Losing the Hate by Simon Palmer; a true account of how child abuse changes a person and destroys entire families.
Read how - at the age of ten years old - my entire world plunged into the dank cellars of hell, at the hands of my school teacher.
You can download Losing the Hate at amazon, (links below), for just £0.98 / $0.99, or if you prefer, order the paperback via amazon, or pick it up from all major outlets in the High Street.
UK
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366466148&sr=8-1&keywords=losing+the+hate
US
http://www.amazon.com/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=sr_1_2_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374466131&sr=1-2
Click to Buy for £1.97 \ $2.99
Click to Purchase
Monday, 25 November 2013
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Losing the Hate eBook: Simon Palmer: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store
Losing the Hate eBook: Simon Palmer: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store
A true story of survival - read how I battled for almost 3 decades to try and come to terms with what my abusers inflicted me to at the age of 10 years old.
#losingthehate
UK (79p - limited price - RRP £2.99
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366466148&sr=8-1&keywords=losing+the+hate
US 99c - limited price - RRP $2.99
http://www.amazon.com/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=sr_1_2_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374466131&sr=1-2
A true story of survival - read how I battled for almost 3 decades to try and come to terms with what my abusers inflicted me to at the age of 10 years old.
#losingthehate
UK (79p - limited price - RRP £2.99
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366466148&sr=8-1&keywords=losing+the+hate
US 99c - limited price - RRP $2.99
http://www.amazon.com/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=sr_1_2_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374466131&sr=1-2
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
Selling My Soul
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The last thing I had expected was to put myself in yet
another precarious position. But I
wasn't a young lad anymore, I was now close to Ropeman in size, and he was far
too physically unfit to actually threaten me. Besides, in my mind, I was a thug, a real tough guy, so I
hadn't counted on reverting back to being a ten year old in his presence, but
that's exactly what happened. Insecurities flooded my mind as the memories
mercilessly taunted me. It was almost impossible for me to look at the man's
face; but the die had been cast. And for some reason,
I couldn't bring myself to call it off.
It seems incomprehensible now, but I still wanted that damn tattoo,
eventually selling my soul to the devil to get it.
The events resulting from my actions that day are among my
most difficult memories to deal with. For the large part because it was my own
doing, I have no excuses, and I could not offer up an explanation if I
tried.
I instigated it, and that shame will follow me to the grave.
There are times when my heart is riddled with hatred and
utter contempt, when I want to strike out and get my revenge. I crave that
retribution, and pity myself for the lack thereof. But there have also been many dark, very
drunken nights when I detest the face staring back at me from the mirror,
knowing, that at least in my view, the reflection is not completely innocent.
US Link
UK Link
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
The Second Visit (Sensitive Content)
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I hadn’t made any arrangements for the following day, and as
I took the short walk from my front door to Stuart and Karen’s house, the
apprehension that swept over me was almost suffocating, as was the fear that
violently churned in the pit of my stomach.
Sleep had, surprisingly, greeted me fairly quickly the night
before; my mind had not yet fully digested what had happened. But as I neared
the destination, inching my way forward, my head became awash with the
frightening details of the encounters I'd had over the last couple of years.
The photo sessions with Ropeman, the sexual contact Stu had
subjected me to; I began to wonder if it was all part and parcel of normal
adult life. But mostly, I was scared of them.
Afraid that if I didn't show up, one of them would say something to my
parents about what had taken place. And
truth be told, I was terrified. Stu
frightened me more than anyone I'd ever met.
Karen opened the door and gave me a warm smile. It wasn’t
the sickly smile of Ropeman, nor was it the twisted grin I’d seen on Stu’s face
the previous day, but I still felt an almost irrepressible urge to smack the smile
clean off her face. She was evil; not nearly as intimidating as Stu, but evil
just the same.
I walked past her and strutted into the lounge, my blond
spikes erupting from my skull in all their glory. “Alright Stu.” he looked up
from his paper, his bright blue eyes seemed to sparkle, and for the first time
I noticed just how scarred his face actually was.
Karen came up behind me, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and
“Don't I get a kiss then"?
