publishing on this blog. Please feel free to leave your help and support should you wish, in comments below. Many thanks.

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Where do you start? I actually started my blog to write about what happened to us because there is nothing out there. But then, and even now, we were so ashamed of the crimes of the father that I did nothing and blogged about life instead. So here I am a few years later in the eye of another storm, a result of what happened  earlier. If this blog seems all over the place it probably is because my brain is scrambled.

To the outsider I am a strong person. I’m an attractive woman with a good job and a nice house. I have got my two children through hell and held a family unit together. It’s not been easy and the road has been a hard one. My ex husband was arrested and found guilty; he showed absolutely no remorse and served an indeterminate sentence.

I have two children, a son and daughter. They have both struggled in their own ways. My daughter seems to be coming through it now and making head way. Self confidence is slowly being restored and a purpose to life regained. My son, who is 17, is a different matter. He has had so many offers of help from counselling to being engaged with more sporting activities to assist him with the stress. All fell on deaf ears. I haven’t got a problem he would insist. As of 4 weeks ago he no longer lives with us. 2011 became the year of hell with his moods swings and levels of violence increasing. He has become addicted to strong marijuana which he felt aided his low self esteem and depression. He has been stealing from me to support his habit once he lost his job. He has no respect for anyone including himself. To release stress he self harms. The abuse towards me has intensified over the past few months to an intolerable level. My health has suffered and I have been in tears on the way home from work worrying about what I will return to.

Pre Christmas he had what can only be described as a drugs psychosis and he scared the life out of me. I didn’t know if he was going to stab himself or me or just smash up the house. I was advised if he ever looked like he was going to do that level of damage to himself, me or the home then I had to ring the police. And that is what I had to do 4 weeks ago. Watching the police officers rush my son to the ground and cuff him will stay with me forever. He was a danger to himself and others as he threatened to slit his wrists. On examination in the cell, whilst superficial, his body was covered in cuts. A good friend was custody sergeant that day and I have a lot to thank him for. We are now on a domestic abuse register and my son spent a very confused week bumming a place to sleep form one friend to another. Fortunately one of my friends stepped in and gave him a place to sleep for a couple of nights and somewhere he listened to what she had to say.

Between us we managed to avoid him going into a hostel and got him some secure accommodation in a student halls even though he only just scrapes through on his age. I helped him move in and he has been home a couple of times for dinner. The first time nearly broke my heart when we took him back. He is a lost soul needing so much help. He hasn’t been to college once since he got a roof over his head, he has little money and hasn’t taken any of the help offered. Apparently he just wants to come home and make things right with me but fails to reply or make any contact even though I put credit on his phone. If he continues not to turn up to college then he will lost the support he has there and they have been absolutely fantastic. He’s tried one session of counselling last week and asked my sister to accompany him. She could tell that he was there because he felt he had to and the counsellor picked up on it too. We doubt he will go again.

When your children leave home I always felt it would be planned with a date in mind and a slow build up. The sense of loss would still be there but you would be there in the back ground helping them on to the next stage of their journey. This is so very different. Every time you think you have hit rock bottom we still fall even further. The worry this has caused me indescribable. This is my child and he’s in a terrible place, mentally. Tough love is hard to administer and I just hope it works! It is my worst nightmare. This is what I thought may happen when the “awful terrible” happened 4 years ago. I have lost a husband and now I have lost my son. I have no idea when this nightmare will end and the only positive is that my daughter and I can move around our home without being frightened and she is getting on with her life and complete her final her at school without being fearful. For that I am eternally grateful.

I cannot begin to describe the feelings of loss I have. After having no contact with his father I have written a letter to my mother in law who seems to be under the impression life is as it was always planned. A levels university and so on. It couldn’t be further from the truth for him. I live in hope that I have known of others who have fallen foul of drugs and depression and but eventually come through it. I don’t how long that will be and when I will see him again. I miss my son and want him back.

This post was written anonymously and submitted to Blognonymous for publishing on this blog. Please feel free to leave your help and support should you wish, in comments below. Many thanks.

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To look at me, to know me, you’d never know it was a part of me.

I used to think everyone knew just by looking at me. That was when I was much younger.

As I grew older and wiser I knew there was no way anybody could know it was a part of my life.

These days it gets me like a bolt of lightening, out of the blue- often when I’m in the supermarket.

It’s that isle with all the books of horrid life stories of suffering. It’s that tv program, that movie, that story, that song, that certain date, that advert.

As quick as it hits me, it leaves me. I push it away because it deserves no place in my life.

It gets me mostly in my dreams. My many therapists, councillors, doctors who’ve tried to help it leave me, say that happens when you don’t face it.

The thing is, I have faced it a million times. I’ve talked about it until I’m blue in the face and frankly quite bored of it.

It came into my life when I was 9 until I was 18 and then it took another form now I’m in my thirties.

