The Past Abuse

Wow, where to begin. As I am trying to think of which bad experience to right about, my neck starts to tighten and my throat feels like someone is choking me, my mouth is filling with saliva not knowing what to say, so I am going to start with what came up when I was self coaching myself the other day.

I use to get called dumb and stupid a lot, this was when I was around 12 years old (well I remember it always happening) by my step brother and then I married into that, how does that work? the fears and disbeliefs we go through as a child we carry that into our adult hood, unless we learn to stand up and believe in our selves,  we will still keep attracting it.

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Story Time of a snail falling in love

These are story’s shared between me and my magic man and this is our beginning

There once was a snail who didn’t know what happy was so he packed his bag and left home in search of happy. When he left, the weather turned bad and he struggled to move forward but he tried and tried until the weather got a little better. Along the way he met a few bugs who helped him on his way, but he also met a few who didn’t , who tricked him. They said they knew where happy was so he followed them for a while but they lied, they lead him into the dark woods where he couldn’t find his way for a long time.

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Dear Diary, Seperation

OMG it has been a roller coaster, emotional weekend, which should have been a magic one. Let me set the scene for you. My ex has been away in Thailand living a different life, away from his child and decides to come back and start looking after his boy again, which is great for my boys heart but I think for him, personally maybe not. So I drop him off and head off to my mans house to spend some time alone together, not thinking anything but and then my emotions take over without realising and I shut down like I used to with the ex, not fucking good, I hate this feeling of not feeling. I did not realise until later that I had shut down, feeling sick about my boy, is he ok?

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The Dirty House

Yes this is the house I grew up in, the high school days. My sister nick named it the “dirty house” which I never could see it as dirty only a poor house. The house was just off a busy main road slightly lower than the road, on a hill. It was a normal looking house front, door in the middle, with windows either side of the door, the kind of one you see in kids stories. A little garden at the front. Off to the left as you stand facing the front door was a big tree and a concrete hill under the tree, this is an important spot my foster mum and we used to sit at night until dad, who would be drunk, stopped abusing my foster mum and he  fell asleep.

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Past

Today I rang my step brother MH to find out where the box of photos and memories from my foster parents were that they had left for me. He rang around and found out they have been left in a wrecked car at the back of his block and ruined. He was so angry, MH just wanted to kill someone, that being my other step brother M, who has AIDS, bashes his kids and lives on a swampy bush block with no electricity in a caravan. Smoking, drugs kind of life style. Me being the type of person that blocks feelings out and could not be upset for something I never had.

My life with that step brother, M,  was not the best, he was the one who sexually abused me but hey, that’s something I’d would like to forget. This was, at the time, something that felt right because it felt like some one cared for me in a different way, but well what was I to think or say without causing trouble or bringing up shit feelings. As for MH he and I are the only ones who keep in contact since my foster parents died.