I found my american cell today under my nieces bed. I charged it and switched it on. There was a big part of me that just wished I had lost it forever. A bunch of texts from my fiancé who became my wife. A bunch of photos.

I read them all. 4 times. Over and over again. And I came to the realisation that she did love me. She loved me in the way she knew how to love. The love that when it becomes to real you self sabotage and lash out, and hurt yourself or others. The desperation in her texts broke my heart and left a canyon of emptiness in my stomach. She was begging me not to leave. I was keeping my boundaries. I had switched into social worker mode and I hadn't even realised it back then.

I knew the cycle of violence, I knew the cycle of borderline personality disorder, I knew the cycle of dysfunction, and I grew up with the cycle of narcissism. That typical I hate you fuck off, I love you please don't leave, It wont happen again I promise, I will change, and then the cycle starts all over again.

The suicidality I have been living with on a daily basis, due to the loss and grief and the deep wounds of the last little while is minimised on a scale of if I stayed. I know my mental health. I know my triggers. I know the pattern of both of us. I would have killed myself without a shadow of a doubt.

It was in that moment when I was reading back over those texts, that I wanted to hold her close to my naked chest. Let my warmth radiate into her. Press her head into my neck, stroke her hair and feel the heaving of her chest, and promise her everything was going to be ok. Like I had a hundred times before. My natural instinct to make it ok for everyone else - the path of martyrdom that I so easilyfall into.

I turned the phone off, and looked up at the rain falling like snow form the sky and said just loud enough for the wind to hear "You did enough, you where enough and you are ok" As i walked into the house to restock the fire, I whispered, Im sorry Jas, I loved you but I need to let you go x

45 year old's post secret,

12 year old child should have got it right.

Today I ran and the pain in my knees was excruciating. I kept running until I was out of breath and tears rolled down my cheeks. I remember how much I used to love to run. Pull on my shoes, lace them up and just go. The feeling of my lungs burning, my face on fire, my legs twitching, and the boom, boom, boom on the pavement with every contact. Pushing past the burning in my lungs, taking deep breaths and feeling so goddam free. Like I could run forever. Just keep going.

Whether I was happy, sad, angry, frustrated, feeling caged, wanting to punish myself - whatever emotion I LOVED TO RUN. Those days are over. With no cartilage left cushioning my bones, I can literally hear and feel the impact of bone on bone, and my knees ripping with pain. The best I can do is a fast walk, and i fucking hate walking. The cross trainer is good as far as impact goes, but its not the same as going for a run.

So on the cross trainer I realised I was scared. I was scared of immigration not letting me into the USA on the 28th September, scared that my green card won't arrive before then, scared that Jas would find out I was coming and call immigration, scared of working as a social worker again. I was such a fucking amazing social worker. Unorthodox possibly, as in not worrying about the environment I was in, but keeping true to my grass roots, keeping true to the principles of social work, embracing my political days in youth work, and giving 500% to the people I worked for. I wasn't a social worker to make friends with co workers, I was a social worker to make sure people with whom I worked got what they wanted. And I was so fucking good at it. Consultant Psychiatrists would ask for me specifically to work with complex and chronic cases. Cases that other workers couldn't get results with.

I was happy to break into a persons apartment at 2am in the morning because they had overdosed on a bad batch of heroin, perform CPR on them, call ambulance and hold them in my arms whilst they vomited over me and we waited for officers to arrive. Go home shower, go to bed and be back at work at 8am the next morning to do the same thing. I knew who I was. I liked who I was. And I felt normal in an environment of dysfunction.

I was petrified going back to that environment. My social worker bubble had burst. I doubted everything and started to question if I had actually lost it. If I was such a good social worker how the hell could I not have foreseen what was happening in my own life. I have worked intensively with mental health for 15 years. I have spent more time with people living with mental illness than I have with undiagnosed people. I fucking specialised in working with women with a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. I had exceptional working relationships with these women because of an understanding, experience, skills and boundaries. In a work place that capped BPD clients at 3 per worker because of the high burnout rate - I HAD 9.

