A Life's Work.

I lost myself for a few year's & as Iv pulled myself back from my self inflicted brink Iv realised how wonderfully eclectic, loving, forgiving, understanding, patient, accepting, empathic, creative, strong, honest, funny, needed I am in life.

It's taken me a long time to say I'm all of these things & so much more, my self inflicted torment was that I have complex PTSD & was suffering with Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder. I knew I was suffering but was terrified of opening those particular boxes. 

It was when my children had been born that I started my journey of recovery as in my eyes my mental health problems where that horrific I'd of inflicted & projected my negativity onto them. 

I really didn't want to be my parents my mother a victim of domestic violence & abuse. Or my disgusting pedophile father. I had a temper, serious temper when it came to anything I felt I couldn't control & I didn't always see reason when something triggered my CPTSD. 

I had 2 beautiful kids aged 1 & 2 who I was raising on my own since splitting with their biological father. It was having them that gave me a reason to fight for myself. 

My story really starts in 1996, my CPTSD was affecting all of my life & I was worried I may hurt my 2yr old son who had an undiagnosed disorder that meant he acted out alot. I rang social services asking for their help. Firstly they got my son a place at a nursery every weekday during school hours. 

Most people think if they ring social services asking for help then their kids get took away. I never felt like that, I thought I don't want to ever hurt my kids & I'm sure they'd rather help me to prevent it from ever happening.

Having this time to myself enabled the next chapter of my life. Firstly was some parenting classes & therapy. The parenting classes taught me how to respond to my son & I practised hard at what I'd been taught.

I was proud to have these new skills as a mum to two young children. I was proud I'd said I can't when I couldn't as the benefactors of that were my kids well so I initially thought. I never even thought about how I'd benefit in later years from those actions. 

I spent a year in & out of therapy then I was offered an opportunity to move near my family. My therapy ended because I'd moved out of area but Social Services kept the placement open at the nursery my son attended. 

A year after moving I met my now husband. A lovely man who didn't allow my low self esteem to cloud what he could see. He encouraged me to want to live not exist, to chase my dreams.

My gorgeous kids were 4 & 5 when we met back in September of 1999. We decided on a fresh start & all moved to a new town. 

We still live in the same house 20yrs later well my husband & I do. The 2 eldest have left home now. 

Anyway 3months after moving I got taken to hospital with suspected kidney stones & came out 7 weeks pregnant. 

I find pregnancy a bit like an alien invasion, it feels unnatural to me. I really didn't enjoy my pregnancies not pyshically or emotionally. 

Although I did enjoy the little bundles of love that came later. Being already 7 weeks pregnant our son came into the world 8 weeks premature so it felt like I'd hardly been pregnant. 

Our son was born by emergency c-section on the 3rd of January 2001. One year & 23 days later with all the children present we got married. 


Part 2.  

When our son was around a month old I started to feel unwell I was exhausted all of the time & had what felt like it may be early onset arthritis in my left hand. 

Within a year a pattern had emerged, I was still struggling however to get Dr's & consultants to hear me. 

What started as pain in the knuckle of my middle finger was soon pain all over my body, I was suffering with insomnia so badly I was hallucinating, I had constant nausea, headaches, swelling of joints & a whole lot more. 

After 3yrs I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia this mad condition I'd never heard off & so it seems had no one else either. Some Dr's & consultants calling it psychosomatic, now 19yrs later much more understood. 

I was in the early stages of Fibromyalgia & desperate to make a positive impact on other people's lives in 2004 I decided to take the step to training to be a counsellor. 

This became the mother of all journeys, emotionally I'd be laid bare through choice. 

Over 4 years I learned not to sell myself short, how to be more honest with myself about how I was feeling, how to express myself in a kinder way. 

I learned the difference between sympathy & empathy. Which explained why sympathy could hurt so much. 

I learned about toxic positivity & why it had damaged me beyond the abuse. I learned my reactions to what had happened to me were normal. 

For the first time I found the dirty, guilty, shameful feelings lifting, it hadn't been my fault I'd been a child, a child that knew nothing of what sex really meant in a healthy adult relationship. 

I learned the truth set me free & once I'd gotten that idea firmly in my head there was no holding me back. I didn't go into details while I was in training but I did acknowledge what had happened to me & that it wasn't my fault. 

The more I understood why I'd done what I'd done as a result of the abuse the more accepting I became of me & the less I cared for the opinions of people who had zero impact on my life. 

