All My Fault: The True Story of a Sadistic Father and a Little Girl Left Destroyed (16 page)

In part to help my finances, I sold the house in Celbridge and moved to Virginia in County Cavan with my two children. I found a lovely three-bedroom house. The garden was smaller than Celbridge, but the rest of the house was just as big so I didn’t feel like I had down-graded. In fact, for the first time ever I had three toilets, which was a novelty.

I picked this town because it was affordable, plus it seemed lovely with a lake, and the school was only at the top of our estate. I didn’t know anyone there so it was a huge move for me and the two kids on our own. But financially I had no choice and we needed a fresh start. We moved in September just in time for the kids to start school. My daughter Robin was starting in junior infants and my son Tyrone in second class.

I brought the kids to school and was left on my own for a couple of hours every day. I had already registered myself with the doctors in Virginia, mortified with the big bulky records they would be receiving from my old doctor. But the new doctor was very nice and continued to help me and I got the prescriptions I needed to survive.

I suddenly had a lot of time to think and I realised I had not seen pictures of me as a child during my adulthood. This struck me and opened a curiosity and yearning in me. I found the courage and wrote to my Ma asking her for pictures of me from my childhood. I hadn’t spoken to her in years but I was delighted when she wrote back and sent me some photos.

The pictures showed me as a little girl, and brought back lots of memories, unsettling memories. In the picture, I could see this little girl looking back at me and I knew her. It was me; behind the smile I was hurt, in pain and innocent. It was a very emotional moment and I was glad I was on my own. I cried bitterly for the little girl in the photo. She had done nothing to deserve what had happened to her. It made me more determined to get justice for this little girl. Up until this point, I had only ever seen myself as an adult, and I could only see Da abusing me as an adult. When I looked in the mirror, it was the adult that I saw. This was not the person he abused. It was a little innocent child who was lost inside me, somewhere hiding. She was looking out through adult eyes from inside my brain. But she was still there; I could feel her and her pain. I could hear her calling out to me for help. She needed me to carry on and I was going to do my best to save her. Now that I was an adult I could do that for her and no one was going to get in my way. She needed peace; to lie down and have a long deserved sleep, safely and loved in my memories. She was so tired.

*

In the midst of all this drama, the only thing keeping me sane was my social nights out. I was back socialising and, yes, I was back using drugs every now and again. I hadn’t taken any during either pregnancy or when the kids were small and I never brought any into the house. But it was something that I needed to do for myself every so often just to take the edge off things. So my nights out consisted of a few drinks and a few lines of coke. Cocaine made me feel alive again. It was like having adrenalin injected into sleepy joints. It also kept me happy. If I’d been relying on the drink alone, I’d probably have spent most nights stooped over my pint, tears running down my cheeks and into the glass. Cocaine was expensive but luckily I never had to buy it myself. It was usually passed around if you were sitting in a group. I didn’t see myself as having a problem. It was purely a social thing and if it helped me to function then I reasoned that it was medicinal.

*

My emotional state was fragile so when Detective Cooney finally rang me and told me he’d arrested Da and taken him in for questioning at around 7am that morning, I thought I might tip over the edge.

Da initially confessed to being an abuser in the interview room, but then got annoyed.

‘I’m disgusted that you’re making such a fuss over something that happened so long ago. It’s ridiculous that you’re putting me through this,’ he is said to have complained.

He still couldn’t see how terrible his crime was. He showed absolutely no remorse. He was more concerned about how this would affect his life. So much for the counselling he got. Wasn’t it supposed to make him understand the effects his abuse had had on people?

I knew things would probably get worse before they got better but at that time I felt like I was close to rock bottom. I was taking antidepressants and sleeping tablets just to stay afloat. The sleeping tablets were a better substitute for alcohol in helping me get to sleep but before long I was completely addicted to them. If I tried to go a night without them, I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.

Going to the gardaí had been like opening Pandora’s Box ’cause my nightmares had become more frequent and vivid. It was like every last demon from my past had been unleashed. The nightmares were different to the ones in the past but the exact same fear lay at the root of them all. I would find myself outside my house looking in my front window where I’d see Da sitting with Robin perched on his knees. He’d be smirking at me. I’d open my mouth to scream as loud as I could but nothing would come out. I’d try banging on the window but no one could hear me. Da had my daughter and I was helpless. In another nightmare, I was at some sort of a children’s day out and I could see my da in the distance holding hands with two little girls as they skipped away from the rest of the people. I went running up to the parents to warn them about my da but no one would believe me. I screamed at them but they would just brush me away like a fly.

It got to the stage where I was scared to go to sleep at night. Scared of re-entering a world where Da had all the power. My body would fight against the clock, refusing to surrender. In the end, the tablets were the only way of knocking myself out and getting a few hours sleep. But I often wondered if it was worth it. I always woke up more tired than I’d been before going to sleep; probably because I’d spent the whole night tossing and turning and trying to outrun my da.

To cope with the sleepless nights and subsequent horrific nightmares, not to mention my son’s sleeping problems, I went back to the doctor and got stronger sleeping pills, as well as maximum strength anxiety tablets, which I took alongside the sleeping tablets at night. I just wanted to conk out and stop my brain from hurting at night. My doctor was very supportive and could see I was on the edge. She arranged for me to see a psychiatrist, who gave me a few sessions, increased my antidepressants and referred me to a psychologist.

These sessions were a real boost for me. The psychologist did IQ tests and I scored very high, in the top percentage. Any little sign of nice feedback was always welcome to me. It also made me sad, though, that I didn’t study and go to college. I obviously had the capability.