And I never saw it coming. I saw the scars. I estimated they where eat least 15 years old. I know people recover and no longer act on impulses to self harm. That it might have been a small period of coping required to survive. I didn't see it fucking coming. I was played beautifully. I refused to social work myself. My relationship. The environment. I cried. I cried for my foolishness. I cried that I allowed myself to be played so well. I cried that I gave everything, again as I do, and got played. I cried that I lost a woman I thought I loved. I cried because I lost a father I so desperately wanted in my life, that stopped being my father 35 years ago. I cried because I lost my mother, a woman I would have died for over and over again. I cried because she chose him over me. I cried because it felt like even though I try to the right thing its just one loss, continually again and again.

I cried because I felt so alone, so useless, so scared. I cried because the woman I married, who is still legally my wife, has a boyfriend. I cried because I mattered so little to a person who I let see all of me. I cried because I wondered if this is how good life will get for me. If this is it. I cried for being so desperate for love and being wanted, that I feel so pathetic and worthless. I cried because he was probably right. And I cried because she couldn't love me....

In a matter of 8 weeks i have lost a wife, a mother, a father, a life.... these days turned out nothing like i had hoped

Today I am tired

Today I realised how tired I am.

tired of breathing

tired of placing those feet in front of the other

I've been so tired since 1982. Its exhausting and I just want to sleep.

Letter to Mum

To Mum,

Wednesday night you blamed me for everything that happened. A mother who allowed a man to abuse her child, traumatise a grandchild, you blamed me.

The night escalated when I said that Keaton should help Nardene out more at the cafe if he is getting a third of the profits. Clive went from agitated to aggressive in about 5 secs. HE stated “What would you know about business. Keaton is a successful business man who if it wasn’t for him Nardene wouldn't be where she is today”

It is at that point that I said I was leaving and got up to leave. Like a million times before, I had seen the switch that overcomes Clive and I knew he was getting ready to abuse anyone he could, this time directed at me. It was when I got up and left, that he smugly said “That's right get up and run away like you always do”. I said “Excuse me?” He again said “Run away like you always do”.

Instead of him recognising that he had started a heated conversation by belittling Nardene and telling her that without Keaton she wouldn't have anything, and I as acting as an adult seeing where this was going, got up and went to leave, Clive had to throw in a remark which he knew would agitate the situation. Instead of just closing his mouth, getting up and leaving.

So in response to his remark and jibe to me I turned around, sat down and looked at him and said “You are such a narcissistic asshole”. That is when his tirade of abuse started

“You fucking dumb, pathetic, lezzo cunt” That's what he started out with. He continued to abuse me in the most horrible of ways. He brought up that I called him a racist and sexist back in South Perth. He was racist that night. He called Aboriginal people boongs on a 60 minute show and I called him out on it. THAT IS RACIST. Clive is sexist. My whole life he has verbally abused the women in the family, put them down, and Wednesday nights onslaught of abuse showed that he has no regard for women, he believes he has every right to speak to them in the most vile ways because he is a male and feel he has a superiority over us. THAT IS SEXIST. Whilst he denied it Wednesday night, whilst continuing to call me a Fucking dumb lezzo cunt, he proved it very well his sexism.

He also went on to abuse your brother - “That fucking Poofter”. And yes I said to him that he has no right to call your family names and that they only tolerate him for you. You know why he doesn’t like Uncle Richard? Because Uncle Richard finally stood up to him and called him out about the control and abuse Clive has enacted to you, and your daughters for over 30 years. He spoke out as a loving brother about the way that Clive had treated you, was able to recollect incidences and give examples of his abusive behaviour. Clive raged about this letter. He raged because another male called him out on his behaviour and the abuse he saw his sister experiencing, and like any loving family member acted on it.

