Kaleidoscope

A kaleidoscope of colour and as you turn it round

Try as you may to look again you know it cant be found.

The patterns ever changing, right before your eyes.

Before they go Forever, just as though it dies.

Wishing it could keep it, and draw it on a page

Is a memory that I store as I reach this age.

If I could hold it steady there right in my hand,

That myriad of colour could replace the bland.

Advertisements

Hideout

_DSC6301.jpg

Ahh the memories, of where we used to hide as Children.

At my Grandparents house, they had a dining table.  It had drop leaf sides and a cupboard in the centre with a shelf in the middle and a drawer at each end. When we played hide and seek with my cousins, this was usually where I chose, under the shelf inside.  Well, I was quite small!  I have the dining table in storage, the memories all came flooding back when I saw it.

In our first house, my favourite was in the larder, with my best friend sitting under the bottom shelf on the floor, making bread squares, by squashing the bread very hard into cubes.  It began when her father went fishing and we had a conversation about what fishing bait he used.

After that, when Dad emptied the big cupboard in my box room of all of his stuff and I was allowed to use the space to keep my toys and books. I used to sit in there and read stories to the Dollies and the Teddies.  The door would be open and I would take a pillow and sit on the floor of the cupboard with my back against the wall.

When we moved house aged 10, I had to find new hideouts.

A favourite was the bathroom roof, My bedroom window opened out above it and I would sit out on the ledge of the roof straddling it and be able to look down the street across all the other gardens, trees and flowers.  It was quiet there and no-one bothered me.  I always got into trouble for being out there since it was deemed dangerous, but I actually felt very safe up there.

Down the road from where we lived there was a brook with a bridge. I used to go there with my friend who lived over the road, we would fish for sticklebacks and read books and camp out under the bridge.

via Daily Prompt: Hideout Image: Morguefile

Transport 

I love it when a blog post takes you to a place where you have never been before and just for a brief time you are transported wherever it may be. It is so descriptive that you are there enjoying that moment along with the author. All the sights and sounds that surround them are playing on the senses and your own imagination kicks in. Perhaps you are noticing other things for the first time too. It is what I subconsciously aim for when I write a story. I don’t always feel that I manage it, but when it comes together, Ah success!

I don’t often read books, it is not a luxury I’m often able to afford myself, you see I’ll let you into a secret. They aren’t something I can put down again. I get so wrapped up in them, transported I guess that I am unable to switch off until I have reached the end. On the last two occasions I actually read books it was cover to cover and nothing got done for the day. Thankful for small mercies that I read pretty quickly though. Quite often even then I have considered what might happen next, another chapter. I’ve often considered writing one at the end of a book I’ve particularly enjoyed.  I do the same with a film the concentration is immense. But if anything breaks that for me and I miss a bit then quite often I will walk away mid film and watch it another time, much to the annoyance of my partner.

One such post transported me there is this one Helen Hayward Going Home for Christmas which I read tonight. It got me thinking about the places which have been home over the years, she quoted a friend “Never go back to the place where you were happiest as a child’, a friend once told me. ‘The place you went on holiday to, a garden from childhood, a tree house in the woods. It’s gone, lost’, she said firmly, ‘and you can’t refind it’.”

Revisiting them is not always a good idea. Crossing back to the time before we became grown up, when we looked at everything so differently. First off we often expect it to be the same and it just isn’t the same. Not when you have grown up but still we have a fondness for the familiar don’t we. The inspiration following a memory we once had.

I walked down the high street where I grew up as a teenager and later lived in the town nearby. It has changed so much, I did not recognise it and yet it still somehow brought me comfort in the memories that I hold of the place. We all grow up one day, people and places in an ever changing world.

The Daily Post – Crossing

Not the Cherry on Top

IMG_1660

 

Observations again.

Having been presented with this shot of a dessert, Weekly Photo Challenge – Michelle.W

I was struck, not by the cherry on top, but by the sweet and brightly coloured topping. When I was younger, we used to call them Hundreds and Thousands and they were served on ice cream, Angel Delight as well as cakes.  This week, I have had an undiminished urge to find some and buy them and have them on my now dairy free ice cream.

I don’t know if it a desperate attempt to return to a safe part of my childhood. I have on two separate days this week thought of these brightly coloured decorations and craved their colour in a small step towards something. Although I am not yet sure what, maybe it’s the familiar overthinking, along with the realisation that Life is not always just a bowl of cherries.

