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"Walk With Me."


Prologue
Path of Release

By Shirley E Kennedy

Mum and Dad my story begins with you,
when two became one my fate was sealed too.
Two lonely people married by design,
the future you held in your hands was mine.
 
Though Dad’s love was true Mother’s was a lie,
this couldn’t be changed and she didn’t try.
 For their children's sake this was a shame,
as each of our stories started the same.
 
Though Mum had a child she and Dad still wed,
though Mother’s feelings Dad surely misread.
 Used as a scapegoat to keep her young son;
a willing husband but father of none.
 
Six children followed and the fifth was me,
now seven children lived in poverty.
Too many young lives had never been planned,
why they stayed married I don’t understand.
 
 For eighteen long years Dad’s love remained true,
whilst inside Mother’s heart deep hatred grew.
Though dad worked hard as he laboured the land,
this lifestyle was not what Mother had planned.
 
Mum cheated blatantly and didn’t care,
she knew all along dad's pride was stripped bare.
Pushed to the limit his jealousy flared;
when violence ensued neither was prepared.
 
After years of abuse Mum took a stand,
a quick getaway was what she had planned.
Never again would we all reunite;
 in hindsight I see it was borne of spite.
 
God has forgiven you and I have too,
 cutting threads of my past sets you free too.
Wherever you are may God grant you peace,
 He walks with me on this path of release.
 
 
 

Author Notes Finally making some sense of the tattered threads in my life which have held angst for so long. Growing up without my dad was painful and sad.
I had only the biased negativity of my mum to judge him by. I never connected with him at all and he died aged 85 in 2008.
Apparently his love for mum and his children only died when he did.
I attended his funeral as a mark of respect and whispered, "Good-bye, dad."
Now I have to acknowledge, and cut those lingering threads and walk the path of release.
My parents wedding photo.


Chapter 1
In the Beginning

By Shirley E Kennedy


 

There was no elation when my conception was announced. I was just another mouth to feed. It seemed I would be born to struggle in a family already struggling. Dad was prone to jealous rages and mum to infidelity. A toxic mix which would soon implode and change my life forever.  Mum felt trapped in a marriage to a man she had never loved, whilst dad loved with a jealous heart. Mum often said she only wanted two of her seven children and I wasn’t one of those two. The remaining five children were unplanned accidents.

Two major events which occurred when mum was about six months pregnant with me would have major repercussions for our family and change our lives forever. At about this time my family were involved in a major accident. Dad was driving the four and a half kilometres into town in the Bedford truck. Grandad and two of my older brothers sat in the front whilst mum sat in the back unrestrained and heavily pregnant with me. Grandad sat next to the door to protect the boys, or so he thought. As dad rounded the corner grandad accidentally leant on the handle and the door flew open. He fell out followed promptly by my two brothers.  I cannot imagine the horror my parents must have felt at this time. My brothers received deep cuts, abrasions and bruising whilst grandad suffered more serious injuries. As well as cuts and bruises he suffered a complicated arm fracture. Sadly he died a couple of days later from a blood clot which dislodged from the fracture site, travelled to his heart and killed him. I never met him. Even though a police investigation ruled it to be a tragic accident my mother never forgave my dad and their arguments grew worse.

Shortly after this mum was cooking at the stove when a violent argument erupted. Dad flew into a rage and almost choked my mother to death. I was his unborn child and at grave risk also. Apparently mum hit dad over the head with a lump of firewood which made him release his hold and saved our lives. I was never told the reason for this physical assault but the accident added more stress to an already stressed relationship. An incident report was lodged at the police station. Apparently mum was told her biggest mistake was not hitting Dad hard enough. Wise words from the local police sargeant.

 On a crisp spring morning in the post war boom years of the nineteen fifties I was born. I would like to think my birth was eagerly anticipated and throughout my life I was loved and cherished. Sadly, this wasn’t so. I was the sixth child of an eventual seven and an accidental conception. Mum refused to go to hospital and was adamant that I would be born at home. There was no midwife in attendance, no pain relief and no telephone. With each contraction mum would push down hard on a tomato crate placed at the end of her bed. Dad was apparently terrified that one, or both of us, would die. He cried as I was born at just after midnight on October fifth, 1958.  My mother’s two previous births had been complicated and she took a huge risk in choosing a home birth.  By the grace of God I was born hale and hearty. My eldest sister held me as my eldest brother ran two kilometres to the neighbours to phone for an ambulance.

My parents were poorly educated though both could read and write. Dad worked long hours as a labourer involved in manual cane cutting, banana cultivation and harvesting and small crops. These jobs were physically very demanding and meant dad spent long hours away from home. Mum  was often lonely and grew increasingly discontent.

When mum had a small lotto win she purchased a four hectare block of land with a tumbledown cottage already onsite. Mum and dad would often plant small crops such as beans and peas by moonlight in an effort to earn an income from the land. To be able to market their produce they needed a vehicle. Mum used the last of her winnings to buy a new Bedford truck. They ran a fruit and vegetable delivery truck for some time though their returns were minimal. The arguments grew increasingly violent and mum took solace in the catholic faith. Though not religious dad was an Anglican. When mum secretly baptised us catholic dad flew into a rage. He tore pictures and photographs from the wall, shredded mum’s rosary beads and beat her.

 I have a vivid recollection of darkness and claustrophobia. Apparently my little brother and I would be locked in a dark wardrobe so we wouldn’t be hurt. We’d be left there for who knows how long. I recall one occasion when one of my older brothers and I screamed until we couldn’t speak. I have no idea what we saw but it must have been so traumatic that we experienced shock. I remember standing in the doorway but have completely blocked out what I saw.

After eighteen years of domestic violence mum left dad and our own home, and moved into a boarding house in town. I was four years old and my little brother was thirteen months old. Though I don’t really remember much about those first four years, or in fact my dad, it must have been a terrifying time for us. My two oldest siblings, aged fourteen and sixteen left school and found work. The next three eldest in age were sent to a catholic orphanage for one year. It was such a long distance away that I only saw them twice in that whole year. This was a one hundred kilometre round trip by taxi and very uncomfortable for us all. We must all have been terrified with such a huge change in our lives.

During this stay in town three things happened to impact upon our lives. My mother began cigarette smoking when she worked part time at a dinghy café. She was prescribed medication for nervousness and depression and she began a relationship with a man who would become my abuser. All three of these things would contribute to the loss of my mother’s interest and involvement in my life. She formed ill-fated attachments to all three things and placed them above all else except for a deep and abiding faith in God her Saviour.

After one year my mother resumed living on the property she had purchased. Her new partner moved in with us as well, supposedly to help run the small acreage banana farm. This was the day that the concept of child was removed from my childhood. My siblings returned from the orphanage and our life was changed again. We became unpaid child workers, led a very regimented and secluded life and were subjected to constant verbal and emotional abuse.  We were always to be seen but not heard and were brainwashed to believe and obey what we were told. One of the first lessons we learnt was to “tell no-one”. We were made to believe that we were worthless and no-one would believe us anyway.

 The farm was about six to eight kilometres from town but we may as well have been on Mars. We had no car, no telephone, no mail service and no friends.  Fresh milk was never kept in our home--- instead we used re-constituted powdered milk. Thank goodness for free milk deliveries to schools which meant that once a week we received one small bottle of milk. There were no fresh bread deliveries, my mother never baked and we seldom received treats.No-one came to our home by invitation, or otherwise. To get to town we either walked or caught a taxi. Apart from church on Sundays and school we never left the farm. On Sundays we would walk to church unless a fellow traveller stopped to offer a lift. There were six of us so we seldom got a lift.

 At just five years of age the master manipulator, and abuser, had already taken control. By now mum was already protected from life by prescribed tranquillizers and was more than happy to let him take control. She lived in a bubble of unreality and did little to protect or help us. The cooking was controlled by him with my assistance and the household duties became mine too. From this age until he died when I was  my life would be controlled. I would learn not to ask questions, tell no lies and be seen not heard. I would be isolated, ostracised and brainwashed to believe only what he told me. Control was his speciality and God was my Saviour. So many emotions plagued my psyche and my life became a cocoon which threatened to choke the very life from me. My older siblings all left home and didn’t look back. My younger brother was treated like a son.

I became a little girl lost by seven years of age.  No-one really saw me. It was as though I was invisible and I was powerless to tell anyone. As I reminisce I ask---“Mum, where were you?”
 
 
 

Author Notes My childhood was complex-a cauldron of simmering emotions and the plight of child abuse. The experience of childhood moulded me into the person I am today. I think, act, and feel as I do because of the experiences and lessons I learnt along my life's journey.

I hope my children can accept and understand my journey which began in childhood and continues now with forgiveness, honesty and healing.
The image is my own aged about 4 years.


Chapter 2
Tell No-one.

By Shirley E Kennedy

After my mother and father separated my mother moved my siblings and me to a boarding house in town for one year. I'd lost my father whom I was now ostracised from and three of my older siblings who were sent to an orphanage and now lived in an unfamiliar environment. It was during this time my mother would meet her future de-facto partner and my abuser.

Many years have passed and I am no longer afraid yet I am still as securely bound as I ever was. The message "tell no-one" is so firmly branded in my mind that even now it can control my responses. The connotations attached to this phrase can clasp my chest so tightly I can scarcely breathe. The thought of emotional freedom beckons like the scent of honey to a bee yet seems an impossible dream. Am I so strong that I can break the grip of this enigma? I am not so sure, because whenever I think I am breaking free the droning message "tell no-one" re-invents itself.

Years of mental abuse, social isolation and mind control leave damage. Great gaping wounds that heal over time but leave distinct reminders of where they have been. No-one else can see them or acknowledge they are there, yet the effects continue to tear at the very heart and soul of who I am. Just when I feel I have risen above my past I realise I have never really dealt with it. Instead I have pushed it to the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind and locked it there. The problem is that all it takes is a moment, a memory, or a set of circumstances to open a small wound which can fester and destroy.

If I had ever really comprehended the repercussions caused by the emotional abuse and bullying I may not have survived them. For a very long time I hid my childhood experiences behind a veil of silent, private tears. "Tell no-one" is exactly what I did. The only way to cope was to conform, for defending myself only incurred more wrath and punishment. Sleep and attendance at school were the only times I felt safe from my abuser's verbal abuse. Once an episode waned I blocked it out. Still, some of those episodes still linger untold and hidden in my subconscious. Now all these years later I finally feel I can, and need, to vocalise my suffering and despair. Only then will I allow inner peace and happiness to enter my life.

My behaviour and beliefs were influenced and most often determined by my abuser. He used social isolation, ostracism and mind control to his advantage. I had no contact with anyone else apart from the controlled environment of a strict convent school. Fear of reprisal and emotional blackmail, plus the constant taunting words-"tell no-one" crushed any hope of release from the abuse. There was no-one to care or to confide in. No relatives to rescue me or authorities to save me. I didn't know that my experiences were not normal and I was never given the opportunity to find out. To this day I thank God that at least my mother instilled in me the gift of faith and the power of prayer. I will be forever thankful that faith in God's love gave me the strength and resilience to survive almost certain emotional annihilation.

I had no friends, play dates, sleep-overs or birthday celebrations. Apart from my siblings I had no contact with relatives at all. My paternal grandparents had died before my birth, my father had no access or visiting rights and my maternal grandparents lived in a different state. My aunts and uncles on both sides of the family were either ostracised, too far away, or just didn't care. I had sixteen aunts and uncles and numerous cousins who I would never meet. My mother was emotionally distant and lived in a bubble of prescribed euphoria. She showed little emotion and lived in her own world which was so far removed from mine. Medical mismanagement of depression meant she was also a target for my abuser's mind control and emotional manipulation which robbed her of motherly emotions. Once she was rendered incapable of, and unwilling to make decisions, he had free reign to dictate our life experiences as he willed. Only once in those thirteen years do I remember my mother intervening on my behalf and that was when his fist was aimed at my face. I was thirteen years old.

My older siblings could not save me as they also suffered in silence. My brothers bore the brunt of physical abuse when younger but not as teenagers. My two older brothers who still lived at home left at age sixteen to join the army and my younger brother escaped the abuse. One of my older sisters and I suffered the most. All my older siblings left home by sixteen years of age and returned for nothing and no-one.

I was the youngest girl so I suffered from the youngest age and for the longest time. The only bonus for me was successfully completing senior high school against all odds. I have been asked why I didn't leave but my abuser had a master plan which as I've already stated used ostracism, crippling emotional abuse and social isolation. I had nowhere to go and no-one to help me. I was afraid, mostly compliant and didn't know just how bad the abuse was. I was too scared to speak about it and was never in a situation where I could learn about life beyond my home.

