Wednesday, 31 August 2011

Moving On and Moving Up

Some people like talking about themselves. I actually don't. I am forcing myself to get things written down and to then throw my words into the huge whirlpool we call the internet.
For more years than I care to remember I was unable to talk to anyone, unable to connect with anyone and felt like a total freak. I knew that I had been abused. What I had hidden from myself was the extent, the brutality and the complexity of it all.

My life was been lived in the shadows. I developed alternative personalities (alters) that enabled me to function in the "real world". The real me, the boy and teenager that had been abused, used, tortured, tormented and raped vanished inside me. I could not cope with life. Looking back, I think it was that or die. By the age of 20, "I" had all but gone. "I" had some control over the others, but not enough.

"We" tried to live a normal life. There were major issues that affected the way that life was lived.

Intimacy was a problem, ability an even bigger problem. Identity was just total confusion. There was anger, mostly directed inwards. Pain was a daily problem. Confidence yo-yo'd depending on which of the alters was pulling the strings at the time.

The alters were all parts of me. Aspects of "myself" that broke away and just got on with things. I had a few major setbacks along the way.

I had a very, very low opinion of myself. I made life decisions that were damaging to myself and probably others. I drank too much, I spent too much, I gambled, I smoked weed. I didn't look after myself, or myselves even. I was self-harming in many ways.

I was uncomfortable "standing still": I couldn't settle, I had to be on the go. Even now I cannot sit still for very long.

Suicide did cross my mind but after a couple of bungled attempts early on I gave up on that.

Slowly, and mostly under my own steam, I began to heal. Because I was finally able to rid myself of so many demons that made my life a living hell; because after decades of walking through abuse-induced fog, I have come out the other side. I have comes to terms with what happened to me. It was not my fault, I cannot change or undo it. I will not forgive, cannot forget, but I can get on with my life.
Some kind people have been concerned about my current apparent "anger" and that I might not be looking after myself properly. I will try and address that here:

Yes, I am angry for the wasted years but again recognise I can do nothing about it. I am angry that abuse continues, that far too many just turn a blind eye or think "never in my family".
That makes my blood boil. The fact that minor celebs get on the news because they have decided to speak about their own issues is good. But would it be on the news if you or I asked to be interviewed?

Millions and millions are spent by governments on "services" and "consultants", "but where are the televison ads that say, "If you abuse and you're a man you will be castrated and if you are a woman you will be sewn up" ?

Abusers should be marked, tattoed on their foreheads and hands. Where is the deterrent, let alone the adequate punishment for these foul excuses for humans?

Why fill our prisons? Mark them, name them and set them free. I would also have their hormones screwed up as well.

All sounds extreme?? Isn't what was done to me, and to millions of other victims, extreme?
How many millions of abusers are walking our streets?
I am angry, for those of us that have suffered and for those suffering right now and in the future.
And if I can't rant on my own blog, where can I rant? As far as looking after myself goes... I don't self harm anymore. Much too busy ranting for that...

I do have a "complicated" life: I am kept busy looking after others and my business is on its knees due to the recession. I have a lot of stress, but apart from that I honestly think I am healing well.

My turn will come one day. One day my wings will really be tested out, just not now. Meanwhile, if I can stop one child being harmed then my anger will have helped.

More? Why not. We, the victims, have the voices and have the numbers. If no one else will do something about it then why can't we?

Maybe I am just deluding myself. I am after all just one voice.

Yes one voice. Most of the time now I am just me. I have managed to merge with the alters apart from one stubborn so and so but his days are numbered!

I can be me, and if you don't like me or what I say I honestly don't care. I AM HAPPY being me. At last!

Buried alive or just losing the plot?

I will tell this as it is. It's not a fantasy or a story I have made up. It might not all be accurate but it is at the very least based on fact.

I have been having disturbing dreams and strange flashbacks for a couple of days. They involve the grandfather and another of his friends. This other man has not featured in my memories until now. He was an ice cream seller. He had a depot at the bottom of the road where we all lived.

In my dream I am being tied up, naked, and molested. Then I have insects put in my mouth, my ears and all over my face. I wake up roughly scratching at my face and head, sweating and frightened to death. It brought back memories of a "waste land" beyond the bottom of my grandparents' house. The ice cream depot also backed onto this land.

The grandfather always had worms and maggots to hand as he was a keen fisherman.

The dream - memory continues with me being placed in a shallow "grave" in the ground and having dirt and "things" thrown over me. This makes no sense to me. It's not sexual? A tube is put in my mouth and my face is also covered. I know I freaked out a few years ago when scuba diving at having the breathing piece in my mouth but didn't know why.

Am I remembering? It seems too real, it "feels" too real to be a made up dream or fantasy. I can feel the things on my face and body; I can see his face, their faces.

A friend has told me that I got very upset when discussing the grandfather many years ago and that an icecream man was mentioned. I don't remember remembering that...

What the hell happened to me altogether ??!!

Jessica Prescott - Poetry

On the first of my Wednesday guest slots I would like to welcome Jessica Prescott.

In her own words Jessica is a, biologist, conservationist, ecologist, educator, dog lover, Meredith College alumna, poet, Esperantist.

Please have a look at her blog, listed here and linked at the bottom of this post.

Take it away Jessica!




Coping

When stress is high
or bad times arise,
we all have our ways
to get through the day.

Some of us laugh,
pray the moment will pass.
Some turn to drink,
bottle's gone in a blink.

Some of us cry,
and then wonder "why?"
Some of us scream,
hope it's all a dream.

Some of us smoke,
find peace in a toke.
Some meditate,
deep breathe it away.

Some of us lie,
smile, say "I'm fine."
Some need a hug,
show a little love.

So we can survive,
we cope with our lives.


Inspired by lyrics from Starsailor's "Some Of Us," which I heard on
the radio recently and just had to write about. Obviously some coping
strategies are better than others, but I feel the point is that
dealing with life's less pleasant parts is different for everyone.
"Some of us laugh
some of us cry
some of us smoke
some of us lie
but it's all just the way
that we cope with our lives"
You can hear it here:
http://www.4shared.com/audio/l_Feeuq7/Starsailor_-_Some_Of_Us.html

http://jprescottpoetry.blogspot.com/

Tuesday, 30 August 2011

You Will Be There

I will look for you in gentle places,
where willows move gently,
where flowers make a margin
below the moss of an evergreen

and you will be there

I will linger near the stone windchimes,
the sound resonating softly,
a crimson sunset, my quiet solitude,
there, I will wait for evening's first star

and you will be there

I will seek you out before I leave
This tired life behind,
we'll walk together, hand in hand,
and leave this place behind.



