Wednesday, 8 February 2012

It Used To Be A Different World

Rejecting Rejection
I'm not sure if my expectation of rejection had anything to do with the abuse I suffered, but in truth, it was at times, so intense that I do believe there must have been some sort of connection.
It didn't matter how great things were going, I constantly saw a failing on the horizon; a failing which was always instigated by others, and never myself.
In normal everyday life, I resigned myself to the fact that people would always leave me high and dry, exercising thir right to drop me like a mouldy potato. It became a prominent part of my life, and although it saddened me in my early years, as life progressed, it became just another chink in the armour that was Simon Palmer.
Of course, by expecting rejection, it usually ensured that it would indeed happen. To this day, i don't know if it was a result of my defences protecting me that made others walk away, or if I simply projected and aura on a subconcious level that pushed people away.
Whatever the case, there were many times when my world was a very lonely place to exist in.
Once I crossed the barriers of emotional confinement, and began to believe in myself, I discovered that the rejection which had once dogged my life was rapidly receeding into the murky swamp from which it came.....
.....and my world was a much brighter place to live in.
Simon P 

Tuesday, 7 February 2012

Laying the Blame Firmly Where It Belongs

It Wasn't My Fault
For many years I was convinced that I'd done something to attract my abusers; blaming myself for their actions. In the cold light of the day, I now know this is far from the truth, but it didn't stop me from thinking it.
I began to wonder if there was something drastically wrong with me; if I projected an open invitation to people. After all, it was two completely unrelated cases that changed my innocent young world, so how could that happen?
Would I be arrested if the police found out; sent to prison for "offering" myself to people? Surly a respectable school teacher would not purposely do what he did unless he was given the green light to do so?
And the questions gnawed at me constantly.
I wondered if I was evil; luring innocent, respectable people to into a world of perversions. It didn't matter how many times my mind tried to tell me that it was them who were wrong.......
....... I thought it was me.
In 2001, I reported "Ropeman" to the child protection unit; creating an historical case of child abuse. I gave a 37 page statement, and the wheels were set in motion.
And I felt guilty for doing it.
As things turned out, no convictions were ever reached. The officer in charge of the case informed me that although he wasn't facing any charges, he had lost his current teaching job, and it was unlikely he'd ever teach again.
I felt as though I had ruined the man's entire life; like I was the guilty one instead of him.
When I embarked on Losing the Hate, it healed me. As i began to relive the whole story, I finally realised that I was nothing but an ordinary child....., and blameless.
I've since learned that self blame is a very common feeling for abuse victims, and is sometimes one of the hardest hurdles to cross during recovery. Thankfully, I no longer suffer from the guilt of others, and its a fantastic feeling.

Saturday, 4 February 2012

Physical Effects

Although many people choose to shy away from the actual acts of sexual abuse, I believe it's something which should be broached. Only then can we deal with it completely, and move on with life.

The Touch of Evil

All manner of thoughts fly around inside your head. You feel an intense fear, and a loathing for what's happening, but it is impossible to control natural bodily reactions. And it is those reactions which howl at you in the darkest of nights; nights when you lay in bed trying to understand why you found yourself reacting to the evil creatures that touched you.
At the exact point when you feel the touch, your skin begins to crawl. You feel bile begging to exit your body, and the blood pounds in your eardrums.
Personally, when this happened, I felt a scream inside me; a scream that was intent of escaping, and it took all the willpower in the world for me to suppress it.
Not only was the situation a waking nightmare, but the scream trapped inside of you eats away at your insides, and you feel as though you are being destroyed internally as well as on the outside.
Some of the time, I found myself doing as I was asked as quickly as possible, thinking in my mind that the quicker it was over, the better I would feel, albeit short lived.
When I was not being abused, maybe when I was at home, or at school, the touch remained burnt into my skin; a contsant reminder of what was to come later in the day.
Of course, that is when the anger manifested. The scream inside that was so desperate to be noticed would finally reach its goal......
...... just in time for the new one to errupt inside.
And these people did all of this for their pleasure.
Sye x

