My life feels like some crazy drama writer's little dream. Or maybe one big film. We've all had bad things in our life, but is mine really that bad?
I hate my DAD, I HATE HIM. And for all of you feeling bad and against me here because maybe you don't have a dad, just bear with me.
My uncle, my dad's brother, is a Paedophile. Due to brain injury or whatever else, in my opinion, there is no excuse. And I used to be a Child. Put those two together and guess what. But this doesn't anger me so much.
It's what happened before and after.
Zoom right back to the beginning. There, my mum, my dad, my brother and I. Perfect family. Except, our dad used to love us, he still does. He wanted to spend time with us, but when he did, he didn't do anything for us. He would leave before we woke up, and come home when we were in bed. Every Sunday we would be dragged over to his mother's house to eat.
Then, my parents divorced, when I was 4, so I don't have many memories before that time. I only remember being upset for my mum, I will always have a memory of her crying, and me and my brother organising plastic triangles into the shape of a sail boat and giving it to her. I think that moment, was so important in my life. I love seeing her smile and giving her things, doing things for her to make her happy. She really is the best mum in the world.
But they divorced, my mum re-married to my stepdad. Who scared the living daylights out of us because we went to longleat and things and he said we would get eaten by tigers, but he was only joking of course.
Now, I didn't know of this, but my dad was sending my mum letters through his solicitors asking/threatening her for custody of us. We had some days there I can't remember. But those days dad was living with his mother. So, when he saw us, we either sat making a mess in his mother's house or sat zoned out in front of the telly, watching the simpsons. And I wouldn't even know if our dad was in the house half the time.
We would go home crying because we were missing our dad. But our young minds couldn't find the words to describe what was going on really.
And, as I got older I became overall more aware, of...everything I suppose. Dad's mother's house, well she, was creepy. REALLY creepy. Still is. She was a mad cat lady before she was 50, and sort of brainwashed my brother and I to be infatuated with the things. They are cute, don't get me wrong. And it seems kind of innocent does it, a cute brother and sister who like cat themed things. She and roger, my uncle, would go down portswood highstreet, about the only thing they ever did do, drag us with us and we would go in all the charity shops, iceland and blockbusters. Each weekend. Each weekend we would come back to hers, and she had bought another 50 cat shaped this and thats for 50p in help the aged. I remember she also used to speak french a lot. A lot. Well, she was half french I suppose, and that's why I hate the language so much.
I'm waffling now. Okay, well, dad would leave us with her more and more often. She and my uncle would ridicule me, to the point of tears, and then say that I shouldn't do that because I look like my Mum. Cry, that is. It was pretty constant, and my dad would just tell me to grow a pair usually, and stop whining, and my brother was just oblivious to it all, as he is now. Lucky Fucker. But, I mean, after all that effort and those letters and the torment he put my Mum through to allow custody, I had to sit there and endure that each week, barely see my dad, have to hang around with basically giant overgrown bullies, watch them slowly taint my brothers brain and have no real escape.
I grew more creeped out as I grew older. One night, my mum found me at 2 in the morning washing my arms (i don't remember this) from the chinese burns my uncle had given me.
It wasn't long after that and I was behaving like one of those stereotypical kids crying out for help, but I didn't know what was going on. My mum finally got it out of me about what my uncle had been saying and doing to me, and she told my dad, who told his mum - and then nothing. And my dad has never stood up to his mum, ever.
Then, my uncle had a pyschiatric assessment. He admitted to his psychiatrist that he had sexual feelings towards me. His niece. His 9 year old niece. Now, they can say it's because of his brain tumor or because he has a lack of this hormone but no.
Now, the psychiatrist phones social services, and told my dad's mother to phone my mum and tell her. Guess what, she didn't. She kept it to herself, because the next week was half term, and it was planned that we were to stay over there. I used to like it there, you know, coz we got to make a mess and eat what we wanted.
Social services rang and got hold of my stepdad, and they wouldnt tell him anything because he wasn't blood related. Mum found out and well, I don't know what happened, but what parent isn't worried to get a phone call from them, and when they realise that my dad's mum already knew.
Well, I will never get over the fact that she kept it to herself, and she was willing to risk a lot just to have a week with us. It's disgusting.
