A few years ago I had a horrible experience which I wont go into detail. I was very distraught and trying to look after my son at the same time. In order for me to feel better I thought it necessary to take a whole box of antidepressants. Now of course I wasn't trying to kill myself. I was seriously just trying to get rid of my pain and suffering. I ended up with serotonin poisoning and had to go to hospital. Ace was with a foster family for 2 nights. Those 2 nights without him absolutely killed me.
While I was in hospital I had a psychiatrist come and see me. I spoke to him for a long time. At the end he told me I had Borderline Personality Disorder. I had never even heard of it before. It did explain a lot. I always knew I was different. And I had suffered severe depression from as far back as I can remember.
I started researching BPD. And the more I found out about it, the more I realised the Doctor was right. I had every single symptom. Except I was never a cutter. I used to harm myself in other ways.
About a year ago I decided to see another psychiatrist and I was diagnosed with the same thing. So I definitely know I have it. Although some people think it's a made up illness and people use it an excuse to explain bad behaviour. Who knows?
Aparently it's caused my a traumatic childhood. It can also be passed down. I have a crazy Mother and have had a traumatic childhood so who knows how I got BPD.
I'm not sure if finding out I'm mentally ill is a good thing or a bad thing. It's good to put a name to it but now I have to live with the fact that I will always be "crazy".
I can't hold a relationship, I can't control my emotions, I can't deal with people, I can't be a normal mother, I just can't do anything like a normal person can. Oh but I try. I try more than anything to just be normal. But I can't stop what's going on in my head. I hate it so much.
Nobodies ever going to love me.....
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
"Coming out" (again)
When my Son was 2 years old I befriended another mother who had 2 kids. We were instant best friends and we hung out every day with the kids. Sometimes we would get her partner to watch the kids and we would have a drink together.
One night we started making out. All these feelings came rushing back to me! All the ones I had locked away so tightly trying my hardest to not let them out again. We couldn't keep our hands off each other and we slept together that night. It felt so right! I was home again!
I kept it a secret and our friendship became awkward and we stopped speaking to each other. But I suddenly realised that I couldn't keep lying to myself and others. I definitely wasn't straight no matter how hard I tried to be. I desperately longed for that sensual feeling of a woman's body.
I still hadn't told anybody this until one day when my friend was making me a 'myspace' portfolio. She was asking all these questions like, what's your interests and your favourite movies? "Sexual Orientation?" she looked at me with a smirk. I told her to put Bisexual. I was still a bit confused and still hadn't told anybody so I thought that would be best.
Not long after I had girls chatting me up online. Soon after I was in a heavy duty relationship. I was with this girl for 2 years. It was very up and down but I was happy to finally be "out".
I told my Mum that I didn't care what she thought anymore and that I was going to be gay whether she liked it or not. Eventually she came around. I found out why she was so against the idea in the first place. Turns out my Mother is a lesbian too! She didn't want me to come out because she couldn't do it herself. Since then my Mother has come out and she dated a woman for 3 years.
One night we started making out. All these feelings came rushing back to me! All the ones I had locked away so tightly trying my hardest to not let them out again. We couldn't keep our hands off each other and we slept together that night. It felt so right! I was home again!
I kept it a secret and our friendship became awkward and we stopped speaking to each other. But I suddenly realised that I couldn't keep lying to myself and others. I definitely wasn't straight no matter how hard I tried to be. I desperately longed for that sensual feeling of a woman's body.
I still hadn't told anybody this until one day when my friend was making me a 'myspace' portfolio. She was asking all these questions like, what's your interests and your favourite movies? "Sexual Orientation?" she looked at me with a smirk. I told her to put Bisexual. I was still a bit confused and still hadn't told anybody so I thought that would be best.
Not long after I had girls chatting me up online. Soon after I was in a heavy duty relationship. I was with this girl for 2 years. It was very up and down but I was happy to finally be "out".