I was easy prey for a middle-aged tyrant whom my mother believed she could not live without. He was a returned soldier who had fought gallantly in World War 2, receiving a commendation. He was given an honourable discharge on medical grounds after incurring a shrapnel injury to his shoulder. Though the physical scar healed the mental scars remained. On his arrival home he found his former fiancee was married. This rejection invoked a hatred for all women. This included my mum whom he pretended to love. In reality, he took a vibrant, attractive mother of seven and systematically destroyed her. My sister and I paid the price as well. He despised any female with intelligence and crushed our spirit and self esteem on a daily basis. In some ways he succeeded, for although I survived his abuse, to this day I bear the emotional scars. Scars which can open and fester at will. He removed the CHILD from my childhood and I will never forget the words-"tell no-one."

No form of counselling or support was ever offered because to the eyes of the world I was a poor kid who had been lost in the system which should have saved me.




Author Notes Emotional abuse takes on many forms and multiple family members can become victims. I, along with an older sister and two of my brothers, met such a fate.This is a personal account of the methods used and contributing factors. This man was a master manipulator and all his abuse was carefully and cleverly hidden from the world.
My own image is used.


Chapter 4
Walk With Me

By Shirley E Kennedy

Childhood was a very tumultuous experience for me. When I reflect upon this time I open a “Pandora’s box” of mixed emotions and bad memories. Most of my life, apart from mandatory schooling, was hidden from the world. I lived my life with a sense of shame which I could not speak about. My abuser used mind control to instil a sense of worthlessness and shame. The one rule which was imprinted in my mind, and must never be broken, was –Tell no-one.

Each day brought more of the same with little variation. For as far back as I can remember my life was regimented and my thoughts and actions controlled by a manipulative mother and her partner--- my abuser. My mother was an emotional cripple and dependent on prescribed tranquilizers just to face the world each day. It was so easy for her de-facto partner to take a child, me, and remove the most important thing from my life with ease--- my mother. To actually remove the “child” from my childhood. How dare he?

As a child I never felt my mother’s love. I was considered an annoyance, a workhorse, and a mere source of income from government benefits.  The beauty and wonder in the world around me was suppressed. I cannot remember a time when unbridled laughter echoed through our house. There were no family get togethers, mother-daughter moments or happy snaps.  I was to be “seen, not heard” just as my siblings were.

 During this ordeal I survived each day simply because I was brain washed to believe whatever I was told, isolated from anyone who might help me, and led to believe I had no worth. I became a conformist, a wallflower, a high achiever and most of all a determined survivor.  At the time  I didn’t realise the inner strength I had. One of my mother’s most special gifts to me was the gift of faith. Though she lost many things about herself along her own life’s journey, she never lost her faith. Thankfully, she instilled it deep within my heart also.

We often prayed as a family, though sadly, for the wrong reasons. We prayed that the Sacred Heart of Jesus and Our Lady of Perpetual Succour would protect us from our evil father. Sadly, this was manipulation and mind control. I was a little girl with a deep sense of  spirituality and so easily manipulated.I believed whatever happened to me was sanctioned by God. I religiously prayed for my soul and that of my siblings as well. A deep sense of faith and hope grew within me and nurtured me through the darkest hours.My mother wanted to make my father suffer--- to never see his children again.  What better way to achieve this than to manipulate our minds and perceptions of just who he was, and what he may be capable of? I didn't know him so I only had her version to believe.

My childhood has coloured my experiences and my point of view about life. Sadly, it has also affected my choices and paths in life as well. Fear and insecurity most often won the battle against confidence and achievement. Even today, I always put myself last because I don’t feel worthy to be first. My shining star moments fizzle as they usually go unnoticed and have worth only to me. I am the one with the empty chair beside me in a room full of people. The one who feels like the butt of the joke everyone else is laughing hysterically about. If my demons are finally released, my shackles unlocked and my spirit set free, maybe life will become as it should be for me.

Many smile and acknowledge my presence but few stop to chat. No-one really knows me yet so many judge my behaviour and worth. My reluctance to gossip or share private family moments with those I don’t know well is seen as aloofness and arrogance. I am a very private person who finds it difficult to trust another. I cannot share my journey and nobody cares to ask why. Why do I seldom put myself forward for appraisal or approval? That’s easy to answer. Rejection hurts just as much as a slap on the face and the emotional pain often lingers much longer than the physical. I long to stand tall, strong and proud to be just who I am. I have worth in so many ways and it’s time I embraced the real me. Knowledge and acceptance come with understanding and caring.  Will you walk a mile with me as I retrace my life's steps in my shoes?

I cannot be all I can be until I share my journey warts and all. Each memory evokes emotion, as with honesty I share it.  Then inch by inch, and step by step I willingly embrace it and let it go. Where do I begin and how do I chronicle these stepping stones of my life? I honestly don’t know, but as each one bubbles to the surface I will embrace it with familiarity yet with the eyes of a survivor not a victim.
 
 

Author Notes My children often don't understand why I am as I am.
This journey back through the dark days will, I hope, allow them to understand how mental abuse stays hidden within always.
The right circumstances can bring a world of hurt flooding back in an instant.
Don't judge me-just love me- unconditionally. Just as I love you all.
Image courtesy of free Christian images


Chapter 5
Home Truths Laid Bare.

By Shirley E Kennedy

I grew up in the post war years of the nineteen sixties in an abusive and reclusive family situation. The only person I was taught to fear was my own father. My parents separated after eighteen long years of domestic violence. My mother and her partner brainwashed me into believing that dad would kidnap and harm me. This couldn’t have been further from the truth, yet it instilled in me the art of self-preservation. There were far worse people lurking right inside my family home.

 Children were to be “seen not heard” in our family so we spent most of our time outside. Many hours were spent completing chores or engaged in physical labour. We were mostly alone as we collected  lantana brush to start the wood stove. The fire was used for hot water, cooking and home heating. To do this I would have to scour the brush to find dead kindling and drag it home. No kindling meant no fire and evoked harsh punishment. I cannot count the number of ticks and insect bites I endured throughout those years. My mother never asked or seemed to care where I was or what I was doing.

My mother’s chosen partner and my abuser, saw fit to use every opportunity to remind me that I was nothing. No –one had, or would ever want me. If he saw an opportunity to demoralise, embarrass or hurt me he showed no hesitation in using it. My clothes were tattered and dirty hand-me-downs which I had to wear for at least a week before washing them. To wash them, a sibling and I had to walk about eight hundred metres to access a waterhole to bring water home.

The holding vessel was an old cream can or two tied onto an old pram base. The first fifty metres downhill was easy as we could push the make-shift trolley with ease. The next seven hundred and fifty metres or so, was much harder. We then had to pull, or drag, the cumbersome apparatus along a bumpy gravel road. All the while negotiating several “blind” corners. This also wound uphill for part of the way. Traffic, whilst not frequent, was always a concern. It was always a relief to reach the water-hole in one piece.

Now the difficulty compounded even further. We had to carry two empty plastic buckets each and crawl through a four strand w barbed wire fence. I’d always toss the buckets over first and then try to squeeze through the middle without getting spiked. Usually I’d get scratched or snag my clothes on the way through. L- shaped tears covered all my clothes which were already thin and well worn. Next I walked five metres through waist high grass, before reaching a log which traversed across the waterhole. The true test of skill was walking back along the log with two full buckets of water on the return trip. The trip across the log, through the grass and back up to the cream can was repeated many times. Sometimes we lost our balance and our load and would have to start all over again. Occasionally my older brother would bring a piece of string and a hook and we’d catch yabbies to take home and cook. I don’t remember being a fan of this practise or the meal.

Finally we would begin the return journey only now it was much harder. The extra weight of the fully laden cans made the cumbersome apparatus difficult to manoeuvre. We knew that if we overturned it we would have to start all over again and incur the wrath of our abuser. Once home we had to work as a team, with one pushing and the other pulling, to navigate the last fifty metres uphill. If we were lucky we would be allowed to bathe. A small tub was placed in the middle of the small kitchen in front of the wood fire. As gross as this sounds we had to take turns in the tub. Mother always went first, me second and so on down the line. I felt so ashamed and embarrassed. Our home didn’t have a bathroom, or in fact even a curtain for modesty.

We were roused from sleep every morning without fail at 5am. We were then given a meagre breakfast which consisted of a wheat cereal and white bread. Often we were each served up two chicken feet in a bowl of salt water. My stomach still churns at the thought of it. There was no meat, no nutrition and certainly no need to be forced to eat the stringy cartilage from the legs. We were too scared to refuse as his anger was far worse, than the discomfort of eating the meal.

 Then we all had chores to do whether it be in rain, hail or shine. We were sent out into the weather without shoes and without adequate warmth. To wear shoes was seen as a sign of weakness and so forbidden. Not that I had any to wear anyway. Being a girl gave me no privileges. I was treated the same as the older boys and that was with disdain. In those years the climate was much harsher. In winter we would walk through heavy frost in bare feet to feed our animals. Our feet would be freezing cold and bluish-red from the cold. I remember plunging my bare arms into freezing cold water to mix the grain for the poultry and ducks. My arms would be chafed from the cold and so sore. No treatment was offered, or administered.

At 7.00 am we were given a dish of cold water to wash ourselves. We had to be ready to catch the bus at 7.20 am. There were not enough buses so this bus travelled over fifty kilometres morning and afternoon. It was dusty, overcrowded and dangerous. Many mornings and afternoons I stood on the bottom step of the bus with the door wide open. Often we’d opt to leave the bus a short way into the journey and walk the one and a half kilometres to school, or four kilometres home. Even if we didn’t get a lift we always beat the bus home.

We were seen as poor kids and treated like trash. Teased and taunted mercilessly. My brothers often had to fight the neighbourhood bullies to protect themselves or my younger brother and me from senseless attacks. On one occasion the police intervened after a nasty attack on one of my brothers caused a retaliatory attack a few days later. I had sexual comments directed at me and one of the older boys sexually exposed himself to me on a bus trip home. I had to travel the bus for we had no car and no money.

Once at school things were not so bad. The nuns who taught us would not allow bullying and bad behaviour. I was a model student and got along with most children well. I was deeply religious, extremely shy, and too brainwashed to step out of line or confide in anyone. I had no close friends but was largely treated with respect or ignored by classmates.

 On arrival home each afternoon it was more of the same. Another round of chores to do outside and then I had to assist with the preparation of the evening meal. Not with my mother but with my abuser. We had no fresh milk so I mixed a jug of reconstituted milk powder every afternoon. It was so tempting to scoop a spoon of powder off the top. I soon learnt it wasn’t worth the backlash if caught.

 The evening meal always consisted of cheap meat cuts, vegetables and a horrid dessert. Offal such as liver, tripe, steak and kidney were staples on the menu.  To this day I cannot eat tapioca, sago or bread pudding. I hated them then and even more so now. I refused to eat bread pudding one night so I was forced to sit at the table for two hours. I was then sent to bed and told I would eat it for breakfast. When I still refused my mother covered it in syrup and forced it into my mouth. The syrup took my breath away and I was left gasping for air. Was this enough to stop them? No! I was to eat it for lunch. Instead I fed it to the cat, and took the thrashing which ensued.

 The night time ritual for bathing was the same as the morning. A dish of cold water and a quick wash. At seven thirty every night we were sent to bed. Our mattresses were old and saggy and the wiry stuffing poked through. Our sheets were washed just once a week even in the heat of summer. Instead of blankets we were given grain bags slit down two sides, shaken out, and placed on our beds. Every morning our beds had to be stripped item by item and remade the same way. If we tried to cheat and placed two items on together he would rip everything off and supervise us as we did it all over again.

 I don’t ever remember being tucked in, told a bedtime story or being given a hug or kiss, goodnight. Resilience and survival techniques is what I learnt at a very young age.
 

Author Notes To carry shame and hurt so deeply, for so long, is soul destroying. I have accepted, and acknowledged my past, and forgiven my mother and my abuser.
Now I walk the path of release and healing.
I share these words for my children, so they may one day understand who I was, and how far I have come.


Chapter 6
A Cruel Twist of Fate.

By Shirley E Kennedy

As a  little girl of seven I was already a victim of emotional abuse and became very compliant and eager to please. I knew nothing about my human rights so quickly learnt life’s lessons to protect myself from physical abuse. My parents had fought constantly for a very long time. From before birth I was exposed to anger and violence. Suddenly I was wrenched away from all contact with my father and didn't know why. Soon my world grew even darker.

“Where’s daddy?” I'd  ask.

“Your father is a bad man and we can’t live with him anymore,” my mother replied.

Soon my mother moved the family out of town to a small acreage farm and her “friend” moved in. My siblings and I became like worker bees to do the queen bee's bidding. We were to be “seen but not heard’ at all times. At this point I lost my mother as well. My mother was medicated for stress and nervousness and played little part in my life from this point.

 I became a quiet, lonely child with nothing and no-one to really care. School was just somewhere I must go. A miracle from God placed me as a student at a Catholic private school. Although I had friends they were only friends in the confines of a school environment. I had no other contact with the outside world except for Sunday mass.

One day it was announced that for school open day the class would be having a concert. My class would perform a maypole dance. I was so excited and when I told my mother a small spark of caring was lit.

