You are the controlled, so all you can do is control.
You can only do what was done to you.
You can only do what was done to you.
my stories
by
little james
by
little james
on this page:
1) ... at home
2) ... at the party
3) ... in the supermarket
4) ... in the garden
1) ... at home
2) ... at the party
3) ... in the supermarket
4) ... in the garden
1)... at home
Today I'm three, nearly four, sitting on the floor with my colouring pencils, crayons and colouring book. I'm absorbed in my colouring.
Harry, my brother, is near me. He comes clumping over: with his round head, determined baby face and orange-red hair. He eagerly wants what I've got and to do what I'm doing.
He bumps into me. I don't want him near me. I don't want to be disturbed. He picks up a black crayon and wants to draw on my colouring book. He wants to draw on my picture. I fight him off. I'm angry with him. I don't want thick black lines all over my pretty colours. I don't want him to ruin my picture.
I push him away. He protests. I tell him to go away, to stop. He protests louder. Mum comes over.
She tells me not to be so mean, to let him join me and for us to do our colouring together. She tells me he's only a baby still and I have to be more considerate of him. She tells me I have to be nice to my little brother.
I start to protest about him ruining my picture. She tells me not to be so selfish, as I can colour in another one. But I don't want to colour in another one, I want to colour in this one and it's nearly finished.
I push him away again and he starts to yell. She tells me angrily to stop it, to let him do what he wants. I say no. I want to do my picture, doesn't she understand! And I don't want to be interrupted. It's mine! I don't want anyone to interfere. It's making me feel good. I'm enjoying doing it and I'm trying really hard not to colour over the lines. And I don't want my good feelings to go away and be replaced by bad ones.
I push him away again. And more aggressively she tells me to let him do his drawing with my drawing. But I don't want to, he'll just ruin it, can't she see that.
Harry, with mums support, gets even more eager to draw all over my picture. I'm holding him off – I hit him. He wails, and mum explodes at me. 'Don't hit your brother! You are to NEVER hit your brother, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? You mustn't hit him. He's smaller than you. You can hurt him.' She snatches up my colouring book and gives it to him. She grabs another colouring book, opens it to a picture, gives it to me, telling me I can colour it in.
I've lost. I'm defeated. I feel defeated. I feel very bad. What can I do? I know if I cry or yell with my anger her rage will descend on me and I won't be able to do anything at all. I have to hold it all back. This time I don't fight her. I begrudgingly resign myself to doing what she says – yet again. I can't have it my way. I can't have my life how I want it. Harry comes first. I always have to put him before myself. It's not fair but what can I do. I don't really want to hit him, I just want to be able to do what I want to do and not have him taking over.
I have many confused feelings within me.
I am full of anger and indignation that I can't have what I want and do what I want, when I want to do it. I want my things as they are. I don't want to have to keep giving them away and allowing Harry to have them. It's my colouring book and now he has it. I can't even finish colouring my picture. No wonder as an Big James, I never feel like I can have anything of my own, and if I do, I have to be ready to give it away to someone else. No wonder I keep putting myself aside and can't stand up for myself. No wonder I feel that as soon as I start doing something I like, I have to end it before it gets taken from me as punishment. No wonder I don't know what I want to do and I'm scared of starting new things, for I know I'll only have to stop them and give them away.
Why does mum support Harry but not me? Why is he special and I'm not? Why does she like him more than me? I feel so miserable, so unloved. I want to feel important and special!
Why isn't she ever on my side? Why is it so unfair? Why does he get all the special treatment and is allowed to have everything he wants and I can't? He doesn't care about me; why do I have to care about him?
And I hate how she always makes me feel so guilty – that I'm the nasty one. That I'm selfish. That I'm always in the wrong. She's always telling me off, yelling at me, criticising me, making me feel bad, when he is the one ruining my picture. He doesn't get into trouble, he's not punished, I am. Just because I'm older I have my picture taken away from me and have to start a new one. It's so unfair!