Monday, 29 August 2011

I am declaring WAR... I might be wounded but I'm still a WARRIOR!!

To those of you who follow me both here and on Twitter I would like to say a huge "Thank you".  In the last few weeks I have felt, for the most part, enormously encouraged by the support shown to me and other survivors of childhood sexual abuse, rape, domestic and emotional abuse.

For those of you that unfollowed, I bid you farewell.  I will not miss you, especially those who told me to shut up because I was being boring, or that I didn't know what I was talking about and so on ....

I will say this and I will say it very loudly:

Childhood sexual abuse EXISTS and it happens in every village, every town, every city of every country and in every culture.

Those who close their eyes and ears to the abuse are themselves complicit in the act of abuse itself.  This includes family, friends, doctors, nurses, celebrities, schools, law enforcement agencies, governments (local and national), social services and other organisations and agencies.

Yes, not seeing what is in front of your eyes makes you guilty - guilty by association.

Survivors have been slowly gaining their voices, growing in confidence and accepting that they themselves were the innocent parties. This has not been easy. The road so far has been rocky to say the very least. Why should we suffer the ignorance of others as well as the atrocities that were forced upon us in the first place?

You might be uncomfortable hearing or reading about our experiences. Can you ever begin to imagine what it feels like to be us?

If you analyse the information available on reported incidents of abuse alone, then those of us who are amongst the abused can be counted in the MILLIONS.

That is a very large number;  a very large number of innocent people whose childhoods and innocence were stolen and violated.

WHY SHOULD WE BE QUIET?  WHY SHOULD WE FEEL ASHAMED TO SPEAK OUT?  WHY SHOULD WE BE EXPECTED TO SUFFER IN SILENCE?

Does it disrupt your lives? Does it make you uncomfortable? Does it distract from your internet, television or leisure time? Does it?

Are you in a crowd of people at the moment? One in three girls and approximately one in five boys are reported as having been sexually abused ...  Those are only the statistics for those who have been brave enough to come forward...

I call upon everybody - every agency, every company or organisation, every council and every government - to stand up, be counted and help US do something about this.

How many victims are there out there who are too scared, too ashamed or too browbeaten to seek help?

How many abusers are there out there, RIGHT NOW, ruining lives, stealing innocence and creating damage beyond comprehension to innocents?

Are you going to just sit back and let this continue?

Are you going to remain silent and ignorant?

Are you going to keep telling victims like me to shut up and put up?

No, you are not!  Because I will not just shut up.  I will stand up proudly and, if needs be, defiantly  and say,

" I AM A SURVIVOR. WE ARE SURVIVORS!"

SILENT AND HIDING? No.

Abusers beware.....

Just Once

I would like so desperately to have a few, simple things.

I want simplicity in my life.

I want peace of mind.

I want to be able to trust.

I want to be able to give myself, to another, completely.

Just once, I would like to feel I belong.

Just once, I want to be happy.

Just once.

Is that too much to ask?

Saturday, 27 August 2011

Will You?

What is this that lingers
in the pit of my heart
like an unblossomed flower
it reaches to the sky for its
individuality
to be revealed.
Uncovering each naked petal
like a vibrant being  so full
so bold in its claim upon this planet
yet fragile to the stem
and brittle in the wind.

What is this which suffers
quietly in isolation
true in its voice but almost never heard
like a distant echo
forgotten
to your own understanding
of why you are living as the person
you are. And if you could,
who you would be.
this undoing of your barren determination-
doesn't it make your stomach turn
to realise you have only
lived for others and not
yourself

What is this it believes
in the broken heart you thought
would never mend.
buried a mile deep in emotions
that could have left you forever
but didn't.
giving credence to your thick wall
of disposition. it resides intimately,
ultimately
in the clutches of your small hands
almost barely out of reach. but
do you see it
when it counts. or do you neglect
the truth of your existence.
will you blossom
will you suffer
will you believe
too?

Calmly dreaming

Calmly dreaming
happily pursuing the innocent pleasures
of a fantasy escapeland in the Mists of Nod
Brutally awakened
by the simultaneous explosion
of blood and sweat and massive pain
Awakened yet again by the violations of
the man who said he'd take care of me and
oh boy
was he taking care of me...
Flopping my body mindlessly on the
End of his manipulative controls, forever
searing this memory
into the very cells of my body.
And sometimes when I
am sleeping at
night
I
have
these flashbacks
and I just can't seem to
tell whether or not I am dreaming.

Friday, 26 August 2011

Patricia Eggleton - What Is Love




This Fridays guest is Pat @Modicana on Twitter.



To quote her about me page on her blog http://sicilyscene.blogspot.com


"I'm a sort-of retired language teacher from Cardiff, Wales, UK, now trying to make a new life in Sicily. I'm not growing vines, making olive oil or restoring a palace stone by stone!"



Language teacher does not really sum up her very well. She is a linguist, a kind, gentle, sophisticated and passionate lady. Her passion for languages make her an extraordinary educator, she brings to her teaching that passion. Did I also mention she is a fantastic, and I mean fantastic, cook!



So please welcome Pat.









What is Love?



I was flattered when Jan asked me to contribute to this blog and pleased when he said I could write about anything at all. Then I began to think about possible subject matter for my post and realised I was in trouble: I have dabbled in verse but am not a poet, I mostly write about Sicily and in my childhood I knew nothing but love. “Ah”, thought I, “maybe that’s it. I’ll write about love.” And, getting carried away, perhaps, I asked Jan if I could address the question in the original title and URL of his blog, “What is love?” I have absolutely no qualifications that enable me to solve a riddle that has eluded generations of poets and philosophers down the centuries, but here goes:




Perhaps it is easier to start with what love isn’t: it certainly isn’t “never having to say you’re sorry” because a relationship based on that would be deadly dull as well as totally unrealistic. It isn’t possession, though it is often confused with that need. If you love someone, you want to be with that person, don’t you? “Love me enough to let me go”, the one leaving often says, or wants to say. But as any mother will testify, that is the hardest thing in the world to do. And in romantic love, if we could all do that, there would be no place for jealousy, would there? Then there is jealousy’s first cousin, control: love is not about control because controlling another person is something we do for ourselves, because it makes us, and not the “loved” one, feel secure. If the object of that control felt any safer, they would not so often be tearing on the relationship’s leash.



