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Why do I bother with this?

As I mentioned before, I don’t work.  I was trying to find work for most of my adult life.  I had little to no success finding work as there really wasn’t all that much work in my area.  Now I’ve stopped looking for work because id rather be a stay at home dad and I prefer it that way.  The main reason I stopped looking for work is because my kids deserve me to be my best self and I’m worried that if I was to get a job my mental health might take a turn for the worst.  You see I’ve bad social anxiety so it would make me feel uncomfortable working in a social environment, so I don’t think its work risking a health for a little extra money.

Don’t get me wrong I would love to get a job working outdoors because physical labour always had a way of smoothing my depression but my arthritis would be a problem.   I hated office work and I hated working in shops, I found that both sectors made me depressed.   When I was at school, I hated every aspect of it, I hated the teachers and disliked most of the students and despised the subjects but when I was in 3rd year in secondary school things changed.  I got a teacher that inspired me, she was an English teacher and was damn good at her job.   She made me use my demons to influence my writing.   So, I started writing stories, lyrics and anything in between.   I quickly found that the more I wrote the happier I was so I began to write in other classes and at home.

After I completed secondary school I kept on writing because it helped my mood, it became the only thing that made me happy.  My writing soon got be into writing group.  I loved going there, the group was full of people aged between 30-80. At the end of the group we’d share or work with the rest of the group and I once a standing novation from a published author.  Some of my friends even liked my work and I liked the attention because people actually liked something that I was doing.  I could never really talk about my feelings or views with people so writing gave me a way of expressing myself in a way I never could. 

So why bother?

Honestly since I was 15, I’ve wanted to be a writer and I’ve had a few blogs in the past but I was looking at it all wrong but now I just want express myself and keep my thoughts and stories backed up, so that I can go back and read them or let my kids read them in the future.  Scraps of paper are easy to lose and files are accidentally deleted.   If my writing could turn into, I career I would be forever grateful because it clears my mind and makes me happier.  It would also mean the world to me if my writing and experiences could help people out there in their lives

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Growing up without a dad Part 2: The Funeral

This post is a continuation from growing up in an abusive home, I recommend reading it first for more context.  https://myjouney.video.blog/2019/03/12/growing-up-in-an-abusive-household/

As I mentioned in my previous post dad left to take care of his aunt.  His abusive ways didn’t make his departure any easier.  I honestly don’t know if he left to take care of her or if he was leaving because he was scared that he couldn’t control any of us anymore.  a few weeks after dad leaving, mum burned almost all of his belongings, she burned hundreds if not thousand worth of electronics.  She knew she could’ve sold them for a lot of money but she was to hurt to have all his things as a constant reminder, I mean this was before eBay or amazon which made selling things much harder.

Meanwhile in England dad was claiming child benefits which left mum with no money for us, I guess he hoped that we would’ve moved over there if we had no money but it just hurt mum more.  Dad spent all of the money for months.  I know dad must’ve drank a lot more when he was away because he had no financial trouble and no responsibility.  On top of stealing or money he missed birthdays, Christmas and only sent back 30 quid of the hundreds he stole.  I think the worst thing he did was only calling around three times a month.   He always called drunk, mum always left the room anytime she heard the phone ring, she knew hearing his voice again would make her run back to him.  The only contact mum really got from him was letters of harassment and empty promises that he’d get help and come home.  Mum wanted to believe him but she knew he’d never ask for help so she didn’t write back and eventually stopped reading his letter, she just couldn’t take any more heart break.

9 months of more excessive drinking dad had a heart attack and nobody was there to help him.  He died in his aunt’s bathroom and was found the next day.  I can’t imagine how difficult it must’ve been to find his lifeless body lying across the floor.  I’m kind of surprised she didn’t have a heart attack when she found him, damn I wish she did.  After finding dad she rang the hospital for an ambulance to take his remains to the morgue.  She waited for a week to call mum and lied about when dad died.  During the week she dad being making plans to have dad cremated and wasn’t even going to tell mum that dad died but I guess her conscience partly caught up with her.

Mum didn’t believe a work dads aunt had said, she assumed that it was some sick plan for dad to come crawling back.  A few hours after the short conversation mum started to believe dad was dead, so she called her sister to ask for advise on what to do.  she didn’t want to tell anybody encase it was all a lie.  My aunt advised her to check with the hospitals in the area that dad had being living in.  after getting off the phone she started digging around the house for a British phone book, she even called a few friends and family to see if they could find numbers.  After a few hours of everybody searching mum had a few hospital numbers.  Mum called up 5 different hospitals and none of them knew anything about dad’s death.  Mum began to feel hopeful, she thought dad was alive until my aunt gave her another number but this time a number for a private hospital.  Only problem was that it was now lunch and she couldn’t get any answers.  

She spent the next dour sitting by the phone, waiting in limbo.  At 2pm on the dot she rang up the private hospital.  After explaining who she was and whom she was calling about the coroner confirmed that dad had died.  The coroner explained that he was shocked to hear from her.  he then told her that the evil aunt told him that dads’ wife had died years ago and that he had no children.  He was told that dad had no other family who cared for him.  The coroner ensured that dad had not being cremated and that he and the rest of the staff had grown suspicious so put the preparations on hold for someone to come forward and then said that he’d hold the remains until mum knew what she wanted to do.

Mum must’ve gotten of the phone in hysterics.  She found out that her husband, her soul mate had died, she found out that her kids would grow up without a dad and was shocked that dad’s aunt wasn’t going to let us say goodbye.   Mum couldn’t function with the news so she called her sister for support.  Mum didn’t drive so she also needed a ride to the school.  Mum didn’t know how to tell us that we where never going to see our dad again.  I mean how can you tell how can you tell a 5-year-old girl and an 8-year-old boy that they’re never going to see their dad again?  It must be hard for anybody to do especially to your own kids. 

