Child Abuse Story of Healing and Recovery From Hayley B

by Hayley B
(Birmingham, England)

I suffered abuse primarily at the hands of my brother, but I kept it hidden, even though I was hurting inside. It wasn't until I was 15 that I said anything about it at school, and they got the police involved so it was taken out of my hands. All hell let loose for months after that, and I felt confused and alone. I knew what my brother was doing to me and asking me to do to him was wrong, but I felt too confused to say anything until that day.


Unfortunately, I had very little support from the people I thought I could trust, and when the abuse turned to verbal and physical, my reactions were met only with punishment from my dad - normally in the form of a hefty wallop across the backside. That was all the thanks I got for dropping the charges against my brother. Sometimes my mum would lose her temper with me and slap the hell out of me, threaten me, and really injure me by throwing me against the back of the toilet. When I was a teenager and trying on new swimming costumes, she kept touching me.

Now I am getting used to a life without being bullied or abused. I underwent a year of counselling, and one of my best friends listens to me a lot as well. It's strange to get used to. My current employment is the first I've worked in for years without the fear of being bullied. I get played up by the patients and by a couple of members of staff, but we invariably crack up laughing. It's nice to feel appreciated, and I am slowly getting used to it. I know what they did to me isn't my fault but sometimes I still blame myself. I don't like guys getting near to me, and there aren't many that I trust other than my uncles, my dad and my former ice hockey coach – hence, I am 29 and still not got a boyfriend. My explanation being that I haven't found anyone mad enough.

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My Reactions to Abuse

by Hayley
(Birmingham, England)

When I was in high school, I got in with a bad group of kids and was too much of a coward to walk away when they were bullying. I knew that my persistent refusals to join in would be met with more nagging to do the ring leader's dirty work. That same ring leader even bullied me, but I was too scared to say anything to anyone. I knew that what I was doing was wrong and I felt terrible about it. If I could get to see those kids that I tormented and apologise, I would, not that it would make any difference.

I was dragged into subservience by the troubles at home, and even though I wanted to maintain some control over whether or not I bullied, I was robbed of that as well. It was years before I could have any self respect. I actually felt terrible for those kids, the one lad in particular, as there was nothing wrong with him. All I wanted was a normal childhood, without the abuse at home, and without the wrong way of gaining power. I have it now, as a part of my job in a hospital on a cancer unit. I admonish patients older than myself for worrying over things that they can't help, like messing themselves, feeling nauseous or being in pain. Because of years of being put down, if a patient speaks ill of themselves, I tell them off. The slightest thing they do well, I praise them if they have struggled to do even that. If they don't do as well at something as I know they can, I just tell them to forget about it, tough it's gone, they'll do great the next time. It leaves the patient feeling more positive, and I feel a whole lot better as well.

I managed to persevere with a member of staff that none of us liked, and now we get on great - I knew she was really nice, despite the way she treated us. That faith in her has been rewarded. She may be a tad abrupt, but she is a truly nice person.

I couldn't control what happened when I was a kid and a teenager because I wasn't anywhere near as assertive as I needed to be. I can now, and I love my job.

My colleagues are instrumental in me getting over workplace bullying that I suffered for a long period of time. As a result, my confidence is improving a lot and I am feeling some sort of self worth at last, knowing that I am beating the abuse I suffered for many years, and how it made me react.

What was happening to me at home is no excuse for what I did to that poor kid in high school, and I don't plan to use it as such. I just hope that if I were to meet him he would accept my apologies and that he hasn't been left feeling terrible about his school days.

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Child Abuse Story of Healing and Recovery From Hayley

by Hayley
(Birmingham, England)

Helping a Friend: 
A friend I work with at my job is also a foster carer. She is currently looking after a lad that suffered abuse, and recently looked after another lad who had been dumped by his mum. It's not hard to see that she loves the lad who is still with her, and having met him briefly, and the lad who is no longer with her, it's not hard to see why.

Having already posted on this site a couple of times, I knew that it would help these two boys, so I gave this website address to her in the hope that the boy who was moved to another foster home will be allowed to see it, and the lad who is still with her will be encouraged to look at this site as well.

Since I started using this site, I decided that my abuse can affect me in a positive way. I am better equipped to empathise with kids who are being abused and adults who have suffered in the same way. I still suffer nightmares from time to time; some leave me greatly upset and very angry at the people who hurt me so badly. I would rather continue to use this site to post messages of support to other users.

For the first time in ages, I watched my favourite TV show "The Bill" that had a story line that focussed on the harrowing theme of child sexual abuse. Despite feelings of anger and hate towards the Paedophiles, I didn't even feel close to tears. I was over the moon about that, and on telling this particular friend at work and another friend, they both said that I had taken another step to overcoming what my brother did to me, for all those years in one form or another, and what I suffered from my parents who must have seen that he was hurting me but appeared to support my brother's behaviour towards me when they saw him calling me names and stuff. It was my ordeal, me that went through it, and I have therefore decided to allow it to affect me in a positive way; that being helping others who have been through this sort of ordeal in whatever form it was.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story of Healing and Recovery From Hayley" are at the last link below.

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Miss (a name that tends to be rather familiar with my parents, especially if I am in the dog house!)

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

Where can I start? I was actually sexually abused from the age of nine, though I didn't exactly realise that until yesterday when I was sat in a doctors waiting room with a thumping ear ache. Funny what pain does to you!

My brother used to touch himself and we both thought it was funny, I didn't know then that what he was doing was wrong, even though he did. Things went down hill from there, and at the age of ten, I knew that it was wrong. Prior to that, I got the od beating from my mother, that went a little bit further than discipline. If I was mouthy, fair enough, but slapped legs, slapped face and insults? Now that's a bit far. I plan to do sort of a retro blog, don't know if that is at all possible as I can't remember everything. Feel free any visitors to post questions or read my posts. It's not all grim thankfully, some good times did occur it's just a shame there was so much sadness involved in growing up.

I'd better buzz off now before I start rambling. I am in the middle of writing an autobiography, I don't know who will read it, if anyone. I need to find a publisher first, and as I would be the umpteenth person to do such a thing it would be hit and miss.

Bye everyone

Hayley/Screwloose

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Incident 1, ignorance

by Hayley
(Birmingham, England)

Here's the first entrance into what is rather a retrospecuive diary. I was about nine years old and was having my bedroom decorated. It was a choice between the floor in my parents bedroom or my own bed sharing with my brother. I was trying to get to sleep, it was a bit strange sharing a room with someone. My brother had already talked to me about what he had learned at school, about developing bodies and persiods and stuff. Don't know why I was so interested, but I was. Suddenly he started to touch himself to arouse himself. He thought it was funny so I did. I don't know what else he thought, but may be he knew that what he was doing was wrong. It carried on in that sort of vein, though it was nice to get my own room back. The last time I remember him doing that was in Weston on our holidays. It was all seemingly innocent, how was I to know that what he was doing was seriously wrong and warped?

I started this a bit late so I'll get back to it tomorrow as time is running out on me. The above is all I can really remember of the first incidents any way. I'll be back, hopefully I might start a bit earlier in my time on the computer.

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The first cut

by Hayley
(Birmingham England)

My previous entry was a bit hurried, and had a spelling mistake in it. Now I see where the saying "More speed less haste comes from"! I know I said I would add mnore last tuesday but I had rather a pleasant surprise on email so I never really got around to adding anymore. Even so as planned - albeit a week late - here's the next addition.

I was ten years old when the abuse started for real, it was a thursday evening in June 1989, I was a mere ten years old. My brother was thirteen by this time and must have had sex education at school. It was after tea and my parents were clearing up, all homework had been done so we were allowed to watch television. I got there first so I had control of what was watched. My brother went into the lounge where I was lay on the floor, it was too hot to sit! It was all perfectly normal, I was a typical ten year old girl up until that moment when my brother asked me that sickening question. My life changed seemingly for ever at that moment when he asked me "Do you want sex?"

I knew it was totally wrong and unnatural hence I refused point blank. Unfortunately my brother refused to give in and it seemed that my only hope to make him go away was to give in. I knew it was wrong and I couldn't relax or comprehend what was going on. Thankfully he didn't penetrate me even though it really hurt. He thankfully gave up trying to get inside me and started to masturbate himself. To my utmost relief either my mom or dad went to put something away in the dining room so my ordeal ended as quickly as it started.

I couldn't believe it, he was just a kid, so was I, so why was he doing this? From then on I felt totally alone and didn't say anything to anyone. I felt dirty and confused as well. Looking back, I probably should have realised that something like this may happen, my brother had been allowed to wander around stark naked, and he and momwould admire his genitals. Was she abusing him?

I knew there were the terrible rows, and mom would have the most horrendous tantrums. I took some real hammerings from her, for the slightest of thing like struggling with a bit of homework, for which I would get chased upstairs to the bathroom, have my legs slapped and face slapped, I even got lifted forward and thrown back against the cistern in the full force of my mothers rages. Sometimes I couldn't blame her for getting angry, like the time I wet myself at the age of nine years old, who wouldn't be mad at their daughter for doing that?! I also got a wallop for the fact that my brother got mud from his football boots on my bed, not him but me. He was in the wrong but I got the beating.

Frankly, I preferred the beatings to the rapes and other forms of sexual violation I was subjected to. They were the lesser of the two evils. Being called things and made to repeat them back was painful, and for a long time I started to believe it, even though I am not a slut, or good for nothing or bone idle, some of the insults my mother liked to hurl at me. None of these hurt me quite as much as the sexual abuse that I was subjected to, and the harassment about my body that my brother also put me through.

That's about it for now, for however long. I won't make any promises this time! There's plenty more where that came from. Cheers

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Shaking the past

by Hayley
(Birmingham, UK)

I thought I was over what happened to me at the hands of my brother and the trouble that resulted from that. However, I have started having nightmares about things that used to happen. I was surprised to get them at first and started to dread going to sleep but now I am able to shrug them off. I have mentioned them a few times in previous posts to the site, but I am getting somewhat annoyed now as I thought I had put it all behind me. I know nightmares are a possibility after suffering from abuse, but this is getting stupid. It's always pretty much the same sort of theme, my brother or one of my parents giving me a hard time about stupid things, mainly not accepting me for who I am. If it's my brother, the main perpetrator it's normally my mom backing him up with her ususal, "That's alright" and me going ballistic calling them both f*cking nonces. Last night, or more like this morning, it was my dad giving me grief, and my brother joining in. For some strange reason there was a drugs trolley I had to move. What can I do to stop these happening, anyone? I make sure I have no ill feeling when I go to bed at night but it still happens and I'm getting sick of it now.

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A pleasant surprise

by Hayley
(Birmingham England)

I've had a few uplifting experiences, badinage at work with colleagues or staff, or playing ice hockey. My friends have been a true source of support for me through some very painful times when I was unemployed or being bullied. However, an email I received from the Coventry Phoenix chairman on March 4th this year was one major uplifting experience that I never thought I would feel again. It was a typical tuesday and I was recovering from work the day before, and decided to check my email at my local library. I looked at the one from the afore mentioned, and found that I had been picked to be on the bench as a part of the team for a league game with my women's team. I was so ecstatic I cried my eyes out. When I was warming up on game day, my name and jersey number were read out and it really hit home to me that I may make my league debut that very day. I had a similar experience last tuesday when I was on the team sheet to play away. I played and it felt like I was free from any pain or hurt that I have been caused in the past. I have had other uplifting experiences, such as having a joke with some of my favourite Coventry Blaze players, playing football with them, one of those guys did actually speak to me on the phone after I had been bullied. The real deals though - nothing against my Blaze heroes - was playing those two league games against Peterborough Penguins and winning. I guess my very lucky goal in a scrimmange against a Permier League team must have gone a long way to getting me in that team to play at Peterborough!

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What an upturn in fortunes!!!

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

As the title suggests, at the age of ten one Thursday morning I went to my middle School a happy kid, then that evening my brother completely destroyed that entire existence. Throughout the years of torture and pain, I began to feel almost normal, but there was still that pain that I had successfully pushed away - that is until a serious road accident on August the 2nd 1999. Nine years on, almost, in March I was taken into the ward manager's office and as good as told to pull my socks up and stop being so snappy. I had no career prospects at that time. Not what I needed the night before my ice hockey league debut! Just over three months later, I am back in the office, this time somewhat terrified and feeling rather foolish for it. It is the day of my first Performance Review. What a turn around in three short months! I was informed that I would be able to go on some courses I showed interest in, and offered additional responsibilities as an Older Person's Link Nurse. Now I can take a fat lip or a busted face to protect any Senior Citizen who I feel is being maltreated, and hopefully educate my colleagues, some of them senior to me on care of the elderly. Thank goodness I will have a qualified colleague to back me up! Thanks Darlene, I couldn't have managed it without this site. I am on a night shift for my trust's bank, and a qualified nurse is away from the office right now!

