I’ve resolved to start from square one… **MASSIVE trigger warning: ** this journey won’t be brimming with fairy tales and butterflies. Some parts will be incredibly tough to swallow. Yet, I’m not here to fish for pity or sympathy. My sole aim is to lay bare my life, with the hope of reaching someone out there. Amidst the isolating landscape of our world, I aim to extend a hand to those feeling alone.
From a young age, I always sensed my distinctiveness. I grappled my entire life to find my place. I’d morph myself to fit in, to feel accepted, though seldom for the better. I’d wondered why I felt overwhelmingly isolated in crowds. Body image consumed me, my eating habits spun out of control, and questions about my sexuality lingered. Now, as an adult, after numerous gruelling sessions with counsellors, I’ve come to terms with most of my disparities, understanding their roots and development.
So, this is where it all begins, I suppose… I knew my upbringing was vastly different from others’. My mum battled alcoholism, and my biological dad, afflicted by schizophrenia, shared the same struggle. I shuffled between living with my grandparents and my mum’s erratic lifestyle in the early ’90s. Despite adoring my time with my grandparents, primary school proved challenging as I lacked a parent to pick me up, leaving a lasting impression. Neither of my parents seemed to care, leaving me feeling utterly rejected. My relationship with my father grew increasingly strained, fuelled by resentment towards his constant drunkenness. Eventually, I decided I couldn’t bear it any longer and voiced my refusal to see him. (In retrospect, I’ve come to realise my decision might’ve been influenced more by my mum’s disdain for him. He isn’t a bad person and struggled immensely with his illness. I’ll delve deeper into this later.)
This marked the onset of turmoil for young Dawn, entangled in the aftermath of flawed parenting and constant upheaval. The severity of this period didn’t fully dawn on me until one fateful day at 15. I returned home from school to find my mother in a hysterical state, evidently inebriated and rambling incoherently. Then she blurted out, “What did he do to you?! I left you with him all the time! Tell me! What did he do to you?!”
Confusion engulfed me—what bizarre interaction was this? “PETER!!” she yelled.
I froze on the spot, his name reverberating in my mind, threatening to overwhelm me. I refused to react, unwilling to feed her frenzy any further. “NOTHING, what are you on about!” I replied. After a tumultuous exchange, it emerged that the man my mother had entrusted me to had been imprisoned for heinous crimes. Memories I thought buried resurfaced, vivid and haunting—his face, his actions, his car… a flood of recollections I’d sooner forget. Yet, here they were, resurfacing with terrifying clarity, igniting a downward spiral. Thus, began my descent into binge drinking at a mere 15 years old.
For now, I’ll leave it here until the urge strikes to delve into these depths once more…
And a gentle reminder, if you’ve weathered similar storms, you’re not alone, and this will not define you!!!
Love always
Dawn x