As a child of poverty I had never seen or owned a new dress. When my mother offered to sew a pretty new dress for me I was so elated. My mother wasn't a capable dressmaker, and in fact hadn’t sewn before. This didn’t dissuade her and she chose a pretty pale blue material with little white kittens on it.

Mother used an old treadle singer sewing machine and soon the dress was finished. My eyes gleamed with anticipation as the concert day arrived. My mother and an older brother attended and I proudly performed in the maypole dance.

Some people pointed and laughed behind their open hands but I was oblivious to them and to the giggles from the other children. That day I felt proud and almost an equal. Though...
 

Mother tried so hard
Sewed darts on outside of dress
Child’s self esteem lost
 

Author Notes A short story accompanied by a 5-7-5 poem.
Author's own picture is used.
Darts are the garment shaping seams which are sown on the inside of the garment for neatness. Now this may not be seen as a problem but many years ago it was.


Chapter 7
Only God Knew.

By Shirley E Kennedy

A sweet baby girl lived in poverty.
Sadly it is true that baby was me.
Though born by accident not by design,
the fact remains that her future was mine.
 
I pleaded with God to look down on me,
a poor little waif who longed to be free.
Tears reddened my eyes and moistened my face.
Only God knew of my shame and disgrace.
 
 Emotional wounds soon festered and grew.
 I was a small child so what could I do?
Chances were few and I seldom made friends,
and those who scorned me did not make amends.
 
As I grew older I learnt how to cope,
I drew on deep faith and God’s light of hope.
 God reached out his hand with abiding love;
 His footsteps matched mine although from above.
 
Now as an adult I kneel down to pray.
I thank God for blessings given each day.
His presence is carried deep in my heart,
to strengthen and guide as love I impart.
 
As I find solace and peace within prayer,
I find great comfort as burdens I share.
That poor little waif can now understand,
the salvation found in God’s healing hand.
©

Author Notes We cannot determine our life choices at birth but we can choose a better life with wisdom and the guidance of God's love.
The image is me as a small child in an impoverished family.


Chapter 8
Knowledge Brings Understanding

By Shirley E Kennedy

As I lived and walked the path through child abuse I learnt I could only depend on me. No-one else knew or cared about my life. If I was to survive it was all up to me. If I showed the slightest sign of weakness I knew my life would just get even worse.

When very young I was totally compliant, manipulated, brainwashed and frightened. To show weakness was to become an immediate target for an abusive tirade. That’s when I decided my abuser would never see me cry. I would not break under pressure. Don’t misunderstand me. I crumbled, I cried, I begged God and I felt totally desolate. I felt emotions that at times I was ashamed to feel. I grew to hide these signs from him and to fight back.

 During my thirteen years of abuse I had many questions. Immersion in such a harrowing, soul destroying experience robbed me of insight. I couldn’t see; I could only be. During my lowest moments I wondered why and how my mother could allow this to happen. How could she turn her back on me? Why did she see with blind eyes? What possessed her to treat her children as though pawns in a crazy game of life?

 With age came wisdom, acknowledgement and growth. This in no way excused the abuse, or abusers, but allowed me to see with fresh eyes. At the age of twelve or thirteen I hated my mother. I felt so ashamed and guilty of those feelings that I accepted the abuse was my punishment. I was raised a catholic and every fibre of my being felt emotions at odds with my catholic faith.

My parents are now both deceased and I feel I can finally voice my torment without being disrespectful to either one. I am grateful for the life God gave me and to my parents for allowing me to live. Without deep faith I wouldn’t have survived the journey to where I am today. I would not have the gifts of a loving husband children and grandchildren.

I have forgiven my parents for their part in the abuse and suffering I endured. They were victims too. Neither had the emotional, financial or social skills to bear and raise a family of seven. The marriage was doomed before it even took place. Fate‘s hand had already been cast and so had the future of seven children.

My mother was a damaged child herself. She was born out of wedlock to a teenage mother a year before the onset of the Great Depression in 1929. Her grandparents were members of the Baptist religion. No- nonsense, extremely strict, God- fearing people. My grandmother was fifteen when my mother was born and considered to have disgraced her family. Her pregnancy was hidden and when my mother was born she was raised as though her grandmother was her mother.

 When my mother was nine years old my grandmother met and decided to marry a young man. Her parents forced grandmother to take her daughter, my mother, with her. Suddenly my mother was wrenched away from the only family she had ever known. Her “sister” was now her mother and her “mother” was her grandmother. How horrifying must that have been for her to deal with at such a young age? There were no counsellors in those days.

Grandfather adopted my mother and proudly accepted her as a daughter. Grandmother considered mother her shameful secret; a reminder to all that she had sinned. Mother was treated badly by her mother and never accepted as her daughter. She was ignored, denied love, and shunned. Grandfather and my mother developed a rapport and her mother hated that.

 My mother became pregnant at eighteen and I guess grandmother saw her past all over again. Ashamed and deeply angered grandmother sent my mother a long distance away to work in the laundry of a convent. It was assumed by her mother that she would spend her pregnancy and confinement there and give up her baby. Conditions were harsh at the convent and grandfather brought my mother back home. Her mother was furious and when my mother gave birth to a son she wanted to take him as her own. She had given birth to three girls and desperately wanted a son. To escape her mother and keep her son my mother met and married my father. She said she had never loved him but he was eager to marry her. She saw this as a solution and a chance to keep her son. In later years she described her decision as 'escaping from the frying pan into the fire.'

 My mother was not well educated and had finished school at the end of primary education. Her employment prospects were virtually non-existent when poor education was combined with motherhood. My father also was searching for work during the depression years of 1929-1932. He was uneducated, born into a large family and his father was very strict. His family travelled frequently to work in agricultural jobs. His financial prospects were poor and the chances to forge a better life for himself were slim.

 My mother grew restless and impatient with the long hours my father worked. She was left, often in isolated areas, to cope with the raising of up to seven children primarily alone. She sought company and solace elsewhere and often left the children home alone.

 After eighteen years of escalating physical, and verbal abuse  my mother separated from dad. We spent a short while in varied emergency housing before finding cramped accommodation in a boarding house. My two eldest siblings aged fourteen and sixteen found work and the eldest moved in with my uncle. The three next eldest siblings were sent to an orphanage for just over a year. My mother saw them three times that year. I saw them twice.

During that year my mother gained some shift work in a café just up the street from the boarding house. My fourteen year old sister cared for me and my younger brother whilst mother worked at night. Mother enjoyed the freedom, and soon met a man who would become her partner and my abuser.  He was a returned serviceman who had seen action in World War Two at the Battle of El Alamein, and in Libya and Egypt. He was a “Rat of Tobruk.” This battle is deemed one of the most remarkable in military history. He was wounded and incurred a shoulder injury from shrapnel. During his time of service his fiancée jilted him and married another. I feel this contributed to his hatred of anyone remotely like her.

Mother began to smoke cigarettes quite heavily although she never had before. Soon he had encased her like a second skin. She was convinced she couldn’t live without him and he promised to help her raise her children. Mother was suffering depression and began a journey on prescribed anti-depressants which would last the rest of her life. Sadly this would be the ruination of my mother. She became a shell of who she once was and chose the path of medication to block out the world, including her children.

Now her partner could control her for she was dependant on him and medication both of which changed her perception. During this time there didn’t seem to be such a thing as short term treatment. My mother continued on some form of anti-depressant until she died at the age of sixty eight years. At this stage my siblings and I, especially the girls, became his target. He knew he could manipulate and control my mother and consequently us. She was so blinded by the toxic combination of medication and his lies she would do anything he said and believe him unconditionally. Discipline was now open season.

 Her new love promised to help her work the acreage of banana land she owned. It sounded like the perfect solution. From this point on my mother lost the essence of who she was. She was a puppet like we were. He robbed her of her worth as a mother and a woman though she never recognised that. From this point on our fate was sealed. She spent her days lying down reading true romance novels and took little part in our lives.  Her motherly chores were now dictated  by him. She rarely cooked, never cleaned and bought only what she was told. The chores of a mother now became mine. I became Cinderella but without a Fairy Godmother. The evil Stepmother was replaced by my abuser. Now our abuser had free reign.

My older siblings all left home at sixteen to escape the abuse and not one of them looked back. Not one tried to make my life better. I had nowhere to go, no–one to care and no hope of escape. I was brainwashed, threatened, abused and isolated. My younger sibling was not abused. He was only thirteen months old when my mother began this relationship. He was young enough to have no memories, to accept everything he was told and as mother's favourite was treated like his son.

The journey was now mine alone and the depth of his abuse and control will unfold with my story.How sad, yet brave it is to have walked this path without the love and support of those who should have loved and protected me.Without deep faith and astrong survival instinct my life may have unfolded very differently and every day I praise God for His abiding love and protection.
 

Author Notes I have asked myself many times over the years how this abuse could happen. I didn't understand how my mother could stand back and allow it to be so. As I grew into adulthood my knowledge of events in the lives of both my parents, and my abuser, showed me what contributed to its inception.
In answer to other reviewers who have asked the questions also here is my reply.
Walk with me.
The image is a painting of my parents wedding photo.


Chapter 9
Inside the Cupboard.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Inside the cupboard the air is still

Darkness covets the space I fill

My cries fall upon deaf ears

Fear into my mind sears

As key turns to lock

I start to knock

This can’t be

Set me

Free

Author Notes This is a Nonet poem which has nine lines.
The first line has nine syllables and then drops one syllable per line until a single syllable word remains. Nonets can be written about any subject and rhyming is optional.
As a very small child I was locked in a cupboard on a regular basis. Supposedly to protect me, from my father's jealous rages. Imagine the fear of being in a cramped space whilst yelling and abuse went on nearby. I'm sure I would have felt like I might never get out. Pure terror. To this day I still feel claustrophobic in small spaces or certain situations.


Chapter 10
Emotions witheld.

By Shirley E Kennedy

My abuser was like shifting sands
 a pair of scissors in his hands
Hacked my hair unevenly
 for hair evoked vanity
emotions locked in
hate seen as sin
head up high
soft sigh
Over.
 

Author Notes Abuse takes many forms, and control is achieved subtley, yet with impact.
My hair was hacked to "bring me down a peg or two". It was always lopsided and uneven and I looked like a boy. Add poverty to the mix, and there was no way I was going to be a popular "Miss high and mighty."
The image is me with my lopsided haircut in primary school-before the smile started to fade.


Chapter 11
I Wonder Dad.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Dad, I often wonder what my life could have been,
If you'd just been in it instead of sight unseen,
Mother didn’t love you and that is such a shame,
She always told me that you were the one to blame.
 
She said you were a bad man and to stay away,
If I'd ignored her would I feel the same today?
Mother said my birth was an unplanned accident,
Though I still consider my life was heaven sent.
 
The presents you sent were never given to me,
They were hidden away so that I wouldn’t see,
I’m sorry that you were not a part of my life,
I was only little and the gossip was rife.
 
I believed that you'd hurt me and I was afraid,
Mother always told me that we could not have stayed,
I prayed what she told me was a terrible lie,
Never noticing the years were passing on by.
 
Seeds of doubt were planted and so quickly they grew,
Until I wished that I wasn't born part of you,
Mother ensured we would always be kept apart,
Whilst I always kept an empty space in my heart.
 
I went to your funeral to pay my respects,
Though I didn't love you and we had seldom met,
I respected you for loving me from afar,
Dad,may God richly bless you wherever you are.
 
 

Author Notes My father left my life when I was aged only four. Time and circumstance meant we barely knew each other. I had an empty space in my heart but dad had a heart of love. The two were never reconciled.
I met him several times and respected him as my dad but never had a bond with him. I really miss that.
A syllable count of 12/line.


Chapter 12
Help Me!

By Shirley E Kennedy

I
Cannot
Remember
Why my brother
And I screamed until we
Were no longer able to make sound
Something frightening was the catalyst
Most likely a domestic violence attack
When my father's jealous rages flared up
We were locked in a dark cupboard
We covered our ears and cried     
Claustrophobic
I can't breathe
Help me
Now
 
 

Author Notes These are confronting flash-backs from a domestic violence
family situation when I was very young.
Lack of punctuation is intentional.
Thanks to RicksSketches on FanArtReview.com for the picture.


Chapter 13
Childhood

By Shirley E Kennedy


As children, we had little time to play
for we'd chores to do every single day.
When I recall what we considered play,
I  can’t believe we are still here today.
 
We owned no toys and so had none to share
which I so often thought was quite unfair.
“Hide and seek” was fun 'til we all grew bored,
Though just a break from work we'd all applaud.
 
A piece of cardboard became an action toy,
as we'd drop it and run with squeals of joy.
Then, jump on it and  down the slope we’d go,
with some luck we'd have two rides in a row.
 
Below the slope there was quite a nasty drop,
though didn’t care if we  couldn’t stop.
Over the edge and then down with a thump,
to land on cans and bottles in the dump.
 
