Verbal abuse is still abuse. Mental Abuse is still abuse. Emotional abuse is still abuse. Just because it is not visible doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt just as much. 

Emotional abuse changed me in ways I can't describe. All I knew was how to be depressed. I was afraid to be myself. I was afraid of who I really was. I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid to let people close to be, for fear that they might hurt me, like he did. I was afraid so much. But it was a different type of fear. Fear of the unknown, instead of fear of Him. 

Once again, pictures can explain how I felt best...

Tim broke his leg. Really bad. Right through the growth plate. 

And I was lost. Suddenly I wasn't first on Mum's list. And I didn't like it, I am ashamed to admit. I needed her. But she had to look after Tom. So I was left to look after myself. And I felt weak, and was unable to cope. That month I cried myself to sleep a lot. I was in a real bad place. I felt alone, and unwanted. I felt useless. I felt like I had to be an actor 24/7. I couldn't show anyone how I really felt. God knows I didn't even know how I really felt. All I knew was that I couldn't show how much I hurt. 

I use to keep everything inside and then Mum would say something, anything about my actions and I would shout at her. And soon it was a full blown argument, one which ended with me crying and her feeling bad about it. 

I cried for many things that month. But most of all I cried because of the truth. I cried because the truth hurt me so much. I couldn't say those words. I still couldn't admit to myself that it had actually happened to me. I had actually been abused by my own father. It hurt. 

That month I didn't feel important at all. Who am I afterall? Nobody. 

I feel that the best way to explain this is through photos so here we go...

I never cut my wrists, or seriously made myself bleed, or any of that stuff...but I did scratch the skin off my arms several times when it got too much for me to cope with, but I can understand perfectly why people want to do it, and why people go so far as to commit suicide...

I really did...but I kept failing to find positives in everyday life. I was depressed. And to  me thats the way I was going to remain for the rest of my life. 

I didn't feel like I belonged. I didn't feel wanted. Let alone needed. 

I didn't have a home. 

I didn't have anything. 

I just wanted to run away, and find myself. 

I just wanted to feel something

To be someone

But I couldn't trust. I couldn't believe what people were telling me...I didn't want to believe what people were telling me, let alone accept it. Simply because it scared me too much. 

I knew I didn't really have a proper reason not to trust me, unless being hurt my your own father counts as one, but anyway, thats not the point, these people have never hurt me in the past why would they now...? But the fear was there, suddenly I couldn't control my emotions and I just thought that everyone out there was going to hurt me, I was in a bad place...

You Care For Me...

Writing my diary they were some of the hardest words I had to write. Because writing it down made it true. And it was hard to accept that people out there actually cared for me. I knew when I wrote those words on the 16th of September that I should never have doubted the fact that Sara cared for me. But I did. I did for a long while. But never again. Never again will I ever doubt that she cares for me. 

From day one she was there. No matter what. Even when I hated life, and was adamant that I wasn't worth it, she was there for me. I always knew that whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on, or someone to talk to, she would be there for me. 

The day that everything happened I was distraught but even then she was full of understanding. And tried her best to show me that everything would be okay. 

How many times had she tried to convince me that she cared? I have no idea. I lost count. She listened to me, because she cared. 

SARA CARES...

Its what people do. They care about others...everyone has someone who cares for them...everyone

I was scared of letting her in. Because I didn't want to be hurt again. But I know that she never will. She cares about me. 

Thank you doesn't really cover everything she has done for me. But saying thank you really is the best that I can do....

So Sara, I thank you, from the bottom of my heart for everything you have done for me, it has changed my world

Sara has said over the years a lot of pretty meaningful words to me. But the day she returned my diary to me she said 4 words that meant the most to me. 

Mother
Daughter
Care
LOVE

I guess at that point I didn't really understand why someone would care about me, let alone love me. But she seemed to. 

And those four words gave me reason to believe that actually she really did mean what she said to me. And that meant that she saw me as her surrogate daughter. That she did care. That she loved me. And that meant the world

And yes, I was scared when I saw her again, after she had read it. I felt so vulnerable, knowing that with what she had read in there she could really hurt me. But she didn't. She told me that her love for me was unconditional. And that, well, that meant more to me than anything else she has ever said to me. For the first time I can really remember I cried from happiness, simply because someone out there could love me for who I am. All I wanted to do was hug her and never let her go. For those few moments in time I knew I was special. Because she loved me. I don't think words can really describe what that meant to me...

For the next few days I felt like my head was in the clouds, I was just drifting through life, and in fact it took me a while to find my feet again, because for the first time I knew that I had really let someone in. And it was a funny sensation. Anyway, I spent a long time going over that conversation and I knew that no matter what I had someone who would always be there for me. 

The first day of school soon came around, and I was off back to normality. Pressure of GCSE's. Pressure to fit in. To be normal. To be okay. To do well. To do everything I guess. But I didn't mind that. I could cope with that. What I couldn't cope with was home. 

One of the first things I did going back to school was go and see Sara. Who was worried about me, I think, as during the 6 weeks I hadn't gone and seen Eliza like I promised I would. 

That day I told her that I had written my diary to her. And she asked to read it. To which I said yes. That may not have been the cleverest thing I have ever done. As though it is written to her, my diary is very personal. And there were somethings in there that I am not proud of. But anyway she read it. And she is still my surrogate mother. So I guess for all my faults there are some parts of me that people can like and love.