I told my Mum that I didn't care what she thought anymore and that I was going to be gay whether she liked it or not. Eventually she came around. I found out why she was so against the idea in the first place. Turns out my Mother is a lesbian too! She didn't want me to come out because she couldn't do it herself. Since then my Mother has come out and she dated a woman for 3 years.
My son
The whole way through my pregnancy I was so careful not to harm my baby in any way. I didn't have any alcohol or drugs of any kind. I wouldn't even be in the same room as someone smoking. My Son was born on the 30th of June 2003. It was the happiest day of my life. He weighed a healthy 3110gm. The birth itself was horrible. I was in labour for 21 hours. His head got stuck in the canal and he was removed with the help of a ventouse.
He was bright yellow with Jaundice so he had to stay in hospital for 8 days. He spent 3 days under phototherapy lights.
The Doctors noticed that his eyes wobbled from side to side so they had some specialists come in. "He's got a Nystagnus" they told me. "Nothing to worry about".
Then when he wasn't attaching to the breast they realised he had a high arched palate. "Nothing to worry about" they told me.
Finally I could take him home. I didn't get a moments rest. The baby would feed every 5 minutes and vomit constantly. With no help from my partner what so ever. I was doing it all on my own. The baby slept with me in my bed because I had to feed him so much. He couldn't feed for longer than a few minutes at a time because he was puking it back up. I was extremely sleep deprived. The doctors told me he was just a "vomity baby". He continued the same feeding pattern for 18mths.
Shortly after getting him home he had developed a cold. I took him to numerous Doctors who just said there was nothing we could do because he was so young. The cold got worse and worse and he started getting high fevers. So I took him into emergency when he was 5 weeks old. Turned out he had RSV which is a serious virus that can sometimes lead to death in small infants.
While he was in hospital the doctors were worried about his head size. It was growing a lot faster than his body was and was now way out of proportion. They started running tests including MRI's and ultrasounds. They found that he had cysts on his brain but told me not to worry about them. Then they did a DNA test. The baby was sent home before we got the test results.
When he was 8 weeks old we went back to the hospital to see a neurologist. I was told that my son had a partial chromome deletion. I had no idea what he was talking about. When I asked what it meant I didn't get much of a response. The Doctor said "most likely he will be a normal child and live a normal life but there is a slight chance he will have some learning difficulties". It was left at that.
As he grew I realised he wasn't reaching his milestones like other babies his age. He was also getting sick a lot. I knew that I was going to be raising a disabled child on my own. By then his so called 'dad' had taken off to have biological kids with his ex girlfriend. Actually I was the one who ended it. He was an alcoholic and I didn't want my child to grow up around the same shit I did.
My son then faced many challenges. There are way too many to write on here. I have made a video about him that is on youtube. You can watch that to understand a bit more about his disability. www.youtube.com/chromosome16disorder
I love my son more than anything. I seriously believe that if I didn't have him I would have killed myself a long time ago. Or I'd be on the streets still.
He was bright yellow with Jaundice so he had to stay in hospital for 8 days. He spent 3 days under phototherapy lights.
The Doctors noticed that his eyes wobbled from side to side so they had some specialists come in. "He's got a Nystagnus" they told me. "Nothing to worry about".
Then when he wasn't attaching to the breast they realised he had a high arched palate. "Nothing to worry about" they told me.
Finally I could take him home. I didn't get a moments rest. The baby would feed every 5 minutes and vomit constantly. With no help from my partner what so ever. I was doing it all on my own. The baby slept with me in my bed because I had to feed him so much. He couldn't feed for longer than a few minutes at a time because he was puking it back up. I was extremely sleep deprived. The doctors told me he was just a "vomity baby". He continued the same feeding pattern for 18mths.
Shortly after getting him home he had developed a cold. I took him to numerous Doctors who just said there was nothing we could do because he was so young. The cold got worse and worse and he started getting high fevers. So I took him into emergency when he was 5 weeks old. Turned out he had RSV which is a serious virus that can sometimes lead to death in small infants.