Seems mother didn’t know or seem to care,
we had the best fun when she wasn't there.
A broken bottle gave a nasty gash,
 The doctor  said my choice was rather rash.
 
My brothers climbed yet I stayed below,
I was so scared to climb and way too slow.
Marbles and hopscotch were often quite fun,
 to test our strength we’d all go for a run.
 
Fun times were few and some say rightly so,
we had to work, we’d nowhere else to go.
Such tough times made me who I am today,
as I learnt life lessons along the way.
 
 

Author Notes Just reminiscing on childhood.


Chapter 14
Childhood Memories.

By Shirley E Kennedy

I passed my childhood home today and memories flared.

Iron roof
Chimney blowing grey smoke

Beautiful garden of blooms
of many hues
Resplendent in the sunshine

Each room held a memory
Lingering from my childhood past

I passed by my childhood home today and left memories in the past.

Author Notes My first attempt at a Codary poem which has nine lines and a set format.
A solitary line
Couplet
Tercet
Couplet
Solitary line.
The last line must summarize the poem.
Rhyming is optional .
The Couplet and tercet must connect within themselves.
Thank you to cleo85 on FanArt Review for the use of this image.
Limited punctuation.


Chapter 15
Never trust a liar.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Three little children were left all alone,
Their mother had gone to places unknown,
As hours passed by their hunger pangs grew,
They shivered with cold and misery too.

High up on the shelf the sweet treats were kept,
Soon, into their minds, a master-plan leapt,
The middle child climbed to the highest shelf,
His little eyes bulged as he helped himself.

A treat for each child was all that he took,
Oh, how delicious, each sweet treat did look,
Two of the children quite eagerly ate,
'Twas this very action which sealed their fate.

The culprit thought wisely about the theft,
Then waited until only crumbs were left,
Without a word he replaced his sweet treat,
He knew the punishment if he should eat.

When mother returned their crime he relayed,
Omitting, of course, the part he had played,
Two little children were promptly beaten,
As punishment for the food they'd eaten.

Resentment and hurt now simmered within,
For punishment given didn't fit the sin,
A bond of trust then was so harshly broken,
Sibling trust breaks when secrets are spoken.




Author Notes Even a sibling will lie and betray to cause trouble for their siblings and to save their own skin.
Image courtesy of google images


Chapter 16
Where were you dad?

By Shirley E Kennedy

Dad,
Where were
you when I
needed your love
to assure me that you
would never willingly leave me
to live my life without knowing your love?
There has been a space in my heart for so long now.
I wish we could have closed that space
with a special love bond
shared between us
father and
daughter.
Friends.


Chapter 17
Walk of Faith

By Shirley E Kennedy

My mother was religious so off to church we'd go
She'd walk out in front and we'd all follow in a row
We'd many miles to walk to reach the church to pray
Our tiny legs would tire before we'd reached half-way

Mother wouldn't stop so we could have a rest
She said that God was waiting and this was just a test
We'd rise before the dawn and walk whilst it was dark
The shadows in the moonlight all seemed so very stark

My brother toted a little stick to keep us moving fast
For we had to reach the main road before a lift had passed
We'd sit right up near the front and bow our heads in prayer
We hoped that God would bless us and notice we were there

Our family was very poor and our clothes were never new
Yet we proudly sat up front for everyone to view
My mother was devoted and she raised us to be so
She hoped that this would guide us wherever we may go

When we grew up into adults we chose our path in life
But we kept our faith within us to protect in times of strife
Our pathways were all different but none of them compared
To the deep abiding faith in God we have always shared.
 
 


Chapter 18
Childhood.

By Shirley E Kennedy




Childhood
Was a nightmare
Only barely survived
With mind and body somewhat flawed
Smiling on outside but tears on inside
Scars heal yet emotions fester
In heart of survivor
A child with no
Childhood
 

Author Notes To truly understand the footprint left by abuse you must walk a mile in the shoes of the victim.
Dedicated to all victims of childhood abuse.
Own image used.


Chapter 19
Tommy And Me.

By Shirley E Kennedy



Young Tommy was a mother’s boy
His big green eyes a useful ploy
The apple of his mother’s eye
She’d look at him and softly sigh
 
His journey into life too soon
Set his mother to cry and croon
As she loved him above the rest
 He’d snuggle in against her chest
 
He can’t recall his father’s face
His dad was easy to replace
Instead of dad a stranger came
Nothing would ever be the same
 
Tommy was treated like a son
The rest of us he chose to shun
Whilst Tommy never felt his wrath
I still recall the aftermath
 
For Tommy it was so much fun
To feel loved more than anyone
In Mother’s eyes he did no wrong
He was as sweet as night birds song
 
 Tommy would never know his dad
Mum told him, too, that dad was bad
Now two of us could not recall
What we had lost, no, not at all
 
In later years Tommy can see
The pain abuse has caused to me
For as a child his world was bright
As he was always treated right.
 
Abusers choose their targets well
The frightened child who will not tell
One sibling can escape the crime
The other suffer all the time
 
It was my fate to be the choice
To be abused but have no voice
At last I now feel inner peace
This path I walk leads to release.
 
 
 
 

Author Notes My younger brother and I were aged just 4 years (me) and 13 months (Tommy)
when our parents separated and our lives changed forever.
His experience in the following years was quite different to mine.
Finally he can now acknowledge that this was so.
Abusers do choose their targets well.
Our own images used but his name is changed.
I'm smiling but my eyes hold great sadness.


Chapter 20
Not So Smart Now, Are You?

By Shirley E Kennedy

Jimmy was a cantankerous bully whose temper constantly hovered at flashpoint. His primary target was me and we each detested the other with every ounce of our being. Jimmy had an absolute abhorrence for young, beautiful women especially if they were educated. He'd received a "Dear John" letter from his fiancee during World War Two telling him she'd married another. Now he hated any female remotely like her and my sister and I were in his sights.
I was the sixth child in a family of seven and four of these children, including me, had their first meeting with Jimmy when quite young. My mum, *Stella*, was left a single parent to raise the children after separating from an abusive husband. She had little education and no money or employment prospects so when she met Jimmy he was like a God-send. He promised to love and support her and raise the children as his own. He didn't mention that he had no tolerance for children, especially girls.He never wanted an instant family of seven and certainly not five children still dependant and too young to work. What a gift we were to him to manipulate, humiliate and mould as he willed.
 I was only four years old when MY nightmare began and *Jimmy* was aged fifty five years. He was a seasoned war veteran who had seen and experienced the unthinkable in war and suffered the ultimate betrayal when his fiancee jilted him and married another. Now he felt all females were to be crushed and left bereft of self esteem and he made this his quest from sunrise to sundown. Every opportunity he found he'd flood my consciousness with negativity and verbal abuse. 
"You think you're so smart, don't you?" "Well, guess what? You're not, and no fancy high school degree is ever going to change that," he'd rant, pausing only to draw deeply on a cigarette. Then he'd look at me with pure malice as he blew smoke rings into the air."I don't know who you think you are. You're just a shitty - arsed school kid. Hell, everything you know would fit on the back of an aspirin and wouldn't fill the space."Sadly there were many dark days when I believed him.                                                                                                                                                                                              I was repulsed by his dirty, unkempt appearance and rancid body odour. Whenever he was anywhere near me I felt like I would puke. My skin crawled with awareness and I cringed in disgust. His skin was grey with ingrained dirt and his teeth were stained dark brown. No amount of washing could clean his clothes now stiff and stinking from constant use.
I looked at my mum who showed no sign of knowing or understanding, what was happening right before her eyes. The fantasy world of the latest true romance magazine she was reading was clearly more important than me, her daughter.

Please mum,be a mum, I thought. Tell him to stop.  

Meeting with no resistance Jimmy continued his onslaught. He seemed to thrive on the sensation of crushing any dregs of self worth from my mind. I was paying the price for the pain of his past and so was my sister.

"Never mind sitting down. Get off your arse and do your chores. We don't carry any free-loaders. Do we love?" He'd smirk as mum just smiled in agreeance. The gloating smirk on his face drove me mad for this showed his power over us all.

How can she bear to have him any where near her? I thought, as I recoiled in revulsion at the blatant intimacy between them. As our house was just a tumbledown shack ther were many nights I would cover my ears to block out the sounds of intimacy between them. The thought still makes my skin crawl.

"Just do as you're told and don't give any trouble,"mum mumbled without even looking at me. I was for all intents and purposes... invisible.

What the hell is wrong with her? He's an obnoxious, foul- mouthed bully and he stinks. How can she bear to have him near her?

"What the hell are you looking at? Go on, get the hell out of here and make yourself useful," Jimmy would taunt.

"Rise and shine," he'd yell every morning at 5.30am without fail. The sudden flash of bright light would startle me into an upright position, still half asleep.

"Come on, Miss Smarty Pants, get up and do your chores so you can go get a fancy high school education. I don't know why you bother though for if everything you know was written on the back of an aspirin it wouldn't fill the space."

I'll show you I thought as the blankets were torn from my bed.

"Now we'll see how smart you are. Strip that bed and make it from scratch. You've got five minutes or no breakfast."

As I glimpsed the usual weetbix followed by three impressive and gross chicken legs swimming in a bowl of salt water
I sometimes felt the punishment would be worth missing out on such "treats"until the abusive tirade began.

"Get your elbows off the table and sit up straight. Beauty queens don't slouch. Eat your damn breakfast and don't leave the table until you do."
A plate was unceremoniously dropped onto the table in front of me. I looked at the three chook legs swimming in a plate of salt water and felt my stomach turn.

"Not so smart now, are you?" he smirked as his fetid breath blew on my face. I  sensed his steel-grey eyes upon me and fought to retain control. There's no way he was getting the satisfaction of seeing me cry.  I'd save that for later.

Jimmy was always just a thought away and like a recurring nightmare he returned to torment me. I  pictured him sitting at the shabby kitchen table. He'd be leaning on one elbow and gazing into the glowing embers of the wood fire. A smoke haze would fill the room and a cigarette would rest between his fingers. A durry would sit behind his left ear for later. His steely eyes threatened to reach into my very soul and crush the spirit within.

"Look at her, she really thinks she's something," he'd sneer so mum could hear. All I was doing was innocently brushing my hair.
"You think you're a beauty queen, don't you? Well you're not. Hell, with your knock- knees, pigeon- toes and bumble- feet, no-one is ever going to look at you" he'd sneer.

Every day was like boot camp in a military acadamy with Jimmy as the drill sargeant. The primary rule was-"Jimmy rules." This was not negotiable and the only certainty was that tomorrow would bring more of the same. Jimmy believed kids should be "seen not heard," so to speak out of turn would unleash a tirade of verbal abuse.

"You ungrateful little wretch," he'd scream as his face turned white with rage and the veins in his neck enlarged and pulsated .

"Keep your damn mouth shut and stay the hell out of my way. It would give me great pleasure to give you a back- hander you won't forget in a hurry."

Nothing was sacred. He'd check my pyjamas at night to see if I was wearing undies underneneath. My skin would crawl and anger fill my heart. How dare he and why didn't mum stop him?

"It's about time someone broke you into the ways of the world. I bet I could teach you a thing or two, Little Miss High and Mighty."
"You shut your mouth you sleazy, excuse of a man. You even attempt to touch me and I swear I'll kill you," I screamed back at him.
"Why, you little bitch. I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget in a hurry," Jimmy yelled as he lashed out at me.
My brain screamed,"Run" but I stood riveted to the spot ... paralysed by fear.
His fist swung toward my face and barely missed striking me hard on the jaw. His eyes were dark with rage and he unleashed a tirade of abuse at me  as I stood pale and shaken on the other side of the room.

"That's enough Jimmy. Don't you ever raise your fist to her again. She's only fourteen, so just leave her alone."
Jimmy's hand dropped to his side and he turned his attention to mum.

" I've had enough of this bullshit and if you're going to let that little bitch tell you what to do then I'm leaving. Good riddance to you both," he shouted as he stormed from the room.

"Oh! Thank you God," I whispered as I clenched my hands behind my back with my fingers tightly crossed.

"Jeez, Jimmy I love you and I need you to stay. Forget about her, she's just a fool kid," mum sobbed as she begged him to stay.

Of course Jimmy stayed and the daily ritual of emotional abuse continued unabated for many years and each year increased as my hatred for him grew. I couldn't talk to anyone about this for fear of breaking another unwritten, but quickly understood rule; "What happens at home stays at home."

The years passed by and Jimmy grew old and frail but even illness didn't change his demeanor.

