Addicted to Kisses.

Wash over me, your feathered brushes

touch my lips with tender nudges

be gentle, be reckless, feel liberated

unrestrained, wild but not complicated

hands in hair, pulling and tugging

bodies so close we’re practically hugging

breath on my neck like a whispering breeze

caressing my skin with a pleasing tease

etching your tongue around the rim of my lips

consumed in a haze, we lose our grip

on reality, time and where we belong

passion it burns, it trembles thereon

breaking away for a moment of air

our hearts are open our souls are bare

give little strokes, give velvety licks

give pressured pushes and unyielding flicks

make me feel like you’re the master

to stop now, well, it would be a disaster

feed my obession and grant my wishes

nourish my consuming addiction to kisses.

courtesy of Google Images.

In his own words.

I want to share an email with you all. This is an email that was sent to me the day my father lost it with me in his car. The day he drove me home from a bachelorette/hen party and interrogated me in the car. The day he bullied and screamed at me that I was a selfish, inconsiderate daughter. The day I saw him last before he revealed he had terminal lung cancer.

This is his actual and very revealing email to me later that day. In many ways he seems to come across as polite but look deeper and you can see the truth in his meaning. It is a critique for all intents purpose. He really despised me didn’t he. I was thirty years old when I received this email.

Babitago

The computer can play the COPD DVD as you suggested and I have managed to watch some very useful information.  I have been quite ill since last 6/7 weeks including yesterday and today and out of mental weakness I, like any other father, sought some assistance from a daughter.  I should not have been so harsh with you when you refused  point blank as I also realise that you are not that strong either to offer a helping hand specially with some tasks planned ahead.  I withdraw all the harsh words I said out of frustration and would like to let you know that except momentary lapses (these are bad, there should not be any justification for them) I always love you and you can ask me for anything I can do for you, I will do them gladly and do not expect anything in return.  It is also useful to remember that human beings can never live exclusively for themselves by themselves.  To be strong and face all the problems of life successfully each of us need a reliable, committed and faithful circle of people around, that includes spouses and blood family to prop each other up at a time of need.  You will realise these more as you grow older and wiser.  Also, it’s worth noting that friends are here today gone tomorrow, being many years on this planet I have seen that they are mostly ‘fair weather friends’.  You cannot rely on them as much as you can on your father.

I am going to get a SATNAV and will gladly drive you to Harlow.

This letter do not carry any anger or malice.  You do not need to reply to this but if you do I hope it will be a nice one.

Lots of love.

Daddy xx

What survivors and sufferers should say.

Whether you are a survivor or a sufferer, it does not matter. Equally you have been though the mill and equally you deserve to see some light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Yesterday I blogged a list of what you may often hear from your abuser. Well today let’s be more hopeful and write a list of what we should stand up and say. Many of us will never be heard. Many of us still have to find the courage to even say it out loud. It is a start. We need to acknowledge that it was never “our fault”.

• I believe in me
• I am worth something
• My future is important
• Do not overstep my boundaries
• I do not deserve this
• I am allowed to be selfish
• He/She does not have control over my life
• I cannot be restrained by fear
• There are reasons to live
• One day I will be truly happy
• I am allowed to feel anger
• Life will be good
• One day I will get that power back
• I have rights
• NO
• What he/she is doing is wrong
• I value my life
• It is the past now
• If I need to call the police – I should
• I feel sorry for him/her
• I am free
• Inspire yourself
• Be the bigger person
• I can walk away
• It is not my fault
• I will not argue with you
• I am human
• You have no claim over me
• I will save myself
• Only I know me
• It is not your life
• Saying what I feel is a God given right
• I have nothing to say to you
• I do not expect nor want anything from you
• I am strong
• I have a voice
• I am not afraid of you
• I make my own choices
• You have no more control
• I am capable of love
• I deserve love
• I do not “owe” you anything
• STOP
• We are over
• My dreams and ambitions are of worth
• I am a good person
• You did not succeed
• ENOUGH
• I am not broken
• There are many paths ahead of me
• I am supported
• You lost
• Goodbye

Again. There are thousands more.