Shortly later mum’s sister went to our house to give mum some company.  They talked for a while and my aunt tried her best to comfort mum, she tried to encourage mum into telling us about dads passing by herself.  After their conversation my aunt gave mum a ride to the school.  Mum told the teachers the news first and then the teachers took me and my sister out of class so we could see mum.  I didn’t know what was going on, I thought I was in trouble but didn’t know why my sister was coming too.  Mum broke into tears as soon as she saw us, I can still remember the sadness in her face, I honestly thought I did something to upset her so I tried to think what I did wrong but couldn’t think of anything, then it hit me.  I knew somebody had died.  Mum was hysterically crying and I couldn’t understand anything she was saying but then I could hear her saying “do use want to say goodbye to your dad”?   at first, I thought she meant that dad was going somewhere but he had already left and then it hit me.  I felt emotionally paralysed, I couldn’t cry and couldn’t say a word, mum knew I was taking the news harder that my younger sister so she hugged me before pulling in my sister.

After a few minutes of standing there we went back to mums’ sisters so that she could ring the morgue as soon as possible to arrange for dads remains to be transported home to be buried.  The next day the coroner called back to ask for mum permission to let the bitch say goodbye and mum being the great person she is gave her blessing and let the bitch say goodbye.  Over the next few days mum made all the arrangements.  She spent all her savings and even got an advance on her pay check to have dad sent over, to buy him a coffin and to give him a good funeral.  She spent over €5,000 to give dad a good send off.

A few days later mum went the whole way to the airport to meet the undertaker so that dad wouldn’t have to travel home alone.  Mum called us to let her let us know when they were close to the Church so that we could make our way to meet her.   My brother, sister, aunts, cousins and I waited in the pissing rain for the remains to arrive.  I can remember feeling anxious as the hearse passed by.   Our small group of family and friends followed behind the hearse to the entrance of the church. 

The undertaker opened his door and walked around to let mum out, mum looked lifeless it broke my heart seeing her look so broken.  The undertaker then opened the boot and pulled out the coffin and then my brother and a few of mum’s friends carried the coffin to the front of the church and placed it on a stand and the minister opened the coffin.  Mum was the first to go to pay her respects, she instantly broke into tears as soon as she seen dads’ lifeless body she just stood there, crying and holding his hand.  It was so hard to watch her slowly fall to pieces as she kissed him goodbye.  My brother paid his respects after.  He must’ve felt conflicted, he must’ve been happy to be free from the abuse but must’ve being sad for the rest of us.  I was next to say goodbye, I felt so anxious as I slowly walked over to the coffin.   I can still remember how alive dad looked, I was expecting him to grip my hand as I firmly held his.  I hoped he would jump out and scare me, I just wanted to hear him say anything hell I would’ve gladly taken another beating just for another day with him.  After standing there holding his hand I knew that he was gone, I didn’t cry, I didn’t feel sad, I just numb and said goodbye and gave him a kiss on the forehead and walked on.

After we had said our goodbyes we stood in front of the coffin and people began to flood in around us offering their condolences.  I quickly became frustrated with them because they didn’t care about him or my family, they where only there when they wanted something.  Wakes and funerals always bring out the biggest hypocrites.  Most of them wouldn’t even say hello when passing on the street but they’d gladly show up to see dad in a coffin as if it was some kind of circus.  After an hour of torment, the people stopped copping and I began to calm down, I just wanted time to process everything in peace.  the wake was obviously difficult for me and everybody generally just overwhelmed me with their meaningless apologises.

After the wake had ended, we went back to my aunts who lived close to the church.  I still couldn’t cry and still couldn’t believe dad was gone.  My aunt gave us food and me my brother and sister played with her kids. Later that day I got in a fight with two of her kids, the two of them really choose the wrong day to piss me off so they ended up getting a beating and ran home crying to their mother just like how they always did.  After they left, I went up to grandads where mum had been for an hour or so.  I tripped on something on grandad’s driveway and busted my knee pretty bad and then the guilt overwhelmed me and I broke out in tears, mum heard me from inside so she came out to comfort me.  we spend at least 15 minutes in silence hugging, both crying from or loss.

The next day we got ready for the funeral, we had to pick up the last few things for the funeral.  it was nice being too busy to think for a while.   After or trip to town we went straight down to the church for the funeral.  Just as we got out of the car the rain began to pour and the sun light became smothered in clouds.  We ran from the car into the church, it was horrible walking up the aisle, I felt like everybody was feeling sorry for us and I hated it.  We sat in the front row and the funeral was short but sweet.  The minister mentioned about dad building his own radio transmitter and hosting a radio station, he mentioned how dad fixed things for almost anybody that asked for his services, he also mentioned how caring dad was that he left to look after his aunt and lastly, he called him a great man and said he’d me sorely missed.  After the service my brother and a few others carried the coffin to the grave side.  My mum, sister and I followed the coffin carrying flowers.  The walk down the grave yard was one of the hardest walks I’ve ever had.  I could hardly keep it together and mum was just as upset.  When the undertakers where about to put dad in the ground mum broke down, I thought she was going to jump in so me and my brother held her and my sister close, as dad was laid to rest.  Even though dad was abusive to all of part of us died with him as the dirt covered the coffin. 

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Pills

Souce: pexels

Isn’t it typical you say I’m clinical? From the tension of this depression. My mind is a weapon about to explode. Here’s a lesson I want a slice of heaven. Give me these pills so I might face my fears. With no mention of my bearings as I long for my little slice of happiness, maybe I’m typically, visible to falling to another session of depression.

Give me my pills to tone my skills, Feed me my drugs so I can melt away so, I can put these knifes away and live with another struggle and learn the lesson of life

Give me a reason to stop bleeding. Watch me beaten out my demons. Or fetch me pills and clinically typically make them go away and pray that I might live life and not fall again to this clinical depression.

