Well, I am free to roam the streets of Brighton once more.
I was contacted by the police on Friday to inform me that 'The Perpetrator' has been taken into custody until at least the 5th of January 2009.
This means that I can freely visit my friends in Brighton and even press my nose up against a few shop windows. I can wander through the North Lanes and stroll along the sea front without fear. It is a good feeling.
But...
I hope the crime he has been arrested for has not been against a woman.
I would hate to think my gain has been at another's expense.
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Monday, 1 December 2008
Baby P , I despair...
As you know I have personal experience of abused women. The women that I came in contact with, in the refuge, had experienced domestic violence on a daily basis and also extreme controlling behaviour. After escaping domestic violence, their choices were very limited, after a time they will be offered council housing (temporary) which can be for six months or up to two years.
One example, that i experienced, was one of the women, a woman who had been subjected to violence for 22 years, the flat she went to had been lived in by a person with 13 cats and five dogs. To move in she had to scrub ( and we are talking about a person who suffered from OCD ) dog and cat poo from skirting boards and under doors, the floor boards were absolutely soaked with animal urine, the place stank.
Eventually, after six weeks, the council had to replace carpets, floor boards etc etc. She was in a state of despair.
She had left her home and three children because her partner threatened to kill her. She lived in terror of him finding her. She could not tell her children where she was in case they let it slip where she lived. She had already changed her name. He had totally poisoned her children against her and they blamed her for leaving him. She had already returned three times because her children had begged her, as a reward for this he had beaten her to an inch of her life.
When in a refuge, these women are alone in a new area having escaped from a violent partner. The children beg to see their dad again, they do not understand. They have often left a comfortable home, their friends and all that is familiar to them. They have left behind their children's schools and friends and the alternative, for some, is very depressing. They try, for the children's sake and for their own safety, to start again. The reason these women are in a refuge is because they have no supportive family who will take them in.
They often over discipline their children. I worry that when they leave the refuge and are alone in an isolated flat this may be exacerbated. Because of financial deprivation, the loneliness and the reasons listed above, the majority of these women go back to abusive partners.
What can be done?
As you know I have personal experience of abused women. The women that I came in contact with, in the refuge, had experienced domestic violence on a daily basis and also extreme controlling behaviour. After escaping domestic violence, their choices were very limited, after a time they will be offered council housing (temporary) which can be for six months or up to two years.
One example, that i experienced, was one of the women, a woman who had been subjected to violence for 22 years, the flat she went to had been lived in by a person with 13 cats and five dogs. To move in she had to scrub ( and we are talking about a person who suffered from OCD ) dog and cat poo from skirting boards and under doors, the floor boards were absolutely soaked with animal urine, the place stank.
Eventually, after six weeks, the council had to replace carpets, floor boards etc etc. She was in a state of despair.
She had left her home and three children because her partner threatened to kill her. She lived in terror of him finding her. She could not tell her children where she was in case they let it slip where she lived. She had already changed her name. He had totally poisoned her children against her and they blamed her for leaving him. She had already returned three times because her children had begged her, as a reward for this he had beaten her to an inch of her life.
When in a refuge, these women are alone in a new area having escaped from a violent partner. The children beg to see their dad again, they do not understand. They have often left a comfortable home, their friends and all that is familiar to them. They have left behind their children's schools and friends and the alternative, for some, is very depressing. They try, for the children's sake and for their own safety, to start again. The reason these women are in a refuge is because they have no supportive family who will take them in.
They often over discipline their children. I worry that when they leave the refuge and are alone in an isolated flat this may be exacerbated. Because of financial deprivation, the loneliness and the reasons listed above, the majority of these women go back to abusive partners.
What can be done?
This can't be right...
Life at the moment, could be better.
As I explained in my earlier posts, my home was repossessed back in March of this year. I was, at that time, in a women's refuge and this was a very difficult time for me.
At the time of repossession my flat was under offer and the sale was progressing well but this was not enough for the mortgage company to halt the repossession and because they insisted on getting three further valuations, which took a considerable length of time, my sale fell through.
They then revalued and re marketed the property and in April they had a new buyer, I was waiting to exchange contracts for 6 months and then, at the last minute, the buyers withdrew.
Since then the bottom has fallen out of the housing market.
I was informed last week that for the last nine months I have been liable for mortgage payments even though my home has been repossessed and this will be added on when the property is finally sold. Also I am liable for all ground rent and maintenance payments on the flat.
If this wasn't bad enough, the fire escape has now been condemned and therefore no-one will get a mortgage on it until it is fixed. This is the Free-holders responsibility but will be taken from the leaseholders maintenance payments. I will therefore be responsible for my portion of the costs. Even though my flat is on the ground floor and doesn't use the fire escape.
All the time it is not sold I will still be liable for the continuing mortgage payments.
Because the flat is now worth considerably less than its original value. My £2,500 debt has turned into nearly £100,000 and I will be left with nothing at the end of it.
When I got into debt it was because I was suffering from anxiety and depression and was therefore unable to work.
It feels like I have been penalised for being ill and for my lack of ability to cope at that time.
Surely this can't be right.
How I am managing to keep going amazes me. There is only so much a person can manage. I am now at the end of my rope.
As I explained in my earlier posts, my home was repossessed back in March of this year. I was, at that time, in a women's refuge and this was a very difficult time for me.
At the time of repossession my flat was under offer and the sale was progressing well but this was not enough for the mortgage company to halt the repossession and because they insisted on getting three further valuations, which took a considerable length of time, my sale fell through.
They then revalued and re marketed the property and in April they had a new buyer, I was waiting to exchange contracts for 6 months and then, at the last minute, the buyers withdrew.
Since then the bottom has fallen out of the housing market.
I was informed last week that for the last nine months I have been liable for mortgage payments even though my home has been repossessed and this will be added on when the property is finally sold. Also I am liable for all ground rent and maintenance payments on the flat.
If this wasn't bad enough, the fire escape has now been condemned and therefore no-one will get a mortgage on it until it is fixed. This is the Free-holders responsibility but will be taken from the leaseholders maintenance payments. I will therefore be responsible for my portion of the costs. Even though my flat is on the ground floor and doesn't use the fire escape.
All the time it is not sold I will still be liable for the continuing mortgage payments.
Because the flat is now worth considerably less than its original value. My £2,500 debt has turned into nearly £100,000 and I will be left with nothing at the end of it.
When I got into debt it was because I was suffering from anxiety and depression and was therefore unable to work.
It feels like I have been penalised for being ill and for my lack of ability to cope at that time.
Surely this can't be right.
How I am managing to keep going amazes me. There is only so much a person can manage. I am now at the end of my rope.
Monday, 10 November 2008
Shake me up Judy ...
Friday morning, I was rushing to get to my handy-woman job and I slipped and fell down four stairs. My boots are a bit worn so I believe this is the reason. I was a bit shaken up.
I travel on the train to this job and I am deeply engrossed in a book, after a few stations I look up and the man in the booth across from me has an enormous hole in his jeans and everything (and I mean everything) is hanging out. I ponder on whether this is accidental and come to the conclusion, as he obviously is not wearing any underpants, that it is not. I was very shaken up.
I arrive at my place of work, my job for the day is to paint the loft hatch. I collect the wooden steps from the garden, I climb up them and three steps give way they are rotten right through.
I was even more shaken up and had a bit of a painful knee.
Saturday, I spent the day helping a friend to move house. In the evening we went out on the town. On the way TO the pub, (having bought a new pair of boots in a charity shop for 3 quid) I slipped on some fallen leaves and fell a--e over t-t in the street. (exceptionally shaken up) and hurt the other knee.
Went to the pub, there was an Irish band playing, being a little the worse for a few drinks, I was attempting to do a, Michael thingy person of the flying mane and hands behind your back, type of dance. Lost my balance and fell into the speakers!!!!
Really, really shaken up and extremely embarrassed.
Sunday - spent most of the day in bed recovering.
I travel on the train to this job and I am deeply engrossed in a book, after a few stations I look up and the man in the booth across from me has an enormous hole in his jeans and everything (and I mean everything) is hanging out. I ponder on whether this is accidental and come to the conclusion, as he obviously is not wearing any underpants, that it is not. I was very shaken up.
I arrive at my place of work, my job for the day is to paint the loft hatch. I collect the wooden steps from the garden, I climb up them and three steps give way they are rotten right through.
I was even more shaken up and had a bit of a painful knee. Saturday, I spent the day helping a friend to move house. In the evening we went out on the town. On the way TO the pub, (having bought a new pair of boots in a charity shop for 3 quid) I slipped on some fallen leaves and fell a--e over t-t in the street. (exceptionally shaken up) and hurt the other knee.
Went to the pub, there was an Irish band playing, being a little the worse for a few drinks, I was attempting to do a, Michael thingy person of the flying mane and hands behind your back, type of dance. Lost my balance and fell into the speakers!!!!
Really, really shaken up and extremely embarrassed.
Sunday - spent most of the day in bed recovering.
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Today I walked in Ypres.
Today I walked beside the river in Ypres, where I took this photograph and I was inspired to write the following poem.
Today I walked in Ypres
Today I walked in Ypres
The sky was as blue as the best autumn day
Leaves shook and shivered
Many thousands had fallen
each
golden and precious
and yet
had rotted where they fell
detritus upon the muddy earth.
and we walked upon them
ankle deep
in Ypres
Today I walked in Ypres
Today I walked in Ypres
The sky was as blue as the best autumn day
Leaves shook and shivered
Many thousands had fallen
each
golden and precious
and yet
had rotted where they fell
detritus upon the muddy earth.
and we walked upon them
ankle deep
in Ypres
Sunday, 26 October 2008
The Aftermath ...
It has been a while since I posted. Apart from the fact that I have a head cold which is annoying me at the moment, I am actually doing fine.
