Once again time is a bitch and runs away. December 2011! That was my last post!From December last year till now I've been away from home, more than I have been there. Lots of things have happened but everything is still the same, well apart from time marching up and down my face. I've had very little time for writing or for even attending the Black Sheep writers group meetings. This week however I have written two short pieces one for the group and one for Bravehearts. Bravehearts is a charity run to protect children from sexual abuse. I support this charity and applaud the good work they do. They sent out a call to break the silence and to send them your experiences with regards to sexual abuse. I wrote this piece called Bluebells and I sent it to them.
Bluebells
Although I live in Australia today and have done for well over forty years now. The one thing that takes me back to the UK in a split second is the mention of, or the sight of Bluebells. Those exquisite flowers that bloom profusely throughout the British countryside in the spring and summer months. The unfortunate thing about the sight of Bluebells is that the images also bring forth the day my innocence was forever taken away from me, amongst those most beautiful of flowers.
It's with mixed emotions that I think about them now. It's such a shame they will always be a source of shame and pain instead of conjuring moments of beauty into my life, they will always be synonymous with emotional pain and distress.
I was around four years old when the first incident happened, it was an older family member that led my younger brother and myself through the woods that grew behind our house. We were led to a clearing and I remember a large boulder being there also. I suppose you could liken it to an altar. An altar where innocence is sacrificed and lost amongst the leaf litter on the floor. I truly have no idea what these people are thinking when they commit these truly heinous crimes against their own blood. How on earth can anyone justify these actions? How can they live with the pain they inflict? I know through growing up with a mentally abusive mother that there is no way I would ever pass that cruel pain on to my children. Nothing is more abhorrent to me than seeing children abused, beaten, or sexually assaulted. I know the pain of two of these sins.
How I hung onto to my sanity back then and today is a source of amazement for people around me who know of my situation. Believe me it's a constant battle, each day is a new challenge. Although these days I'm so much more in control of my own destiny as well as my mind. The pain is duller, but still there. You can never truly be free, but I rest easy in the knowledge that both of my sons will never know that pain, nor fully understand it either. For that I am truly grateful. They are both beautiful human beings who treat others as they wish to be treated. I have to take a small pat on the back for that. You see for me it's all about the quality of my children's lives. Why do I feel like a lone voice in the wilderness when I say this?
I can't help but feel that if the children were left alone to be children, to be loved and nurtured then a lot of the problems of this society wouldn't exist. As an author I speak publicly on many occasions and I'm honest and open about why my stories are dark. They are dark due to the fact that I grew up in the dark and from having to live in my head for most of my childhood. Because I am open and honest about my past I'm constantly shocked and saddened by the amount of strangers who will come up to me after I have spoken and tell me their stories. I have been asked why I feel I need to tell the world about my story, when it should be private. I respond with this simple message - because someone out there is in pain, and if I can help to shoulder some of that burden and take some of that pain then I will always do that. It's so important for those suffering that they don't feel alone, isolated and afraid. Let them know they are not alone, for God's sake let them know they are able to live a life. Let them know the rent in their heads doesn't have to paid every day. Unfortunately the Bluebells will always be the rent in my head, but I don't have to pay as often these days.
Kev C Webb © 2012