Losing the Hate eBook: Simon Palmer: Kindle Store

Losing the Hate eBook: Simon Palmer: Kindle Store

The Longest Journey

During 2003, I found myself reading far more than I usually did. It didn't matter what the book was about, anything would do. A quick escape into the world of someone's imagination was a great way to forget the perils of my everyday thoughts. My typical type of books included anything by Stephen King, Aldous Huxley..., you know the sort of stuff.
Quite randomly, i picked up A Child Called It, by Dave Peltzer. And I read the book in about two sittings. Every word on the page captured my heart, even causing me to cry at some of the things I read.
When i'd finished, the book would not leave me, and I found myself thinking about it constantly. I remembered being told by a very close friend, (one of the few who knew about my past), that I should write my past experiences down; that the writing may help with the way that I felt about myself.
Losing the Hate was born just a few days later. I refrained from going to the pub straight from work, choosing instead to buy some beers from the local store. I sat in front of an old 486 computer and began to write. The first 5 or 6 pages seemed to flow perfectly, and each time I read back the words; my words, I found myself getting angry. the more abgry I became, faster the beers went down, and there were more than just a few times that my fist nearly went through the screen. My goal was to write the whole story over about 15 or 20 pages, but between the bouts of anger and cigarettes; many cigarettes, I ound it nearly impossible to condence my tale into such a short manuscript. Within just a few evenings I found that I written close to 30(ish) pages.
With each sentence I typed, the need to say more encompassed me. It became an obsession; the book appeared to be controlling my being, forcing me to spend every evening with it.
It was only a matter of a few months before I realised i'd created 34,000 words, and when I wrote the last sentence, it felt just like a door slamming shut. I felt free.
In actual fact, the door was only just opening.
The following year or so saw me re-write my story time and time again. It became the most difficult journey of my life, (save for the abuse itself), and I found that I was seeing the ghosts of my past again. memories that had become my secret hell had come to life, and were gnawing at me. But I was determined to continue, desperate to banish them forever.
My mind was a mass of images, pictures that seemed to merge into one big grotesque serpent which lived in my dreams as well as my waking hours. The drinking became steadily worse, as did my smoking grass..... but still I carried on.
This journey continued for the next five and a bit years. And I battled silently against pressing the self destruct button. It became apparent to me that I needed to get it all out of my heart and soul in order to carry on with my life.
When the final draft was finished, I read nothing but my own book, over and over again, reliving, remembering, crying, and then feeling alive!!
It wasn't too long before I realised that my book could quite possibly help others, teenagers and adults alike, and so I began the arduous task of approaching publishers. Every rejection slip that I recieved, brought with it a sense of failiure. "Why would anyone be interested in what I had to say? After all, I was Simon Palmer, just a nobody."
When my book was released as an e-Book, on the 8th of November last year, and then as a paperback in July of this year, I felt like a king. I had achieved something that I could be proud of..... I was an author!
When, for the first time, I waltzed into WH Smiths and asked for my book, the buzz far exceeded anything that the drugs of my past offered me. I had become a success in the face of adversity, and the light at the end of the tunnel was almost blinding.
Many Thanks my friends
Simon P 

Friday, 3 February 2012

Tearing Down the Wall

Hello !!!!

I'm going to talk about the wall which I constructed around myself; a wall that, until about 5 years ago, remained steadfast around me. Shielding me from the closeness of others.

Is There Anybody in There?
The easiest thing in the world is to convince yourself that you don't need anybody or anything. When you have an anger constantly inside of you, the act of becoming devoid of emotion comes as second nature.
The wall which I built around myself wasn't a concious act, but once it was there I welcomed it. It was easier to stick two fingers up to the world, than to confide in those around me. I had very little identity left, and I was going to make damn sure that no one stole the remainder.
Like the punk image, the wall enabled me to hide within a crowd; a crowd which I was convinced was hell bent on destroying me.
During my twenties, I was 100% sure that letting someone; anyone in, would ultimately bring about my final fall. I was convinced that I would be hurt emotionally by anyone.
And there I remained, hiding. the dank cell that had become my home was littered with demons, but they were my demons and no one elses.
"How can I possibly allow my demons to grab hold of others?" were some of my thoughts that constantly gnawed away at me.
My world of paranoia dictated that people would NOT use my demons to heal me, but to harm me further.
Of course, I did lower my defences a few times over the years, and every time the war erupted, and I was left feeling hurt and disjointed.
I didn't realise that it was all a dramatic illusion, and it was in fact me who was doing the hurting, before scuttling off back inside my protective world, convincing myself that the world was to blame and not me.
When my wall finally imploded on itself, and I was left vulnerable, the realisation dawned on me; told me that the world was always trying to help rather than hinder me.... and that is when my road to recovery began.
I built some bridges, and walked away from others.
I began to live in the world, OUR world.
My eye's saw things differently, and I felt the buzz of life take hold, showing me what was there for all of us.
I met Claudia, and for the first time discovered what positive emotion was capable of.
I rapidly learned to trust, and it feels good to be trusted.

Losing the Hate: Helping Victims of Abuse

Since the publication of, Losing the Hate, in November of 2010, (eBook), and the paperback last July, I have recieved some outstanding reviews, along with personal messages of praise for writing such an emotional book.

The book itself continues to aid the rehabilitaion of abuse victims, as well as offering an awareness for parents both in the USA, as well as England.

The thought that I have written a book which is helping others generates a joy, which I never thought would course through my veins.

With such great sales figures, I'm often asked why it's only priced at £2.99 & $3.49, which, for the most part, seems to be a trend within the indie publishing world.

Well, the answer is simple, I want the book to be read by as wide a range of readers as possible, ensuring the message it contains reaches everyone. It's not about a big fat royalty cheque, or even recognition, but moreover, I want my story heard. If one person can change their life after reading about what happened to me, if one family can maybe recognise what is going on around them . . . then I'm happy.

I have never been a great public speaker, nor have I ever wanted to be, and so, for me, the book is the easiesst way that I can strive to make a difference .

SImon P