I have settled into my bijou flat and can say goodbye to the refuge and hopefully the past experiences forever.
I have continued a friendship with one young woman who is still at the refuge and, for her, the nightmare continues.
Part of me is loath to mention the negative experiences we went through because I want women reading this, who might be in abusive relationships, to know there is a safe place for them to go where they will be looked after and supported.
On the whole this is true but one has to bear in mind the things these women have been through and which very often leaves them damaged in some way.
There has been a family at the refuge, a woman of 59 (an alchoholic) her daughter and grandson (12 years old) They are very damaged and as a result are a destructive force at the refuge. They have a very currupt and twisted view of life and spend all of their time causing trouble for the other residents. ( Apparently I was a spy employed by the refuge to 'grass' on everyone) My young friend, who is a person of some integrity, has been falsely accused of many things and in turn ostracised by the rest of the residents. She is basically a good and kind young woman who has coped amazingly with her three year old daughter under the circumstances. It hurts me very deeply to see her so unfairly treated.
She is a strong young woman, small and feisty, but she has found this really tough. It is such a shame because before this family arrived the women there were lovely, it felt like one big family, everyone mucking in and supporting each other and a lot of laughter and tears were shared.
I have spoken to the key workers on her behalf (she was scared to herself in case this made the situation worse) They were very understanding but said there was nothing they could do unless she made a formal complaint.
Even if she did and they were moved on, it would just become someone elses problem at another refuge.
I guess families like these are what prevent some women from entering a refuge. It is a shame, and in my experience unusual. Most women who enter refuges have already had a really awful time and they just want some peace and privacy. To have to deal with other abusive characters is the last thing they need in their vulnerable states of mind.
Hopefully, my friend and her adorable little girl will soon find a new, safe home and I will continue to support them if I can.
I have settled into my bijou flat and can say goodbye to the refuge and hopefully the past experiences forever.
I have continued a friendship with one young woman who is still at the refuge and, for her, the nightmare continues.
Part of me is loath to mention the negative experiences we went through because I want women reading this, who might be in abusive relationships, to know there is a safe place for them to go where they will be looked after and supported.
On the whole this is true but one has to bear in mind the things these women have been through and which very often leaves them damaged in some way.
There has been a family at the refuge, a woman of 59 (an alchoholic) her daughter and grandson (12 years old) They are very damaged and as a result are a destructive force at the refuge. They have a very currupt and twisted view of life and spend all of their time causing trouble for the other residents. ( Apparently I was a spy employed by the refuge to 'grass' on everyone) My young friend, who is a person of some integrity, has been falsely accused of many things and in turn ostracised by the rest of the residents. She is basically a good and kind young woman who has coped amazingly with her three year old daughter under the circumstances. It hurts me very deeply to see her so unfairly treated.
She is a strong young woman, small and feisty, but she has found this really tough. It is such a shame because before this family arrived the women there were lovely, it felt like one big family, everyone mucking in and supporting each other and a lot of laughter and tears were shared.
I have spoken to the key workers on her behalf (she was scared to herself in case this made the situation worse) They were very understanding but said there was nothing they could do unless she made a formal complaint.
Even if she did and they were moved on, it would just become someone elses problem at another refuge.
I guess families like these are what prevent some women from entering a refuge. It is a shame, and in my experience unusual. Most women who enter refuges have already had a really awful time and they just want some peace and privacy. To have to deal with other abusive characters is the last thing they need in their vulnerable states of mind.
Hopefully, my friend and her adorable little girl will soon find a new, safe home and I will continue to support them if I can.
Monday, 22 September 2008
Back in the world of telly viewing.
I have now got a signal on two channels on my TV, BBC1 and ITV1. This has enabled me to watch, both 'Strictly Come Dancing' and 'The X Factor', this weekend.
Both highly watchable for a woman with nothing better to do on a Saturday evening.
SCD - I love the grace and beauty of the professional dancers and of course the frocks.
XF - Yes, it is great fun to watch wannabe pop stars make a fool of themslves but this week-end left me feeling more than a little uncomfortable. An enthusiastic young man attempted a Michael Jackson number. Although the panel of judges were kinder than usual in their comments regarding his performance. I felt this young man was exploited in order to provide 'good' TV. There is a thin line between entertainment and exploitation and in this case I felt the line was crossed.
Last night I watched 'Tess'. I have pondered long and hard over whether I really wanted to watch this terribly tragic tale unfold one more time. But as a Hardy fan I felt compelled to do so. Inevitably I ended up wiping a tear or two from my eye and telling myself, "my life hasn't really been that bad considering ....."
Both highly watchable for a woman with nothing better to do on a Saturday evening.
SCD - I love the grace and beauty of the professional dancers and of course the frocks.
XF - Yes, it is great fun to watch wannabe pop stars make a fool of themslves but this week-end left me feeling more than a little uncomfortable. An enthusiastic young man attempted a Michael Jackson number. Although the panel of judges were kinder than usual in their comments regarding his performance. I felt this young man was exploited in order to provide 'good' TV. There is a thin line between entertainment and exploitation and in this case I felt the line was crossed.
Last night I watched 'Tess'. I have pondered long and hard over whether I really wanted to watch this terribly tragic tale unfold one more time. But as a Hardy fan I felt compelled to do so. Inevitably I ended up wiping a tear or two from my eye and telling myself, "my life hasn't really been that bad considering ....."
Thursday, 18 September 2008
nowhere to hide.
The child runs and runs,
She sobs, she rages, she screams,
In silence.
There is no hope, just the star spangled sky
And the damp, dark hedgerow.
There she huddles, just for a while.
Heedless of any happy hearth, gentle eyed,
Loving hand or tender hearted home.
She knows only harsh words, hard slaps, whip cracks, bone snaps.
Probing fingers, boozy breath,
Broken bad tooth, snarling, sneering mouth.
Rough trousers rubbing.
Grunting and pain.
Silent suffocation.
No mercy.
Slamming doors
Banging chairs.
Slaps, cracks, snaps
And trembling, tumbling, terror
And running, running, running.
The earth feels sweet and cool;
Her lip bleeds and drips on the cool earth
Her skin is pricked by barbed brambles.
She is glad.
The night folds gentle arms around her broken body,
The dark is kind,
There are no demons in this soft blanket of silence.
She hears a terrible sound.
It is a long drawn-out howl of agony,
A deep moan of terror and hopelessness.
Somewhere an animal is caught in a trap.
Somewhere a creature is dying
The fearful sound comes from her own throat
She sobs, she rages, she screams,
In silence.
There is no hope, just the star spangled sky
And the damp, dark hedgerow.
There she huddles, just for a while.
Heedless of any happy hearth, gentle eyed,
Loving hand or tender hearted home.
She knows only harsh words, hard slaps, whip cracks, bone snaps.
Probing fingers, boozy breath,
Broken bad tooth, snarling, sneering mouth.
Rough trousers rubbing.
Grunting and pain.
Silent suffocation.
No mercy.
Slamming doors
Banging chairs.
Slaps, cracks, snaps
And trembling, tumbling, terror
And running, running, running.
The earth feels sweet and cool;
Her lip bleeds and drips on the cool earth
Her skin is pricked by barbed brambles.
She is glad.
The night folds gentle arms around her broken body,
The dark is kind,
There are no demons in this soft blanket of silence.
She hears a terrible sound.
It is a long drawn-out howl of agony,
A deep moan of terror and hopelessness.
Somewhere an animal is caught in a trap.
Somewhere a creature is dying
The fearful sound comes from her own throat
Thursday, 11 September 2008
A New Home.
Well, i'm in!
My flat is very bijou, especially as it is currently piled high with very large boxes that I have nowhere to unpack.
These boxes contain :-
Books (Mine)
Amplifiers, speakers, videos, football trophys, University folders, more amplifiers, more speakers, one television, one record deck, 4 Meccano sets and board games such as Cluedo, Pictionary, monopoly etc. One enormous box full of electrical equipment that I haven't the foggiest notion what any of it is. (These are all my sons who can't get down for a fortnight)
Oh and 3 old computer monitors et al......
In the meantime, in my tiny living room, I have to stare at them, fall over them and continually curse them and rue the day that I ever had children.
In the foyer, because I no longer have an outdoor space, are one concrete birdbath on a grecian style stand (that nobody can lift)
One huge bright blue tub (that nobody can lift)
2 old computer monitors (that nobody knows what to do with)
and two garden chairs.
On the upstairs landing are twenty five empty flat pack boxes and 19 rubbish sacks full of packing paper which I don't know what to do with as I no longer have a car.
Life is great when you are no longer on the run......
My flat is very bijou, especially as it is currently piled high with very large boxes that I have nowhere to unpack.
These boxes contain :-
Books (Mine)
Amplifiers, speakers, videos, football trophys, University folders, more amplifiers, more speakers, one television, one record deck, 4 Meccano sets and board games such as Cluedo, Pictionary, monopoly etc. One enormous box full of electrical equipment that I haven't the foggiest notion what any of it is. (These are all my sons who can't get down for a fortnight)
Oh and 3 old computer monitors et al......
In the meantime, in my tiny living room, I have to stare at them, fall over them and continually curse them and rue the day that I ever had children.
In the foyer, because I no longer have an outdoor space, are one concrete birdbath on a grecian style stand (that nobody can lift)
One huge bright blue tub (that nobody can lift)
2 old computer monitors (that nobody knows what to do with)
and two garden chairs.
On the upstairs landing are twenty five empty flat pack boxes and 19 rubbish sacks full of packing paper which I don't know what to do with as I no longer have a car.
Life is great when you are no longer on the run......
Sunday, 31 August 2008
Refuges are there to help.
Women's Aid
I have found a tiny flat to rent and will be leaving the refuge a week on Monday. It has been a very tough, frightening, frustrating, depressing, hilarious, enabling and enlightening nine months.
