So I was diagnosed with complex PTSD, at first I thought it can’t be all that bad. What’s a few nightmares? I’ve been having night terrors since I was a young girl, the only way I can explain them are if you can imagine being laid down and an overwhelming force is pinning you down you can’t move you can’t talk but you can hear everything. I used to cry, weep scream for my mum but nothing came out! No one could hear me, these dreams used to be followed with excruciating head aches and I couldn’t cope with the pain. My mum would turn all the lights off in my bedroom and demand everyone to be quiet and let me sit in the dark until they would go, it could sometimes take days and they always made me throw up. She thought it was my eyes what she didn’t know was it was lack of sleep through crippling nightmares. I shared a room with my younger sister and she slept like a log, so she wouldn’t be able to remember my nightmares so easy. I can’t remember exactly how old I was when it started to happen proberly around the age of 5 to 6 but something happened to me and my mind keeps it blocked out. I told the Narc once he used it against me. I will never tell another soul again. The one thing I do remember is when my sister wet the bed and jumped in bed with me it saved me often.
I was 9 or 10 and I was wearing a pair of Garfield jeans ( patches of Garfield and Odie on the knees ) and I was riding my bike as fast as I could. Dad, Christopher John Adams had rang the house phone you know the one sat in the hallway on an old looking phone table, green leather on the top with the standard issue mirror above it and the even older style phone. These were the days were the phone stayed in one place and you had to sit on the stairs to use it. My mum Lynne is a bit of a snob wether it was Mrs Bucket snob or a true reflection I never really worked it out she detest swearing yet she’s not completely sin free of foul language herself, a daughter to a Sea Captain who she rarely saw as he was away the majority of her life, my grandma Gladys she unfortunately passed away when my mum was 10 years old from multiple sclerosis, she died young and had buried two of her own sons Lesley and Stephen my uncles to lukiema and cot death.
My mother never went without anything although my grandfather Lesley was never home, he had a very respected job in Hull and to be a captain was highly regarded, but he was never there and my mother was brought up by my great grandma Helen. She was a slim woman before her own terminal illness and although she still isn’t a big woman in her eyes being over a size 10 is large. With thick dark curly hair and bright blue eyes she maintained our home and had to look posh at all times, this was the 80’s.
Dad would get drunk and ring from his usual drinking hole the five ways this was at the top end of booth ferry road and we lived not far down Belgrave drive, after moving from our council house across the road on Acron drive. Hull was and still is a shit hole in my eyes, but the people there are the salt of the earth, men are grafters and women weren’t to be fucked around with. Gob off too much and I can guarantee you would get your head kicked in by someone.
My dad liked to have a drink after work, if it wasn’t for the pick up truck with “Adams builders” written on the side and the tubs of swarfeiger under the sink I’d swear my old man just sat in mucky pub all day with his best mate Phil macnee.
Say what you like about him but he did graft. He was a charmer, couldn’t spell for shit and thick as mince but he worked hard. We had a rule in the house if any one rang up for him we had to say that he left out mum and we didn’t know where he went. This was for tax evasion, as he would never pay the tax man fuck all!!!
But there was a nasty side to my Dad and over the years I have learnt that he possibly had severe mental health issues like my grandfather. He was a jealous man it controlled him, my mother could do nothing without his say, he would get pissed out of head and excuse her of all sorts and when she argued the case he would then throw his fists around. He was a big man too, tall, dark haired and good looking ( apparently ) for me he was just my old man, so that kind of thing never entered my head. I would sit shaking thinking is he coming to us would he get that angry that me or my younger sister ( Natalie ) we shared a room I hated it as she slept with her eyes open the freak!!! but usually on a night it was Mum who felt the full force of dad.
Then in the morning we would go down stairs sometimes see the devastation of the night before or if mum had got up really early she would of done her best to tidy it up. I remember seeing a pole had gone through the bathroom window once but only through one pain of the double glazing dad never fixed it and over the years it had filled with water from the condensation and turned a little bit green. Me and Stacey ( my eldest sister ) mentioned it not long ago, strangely we laugh at these things when in reality we were 3 girls scared to death of our father and his brutality towards women! Mum would say we had everything but materialistic things weren’t what we all wanted , we needed to feel safe and living on egg shells in fear of upsetting your father, imprints on your brain for many years.
I can’t remember every time my dad braid me ( hull slang for getting a good hiding ) but I can remember one painfully brutal one. To this day my mum reckons he wasn’t that bad but she was embarrassed by it all and blocks it out. My elder brother ( Dale ) like me, gets so frustrated by my mums total disregard for our fathers abuse. She comes across like we are liars, like we make it up it eggs average the truth, she wasn’t a young girl being beaten by her father, she was an abused wife desperately trying to keep a family together and hide the horrible events that went on once dad had got angry. Alcohol wasn’t always the reason he could fly of the handle anything could trigger him off hence why I believe he suffered with a personality disorder and bi polar.
I was and too this day are constantly on a high level of alert i actually don’t know how to relax, I’ve struggled to deal with claiming down and now suffer myself with a mental illness.
Like I said at the beginning my Dad had rang the house phone and asked me to get some money from his stash and bring it to pub I think it was around £100 but don’t quote me on it. I got the money put it in my jeans pocket and rode my bike to pub. As I dropped my bike outside I reached into my pocket but couldn’t find the money. The sheer panic on my skinny little body felt like I had fallen and I instantly felt like I was going to puke.
