Seven times seventy 

This poem is inspired by a song by Peter Moran.

I wake up, think do I forgive

I look in the mirror, against it’s a wish

How many times must I say it, your forgiven

Seven times seventy, I hear in my thoughts. 

All through my day, I ask the question

Is it wrong, not to forgive

How many times, do you tell me

Seven times seventy, I hear in my heart 

The gift

I see the abuse now as a gift. I thought it was an unwanted gift. As with all gifts you need to use it Wisley. This is something that I am realising now.

I’ve been given a second stab at life, an opportunity few get. I can now change others lives by beating this. There are still time’s where I wish I could just go back.

This is not possible , so I need to make the most of it.

Someone keeps calling me an inspiration,  I’m not sure if I am. But I hope that I can make a positive impact on other people’s lives.  To be  continued. ..

Election 2015

for the first time I can’t decide who deserves my vote. All of the main parties have been tainted by allegations of covering up childhood sexual abuse. 

Whether it’s the Conseritives or Labour or the Lib Dems, they have all been touched by this scandal. 

The joke that the inquiry in to historical abuse has become. Was this a ploy to save the face of senior politicians. The scandal in Rotherham and the terrible stories we see and hear every week.  Or just the lack of support available to survivors. The biggest joke being the £500,000 set aside to help male survivors. 

The politicians are still taking their massive 11% pay rise. Maybe some of this money could have gone to help survivors of all abuse

So who am I going to vote for. I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll just vote for nine of the above. 

Hiding my feelings

Hiding my feelings, I turn my face away

I look away, my eyes are sad

My heart is broken, shattered

Hiding my feelings, angry and sad

Rage in my heart, it’s breaking

My soul is shattered, tainted

Hiding my feelings, numb to happy

Peace in my soul, healing

I hide my feelings from myself

Flight of fantasy

Flight of fantasy, stuff of my dreams

Sawing high and free

In the magic of my mind, of my dreams

Flights of fantasy, are they real

Wings open and free

In my dreams, in my hopes

Flights of fantasy, touching my heart

Moving free, spreading wings

My hopes and dreams, become reality

Flight of fantasy.

Five years ago.

I’ve realised over the last few weeks that I’ve struggled with some strong feelings. It’s five years since two conversations about abuse in the Catholic Church had triggered something in my head. Then the community I was a member of forced me into a situation where I could have come face to face with it. 

I had tried to get out of this mission. It was to a secondary school. Even though I did I felt more pressure and stress. Also being the only driver on the team didn’t help. Now I feel resentment at the way it was handled. 

For the first time in my life I feel, that I’m the only one who can change my destiny. I’m proud of the progress I’m making. Proud that I survived. And proud to say I’m almost a thriver. 

Five years of confusion 

Five years of pain

Five years asking why me

Five years of surviving

Five years of healing

Here’s to five years of thriving. 

Strong men do cry.

Strong men do cry. Crying is not a sign of weakness, on the contrary. It shows strength and courage. There was a time when I thought I was weak by crying. However when you get to a point of sadness, where there is no choice. 

I think the notion that men should not cry is ridiculous. Men are taught to keep their emotions buried. 

I kept mine buried for over twenty years, they just built up and up. I remember the day I disclosed five years ago, the tears just flowed and flowed. That helped initially, like the pressure release on a valve.

The darkness of my soul
Envelopes my life
From dawn to dusk


The pain of ages

And a sigh of remorse

From dusk to dawn


The hour of the wolf

The time I fear

When I awake in tears

Being more spiritual than religious 

As time moves on, I’m finding that I’m more spiritual than religious. I was brought up a Catholic and spent two years living in community. This has shown me a diferent way of looking at my spirituality, I feel that I now have the freedom.

There are some who will decry me for writing this. But I have one question. What has catholisim done for me? I can’t answer that without hurting. I was hurt at time when I was suffering and coming to terms with the abuse. Since then I have grown and become free. I still identify as Christian but of no denomination. I see it as my personal relationship with Jesus and God. 

For me it’s about the journey rather than the destination. The destination is the same for all, it’s just the journey that makes a difference. 

Struggles of a survivor

Always seeking recognition, lacking confidence

Jumpy and on edge

That’s the struggles of a survivor

Fearing failure, fearing succsess 

Flight or fight, here we go again

The struggle of the survivor

Chink of light, Ray of hope

Positive vibes, hopeful thoughts

The struggle of a thriver.