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Remorse a short story

I’ve read your letter again, if I had no memory, I would’ve accepted your perfect apology, but there’s a big problem, I can remember all the events that unfolded that night as clear as day.  I know who was to blame for that horrible night!

I blame you, you let them scum in after all.  So, don’t even try wasting my time by making meaningless apologies.  Well maybe I’m being too hard on you, it wasn’t completely your fault, you didn’t know them scum where going to tie us up and take us out one by one but how stupid can you be to invite strangers into my home.

I remember how you froze in fear, alongside the rest of them when they first pulled out the guns, fuck you were the first one to sit down and the first one to be tied up, I swear if they asked you jump, you’d ask how high?  They were threatening our family and friends so I can understand why you obeyed so quickly. The scum threatened us and said if we made a single sound, they put a bullet through our heads in a split second.

Bill was the first to go, he wept like a one-year-old child crying out for its mother’s milk, so they shot him down.  I can remember the silence after his body pounded of, followed by the pool of blood.  Nobody made a sound because no one wanted to be next but stupid will do what stupid does.

The second was James who acted in stupidity, he wrestled the terrorist to the floor grabbing the terrorists 45 in the process.  The idiot was shot before he even had the chance to pull the trigger.  He got shot in the leg and then was beaten to death with one fatal blow after the next.  I can’t believe they could do something like that, as soon as his body hit the floor while we paralyzed from shock, you acted selfish and bolted through the window and jumped landing to your own safety leaving the rest of us to suffer the consequences of your actions and you have the nerve to tell me you did it to get help, where was this help? Oh, wait you forgot your phone.

I honestly wouldn’t have care, I would’ve been happy you made it out safe but my idiot brother decided to follow you, they shot him three times in the back before he could reach the window.  He would’ve stayed if it wasn’t for you acting out of fear.   You got him killed, I still remember him bleeding out in my arms.  You’ve no idea how much it hurt but, in that moment, I felt nothing but hatred and anger as my brother had his last breath.

The three of them didn’t have to die, you see the rest of us were working on a plan to get out safely but it would’ve taken time to pull off.  All three of you acted out in fear before the plan was put in motion.   We would’ve told use all but you acted before we got a chance.    Bill died a coward, James died an idiot before we could tell them and well you got out like a selfish prick and got my brother killed. If you idiots would’ve just waited, we all would’ve, made it out. The rest of us stuck to the plan and overpowered the terrorists, we then killed all three of them because it was us or them.  My seventeen-year-old sister even stayed and fought.  I wish I couldn’t remember my brother’s death, I still can remember him dying in my arms.  I wish I didn’t blame you but you did get him killed.  You showed him a way out that he was stupid enough to try, only he got killed in the process when the king of cowards got out un hurt.  I wish I could accept your apology but it’s all too late.  You used to be my brother, my best friend but you didn’t even attend his funeral, I know it was hard for you but you still should’ve been there.  Maybe one day things might change, maybe even in time I’ll forgive you but I can’t right now and I’m not making promises.

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Why don’t I get a job?

Well I did work, I began to work for myself during the school holidays from the age of 12 as a labour.  I made between €80 – €200 a week which was great money considering how young I was.  The work was really hard but I enjoyed being my own boss.  I loved working out door and being able to take a break when I wanted a smoke and to admire the scenery surrounding me.  I worked for 8 years until my lungs became week from smoking, I had to take some time off so I could get better and as soon as I was well enough to work, I went back to it.

When I was 21, I had my first legal job working as night porter.  Some weeks I had a total income of €700 as I worked during the day and then at night.   As a night porter I had to keep the hotel clean, to keep the bars stocked and help set up the stage where the bands played.  Some nights I took 12-hour shift because I needed the money, it was an easy job to do but extremely exhausting because of the long shifts and dealing with drunk fools wasn’t fun either.  I worked there for 6 months until the boss decided to give my job to nephew.

After loosing my job as night porter, I decided to do a computer course.  Honestly the only reason I decided to do the course was to get money.  I got paid €35 a day just for attending.  If it wasn’t for the money the course would’ve being an absolute waste of my time.  All it included was training to use Microsoft office which I already knew how to use.  I had zero interest in the course so ended up spending most of the day outside smoking.  Even though I spend most of the time outside I aced all the tests.

After completing that course, I did a business course.  The business course was more challenging and enjoyable.  It was nice being able to learn something that was actually beneficial.  The course also had a workplace module which meant that I had to look for work experience.  For the first part of the module I worked in a local chemist.  I enjoyed working there, all the staff where very welcoming.  I had to help the owner with deliveries, help sorting the medicine, help with his book and he even let me brew some medicine.  For my second work placement I worked in an office and the only thing I learned from the week was that I really don’t want to work in an office.

Half way though the course I was assaulted and had my and broken.  My thumb was very badly broken but it was too swollen to be operated on and I was in too much pain to leave the house so I had to wait at home for weeks until the swollen went down.  After I had the operation, I was in a cast and had a metal pin so my bone would heal correctly.  The doctors didn’t want me going back to the course encase someone accidentally knocked the pin out of place, so I did what I was told.

After months of physio therapy I decided to go back to the course because I was bored of being stuck in the house.  My hand was still very week but I needed the money that the course guaranteed, I was desperate for money because I had no money for 3 months so I had to beg family for money and smokes.  I missed 3 months of the course, a lot had changed, I had a new tutor and a lot of people dropped out. I missed a lot of the modules but the tutor was nice enough to go over all the assessments with me I could catch up with the rest of the class.  Months later I completed the course, passing all the modules.

During the course my hand regained a lot of its strength so I decided to go back to work as a labour.  I pushed myself for months working my arse off.  By the end of every day my hand would be killing me and I normally would loose all movement if I used it too much.  I had to stop working during the winter due to the cold hurting my hand and making it unusable.   I then spent months looking for work elsewhere, I quickly became depressed because 9 out of 10 of my emails got no reply.  I spent weeks lying in bed feeling sorry for myself until my life changed.

