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Scars -a bloody unwanted reminder

Writing prompt -Scars

One scar I have is huge – it almost wraps all the way around my upper wrist -it is 2-3 cm wide.  Indented, It reminds me of a dried upriver.

The cause?

Domestic violence.

Before I continue…

Domestic abuse & Toxic relationships

Rape -NO means NO.

I’m going to state the obvious here.

Domestic violence is a relationship fucks about with your mental health, whether you love the person or not.

Toxic relationships have usually tipped me over into using shitty coping mechanisms like drinking too much, taking drugs, overdosing and not managing my medication or my eating disorder and Bipolar.

So back to the blood river scar.

One night- no

Another night of heavy drinking and arguing, I found me in a house -not mine- that looked like a slaughterhouse. all dirty browns. There was a rusty scent of blood impossible to ignore.

Every time I inhaled, the scent would drip down the back of my throat like a  tap -I could taste it too.

I  had mixed copious amounts of alcohol with my medication and all I remember is trying to push my ex away with my left hand ( I am left-handed), he grabbed my arm and I struggled back.


 An image.

An arm.

 a massive shard of re-enforced window glass- barbered-   poking out of my right arm.

Another image.

the back of my exes legs and back running up the stairs.


















An arm coated thick with blood. I wear it like an accessory

Blood makes noise.

I hear screaming.


Ex reappears and tries to grab me.

I try to run away.





Why is my ex naked?

In the middle of the street?

Rolling on the floor with me- trying to muffle my screams with his hand. Trying to stop me from running away…


MIND FUCKERY at its best.

“Look what you have done…” ex says.

6 hours later – location:  hospital.

The doctor asks to speak with me in private. My ex doesn’t want to leave my side.

I don’t say anything. quack quack! quack quack! quack quack!   the word on a loop…

“What happened?”  he wants to know.

“We don’t know. We were drinking. I can’t remember. It was an accident.” my ex speaks for us.

My head bows down,it almost appears as if I am nodding. I can’t quite remember.

What I do remember feels like I have made it up, it is so detached from my mind and emotions. It is about as close to me as Pluto or Saturn.

3 days in hospital my ex never left my side.

Not even to go home to wash or brush his teeth.

I wasn’t alone- my mother was with us too.

I was high on morphine for the pain.

Why didn’t they operate sooner?

Did they want to monitor me?

The situation?


three days later…  I’m being wheeled on the hospital bed- away from the stale, coughing ward…

“countback with me from 10,” says the anaesthetist.

“ 10 , 9 ,8 ……“


“1”. my eyes burst open. I gasp a breath. It is  like I’ve been living in a homemade sac filled with half shallow water and half air.


What happened?

I look down at the artwork the surgeon has done.

No more blood.

re-stuffed re-patched, recovered,

by a micro surgical  hand.


Back to the carnival freak show.

I enter his home – a massacre.

Dry blood everywhere.




Scrubbing brushes.

Stubborn blood. 

If only it could serve as a reminder of what actually happened that night.

“I don’t remember” the ex says.

How can he and I not know?

Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the chaos that was my life for 4 years.

This scar says –




emotions numbed.




This scar reminds me to NEVER be silent in the name of so-called love or a sense of loyalty to one who claimed to love me so much he would do anything to keep me.

When I left him, I did not take his threats seriously.

 What he did next gave serious competition with the scar I see.

That everyone can see.

Toxic relationships result in a severe loss – sometimes that means your life.

Think carefully about what and who your life may include.

I was reborn again on the 06/05/2015.

The day the court ordered social services out of my life.

The day that my ex turned his back on me,  is the day I realised I had been holding my breath for years.

I had forgotten how to breathe.  I might have been dead- a wanderer.

06/05/2015 -I remembered not only how to breathe again but why.

Life -not just my own but that who is of me.

Life is precious

Life is my responsibility


Catch 22

Fall – leaves turn shades of browns and greens.

my heart dips and I don’t feel that same sense of summer’s beams.

Alone. I look to my left. Creativity shines- glitter, stilettos- latex, white faux fur coats. All legs.

Like a string of pearls flung across a room,  a musky scent wafts across my midst.

Temptations persist. Glamour. Warmth is all I seek. Summer, why do you have to be so cruel?

I know if I cross over to the other side – I’ll be feeling the warmth – it will be pimped out inbox ring styles – I won’t have time to dodge the fists.

My body will burn up an exotic shade of hues. I will have no rest.

Hell is the other side of Summers gluttonous jazz bassline.

One hit. One vein. Blood – artificial nirvana could infiltrate my being.

I won’t have to think of the biting cold that is ringing in my ears. Muffled will be the ice cone, frozen on the edge of my nose. It doesn’t matter who sees that I have been seen.

Bus shelters full, spikes erect from the corporate underground – I can’t sit down. I know it takes fewer muscles to smile than frown.

Energy is all I have to see me through this cycle of undomesticated abuse. October may be  Domestic abuse awareness month.

If I hadn’t left my keeper, I would still have a roof over my head.

A blanket.

I would still be touched.

 Roughed up.

Better the devil you know – I know every one of his moves. I know when to dissociate –

detach my mind

from my body.

Floating above the marital, martial art stylised bed – I see myself and that devil I married, grabbing folds of my skin. He doesn’t notice the smell of the new conditioner I bought at Asda or how soft the sheets feel now they have been newly spun.

Dryer. I’m dry. He doesn’t notice the lack of moisture. He doesn’t notice that all of that fluid has shot up to my eyeballs. I refuse to let them free flow – I am not her. I’m floating.

Fly on the wall. Caught up in a spiders web. I have to watch. It doesn’t matter if I have a crick in my neck – oh hang on a minute is he choking me?