She doesn't love me, she loves him. I hate her. I wish she would go away and leave me alone. I hate them both – it's two against one. It's not fair. And nothing I do or say helps. She only gets more angry with me, and I'm the good one. I'm not doing anything wrong and yet she says I'm nasty and selfish, and I don't want to be nasty and selfish... but what if I am? What if she's right? I'm so confused. What am I supposed to do? Why isn't she on my side? I'm her child too. Why does she get angry with me when Harry started it? Why doesn't she give him a new colouring book to draw on? Why does it have to be mine? Why do I have to get punished and not Harry? IT'S NOT FAIR! I feel so bad, so miserable, so unwanted; she doesn't care about me and my feelings. I feel so alone. She only wants him, not me. He gets everything he wants – he's 'the baby'. I can't have anything I want.
And no matter what I say, she doesn't listen, she only gets angrier making me feel worse and scared. I feel so scared when she yells at me. I want to go away, but I can't. I want to leave but she's my mother. I can't leave her, I just want her to love me.
I want her to tell me what a good colorer-in person I am. I want her to like my picture, to put it up on the fridge. I want her to be pleased with me, not angry, as I am, after all, colouring it in for her, to give her my pretty picture of the red horses and blue flowers and green grass and purple trees. She said she likes horses and so do I. I want her to be happy so I will be happy. I hate her being angry and displeased with me, then I can't be happy.
I wish Harry would go away, then it would be just her and me. That's what I want... for it to be just her and me.
Today I'm three, nearly four, sitting on the floor with my colouring pencils, crayons and colouring book. I'm absorbed in my colouring.
Harry, my brother, is near me. He comes clumping over: with his round head, determined baby face and orange-red hair. He eagerly wants what I've got and to do what I'm doing.
He bumps into me. I don't want him near me. I don't want to be disturbed. He picks up a black crayon and wants to draw on my colouring book. He wants to draw on my picture. I fight him off. I'm angry with him. I don't want thick black lines all over my pretty colours. I don't want him to ruin my picture.
I push him away. He protests. I tell him to go away, to stop. He protests louder. Mum comes over.
She tells me not to be so mean, to let him join me and for us to do our colouring together. She tells me he's only a baby still and I have to be more considerate of him. She tells me I have to be nice to my little brother.
I start to protest about him ruining my picture. She tells me not to be so selfish, as I can colour in another one. But I don't want to colour in another one, I want to colour in this one and it's nearly finished.
I push him away again and he starts to yell. She tells me angrily to stop it, to let him do what he wants. I say no. I want to do my picture, doesn't she understand! And I don't want to be interrupted. It's mine! I don't want anyone to interfere. It's making me feel good. I'm enjoying doing it and I'm trying really hard not to colour over the lines. And I don't want my good feelings to go away and be replaced by bad ones.
I push him away again. And more aggressively she tells me to let him do his drawing with my drawing. But I don't want to, he'll just ruin it, can't she see that.
Harry, with mums support, gets even more eager to draw all over my picture. I'm holding him off – I hit him. He wails, and mum explodes at me. 'Don't hit your brother! You are to NEVER hit your brother, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? You mustn't hit him. He's smaller than you. You can hurt him.' She snatches up my colouring book and gives it to him. She grabs another colouring book, opens it to a picture, gives it to me, telling me I can colour it in.
I've lost. I'm defeated. I feel defeated. I feel very bad. What can I do? I know if I cry or yell with my anger her rage will descend on me and I won't be able to do anything at all. I have to hold it all back. This time I don't fight her. I begrudgingly resign myself to doing what she says – yet again. I can't have it my way. I can't have my life how I want it. Harry comes first. I always have to put him before myself. It's not fair but what can I do. I don't really want to hit him, I just want to be able to do what I want to do and not have him taking over.
I have many confused feelings within me.
I am full of anger and indignation that I can't have what I want and do what I want, when I want to do it. I want my things as they are. I don't want to have to keep giving them away and allowing Harry to have them. It's my colouring book and now he has it. I can't even finish colouring my picture. No wonder as an Big James, I never feel like I can have anything of my own, and if I do, I have to be ready to give it away to someone else. No wonder I keep putting myself aside and can't stand up for myself. No wonder I feel that as soon as I start doing something I like, I have to end it before it gets taken from me as punishment. No wonder I don't know what I want to do and I'm scared of starting new things, for I know I'll only have to stop them and give them away.