I always used to worry what people thought about me, my paranoia used to make me think people were talking about me behind my back. I was desperate to be liked & found it extremely hard to understand if people didn't like me. 

Even doing my counselling diploma I was so desperate to be liked rather than accepted for who I was that in my final year I did one of my peers papers for her & assisted another peer in understanding & laying out one of his essays. 

I got kicked in the teeth by them both & I know it hurt like hell then & I was never able to address what they did to me so it still irks me when I think of it but it taught me a wonderful lesson, that they had no interest in me only what I could do for them. 

I tightened my social circle & began practicing some much needed self preservation & caring. Iv always been a happy loner, one that didn't really follow the crowd. Always had my own sense of style & owned that from being quiet young it was my pure desperation to be liked by all & sundry that used to trip me up. 

I also suffered with an extreme temper leading to many situations where Iv squared up to people including men 4 times my size. I'd persuade the entire world I wasn't afraid of anything yet it was fear that caused my extreme reactions. 

If I love you I'd protect you fiercely & fuck anything or anyone that got in my way. Any perceived threat to me was met by a steaming level 10 angry reaction. I wouldn't remember what happened as its like a black out but I was either shouting at or punching someone. 

My mantra was don't fuck with me I know how to fuck back ten times harder & I've had more practice. I didn't know when to walk away or back down so found in these situations I was constantly giving my power away. 

A few months after I qualified I did a speciality in Bereavement Counselling. I did this for myself as in 1991 my first child a boy was stillborn at 26 weeks. Three weeks after qualifying from the Bereavement course my brother who is 10 months younger than I died. 


Part 3 soon...... 

We were in the car on an errand my husband & I. We'd just pulled in when a dark feeling came over me, my phone rang it was my mum, she stuttered out 'he's dead Charlotte he's gone'.  I broke screaming & thumping the dash with my fists.  

That night I left for Scotland with my parents, all we knew is he'd died, not why or how only that his best friend had found him that afternoon. We didn't talk any of us not one word. I listened to music the whole journey settling on & learning a song that was eventually plated at his cremation.

It was the first time in my marriage I'd been away from my husband we'd been together for 10yrs at that point. This felt like a huge test of me, how much had I changed & would I be able to do this without my husbands protective arm around me.

We arrived late at night were we'd booked into a farm cottage, they were aware of our circumstances so left us in peace. Do you know I don't remember much about the farm house only that I was in a corner room that overlooked the fields at the back of the house & that the track to get to the farm went on forever.

In the morning we left the farm house & headed for the police station to find our were my brother was & did anyone know what had happened. On arrival we were directed to the mortuary, we walked down a short corridor then we were taken to a room, some curtains were pulled back & there he was lay on a table with a grey cloth covering him folded over at shoulder level for us to see him.

He was in a viewing room & behind glass were we couldn't touch him because he needed an autopsy doing. I remember holding my hand flat to the glass near his face & crying a quiet river. There he was not moving, not smiling, not talking just there behind the glass.

Next was to go to his flat to sort through his belongings & for me to meet his friends for the first time in real. I knew most by name & they knew me, it was like meeting a group of long lost friend's. I didn't go back to the apartment we'd rented that night. I stayed in his flat with his friends, we didn't sleep but we laughed, cried, hugged, shared stories.

As I'd literally in a sense just qualified as a Bereavement counsellor everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. I knew how'd I'd feel why I was feeling it, what process I'd go through. I could see it happening in other people, my parents, my brothers friends, it was like I could read their minds.

Nothing felt natural, it was mechanical. So I decided I could not grieve for him at that time. That my parents & his friends had a greater need of me than I did of myself. 

Part 4.

This is my 3rd attempt because my phone has clocked out before I'd saved my work. If this isn't 3rd time lucky I'm getting out of here.


So my mum & I did my brother's service as he wasn't religious & I stood there singing & dancing to Tina Turners 'Simply The Best. We had the the people that had come to pay their respects laughing & crying with us.

My parents felt they couldn't go to the crematorium so I went with our family & friends.  I did a small service & played First Lady's Missing You.

I left immediately before the curtain was drawn around his coffin. I couldn't cope with the finality of it all.

On coming back to England my depression really kicked in & my cPTSD went stratospheric. 

I'd like to go back to part 1 here where I spoke about having our son by emergency C-section.

There's a little more to the story than I could go into but it's an important part of me & what happened to me.

When our son was born he was dangled in front of me grey & lifeless. I was told that a photo would be taken of him & sent down to me whilst I got the feeling back in my body.