I saw the letter that Richard wrote – you shared it with me. I agreed about everything he said in the letter. YOU agreed with everything he said in that letter. You have to remember this was at a time where Clive was regularly abusing you, was an alcoholic, and regularly degraded others when he was drinking. He would push you, shove you, speak the vilest of words to you, and in front of other people, as Nardene brought up the other night – in the Barking Cow cafe calling you a Fucking Fat Cow. WHAT KIND OF PERSON SPEAKS TO ANOTHER PERSON LIKE THAT? WHAT KIND OF MAN SPEAKS TO HIS WIFE LIKE THAT? WHAT KIND OF A MAN SPEAKS TO A WOMAN LIKE THAT?

Richard isn’t the only person who has noticed the way Clive has treated you and Nardene and I. Many family members have noticed it and made comment. Even people in Bridgetown have made comment on Clive. Richard was the only brave one to say it. Most people tolerate Clive for you. Individuals don’t go to your home because of Clive.

Do you also know that family members have told me about being in our family home and seeing Clive yelling at us, as young as 6 years of age, and then slapping our faces so hard our heads should have spun. In front of other people. He did this to us?

Clive crossed the line when he yelled at Nardene that we should thank him for the $40,000 he put in a trust. Nardene had no idea what he was talking about, and actually asked “What $40,000?” HE continued to yell “You owe me” Nardene looked at me and said “what $40,000” I said “I don’t know” to which Clive replied “I was the one who put your fathers money into a trust, I could have spent it and used it but I didn’t, you owe me!”

So let me get this right. Clive wants a thank you, for not taking the money off a dead mans children, that he had absolutely no right too. His threat they he could have spent OUR FATHERS DEATH MONEY and we owed him a thank you for not stealing it?? Are you serious?

And we also owe him a thank you for going out and driving buses, and buying food with HIS money to feed us? We need to thank him for doing this? As a an adult, who made the choice to become involved in a relationship with a single mother, with 2 children, who continued to stay in the relationship and therefore continued to make the choice, we have to thank him for doing what he legally, ethically and morally needed to do? By starting a relationship with a single mother with 2 children?

Clive taught us from a young age that children should be seen and not heard. That children should only speak when spoken too. He taught us that what we wanted and needed didn’t matter,that his needs and wants where always more important. He taught us that men needed to be respected and that they could do what they wanted and never have to apologise for their behaviour. He taught us that we are not important, we are worthless and we do not matter. He continues to do this at 72 years of age

You taught us from a young age that children should be seen and not heard. That children should only speak when spoken too. You taught us that our needs and wants do not matter. You taught us that men can abuse us and that we have to apologise for the abuse we received. You taught us that under any circumstances that we have to apolgise for others abuse and cruelty, forcing us to go and apolgise to smooth things over and make Clive feel better. You would even say to us as children, I know what he did and said was wrong, to just go and apologise so there are no hard feelings. We would cry and say we didn’t do anything, he should apologise, but you forced us to go and do it. Apologise to a man who just abused us. You taught your daughters to be worthless, powerless and meaningless.

One of your daughters left home at 15. One of your daughters started to try killing herself at 12 and again and again. You tell me, why would your daughters do this? Why would a 12 year old sit in a cupboard with a gun in her mouth, loading and reloading a rifle trying to blow her brains out? Why? This is not normal and it is not right.

You continue to say that you are a proud mother lion who would protect her children and kill anyone who hurt them. Well you didn’t. You allowed yourself and Clive to hurt us from a young age. You have shaped us in to the women we are today. You continue to protect a man who abuses us, you don’t not keep us safe and you never protected us.

Yes I threatened to punch you, after you hit me repeatedly and refused to allow me to go into the bathroom and see Opal who was petrified and crying. I will apologise for threatening that, because that was wrong. That is the ONLY thing I will apologise for that night.