Months later I got offered a placement in another course, the course offered workplace training and information about internships.  The course lasted for two weeks and during them two weeks I met my partner.  She was up for a week visiting her cousin whom is also my best friend.  We quickly hit it off and rushed a relationship.  Our honeymoon period lasted for about two weeks.  The distance between us caused a lot of fights, the distance made us paranoid.  Shortly after the course I started looking for an internship around where she lived.  A week later I got offered the job in a shop but didn’t have to start until the next month.  I kept promising that I’d move to be with her and then she got sick of me promising so began to threaten me by telling me I had two weeks to move up with her.  Two days later on New Year’s Eve I moved up to her.

A few weeks later I started work and she was pregnant.  Turned out that fell pregnant in December so wanted me to move up to support her during the pregnancy.  I hated the new job so was always stressed out and I took a lot of that stress into our relationship so we fought a lot and both said some truly horrible things to each other.  We both had no excuse but we sure made a lot of them.  Her excuse was always pregnancy hormones and mine where always work related.  I was stressed because I only made €10 a day on top of benefits, I hated the staff because they talked down to me and I hated the shop because it was so cluttered that I felt claustrophobic and found it hard to breathe.  The staff really where horrible but the boss was the worst, I once watched him rip of a poor innocent old man.  The prick actually tried to convince the old man that they never sold the item he returned.  The poor man looked so confused, I really wanted to do something, hell I wanted to give the man the money or at least go down to the store room and hand him a replacement heater but I couldn’t because I needed that extra €50 for the baby.

As the months passed the problems with my partner and the dead-end job made me depressed and then suicidal, so one night I lost control and went into a trance like state and began to repeatedly my wrists.  After a few minutes I snapped out of it, after seeing all the blood I panicked and called my mum.  An hour later my mum arrived with her partner.  She was disappointed that I didn’t talk to her about my feelings but was happy to see me alive, I actually think she thought that I was going to bleed out before she got to me because I was too anxious to go to hospital by myself. 

Mum took me hospital so I could get the help I needed by the time I got there the bleeding had stopped.  I waited in the emergency ward for a while before getting seen by a nurse.  She was confident that I wouldn’t need stitches and said that if I cut any deeper, I would’ve sliced my arteries and bled to death.   After she checked me over, she sent me to her superior.  Minutes into talking with the doctor I passed out due to lack of sleep and blood loss.  After I came around the doctor helped me into the bed across the room, as soon as I lay on the bed I looked over at mum, the look on her face was heart breaking, I feel so bad for making her worry like that. 

The doctor left me and mum alone so we could talk and then came back a few minutes later with a large cup of water, he handed me the water and told me to drink so I would regain my strength.  After I finished drinking, we began to finish our conversation.  He basically just asked me was I okay, why I was depressed and why did I cut.  He also didn’t think I needed stitches and wasn’t comfortable sending me home so he sent me to his superior.  After waiting for 8 hours his superior had me admitted into the psychiatric ward.  I spend 3 weeks in there, I needed the break from my life.  For them 3 weeks I focused on my music, began to eat healthy again and got my focused on my hygiene. 

After getting out of hospital I took some time out for myself so I could focus on my mental health, I was told not to go back to work because the nurses and doctors thought that going back to an underpaying job might lead to another suicide attempt.  Weeks later my partner and I got back together and worked things out.  I then moved in with her family so we could save for a house.  Months later my claim for disability came in and we got our own house.

The house was left in a state by the previous occupants so we spent a few days cleaning it.  After the house was clean, we moved in.  The house was small so we quickly settled in.  Over the next few weeks we made our house a home and then over the next few months we started getting the house ready for the baby.  We bought cribs, clothes and everything else we needed.  The only thing we didn’t buy out of our own pocket was a pram giving to us from her mother and a few clothes and nappies from family and friends. 

Shortly after we had everything set up, she went into labour and our lives then changed for the better.  The labour was very hard on the baby, the baby’s heart couldn’t cope with the contractions so my partner had an emergency c section.  We had a healthy baby girl.  My partner needed to rest at home until her wound healed so I quickly became very hands on the baby, doing most nappy changes and most feedings so that my partner could heal.  After a few months I got my partner pregnant again and 9 months later she had to have another c section.  We had another beautiful baby girl.  I then became hand on with both babies so that my partner could rest. 

Why don’t I work now?

Now I choose not to work because I want to stay at home with my kids, I love waking up and seeing the girls, I love spending my days with them and I love spending every day with my partner.  My girls are a blessing and I want to spend as much time with them as possible because these are the years I’ll never get back.  Every day has new challenge’s, every day the girls learn something new and now I go to bed feeling proud.  The girls gave my life purpose when I needed it the most and I am forever grateful to them.  The memories are worth more than any job and I don’t want to miss a thing and I’m honestly worried that if I do get a job my metal health might slip and I want to be the best version of myself for the people I love. 

If you enjoyed reading this post please read more, leave a like and subscribe for more.  If you want be updated when I post consider following me on.

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Growing up without a dad part 1: Growing up in an abusive household.

I loved my dad just like any other kids love their parents.  He was unemployed due to back pains and was always at the house but I still looked up to him.  I loved how he could fix just about anything, I loved how he had his own pirate radio station and I loved how he treated me like an adult.  He talked to me about everything and I learned a lot more just from watching him that I learned in my 14 years in education.  My dad was such a smart man.  He was British giving him an edge over almost everybody because he could fix the likes of coloured TVs before they were able for purchase to most of the Irish population so most of his days involved him fixing peoples TVs and radios for dirt cheap barely making a profit.  He did work for a company before I was born but he felt like he under paid and also had to leave because his back got worse and wasn’t able for the daily work flow. 

