This feels weird…

I’m now heading to having four hours of sleep in forty eight hours. My legs feel wibbly as hell and my muscles are shaking. I’m snapping at everyone and behaving in general like an Imelda Marcos wannabe (without the shoes).

Yes in my dictatorship, things should all be hunky dory. Trouble is… they’re far from OK. A good dictator should project a firm and forceful image to his or indeed her people. That’s really the first thing that should happen. Yet what do the citizens of my dictatorship get? A pathetic, useless, self loathing, fat, stupid piece of crap.

Not much of a benevolent leader huh? Wouldn’t you think that you would have someone who had a little bit of self belief? Not in my town, which is no grand open space full of happiness. My town is the mess inside my head.

Why is it such a mess? That is when it becomes difficult. Talking over the events that lead to me feeling the way I do always leaves me feeling like I am trying to swallow a lump of wet cement and the more I struggle to get the words up my throat and out of my mouth. So for me to sit here and explain  why I am so fucked up is going to be almost impossible. But I’ll try.

I was raised by my grandfather and my mum. My ‘father’ was a foul mouthed, verbally and physically abusive bully to both my mum and myself. He got off on hurting people who were not strong enough to fight back to him.

He was smart enough to never do any of this crap in front of my grandfather as he knew that my pappy would have beaten the crap out of him. The one and only time that my pappy challenged him was the time that my ‘father’ decided that he was going to move us back to the place that he came from in the North West of England.

Ever since we moved, my life became a living hell. None of the kids at my new school wanted to play with me! I was a huge target for the bullies. Not only was life hell at school, but things got a lot worse at home for me. 

My mum was sick, so he was leaving her alone. This meant he turned to me. His words were enough to cut me down at first and oh boy did he ever cut me down. I was ugly, fat, stupid, useless, idiotic and unable to get anything right.

The physical abuse came next. I always knew when I was going to get hit. He would pace up and down the room, punching his fist into his other hand. Then all of a sudden, he would lash out. Not only would he use his hands, he would use a belt, a hairbrush, his shoe and any number of other weapons. He would lock me in a small cupboard for hours at a time to control me.

That wasn’t the worst of it. It was the nights that I heard him at my bedroom door that were the worse. My monster was real. I can’t…it just hurts…too much. I remember the stench of whiskey and the pawing hands as he would say sorry afterwards. It sickens me to my very soul. I cannot even stand the smell of whiskey now.

My mum died from breast cancer when I was 16. My ‘father’ kicked me out. I ended up in a crappy little one roomed place with a job in a burger bar. I could at least pay my bills and live.

Life limped on with me getting drunk a lot. Eventually I dried out and applied for my nurse training. I was accepted!

On my 19th birthday, some of the girls from work took me out for a drink. I met a guy. I fell hard and fast for him. Within a week I had moved in with him and within six months, we were married. A huge mistake. He turned out to be a carbon copy of my ‘father’ and I became what I had sworn I had never be – a battered wife.

There are years of abuse. Much as the situation with my ‘father’. I cannot bring myself to talk about what happens. The words just solidify in my throat. I can’t say them. Maybe one day they will come out.

The birth of two children did nothing to stop him. He didn’t care about any of us. It took me a long time to build up the courage to escape him.

We may be physically free from the terror now, but I remember all too well the cold fear from even just hearing his voice. I don’t know if that will ever change. 😦

Now I’m also living with PTSD, bipolar, BPD, generalised anxiety disorder, OCD, a hatful of phobias and other problems. I also have my physical issues

So you see, being a benevolent dictator in my realm is not easy. I have all of the hate swirling round in my head. If people just felt that terror for one second, then they may understand a tiny bit of the sick fear. They might be able to dance with my demons.
I’m just hoping they let me sleep tonight. Even just a little.

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