After 12hrs id still had no photo nor heard anything about my son (my husband was back home with the 2 eldest). I kept trying to move my toes & eventually I could feel my legs enough to get off the bed.

I knew my son was in the baby ICU so I followed the signs, slowing climbing the stairs until I found the unit, peering through the small glass window I pressed the bell.

I needed to see my baby, I needed to know he was ok or I wasn't getting back in my bed. The midwife after making me cut & file all my nails let me in. There he was a tiny bundle with black wavy hair & he was breathing.

He was in hospital for 3 weeks as when he'd been born he didn't have the ability to suck so was instead tube fed.

On one day we arrived to hear the sound of him screaming, the nurse stopped us from going into his room whilst explaining he was having a Lumbar Puncture performed as one of the other babies on the unit had meningitis.

I saw his brother now 6 have a Lumbar Puncture at just 5 months old & it was horrific. I'll never forget the sound of my son's screaming from being bent in half & pinned down to prevent movement while a needle was inserted into their spines.

Luckily our youngest didn't have it (the eldest did have viral meningitis) another time we arrived to find half his hair had been shaved off & a cannula inserted into a vein in his head as though he be small he be mighty.

Oh wriggly too he kept pulling the ones out of his hands & feet. Eventually though we got him home. You'd think I'd of been overjoyed at having our baby home & I was but I was also terrified.

I found I couldn't look in his cot in case he'd passed away in his sleep. This though didn't begin with him it began in 1991 when at 18yrs old I gave birth to my first born child a son I named Aaron. Aaron had been stillborn.

At 18 I was living in the West Indies, my parents had relocated back to my dad's family home in the hopes of a better life.  I will return to living abroad later but this one's just about Aaron.

So I was 18 & pregnant. My parents decided that it would be best for me to return to England to raise my baby as he was mixed race & they felt he'd be more accepted in a multicultural society.

My cries to be flown to another island for an abortion fell on deaf ears & no way was I going for an illegal one. Not because I was scared of dying but it would of been so easy to identify me & I didn't want to go to prison on that island.

My memories & my mum's are very different around me wanting an abortion. She says that I wanted my son I say I asked for an abortion & you refused to fly me to a country in which it's legal.

I was adamant something was wrong with the baby, I kept telling my mum something's not right. The doctor said it was all first time mum nerves & everything was fine even gave me a scan which revealed I was 6 weeks pregnant.

Yes eventually I did come round to the idea of having a child but even then had wanted to give him away. Id wanted for him to be raised as my mum n dad's child not mine. I didn't want for him to know I was his mum.

My mum is white my dad (step dad) is black so I really didn't see any problem with just signing the baby over to them. They'd wanted a baby together but it unfortunately didn't happen for them.

So I was going to fix that problem by giving them my baby.  I was flown back to England at roughly 12 weeks pregnant & had my first scan all booked in.

Moving back to England & having a supportive family around me I started to come round to the idea of being a mum. I knew it'd be hard because he was mixed race but I would of fought for him & taught him his history.

At 14 weeks I went for my first scan in England, my aunt took me to the appointment & I invited her in to see the scan. Full bladder about to pop, cold jelly, lots of smiles then a frown & the words I'll just have to ask one of the doctors to take a look at your sonogram.

The doctor took over the sonogram we all sat in silence before he said I'm so sorry but your baby a little boy is dying. His main organs are all being crushed by fluid & are under developed meaning he won't survive outside of the womb.

I broke emotionally my cPTSD went into overdrive (was God punishing me, that's a different chapter). Why did this have to happen, was it all my biological dad's fault for abusing my young body so now it couldn't carry children ???

So many questions & at that time no forthcoming answers. Although no one wanted to believe we began to plan the funeral of a baby I was still carrying.

I'd spoken to the doctor & was told whilst in the womb breathing amniotic fluid Aaron was not in any pain. He would only feel pain if he was born alive as every breath would of been agonizing for him.

I picked a small coffin covered in white cloth with a silk & velvet floral design & a small plaque with his name. Due to it being a baby the funeral directors gave me the coffin.

Aaron was born at 26 weeks on the 22nd December 1991 he weighed 2.4lb & on the outside was absolutely perfect. He looked fast asleep. The vicar was there to baptize him (I'll come back to this) & my aunt's brother a photographer had offered to be there to take special photos for me.

I'm so in this right now but iv got to stop my hands are in a lot of pain from holding my phone to type. Hopefully part 5 will come quicker than part 4.