What about lust, then? Surely desire and love go hand in hand, as it were? Gore Vidal said that one of our greatest mistakes is to look for love and lust in the same person and more recently Elizabeth Gilbert [“Eat, Pray, Love”] addressed the question in “Committed”, her study of marriage. She describes a Vietnamese tribe called the Hmong whose women thought she was crazy when she asked them how they spent free time with their husbands: firstly, these women don’t have much free time and when they do, they spend it with their women friends. Husbands are all very well but they are for procreation and - well, husbanding. In other words, the Hmong women do not expect their husbands to be their counsellors, confidantes and best buddies as well and it seems to me there is much wisdom in that. Sadly though, as Gilbert says, “It is probably too late for me to be a Hmong”.



So does this mean that it all went wrong when our societies became more sophisticated? To an extent, yes. The French troubadours have much to answer for, having invented the concept of romantic love in the first place: that is not to say that men and women did not “love” each other before but they were probably more realistic about what to expect. However, once the idea of poetic pining for the unobtainable was planted among us, we were loath to let it go: in “Sexing the Cherry”, Jeanette Winterson describes a land without love, where everyone is happy. But once the inhabitants find out about this abstract noun, what do they do? They throw their happiness to the winds along with caution and start suffering for love, just like the rest of us.


Is platonic love possible? I’d like to think so but look at the odds: I am no mathematician but even I can work out that where there are two human beings who are already attracted to each other in some ways, there is at least a 50-50 chance that one of them will develop sexual feelings for the other. I was once in love with someone of a different sexual orientation and when I told a [married] friend that it wouldn’t matter to me if he satisfied his lust elsewhere she reasoned that, had there once been a sexual flame between us that was now extinguished, there would have been hope for the relationship but otherwise there was not because sooner or later the green-eyed monster would rear his ugly head.




Whether you agree with his Christian perspective or not, C S Lewis is of some help in defining different kinds of love in “The Four Loves” and few would argue with his conclusion that “charity” or unconditional love is the greatest. But I would go further and say that the trouble with love is that, as with miracles, we do not always recognise it because it may not be the kind that we have been dreaming of. I, for example, am still awaiting my knight in shining armour at 61 but I am lucky enough to love and be loved by a wonderful animal, to have truly precious friends and to have a spiritual bond with a place. We all have love to give so look around you today and think about where you can channel yours. You may be surprised.








Thursday, 25 August 2011

I Want To Be An Instrument

I want to be an instrument
to be used for a purpose
to always be composed
and in some sort of form

Giving pleasure to great numbers
hands moving up and down me
while I'm sleeping or standing
(it's all the same to me)

I'd get credit for being used
They would all tinker with me
and call me cute, trying to show off
but they don't understand how I work

My collaborator will win a prize
and I'll get to travel around
going places but I'll always speak the language
potential talent at any moment

I'd work to drown the applause
all for me (if I don't blow it)
the people would ask where I came from
fans asking what's my name

I could never be blamed; if I
don't show up, I'm not lost, just misplaced
though the air'd be stuffy, where I live
after my glory, they'd ignore me.

Come to think of it,
I am one...

Just Don't

Pity us, for we were lied to.
Deny us, for we were deceived.
Envy us, for we are not ignorant.

Empty yourself of any preconception.
Explore the truth of it all.
And then realise you waste your time.

Don't expect anything,  implore.
Don't explain anything, exact.
Don't deny the truth, idealise.

Don't fall prey to yourself or others.

Don't want.

Don't need.

Don't trust.

Don't  

Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Winter Solitude


Bleak expanse
of the bitter taste of winter,
a retching solitude,
hard core of pavement,
wrapped frozen around,
tassels on a spear of wind
that penetrates fluttering
its sharp thrusts
of flurried tunneling
between rattling bones.
I never feared winter
as much as I fear it now,
white ghost
smooth sheets
thrown over absence,
empty footprints,
stinging vengence
frigid empty space
pressed against lips,
sucking out the marrow
iced over remains
of symbollic warmth,
leaving dread ice cold
monologues
of frozen breaths,
one heart beat
bundled up,
flesh binding of dreams
fallen into blinding drifts
of frozen out,
blown apart,
into another lost season.

Tuesday, 23 August 2011

Puppet On A String & Bachelor Boy

I was born in May, 1967. A breach birth with the umbilical cord around my neck... Nothing much has changed, I seem to do everything arse backwards.

One of my early poems describes this.

Being strangled into life
I chose to stay.
Within a year death ruptured
a vessel in my brain.


Once more I declined both death
and a vegetable state.
Then I became fairies,elves and
a prince in the books I read.


Until, between three and eleven
grand-daddy ripped
my child's body, heart and soul
into shredded innocents.


There he buried trust, love and
a naive child's spirit.
But, in my hand there was
a grain of me
I held it.


Inside the grain were
birds, rivers and willow branches
that wrapped around me.
Until rough hands, razor straps,
blood and tears
couldn't touch me anymore.

In the spring of 1967 Sandy Shaw entered the Eurovision Song contest with "Puppet On A String". My mother loved the song and "apparently" had it playing whilst I was being born. I obviously don't remember that bit...

She used to sing it to me though, and Bachelor Boy by Cliff Richard.

These songs are very special to me. I still really miss her, especially when feeling low. I miss not having a mother, more than actually her. My memories of her are very, very vague, probably because I blocked out much of my childhood. I hope that when my healing journey is over the good memories will return. I can then actualy remember her rather than an ideal. I know what I mean even if you don't!




Past, Present And Future

The past, past, well now let me tell you about the past
The past is filled with silent joys and broken toys,
laughing girls and teasing boys,
Was I ever in love? I called it love, I mean, it felt like love,
There were moments when, well, there were moments when

Present, Go out with you? Why not
Do I like to dance? Of Course,
Take a walk along the beach tonight? I'd love to,
But don't try to touch me, don't try to touch me
Cos that will never happen again,
Shall we dance

The future, Tommorow? well tommorows a long way off
Maybe someday I'll have somebody's hand
Maybe somewhere someone will understand
You know I used to sing a tisket a tasket a green and yellow basket
I'm all packed up and I'm on my way and I'm gonna fall in love,
But at the moment it doesn't look good
At the moment it will never happen again

I don't think it will ever happen again.

