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I should have been a happy teenager...
W henever I walk past a particular house around the corner from where I now live ... I am thrown back in time, remembering my teenage years, when I lived in that house for protection from a boy who was stalking me and causing trouble.
Growing up in a dysfunctional and sometimes hostile environment, raised by emotionally stunted parents unable to show love except from the end of a plank of wood, my sister and I were unaware that we weren't a normal family
Did it teach me resilience? Although it was no preparation for the dramas of my teenage years and tragedies of my adult life, it may have helped me to get through the fight of my life at the age of fifty-three.
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This is my first book, written to ignite a lost memory. I grew up in 'God's Country' and still live in the shire.On many occasions, I heard my mother telling her friends (while pointing to me): I never wanted this child! I tried everything to get rid of her - I jumped up and down stairs, hoping to trip. I took castor oil with Epsom salts, and I prayed to lose her! Yet here she is! Yes Mum, here I am, and this is my story.I have a bucket list!to ride a bike without falling offto meet Kylie Minogue, andto finish writing these pages.Well, another - I would like to win Lotto ...Writing these pages meant that I was stretching my damaged brain to its limits, trying to retrieve memories that had been locked away in a vault, unopened for years. While trying to fill in the missing pieces, some things returned easily, staying long enough for me to write about; others came only as a flash, often returning in the middle of night, waking me from deep sleep with an avalanche of memories. Controlling my emotions was sometimes hard when bad memories returned bringing panic attacks, nightmares and much anxiety - hadn't my life become hard enough? Many times while writing these pages, I wondered what I had started. It hurt so much and putting my life on paper was way too hard and confronting, but it also proved to be cathartic.I am happy these days to be able to walk a straight line when on a pedestrian crossing. I used to zig-zag when over-correcting myself, unable to stay within the lines ...During this writing process I became aware that there were many things in my life that I had never been able to talk about, yet now I was writing about them. In a way, the very thing that nearly killed me became the thing that saved me. I have learnt how time does not always heal but can help some of us to endure.
