MY STORY

I am writing this to psycho analyse myself and hopefully snap out of it.

I know that if a panic attack sets in it will be a day and an half before I calm down.

I also know that there are others who will identify to some degree.

I was born just before midnight on the nineteenth of February 1949 in Billinge Hospital Wigan.

My Mother had wanted a boy and couldn’t have more children after my birth, hence she never liked me.

 I turned three on board the SS Strathnaver on the way to South Australia.

She never liked me but I always loved her.

 When I was a child I thought that she was the most beautiful and the cleverest person I knew.

I suffered sixty three years of physical and mental abuse abuse from the person that is supposed to love you when no one else does.

Admittedly this century her physical abuse was limited to slapping me across the face when she felt like it.

I have flash backs to when I was in my cot so know the abuse started when I was a baby

I had no idea her behaviour wasn’t normal when I was young.

I had no siblings nor extended family and when I was young, no television.

When I was in my twenties I thought I was a bad mother because I didn’t scream at my children and bash them.

 My mother was my role model.

With my first child my mother’s advice was:

“When she cries put her in her cot; shut the door and let her cry herself to sleep.”

I did not follow this advice.

I did not know to hug children;

give positive reinforcement

or play with them.

Mother’s physical abuse was scary but the mental abuse did more damage:

Her frequent statement:-

“After all the pain and suffering I went through giving birth to you: you are useless a failure a disappointment: neither use nor ornament.”

Has been well and truly inculcated:

So I have no self-confidence or feeling of self-worth.

I criticize myself in everything I do because this is what my mother did.

If I feel I have done something that doesn’t conform to the norm I just start crying and going into a panic attack.

I know it is because of my programming but stopping it is not easy.              

I have studied psychology for teaching nursing and developmental disabilities.

I am aware that the suggested way to stop a panic attack is:

Five things you can see

Five things you can hear

Five things you can smell

Five things you can touch

This sometimes works for me.

I waited 8 months before making a decision about the medical system and I know it is the right one for me

 but am border line panic attack worrying about other people’s reactions.

The success of any drug or treatment partly depends on Placebo effect:

And I don’t trust western medicine.

(It has nothing to do with Covid )

With apologies to all the good doctors and nurses.

I don’t trust the medical system for several reasons:

I have suffered several medical and surgical mistakes:

 Two friends have died because of medical mistakes:

When I was doing regular clairvoyant  readings in a local shop I read for people whose family members had died of medical or surgical mistakes including an overdose on anaesthetic for a simple procedure.

I don’t like the way the system is set up:

It is controlled by drug  companies.

One of the reasons for the “Inquisition” and accusing people of worshipping the devil was to get rid of the women herbalists and replace them with male doctors.

Doctors are taught Freudian psychology

Using a test sample of 12 middle class Jewish women Freud deducted that all women are neurotic and have penis envy.

My previous doctor; who is one of the truly good doctors; told me that people can sense people who have been abused; hence they attract abusers.

I tell some of the abuse in my ”Clairvoyant Experience of a Sceptic” but was shaking trying to write it and omitted many stories  because I didn’t want to think about them – also know it was badly written.

I include one of the stories in my  fiction sci fi short story.

 

The picture is from 2003

I was 53 mother 82 and Dad 81

Mother looks like a lovely person: no wonder people believed her attention seeking lies.

When Dad was alive I noticed mother would make up stories about how horrible my Dad was to her:

She claimed he was cruel and abusive: he wasn’t

She claimed he slept around with other women – not so

She claimed he was gay —

you may think “So what!”

but in my mothers day gay men would be certified insane and put in a mental institution. (this stopped in 1955)

She also made up stories about how horrible I was – some I heard about:

for some I just was abused for being horrible to my mother.

Dad was a man of principals and integrity but was not allowed to pay any attention to me or mother would have an hysterical screaming fit.

My daughter wrote this when Dad died

“Dear Granddad, we miss you very much. You were so full of wisdom and always had a smile on your face. You took people for who they were and never had a bad word to say about anyone. You were the rock of our family, steady and strong. You taught us so much, and we are all better people for having known and loved you. You will always be in our hearts and memories. Love you forever your Granddaughter Kerry.”

I know a story should have a conclusion

I could conclude by saying some of things often said to me:

Get over it!

 You must have deserved it!

 Its your karma!

But seriously

I have survived and am happy.

 I turn positive affirmations into a song which I use to stop myself wallowing in resentment.

I follow my Dad’s advice of:

Count your blessings

And I have many

Namaste

Or

as I love this movie

 oel ngati kameie    “I See you” created by Paul Frommer for the movie Avatar