Confronting Child-Abuse

I wrote the poëm below back in the late nineties or early noughties. It deals with the thorny issue of child-abuse. This covers physical, emotional, spiritual, sexual and neglect issues. Please do NOT read any further if these themes might cause distress.

Of late I am once again being pestered by bad-memories that come into my consciousness unsolicited. I dearly wish I could control them or ignore them. Lamentably, I cannot. A couple of years back I requested help from my G.P. (family doctor), but they failed to follow through in making the agreed arrangements. Since then, my health has deteriorated and then of course we had the global pandemic. The counsellors are currently rather busy. I shall pursue again in the future. My doctor knows I am not going to try anything I might regret. But if you need assistance as a matter of urgency, do not feel that you cannot ask. There is HOPE and there is support and you are entitled to it.

[Image description: contact page for CHILDLINE]

If you are a child in the UK (their definition is anyone under the age of nineteen), please call CHILDLINE on 0800-1111. It is run these days by the NSPCC. They give you advice and support either directly or they can direct you to the most appropriate assistance. From someone who along with my siblings was abused by parents in the days when there was no help for kids, we lobbied hard for this service. Even the abusers need help for their issues. Everyone receives the help they need. But someone has to make the call. Please do. Or if you cannot, ask someone you trust - a friend, or a valued teacher - to make the call on your behalf.

If the reader is an adult who has been abused, please be aware that there is lots of help and support available. Try an internet-search or contact your family-doctor for more information. I am not medically nor professionally trained to offer support. This blog-post offers my own perspectives and opinions.

*

they who look like me

empty photographs

I don’t remember your faces

I cannot recall

what you look like

then

only now

that you are not so potent

ageing and greying

faceless

I have to call you parents

though you don’t deserve the title

a right the state bestowed

without my assent

you ought to have been incarcerated

retribution for what you have done

separately and cumulatively

but arrest now would only harm me

still you think yourselves innocent

despite hypocritical Christianity

or

dissembling atheïstic libertarianism

you refuse to do penance

no proffered expiation

instead

it is I who am imprisoned

embondaged to the past

ever present and merciless

a personal hell I cannot escape

founded on your abuse

of one too young

too naïf

to understand

to make sense of the meaningless

actions, misdeeds to a psychë

who had done nothing wrong

too intelligent for my own good

so why was I steeped in so much guilt

how did you twist

control-freakery

that missed the point

storgē should protect

cover a multitude of sins

even had I erred in the first instance

the shadows move closer

claustrophobia re-asserts

but I see no mien

of love

just self-reflected hate

in the mirror of your lives

the man who looks like me

walks over to the squawking child

and slaps the boy

repeatedly

back in the forties

the man who looks like me

walks over to the tubby child

and slaps the girl

repeatedly

back in the fifties

when will the anger come

not aimed at myself this time

but against you

when the release

from pain

when peace

of mind

the only gain

I need to pursue

the man who looks like me

the woman who looks like me

walk over to the cowering children

and beat the siblings

black and blue

repeatedly

back in the sixties, seventies and eighties

living still in memory

they who look like me

*

I Keep Feeling

[TRIGGER WARNING: this post deals with child-abuse and references suicide and blood!]

I have hinted at my childhood issues in some past postings.

Of late I have been much affected and effected by the abuse I suffered at the hands of both parents, not only in childhood, but through my adolescence, my young adulthood and to a lesser extent into my mid-adulthood. Eventually, in my mid-thirties, my psychiatrist, my psychologist and my G.P. (family doctor) strongly advised me to completely separate myself from them. I followed their advice and did so. Since then they have divorced and moved to different places, but I do not know exactly their whereabouts - and I want to keep it that way.

Over the years various good friends have suggested I sue my parents or lodge complaints with the police. Unfortunately, such proceedings would mean I should have to relive the horrors over and over again to the police, to lawyers and before the Courts. That, for me, is too large a price to pay for Justice. I prefer to direct my energies and efforts into healing as best I can and living my life the way I want to live it.

I know from my paternal Grandmother that my paternal Grandfather was brutal in his treatment of my Father. I know from my Aunts that my maternal Grandfather was abusive towards my Mother & her siblings. This may explain the abuse my parents meted out: it does NOT justify nor vindicate their behaviours one iota.

Several times prior to the split from my abusers, I attempted suicide; but since then I have not even contemplated same - other than for end-of-life and living-will purposes. I have become, at least partially, the happy and confident chap I should have been all along.

I am publishing the poem below and this brief preamble, not to garner sympathy, but rather with the aspiration that someone may find it useful to know that life does get better, that there is always Hope.

