D
Deleted member 20280
I make absolutely no apologies for the thread title. I mean exactly what I say, SHOVE IT.
For many Valentines day is seen as the peak of affection men and women show their partners.
Well for me it has been one of the most hated days of the year for a very long time.
..
I was born in March 1971 to a family of 5, a family who had just lost a son to a drink driver, a son who died in my fathers arms, my father cradling his dying son as he took his last breath. His limp and broken body slumped over my dad's forearm as his life simply ebbed to nothing. Leaving a broken and bleeding little boy with no spark, no smiles and no life..
I grew up with this family for 18 years until I finally escaped my life or torture and daily torment. being beaten from such an early age had left serious scar tissue on my brain from being hit, every day by my eldest brother. Now I face the daily reminders of just how traumatic my childhood and in fact my entire near 44 years of life have been.
My earliest memory of childhood was my eldest brother aged 13 hanging me by my braces over the top rail of the stairs, then dropping me head first down those stairs, me aged 3 bouncing down them until I hit the concrete floor at the bottom, smashing my little face hard on the floor, injuries that beggar belief. The level of violence shown to me that day hurts me now I write this thread.
From that day on my only memory now is of pain and suffering at his hands, at the hands of an older sibling, a sibling who you would expect to care for a toddler, a vulnerable toddler, a defenseless toddler who could not fight back no matter how hard he wanted to.
When I was nine years old I was raped at knife-point by my parents choice of babysitter, NOT their fault I didn't tell them anything until this last year, I told my mother and she looked at me blankly. Thankfully my father died many years ago and I never had to tell him any of this. If he had know he would have been devastated. You see my father and I were that close we were father and son first, best friends as well. He took me to all my dance recitals as I grew up.
Well the rapes continued near every weekend from that age until I was 13 years old, always at the fear of death as I was pinned face down and buggered, always knowing if I screamed out I would be beaten again and again. That knife dug into my throat, not always my throat as there were many occasions he would threaten to *insert* that knife elsewhere, I am feeling the pressure of this now as I type. This is hurting me writing this thread so much I have tears streaming down my face.
ME, a grown man of 44 years of age crying, sobbing like a child. YES, I am crying, yes I am in pain, YES I can still feel that knife pressed into me down there, and it HURTS.
So I escaped at the age of 18, joined the armed forces and guess what, I joined to escape abuse and beating, I joined because I wanted to be a bigger and better man, I wanted to serve people and be a protector, a protector of people, I wanted to protect others when I had no one to protect ME all my sad life until that point. Well that didn't happen either, the abuse by my sergeant carried on every day of my basic training, being forced to run in only my underwear in the freezing rain, the called it "Beasting", harden the man inside, toughen the man. Well f*ck you sarge all it did was traumatize me even more.
So injured out of service I left my home town and moved to a new city, a new life where I could be in control of what happened, I met a young lady and we married, planned a family, that never happened as she aborted three pregnancies without my knowledge, I was to discover this when I started my lab training in the mortuary because all aborted babies are sent to pathology in the UK.
Forward wind to Valentines day 1993, our first valentines day as a married couple. I buy her all the gifts a man could lavish on his newly wed wife, went stupid on showing her how much I loved her. This included sexy underwear, her request because she wanted to show me ** how much she loved me ** .
Valentines day arrives and I gave her these gifts, she was suffering with a stomach bug that day and our relations in the bed took second place to her feeling ill. I didn't push this as I appreciated she was ill and sex could wait, there was no harm in postponing this moment of love between us, it really was not that big a deal for me.
Three days later I am visiting my sick father and need to ring her at work. So I pick up the phone and am informed that she rang in sick that morning and no one where we worked had seen her at all. She was fine when I left the house, full of life, a kiss on my cheek as I left the house. What could have happened to make her that sick, why had she not informed me ??
I ordered a taxi and sat in a desperate emotional state the entire 54 mile journey back to where we lived. Rushing in to find my best friend and wife having passionate sex in our bed, her wearing the special underwear I had bought her, the underwear she had told me was to be saved for a **Special** occasion yet to come.
Lying bitch, these were the gifts I had bought her, Please pardon me if I bring a downer on Valentines day but I really do not give a shit any more.
You see when I met and married my second wife I made the stupid mistake of getting married on Valentines day out of blind love, I wanted a reason to enjoy that hateful day again. I struggled silently every year since, lavishing my wife with what ever I could afford that year.
Well this Valentines day would have been my 20th wedding anniversary, so even more reason to not give a shit about it.
I do not apologise for being blunt with my tone on this thread, I myself am diagnosed with serious mental health problems as a result of an abusive childhood and much more, PTSD with complex trauma issues, Borderline Personality Disorder with explosive tendencies, oh and to top it all I have Combat PTSD as well, A proper shit bag of a diagnosis. I however do NOT lord this over anyone and would never belittle another member on this forum by claiming I was *Worse* than them
I have spent the last 7 days in a huge depressive slump with more suicidal thoughts than I have ever had in a single week, I have hidden those thoughts from everyone just like I hid the abuses I suffered as a child, you see I am good at that, hiding my emotions, putting a brave face on life, abuse victims are good at hiding it, it is a survival techniques learnt at a very young age.
So when I read or hear people pissing, whining and moaning that they didn't receive a Valentines gift It makes me boil over.
GET OVER IT. I WANT TO
Ps, I am not looking for anyone's sympathy here if I wanted sympathy I would buy a dictionary and thumb the pages listed under the letter (S), I know it's there somewhere, listed between the words *SHIT* and *SYPHILIS*
Life can be brutal and terrifying. All I want now is to recover and move on. So I hereby leave my past behind me and do just that.\
For many Valentines day is seen as the peak of affection men and women show their partners.