Leftover food languishing in the sink drain. He switched the waste disposal on to automatic.

Arrested, I am back in bed, under him. Time to vogue with my lips and give him a little pucker.

These white sheets have turned red in his need to let off steam. I come out in blisters hovering underneath his vapour.

Turn my neck – feels like I need a box of throat lozenges for having to get all deep throat.

5 am flashing in stimulant green.

I’m 5 months pregnant. I am going to be late.

Grab the nearest decent clothes. Pull-on my Adidas trainers. Scrape my hair up into a ponytail.

Finally the motivation to go on the run. I don’t have to time myself. I know his schedule well.

An Olympic torch passes into my hand. I’m running for freedom. Liberty is my destination.

I can start over.

Spring – blues, violets, colours in a perfect union – uncompressed. Naturally dressed.

For the first time in months, I feel like I belong. I too am a medley of colours. I blend in.

Natures milkshake collects in my breasts –  4 months to go until I give birth to a miracle of pure life.

Not branded a colour – just innocence – a chance to see a light – work on my soul and tackle it all. This is the only cure.


I am no Killer.

Life goes in cycles. It passes by fast. There are no traffic jams when you have to pick up your feet and walk.

Eyes cast down, belly protruding.

Christian volunteers crouch down next to me- hand me a card.

Die and be reborn.

They can help me. I just have to give my old life to our saviour. I’ve never met him but he sounds

Forgiving, comforting, caressing- a handwash with extra Aloe vera – calming properties.

All I have to do is offer my unborn child to him and I can enter paradise with the rest of my weary comrades.

Eyes raise up to the bitter sky. I’ve always thought whatever is up there twinkling and winking down at me is having a far better time than me.

My unborn deserves a place in heaven. Earth only promises scars and wild jungle roots to keep it grounded to the spot.

The ultimate sacrifice.

Did I fold in with this cult out of cowardice?

I will drink my poison.

Maybe this winter I will be reunited with the one that let out a sudden cry.

Lead me not into temptation. I lie down, no need to be afraid, child. I close my eyes and sigh.

Hope is my last premise.

* Inspired by domestic violence awareness month*






*photo credit Rhode Island Francesca Woodman, Benjamin Moore *

Thoughts about Social services & Justice

*First posted 2015

Content: How I got my daughter back-  and issues of control/being out of control

This morning I woke up with a feeling of loss and  a heavy anchor weighing me down. I should have been buzzing. I was three hours away from meeting up with a girl who works with a mental health charity and to work together on a one off workshop to close the stigma between the volunteers and the people they help. Below is all I had to type this morning: warning alert: very woe! woe! woe is me !and not WOW WOW look at me go.  


Why do I only see ugly? What is wrong with me.I can’t love my cat or daughter or partner cos I have trouble accepting me? Why is outer beauty so important to have when I see the beauty of people in all their different guises? My heart has been rung out . The salty ness stings increasingly as it courses through my veins. Pumping –you are ugly  you are not good enough.Why now? Why these feelings now? My next challenge — like a bull waiting , snorting – A Red mist descends. Red mist that at the end will be.

  I had writers block I couldn’t think of anything poetic to say. All words seemed shit and I felt shit. 

So let me get real and tell you what is really on my mind My head has been doing 360 degree turns lately like that possessed chick in every movie about hauntings and possession.  Except it has been me not some movie.  My weight has been going up and  up – I have had no control. Even with me eating healthily. The numbers have  kept on  going up. I have been getting a  daily beasting from the  Goddess of hard core exercises -Jillian Michael. No bullshit. No pansy-ing about. No quitting. I am no quitter.Not a sinker. No Titanic. Why is this fucker in my head fucking with me now? I’m finally getting somewhere with myself and what I want to invest all my working time in.

Yup, so I have really been struggling with my mind for a few months Isn’t that crazy? Me wanting to help people who are struggling? I’m struggling.

I had to let go of the figures on the scale. I’ve never done that. How did I  do it?  Well,  I decided  I like eating (yes, Anorexics can like eating)  and I eat healthily  already so, I was not about  to go hungry and become ill again. No, this is my time. I wasn’t going to start taking overdoses to cope with the madness inside me — skewered. Grilling me .It was bedlam in my head. True bedlam.

I stopped weighing myself every day. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT EITHER.  I carried on with 40 minutes of  an intense cardio workout . I didn’t carry on doing 3-4 hour workouts like I have done previously. I did not start monitoring my fluid intake.  In fact I did the opposite and btw  my skin looks the best it ever has. I had to get moving. Get out the house and live.  The critters inside jittering and chattering and  fluttering  chaotically in my mind could carry on.I  carried on with life.

I got out there and I followed through on my next goal. I have my daughter back . I’m already a student with full BA(hons) in Arts and the humanities. I’ve booked our wedding for next year. The one I was never ever going to have. I am finally in a place to help people.

I don’t care if I don’t get paid I’m getting so much back from this.

You know what is even more chaotic than my recent state of mind?  Okay -ready?  The training I have been put on to do, is all stuff I worked out on my own and with my family when social services wanted to put my daughter up for adoption.

Why didn’t they get HOME-START in first?


How come they didn’t tell me about a 12 week course called called WRAP ( WELLNESS RECOVERY ACTION PLAN)  that helps a person put together a support package if a person’s  health starts to get distressed?

This is not some new concept or specialised training. It’s been going on for years and being taught in prisons and schools today. Why didn’t any of the social workers I know signpost me in these  directions?

I stayed up into   the early hours of the morning for weeks. Researching online to find an answer to convince  social services that I could be a mom and  have times when my mental health isn’t all that cracking.  In my research I came across something called ‘ the circle of protection’ (very Lion king – the zulu bit -you know what I’m on about?) An epiphany or something.