Any one who reads this contribution, take heart. I was told that I would never work for University Hospitals Birmingham again. But now I am happily employed as a care assistant on a ward with fantastic colleagues and truly wonderful patients. My life feels like it has improved massively, my confidence certainly has. Those of you that may feel you may never recover, take note. You can because you are so strong and courageous.

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Entry number three

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

A little bit late, but here it is. I never realised the impact of anight shift then an early shift in such quick succession!

My last entry groaned about the first incidents of abuse. It was a painful secret in more ways than one. I began wetting myself more and more at school, and getting a really hard time about it which didn't help matters. Especially as my brother had the power to tell my mother I had done it, and I would almost certainly get a real beating for it. It was humiliating, ten years old and peeing myself. Things were just a blur, kids would target me for things at break times, and one of the lucnh time attendants took an almost instant dislike to me. One day I had finished my lunch and was headed out of the school hall. This woman decided to make me sit down, and refused to listen. My card was, for some reason well and truly marked. What ever I did, I was living in a gold fish bowl and it was rather cramping my style. I didn't really have a respite, I was bullied by some kids in my year, and won a fight with one. Typical girlie fight, I was the victorious one, a points win due to clean slaps. My brother was most impressed. After that, issue over.

I still had a useless form teacher that liked to humiliate me in front of the rest of the class. I was deemed a trouble maker, all I wanted to do was sit down and get on with my work.

The physical sexual abuse wasn't the only ordeal I had to deal with at the hands of my brother. He would keep pushing my bedroom door open, and giving me a hard time about my body, I had no breasts at that age, and no pubic hair. I was a flat chested badger for that. In the end I started to expect it so kept my door open anyway. School holidays were an ordeal, and everytime I was left alone with my brother, he was happy. Even when I was younger, he would hassle me, get me annoyed, and inevitably a very slapped backside for the first couple of days. After that things got better. Now I was ten, my brother had taken things one step sicker, and loved to demean me in any way he liked.

On one occassion he had walked into the bathroom while I was in there, and grabbed my hand, making him touch his genitals. That was pretty bad, but at least he wasn't leaving any physical signs. If he wasn't sexually abusing me, he was verbally abusing me. It had gone undetected for a long time, the only hints were bed wetting, but my parents seemed oblivious to what was going on. I was just a bone idle attention seeker who probably should have been put back into nappies.

My education continued, but with very few high points. I can infact only rememeber two good things that happened to me, where I got praise from my useless form teacher, and a year head. The first was my first ever merit award for RE. We were read a story from the bible, had to re write it in our own words, and from key word written on the blackboard. I can't rememeber the exact story. The second was on my tenth birthday when I had done some work that was so good that Mrs C. took my school book and showed the year head. Any other time, I was getting hassle for everything and anything. I think I wet myself about three times that year with the stress of trying to keep out of trouble. It was a reason why I got bullied, but I couldn't help it. The teachers had my card marked and what ever I did, would get back to my parents. It was a year of terror, pain and frustration, with few rewards. The next year was to be even worse, but I didn't know that then.

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Another year, more pain

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

I left off last time at the end of my first year in middle school. Things should have got better but they didn't. My parents were still totally unaware of what was happening, strange really considering I was rather moody sometimes. At the end of year 5, my father went on some weird and wonderful course for his work, and I was left alone with my mother and brother. One thursday night I was tring to get to sleep when my mother came up stairs and started screaming at me as I was apparently banging. I tried to protest my innocence but she wouldn't hear it. She had decided that I was banging and no amount of reasoning would change her mind. I was chased along the hallway to the bathroom, peeing myself all the way and got well and truly slapped across my face and legs, until all were red raw. Then I got back to my room where she decided I had wet myself. Or should I say found that I had done that?! Better be honest and go with the latter, even though I tried to pass the interesting wet
marks as sweat. It wasn't quite warm enough to sleep with no clothes on, but I was made to, irregardless of my protests that I would get a cold. That could only be good news to my mother. All the time she was screaming and slapping me she would go into my brother and get him involved. It was two whole days of hell, where I was spoken to and made to feel like dirt. I don't know what I did to deserve it, but I felt so alone.

I'm trying to type but after an arguement with two friends, one of whom is making me laugh, I am losing concentration. I thnk I'll finish this on Saturday when I find the ejector button on my bed and peel myself off my bedroom ceiling. I looked a bit sheepish when one friend came to the nursees station, though he said I was looking grumpy.

Home to bed, and in the hope of not having another nightmare. After some encouragement from friends at work and hockey I decided to go and get some counselling sorted out. Hopefully these nightmares will go away and stay away. I'm too big to have a cuddly toy in bed, but I might resort to it yet, as long as they promise not to snore and keep me awake!

This is the only time that anyone from work has actually seen me using this site, two have seen this page on display, one has listened while I read it through, so if it doesn't make sense, it's her fault!

she's gone nuts at me now,roll on 9:00, and I'm apparently a dead wolf now! Ta-ra!!!

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Finishing off Thursdays entry

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

As planned, here is the end of Thursdays entry, this time with no leg pulling or fighting anyone for the best sweets! I got to the point where my mother was giving me a hard time for some reason, that even to this day I have yet to fathom out. It was the year I first travelled abroad with my family, and they were still blissfully unaware that they would be placing me in danger when they left me alone with my brother. After the hard time I suffered at the hands of my mother, and being able to hide the bed wetting for such a long time, the day finally arrived when we went to Portugal. I was really excited, though not happy at having to get dressed up. Getting up at a stupid hour in the morning to be at Birmingham International Airport for 5am didn't bother me even though it was too early to eat. Things were going great, and myself and my brother were playing Top Trumps on the plane. I was struck by a sudden dose of travel sickness about half an hour from Faro Airport which while embarrassing and distressing did have its advantages. It meant I could be pushed around on the luggage trolley by my dad. I got some grief for starting to cry after passing out, being accused of showing off which was more than a little erroneous, and I got yelled at as I was persistently yammering on about going swimming the day after.

The abuse didn't really start straight away, it was more a gradual thing as me and my brother shared a room. He didn't touch me thankfully, but he touched himself, even releasing himself. I didn't know what to think, and despite feeling decidedly lousy, was actually grateful for a severe dose of the runs mid way through our holiday. At least he left me alone for a bit.

Again I don't have much time so I had better buzz off. I have a whole weekend od soccer to watch. My furry companions were very well behaved on thursday, so they can watch Euro 2008 games all weekend. they're only teddies, but they're my babies and very cute.

I'll be back on monday when I've had a vaccination at the doctors. See you soon

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Year six, and the pain continues

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

My last entry was from my summer holidays. After that I went into year six at Sion Hill Middle School. I got on well with the teacher, and he was certainly very encouraging to the whole class. something of a relief as I spent most of the school year off sick with one mior ailment or another. Thankfully I was considered old enough to be left home alone, but had the telephone with me in my bedroom so my parents could phone me up at some point during the morning. Thankfully the sexual abuse wasn't too bad at this time, though I was still wondering why he was doing this to me. I rationalised that he wanted to show that he loved me so I sort of let it happen.

I'll finish this tomorrow. The night care assistant has shown up, and I want to go home! It's about two minutes after nine and I am definitely going home now!

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Year six and the pain continues (the rest of it)

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

Despite my plans to finish this off on Tuesday, things sort of conspired against that plan.

I left off other than desparate to get home after a long late shift, and having logged the start of a long term illness. I was often left home alone when I was off school at the ages of 10-11. If one of my parents had stayed with me they would have been sacked from their jobs. Thankfully they had very understanding bosses who allowed them to phone me to see how I was. There was only one instance where I suffered any form of abuse from my mother. This was verbal when I went down with bronchitis. I had been in a girl Guides play, and felt somewhat terrible. At one point I very nearly passed out but my mother was blissfully unaware as she talked to the leader. The next day I had music club at another school and I felt really bad. The teacher at the middle school made the phonecall, and when my mother arrived, it was obvious that she was not happy with her plans having to be changed. I can't remember exactly what happened, other than getting yelled at from along way away. Thankfully she managed to get me into the doctors pretty quick so I was put on medication there and then. Even more thankfully she changed completely and made sure I got home and to bed safely. Needless to say I was feeling rather sorry for myself. I was ten years old at this time.

The year went on with me off school for one thing or another, she could so easily have got fed up with me, but at least she didn't and always made sure I was safe. Somedays I would get up, cry all through breakfast and be praised just for eating a small amount. It certainly affected my progress in my education, but with a determined form teacher, I kept slogging away and progressed onto year seven. It had been a strange year all in all. I got some really good marks, and I even got bullied. Even there the problem wasn't spotted straight away until I actually said something. The first time I was late home and had a right earfuol. The second day I had a bit more grief, but then my mom realised that there was a serious problem. I had by this time been diagnosed with asthma, something else to make me different from the other kids. It was bad enough trying to hide the pain of the abuse, not such an easy thing to do when I was peeing myself at an age where every other kid was dry. By Wednesday, my mom had gone from being angry with me for being late and my clothes wet from squash, to getting on my back to tell the teachers. Having made me promise to report the bullying, I felt happier. Even with a Merit Award for a somewhat admittedly mediocre piece of work, I still dreaded going home. As feared, it happened, I tried everything I had talked about doing but they still got me. It was the tears and asthma attack that pushed us all over the edge. the next day, it happened again and I went straight back to school. By friday it was all over. My brother hadn't abused me too much, but I suppose he hadn't had that much opportunity to do so. He made up for it by insisting on watching me gete undressed at night or dressed in the morning on weekends or school holidays. I had not developed any breasts at that time, or any other signs of puberty, so he had plenty to tease me about. I was incredibly relieved when my body started to change, at least it stopped the taunts, even if it didn't stop the abuse.

I had better go now. I'm feeling terrible and am about to fall asleep at the computer. Depending on how I am feeling I will try and get back on the computer sometime to add more.

cheerio, until next time

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Holiday pains

by Hayley
(birmingham)

I finished the last post pretty much at the end of year six, about a quarter of which I spent feeling incredibly sorry for myself. I actually don't think we went away between years five and six, it was when I was 11 when we went to Portugal and I passed out on the plane.

Portugal, the area we went was beautiful, the weather was glorious, such a shame that I spent a few days lay in bed with a serious bad case of the runs. At least it made my brother leave me alone, he didn't touch himself during that time. That holiday was largely okay until the last day.

I was using the bathroom as we got ready to travel the journey back up to Faro airport and my brother was also in there. How my parents didn't realise that I don't know, but hey that's in the past now. My brother was starting to irritate me by keep singing, I don't know why it did, it just did - other than the fact that I was in there first. I kep telling him to shut up and he kept annoying me. Suddenly my mother stormed into the bathroom, bent down in front of me and slapped my legs hard, yelling at me "That's what Jo doesn't like"

This Jo was a Guide leader at the Guide company I attended. I had been on a camp some time earlier, where the partol just seemed to exclude me or taunt me. It didn't matter what I did, they would have a go at me. Unfortunately I had to lie by the door of the tent, which was very cold, and with a hot drink in me, the outcome was inevitable. I had got home from school on the monday, and received something of a frosty welcome. It was a barrage of questions, I had leant on a picnic table and accidentally damaged it. I wasn't to know that those things weren't for bums! All in all I got a hefty slap across the face, and was made to feel as if I was nothing all over again. When my dad got home, I had to listen to my evil deeds all over again. At this point my guiding days were apparently over, but my dad took a different stance. They both sat me down to ask what had happened and I told them. I still had to apologise to the guide leader, but thankfully I was allowed to go on guide camp with the whole company. There, it was okay, we had some fun except for one day we had been swimming - which was rather chilly in the outdoor swimming pool. I had been forced out of a cubicle so had to change in front of everyone. the rest of the girls didn't mind but I felt very self conscious and didn't like it one bit. I called out "Lessie" a couple of times, as two other girls squeezed into a tiny cubicle. How Jo B. could prove that I was the guilty one out of all those girls I don't know, but she obviously had my card marked, anything wrong blame me.

I should have gone into their tent that night, but got yelled at and I was back with my patrol. The minute we were back home, and unloading the camp stuff from the minibus, one of the girls in my patrol commented, "Oh it's the table that Hayley broke". Immediately my mother pulled me to one side assuming that I had broken another one. Shortly after that, Jo pulled my mother to one side and told her about that day in the toilet block. It seemed that it wasn't just at school I couldn't do anything without my mom hearing about it. I had no where to go, no where to hide, school offered me no shelter, home was where I suffered so much secret pain, and now the Guides was a tough place for me to go. At least on guide camps my brother couldn't hurt me. Surely all these tales of my terrible deeds would have suggested that something was seriously wrong?

It didn't, and I was left to suffer bullying the entire summer holidays before we went away. I think I was better off in school, all ready for year seven.