When I came to the 'Refuge' My heart ached and still aches for my home and the life I left behind and my loneliness is still profound. It was a world that I would never have thought I would ever have first-hand experience of, at first, for me to be there, was totally incomprehensible.
However, I now know it has possibly saved my life and it has definitely given me courage. I now believe that I can probably deal with most things that life can throw in my path. .
As I leave this strange environment, I am truly sad to go.
Some of the women I will miss, but mostly I will miss my key-worker who has been a tower of strength to me. She alone understands the traumatised mind of the woman fleeing from a man who has stripped her of her self-esteem, robbed her of her pride, her home and of her possessions. She will stand beside you shoulder to shoulder and get every single thing you are entitled to. She will give you tissues when you cry, make phone-calls on your behalf when you are too shaken to lift up the phone. She will write letters for you. She will fill in forms. She will come with you to the doctors, the solicitors, the police, the counsellor and the court. She will help you find a place to live that is safe and she will talk to your new land-lord on your behalf. She will fight every single corner for you.
Then one day you will emerge from the refuge a stronger, braver, woman, your pride in tact, your abilities reinforced and with your head held high you will say to the world. Bring it on!
Goodbye dear A, and thank you. xx
I have found a tiny flat to rent and will be leaving the refuge a week on Monday. It has been a very tough, frightening, frustrating, depressing, hilarious, enabling and enlightening nine months.
When I came to the 'Refuge' My heart ached and still aches for my home and the life I left behind and my loneliness is still profound. It was a world that I would never have thought I would ever have first-hand experience of, at first, for me to be there, was totally incomprehensible.
However, I now know it has possibly saved my life and it has definitely given me courage. I now believe that I can probably deal with most things that life can throw in my path. .
As I leave this strange environment, I am truly sad to go.
Some of the women I will miss, but mostly I will miss my key-worker who has been a tower of strength to me. She alone understands the traumatised mind of the woman fleeing from a man who has stripped her of her self-esteem, robbed her of her pride, her home and of her possessions. She will stand beside you shoulder to shoulder and get every single thing you are entitled to. She will give you tissues when you cry, make phone-calls on your behalf when you are too shaken to lift up the phone. She will write letters for you. She will fill in forms. She will come with you to the doctors, the solicitors, the police, the counsellor and the court. She will help you find a place to live that is safe and she will talk to your new land-lord on your behalf. She will fight every single corner for you.
Then one day you will emerge from the refuge a stronger, braver, woman, your pride in tact, your abilities reinforced and with your head held high you will say to the world. Bring it on!
Goodbye dear A, and thank you. xx
Monday, 25 August 2008
'Ode to Melancholy.'
I was looking around at blogs on depression and I found this little gem of a blog. I really like the little gothic story 'The Grave Girl' Unfortunately I couldn't post a comment but I really wanted to, because it made me smile. A Blog about depression and it made me smile!
It is worth a look (-: Here
Last night I watched the film The Lives of Others for the second time. It is a sparkling jewel of a film. It is haunted by a piece of music called “Sonata for a Good Man,” composed for the film by Gabriel Yared, it is a suspenseful, ethically exacting drama, beautifully realized by the writer and director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, Yared’s piece is melancholy, elegant and complicated, as is the story and the acting is magical.
The film was made all the more poignant because of the death of one of the central characters played by Ulrich Muhe, shortly after filming had finished.
It is worth a look (-: Here
Last night I watched the film The Lives of Others for the second time. It is a sparkling jewel of a film. It is haunted by a piece of music called “Sonata for a Good Man,” composed for the film by Gabriel Yared, it is a suspenseful, ethically exacting drama, beautifully realized by the writer and director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, Yared’s piece is melancholy, elegant and complicated, as is the story and the acting is magical.
The film was made all the more poignant because of the death of one of the central characters played by Ulrich Muhe, shortly after filming had finished.It is a work of fiction set in Socialist East Germany 1984, before the wall came down. It is a time when the Stasi spied on everything and everyone, when neighbour spied on neighbour and even friends and family were suspicious of each other.
It is a film about Good Men, the human spirit and how love and in this case, art, can transform even the most hardened of Stasi officials. It is about writing, it is about acting, it is about music and it is about truth. It is about how this one man, who listens in on the lives of a writer and his actress girlfriend, rediscovers his integrity and in turn his true self.
I really enjoyed watching it for a second time and liked the fact that watching it with a friend who hadn't seen it before made the pleasure all the more sweet.
Friday, 22 August 2008
The Good News!
Last night a very good friend had his sixty fifth birthday party. I am staying with him at present which is lovely. It is so good to be away from the refuge. I gave him a present of one of my paintings which he said he liked very much. He said the painting was very accomplished. Praise indeed! The one I have posted on here is one of my very first attempts and I have been playing around a bit since with techniques and colour.
All of this is totally self taught, so I have no idea if I am doing the right things. I must, however, at some point go to an art class of some kind, I want to learn about light and shade and how it works in painting.
In the mean time I nourish myself with his compliments and strive to improve.
The Bad News!
My week, up until last night, has been really horrible. I learned that the price of my flat is having to be reduced by £50,000 which will leave me very little.
At present, the depression I suffer from, stops me from working, so this is quite a blow. How do I bounce back from this on top of everything else?
I like to think of my depression as a creature that lives symbiotically, feeding on my pain, a life sucking parasite that one day, when I am happy, will just drop off, a shrivelled black thing, like a tick or a flea.
Last night a very good friend had his sixty fifth birthday party. I am staying with him at present which is lovely. It is so good to be away from the refuge. I gave him a present of one of my paintings which he said he liked very much. He said the painting was very accomplished. Praise indeed! The one I have posted on here is one of my very first attempts and I have been playing around a bit since with techniques and colour.
All of this is totally self taught, so I have no idea if I am doing the right things. I must, however, at some point go to an art class of some kind, I want to learn about light and shade and how it works in painting.
In the mean time I nourish myself with his compliments and strive to improve.
The Bad News!
My week, up until last night, has been really horrible. I learned that the price of my flat is having to be reduced by £50,000 which will leave me very little.
At present, the depression I suffer from, stops me from working, so this is quite a blow. How do I bounce back from this on top of everything else?
I like to think of my depression as a creature that lives symbiotically, feeding on my pain, a life sucking parasite that one day, when I am happy, will just drop off, a shrivelled black thing, like a tick or a flea.
Monday, 18 August 2008
In order for me to post freely on my blog. I have taken off my photograph. In order to speak openly I have to be anonymous.
A good buddhist friend of mine sent me the book 'The Artist's Way' I expect you have heard of it. Her desire was for me to continue to write even though I was in my enforced imprisonment. I mentioned this to my key-worker, however I also mentioned that I felt inspired to try painting by way of therapy. I had always felt a desire to have a go at painting.
That very evening, outside of my bedroom door at the refuge I discovered, canvasses, paints and brushes and a message saying. 'Enjoy'..
A good buddhist friend of mine sent me the book 'The Artist's Way' I expect you have heard of it. Her desire was for me to continue to write even though I was in my enforced imprisonment. I mentioned this to my key-worker, however I also mentioned that I felt inspired to try painting by way of therapy. I had always felt a desire to have a go at painting.
That very evening, outside of my bedroom door at the refuge I discovered, canvasses, paints and brushes and a message saying. 'Enjoy'..
So I did and I have.
Friday, 15 August 2008
Inspiration at last!
I just thought I'd share the fact that last night. I composed, edited and completed a short story that I intend to enter into a short story competition.
I'm pretty pleased with myself today, and the sun is shining.
So I can no longer say to myself, "The Summer's gone and all the roses...."
I'm pretty pleased with myself today, and the sun is shining.
So I can no longer say to myself, "The Summer's gone and all the roses...."
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
The first steps towards freedom.
When I arrived at the refuge, in my room, on the chest of drawers, were two small wicker baskets full of shampoo, shower gel, soaps, toothpaste, toothbrushes and combs. There was freshly laundered cream bed linen, a burgundy bath towel, hand towel and flannel. The furniture was laminated pine, the curtains and carpets were burgundy and every thing was serene and welcoming. It was such a surprise to me.
Apparently all the refuges run by Refuge provide the same kind of essentials and similar peaceful surroundings, which I think is really important for traumatised women seeking a place of safety. For me it made the whole transition from home to communal living a much easier experience. I hope any women, who are reading this blog will be encouraged by this information.
The key workers are absolutely amazing. They are kind, helpful and empowering women and professional in every way. Confidentiality in everything is the key.
To begin with they give every possible help with practical things to do with claiming benefits, starting the ball rolling for rehousing, help you get a crisis loan if necessary and give advice on legal matters pertaining to your particular situation. They also provide, and some might say this is the most important thing, trauma counselling and help in trying to find a way forward after having been through such a horrible time.
Without their help and support I would never have survived this experience.
***One thing that any woman who is suffering domestic abuse should know is to always be prepared in case you need to flee at a moments notice. My key worker told me recently that it is vital that somewhere, with someone you can trust, you have a bag packed with essential things in it. These things are. Passports and birth certificates for yourself and any children. Your National Insurance number. This is absolutely vital for getting immediate help with benefits. Any legal papers or copies of police statements or any proof of domestic violence that might help you in the future. Deeds, or copies of deeds or solicitors letters proving ownership of property etc.
Also a change of clothes for yourself and any children.
In my opinion, Refuge is an absolutely necessary place, for women suffering from domestic violence or even for those who don't, to know about. I want to shout it from the rooftops, I want it to be talked about in schools. The more knowledge women have about places of safety the better. It is difficult, because the very nature of the function of women's refuges is that it has to be confidential.
But by contacting the 'link' above or by contacting the 'victim support unit' at your local police station, ' the citizens advice bureau' or the 'Samaritans' they will point you in the right direction of where to go for help. In times of danger call 999.