Why had none of these highly qualified social workers, guardians of the court, these professionals but myself thought to put a contingency plan in place?

When my daughter  was put under an interim care order. Obviously, I  attended court. The letter for the court date arrived days after the court hearing. I was lucky that I had my family to give me the heads up. I didn’t know that the  alleged assault charges against me , that had been dropped (because their was no physical evidence to suggest that I shook my 12 week old daughter) was only the beginning of  an incredibly long f*ck*ng journey home. I was like Hercules and his 12 labours.

Back to the morning of 14/12-Confused, in a state of panic-The former manager of social services – I like to call her Miss Hannigan-you know from ‘Annie’ the movie?  I swear she looks and acts like Miss Hannigan – every professional I described her too-could not keep a straight face.

They knew exactly who I was on about. Anyway, so after court, the wooly and rather snivel  cardigan came into view-like a red flag. Her voice was the second thing I noticed ,she sounded like one of Marge’s sisters from the Simpsons.

I was like : Where is my daughter going? You can’t just take her from me!

She spluttered in that voice.  

Stop the drink-stop the shit and sort your life out . I wish she could take her own advice.

I found out about a 12 week group called the  FREEDOM PROJECT that was running in my neck of the woods. In a nutshell it is a 12 weak group that helps women understand why we  enter and stay in abusive relationships. I took Miss Hannigans advice  and self-referred myself to my   LOCAL SUBSTANCE MISUSE TEAM and  I  engaged with a wonderful woman to work out what my drink issues were and how I could manage them. We tried various plans until we  both agreed  that whilst all this was going on, drinking was probably not going to be drunk for the ‘right reasons’.

I went to every mother-baby group I could could go to.

 I could only see my daughter 10  hours per week. I missed 7 contact sessions in 12 months. There was  a local contact centre only 5 minutes up the street from where I lived. I had no problems with anybody in that contact centre. Lots of positive feedback.  The contact worker who had become emotionally involved told us she had been taken off  as  our contact worker. Social services and my ex felt that the contact worker was being biased. It is not my fault that every other person who met him thinks the same thing. Whatever that may be.

A new contact lady comes on the scene. We did not mix well. It happens in life. I can’t love everyone.

Next thing I know and I was now taking  two buses to go and see my child — in a contact centre monitored by cctv like a criminal. This is how the dynamics of our relationship went. If I got on with spending time with my child and didn’t talk much with the contact worker-she said I was being hostile. If I did chat with her-she said I was distracted and not mentally focused on my child.

This contact person has no mental health qualification. Her job  is to collect children from carers/family homes and take them to  a ‘neutral’ meeting/contact centre and to make sure the child or children get back home safely. She is a chuffing human. All her notes ( she was a fan of all the Disney songs — those notes were just as agonising to hear)  were being gurned  into the social workers reports.This is one opinion from someone who was not even qualified. It felt like she was there to prod and provoke a reaction out of me.

I asked the court to authorise  a hair strand test for alcohol and drugs  to be done. The test was only done 7-8 months after my baby was taken into foster care.  It came back negative that I was an alcoholic and drug taker. I am on prescription meds  so that obviously came up.  The non alcoholic levels  of drinking found in my hair proved to them I had drunk alcohol but not at the levels they were making out.From  the period  I decided  to go teetotal the levels had reduced even more.  It all  came back negative.

I was in a very violent and manipulative relationship. This  ahem… man treat me like something he found in the gutter. He warped my mind.  My mental health was exacerbated in that relationship. I dealt with this issue and I don’t want to say more on here out of respect for my daughter. He walked away when he lost control. When my daughter is at an age she can make and formulate her own opinions  that will be the time I decide to give her the information about her paternal father and seek him out and ask him whatever questions she wishes too.

I paid nearly £400 to do a parenting course online because social services stated I could not do a certain group because my ex was attending it and my daughter had to be over 5 years of age.  He got on it because he has two sons under 18. I got my daughter back under a  full care order-on the 28/04/2013 .  She was not even three  years old and all of a sudden I could attend this 12 week government funded parenting course for free. I had THIS IRO ‘professional’ come into my home and threaten me. She tried to wind me up because I made a comment about her not even having met my daughter and she was the person to ratify the adoption plan. She sat on my living room suite and re-iterated that it was her that ratified the adoption plan and still held that view.  If I had a problem with her then I could change  IRO’s.

I looked her straight in the eyes and I said ‘NO, you and me are going to see this through to the end.-It was like something out of a western movie. Eyeballing one another.

‘Yes. we will’, she puffed out her chest and chuckled to her ‘henchman’ .The person she brought with her to intimidate me. What makes me want to poke out her eyehole is at the final LAC review meeting she was hugging me and saying I had taught her something about people with mental health issues and  she realised how ignorant she had been. This woman works with dozens of cases like mine everyday. Mental health is not a new endemic in society. I hope ,you the reader can see why I am ranting at this…

I always say ‘I hold up my hands  I am far from being perfect‘. I would actually like this to be engraved on my grave. I have said the phrase so many times.  The thing is  I put in the effort in and they did not want to own up that they screwed up and I wasn’t what they read on paper and what they thought I would be like. ALL PEOPLE WITH MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ARE DELUDED RIGHT? HAVE NO SENSE OF REALITY

Here is my point, It didn’t have to go straight to adoption but it was easy for them to place  my innocent  12 week year old child. Blue eyed  with blonde hair and  not soiled and tainted from being ragged around a defunct system.  No behaviour issues. An easy adoption case. They call it ‘twin tracking’

Ha , you should have seen the  guardian’s face when I told her that the chances of my daughter being adopted after being told that mental health issues run in her paternal and or maternal family drops. She was 25% less likely to get adopted.  Oh they loved me. My legal team were ace. I communicated and I asked questions and I researched.