The after part:
After social services concluded that my uncle was in fact a paedophile, they stopped me from going round to my dad's mother's, where my uncle was staying. Dad took me over there once. Said it would be for less than an hour, he went out and left us there for three hours. I have this weird feeling whenever I think of that, I'm not sure if it's terror or panic, but I was old enough then to know what was happening.
I'm still scared now, that they might come and get me, I used to dream a lot that I would be trapped there and have the guts to actually run away.
Well. Anyway, back to the story. In year 6, I decided to self harm, at home, on a sunday, out of curiosity. I told mum, and it upset her, as it would, but I didn't feel upset at the time I did it, but I must have, unconsciously.
From year 8 to year 11, I managed to lose a lot of my friends, dive head first into using TV to escape and became avoidant of any triggers that just might remind me of anything. I don't seem to have a working fight or flight response anymore, and would self harm a lot. I have been excluded 4 times, 2 are for swearing/mouthing off teachers, 2 for punching people that I would actually consider to be friends.
At the time, I felt good, I didn't feel happy, but I didn't have to feel, although it was definitely counter intuitive. I was trying to rid myself of my pain and I ruined my Mum's life, and she was the only rock I had. She would often threaten to send me to dads, I mean, this was a long time after all that happened, and she knew my brother and I didn't like him, wouldnt want to live with him anyway, but everyone saying it was a cry for help, to me, it didn't feel that way. I didn't want to be noticed, at least not consciously, I just wanted to get away from myself, I was running from myself.
Well, my self harm, exclusions, worst behaviour in class etc were all in line with when I visited my dad, usually because I would see his mother, too, and my uncle. And at this point I was still denying it.
In year 7, I accidentally gave the scariest girl in our year the evils. So, she attacked me later on. She was shouting at me across the room in science so I told her my mind. and she came and jumped on me. It was pretty scary, but now she's happy. I always thought she was just crazy, but if anyone who has that much anger and hate makes you crazy, I guess I was too.
I regret the whole of my school life pretty much. But now, all of you self harmers, all of you who can't stand it. I know.
I didn't self harm from january 2009 til june 2010, and I got excluded then too. That was the first time in ages i'd seen my dad, and he told me:
"It isn't your grans fault. She was abused too, and her sister was raped by their dad." Fantastic, dad, fantastic.
So I can't believe he still sticks up for her over me, and I cut off contact again.
I see "gran" in woolston, when I'm with 2 amigos of mine. She drives past, and I give her the middle finger. So she stops out and gets out of the car. Fuck me, did I confront my feelings or what, I have never felt so good in my life, I shouted every ounce of hate at her.
She walked away, Lewis practically applauded.
She phoned my dad, who phoned my mum, who was out on a walk with my stepdad. My stepdad just laughed.
I come home, and dad has send me this e-mail. It looked so fake robotic and automated that I was even more annoyed at him.
Then, I managed to forget about it, ish.
Until one day, I am walking to the toilets or student centre with my friend (at college) on a particularly nice day, and I see my uncle, waiting at reception, So I bolted up to tutor, no one there, my psych teacher? no. I go to spanish, this is my next lesson, I was about 20 mins early, and sit outside trying to get through to my mum, there's Matt, he is technically related to me on my Mum.s side somewhere. But, I don't care, I'm pretty much crying down the phone to Mum, scared, and she says she'll text dad.
Dad said he was there for a one off football match. I reported the incident to the TTM, and it turns out he wasn't there for a football match, he was there applying to work with children.
So I reported him to the police.
That is all over now.
The main part that hurts is that my dad expects me to pick up the phone, he says it is my responsibility to get back in touch. Well, Fuck him.
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I am sorry to all the teachers and staff at both Woolston/Oasis and Bitterne Park who had to see me like that, except for that one teacher who said I belong in a special school
To the peers that used to call my schizo, please, never do that to someone again, my life was hell as it was, and sure, some people have it a lot worse but seriously, you are sick if you would still continue.
To my friends that stuck by me, well, congrats, you've one. Each and every one of you mean everything to me.
To Mum, Chris and Alex, I am sorry for everything.
And dad, grow a pair and stop whining, you should be sorry for me.
Th-th-th-that's all folks
Rachel xx
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