I have not written on here for a while but nothing much has altered since I last did so. Only my depression has deepened. I feel trapped here. I can't afford to move out and I have one percent chance of getting a suitable council house. I am saving up but will have to put that towards a holiday for my sons. I am on the housing list but there is always people more desperate than me bidding on the decent properties. So here I am. Stuck in hell with my kids. It's not my kids that are the problem it's my parents. Perhaps I have been over this already in previous posts. I moved in with my parents back when my littlies were a baby and a toddler because I split from their dad and had nowhere else to go. At the time I was actually gripped by an illogical fear of what the future might hold for me and my partner. In actuallity I think I was leaving an open prison and walking into a lions den. Only the lions don't kill you right away. They slowly eat away at your confidence and your nerves, clawing you barely enough to draw blood. Until you can't sleep for worrying and the stress is knawing at your bones and it kills you to feel so trapped and helpless to protect your children. It is not as severe and brutal as things like the poor baby peter case, but it is almost as devestating. It's bad enough that I grew up with the way my so called parents treated me but now they are doing it to my sons and that is inexcusable.
Okay so tonight I was trying to get my boys to have a wash and get changed for bed. They were quite happily reading and playing and pretending it did not need doing right now. I took away a book that my almost seven year old was trying to look at and he said Hey! in a fairly reasonable objecting tone of voice in response. I did not mind. I thought it was a fair reaction. In response my father comes out into the hall and thumps him shouting at him not to speak to me like that. Matt (my son who got hit) starts crying and holds the side of his head saying it hurts. My mother says it didn't hurt. I'm thinking how do you know? How dare she say it doesn't hurt! Does she know what he's feeling? I wanted nothing more than to hold Matt and comfort him. He wants my comfort too. But I cheerfully talk to him as I try to help him change. It breaks my heart not to help him. I was afraid to hug him and give him the comfort he so badly needed because I did not want to give my father any more reason to be angry. He frown on hugging them whenever they are crying. He thinks me and my mum do it too much and that it encourages them to cry when they don't need to and for longer than necessary. He's a cold heartless bully and I hate him. I hate being related to him and I hate having to share a house with him. I hate having to spend any time in the same room as him. And you know the best part? My parents appear to think their behaviour is normal and perfectly okay. They don't even have any idea how I feel. I would break their cold hearts to know the depth of my true feelings for them. Way back when I was a little girl I used to love my dad and look forward to when he came home for lunch, the rare times I was not at school. That affection has long since dissapated. I have not talked about why I hate my mother in this post but I could list a dozen depressing reasons or incidents to illustrate why.
My earliest memory is when I must have been only three or four years old. Very small. Something happened that caused me to run from the living room and flee upstairs to my room gripped by insane fearful panic. I recall hysterically yelling in fear No daddy don't hit me! No daddy! No! As he pursued me up the stairs. This only caused my fear to escalate of course. I ran into my room and shut the door standing behind it trying to hold it shut, whilst crying hysterically. He tried to gain entry which made me more distressed. He told me Have I ever hit you? Have I ever hit you? The answer was no, but it took a long time till I calmed down. I don't actually remember a time in my life since then when I have ever been so scared.
My parents are abusive and the abuse is tearing me apart. I can't say what effect it has on my two sons, but it is going to be negative. Worse case scenario they grow up into monsters. I'd hope they have too much of me and their daddy in them for that though, and that I have taught them to know better. But the abuse is not severe enough that social services can do anything or criminal enough that the police can do anything. Besides I am an adult too. But what can I do? I'm fucking stuck here! So it's just me and them. Left here to rot. Out on a limb all by ourselves. I get afraid sometimes that my mum is going to hurt Matt. I mean more than usual, seriously hurt him. Or maybe even kill him. Is that what were waiting for? My sons have to be dead or bleeding before anyone takes notice? Well I'd rather keep them alive and breathing if it's all the same. I have to stop now before I start crying and falling apart. No chance I'll get a good nights sleep tonight after what my father did.