As a volunteer I have a ticket to go to this PARENTING AND MENTAL HEALTH CONFERENCE

I hope a few social workers will be there to learn something about mental health .

I’m not angry. I finally know why I went through all this shit. Now I  can do the professional training and help other people.  I’m not bitter- AM I F*bitter-F*CK? 

 Thank you social services for giving me such a hard time. It has led me to take the actions to   where I am in this new chapter in my life. I am strong and empowered and passionate and every time I have fallen in my life,  I get up.

 Every time.

These other less invasive  helpful  services should  be taken into account and be brought to the attention of a person before they start taking kids off their parents and family without the full facts. I’m not talking about the families where abuse goes on. I’m telling you what I have experienced  There is so much wrong with the system. I’m gonna volunteer my heart out.

Thank  fuck for silver linings.

I not only have my daughter and my partner and my beautiful  family and friends  to live for but I have been given a gift of knowledge and I will be trained to help people who need some support and advice. I must share this knowledge of how I got my baby girl back and how much I have changed and how  exhilarating and terrifying   it is but it is worth the fight. I’m not the only one. There are so many more who are terrified to talk because they feel threatened and bullied by social services.

CHANGE  must happen and I will do anything I can to be a part of that.  If you have read this far. Thank You. Never give up your right to speak . I had a  ‘gagging order’ imposed upon  me when my child was a ward of the courts( This is the law in England) . I don’t anymore and I am well within my legal rights to post this.  I want to use my skills and my creativity in writing and acting to help people remember  how to communicate again and it is a right of theirs to have a voice…

P.S. I still am partial to a cocktail or two  when I’m not looking after my health  for one thing or another-usually for a dress to fit in to  go somewhere.

P.P.S. I have written a stage play inspired by these events with a Brecht like influence. I wrote it for my final end of module assignment for my degree at the Open university and I got a 1st for it.  I might put it up sometime . I might not.

I wish this was fiction -Pro choicer


Exactly! not so much religion but more your beliefs about pro-life.FYI
All of us in this debate are pro-life. You don’t have to be religious to respect and be Pro-life.

I have a lot of anger towards the hypocritical B/S sludge techniques that some Pro-lifers use to prevent Abortions from going ahead legally ( safely and hygienically).

They use religion & guilt & even shame and protesting to bully women into carrying the fetus to full term.

This is ignorant & these are debauched tactics using  -mind games /Emotional blackmail.


One simplistic example?

A pregnant woman may find she bonds with this unborn life and is conflicted about her reasons to abort & then it gets to the 24 weeks cut off date that the law states is ethical. If a mother or another person causes the death of her unborn child it is classed as murder in the U.K.

Women around the world who can’t have a legal abortion are often forced to have back street abortions.

Here is a loose retelling of a friends experience having a back street abortion.

Her partner was highly abusive. He beat her with abuse, words to have an Abortion at 25 years old. She was not given an anaesthetic & the person she paid did the abortion with a coat hanger.

It’s B/S that MOST women who have/had an abortion use or do it as a contraceptive prevention tool.

My body is mine as is all other women’s bodies are theirs. Men have ownership of their bodies. The body can be used as a vessel for life to grow in it.

It’s an incubator.

If I don’t want (for whatever reasons) a host to feed off my body zapping me of minerals, iron etc & (sounds crude) that is my choice. My body.

9 months is the average period to carry a life/ unborn life/developing life/ host to full gestation That’s 9 months of my time not anybody else.

Pro-choice is pro-life.

Pro-choice looks at multiple & complex factors in deciding to terminate the growth of a fetus -full-term baby. I don’t want a baby is a good enough reason.

Pro-lifers I ask: why don’t you adopt the orphans – all of them. Take financial responsibility, take emotional responsibility.

A possible Pro-life answer :

It’s the mother who has that responsibility. God will provide. God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. You will end up in hell if you do.

I  had an abortion at 24 weeks – I am a living person.  He would have been called Nicholas. Medical professionals advised me of the risks involved. Largactil – a medication that I was taking at that time would result in the unborn child being severely physically & mentally disabled. Risk chance probability – Over 70%

I couldn’t justify having a child who I knew could possibly live a quality of life that would merely be existing not living.

I’ve lived that kind of life.


Could I manage? Mentally, physically, financially, emotionally.

Eventually, I agreed with the doctors and had the Abortion in a private clinic in London.

Of course, I grieved. It was one of the shittiest moments of my life. I couldn’t take back life. I made a choice & I had to move on and make the best of my life.

I digress,

I abused alcohol, I was with a very violent & manipulative man. I should have been more responsible & used a condom. I was naive as after my abortion

How many of you who have sex use a condom all the time? A round of applause for all those who are 100% safe all the time. ( I am on a non-hormonal coil to that does the least amount of harm to the reproductory system  I bled for  10 days & tried to find comfort in my now ex, I got drunk, cried about what I had done and we had sex. That’s how it went.

I was naive when I found out I was pregnant the first time because I had thought I couldn’t fall pregnant.

I had amenorrhea ( no menstrual periods)for over 15 years of my life due to 1 diagnosis of Chronic ( something that doesn’t go away) Anorexic I wasn’t ready to put on weight when I found out. My ex was ecstatic.

His words: I’ve known for weeks. Your breasts have swelled up.

At this point, I  spent most of my time at his house. I stopped seeing my family and friends.  (paid 3 months advance on my own rent in my own home).

I was grieving & started drinking to c ope.I  was finishing my undergraduates’ degree & had a tutor who was bang out of order & a bitch towards me. I had a performance to do for one of my modules & I refused to fail. I have seen pictures of what I looked like at the time. I wanted to get a good mark. I wanted to be with my colleagues and enjoy the experience.

