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First Edition Design Publishing - Jacquelyn White

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230 pages

English

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This is an Autobiography written by an average person, living an extraordinary life. Jacquelyn tells this story in a very unique and compelling style of writing which leaves the reader unable to put the book down as they wonder, "Then what happens?" It is an amazing tale of survival as Jacquelyn moves heaven and earth in an unbelievable battle for her freedom. To actually become, "free" she almost loses her life and must sacrifice all she has. This is a story of a Mother's unconditional love for her children. The children she is willing to die for to protect, as she overcomes the chains that bind her. It is a tale of hope and leaves the reader with a deep appreciation for their own journey and a new found inspiration for living. The story is made all the more powerful by the legal evidence she has provided in the book to support her claims. This evidence has been fully admitted to in court and is now a matter of public record. The recorded evidence is chilling as it gives a rare insight into the mind of a monster, as it is written in his very own hand writing on his business letter head.

Sujets

Sociologie, société et politique

Informations

Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	30 septembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	3
EAN13	9781622876914
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0480€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

A True Story... How I survived My Life With A Psychopath
Jacquelyn White

First Edition Design Publishing
A True Story...
How I survived My Life With A Psychopath

By
Jacquelyn White

First Edition Design Publishing
A True Story…
How I Survived My Life With A Psychopath
Copyright ©2014 Jacquelyn White

ISBN 978-1622-876-90-7 PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-876-91-4 EBOOK

LCCN 2014948448

September 2014

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217, USA
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means ─ electronic, mechanical, photo-copy, recording, or any other ─ except brief quotation in reviews, without the prior permission of the author or publisher.
A note from the author

