The Truth Needs To Come Out!!

The Truth Needs To Come Out!!

 

Six ‘o’ clock in the morning, I am sat here watching Dawn breaking in, it is breaking so slowly. A month ago I could wake up at five in the morning and the rays of sunshine would emanate through the gaps of my bedroom curtains. Now, at six it is grey and murky. My lights are still switched on, I could not feel comfortable without them switched on.

I feel worn out, I was awakened at for thirty and now, I can not return to slumber. Feeling grateful for my present life as I recollect the horrors of my past. I don’t know why I would sit here thinking of those horrid days. Perhaps my tiredness has a role in recapturing those moments. Perhaps, it is the murkiness of the present moment. I just don’t know.

When this January dawned upon us once more, my mind and body came crashing down. Whilst other people started their new year in with new prospects, mine just crashed without warning. At least I didn’t see the warning signs. When I look back there were plenty of warning signs but I didn’t see them at the time.

It wasn’t until February that I realised that I had been suffering with PTSD. My childhood was something out of a horror film. Only it was not a horror film it was my reality. Never having recovered from those times, I went on trying to make new lives. Yet, each time I tripped and still I perceived to go on without seeking help. I had slipped away from being a ‘Victim of Circumstance’ to a ‘Victim of Self’.

My breakdown led me to write my time as a ‘Victim of Circumstance’. During my time of writing it was when I succumbed to the reality that the harboured feelings deep down within me was one of pain and anguish. I realised then that I had been suffering from PTSD. My suffering had never subsided because I had never given myself a chance to truly reflect on the circumstances that I had endured throughout my childhood.

Sure, I spoke of them and recounted the horrible encounters to my children here and there but I never had the time to sit and reflect. Having now done nine chapters of my book, I started to awaken and I wanted to cry and cry. It dawned on me that I had never really managed to have a good cry about my horrors. I think that for the last three decades, I kept myself busy not to have to think about those times. Now that I am sat here and contemplating the times that I had retold those events, I recall that I did so in a way which made me feel that it was a retelling fables that I had once read. This method had kept me safe for years.

Writing my autobiography has dispelled the years of my life being belittled by certain members of my family. No point saying who, as that has no bearing on how this story develops. What does have a bearing is that for years when members of the family would ask questions of those horrid times, I felt I could not truly answer as other members of the family had played the actions of those most horrid moments as mere detail that didn’t warrant recapturing.

That led to many years, in fact over three decades of shear confusion. Confusion that led me to become a ‘Victim of self’ over and over again. Having written those tales of woe, I unlocked my past. All my nightmares had resurfaced. So many elementals that had laid hidden in the dark crevices of my mind came flooding back to the surface to haunt me once more.

Due to the pain I endured whilst writing my autobiography, I could not endure further torture by spending time to edit what I had written, hence, Tom stepped in. As Tom edited them, he quizzed me as to whether the way I wrote was the way I felt or the way it truly was. That alone had got me to dissect something that I thought had been dealt with decades ago. The more we sat and discussed each of those horrid times, the more I realised that I have to finish my encounters.

Having changed all the characters names and thinking of a different name for myself, I am going full steam ahead with my autobiography and we have made our minds up that it will be published. My life which had so many times been played down or dismissed as if it was something that any one went through and that I should grin and bare it. Why? I was raped, I was beaten, I was put into care so often that when I actually lived nearly five years with my mother, I didn’t know how to take it. I spent those five years trying to learn who my mother truly was and somehow our friendship never blossomed.

I spent years crying and not understanding as to why. Some people tried to make out to others that the events had never occurred and my version of events were a figment of my imagination. that tore me apart. Just when i needed the support, I was confronted with that kind of trash. Trash that was just belittling the shear hell that I endured.

Others, as I was crying, would tell me that I had not encountered it bad enough to warrant talking about it let alone cry about it. They would then follow it with a muster or two, expressing that I should be grateful that I was fit and healthy. Healthy! my mind was physically tearing me apart. I was far from healthy, I was a walking time bomb ready to explode. And explode I did.

I can no longer dismiss my past as a mere moment. So many lived like me and probably still are. I know I need to reach out to those victims and help them realise that they should not take three decades before they begin to heal. They should not take three decades to own up as to how bad it all truly was. There, now I can truly cry and know that I am not someone who is crying over nothing.

I have something to cry about and I am blown if I am going to let others tell me to wipe my tears and forget about those days, as I know that I now have to deal with those times. Deal with it one step at a time. All I can say is thank you Tom, as without him I think I would not be here today as the last eight months have been grueling for me and now I am beginning to reap my rewards.

My last eight months of writing my autobiography has been like going to a psychiatrist. Dissecting every one of those moments was like being shredded apart. Now, I am trying to rebuild myself bit by bit. I am rebuilding myself with the way I can cope. Each step that I take are minute ones and sometimes it seems like I am reversing but I keep trying and that way I know I will fully heal.

Miyetti Seva

(28/08/2016)

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