I had been confined to my bedroom. Against my will, He handcuffed to my bed drifting in various states semi-consciousness, unconsciousness after taking a  substantial medication & alcohol overdose. This person decided to play “God” with my life for 5 days. He didn’t call an ambulance because he was trained in 1st aid (that is what he put in his statement). It doesn’t make him a Doctor.

(2 weeks after my abortion)

I returned to college with a black eye to the final piece for summer 2010. Everyone on my course was stressed in rehearsals & had their own lives to deal with. I had cut them off & turned their back on me. I covered up my black eye with a mask when I took part in our live art installation.

I remember a tutor  ( same age as me) looked at me and she said ‘Man up’ to me. Why? BITCH.

She had paperwork and deadlines to do. …Idk maybe that is why.

Morally bankrupt and highly ignorant.

She used to patronize me & belittle me.

Now she is a mother herself so she is a Mother bitch.

I’m sure she is a great mother. I don’t care.

I was dealing with my own mental health issues, I was trying to get away from a HIGH-RISK violent relationship. I fell pregnant a week later with Isabella. I had stopped the medication that was toxic to a growing baby. That is the truth.

I didn’t leave his house, I struggled to get to college or out of the house because as I had started nightly binge eating sessions, the depressive part of Bipolar the feelings & thoughts that go with overeating and self-loathing meant that I escaped by sleeping my life away. Severely Depressed. Then I would have panic attacks and look for a way to escape from myself. I took many overdoses, cut my wrists, drinking.

I started to have blackouts when we started arguing .Especially when it turned physical/sexually abusive. It was like a switch went off in my brain and I used to have serious blackouts that continued right into the early stages of my relationship with my now-husband.

Due to childhood abuse and other male and female abuse I learned to disassociate to cope with all the trauma because my mind can only process so much. It’s very common.

It’s something that started from a young age (self-preservation).

The blackouts happened when I had been drinking & mixing it with benzodiazepines (prescribed).

Some people have said that I was confrontational or violent even. How and it was my ALL my fault said certain men who were emotionally or physically /sexually abusive to me.IA pattern for the people I attracted to my Life emerged.

I think that many the people who put me down are full of self-hatred and complexes. It doesn’t justify them with an excuse.

It highlights how many people I’ve come across in my life  (my hand is up too) who have their own self-image, emotional issues. And when feeling vulnerable or see a trait that they don’t like about themselves in someone else sometimes deflect how they feel about themselves & put it on another person. Psychology 101.

When I was dating my now-husband, he would recount events when I blacked out. What I had done. We analysed it. We would discuss at length of what I had done, what I remembered.

 I was able to get a different perspective of where I saw myself to blame along with what was not mine to own. It helped me to put things in context. How much of what was said about me (to me) was distorted?

In my experiences, it’s harder to look at ourselves rationally when we are hurting. It is can seem easier to blame another person for a fall out/ violence/ abuse.

I slowly came to realise I wasn’t to blame for every situation that happened or when I was confrontational with my words or reacted to what people said. My biggest mistake was to let a person disrespect me and still expect them to respect me.

I became more aware of certain  triggers to my behaviour and attitude. Some of it was my shit to own & the rest was abusive.

Whether it was a valid trigger from another person’s actions/words. Or whether it was my subjective/automatic reaction to (perhaps) misinterpreting someone’s words, reactions or facial expressions.

I believed that I couldn’t use my memory as reliable evidence. I believed what he was telling me. I have done this with many people in my life due to self-doubt.

 I fought (along with my true fam beside me) social services /the ex and the court jesters for 16 months. We didn’t stop until our daughter was living not just in her home but with me being her sole carer -legally. I had the experience of addressing the judge myself. Social services, and lawyers, Appointed children Guardians were instructed to sit at the back of the courtroom.

My legal team thought/hoped  I was more than capable of requesting for the shared responsibility cared order to be revoked. It’s a big achievement considering they had her up for twin tracking ( from 12 weeks old)

Twin tracking is looking at other alternatives for my daughter’s life and adoption/twin Tracking whilst the case was still live was ratified when my daughter wasn’t even 3 months old.

I  didn’t feel I could express emotion in the meeting room. There were at least 10 people involved not including from my support system because it could be used against me in court to prove I was unable to care for my child. They wanted to throw a textbook at me & tick all the boxes.  The Social service system is flawed, underfinanced, open to corruption and abuse happens in the care/foster system too

I have parental responsibility for Isabella -legally. The ex didn’t want to see her. He had contact workers picking my daughter up /dropping her back off from his house. Not a lot of Dads get that choice. One day he sent her back refused to have her in his home.

It happens to mothers every day.

I stopped having blackouts. Life was more positive. I was hiting my goals. I was happy.  I became better.

Another  blackout happened in April 2017 when an ex-friend punched me. I wish I could This led to me being assaulted by a load of yobs who thought it was justified to beat up a woman who asked then insisted that they stop recording me being punched by ex-friend. I have a broken nose from that experience.

This ex-friend can’t understand why I won’t speak to him. I allowed him to disrespect me over and over again. He thinks it is a minor tiff. I have defended myself or tried to when ex-friend assaulted me (many times) I allowed the abuse to happen cos I would accept his apologies Its in the past.

I’m lucky and deserve to be with a true Alpha- my husband. He has never put me down nor has he belittled me. Intentionally? Never. He hasn’t ever raised a hand to me though has been close to it. I am not easy going especially when I’m ill and (I don’t agree with violence) I am saying that if there is one person out of all the others who’VE  disrespected me( & tried to take away my inner fire ) Gaz would be the only person I can truly state might have been “justified” being violent to me.

