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! Important – please read first !
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This short and true story is intended for mature audiences. It speaks of hidden child abuse, emotional, and of neglect.
Please do NOT read if you might think you will become too upset.
I decide to speak of this as I believe the longer we remain silent on this subject the more it will continue to grow in society’s silence. I am not writing this to point fingers of blame, to be hateful. (I try to live a positive life). It is not an easy subject matter to write of – but it is cathartic as it is personal. And, it is very difficult sharing it with you. Acknowledging our own troubles is the first step forward.
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PANIC – a parental gift
by
Faith McCord
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You hold me tight with soothing words as my sobs wash all over them. My body convulses and shakes and it is difficult finding air to breathe. I am just six years old and you’ve somehow become my parent. The real parents are not here: our father at work and our mother unexpectedly gone. But you’re just a child yourself, only 13.
“Sshhh it’s OK, it’s OK. Slowly now…breathe.”
My long pale hair is plastered to my face, caught in my mouth. No doubt I have wet my trousers. I cling to him for life.
“Sshh, you’ll be OK.”
He stayed with me a long time. A long time until the crying ceased and the breathing became normal.
It is the kindest act my brother has done for me. I will always remember it. Despite his later cruelty towards me I will always remember it.
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She screamed she was leaving.
I’ve had enough of you!
Words yelled at my brother as she further ignored me and grabbed my toddler-sister like a security-blanket.
I’m leaving the lot of you! I’ve had enough!
I rushed down the long hall after her.
No! No, don’t leave me!
I couldn’t believe what was happening. My agony silent because that is what I was supposed to be. Silent.
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silent
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Continuing to ignore my existence she slammed the front-door shut. I was made not to follow her.
I couldn’t fathom,
How can she leave me?
How can she leave us?
Why isn’t she coming back?
She’d had a shouting tirade at my brother and all I could think was I must have been bad too. Which was confusing. I never asked for anything or did anything and tried hard to be good and quiet.
She terrified me but it didn’t stop my wish for her to love me.
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TODAY
I had a revelation a few years ago, while speaking to someone about my anxiety. The realisation that the very first panic attack I’d experienced was when I was just six years old. Six.
I would be lying if I said I’m no longer angry, because I am. Not every day, but it hits me sometimes. I try understanding her condition, I believe borderline-personality-disorder or bpd; because of the death of her older sister when she was a small child. Her parents had not talked of the sudden death (of TB) and she wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral. Worse still, she was emotionally shut-out by her parents. It must have been agonising for her during this lonely childhood. I get the sporadic anger when I can’t understand how someone can treat a child like this, their child. I try to be kind to her. She is still my mother and I love her. She tries in her way too – she supports me in the ways she’s able.
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Word count: 476
© copyright Faith McCord 2018
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Copyright Faith McCord 2018
Story and artwork belongs to Faith McCord who is the author and artist holding the copyright. This is not a public domain work. Worldwide rights.
Little Lord Oscar Dandelion Books 