Alan's Mental Health: That Was Just The Beginning


But he wasn't gone...

If you're a new visitor to the blog, or to the Alan's Mental Health feature, take some time to read this introductory post. It explains a bit of the background behind the posts.

This post contains strong language, as well as descriptions of violence which, whilst not overly graphic or descriptive, may trigger some readers.

Following on from my previous chronological post, here is what happened next.

I'd told my mum that everything was ok. He'd gone. He'd left our house (I can't really call it a home because it never felt like one to me.) I don't know where he'd gone - and I didn't care. He was gone, and that's all that mattered. We were safe. For the time being...

My next memory was being in bed that night, surrounded by Postman Pat wallpaper. It was like this photo of the curtains, but in wallpaper form. I also had the curtains and the bedding!


I didn't know what time it was, or what had woken me, but I was awake. And I was terrified. Then I heard it. The noise that had woken me. A piercing scream, followed by "No! Please don't [name redacted]! You'll wake Alan up!" He was back. And, for whatever reason, he was angry. Very angry.

All I could hear were the screams of my mother, her pleading, begging, crying. The questions came thick and fast "Why are you doing this?", "What have I done wrong?" and "What can I do to make this right?" They were repeated over and over, and each response was a further assault. Strangely, I don't remember him making a single sound. I remember hearing his punches connect. The horrific strike of knuckles against skin. But he never said anything. I'm not sure how long I lay in bed hearing his violent assault, but it seemed like forever. Then there was a loud, heavy thud. The screaming and crying stopped instantly. The silence was more terrifying than the noise. What had he done?

I heard the bedroom door open, so I quickly rolled on my side and pretended to be asleep. He came in, crouched next to me and said "This is all your fault. It's all your fault you little shit. If you tell anyone about this, I'll fucking beat you." Then he left. I remember an incredibly strong, bitter, peculiar smell from him. I'd later learn that was alcohol.

This was a pattern which would continue for many years.

If you feel you need immediate help with your mental health, then contact one of the organisations below (click the logo for their website):
Samaritans (UK)

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (USA)

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