Well for me it has been one of the most hated days of the year for a very long time.
..
I was born in March 1971 to a family of 5, a family who had just lost a son to a drink driver, a son who died in my fathers arms, my father cradling his dying son as he took his last breath. His limp and broken body slumped over my dad's forearm as his life simply ebbed to nothing. Leaving a broken and bleeding little boy with no spark, no smiles and no life..
I grew up with this family for 18 years until I finally escaped my life or torture and daily torment. being beaten from such an early age had left serious scar tissue on my brain from being hit, every day by my eldest brother. Now I face the daily reminders of just how traumatic my childhood and in fact my entire near 44 years of life have been.
My earliest memory of childhood was my eldest brother aged 13 hanging me by my braces over the top rail of the stairs, then dropping me head first down those stairs, me aged 3 bouncing down them until I hit the concrete floor at the bottom, smashing my little face hard on the floor, injuries that beggar belief. The level of violence shown to me that day hurts me now I write this thread.
From that day on my only memory now is of pain and suffering at his hands, at the hands of an older sibling, a sibling who you would expect to care for a toddler, a vulnerable toddler, a defenseless toddler who could not fight back no matter how hard he wanted to.
When I was nine years old I was raped at knife-point by my parents choice of babysitter, NOT their fault I didn't tell them anything until this last year, I told my mother and she looked at me blankly. Thankfully my father died many years ago and I never had to tell him any of this. If he had know he would have been devastated. You see my father and I were that close we were father and son first, best friends as well. He took me to all my dance recitals as I grew up.
Well the rapes continued near every weekend from that age until I was 13 years old, always at the fear of death as I was pinned face down and buggered, always knowing if I screamed out I would be beaten again and again. That knife dug into my throat, not always my throat as there were many occasions he would threaten to *insert* that knife elsewhere, I am feeling the pressure of this now as I type. This is hurting me writing this thread so much I have tears streaming down my face.
ME, a grown man of 44 years of age crying, sobbing like a child. YES, I am crying, yes I am in pain, YES I can still feel that knife pressed into me down there, and it HURTS.
So I escaped at the age of 18, joined the armed forces and guess what, I joined to escape abuse and beating, I joined because I wanted to be a bigger and better man, I wanted to serve people and be a protector, a protector of people, I wanted to protect others when I had no one to protect ME all my sad life until that point. Well that didn't happen either, the abuse by my sergeant carried on every day of my basic training, being forced to run in only my underwear in the freezing rain, the called it "Beasting", harden the man inside, toughen the man. Well f*ck you sarge all it did was traumatize me even more.
So injured out of service I left my home town and moved to a new city, a new life where I could be in control of what happened, I met a young lady and we married, planned a family, that never happened as she aborted three pregnancies without my knowledge, I was to discover this when I started my lab training in the mortuary because all aborted babies are sent to pathology in the UK.
Forward wind to Valentines day 1993, our first valentines day as a married couple. I buy her all the gifts a man could lavish on his newly wed wife, went stupid on showing her how much I loved her. This included sexy underwear, her request because she wanted to show me ** how much she loved me ** .
Valentines day arrives and I gave her these gifts, she was suffering with a stomach bug that day and our relations in the bed took second place to her feeling ill. I didn't push this as I appreciated she was ill and sex could wait, there was no harm in postponing this moment of love between us, it really was not that big a deal for me.
Three days later I am visiting my sick father and need to ring her at work. So I pick up the phone and am informed that she rang in sick that morning and no one where we worked had seen her at all. She was fine when I left the house, full of life, a kiss on my cheek as I left the house. What could have happened to make her that sick, why had she not informed me ??
I ordered a taxi and sat in a desperate emotional state the entire 54 mile journey back to where we lived. Rushing in to find my best friend and wife having passionate sex in our bed, her wearing the special underwear I had bought her, the underwear she had told me was to be saved for a **Special** occasion yet to come.
Lying bitch, these were the gifts I had bought her, Please pardon me if I bring a downer on Valentines day but I really do not give a shit any more.
You see when I met and married my second wife I made the stupid mistake of getting married on Valentines day out of blind love, I wanted a reason to enjoy that hateful day again. I struggled silently every year since, lavishing my wife with what ever I could afford that year.
Well this Valentines day would have been my 20th wedding anniversary, so even more reason to not give a shit about it.
I do not apologise for being blunt with my tone on this thread, I myself am diagnosed with serious mental health problems as a result of an abusive childhood and much more, PTSD with complex trauma issues, Borderline Personality Disorder with explosive tendencies, oh and to top it all I have Combat PTSD as well, A proper shit bag of a diagnosis. I however do NOT lord this over anyone and would never belittle another member on this forum by claiming I was *Worse* than them
I have spent the last 7 days in a huge depressive slump with more suicidal thoughts than I have ever had in a single week, I have hidden those thoughts from everyone just like I hid the abuses I suffered as a child, you see I am good at that, hiding my emotions, putting a brave face on life, abuse victims are good at hiding it, it is a survival techniques learnt at a very young age.
So when I read or hear people pissing, whining and moaning that they didn't receive a Valentines gift It makes me boil over.
GET OVER IT. I WANT TO
Ps, I am not looking for anyone's sympathy here if I wanted sympathy I would buy a dictionary and thumb the pages listed under the letter (S), I know it's there somewhere, listed between the words *SHIT* and *SYPHILIS*
Life can be brutal and terrifying. All I want now is to recover and move on. So I hereby leave my past behind me and do just that.\