I don't feel much better, still exhausted, and a few yard leaves me out of breath. Roll on next monday when I can hope to find out what is wrong!

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Taking a break

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

Due to illness that seems to have no intention of going away, I won't be around for a bit. I might get lucky and manage to get on email at my parents home, but I can't guarantee anything. I need the energy to recover, and to resist the temptation to throttle a friend at work who I informed yesterday that I would not be working tomorrow. Another option is to make him drink out of my trusty Aston Villa mug, but after he teasingly threatened to use it as a urine bottle, I wonder if I should trust him with it.

Anyone visiting my room who has emailed about their horrific ordeals, hang on in there, you are too strong to let these people ruin your lives completely. Get the justice that you deserve

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Recovered and working

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

i am now back at work, (Quite literally right now!) and am feeling great. It now looks as though I have cleared the back log of my email so I can start to contribute a bit more to the accounts of abuse that I get into my inbox. I have a counselling appointment next tuesday which although a little nervous, I am looking forward to. I also stood up to my brother the other day after talking it over with a good friend. I have not yet heard anything but I don't see him being very happy. Frankly I don't care.

Enough rambling, I will hopefully be a bit more with it. gotta do a load of obs now so I will go

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Year seven hell

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

I left the last entry at the end of year six, and having suffereed a painful summer holiday. Next up was year 7 with a terrifying teacher for geography and maths. I knew how bad he could be, he had a habit of chucking rowdy kids across tables. He did it to my brother when I was in year 5, and action was taken. Apparently it didn't matter that his bag had caught me in the face which really hurt, I didn't matter.

The abuse was the same as always, when we were on our own, my brother would harass me for sex or to carry out sexual acts on him. It was sick, and I never wanted to do any of it. Unfortunately by then I had reconciled myself with the possibility that he wanted to "sleep with me" because he loved me, after all, wasn't that why mum and dad were together? At least when he refused it, I wouldn't get abused that day!

It was about christmas time in this year that I became unwell with my thyroid, I was getting bad grades and looking pretty lousy in general. Unfortunatley, it wasn't until February that anything got done. By this time I had had an ear bashing because my grades were bad, I had a bad reports, and my mother returned from a parents evening in a terrible mood as I was apparently "attention seeking" in French. My mum and dad would row which did get me down. It was about then that the bedwetting had started. My brother would offer to help me hide the fact at first, but there was always that dreaded question, ato which I never seemed able to say no.

Finally in February, after being on report, the school deputy head asked my parents when I last had my condition checked. I was subsequently pulled out of school and taken for a blood test. The results came back confirming the suspicions of Mrs. Mary B. I was indeed hypothyroid. The rest of the year went relatively well at school, my grades picked up dramatically and I was feeling better physically. Even the crazy Geography teacher started to realise that I wasn't that bad at the subject. After a rocky school year, July came around to mixed emotions. An summer to recover from being unwell, but more pain regularly at the hands of my brother. It was a bad year health wise, but I got through it. Next update the summer holidays trip to Portugal. Now I have the rest of the shift to contain my excitement for my first Psychodynamic counselling session. I have to go now as I have to help a patient

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Pain in Portugal

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

It's a long time since I last made an entry, and my confidence has grown massively in that time. The nightmares are still there unfortunately, but the counselling is going great.

My last entry was gearing up for a second holiday in Portugal I was looking forward to it, knowing that it could not be as bad as the previous year...or so I thought.

when my parents were around it was fine. We went on trips, but mainly lay around by the pools. Myself and my not so dear brother both succeeded in slicing our toe up on a tile on the bottom of the "big" pool, but hey, it didn't take what shine there was off the holiday. Thankfully my parents had no part in the hell I endured that year. My brother however was a different matter all together.

When my parents left us on our own to go shopping, I was always the one that had to clear up, irregardless of the fact that I had done it night after night. Instead of helping me, all he could do was hurl abuse at me. Any time I attempted to stand up for myself it merely brought a sarcastic answer.

I don't have much time now so I will try and finish this of as soon as I can get access to a computer.

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Pain in Portugal and year 7

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

It has been another long time since I made an entry, and I thought I had better make another one sooner or later.

Portugal continued to be bad with cruel remarks being levelled at me by my brother. It amazed me that although my parents heard him shouting at me they never said anything to him and I was left to suffer in silence. It would have been nice if things had changed when we got back, but that was just too much to ask!

When I went back to Middle school, the stomach pains started, and the fear of a particular maths and geography teacher. Even worse, my long term condition became worse and the abuse continued. It was the same thing, pestering me, and watching me getting bullied about my body. It was the usual hell and a terrible dread of school holidays and weekends.

The teacher was as bad as I had feared, as were his lessons. The worsening of my illness did not actually get detected by my parents. There was too much to do giving my grief about getting bad grades and not pulling my weight. What they failed to notice was the fact that I was feeling terrible and my appetite was poor. Even a bad half termly report card and some bad reports on parents evening did not alert them to the fact that there was a problem - until the deputy head of the school had my parents in for a meeting and I was sent to the hospital for blood tests. It was the February half term when the results came through, I was indeed acutely hypothyroid. Thankfully, my physical condition picked up as did my grades at school. Unfortunately the abuse didn't stop. My brother continued to pester me almost to the point of bullying me for sex, and would torment me about my body. Something he still loves to do now, and as was the case 17 years ago, nothing was said even if it was heard by them.

I'd better go now, my cheek bone is still sore, and I am not looking forward to the journey home.

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More Pain

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

Unfortunately I appear to have missed an entire year out. this was my twelth year in existence, when I was a third year at Sion Hill Middle School in Kidderminster. It wasn't too bad at first, but after the first month, I began to struggle with my studies and my grades became progressively worse. I went on the skiing trip again but didn't enjoy it. things were not helped by a bunch of teachers who had blinkers on and completely missed the fact that I was unwell. As it was, I found myself being unfairly excluded from the trip the next year. Things got worse after Christmas, a lot worse. My maths and Geography teacher had a temper like a volcano, and although he had set me some homework that I actually enjoyed, my father had to assist me with it which earned me allegations that my parents do my homework for me.

Finally after five months of bad grades my parents were called in to school to talk to the deputy head of the school. I was sent to the hospital urgently, where I had more blood tests and was found to be suffering acutely with a long term condition. My medication was therefore increased, and within a couple of weeks my health and grades picked up notably.

Unfortunately things at home did not pick up at all. All the times I had been getting bad grades, my mother put more and more pressure on me. When that stopped because my grades were picking up, my brother's reign of torture continued. The remarks about my body were still going on, and I was still dreading school holidays and weekends, plus any time I would be left alone with him. It was the same thing every time harassed to carry things out that I knew were totally wrong, but having to submit myself to this degrading behavious that he expected of me.

I can't add much more right now, I will try to do so tomorrow

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Moving to Year Eight

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

I have managed to get to a computer quite easily now, as I am working a night shift on agency.

Thankfully year eight passed with no real problems at school. What a shame the same can't be said for home. My brother continued to harass me about my body, or for sexual acts, that I knew were disgusting and wrong. The acts he expected me to carry out were getting worse and worse, but irregardless of how much I protested, I had no way out other than to do what he wanted me to do. It was about this time that I had begun to accepts it as a necessary evil, so would ask him if he wanted to do anything. It was great when he didn't, but at the time it left me confused and angry. The constant criticisms about my body were as bad as being almost forced to carry out the acts that he made me do. School holidays became more traumatic than school itself, where I was still being bullied by kids.

I was left totally alone as my parents seemed to see him as the golden boy, and I felt I couldn't talk to them as he made sure I was too scared. I had also started to wet the bed again, and Christmas that year was made worse as my mother ranted and screamed at me for doing it yet again. It was at about this time that there was some stale blood in my pyjama bottoms. I had been pretty good at hiding the problem, with a bit of help from my brother, then again he had so much to gain from doing this. School holidays were particularly bad as the risk of getting caught out was greater. This time it happened and I was left feeling dirtier than I ever thought possible. It was the ususal tune of how bone idle I was and dirty, and how I was just causing more work for my mum. I had given up trying to hide the fact, as one night I had been found out. My brother must have said something as completely out of the blue my mum stormed upstairs and nearly caught me trying to hide the tell tale and rather embarrassing evidence. I was accused of messing myself because of the blood, so I was terrified to say anything when my body really did start to develop later on in my life.

My father sort of understood, but I merely stood still silent and alone. My mother screaming at me from upstairs did nothing to help me, and the threats that she would rub my nose in it made me feel worse every time. Suddenly, something changed, I was still wetting in the summer of that year, and one day while attending a weekly music workshop, my father went up to my room and looked in my bed. My sheets were a mess, and I had kept the pain hidden until then. I was expecting a real rollocking, but it didn't come. Instead he spoke to me calmly, gently and kindly, so I was able to say a bit about the bed wetting. The horrors of what was behind it all stayed locked away. That night my mother came up to my room, and a few more changes were made. No more screaming matches, or threats, but help and encouragement. My bed and pyjama bottoms were checked in a morning, and every time I had had a dry night, I was praised. I finally had the belief that I was better than "that" and felt massiveey better about myself. It was one less weapon for my brother to use against me, but he still found a way to hurt me.

I don't have much more I can think of right now, it is rather an unsociable hour in the morning after all!

I'll be back though, soon. I'm not sure when

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Emotional Abuse

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

Not so long ago, i found myself struggling with a drill at ice hockey training. A couple of team mates had a go at me, the latter of the two brought back some very painful memories of what a former coach had subjected me to, and my brother, I was living down to his very low opinion of me.

After I had calmed down enough to be allowed back onto the ice, I finished the training session, and got changed as normal. Afterwards I went and spoke to one of the coaches, and he gave some advice that I hope will help me when my brother decides to launch another one of his attacks on me. I have got into the habit of answering back if I feel that someone is giving me a hard time, and I was told that it takes a bigger person to walk away, than it does to react. That and the pain I felt afterwards talking to one of my best friends were quite possibly a major turning point. I managed to admit to both my coach and my friend that what had happened had brought back all the pain from being screamed at by the so-called coach.

My brother holds very firmly onto the belief that when things don't go my way I throw a tantrum, which he believes is the reason why I was dismissed from rather a lot of jobs for a couple of years. He also loves to call me a fat cow, and white washes his behaviour that I deserve it, I am apparently a spoiled cow and not a very nice person to be around. Hence forth, the thought of travelling all the way up to Blackpool leaves me filled with dread, so bad that I won't go up to see him. I have told him what I think of him, that being a pseud and a bully. Had that not been for the faith of a colleague, I probably would never have managed to do that but I feel so much happier now that he isn't "looking over my shoulder waiting for me to screw up". I always feel so inferior around him, so inadequate, and it leaves me experiencing the feelings that I was too shocked and confused to feel when he was sexually abusing me. In time I want to go up to Blackpool, putting my fears to one side and tell him exactly what I think of him, a nasty little boy who loves to put me down just to make himself feel good. I no longer care what he thinks of me, he's just an arrogant blow hard who can't get past his own failings, so he puts them onto me as if they are mine.

I still have no confidence in myself, and am terrified of being touched sometimes. On Saturday just gone, I played my best game of (ice) hockey to date, and was actually second choice for Spirit of the Game, something I never thought I would be capable of considering who I was up against. The head coach of my team wanted to talk to me, but I wouldn't go up to him as I was scared. I confessed that because of a land lord I am terrified of being tickled, I only let him do it because there's a car seat between him and me.

I'll finish this at a later date

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Emotional Abuse Part 2

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

I had to finish rather abruptly this morning as I got called away. Thankfully it wasn't an emergency. I have read the comments I received from the start of this post and they made me feel damn good.

Back to the emaotioanl abuse thing. When my brother starts to call me the things he does it appears to me that my parents agree with him, after all, they never tell him to leave me alone, nothing actually gets said until I say anything. It is a no win situation or so it feels, if I try to defend myself I get trouble, if I don't say anything, then I will be praised for letting him say the nasty things he does to me. When ever I try to talk, I get talked over as though I am not there. Apparently I don't go up North to see my beautiful niece because I can't be bothered, and don't care about her. In reality I love her to bits so when my parents go up, I ask them to phone me so I can talk to her. It's brilliant, and I love talking to her. I secretly believe she talks more sense than my brother, but that's a different story!

Apparently I just have to accept being talked over as though I am not there, or being treated like dirt. It makes me wonder if they actually do give a damn about me when they do that. It's as though I'm there for my brother's convenience, and nothing more. I'm not allowed to say anytthing, and even if I was I would be wasting my breath. He is the one who gets to talk and I have no rights to stand up for myself, and I just have to accept it.