It has been a rough week for us, where the emergency services have been required and where I should be valuing the deep and important things around us. The facts that despite an attempt otherwise, we are still here, we are still living and we are still loved by each other. Something for which I will remain eternally grateful. The stress of the situation that has taken a hold in the past few days and made us both unwell, I hope that time will heal that. But a sense of relief that has kicked in now and with it brings a certain need for frivolity, which shows itself in the strangest of ways.  Like Saturday Lunch where we ate Fruit and Ice Cream in our garden safe from the outside world and found out that the dog also likes melon and that lazy weekends are just fine when you have had a tough week.

Image: http://www.morguefile.com

Abuse, Trauma and Trust Misplaced

Before you assume that I am very gullible and naïve please, let me shout from my corner with my explanation. I was brought up to speak the truth, to be good. To respect my elders and follow their advice and do as I was told. As time went on following these rules I was about to become very unstuck! The very people who were supposed to teach, protect and you can learn from, abused their positions, my trust and Yes, they definitely taught me Lessons in Life that I would rather not have learned. Things that would shape me in years to come, tormenting my mind and sabotaging my thoughts, whilst haunting my dreams.

Don’t get me wrong, I am more than aware that Life could have been so much worse. I am Thankful each and every day that over the years, the experiences stopped. They were usually one off’s and once I had removed myself from the offenders then that would be it, until the next time. Until someone new decided to take an opportunity which wasn’t there, to overstep the line once again. I am thankful every day that I did not have to suffer an endless onslaught of abuse lasting years. At least that gave me the chance to rebuild myself in between. There are different levels of abuse all wrong and all leaving scars which may or may not ever heal. I pushed each time to the back of my mind, hoping that if I left it there and forgot about it, then it would be gone. Little did I know that it would merely lay dormant until some other trauma brought it out again, all right back and threw it back in my face. I got angry with myself, and over time I was more angry at having been so gullible as to be fooled over and again than I was over the perpetrators. How could I be so stupid and how could I have trusted them? I must have been doing something wrong for it to keep happening to me… and generally beating myself up mentally about my misfortune.

Did I wear my heart on my sleeve? Kind of… Did people around me know the things that I had gone through? Very few did. Some are delightfully clueless, whilst others’ like me chose to bury and forget what they did know. I dealt with it alone preferring not to speak of it and thought that was working well for me right up until yet more trauma arrived and opened up Pandora’s box once again.

I thought that it was strange when I woke yesterday morning and felt compelled to write down on paper the episodes. It started out as a list of where my trust had been misplaced (Hmm, a little of that self blame creeping back in there!) then it somehow grew into a list of childhood and teenage sexual abuse that I had experienced.

Now why on earth would anyone want to write a list, that list? I cannot answer that, I have found out that over the past few months that writing is a major part of my own healing process and it sometimes catches me unawares but when I write it down, things get better. It enabled me to write down how I actually felt about things. Last year I discussed several of these episodes with a counsellor for the first time ever. I had been referred having been diagnosed with PTSD following the trauma of an accident. As the sessions went on I had a feeling that the time was right to talk about some of the other things that had happened in my life, which had suddenly all come back to me since the accident, sometimes reliving the nightmares, quite literally I was not sleeping and had no confidence after the accident. It had had all been brought back by the trauma I had suffered recently. But in these sessions, she told me something of great importance which was a turning point for me and for which I am eternally grateful.

For anyone who has suffered childhood abuse and asked why it happened to them, I will pass on what she said to me.

“It’s not you, It IS them. You did not DO anything to encourage this behaviour towards you and YES, you should have been protected from it by the adults around you time and time again.”

Some 33 years after I was abused for the first time as a child . I had summoned the courage to speak about it stating that the abusers were either dead or long gone, they could not harm me for speaking about it now. Someone finally told me that I did not bring it upon myself and that I did not deserve it. If it had not been me, then it would have been someone else, If I had not thought so quickly as to how I could escape, things could have been much, much worse. No-one had thought to tell me that previously. It was such a relief to hear those words and I bawled my eyes out. Thanking her profusely. The release was immense. I eventually left the car park some time after my session and drove for about 2 hours, just wanting to be on the open road.

Am I healed? I actually doubt that yet. But I do believe I am getting over the damage it did for so long. I am no longer waving that Victim flag saying “Come and Get Me, have another go, see if you can break me this time” Instead I am now brandishing my sword with the war cry of “Don’t you Dare” Dressed in my armour, complete with chinks in it, battered and scarred but still fighting. I am surviving and at times I have been a mess and barely winning, sometimes not knowing how to carry on, but feeling that I have to and I pick myself up.
They say that What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… It is certainly true for me, By becoming strong, therefore I AM. My positive thinking is a part of my armour which protects me and as my anthem goes.

