The injustice of it all

There’s a photograph of me as a child that I often find myself peering at. I don’t know how old I was but I must have been about 8 or 9, sitting on a chair on my knees in a blue and white gingham dress with the window to my back garden behind me.

This photograph sits in my lounge. I love this photograph as it shows an altogether different me. My smile wasn’t a smile, but I understand why now. I’m not looking at the photo in terms of how young I looked, but it was the look of innocence in my eyes. I trusted back then.

I wasn’t aware of my spiritual prowess or understand exactly how my spiritual beliefs worked, but those beliefs must have played their part: because I believed others had the best of intentions and never stopped to question their motives.

But as I began to grow, I began to understand more and began to believe less. Knowing I struggled mentally and emotionally and knowing nothing was being done to help me, it was easier for me to see the cracks in others’ handling of me and a disability I didn’t know I had.

It was clear and obvious I had physical problems. My left leg was smaller and thinner than my right and my left foot wasn’t a normal shape. I didn’t know about my arm at the time or what the diagnosis was, let alone the right diagnosis.

Although I was bothered about all of those things my main concern was not knowing what was wrong with me and having to live and struggle in my own secret world.


30 Apr, 2019

4 thoughts on “The injustice of it all

  1. Yes, that’s what I’m thinking about when I look at photos of myself when I was young. It brings back memories that I have tried hard to forget, but haven’t been able to. I had such a great memory at one time.

    I was well aware of how fucked up things were by the time I was 10 years old, but my parents acted like the chaos and insanity was normal, so I learned how to suffer in silence.

    I would have made a great secret agent considering how I was so well trained to keep a secret by my Mother. It still blows my mind that parents can treat their children in such bizarre ways and not think twice about it.

    There are still times when I think my parents shouldn’t have had children.

    1. Thanks Randy. Yes, I never got that far, but I can understand why you would think like that. When it comes to any form of abuse, or neglect it begs the question, why.

      Being a parent myself (and that is for you too) it doesn’t make sense that parents would wittingly choose to put their children through this kind of behaviour.

      But I guess mental illness is different and as you say your mum was mentally ill. It’s a shame she didn’t have the support from her parents so that she could be better equipped to parent you and your siblings.

      Abuse through mental illness will always leaves its mark, but it’s not something you always see or understand. It’s a shame you got caught up in the life you did, but in a way that has shaped you into the person you are today.

      You understand your life and now you’re moving on.

  2. Looking back at old photos often brings up raw emotions, but for you it brings understanding that you’re not permitted to know about at the time.

    I see that as a positive piece in the jigsaw that is your journey.

    1. Yes, photos have a way of doing that. It is only through understanding that we are able to resolve and comes to terms with certain circumstances.

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