Due to the pain and money problems my dad began to drink and excessive amount.  Most nights he drank a bottle of whiskey a night.  His drinking problems caused a lot of our financial problems.  Some days my mum had to walk down to the shop and beg for food because my dad spend all the money on his whiskey and beer mix.  So basically, when my dad wasn’t drinking whiskey, he was brewing his own beer.  Over the years by dads back pains and excessive drinking turned him into an abusive man.  Some were along the way my dad made a choice to give up on the health board that could’ve got him help for his pain and for his addiction.  My dad was a great man but he had his demons and used alcohol to solve them.

My dad couldn’t control his anger and the smallest things could set off his rage and he lashed out in a daily basis and the only person that was safe from my dad was my younger sister and even she felt his rage.  My dad was against hitting girls and if he ever seen me lift a hand to my and sister, he’d give me a beating.  When my sister was bold, he’d make mum hit her and my mum always did what she was told because she was scared of what would happen if she refused.

He was really like a selfish child, he always had to get his way.  He had to have his booze and smokes so mum had to work her arse off working up to 12 hour shifts in a shitty hotel for shitty money.  She worked firstly to feed us but most of her hard-earned money when to feeding my dad’s addiction.  She fed his addiction because she was scared of what would happen if she refused.  My dad’s biggest talent was getting his way, he used pure force to get what he wanted but outside our home he was a coward and always kept to himself but he was charming and could talk to a random stranger like they were his best friend.

At the start my dad just verbally abused us but eventually that became physical.  My dad started beating me when I was four and as I got older the beatings got worse.  At first it was slaps, then it was punches and then came the weapons.  His weapon of choice was the sally rod, a toughened old stick.  I don’t know why he beat us, maybe he felt powerful punching us, hitting us with belts and solid objects.  Maybe he liked seeing the blood pouring from our faces and bodies or maybe he loved seeing us trebling in fear.

I can remember one morning I got out of bed and got ready for school and went down stairs turned out I made too much noise and woke dad up from his sleep, I can remember feeling excided about seeing dad before I left for school, I was excited for him to give me a hug and to tell me to enjoy my day at school, oh how stupid I was.  He was pissed because I woke him up that early so he walked downstairs with his leather belt in his hand.  He walked calmly into the sitting room as soon as I seen the belt in his hands, I raised my hand to protect my face and head, he swung his belt at me and hit my hands and then went back up to bed like nothing had happened.  The metal tips of the belt sliced through my fingers they gushed out blood, I can still remember crying from the pain because I have the scars as a reminder. A few minutes after we heard my dad close the bedroom door mum rushed me out the house because she was afraid that I’d get another beating.  As I walked down the road to get the school bus the bleeding got worse.  I had to wait there for a while and couldn’t stop the tears from running down my face, I felt so alone and sad, I felt like I deserved it, like I deserved all of the beatings.

I was still bleeding and crying as the bus pulled in as, I got on the bus the driver noticed that I was crying and seen the blood running down my fingers he said “keep your head up, it gets easier”.  I just said nothing and walked past him and sat by myself. I can remember thinking why didn’t he do something, why didn’t he help me, why didn’t anybody help me, why didn’t anybody care enough to do something about it.  when the bus stopped, I got off the bus and didn’t talk to a single friend or person I just stood in the corner and waited for the school door to open.  The whole day I sat by myself and didn’t talk to another soul.  I just wanted to be left alone to my soul.  That day I became depressed, I became depressed because I got sick of the abuse and I felt like nobody cared about me.

Look he honestly wasn’t all bad and I feel like if I didn’t mention some of the good, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.  I loved it when he took me for walks, I loved talking to him about everything, I loved it when he made me feel important and when he protected me.  On one of our walks we took the back road we made it to the shore and noticed the tide was far in but noticed that there was a thin path for us to walk on so we continued to walk around the shore.  As we walked around the cliff we got attacked by bees, we had nowhere to go because the tide had covered the path behind us so we could only go forward.  As soon as my dad realised that we had to walk directly through the bees he covered me with his jacket and left himself exposed to be stung, guided me safely through the rocks until we were far from the bees.  

After we got off the shore, he told me what to do if he drowned or hurt himself, he told me where to go for help honestly, he freaked me outWe walked up the road a bit more in silence until we got attacked by geese, they were evil relentless bastards.  My dad took of his jacket and swung it back and forth to keep them away from me.  He made me run, so I ran like hell up the hill and didn’t stop until I couldn’t run anymore.  I sat down to catch my breath and waited for dad.  After a few minutes he caught up with a few minor cuts.  For the first time in my life I saw dad as a hero and he had a few moments that made him a hero.

Another day he took my older brother for a walk and came across a badger caught in a barbed wire fence and of course he couldn’t leave it there, he made my brother run back to the house to get the wire cutters.  My dad waited by the badger’s side until my brother returned.  As soon as my brother returned, he took the wire cutters and slowly reached his hand out, he cut the barbed wire that was wrapped around the badger’s neck.  He fried the badger without worrying about his own safety all he cared about was saving the badgers life.  He could’ve lost his hand, leg or gotten rabies if bitten but he didn’t care, he was the definition of a hero that day.

My dad showed that he could be a hero in a few ways but sadly there were more bad times than good like the time dad, sister and I walked back from the pub.  My sister said she would tell mum that he was flirting with her sister in law and he responding by saying that the ground would open up and swallow her whole.  She was only five so she believed him and she was so terrified that she couldn’t sleep for a few nights after that.