While he was in hospital the doctors were worried about his head size. It was growing a lot faster than his body was and was now way out of proportion. They started running tests including MRI's and ultrasounds. They found that he had cysts on his brain but told me not to worry about them. Then they did a DNA test. The baby was sent home before we got the test results.
When he was 8 weeks old we went back to the hospital to see a neurologist. I was told that my son had a partial chromome deletion. I had no idea what he was talking about. When I asked what it meant I didn't get much of a response. The Doctor said "most likely he will be a normal child and live a normal life but there is a slight chance he will have some learning difficulties". It was left at that.
As he grew I realised he wasn't reaching his milestones like other babies his age. He was also getting sick a lot. I knew that I was going to be raising a disabled child on my own. By then his so called 'dad' had taken off to have biological kids with his ex girlfriend. Actually I was the one who ended it. He was an alcoholic and I didn't want my child to grow up around the same shit I did.
My son then faced many challenges. There are way too many to write on here. I have made a video about him that is on youtube. You can watch that to understand a bit more about his disability. www.youtube.com/chromosome16disorder
I love my son more than anything. I seriously believe that if I didn't have him I would have killed myself a long time ago. Or I'd be on the streets still.
Falling pregnant
A week after my 18th birthday and meeting that guy at the pub I went back to the same pub hoping to see him there again. But he wasn't there. I saw a few old neighbours there and got really drunk. At the end of the night I went home with this other guy. Of course I didn't want to. I was just doing what I thought Mum would have wanted me to. Plus me being extremely intoxicated didn't help me rationalise the situation. I felt disgusting the next day and never saw the guy again.
Not long after that I bumped into the guy I met on my birthday and we started dating. I put the whole lesbian thing at the very back of my mind. Although I did mention to him that I was with a girl before him but he was so homophobic he didn't want to hear it and got mad at me whenever I looked at a girl. He would call me a dirty dyke all the time. So to get his approval as well as my mothers I continued to live this fake life.
A few weeks after we had started dating I found out I was pregnant. I didn't know who the father was. I had been with the two men. When I worked out the dates it was most likely the first guys baby but there was no way to be sure. I was very honest about the whole thing and my boyfriend decided that it didn't matter who's baby it was and he would be his or her father.
We had a horrible relationship. We didn't love each other and would fight constantly.
Not long after that I bumped into the guy I met on my birthday and we started dating. I put the whole lesbian thing at the very back of my mind. Although I did mention to him that I was with a girl before him but he was so homophobic he didn't want to hear it and got mad at me whenever I looked at a girl. He would call me a dirty dyke all the time. So to get his approval as well as my mothers I continued to live this fake life.
A few weeks after we had started dating I found out I was pregnant. I didn't know who the father was. I had been with the two men. When I worked out the dates it was most likely the first guys baby but there was no way to be sure. I was very honest about the whole thing and my boyfriend decided that it didn't matter who's baby it was and he would be his or her father.
We had a horrible relationship. We didn't love each other and would fight constantly.
"Coming out"
When I was 17 I started fantasising about women. I found myself staring at girls in the street. I didn't tell anybody about my thoughts and feelings towards other women because at the time I had a boyfriend. I found that I wasn't attracted to him anymore and started chatting to girls on the internet all day long. One girl in particular I had a huge crush on. We would secretly send each other love letters in the mail. One day my boyfriend found one of them and read it. He confronted me about it and asked if I was a lesbian. I laughed in his face and said 'No way!'. He didn't believe me. I honestly hadn't even thought of it like that. Soon after it all started to make sense. Maybe I was a lesbian! Me and my boyfriend broke up over it, and soon after I had found myself a girlfriend. It was then that I came out to my Mum. She did not accept it one bit. She called me every name under the sun and said if I kept seeing this girl she didn't want anything to do with me. So I did keep seeing this girl and me and my Mum didn't speak for about 8 months.