He isn’t and he wasn’t.

I will gladly have another child or children when we decide and if nature gives the green light.

PRO-CHOICE is PRO-LIFE. Look at how we treat children. This image prompted a lot of words. Haha!

How many times can a heartbreak​?

I don’t know how this post is going to take form. Well, it will be in a  word press post form, I don’ know what the hell I’m going to put down or how it is going to end. All I know is that after having a conversation with a close friend of mine. I am left feeling crushed like  I’ve spiralled, fallen-  down a long dark hole of wretchedness. I should have been there for this person, so she  could  talk and unburden her darkest thoughts, instead of sitting in silence  for a long time. Someone so close to me has been living in anguished silence for so long. I’ve documented in previous posts of  my experiences with living  in a brutal and disturbing relationship.  I guess, it is easier for me to write  about what happened to me because I can detach myself from the experiences .



NO,this may not be a good way of dealing with abuse but at least I am still writing and talking about it.

This person is my most cherished friend .  I feel I have failed to be a good enough friend. I have know this person for over 20 years. She has the most tender-hearted nature, a charitable  heart. She is strikingly beautiful. Heads turn. Looking into her eyes is like looking into a Caribbean ocean. The colour is startlingly beautiful . It’s comfortingly hypnotizing . In many ways she has always reminded me of the late princes Diana, she has the same grace and class, and is not  even aware of how alluring  she is.

We went for a coffee today and when I walked out of that coffee shop and said good bye- it felt like I was stumbling about in some ghastly trance. It was like I had floated up into the air like a bubble; I  was looking down at myself -I could see myself walking -in a dwell. Each breathe I managed to gulp down was molested with the vision and words I had heard, come out of my friends mouth. I couldn’t hear the cars nor people’s  murmurs. I went shopping and bought things in an attempt to prick this possessive bubble that had  learned how to become impenetrable.   I dumped a bunch of items in my trolley. I needed to distract the haunting picture of pain  on my friends face. Frozen- a click , a flash. A picture captured for all eternity. I had to eradicate it- censor it form my mind. 



Abuse as you may or may not know is not going to just go away – I’m not going to stop writing about it and talking about it. When a friend you think you know inside out,  confides in you, then you suddenly realise what this person has felt like. Feeling isolated so much that  she felt had  no one else to talk  to  because she felt ashamed. Her mind has tormented her for years..

Here is a  part of her story:

She met a man over 12 years ago. In a night club. He was the type to wear a thick gold chain and a leather jacket. Not her type at all. He said he was Italian. He spoke the language of love – He zoned in on my  friend – he had my friend marked. I saw him approach her. He bought her  a drink. I immediately  loathed this pervert. I  pushed my self through the crowd of dancers went straight up to them and I knocked the glass from his hand. I tried to get my friend away from him. I can’t control everything can I ? they swapped numbers.




They started going out. For 10 years their relationship consisted of seeing one another  1 night a week. My friend was completely possessed by him . He showered her with affectionate words. She felt like a woman again. Maybe just maybe this man was going to turn out different than her previous  mis-creations. She would cook him meals and set the table – buy him slippers and a change of clothes and toiletries. She treat him like a king. A super star. No, a super hero. 


Yes he was a king, a fake king  hiding under the robes, would in time reveal  a savage.

Let me try and get on with this post….

Um….a few months into the ‘relationship’, she found out that he had lied about his name and nationality. He was from some Arab  country and was in fact a ‘faithful’ devout Muslim. That was cool. There is nothing wrong with two cultures mixing together. In fact there is  a feeling of peace in this synthesis of different cultures  coming together -bound by love .



Over a period of 10 years they kept on making up and breaking up. Every time my friend said she would not get back with him.

  •  One time she slept over at his house and his ex wife came was getting out the car  with balloons in her hand(it was valentines day or his birthday). She saw him with my friend and told the bastard they needed to talk. The taxi pulled up at that moment and he ushered my friend into the car as quickly as possible- turns out his ex- wife  was ‘crazy’ about him and wouldn’t leave him alone.  Come on, he reasoned with my friend,she was fat and ugly. Not refined like my friend. He only used his ex to gain access to work in the U.K.

My friend took him back.

  • A few years passed and my friend wanted to move things forwards in the relationship. She wanted him to move in with her or her to move in with him. He refused -time and time and time after time. She was enamoured  with him. She would do anything to keep him and if that meant only seeing him one night a week then she agreed to it. He never ever took her out. He never introduced her to his friends. Why? they were dodgy and he was jealous, they might try something on her.

She accepted this.


I’m going out to play, you must stay safe in your home . the world is full of monsters.

  • My friend has an eating disorder like me . The bastard suddenly told her her body was horrible and he hated touching her. He hated thin women she needed fattening up. All she wanted was to be loved and accepted and so she grew bigger and bigger. This messed with her mind so much.Her confidence was solely in custody of this man. He played her like a puppet.

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She accepted this

  • He would go off the radar frequently. He never text  or rang  my friend unless he wanted something sexual from her. Then it was  all words of armour and flattery. What woman doesn’t want to be complimented? He never helped her clean the dishes or bought her a meal. He would go back to his native home and bring back the odd false perfume. He never once offered to take my friend on holiday with him, to meet his family. Many of whom he has burnt his bridges with. She was not to know this until it was too late to save her heart and mind from a torturous misery.




She accepted this.

  • On one of their ‘bust ups’ he decided to try it on with my friends nemesis. He wanted to take her out. My friend found the news out from her Nemesis. The shame, the degradation. She fell further down that never ending abyss of wretchedness. Banished her to a never ending hell of lies and mind fucks. He wouldn’t answer her phone calls , texts, he punished her. He went off the radar for a few months. My friend became obsessed, she would ring him all the time. But all she got was silence. Until one day he got in contact with her and the relationship was back on.