Even though my brother was older I still looked out for him and he looked out for me.  I felt bad for my brother because he got sent of too boarding school when he turned 12, so I only got to see him during the weekends and school holidays.  I think he had the hardest time with dad and I think he got send to boarding school because dad was worried that he’d fight back.  I can remember one day my dad was shouting loudly at my brother so I ran to his defence.  The argument got fairly heated and dads temper was going through the roof.  I knew dad was going to punch him so I suddenly jumped in to take the punch.  He punched me directly in the face, my lips instantly gushed out blood and my face began to swell.  After the punch mum and my brother shielded me from dad.  Dad didn’t go for another punch, he just stood there and kept apologising and I was having none of it, I was so pissed that he actually full on punched every other time he punched me he held back but this time was full force.  No one has ever punched me as hard as he hit me that day.  I didn’t even cry.  I was so pissed off I just couldn’t take it anymore I just stopped caring and was so sick of his half-arsed apologies.  After a while my dad gave up trying to look for forgiveness so he left for the pub. I gave up on dad after that. I wonder did he tell his friends how he busted his knuckles and did he tell them that he busted them by punching his eight-year-old son.

Later on, that same day my brother told me he had a baseball bat hidden under the bed dad.  He was planning on hitting dad over the head but had to wait until dad threw the first punch so he could act in self-defence, I guess he was also sick of the abuse and that anything was better than suffering another day from father’s rage.  In a way it’s a miracle that I was there because if I wasn’t my brother could’ve killed him and never would’ve being able to forgive himself for killing another living being.

The next day dad stood in the door way and blocked me in the room, he started apologising again and kept going.  I got sick of listening and couldn’t listen to him anymore so for the first time I lifted my hand to him.  I punched him with all my strength in the stomach and he fell like a tonne of bricks.  He was so shocked that his youngest son hit him back.  I just walked past him and said nothing.  Mum also was sick of the physical abuse he was getting from him and she got so sick of watching him beat down on us time and time again so when dad went to beat her with his belt, she grabbed it and found the strength to pull the belt of his hands, she began to shout at him and smack him time and time again.  My brother also finally stood up to dad one day he met dad at the bottom of the road and punched him breaking his nose in the process.

A few weeks later dad moved to England, he said he was moving there to look after his aunt.  The true reason for him leaving was because we weren’t afraid anymore.  He lost all his power when he punched me because none of us could sit back and let something like that happen again.  My dad was the finally the one who became scared, so scared that he left and never came home.

Over the coming weeks mum sent him all his items that he asked for and burned the rest.  She burned €1000’s worth of broken TV’s she knew she could’ve made money if she sold them for parts but she was in a rush to get rid of everything that reminded her of him, of course she kept the pictures because she didn’t want us to forget what he looked like.  During the 9 months that past dad missed birthdays and Christmas he phoned us a handful of times.  On the tenth month dad had a heart attack and was found dead in his aunts’ bathroom.  To this day nearly 20 years later I’ve so much guilt on my conscience because in I blame myself for dad’s death.  I keep myself awake some nights thinking that I shouldve talked him into getting help instead of turning my back on him and I would give up everything just to go on another one of our walks to have another one of our long talk’s, damn I just wish I could hear his voice on last time!

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source: pexels

What is normal?

Getting mentally well is difficult when realising that you’ve already pushed almost everyone away who mattered  but what is normal in a world full of degenerates?
Trusting in people is difficult when having millions of secrets.  Secrets are the only truth,  If secrets are exposed, we are open to submission, we are weak when there is no past untold.


It’s difficult to be normal in a world that is falling apart and full of liars.  Lies become truth and truth becomes lies.  Normal is just an expression of words used to lightly.  Normal is painted out by the higher class to make the rest jealous of their so called perfect life.


Wealth can solve a lot of problems, nothing in life is free so you’d think wealth buys happiness, well that what were led to believe.  Wealth just fills the empty hole left by sadness.  Wealth doesn’t matter because our world is made of dirt and we are just the ants that reap the world and soon we will all be left to rest in the ground.

How can we be mentally well when we are brainwashed into believing the lies of idiots? our words are unheard, we are all made to feel like our opinions don’t matter.
How can anybody be sane when its normal to hear of chaos left caused by terrorism?
Sanity is key to insanity but nothing is sane in a dying world.
Everything is insane, insanity is leading chaos, fear leading agony.

Everybody is mentally fucked in some way and that’s perfectly normal so don’t hate being different.  Use your differences, let them drive you.  Being mentally ill is the new normal, nobody is perfect you, everybody is flawed.  Live your life the way you want to and don’t let anyone tell you how to live it. 

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Switching from smoking to vaping

Source : pexels

This isn’t meant to be an informative post, if you’re looking for the science or facts behind smoking and vaping you’ve come to the wrong place.  This post is just about my experience and reasons of smoking and vaping.  I do not recommend smoking or vaping to anybody that does not already smoke.  Now that’s out the way let’s continue.

My brother smoked, his girlfriend, my aunts smoked and a lot of my older friends smoked, the only person I knew that didn’t smoke was mum.   So, I found myself very curious as to why so many people chose to smoke.  Cigarettes where easily accessible to me through friends and through a few shops in the area whom sold smokes to minors.  I think my brother was the only person who tried everything, even threating me in attempt to prevent me from smoking, he is 10 years older and started smoking at 12 The main reason he didn’t want me smoking was obviously because the money and health risks involved.

I had dealt with depression from the age of 6 and couldn’t really talk about it to anyone because I felt like I had to be strong for mum and didn’t want be a on anybody.  I soon dealt with depression by self-harming.  I wasn’t all that badly effected by him dying but watching mum fall to pieces was hard.  When I was 8, I began to feel useless and guilty for my dad leaving and then dying so I began to cut in attempt to deal with the numbness inside.  At first, I cut my upper arm above my sleeves so I could hit the cuts under my sleeves I didn’t want anybody worrying about me.   The older I got the lower I cut and the better I got at hiding it.  I cut anytime my depression got bad, even though I wasn’t cutting that deep it helped taking the edge off.  I began to be obsessed by the pain and soon developed a comfort for it, anything was better than feeling dead inside.

