Tag Archives: JD Stockholm

Coming 1st September

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This journey has been an odd one; I didn’t even know I was on it. Dear Teddy was born out of a conversation with my therapist at the time, a way for the child to speak after so many years of silence and being locked away in the dark. Once I gave him a pen and told him it was okay for him to talk, he didn’t stop. He had so much to say, and he did.

Goodbye Teddy is the fourth and final book in the Dear Teddy series, as with the previous books; it is told through the eyes of the child. He asks you to walk with him as he shows you his world. This is a tale of child abuse in all forms. Every page takes you through the horrific events and the ways he came to survive them. It shows you the betrayal by those very people that should have protected him; his mother and father.

Listen as he shares his secrets, his fears, his hopes and dreams. Laugh with him, cry with him, but don’t stop or close your eyes.

 

sept1stExcerpt

I sit on the cushions. I look at my dad’s bottle of petrol. Maybe I can drink it. It is poison. My dad says it is. He shouts when my brother plays in there. Because there is lots of things and it is poison and can make him die and go to heaven. I look at it lots of times. Maybe I can drink it all down. I think about it inside. Maybe it tastes nice. I like how it smells. Maybe it doesn’t taste very bad.

I reach over and get it. I open it. It smells nice. Maybe I can count. Not to four, though. Four is very bad. I count to three. One, two, three. Then I can drink it and I can go away and then everyone is happy about it.

One.

Two.

Three.

I lift the bottle up and then I put it at my mouth. I don’t tip it yet. I don’t keep the crying part away. I don’t ever be any good. “Drink it.” I say it very bad to myself. “Drink it. Drink it.”

 

 

It’s her shame, not mine

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Today

I feel so bad today, inside it feels like I can’t breathe, I want to cut so badly. I even visualise it, not just doing it, but the pain that comes from it, like unzipping my skin to let myself breathe, the same way one might do to relieve the strain on a tight pair if jeans.

That’s what I need to do. I watch the blood in my mind, it rolls down slowly from where I have cut, it’s warm and soothing, like a miniature carrier, it’s transports my pain to the outside.

I try to ask myself why I’m feeling this way, what’s causing it. Things are happy, I should feel happy. I shouldn’t feel this emptiness inside, but I do.

Then I realise, maybe it’s the child inside, the one fighting and hurt with so many things going around my mind and no one to sooth him.

A dream from a couple of days ago, one of a memory and I think, I can’t share that. I can’t tell anyone. But I can. It isn’t my shame. It’s my mothers it’s all hers. She did it to me, not the other way around.

I feel like I’m choking in the memory of her telling me to touch her tongue with mine, and her doing the same. Hers so much in my mouth that I couldn’t breathe.

It’s not my shame. It’s hers. She did it. Not me. Not me. Not me.

I think about the things she did. Where her hand went, the way she laid on me. I can feel it there, almost like it’s right now.

I get afraid to share this. I want to hide and run away.

But it is not my shame.

She did this to her child. The woman that was my mother. Not me.

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Goodbye Teddy – Review

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Out September 1st

 

A pre review of Goodbye Teddy

This book is heartbreaking. It gives the reader closure at the end. I was unable to put it down until my eyes just simply gave out. This was the first day of reading it. I finished it the second day.
It is graphic, however the reader cannot totally grasp how horrific the brutality is without it. It is needed to let the reader understand what the boy went through.
It picks up at age eight. The molestation is so brutal and continues to get worse. I wanted to climb into the book and rescue him and take him away from the horrific brutality that he had to endure. I wanted to give him the correct kind of love and give him a better life. He deserved to have a family that loved him without abusing him. Not only does he endure brutal physical pain, but mental pain as well. He is broken down until he feels like there isn’t an end.
I cried so much until I became even more angry with the adults that ripped this boys life apart. I wanted to hurt them. Then I couldn’t cry. The tears did come again as he continued to be attacked.  Covergoodbye words
This is a world-wide problem and we need to educate ourselves on the signs of abuse that we have been given by the author. We owe it to him to make a change.
The author has shown so much bravery in sharing his story. The way in which It is written makes you feel like you are with him every step of the way. But we are only on the outside looking in.
This book is a must read!

What’s the Point?