Apparently all the refuges run by Refuge provide the same kind of essentials and similar peaceful surroundings, which I think is really important for traumatised women seeking a place of safety. For me it made the whole transition from home to communal living a much easier experience. I hope any women, who are reading this blog will be encouraged by this information.
The key workers are absolutely amazing. They are kind, helpful and empowering women and professional in every way. Confidentiality in everything is the key.
To begin with they give every possible help with practical things to do with claiming benefits, starting the ball rolling for rehousing, help you get a crisis loan if necessary and give advice on legal matters pertaining to your particular situation. They also provide, and some might say this is the most important thing, trauma counselling and help in trying to find a way forward after having been through such a horrible time.
Without their help and support I would never have survived this experience.
***One thing that any woman who is suffering domestic abuse should know is to always be prepared in case you need to flee at a moments notice. My key worker told me recently that it is vital that somewhere, with someone you can trust, you have a bag packed with essential things in it. These things are. Passports and birth certificates for yourself and any children. Your National Insurance number. This is absolutely vital for getting immediate help with benefits. Any legal papers or copies of police statements or any proof of domestic violence that might help you in the future. Deeds, or copies of deeds or solicitors letters proving ownership of property etc.
Also a change of clothes for yourself and any children.
In my opinion, Refuge is an absolutely necessary place, for women suffering from domestic violence or even for those who don't, to know about. I want to shout it from the rooftops, I want it to be talked about in schools. The more knowledge women have about places of safety the better. It is difficult, because the very nature of the function of women's refuges is that it has to be confidential.
But by contacting the 'link' above or by contacting the 'victim support unit' at your local police station, ' the citizens advice bureau' or the 'Samaritans' they will point you in the right direction of where to go for help. In times of danger call 999.
Saturday, 9 August 2008
"Our Deepest Fear"
This was given to me by my key worker to inspire me to continue writing. I think, for women who have spent many years hiding their lights under bushels, it is a wonderful quote. Although I am not particularly a 'God' sort of person.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.' We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." (A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of "A Course in Miracles", Marianne Williamson, Harper Collins, 1992. From Chapter 7, Section 3])
Friday, 8 August 2008
Without exception, the women I came across at the refuge, displayed such courage, such stoicism, such self-deprecation, it was a lesson to me in women's strength of character.
How can that be when they had put up with so much shit for so long? Surely they must be weak and pathetic victims?
This whole, women as victims idea, is so paradoxical.
These women were managing on next to nothing in the way of money. Some had two or more children to support. They had practically nothing in the way of clothes or possessions. They had left behind friends and family, in some cases for life. They had to adjust to communal living with people they would probably never choose as friends and yet bonds were formed.
Most supported one other, most would share their last penny, most would give wine, cigarettes and chocolate in times of need and most did it with a good and open heart and an enormous amount of humour.
One young woman had three children under five. Can you imagine keeping control of them in such a strange and weird environment which was stuffed full of rules and regulations. Health and Safety procedures had to be adhered to which was a nightmare for some of these young mums. They were not allowed to leave their children unsupervised. Hard to do when there are five other children running around. When you are trying to feed a young baby with six adults fighting for the cooker and the fridge.
Yes, I admire them for their 'determination to make the best of it' attitude. Yes, in my book, these women are courageous.
It is certainly puzzling.....
How can that be when they had put up with so much shit for so long? Surely they must be weak and pathetic victims?
This whole, women as victims idea, is so paradoxical.
These women were managing on next to nothing in the way of money. Some had two or more children to support. They had practically nothing in the way of clothes or possessions. They had left behind friends and family, in some cases for life. They had to adjust to communal living with people they would probably never choose as friends and yet bonds were formed.
Most supported one other, most would share their last penny, most would give wine, cigarettes and chocolate in times of need and most did it with a good and open heart and an enormous amount of humour.
One young woman had three children under five. Can you imagine keeping control of them in such a strange and weird environment which was stuffed full of rules and regulations. Health and Safety procedures had to be adhered to which was a nightmare for some of these young mums. They were not allowed to leave their children unsupervised. Hard to do when there are five other children running around. When you are trying to feed a young baby with six adults fighting for the cooker and the fridge.
Yes, I admire them for their 'determination to make the best of it' attitude. Yes, in my book, these women are courageous.
It is certainly puzzling.....
Wednesday, 6 August 2008
I became very close friends with a woman who had spent 23 years in an abusive marriage. She had fled at dead of night with nothing but a few smuggled items, leaving a son and two daughters behind. Her husband was a vicious, manipulative bi-polar sufferer. Who had not only run over her cat, given away her most treasured dog, beaten her black and blue but had also managed to turn her daughters against her so that they would not go with her. Her son had to move in with friends because males over 14 are not allowed in a refuge.
In order to be safe, she not only had to leave her home and all her friends, but she had to leave her children behind as well.
When I met her she had already been at the refuge for three months and in that time she hadn't seen her youngest daughter. This hurt her very much. She couldn't see her just in case she let something slip to her father about where her mum was living. She just couldn't take that risk.
He had threateened to kill her if he found her and she had every reason to believe this was possible. He had tried every method he could to try to track her down and resorted to every form of emotional blackmail to get her to come back. Using her children as pawns in his controlling games.
She was very traumatised.
This was a professional woman who had run a care home, worked all the hours God sent to keep her family (he wasn't working) and yet she had put up with years of abuse.
Why, you might ask?
Because she felt sorry for him, because she believed in her vows of for better or for worse, because he had done such a good job on her that she no longer knew her own mind?
He had managed to make her believe she was in the wrong all the time.
He told her every day of their twenty three year marriage that she was fat and ugly and thick and that no-one else would ever want her. In the end she believed him.
She was not allowed to sit in the same room as him. He cut her off from nearly all her friends and when she was at work he would make her come home at lunch-time to cook him dinner. He would ring her at work and threaten her if she didn't come home immediately and so she had to make up excuses why she had to pop out at a moments notice. She was in constant fear of losing her job over this.
She was suffering from OCD. Constantly cleaning and tidying.
Interestingly three of the women I met at the refuge also suffered from this dis-order.
One area of their life where they believe they have control I suppose. Ironically, the disorder, without them realising it, soon begins to take control of them.
She tried to get him sectioned once. She failed. When she was waiting for the doctors verdict he told to her in whispers what she could expect from him when she got home. After that particular beating she left him.
She returned a week later when her daughters begged her to come home. Telling her he had changed and that she was cruel for leaving him when he was ill.....
In order to be safe, she not only had to leave her home and all her friends, but she had to leave her children behind as well.
When I met her she had already been at the refuge for three months and in that time she hadn't seen her youngest daughter. This hurt her very much. She couldn't see her just in case she let something slip to her father about where her mum was living. She just couldn't take that risk.
He had threateened to kill her if he found her and she had every reason to believe this was possible. He had tried every method he could to try to track her down and resorted to every form of emotional blackmail to get her to come back. Using her children as pawns in his controlling games.
She was very traumatised.
This was a professional woman who had run a care home, worked all the hours God sent to keep her family (he wasn't working) and yet she had put up with years of abuse.
Why, you might ask?
Because she felt sorry for him, because she believed in her vows of for better or for worse, because he had done such a good job on her that she no longer knew her own mind?
He had managed to make her believe she was in the wrong all the time.
He told her every day of their twenty three year marriage that she was fat and ugly and thick and that no-one else would ever want her. In the end she believed him.
She was not allowed to sit in the same room as him. He cut her off from nearly all her friends and when she was at work he would make her come home at lunch-time to cook him dinner. He would ring her at work and threaten her if she didn't come home immediately and so she had to make up excuses why she had to pop out at a moments notice. She was in constant fear of losing her job over this.
She was suffering from OCD. Constantly cleaning and tidying.
Interestingly three of the women I met at the refuge also suffered from this dis-order.
One area of their life where they believe they have control I suppose. Ironically, the disorder, without them realising it, soon begins to take control of them.
She tried to get him sectioned once. She failed. When she was waiting for the doctors verdict he told to her in whispers what she could expect from him when she got home. After that particular beating she left him.
She returned a week later when her daughters begged her to come home. Telling her he had changed and that she was cruel for leaving him when he was ill.....
Friday, 1 August 2008
The Women
My room at the refuge was light and airy. It had two single beds in it and a cot. I was informed that if someone came with children I may have to move. Which I thought was fair enough. However I grew to love my room. My sanctuary, my one place of quiet, an escape from everyone elses pain.
There were four other women resident when I arrived.
One woman was from Sri Lanka. She had worked in a clerical position out there for the government. One night she was dragged from her bed and taken to a cell where she was tortured and gang raped for 2 days and nights. She fled to Denmark with her daughter and had a complete breakdown. When she recovered enough to cope with life a little she was offered work in England by a relative so she travelled here on her own to start work. But she was then beaten by her uncle and ended up in the refuge.
She was such a lovely, beautiful and funny lady. Terrified of the dark, frightened of her own shadow, yet she made me laugh my head off when she shouted at the television when people didn't know the answers on quiz shows. One night we got tiddly and danced and giggled into the early hours. She always called me sexy Sue and was a really warm and wonderful person. She was learning English language at A level at Evening class and I would often help her with her homework. She was so cheeky and I often ended up doing it for her altogether and wondered how she had managed to get round me. She moved out a few months ago now and I miss her very much.
There were four other women resident when I arrived.
One woman was from Sri Lanka. She had worked in a clerical position out there for the government. One night she was dragged from her bed and taken to a cell where she was tortured and gang raped for 2 days and nights. She fled to Denmark with her daughter and had a complete breakdown. When she recovered enough to cope with life a little she was offered work in England by a relative so she travelled here on her own to start work. But she was then beaten by her uncle and ended up in the refuge.