The girl who I was seeing cheated on me with a guy right before I turned 18. I broke it off with her and I was very distraught. She was meant to be gay! I no longer had anyone close to me so I told my Mum I wasn't with her anymore and told her it was a faze. Mum accepted me back into the family and on my 18th birthday she took me to the pub. The whole time she was trying to set me up with guys. I wanted her approval so badly that I tried to force myself to be straight. I met a guy that night and got his number. Big big mistake.....
The girl who I was seeing cheated on me with a guy right before I turned 18. I broke it off with her and I was very distraught. She was meant to be gay! I no longer had anyone close to me so I told my Mum I wasn't with her anymore and told her it was a faze. Mum accepted me back into the family and on my 18th birthday she took me to the pub. The whole time she was trying to set me up with guys. I wanted her approval so badly that I tried to force myself to be straight. I met a guy that night and got his number. Big big mistake.....
The move
Finally at age 15 I was called into my High School office. The School Counselor wanted to talk to me. I had had so many days off school (to look after my Mum) and had not been doing my school work. The first question the Counselor asked me was "how are things at home?". I immediately said "everything's fine" with a smile. She eventually got it all out of me. Because I was almost 16 she suggested that I think about moving into a refuge. I thought it was a terrible idea and laughed in her face.
As things at home continued to get worse and I got even more depressed I thought it might actually be time I moved out. I went back to the school counselor and she had a Social worker come and see me. He drove me to a beautiful refuge called Clifton Lodge. Moving out of home was the best thing I had ever done. Of course it was hard and I was still struggling with depression but at least I didn't have to be a full time carer for my Mother and Brother and I didn't have to deal with any abuse.
I didn't go back to school after I got my year 10 Certificate. Instead I got a full time job. The wage was terrible but it kept me busy and I was semi happy for the first time.
I had a few altercations with some of the other tenants and had to move around quite a bit from refuge to refuge. I also changed jobs every couple of months. I found it hard to stick with anything and ran at the first sign of a problem. This lasted for 2 years.
As things at home continued to get worse and I got even more depressed I thought it might actually be time I moved out. I went back to the school counselor and she had a Social worker come and see me. He drove me to a beautiful refuge called Clifton Lodge. Moving out of home was the best thing I had ever done. Of course it was hard and I was still struggling with depression but at least I didn't have to be a full time carer for my Mother and Brother and I didn't have to deal with any abuse.
I didn't go back to school after I got my year 10 Certificate. Instead I got a full time job. The wage was terrible but it kept me busy and I was semi happy for the first time.
I had a few altercations with some of the other tenants and had to move around quite a bit from refuge to refuge. I also changed jobs every couple of months. I found it hard to stick with anything and ran at the first sign of a problem. This lasted for 2 years.
Piss pot!
Shortly after my 'Dad' came into the picture I developed a bladder problem. I couldn't control my bladder anymore. I had been completely toilet trained. Most people put it down to laziness. I would get yelled at and called horrible names when I wet myself. I wouldn't even know I'd done it until it was too late. And the only reason I kept it from them sometimes was because I was so ashamed and scared about what they might do to me. I would walk around in wet clothes all day long smelling like a urinal. Nobody came near me. At home I wet the bed every night. Mum would cover up the wet patch with a towel and make me go back to sleep. One Doctor told my Mum that it was a faze I was going through. Another doctor told my Mum it was stress related and another told her it was a medical condition that caused the incontinence. I was put on medication which didn't help at all. If my childhood wasn't bad enough....this made my life a living hell! By the time I started primary school my bladder problem hadn't changed. Because of this I never really made a friend and I was constantly made fun of. My Brother especially gave me hell. he was the one who came up with the nickname 'Piss Pot'. I was teased and bullied at school then I was teased and bullied at home. I started to gain more control of my bladder at around 11 and by 12 and a half i had complete control of it.
The Methadone Clinic
I wasn't allowed to talk to Mum in the mornings. She said that she hadn't had her medicine yet. I wasn't quite sure what was wrong with her or why she needed medicine everyday.
