11th February 2014

A few days have passed since that first entry. My life has been a real challenge at times. People always associate post traumatic stress with the military, it is not always the case. My post traumatic stress started as a kid, when, everyday I was beaten with whatever my so-called father had to hand at the time, if he had nothing to hand then it was his fists. I was so scared everyday, I really did not have any other emotions to show, except fear, and if I did show any emotion, like crying when I got a beating, I got another beating as it was wrong for a man to cry, that is what he used to say.  
Christmas was always a bad time for me, that is why I really do hate that time of year. Every Christmas up to the age of thirteen I had bronchitis, one year I had pneumonia on top of the bronchitis, so I was really ill, but there is a couple of Christmases that spring to mind. One was in 1968, I had my usual bronchitis and had to stay out of the way in my room so I didn't spread any germs or so I didn't make any noise to disturb him.
My mother came upstairs and said, "do you want to come downstairs for your dinner?" 
I got excited as any kid would have done. Getting to the table I sat at the opposite my father. The table was made out of solid oak and big enough to seat eight.
As I ate my dinner, but because of my blocked nose I had to eat with my mouth open, trying very hard to take breaths then having a chew on my food.
My father had had enough, he lifted his end of table and throwing it on top of me, the chair I was sitting on broke under the weight. He came round to my end and lifted the table, taking hold of my clothes he pulls me out, then with he fist smashed me several times in the face. After the beating he carries me to the bottom of the stairs and threw me up the stairs, I didn't touch a single step.

These beatings were a regular thing, near every day I got a beating for one thing or another.