So today I saw t, and we had a good chat. A little of it was about my father and my mothers reaction to social services becoming involved with me back when I was 15/16 after i told t my father was being inappropriate. When I told t she had to tell the child protection worker who she worked with. This meant that they had to try see my parents to talk to them and stuff. My parents refused to see them so they had to get proper social services involved I got a social worker and stuff, but ti my recollection nothing was actually done.
I told T how I felt that I had been let down, and that I had wanted my telling her about it to make things better, when in actual fact it made it worse. I told her how I felt like I shouldn’t have bothered saying anything. I am happy I told her these things because I do feel like I was let down. It really bothers Nat that us telling t made out life worse. She said she understood how we felt and that she haf hated how things worked out at the time. She also said that back then her team hadn’t pushed my parents into seeing them, because she knew that them doing that would probably make my parents stop me seeing her, so instead they passed the case on to social services. I guess I ought to try forget about it. It makes sense to T my feelings about it and she pretty much said I was allowed to be mad with her about that because she wanted it to be different too.
She shocked me when she was talking about my dad too. She said she suspects he may have done more than I know about. I think she was thinking aloud because when asked she changed what she said to I wouldn’t be surprised if we found that he had done more than just touch me inappropriately. What is that supposed to mean? It’s kind of made me think.
Anyway we were talking about my parents and t said that she didn’t really know much about how my home life was then because I never really talked about it much. I don’t even know where I’d begin telling her. Anyway we’re all gonna have a memory free write here. So more MT stuff. I may also send t a copy, or I may not. Anyway here goes….
Memories of my dad, from being as young as I can remember aren’t particularly good. I think my first bad memory really is of him giving me spankings and yelling a lot. I watched him beat my mother all the time she was with him, and felt him beat me when he saw fit. He wasn’t a pleasant father, he liked to drink and he liked to show me and my siblings that he held all power over our lives. My fondest memory of my dad from childhood is my bravery that I showed once, I saw him in the garage. Something came over me and I locked the garage door. I shut it, pulled the bolt across and locked him In. I think that within 10 seconds of locking it, I had decided that I shouldn’t have. I was about 4/5 at the time. I wanted to just unlock it but he had noticed what I had done so I thought I was going to get such a beating if I unlocked it and he got me straight away. So I ran. I turned and ran into the house and immediately hid under the stairs. I remember I giggled. Whether that was from nerves or actually finding It funny I don’t know. So yeah I hid in the cupboard under our stairs. Boy was I scared. I knew 100% that my dad was pissed off. I have no idea who let him out but he was so mad. He knew somehow it was me who had locked him in. I don’t know how but I prayed that he wouldn’t find me. He did however, and he beat me. My mother was behind him begging him to stop hitting me. Somewhere inside me though something/someone was still laughing that I’d locked him in. His beating could not mask the fact that I’d had a small-scale win against him. Even then at such a young age I knew that. The beating couldn’t take away the fact that him been locked in was funny to me.
Anyway after that the thing that mainly comes into my memory is him scaring us kids with water and stuff. Theres a dam near where we lived and big ponds whenever we used to visit somewhere like that he would make out like he was gonna push us in. I always wanted to be as far away from his as possible. I don’t know if he would have pushed us in. We couldn’t swim after all, but nothing was scarier than him holding me by my coat over that water. It terrified me and I genuinely thought that I was going to die. He knew that. He knew how scared I was but he didn’t care. The more scared I was the more he did it. He is the reason I hate water now, I do not do lakes and stuff. I will not stand on fishing platforms. I wont go on slides and stuff and swimming baths. Water is dangerous… FACT. I still think that someone somewhere is gonna come push me if I stand near the edge or hold/chuck me under like he used to at swimming baths. He was just twisted.
I can remember a day when we were particularly scared of him. We were in hostels at this point. The hostel where the sexual abuse began I think. It’s always paired alongside those memories anyway, but I could be remembering time periods wrong. I often do. Anyway, we’d had to go back to the house we lived at with him before we moved into hostels. My mum needed to pick up some clothes and things for us. She had to take us because there was no one to watch us. I remember us getting there, my dad wasn’t there but my mum and aunt (she was always the one helping my mum at this point) they got out of the car and told us 3 kids to lock the doors and not to open them, not for anyone. They told my older brother to make sure we were ok, and to make sure the doors stayed locked. As you can expect, not long after they went into the house leaving us my father pulled up behind the car we were in. He was mad. I could see it in his face. He came over to the car and was banging on the window telling us to open the door. He wanted his daughter. That was me. I was the only one who was his child. He must have realised anger wasn’t gonna work and must have seen we were upset. I think I was crying. I was just a little girl. About 8. He then changed his tactic, he came pleading with us to open the door. Be wanted a hug, that sort of stuff. He missed me. I was his little girl. Anyway I think my mum and aunt came back just in time because the next part of that memory is us driving away. Watching him stood in the street out of the rear window. I have no idea what should be in the middle of that memory.
I don’t really have much from that last memory to the next one regarding my dad. Other than of him being a weekend dad, failing to show up, Dragging me round pubs when he did and general being a shitty father. He liked to drag me round to whoever he was shagging at the time.
One weekend when I stayed with him I hurt myself on a bicycle. I couldn’t walk, get up the stairs or anything. He said my ankle was twisted. Him and my mother because i went back home after the weekend. Let me suffer for about a week before taking me to hospital. When they eventually did, and only because my mother finally called my dad and asked him to take me to hospital just as a precaution, my dad still believed I was playing on it or something for sympathy, and didn’t get me a chair or anything. Instead I had to hop around, in between reception and the triage nurses office I was aiming for I ended up flat on my face. Dodgy ankle more dodgy. Along came more pain. I got x-rayed and stuff anyway and had not only broken my leg/ankle. I had also broken it badly and needed a pin putting in the area to fuse the bone together. So much for being wimpy because I wanted sympathy. I can’t even remember in between x-rays/surgery. I don’t know how long I waited for surgery or anything. Yeah I had surgery though, and again proved my father wrong. I hope he felt bad for making md wait!!! I was in pain, and again he’d had the power to stop it, but didn’t. Kind of painting a picture of him isn’t it.
I do also remember being about 13, my dad had a flat and I’d stay there with him on weekends. I remember him encouraging me to shave my legs and stuff. I think I did it because I had started to do p.e at high school and we had to wear skirts. Anyway, I also remember him drinking when I was with him. The drink made him short-tempered. I had to do everything I was told. The amount of times he pulled me around that flat by my hair is silly. He couldn’t hit me and leave marks but he never failed to hurt me somehow. I remember one time particularly well. It was quite early and he was drunk. He had told me to go to bed. I started getting ready with pyjamas and stuff then realised I needed to go to the toilet. He must have thought I was fooling around and came into the toilet lifted me off of it by my hair and literally chucked me onto my bed. He was screaming about how I was wasting his time and blahblahblah. So in my face. I was waiting for him to hit me. To beat me but I think he just pushed and shoved and spared me a beating. I went home a day or so later and do remember starting to tell my mother I didn’t want to see him for a bit and would try make excuses not to go like I wanted to play with ny friends and stuff. I don’t think I got to not go. Not many years later my mum remarried the bastard too so I had no choice but to see him.
TO BE CONTINUED…..