M.Weiz

Winter

I wish I was a Computer

At least they have sleep and rest modes.....


Monday, 22 August 2011

For all my Survivor friends and our supporters

Who I was born to be - Susan Boyle lyrics

When I was a child
I could see the wind in the trees
And I heard a song in the breeze
It was there, singing out my name

But I am not a girl
I have known the taste of defeat
And I've finally grown to believe
It will all came around again

And though I may not know the answers
I can finally say I am free
And if the questions led me here
Then I am who I was born to be

And so here am I
Open arms and ready to stand
I've got the world in my hands
And it feels like my turn to fly

Though I may not know the answers
I can finally say I am free
And if the questions led me here
Then I am who I was born to be

When I was a child
There were flowers that bloomed in the night
Unafraid to take in the light
Unashamed to have braved the dark

Though I may not know the answers
I can finally say I am free
And if the questions led me here
Then I am who I was born to be
I am who I was born to be

Sunday, 21 August 2011

Naked and vulnerable

Once I was proud of what I saw in my mirror.
Long hours of work and healthy food,
Dancing into the night,
Hours at the gym.
I was happy.

Then my memories became stronger
I stopped going to the gym
Stopped dancing, drunk instead
Diet? Ha! Whatever was handy.
I became FAT.

I doubled my bodyweight in 14 months
Twice the man I was before. Yet half
The man I want to be. I am a nothing
Unsure, ashamed and terrified, forever
Alone.

Now though smaller than I was
After nightmarish memories returned
I look at myself, naked, feeling
Vulnerable, disgusted. Though looking this
Ugly, I feel SAFE.

March 2011

Saturday, 20 August 2011

Flying On Your Own

You Were Never More Strong Girl
You Were Never More Alone
Once There Was Two, Now There's Just You
Your Flying On Your Own

You Were Never More Happy Girl
You Were Never Oh So Blue
Once Heartaches Begin, Nobody Wins
Your Flying On Your Own

And When You Know The Wings You Ride
Can Keep You In The Sky
There Isn't Anyone Holding Back You
First You Stumble, Then You Fall
You Reach Out And You Fly
There Isn't Anything That You Can't Do

You Were Never More Wise Girl
You Were Never More A Fool
Once You Break Through, Its All Up To You
Your Flying On Your Own

You Were Never More Together
You Were Never More Apart
Once Pieces Of You, Were All That You Knew
Your Flying On Your Own

And When You Know The Wings You Ride
Can Keep You In The Sky
There Isn't Anyone Holding Back You
First You Stumble, Then You Fall
You Reach Out And You Fly
There Isn't Anything That You Can't Do

And When You Know The Wings You Ride
Can Keep You In The Sky
There Isn't Anyone Holding Back You
First You Stumble, Then You Fall
You Reach Out And You Fly
There Isn't Anything That You Can't Do

Rita McNeil

Thursday, 18 August 2011

Family Bloody Family

We are ALL born into a family. Whether we are kept, or passed on for adoption, at some point we all had family. We had no choice as to whether we were born.

Those who are adopted sometimes feel that they had been "unwanted" or "dumped".  Often the case is that the new mother was not in a position to be able to raise a child. Once adopted that baby or child will have a  new family, one that chose them, one that wanted them.

Some of us wish we had been adopted. Some of us wish we had died at birth.

In life we have choices. I chose to "dump" my "unwanted" family and made myself a new one. I now class certain friends as family. I remember the fuss, as I grew up,  that was made because my maternal grandmother's first cousin was the poet and playwright Dylan Thomas. We were supposed to feel special because of this.
Why, then,  was I treated with such utter contempt and disregard? I am proud of some of my lineage, including the Dylan Thomas link. I have traced my father's family back as far as 1609 in Devon and before that I believe they came from France. I am proud of that lineage too. I am ashamed of my roots through my mother's father. I am ashamed that my mother's daughter is related to me.

I am not ashamed of my mother, though;  she eventually gave her life that I might live. My father might not have known how to show emotion, but I loved him nevertheless.

I loved my maternal grandmother even though she didn't always treat me well. For most of my life she treated me like a prince. Was that through guilt though? I care not.

For so much of my life I felt unable to just be myself. I had few friends. I felt unworthy and unclean. Why would people want to be my friend?  I was dirty, I was used goods, I was a coat of many colours - torn, bloody and soiled.

What I have learnt is that it is OK to be myself. I am a man and yes, I show emotions;  I cry, I care about others and I like the gentle things in life.

I have made many new friends recently, some of whom I now class as part of my extended family, a family of my choosing:  a family in which I feel safe, protected and also one that I too can protect and advise. A family born out of friendship, love and a mutual understanding.

Thank you.

Monday, 15 August 2011

Bubbles bursting

I know I must expect my moods to be swinging at the moment.

I just wish they wouldn't swing down, just up!

Having lived with thinking I am nothing but rubbish, a nuisance, a blot on the face of mankind is hard to shake. Today I had to ask someone to email me something a few times. I felt stupid, I felt I was being a pain in the butt, I kept wanting to type sorry.

AMSOSA Weekend Retreat

During the weekend I wrote down my feelings every night before going to sleep. I am going to share them with you here. These have not been edited.

Urchfont day one


I finally persuaded myself to drive up to the manor house, on time, but filled with apprehension. I have avoided group therapy sessions until now.
I believe I have resolved most of my anger, with regards what happened to me anyway. What remains of my anger has turned into a fierce protectiveness over others who have suffered.
Whilst I have been able to turn my anger around, release it, and use it as a shield, I remain angry with myself. Not for having been abused, tortured and raped, but for having been weak enough to not make the right decisions over my life.
Have I screwed up so much because I felt unworthy of a good life, was I punishing myself for not having fought back, or am I acting out the pain and humiliation and turning it on myself? I don't know.
In total I have "received" over 25 months of NHS therapy. Other than now accepting that I was a victim, an unwilling participant and in no way encouraged any of the things that happened to me, that therapy has done nothing to improve the image I have of myself in my head. The image of being worthless, unwelcome, ugly, useless and a serial failure, and feeling totally alone in my suffering.
I still find it difficult trusting anyone, or I trust too much much too fast. I feel unworthy of love, yet yearn for the love I have denied myself. I make friends rarely, but hate being so isolated and alone.
I find it easy to put words down on paper or computer, but it is a struggle to vocalise. This probably stems from being told to shut up as a child. In my family children were to be seen and NOT heard.