While I am sorry for the little boy who was so mercilessly killed by three sick sadistic adults in Haringay, North London, a part of me is pleased he was killed. At least he will not have to deal with the consequences of those people's actions later in life. He is at peace, and will find out what dignity is. He's not in pain now so in a strange way, even with his paralysis, he is looking down on that scum and laughing his head off at them. Fair play Baby P, go for it, you're a pint sized hereo, and a tough little guy. Rest in peace sweet heart

I think that's about it now. I'm so tired and feel terrible. I just got called a whimp by a friend, and asked why I'm at a library when I should be resting. I'm only out because I have to be!

I'd better go now, and thanks Darlene for those words, I managed a massive grin even though I'm not exactly in the land of living!

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Sickening comments and unhelpful counsellor

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

I have been going counselling for about three months now, but lately I have felt that I am not really getting any where compared to when I talk to one of my best friends from hockey training. In fact, I felt a million times better yesterday and equally more at ease in telling her some of the things my brother used to do to me. She doesn't judge me and we have a great laugh together. Something I told her the other week and indeed told another friend from the Facebook website and both were utterly disgusted. I felt utterly incensed by what the counsellor suggested, and it felt as though she was condoning what my brother did to me. She asked me if there was a small part of me that enjoyed the abuse because I let it happen. I just wanted him to leave me alone, and once he had abused me at some point in the day, that was it I was safe, from the sexual abuse at least. I asked him if he wanted to do anything to find out if he was going to abuse me that day, I dind't ever want it, I hated it.

I have phoned on a couple of occasions to say that I wouldn't be going, simply because I couldn't stand her suggesting that I was feeling abandoned because she wouldn't be taking a counselling session. She even complained because I was late a couple of times when in fact I had pre warned her that this would be the case because of work. She is so uptight that she won't even talk to me a second before or a second after my counselling session, and it drives me mad.

Another thing that is intriguing me, the abuse happened years ago, when I was a kid, but didn't have any throat infections even with the oral stuff, I had a few ear infections but that was apparently because of the ear phones I used to listen to my walkman. Now I am having loads of throat infections, and feel pretty lousy now with a sore throat and a bit of pain in my chest.

I hope I haven't made anyone feel sick. I'd better go now as I have a bed to clean and make.

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A long hiatus

by Hayley
(Birmingham, UK)

It has been a very long time since I last posted anything, and a lot of things have happened since then. I am more able to talk about what happened, which has landed me in hot water at work. I have now however been passed fit by my trusts Occupational Health with the deal that I can continue to work if I continue with my counselling. Thank Goodness I only have a few weeks left as my counsellor continues to frustrate me. She still fails to see where I am coming from when I compare her to Predictive text on a mobile phone, she tries to guess how I feel, but gets it horribly wrong. At least we have made some head way though, and I feel ever stronger. Even the nightmares don't bother me now, and these remain all too frequent. Thankfully when the sessions are good they are very good, and when there aren't many of my colleagues around, I can get away with updating my boss on my progress. I still talk more to my team mate though, that doesn't mean that the scars will ever go away. Fading is the best I will ever hope for, and no amount of counselling I undertake, will never change what happened to me at the hands of my evil selfish brother, from the ages of 10 to 15, and further physical and emotional abuse after that. Then there was the rows between my parents after I disclosed it to the police, and the recriminations that if I had kept my mouth shut, I wouldn't be feeling so mixed up and confused. The anguish from that merely added to my pain, and the frustration that they must have suspected there was something wrong, I would cry easily, be disruptive at school, and I was horrendously homesick on a skiing trip. Though that could have been down to a nasty bout of flu which the teachers refused to take seriously.

My parents still seem totally unaware of why I distrust anything my brother says, or anything they say about him, it is like banging my head against a brick wall sometimes, and there aren't many soft ones in Birmingham or Kidderminster! I often wonder if they will ever see where I am coming from, and what I went through the whole of that time I was suffering abuse. My mother, herself a perpetrator, will never realise just how she hurt me, telling me I was an embarrassment to the family, and a bone idle slob. My father has an idea of what I went through, and one day in January, we went to get the paper that my parents read, we actually talked properly about how I felt, and how the counselling was progressing. He still doesn't know the full details, but there is a better chance of me telling him than there is of me telling my mum.

I had better go now, my fingers are rather painful from typing so much so fast. It must be a shock to their system! I am still playing hockey and absolutely loving it. Not long now to the end of the season, and then the play offs - to see if we will be able to stay in the Premier League next year, or of we will be forced to drop down a division. March the 22nd a warmish Sunday lunch time in Hull I achieved a goal I never thought possible, and skated away with the player of the game award for my team, the Solihull Vixens. How that has changed me as a hockey player, months ago I refused to take a face off in my own zone when asked to. If I were to be playing a game today and was asked to do that job, I would go for it with no questions asked. Shame I still have my wonderful habit of winding the match officials up!

I'll definitely go now. Heads up everyone, you have all been so brave for so long. Don't let those evil people get you down to the level that they act at.

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Painful work

by Hayley
(Birmingham, UK)

I'm back again, I must be like the proverbial buses, you don't hear from me for ages, then I'm back again in quick successive posts!

This isn't so much about the abuse from my brother, more work place related. When I was recovering from my road accident I had great difficulties in reintegrating into the workplace environment. This was pounced upon by rather unscrupulous bosses, and I suffered from severe bullying. One place in particular was a Care home called Willow Grange. It's a care home for the elderly, should be a residential home but catered for people that had nursing needs as well. I would go in for my shifts and slog my guts out, would get the most demanding residents to assist in the morning, and would be expected to work on my own, which was totally immoral for the sake of the residents. My only agenda was to give those people the care that they deserved, but with me getting edgy because the other staff were able to get their tasks done really quick, mainly because they had residents that were easy to deal with and didn't have quite such complex needs, and also because they were allowed to get on with their work without being interrupted to take a resident to the toilet, when there were other carers in the lounge who could do that job. It made my job of giving the residents the time and care they deserved very difficult, nigh on impossible.

One member of staff in particular could see just what this was doing to me, that and being told that I was too slow, or didn't work hard enough, and had a bad attitude. (Though much as I loathe to admit it, I probably did then, as I was so frustrated with the way that I was constantly being treated by my peers). The partner of this particular member of staff was a patient on the ward that I work on and I found out yesterday that his partner is still my now ex colleague, and she had - in my mind - poisoned him against me.

This and other little things culminated in me breaking down in floods of tears, which thankfully I managed to hide from the patients. Having spent much of my working life after my accident getting mobbed by bullies, I found myself getting mobbed again, but by a completely different group of people. People who cared that I was hurting and wanted to know what exactly had happened. I told them the sordid account, having sobbed that I thought all "this" was in the past, thinking I had successfully put it all behind me. Thankfully I was allowed to sit in the staff room, and calm down, even talk to a poor student at whom I had snapped, rather unfairly.

Today my boss was informed, and to a degree, the mobbing continued, the patient removed from the ward and transferred to another one in the same unit of the hospital, and my ward manager, and two of the nurses who had been on duty yesterday keeping me updated.

I never thought I would have the confidence to ask for help, never believed I was good enough to get help, or be helped. Spending years having to "just accept it" had left me angry and frustrated which did nothing for my image. Now with the help of one particular colleague at work, who once told me I shouldn't worry about what people think of me, and one of my hockey coaches who told me to be the bigger person, (not that I achieved that with any resounding success yesterday when provoked somewhat cruelly by a ward domestic) and don't answer back. My attitude to the patient who made the request that I didn't care for him, was fine, as you wish, but don't think I will blank you, because you are still a patient on this ward, and you will still get the same respect that the other men in your bay will get. I apologised to the poor student that I snapped at, and myself and the domestic are back on bantering terms. What a shame the housekeeper is treating me with contempt, though it is rather amusing to see her make a complete idiot of herself when she ignores me when I say "Hi" to her!

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Counselling update

by Hayley
(Birmingham, United Kingdom)


Some time ago, I posted about my rather unhelpful counsellor. I am still going there, but often times under duress. I still say that she is very much like predictive text, but at least she manages to get some things right.

Last session she got me to talk about one particular occasion when my brother abused me. He had been out drinking, leaving me on my own so I could do what I wanted and watch what I wanted on the telly. I was about 14 at the time, and with my parents out I felt safe. Not that my parents were the biggest problems in my life.

It was rather late when my brother got back, and I had decided to get into bed and go to sleep. He however had other ideas, he was obviously drunk and had probably been smoking, the latter of which caused endless rows in my family, and something that my brother had called me, a "fagger".

As I was putting on my pyjama bottoms, he pushed my bedroom door open and shook his head, telling me not to put them on. I just wanted to go to bed, and as it was cold being Christmas, I didn't plan on leaving my night wear off. At that point, despite my protests, he came into my room and started to undress, telling me to lie down on my bed. I was too shocked to resist, and knew it would be futile even if I tried. My brother lay down on top of me, he was by this time erect and ready to make me have sex with him, be it straight or oral. He couldn't penetrate me to my relief, so he tried to make me suck him. I wouldn't do that so he pleasured himself, then rubbed it all over me. Thankfully he let me go and rinse it off then made me wash the flannel out. I still wasn't allowed to put on my night wear. When I got back to my bedroom, he made me turn around so I had my back to him and he tried to penetrate me from behind. He seemed to be of the impression that he had succeeded, as he then went on to list all that he had done, like he was proud of his actions. Thankfully I was then allowed to put on my pyjamas and go to bed.

I don't know how long it took me to fall asleep, but I do know that I couldn't wait to get in the bath and have a good wash so that I would feel really clean.

I was a perennial bed wetter through a lot of this ordeal, and would not tell my parents. Partly because I knew that there would be hell to pay if my mum found out, and partly because I was too scared and didn't even respect myself. If I stank of pee then maybe he wouldn't want to be around me. It didn't deter him, he was determined to hurt me.

This was probably by far the worst incident, being forced to perform oral sex on him was bad enough, being forced to copulate him or keep my hand over his erection while he copulated himself, were bad enough, the verbal bullying was distressing to say the least, but that night between Christmas and new year was by far the worst episode.

I'll buzz off now, and give my sore head a rest. Of all the times to fall and bash my head, it had to be in warm ups for a hockey game! Keep your heads up guys, you are all so brave. Don't let the people that have hurt you so heinously beat you.

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A small number of counsellors can be unhelpful

by Maurice
(Eire/Ireland)

I am not sure but here goes. Hayley's room is her personal room. What she related in it to me and visitors to Darlene's site was true and I believe her. Her brother was very wrong in all that he performed on her, drunk and all that he was. He knew what he was ordering her to do.

Hayley, bed wetting is natural in some children, but yours was was brought on by your naughty brother's behaviour on that night. He made you nervous while he was telling you what to do. Then that nervousness remained with you as you were scared to tell your parents, especially your mother.

Sibling abuse is real and does happen. You Hayley, please seek help, maybe even from another counsellor. I am wary of counsellors, as a small number can be most unhelpful and unprofessional in not moving their client on in their feelings of having been abused. While I accept telling what happens exactly is part of being helped, too is letting go of the trauma it caused you at the time.

Hayley, thank you. You were (are) very brave. You washed away the immediate effects of what your brother did by washing yourself. At the age you were 14 he seeing you naked added to your shame and the effects were greater on you. So begin to see your body beautiful and make it so by soothing creams and gentle massages. You can only make it beautiful.

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Abuse in the news - Paediatrics

by Hayley
(Solihull)

I have watched with interest and disgust the progress that should have been made but never was in the case of Baby P, who can now and will be known as Peter.

This case is akin to a small fish in a very big and turbulent sea, one that only came to light because an innocent little boy was killed by abusive adults and a poor system of child protection. A similar case occurred in the same part of England, Haringey North London, a number of years previously, where a little girl, Victoria Climbié was murdered but insufficient action was taken. Unfortunately little Victoria did not receive the same publicity that Peter received despite the fact that she deserved it.

Cases like these only make the news because a child dies, an investigation was only launched because Peter was the second child to be murdered by people who should have protected him, but failed miserably, and in both instances, the authorities that should have looked after this brave little guy and equally brave little girl said that lessons would be learned. If lessons HAD been learned, Peter would still be alive today, a blessing for any childless couple that may have fostered or even adopted this little boy, probably not so for Peter in later life as he found himself dealing with any issues that would have resulted from what happened to him through his mother, step father and their lodger.

Health professionals, and social workers had numerous chances to save this little boy, his mum was so brazen as to take him to the doctors with complaints that resulted from injuries that were inflicted on him. His nanny attempted to voice her concerns about Peter and the environment that he was forced to exist in, but seemingly insufficient action was taken. Peter was taken to hospitals with injuries but exhibited behaviour that any child his age would show. Did these people not check his hospital records to see that there were rather a lot of visits to hospitals, with injuries that seemed rather odd and explanations that were somewhat incongruent? Peter's mother received visits from the Social workers, who appeared to miss the fact that the child was living in almost squalor. They fell for what is probably the oldest trick in the book when he had chocolate all over his mouth from eating a doughnut. Hardly surprising as Peter doesn't appear to have had many teeth before some of those that he did have were knocked out of his mouth by his evil step father.

