Return from the abyss A true story of an abusive father Available on Amazon and on kindle Crying a thousand tears I remember crying in my room many times and hiding behind the door shaking with fear. I would be too afraid to open the door. I remember going to school even at the early age of nine years old with small bruises on my face. Frequently I would be crying my eyes out all the way to school as I walked up Derwent Road from my house. It happened many, many times. The only time I ever felt really safe from him was when I was at school away from his anger and brutality. I lost count of the number of times I cried on my school desk at Our Lady of Lourdes which was an infant school in Farnworth. I wept till my tears dried up. Concentration was difficult in the class room and I was ticked off by the school teachers on many occasions. I never told them why I was crying and they never asked me why. I was just a mixed up kid who couldnt grasp what was going on. I thought it was normal to be hit by your father.After receiving the first punch from my father at just four years old, I became very fearful whenever he was around me or in the same room. I only felt safe around my mother. She was my guardian angel and a shoulder to cry on and she became my rock over the years. I was always afraid to sleep with the light off so I always made sure it was on. It wasn’t just the dark I was afraid of; it was my father who I named the bogeyman for obvious reasons Every creak or noise in the Middle of the night made me wet myself and put my head under the blankets because I was so afraid. That one first punch from my dad haunted me and made me have nightmares. As a result, soiling the bed sheets was common practice for me for the next few years. One particular morning I was having my breakfast with my family and having a laugh like close families should, when I dropped my bowl of cornflakes onto the floor and the bowl smashed. There was a sudden quietness in the room and my father jumped up and slapped me across my face. I cried out, “Im sorry it was an accident.” I was shaking with fear. I held out my arms to him and he just smirked and walked away. I was just seven years old. I just couldnt understand at the time why he was so horrible to me and why he wanted to punish me. I remember crying in my room many times and hiding behind the door shaking with fear. I would be too afraid to open the door. I remember going to school even at the early age of nine years old with small bruises on my face. Frequently I would be crying my eyes out all the way to school as I walked up Derwent Road from my house. It happened many, many times. The only time I ever felt really safe from him was when I was at school away from his anger and brutality. I lost count of the number of times I cried on my school desk at Our Lady of Lourdes which was an infant school in Farnworth. I wept till my tears dried up. Concentration was difficult in the class room and I was ticked off by the school teachers on many occasions. I never told them why I was crying and they never asked me why. I was just a mixed up kid who couldnt grasp what was going on. I thought it was normal to be hit by your father. Even when I went to St Gregorys secondary school at the age of eleven, I cried on my school desk. I cried so much that my eyes were badly swollen and red. I was too afraid to say anything to the teachers as I was frightened my dad would find out. My education certainly suffered because of the bullying and my reports proved this. When he saw them he would give me a back hander, not realising that it was his fault that I was too upset to work properly at school. I started to stay away from school as his bullying got worse and my education suffered. I would just go wandering off into town or hide in buildings. This was just to keep away from school; anything to hide my tears and bruises from the teachers and my school friends. The time I was having off began to attract the attention of the teachers and the headmaster wrote a letter to my parents. This didnt stop me running away from home and my mum ringing the police as she was worried. I lost count of the number of times the police brought me home in a police car. In fact I reached foreign shores when I was fourteen. You can read about that later on in the book. Running away and afraid to go home and crying on my school desk would be a dark and dominant chapter in my early life. And yes I did cry a thousand tears and the bogeyman I nicknamed my father was real. I would find this out to my cost over the years and the nightmares would carry on for a lot longer.
Posted on: Sun, 18 Jan 2015 19:11:59 +0000
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