He did various other tests and told me I was pretty sane except for the problems I had suffered as a child. At this point I had not associated any of my phobias or emotional distresses with my past. This was just the beginning of my coming to terms with the effect the abuse had on me.

Chapter Thirteen

Eventually I accepted that I needed professional counselling to work through my nightmares, and to give me the strength to deal with pressing charges against Da. The psychologist referred me to the Rian group in Cavan and I found that I enjoyed going there. My counsellor talked to me in a different way than others and had a great way of looking at things from a new angle.

I was still addicted to sleeping tablets, antidepressants and anti-anxiety tablets but I was feeling full of hope and brighter. I had, like anyone, both ups and downs.

Seeing this counsellor was a turning point in my life. She concentrated on the positive things I had achieved, and helped me see for the first time how much I had done on my own. This made me feel good. She explained to me how my phobias and rituals were coping skills and survival skills. I had nothing to be ashamed of. She gave me strength and slowly but surely I began to see myself as a different person: a good person; a gentle person.

Although I was still taking cocaine, it was not on a regular basis—less than once a month. I kept this away from the house and children and never took it around people who didn’t use it. I never introduced it to anyone ’cause I knew it was a fool’s way of having a good time. These are not excuses; I am just telling you how it was.

But my tiredness was getting worse. I hadn’t felt well for a while and my back was very sore. I put everything down to stress until one day a friend suspected something was wrong with me and called to my house. When there was no answer, she let herself in and found me almost convulsing, with a dangerously high temperature. The bed was soaking with sweat.

It turned out that I had serious kidney problems, and I needed an operation. I spent several weeks in hospital and got out just before Christmas. It was a terrible time and I was so lonely for my children. Because I couldn’t be with them, I started developing terrible fears that something might happen to them, and that Da might try to contact them. My friends were taking care of the children while I was ill, however, and they knew the situation and understood how I felt. They reassured me that no one would get near them without my authorisation, and once I knew they were safe I was able to concentrate on getting better.

As I lay waiting on the operation table, it suddenly struck me: ‘I am really sick.’ This was no spoof, and I wasn’t pretending. I genuinely deserved to be there and get the nursing I needed. It was a good feeling; that I wasn’t lying or deceiving. I didn’t have to make up pains and try to convince them. They could see from my test results and x-rays what was wrong with me. It was a weird feeling after being in and out of hospital as a child, to actually be really sick.

I couldn’t drive till March that year with the pain, but as soon as I could I got straight back into counselling. I had become more withdrawn during my illness and was quite self-absorbed. So much was happening with my health and finances and I was constantly waiting to hear when the court case would be.

I was riddled with guilt and anguish over Da. I worried about whether he had access to children. I expressed this opinion to the social workers over and over. Nothing else mattered; no one else mattered. Other people could do what they wanted in their lives. I had this heavy load to carry and couldn’t see past it.

*

Out of the blue I received a phone call on my mobile; it was Detective Cooney telling me they were officially arresting my da the following day for the purpose of charging him. I was a bundle of nerves that night and my stomach was sick. I imagined how it would be done in my head, between S.W.A.T. teams and all sorts. Of course it wasn’t as dramatic as all that. I felt sorry for my ma, wondering if she was going to be there when the police arrived. I told no one in case it didn’t happen.

The first thing on my mind was to ring my best friend in England; the second thing was to remember to breathe. Despite waiting all these years, I was in shock. My body and brain didn’t know how to react. I spent that night and the following days talking non-stop to people who knew the story.

Within weeks Da had to appear at a number of court dates to hear the charges. There were dozens of sample charges that had to be formally dealt with. I didn’t go to any of these court hearings; I didn’t have the nerve. I just waited for Detective Cooney to ring me after each one and fill me in on what was happening.

I couldn’t help but wonder how Da was coping with this. Did he go home after being read the charges of child abuse and have his tea? I found it all very weird. Did he go to the Blanchardstown shopping centre or into Arnotts and have lunch, as he usually did on Saturdays? I couldn’t fathom how he lived or what planet he was living on. Luckily I had the Rian group to talk to and to help me through this.

The counselling sessions made me stronger, more determined to expose my father and reveal him as a paedophile. I was sick of hiding.

I continued reading and researching inner peace, looking for a way to rid myself of any anger or injustices I had in my life. I finally found ‘independence’ in 2007.

By this I mean I now felt completely mentally independent. I realised I had always relied on what other people thought of me to make me happy or to make a decision.

From the summer 2007 I started to like myself and have faith in what I did. As a consequence of this I became happier. I cut out any negative thinking and stopped listening to negative people. I was getting strong again and preparing for what I would have to face.

My faith in God was growing and I continued to pray even when the going got tough. I believe in Karma and know that if you live a good life, then good things happen. If you cannot do something good for anyone the best thing you can do is to make a conscious decision to do no harm.

As the court case drew closer, I realised with surprise that I knew I would be able to face whatever came my way. The worst part was all behind me. My father could no longer hurt me. I hoped he would no longer be able to hurt anyone in the future.

Out of the blue I got a phone call to say that the court date was set. It was time to face my da again after all these years.

Chapter Fourteen

I spent most of the night before the court hearing on the phone to my friend Mary. I thought if I just kept talking, and barely even stopped to take a breath, then I might be able to keep my fears at bay. I was on the phone to Mary for about three hours. She was living in London and couldn’t make the trial the next day but she was flying home the following day to be with me.

‘You’re strong,’ she kept reassuring me. ‘You’ve been through worse than this so I know you can get through it.’

She told me that what I wore on the day could be very important. I told her I had two potential suits—a red one and a cream one.

‘Don’t wear the red one to court,’ she said immediately.

I didn’t know what all the fuss was about but I decided it was better to be safe than sorry so I went with the cream one.