One unfortunate  day , he rang her – She was over the moon to hear his voice. He had something to tell her.

What could this news be?  

He wanted too marry her?

Move in with her?

He had a surprise for her?

Oh hell yeah, he had a surprise for her:

He was  getting married to a young girl who was pregnant with his child,  he hoped that they can still maintain their one night a week ‘relationship! 

How many times can a heart be broken? how many times can it be mended? 

She accepted this betrayal  but she refused to see him. She would not. She was not some whore! An after thought. After the phone call ended  she sank to her knees heaving -sobbing. She was on the floor desperately trying to collect all the shattered fragments of her heart.  A few months later she saw him once again, in town, for a coffee. He wanted her to meet his baby. She bought the baby some outfits. This is the type of person she is, gracious and forgiving. 

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She accepted this.

To be perfectly honest, they must have broken up 100’s of times. My friend always promising  she wouldn’t take him back. We used to have vicious arguments .

She said she was in love.

I said she had bad taste in men and needed to get help.

She got pissed off with me. It wasn’t as bad as she had made out, she would reply.

She had over exaggerated things.

I retorted:  

You mean like the time he told her to lower her eyes to him when she was speaking to him and then laughed and said he was joking?

He knew she was vulnerable that is why this serpentine creature chose her. She  was easy to control. He knew a lot of things about their relationship that my friend didn’t know. He didn’t exactly share this insight of their relationship with her, but it went something like this:

  • He knew he could abandon her and she would always take him back

  • He would deprive her of contact and she would always take him back

  • He would humiliate her by trying to flirt with her friends and enemies- even me!

  • He controlled her by making her put on an extraordinary amount of weight, in full knowledge,  her confidence would be at base level. A woman with no confidence couldn’t possibly be  attractive a man  ( this was probably his  warped strategy )

  • He knew my friend was an introvert and it was so easy to isolate her. He didn’t have to do a thing -she already had done the hard work for him.

  • He always took from her. If he had asked her  for her the  shirt on her back, he knew she would give it to him. Every week, for one night, my friend made her home cosy, turned down the lights -low,to give off a soft romantic glow. She would cook for him , serve him, rub his feet and then make him a packed lunch to got to work. She spent a lot of money on him that I suspect  she didn’t have.

  • He never once asked my friend about any issues she had and how could support her. My friend took a massive overdose,one year,  I thought she had finally succeeded this time. Her Mother was still alive at the time. He came to the hospital with a kitten stuffed toy with blue eyes, just like the colour of my friend’s eyes. He acted so concerned. Since my friends mother passed away – the money well has dried up and he lost interest again.



I had to stop writing last night. I  couldn’t go any further with what I was putting down in this post. I don’t want to betray my friend, no body will know who this friend is. I’m speaking up for her because she is unable to speak for herself. To tell her story. She needs a lot of support and confidence building.  Care and possibly counselling.   

There is probably a bunch of stuff I don’t know. I do know that what came out of my friends mouth   yesterday- blanched me. I must of walked  out of that coffee shop, my hands immediately  felt icily cold, I had forgotten my gloves.. I was trying to fight my way through the fog in my mind . I had become numb.

This is what my quiet friend told me:

After two years of not seeing this ‘man’. She moved to a new home to start afresh, he got in contact with her a few months ago.. He said all the right things. 

  1. You are beautiful

  2. I will divorce my wife from you

  3. I should have never split up from you…

All that superficial crap.

I could go on and on. There are a lot of beautiful and courageous women in the world who feel so alone.  Women that put on there clothes and make-up everyday and smile and give as much of their time and heart to as many   people as they can. She was no fool for taking the bait. She is angry with her self – furious. She wishes she could stop loving him. WHERE IS A GENIE WHEN YOU NEED ONE?



I couldn’t be angry with her for going back to him.

I haven’t slept  – I have had awful nightmares of what has been going on  for years in their relationship. My friend is naive and shy and not some dominatrix or kinky in any way at all.. And that is fine. He bites her all over and takes her from behind.

 each thrust,

each bite,

bleeding out her soul like she is some kind of piece of  halal meat. My friend always says ‘NO, PLEASE DON’T BITE ME! DON’T DO THAT, YOUR ARE HURTING ME.’ 

I could see through her and saw a vivid image of her heart -patched up haphazardly like a child’s favourite toy. Sewn up, swung about, it loses an arm, then a leg , then a tail and still she finds a way to sew back the pieces. 

He has been RAPING  you. I told her. We looked into each others eyes. She knew it felt wrong but he told her that is what people in love do!



All this time and I didn’t know any of this.

She is left bruised and sore for weeks after being raped.

How can someone you love rape you?

It happens. More than you know. I came home and cried my heart out. I was shaking with anger and shock. 

I don’t want my friend to stop confiding in  me -no matter how much it kills me inside. Please people, don’t suffer and quietly die like a beautiful plant that someone forgot to tender to.



Use your mouth or if you can’t speak -write it down and show someone -anyone! 

I had to write this post. It is something that I do that brings me comfort. it helps me focus and cope with life’s madness and senselessness . 

I’ve written what I can. I’m going to be a better friend.

Last night I rang her and she thanked me for ringing. I mean she didn’t need to thank me! I should have been around more often. Her voice was distant, remote. I switched off my light and put the duvet over me and all I had in my dreams was  the image of him biting her all over and raping her.


 He is a dangerous and seriously afflicted man. 

How do I end a post like this? I don’t feel I have done justice in telling her story. I can only hope and encourage her to tell her story herself, one day. 