As Emeli Sande puts it:

You’ve got the words to change a nation but you’re biting your tongue

You’ve spent a lifetime stuck in silence afraid you’ll say something wrong

If no one ever hears it, how we gonna learn your song?

So come on come on, come on come on.

I wanna sing

I wanna shout

I wanna scream till the words dry out

So put it in all of the papers I’m not ashamed

They can read all about it, read all about it.

2013: A review January – March.

Ten more days to go until the first day of 2014. Once again, another year of my life has flown by and I am looking back on quite a year. This time however, I get to look back and share it with a new group of people: my WordPress followers, readers and fellow bloggers. What a year it has been. Lets look back together.

JANUARY

On the 6th of January, I decided to begin a blog on WordPress. It was a dangerous and risky decision. It would expose a life I had hidden from many people for over fifteen years. It would reveal truths some people would rather not know. It would portray a man (who many trusted) to be an evil, ruthless, callous and hurtful father who destroyed his daughter’s soul. It would be my story, a story that provoked people I had not seen for years. People who felt it was necessary to “warn” me and give their advice. They made it clear that I should keep my personal life “private” and that I might “hurt people”. I made it clear back that I had not set out to hurt anyone. It was much more than that. It was closure. It was freedom. It was truth. It would be a chance to speak and finally be heard. It would be the best decision I had ever made (bar leaving him of course).

FEBRUARY

On the 4th of February I celebrated five years together with David. We set our anniversary from our first kiss. It was a moment that changed my life. Gone were the men who used me and took advantage of my loyal nature. A new man had walked into my life. Little did I know that day he would make me as happy as he does now.

During this month, I received an abundance of support from old school friends and past colleagues about the blog over Facebook. I was taken aback from their kind words and blown away by their words of encouragement. It meant so much to know that there was no judgement, that people could see into my past and believe it, acknowledge it and most of all – accept it.

MARCH

I celebrated my 31st birthday on the 2nd. David took me to a South African restaurant in Central London for dinner. It was decadent and adventurous. I felt a little out of my comfort zone but enjoyed it nonetheless. Unfortunately, the food didn’t sit well within me and after a day I began to have horrific stomach pains. Within moments I was nauseous and lying over the bathroom toilet. I thought I had food poisoning but it was a severe case of gastric flu. The week after my birthday was spent at home ill. To top it off, my virus passed onto David who joined me for most of the week holed up in bed. Well Happy Birthday to me!

On WordPress I recounted the triggers that remind me of my father and his abuse. Fruit, movies, plastic knives and forks, making beds and self-help books were the entries I made in March, they continued into April with Furniture stores and Toothpicks and table manners. These triggers still happen. If I see certain objects or hear a particular piece of music, if I visit a particular place or even hear a phrase he might have said; it propels me back to a specific time where life was frightening and upsetting every day. I become emotional very quickly and find it difficult to calm down. A panic attack can be the worst reaction to one of my triggers.

March was the month where a colleague questioned my “motives” for writing this blog. She accused me of taking “revenge” on my dead father. That it was unkind and unfair to do so. It surprised me that she could not empathise with my situation nor could she understand my reasons for revealing my truths. I was annoyed by it. I did not feel I should have to justify my choices and actions to her. She did not know my father. She had not met him. She only had her morals and principles and values to go on. I have morals. I have principles and values too. That is an important part of why I decided to do this, because of my values and principles. I would not be following them if I hid away and “forgave” him for all the hurt and pain he caused.

Dead or not, the truth will always shine through.

Three Traitors.

Three Traitors I never thought you would be,

attended my wedding so happily.

Portrayed a friendship that never existed,

now have turned your backs and become so twisted.

Kept in the dark for over a year

as the three of you will never adhere,

to the rules of friendship and of respect,

you threes traitors have found some unknown defect.

A weakness in me is apparent to you.

Unfairly I am seen as some flagrant yahoo.