I am sharing this weekend with twenty something men who have all endured abuse. I want arms big enough to protect them all, but I also want them to protect me. I want to feel as if I do actually belong, as if I do deserve a happy life, that I am allowed to be, and loved as just myself.
I almost feel as if I fit in here, hopefully by tomorrow night I can say I do fit in, I do belong and I do deserve to be happy. I just feel uncertain about speaking out or voicing an opinion.

I feel my life is slipping away, out of control, and I can do absolutely nothing to stop it.

I want to belong. I want to live. I am scared yet want to protect. I want to be held, to hold, to be embraced and to embrace. I want to be me, let me be me. I need to cry, to cry for the right reasons. I have never mourned the death of innocence of the little boy I once was. I just survived by whatever means I could. Life shouldn't be about surviving or enduring surely? Life should be for living and enjoying. I hear happy voices of men outside, having returned from the pub. I didn't go, didn't feel I could fit in, yet wanting to, so so wanting to. Maybe tomorrow night, maybe.

Maybe one day someone will love and want me for who and what I am, not for what and who I apparently should be. I am just me, love me for what I am, not for what you want me to be.

How do I ask for help? How do I get over the overwhelming fear of rejection?

How do I live?

Urchfont 2

Shit, shit shit, shit.SHIT.

To put today into a nutshell, I would have to quote a Michael Jackson song......You are not alone.
The most significant feeling, emotion, impression and insight I will take away from here is I am not the only man who feels like I do.

I am not an effin freak, but the 6 men and 2 women who were THE abusers were freaks.
I also discovered today I hadn't dealt with my anger quite as well as I thought. A part of the weekend is letting go of anger and expressing. Well I whacked seven types if crap out of the punchbag provided...... I felt much better fir it, a weight lifted off my shoulders.

Another strong emotion I am experiencing is empathy. I don't only feel my pain, confusion, disgust and anger, but I feel and am experiencing that of my fellow weekenders too. I don't normally cry over real life issues. Some films or tv programmes can make me cry. Not really crying, but water running silently down my face. I almost cried today, I had wet eyes, I know the last time I really cried, sobbed, bawled, was when my grandmother was buried. I let rip, I didn't care. What I didn't know then was her role in the abuse. Before that was when I made a decision to move the direction my life was taking some 10 years ago. I sat on my bed, terrified and cried myself to sleep.

Another problem I have is being tactile. I want to be tactile, and I want to feel I cam accept the same in others. I have associated touching or hugging another man with sex for as long as I can remember. Shit! There have been times when I have wanted a hug and others when I wanted to offer a hug. I don't want to sexualise this life changing experience but holy shit, I need some hugs.

Today I have sung..... Well I'm tone deaf and I did it to an audience. I have vocalised. I had forgotten the following until I was driving home today.

Growing up my grandparents encouraged me to stand on a chair and sing. I might get 10pence reward. My grandfather also made me do that when we were alone, but I was naked and he would abuse me afterwards. He was a drunk, he resented the fact that my being there meant less money for his whiskey. Several times he sold my toys for drink money. Several times he made me steal so he could have drink money.

Today I took a baseball bat and hit seven types of crap out of a punch bag. I focused my anger, that punchbag was him.

Today I finally belonged somewhere, today I joined the "human" race.

And now I am crying, real tears, I'm crying, and I so so so want someone to hold me.
I really don't want to be alone anymore. Help me, please?

Urchfont Final morning

Woke up feeling terrible, had a disrupted night. Twice I woke up crying, wanting to be held, wanting some comfort.
After breakfast it was guilt time. I won't go into any details but I managed to balance my guilt against those who SHOULD have felt guilty over what they subjected me too.

The saying goodbye session was my breaking point, something inside me changed. Physically hugging everyone was something i had been fearing before last night. There was no pressure to do anything at the retreat, including comforting or hugging another guy. I wanted that brief moment of physical closeness with each of them, the brave men, the survivors, it felt as if it was cementing a lifelong bond. I didn't fear being touched anymore. How ill be back in the rat race i don't know, but i will take each day as it comes. The actual physical parting from my twenty something new friends left me sobbing in the car. I managed to drive a few miles away first, then the dams broke.

I felt cleansed by the tears, empowered and uplifted by the whole weekend. I BELONGED, I didn't feel like an onlooker, watching life, I deserved my place on this planet. We all did. I was no longer alone.

As part of my leaving "statement" I said this.

I leave here with a pocket full of star light, because you are all superstars to me, I will carry a part of you all with me always, thank you so much for everything.

The AMSOSA weekend retreat has changed me and my whole outlook on life.

Thank you Steve, and everyone else who made me feel so safe, so welcome and so not alone.

You are all strong, brave and amazing guys.










Sunday, 14 August 2011

Arroogggaa

Last Friday seems a very long time ago!

Have returned from the AMSOSA weekend retreat.

I see the world through newborn eyes.

I feel humbled, honoured and all warm and gooey inside.

For me it was a life changing experience, a rebirth almost. I now feel strong enough to
Merge my alters, to take on the world as just me. It might take me sometime and I will need guidance but I managed to stay grounded for all but 5 minutes, I didn't need the protection my guardians afford me. I was not alone, I was in a safe place, with safe people, and I felt that I belonged.

Thank you fellas, all of you.

Friday, 12 August 2011

Favourite Quotes

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."- Mark Twain



Take chances.Tell the truth.Date someone totally wrong for you.Say no. Spend all your cash! Fall in love. Get to know someone random. Be random. Say I love you. Sing out loud. Laugh at a stupid joke. Cry. Get revenge. Apologize. Tell someone how much they mean to you. Tell the asshole what you feel. Let someone know what they are missing. Laugh 'til your stomach hurts. LIVE LIFE!


Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing.
Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.
For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.
But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Thursday, 11 August 2011

YOU!

Memories cut my flesh
I remember, I remember
You are the one! You!!!
You broke me, You cut me
You raped me. You humiliated
and you invited your friends too.
You! My own flesh and blood!
Father of my mother, YOU!
You broke my arm, You made me bleed
You, You are nothing, You are dead.
You will never be my family.
You, You will NOT win.
I will shine a light so bright,
I will illuminate your sin, your evil
YOU! You don't frighten me anymore.
You cannot touch me, You are dead.
Yet I will ensure your are remembered
YOU will not be forgotten. But I will forget you.
My life will be rewritten, You will not exist,
You are nothing, no-one, You are less than scum
You were my grandfather, Now you are not.