We'd go into the city every day and walk through Darlinghurst to get to the clinic. I would stand by Mum's side and watch her drink out of a tiny plastic cup while the clinic staff would try and distract me with their fake high pitched voices. I hated Mum's breath after her Methadone. She'd be herself again and I was able to talk to her again. Although by then she had met up with all her junkie friends so I still couldn't get her attention. We would usually stay in the city all day while Mum drank coffee after coffee. I remember just running around Kings Cross by myself trying to find something to do. I am very surprised nobody snatched me up.
We'd go into the city every day and walk through Darlinghurst to get to the clinic. I would stand by Mum's side and watch her drink out of a tiny plastic cup while the clinic staff would try and distract me with their fake high pitched voices. I hated Mum's breath after her Methadone. She'd be herself again and I was able to talk to her again. Although by then she had met up with all her junkie friends so I still couldn't get her attention. We would usually stay in the city all day while Mum drank coffee after coffee. I remember just running around Kings Cross by myself trying to find something to do. I am very surprised nobody snatched me up.
My father
One day there was a knock at the door. I was around 3 years old. I opened the door to a strange man holding a bunch of dead flowers most likely stolen front the cemetery near by. "Doesn't Daddy get a kiss?" he asked as he picked me up and sat me on his hip. Immediately I started to cry and peed all over him. hadn't had much to do with men so I was completely terrified of them. I knew I had a Dad but I don't remember ever actually seeing him before that. Dad was wearing his 'all greens'. A fleecy track suit with the words 'Long bay Correctional Services' on the back.
That night Dad took me to Coles supermarket to pick up something for dinner. It was about 7.30pm when we left in a taxi. I watched as Dad sat on the isle floor testing the shoe polishes. A security guard followed us around the shop as Dad put small items in his pockets. I was becoming extremely embarrassed so I got some money for a slinky and sat out near the registers to play with it. I waited and waited. It was midnight and the shop was closing. The security guard seen that I was still there and went to look for my Dad. He was asleep on the floor. We made it back home without any food at around 2am. That was how I was introduced to my father.
Dad was only home for about a week at a time. The police were always dragging him away and locking him up. When he would be let out he would come home with a different car every time. "My brother's lending it to me" he would say. I knew about his lies. The police also knew. My Dad was never a very clever criminal. I don't know why they kept letting him out. They should have thrown away the key.
When my Mum and Dad were together all they did was fight. They didn't fight behind closed doors. They fought without a care in the world. It was always about drugs, money sex or alcohol. Things were thrown, walls and doors were punched, usually people were physically hurt and the day almost always ended with police and sometimes ambulance at my home.
Mum and Dad wouldn't just fight at home. In the streets they would scream at each other from across the road both off their faces and causing a huge scene. I would be so embarrassed and want to crawl into a hole and die. But instead I would have to run after my Mum crying and begging her to stop yelling, while stopping her from jumping in front of busses.
I didn't like anything about my Dad. In fact, I despised him. I would stare at him and I would be wishing in my head that he would drop dead right in front of me.
He didn't just abuse my Mum. He would abuse me too, especially if I got in the way trying to protect my Mum. I could never let him abuse my Mum so sure enough I always got hurt too. If he had a knife to my Mum's throat, then it would end up against mine. If I would stop him from kicking my Mum in the stomach it would be my stomach he'd kick.
I only ever saw my Dad when he was 'out of it'. The only time he was ever sober was when he was locked up, and even then he was getting stuff smuggled in for him.
The domestic violence in the house continued as I got older. The windows were always smashed from bottles and ashtrays thrown at them. We never had a working house phone because Dad would always smash them with a baseball bat when we tried to call the police on him.
When I was 22 years old I found out that my Dad isn't my biological Father. The emotions I felt were unexplainable. All those years of trying to have a Father Daughter relationship because I thought he was blood. All the years of hell I went through. It would have been so much easier back then if I'd known he wasn't even my real Dad. He was Father to my older brother but my Mum cheated on him while he was locked up. It all started making perfect sense. My family had lied to me for 22 years!