It is often is inconciderate. Girls nights out, dancing, drinking, having fun and then tales of the old days- our first kisses, first times and there it is. That hard bolt of lightening, shocking me, so for a moment I lose my breath and lose who I am. And again as quickly as it comes it goes.

It’ll never leave me.

It’s part of who I am. It’s why I’m strong and often fearless. Sometimes I’m cold to those that don’t deserve it. Those are my darkest moments and they don’t come very often. I fight them with everything I have. It will never win.

I once believed it would win. It was so strong and out of my control that I could never beat it. But I did.

I was 24. I kicked it into a prison cell along with my step father.

Guilty as charged.

It?

Child sexual abuse.

I hate those words. I call it ‘it’

I’m a survivor not a victim so don’t feel sad for me. Feel glad that I fought it, and talked to the police about it, and it sent somebody away for a long time so they couldn’t do it to anyone else.

And that’s my story. My battle with it.

If you ever suspect it. Report it.
Do something about it. Never be afraid of it. It’s weaker than you think.

This post was written anonymously and submitted to Blognonymous for publishing on this blog. Please feel free to leave your help and support should you wish, in comments below. Many thanks.

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Today is my brother’s birthday. He is older than me and we are not in touch. I always feel sad on his birthday, because despite everything that’s happened he is my big brother and I love him.

It is very difficult as my parents and other siblings know we don’t talk but I cannot tell them the real reasons why, but I am absolutely insistent with them that I will not be in contact with him. It is for my own wellbeing and I know it is for the best but I do not want to make his relationship with my family difficult.

I find myself wanting to talk about it but cannot do it openly so the discovery of Blognonymous is great. I need to get these thoughts out of my head and I need to know whether I am being fair or whether I am being entirely selfish with my actions.

I am not holding off stating the issue between my brother and I for dramatic effect, it’s more that I don’t know how to approach the subject. So I’ll just come out with it.

When I was a child my brother sexually assaulted me. For years I wondered if I had a false memory of the incident, I also wondered if it had happened more than once.

This is what I remember. I was playing in my bedroom and my brother called me from the bathroom, asking me to get him a towel from the airing cupboard. I remember feeling nervous (which is why I suspect it wasn’t the first time, why would I be nervous of my brother?) I didn’t want to do it but I took the towel to him. He pulled me into the bathroom and trapped me behind the door. From a child’s perspective all I remember is seeing a huge erect penis, I was incredibly frightened and begged him to let me go. He made me touch him, I remember crying and then being shoved from the bathroom.

That is it, a few moments. I’m not even sure how old I was, maybe 9 or 11. He is 7 years older than me. I don’t know how long I was trapped, it felt like an eternity at the time. It had a huge impact on me and my confidence, I remember feeling confused and scared. As a child I adored this brother, absolutely idolised him and I simply did not understand what had happened and why.

When I grew up it had a huge impact on my relationships and how I was with men. I was unable to touch a partner’s genitals without getting flashbacks. For years I had very unhealthy sexual relationships and was messed up beyond belief. I’m not saying it was all just this incident, so much else happened that impacted on me; my parent’s divorce, an absent father, a further sexual assault as an older teenager.

It was about 20 years before I spoke to anyone about what happened, still believing it was probably a false memory I spoke to a counsellor about it. I was told it was probably in my head and it was best not to think about it, such memories were best suppressed. I didn’t go back to the counsellor but I did try to forget about the ‘memory’. I continued to be self-destructive. A few years later I worked up the courage to try counselling again, I had separated from my husband and knew I couldn’t continue to live my life the way I was.

It took me 6 sessions to broach the subject, I had thought about nothing else for a week before. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t raise the topic until near the end if the session, I shook the entire way through the session. My fear was that she would confirm it was probably a false memory, my bigger fear was that she would confirm it wasn’t a false memory and it would be true that my brother had damaged me in the way he had.

My counsellor was brilliant, she talked it through with me and said she really couldn’t tell me whether the memory was true or not. She recommended I talk to my brother, saying he needed to acknowledge it had happened and apologise in order for our relationship to move on. She didn’t stick up for him but she explained what a confusing time it is for teenagers and she doubted there was anything sexually deviant in his behaviour (I worried for years as he had a daughter of his own).

I followed her advice, I spoke to my partner about what had happened and he agreed to be in the house when my brother came to visit. When my brother arrived I explained that we needed to talk and we went into the next room. I told him what I remembered, I told him I needed to know if had happened and if it had I needed him to apologise or I couldn’t continue to have him as part of my life. He told me he didn’t remember and that he remembered very little of his childhood. But the moment I told him what I remembered I knew it hadn’t been a false memory, there was a flash of panic across his eyes that told me everything I needed to know. He remembered, he knew what he’d done and I think he hoped I had forgotten. I explained that I could no longer be part of his life.