You continually blame me for nothing I did. You continue your pattern that you trained us in from a young age. You are saying that telling Clive he is a narcissistic asshole, I deserved the abuse that followed? EVERYTHING I said that night is true. EVERYTHING. Clive got angry because he didn’t want to hear it. Just like when Richard told him some truths.

You said that you think we are jealous of Keaton. Jealous of our own brother? I am not jealous in the slightest of Keaton. I never have been and never will be. I am dead proud of my brother and what he has achieved. As I did on Wednesday night, and EVERYTIME it is brought up he is a very smart and successful businessman. I do not deny him ANY of his success or his ability to lead a good, healthy, balanced life. Don't ever tell me what I think about my brother. You do not have ANY idea my thoughts, my feelings or my intentions.

I want you also to reflect on what you think the O'Sullivans would think if I was to tell them what Clive said Wednesday night. That we owed him a thank you for not spending Terry's money that he had no right too. Honestly have a think what any one of them would think and say. Also have a think about what Dad would have thought, looking down at the way Clive threatened and abused us, and demanded thank you’s for not taking money of children.

Clive divorced me and said I was dead to the family. He didn't divorce me, he stopped being my step father when I was 26 years old and he abused me in that hotel room in South Perth. That same incident where I didn't speak to him for 6 months and you forced me to apologise to bring the family back together – to this day HE has never apologised for the vile things he spewed that night. Why should I have expected anything different, he has and never will take ownership of his behaviour.

Is he going to apologise to Opal in person? Is he going to be adult enough to apologise for the trauma he caused her? To actually apologise for the language he used? To explain that no-one should ever speak to another person like that. That no man should EVER speak to a woman like that. That no father should EVER speak to a daughter or son like that. Is he going to take responsibility for his actions and teach her that he was very wrong to do that, or is he going to do nothing so she learns that men can do that to people, daughters, anyone they like and take no responsibility for their behaviour.

She heard everything he said. EVERYTHING. She is scared and traumatised. I despise him for doing that to her.

I am more than happy to be divorced from him. It actually sets me free. I do not have to pretend anymore, I no longer have to tolerate him for you. He is not my father and never was. He is Clive. I am happy to never see him again as long as I live, and I choose to never see him again. I am happy to see you and act cordially, and I love you as a person, but I have no respect anymore for you as a mother or a protector. You never did protect us, and you stood by whilst he abused us. I will never forgive you for that.

Nardene will let you know if anything happens to me in America. 

Goodbye Mum.

Divorced

You fucking lezzo,pathetic,dumb cunt. 

You delusional fucking cunt

Look at your fucking pathetic personal life that has always been pathetic.

Rewind 20 years. Same venom. But a few more.

You dumb fucking bitch. You think you are so smart because of your fucking degree, I know hundreds of women who are fucking smarter than you. You are fucking nothing.

Rewind 14 years.

12 year old sitting in her parents walk in clothes robe. The feeling of the softest white shag carpet under her feet. She remembers how soft it is and how white it is. And how much of a mess it will make. Sitting on the stool that her parents use every day to put on their shoes. Leaning back in the clothes so her upper body is disguised. The taste of cold metal in her mouth and the full awareness that this is truly the end, there is no coming back. The taste of metal that is still present in her mouth, everyday, 33 years later. Balancing the barrel in between her teeth and resting it on her tongue she uses the big toe of her right foot to step on the trigger.

She closes her eyes and presses down.

Nothing. She presses down again. Nothing. She comes out of the clothes, takes the bullet out, places it ever so carefully back into the box, sitting on the 2nd shelf from the top, and pulls another one out.

Reloads the rifle, sits back on the stool, covers her upper body with the clothes hanging on her fathers side, and again presses her big toe on the trigger. Nothing.

Snot runs down into her mouth, tears falling down her cheeks, and the voice in her head telling her she is fucking useless that she cant even do this right.