Why does mum support Harry but not me? Why is he special and I'm not? Why does she like him more than me? I feel so miserable, so unloved. I want to feel important and special!
Why isn't she ever on my side? Why is it so unfair? Why does he get all the special treatment and is allowed to have everything he wants and I can't? He doesn't care about me; why do I have to care about him?
And I hate how she always makes me feel so guilty – that I'm the nasty one. That I'm selfish. That I'm always in the wrong. She's always telling me off, yelling at me, criticising me, making me feel bad, when he is the one ruining my picture. He doesn't get into trouble, he's not punished, I am. Just because I'm older I have my picture taken away from me and have to start a new one. It's so unfair!
She doesn't love me, she loves him. I hate her. I wish she would go away and leave me alone. I hate them both – it's two against one. It's not fair. And nothing I do or say helps. She only gets more angry with me, and I'm the good one. I'm not doing anything wrong and yet she says I'm nasty and selfish, and I don't want to be nasty and selfish... but what if I am? What if she's right? I'm so confused. What am I supposed to do? Why isn't she on my side? I'm her child too. Why does she get angry with me when Harry started it? Why doesn't she give him a new colouring book to draw on? Why does it have to be mine? Why do I have to get punished and not Harry? IT'S NOT FAIR! I feel so bad, so miserable, so unwanted; she doesn't care about me and my feelings. I feel so alone. She only wants him, not me. He gets everything he wants – he's 'the baby'. I can't have anything I want.
And no matter what I say, she doesn't listen, she only gets angrier making me feel worse and scared. I feel so scared when she yells at me. I want to go away, but I can't. I want to leave but she's my mother. I can't leave her, I just want her to love me.
I want her to tell me what a good colorer-in person I am. I want her to like my picture, to put it up on the fridge. I want her to be pleased with me, not angry, as I am, after all, colouring it in for her, to give her my pretty picture of the red horses and blue flowers and green grass and purple trees. She said she likes horses and so do I. I want her to be happy so I will be happy. I hate her being angry and displeased with me, then I can't be happy.
I wish Harry would go away, then it would be just her and me. That's what I want... for it to be just her and me.
2) ... at the party
Mum arrives
I'm five. I'm at a birthday party. It's getting toward the end, parents are arriving. I don't want to go. I'm having a good time playing with my friends.
Mum arrives. As usual she's in a rush, 'Come on, get your things, we've got to hurry... where are all your things? Is this your cake? Is this your bad of lollies? Come on... have you said you good-bye, we've got to pick your brother up, have you said thank-you?'
Rush, rush, rush. I don't want to go, but I know I have to. I feel all confused: running here and there, panicky, saying good-bye to my friends, thanking the parents of my friend; have I got my cake, my bad of goodies, quick, quick.
'Come on. Hurry up, we'll be late.'
We get in the car.
'Have you got your jumper? WHERE'S YOUR JUMPER? Hurry up, run back inside and get it.'
I run back inside looking for my jumper. I feel stupid having said I was going and now I'm back. My friend's parents help me search for it. I can't remember where it is. I get scared when mum gets angry, and I'm still confused, it's all so sudden, such a rush. Quick, I have to hurry, the longer it takes to find it the more angry she'll be. Ah, found it, good-byes and thank-yous again – RUN!
Dad arrives
I'm at another party. It's ending. Dad arrives, with Harry.
'Can I play with my friends a little more dad?'
Dad lets me play longer. He talks with the parents. I say good-bye to my friends and gather up my cake and lolly bag, giving them to dad to carry. I say good-bye to my friend's parents and thank them for having me. Dad's eating some cake – not mine. Harry isn't allowed to eat cake or anything with flour in it, but he can eat chocolates! Suddenly I remember my jumper, it's in the other room in the corner. I put it there so I would remember where it was. When I'm ready, and I've got everything, and I've said all my good-byes and thank-yous, we leave.
