Self-indulgent Bullshit.

Luckily on WordPress there are filters. Thankfully – there are filters. Unfortunately, you may attract some haters, people that are looking to make a point, to insult and patronise. People who believe they know what counts as “abuse”, that it is as black and white as being slapped across the face. Well it isn’t. I may have not suffered physical violence. I may not have been slapped across the face. However, unless you yourself has suffered from abuse, you cannot dare to comment on what I have been through. To the rude man who decided to comment on my last post, my life, my past is just that. It is mine. If you do not agree with it then do not read it. I am not playing a victim. I do not want that label. I set out on my own journey last year and I do not have to justify it to you – a total stranger. You clearly have no idea what emotional abuse is.

My photos are only a small element of my past. I am not ungrateful for having a life. Everyone is ‘allowed’ to look back. I do not compare myself to anyone else. I am not belittling other’s abuse nor am I expecting anyone’s sympathy or “pity” as you so kindly say. Other survivors on WordPress have been incredibly supportive. They (having experienced it themselves) understand. They can see through the darkness. YOU however, will remain hidden from the light in your miserable little world, looking for someone to attack and criticise for your own personal gain.

Perhaps you have been abused yourself. I hope not. I do not wish that on anyone.

My photos are a part of my old life. My “basic human right” was to eat, not to have a cooker. Clearly that needed to be spelled out to you. Of course food is a human right and obviously there are many people in this world who cannot access that. I am not comparing myself to them. I am born and bred in the Western world. My life would always have been different to theirs abuse or no abuse.

My father had a history of abuse. He terrorised my mother for thirty years. He was a very generous man, so generous that not only did he emotionally abuse her, he battered her too! The man was clever, he learnt his lessons, he never touched me. How lucky for me (!) You are a weak human being. A troll. You do not know me yet you feel free to, behind your computer shielded from view, manipulate my words and condemn my truth. Good luck on your quest to break someone. You haven’t succeeded here.

Now tell me WordPress readers, from the rudeness of this stranger:

Am I “undermining the voices of the real victims of abuse”?

Oh and cheers for your bright and breezy comment that my life is “self-indulgent bullshit”. You really are a pleasant man.

We appreciate frankness from those who like us. Frankness from others is called insolence.
Andre Maurois

Bad manners.

My mother instilled manners in me and my sister. I cannot ever remember my father teaching us this.

My father lacked in good manners. He was not a decent man. On appearance, he seemed polite. His friends respected him as did the community especially the members of his church. He appeared to have impeccable manners.

At home he was entirely different. If he wanted me to do something I was never asked only told. Not once was the word “please” used by him when talking to me. He felt belittled and would call it “begging”. He wanted total superiority over me. If I was in his way, he only had to say one word,


I sometimes responded to it, sarcastically perhaps, and dropped a ‘please’ in there. That infuriated him, I was being disrespectful. I wasn’t allowed to expect politeness from him, I did not deserve it. He rarely said “thank you” either. Why should he? I was there to do what he said, I couldn’t expect his gratitude. Even on birthdays he resented the word leaving his mouth. Usually my gifts weren’t good enough as in later arguments he would throw my generosity back in my face. I was a lousy, heartless daughter who should have been “rewarding” him for doing “such a difficult job” in raising me (his exact words).

I could get over not hearing ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I knew he would never give it. However, as a human being, I did expect him to say one word in particular.


Did I ever hear it? Not once. If he accidentally bumped into me or trod on my foot in passing I was told to get out of his way. If he had upset me unnecessarily it would essentially be my own fault and I did not deserve an apology. If I had bad news there was no sympathy or if I was ill, I had brought it on myself.

I could do no right.

Surely, if not as his daughter but a living and breathing human being, I deserved more than he ever gave me?

I always make sure I’m polite to everybody, no matter how they make me feel.

Good manners sometimes means simply putting up with other people’s bad manners.
H. Jackson Brown, Jr.