Going through Hell

I went to visit her yesterday.

She stared right through me. She cried but no tears fell.

”They took away my dignity. They locked me up in a small room. No bed, no food, no blanket. They took all my clothes away. I was completely naked. And freezing because they put the air conditioning on full blast. They injected me with sedatives. For six hours I lay on the cold, hard floor, trying to cover myself up with my arms. I couldn’t breathe. Im going through hell.”

Holding back the wave of pain that threatened to engulf me I hugged her tight and told her:

”Your dignity is up here,” I put my hand on her forehead, ‘and here,’ I pointed to her heart.”Nobody can take that away from you. 

 You’re my sister. and I love you with every inch of my heart. That will never change.” I held her hand and stroked her flushed cheek. ” your heart is a muscle, I said, quoting a film I had just watched ”The more you exercise it, the stronger it gets. Take the pain and think of it as building blocks. you are so strong and so brave and I love you so much. 

I don’t know what is worse; going through hell, or watching someone you love go through it. Its like a double dose of trauma.

 Im still crying.



I Told Them


I told them
I spoke to them.
I wrote to them.
I told I told I told

I screamed.
I yelled
I whispered
I cried i cried, I cried

But They didn’t listen.

So I stopped

My tears dried up

I stopped writing
I stopped talking
I never told again

All the pain,
the pain
It hid behind my smile
it cowered behind my eyes
and if someone, anyone, would have noticed
just once

Maybe I would have told again…


All these crazy insomniacs…

Insomnia. Sigh.. I get tired just thinking about it. I have delved deep into my nightmarish past and come up with a possible explanation as to why I have chronic insomnia. This is not a diagnosis, rather an understanding of it from my own view.

we develop healthy sleeping patterns from the way we are taught as kids. This takes into account routine, calm atmosphere and positive encouragement towards sleep.

but what if your life as a child was one of constant disarray, the only people that were calm were your neighbours, and you got tied to the bed, whipped and threatened with death if you did not shut up and go to sleep?

Fear kept me awake for hours on end, straining my ears for the familiar sounds of doom impending footsteps.. I learnt to recognise her breathing, her walk, her climb. Each was as familiar to me as my own name. When I was awake, I was somewhat in control. It was when I was sleeping she had free reign to do whatever she wanted. it was that paralysing fear, of being vulnerable, that kept me awake at night and subsequently evolved into a habitual lack of sleep which affects me until today.

Its been a while…

I got busy with life.. I guess thats a good thing.. and slowly the novelty of having a blog to write in became to much of a chore so I just forgot about it. 

With my recent spurt of memories, flashbacks and nightmares, and the fact that Im almost finished my second year of university, has led me back to this blog. 

So much has happened. Life, for instance, it keeps happening. When it rains it pours, although in my case, it never stops pouring. I live in a torrential downpour of roller coaster emotions, events and circumstances that have me flying around carelessly, like a bull in a china shop, banging into walls and tripping over myself as I struggle to get through each day.

I guess thats the thing about abuse and the after effects. They never completely leave you. Sure you can distract yourself and most of us have found the necessary distractions that keep us from just ending it all, but I never feel at ease. Im chronically exhausted, my body keeps on reacting as though it is being abused. I wish I could tell it that its over but it refuses to let go. I have all these unexplained aches and pains, dissociation and I cant remember the last time I had even one hour of normal sleep.

Its just so unfair. 

I owe it to myself to ‘complain’ In real life, I never complain out loud. I minimise everything. Im working on allowing myself some self empathy. I think its important.


It follows me around, this abuse thing…

Like a persistent toddler clinging to my legs and screaming… look, listen, hear… I am. Here.

And whoever said, ‘Children should be seen and not heard’, didn’t take into account that one day the child would grow up and become their worst enemy…

Because when you silence an innocent, you might silence their present but never their future…

If you don’t kill them off first with your venomous poison, they will come. They will come back with full Darth Vader force and chop your ideas and fantasies into tiny little crumbs of nothingness                                                                                                                    They will come back like a boomerang; with all the menace you put into shooting that plastic sword… right into their miniature hearts and hopes and dreams.

They will come back.

And you will feel so small, so low, so ashamed. So much like you made those innocents feel all those years ago when                                                                                                   you thought you had silenced them                                                                                                                                                  Forever.


Survivors Mask

Has some song potential methinks… !

I look up and I see
A beautiful house in the countryside
Flowers adorn the door
Rose bushes lined up outside

A fresh coat of paint, white like snow
Gleaming windows reflecting light
But what I cannot see
Is what is hidden inside

I turn the handle carefully
Hopeful as I step inside
My face shows curiosity
My eyes open wide

I see a row of children with identical faces
Rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes
I wonder at the similarity
When suddenly I realize,

They are in disguise

It is only a mask
A cleverly painted mask
And when I lift them off their faces for a while,
I do not even have to ask

Their fragile souls have been destroyed
Their tiny hearts been torn apart
Hurt beyond belief
Withering in their grief

The bitterness in their eyes
Questions: Why? Why?
Why do we have to suffer
In the hands of wicked lies

—- ——- ——– —— ——-

We are the children
Who are hurt and in pain
Our masks stuck on tightly
Hiding our shame

They entered our bodies, our spirit, our mind
But they cant take away our courage to fight
‘Coz we are all survivors playing the same game
We will unite our strength will remain

For years we covered up
Our sorrow and our pain
But now we shout out to the world:
NEVER will abuse be tolerated again!

Possible Diagnosis

After TWO, yes two! long years on the NHS waiting list, I finally got an appointment to have a psychological assessment. It was draining. Ive been going over the same stuff so many times, I could tell you my story in my sleep. Why dont they just read my notes??

At the end of the session, the psychologist said she detected Major Depression, PTSD (see post on PTSD) and possible BPD-Borderline Personality Disorder.

Personally, I hate labels.  No, ‘hate’ is too nice a word. Detest… thats better!

However, in order to fill out the paperwork and to get somewhere (Ive waited two freakin long years Im not waiting any longer) I have to have this label despite not ticking ALL of the boxes.

One of the questions that bothered me was the one that asked if I was manipulative.

She didnt ask it. she suggested it..like-” there have been times where you have controlled or manipulated people or situations to get what you wanted.”

Which is ironic, because usually it is me who is being manipulated. One of the main factors of the abuse was control and manipulation. Come to think of it, essentially ALL of the abuse was about control. I only got out of my abusive home almost 3 years ago and it hasnt been until very recently that I have felt confident enough to be in control of my own life.

I sometimes still think of myself as a doormat, someone who will bend over backwards to ‘warm your feet ‘and literally be stepped on inorder to avoid aggravation and confrontations.

If I was having this assessment by myself to myself, I would answer that ‘suggestion’ with a resounding NO! but, -again, ironically,- I said I dont know.

Then she said she would like me to research DBT-Dialectical Behaviour Therapy.

So, Ive read up about it but can anyone out here in the blogosphere recount a successful experience with it?