If you haven’t heard of it, then make sure you read this:  MILLION WOMEN RISE If you can’t make the date then help some one else who can but who doesn’t have the money to go. In my own journey on my path in Life-I don’t think I have met one person who doesn’t know someone or hasn’t themselves  been affected by Domestic/ Gender violence, usually perpetrated by men. There is a discussion and place to study increasing reports of violence being perpetrated by women to men. This post is not the place.However, I’m do acknowledge that this is happening . It has been quite hard for me to think about what I am going to put down in this post. I think I am so hesitant: is because I’m scared people don’t want  to hear another sob story of another woman who goes on about her woes with living or experiencing violence with a man.


I have just re- read what I have just typed. That is the exact kind of thinking that keeps the cycle of abuse continuing. This has made my mind up to tell you a part of my experiences  with Domestic violence in all it’s shapes and forms. My story is not a sob story and neither is any other woman’s. My story is another to  add to the brewing pot. Millions of pounds has been spent on Domestic violence in the U.K and a portion of that  has been spent on domestic violence campaigns in the place I live. I know this because I have seen the slick posters  stuck to the back of door in public toilet cubicles in my community. This sounds grim and it is. I don’t see great changes in attitudes from the people  employed by the government to look after a community.

I became a target of Gender violence and instead of getting the support I needed. I was questioned by local authorities. The police treat my case like it was a bunch of kids causing havoc in a sweet shop. ‘Just move along. nothing to see here.’ 

No! This is not enough. There is never an excuse to abuse a woman. Never.

I grew up wanting a different kind of relationship. The first time I was abused by a man was when I was 3-5 years old. Was I to blame for leading on a man with my obvious coquettish behaviour? ( heavy sarcasm here) No, I was innocent not playing a girl trying to be innocent !

In my teens, I  always attracted boys and men who demeaned me. It could be as subtle as saying they want one thing and then doing another. One example one man thought was acceptable was to dump me repeatedly and then ring me or text me – harass me with his drunk talk about wanting to get back together with me. Effectively playing mind games with me and my emotions.

Another man I went out with tried to control me with money. He was a mild meek man. He did not look at all like your ‘average ‘woman beater. Here is  the news we all should know by now,they don’t have one look and they don’t need to inflict visible bruises or marks.  I think a lot of people still  have this attitude of  ‘well it can’t be that bad cos she stays with him’. Or  ‘what has she said or done to deserve the black eyes?’  as way of summing up Gender Violence.

Women  survivors of Gender violence are vulnerable and they can learn to switch on their bullshit /bad guy radar. Organisations that facilitate groups like THE FREEDOM PROGRAMME (click on the link to find out more) deserve more airtime than it gets.

I always told myself that if I ever found myself in a relationship and a man hit me I would walk away. I was quite firm and adamant with my stance on this subject.

Until of course, a man did hit me. We had an argument. He felt challenged and proceeded to punch me several times in the face. Yes, I looked a mess.

What did I actually do when he assaulted me?

I ran after him. He  ran up the stairs dived into bed refusing to look at me. He cried and I consoled him and told him we could work it out. It would all be okay.  I was unknowingly  pregnant that night – 7 weeks gone- pregnant. This did not stop him from punching me in the stomach when I was seven months pregnant. It seemed to add fuel to his agenda.

I suppose I acted this way because I didn’t see the early warning signs for what they were for. I didn’t see the subtle manipulation for what it was. I didn’t see his sulky moods,when  I wanted to go  out and make friends at uni, were his way of isolating me.  I didn’t  see the impact the small comments  had on me,that slowly chinked away at my already vulnerable self esteem. – ‘Elephant feet’.   ( this is a perfect example. Most people who read this might  not think this is an insult. I’m being  far too sensitive). Yes,  I am sensitive. Let me tell you what you don’t know.  He also knew I had a severe Eating disorder. Sensitive?  I don’t need a reason to be sensitive. I do expect love and respect form a man/partner.

I didn’t think I could be sexually abused and assaulted by someone I chose to be with. Yes. It does happen. A lot.

I didn’t see how intricate his web was until I was too tangled in it. I had lost all perspective.  He was so strategic in his method of abuse. Sometimes when I think about that relationship I am repulsed by the thought that went into his many ways of degrading me.

I left the relationship. with nowhere to live, no friends, fed up family members and a daughter in care, with a self-esteem in the minus deficit column, more than it ever had been.  I was in crisis mode with my mental health. I used alcohol and overdosing on prescription medication to self medicate.

The small intricacies of my story is not the aim I am getting at in this post. I’m giving you insight into a few of my experiences. I stumbled upon empowering groups like the freedom program and found myself again. I learned how to make myself less vulnerable. I learned from my experience. Every child/women should be able to access support for any length of time that it takes them to reclaim their  true selves.

Save the date – every year. 5 th March  MILLION WOMEN RISE wear red and unite. 2016 will be no different.

This year My local women centre have organised a coach to go from a very small town where I live -to London, U.K. to stand amongst thousands of  other women and say NO MORE!  no excuses. GENDER VIOLENCE IS unacceptable . no buts…

Not everyone can afford to pay the £10 to get on the coach and that is why I’m writing this post. I’m not going to ask you. I think you already know what needs to be done – I’ve booked my seat and paid for another lady who can’t. I don’t know her name or what she looks like because the only thing I think is relevant is that we all bleed the same colour and that is what counts. This is a global event. What are you going to do on the 5 th march 2016? Where are you going to be?  I know where I am going to be.

this is what is happening in my local area  

What is happening in yours? Nothing -will be inspired and get something going. The Million women rise website has loads of ideas to get involved. Get something going in your area. Wherever you live. Whatever continent. whatever city.

Do something ‘crazy’ ! Something you have never done before. Make the leap.