~My Story~ This is the most difficult part of this web site for me .... but I understand now that the time has come for me 'to come clean'!! .... I now understand, after too many years of silence .... that unless I can tell the world, truthfully and with no holds barred, about my childhood .... I will never truly heal. And so with much trepidation, I now lay my soul bare ...... I was born 26th December, 1950. I was the second of three children .... my brother having been born two years earlier and my sister eight years after me. From what I have been told I was a tiny baby and I cried a lot ... I was told that I cried so much, that I was 'medically sedated' so that my mother and father could peacefully sleep. My earliest memory (which some psychoanalysts might possibly refute given the nature of my age)... is of me at 18 months old. Maybe because it was such a terrifying experience for one so young is the reason I have remembered it? All I can say is, I have never 'not' remembered it! There had been so much rain, incessant rain (this part, the incessant rain, I don't remember, but I have been told since about it). But I do remember this .... my mother took me to this place .... it had a swinging bridge .... she took me across this swinging bridge ... and I can still see the floodwaters raging below us ... I can still hear the tumultuous roar of the floodwaters ... and I can still remember how I felt .... absolutely and totally terrified. And I can remember us trying to get back home ..... through the floodwaters. I remember a man (many years later, I discovered he was a policeman) carrying me through the floodwaters, holding me close. Until about ten months ago, I had no memories from thereon until I was about eight years old. Apart from this 'toddler' memory, it was like I had been born as an eight year old. An eight year old who always tried so very hard to be 'the best daughter', an eight year old who tried so very hard to get the 'best results' in school, an eight year old who lived in a fantasy world .... in thinking that being the best daughter and getting the best results in school ... would stop the nightmare, the nightmare of sexual abuse. ... NOT SO!!! My father started sexually abusing me from the age of five and he continued until I was twelve years old. He also physically abused me all through those years. He verbally and emotionally abused me until the day he died. He died 12th June, 1984 .. (I was 33).... it was 16 years ago .... and yet, I still carry the scars of his abuse. He was a violent, sadistic, abusive, warped being !!!! I am ashamed to call him 'my biological' father!! ... and yes, if the truth is known, I still hate him with all my being. I think the hardest part I am struggling to come to terms with .... is my mother's participation in these incidious, incestuous acts. I married and subsequently became the mother of the three most wonderful children in the world .... (I'm not biased of course???) ... It was only then .... and as the years went by ... that I slowly began to realise how 'warped' my mother was. She was a mother who professed to love me, but she was also a mother who 'happily watched' while her daughter was being sexually and physically abused in the worst possible way. I remember one time when my father hit me so hard to the side of my head, that I was deafened in one ear for many days. I fleetingly remember being on the floor part way up the hallway after this vicious attack ..... I guess I must have lost consciousness, for the next thing I remember is being in my bedroom, feeling abandoned, physically hurting, feeling totally lost ... and wishing there were some way that I could die. Quite simply, I just 'did not want to be'!!! ... My mother was there at this time, she actually 'watched' this abuse .... and did nothing .... not one single, solitary thing, to help me!! It is only since about ten months ago that 'new memories' have started to emerge, memories very horrific, memories that I am not quite ready yet to include in 'My Story'. But with my emerging memories, I now know that I was not born 'as an eight year old'. The sexual abuse started when I was five years of age. Now, when I am driving to my work, I cannot help but notice the children on their way to school. Innocent children, happy, carefree children, children with scrawny child bodies .... and I have to wonder .... how can 'ANYONE'....'ANYONE' .... man or woman, ever be 'turned-on' sexually by these children? ... Am I missing something??? NO, I HAVE MISSED NOTHING!! ..... my children are the light of my life. They are now 26, 25 and 23. They are adults and I am so very proud of each of them. And there is no way that their father or myself could ever have .. or ever will .. abuse or harm them in any shape or form .... whatsoever!!! So hence, I am still finding it difficult to come to terms with my own parents' abuse of me. Their actions were unnatural, totally unnatural for parents who professed to love their children, unnatural for parents who were held in high regard within our community, unnatural for parents who always taught us that we 'were better' than our neighbours ...... fuck it, who the hell did they think they were? And who the heck did they think us kids would grow up to be? .... Abusive, self centred snobs like they were???? ... I think not!!! My brother and I are extremely close. I adore him! He and his wife have both helped me through some very dark times, and their love and faith in me has never wavered! My sister is another story. I feel that she is still living in a fantasy world .... a fantasy world of having had 'perfect parents', a 'perfect upbringing' and a 'perfect childhood life'. Because she was eight years younger than me, I 'protected' her as much as I was able. Maybe I protected her too much?? .... I guess time will tell. I do know that eventually the bubble will burst for her ... as it did for me .... and when it happens, all I can hope for is that she will come to me ... if she is seeking answers. I love her, without reservation, as I have always loved her. She was the cutest little baby, so innocent, so warm, so cuddly ... and at that time in my life, she was my everything! I adored her! Her smiles, her cuddliness, her baby warmth held me together. While I was cuddling her, I could almost forget about the sexual and physical abuse that was happening. But not for long! .... Not very long after my sister was born, each morning my mother would tell me to go into the bedroom, to rock my little sister in her bassinette so that she would stop crying, while she cooked the breakfast. The bassinette was in my parents' bedroom .... my father would be laying in their bed watching me, while I rocked the bassinette. As soon as I had rocked my little sister to sleep, he would ask me to get into the bed with him. No, that's not quite right.... he would 'order' me to get into bed with him. And what followed for my child mind was totally horrific! He would kiss me .... tongue kiss me ..... it was horrible, yucky, totally abhorrent .... and then he would take my nightie off and 'finger' me .... and then my mother would come into the bedroom .... and watch what he was doing with me (all while my little baby sister was sleeping in her bassinette in the same room!). And then I would put my mask back on, I would go off to school and try to pretend that I was like everyone else, with not a care in the world!! This memory (and more) are what I have always remembered ... not a day has gone by in my life when I haven't remembered. But me, being 'the perfect child', from the 'perfect family' always kept the mask in place ...... until suddenly, about two years ago, without warning .... my mask cracked!! And it cracked in a big way ... and when I say big, I mean 'BIG'. Big enough to push me into almost suiciding, big enough to push me into severe social withdrawal (for many months, I wanted nothing to do with anyone, it was almost beyond me to even answer the phone) ... and big enough ... (horror of horrors).. to affect my work performance. Okay, okay .... I know for me to heal, I have to get to all the 'real graphic stuff' of all that happened ... but not today, maybe next week ???? Four Years Later. 'Next week' has now turned into four years later and I'm now ready to tell the rest of my story. So much healing has taken place since I first started this web site. My ~ Page still under construction ~