Speak Out

Domestic Violence happens. We all hear about (as I have said before) spousal abuse, but no one talks about Child to Parent abuse. It is such a taboo. Up and down the country, all around the world it is an issue, but where is the help? Where is the support?

I love my son, more than words can explain. The reason I wrote the previous 2 posts in the third person is that it was the only way I could do it without crying. Distancing myself like that makes it seem like it is happening to someone else. But it’s not, it is happening to me, my happy, sweet, loving child has turned into an angry, unhappy, lost young man. I am not the only one trying to figure out where I went wrong, what happened for him to behave this way. I am only thankful that, as yet, he has not physically attacked me.

But the emotional hurt and pain he inflicts just with words can be as damaging and hurtful as a fist. If it was a fist I could and would fight back. I would lay him out. But with words, I can’t bring myself to say the things that would hurt him. To say the words that sometimes I just want to shout back at him. But I know that in the heat of the anger and upset, I don’t mean them and I stop myself from saying them.

I have not written these past posts, to vilify him, or to make him out to be bad or evil, because he is not. He is an 18-year-old struggling to cope with his own feelings and thoughts. Unable to express himself, not knowing how to deal with his emotions. I don’t want people to hate him. He is my baby boy, he is my life, and to hate him would be to hate a part of me. Hurtful things said about him, hurt me. Right now he is a shit, but he is my shit.

The shame and upset that you suffer being abused, especially by your own child makes you feel a failure. Makes you feel that you have done something wrong. You search for answers that perhaps are not there. You try to think of excuses. You take the blame.

However, by not speaking out I believe I would be condoning his behaviour. By others not speaking out they are condoning their abusers behaviour, whether it be husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend or child. By speaking out you find you are not alone, you are not the only one. By speaking out you find an inner strength that you thought you had lost. By doing this I have been contacted by quite a few brave mothers and fathers who have told me a briefly of their situations. Often, rightly or wrongly, I think to myself, “thank God he isn’t that bad!” But my heart goes out to them as I feel we all have a connection.

I have had people telling me to kick him out. I’ve done that, it has made no difference. People telling me I should disown him! WHAT THE FUCK!! He is my son, we have a tie that nothing can break and I am not going to give up on him. I am not going to just sit back and watch him throw his life away. Imagine it was your child, imagine it was the one human being you had given 18 year of your life to, fed, clothed, and educated, given opportunities to. Loved? Could you do that to yours?

Next week he is in court charged with criminal damage. The day chosen is because the court he is attending has a magistrate that deals with domestic violence. This scares me. He is scared. He has asked me time and time again to withdraw my statement. But I can’t. I have spoken to the Police many times over the last 2 weeks, asking to withdraw my statement. I was asked if West Sussex Police’s policy on domestic violence was explained to me at the time of his arrest. It wasn’t as it all happened rather fast. I have since had a good read. It has been explained to me that it won’t be accepted until after the first court date where my son with submit his plea. I have to say the Police in West Sussex, have been fantastic. They have listened to me asking the same questions time and time again, going over the same things. Reasuring me, helping me. They have given me advice and support.

My Son, now knows there is nothing I can do, the texts and comments of him blaming me for his current situation have subsided a little. Perhaps he is starting to see that he and he alone is to blame. He is calm at home, and being compliant. He has agreed to meet with an organisation that deals with young peoples issues and helps them through their difficulties. They run anger management programmes, and have said that they will meet him for a coffee, have a chat and then offer him whatever strategy they think will help him. I just hope he follows it through and works with them. 

Please don’t hate my son. He needs support as much as I do. He WILL come through this the other end. I WILL come through this the other end. We both just have different paths to tread and hopefully at some point in the not too distant future our paths will run parallel again.

I would also like to say thank you for all the support from friends, family and complete strangers that has brought me to tears many times. It means a lot and even if I have not immediately replied I have read every one of your comments.

Being the victim of Domestic Violence is not something to be ashamed about, whatever form it takes. Sometimes we have to do things that we are scared of doing, even if we are worried how it will affect the abuser, the person we love. But unless we speak out, out the cycle goes on. It can be stopped, the cycle can be broken, solutions can be found. It is not our fault. It is something that can be addressed and something that should be addressed more in the media and in society. Unacceptable behaviour by our children or anyone else behind closed doors can not be allowed to go. If we say “this is happening we need help” perhaps we will get it.