The difference between mum and dad
With mum it's all panic, she's always in a rush. She comes in and immediately takes over. Everything gets taken out of my hands. She becomes the centre of attention and I have to drop everything I'm doing, including my sense of self; stop thinking for myself and follow her commands. She has the power, I am powerless. And feeling powerless I feel scared. I feel confused, out of sorts, not in my right mind – panicky. I stop thinking for myself; stop existing for myself. I become an unwilling robot carrying out her instructions. So I forget my jumper, which aggravates the whole situation. She gets angrier; I get more scared and I loose myself even more. It's a one-way downward spiral. It's no fun, she's destroying our relationship. She's making me feel she doesn't care about me. Again, Harry is more important than I am. I have to stop having fun and rush to get to him. And when we get to him, he doesn't want to leave either, but is bundled up and off we go, as we've not to rush home for some unknown reason.
With mum, no one is relaxed. No one is free to be themselves and do what they want. I am always in a state of panic, always scared, always worrying about making her angry with me. And I hate feeling this way.
With dad, his casualness allows me to be more of myself. I am not stressed, or panicked. I can work things out for myself and there is no anger involved. Dad doesn't take my power away, he doesn't demand that he is the centre of attention and everyone has to obey him. We both know why he is at the party. I know it has to end, and I have time to prepare myself - even to remember about my jumper.
So how do mum and dad make me feel?
Mum makes me feel scared. I am scared of her, scared of her coming, scared of her being angry with me. She makes me feel it's my fault that she's in a rush. And when I'm scared I don't think properly. I forget things like my jumper and this makes her angrier, and me even more scared. She always makes me feel bad.
With mum I feel powerless. And I hate feeling powerless. I feel scared, anxious, nervous, worried; I don't know if what I'm doing is right, and no matter what I do she's never pleased with me. I am always doing something wrong. She criticises me all the time and I feel very insecure, vulnerable and unsure of myself.
Mum makes me feel shy. I don't like talking to people. I feel humiliated, like when I had to go back and show how stupid I was forgetting my jumper. I don't want to go to anymore parties because I don't want to feel bad, dumb, and like I can't do anything other than what my mother says. She embarrasses me, and I feel more scared – I want to run away. I want her to go away. I'm not happy to see her. She ruins my fun. She upsets everything. Why does she always have to be in such a hurry, particularly when there is no need to rush? There is nothing we need to be at home so quickly for. Why isn't she more relaxed, or why doesn't she come earlier to pick me up? I am always having to put myself aside and rush. I hate feeling so confused. I hate feeling so powerless and not being able to have a say in my own life.
And when I feel powerless I feel so miserable, so alone; and I feel she doesn't want me, doesn't like me; doesn't care about me. And worst of all she doesn't love me. Why doesn't she love me? What have I done wrong? I just want to go away, disappear, not go out, stay at home – hide. I want to be left alone, not interfered with, so I turn in on myself. Everything is just too difficult, too scary.
Have you ever felt unloved by your mother? Do you know how bad it feels? It's the worst feeling ever. I hate it. I can't bear it. I feel so lost, so useless, so unable to do anything, and I don't want to do anything. I wish being with her made me feel good. I wish she would love me, then I wouldn't be scared and I wouldn't feel like hiding from life.
Being with dad is the opposite to being with mum. He usually lets me do what I want, and allows me to organise myself, he doesn't take over. He doesn't make a big fuss and doesn't embarrass me, and I can still play, say good-bye, and even remember my jumper. I don't feel powerless with him. I feel I am in control of my life. It's my life and I can live it how I want to. It's fun and I feel good. I had a good time at the party and my good feelings weren't ruined. And feeling good feels so much better than feeling bad. I want to feel good all the time, but I can't when I'm with mum. Why can't mum be more like dad? Dad is never in a rush. He's never having to rush to pick up Harry, or rush to get home. I'm not as scared when I'm with dad. I wish dad would always pick me up and not mum.
3) ... in the supermarket
The baby has been crying since we arrived. It was crying very loudly, but not so loudly now. I feel sorry for it. Why is it crying?
We walk down the isle with the baby crying in the pusher, it's alone, there is only the baby crying in its pusher.
We walk past it. It's face is small, very red, puffed up, distressed. It's eyes are closed. It didn't see us looking at it.