Some of the people responsible for not saving Peter or Victoria have been dismissed from their posts, and not a minute too soon. The doctor who failed to assess Peter fully two days before he died failed to use her training and was suspended as this could so easily have resulted or had a part to play in his death. As a proud Auntie to two gorgeous little girls, I would be very impressed if at 17 months, my youngest is able to talk in full coherent sentences when she is NOT in pain. What chance did Peter have when the pain he must have been experiencing from his spine and rib breaks was causing him to be "cranky" as this doctor put it? Children are often unable to put into words exactly how they feel as they lack verbal capacity, particularly young children like Victoria and especially Peter. Would a more experienced doctor, and possibly one who was a parent themself have taken better action? Or was it merely the fact that they were pushed for time and resources so found a little boy crying and screaming in pain too much trouble to investigate fully?

Can cases like Victoria and Peter be avoided? Can more child deaths be avoided through a thorough investigation into the care - or lack thereof of these children? Haringey is not the only area that is failing if reports on the BBC and ITV news is anything to go by. Just yesterday I saw a little girl of about two throw a toy out of her push chair. Her mother picked the car up, told the little girl off, and raised her hand. She did not hit the little girl, but the padded "bar" keeping her in the buggy. Some children are not so lucky, and get screamed and even sworn at by frustrated parents.

When I was growing up, it was seen as acceptable to strike a child, I myself received a few hefty slaps that would leave a hand mark. I was also subjected to some distressing verbal abuse that would leave me tearful and distraught. There were the times when I would hear my books being thrown across the hall and my mother screaming all manner of things. There were the times of being chased upstairs or across the landing to the toilet and slapped, pulled forward and thrown back against the cistern of the toilet, leaving me winded, having abuse screamed at me, good for nothing dozy, horrible, little girl, on one particular occasion, being made to repeat it and told I had repeated it correctly. I had initially refused that day when I was nine, but received a hard slap across my legs for doing so.

Social services should probably review their own policies and procedures, as children could still be taken back to the very place where abuse is happening in many forms and from anyone in the family.

I think I have run out of steam now, as long as parents are hurting their children in one way or another, paediatric health care workers and social workers will be in work, but will lessons REALLY be learned from Peter, Victoria, and all the other children that are killed as a result of violence and negligence inflicted on them by adults who should quite simply not have kids?

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Another abuse case, another death

by Hayley
(Solihull)

In my previous entry, I reflected on the plight of two young kids in Haringey. In recent months, or at least nearly a year ago, news in my local paper, the Birmingham Mail told of a seven-year-old girl called Kyra Ishaq being starved to death by her mother's partner. The report was both distressing and disturbing, how a young group of children had been happy and healthy, attending school or play group like any other kid of the ages that these particular children were. Suddenly their mother met up with a gentleman and they became a couple. Then things turned sickeningly sour. The children who were school age were suddenly withdrawn from school. Big bone of contention here. Why did no-one say anything? Did the school not realise that children who normally went to that school suddenly stopped going?

It was reported on the news that little Kyra and her siblings had been taken to hospital, but Kyra had passed away from starvation. At the beginning of this week the trial of her parents commenced, and her step father has denied the murder of Kyra, but - if memory serves me right - he has admitted guilt to harming other children. I regularly switch on my TV to look at the news and was horrified and sickened to read just what had happened to the little girl. She had been locked in a room and held prisoner, and not allowed to eat for a number of months. This was described as the worst case of starvation seen by doctors.

Did neighbours of this family not notice anything strange? Were these children not allowed to go out to play at all? Why did the children's mother go down the road of hurting her own children? What made her do this and why did Social Services not act?

When this little angel's plight was covered on the local regional news, I was horrified to see some flowers left for little Kyra, with a label written by a lady I have looked after. This lady is in fact a relative of Kyra and her siblings and was utterly devastated. I spent some time talking to the lady when she was a patient on the ward I work on, but still reading more into Kyra's plight. I feel nauseous, angry and sad that such evil acts will be punished only with a light sentence.

The killers of Peter were given an unduly lenient sentence, and a newspaper company is in fact attempting to get them the sentence that their crimes deserve. It is debatable whether or not Kyra's step father will be given a sentence that reflects the gravity of what he did to all of those children, but it would be fair to say that when children are killed or severely harmed by abusive parents or other relatives, the sentence meted out to them is more fitting than just a few years in prison, regardless of the age of the child/children hurt and killed. Children who survive any form of abuse are potentially left with a life sentence of their own. Would it not be better justice for their persecutors to be given life imprisonment, without protection of solitary confinement?

We can dream! I had better go now as time is about to run out on me. Rest in Peace Kyra, you were so brave.

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Pure Evil

by Hayley
(Solihull)

Not so long ago, I highlighted the case of Kyra Ishaq, and what that brave little angel had to to endure throughout her short life.

As I make this contribution, her evil mother and her equally evil partner are on trial for killing the little girl and hurting five other children. Sickeningly, they are both denying the murder of Kyra, but accepting guilt for the harm and maltreatment meted out to the other five children. An excuse used by Angela Gordon was that Kyra was possessed by evil. This was a comment made by a twelve-year-old who gave evidence by a video link. It strikes me that the only people possessed by any evil spirit were the abusive adults who hurt and starved all six children.

It was also heard from the paramedic who attended the call to little Kyra, that she looked like a concentration camp survivor, a youngster from a famine hit country appealing for aid. The twelve-year-old who gave the evidence had also suffered abuse, as had four other children in the house. It was reported that neither adult showed any emotion as the ambulance crew attempted to resuscitate Kyra. The courageous twelve-year-old stated that Kyra had lain on her mother's lap like a little rag doll for a couple of days, and the rescuers of all these children added that Kyra had lain like a rag doll in their arms as they carried her to the ambulance. When at hospital, she was found to weigh just around two stone (28 pounds), and did not even register on a Body Mass Index chart. A neighbour giving evidence reported hearing Kyra screaming to be let out as she had been locked inside a room. The children had not been seen for a number of months, and Kyra had probably not been allowed any food for weeks, even months, during her time in "captivity".

During this week I have been on annual leave from my work and had to go back to my parents in a town called Kidderminster where I was raised so I could attend an appointment. Myself and my partner watched with disgust at the attitude that these sick scumbags are reported to have exhibited whilst in the dock, and at the time when Kyra and her siblings were taken away. It is alleged that the kitchen door had a lock on it, although the kitchen was full of food. The children would be severely punished if they took any of this without permission. They were fed like dogs, with just a bowl of oats, no cutlery with which to eat their meagre food ration.

It was truly horrifying to read this, and myself and my parents all voiced out opinions on the vulgar and cruel behaviour of these sick, cruel, brainless individuals, who I did in fact call scum, although I think I may have insulted that.

Just a day after hearing an update on little Kyra, there was another report about a nursery nurse in Plymouth, Devonshire who had indecent photos of young children on her computer. Thankfully the safety of the children was taken into account and the nursery was closed so that police could gather evidence. It was revealed in big name newspapers that this evil sick paedo had taken the photos of the children in her care, young babies even, actually at the Nursery. It is great news to hear and read that this other piece of scum is in prison on remand. Here's hoping that all these adults suffer while they are in jail. These poor defenceless children, Kyra, her siblings and these infants who had obviously been exploited and possibly even sexually abused deserve justice, but the judges will probably only sentence the adults to a pitifully small sentence. Justice for people, that being adults and children, who are coming to terms with abuse and the effects it has on them have been handed a life sentence, if they are still alive. Is it not more fitting that the evil scum that inflicts the suffering on children receive imprisonment for the remainder of their lives, not just twenty years at the most?

I think I have run out of steam again. Hang on in there everyone. You have all been so tremendously brave throughout your ordeal. You are so much stronger than the low lifes that hurt you in the ways that they chose. Rest in Peace those of you that have been killed by abusers (even though you cannot read this). Hopefully some day soon the Criminal Justice System will see sense and hand child abusers a sentence more fitting than just a few years.

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Khyra and Nursery updates

by Hayley
(Solihull)

Since I made a contribution yesterday, more evidence has been heard in the case of little Khyra. A thirteen-year-old boy gave video evidence yesterday and it transpired that these monsters had allowed Khyra to have some porridge a few days before she died. It is beyond me what difference they thought it would make to the little girl, a case of far too little far too late for her. The thirteen-year-old, like the twelve-year-old, reported that they would get "whacked" with a stick for being rude, or even made to stand outside in the rain. A similar physical punishment would ensue if anyone was to be found stealing food.

Discipline is a good thing for all children, however the incidents that were disclosed by these two brave youngsters is nowhere near that. It is mere brutality, cold-blooded at that.

As for the filthy pervert who called herself a nursery nurse, she has been remanded in custody. Television reports showed angry citizens of Plymouth chasing the police van away from the court hurling abuse, and police officers stopping them. While she deserved everything she got, is she really worth wasting energy and breath on? People in the public gallery were left shocked and horrified; it could so easily have been their babies or toddlers being abused by this sick individual. At the trial of Khyra's mother and stepfather, similar scenes were in evidence.

Children, the disabled and the elderly are among some of the most vulnerable people in society, yet they are severely short-changed by the Criminal Justice System when it comes to justice meted out to those cruel-minded scum who take pleasure out of harming them. People who mug elderly people in the street get nothing more than a slap on the wrist and told not to be a naughty girl/boy. Health care professionals who maltreat elderly possibly even dementing/demented people are just given their marching orders from the institutions where they committed their crimes. Regardless of the age group or physical condition of people, the crime of child/adult/elder abuse is still incredibly venial and should be punished with a hefty custodial sentence - but that is just the ideal world. In the real world this is not the case, and probably never will be unless someone stands up and shouts loud enough.

That is all for now. Let's hope that Khyra, her siblings and all those tiny babies and toddlers get some justice. Vanessa Redmond's family have had to be moved away from their home now because of what this evil being has done, but will they ever be safe if their true identity is ever revealed? Who knows? I certainly don't fancy their chances but hope I am proved wrong.

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Khyra update, and more shocking news

by Hayley
(Solihull)

I haven't been online for a while, but there have been more shocking revelations by witnesses in the case against Angela Gordon and Junaid Abuhamzha. The jury had heard from child A who had reported getting wacked with a stick for being disobedient or rude, and child B who had been made to stand in the rain for the same crime, or for stealing food. I also stated that Khyra and child B, a thirteen-year-old girl, had been made to stand in front of a fan in their underwear if they were "naughty", in a statement given by child C.

More shocking revelations have been made.

One of the children had been caught stealing from cupboards and other children at school, and his mother had banned the teachers from allowing him to have snacks. Another child or possibly the same child had been referred to a dietician by doctors, but the appointment had not been kept. This child was described as listless and tired in class. The children would be expected to share one mug of water between five of them, and a bowl of food between them. Utterly obscure meals were forced on them. Sandwiches made of crisps, chocolate, peanut butter and other unorthodox fillings were forced upon these children, and if they did not eat them they would be severely punished.

Child C had stated that he knew that Khyra was in a bad way. In fact the pathologist that carried out the post mortem on Khyra was absolutely astonished at the state of her emaciated body. Child C had probably, in fact almost certainly, been too afraid to say anything about Khyra for fear of retribution, possibly the same punishment that Khyra was subjected to: locked in a room and not allowed to eat or drink unless the adults felt like it. The final cause of death on Khyra's death certificate was starvation, undeniable in the face of her emaciated little body, weighing less than a child of two years old. There had also been mentionable evidence of infection, which would quite easily have ravished her tiny body in very little time.

This story is not the only one in the news. Nor is the one of the nursery worker who has been remanded in custody for holding indecent images of the children in her care. An eithteen-year-old man from Walsall in the West Midlands has been arrested for possessing child porn on his computer. It was then linked to a woman in the USA; Bangor, Maine to be exact. The photos and even videoes are of children being sexually abused. The woman responsible has been arrested and charged for gross sexual assault against children. Hopeully the sentence in North America for such evil paedophiles is greater than the measly few years that will be meted out to the teenager in Walsall and the Nursery worker in Plymouth.

Do judges handing out sentences in Britain ever realise that children who have been abused may still suffer for longer than the prison sentences handed to their abusers? Will it ever be realised that abusers need to be made to answer effectively for their crimes, and understand why they carried out these acts against trusting and vulnerable members of society. Ex-offenders will be able to rebuild their lives if they ever get released from prison. Children who have suffered a sustained ordeal may not be so lucky, taking measures to bury their pain with drugs and alcohol. They could get so desperate to get hold of these that they will do anything they need to to get the money to pay for their next drink or their next hit. It isn't just the physical effects that their substance abuse has on them that they are left recovering from.

