April Fools’ (Not)

Don’t let the title fool you, this isn’t a story of jokes and pranks. In fact quite the opposite. Welcome to the last ‘chapter’ of my childhood. The last beating I would take from my Dad, that just so happened on April 1st 2014.

For the best part of 3 years I’d been slowly but surely been ostracised completely from their family. They went on family days out without me. They had movie nights without me. They did everything without me. Occasionally I’d go with them to do the weekly shop, but after X had made a massive ordeal about me using my own bowl too much and therefore buying Dad a new one (it of course I argued back) Dad pushed me into the wine rack and left me in the middle of tesco, so I would never go anywhere with them again. I stayed at home, in the security of my room. At this point beatings weren’t as common because nobody could argue with me if I didn’t ever show my face. I didn’t really go to school as my agoraphobia became an issue, but every now and then I’d try. I tried on that day. I went to school. I did well. I made progress. And I had an ok day, until Dad picked me up from school.

We sat in the car, where I had tried talking to Dad but he wouldn’t say anything back. We’d been getting on moderately well so I didn’t think anything was wrong. I thought maybe he was just tired. We got home and I began to carry out my usual routine. I made some sausage rolls and spoke to Dad about a teacher I had got in trouble for not doing her job right (Mrs Cary for those who want to know). I waffled on and on, in my usual excitable tone.

“Why are you talking to me?”

Dad barked at me. The first thing he’d said to me in the hour since I left school. I look at his startled and confused.

“Well I was just telling you about my day at school.”

I muttered.

“No you’re attention seeking. Every time you talk to me you’re attention seeking!”

He told me…

“No I’m not, I just wanted to tell you what happened at school, fucking hell!”

I whined. I stormed off into the living room with my plate of sausage rolls. My brother sat watching Nearly Naked Animals. Angry I started singing over the TV,

“Ooo look at me, I’m ATTENTION SEEKING, blah blah blah.”

My brother and I roared with laughter, until Dad came into the living room, then it was just me laughing. I carried on making a scene. I was hurt and I acted out because of it.

“It’s alright because you sound like an autistic child.”

Dad blurted out.

“Ye ok then.”

I grumbled back and continued with my ridiculous noises. Now to this day, I don’t remember what Dad said after this. I’ve tried but I just can’t, all I know is it made me see red. I took a bite of my sausage roll, but what he said had made me so upset I felt like I might throw it back up. I stood up, turned to walk in the kitchen, stopping only to throw the left over sausage roll at Dad.

“Have a sausage roll.”

I yelled. In hindsight this was the stupidest thing I could’ve said. Who says that? Have a sausage roll? I don’t know, but I did. I said it. And I scurried into the kitchen instantly filled with regret: I shouldn’t have done that. I heard his footsteps quickly catch up behind me as I placed my plate on the side. As I turned around he was stood there, towering over me, with the sausage roll in his hand. He smacked me in the face with it. Straight in the nose. Again, and again until he’d given me 5 swift blows in the nose. Only stopping when my 12 year old brother stood in the kitchen doorway screaming,

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

I can still hear it echoing in my mind. Dad stopped. I took my chances and tried to escape getting only a few steps into the living room before the dizziness hit. I sat in the middle of the floor crying my eyes out as my brother comforted me;

“Are you ok? You didn’t deserve that!”

He whimpered. I cried as my nose started bleeding like a tap.

“I’m ringing the police!”

I continued crying hysterically. I told them, what had happened and we waited.

“Why are you sat there like I’m in the wrong?”

My Dad sobbed to my brother. He didn’t even understand what he’d done wrong. I disappeared upstairs to inspect the damage. I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my broken, crooked nose, blood all over my face. And I screamed.

“YOU BROKE MY NOSE YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

I went into my bedroom hysterically crying again. My Dad? My fucking Dad?! What kind of a Dad does that to his daughter? I wasn’t perfect but he’s my Dad, he’s meant to protect me?! He didn’t though. The police came and arrested him, taking my brother and I for statements and photographs were taken of my face. I spent hours in hospital waiting to be examined, falling asleep on my Aunty’s lap, then sent away with cocodamol. I haven’t seen my Dad since.

Of course with a situation this serious we were dragged through Crown Court. I tried to drop the charges, but the police wouldn’t let me so a year later we appeared in court. At first Dad pleaded not guilty. He believes he didn’t do anything wrong. I know that for sure, he thinks it’s ok. So my brother and I appeared to give our accounts – the first time I had seen him in a year. I remember when I first saw him. I gave him the biggest hug, and I looked at my foster mum;

“I’m gonna cry.”

I whispered as the tears began to flow. My brother was the only ever constant in my life and I’d missed him so much. I treasured the half an hour I got to spend with him before he was whisked away. My dad changed his plea to guilty so my brother wasn’t needed in the case which meant I wouldn’t see him again. I went back to court for his sentencing where I gave a victim personal statement, explaining how damaged the man I called Dad had left me. I told them I was depressed, anxious, how I’d had to take diazepam just to be able to appear in court. I poured my heart and soul out and the judge listened. He took in every word I said. I waited and waited. I hadn’t been in the court room but my social worker had. He came in face beaming, telling me he was so proud of me, like my Dad should have. He said I’d done so well and I’d made a really good impression on the judge. Finally, we got a result:

  • 300 hours of community service
  • 8 month prison sentence suspended for 2 years
  • £1500 of compensation

Justice was served and finally we could move past it and I could see my brother. But Dad wasn’t going to let that happen because I’d destroyed his life with my lies. Yes that’s right lies.

Now aside from that Dad doesn’t talk about it all, not a word but almost 4 years later X still continues to tell her friends quaint little stories about how I emotionally abused her. She takes to the world of Twitter and tells her “friends” she suffers with PNSD because I emotionally abused her. She complains of flashbacks because of my abuse. She makes indirect comment on things I’ve posted on my personal Twitter, and then tells all her followers I’m a stalker still trying to gaslight her because I’m so narcissistic. Can you spot the hypocrisy? She tells her friends that April 1st 2014 I was removed from the family home for trouble causing, and fails to tell them Dad got arrested for hitting me. She fails to tell them of the times she kicked me, threatened to punch me and kill me, or bullied me for walking around my home. No instead she just tells them I was a problem child. A narcissist. A sociopath. An abuser. A bully. Not only did I suffer through an abusive childhood I am accused of being the same as the people who did it…

And that’s why I’m an Incognito Blogger.

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