"When I'm knocking on the gates of hell, I'll be thinking of you. I'll make sure there is a place for you and the fire is well stoked," he'd rant.
One night during my first yearof nurse training I heard a sound I'd heard before... the death rattle. I was roused from sleep by the sounds and then of mum wailing. I found her desperately clutching her darling Jimmy as he took his final breaths. I felt a sense of great relief when his breathing finally fell silent. I was liberated at last from years of abuse and bullying.
As his casket was slowly lowered into his final resting place the mourners all felt sorry for me as I stood sobbing  a short distance away.
"Poor child, they said, it must be so hard losing the only father she has ever known."
Only I knew the truth. These were not tears of sadness and loss, but of joy and relief, and as I slowly walked away, I whispered, "Not so smart now, are you." 












       

Author Notes *****Please note that due to the sensitivity of this subject real names have not been used. ******

Jimmy entered her life when she was aged 4yrs and he was 55yrs. He died at 72yrs and she was 20 yrs at the time of his death. Mandy was a nurse who returned home on rostered days off to help her mum who was several years younger than Jimmy but emotionally weak.
His death meant that finally she had the upper hand. The story is written as a flashback of years of mental abuse not a current situation.

Australian English used.


Chapter 21
I'm Sorry.

By Shirley E Kennedy

When my mother decided to leave my father, and an abusive relationship, she never told him. One of my sisters was ordered to act as a decoy so dad wouldn’t suspect anything. It was very confronting and confusing for her, and she was quite frightened.  Whilst she detained dad, all our belongings and his children, were removed from the family home.
My sister lingered outside when dad entered the house, and then just ran away. She had to flee for miles, and cross a creek, to be picked up by mum.  Mum gave no thought to the fact that she couldn’t swim…she could have drowned. A young girl of twelve was forced to flee through bush and overgrowth, and…from her own father. At this point she’d no idea she’d spend over a year in an orphanage, separated from all except two of her siblings. I was too young to remember the day, or events, that changed my life forever.

 Dad must have felt such despair and disbelief when he walked into a completely empty house. He would have been so afraid when his daughter seemed to have…just disappeared. Dad apparently took the loss of his family quite badly and attempted suicide with a drug overdose. He was found, hospitalised and treated. Mum’s damning testimony saw him placed into an institution for some time. He was only released because his brother, and adopted son, agreed to vouch for him. The strangeness in that, is that her own son took sides against her.

 My recollections of life with dad are non-existent. I remember small snippets, or flashbacks, but I really didn’t know him. Apparently I was dad’s favourite. He witnessed my home birth and felt a connection, which sadly I never had. My whole life I’ve missed the presence of a father- figure… not my father the person. I would carry this sense of loss, or lack, until his passing many years later.

As the financial situation was quite dire, my two eldest siblings at sixteen and fourteen years, found jobs. The next three siblings, aged twelve, eight and six years were placed in an orphanage, over one hundred kilometres away. This left me at four years, and my little brother at thirteen months, with mum.  We saw our siblings twice in that year, for just a couple of hours. They shared so much and developed an unbreakable bond. My sister, closest in age to me, became a mother figure to them. In later years to me, and my younger brother, also.

For over a year we lived in various boarding houses in the local town. Finally dad left the area and moved interstate as full custody of his children was awarded to mum. I feel her damning testimony had much to do with this decision. Mum found a de-facto partner and we moved back to the family home. My three older siblings returned from the orphanage. Nothing was the same, and sadly, would never be again. This is where my story really begins… as a little girl lost. My mother’s new partner would become my abuser, and one of my sisters would suffer as well.

Mum chose to brainwash her three youngest children, me included. She intentionally led us to believe dad was a mad, evil man. We lived in fear that dad would kidnap, or harm us. I have never been able to understand how a mother could want this for her children. It left us with fear, shame, and a feeling of worthlessness. Her new partner would wreak far more damage on her children than dad ever had.

Who was to blame for the marriage breakdown? For sure it was, in part, both parents. Dad was prone to jealous rages and mum to infidelity…a very potent mix. My older siblings assure me that dad was never violent to his children, and he did love us. Mum too, for that matter. He loved too much, and she too little.
 
 Of his four youngest children only one would get to know him. One of my brothers, and dad’s first biological son, chose to break almost all contact with mum at sixteen years of age. The rest never had any relationship with dad throughout his life.  I feel great empathy for the loss and heartbreak dad must have felt, for I have felt it too. Still today there’s a place in my heart that is dark and empty…that’s where my precious father-daughter memories should be.

 For several years dad would send small gifts for our birthdays, or at Christmas. Mum withheld them from us and they were never acknowledged. Although I was quite young I felt it was so unfair. If I couldn’t have my father then why couldn’t I have the watch and locket he gave me?

I wrote my dad a letter before I married. I felt I needed to be able to acknowledge him as my father to be able to move into marriage myself. I told him that I didn’t love him. How could I love a man I didn’t know? I didn’t know him personally, so how could I make a judgement of him? I invited him to my wedding because it meant a lot to him to attend. My husband and I included him in our wedding photos, but apart from occasional family contact, I never met with him again. He died aged eighty five years in 2008, and I attended his funeral. As a mark of respect I placed my hand on his coffin and said, “Goodbye Dad.” I cried...not for what had been, but for what might have been.

This was to be the closing of another life chapter. What had been, could never be changed. It was time for acceptance and closure. " I'm sorry dad."

Author Notes This is written to show that along my path of release, I have considered our lives after change and loss, from my father's perspective as well.
I was brainwashed and emotionally manipulated as a child, and couldn't even consider any other perspective but what I had been scared into believing.
I'm sorry for your suffering too dad.
The image is from my wedding day- the closest I ever remember being to my dad.
Look closely and you will see the physical distance between us as well.


Chapter 22
With Plaintive Plea.

By Shirley E Kennedy


When 'Petey' cried with plaintive plea
Our mother kissed his pain away
His fear was all that she could she
When 'Petey' cried with plaintive plea
 She never did the same for me
No words of comfort came my way
When 'Petey' cried with plaintive plea
Our mother kissed his pain away
 
 

Author Notes This is a Triolet poem consisting of eight lines.
A rhyme scheme of ABaAabAB.
Upper case lines repeat so that lines 1,4,& 7 are the same
whilst lines 2&8 have rhyming endings.
' Petey' was mum's pet name for my younger brother.
Sadly in an abusive environment not all are treated the same.
Nothing is ever 'black and white" hence the colours of the presentation.


Chapter 23
Without My Dad.

By Shirley E Kennedy



A little girl without my dad,
I felt alone and often sad.
He wasn’t there to hear me cry,
as in my bed alone I’d lie.
 
If nightmares came into my mind,
no words of comfort did I find.
Instead the fickle hand of fate,
saw me abused with words of hate.
 
He used religion as a tool,
ensuring I’d obey his rule.
The boundaries were clearly set,
with punishment if I’d forget.
 
My mother wasn’t there for me,
his callousness she failed to see.
The pills she took kept her so calm,
though left me in the path of harm.
 
All alone and too scared to tell,
meant I endured a life of hell.
My older siblings chose to leave,
so I was given no reprieve.
 
I didn’t know it wasn’t right,
so I told no-one of my plight.
To punish me he’d hack my hair,
 my mother didn’t seem to care.
 
Soon I believed I had no worth,
 and in my life I found no mirth.
I could not trust another soul,
survival was my only goal.
 
As I grew older I fought back,
my hair he could no longer hack.
Whilst he still held the upper hand,
My life unfolded as he planned.
 
 

Author Notes Chapter 23 in my book 'Walk with Me' which deals with childhood abuse and neglect.
I have felt the emptiness in my heart my whole life -a place my father should have filled.
'HE' was my mother's de-facto partner who had endured the horrors of WW2 and been jilted by his fiancee using a 'DearJohn' letter whilst he was fighting abroad. A very callous and angry man.
My own image used.


Chapter 24
Held in Time.

By Shirley E Kennedy


Time passes quickly
 
Don't wait too late to recall

Precious memories.

Author Notes As an abused child there are not a lot of happy memories.
This image captures a memory of one moment when I felt maybe my mother loved me.
Sadly she passed away in 1996 and I never got to tell her this.
Don't make the same mistake.
Image from my family album.


Chapter 25
Forever.

By Shirley E Kennedy


The story so far:
When my mother decided to leave my father, and end an abusive relationship, she never told him. One of my sisters was ordered to act as a decoy so he wouldn’t suspect anything. She told me how frightening and confusing that was for her. She accompanied our father delivering fruit and vegetables as usual. Meanwhile my mother loaded up our meagre possessions and fled the scene long before he was due to return.

Several hours later my father and sister arrived home. She lingered outside when he entered the house, and then… just ran away. She had to flee for miles, and cross a creek, alone. The emotional turmoil she felt was enormous. A family friend picked her up several miles away. My father must have felt great fear when she disappeared and he found the house empty. At this point he’d no idea he’d face incarceration, a court case and custody hearing and lose his family. He would also leave the local town and move interstate, and never know his three youngest children.

My father took the loss of his family quite badly and attempted suicide with a drug overdose. He was found, hospitalised and treated. Mum’s damning testimony saw him placed into an institution for some time. Only because his brother, and adopted son agreed to vouch for him, was he allowed to be released. The strangeness in that is that her own son took sides against her.

Meanwhile, my mother moved on with her life. As the financial situation was quite dire, my two eldest siblings, aged sixteen and fourteen years, found jobs. The eldest son left home to live with an uncle. The next three siblings; aged twelve, eight and six years. were placed in an orphanage over one hundred kilometres away. This left me, aged four years, and my little brother at thirteen months, with our mother. For over a year we lived in various boarding houses in the local town. My father relocated inter-state and my mother entered a de-facto relationship.

 Our family moved back to the family home and my three older siblings returned from the orphanage.  Everything had changed…and not for the better. This is where my story really begins… as a little girl lost. My mother’s new partner would become my abuser, and one of my sisters would be targeted as well.

Mother chose to brainwash her three youngest children, me included. She intentionally led us to believe dad was a mad, evil man. She found a hard, cruel man to be her willing accomplice. We lived in fear that our father would kidnap, or harm us. Of his four youngest children only one would get to know him. The remaining three never had any relationship with him throughout his life. 

 For several years my father sent small gifts for our birthdays, or at Christmas. Mother withheld them from us, and they were never acknowledged. I still cannot fathom how this was necessary or helpful. We had so little and our father reached out with love. Again any hope our father being in our lives was blocked. My only explanation is so that the sense of separation and abandonment would deter us from ever contacting him. Mother succeeded in her quest to instil deep hurt in the hearts of a father and his children. Sadly, my younger brother and I never knew our father. The flashbacks I have are tempered, in part, by the information my mother so willingly supplied.

From my earliest memories I recall the feeling of shame…of being different from other children, and families. My mother told me my father was a madman and should have been permanently interred in an asylum. I believed, that any and every dark shadow, was my father lurking nearby to kidnap or hurt me. It was even suggested he may sexually abuse me. When childhood curiosity caused others to ask questions about my dad I was too ashamed to answer. After all ,who wants to admit their father is an unsavoury and dangerous man? At least that’s what I was brainwashed to believe.

Such fear was instilled into my mind. I believed my father lurked everywhere. I was too afraid to visit the outdoor toilet alone at night. I was accompanied by an older brother with a .22 calibre rifle. The distance of fifty metres was run as though my life depended on it. To make matters worse vicious guard dogs were chained under the house to deter “prowlers” who supposedly lurked outside. The slightest sound would set them off, and they’d growl and bark, as they reefed on their chains. Of course my father was high on the list of probable offenders. Each night as I lay down to sleep my ears were attuned to every sound. I feared every noise, not knowing if it was the wind, an animal, or the much feared prowler. Maybe even…my father.

The dangers I faced from my father were constantly reinforced, so that, over time I grew to hate him. I shunned him, denied he was my father, and prayed that, by some miracle, I was not his child. All to no avail, for the deep sense of loss and hurt has haunted me my whole life. Though my mother openly admitted to infidelity, and bore a child to a lover, it was not me. It turned out to be my much loved, and trusted older brother, closest to my age.

As I grew in age and wisdom I could understand why dad flew into violent rages. He loved my mother but she had never loved him. She held little respect for the sanctity of marriage. Though I have never condoned his violence towards my mother I could see the provocation which sparked it.

 On the few occasions I met him as a child I didn’t see him as my father…he was a threat.  I saw the emotion in his eyes as he looked at me…I was still his little girl. The child he left behind. I didn’t remember his presence at my birth, the chocolate treats he bought me, or the love he held for me. To me he was a madman who lurked in the shadows of my reality and dreams. I was a little girl lost in fear,and for the next thirteen years an unknowing victim.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Author Notes Finally getting my mind clear on the fateful day that changed my family forever.
Walking this path of release is allowing me to accept that the final outcome was inevitable. The huge cracks in the relationship my parents shared ran deep and began with the fractured surface at its inception.
This is just taking a look at some issues from my father's perspective.
The impact of this day changed so much for so many.
This continues my walk to understanding, acceptance and release.


Chapter 26
Lasting Memories.

By Shirley E Kennedy

I browsed through old photographs and heartache flared.

Ageing prints
Held lasting memories
From past
A time not forgotten but kept in limbo.