I count myself lucky. I had something to channel my energies on when the abuse was brought out into the open, that being school work. Other people are not so lucky, and they spiral into the life of alocholism and/or drug addiction, often finding themselves homeless. If judges ever thought about that, they might hand longer more subsantial sentences to child abusers.

The effect of abuse I have put forward was that suffered by an author who wrote a trmendous book, Wasted. Mark Johnson went through a truly horrendous ordeal for a lot of his life, and has had the strength and courage, not just to write about it, which must have been incredibly traumatic, but actually survived the abuse and the addictions he suffered to deal with his childhood traumas.

This is all I can think of right now. No doubt there will be more updates on Khyra and her siblings, as the case is set to last for at least a month yet so we are a long way from getting a verdict. The chances of these six children getting the justice that they deserve is depressingly slim, but we can hope.

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More update on Khyra and siblings - plus more child abuse in the news

by Hayley
(Olton, Solihull)

Since I last contributed, more evidence has been heard on Khyra Ishaq's death. It was alleged that Angela Gordon had screamed at social workers and her own sister to stop them from visiting. Yesterday I was horrified to read that one little boy had been so desperate for food that when in hospital he tried to eat a toy sandwich in from the ward toy box, and was begging the nurses for food. It was remarked that this particular little guy was painfully thin.

What kind of parents could do this to their children? Is there any excuse that would seem almost plausible? Children are among the more vulnerable groups in our society, yet some are treated with such heinous cruelty by those trusted to look after them, nurture them and love them.

When on my way to work this morning, I read two further instances of child abuse. One was physical abuse committed by a fifteen-year-old boy who had been left babysitting a little girl of about two years old. He claimed that she had fallen over while playing in the park but this was found to be totally inconsistent with her injuries. He had in fact slapped her repeatedly about the face, and possibly even shaken her so violently that she was suffering from brain injury. Her mother reported that she had been just about breathing and had called the ambulance. At this point the boy had been sat outside cross-legged. He told the paramedics the same story that he had told the girl's mother but when pressed, refused to answer any more questions.

In another instance, a family of three young children had been kept in a house that was apparently never cleaned and had human waste plastered in many places. There was an image chillingly similar to the ones shown after little Peter was murdered, and the three children expected to sleep on a soiled mattress in one room. It has been reported that in this particular instance, painfully similar to Khyra's siblings. The children have been taken out of the environment and are now thriving - if I remember correctly - with foster parents.

It is more chilling reminders of how adults can so easily take advantage of children who are unable to stand up for themselves. In the case of the paedophile nursery worker, a woman from Nottingham has now been arrested and remanded in custody. Hopefully the judges presiding these three cases will show some common sense in sentencing, and compassion towards the children who have been hurt. I wouldn't like to get my hopes up, but we can dream!

Rest in peace Peter and Khyra. You have been such brave little kids and you are a huge loss to society. Sweet dreams kids, you deserve them.

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More Incidents of Child Abuse

by Hayley
(Solihull)

Hayley at

Hayley at

It is a long time since I last posted anything in my page, a very long time in fact. In the case of little Khyra and her siblings, the case had been adjourned as one of the jurors became unwell. Unfortunately there has been no other news on the matter.

There have however been other truly shocking stories of abuse being inflicted on innocent kids and teenagers.

One of these was an act of frenzied violence carried out by a boy of sixteen. He had been asked to baby sit a neighbour's little girl on his sixteenth birthday. Apparently he was so "fed up" about having to work on his birthday that he lost his temper and battered little Demi's body, causing her devastating brain damage.

In another sickening story, a couple were found to have hidden a camera in a loft area and made a spy hole in the ceiling over a bathroom so that they could spy on teenage girls as they took a bath. They were "guided" to being within view of the camera by the woman as her husband recorded them undressing and probably carrying out intimate personal hygiene.

This recording equipment was apparently found by chance by fire fighters who grew suspicious at the location of it all. They went to fight a fire at a neighbouring property and they found sickening evidence of potential paedophilia. Unfortunately, the husband took his own life, leaving his wife to take the punishment alone. It is not quite so unfortunate though as it rids the world of a pervert.

On my way home from work yesterday I was relaxing but couldn't help overhearing a young mother getting ratty with her younger son. He couldn't have been more than three years old, an age where kids know what they want but may not always have the appropriate vocabulary to request it, or be able to cope with their disappointment at being refused something that they may want. This little boy was sat strapped in his buggy and understandably wanted to get out and sit on a proper seat. His mother was however refusing. After some determined protesting from the little boy, he was finally allowed to sit on his mother's lap. He was becoming ratty with boredom and probably tired and it was obviously frustrating for his mother. After some time, two ladies who had been sitting on the first forward facing seat on their side of the bus got off. This enabled the mother with her two sons to sit on that seat. The older son sat quietly and was no trouble. The youngest son however was getting upset as he obviously wanted to get up and stretch his little legs. He also needed to use the toilet and was doing everything he could to avoid wetting himself. He must have asked about five times if he could go to the toilet, but every time his mother snapped at him with a sarcastic answer. In the end she picked him up, spun him round and thumped him down on the seat, which drew loud cries of pain and quite possibly humiliation. As she did this she used utter profanities to him, something she had done almost every time she spoke to him.

On another occasion I was going to my job as an auxiliary nurse, to work a late shift. There were two young kids, tired and fed up. One, the youngest lad getting grumpy. His mother just moaned at him, called him a whinge bag.

I was utterly horrified at both instances. They had had kids young, yet they had neither the temperament or patience to deal with the needs and demands of looking after them when they are so dependent on their mothers for so much. No child, no matter how frustrating they may appear to be, or how much of a demand they may put on their mother's patience deserves to be spoken to like that.

It still makes me cringe at the memory of me at 7 or 8 years of age getting ready to go to Brownies. My mother was in a terrible mood and I was sorting out a folder of sorts to put my badge work in for a test that evening. I had stapled the two pieces of card together as I had been shown previously, but this apparently was not sufficient. My mother became very angry at me very quickly, and started swearing at me, using words that I was shocked and very distressed at hearing. I wasn't a bad kid. I had my moments when I got angry and played up, mainly when my brother was being a "typical boy". That didn't however stop me feeling as though I was utterly inferior to him, and anything that he did or touched was golden. Anything I touched however was nothing and turned bad.

I think I have reached the end of this entry. I have finished my counselling now and am very happy. No more frustrating Tuesday mornings with a counsellor who often drove me mad.

Take care everyone and remember you are all better than the people that have hurt you in the ways that they have.

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More abuse in the news and family issues

by Hayley
(Birmingham, UK)

I'm back again, and ready for a fight against my brother's ex girlfriend. First off though, the latest wave of abuse to make the news, the horrendous incidents in Plymouth, Devonshire.

A nursery owner has been found guilty of abusing little kids as young as 12 months at the nursery, and keeping images of the abuse being carried out. She has been asked to list all of the children that she has harmed, and their photos sent to two other paedophiles - who have both been convicted and sentenced - for their equally sick entertainment.

Another nursery in Nottingham has been closed amid abuse worries following a number of children suffering injuries that cannot be explained with and degree of plausibility.

A nursery in Redditch, Worcestershire has also been closed due to the concerns that a child was handled in rather a savage manner. He/she was allegedly grabbed by an arm and dragged somewhere.

It appears that some people think nothing of treating vulnerable young children like toys that they can merely grab and drag as if they are nothing more than things that are in the way or possibly causing annoyance to adults. Unfortunately this is how my oldest niece is being treated by her mother, being used almost as a toy that she doesn't want to share with anyone else.

This woman is my brother's ex girlfriend, and seems intent on trying to hurt myself, and my parents just because she is no longer with my brother. What my brother did to me was utterly horrendous and took away eight years of my life. While he should be made to suffer for what he did, I would have preferred a substantial jail sentence to what he is going through now. Oh the things that a five-year-old can tell people when her mother isn't around. Little does that little girl know just how much she has helped her daddy to get more access to her. As long as he agrees to see her in a public place.

When this woman arrived at the agreed meeting place with her son J who is 9 and S who is my adorable little niece, myself and my dad went over to greet them. All the woman could do was palm S off, "go on then" as if she didn't even want to know the little girl. That is when S talked, and the more she said the happier I got, as it was brought to light the behaviour of her mum and how she was being stopped from knowing that there are two grandparents and an auntie who are all besotted with her, as is her father.

I had better go now as this computer seems to want to truncate my time rather quickly. Hang on in there everyone, you can survive what has happened to you as you are so strong.

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Sickening Scenes

by Hayley Barber
(Solihull)


It has been a very long time since I last posted on here. The trial of little Khyra's parents has recommenced and more evidence has been heard from some of the kids who fell under the cruel spell of these evil excuses for parents. It emerged that the older kids were also subjected to the horrendous abuse that young Khyra sufefred, made to stand in a pair of boxers in front of a fan that was turned on. The cupboards and fridges were full of food yet the children had to share just a cup of water and a bowl of rice. If any of them acted up they were punished by exclusion from the measley food. Sometimes locked in a shed.

What could little Khyra have done that was so bad as to be locked up indefinitely, starved until she died?

Is it some sort of sociopathic behaviour that makes some parents behave in the way that they do towards their children? During my thankfully short bus ride I witnessed a mother with her young daughter probably about two years old at the most. The little girl had been allowed out of her buggy for the duration of the bus journey, but they were getting close to their stop as I got on. The little girl was fascinated by the bus seat next to her almost transfixed. Her mother had probably asked her to get into the buggy, but going on what I saw I fear it was more of a snapped order. Said toddler did not want to get back into her buggy, and her mother was losing patience. She grabbed her little girl by the arm picked her up and tried to drag her into her buggy. The buggy fell backwards and the mother still held her daughter somewhat viciously by the wrist. The poor child was practically dumped on the floor like a little rag doll while the evil excuse for a mother righted the buggy, which had sent a whole load of things skidding across the floor. It was sickening enough as it was, but the woman's words to her now very distressed toddler were so much worse. Grabbing the poor child again, this time a bit more dignified, under both her arms, she plonked the poor girl into the buggy, asking her "Why can't you just get in like a normal person?"

Is this what parenthood is coming to? Children treated like rag dolls if they play up, used as weapons in relationship break ups?

My older brother, while I will never condone what he did to me and another teenage girl, is having all manner of trouble seeing his eldest daughter. Her mother is not even allowing her to receive gifts from us. S is just five years old and is not allowed to talk to her father, acknowledge her little half sister or receive gifts from her father. My brother's solicitor has advised that S be allowed to receive gifts from our side of the family. When my brother attempted to take some gifts round for S, her step grandfather on her mother's side was perfectly happy to allow S to have the gifts. when my brother got home he received a text stating that the gifts were on the front drive way. My mother received a text from my brother's ex saying that she didn't want her daughter left with someone who sleeps with young girls.

It was at this point that I reached a big decision. Considering where I was 15 years ago when the sexual abuse was going on, and the verbal, mental and physical abuse was starting in revenge for me going to the police - I was a mess and didn't want to know anyone or go any where - and how much I have recovered, I made a decision that could so easily haunt me for a long time, that my brother does not know anything about and one of my best friends does not exactly agree with. Reliving what added up to be almost 8 years of hell in a court of law and having it ripped to pieces by a defence lawyer would return me to the state I was in back then. How could I do that to myself and to my parents who have enough grief from not even realising what was happening under their own noses? I will never fully trust my brother with my two beautiful little nieces, or any child at that. It will never change what he did to me for such a long period of time if he goes to jail for it so what would be the use of reliving all that pain and all those memories? It is not for him that I have done this, or anyone. I have done it for me. At the time it felt like the right decision, I just hope it will always be that.

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Sentencing, Social Reviews and My Own Recovery

by Hayley
(Solihull)

Since my last post, the trial of Angela Gordon and Abu Junaid Hamza has reached it's finale. The evil duo have been sentenced to a measly 15 years imprisonment.

It is since then that Birmingham Social Services, the section that deals with children's services are having a review. In the mean time, how many children are going to be harmed by abusive parents? How many social workers will be barred from entering a home where abuse is suspected, accepting the parent's explanation/excuse that their child is accident prone? Why has it taken so many children dying as a result of abuse for any reforms to be proposed in childrens services? Peter, Toni, Khyra and Victoria have all been let down by an already bogged down system that wouldn't save many kids even if it wasn't so badly understaffed. In thursdays edition of my local news there was a feature on the work of a social worker in children's services. the person featured remembered a case of a little girl who had clung to her hands, desperately pleading to go away, to not have to stay there.