Waiting

Hanging on the end of a wire
expecting a sudden shock,
walking the thinnest line
expecting to be pushed off.

This is how it is to become so in love
to ask if they will let you love them,
it never gets better, once its said,
but it could get worse.

The hope to kiss, the conversation,
the chance never came, misinformation,
now just a missing piece
in an unsolvable puzzle, broken dream.

Supposed to find another heart
that would fit in the same space,
the beginning is so broken, twisted,
the ending seems all wrong.

Ask too early, ask too late,
heart feels the pain, hates the games,
looking finds nothing, but chanced upon
so many years, and then they are gone,

Wednesday, 10 August 2011

Silent and hiding NO LONGER

Well today is a big sharing day... Posted a succession of photos of myself from a baby, approx 12 months old right up til now. They are on the ABOUT ME page. The first 4 are the abuse years. The fifth was not long after I had "endured" 18 months of psychotherapy.

I am disgusted to confirm that Wales has NO dedicated support service for MALE survivors of sexual abuse, rape or domestic abuse. YES all these happen to men too!! Come on world, stop sticking your head in the sand.

Men are VICTIMS too! WOMEN are also ABUSERS and RAPISTS.

I have bounced about the NHS for years, never finding answers to what my problems were. I have had a referral to a rape/abuse centre in Wales, but it is for both sexes and not run by people who have actually experienced the abuse themselves.

I "bumped" into someone online who I now consider my guardian angel. Steve from @Amsosa-UK.

To Quote Steve:-

The mission of AMSOSA is to empower men who have experienced sexual abuse or rape, and enable them to live happier, healthier lives.

I hope that through sharing my journey and my writing I can in some way help others and also to get Steve at Amsosa some well deserved publicity and even support.

It is time that people, MEN, like myself are recognised, supported, and for everything possible to be done to put a FULL STOP to sexual abuse, rape and domestic abuse of MEN as well as for women.

Thank you

Jan

All Consuming LOVE







Falling, like a gentle rain on a summers evening
Deeply, where few have gone before
Madly, with abandon and no thought of tomorrow
Utterly, consumed and overawed by the magic
Totally, overcome and hopelessly lost
In Love, as if tomorrow may never come.
With you, I want to grow old unlike our love.








Tuesday, 9 August 2011

Welcome To Great Britain

Fire, violence, theft and hooliganism, Welcome to Great Britain!
Businesses ruined, houses too, History ripped apart
Is this the dawn of thug rule in our once green and pleasant land?
Bring back National Service, people make a stand!

No-one safe, not even in their own homes, Welcome to Great Britain!
Blood is shed, bones are broken, families torn apart
Skies black with choking smoke, sirens everywhere
Is that the amy I see? We need them! No, we don't need them there!

Welcome to Great Britain, land of hope and glory!
Turn on the news and you will see quite a different story..
Welcome to Great Britain, controlled by yobs and scum
Why is it I fear, that the worst is yet to come.

Tuesday 9th August 2011

Final Request

My feet caress the sand so soft
Sun sinking low far in the west
I gazed at the vast blue horizon and
To the sea whispered my final request

I wish

I wish I could be there,
To hold you close
To kiss you goodnight.
I wish I could be near to you
I'd hold you safe and
Never let you go.
I wish I was there,
To gaze into your face.
And wonder why angels,
Have come to this place.

I wish I could be there
To talk all night long.
To take away your pain
And show you there is a way
To let go inside and still be safe
To let yourself be loved
And to let yourself love in return
To tell you,
"You have entered my heart"
And "You will always be there."

We WERE

Daniel
Zachary
Jonathon
Susan
Mary
Benjamin
Matty
Luke
Ianto

Monday, 8 August 2011

Just One Chance

Each day we have, may be our last
We must not waste, nor let it pass
Without sharing, and being a part
All that each day can and should be
A day to give, and to receive
The best of all that there can be.

I spent my life, in endless search
Of reasons why, the truth to find
Yet in the end, the only truth I need
Is that I am, and I live to be free.
No need to fight, or hide away
Your finest moment, is here, today.






Sunday, 7 August 2011

It only takes a minute

A quick hello, a smile a nod,
An acknowledgement that we do exist.
So often in this hectic world,
We could be invisible to all.

It lifts my spirits when you see I'm there
One moment in time, one moment to care
You all rush about, weighed down by your lives
One day in your life I might be you.

Saturday, 6 August 2011

More clumsiness

When I was seven years old I broke my arm in two places. I remembered this earlier this week and have been trying to figure out what was wrong with the memory.

My left arm has been weak as far back as I can remember. I have had operations on my left shoulder due to growths. This last year my elbow has been getting very sore and stiff.

I was diagnosed with arthritis, caused "probably" by the several breaks and damage to my arm.

I have a memory forming of how it broke, but am uncertain about it.

There are photos of me as a child and teenager where my left hand looks twisted in some way.

My grandfather broke my arm when I was trying to get away from him in the garden. My mother was told I had fallen climbing over a fence. My mother took me to hospital but it was almost a week after my arm had been broken.

Friday, 5 August 2011

For You - My New Friends

Per tutti voi, che camminiamo a testa alta lungo la strada.

Para todos ustedes que andemos con la cabeza alta por el camino.

May you walk with head held high.





Today I shared

No more Freaky Fridays for me. Today I shared this blog with someone I have known for over 15 years. I have spent my life hiding, lying and cheating, avoiding and denying my way through. So much of what has come out I hid from myself. I was not able to cope with it. Few of US can.

The reaction to my sharing was this:-

"Woah, man!

I had an idea of some but to such a degree?? Not at all."

I am sure he will not mind me posting that line. He is a good friend, one of those who is there even if you don't have daily, weekly, monthly or even yearly contact. One of the very few I can trust.

Sitting in quiet contemplation I have looked back at my wasted life. I have now been able to see clearly patterns of behaviour, cycles of living, ways to cope that I have been through. I have been driven by a need to belong. To be wanted. The survival instinct in me has taken me to some extremes of behaviour, I am not proud of many of them.

Survived is what I have done, sometimes by the skin of my teeth, sometimes despite my own best efforts to destroy myself.