My brother left the house and we haven’t spoken since. That was a couple of years ago, I have since had a child, I didn’t tell him, I knew he would find out through my family. My family know we don’t talk but I don’t tell them the real reason why, I know it’s hard for them and I know they don’t understand. I cannot tell them, how could I tell my mum that he did that? I worry about the impact on my mum, I worry how she would feel about not protecting me or that it would ruin her relationship with her son.

The counselling had a huge impact on my life, I dealt with a lot of ‘issues’ and was able to move forward in a better way. I don’t regret for a moment having the counselling or confronting my brother about what happened. I have felt happier since he has stopped being in my life, simply because I rarely spare him a thought these days. I wish he had felt able to talk about it with me, I am not angry with him but I need it to be an issue that is dealt with in order to be around him, otherwise it’s just our own elephant in the room that no one else can see.

So, I haven’t sent my brother a birthday card, but I am thinking about him today and despite everything I still love him. In fact I love him so much it breaks my heart that he’s no longer in my life, but I only think about it today and tomorrow I shall put it away again.

This post was written anonymously and submitted to Blognonymous for publishing on this blog. Please feel free to leave your help and support should you wish, in comments below. Many thanks.

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My day, like many others in the past, started off with a stupid argument with my husband. We are so different yet in some ways quite the same. Needless to say, we both have a horrible stubborn streak.

And I let my day be ruined as I sank into a rut and once again began wondering how to recapture the emotions and rhythm of how our lives used to be. How our lives used to be back when we used to have time, patience and energy for each other. Back when our lives were more of a “one” than our lives now. Now, where we can go days without any deep conversations other than the day to day chit chat.

And I thought about the argument which revolved around my youngest daughter who was throwing a tantrum. It wasn’t so much her as the fact that each of our parenting views is quite a bit different. As the youngest, she wraps her father around her little finger and he loves it every minute.

And then as I was reflecting upon this morning, the scene played through my mind. The look I got, the words said, the tension in the air. And the reason for my pain today and probably a good amount of my pain in the last few months, became clear to me.

I realized that while I know I am important to quite a bit of people, there is not a single person in this world that I was the MOST important person for.

Not my parents, not my siblings and not even my kids. The kids who aren’t teens prefer their father, the kids who are teens are teens and have a different most important person depending on which way the wind blows.

And I realized that while I know my husband loves me, our kids come first.

And that realization stung and made me cry for the umpteenth time today.

And as I am sitting here and writing this, I wonder whether this was the way it was meant to be for me. Am I meant to be the most important person to myself? Am I meant to fix this? Am I meant to do things different in my life?

And my heart is breaking, and there is a lump in my throat and the tears are streaming down my cheeks. Because being important to a lot of people can’t make up for being the most important person for even just one person.

How am I going to carry on?

This post was written anonymously and submitted to Blognonymous for publishing on this blog. Please feel free to leave your help and support should you wish, in comments below. Many thanks.

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My dad left home when I was around 10 years old. Sadly we never really got on since then. I would spend the odd weekend with him but it was more because I had to and not because I wanted to. The weekends were spent following him around while he continued his usual routine or trying to entertain ourselves. It makes me sad that the thing I can remember most about growing up is sat waiting in the front room window for him to come to collect us, only for him not to come on the days he was supposed to. I spent hours waiting for him, he is my dad, he will surely come? As I grew older I began to see that we were simply not the most important people in his lives and that he was choosing not to spend time with us. I resented him hugely for this and did not speak to him for many many years. He did not see me graduate, he did not hear of my engagement, he did not walk me down the aisle.

Predictably he reappeared in my live when there was a grandchild on the horizon. Again this angered me, why did he think he was entitled to be involved now? It still frustrates me that I feel like this and that he probably hasn’t got a clue. I so want to tell him how I feel but am not able to without getting upset. I do not want to give him the satisfaction.

Over the last few years he has improved. He will visit when he says he will and if he cant come he actually lets me know this instead of leaving us waiting for him. We are still not close, I suspect he knows very little of what my life actually involves, he does not have the grandchildren, he does not baby sit, we do not spend days out together. We see him probably once a month, it is usually quick and rushed and peppered with tension. He does not know the grandchildren enough to know their likes, dislikes, their little ways. He can not see when he is pushing their buttons, does not know when they are tired or hungry or in need of a cuddle.

So why after all of this so I feel so let down and rejected at this weeks news that he is emigrating? I know it should not matter to me and that it really wont make that much difference. The numbers of hours he will spend flying there is more than the number of hours I seem him for in total each year.

Are we not important enough? are we not worth staying for?

I know this is selfish, he has his own life, a right to be happy, to go where he feels life should take him. I do not rely on him, I have a husband and children, I am strong and independent.

I am angry at myself. Why do I allow him to make me feel like this. Why did I allow him back in?

I can not help feeling this way. I suspect a lot of how I am feeling is related to other events happening in my life and that it is this which is making me over react to the news of his emigration. I feel like life has pulled the rug from under my feet at the minute, I do not know when or where the rug will settle or who will remain in my life when it does.