She was such a lovely, beautiful and funny lady. Terrified of the dark, frightened of her own shadow, yet she made me laugh my head off when she shouted at the television when people didn't know the answers on quiz shows. One night we got tiddly and danced and giggled into the early hours. She always called me sexy Sue and was a really warm and wonderful person. She was learning English language at A level at Evening class and I would often help her with her homework. She was so cheeky and I often ended up doing it for her altogether and wondered how she had managed to get round me. She moved out a few months ago now and I miss her very much.
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Adapting to life in a refuge.
When I first arrived at the refuge I was pretty traumatised. I didn't know what to expect. Shabby surroundings, cramped and dirty rooms, deeply traumatised women, deprivation, anger, children running about clearly disturbed, these were some of the things I was dreading.
I arrived at a large Victorian detached house and my first impressions as I opened the front door were, clean, bright, spacious, light and airy and quiet!
The refuge was home for 6 women and their families. Boys over 14 were not allowed. No men must ever enter the premises unless they were workman vetted by the staff. We were to tell no-one the address and if we wanted to meet people it had to be away from the house and there was a specific dropping off place. This was for our own protection and of the others in the house. The idea was to prevent any of the perpetrators from finding out where we were living.
Believe me some of the perpetrators were so determined, they would use any method to find out the whereabouts of their victims. They would use private detectives, tap into bank accounts, ring social services or the job centre, they would contact inland revenue. They would pump and threaten friends and family, following them harassing them. It was vital that no information was leaked to anyone. We were not really supposed to tell anyone at all our whereabouts which was extremely difficult. We had to change our phone numbers and our mail was sent to a PO box address. The whole effect of this was disorientating, it was also one of isolation, loneliness and deceit.
I arrived at a large Victorian detached house and my first impressions as I opened the front door were, clean, bright, spacious, light and airy and quiet!
The refuge was home for 6 women and their families. Boys over 14 were not allowed. No men must ever enter the premises unless they were workman vetted by the staff. We were to tell no-one the address and if we wanted to meet people it had to be away from the house and there was a specific dropping off place. This was for our own protection and of the others in the house. The idea was to prevent any of the perpetrators from finding out where we were living.
Believe me some of the perpetrators were so determined, they would use any method to find out the whereabouts of their victims. They would use private detectives, tap into bank accounts, ring social services or the job centre, they would contact inland revenue. They would pump and threaten friends and family, following them harassing them. It was vital that no information was leaked to anyone. We were not really supposed to tell anyone at all our whereabouts which was extremely difficult. We had to change our phone numbers and our mail was sent to a PO box address. The whole effect of this was disorientating, it was also one of isolation, loneliness and deceit.
Monday, 28 July 2008
The Big Day
Well it happened. ‘The Wedding Of The Year’, in fact of any year!
The Sun shone and shone and shone. The venue was beautiful. The Node at Caldecott. Nestled deep in the heart of Hertfordshire. And heart is probably the best word to describe the core of this amazing day, because people were over-flowing with it.
Purple was the colour of the day. The men’s ruche neckties, the bridesmaid’s dresses, the bride’s mother’s tunic and fascinator and the groom’s mother’s (that's me) frock and shoes. The programmes were edged with purple ribbon and a tiny tube of sweet love hearts in a little purple bag graced every place setting with a tiny picture scanned onto the front of the bride and groom when they were little children. The bouquets and the flowers on each table were purple and mauve and cream.
But the Bride was not in purple. She was an absolute vision in delicate cream chiffon, trimmed with pale blue crystals and (according to her mum) a million laces all the way up the back of the dress. The train and veil were also trimmed with tiny crystals. On her perfect, slim body, the whole effect was stunning.
My youngest son, Adam, the best man, who hadn’t slept for three weeks because of having to make a speech, excelled in the role. His speech was funny, satisfyingly disrespectful and heart-warming. As was the speech by the bride’s father. But when my eldest son, the groom, made his speech it was so wonderfully touching there was hardly a dry eye in this beautifully decorated house.
There was so much love and joie de vivre, so many kisses and handshakes, so many optimistic, humorous, clever young people, so many moist eyed, hopeful and totally delighted bosom family that I cannot fault their selection of guests.
This day was perfect in every way and I am so proud of my sons and feel so lucky to have such a lovely new daughter and now, because my prose is also verging on the purple. I think… enough said.
(I will post some more pics when I get hold of them.)
The Sun shone and shone and shone. The venue was beautiful. The Node at Caldecott. Nestled deep in the heart of Hertfordshire. And heart is probably the best word to describe the core of this amazing day, because people were over-flowing with it.
Purple was the colour of the day. The men’s ruche neckties, the bridesmaid’s dresses, the bride’s mother’s tunic and fascinator and the groom’s mother’s (that's me) frock and shoes. The programmes were edged with purple ribbon and a tiny tube of sweet love hearts in a little purple bag graced every place setting with a tiny picture scanned onto the front of the bride and groom when they were little children. The bouquets and the flowers on each table were purple and mauve and cream.
But the Bride was not in purple. She was an absolute vision in delicate cream chiffon, trimmed with pale blue crystals and (according to her mum) a million laces all the way up the back of the dress. The train and veil were also trimmed with tiny crystals. On her perfect, slim body, the whole effect was stunning.
My youngest son, Adam, the best man, who hadn’t slept for three weeks because of having to make a speech, excelled in the role. His speech was funny, satisfyingly disrespectful and heart-warming. As was the speech by the bride’s father. But when my eldest son, the groom, made his speech it was so wonderfully touching there was hardly a dry eye in this beautifully decorated house.
There was so much love and joie de vivre, so many kisses and handshakes, so many optimistic, humorous, clever young people, so many moist eyed, hopeful and totally delighted bosom family that I cannot fault their selection of guests.
This day was perfect in every way and I am so proud of my sons and feel so lucky to have such a lovely new daughter and now, because my prose is also verging on the purple. I think… enough said.
(I will post some more pics when I get hold of them.)
Monday, 21 July 2008
Fame At Last!
I have at last learned how to post a link. I have found the Werchter rock festival link on youtube which I have posted below and right in the foreground in the centre of the row of people is the back of my head - look for the ginger bobbing up and down - hey it's me!!
Sunday, 20 July 2008
The re-written final chapters part 2
I have re written the final chapters part 2 and added it onto the end of 'The Final Chapters' further back in my blog. If you want to make sense of my story then go and have a look and all may become clear.
I intend to continue to write how my life has gone on from there in the next few days or weeks.
Thankyou for dropping by.
I intend to continue to write how my life has gone on from there in the next few days or weeks.
Thankyou for dropping by.
Tuesday, 15 July 2008
A missing chapter...
I seem to have deleted the second part of 'The Final Chapters' hadn't saved it anywhere else so will have to write it again. There is always the danger that it won't say the same, it will lack spontaneity and because it is no longer 'just' as it was when the words filled my head it may not have the same meaning. So bear with me I will do my best ...
Wedding Day Blues...
On Saturday 26th July is my eldest son's wedding day. The thought of this fills me with much fear and trepidation. Why, you might ask, surely this should be an exciting and wonderful occasion?
For one thing I am skint, flat broke, penny-less, financially embarrassed whatever you might like to call it. The bottom line is, I have no dosh.
When I went into the Women's Refuge my flat was under offer. Due to all sorts of reasons that I will write about later it was repossessed by the Mortgage Company. Because of bureaucratic nonsense they lost my buyer but eventually found another in about March. They were first time buyers, no chain, and made a really good offer. All good news so far. Well it is now the middle of July and they have still not exchanged contracts. I have a substantial amount of equity in this property and was hoping to make a really big splash at this wedding. A beautiful outfit, a generous contribution to the wedding costs. A lovely room at the hotel where the wedding is to be held.
If it wasn't for living at the refuge I would be homeless so I have a lot to be grateful for. But it is disgusting that these Mortgage companies can treat people this way.
I am very lucky indeed. My sister is a very lovely, generous person and has come to my rescue. She has whisked me off t0 Belgium and she has bought me a gorgeous outfit for the wedding. She has also booked us rooms at the hotel.
But it is very hard, because I wanted to be able to do this myself. She knows I will repay her but somehow it just doesn't feel right.
I will also be meeting my ex in-laws for the first time in many years. My ex-husband and his new wife, my ex mother-in-law and I will be turning up alone. No job, no man, no money, no home. Well you can just imagine the conversation...
Well I have decided what I am going to say. I am going to say that I am living in bohemian exile by the sea, where I am painting and writing and living my dream before it is too late. Men? Goodness me no, I don't need a man in my life, a man would just complicate things. Job? Writing is my job and I have sold three of my paintings. House? Goodness me no, I am living in temporary accommodation while I learn French and then I intend to rent a farm house in Brittany. Money? Goodness me, how bourgeois.
Do you think they will be convinced ......?
For one thing I am skint, flat broke, penny-less, financially embarrassed whatever you might like to call it. The bottom line is, I have no dosh.
When I went into the Women's Refuge my flat was under offer. Due to all sorts of reasons that I will write about later it was repossessed by the Mortgage Company. Because of bureaucratic nonsense they lost my buyer but eventually found another in about March. They were first time buyers, no chain, and made a really good offer. All good news so far. Well it is now the middle of July and they have still not exchanged contracts. I have a substantial amount of equity in this property and was hoping to make a really big splash at this wedding. A beautiful outfit, a generous contribution to the wedding costs. A lovely room at the hotel where the wedding is to be held.
If it wasn't for living at the refuge I would be homeless so I have a lot to be grateful for. But it is disgusting that these Mortgage companies can treat people this way.
I am very lucky indeed. My sister is a very lovely, generous person and has come to my rescue. She has whisked me off t0 Belgium and she has bought me a gorgeous outfit for the wedding. She has also booked us rooms at the hotel.