Then it's mother and whom might be her mother come around the corner talking and carrying a few groceries.
I feel good, she will go to it and it will stop crying. I watch the two women go to the pusher, put their groceries in the bottom of it under the baby, but they don't pay any attention to it. They act as if it doesn't exist. Still talking to each other, they push the pusher further up the isle. The crying is louder, then less, louder, then less. I follow them.
They leave the pusher at the end of the isle, and still talking and taking things off the shelves, disappear around the corner. Still the little baby is crying. They come back and I hope this time they will attend to it, pick it up, cuddle it, but no, they still just ignore it. They push the pusher into the next isle. I can still hear the baby crying – the whole supermarket can hear the baby crying, has heard the baby crying for a long time now.
I imagine I'm the baby – what am I feeling?
I feel alone, so desperately alone. Why is my mother avoiding me? Why isn't she holding me; why isn't she looking after me? I cry and cry, I don't want to be alone. I feel very scared. I cry and cry but she doesn't come. I cry for her to come and be with me, but she won't. Why doesn't she come? Why aren't I always with her – doesn't she want me? What's wrong with me? Doesn't she like me; doesn't she love me?
It's too much. The thought of her not loving me, of abandoning me, is horrendous. I can't bear it. I want to scream and scream. I have been screaming but to no avail.
Feeling abandoned is the worst feeling I can imagine. I don't want to be left alone, what's going to happen to me? What can I do... just die? I feel like I'm being annihilated, like I'll cease to exist, but I don't want to cease to exist, especially as I've only just begun.
Everything within me is screaming out for mum, I so desperately want and NEED her. Without her I will die. It's too frightening. Why won't she come; what will it take? What do it have to do?
I feel so ineffectual. I can't do anything. I can't have a say. How can she be so cruel? How can she just leave me? How can she so easy traumatize her own baby? I'm so alone. So afraid, so helpless – so utterly helpless. Doesn't she know how I feel? Doesn't she know how she's making me feel? How helpless; so scared, so alone. Why is she doing his to me? Why doesn't she hold me? Why do I still cry? It doesn't get me anywhere. But I can't stop – I'm terrified. I'm hungry. I need nourishment. I need her to care and pay attention to me. I need her to make me feel I am the most special and important person in the world to her - the only one. I don't want to suffer this horror, and all because her mother says 'it's best not to attend to them when they are crying because then they cry all the time just to get attention'.
But I DO cry all the time to get attention, why else would I be crying? I want ALL her attention. She's my mother, she should give me ALL her attention, that's what mothers and fathers are supposed to do. My heart aches, my soul cries out desperately for her to attend to me. I want so much attention, so as to make up for that which I'm being deprived. I cry because she's not giving me ANY attention. She's my mother. Why isn't she giving me, her newly-born, cute and cuddly little baby, ALL her attention ALL the time! Are the groceries more important that I am? Is that it? I have no worth, I'm just a baby and you treat babies like this.
But doesn't she understand that this treatment of me is destroying me, killing me, draining me of my life essence, of my joy, of my spirit? And it's taking me away from her. I'm loosing her. I will never be able to love her because she doesn't make me feel loved; because she doesn't love me. Why doesn't she understand? Is this how she was treated by her mother? How can they both be so unloving? I'm dying, fading away before I've even begun. What sort of life can I have when my very own mother won't attend to me; when she doesn't want me as I am?
She wants a non-crying baby, one she has power and absolute control over. I can have nothing, no power, only to die. But I can't die, she won't even let me do that, so I have to stop crying and pretend she loves me and I love her. I will have to grow up living a false life, just like her and her mother, pretending they love each other, and me, yet being so unfeeling, so switched off to their true feelings. They can't even feel or see how they are torturing and traumatizing me. Can't they see my distress – don't they feel it? CAN'T THEY HEAR IT!? If they did they wouldn't do it. But I can't believe they can treat me this way, and yet I have to accept it: it is how I AM being treated and I can't do anything about it. But I can't accept my own mother doesn't love me and would hurt me so much. I can't. I can't...
