When Hate becomes more than a four letter word!

 

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HOW DOES IT FEEL TO FIGHT  FOR YOUR OWN CHILD, ITS NICE ISNT IT?

These words would  harm me mentally for a long time, coupled with all mummy had done to me, and for no apparent reason, well, I knew this would be one of the hardest thing to forgive. I use to play the tapes over and over in my mind.  At this point of my life my box under the sea, (previous post) would send back those painful signals to me.

My baby’s were gone, life seemed worthless, although I had my other baby, it felt like she wasn’t mine, my life had been put on hold. Suddenly the new home meant nothing. I reluctantly moved into my new home but I didn’t decorate my daughters room, I couldn’t be bothered.  My daughters room stayed shut.

I recall I went to mummy, to speak to her several times but she refused to open the door, I banged on the door, I shouted through the letter box, I begged her to open the door, but she ignored me, I wanted to see my babies desperately. I wanted to hear their voices. I called them through the letter box and I heard mummy say, “Be quiet”. Susssh!,

She had stolen my babies, “wicked evil, christian woman”. I thought.

I would NEVER!  become a christian.  I refused to read the bible now, although, I still kept one in the home. I couldn’t believe that a God could do this, I had become further from God, in a big way. This would carry on for a long time. I somehow, couldn’t believe a gentle God, would continue to allow me to go through so much pain.


On my way home , I thought of many ways to get my girls.   I plotted, and I schemed in my mind, all the ways to get them; but I was incapable of logical reasoning. I was totally inconsolable.  My life felt empty. I felt like I was just existing.

I reached home and threw myself on the bed and I cried again.  That’s all I ever did, The next day, I called my friend and she somehow gave me the will to carry on.  I recall someone told me to contact a solicitor. At the time I didn’t know what a solicitor was, but I found a solicitor.  I made the appointment and went inside.   After filling out forms I was informed that there was something called legal, aid this was funding for those unable to fund themselves.  This was a turning point for me as I was in need of financial help.

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I was unable to sleep, and I couldn’t eat but I carried on working as usual.  One day P, came upstairs and said that  he had something to say.  He said he is going to work with the NHS National Health Service, ambulance crew.  I was really happy for him because I knew he could do better.  I didn’t tell him about what I was going through, after all.  He didn’t know I had children.  When he left the office, my eyes filled with tears,  I wiped them away, and got on with my job. He left around two weeks after.

I  carried on with life as if nothing had changed.  Whilst inside I was slowly dying.  I would look at the little girls on the street with a heavy heart.

I  later received a letter in the post from the solicitors who stated that they would accept my case.  The ball had started rolling.  A date was set for a month later,  I was still unable to see my children. The order was simply to attend to show the judge why the custody order should not go ahead. I would tick the days off the calendar, each day.

Mummy was back  in control and she knew it,  although I was told I couldn’t see the girls, I tried to visit, I really thought mummy would have compassion for the girls, as I knew that they missed me, we had never been apart.  However, although mummy would be at home when I came to visit, she would still  pretend she wasn’t home.  I could hear my girls but they were not allowed to come to the door.

Deep  hatred had set in, and at that time it really was best that mummy didn’t open the door.  Maybe God had a plan still for my life, maybe he knew this would be a part of my testimony.

I would call my solicitor regular, although the court date was set.  I begged her to make me see my girls, but she said there was nothing she could do.    My solicitor was fairly good and she sympathized with the life, I told her, I had with mummy, and why I would rather die than witness my girls go through the same.  I told her I was afraid for their safety.  That I had nothing to gain by lying, but that I just wanted my girls.

We arrived at court at the end of the month, I was disappointed that it was just formality and for the judge to get a background of the case.  I was not getting my babies after all.  More crying and wailing went on that day.  However the judge did say I could see them at weekends for one day.  One day?  The thought of this was driving me insane,  I wasn’t sure how I would go through each day.

At nights D still wanted his business, and for a quiet life I would give in, I knew I needed D, as I wanted back my girls.  By now I had lost weight, was suffering from regular headaches from all the crying.  I had become several people.

I was…..

The common law wife who had to perform her sexual  duties by night, the mother fighting for her children by day,  the  employee working nine to five and meeting daily targets.  To top it all my baby who was finally diagnosed with asthma with regular hospital appointments.

I was still satisfied with the visiting rights that had been given to me, even if it was only one day.   I was to see the children on Saturday and bring them back for Sunday this was so hard, collection was better but returning them and handing them over to mummy was extremely difficult, and  painful. Mummy was filled with glee, whenever she received them.

The solicitor told me the next hearing date would be in three months, “you know how the courts drag their feet”, she said.  No!, I didn’t know at all.  Three months without my babies, how could this be.   I had learnt my new word. Injustice

I knew I needed to remain focus, but then the stories started my little girl started to complain about ill treatment, I was going crazy, she complained about being left alone in the house. Mummy had developed a liking for cry cry. (My second daughter).  She didn’t like the idea that my eldest girl loved me, so she took out her frustration on her.  Hard times indeed.

My little girl, she complained  that granny said she liked  boys, she was the same age as me when I was accused, naturally I believe her as she was far too young to identify with my own childhood. I was frustrated and angry,  hatred for mummy had reached a peak.  I was fighting with my own demons, I remember feeling at times that I was suffocating.  I had no one to help.


One day my daughter showed me a bruise on her leg.

That was it, fear or not, my baby was crying for my help. I  marched down to my mummy’s home.

My daughter opened the door to the dismay of my mummy.

I  marched up to mummy and said…..

 

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4 Responses to When Hate becomes more than a four letter word!

  1. Andy Oldham says:

    There you go again leaving me hanging Beverly 🙂 I love your testimony!

    Like

  2. T says:

    said what?! Beverley I cried as I read this, as always i am tongue tied. looking forward to you next post and hoping you got them back real soon after this.

    Like

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