I didn’t know where to look, much less what to say. I’m not
sure if it was visible, but my whole body felt as though it was physically
shaking. I tried to make a joke of it and simply kissed her on the cheek,
quickly rubbing my lips with the back of my hand and pretending to be sick,
mimicking the actions of a four or five year old child.
After sitting on the sofa, I asked Stuart if it was okay to
turn on the CB, which was on a small table between where I was sitting and his
armchair. “Leave it off for the minute,” he replied, “maybe we’ll put it on
after a cuppa.”
Before I could do or say anything else he told me to stand
in front of him, telling me I was wearing my studded belt all wrong. I did as
was asked, and he began rubbing my crutch.
UK Link
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1345890328&sr=8-1
US Link
Thursday, 23 August 2012
A Step Into Hell
As soon as I entered the lounge of the now all too familiar
flat, I knew something bad was about to happen. My body felt like it was
wrapped in invisible chains, and I smelt fear. my own fear. It was as though
the atmosphere pulsated with such intensity that it grabbed me, shaking my
flimsy little body, flaying my limbs in all directions, like some pathetic rag
doll.
God, I was so terribly scared.
Ropeman left me alone while he went to the kitchen to sort
out our drinks. The sight of the beer made me shudder, and the muscles that
didn't tighten, twitched instead.
A place no warmer than a prison cell,
Strange thoughts enter into your head,
You now start wishing you were tucked up in bed.
A frightening chill shoots through the air,
All you do is stand and stare,
It’s a place with an eerie feeling,
Your heart by now is really speeding.
Sepulchre,
Sepulchre,
What a place,
Your heart is beating a rapid pace.
That awful chill is slowly rising,
All you think of is surviving,
But as you try to run and leave,
You can’t help thinking your eyes deceive,
Lurking in that gloomy doorway,
Is something that’s come out of doomsday,
You try to move, but are stuck to the spot,
You try to scream but breathing…, you’re not.
Sepulchre,
Sepulchre,
What a place,
It’s now your home.
To my relief, after handing me a beer, Ropeman slid the
video cassette into the player, and we settled down to watch the film I was far
too young to see. I tried to
concentrate, but I was conscious of his every move; my muscles tightening at
the slightest twitch. It was an exceptionally good summer, so when
he asked if I was hot, I replied with a simple yes,
pretending to be engrossed in the film. But I knew in fact, every cell in my
naïve young body sensed danger. And when
he suggested I might be more comfortable if I removed my top, the fear
enveloped me to the point of numbness, and before I knew it, there I was,
stripped to the waist again.
It wasn’t long before the second stage of his sick plan was
being put into action. “Shall we stretch out a bit? After all, there’s plenty
of room,” he said. I felt like a rat
caught in a trap, knowing there was no way out; no one was going to be knocking
at the door and saving me.
“Is it ok if I use the toilet?” I asked the question merely
as an escape, something that would give me a bit more time, however limited it
might be before the inevitable happened. Ropeman stopped the tape and directed
me to the bathroom.
On returning to the lounge, I noticed that he’d removed his
top. He was sprawled across the whole of
the sofa, smiling, beckoning me to join him.
What choice did I have?
With a great deal of apprehension, which I’m convinced he
was aware of, I did as I was asked.
After awkwardly positioning myself into place, he began cuddling me from
behind, pulling me closer before stroking my chest. Within seconds I felt his
arousal in the small of my back. Without
success I tried to ignore the feel of his sweaty fingers by losing myself in
the movie.
Try as I might . . . and I did try, going so far as
to close my eyes and picturing myself saying the words, but
somehow I couldn't summon the courage to tell him to stop.
My silence was deafening, and the sound of his erratic
breathing all but consumed me, before I fell away.
You touched me,
Held me,
And stroked my chest,
Told me that you,
My teacher knew best.
I felt your hardness,
In the small of my back,
I had a chill in my spine,
When you said I’d be fine.
UK Link
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1345722589&sr=8-1
US Link
http://www.amazon.com/Losing-the-Hate-ebook/dp/B004BDOV0M/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_1
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