Could you three be further from the stark reality?

My honesty has upset your clear morality.

But decency comes hand in hand with integrity,

something you three are lacking tremendously.

What happened to me, well it isn’t a joke,

It did not intend or set out to provoke.

Narrow minded people will always be waiting,

they will always be judging, crushing and berating.

It was your job to be there and supportive of me,

perhaps I expected too highly of thee.

I am shocked at your performance to push me out

of the tight little group that’s beginning to sprout,

Who knew that women could act this way?

These toxic people in their disarray.

Yes, I am better off but there’s no doubt that it kills,

to become a part of their gossiping thrills.

You three traitors take part in your conceited parade,

and show off each other in every charade.

An obsession for popularity soldiers you on

and your ruthlessness and rudeness follows you home.

I see you are unhappy with the new friend I have made.

It is not my fault that I want to upgrade.

She is a new trophy, a prize, that you want to own,

to be my friend is something you cannot condone.

Three traitors you are with key motivation.

To separate yourselves in gutless frustration.

Three traitors you are, three traitors you’ll be,

I will start to move on more suspiciously.

Three traitors you are, three traitors you’ll stay,

Be happy together; go traitor away.

To my three traitors,

you really are something else.

But so am I.

Ros.

Fight or flight? Coping with panic attacks.

I have suffered with panic attacks for over ten years. I only get them in extreme emotional states. They usually link to my Asthma as in the height of them, I often cannot breathe therefore rely on my Asthma pump or tea to soothe and calm me. If I am ill, my mother tries to keep me calm as the panic can bring on an Asthma attack and vice versa, she hates seeing me like that. It only reminds her of what he did to me.

The abuser brought on these attacks.

Ten years ago, at the age of twenty one, my father was no longer a decent man. By this time, all of his redeeming qualities had disappeared and I was left with a shadow of his former, loving self. Just one second in his presence caused anxiety. A constant fear of speaking or walking or breathing the wrong way was something I dealt with on a daily basis. Panic attacks appeared quickly.

The key symptoms began in his company:

• sweating
• a feeling of suffocation, the inability to breathe properly
• trembling
• dizziness
• dry mouth
• a feeling of dread as if life could be over any second now
• sick to the stomach or excrutiating stomach pains
• thoughts of extreme fear

Every moment of every day brought up one of these emotions or physical feelings. On the NHS website a term called

Depersonalisation

is mentioned.

This is the description:

During a panic attack your symptoms can feel so intense and out of your control that you may feel detached from the situation, your body and your surroundings. It can almost feel as if you are an observer, making the situation seem very unreal.

This sense of detachment is known as depersonalisation. Being detached from the situation does not provide any relief, or make a panic attack less frightening. Instead, it often makes the experience more confusing and disorientating.

*Photo from Google.

I have certainly felt this way before. A feeling of watching yourself suffer and being detached from your own reality is frightening beyond belief.

I have found great support through the website http://www.mind.org.uk ** as not only did one of their counsellors open my eyes to the depth of his abuse but the fact that the website is a place that I can find support and answers from.

Without judgement.

**The link to Mind will redirect you to the correct site if you click on it

Still afraid to tell the truth.

I bumped into someone today on the way home from work. It was a pleasant surprise to see them as we hadn’t met up for over a year.

She asked after my father (she knew from a brief conversation late last year that he’d died) to see how I was feeling. I said I was coping when she asked if it was “difficult”.

Yes, it is ‘difficult’ but for the opposite reasons that you are thinking of. Yet, this is not something I would ever dare to say out loud to most people. I am still too frightened to admit the truth about my father.

It doesn’t help that most people I have come across either have a loving relationship with their dad or their father is the most caring individual in the world. The other thing that doesn’t help is if their dedicated, loving father has also passed away.

