Dear Mum.

Dear Mum,

Who would have predicted our relationship to become what it has? Certainly not me. I am incredibly thankful that we both were able to forget the past and forgive the pain we caused each other. I know we made foolish mistakes and sadly, I will live with that regret long after you will have gone from my life.

I worry about that day. The day I eventually lose you. I think about it unnecessarily. It often haunts me. The fear is consuming as I think about the emptiness I will feel. You will berate me for it but all those wasted years of anger and stubbornness will echo louder than ever on the day we say goodbye. I am truly sorry I did not see through his lies. I regret so much. I should have listened to you but his control was so powerful. I was a puppet to him that he commanded and manipulated for his will. Undeniably, I trusted him; he was my father after all.

You hated me once.

I know it was hate.

The day I ran away and left that torrid note. The note that you and I will never forget. I remember the words, some of them at least. Saying “sorry” was not enough for my actions but there were no other words. I felt trapped. He was so convincing. He knew the game he was playing very well and I became a pawn in it. Helpless. Don’t forget, I was only fifteen. It is still young and my innocent soul was struggling to stay in reality. He had won his pathetic competition the second I walked out of your house. 

I cannot bear to think of what that did to you. Coming home to find me gone. My things, my clothes, my presence – gone. My note remained, left to be discovered on the kitchen counter. Hate doesn’t come close. What I did was detrimental to your breakdown and I know the blame falls on me. Yet, although I understand why, I cannot agree with all the comments you and my sister made towards me. I did not do it to hurt you. I did what I thought was right at the time. I did what he had convinced me to do. I truly believed your love for her was stronger and the only reason you wanted me was to spite my dad. 

You had become a stranger to me.

No longer were you my protector. The strong woman who nurtured and guarded me from harm. I did not feel safe with you. To me, you were volatile, risky. Both of you were. You and my sister became frightening. A powerful, intimidating duo. I looked for warmth, for love, for the kindness within you but your anger and hostility towards him was far more substantial. I could not break through your hardened exterior.

You mocked me.

You both did.

It hurt Ma. It hurt so much. I loved you. That never changed. Yet, you both used my hurt against me. 

I am so glad we got through that. Change can happen. We are proof of it.

To think that the woman I ran from all those years ago would be the same woman I have run to now.

Thank you Ma,

Love Tuni (your nickname for me) xxxx

The Letters.

Today will begin a series of letters I wish I could have written in the past, letters that I wish I could send even now, words I have hidden and emotions I have protected. Only through personal strength and the ability and hope to move forward are these words being written finally after so many years. There are many people I would like to write to. Many who have emotionally bruised me over the years and many who have played a significant part in my healing. It’s not all bad of course.

The people I will write to are:

• Mum
• My high school teachers
• Sister
• Father (abuser)
• The ‘friends’ who deserted me
• My brother in-law
• My father’s family
• David (husband)

All had some effect in my state of mind during the abuse. Some were very positive but unfortunately hope and faith was rarely on my side. I hope these letters aid to my closure.

Dear Mum follows later.

Let the journey begin.

With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.

Eleanor Roosevelt

Back to Work Blues.

Tomorrow is my first day back at work after a week off. I can successfully say that this was my least productive holiday in the sense that I have done f**k all this week! On purpose may I add. The most work and attention has gone into my blog which has been great. It’s been fantastic to have the time to sit down, especially in the day (normally I blog straight after work, completely shattered) and write. Poetry Week has been a total success. I was wary to post my poetry. After reading so many of my fellow peers’ and poets’ work on WordPress, I was not sure mine would compete in the slightest but each one has received some lovely support and likes. I really appreciate that (it’s still pretty new to me!).

Based on your reactions, I think I’ll make Poetry Week a monthly post 🙂

I do have back to work blues. I hope I do not walk straight back into stress again. The last five months have been extremely stressful at work and home hasn’t been much different. However, I am now more aware of my body and the triggers of stress. Hopefully, with the aid of my new-found breathing exercises, I can maintain and keep my stress levels under control.

Today will be my final poetry post till next month. In March, I will begin a series of letters that I wish I had the courage to write in reality. I am hopeful that it will provide and serve me with a little more closure.

March 2nd is also my birthday!

Night Terrors.

It has been over seven months since I last blogged about dreaming of my father. That is because it just hasn’t happened.

Until now.

Last night marks my first night terror in a long while. A conversation with a colleague on our way home from work sparked my memory of my nightmare as we discussed funerals. At 4.am this morning I awoke suddenly. I was short of breath, sweating and disorientated. What had brought on the beginnings of a panic attack? It didn’t take long to recollect.

I had dreamt of the abuser. It was so vivid, so real, that I was completely shaken up. The worst thing was how frightening the actual night terror was. I had dreamt that I began receiving phone calls; phone calls from my father. My dead father. When answering these calls, he would speak to me, from the dead. In whatever hell he is in, he was speaking to me. I could hear his voice so clearly. The roughness of it punctured through the earpiece and entered my soul. In the dream I was as terrified as when I woke up. He sensed my fear, reiterating that I would never truly escape him, that he would forever have control of me and that I was a puppet to him, one that would be his source of entertainment (a position I had in reality).

The nightmare ended abruptly and I awoke with a jolt. I looked around the room, aware that I was on edge, searching through the shadows on the walls, looking for a figure. Like a child, the light went on. I needed reassurance.

I do hope that this will not be a new pattern and that he will not haunt my dreams. I just want closure from him. The everlasting stress that continues even after he has gone, needs to be put to rest. Just like him. I cannot cope with the games my family are still playing, even now. It is only adding to my already fragile state.

Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.
Dave Mustaine