*

after so many years

       of mental justification

       of emotional turmoil

       of spiritual malaise

       of medication

              I stopped taking them

       at fifty-three

expecting liberation

scary initially

honestly

       I am still scared

so much anxiety

too many feels

       maybe

but good

       has the upper-hand

              I am certain

I feel music again

my bodily pleasures

       returned

re-awakened creativity

slumbering sexuality

       re-asserted

though no princely kiss yet

I feel me again

I keep smiling

I keep crying

I keep feeling

       impotent

       despondent

frankly

       I am still scarred

I keep sensing

       that putrescent

              touch

       veining my soul

my heart turned

       to cold

              stone

I keep smelling

       your odious stench

       polluting all memory

I used to feel nothing

       for you

              who made no effort

                     to atone

but you keep popping up

an unsolicited smear

never sufficient

       bruises nor blood

never enough torment

       torture

       fear

abused childhood

abused adolescence

abused adulthood

equilibrium tired

hope expired

       turned to a putative hate

mostly

       I just want the thoughts

              of you

              of your actions

              your nefandous deeds

                     to go away

                     to stay at bay

I keep feeling

       exhausted

       drained

longing for Fate

       to resolve

              your evil

for it has cleaved

       my soul

       my psyche

no salve

no surgery

       can heal

              the scars of cruelty

but I soldier on

       like a good boy

and I keep feeling

       never joy

       but contentment

certainly

       in your absence

              I have grown

                     in confidence

                     in maturity

                     in sagacity

I feel…

       well…

              half-alive

                     maybe

paradoxically

       I keep feeling

              worthy

                     of Love

                     of Life

almost

       happy

but still

       as ever

              that small boy

                     eternally

                            lost

I cannot stop

       now

I just have to

       keep feeling

              the pain

desperate to attain

       calmness

       cleansing

       healing

       release

I keep feeling

Toxic Individuals; Toxic Affinities

[Image description: a photo of sky above mountain peaks,

upon which the following text is overwritten -

You don't ever have to feel guilty about

REMOVING TOXIC PEOPLE

FROM YOUR LIFE.

It doesn't matter whether someone is a relative,

romantic interest, employer, childhood friend,

or a new acquaintance - you don't have to make

room for people who cause you pain or make

you feel small. It's one thing if a person owns up

to their behaviour and makes an effort to change.

But if a person disregards your feelings, ignores

your boundaries, and "continues" to treat you

in a harmful way, they need to go.

- DANIEL KOEPKE

© Simple Reminders

SIMPLEREMINDERS.COM]

*

I have separated myself from very toxic parents. This was done on the advice of my G.P. (family doctor), psychologist and psychiatrist more than a decade ago. My mental health has never been better and I can genuinely say I am now a content and happy person. My previous (the afore referenced) G.P. noted within a matter of months the amelioration in my confidence levels, previously never experienced by myself. I can never wholly clear out their toxic legacy; but I have done my level best.

A couple of years back, a friendship that was adversely affecting my amour-propre was brought to an end by myself after discussing with the chap and finding no way to improve matters.

One of my cousins, whom I love dearly, is extremely negative, so I try to avoid as much as possible, especially when feeling low myself. But I should never wish to cut the person off completely, as there is much good in them.

Knowing that specific folk are toxic to one's health, is the first step in preventing them from causing one harm. It is never an easy step and one ought to fully consider all the ramifications before ending any relationship. However, I personally can vouch for the benefits of ending toxic affinities.

%)

A Fathers' Day Lament

Unfortunately not everyone has happy memories of supportive parents and wonderful childhoods. On this year's Fathers' Day I have thought about the man who sired me and wish him well, wherever he may be. I am the man I am due to or more likely despite him. For this I am grateful.

it pierces


in your matching navy joggers
in your matching light grey
         woolly teddy-textured fleeces
with matching number two haircuts
the thirty-something man
          in yellow suede Caterpillar boots
and the pre-pubescent boy
          in Nike trainers
hold hands
one on one
the boy calls the man
Dad
with filial love in his eyes
the man calls the boy
Son
with paternal love in his eyes
they chat intimately
and walk on
deep in conversation

and it pierces
their comfortable, mutual
           devotion
I eye them both
           enviously
           regretful
I ponder
the reciprocal
           rejection
of my Father
and me
his eldest son
spurned for the younger
my sporty
           brother
the prodigal
who will have nothing
           to do with the family
so my Pater makes do
with his first born
hoping some day
for the return of the submissive one
shaped and honed in his image
rather than the rebellious intellectual
who, despite all
never conformed
to the patriarch's tyrannical
           will
now weakened
and lonely
it's too late for respect
too late for liking
perhaps too late
           for love
it pierces