As I mentioned I had a brother who smoked and a few friends that did as well.  When I was 12 most of my friends were much older than me so they had already been smoking for a while which worked out to be convenient, so one day I decided to steal a cigarette from my brother and I was hooked after that day.   Up until a that point the only thing that took the edge off was cutting.  I heard so much about the negatives of smoking but people forgot to mention that it helps with anxiety.   The nicotine in cigarettes is a stimulant that can act as a calming effect and I found that the act of standing by myself having a smoke calmed me down.  

I was working from a young age so I began to buy cigarettes shortly after having my first smoke.  The local shop never asked for identification so I had no problem buying them.  Soon smoking became my daily calming agent.  When I felt like cutting, I’d go for a smoke instead and as stupid as this sounds, I can say that the simple act of smoking saved my life because with less than a year all them times I wanted to cut and smoked a cigarette instead was a lot and potentially made the difference between life and death.

Smoking shortly became more than just my coping mechanism.  It began to be the way I’d meet a lot of people that I considered friends.  I remember fondly being at school and walking beyond the school gates having a smoke and long conversations with people whom I’d never even think of speaking too.  Smoking also let to steady income, I used to buy cheap imported smokes for €4 a box and sold them at €1 a piece that’s €16 profit within a few days which was needed because I was only getting €10 pocket money a week.

After the person whom sold us the cheap smokes got jail time it became more difficult to get them.  Soon I was smoking a box a day which is a lot for a 13-year-old.  My family was left with practically nothing after dad died.  I felt so bad having to steal from mum to feed my addiction but I felt like I had to because my cravings where unbearable.  I felt like I needed cigarettes because they became the only thing that helped with my depression.  The stealing continued until I finished school and continued until I was 19 but I stole less and less each year because mum noticed that I was a completely different person when I didn’t smoke so she often gave me the last of her money so I could by smokes to calm my nerves.

By the age of 20 I was smoking up to 40 a day and had to quit because I was coughing up blood in a daily basis and it freaked me out because other than smoking, I was healthy.  I wasn’t drinking that much alcohol, I was eating fairly healthy so I knew the blood was from smoking so I nipped it in the bud.   The first few weeks after quitting I kept coughing up blood and flem after a while I was healthy again but I lost my coping mechanism and began cutting my wrists again and soon cutting wasn’t doing scratching that itch.  I just wanted to feel something over than the nothingness inside.

Just before I turned 21, I started a course the first day was so boring and I was stressed out because I couldn’t talk to anyone because of my anxiety so I began to smoke again and just like before it calmed me down.  I was able to talk to people who attended my course because smoking numbed my anxiety.  Most days at the course I’d smoke 10 a day just so that I could sit in the same room as other people without having a panic attack and then when I got home, I’d smoke another 10 at home to calm my depression. Within a few months of smoking again I already felt my breathing getting worse and I began to get sick more often.  I may have met some amazing people but also met some scum from being in the wrong place at the wrong time just because I had to go outside for my smoke.

I continued to smoke 20 a day for a while and then I started smoking 30 a day and soon it felt like I was smoking every 10 minutes.  I was rolling smokes without even realising it and randomly smoking without even knowing it.  I was 21 and couldn’t run up the stairs without being out of breath when a year prior I was running 6 miles almost every day.  My health took a turn for the worse and there was nothing I could do about it.  Any time I panicked slightly or felt in any way depressed I’d smoke which led to never breathing in fresh air.  I was smoking for so long that I forgot what fresh air smelt like.

I had a really bad cough, a smoker’s cough for years at this point but I felt so dependent on smoking that I didn’t care about what it was doing to my health. I was deeply depressed and felt bad about smoking because my mum’s dad had cancer and luckily defeated it by having one of his kidneys removed as well as its bladder and her husband, my dad died from a heart attack.   I would hate for my mother to have to watch me and my brother for that matter get cancer and potentially die from it.  I wanted to quit for her but I couldn’t it really was the only way I could cope, don’t get me wrong my friends and family all said they’d be there anytime I needed someone to talk to but they all had a way to make me feel guilty for being depressed.

At 22 I had my first child and as happy and excited as I was, I was bricking it so I ended up smoking close to 30 a day and my partner only smoking 6 a day which pissed her off for obvious reasons which made me smoke on top of the 30 I had been smoking.  I had to take out loans to get the baby stuff and to get our first house because we both came from poor families and got no handouts.  Stressing out about paying bills, rent, loans and being father overwhelmed me and before I knew it 60 grams of tobacco was lasting me 3 days

I got my partner pregnant with another child and we both panicked and wondered how the hell we’d feed another child which led to more loans and more struggling for money.  We were obviously very excited for our second child but the timing was all wrong.  My health was getting worse and my arthritis was worsening due to smoking.  I needed something to change.

The birth of our second child was stressful my partner had to have another emergency c section so I smoked 40 a day to cope with stress.  I had a lot on my shoulders, I had €15,000 to pay back and 2 kids and a house to look after almost all by myself while my partner made her recovery.  It was very hard for me but I never complained and got on with it.

Not long after my youngest turned 6 months I was spending anywhere between €60 to €100 on smokes a week to cope with the stress. I always would buy food and anything else we needed before buying myself smokes.  For months I left myself with less than 10 euro for the week something had to change I knew I had to give up smoking but the nicotine patches and inhalers did nothing and the tablets made me sick I didn’t know what to do.

Then my partner jokingly suggested vaping, I laughed thinking it was for kids and snobs but I was curious.  Then came the research, I watched hours of YouTube videos, read dozens of articles and I couldn’t believe the sheer amount of positive feedback from what seemed to be a simple product.  Going into the research I wasn’t expecting to find anything I’d actually consider using because I’m a picky person when it comes to tech products.  I generally could not believe the variety of what was out there.  I saw some amazing looking mods from smok, vepresso, inokin, geekvape and much more.