But it is very hard, because I wanted to be able to do this myself. She knows I will repay her but somehow it just doesn't feel right.
I will also be meeting my ex in-laws for the first time in many years. My ex-husband and his new wife, my ex mother-in-law and I will be turning up alone. No job, no man, no money, no home. Well you can just imagine the conversation...
Well I have decided what I am going to say. I am going to say that I am living in bohemian exile by the sea, where I am painting and writing and living my dream before it is too late. Men? Goodness me no, I don't need a man in my life, a man would just complicate things. Job? Writing is my job and I have sold three of my paintings. House? Goodness me no, I am living in temporary accommodation while I learn French and then I intend to rent a farm house in Brittany. Money? Goodness me, how bourgeois.
Do you think they will be convinced ......?
Monday, 14 July 2008
Werchter One Day Rock Festival
I thought, for a change, i'd write about something less 'heavy' man.
Yesterday, I went to a one day Rock Festival in Belgium. I am visiting my sister at the moment and this festival is about half an hour away from her. We only discovered it was on two days ago and on impulse decided to go. Luckily we were able to get tickets. My sister had never been to a Rock Festival (She is 4 years older than me) so this was a really cool thing to do. The Line up included 'Mick Hucknall', 'Crowded House', 'James Blunt' and 'Santana'.
Our decision to go to this event was met with much derision from my 18 year old 'Emo' nephew. Whose musical taste runs to bands like 'Alkoline Trio' and 'Funeral for a Friend'. When asked if he cared to join us such remarks as 'Old' and 'Fogy' were muttered between clenched teeth, so we got the message.
My 22 year old niece, however, was pretty made up about seeing James Blunt and so accompanied myself and my sister to this 'happening'.
The venue was at least a two mile walk from the car park, which was OK at the beginning of the festival but less agreeable at the end when we would be tired from standing all day (hmm maybe the 'Old Fogy' remarks were justified after all). The toilets were very clean ,checked out by me immediately on arrival. You grabbed your couple of sheets of tissue on your way into the port a loo. In fact the whole day was really well organised. Not what I had come to expect in the past from the English Gigs I'd been to. From an old fogy point of view this was a bonus, from an ex hippy's point of view this was definitely 'pseud'.
Anyway, Mick Hucknall was superb, what a great voice, he has changed his 'soul' voice to that of Rhythm and Blues in tribute to a late great American blues artist whose name escapes me at the moment. I might google it and edit this later. The blues was great and the return to his own funky soul sound at the end of the set had the whole house dancing.
He was followed by Crowded House, a favourite band of mine (and many other Old Fogy's I expect) it was so amazing to see them perform live, however I thought the sound lacked the old sparkle, maybe this could only be provided by a second Finn!However 'The Weather With You' brought the crowded house down.
James Blunt, performed an excellent set, his rather peculiar voice was as good as on CD and his japes on the stage, including standing on top of the piano and surfing, were really entertaining. He also jumped into the audience much to the delight of my niece who managed to touch him!
The evening was rounded off for us by the always excellent Santana. The King, The Chief, The God of old fogyish guitar playing and my word he can play! Yep an ageing hippy was much mellow. I was also much entertained by the dancing of a group of black guys in front of us who, well they just had the rhythm and the skill and 'the hips' to do Old Carlos justice.
A great day, we limped home with aching backs and legs, along the two mile of road back to the car and sang all the way home.
These old fogies know how to rock!
It is on youtube under 'Werchter boutique one day festival' sorry don't know how to do a link )-:
Yesterday, I went to a one day Rock Festival in Belgium. I am visiting my sister at the moment and this festival is about half an hour away from her. We only discovered it was on two days ago and on impulse decided to go. Luckily we were able to get tickets. My sister had never been to a Rock Festival (She is 4 years older than me) so this was a really cool thing to do. The Line up included 'Mick Hucknall', 'Crowded House', 'James Blunt' and 'Santana'.
Our decision to go to this event was met with much derision from my 18 year old 'Emo' nephew. Whose musical taste runs to bands like 'Alkoline Trio' and 'Funeral for a Friend'. When asked if he cared to join us such remarks as 'Old' and 'Fogy' were muttered between clenched teeth, so we got the message.
My 22 year old niece, however, was pretty made up about seeing James Blunt and so accompanied myself and my sister to this 'happening'.
The venue was at least a two mile walk from the car park, which was OK at the beginning of the festival but less agreeable at the end when we would be tired from standing all day (hmm maybe the 'Old Fogy' remarks were justified after all). The toilets were very clean ,checked out by me immediately on arrival. You grabbed your couple of sheets of tissue on your way into the port a loo. In fact the whole day was really well organised. Not what I had come to expect in the past from the English Gigs I'd been to. From an old fogy point of view this was a bonus, from an ex hippy's point of view this was definitely 'pseud'.
Anyway, Mick Hucknall was superb, what a great voice, he has changed his 'soul' voice to that of Rhythm and Blues in tribute to a late great American blues artist whose name escapes me at the moment. I might google it and edit this later. The blues was great and the return to his own funky soul sound at the end of the set had the whole house dancing.
He was followed by Crowded House, a favourite band of mine (and many other Old Fogy's I expect) it was so amazing to see them perform live, however I thought the sound lacked the old sparkle, maybe this could only be provided by a second Finn!However 'The Weather With You' brought the crowded house down.
James Blunt, performed an excellent set, his rather peculiar voice was as good as on CD and his japes on the stage, including standing on top of the piano and surfing, were really entertaining. He also jumped into the audience much to the delight of my niece who managed to touch him!
The evening was rounded off for us by the always excellent Santana. The King, The Chief, The God of old fogyish guitar playing and my word he can play! Yep an ageing hippy was much mellow. I was also much entertained by the dancing of a group of black guys in front of us who, well they just had the rhythm and the skill and 'the hips' to do Old Carlos justice.
A great day, we limped home with aching backs and legs, along the two mile of road back to the car and sang all the way home.
These old fogies know how to rock!
It is on youtube under 'Werchter boutique one day festival' sorry don't know how to do a link )-:
How on earth?
How is it that a seemingly mature, intelligent, middle-aged woman, who had been married for 18 years, divorced and then in a relationship for another 12 years, a woman who had brought up two children single-handed from the ages of 12 and 14 subsequently, have got involved with someone like 'him'? A man who had lived a desperate life of deprivation and alienation. An ex-criminal, a sociopath, and now I had discovered, a sexual deviant?
I know I was very lonely, struggling financially, I was unemployed due to depression and anxiety and was desperate to feel valued in some way.
Maybe meeting someone like him allowed me to have some kind of status? I felt wanted again as a woman. I felt desirable and feminine. I was past my physical best and beginning to feel that I would never attract a man again, let alone one who was ten years younger than me. I knew I was better educated than him and I was able to teach him about things he had not experienced. Because of his deprivation I wanted to show him a world that he knew nothing about, I wanted him to know how it felt to be loved and cared about. I wanted him to see how ordinary, balanced, healthy people lived their lives. In this respect he fulfilled my maternal yearnings, he filled my 'empty nest' he boosted my fading self esteem, in fact he validated me as a person in every way. At least in the beginning .......
I know I was very lonely, struggling financially, I was unemployed due to depression and anxiety and was desperate to feel valued in some way.
Maybe meeting someone like him allowed me to have some kind of status? I felt wanted again as a woman. I felt desirable and feminine. I was past my physical best and beginning to feel that I would never attract a man again, let alone one who was ten years younger than me. I knew I was better educated than him and I was able to teach him about things he had not experienced. Because of his deprivation I wanted to show him a world that he knew nothing about, I wanted him to know how it felt to be loved and cared about. I wanted him to see how ordinary, balanced, healthy people lived their lives. In this respect he fulfilled my maternal yearnings, he filled my 'empty nest' he boosted my fading self esteem, in fact he validated me as a person in every way. At least in the beginning .......
Was I to blame?
When the police first told me about 'him' my emotions were very mixed. I was shocked, but I also felt very sad. What had happened to this man in his early years to turn him into this twisted, violent person? Why did he 'hate' women so much that he wanted to hurt and abuse them in this way? Was every woman the mother who had rejected him? Were his experiences so bad when he was in care that it had damaged him so badly?
However, I now knew I was not the one who could help him. I couldn't be with someone who had done those things and therefore on top of my horror I felt guilt. I felt that I was yet another woman who was going to let him down. Another woman who was rejecting him and it would always be thus. I realised he would never have an ordinary life. He would always be on the edges of society. His life , if he managed to stay out of prison, would be full of anger and mistrust and hopelessness. There seemed no hope for him at all now. He would never ask for help. The damage was cut too deep. I could only hope that he would never hurt another woman. My fear was that he would feel even more anger towards my sex now and I would be to blame.
When I wrote the letter ending the relationship I felt terrible. I knew how he would react and when the Chaplin rang to tell me he might harm himself I was full of fear and guilt and remorse.
He replied, enclosing a copy of a poem I had written him, underlining the words about helping him to change, about standing by him. I felt dreadful, I had betrayed him like everyone else.
But of course, he knew this would be how I would feel, he knew I was a soft touch, he had always known. That was why he was able to get under my skin. That was why he had got the Chaplin to ring me. He had never had any intention of harming himself. People like him never do. They manipulate, they direct their anger outwards to the weak, the vulnerable, the forgiving. They are bullies of the worse kind. I hated myself for letting him into my life .....
However, I now knew I was not the one who could help him. I couldn't be with someone who had done those things and therefore on top of my horror I felt guilt. I felt that I was yet another woman who was going to let him down. Another woman who was rejecting him and it would always be thus. I realised he would never have an ordinary life. He would always be on the edges of society. His life , if he managed to stay out of prison, would be full of anger and mistrust and hopelessness. There seemed no hope for him at all now. He would never ask for help. The damage was cut too deep. I could only hope that he would never hurt another woman. My fear was that he would feel even more anger towards my sex now and I would be to blame.
