It’s hard to know where to start, so I’m trying to just go with the flow. If it does not make sense to you, just imagine what’s in my head. Through out my real life story, I protect some of the people I will write about. I will change certain people’s names. Hoping that through this whole blog, you will get inspired to tell your own story.
My Mother my hero. Mum is one tough woman. From being orphaned by 13, Having to put up with my Father (Barry), and all else in between. This woman has shown me strength, survival, and the true meaning of what ‘Mother’ really means. We were a typical “very” low income family, single mother three kids. I had two older sisters, yes you got that right, I said two older sisters. I do have a brother but he comes later on in the story….
Mum barely showed the struggle she faced just to cook Sausages and Mash Potato, or Spaghetti Bolognese for dinner. We could not afford real pasta sauce, so Mum used tinned tomato soup instead. No matter what was going on in my Mum’s world, she would never let on to us kids just how much life would test her at times. However, of course we all knew, well I especially did, how you ask? Well, like this; what is the normal process of being the younger sibling? Can you guess? That’s right, you got it, hand me downs… Remember I did mention I had two older sisters, I am a boy and it’s the 80’s. I still remember my first bike which was a little yellow girls bike. Put all that aside, I honestly didn’t care. The middle sister; Kelly (we are close) and I would swap my match box cars for her Barbie Dolls, everybody said she should have been the boy and I the girl. Although, to me a toy was a toy, and I was entertaining myself. My eldest sister Terrie-Lee, she was the nasty one, she must have got Dads genes. The trauma she caused me growing up still haunts me today. Still, out of all that I just mentioned above, it is my mother who is such an amazing person. If there is anyway I could be half the person she is with her courage, bravery and protection I would be very happy.
My Family having a Pinks Family Portrait. From left, The best of course, me. My father Barry, My Nephew Sam, Older sister Terrie-Lee Her “then” Partner(father of Sam) Nick, Other sister Kelly and then the woman herself Mum Wendy.
The real reason I’m starting this blog, is to finally start being honest. Yes honest to everyone, but mainly to start being honest with myself. I need to tell you all how it is, and what it really was like for me growing up.
Recently, I had been diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Seeking help thinking that the main cause was due to a marriage gone wrong. This is where I was gas-lighted and mentally abused. I will get to that story eventually. Even though the marriage was a big part, my therapist assured me that my issues was back when I was a child and a lot of events right up to now.
After my Mother left my Father to protect herself and her kids. We moved into a new place, Mum, myself and my two sisters, I was 5 at the time. We were all so happy, no abusive father, and even though it was public housing, it was big, nice and comfortable compared to what the previous one was anyway. The house started to turn dark when I was between the ages of 7-9.
Something I suppressed for many years until seeing my therapist, between 7 and 9 years old I was sexually abused. The thing is, the perpetrator was not a male which you most likely just thought. The Perpetrator was in fact a female. When I finally went and had counselling, I realised the first time the abuse happened, it was the time I became shy and socially awkward. Even from all the beatings and mistreatment I had from my Father. I didn’t tell anyone at the time, I thought it was normal and it was somehow meant to happen. The girl who abused me, also forced me to smoke weed and drink alcohol. She said I couldn’t tell my mother or I would get in trouble. Although feeling like all this was normal at the time, I felt alone, scared, and dirty.
“Why are you so kind? You seem very mature at your age”.
As long as I remember I was hearing this. Everybody was a year older than me during my school years, but yet I still got that. I must have come across kind and mature because I didn’t want to piss anyone off. I have already seen what happens when I got people angry. So I would just do as I was asked and used every manner under the sun. I didn’t realise it at the time but I know now why I became that person, you know the “Yes Man”.
At the age of Fifteen, I was starting to believe that I am in fact older than what my looks and actual age was telling people. Apart from my best friends at the time, Challen, Aaron and Steven being same age as me, I started to hang around older students. I got my first girlfriend who was in year 12 while I was in year 10.
Up to year 10 at school, when I started to hang around with older students and had a girlfriend, I was the one you would find eating lunch in a hidden spot just to avoid been bullied or bashed. I was a bigger lad, especially when I was younger. And because I was shy and different, living in the small-minded town of Port Augusta South Australia. I was called fag, poofter, T-shirt lifter, sissy and all the names you can think of. I would quite often challenge myself to cover the bruises I had from being beaten, so my Mother wouldn’t see them and ask questions. Still to this day I haven’t told her the full extent of my school days.
I completed year 10 then left school for a full-time job at Hungry Jacks, If you don’t live in Australia, you would know it as Burger King. There I changed a little, I started to realise what life actually was, not the meaning of life itself, but what it actually meant. It was survival of the fittest (well in Port Augusta anyway). You did what you had to do to survive. I started making proper friends, ones that generally liked and wanted to be around me for me and I them. That’s when I met Sherri. She has now been my Best Friend and the one and only who truly understands me for me…..but after 20 years you would expect so. I have two other best friends; Mitchell And Nathan however they come later.
Port Augusta was hell for me, I was dating girls when I knew I was gay, oh yeah by the, I haven’t told you yet, I am Gay. Being picked on, shut down, bashed, abused and traumatised. My opinion never mattered, so I became that person who would do anything; for you, you and you. I was trying to keep everybody happy, because I didn’t like confrontation or to be yelled at. I hated being judged by what felt like everyone, everyone who was in fact small-minded and not so great themselves. I began to slowly start losing myself, and not knowing who I was.
At this point all I knew was……. yep………um………..GET ME OUT OF THIS TOWN!!!!! The town where I had my first kiss and my first kick in the head, my first job and my violated period, my first friend and my first enemy. By the time I left that town at 23 years old the only thing I knew about myself was that I’m gay. Back then I thought that being gay was the only thing that made me who I was, boy was I sure wrong.