Each image
Fuelled raw emotions
Freely released
Past injustices hold heart and mind captive.

Today I closed the album of old photographs and set myself free.
 

Author Notes Sometimes clinging to old memories is too painful and prevents us from achieving the freedom to live our own lives. We may believe they define, not just who we are but also who we will become. I chose to set myself free-- It feels wonderful. This is biographical and I know because I lived it past and present.


Chapter 27
Blessed Release.

By Shirley E Kennedy


Old Jim sat on a kitchen chair.
It seemed like he was always there.
He ruled us with an iron fist
and crushed us if we dared resist.
 
In our home kids were seen not heard;
the whole concept seemed so absurd.
His rules were clear and quite precise,
obey them was his sage advice.
 
His punishments crushed self esteem
and gave him pleasure it would seem.
A ‘broken' child I soon became,
I even felt I was to blame.
 
He’d cut my hair then taunt and jeer,
His cruel tirades instilled great fear.
My mum became a broken soul
which left the ‘master’ in control.
 
As nasty jibes cut deep within,
my childish mind conjured up sin.
If I could make him disappear
no longer would I live in fear.
 
My siblings all abandoned me
to fight my battle to be free.
No backward glance or helping hand,
nor escape plot so brave and grand.
 
Each day I cried and bared my soul,
I prayed that God would take control.
The light of God shone in my heart
just as it had right from the start.
 
Though time has sped so quickly by
I find that there’s still tears to cry.
With wisdom I now understand
that nothing in my life was planned.
 
I can forgive but not forget,
I haven’t reached that milestone yet.
As childhood demons I release,
I also find great inner peace.
 
Right now, before my mother’s grave,
It’s resolution that I crave.
With God her saviour she resides,
and peace within her heart abides. 
 
I’ve still a few more miles to go
to feel the pain of sadness go.
I’m saddened that she never knew,
that in release peace dawns anew.
 
 

Author Notes This is therapeutic poetry written for healing and blessed release from a painful past. As such the concept of healing and renewal is the primary purpose.
The focus has not been on punctuation.


Chapter 28
In Shame.

By Shirley E Kennedy

It was so sad to walk in shame
although I knew I bore no blame.
The name that I attained at birth,
would as a child dictate my worth.
 
An innocent with name defamed,
I too, for family wrongs was shamed.
I cried for help but made no sound,
to silence I was duty bound.
 
My self- esteem was torn away,
 for penance I would also pay.
I longed for arms to hold me tight,
when left alone to cry in fright.
 
No-one would catch me when I fell.
Sometimes it seemed as far as hell.
 The mask I wore became a skin,
against the darkness creeping in.
 
The burdens I would bear alone,
amongst the hardest I have known.
Though loneliness still dwells within,
No longer do I dwell with sin.

To mend a life once lived in shame,
I rise above the strife and blame .
Today I write to find release,
along the path to inner peace.
 

Author Notes This is an autobiographical poem for my book titled "Walk with Me."


Chapter 29
So Alone.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Mother
I needed you
and you turned me away.
You said; 'big girls don't need cuddles,'
but you were wrong and I felt so alone.
My fear was real and I suffered 
injustice and abuse.
Those scars remain.
Mother

Author Notes This another chapter in my book 'Walk with Me.'
I am releasing emotions I wasn't able to as
a child and walking a path to a brighter future.
I hold forgiveness in my heart.
Image from my private collection.


Chapter 30
None could tell.

By Shirley E Kennedy

My childhood home was just a shell
though from the outside none could tell.
The outer walls were worn threadbare
whilst inner walls held secrets there.

I once lived trapped within the walls
and had no one to hear my calls.
An iron fist controlled my voice
so silence was my only choice.
 
That house was not a home to me
yet no one thought to set me free.
A barren space devoid of care,
a prison for all living there.
 
The house was just an empty shell
with secrets I could never tell.
No laughter echoed in this space,
against the darkness I would brace.
 
Darkness and shame lived in my home
and freely through the halls did roam.
No open arms to hold me tight
when nightmares came in dark of night.
 
When I look back I cannot see
a single happy memory.
Instead a tear rests in my eye
as here I say a last goodbye.
 

Author Notes Childhood should create happy memories of love, laughter, friendship and warmth.
The hub for these memories is the childhood home.
Unfortunately mine was just...an empty shell.
Thank you to davealpert on FanArtReview for the use of this image.


Chapter 31
Finally

By Shirley E Kennedy

I remember as my abuser was laid to rest how I wept, though not in sadness, but with relief.
Finally I was free from his destruction of all I was, or could be. He was gone forever and at last I had the freedom ... to be me.
I was wrong and his legacy is always just a thought away. I have walked a lifelong journey to be free. Sadly, most of the time I walked in a circle with no beginning and no end.
Finally I understand that to acknowledge who I am I must first set the child I was free.


Chapter 32
Forbidden space.

By Shirley E Kennedy

When fear is felt outside and in
that‘s where my story will begin.
Within the walls where I once slept
so many silent tears were wept.
 
My childhood is forbidden space
as memories still haunt this place.
It’s sad to fear what mind recalls
about events behind those walls
 
I was too scared to tell a soul
the depth of my abuser’s role.
With iron fist he changed life’s course
and never once he showed remorse.
 
Abuse became just common place
and stole the smile from off my face
I saw my life in shaded hues
as I had lost the right to choose.
 
My mother never wiped my tears
or with his judgement interfered.
I cried alone and told no one
the nasty acts this man had done.
 
Each day when I went off to school
I’d bear in mind the golden rule.
When asked about my dad I lied
yet deep inside my heart still cried.
 
I thought that everything was true
and I would be protected too.
For nothing was as it first seemed,
my life was lived as he had deemed.
 
I know there is a keyless door
which holds dark secrets at my core.
They’re locked away so deep inside
because such truth I can’t abide.
 
I walk this troubled path alone
for I still feel I must atone.
I bear no blame yet still I hide
behind the countless tears I’ve cried.
 

Author Notes This is another entry in my book 'walk with me.'
A biographical journey of release from childhood abuse.


Chapter 33
Trapped.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Often I feel I have walked a path fraught with swinging doors for almost my entire life.  A swinging door is seen as an obstacle to be mastered, conquered, or controlled in order to effect safe passage beyond its realm. So often the doors seemed like concertinas spaced too close and I felt thwarted in my journey and suffocated by the confines of limited space. Each time I tried to pass quietly through, the door would swing back and throw me off balance and onto a different, more aduous path. These were harsh lessons which scarred and tortured me, yet by the grace of God, I survived and learnt from them.

      Sometimes I couldn't see a clear path and wallowed in self pity, whilst feeling trapped in an enclosed space between the doors. Claustrophobia or a dark euphoria tempered my moods. Emptiness and darkness seeped into my soul and chilled me to the core. In my nightmares I could not escape this prison and I would weep alone and wallow in misery and helplessness. Part of my psyche longed to just give up and fade into the perceived bliss of oblivion where all care and worry would diminish or disappear. I would exist in mortal body only whilst my mind could roam freely or simply shut down and barely perceive at all. In those darkest moments there seemed no escape, no light at the end of the tunnel, just a world of nothingness.

     At times the light of God appeared too bright and I struggled to see beyond it's rays. Outside my self imposed and confined space lay a frightening, yet enticing spectre of possibilities yet I lacked self belief. Years of mental and emotional abuse had weathered and hardened my inner core and positivity was at its lowest point. Egotism, self worth and empowerment were amongst the virtues seen as sinful by my abuser and reprisals rendered me compliant to his demands and bereft of positivity.

     The light of God always dwelt deep within my heart and each day I strove to push harder to survive, achieve and believe in a better life. The black heart of my abuser also infiltrated the lives of my mother and siblings and those of us who still live today still carry the stain of his brand. I chose to begin this path to release four years ago for myself, my husband, my children and my future. I am becoming the person I have always strived to be but always thought I could never become. Each day I praise God for His most precious gifts in my life and hold those I love close to my heart always.

     As I accept who I was, am, and hope to become I am daily shedding the hardness and distrust from my heart and revelling in the sunshine of love, support,compassion and the sheer beauty of life. I welcome each new day with empowerment, determination and the freedom to charter my life's course with God to guide me. So much of the childhood hurt and emotional baggage flakes away with each revelation of life lessons I have learnt and now can freely share. My fear of being alone, claustrophobia and inability to fully share my darkest secrets is slowly fading as I grow into a new skin and my heart glows with the healing power of love, acceptance and friendship.

         Although I have always walked with God as my protector each step in life seemed as though a prospective sliding door. I would collapse in a heap as I reached each obstacle and  my strength and purpose would be lost as it.eroded away. I now actively pursue  a new purpose or direction when I encounter an obstacle. God has gifted me the toolkit to a new life through the power of prayer,and the blessings of gifts he had long ago bestowed-faith, hope, charity and most of all love. 

Thank you for walking a little further along the path with me---your companionship is appreciated.

            ************************************************************************************************

Author Notes As I embrace the challenge to rid myself of emotional baggage which overpowered
the very core of my identity I find such peace as I morph into who I feel I was always meant to be. Thank you for sharing my journey.
Thanks to brushbyme onFanArtReview for the image use.


Chapter 34
Collide.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Visions
Flare like hot  embers 
Fanned to flame by frigid winds of past
Igniting
Nightmare flashbacks of child abuse
As past and  present collide
Visions 

Author Notes Traumatic past experiences may be triggered to manifest
as current nightmares if the original trigger is reactivated.
I believe this is a Cameo poem which has seven lines and a syllable count of 2,5,8,3,8,7,2
I chose to make lies 1 and 7 the same.


Chapter 35
Broken Dream.

By Shirley E Kennedy

No little princess would I be
this was so plain for all to see.
My life was just a broken dream
and not at all as it may seem.
 
In tattered rags I always dressed,
except for my ‘used’ Sunday best.
My shoes were old and such a sight
and pinched my toes so very tight.
 
I was afraid and rightly so,
yet I’d no other place to go.
There was no-one to rescue me
no knowing eyes to set me free.
 
It’s said a child is safe at home
and never far from it should roam.
I wonder why no-one could see
that home was not where I should be.
 
No warm rugs lay upon the floor;
a broken lock was on my door.
On all four walls termite holes grew
 so mice and rats could come in too.
 
A wooden frame lent no support
and mattress also offered nought.
In sagging dents my body lay
and all my childhood stayed that way. 
 
No warm blankets on my bed,
two chaff bags lay on there instead.
Along two sides each bag was split,
 under thin cover they would sit.
 
There was no window to the air,
so I felt trapped in devil’s lair.
My thoughts were then denied a voice,
so silence was my only choice.
 
I had no music, books or phone,
these pursuits he’d not condone.
Early to bed and then to rise
was meant, of course, to make me wise.
 
I wonder why mum saw as blind
and let this man be so unkind.
Childhood was not a happy place
and what he did was a disgrace.
 
 
 

Author Notes This is another chapter on the path of release in my book -Walk with Me where I'm finally releasing the emotional baggage of an abusive and neglected childhood.


Chapter 36
Behind closed doors.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Whilst my abuser seemed quite tall
he made me feel so very small.
The words he’d say and things he’d do
were hidden from outsider’s view.
 
His actions were behind closed doors
where greatest harm he knew he’d cause.
My mother was a tortured soul
who needed him to make her whole.
 
Through grace of God I stood steadfast
although the damage had been cast.
I  fear I'll  never be set free
for his abuse still claws at me.
 
Deep in my core the wounds remain
and in an instant cause great pain.
Through death he found final release
 I walk a path devoid of peace.
 
I wish the slate could be wiped clean
so I’d forget where I have been.
It seems unfair that his abuse
was metered out with no excuse.
 
My greatest wish is to forget
and live my life without regret.
Deep scars inside are still inflamed
and my abuser must be blamed. 
 
I walk a path to find release
and reach a place of inner peace.
I know I never walk alone
God guides me on a path unknown.
 

Author Notes This is another entry in my book of poetry and prose titled 'Walk with Me"
which tables my journey to finally lay demons from childhood to rest through
acknowledgement, acceptance and release.

Thanks for walking with me.


Chapter 37
Towards Resolution.

By Shirley E Kennedy

There was a time when I believed I may never put the shame of my childhood behind me. I was weighed down so heavily with emotional baggage I suffocated any semblance of who I knew I could be. It was difficult to trust myself let alone anyone else. I never revealed who I really was as I always kept my past a secret. The emotional scars were buried so deep inside my heart and mind I hid them even from myself.

Surprisingly I was a healthy child with an active mind and coped well with language and learning. In fact, a deep, abiding faith in God and love of learning saved me from the darkness of my life. I buried myself in being compliant, obedient and seeking continued excellence in all I did. The mantra of my abuser was; ‘Tell No-one’ and so I didn’t speak of the abuse to anyone until an adult and then only to one of my sisters. She had suffered similar abuse though not for such an extensive period, or from such a young age. It wasn’t until I became really ill in recent years that I began to realise I actually was a victim of child abuse and needed to address the past for my health and sanity.