Speak Out.

We Can’t Leave Him Here

Walking through the door into the police station she takes another breath, draws herself up and walks to the window.

“How can I help you?” the lady the other side says.

“I would like to talk to someone about my son please.”

“OK, I will just come round and we can have a chat.”

She is taken to a small room with a table, 2 chairs and a sofa. Offered the sofa she sits slowly on the edge and the police lady asks her “So how can we help?”

Taking a breath, she starts talking. Soon the tears are falling as she explains what had happened the previous night. 20 minutes of sobbing and a lot of rushed talking she finally stops and takes a breath.

“You do realise that this is a form of domestic violence?”

“Yes. I just want someone to talk to him, someone to explain to him how serious this is getting. This is the 3^rd time I have had to contact the police in the last month because of my sons behaviour.”

“Yes I think we need to send a couple of officers around to have a chat with him.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

She smiles at the police woman and for the first time there is a glimmer of hope. A hope that if the officers can talk to him and make him realise how serious his behaviour is getting that he will wake up and return to the human race.

“You’re scared to go home?” the officer asks her.

Shaking her head she says, “No, I’m not scared. I am not sure of the right word. Apprehensive? Weary? I just don’t want another confrontation, another argument. I’m not scared of him, I’m scared for him.”

It is explained that because this is a domestic violence report that they will be out quite quickly. She thanks the officer, leaves her details and goes back to her car. Getting in she stops for a minute and rests her head on the steering wheel. The tears begin to fall again. She is surprised there are any left, she has cried so much over the last month.

Gathering herself together she drives home. Walks through the door. The kitchen is tidy and the washing up has been done. She decides she will still go to her aqua class as it is one thing that is normal  in her life. Gathering up her costume and towel. She goes into the sitting room. The boy is lying on the sofa again, half dressed and under a throw.

“You don’t want your tea then?” he mutters.

“Oh, have you made some?” she is surprised. It has been a long time since he last cooked for her. She goes through to the kitchen and in the microwave is a plate of food. “Thank you she calls, I will eat it after my class.”

Walking down the path she asks herself “Why?” Why can’t everyday be like today? Why can’t he be like that when I get home from work all the time?” Changing the message on her voice mail to let the police know should they call her that she will be home by 8.30 she heads to the gym and gets rid of some of the stresses of the last 24 hours.

Getting home, she discovers they have not been yet. Going to the microwave she looks forward to eating what he made her. But it is empty.

“Where’s my tea?”

“I ate it.” He replied from the sofa.

“Oh”, she gets something out of the freezer and put it in the oven. Then there is a knock on the door. Taking a deep breath she opens it and finds two policemen on her doorstep.

“Hi, come in.”

As they step through the door his face appears around the sitting room door “so you’ve called your piggy friends then!” he calls. In a couple of bounds he is out the sitting room and up the stairs into his room.

“So, would you like to tell us what’s been going on?” the shorter of the two officers said. Standing in the kitchen she recounts what happened the previous night. “I know its such a silly thing to have got to the stage it did. After all it was really originally just over a bit of washing up.”

“So what would you like us to do about it? We can arrest him but you would have to support us and give a statement.”

Sighing “I don’t want him arrested. I don’t want him to have a criminal record. I just want him to realise how serious this is getting. Can you just talk to him?”

“OK”.. they go to head up the stairs and I point out that if they both go up there that he is likely to go out through the window. So one stays downstairs waiting.

“Hi, Its the Police, can we come in and have a chat?” A muffled response

“No, your Mum is in pieces downstairs, I want to talk to you like a man up here. Let me in.”  He had barricaded himself in his room.  “No we are not here to arrest you, we just want a chat.”

After some movement the door is opened and both officers go in. “Right, so why are you being such a dick to your mother?!?!” She listens from downstairs, only catching parts of the conversation. This might well be the first time apart from her, and her father once, that anyone has laid into her son like that before about his behaviour. After 5 or so minutes both officers head back down stairs.

“We have had a chat. He is really very angry.”

“I know. I don’t understand why.” Her son now dressed and hair washed(?!) comes down the stairs and makes to go past the officers.