Shit!!!!! He’s gonna kill me. I panicked started to cry shaking with fear I knew he would kick off and then I saw my mum inside of the pub, she must of known from my face. She came outside to talk to me she was dressed up in her usual boutique fashion, massive shoulder pads and even bigger curly hair. All her clothes has sequins on or some sort of 80’s bling, she would drink half a larger and lime and would conduct herself in a manner so to please my dad, she was a chain smoker and is renounded for her funny one liners or brutally honest rants.
I never liked my mum when I was growing up she wasn’t that warming to me for some reason but as I grew up and realised she was protecting my younger sister as my dad had his favourite and that was me. Natalie never got a look in from dad she was too girly too slow and he didn’t have time for people who couldn’t do things right the first time. Natalie wasn’t very quick at learning she struggled with the basics and if a professional was to have looked at her whilst she was young they would most definitely of diagnosed her with extreme learning difficulties.
I told mum I couldn’t find the money, tears streaming down my face and still shaking i was in a complete petrified state. She told me to go back to the house and re trace my steps. But I was in no state to think never mind look for the money. At the back of our house was a ten foot, I’ve never heard any one else refer to a place like this apart from people in hull. I actually measured it once and it was deffinetly not 10 of my feet wide! It was basically a road in between houses that you could access to your back garden with a car or small truck. So not an alley way or Twitten as I’ve heard them called before. But they weren’t maintained very well and ours had large pot holes. I rode my bike back the way I came, no money to be seen. I could feel my heart racing for such a young girl I knew what was coming next. If he got a hold of me I could try and take it but if he got Natalie she wouldn’t last his fists!!!! Funnily enough 26 years after I did the same to protect her and ended up getting stabbed by her boyfriend ( fuvking sisters )
As I was opening up the back gate I heard him shout my name. Natalie was behind me I shouted run, go to mum. Go now!!!!
She was useless she could never listen to instruction as for physicall ability her learning difficulties spawned from playing games to attention she just couldn’t compute things quick enough, the phrase ” couldn’t run a bath ” is what I would use for my sister. Looking pretty and applying make up yes, Putting one foot in front of the other over and over again at a faster pace was always a drama … But if she didn’t he would hurt her and that I couldn’t have so I made her go. Tears in my eyes and the sheer panic of a 6 ft man giving a scrawny blonde girl a kicking was coming.
First of all he was nice ( as always ) where’s the money Claire? So with eyes red and a frog in my throat, I tried to explain about the jeans and the bike ride and that I couldn’t find it. He went from smiling to gonna rip your throat out in 10 seconds. I put my bike propped up against the brick shed, bad fucking move. That’s the first blow !!!
I landed straight on the pedals right in my ribs crack the pain was unfuckingbekeicable!!!! He picked me up again smash!!!! FFS…. Just kill me now, this is agony…. He was shouting that loud but the pain was that bad I couldn’t work out what was going on. He threw me again this time away from the bike towards the back patio doors of the house. I got up but he chased me. 6ft pissed up bloke V’s Skinny agile kid I was faster than him but there weren’t many places to run. I managed to get up the steps and into the kitchen. Our kitchen was a long shape work tops either side and the whole house decorated perfectly. I carried on running it felt like I was in some sort of game. The poacher chasing his catch. I knew I was out of options when I reached the front porch it was there that he grabbed my pony tail.
He had followed me through the house and into the porch I was stuck it was a small porch and always has his shit in it. This time it was a welding thing a long piece of metal that looked like a tool and yeah I got it repeatedly I can’t remember how many times he hit me with it but It smarted. Heavy blows one after the other the pain cracking my bones each time, the sweat on his brow and the smell of alcohol is imprinted in my brain. I can’t stand the smell of beer to this day and a drunk man coming anywhere near me, I tend to keep my distance the blows kept coming to my little body ( always to my body ) funnily enough!!!!!
Now this is where it goes blank!!!!
Did he knock me out or have I forgotten what happened????? I remember being throw outside on to our caravan Dad kept it parked by the front door and I remember my shirt being ripped open maybe the sleeve was torn off. I can’t remember the long walk to the pub to find mum but I do remember the faces of the men who drank regularly with Dad in that pub, I can also remember their look of disgust when I fell through the double doors. My mums scream and then I was out!
Jackie was my mums friend she was a bubbly woman with short hair. I woke up to seeing her in the hospital but don’t remember going home. I think spaghetti was made for me and I was put to bed. Dad was no where to be seen and mum said he went to Sheffield for a few days.
Nothing much was said after that about the incident other than ” it never happened ” from mum or “Claire stop making things up ”
I’ve never been sure as to why she did that maybe she thought we would forget or it would all go away. Well it didn’t it bloody hurt too much. What a wanker I wish I’d of hit him back!!!! And one day I did.
Years of Dad became the norm. Christmas’s, party’s, normal day’s any day really he would ruin them all from his drinking and bad temper. He would kick of for almost anything. I hated him hugging me or picking me up. Anyone hugging me to be honest. Strangely a person who did me wrong who I will explain in the book later taught me it’s ok to hug. Now I think I wanna hug her around the throat instead!
I’ve been in the USA for 10 days now and slept over 8 hours a night. My PTSD is dormant, no nightmares or terrors. I have no fears of my ex coming to hurt me or finding out where I live. In the UK I live in fear of my past and the disgusting people who try to hurt me. Over here I feeel safe, unknown and quietly tucked away. I’ve some big decisions to make when I fly back tomorrow. The first being where do I want to live? and the answer is not the UK!