For the past five years I have been actively participating in a process to reclaim back my sense of self; to find out who I really am and choose to become. This walk has not been an easy task and has involved much soul searching, open admission and discussion of the emotional baggage I carry and aim to be freed from. My journey is a walk along the path of release and involves frank and honest acceptance, acknowledgement and finally release of the thoughts and emotions that have lingered deep in my subconscious, festered, and at times imploded to cause deep emotional and physical illness.

I am becoming an empowered woman willing to take control of my destiny through enlightened thinking, positive action and constant change. I am prepared to make mistakes, seek guidance and reach out to touch and accept the empathy and support I have found and embraced.

     I can smile freely again, find worth and meaning in my life, as well as give and accept love. I have been blessed to rediscover the therapeutic and healing power of writing which truly has been God’s gift to me. I am no longer afraid to share my thoughts and feelings along with struggles and woes and I don’t fear judgement. This is my journey and only I can write it and it will pave a brighter path for my future.

My writing will be a very personal legacy to my children in particular. I hope that as they walk my journey they will find the understanding and empathy which often eluded them when they were younger.
I believe Jesus walked the lenghth of my journey so far right beside me, He carried me and He saved me. Thank you to all who have walked a mile or two with me.
 
 

Author Notes This will be one of the closing chapters in .my book titled; 'Walk with Me,'
Thank you to LindaBickston onFanArtReview.com for this image of Jesus.
I chose this image because I believe Jesus walked the length of my journey so far right beside me, He carried me and He saved me.
In God I trust.


Chapter 38
House of shame.

By Shirley E Kennedy

An innocent in house of shame
Had little  choice  in what she saw
Her faith in God remained intact
As heavy burdens she would bear.

For many years  she still  remained 
An innocent in house of  shame
Too scared  to stand up for herself
She'd not another soul who cared.

 Each day verbal abuse would  come
A barrage she could not escape
An innocent in house  of  shame
Has secrets  she  will  never  tell.
 
An urge to leave  abuse  behind
Set her to plan a strong life's path
No longer  would  she  ever  be 
An innocent in house of shame. 

Author Notes This is my first attempt at a Quatern poem which has 4 stanzas and 8 syllables per line.
The first line of stanza 1 is a repeating refrain and also the
2nd line in stanza 2
3rd line in stanza 3
Last line in stanza 4
Thank you to greentop on FanArtReview for the image.


Chapter 39
Walked with Me

By Shirley E Kennedy

My inner child was locked away,
not meant to see the light of day.
Emotions held so deep inside 
remained unshared, although I tried.

I brush the cobwebs from my mind,
though I'm not sure what I might find.
This fragile child stays locked within,
while all my thoughts inside her spin.

Every day she's walked with me
Along this path to be set free.
Now she, and I, have merged as one
and our life story has been spun.

Her pain has also found release,
as deep inside grows inner peace.
There was a time when she was lost
her heart, and mine, both bore the cost.

A gentle heart has been set free,
to blend with better parts of me.
At last our thoughts no longer hide,
we speak our truth to heal and guide

If adult eyes had seen our plight,
withIn the darkness of each night.
They would have seen an angel guide,
who wiped away the tears I cried.

© seken58 29/8/2018

Author Notes Child abuse is not okay and the aftermath of sustained abuse affects the victim
forever as the memories simmer in the subconscious mind to bubble to the surface uninvited.
To walk a path of release is healing, liberating and moves the psyche from victim to survivor.
Thank you for walking with me along this chapter of healing in my book titled-'Walk with Me.'
Free for commercial use image used.


Chapter 40
All Alone.

By Shirley E Kennedy

As a group of children laughed and played,
each child engrossed only in self.
One young girl stood all alone,
left out of all the games.
No one saw her tears,
or seemed to care,
that she was
also
me.

© seken58 4/9/2018

Author Notes When I see children excluding others from their games I feel a deep heart connection
with those excluded.
Being excluded was my life as a child because of the abusive family unit I lived in.
Trust didn't come easily and contact with others really didn't exist outside the school yards. Those children had already formed solid friendships...I was always the last one chosen, if at all.
A chapter in my book titled; 'Walk with Me.'


Chapter 41
Forever

By Shirley E Kennedy

When I said goodbye
I didn’t know my dad's love 
was forever lost.

©  seken58  25/07/18

Author Notes I don't have a lot of memories of my dad but apparently I was his favourite-his youngest girl.
On that morning at aged four when I hugged and said goodbye I didn't know he would never be in my life again-just a shadow on the fringes.
I needed him and have carried an empty space in my heart my whole life.
I'm sorry dad I missed you and no one has ever filled that space.
An entry in my book titled-"Walk with Me."
My own personal images used-sadly I do not have an image of us together.


Chapter 42
Final Chapter.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Please read author notes before commencing the story.

My life has been a jigsaw from the moment of my birth. There have been a multitude of pieces which fit together, or tear apart, at will. When viewed from the inside, the seal between all the pieces has never truly set, so experiences, both good and bad, have impacted my life in various ways, and at all stages. With that in my mind I am so proud to stand tall as a survivor who can finally say that I am the person I am today because of those experiences and the lessons I have learnt about, myself, my life, others, and the world around me.

I am so proud of myself because I have risen from the ashes of my life to accomplish more than I ever could have imagined. This may sound pompous and egotistic, but if you'd walked even one stage of my life with me, you would understand. I have morphed from an abused, oppressed and very lonely child, through so many challenging stages of my life, to emerge a confident, educated, and self-assured woman. I am proud of who I am, and to confidently say; 'thank you God for walking with me every step of the way. You so ably assisted me when the lighted path grew dim, and carried me through the darkest depths of despair. Your compassion, love, and understanding has, and still does, light the path I walk.

My mother once told me my conception was unplanned. I was an accidental birth, and I bore that stigma for most of my life. Now, I'm proud to say, my life is a God-given miracle and I thank God, with gratitude, every day for this life to live.

Even before my birth I was surrounded by domestic violence in my home, where I should have felt safe. Through the depths of child abuse and neglect I learnt I could only depend on two things; my inner strength, and God's love. I became adept at being in the moment, living through it, and trying to let it go. Unfortunately, so much of the time what I thought I'd let go, simply moved to the deeper recesses of my consciousness to fester, grow in strength, and emerge to derail my life at every opportunity. I didn't realise I could not withstand the damage from this silent assailant so it also walked forward with me. I am proud to say I am emptying the emotional garbage can of my life and allowing the energy of light and love in.

My parents apparently had a very volatile relationship which often overflowed, and impacted their seven children in various ways. For me, this meant the strong bond forged between my father and me when he was present at my home birth, was forever lost. By the age of four my parents were separated and I never shared a father-daughter moment with him again. I only saw him six or seven times in the rest of his life. I'm not proud to say I could see the pain in his eyes when he looked at me but I was too conditioned, damaged, and distant to repair it. I never dealt with that sudden separation as a child, but I invited him to my wedding to help heal his heart, attended his eightieth birthday to acknowledge his strength, and his funeral to say goodbye. I have worked through the process of acceptance, acknowledgement and release in my book titled; "Walk with Me", and can proudly say; "I'm sorry dad."

The most precious gift my mother ever gave to me was an unwavering faith in God and belief in the power of prayer. Many times throughout my life these gifts have been the catalyst for safe passage through the thickened, dark veil of suffering and despair in life. God has always been my rock, my shelter, and my protection from emotional and physical pain. I proudly praise and give thanks to God for the gift of each new day.

The day my parents separated apparently started like any other day with dad leaving for work early in the morning. I'm sure he would have said goodbye to his wife and children with the full expectation of seeing them again that night. As I was his favourite maybe he hugged and kissed me goodbye. Sadly, the trauma of this time has erased any memories I have of living in a family which included him. I'm proud to be able to write of this time without malice in my heart, and with a deeper understanding of how much my brothers and sisters must also have endured. I am proud to say I now understand the pain of sudden separation he must also have felt.

My mother also endured an extremely difficult childhood and married my father as a way to protect her illegitimate son. Sadly, although dad loved her deeply, and was proud to marry her, she didn't feel the same. She never shared her motives or true emotions with dad. They married despite this, and dad adopted her son, my half-brother. I guess mum tried to make the marriage work, but a relationship without mutual love and respect, is doomed to fail. Dad was possessive and jealous and mum was bored and restless, so again the cauldron stirred. After finding out about my mother's infidelity the anger and betrayal escalated into physical violence. My siblings and I bore witness to many bouts of severe domestic violence. I can now proudly say; "I love you mum, I understand why you left dad, but I still have a space in my heart where his love should have been.'

At this point in my life my mother was still slim and attractive even after seven pregnancies. She didn't smoke cigarettes or drink alcohol, and her children still mattered. The enormity of raising seven children alone, after eighteen years of marriage, must have been overwhelming. Her education was limited to primary school level and her job prospects were minimal so a deserted wives pension was her income source, plus random shifts in a cafe. Was she brave? I believe she was brave, in an era when women working was frowned upon by society. I am proud she tried to make a positive change, at least once in her life.

To cope with the huge adjustments in her life my mother saw fit to place three of my siblings, who were still too young to work, into a Catholic orphanage. Three of my closest friends, protectors and mentors, gone, just like my dad. Would I ever see them again, or were they gone forever too? The orphanage was over one hundred miles away- it seemed like to the moon and back, to me. I saw them just twice in over a year. I shudder at the pain and confusion I must have felt, and now my mother was gone most of the time too. Who my little brother and I were exposed to in a public boarding house still gives me tingles of apprehension. I have a deep and abiding fear of enclosed spaces and a vivid memory of darkness and cloying fear. I know we were locked in a cupboard at home, but I feel there is still more I will never know. I am proud I can accept and release these issues and move on without full disclosure, or knowledge of this time.

Unfortunately, the opportunity to work also meant she was able to meet, and socialise, with other men. She was free to flirt, smoke and drink, and her children seemed to matter less to her. After a year my mother decided to move back to the ramshackle cottage she owned, and we had once lived in as a family. Only now everything was different. Dad wasn't there and in his place was her De facto partner. He came into our home with no desire to raise her children, no children of his own, and a very oppressive and controlling manner.
I believe he chose my mother because she was easy to manipulate, and compliant after just leaving an abusive relationship. She had become a very anxious person who couldn't cope with life or anything else without anti-anxiety medications. He was able to bend her compliance, and that of her children at will. The power to demoralise, threaten and control women gave him a strength. I am proud that I can forgive my mother for allowing him into our lives.

My three siblings were brought home from the orphanage, but not to a better life. They, along with me, lived through years of abuse, both verbal and physical. My little brother was still a baby and he was my mother's Achilles Heel so he escaped any abuse at all. To have hurt her youngest child would have doomed the relationship, and he was never going to walk away, although we all prayed he would. My two older brothers, who still lived at home, took the abuse until they were old enough to join the army at age sixteen. They could not protect me from the future he had in store for me.

As the youngest girl I was exposed to his verbal abuse, mind control, oppression, isolation and neglect, for thirteen years. My mother loved him, and through a haze of prescribed medication she left me at his mercy. I was demoralised, mocked, threatened and chastised, how and when he saw fit. I knew this was wrong, but I was isolated, ostracised, penniless, and without any close family to care. He was very clever when using physical punishment for he made it look like work so my mother never noticed. I lifted and carried things which were far too heavy for me, and did hard physical work in the hot sun from a very young age. If there was a dirty or difficult task you can be sure it was mine to complete. I am proud to say that although he impacted my life, for most of my life, I have finally realised I wasn't to blame and set my inner child free.

The conditioning of those thirteen years of abuse and neglect has marred all my relationships since then. I had to find out who I was, what I wanted to become and ask for God to guide me as I walked a path to achieve emotional freedom, empathy and self-acceptance. I had to learn to love with an open heart and mind, forgive myself and others, and dare to be who I really am... me. I have been systematically dragging emotional garbage from deep within my heart and memories for five years now, and finally, I'm healing. The darkness doesn't seem so foreboding anymore, and I can readily raise my heart and hands to the light of God's love. I am proud to have made the choice to be a better person and to fully embrace my life's path.

My husband, children and extended family who have loved me, but not really known me, can now choose to know who I really am. Each step I tread on my new, enlightened path in life allows new experiences, thoughts and actions to emerge and soothe the sins of the past. I am no longer ashamed of my childhood, myself, or my actions, as I walk with God to achieve my soul's purpose on this Earth. I am proud and confident when I say; 'I am who I am,' and I'm comfortable in my own skin.

I don't know what the future holds but I know it will be better. The trials and truths I have faced in my life have opened my ears and eyes to things I feel I've never heard or seen before. I can now focus on others, not on me, and still quietly work towards achieving the dreams and goals I've always thought I could never reach. I have reached educational, spiritual and personal targets and will be forever learning. I have done this largely without support, encouragement, or mentorship, and I now like to encourage others to do the same. I am proud to say trust in God, follow your intuition, and don't be afraid to falter.