She packs everything back up with meticulous detail, so no-one will know she has ever been there. She rubs the pile on the carpet the way it was when she first walked in, so no footprints show. She walks back to her bedroom punching herself in the head, telling herself she is fucking useless, closes the door. Walks over to the wardrobe and continues smashing her head against it.

The man who is with my mother is not someone who I will ever call father. He isn't. He was a young man, middle aged man, and now 72 year old man who continues to spew his insults, demean and degrade, and violate the person standing in front of him who is legally his step daughter. He is a horrendous, narcisstic, asshole who gets great pleasure and power by belittling and abusing the women around him.

I am 45, my sister is 47. He came into our lives after my real father was killed. He is the only "father" we have known for 42 years. He has been controlling, verbally, and emotionally abusive for as long as I can remember. My sister moved out at 15 years of age because she could no longer tolerate him and his ways. I first tried to kill myself at 12 years of age, because of the way he treated me, and because I honestly believed death would be a happier place. I tried again at 15, and again failed. I moved out the day I turned 16.5.

What started out as a family dinner for my nieces 11th birthday at their house, to a discussion about my brother having more physical input into the cafe for the third of a percentage of profit he takes, spiralled viciously out of control.

He yelled these words in front of an 11 year old child. Who went to the bathroom and was heaving and sobbing. He demanded a thankyou for the $40,000 HE put into a trust for my sister. HE demanded a thankyou that he did this and didn't ask for any of it or spend it.
This was the money that the WA Police Force set aside for my sister and I as compensation for our father being killed. HE wanted us to thank him for not spending the money, of a dead mans children, that where not his.

HE wanted us to thank him for going out and driving a bus everyday, and buying food with his money, and putting food on the table for us to eat. We owed HIM a thankyou.

His last words where - "You fucking cunt you are divorced from me from this day. You are nothing"

I thanked him and said Good. You will die a very lonely old man. You are already dead to me,and you where never my father.

Today I cried an ocean. I cried an ocean for the little Corrine inside who broke a little bit more. The little Corrine who knew those words all too well from the man she called Dad.

The adult Corrine didn't cry for herself. She stopped loving him 20 odd years ago. She tolerated him for her mothers sake. He was a horrendous, narcissistic, abusive asshole. He still is. And the next tears I will cry for him, will be tears of joy at his funeral.

FUCK YOU AND YOUR BITCH

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get my life together. What is it I'm looking for? Why can't I stop behaviour that is so destructive to me? Do I enjoy the pain it brings, and that is why I still do it? Why do I overthink EVERYTYHING, analyse movements, words, lack of words, silence, noise.

My life seems to be an unanswerable question of "Am I doing the right thing?".

Ever since I can remember its being a constant running away or too something, not knowing the outcome but doing it anyway. Not being able to sit still. Not being able to trust. Not being able to share. A continuous cycle, that it may appear, I never learn from.

Once again I question my decision, and the only answer I have is: this could be the worst decision of my life.

Today I really fucking hate her. Today I feel sorry for myself. Today I am rageful at myself. Today I have had efuckingnough with everyone and everything. Today I feel caged.

Today

There are definitely two sides to me. One which smiles, cracks jokes, says everything is fine and mostly believes it.

Then there is the times when i struggle to be in a room with people, finishing work and feeling so drained and empty and needing to be b on my own and not talk or listen.
Sad and reflective on the marriage that is no more. Remembering the good times filled with love, laughs, passion, dreams. Angry that it was so quickly lost. Angry that my dreams have been cut short. Angry that i have to adult and do the right thing.

Looking at photos on my phone and not ready to delete them. So many memories, so many good times. My heart starts to ache and long for the wife i left on the other side of the world.

And as soon as my heart feels that, my eyes fill with tears at the Jekyll and Hyde aspect of our relationship. The words, the hurt, the threats, the lack of intimacy or physical connection. And the intense sadness that I never got to lay next to my wife or kiss her for the last time.

The last 2 years have felt like a horrible, cruel joke today.