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I’m trying not to think today, trying not to ponder on the idea of ‘the point’ but I can’t help it. What is the point? A question that crosses my mind so often and sends me spiralling down a path in my thoughts that don’t lead to anywhere good. It’s so hard to come back from it too, my chest feels heavy, like its aching and crying inside, that’s the only way I can describe it. It’s been with me for a couple of days now and I’m trying to fight it, trying so hard because if I don’t I start to think. I stare out of the window like a man stood on the top of a mountain looking down and I watch. man-756833

That moment when the air around is cool and still, like the fresh breath of a new morning, when there are no real sounds, but the buzzing of one’s own mind. When the air is crisp and clear and hasn’t been polluted by the day’s events. When there is peace inside and the thoughts are as clear as the air around.

That is how it feels when I stare out of the window, but if I just turn to the left or the right, the rest of the world is awake and moving and I’m not. I’m standing so still in this moment wondering how it is that these people can go about their normal day and not see it the same way I do. Why don’t they realise that the petty fights they have, the race to work, the worry about the next bill mean nothing. Nothing at all, because in the end, after everything we do; we all die.

That thought leads me to that question; what’s the point? Why do we fight? Why do we do anything at all? Some people say it’s to be happy, but what’s the point in that? Maybe it’s to make a difference in the world, but again, what does that achieve? In reality, every reason and everything we do is insignificant and doesn’t matter. SO why are we here. Why am I here? Why do I live each day with his pain inside?

What is the point?

New Book Released!!!

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If I Were To Die Today is the new book, this one follows on from the Dark Ramblings of the Phoenix. Although, stand alone. As always with my books, please take special care of yourself if any of these may trigger you.

photoBuy it here

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

To Mum and Dad

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To Mum and Dad

I’m sorry. I just needed to say that as I near the end of writing the last book of Teddy. I need to tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry for writing. Sorry for the way it makes you both look to the world outside, one that doesn’t know you the way I do and doesn’t understand. I just needed to get these things out. They’ve stuck in my mind for so long that they are part of my everyday thoughts, I couldn’t keep it all inside anymore. I’m sorry. im-sorry

I don’t write them to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you at all, not ever. I know you’ll be upset if you ever saw my books. Probably deny everything too because you’d read the words the same way any reader, reads them, like it’s your fault. And I know it isn’t. I know these things that I write about are as much me as they are you. I know deep inside if I had never been your child you would never have partaken in the activities you did. I created you just as you created me and I’m sorry.

I wish I could go away, not now, but in the past. A long time ago when I wouldn’t matter to anyone at all. I didn’t matter to you because I was so bad. Why did you not just go that step too far? Why did you not kill me for the things I did and the things I made you do?

I want so very much just to cut through my skin and make it hurt, to stare at that face in the mirror like I did as a boy and watch him suffer. He deserves it, but the face isn’t little anymore. He’s hiding somewhere I can’t reach him. I’d make him pay if I could. He deserves it.

I’m sorry for showing the world our secrets.

 

Why did you do that?

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Why did you do that?

Have you ever been on a diet and tried to resist a bar of chocolate? Been in a shop and wanted to buy something, but know you can’t? Smoked that cigarette when trying to quit? Have you ever tried to resist something that your mind wants but you know you can’t?

It plays on you right? The want gets bigger and bigger and it becomes all you can think about until you give in. Of course there is a little guilt after, feelings of slight shame that you gave in?

Imagine that want or desire for something so much stronger inside. That is what it is like for someone that suffers OCD. It is no secret that I was diagnosed with it. Probably not really a surprise either. Right now I have a really bad spell of it, my hands look like I have ran them along a cheese grater a few times they are that sore and because as a child I developed the need to be able to feel and hear letters pronounced properly and the fact that I am slightly deaf is driving me crazy, because I have to try and block out the outside noise from that ear in order to receive the satisfaction from hearing letters and sounds.

It’ll pass I’m sure, right now I just have things to deal with that come out this way for me.