I knew it was time to quit smoking so on pay day I went straight down the town and did the shopping.  I did a big shop having to buy nappies and lots and lots for food.  I was down to my last €20 for the week so after I dropped the shopping of at the house, I made my way down to the euro shop and bought a vape to see if I’d like it.  I didn’t want to go for any name brands encase I hated the experience and wasn’t comfortable wasting money.  With my €20 I bought €5 vape from 8vapes and picked up some cheap e liquids I didn’t know what to choose most of them sounded disgusting so I got red cola, pink lemonade, Kiki and a spare tank.  I was so amazed that I still had some change left over.  After making my purchase I walked straight home, excited to play with my new toy.

As soon as I got home, I said hi to the girls and gave them all a cuddle and kiss and continued into the kitchen whipped out the box and opened the vape.  I found it very easy to full up the tank.  it was a cheap bottom full tank clearly a rip off of some of aspires starter tanks.  after fulling the tank, I went out for a smoke with my partner and waited for the coil to prime.  I hoped that it would be my last cigarette for a while I had no attention of quitting smoking, I still wanted to smoke when I was very stressed out and on special occasions like birthdays, chiasmas, confirmations and so on.  I was prepared to go into vaping head on mainly just to save money even now I don’t care about my health, you got to die of something right?  

After the smoke I figured the coil would be primed so I thought I’d take a hit so I did and damn was it amazing the rich flavour of red colour over whelmed my taste buds however I found the vape was very harsh and coughed a lot at the start but I also coughed when smoking so I was happy enough to cough a little more if it was going to save me money.  I was enjoying the vape that much that I vaped pretty excessively and killed the battery within 2 hours.  after killing the battery, I had a smoke while it was charging and quickly missed the red cola taste.   

After 2 hours the vape was fully charged, I continued to vape throughout the day until it died again then put it back on charge then had a smoke but every smoke I had and each smoke became less enjoyable now that I knew what was on offer.   My short-term impressions where good I thought the starter pen was well built and was worth more money than what I made for it and then it broke the next day so I took it back to the shop and got a replacement and surprise that broke the same day so back to full time smoking.  I had to wait for the next day to get a replacement.  Knowing that the vape was going to break I wanted to buy a proper vape out of the local vape shop.  so, I waited for a few days and the vape held up so I was able to drop from 30 smokes a day to 5 a day.

As soon as pay day came around, I did the shop with a little extra money left over so I bought the eleaf I stick 40w for 30 quid, I didn’t have enough money left over for a new tank so I had to make do with the shitty €1 tank.  I started on 5 watts and I enjoyed the hit I was getting until I burned out the coil.  so, I went back to smoking for the day, then the next I went raiding my pockets and house for loose change went back down the town and bought an aspire tank for about a €10 can’t remember the name of it but it had a max wattage of 15 watts.  I was happy because the flavour was much better.  With my vape and tank I managed to not smoke for a few days and felt so proud of myself but then the tank broke and I went back to smoking again but quickly got a replacement and went back off the smokes, then the vape broke so took it back and a replacement, they didn’t have any isticks in stalk so I got the eleaf Pico in its place.  the following week I bought a tank that went to 40 watts which suited the vape well.  I loved the Pico with the new tank.  I was able to get more flavour because I still had money left over so I got a few flavours from vampire vapes at 18 mg and enjoyed the flavours I was getting.  so, a week of the smoke I was so disappointed by the poor battery life so went for the I stick power by eleaf and got a UD Athlon tank. 

I loved the new mod and tank and continued to use it for about 2 weeks and cut down to 12mg, so I was two weeks of the smokes and my taste buds became stronger than they’ve being for a while.  My chest and throat were destroyed from the amount of flem I was coughing up, I had no strength and felt like I was dying but that quickly passed.  After a month being smoke free, I was able to walk up the stairs without being out of breath and I noticed I could sleep better because I wasn’t getting out of bed to smoke and because I could vape in the house my anxiety got better when I expected it to be worse.

After  2 months of the smokes I felt my health Continuing to improve, my sense of smell was stronger than ever and my taste buds where stronger and because I was vaping anything from candy flavours to ice cream, I found myself reaching into the sweet press less each day.  This new sense of taste led to me getting sick of my tank so I got a horizon tech falcon and omg its amazing broke the glass a few times but the flavour is unbeatable so don’t mind replacing the glass every now and again.  I also upgraded my mod to a voopoo drag 2 which was great but lasted a month until it broke and now am rocking the geekvape Aegis Legend and its built like a tank and now I’m down to 3mgs nicotine.

I recently came across CBD and had to give it a try, I used to smoke weed but am now 3 years clean but still wanted to try CBD.  For a few weeks I found that it did wonders for my pain and my anxiety seemed to be gone completely but I stupidly stopped taking it because I’m so used to the pains that I get comfort from them  however I am thinking of going back to it as my anxiety is touch and go, some days I’m completely satisfied with my life but other days I’m a nervous wreck and I generally want to be my best self for the kids and if taking CBD can make me do that for me well I think it’s worth taking.  I think its amazing how many health benefits there are from taking CBD

 It’s amazig that there are so many flavours to choose from I swear I feel like a kid in a candy shop any time I go into a vape shop or shop online.  I’m now 6 months of smoking and 6 months vaping I can say truthy that I am healthier now than I was during the 12 years of smoking.  My teeth are no longer stained, I’m no longer out of breath doing simple things, I’m able to enjoy the fresh air, I can enjoy food, my arthritis seems to be improving and most importantly I can run around playing with my kids without lying on the floor half dying after.  I honestly have to thank vaping for giving me my life back.  I look forward to having a healthy life and try many more mods and flavours.

I’m sorry for ranting on but if you smoke and would like to quit, I hope this post makes your decision that much easier.  Vaping can be a life saver, please don’t listen to the fake news articles on vaping.  Vaping really does reduce your chances of strokes, cancer and death from other illness, smoking really can give your old healthy life back.  As rip tripper would say “smoking is dead, vaping is the future and the future is now”.

I hope you enjoy your new vaping life!

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