When I wrote the letter ending the relationship I felt terrible. I knew how he would react and when the Chaplin rang to tell me he might harm himself I was full of fear and guilt and remorse.
He replied, enclosing a copy of a poem I had written him, underlining the words about helping him to change, about standing by him. I felt dreadful, I had betrayed him like everyone else.
But of course, he knew this would be how I would feel, he knew I was a soft touch, he had always known. That was why he was able to get under my skin. That was why he had got the Chaplin to ring me. He had never had any intention of harming himself. People like him never do. They manipulate, they direct their anger outwards to the weak, the vulnerable, the forgiving. They are bullies of the worse kind. I hated myself for letting him into my life .....
Sunday, 13 July 2008
TELL ME YOUR STORY.........
I am taking a break from my story to ask you about yours. I would very be interested to hear from anyone who has been abused in this way, or who has been stalked and how it has affected their life.
It is an awful feeling of powerlessness. Here I am, I have done nothing wrong, except get involved with this man, and I have had to leave my home, my friends, my life and move into a women's refuge because of this abusive ex partner. It is wrong, all wrong, but there is nothing I can do about it. He is a danger to women and yet he is now free to possibly re-offend and continue to make my life Hell......
But only if I let him, please read on to see how sometimes good can come from bad.....
It is an awful feeling of powerlessness. Here I am, I have done nothing wrong, except get involved with this man, and I have had to leave my home, my friends, my life and move into a women's refuge because of this abusive ex partner. It is wrong, all wrong, but there is nothing I can do about it. He is a danger to women and yet he is now free to possibly re-offend and continue to make my life Hell......
But only if I let him, please read on to see how sometimes good can come from bad.....
Saturday, 12 July 2008
The Final Chapters
I wrote to him straight away to end the relationship. The police had asked me not to tell him that I knew about his past because he too had rights and he may never offend again. They told me that they preferred that I told no-one except perhaps one close friend whom I could trust. So once again I began to live a lie. I told him that things were not working betweeen us and that I felt it best for both of us if I ended things. I wished him well and hoped he would, at last, be able to live a good life of freedom now that he was no longer on licence.
He was devastated, he wrote again and again begging me to stay. Then he said there was no point in living anymore. Then I got a phone call from the Prison Chaplin saying he was concerned for his state of mind and would I please talk to him. The police had advised that I cut off all contact. So I told the Chaplin I didn't wish to speak to him and that he had to accept it was over. This, of course, he wouldn't and his pleading turned to threats.
The Final Chapters part 2 - re-written
He had lent me some money, while he was in prison, I was struggling to pay my mortgage and he insisted that I use his money to pay my arrears. I resisted this offer until the Mortgage Company threatened me with repossession and then against my better judgment I accepted.
As soon as I borrowed this money, he began to use it against me. If I did anything wrong (in his eyes) he would say right I want my money back ‘Now’ and then you can ---- off. Of course, he knew I wasn’t in a position to pay him back and so this became yet another hold he had over me.
After I ended the relationship, when his pleas and outpourings of love and promises to change or to do anything that might change my mind, didn’t work. He began to threaten me that if I didn’t pay him back his money immediately he would come after me as soon as he was released. I told him I was in the throws of selling my flat and as soon as it was sold he would get his money. He accused me of stealing his money and that he would get revenge on me one way or another.
His release date was pending and so was Christmas and so I decided to go and stay with my sister for a while. It was suggested to me by the police that I leave before he got out for my own safety. This I duly did. Before I left England I borrowed money from a very kind friend in order to pay him back what I owed him. I wrote to him telling him that I would leave a cheque with the probation office for him to collect when he was released.
Just before Christmas I received a phone call, in Belgium, from the police to say that he had broken into my flat and stolen my mail. He had strewn it all along the streets. He had been arrested, charged and released on bail. He told the police he was looking for money.
He started harassing my friends to try to find out where I was living. He asked them for my phone number claiming that I still owed him money. He told them I owed him 400 pounds for phone calls he had made to me whilst he was in prison and that I also owed him for the Christmas and birthday presents that he had bought me. He went round to the house of a frail friend of mine who had recently been in hospital. I had told this friend what was going on and I said if 'he' turned up he was not to pass on my number. But in his fear and confusion he gave him my new number instead of my old one.
As a result I received a phone call from him. It was such a shock. I hadn’t spoken to him since I last visited him in Highpoint Prison, before the police had told me what he’d done.
I was quite shaken and taken off guard. I asked him how he had found out my number, he said there are ways and means and he would always find me. I guessed he had visited one of my friends and so I took a deep breath and told him if he ever contacted my friends or family again I would tell the police, with that I hung up and removed my sim card.
I informed the police but there was nothing they could do but they hoped that when his case came to court for stealing my mail he would be warned never to come near me again. But in the mean-time he was free to roam the streets and harass my friends. They made it clear that they believed it was no longer safe for me to return to my flat.
I was due back in England shortly; I couldn’t stay at my sisters indefinitely. It was suggested to me by the victim support unit that I go into a women’s refuge.
I just couldn’t understand how any of this could be happening. I was just an ordinary member of society. People like me didn't end up in a women's refuge. I had never been on the wrong side of the law. My only mistake was getting involved with someone like him. I didn’t want to leave my home, my friends, my life. It wasn’t right or fair that I had to and yet when I thought of what he had done to those women I was too scared to risk it. I knew, as I knew the sun would rise in the morning, that if I went back to the flat he would come round and bang on the door, he would shout and curse and threaten me. But worse than this, I was frightened that he might be around any corner in the street or that he would come up behind me one day.
Two weeks later I moved into the refuge.
He was devastated, he wrote again and again begging me to stay. Then he said there was no point in living anymore. Then I got a phone call from the Prison Chaplin saying he was concerned for his state of mind and would I please talk to him. The police had advised that I cut off all contact. So I told the Chaplin I didn't wish to speak to him and that he had to accept it was over. This, of course, he wouldn't and his pleading turned to threats.
The Final Chapters part 2 - re-written
He had lent me some money, while he was in prison, I was struggling to pay my mortgage and he insisted that I use his money to pay my arrears. I resisted this offer until the Mortgage Company threatened me with repossession and then against my better judgment I accepted.
As soon as I borrowed this money, he began to use it against me. If I did anything wrong (in his eyes) he would say right I want my money back ‘Now’ and then you can ---- off. Of course, he knew I wasn’t in a position to pay him back and so this became yet another hold he had over me.
After I ended the relationship, when his pleas and outpourings of love and promises to change or to do anything that might change my mind, didn’t work. He began to threaten me that if I didn’t pay him back his money immediately he would come after me as soon as he was released. I told him I was in the throws of selling my flat and as soon as it was sold he would get his money. He accused me of stealing his money and that he would get revenge on me one way or another.
His release date was pending and so was Christmas and so I decided to go and stay with my sister for a while. It was suggested to me by the police that I leave before he got out for my own safety. This I duly did. Before I left England I borrowed money from a very kind friend in order to pay him back what I owed him. I wrote to him telling him that I would leave a cheque with the probation office for him to collect when he was released.
Just before Christmas I received a phone call, in Belgium, from the police to say that he had broken into my flat and stolen my mail. He had strewn it all along the streets. He had been arrested, charged and released on bail. He told the police he was looking for money.
He started harassing my friends to try to find out where I was living. He asked them for my phone number claiming that I still owed him money. He told them I owed him 400 pounds for phone calls he had made to me whilst he was in prison and that I also owed him for the Christmas and birthday presents that he had bought me. He went round to the house of a frail friend of mine who had recently been in hospital. I had told this friend what was going on and I said if 'he' turned up he was not to pass on my number. But in his fear and confusion he gave him my new number instead of my old one.
As a result I received a phone call from him. It was such a shock. I hadn’t spoken to him since I last visited him in Highpoint Prison, before the police had told me what he’d done.
I was quite shaken and taken off guard. I asked him how he had found out my number, he said there are ways and means and he would always find me. I guessed he had visited one of my friends and so I took a deep breath and told him if he ever contacted my friends or family again I would tell the police, with that I hung up and removed my sim card.
I informed the police but there was nothing they could do but they hoped that when his case came to court for stealing my mail he would be warned never to come near me again. But in the mean-time he was free to roam the streets and harass my friends. They made it clear that they believed it was no longer safe for me to return to my flat.
I was due back in England shortly; I couldn’t stay at my sisters indefinitely. It was suggested to me by the victim support unit that I go into a women’s refuge.
I just couldn’t understand how any of this could be happening. I was just an ordinary member of society. People like me didn't end up in a women's refuge. I had never been on the wrong side of the law. My only mistake was getting involved with someone like him. I didn’t want to leave my home, my friends, my life. It wasn’t right or fair that I had to and yet when I thought of what he had done to those women I was too scared to risk it. I knew, as I knew the sun would rise in the morning, that if I went back to the flat he would come round and bang on the door, he would shout and curse and threaten me. But worse than this, I was frightened that he might be around any corner in the street or that he would come up behind me one day.
Two weeks later I moved into the refuge.
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
The tale unfolds
Finally he gets a release date - early December!
One afternoon in late October I receive a visit from the police. They had rung beforehand saying they wanted to discuss a statement I had made about a man I had seen downloading child pornography in an Internet cafe. I waited in for them and when they arrived they said that unfortunately they had not been able to find this man. But they also wished to discuss another matter with me. I went a bit cold because 'He' had been threatening to harm himself and I thought maybe something had happened to him or I had a couple of parking fines outstanding and was worried it was about that.
It was 'him' they wanted to talk to me about. They asked me if I knew the reason he was in prison.
I said I had been told it was because he was intimidating to his probation officer and a member of staff. They said did I realise what he was originally in prison for and I said "well he hadn't really told me but had implied it was for burglary or stealing or something similar."