I have survived. That in itself is revenge. Those family members who said to me I would never amount to anything were wrong. Just carrying on a semblance of a normal life was revenge, surviving. Being a success, being able to totally move on, being able to share my experiences and looking to help others is my goal.

I want to live my life, not survive.

The Boy That Lived.

Thursday, 4 August 2011

Very Sad, Disturbing Songs

Concrete Angel - Martina McBride



Hell Is For Children - Pat Benatar



The Eleventh Commandment



Luka

Some Days Are Diamonds, Some Days Are Stones

Today is a ruddy great big hunk of granite......

It's funny that over the last 2-3 weeks I have felt more part of "life" than I have in a long time. My writing and sharing via the blog and twitter has been a catheter to the build up of bad memories inside me. I have an avenue to vent my feelings and shatter my secrets. Yes I have told my secrets to the wind and they are being carried around the world. It is an awesome feeling.

Today though I am feeling flat, cold and empty. I want to reach out but cannot. I want to share but cannot. I think I will go for a walk, maybe fresh air will clear away the cobwebs today.

Last night was another without a lot of sleep. I started to write another piece, pictures were so clear in my mind. Then I froze.

Some Days Are Diamonds, Some Days Are Stones by Julie Andrews was playing in my head. I haven't heard the song for a very long time. It was playing in the room when I was raped at 16 yrs. I remembered the feeling so vividly, my body tensed and my mind shouted NO.

I am trying to get the feelings out and put them into words, to cast them from the dark corners that they have been hiding.

Who can we trust? Who can we turn to? Where do we go from here?

In all my adult life I had only spoken to maybe 2 other survivors of abuse and then I didn't share very much. I just couldn't. Now it would seem that survivors are everywhere. That in itself is not a bad thing, but what is bad is that means for every survivor there is at least one abuser/rapist. In my case I am now remembering No 6.

What sort of world do we live in where the abuse of innocents is so prevalent? This abuse is mostly an "uncomfortable" subject of discussion so is not fully reported or documented. The media will report the more sensational cases, but what about the thousands more that are out there. The silent sufferers?

When my journey into healing began all I wanted was to be "normal". Well normal is what normal does I suppose. I want healing, I want to be able to stand proud as the man I am and make people listen.

No more hiding in the shadows, keeping silent. No more  keeping promises to the abusers of not telling. No more being frightened that they will come and get us if we speak out.

It is time to SHOUT it out, to make the world listen and for the bastards and bitches that ruined our lives to be made to pay the price. The would be abusers and rapists need to know that they will NOT get away with it.

We are the innocent, they are the guilty.

This started as a lost feeling post and I have turned it into a rant. I needed that.

Rant over.

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

Reach Out to You by Brandon Christopher

Check out this video and song by musician Brandon Christopher.



Find him om twitter @Bbradley84

Find him on facebook http://www.facebook.com/pages/Brandon-Christopher/181357055255818?sk=wall

The Hand

I can still see the hand on my body, blue veined, fingers stained yellow by tobacco, running over my once innocent flesh with a possesion that was almost complete.  That foul dirty invading hand slipping under my waistband, I close my eyes, pretend I am not there. The voice, telling me I have to learn new things, I have to understand what happens when I get hard, I have to know what to do when I am a man. The hand again, now invading my most private and innermost areas. My rectum reacts and I am told to relax, it will feel good, it will help me to sleep. Sleep? Sleep and I are not good friends. Sleep makes me vulnerable to the hand.

The smell, dirty whiskey breath, invades my senses. The smell of teeth uncleaned, hands unwashed, a body fetid.

The rope now cuts into my wrists, tightened by the hand. I am helpless, I cannot fight. I do not. I just wait, close my eyes and wait. I am flying now, I am a dragon.

My wrists burn, my insides burn hotter. The hand is everywhere. Drunken anger accompanies the hand and its invasion. I hurt, I am ashamed, I hurt.

The hand is my enemy, it's fingers sew together my finger tips, it's fingers rip my flesh. It's strength fuelled by drink and a foul passion. The hand once held me as a baby, nuturing me, waiting for it's moment. The hand has my blood in its veins. Why is the hand trying to kill me. The hand puts its fingers into my mouth. Foul, smelling fingers, I choke. I am a dragon, I can fly.

The hand takes my stitched fingers and I have to hold his member. The hand controlls mine. I feel sick once more, I close my eyes, I wait, I hope.

Now I see the hand, and I smell the lingering fetid memory. Now, when I should take joy from love, I see the hand and I am reminded of it's power.

I cannot relax, dare not sleep, dare not give all of me over. The hand is waiting, if only when I close my eyes, if only when I sleep.

The hand and it's friends they took what was me, they ripped it up, they bruised and destroyed, they stole my innocence, my life.

I wasn't a dragon and I couldn't fly.

August 2011

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

Sweet Dreams

The Fabulous Rebecca Ferguson!

Very Annie Mary

A favourite film and the music I listen to when I feel lonely.

Demons

I lie deep in the shadows
My body, limp and cold
As hatred and fear devour my mind
My soul slides into oblivion
I hear his voice ringing in my head
He is the demon in my dreams
The poison in my blood
The terror in my screams
The hurt towards him burns me
Scouring the walls of my chest
Engulfing my heart in flames
The pain too strong to fight
Attacks me like sharp knives
All over my body
Stabbing
Slashing
Cutting deeper and deeper
Sinking into my flesh
A red ocean fills my head
I cannot see
I cannot hear
I cannot speak
I am helpless

1995


Monday, 1 August 2011

A - Z of Friendship

A Friend....

(A)ccepts you as you are
(B)elieves in "you"
(C)alls you just to say "HI"
(D)oesn't give up on you
(E)nvisions the whole of you (even the unfinished parts)
(F)orgives your mistakes
(G)ives unconditionally
(H)elps you
(I)nvites you over
(J)ust "be" with you
(K)eeps you close at heart
(L)oves you for who you are
(M)akes a difference in your life
(N)ever Judges
(O)ffers support
(P)icks you up
(Q)uiets your fears
(R)aises your spirits
(S)ays nice things about you
(T)ells you the truth when you need to hear it
(U)nderstands you
(V)alues you
(W)alks beside you
(X)-plains things you don't understand
(Y)ells when you won't listen and
(Z)aps you back to reality









May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the rain fall softly upon your fields. And the sun shine warm upon your face.
Top of the mornin' to you.....(and the rest of the day to 'me self!)
May there always be work for you to do.
May your purse always hold a coin or two.
May the sun always shine on your windowpane.
May the hand of a friend always be near you.
May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.