Currently my "Dad" is locked up. His latest charge was attempted murder.
I will never know who my real Father is. But really I don't care.
That night Dad took me to Coles supermarket to pick up something for dinner. It was about 7.30pm when we left in a taxi. I watched as Dad sat on the isle floor testing the shoe polishes. A security guard followed us around the shop as Dad put small items in his pockets. I was becoming extremely embarrassed so I got some money for a slinky and sat out near the registers to play with it. I waited and waited. It was midnight and the shop was closing. The security guard seen that I was still there and went to look for my Dad. He was asleep on the floor. We made it back home without any food at around 2am. That was how I was introduced to my father.
Dad was only home for about a week at a time. The police were always dragging him away and locking him up. When he would be let out he would come home with a different car every time. "My brother's lending it to me" he would say. I knew about his lies. The police also knew. My Dad was never a very clever criminal. I don't know why they kept letting him out. They should have thrown away the key.
When my Mum and Dad were together all they did was fight. They didn't fight behind closed doors. They fought without a care in the world. It was always about drugs, money sex or alcohol. Things were thrown, walls and doors were punched, usually people were physically hurt and the day almost always ended with police and sometimes ambulance at my home.
Mum and Dad wouldn't just fight at home. In the streets they would scream at each other from across the road both off their faces and causing a huge scene. I would be so embarrassed and want to crawl into a hole and die. But instead I would have to run after my Mum crying and begging her to stop yelling, while stopping her from jumping in front of busses.
I didn't like anything about my Dad. In fact, I despised him. I would stare at him and I would be wishing in my head that he would drop dead right in front of me.
He didn't just abuse my Mum. He would abuse me too, especially if I got in the way trying to protect my Mum. I could never let him abuse my Mum so sure enough I always got hurt too. If he had a knife to my Mum's throat, then it would end up against mine. If I would stop him from kicking my Mum in the stomach it would be my stomach he'd kick.
I only ever saw my Dad when he was 'out of it'. The only time he was ever sober was when he was locked up, and even then he was getting stuff smuggled in for him.
The domestic violence in the house continued as I got older. The windows were always smashed from bottles and ashtrays thrown at them. We never had a working house phone because Dad would always smash them with a baseball bat when we tried to call the police on him.
When I was 22 years old I found out that my Dad isn't my biological Father. The emotions I felt were unexplainable. All those years of trying to have a Father Daughter relationship because I thought he was blood. All the years of hell I went through. It would have been so much easier back then if I'd known he wasn't even my real Dad. He was Father to my older brother but my Mum cheated on him while he was locked up. It all started making perfect sense. My family had lied to me for 22 years!
Currently my "Dad" is locked up. His latest charge was attempted murder.
I will never know who my real Father is. But really I don't care.
My brother
My brother was diagnosed with ADD. I don't believe in ADD. I think he was just an asshole and that was his excuse. My Brother used me as his personal slave. I was like a toy to him. All big brothers pick on their little sisters and boss them around, but this was different. Mum used to let him mind me while went out to 'get on'. Of course he would just leave me home alone. I liked it best that way. When I was with my Brother I was in hell. "Kiss my feet" he would say as he pushed me to the ground shoving his toes in my mouth. "Do it now or I'll smash ya!" holding his fist in the air counting "one....two....three!" On three his fist would pound me in the stomach winding me and always bringing me to tears. If it was possible I always tried to do what he said. I was so scared of him. He was constantly beating me and saying such nasty things. Things that have scared me for life. I was such a depressed child that I actually wished I would die. Nobody believed me when I told them about how my brother had been treating me, so I stopped telling people. This is how he treated me (much worse too) until I was about 15 years old. I hated him so much.
My Mother
Even though my Mother was supposed to be on Methadone, I knew she was using heroin, and whatever else she could get her hands on. I used to find needles all around the house, and when I would throw them away they would soon be replaced. I found little black containers with used needles and tea spoons. I wasn't stupid. I knew what they were for.
