TL: DR The effects of an abusive childhood has led to my older boys not living with me anymore, according to the Social Services court report their lived experience is one of too much concern for my wellbeing.
I apologise for triggering anyone.
Born 1986, my mother was informed of a likely placental abruption and waited until after their anniversary as she had a meal planned for my father, born 6 weeks early.
As a very young baby my father in a drunken rage held me up by my throat and threatened to the street demanding did they want to see a dead baby, (source Police record), I was a quiet child, impeccably behaved and mannered. My mother had twins when I was around 3 years old, one died from meningitis at 6 weeks of age, one was adopted by the foster carer who had looked after us for a time. I was returned to my mother. I was such a good child.
Aged 4 I was in the hospital with hypoglycaemia, my birthday was spent in the hospital, the nurses were lovely, and I remember the rocking horse in the playroom being so big, the ladybird ride-on toy that I coveted. The being held down for blood tests, the being alone as my mother had to work so couldn’t make the visits. I didn’t mind, and I was so well behaved.
At 5 years old I asked my step-father to be my new daddy, it was very cute apparently, I wore a pink dress to their wedding and had my hair specially plaited. Two nights later I was in the hospital after ‘falling’ onto the corner of the skirting board because I asked for water. I was very quiet and said exactly what I had been told to the doctor as they stitched my head.
I remember staying with my grandparents a lot, my mums parents let me drink sweet milky tea and watch the kids shows on the TV, my step-fathers had a magnificent garden with parsley plants and my grandi in the garage working with wood, I can remember the taste and the smell, the bathroom with all the bottles so pretty. I was quiet and well behaved so I was allowed out with the neighbour's children. These are my only happy memories in childhood. The taste of scotch rolls and square sausage.
At aged 6 we suddenly moved from Scotland to England, Highcliffe, no reason was given to me but we just upped and moved, I remember the argument before getting in the car, my grandma desperately trying to stop them taking me. We camped in the New Forest for a time, I was well behaved and neglected, my parents started drinking, I would leave in the morning and come back to the tent in the evening, playing feral all day. But I was always well behaved, I knew the consequences for punishment. I remember being forced to eat Smash and Mince every night, the smell the taste, not being allowed to move until it was gone. Lunch was a Jam sandwich, Breakfast was sugar puffs and a tiny amount of milk, as it was needed for tea throughout the day.
We got a place at a hostel type place that was on top of a tyre shop, I loved it and would be outside all day playing in the tyres, climbing in them and generally staying out the way. I had to do my homework next to the TV and I was always told how I had to be better than the English. I remember getting the belt for getting upset at not knowing how big a pea was but the dentist had told me to use a pea-sized amount of toothpaste and I was desperate for the answer I asked twice. I was scared of going to the shared communal bathroom so often had UTI’s. I was a quiet, well-behaved child, no bother. Seen and not heard, or preferably not seen either.
At age 8 or so I began to notice how much they drank, how dangerous they were when they drank, we moved to, a caravan site, my step-father was the warden there. I was groomed by a member of the swimming pool, an old man with Parkinson’s. He made me sit on his lap in the sauna, I still panic at the smell of eucalyptus and wood. When I told my mother that I didn’t want to go to his house and help him, I was beaten. When I left a condom in his bed to try and get help after telling on me to my parents that I had broken something and their subsequent punishment, he took me to the woods and made me swallow it before leaving me to walk back. My mother’s mental health started to deteriorate, she attempted suicide many times, I had to watch her attempts whilst being told it is my fault or clean up the blood. I was neglected, I started to steal leftovers from the restaurant after people had left their plates. The staff stared silently but mercifully didn’t say anything. Due to concerns raised by the school and my mother’s admittance to the hospital, I went to foster care. I was well behaved, desperate for attention and affection. I would stay a few months before going back to my mother for a few months. It was always my fault, I should have died not my sister.
This pattern continued to repeat until aged 12, on my birthday I got sent makeup by my grandma, I was overjoyed. I applied it with all the tact of a face painter, bright blue eyeshadow and bright red lips. When I got home from going out my step-father caught me with it on, he told me I was asking for it and taught me exactly what I was asking for. He smashed my makeup before raping me. I was silent. Telling on him would just earn me more pain, I had learnt that lesson well.
At secondary school, I got in trouble for stealing food, I was in even more trouble when I got home. I wasn’t allowed to eat with them, I was called disgusting and an animal so had to eat like one. My step-father still continued to use me whenever my mother was not there, or when she was too drunk to notice what was happening in front of her. I was quiet, a loner with no friends, but easy as I would do whatever the boys told me, desperate for attention and affection in any place I could find it. I was dumped at the Social Services building and told they would put me in a children’s home or something.
At aged 14 nearly 15, I was caught stealing food again, I was told by them that they would be beating me every day after school, as I hadn’t learnt my lesson, grounded indefinitely, I ran away during the night. It took two weeks before the school asked if everything was alright at home. I laughed and said I didn’t live there anymore. I had been using my Army Cadet Training to live in the woods near the school. I hadn’t been reported missing by my parents.
I never returned home, they didn’t bother to visit, I have moved around in foster homes, unable to form any meaningful attachments and with an annoying habit of hoarding and stealing food.
At college, I met my ex, my knight in shining armour who saved me from foster care, before turning into my jailer. So many red flags that I wasn’t able to recognise. Of course he told me what to wear, he cared about me, of course, he was entitled to pleasure when he wanted, he saved me. At age 18 we were married, at 19 I was pregnant, and at 20 I was pregnant again. Then his behaviour became overtly abusive, controlling the amount of petrol in the car so I could only do the school run, no access to money or freedom, emotionally whipping me. I began to lose myself in World of Warcraft, I made friends with a few people, had a little hope that I was part of a world that actually accepted me. He split up with me when he got together with his now wife, the person I called in tears just hoping that she could make him happy because I was never good enough. I slept in the children’s room or on the Sofa for a year before I was able to move out.
Aged 0-26 I experienced every kind of abuse, at aged 27 I had the first relationship I had ever had that was unconditionally loving, we met on World of Warcraft. We have had a child together who is now 2, I have continued to battle my ex at court.
I have done my best to heal and grow and to attempt to protect the boys from experiencing anything as I had experienced. But it has impacted them, my mental health scars, have impacted them more than they should. I have had to make the hardest ever decision to allow my ex to win and have the children live with him so that I can be their mum and not let them feel like they need to look after me.
My mental health is so poor I am unable to work, but I am studying for an Open Uni degree in Psychology, having never been successful in education. I have panic attacks if I have to speak on the phone to someone new or anyone comes too close to me. I am vastly overweight and it is damaging my health, but I still can't control myself not to eat everything in sight as my body knows what it is like to starve far too frequently.
I have been taking my medication regularly for the first time ever since June 200mg Sertraline, 30mg Mirtazipine 80mgx2 Propanalol, but its been 6 months and the only therapy I have been given is mindfulness. I am self-harming again, superficially as it is easier to deal with the physical pain than the emotional. I am on the verge of suicidal thoughts but not set a date yet. I don't want to pass the pain onto the children, that's the only thing that stops me acting on it. But they don't need me damaging their lives even more than I already have.
I am exhausted from fighting, I don't see any hope in my life.