Something inside so strong.
I know that I can make it,
But you’re doing me wrong.
So wrong.
Thought that my pride was gone, Oh No!
Something inside so strong…

Sending shivers down my spine as I write those words down and spurring me onwards toward Victory.

After writing my list, I felt very uneasy as though something awful was going to happen. In retrospect I think it was just the aftermath of all those emotions being given head room again. I had a sense of doom all day, so I stayed indoors the safety of my home, I found things to do and ventured in to the loft yesterday afternoon, on a search for something entirely different. In doing so I found a carrier bag, it was full of old things, recipes, poems, coursework, drawings and letters and photographs and so much more. I have not yet read all that was in there. I knew that I had written out poems years ago and kept them in a book, which I had decided I must find, but I came across it quite by accident. What was a shock to me was to find a notepad. I did not recall writing in such detail my abusive experiences 23 years ago on paper. Back then I often wrote things down to get them out of my head rather the same way as I do today, but I had no recollection of having done this before, when I wrote them out earlier that morning. I am shocked at the matter of fact way I explain what happened way back then. That I had kept it and also that it has been with me in the several house moves since then, hidden away in the loft as well as the back of my mind. If only I had been given the opportunity to speak to someone about it back then, it might have made such a difference and I have been literally carrying it around with me for years.

Later, I ventured out with my family walking the dog in the evening. Nothing awful happened, it turned out OK. My partner brought Hope out of the Garage for me, for the first time in months. She is sitting outside the house in the road, with fuel, taxed and ready to drive out she needs a good run after her rest. Away for months, under wraps it is wonderful to see the bright blue shining outside the window despite the rainy day and a smile returned to my face. I was exhausted at the end of the day, but unable to rest until the early hours, again passing the 3am threshold before sleep took a hold of me but Today we will drive.

Hope is what it represents. & Hope is Waiting

The Daily Post – Angry

 

International Women’s Day.

Since it is International Women’s Day, I thought I would head back to my childhood for this, little did I realise as I wrote it, the effect that it would have on my day and my loved one.  The journey into womanhood is not always easy, there are scars you bring with you and I am trying to heal as I go. In two minds as to whether this should be posted, at his suggestion, today is the day! I am thankful that he is alongside me and continues to offer support even when it is unexpected.

As We Grow.

For an afternoon, we get together.
Seems as though it’s been forever
It’s not often that you go out to eat
To sit and talk, a proper meet.

It gets me thinking of younger years
And suddenly I’m choking tears.
Growing up when times were fraught,
Don’t seek to blame, not always your fault.
To push and push and test and test
You only felt you were doing your best.
Taken to church on every Sunday
Ridiculed yet again on Monday

During the week off to school,
Often made to look like a fool.
When sometimes to the house they came,
I would hide myself in shame.
Of what had passed when out to play,
Just wanted to hide myself away.
Did I do wrong? Was I meant,
To hold in all of this torment.
I may have brought it upon myself
A thought when later it affects your health.

Time has passed and strength has grown
Since venturing out all on my own.
They say the times of sand have shifted
Sometimes I see the dark clouds lifted
And sadness takes such time to feel
The memory blurred enough to heal.

Should not be where your thoughts lay
What happened when you went away?
Life’s so different should you return,
But if you stay here you’ll have to learn.
Made to feel bad for a mistake
As your life you try to remake.
It’s strange that it comes flooding back
You realise there’s something you lack.

You didn’t know him well, or understand,
How to make his point, he’d raise his hand.
Wished sometimes for a slap in the face
Instead to put you back in your place.
But without this life, as they say
You wouldn’t be the same person today.
But down where these memories reside
Is where it still hurts deep inside.

A chance for a coffee, for a chat,
Not time to talk about all that.
Decided no longer to be a slave,
But as innocent, don’t try to behave.
For all those things in time gone by
To the back of your mind you must try
For it is now time to move on
Even you can’t undo the wrong.
Don’t dwell upon the past they say
It’s in the past, it’s gone away.

We don’t understand we have to forgive
Once we leave home, our lives to live.
As it’s been a long time since,
We now celebrate our difference.
Although in some ways we are alike.
I can’t get up or sing on a ‘mike‘.
But as enthusiasm starts to show,
For all the things that we should know.

Hope that forgiveness is to me
All that it’s cracked up to be,
I’m not as though heaven sent,
But glad we are so different.