It’s hard to know where to start, so I’m going to try and 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 put Sausages and Mash Potato, or Spaghetti Bolognese. We could not afford real pasta sauce, so Mum used tomato soup instead. No matter what was going wrong my Mum’s world, she would never let on to us kids how much life would test her for the worse. However, of course we all knew, well I especially did. What is the normal happenings of being the youngest 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. I still remember my first bike which was a little yellow girls bike. But I didn’t care really. 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 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 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 how it is, and how it really was for me growing up.
Recently, I had been diagnosed with depression and anxiety. The main cause of what I thought, was due to a marriage gone wrong, where I was mentally abused. I will get to that story eventually. However I had been to see a Psycho Therapist. After a few sessions she assured me my issues was back when I was a child and through some major issues I had through out my life.
After my Mother made the best decision of her life, she left my Father to protect herself and her kids. At the age of five we moved into a new place, Mum, myself and my two sisters. We were all so happy, no abusive father, and even the house was a housing trust home, it was big, and nice compared to what the previous one was. However, between the ages of 7-9 I was sexually abused. This was not done by a man, like most would expect, but rather a female. When I finally went and had counselling, I realised the first time the abuse happened, was the time I became shy and socially awkward. I didn’t tell anyone as 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. Because I was scared of the world I didn’t want to piss anyone off, 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.
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 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. I would quite often challenge myself to cover the bruises before entering the house 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. There I changed a little, I started to realise what life actually was, not the meaning but what it was. 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, well not met actually, started to get to know. 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, picked on, shut down, bashed, abused and traumatized. My opinion never mattered, so I became that person who would do anything; for you and you and you, trying to keep you all happy because I didn’t like confrontation or to be yelled at, or even to be judged by the people, who I later found out were very 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 who I was, boy was I sure wrong.