The steps between Heaven and Earth may seem too difficult to climb but always remember the words of Jesus; "My precious, precious child. I love you, and I would never, never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering when you saw only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."

Don't just reach for the stars... conquer the universe, and beyond.

Author Notes This was my original entry in the recent contest but I felt it may have been too long and some aspects of my story may have identified me. As the contest was a 'blind contest' I entered a shorter, edited version.
This will be the final chapter in my book titled, 'Walk With Me. 'Several years ago I began writing a book to accept, acknowledge, release, and heal the emotional wounds of my past. As I completed each chapter I cut an emotional chord to emotional pain, and let it go. Slowly I began to heal and found my true self, and began to acknowledge, and like, who I have become.
Free use image used... I feel it captures my journey.


Chapter 43
Where It Belongs

By Shirley E Kennedy

To put the past where it belongs

there's something I should say.

I know you thought you crushed my soul

yet here I stand today.



Where once I cowered in the dark

I now walk to the light.

The nightmares that reached to my soul

don't haunt the dark of night.


My inner child has been set free

and heart now glows with love.

The anger which festered within

is healed by God above.



The miles I walk don't seem so long

when God is by my side.

My thoughts are more for others now

and less on tears I've cried.



You didn't change my destiny

although you blocked my path.

God always kept the door ajar

to heal me from your wrath.



Each night I pray before I sleep

with fervent love and care

to heal the scars I hold within

and thoughts I humbly share.




 
 

Author Notes This is another chapter in my book titled 'Walk with Me' which is my journey from childhood abuse and neglect to emotional freedom as I acknowledge, accept and release the feelings and memories which have scarred most of my life. It is my personal journey and written as a therapeutic and healing tool.
The free for commercial image is perfect to depict my walk in childhood darkness to my autumn years where I have found light,love and a sense of peace.


Chapter 44
I pray.

By Shirley E Kennedy

To put the past where it belongs
there’s something I should say.
I know you thought you crushed my soul
yet here I stand today.
 
Where once I cowered in the dark
I now walk to the light.
The nightmares that reached to my soul
no longer come at night.
 
My inner child has been set free
and heart now glows with love.
The anger which festered within
is healed by God above.
 
The miles I walk don’t seem so long
when God is by my side.
My thoughts are more for others now
and less on tears I’ve cried.
 
You didn’t change my destiny
although you blocked my path.
God always kept the door ajar
to heal me from your wrath.
 
Each night I pray before I sleep
with fervent love and care
to heal the scars I hold within
as thoughts I humbly share.
 
 
 

Author Notes It is a wonderful feeling to walk from years of emotional garbage.
God has been a spiritual mentor and shining light along this journey.
No journey of healing is fully complete until you have faced all fears and feelings.
These thoughts are about my childhood abuser.
Free for commercial use image used.


Chapter 45
Dad

By Shirley E Kennedy

Father
I miss you so
Mum says you walked away
and you don’t ever think of me
Without you life can never be the same
My life has changed forever too
Thoughts of you  warm my heart
I didn't walk away
I miss you too
Daughter
 
 
 

Author Notes This poem is written to depict two viewpoints and is a part of my healing journey.
My inner child has suffered for such a long time-almost a lifetime. My father and I were torn apart when I was only four and our relationship was lost forever.


Chapter 46
Dear...

By Shirley E Kennedy

Dear inner child at last you’re free,
come closer now and talk to me.
For my whole life you’ve been held in,
afraid to voice the fear within.
 
My path in life has been defined
by thoughts ingrained into my mind.
Now as I age, our thoughts combine,
as your thoughts rise to blend with mine.
 
I was the girl too scared to speak;
my thoughts and feelings locked within.
At times the terror touched my soul
though I’d not let the darkness in.
 
When nightmares troubled me at night
I’d lie awake and shake with fright.
‘Twas then dear inner child you’d cry
and pray for dawn to bring the light.
 
Dear inner child I set you free
though you’ll still be a part of me.
At times the fear awakes within
‘Tis then you whisper; “Let it be.”
 
 


Chapter 47
When I Look.

By Shirley E Kennedy


When I look,
 past pain and loss may flare
as I recall stigma of abuse.
Through God, I then see hope.
When I look
 

Author Notes Child abuse creates memories that never really disappear but we learn to accept, address and heal.
Private images used


Chapter 48
Brother

By Shirley E Kennedy

Brother, why did you walk away
to leave me in despair.
Once you were gone, I was alone
inside abuser’s lair.
 
Our mother’s eyes, saw as though blind
and my voice went unheard.
Oh, how I wish you’d stayed with me
so, her sight wasn’t blurred.
 
As my mind and heart were broken
I couldn’t see your pain.
Whilst I thought we had each other,
hope didn’t seem in vain.
 
When I said goodbye with teary eyes
my sad heart just broke in two.
Now the future seemed much bleaker
but what was I to do?
 
Whilst I suffered years of torment
new strength inside me grew
Deep faith became my guiding light
and God my hero too.
 
 
 
 
 

Author Notes As a frightened child I felt abandoned when my brother left to escape to his new life and I was left behind to suffer abuse alone.


Chapter 49
Ancestry Unknown

By Shirley E Kennedy

Unknown names
scar ancestral tree
Kinship lost

© Shirley E Kennedy 2022

Author Notes Often family ancestral trees provide incomplete records by accident or design
and ancestral links are lost.


Chapter 50
Winds of Change.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Despite being a child born cloaked in poverty and carrying the stigma of accidental birth Holly has blossomed into an intelligent, and lovely young lady. Years of mental and physical abuse have not broken her spirit or lessened her sense of self-worth. Although shy and reticent, she is accepting of the need to transfer to a public school system to complete her senior education. Her childhood and early teenage years were spent in the protected environment of a Catholic school. Strict guidelines were enforced under the tutelage of the nuns and Holly freely conformed. She didn’t want to stand out and draw attention to herself. Her motto was; “out of sight, out of mind,” and that suited her just fine.

Holly didn’t acknowledge or flaunt her sensuality and was unprepared for the transition from a strict private school to a public school. The Catholic private school was strict yet protected from many aspects of life. On the other hand, public schools were freer, less formal, and not so controlled. Her first day in the maze of classrooms, buildings, and the surging mass of bodies with unknown faces, was a nightmare. This introduction to the public school system set the tone for the next two years. With a growing sense of unease, Holly acknowledged she must choose to brace herself against, or freely embrace, the winds of change.

Holly kept a circle of friends from the previous year and made new friends easily. She was never one to share the details about her life or her inner thoughts. The frankness and honesty, with which the other girls discussed their lives was confronting for her. Most of the other girls openly flaunted their blatant sexuality for all to view and enjoy. A long trail of hormone-bolstered young men drank readily from the visual and physical palette on offer. Holly remained a fringe dweller-not in, or out of, any circle of acquaintances.

Despite dressing quite respectfully for her age, Holly soon discovered she could no longer hide her latent sexuality. Although not a prude, or unaware of the sexual demands common to this age, she was afraid of her growing sensuality. The young lads assumed that because she was a friend of the girls who flaunted and delivered on a physical level she must be the same. She was pursued and taunted mercilessly. Her denials just served to boost the male hormones higher, and her torment worsened.

Constant wolf whistles and suggestive comments were the normal routine. Holly cursed her fair skin for each time this happened she would flush a deep pink. Not yet a master of the quick and cutting reply, Holly was constantly left flustered and unable to put a sensible sentence together. Many times she was on the receiving end of snide remarks and hurtful jokes.

School was fast becoming a dark pit of torment and Holly had no one she could trust enough to talk to about her plight. Her mother was devoid of emotion most of the time. Her medication for depression seemed to provide a buffer to her emotions, and she took little interest in Holly’s life. When she was lucid and Holly tried to talk to her mother she would withdraw into a dark mood and conversation was pointless.

Holly was troubled by the flashbacks of her mother’s stories. Tales she told of her own young experience and dire warnings issued about the evils of the male population. She said Holly should keep herself aloof and pure. Did that mean that she was doomed to be forever alone and lonely or could she somehow work through the maze of adolescence and emerge unscathed? So many questions crowded her mind but she could trust no one enough to confide her thoughts to or ask for answers to her questions.

Her mum told her of falling in love with an American soldier during the Second World War.  She was a beautiful, yet innocent and naïve, girl of just seventeen. He was a dashing, and debonair, American serviceman in Australia on a stint of duty. Older, and more experienced, he found her easy prey. He was bold and full of promises and she was swept off her feet. The inevitable happened and she began a clandestine sexual relationship with him and promptly fell pregnant. Then those stolen kisses and passionate trysts all turned to nothing, and he swallowed his empty promises.

He declared he was married and had a pregnant wife back in America. He said the relationship must end. His cruel jibes cut through her heart as he said he only did what any red-blooded young fellow would do–he took what was willingly offered. She was merely a sample of forbidden fruit to him. After all, it wasn’t his fault that she naively thought it was love. He turned his back on her and returned home to America.  She didn’t see, or hear, from him again and he never met, or acknowledged, his daughter.

Holly’s mother faced the wrath of her parents as it was considered that she had brought shame to their family. She was shunned and banished to work in a convent over one hundred kilometers away until the baby’s birth. Then she was expected to give her child to her mother and stepfather to raise and just disappear. Highly puritanical and ironic given that her mother made the same mistake at a very young age. Holly’s mum had been raised to believe her mother was her aunt, her grandmother was her mother, and her aunts and uncles were her siblings until she was aged nine. Then when her mother decided to marry she was wrenched from everything she’d known, told the truth, and moved far away from her “family.”

Holly didn’t want anything like this to happen to her. She was a scholar and wanted to rise from her poverty-stricken childhood and achieve a better life for herself. The majority of the girls thought she was prudish and very old-fashioned. The boys seemed all the more determined to find out what her long skirt was hiding. Holly just didn’t understand why she had become the target of male fantasies. She didn’t feel she encouraged, or deserved this unwarranted complication in her life.

All the attention was becoming too much for Holly to bear. She couldn’t explain her strict, tyrannical upbringing, her mother’s neurotic fear, or her confused misgivings. In her household children were “seen not heard." One of the first lessons she had learnt was; “what happens at home stays at home." This suited her just fine because she knew that she'd be too embarrassed to ever tell of her poverty-stricken existence.

Whilst attending the Catholic school she'd not experienced this heightened interest and now began to feel even more fearful and unsure of her actions and reactions. She had no real role model and felt like a flower petal on the wind-blown this way, and that, but with no set course.

Holly just wanted to blend in and go unnoticed and was quite happy to be a wallflower. She just wasn't ready to tackle this new phase of her life. In two years she could escape her mundane existence, move away from her family, and forget the shame and torment she'd experienced. She longed to forge a new life for herself and start anew. 

If the tyrannical rule of her mother's lover could dictate her life at home why could the same order not apply to her school life? If she just wanted to be left alone then why was it such a struggle to get this message across, and what was wrong with being cautious anyway?
 
Holly was naive about her sexuality and her appeal to the opposite sex. As far as she could tell she was very much a plain Jane with no outstanding attributes. She struggled to understand why she attracted attention when she wasn't actively seeking it. She felt uncomfortable when attention was focused on her and always tried to blend in but never stand out. She was always conscious of her social position and embarrassed by it.

 How could she enjoy teenage friendships and learn to feel comfortable with the opposite sex when she was determined not to meet the same fate as her mum? She didn't know the rules of the dating game and was too afraid to step into unknown territory. In the background of any group, she felt comfortable and unchallenged but fate was working to change her situation, and soon.

Poverty was equated with lack a of moral fibre, and Holly was at a crossroads in her life. Part of her longed to be considered popular and attractive but in the back of her mind, there was always the warning voice of her mother. Should she adhere to the moral tone taught in her convent school and strict family upbringing, or break free, and sample what life had to offer?
 


Chapter 51
Speak.

By Shirley E Kennedy

Though winter’s long and nights are cold

the mind’s a wonder to behold.

Just when the past had found its place,

again, it slapped me in the face.

 

My inner child still needs to speak,

to tell me why she’s mild and meek.

She’s lived her life in empty shell

a void filled with her private hell.

 

Dear inner child come talk to me

I wonder what your secrets be.

Your path has always mirrored mine,

captured by ties that bind.

 

Now is your time to find your voice;

I give to you the gift of choice.

No-one else knows me as you do

So, share your burdens too.

 

Deep emotions soon burst through

for we are one; I’m part of you.

In dark of night when all is still

empty void you soon will fill.

 

Dear inner child it’s now, you pray

To thank God, just for today.

I hear your voice offer Him praise

as my voice I too raise

 

He holds our hearts close to His own;

the greatest love we’ve known.

Dear inner child your voice is heard

Such wisdom in each word

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