‘Maybe it’s not about you’ this is the reason that I am attempting to write this book. I have been asked by a large number of people to write my story but I have never considered it an option. I felt as though my life has been a private journey, nothing anyone would want to hear about and of no significance as everyone is fighting their own battles, overcoming tremendous odds and achieving greatness. I also knew that to tell my story, it would have to involve telling some personal information of the people in my life. I had also not considered that my story might actually help someone until asking the question;
“Why? What did any of it achieve?”
Chapter 1
I was born into a working class family in Birmingham England. I was seventh out of what was to become nine children. Yes, Irish Catholics!
My Mother had lost two children to cot death and was working extremely long hours as women had to work twice as hard as men to earn the same amount of money. She provided for all of us as my Father was a violent alcoholic, drinking any money he earned as a metal polisher. The only memory I have of my Father in England was when he taught me to play a card game called ‘Snap’ while I was ill during a family holiday to the beach. The beach was full of rocks and the weather was windy and overcast.
I don’t have many other memories of that time, although I do remember very clearly my Mother telling us that she would find a way to bring us to Australia, she wanted a divorce and she thought that it was impossible in England.
Coming to Australia was exciting. I remember waiting at the airport with my family and feeling protected as we were quite ‘The Army’.
Once arriving here the first memory I had was the overwhelming heat as we left the tarmac, the second was the way that the people spoke. I thought that there was something wrong with Australians as they spoke so slowly and they couldn’t understand what I was saying easily. This was the opinion of a little girl, who has come to dearly love Australia and call it home.
We stayed at a hostel in Sydney; there I had the first and only memory of my Father hitting me. He had asked me to not pet the cats, as he was worried about ringworm. Of course the first thing I did as a little girl was pet the cats as they were so cute. I was so shocked when he hit me. I had seen him hit my Mother, my sister and brothers, but never me.
I was a very confident kid and I would spend my days disappearing to go talk to all the other people in the hostel, causing my Mother alarm as she would often find me sitting at someone’s table and talking to them. I loved all the different languages, different nationalities and different foods and smells; they were all incredible and exciting.
The night I remember the most, I woke to the sound of my parents fighting. This wasn’t unusual at first, but then I heard my Father say, “I’m coming back to drown you and all those kids!” I remember crying and my sister Bonny telling me to get up and grab clothes. I was trembling and asking questions like, “Where are we going?”
“Shut up Jackie, and hurry up!” Bonny ordered.
We all packed into a small red car that we had and my fourteen year old brother, Phil, tried to drive us. Everyone was upset and very scared, especially my Mom. Phil kept bunny hopping the manual and stopping and starting the car until we ended up under Sydney Harbour Bridge.
We stayed there until morning, when we went to the hospital. My Mother was treated for her injuries and we were given breakfast. This is when I found out that my Mother was pregnant again.
Social workers were now involved and they moved us to our new home on a freeway in Parramatta. It was a black and white three bedroom house with a planter box across the front.
We had thought it would be the new start my Mom had been promising. She unfortunately got angry very easily and would hit before you could see it coming.
Bonny and I shared a room and would fight all the time. She would shove her pyjamas into my mouth, cover my face with a pillow and hit me over and over again. I would tell my Mom, but that would just increase Bonny’s anger. Every time I dobbed she would punish me tenfold.
Suddenly if I did something to upset anyone they were allowed to hit me and each other.
The problem I had was that there was seven and a half years between Bonny and I and I could not hold my own.
I stopped sleeping and my Mother would leave me and my baby brother Stevie in Bonny’s care constantly, while she would disappear shopping for a break.
Bonny would hit me or alternatively tell me that I looked sick and try to drug me with anything she could find in the medicine cabinet. I would tell my Mom but she did nothing, so I took to waiting for her to start to get ready to go out and I would hide, squatting between a wardrobe and wall in a space so small for hours. Bonny would come in looking for me, I would put my hand over my mouth and try not to breath or make any sound. As she came in, she would say things like “I promise I won’t hurt you.” in sweet tones. I knew better and stayed as still as I could, terrified that she might hear my heart beating. This went on for months...
My Mother’s divorce was finalised and she threw her ring into the highway as we walked down the road. She seemed so happy and relieved.
I was allowed to see my Father one last time, with my sister Bonny. He took us to the pools, I was so sad. He told me that he loved me and I wanted to cry but I knew that my sister would tell my Mom so I didn’t tell him that I missed him or that things at home had become awful and I was scared of my Mother, Bonny and even of my brothers. All I could think was that I wanted him to apologise and come back home.
We said, “Goodbye.” and I knew I would never see him again. He was a man who was about 5”10 with blonde hair that he would slick back with brill cream; steel blue eyes and a thick Irish accent from Dublin. I kept staring at him; I didn’t want to forget what he looked like.
I had already begun to forget England and my Grandparents as well as my Aunty Peggy, who I called, ‘Aunty Piggy’. She had looked after me while my Mother was at work and I couldn’t remember much about her except that she was thin with black hair.
The ride home I was silent while my sister talked, saying nothing nice about him. I knew I was the only one who loved him. He did treat me differently to the others, he always picked me up and hugged and kissed me when he saw me. He was always on my side with fights between Bonny and I. The older I got the more I knew this was the biggest reason why my Mother and Bonny had such a problem with me.
Chapter 2
My Mother had to go into hospital, to give birth to my sister Carolyn. Social workers placed us in foster homes; Bonny and me in one, Phil and my baby brother Stevie in another. The two eldest boys were allowed to stay home. The home we were placed in was shut down while we were there because of abuse. Bonny was very nice to me during this time and would tell me that we would run away and she would look after me. They made us dress and undress in front of them. I didn’t understand why that was so bad at the time...
A girl across the hall was raped; I found this out from Bonny years later. All I remember then was the sound of fighting coming from the room. I don’t know how long we were there, and I don’t remember much else except they wouldn’t let me go to bed and kept me awake. I was frightened that my Mom was so ill and may not recover. Would I ever go home? I think most of my time in this particular home I felt like I was misplaced, like I was lost, in a strange place with strange people and all I had familiar to me was Bonny.
The same social worker who had put us there removed us to another home, St Bernard’s Home. I loved it there. They gave me fruit loops for breakfast, had nap time during the day and had games and activities. Best of all I didn’t hear any angry or violent fights. We went on walks to see horses; I had never seen them before. I felt safe there but I missed my brothers and my Mom terribly.
I remember the day my Mother came to collect us. She looked like death. My Mother was a very beautiful woman with skin like silk, beautiful Spanish looking eyes with eyelashes so long, they had looked false. She was always a very thin lady; even in her last months of pregnancy you couldn’t tell that she was pregnant. Now she looked like a walking skeleton, her beautiful eyes had sunk into her head with dark black circles surrounding them. I was both happy and scared when I saw her, I thought that she might die.
Coming home was exciting because I was able to see my new sister, we had to cut her nappies in half she was so small. My Mother named her Carolyn Patricia Mary, after the social workers and nurses who helped her.
The day we got home I wanted to hold Carolyn and Bonny snapped back that she didn’t belong to me. We weren’t related as I was adopted. I remember crying and asking Mom if it was true. Mom said, “No you