“Hang a minute mate, lets just get this sorted first.”

“Oh for fucks safe if you won’t let me out the door I will go my other way.” He mutters to them as he retreats back up the stairs.

Looking at her one of the officers says “He is really angry, you can see the adrenalin pumping through his veins, and he is physically shaking.”

They go outside and he is climbing out the window and down the drain pipe. He is greeted at the bottom by the two officers who were waiting for him.

“Come on, you can’t go anywhere yet until we sort this out.”

Squaring up to them “I’m going out. We have talked.” Refusing to back down he makes to go again.

“Please, please stop this.” She begs. “Why are you behaving this way?!”

Putting a hand on his arm the officer says. “Well, if you won’t stay then I will have to detain you.”

Shrugging his hand off and pushing past, her son mutters and walks back into the house, up the stairs and barricades himself back him.

They go back in the house. The officers start talking between themselves.

“We can’t leave him here like this.”

“We will have to arrest him for criminal damage.”

“We have to remove him from the property.”

They turn to her and ask her if she would support them if they were to arrest him. Her mind is a whirl, what was supposed to be just a chat has spiralled out of her control again. He is so angry, and she can see he is scared, but she knows something has to be done, something has to be done to try and make him realise he cannot keep reacting this way. She doesn’t know if it is just a case of him having anger issues, or more seriously mental health or drug related issues. She just knows this is not the normal behaviour or response of a happy human being.  She nods her head and agrees amongst the insanity that that night had become, hoping that this will get him the help he so desperately needs.

The police officers go outside and talk to him from his bedroom window. Telling him they need to take him down to the station after a minute or two he agrees. Finishes his cigarette, un-barricades his bedroom door and stands at the top of the stairs. The officers go up and ask him to come down.

“Cuff me then, then I will go down”.

They place the cuffs on his wrists and he is led down the stairs.

“I love you Mum” he says with no love, no feeling in his voice, cold and calculating.

“I really do love you, more than you can imagine.” She replies

“No you don’t. I hope you are happy now you have got your son arrested.” he spits out to her, “You are dead to me, you will never see me again.”

He walks out the door and down the path to the waiting police car. She stands at the end of her path, straining to see him, closing her eyes and praying that he will be ok.

An hour later and she receives a call. He will be kept in overnight, and questioned in the morning.

“Is he OK?” she asks.

“Yes, he is booked in and has been fed and watered. A couple of other officers will be round to take a statement soon, probably around 10.45.”

She waits up, her mind is a whirl. Thoughts, feelings crashing around in her head. At just before midnight the officers turn up, and for what seems like the 100^th time she recounts what happened. Trying not to forget anything. They take photos of the broken frame and laundry box.

“What do you think will happen?” she asks.

“He will probably get a caution or a caution with condition he pays for the damage.”

“Oh OK”. They leave and she finally heads to bed. Thankful another day is done and she can get at least a couple of hours sleep before heading to work.

I Don’t Know!

It’s Wednesday. She walks through the door after a long day at work and into the kitchen. As she looks around her and sighs. There are enough dirty pots, pans, plates, utensils and cutlery to have fed a family of 6. Only thing is this is a house with only 2 human inhabitants, one of which has been at work all day. The floor is a mess and there are empty packets lying around. Toast crumbs cover the work top and the lid lies off the butter.

Walking through to the sitting room where he is on the sofa half dressed lying under a throw watching the TV.  She asks “Why haven’t you bothered to wash up”

He replies “I’ve been asleep all day.”

“But you have been awake long enough to cook at least two meals. And you were in bed last night early and slept all night how can you be so tired that you need to sleep all day?”

“I woke up made my breakfast, fell asleep then woke up and made my tea and fell asleep”

“You could have washed up after yourself.”

She walks back through to the kitchen, exasperated that after a 10 hour day at work and driving ½ hour to get home she will again be tidying up the kitchen. Under normal circumstances perhaps this lack of effort from the 18 year old in the other room might not have bothered her so much. But he was home on a weeks trial after having been kicked out for the previous 4 weeks. One of the provisos was that he was to keep the house tidy and wash up after himself.

Looking at the mess she mutters to the cat sitting nearby “lazy sod”. A second later there was the sound of breaking glass coming from the sitting room. Going through she sees a photo frame she brought to put a picture of her son in lying broken by the fireplace.