I don't want to grow up to be false and yet what can I do? I wish I could die. I want a different mother, one who does love me and shows me she does, one who makes me feel loved. I don't want a mother who hates me, who hates me crying – who makes me cry and rejects me for it. I don't want a mother who can make her own child suffer so much.
I feel so terribly alone. Why won't they come and hold me? Why? Is it really too much to ask? Am I such a horribly disgusting, repulsive, ugly creature?
4) ... in the garden
I'm having a fine old time. Up nice and early, a lovely warm summer's morning. Harry and I are hunting through the ivy looking for beautiful newly hatched green-grocer cicadas. With their wings the most gorgeous soft iridescent blue colour, like fresh dew on a cold winter's morning; and their striking light-green wing-veins like a road network, nothing could be more perfect. Harry is still looking deeper in the garden. I am content to look at the three cicadas we've found. We leave them where they are, as once you have found them you can easily see them sitting on a dark green leaf a little way away from their now empty brown nymph shells.
We're talking to each other.
Suddenly there is a frightful roar above our voices and one hand grabs my shoulder as another hits me hard on my bottom. OW! 'You bloody kids, how many times do I have to tell you not to speak so loudly when it's so early in the morning. It's 5am, get back inside to bed – NOW!' Whack! Whack!
The sudden shock is overwhelming. My life and body explode with pain. I didn't hear him coming. I feel stunned, paralysed with fear. His hair is all over the place, his breath stinks, and his bloodshot eyes glare demonically down at me. And he's hurting me – my own father is hitting me! Why?
I don't want to stay in bed. I don't want to go back inside. My bum is stinging. I'm so scared of him. I'm trying to protect myself from my own dad.
Inside, back in bed, I hurt. I feel miserable, longing to be back outside with Harry and the cicadas. We love finding them so much. It's such a thrill to spot one and cry out 'There's one!'
I hate him. Why does he hit me? I feel angry now. Why does he yell at me? I didn't think we were talking that loud and it's not that early.
I feel worse. Why does he hurt me so much and so often? Why doesn't he love me? If he did he would never want to hurt me. Why doesn't he come and be with us in the garden helping us to find cicadas? He never does anything with us. He's always telling us off and smacking us.
I wish I had a different dad – a nice dad, one who looks after me and makes me feel safe and protected at all times. Not one who frightens me and hurts me.
Why did I get such a bad father? I wish he would go away. I don't like him. I wish he'd loved me. I wish he didn't hurt me. I wish we had a good loving relationship and enjoyed doing things together.
When he suddenly hits me like that I feel like I'm going to faint – everything goes black. I feel scared, I don't know what's happening. Being shocked like that is horrible, it scares you witless. I feel all shaky, confused, I don't know what to do. I hate him hitting me, it's so unfair. I can't hit him. I can't do anything except be punished, but what am I being punished for? What's so bad about talking a little loudly early in the morning. The garden is secluded, the neighbours can't hear us. Surely as children we're supposed to enjoy ourselves. Just because he got home late and had drunk too much, that's not my fault, he was having fun, so why should Harry and I suffer? Why can't we have fun too? Why should he take it out on us? We haven't done anything wrong, we're children and children are supposed to make noise. He shouldn't have had us. He shouldn't have, as that's how he makes us feel when he hits us – like he doesn't want us anyway.
I hate feeling so unwanted by him. The bad feelings make me feel sick deep inside. Doesn't he realise that with every hit he's killing our relationship? With every hit I can't get close to him. How can I? Why would I want to? I do want to, he's my father, my dad, but he's pushing me away, he's rejecting me, making me feel bad. With each hit he makes me feel powerless, threatened, scared of him. I can't get close to him when I'm scared of him. Doesn't he understand that when you feel scared of someone you can't have a loving relationship with them, only one in which you hate them? I hate him because he hurts me and makes me feel bad. Doesn't he realise with each hit he's ruining any chance of our having a good time together. He's alienating me, his own son, and we both miss out on all the good feelings and good times we could have together?
I feel so heavy. I don't like life. I don't even like the cicadas anymore. I don't like him. But I don't want to not love him, he's my dad and I want him to love me very much, as much as I DO love him; as much as I DO love the cicadas. But now I love the cicadas more than I love him because they don't make me feel bad, only good. They don't shock me, hit me, abuse me – they don't hurt me. They are not like my father, they are much better than he is.