One idea which for many children or abuse survivors including myself has come too late, interview children on their own, without their parents present. How I wish I had been taken somewhere else to say what I wanted to happen when my social worker visited my childhood home, the place where I should have been safe but my brother took away that right. I often wonder, would things have been different, or would my life have taken a different path?

During the years of abuse I developed some poor ways of dealing with it, getting in with a bad crowd at high school and being too submissive to reject the somewhat peurile ethos of the kids. Even now as I am in my 30's I am still all too submissive and take any amount of rubbish and abuse thrown at me. During a night shift at work one night I got talking to a colleague, one of few I can really properly trust. when he put it too me that I need to toughen up, I looked at him completely stunned. Me toughen up? I protested that I can't, too scared of being labelled rude and abusive, I don't know how to be assertive. He immediately thought that I don't want to be assertive. He could find himeslef rather surprised next time we work together on a night duty, when another nurse starts acting juvenile. I have the odd lapse, just for the record I had had a nasty crack on the head and was feeling terrible, but I'm slowly getting there. there'll be the porky pig impressions, the idiots who will just laugh in my face. Those will be all the more worth it when I can stand up for myself effectively and not feel scared or shocked that I did such a dastardly thing!

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Long time no post

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

It has been known for me to skate with my head up

It has been known for me to skate with my head up

Here I am again, (on a potentially temperamentasl computer!) It has been a very long time since I last posted anything in my room, and a lot has happened since then, some good, some not so good. In the eyes of child protection, some pretty damn frustrating.

A long while ago I had a sort of commentary about little Khyra who was starved to death by her mum and step dad. They have since lodged an application to appeal against the already pathetic sentence they had imposed on them for all seven counts of child cruelty and murder. Since then a case review has been launched. Schools, doctors, the council and social workers missed so many opportunities to save those kids. The mother, Angela Gordon would shout at social workers to go away they didn't need to visit. Said professionals accepted that and left despite allegedly seeing Khyra standing at a windo, probably looking somewhat emaciated. She took the kids out of school but even then failed to meet the standards of education that she should have been meeting. with some luck heads will roll and those children will get some form of justice.

Another horrifying case of child abouse, two young people caring for a 3 year old boy, or supposedly caring for him. Instead they took great entertainment from hitting him and laughing at him as he cried in pain and probably terror. Little Ryan succumbed to his injuries as the two people who were supposed to be looking after the little guy got their kicks from harming him. A 25 year old male and 17 year old female are the perpetrators of Ryans hell.

Unfortunately I seem to have dried up a bit there, I think I'm out of practice. In the interim I have had contact with my brother, his girlfriend and wife to be, their beautiful little girl and their crazy but adorable dog. It was pretty good, and four adults spent the saturday afternoon howling with laughter. Poor Rosie (my niece) and Ruby (crazy but adorable dog) must have wondered who these four wack jobs were. I keep trying to play the sweet innocent kid sister card but failing, it is so tempting to sweetly remind my brother who's fault it is that I'm not so sweet and innocent. I have even nearly had a boyfriend, didn't quite work out but we're still together as friends and I still love him to bits. Intimacey initially we agreed that while damn good it was a mistake, we later agreed that it couldn't have been that bad if it was so good!

As for my hockey, things have really gone swimmingly, or should I say skatingly? April 25th 2010 I finally got my first ever league point, an assist in a 10-2 loss away at Kingston - upon - Hull. We then had a home game the week after and I got on the ice twice and served a team mates 5 minute penalty as she got that and game for fighting. The stupid cow backed into my team mate who got ejected, and she moaned about getting pounded? If you can't take it mate hang your skates up! I was somewhat livid after that and my coach who couldn't run the bench as he had to ref along with my best mate dropped round to my flat to talk me into playing the next weekend and going away a month after that to a women's hockey tourney.

Am I ever glad I did, even if I played well in every shift I got in Guildford Spectrum so didn't get chucked into the pool as I had been threatend would happen if I played a bad shift. I was pleased to have played well but most upset I didn't get a chance to carry out my counter threat of pulling the coach in with me if he dared to chuck me in the pool.

A month later was a trip to Swindon for the afore mentioned tournament. I had a player, a coach and a parent all say that I had played well, got an assist, (I actually got two but the ref didn't see one of them as it was a bit manic around the other teams goal) and had a great laugh. We came third in the round robin stage and beat our local rivals 3-0, that certainly made up for the assist I didn't get!

It's been a long time since I last posted anything, let's hope it won't be a long time until I post again.

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A confusing encounter

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

Over the last weekend I went to my brother's wedding and had a pretty good time. Apart from it being a bit cold at first it was rather warm in the North west coast of England, and Blackpool was pretty well packed. This was all great, it was actually the day after that made me feel confused and a bit upset.

My mum seems to like going on about how my brother cannot get to see his eldest daughter, because her mum won't let him, kind of stands to reason considering what he did to me, and now his youngest is considered to be potentially at risk. I pointed out that what ever happens it isn't exactly going to give me the eight years back that he stole from me. At this point my mum asked me what I mean when I say that because I keep saying it. I replied that he took the years away from me when he was abusing me. At that point my mum pointed out that I had done things to hurt them as well like running away when I was 14.

I felt rather shocked at that statement. What was I supposed to do? Stay home and endure the abuse I was getting from her darling son and from her? Son of the year was sexually abusing me, and threatening me to keep quiet. Mum was yelling at me, calling me a bully because of an argument at school, admittedly I did lash out a tad unnecessarily. It was nothing but put downs from her and I was getting more and more fed up and depressed. It felt like a kick in the guts what she said and yet again she just pulled the floor out from under me. She seems to quite like doing that, even said that she doesn't want to keep hearing about my nights out with a friend I play hockey with. If that's the way she wants it then fine, she won't even get a text when my team the Vixens play away games.

It seems that whenever I have fun she doesn't want to hear about it, manipulates the hell out of me if she's had a bad shift at the hotel where she works. We had made so much headway, now she's just thrown me back to where I was years ago. Right now I'm considering sending her an email to say that I won't bother letting her know what I'm doing, she isn't interested in me, and made that pretty damn obvious. I'm supposed to be phoning her saturday on my break, I don't even know if I want to do that now why bother if she doesn't give a damn what I was going through when her little angel was abusing me and doesn't give a damn what I'm doing now?

Right now I just feel terrible, my own mother betrayed me or so it felt. If she can't see me at other than face value, then why the hell should I bother talking to her at all? :~(

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Uncertain existence of a toddler

by Hayley Barber
(Birmingham)

I am the proud and delighted auntie to a seven year old little girl, a two year old little girl and a 6 year old little boy, albeit in the case of my nephew I am more a step auntie. All of whom I totally adore. Unfortunately due to the very wide circle of friends my brother and sister in law have they never seem to be in one place at anyone time over the weekends. It's pretty obvious that they love R. my youngest niece, (then again who wouldn't?!) but due to their active weekends I am worried that all the love they give to R. she never seems to have any sort of routine. At two years old, most kids have a routine that they are well and truly settled into and that is that. This beautiful little girl however just doesn't have that luxury.

I don't begrudge them their lifestyle, but I do wish that they would find some R. time. Sit and read to her, sit and play games with her. Let her know that bed time is sleepy time. Tea, bath/wash. bed time story and sleep. Last weekend I was away at a hockey tournament and it was my second cousin's christening. The whole family descended on my parents for the weekend, big bro, sister in law, step nephew and confused but wonderful niece. She was so tired on the friday night she slept well. Saturday however was a different story. My mum had given my niece my bed and my favourite bed linen, Beatrix Potter but my dear brother had other ideas, put littlun's bed clothes on top of it and let her use that. Kind of a kick in the teeth for my mum who had made the effort to put the bed linen on ready. Poor R. had her dinner, been really good over the course of the day, including holding a conversation with me on the phone that morning. Even picked some strawberries with her dad and eaten her meals. However at bed time things fell apart. She had been taken upstairs to watch the Princesas and the Frog, undressed ready for bed but whenever it finished she screamed the place down for it to be put on again, and again and again.

This is the bit that really worries me. Rather than go up and tell her it is time to go to sleep, they rewound the tape and let her watch it again and again. When she finally did go to sleep, it was ok til about 4am. Then it was screaming the place down until my brother got up to get her something to eat, banging the place about as he did so. In the end he just yelled at her to "Get your arse back into bed". She ran about at meal times rather than eat her dinner, hence it took her a while to eat her food and she just screamed her little lungs out when she didn't want to go to sleep.

Her mum works in the day so doesn't get to see her a great deal. I just wish my bro would sit and read her a story, play a game of snap with her or something that would stimulate her. Instead it's just sit her in front of the telly watching "In the night garden" and leave her to her own devices. The poor girl has no real routine so she just screams and yells to get some recognition. It gets that alright, namely in the style of "Calm down" or "Pack it in". It drives me mad to her of her getting that when all she craves is for someone to sit and spend some time with her. Apparently the neighbours have already had the authorities around to speak to them because all the poor girl does is scream. Despite what he did to me I don't think my bro is actively hurting R. But I do think he is hurting her by not spending any time with her. When I do get to go up, I give her time. The entire wedding day she was on my lap, from the minute she had had a toddle round the block to the minute she got back, she lay on the settee with my arm around her, then she sat on my lap. That was it, I didn't care about the rather numb legs and sore arms, all I cared about was the beautiful little girl I was cuddling and had sat on my lap for the ceremony, the journey to and from the venue and then the time when we were back at the family home. At the reception about a month later, she played up until someone spent some time with her. Myself and my mum nearly came to blows over who was going to treat her. My mum bought her a comic to read and I bought her some chocolate buttons. The real treat though was sitting and reading to R. and giving her some time to just be a child that was acknowledged and let her know she is loved and adored.

One thing that really did concern my though was that when littlun needed her nappy changed, it was my turn to do the job, fair dos, I'm her auntie so I don't mind. She howled the place down though and did not want it done. I gave her some control, let her have her way and got the job done, so I could take her back down to the party. I know she didn't want to have her nappy changed, unless it was the fact that she was having so much fun on the trampoline that she didn't want to be taken away from it. But the screams were pretty loud. Why would a kid nearly 2yrs old as she was then be so upset at the prospect of having her nappy changed?

I hope it was innocent, but to R. it seemed like it was the end of the world. It's not hard to see that they love that little girl to bits, but I just can't help there's something going on when my sister in law is at work. am I just being paranoid or is there something to worry about, bearing in mind apparently R. screams like she's getting strangled?




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Affected By Recent Two Year Sentence Given to Graham James

by Hayley
(Birmingham, England)

I recently read a link on Facebook the horrific abuse suffered by hockey stars that flourished in the NHL at the hands of coach Graham James (when they were playing hockey as children). The sentence made me feel sick to the stomach (2 years). I was gutted that Theo Fleury never came to my team the Leafs, but to hear he had suffered at the hands of a coach he trusted to coach him was somewhat sickening and puts that disappointment somewhat into perspective. During his time at Belfast Giants in the elite League he got put in the box for what ever reason, I don't remember. It was at a Blaze game at the Skydome in coventry. A section of Blaze fans were mocking him as he became agitated to the point of sheer anger, and was thrown out of the game. Even then I felt bad for the guy, wondered what got so bad he went off like that. Just last season I got in a similar situation at training when my frustration doing a drill boiled over into sheer anger and making an idiot of myself. some of the gang tried to help me calm down but I wasn't particularly receptive. I subsequently received a one match ban and encouraged to apologise to the team. I was a bit miffed at the latter as I had wanted to suggest doing that myself but coach got in there first.

Just a week later, I was talking to one of my team mates on Facebook, and was relaxed about what I had been asked to do. The support I got from herself, another team mate, both of whom are team captains before hand, and the way I got treated afterwards was incredible. Coach was chuffed to bits, I was just relieved and glad of my best mate winding me up at one point during my apology. My temper still stinks sometimes but I am learning to conquer it. My best mate said to the gang I had had trouble as a kid but refused to go into the full horrors of what had happened. The gang help me to calm down when they think I need that help. Is my temper anything to do with what happened and the fact I couldn't really talk to anyone about it during or after the abuse or is it just me?

When it was happening I thought it was my brother's way of showing he loved me, albeit kind of unusual. I did, on a couple of incidents ask him if he wanted to do anything and he refused. I never wanted it but it was like if I didn't ask him, he would ask me. He sometimes said now or never, I always said never but he didn't always respect that. I hated what he was asking me to do and would often nag me to do but I felt like I was powerless to stop it. My brother said I encouraged it but I didn't, it was like he twisted my mind to think it was normal, even though I knew it wasn't. I always thought I was the only hockey player to ever go through that pain, but seeing how a guy that became something of a legend came through it is kind of reassuring.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Very quick update!

by Hayley Barber
(Acocks Green Birmingham UK)

We are Champions!

We are Champions!

I will make it very short and sweet, good old computers don't give much time at public libraries!