They then told me that he was a serial, violent, sex offender, particular against prostitutes and he had been offending since he was 17. This meant 25 years of abusing women! They had informed me because they feared for my safety as he was considered to be a very dangerous man. I was absolutely shattered. Of all the things I had thought he had done this had never even entered my head. I was really really shocked, my whole world was turned upside down. All the time I had been with this man and I really didn't know him at all.....
One afternoon in late October I receive a visit from the police. They had rung beforehand saying they wanted to discuss a statement I had made about a man I had seen downloading child pornography in an Internet cafe. I waited in for them and when they arrived they said that unfortunately they had not been able to find this man. But they also wished to discuss another matter with me. I went a bit cold because 'He' had been threatening to harm himself and I thought maybe something had happened to him or I had a couple of parking fines outstanding and was worried it was about that.
It was 'him' they wanted to talk to me about. They asked me if I knew the reason he was in prison.
I said I had been told it was because he was intimidating to his probation officer and a member of staff. They said did I realise what he was originally in prison for and I said "well he hadn't really told me but had implied it was for burglary or stealing or something similar."
They then told me that he was a serial, violent, sex offender, particular against prostitutes and he had been offending since he was 17. This meant 25 years of abusing women! They had informed me because they feared for my safety as he was considered to be a very dangerous man. I was absolutely shattered. Of all the things I had thought he had done this had never even entered my head. I was really really shocked, my whole world was turned upside down. All the time I had been with this man and I really didn't know him at all.....
Sunday, 6 July 2008
The horror story now evolves
His appeal finally arrived!
Hoping it might help I wrote a letter to the Prison Governor on his behalf. Telling him that he had turned over a new leaf and that I was a good, decent and honest citizen with a degree and no previous contact with anyone the wrong side of the law. I told him that he now had a job and a steady girl-friend and that I believed he was determined to be a decent member of society from now on.
He was turned down on the grounds that he had been intimidating to his probation officer and a member of staff.
I found out at this time that he had been out on licence and still had nine months of that licence to serve and these would now be served in prison.
He became more angry and despondent. Talking about suicide and accusing me of sleeping around. Then alternating this with claims of eternal love and apologies. He became obsessed with sex and wanted me to write about my fantasies for him to read to keep him going in prison. He wrote and told me his and he liked to talk about what we would do when he came home.
I was getting a little uncomfortable with his erratic behaviour but kept putting it down to his being in prison while I was outside and free to do whatever I liked. In a sense I understood his insecurity.
I kept trudging all the way up to Highpoint Prison, near New market. A horrible place. It would take me most of the day to get there and back and then when I arrived I was subjected to searches and sniffer dogs and the company of people I would cross the road to avoid in normal circumstances.
We would then have just one and a half hours together.
He would want to talk about our future together. Marriage and living together in my flat. I would avoid the subject because as I had told him numerous times. I wasn't ready for that yet. We had only known each other a short time before he went inside and the situation we were in was not 'real' and we needed to have some more time together on the outside to see how it went. He said I should know how I felt by now and so often our visits were fraught and tense. Also he wanted to kiss and hold me all the time and we were only supposed to hold hands. The Prison staff were watching us all the time.
I hated every minute of those visits.
Hoping it might help I wrote a letter to the Prison Governor on his behalf. Telling him that he had turned over a new leaf and that I was a good, decent and honest citizen with a degree and no previous contact with anyone the wrong side of the law. I told him that he now had a job and a steady girl-friend and that I believed he was determined to be a decent member of society from now on.
He was turned down on the grounds that he had been intimidating to his probation officer and a member of staff.
I found out at this time that he had been out on licence and still had nine months of that licence to serve and these would now be served in prison.
He became more angry and despondent. Talking about suicide and accusing me of sleeping around. Then alternating this with claims of eternal love and apologies. He became obsessed with sex and wanted me to write about my fantasies for him to read to keep him going in prison. He wrote and told me his and he liked to talk about what we would do when he came home.
I was getting a little uncomfortable with his erratic behaviour but kept putting it down to his being in prison while I was outside and free to do whatever I liked. In a sense I understood his insecurity.
I kept trudging all the way up to Highpoint Prison, near New market. A horrible place. It would take me most of the day to get there and back and then when I arrived I was subjected to searches and sniffer dogs and the company of people I would cross the road to avoid in normal circumstances.
We would then have just one and a half hours together.
He would want to talk about our future together. Marriage and living together in my flat. I would avoid the subject because as I had told him numerous times. I wasn't ready for that yet. We had only known each other a short time before he went inside and the situation we were in was not 'real' and we needed to have some more time together on the outside to see how it went. He said I should know how I felt by now and so often our visits were fraught and tense. Also he wanted to kiss and hold me all the time and we were only supposed to hold hands. The Prison staff were watching us all the time.
I hated every minute of those visits.
A love story continued
Three months into the relationship I received a phone call late one night. It was him, he was ringing to tell me that there had been a big mistake and he was being taken back into prison. He was in tears and saying he was so sorry over and over again. He said he had no idea why this was happening as he had done nothing wrong, that it was all a mistake and as soon as this was discovered he would be released. He also said that he expected me to end things with him and that he understood. I, like a fool, said I would stand by him, which I duly did.
From then on the life of a prisoners moll was the life I would lead for the next nine months. Having never set foot inside a prison before this was quite a difficult and frightening experience to begin with. Also, he continued to re-assure me that it was all a mistake and he would be appealing and would be home soon. He had told me, in the first instance, that he wanted to never be judged by his past again and he didn't want people to know that he had been in prison and so I didn't tell anyone. I pretended that he was working away and every so often I went to visit him. It was really horrible living a lie but I wanted him to be able to trust me to be loyal to him.
The months went by and still no release. We wrote to each other every day and he rang me almost every night. I only had a mobile and so I had to receive his calls from a local phone box. Occasionally I just couldn't get there at the right time and he would be very angry. His letters started to be more demanding and controlling. I tried to justify this by the fact that he was stuck in prison unfairly and I was outside and free. But the tone of his calls and letters changed and he started to use emotional blackmail and accused me of seeing other people.
These letters would be interspersed with letters telling me how much he loved me and that he wanted to marry me, that no-one else had ever meant so much to him. That no-one else had ever stood by him. He said that an ex-girlfriend had been having an affair all the time he was in prison in the past and yet had continued to visit him and pretend everything was OK. Because of this I forgave him his jealousy and controlling behaviour...
From then on the life of a prisoners moll was the life I would lead for the next nine months. Having never set foot inside a prison before this was quite a difficult and frightening experience to begin with. Also, he continued to re-assure me that it was all a mistake and he would be appealing and would be home soon. He had told me, in the first instance, that he wanted to never be judged by his past again and he didn't want people to know that he had been in prison and so I didn't tell anyone. I pretended that he was working away and every so often I went to visit him. It was really horrible living a lie but I wanted him to be able to trust me to be loyal to him.
The months went by and still no release. We wrote to each other every day and he rang me almost every night. I only had a mobile and so I had to receive his calls from a local phone box. Occasionally I just couldn't get there at the right time and he would be very angry. His letters started to be more demanding and controlling. I tried to justify this by the fact that he was stuck in prison unfairly and I was outside and free. But the tone of his calls and letters changed and he started to use emotional blackmail and accused me of seeing other people.
These letters would be interspersed with letters telling me how much he loved me and that he wanted to marry me, that no-one else had ever meant so much to him. That no-one else had ever stood by him. He said that an ex-girlfriend had been having an affair all the time he was in prison in the past and yet had continued to visit him and pretend everything was OK. Because of this I forgave him his jealousy and controlling behaviour...
Monday, 30 June 2008
Girl on the run explains...
This is by way of an introduction. You might wonder why Girl on the Run? Well the truth is I am in hiding.
No this is not a story.
It is unfortunately my life at the moment. You might argue that all of life is a story, well if that is the case then mine is a highly charged nail biter.
I met a guy, not my usual type, a bit rough around the edges, but he was really keen.
I had been on my own for a long time and I was pretty lonely. We met a couple of times and then he lost my phone number. To my complete amazement he posted a notice on the lamp-post, at the bottom of the road where I was living, begging me to phone him as he was desperate to keep in touch with me. It was very romantic and I was bowled over.
After a while he told me a very sad story.
He had been put into care when he was seven because his mother couldn't cope. He was abused and beaten in care, and having become brutalised he continued to get into trouble ended up in a young offenders institution and then prison.
He expected me to finish with him when he told me all this but I didn't. I was going to be the one person who stood by him, the one person who would really care about him. I would save him. He said he wanted to make a fresh start, he had a job, wanted to have a girlfriend and settle down into an ordinary life.
Unfortunately that is not the complete story. Neither of his story, nor of mine. I will post more later.
No this is not a story.
It is unfortunately my life at the moment. You might argue that all of life is a story, well if that is the case then mine is a highly charged nail biter.
I met a guy, not my usual type, a bit rough around the edges, but he was really keen.
I had been on my own for a long time and I was pretty lonely. We met a couple of times and then he lost my phone number. To my complete amazement he posted a notice on the lamp-post, at the bottom of the road where I was living, begging me to phone him as he was desperate to keep in touch with me. It was very romantic and I was bowled over.
After a while he told me a very sad story.
He had been put into care when he was seven because his mother couldn't cope. He was abused and beaten in care, and having become brutalised he continued to get into trouble ended up in a young offenders institution and then prison.
He expected me to finish with him when he told me all this but I didn't. I was going to be the one person who stood by him, the one person who would really care about him. I would save him. He said he wanted to make a fresh start, he had a job, wanted to have a girlfriend and settle down into an ordinary life.
Unfortunately that is not the complete story. Neither of his story, nor of mine. I will post more later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