ALONE I can SAY but.
TOGETHER we can SHOUT.

ALONE I can SMILE but.
TOGETHER we can LAUGH.

ALONE I can enjoy but.
TOGETHER we can CELEBRATE.

THAT's THE BEAUTY OF.

FRIENDSHIP...

Love Love Love



Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast,
it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts,
always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.





Take Time

Take time to take.....
~the small gifts so hesitatingly offered by a friend
~the proud handmade present from a child.

Take time to listen.....
~to the old man's too often told tale
~to a husband's words of love.

Take time to share......
~a moment with a lonely soul for loneliness shared becomes love.
~a sorrow with a bereaved friend, for sorrow shared becomes comfort.

Take time to touch.....
~another human which means I care for you, I trust you..
~another life for that is what life is all about.

Take time for each other..... for nothing else is that important.

Take time to live, to dance for fun, to sing for joy, to paint or sew or create a beautiful gift.

Take time to watch.....


~the snow swirling outside the windowpane,

~the flames dancing in the fireplace.






I LOVE YOU CAN BE EXPRESSED IN SO MANY WAYS...

Afrikaans
Ek is lief vir jou
Albanian
Te dua
Arabic
Ah’bika [to a man] Ah’bik [to a woman]
Aramaic
Rikhmith-akh [to a man] Rikhmith-eykh [to a woman]
Armenian
Yes qez sirum em
Assyrian
Kedamtookh brikhta
Azerbaijani
Men seni sevirem
Bamougoum
Guo me ye te
Bangladeshi
Ami tomake valobashi
Basque
Maite zaitut
Belarussian
Ya tabe kahayu
Bemba
Nalikutemwa
Bengali
Aami tomaake bhaalo baashi
Bosnia
Volim te
Bulgarian
Obicham te
Cambodian
Soro lahn nhee ah
Cantonese
Ngo oi ney
Catalan
T'estimo
Cheyenne
Ne mohotatse
Cornish
My a'th kar
Corsican
Ti tengu caru [to a man] Ti tengu cara [to a woman]
Creole
Mwen renmen w
Croatian
Ja te volim
Czech
Miluji tě
Danish
Jeg elsker dig
Dutch
Ik hou van jou
English
I love you
Esperanto
Mi amas vin
Estonian
Ma armastan sind
Ethiopian
Afgreki'
Faroese
Eg elski teg
Farsi
Tora dost daram
Filipino
Mahal kita
Finnish
Minä rakastan sinua
Flemish
Ik zie oe geerne
French
Je t'aime
Frisian
Ik hâld fan dy
Gaelic
Ta gra agam ort
Georgian
Mikvarkhar
German
Ich liebe Dich
Greek
S'agapo
Greenlandic
Asavakit
Gujarati
Hoo thunay prem karoo choo
Hausa
Ina sonki
Hawaiian
Aloha wau ia oi
Hebrew
Ani ohevet otcha [woman to a man] Ani ohev otach [man to a woman] Ani ohev otcha [man to a man] Ani ohevet otach [woman to a woman]
Hindi
Hum tumhe pyar karte hae
Hopi
Nu'umi unangwa'ta
Hungarian
Szeretlek te'ged
Icelandic
ég elska þig
Indonesian
Aku Cinta Kamu
Irish
Taim i' ngra leat
Inuit
Negligevapse
Italian
Ti amo
Japanese
Ai shiteru
Kannada
Naanu ninna preetisuuttene
Khmer
Oun Srorlanh Borng [to a man] Borng Srorlanh Oun [to a woman]
Kimeru
Ninkwendete
Konkani
Hanv Tuzo Mog Kortam
Korean
Tangsinul sarang ha yo
Kurdish
Ez te hezdikhem
Lao
Koi hak jao
Latin
Te amo
Latvian
Es tevi milu
Lebanese
Bahibak
Lithuanian
Aš tave myliu
Luo
Aheri
Luxembourgish
Ech hun dëch gaer
Macedonian
Te sakam
Malayalam
Njan ninne premikkunnu
Malaysian
Saya cintakan mu
Maltese
Inhobbok
Mandarin
Wo ai ni
Mohawk
Kanbhik
Maori
Kei te aroha au ki a koe
Mapudungun
Inche poyekeyu
Marathi
Maaze tuzhyavar prem ahe
Moroccan
Kanhebek
Navaho
Ayor anosh'ni
Norwegian
Jeg elsker deg
Pashto
Za stha sara meena kawoma
Persian
Man ashegheto hastam
Pilipino
Mahal kita
Polish
Kocham Cie
Portuguese
Amo-te
Punjabi
Mai taunu pyar karda
Rapa nui
Hanga rahi au kia koe
Romanian
Te iubesc
Russian
Ya tyebya lyublyu
Samoan
Ou te alofa ia te oe
Sardinian
Ti kerio meta
Serbian
Volim te
Setswana
Ke a go rata
Sindhi
Maa tokhe pyar kendo ahyan
Sinhalese
Mama oya'ta a'darei
Sioux
Techihhila
Slovak
Milujem Ťa
Slovenian
Ljubim te
Somalian
Waan ku gealahay
Sotho
Ke a o rata
Spanish
Te amo
Swahili
Nakupenda
Swazi
Ngiyakutsandza
Swedish
Jag älskar dig
Swiss German
Ich lieb Di
Tagalog
Mahal kita
Tahitian
Ua here vau ia oe
Taiwanese
Wa ga ei li
Tamil
Naan unnai kadhalikiraen
Tetum
Hau hadomi o
Telugu
Nenu ninnu premisthunnanu
Thai
Chan rak khun [to a man] Phom rak khun [to a woman]
Tonga
Ndakuyanda
Tunisian
Ha eh bak
Turkish
Seni seviyorum
Turkmen
Men seni söýýan
Ukrainian
Ja tebe kokhaju
Urdu

May ap se pyar kerthy ho [to a man] May ap se pyar kertha ho [to a woman]
Uzbek
Men sizni sevaman
Vietnamese
Aim ew ang [to a man] Ang ew aim [to a woman]
Welsh
Rwy'n dy garu di
Xhosa
Ndiyakuthanda
Yiddish
Ikh hob dikh lib
Yoruba
Mo ni fe
Zulu
Ngiyakuthanda

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