My temper had come on in leaps and bounds and I have signed for a rec team alongside my current team. I still have a great time playing and recently went to this years swindon tournament. It was a fantastic weekend and not only did I cause the shock of the weekend, yep I scored a goal, we also won it. We got to the play off weekend, which was extremely painful courtesy of a shocking refereeing decision in our 3rd/4th play off game, and I even got two assists at Streatham (albeit hung over or still a bit drunk from a party the night before!) in the lst away league games of the weekend. What a change from the player that absolutely lost the plot all those months ago. I still have a long way to go but am getting there thanks to my team mates.

I hope to carry on improving my temper, it has payed off both at hockey and at work and my boss has commented on how much I have improved. she pointed out that I still sometimes throw my dummy out. Well if she put southern comfort in the teet I might be tempted not to, I told her that and she chuckled. I hope to post more at a later date. Keep battling guys, Don't ever give up.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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A Long Overdue Update

by Hayley Barber
(Birmingham, England)


It has been so long since I was on here last and so much has happened, not all good unfortunately.

For many nights after work or just chilling in front of the telly I would love a bottle of wine, and neck the whole lot. I would sometimes even go to my local for a couple of pints. Seems innocent doesn't it? One night after training with my new hobby, British Military Fitness, I decided to give the booze a miss, and realised then that I had got myself into quite a bad state. Couldn't sleep, kept twitching and basically had a pretty rough time. The next day at work I was suffering terrible abdominal pain, nausea and other gastric issues, and had gone rather a dodgy colour pale. On looking it up on the trusty web I realised that this wasn't just a habit. On gaining some advice, and looking up various web pages I got equipped with the advice that I needed as much as my body craved the alcohol.

I could have taken the cowards way out and just carried on pumping more booze down my throat. Instead I opted to get myself out of the mess I had got myself into. Unfortunately it meant continuing to drink, but each week I had to have one glass less than the week before. Eventually a bottle of wine a night became a glass of weak cider a night, two for a treat. With the support of my friend and mentor at work I have managed to get to a point now where being told I cannot drink is not a travesty to me, I just deal with it, and enjoy the public ice skating sessions I can now afford.

This should have been the end of my problems. Unfortunately it wasn't. All the emotions I had been numbing with that bottle of cheap wine were coming out, quite badly. Where I had learned to keep a lid on my anger, I was no longer able to do that, and was damaging property like mobile phones, dvd remote controls, digibox remote controls. In the end, and at the end of my tether I phoned my doctors surgery and eventually got through. More than a little tired after a night shift for a mate, and somewhat p@ssed off at having to wait half an hour to get through, then five minutes before I even got an answer, only to be told that there were no appointments, I finally got some sense. My own gp phoned me back and I got the news that how I had been feeling was all stemming from nearly four and a half years of being my brothers sex toy, a target for my mum's frustration when things got bad, not being listened to in any of that, followed by years of bullying in work places after my accident had quite possibly been a major factor in how I deal with stressful situations. Badly. I now have a referral to go to anger management. I have no idea what that will entail, I'm extremely hopeful that there will be some intensive therapy to get to the root of the whole saga so that the anger management will be even more effective. The friends I have told so far have been chuffed to bits, my hockey coach was great about it, as was my work mentor and a work mate I was teamed up with on that shift I did for my mate. Christmas should be a whole load of fun as I would normally enjoy a drink, something that is not allowed if I am to receive treatment. My biggest fear is that my will power will not hold out when I go back to my parents in the new year. My friend that works at my local, a survivor of addiction himself was thrilled to bits and gave me loads of advice. I may miss the booze every now and then, but I sure don't miss the banging head aches and the feeling a bit queasy in the mornings!

Addiction I have found like many is all too hard to fall into, luckily I found it easy to beat. Not many people have that fortune. Maybe I was determined that it wasn't going to rule my life anymore, maybe I wanted to beat it enough, or maybe I just wanted to be able to afford going ice skating when the kids are back at school and on my days off! Who knows? It could have taken a lot of blood, sweat and tears, instead just grit, determination, and a few episodes of bad guts, which on finding out what was causing it I welcomed that mad dash. I vowed from the start, I got myself into that mess, I would damn well get myself out of it, and so far so good. What I wouldn't give for a shot of brandy with some paracetamol to go to bed, just while I have a stinking cold, but I know that one moment of laxness could so easily cost me treatment and possibly my job. I've come so far with the booze, but just a short way so far with the whole recovery. I give up now I'm back to square one, and my brother looks like beating me. I carry on, I beat my brother, beat the feelings, and with some luck, I may even be able to pass a puck in a straight line at training or in games! Can't guarantee I won't fall over the blue line a bunch of times though, that's a bridge too far!

Don't ever give up beating the people that have ground you down with whatever abuse they subjected you to, or ways of dealing with the trauma rule your life. Abusers don't deserve that. As my old hockey coach told me many times when I was looking for work DON'T EVER GIVE UP.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Anger Update

by Hayley
(Birmingham England)

About time for an update. After half an hour of trying to get through to my doctors surgery, and then being told that there are no appointments left that day, I finally got to speak to my own gp, albeit as s phone clinic. A referral got made, and the letter received. Cue a pretty good idea for a new years resolution. I phoned up last Thursday, only to be told that because I don't live in the area that the branch of mental health charity I got referred to, or at least given the,phone number for, I can't go. Back to square one. Phoned doctors again, phone clinic again, this time, the same result, a referral. My gp was fantastic and said he would do some digging and find me another option. It looks like I will get the help that I both want and need. A fantastic feeling when so many people in my situation simply fall through the net.

Due to my melt down a couple of seasons ago, I figured my hockey coach deserved to know. Although a bit non plussed, he still said it was great and good luck. Last night could have bern a flashpoint for me, following my beloved Villa. I don't know what came over me. Just two months ago, faced with very similar frustration, Villa getting pummelled, again, I would have thrown my phone and/or my remote controls. Last night, yet again frustrated by my beloved Villa losing to a team we should have been thrashing, well Bradford are three leagues below us! I managed to hold my temper, grab my remote controls and dump them in my desk drawer, likewise my phone.
I always thought I was just a stroppy little oik that needs to grow up and not throw my belongings around when things didn't go how I thought they should. I guess I was too scared of feeling as awful as I did at the start of December when I wrecked the remote to my new digibox, which had been a christmas present from my parents.
Maybe I'm just wising up, or just relaxing now, knowing that I have done the hard part and asked for help. Who knows?
Since New Year when I allowed myself just a small glass of champagne, well I was relieved at not seeing my Horlicks again! I have not touched a drop of alcohol. The only beer I will drink is alcohol free, and the same with the wine.
I guess I'm not as weak as I was always made to believe, or prone to tantrums when things don't go my way. I just have to rationalise things, and learn to recognise when things are getting too tough for me so I need to back out, or stop playing that game on my Xbox or ds, where I keep getting myself in a stew because I can't win. I guess when I start anger management I will learn better habits, and that I'm not that nasty little girl that went around hurting little kids, that some adults thought I was.
Here's hoping, can't wait to start!




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Did it Again!

by Hayley "Barbar" Barber
(Birmingham)

Another week, another potential flashpoint. Avoided again by yours truly! My team mate, who admittedly I am getting more and more frustrated with snapped my head off as though I didn't deserve to speak, something she does a lot if I do something the slightest bit against her way of doing the same job. Needless to say I was rather miffed with her. Unfortunately I wasn't able to calm down so in effect took it onto the ice with me. Doing a drill, I thought I understood it, but obviously not quite enough, and could feel my frustration rising. Feeling a bit frightened of doing what I did nearly two years ago and making a prat of myself, I skated to the bench and spoke to the coach. He could have told me to calm down and get on with it. Thankfully he stuck to what we agreed, let me jump the boards and calm down. I started the session in a vile mood, exacerbated by a calamitous tumble with the team mate that got my back up. It wasn't the collision that upset me. It wasn't two of my mates laughing. I was ok til I saw them and it started me off. It was the frustration that it wasn't caught on camera to send to You've Been Framed! I don't know where the confidence has come from to recognise when I am about to explode and do something about it. I just hope it stays until I can start my proper anger management training. That and the team mate I leant on to laugh didn't mind! Unfortunately I couldn't keep a proper grip on my temper when talking about my beloved Villa with my coach. Din't go ape, but did curse a bit. I think it's because my hockey coach is also a Villa fan that he let me off scott-free. I guess the thought of relegation, in his opinion counts as mitigating circumstances!




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Finally Did It!

by Hayley
(Birmingham UK)

After years of anger, pain and other not so pleasant feelings, I finally got to speak to my mum and told her some of the horrors I endured. It all started after my brother broke up with his wife and I admitted to her that it frightened me, the thought of him having his youngest daughter to stay for a weekend. After telling his ex of some of the horrors, she got Social workers to check on him. He managed to convince them that his ex was being stupid. Next thing my parents get some nasty text messages from my brother. Monday morning my mum asked me what exactly I had said to my sister in law and I broke down as I disclosed the vast majority of my 4 1/2 year ordeal to my mum. Having PTSD seemed daunting at the time I was told I have it. Suddenly with my parents behind me it seems more bear able. Here's hoping recovery can really start now. There's never an easy way or good time to tell family you have been abused in any way. But when that disclosure is made, recovery is very much dependent on the reactions of those you tell and how they cope.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

I hope you'll follow me on:


Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in submissions and visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited. Please don't include them, as they will be removed.

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To Forgive or Not to Forgive

by Hayley Barber
(Birmingham England)

That is the question! My brother subjected me to four and a half years of abuse, making me touch him, making me watch porn on the computer and other things that I did not want to do, and needless to say it has contributed to me having an official diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. My parents know about the abuse, they walked in on the last incident but I am getting confusing signals from my mum. I quite simply feel totally unable and unwilling to forgive him, however my mum feels I should do. Is this even normal for me to feel?




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My goal is to inspire you, challenge your thoughts, and break open your heart. Your Self already knows you're remarkable and that the world needs you, more now than ever. It's time you know it and believe it too.
Healing the Body, Mind and Spirit








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Massive Progree

by Hayley
(Birmigham)

It has been years since I last visited and posted on this site, needless to say so much has happened. I quit hockey due to bullying and discrimination, unfortunately that was not addressed. thanks to my latest assignment, I could probably wipe the floor with the club now. Thankfully I found another team where although I have only trained a couple of times but I love it. It took a training session and an accidental hit for me to lie sprawled on the ice with a goofy grin on my face.

Who would have thought it when I was taken into the police cell eleven years ago that I would re-apply for university, let alone get back in, but here I am, a student nurse again, and having a blast. It's no easy ride, just three years of hard graft, poverty and stress, but hopefully achieving a long term ambition to be a nurse. My first placement, although blighted by minor illness, or as minor as an ear infection and a sickness bug can be has been a blast. My mentor the other day put me way out of my first year student limitations and had me doing blood sugars. A bit dodgy but a real buzz.

I finally got counselling from the only people that can understand what I went through in those four and a half long painful years, a charity called RSVP in Birmingham, through which I have had some great nights out, a couple of Chinese meals, the first of which I learned to use chopsticks and found out it is ridiculously easy, went rock climbing, and have met some wonderful people. My participation in activities is limited to university work, but the climbing trip was awesome, and I even managed to get my first assignment in on time. Now all can do is wait and hope! And try and get it resubmitted complete with the search evidence I need to get in! I don't have long to do that!

Things have changed so much, for a start I don't get angry anywhere nearly as quick as I used to, courtesy of anger management sessions I had at college. It was through my Access college course that I got into University to have another crack at my nursing career. An equally significant change in circumstances for me is the change in relationships I have with my parents. Where I was for many years closer to my dad, I now get on better with my mum. The last time we met we cleared off my desk and had a great bonding session finishing off a jigsaw that had been driving me crazy for ages. It was totally daft, but it happened, she took the mickey out of me about my Villa scarf, a souvenir if you will ahead of the FA Cup semi final versus Liverpool. Delighted to say my beloved Villa got a great come from behind win to advance to the cup final. Cue a text that day from my mum taking the mickey. My only worry was that she would choke on humble pie!

Things can change without us even realising. Counselling and friendships with people who have suffered a similar ordeal to yourself can do that! The last trip I went on with the group was climbing at a city climbing centre. What a night, had a wicked time.

In short, don't ever give up people as the buzz when you achieve something post abuse is so much bigger than the same achievement would be without abuse in your past.



Subscribe to Darlene Barriere's healing blog:

Healing the Body, Mind and Spirit
My goal is to inspire you, challenge your thoughts, and break open your heart. Your Self already knows you're remarkable and that the world needs you, more now than ever. It's time you know it and believe it too.
Healing the Body, Mind and Spirit





Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in submissions and visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited. Please don't include them, as they will be removed.

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