I'm having a fine old time. Up nice and early, a lovely warm summer's morning. Harry and I are hunting through the ivy looking for beautiful newly hatched green-grocer cicadas. With their wings the most gorgeous soft iridescent blue colour, like fresh dew on a cold winter's morning; and their striking light-green wing-veins like a road network, nothing could be more perfect. Harry is still looking deeper in the garden. I am content to look at the three cicadas we've found. We leave them where they are, as once you have found them you can easily see them sitting on a dark green leaf a little way away from their now empty brown nymph shells.
We're talking to each other.
Suddenly there is a frightful roar above our voices and one hand grabs my shoulder as another hits me hard on my bottom. OW! 'You bloody kids, how many times do I have to tell you not to speak so loudly when it's so early in the morning. It's 5am, get back inside to bed – NOW!' Whack! Whack!
The sudden shock is overwhelming. My life and body explode with pain. I didn't hear him coming. I feel stunned, paralysed with fear. His hair is all over the place, his breath stinks, and his bloodshot eyes glare demonically down at me. And he's hurting me – my own father is hitting me! Why?
I don't want to stay in bed. I don't want to go back inside. My bum is stinging. I'm so scared of him. I'm trying to protect myself from my own dad.
Inside, back in bed, I hurt. I feel miserable, longing to be back outside with Harry and the cicadas. We love finding them so much. It's such a thrill to spot one and cry out 'There's one!'
I hate him. Why does he hit me? I feel angry now. Why does he yell at me? I didn't think we were talking that loud and it's not that early.
I feel worse. Why does he hurt me so much and so often? Why doesn't he love me? If he did he would never want to hurt me. Why doesn't he come and be with us in the garden helping us to find cicadas? He never does anything with us. He's always telling us off and smacking us.
I wish I had a different dad – a nice dad, one who looks after me and makes me feel safe and protected at all times. Not one who frightens me and hurts me.
Why did I get such a bad father? I wish he would go away. I don't like him. I wish he'd loved me. I wish he didn't hurt me. I wish we had a good loving relationship and enjoyed doing things together.
When he suddenly hits me like that I feel like I'm going to faint – everything goes black. I feel scared, I don't know what's happening. Being shocked like that is horrible, it scares you witless. I feel all shaky, confused, I don't know what to do. I hate him hitting me, it's so unfair. I can't hit him. I can't do anything except be punished, but what am I being punished for? What's so bad about talking a little loudly early in the morning. The garden is secluded, the neighbours can't hear us. Surely as children we're supposed to enjoy ourselves. Just because he got home late and had drunk too much, that's not my fault, he was having fun, so why should Harry and I suffer? Why can't we have fun too? Why should he take it out on us? We haven't done anything wrong, we're children and children are supposed to make noise. He shouldn't have had us. He shouldn't have, as that's how he makes us feel when he hits us – like he doesn't want us anyway.
I hate feeling so unwanted by him. The bad feelings make me feel sick deep inside. Doesn't he realise that with every hit he's killing our relationship? With every hit I can't get close to him. How can I? Why would I want to? I do want to, he's my father, my dad, but he's pushing me away, he's rejecting me, making me feel bad. With each hit he makes me feel powerless, threatened, scared of him. I can't get close to him when I'm scared of him. Doesn't he understand that when you feel scared of someone you can't have a loving relationship with them, only one in which you hate them? I hate him because he hurts me and makes me feel bad. Doesn't he realise with each hit he's ruining any chance of our having a good time together. He's alienating me, his own son, and we both miss out on all the good feelings and good times we could have together?
I feel so heavy. I don't like life. I don't even like the cicadas anymore. I don't like him. But I don't want to not love him, he's my dad and I want him to love me very much, as much as I DO love him; as much as I DO love the cicadas. But now I love the cicadas more than I love him because they don't make me feel bad, only good. They don't shock me, hit me, abuse me – they don't hurt me. They are not like my father, they are much better than he is.
The greatest delusion most of us are living under is that we feel loved - that we were loved by our parents how we needed to be truly loved.