“Why did you do that?!” she asks.

“You shouldn’t mutter about me under your breath in the other room”.

“For gods sake, clear it up please, I don’t want the cats cutting their paws on the glass, it’s right by their scratch post.”

“Na do it yourself.”

She sighs and goes back to the kitchen to continues to clear up and cook her tea. After a couple of minutes, he wanders into the kitchen. It is only small, and he tries to push past her. “Get out my way” he shouts in her face.

“No” she replies.

“For fucks sake get out my way!”as he draws himself up to his full height and tries to push past. She is determined not be bullied and stands firm.

“No, Stop trying to push past me.”

“I’m trying to get some food!”

He reaches around her and takes an apple.  Leaning against the side he asks “So are you going to kick me out again then?” Shaking her head she doesn’t reply and tries to carry on with what she was doing. “It’s your fault you know, the photo frame.”

She stops. She has had enough, enough of the continual blame, enough of him never taking responsibility for his actions.  She says, “Yes, Yes its my fault. Everything is my fault. The crisis in Syria is my fault, the fire on the sea front the other day is my fault. Oh and the car accident up the road where the young lad died is my fault!…”

“Don’t fucking talk about him, I knew him and i know His Mrs.”

“I not talking about them, I am just saying it’s probably my fault along with everything else in the world!”

He throws the half eaten apple across the room and it explodes against the wall. Storming out the room, he stops on the stairs.

“SO ARE YOU FUCKING KICKING ME OUT THEN?!?!?!”

“What would you do? What would you do if this was your child behaving this way?”

“Well I would never fucking throw out my son!!”

He tosses the smoke alarm to her saying “You might want to put this up you don’t know when some petrol might come through the door, oh and I hope you like your windows!!”

“Stop it, please just stop it!”

He spits and shouts “THATS WHAT I THINK OF YOU!”

Storming upstairs he grabs the wooden laundry bin and throws it down the stairs, hitting the wall the lid breaks and a hole is left in the wall. He slams the door to his bedroom. Closing her eyes for a minute she is thankful that he is no longer downstairs. Thankful that for a minute or two the shouting, the abuse has stopped. Picking up the lid she places the box at the bottom of the stairs and goes back to the kitchen to continue what she was doing. Numb, sad, disappointed, worried, and unable to figure out a solution. She carries on as normal, cooking her tea, talking to the cats and worrying about what to do next. All that goes around her head is “I Don’t Know!”

After eating her tea and clearing up, she goes to bed hoping for sleep as she is exhausted. Mentally and physically exhausted. 

Thursday arrives with its usual shrill electronic beeping of the alarm clock on her phone at 5.45am. Easing out of bed she doesn’t feel like she has slept. She doesn’t feel anything apart from sadness. The cat stretches herself on the duvet, expecting her early morning tummy rub which is greeted with a small meow and purr and then she curls up and sleeps again. She is jealous of the cat. Normal morning routine commences, and she heads off to work arriving at 7am.

Nothing unusual happens. Nothing is different. She smiles and chats to her colleagues not wanting to dwell on the previous nights events in case her eyes start to leak again. If she doesn’t talk about it it’s not too bad. But it is there all the time, continually pushing itself forward in her mind  when she is trying to concentrate on something different. She is sad. Sad that she feels she has failed at being a mother. Failed at guiding her son down the right path.

That afternoon she writes a blog. A blog to make herself address the situation. A blog that is so hard to write and read knowing it is revealing to the world what is going on, that she feels ashamed. She doesn’t want people to think badly of her son. She loves him, more than she can ever get him to understand, and she knows underneath he is a great lad. One who has the potential to do so much and go so far. But she needs help, he needs help and the first way to getting it is to accept that things are not right.

Finishing work at 5 she dreads that she has to go home. It’s not that she is scared to go home. She isn’t scared of him. She just doesn’t want another confrontation. Another argument.  On the drive home she decides if the Police station is still open when she gets back then she will go in and have a chat and see if she can get some help. If it is not then she will just carry on as usual.

Looking at the clock as she nears the turning, she sees its 5.35. It will still be open. Parking up the car, she waits for a minute or two to get the courage up. Taking a deep breath she gets out of the car and enters the police station.