One thing I wanted to talk about in this post was family members, not mine necessarily, but in general. Family and friends. Why when they know someone suffers this terrible illness do they think it is funny to tease? Stupid things like moving something out of place on purpose, removing soap, putting dirty hand prints on something and various other ways that people like to tease. man-eyes-120227

I was at Uni not so long ago when someone made a passing comment about their house being so messy due to studying and perhaps they should advertise for someone with OCD to come and clean it for them, of course a lot of the class found this to be a funny comment.  Would they say something like that about a person with a physical illness? Would people mock a person in a wheelchair because they can’t run? Put something up high and laugh because the person can’t stand to get it? No, I don’t think they would. So why is it funny to mock the mentally ill?

Perhaps these people don’t realise with these laughs and jokes, and teasing’s they do don’t just make the sufferer feel ashamed to be ill, but they also make the illness worse in that moment.

***Contains Swearing***

Freak!

That’s the word. I say it to myself so many times. Over and over until the tears are rolling down my cheeks and I can’t stop them. I try, but I can’t breathe, my chest feels so tight as I force my tears not to become heaving sobs. I stare down at what I’m doing.

Why do I have to do this? I don’t understand.

Please stop.

Stop.

 I can’t do it anymore.  I can’t. I can’t breathe.

I don’t want anyone to look at me. I’m a freak. I know I am. I can’t help it. I say it loud to myself. “Freak, freak, freak. Fucking stop it. You stupid fucking freak. Stop it. Stop it right now.”

I can’t. I can’t make it go away. Nothing makes it go away.  I wish I could die. Maybe it would stop then. I wish I could be normal, but I’m not. I don’t want anyone to see me. I don’t want them to look. They will hate me. They will know I am a freak too.

“Stop it, step away.” I take a deep breath.

Another minute more is another minute my chest aches inside. I try not to cry, bite my lip, hold my breath, anything to keep it all away, but I cant. The pounding in my head, I open my mouth to let out a sob, quietly so that no one can hear me. I don’t want them to see this. I don’t want them to see me.

What would they think? What would they say?

Freak!

I take another deep breath, glance out of the window. The sun shines outside and for a moment I close my eyes and try to imagine the feel of the sun on my skin, the way the warmth seeps inside and makes everything right again. Just for a second I can pretend that I am normal and I am okay, but then the sting brings me back to reality and I remember. I am not like everyone else.

The niggling feeling inside beckons. I look at my hand, the blood that comes from them, like tiny bubbles from each and every cut, but still I pump the stuff into my hands, try not to wince as the antiseptic sting feels like a million needle bites. I rub It in, all around and try to fight the pain. Like someone is peeling the skin from my hands. I want them to stop, but I can’t, because it’s me.

If I just did everything right, took it slowly. I stand, not moving for a moment and then I rinse the solution from my hands, the warm water offers some comfort for a moment as it eases the pain a little, enough that I can think and gather my thoughts. So that I can calm myself down. “Just do it slowly, get it right this time. Don’t fuck it up.”

I start again, reach over, pump the stuff into my hand one more time. It hurts again, makes me lose my breath for a second because the pain is sharp, but it is good. Slowly, slowly. Do it right. I rub my hands, the tears still roll down my cheeks, it hurts so badly, but I have to do it right. It’s the only way out. The only way to stop this.

Happy now? I rinse the solution off again, slowly, watching that its right this time. I did it correctly.

“But what if?” that voice again, I hate it. What if I did it wrong? What if its still there? What if they are not clean enough?

I sigh. Begin again. Do it right this time.

Freak.

If you saw this would you laugh at me then? Would you think it funny to make jokes? I wish people could see these moments, so in the times they chose to laugh, they see this is what they are laughing at.

Just Today

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I got myself up today with my heart heavy in my chest for many reasons. The most important one today though has to be that it is the anniversary of my Nan’s passing. I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t think about her, or miss her deeply. If I close my eyes when it is quiet I can hear her voice saying my name. I can recall her perfume and the way she laughed.I_Miss_you-I_miss_U (2)

13 Years have gone by so fast, but it feels like it was just yesterday. I walked in the hospital that morning and the nurse caught me before I got to your bed. I knew right then that you were gone, but I asked her not to say it to me. I didn’t want to hear the words from her. Even sitting here writing this to you and I feel myself fall apart. I guess what I want to say is that I miss you so much. I wish you were still here. I wish you got to see all the things I missed sharing with you. But I am grateful for the 24 years I got to have you in my life.  You were my favourite person, probably always will be. Without you I don’t think I’d have survived.

I miss you badly.