Part 5 feels like it's taken forever nearly 2yrs ! 

Aaron passed away before he was born so he never had to know pain but for him to be buried at a Catholic Church he needed to be born alive & die as baby's who are born dead have no soul you see. 

All that on top of the fears I had already so there was the family vicar to lie for me, he baptized a baby that had never taken a breath so he could be buried on sacred ground.

To be told to this day I've NEVER forgiven the church for this decree they'd made. Jehovah's Witnesses God was punishing me & now the Catholic God claimed my baby had no soul.

I'll be forever greatful to the hospital Aaron was born at the midwives where amazing, the delivery was made as pain free as possible & the drugs stopped me from remembering most of it.

What I've never forgot though because it was so cold & so cruel was the consultant (male) walked in as I'd been told I could have a few hours with Aaron.

Anyway he examined me & as he was walking away casually said to the midwife 'that foetus needs removing it's decomposing.

That foetus has a name that foetus was my baby. I've never forgotten those words & I'm glad for the changes that I see happening for parents whose baby's are stillborn or just after birth.

He was real, he was mine, I'd given birth to him, he was beautiful & perfect not a fucking decaying foetus !

Losing him was the beginning of a 22yr trauma. Beginning with with losing him then him having no headstone for 22yrs. He was in a family grave with one of my aunt's who'd died at 3. 

It was also where my grandparents where to be buried. I wasn't even allowed to put a concrete angel on the grave for him.

Twenty two years I had to go to a grave with no name no reminder that 2 dead babies even lived there. Then my nan passed away & on her stunning headstone a poem was written for the 2 dead babies & their names added.

Funny isn't it I've never been to the grave since except when my grandad died. Seeing the ground opened up for my son, nan than grandad isn't what did it.

Knowing my baby wasn't good enough for a memorial of any kind until one of them died well that HURT so now they're in there with him I genuinely don't want to know.

On his birthday every year I silently celebrate him in my head he'd be 31 this year 2021 (next month). I look at his photos & the baubles on the tree with his name & know he knows I loved him.

You'd think after giving birth on the 22nd December & burying my baby on New Year's Eve that being left to grieve would of been the thing to do.

No didn't happen. Everyone had booked tickets for the party at the Nupro Club (family). No one wanted to cancel their plans to sit with a grieving mum so I was emotionally blackmailed into going out.

I wore the same outfit I'd worn for the funeral. I didn't party I just sat at the table all night wishing I wasn't there.

I mean who buries their baby that morning & parties that night ! For me I was disrespecting him & myself yet another emotional trauma added to the list of trauma's.

Until I met my now husband I spent every NYE blind drunk so I wouldn't remember why I didn't want to go out.

I absolutely hated myself as I've grown to understand the truth of it for me was that I had to accept I wasn't good enough for anyone to cancel their plans.

I was a suicide risk so they thought the best thing was to take me out & get me pissed. I realised that when I needed loving the most that was when I was on my own.

The concern wasn't ever for me the sorrow was for Aaron & was he'd been buried well it was all over for them, they could all move on. 

Whilst for me time stood still & no fucker stopped the ride to get off with me. My life meant so little that my grandparents carried on having a holiday in the West Indies with my parents while my baby died.

I wonder at times am I meant for this world. Suicide seems like such an appealing option. Reeling & not knowing what I wanted but being angrier than I'd ever been in my entire life I flew back to the West Indies. 

The first 18 years of my life had been sexual abuse from 0 to 5yrs, raped & drugged 5yrs to 12yrs, witnessed domestic violence until 13yrs old. Was raised in a cult The Jehovah's Witnesses then spat out into the big wide world at 12 after being completely sexualised my entire life by my biological father (different chapter different day). Then we lived on the run with my mum & her new partner (now my step dad) because her ex (not my bio father) had made her believe he would find her & kill her if she ever left him (the reality I found out many years later was he hadn't given a shit). 

We got pulled North & South because of the racism my dad suffered  & until I was 14 I didn't live full time with my mum, brother & her then bf my now dad. At 16 was taken abroad to a country that didn't have the same morals & value as England, became mistress to multiple men & had one gay relationship because I wasn't sure if I was the problem. 

Then I lied about who the father of my baby was, got sent back to a country where I knew no one anymore, lost my baby, had no support & flew back to a country that didn't want me all before my 19th birthday.

Gotta end this here as the next bit I'd like to write all in one session. 

What I'm going to do is explain school & being sexualised from the word go !