Whilst I’m silently screaming with joy and relief, their world has been torn apart. To even mention that somewhere, in the big wide world, there are actual men out there terrorising their children, abusing and demoralising them, mentally ripping their hearts to pieces. It is unimaginable for these people to perceive that any father could set out to deliberately hurt or wound their child. My father was one of those men. He lived life torturing me. He gained enjoyment from seeing me suffer. The emotional scars that filled me were his sadistic rewards.

This is why, in certain situations, I have to gloss over the truth.

I can’t be open and honest in case it upsets them or worse, they question me. I think I hate that the most. I do not expect to have to defend myself to you over a man you have never met. A man that has scarred me for life. Just because that lowlife was graced with the title – FATHER, it never actually made him one. He was never a father in any sense of the word.

Since starting the blog, I have been questioned, judged and even interrogated by friends – new and old, colleagues and even total strangers.

It happened. He did it.

I should not have to justify my abuse.

I want to feel free to tell the truth.

Am I aggressive?

It’s not the first word that comes to mind if I was to describe myself or even to describe my faults. Aggression is really not in my nature. I cower and run from it, I’m frightened of it and avoid other forms of it. Confrontation is the last place you’ll find me. However, naturally, like any other human, I am capable of having aggression, of feeling it and sometimes, of displaying it too. Mine tends to come out when I’ve been passive for too long, when I’ve allowed annoyances to build up or have been biting my tongue. I explode and the emotion quickly follows. My husband tends to get it the most. He knows that I mean no harm and that it is usually nothing to do with him. Instead the stresses of day to day life and work come out at the strangest of times, especially when neither of us are expecting it.

I swear. It’s quite bad. It shocks him. Nothing too vulgar (even I’m not capable of losing it entirely), but bad enough to take him by surprise.

He gets it.

All those years I was “forbidden” to show anger or frustration. All those years my father berated me for having emotion or feeling hurt. Of course, anger would eventually come out. However, I’m no monster. I am quick to apologise and calm down. I do not want to be his mirror image or fall into his behaviour. I refuse to hold grudges over tiny matters, quickly moving away from the argument with softer, sweeter words.

My aggression was suppressed for many years. My whole family disallowed anger on my part yet they all freely let loose, screaming insults and rage at each other. Perhaps they wanted my innocence to remain but keeping such a basic emotion out of someone’s grasp is unheard of. The mere thought that I was banned from the reality of anger just doesn’t make sense. My mother still cannot take, to this day, my voice raising to a slightly higher pitch. If this happens and I appear bothered by something, she reacts. I am immediately reprimanded for getting angry. Of course, my natural reaction to this is of frustration, that I cannot even breathe in the wrong way and she’s ready to criticise me, and obviously – I get angry! So, she gets what she wants.

Anger is an emotion like any other. Bottle it up for too long and it will explode. Everyone has the right to feel it and to act on it but in a controlled way, without screams and chaos or violence and fear.

We are human after all. You can’t deny me my rights.

To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.
Nelson Mandela

The boss of me.

I have to be honest here. I lack majorly when it comes to standing up for myself. If questioned, I feel backed into a corner. I hesitate, show anxiety, panic and doubt myself if questioned in a bossy way. My father was so demanding and his level of questioning was always challenging towards me. He made me feel like no answer would satisfy him and that nothing would appease the situation.

When challenged by my peers now, I react similarly to the way I did with my father. I do not like to be bossed yet I respond well to clear and respectful orders or requests. I notice it the most in a working environment. No matter where I have worked through my career, it has always been the same. I appreciate being talked to not talked at. I appreciate communication and cooperation. It makes for an easier life. I am not good at second guessing or acting on assumption, I like to know in advance and feel prepared for something. Of course, this doesn’t mean I can’t be spontaneous. I just leave that for the other parts of my life. At work however, I want to know where I should be and what I should be doing. 

My father was always the boss of me. 

He gave himself that role and I allowed him to have it.

Thursday will be an important day with an important post. It will be exactly one year that I watched my father’s body be cremated. It will be a time to look back on what I consider to be the most surreal moment of my life.

It was a hellish day, an upsetting day and most of all, a very revealing day.

It was my father’s funeral.