Trigger warning, on the highway from hell

People are like chameleons, changing colours to try and blend in, tricking others, becoming apart of their surroundings to go unnoticed. However eventually their true colours show, and they get seen for what they are.

I’m the villain in some peoples stories, perhaps part of me is bad, I’m definitely petty I can admit that, I think actually being able to admit my wrong doings and flaws is a strength I have, I’m currently updating my CV maybe I should add that... Perhaps this in itself is a trauma response though, who knows!

Part of me wants to run away, pack my family up and have a fresh start. If I was doing counselling right now because I’m self aware I know I would come up with this conclusion in my sessions; I’m bored, unchallenged and frustrated which could lead to self sabotaging behaviour because of my impulsivity and anxiety. I think I want something new… my internal monologue in my head keeps repeating it, I feel behind in aspects of my life. But part of me also likes the comfort of routine, it’s a bit of a fight to make sure I’m making the right decisions based of logic not emotions. Because well, regulations of emotions and making decisions can sometimes be problematic for us all.

Being self aware about my triggers and behaviour doesn’t actually prevent much and I’m not doing counselling right now still, *smug rebellious face* so I’m navigating the road ahead on my own, I’ve taken the wheel! (Spoiler I can’t legally drive, I’ve never been able to pass my test) I’ve been writing, lots, so it only seems right that I put my thoughts and feelings into a blog.

I’m tired, but writing even when creating is tricky and my head is messy is a healthy outlet, it’s all better out than in right? If I was a car my warning light would probably be on and I would fail my MOT. There’s that saying right, “your body keeps the score” as I drive myself round the bend going over my memories I get more tired, more achy but then I remember more, I think I’m addicted to going over my memories now, it’s becoming a hyper-focus or compulsion.

I’m gonna talk about some experiences that may make people feel uncomfortable…I can sense readers rolling theirs eyes muttering…” but Velvet why share more?” Why not, they are my experiences to share, in the coming years I’ll have everything written down and I’ll grow, heal and move on… I’ve only just really started.

The older we got the worse his comments towards our body’s became, “you putting socks down your bra?” Comments while he looked at our body as puberty started to progress. I didn’t even realise how bad it had been until my late 20s riddled with anxiety and low self esteem, I finally started to process it all. I still get cold shudders and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I recall some of the memories I’m going to share. However It wasn’t just us, our friends became targets too.

He had no shame, I guess it’s because he’d gotten away with so much and we as children assumed that this was just the way men were. Sometimes I think perhaps he doesn’t realise, however that’s still not an excuse and I think that’s just me trying to find logic. He knows. I have a memory, it really bothers me now. I was in high school, it was raining (it’s always raining right) myself, older sister and a friend wanted a lift home so we rang him, he said he would pick us up as he worked close by, we asked if our friend could get a lift also his reply “Depends, what’s she look like… is she blonde”. At the time I actually think we all laughed it off. Now as an adult with daughters I’m disgusted. These ‘jokes’ were often said around my mother, she seamed to care very little about the inappropriate tone. They become very common, he would comment on our friends appearance, their changing bodies also. I do remember one time my mother did get very upset with him as she apparently walked past him while he was in a work vehicle and he was “eyeing up the girls in school uniform” and failed to see her because he was too busy “perving”.

We were objects, and not just us and our friends but young girls in general, in the street, on the TV. His common phrase used around the house also inappropriate around children was “a pokes a pokes no pokes a joke” and informing us that “girls and boys can’t just be friends”. He would often take us along to football training with him and make jokes to his male friends “haha they keep getting younger and younger right!” And “they will be smart when they grow up right”. Again laughed off as ‘jokes’ by smart he didn’t mean intelligent either. He loved the fact he had teenagers to parade around with him.

One of the things I was working through in counselling was how I thought his violence had a sexual aspect to it without him needed to do anything physical, he would just be to close to us, over us, screaming at us, threatening us, I think the fact that he knew he had power and could of done whatever he liked because we were small and in many ways defenceless thrilled him. We were quite feisty, no one could have made us do anything without us kicking off, I was scrappy and would go down swinging if I needed to, snot, tears and anger. I don’t condone violence but I feel this kept us a little safer. It got to the point when he got aggressive so did I, although it was pointless in many respects because of the side and power difference.

I didn’t have personal space growing up, I wasn’t allowed it, he would be able to come into our rooms when he felt it was necessary. We had ‘room inspections’ that would sometimes end up in our belongings getting thrown and us getting grounded if he decided our room wasn’t tidy enough. “Now you have something to tidy up”. He would push past us if we were in his way, stand right behind us and make it clear that we were an inconvenience to him. He would often call us “it”, “that”, “thing” This included my mother. I recall an argument they had, my sisters were small, as he had one in his arms he sighed “why did you have to come from that thing” referring to my mother, I think it’s impossible for him to respect women. I can’t remember what they were arguing about.