Mum was always on the nod. I remember always telling her to wake up. I hated it so much. Everytime we caught a bus we'd go past our stop because I would be trying to wake her up the whole time.
If it wasn't heroin, it was sleeping pills. If it wasn't sleeping pills, it was alcohol. Usually it was all three at once.
Mum had a habit of trying to kill herself. I became somewhat of a babysitter. I was always around so that I could be there to call an ambulance when needed. I have lost count of the times Mum over dosed on sleeping pills and slit her wrists. A lot of the time she was nearly successful. If it hadn't been for me she wouldn't be here today. I sat by her side while she was in coma after coma. Some lasted up to 3 weeks. I am amazed she's not brain dead. I went to our local doctor one day and told him to stop prescribing her sleeping pills and he just laughed at me. I was crying and begging him but he showed me no empathy what so ever. My Mum continued her suicide attempts.
Mum was always on the nod. I remember always telling her to wake up. I hated it so much. Everytime we caught a bus we'd go past our stop because I would be trying to wake her up the whole time.
If it wasn't heroin, it was sleeping pills. If it wasn't sleeping pills, it was alcohol. Usually it was all three at once.
Mum had a habit of trying to kill herself. I became somewhat of a babysitter. I was always around so that I could be there to call an ambulance when needed. I have lost count of the times Mum over dosed on sleeping pills and slit her wrists. A lot of the time she was nearly successful. If it hadn't been for me she wouldn't be here today. I sat by her side while she was in coma after coma. Some lasted up to 3 weeks. I am amazed she's not brain dead. I went to our local doctor one day and told him to stop prescribing her sleeping pills and he just laughed at me. I was crying and begging him but he showed me no empathy what so ever. My Mum continued her suicide attempts.
My home
My Mother moved into a public housing unit right before I was born. It was a small two bedroom unit and my 4 year old brother didn't want to share his room. So I was stuck sleeping in my Mothers bed. But I hated that and slept on a very uncomfortable couch most nights.
The unit was so small and cramped. It was extremely dirty and cockroach ridden. I hated living there so much. My Mother wasn't one for housework. I remember at such a small age I was the one scrubbing the kitchen floor because I was embarrassed to live like that.
My cupboards were always bare and I was lucky if I ate once a day. Sometimes we had food but nobody there to cook for me and my brother, so I was forced to teach myself to cook at a very young age.
I have a vivid memory of this one time I was starving and I was home alone as usual. I was making myself a bowl of weetbix for dinner and as I was pouring the milk over them, all these baby cockroaches were floating up to the top. I sat there crying as I picked out as many as I could. Then continued to eat the weetbix. I didn't have much of a choice.
The unit was so small and cramped. It was extremely dirty and cockroach ridden. I hated living there so much. My Mother wasn't one for housework. I remember at such a small age I was the one scrubbing the kitchen floor because I was embarrassed to live like that.
My cupboards were always bare and I was lucky if I ate once a day. Sometimes we had food but nobody there to cook for me and my brother, so I was forced to teach myself to cook at a very young age.
I have a vivid memory of this one time I was starving and I was home alone as usual. I was making myself a bowl of weetbix for dinner and as I was pouring the milk over them, all these baby cockroaches were floating up to the top. I sat there crying as I picked out as many as I could. Then continued to eat the weetbix. I didn't have much of a choice.
My birth
Born on the 3rd of October 1984. I was 12 weeks premature and weighed only 1 pound. I was dependant on heroin and had no chance of making it through the night. I stayed in the Intensive Care Unit for a long time. I remember seeing one photo of me as a baby. I was wearing a babyborn dolls nappy which came up to my arm pitts. I guess back then nappies didn't cater for premmies. I had so many cables and tubes coming off me and I was a strange orange colour. Unfortunatly I ended up surviving. I'm having trouble imagining my mother holding a baby. I don't know how I'm still alive. Somebody had to have fed me and bathed me. I'm sure that it was my mother but I just can't see it. Lucky for her I spent a lot of time in hospital.
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