Julie's Story

Julie's Story Julie's Story

Status: Finished

Genre: Memoir

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Memoir

Summary

This is a short version of the first seventeen years of my life.Would like to hear comments on it.

Summary

This is a short version of the first seventeen years of my life.Would like to hear comments on it.

Content

Submitted: September 30, 2012

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: September 30, 2012

A A A

A A A


 

Julie's Story
 
30th July 2012
I have decided to start writing this journal because I finally want to put down on paper the memories of my turbulent life. First of all I want to tell you what my situation is now. I am living at a Salvation Army Womens Shelter close to the centre of Amsterdam. I have three wonderful children who live with Rene, my bestfriend and their father, in the north of Amsterdam.
To make ends meet I sell the Dutch version of the Big Issue. A 'job' that I really enjoy as I am meeting different people all day, chatting to them or looking after their dog or bicycle. On a good day I can make approximately 30 euros, but sometimes I stand there for 4 or 5 hours and only earn a couple of euros.
Those are the depressing days, as in the world I live in it is essential that you have some money in your pocket just to survive.
You are probably wondering why I ended up having to live off the charity of the Salvation Army. The reason I became homeless is because I am battling with a cocaine and alcohol addiction and it got so out of hand that I finally became homeless. Strange as it may seem, I am very happy living with the Salvation
Army as now, for the first time in many years, I am able to relax in my own little room and have some semblance of structure and routine in my life.
I live here with 28 other women who all have a story to tell as to how they ended up here, and there is always someone to laugh or cry with. Lesbianism is rife, as you can imagine, but it has very little to do with sex. The main reason that women form relationships here is to feel some comfort and warmth from somebody who understands what you are going through.
I am currently in a relationship with T. who is 20 years younger than me and very beautiful in an exotic way. Really we are more like mother and daughter and the fact that we have had sex together is not important. We just look out for each other and watch t.v. together in the evenings. During the day we hussle for money to pay for our crack addiction. We lie, steal and cheat to get money and I desperately wish that there was a magic wand I could wave that would cure me of this addiction. Later in this journal I will write more about my cocaine use and my problems with alcohol, that I have struggled with all my life.
First of all I will tell you about my background. I was born in London in 1964. My sister Tracey came along in 1966. In 1967 my parents decided to move to South Devon. It was an idyllic place to grow up in. I have never had a swimming lesson in my life, but taught myself to swim just by playing with my friends
on the beach. O, happy days!
Unfortunately my parents did not have a happy marriage and I remember often feeling very ill at ease because of the atmosphere that hung over us, like a black cloud hovering over our heads. My father liked to chase after young girls, was an alcoholic and manic depressive. This made life very hard for my mother and she always had to work just to keep a roof over our heads.
I can remember when I was about 5 years old that she got a job working in a discotheque until 2.00am. The idea being that my father would look after my sister and I. Instead of looking after us though he would wait until he thought that we were asleep and then he would go out and paint the town red. Spending all the money my mother had earnt before it got into her pocket. He did not realise that I was lying in bed just waiting to hear the sound of the front door closing as he left for the night. I would then go downstairs and check the doors and windows so that burglars could not get in. Then I would go and lie next to my sister absolutely terrified that something awful would happen to us. This went on for several months until eventually one night I thought I heard noises coming from downstairs. I got my sister out of bed and took her to a neighbour's house. Of course the whole story of us being left alone at night came out and my mother
was called and had to give up her job. As you can imagine the tension in the house was horrendous after that incident. Obviously I do not know what my mother said to my father following that fateful night. I just know that life was very uncomfortable in the Loosemore house after that.
 
September 1969 - Barton Junior School
 
How I loved that place. I was very bright as a child and received lots of support and encouragement from my teachers. I can still remember sitting cross-legged in
the Assembly Hall watching Armstrong land on the moon. Just to watch a television set was a magical experience for me, but to see a man actually walking
on the moon was just incredible.
I was always in the top 5 of my class and was made a prefect when I was 10. I was a big fish in a small pond. I took part in lots of activities (apart from
sport, I have always been hopeless at that) and had lots of friends. 
 
31st July 2012 - 1976
Because of the emotional neglect that I suffered as a child I was absolutely desperate for attention and affection. By the time I turned 12 boys (and men) started to sniff around me. I did not know what sex was, or why I was suddenly being feted. I did know that I liked the attention and was stupid enough to go along with anything just as long as I could keep the boys interested in me.
In the spring of 1976, E. started hanging around me and I loved it. I absolutely craved love and affection. One afternoon we were alone in Isaacs Road and he told me that there was something I would have to do when I got married and it wasn't very nice. He said that he could show me what it was and then I would have it all over and done with. As I have already said, I would have gone along with anything, just as long as I could keep his attention. So he took me upstairs to the bathroom and said that I had to take my knickers off and lie on the floor. He removed his trousers and underwear and got on top of me.
I simply could not understand what he was doing. I had seen that his penis was erect and it seemed absolutely huge to me and he was attempting to put it inside my peepee. After a lot of fumbling he finally succeded in penetrating me. I experienced the most peculiar sensation and could not understand what was happening to me. I now know that what I was experiencing was an orgasm. I was so frightened by the whole experience that I jumped up and ran downstairs. I hid myself behind the coats on the hatstand. I could hear E. calling me and looking for me but I just wanted to be alone. Finally he gave up and left the house.
Within 48 hours I was known as the local bike - anyone can ride it - and E. did not want to know me anymore. I was so confused, I just could not understand what
was happening. After that any number of boys showered me with attention until the moment came that they wanted to do that horrible married thing, and after
they had got what they wanted they just did not want to know. By the time I turned 12 in July I had had sex with dozens of boys without even knowing what I
was doing.
After that first awful experience with E. I have never managed to achieve orgasm during sex again. I am brilliant at faking it, but just cannot enjoy the
experience. Sometimes I can achieve orgasm through masturbation, but very rarely and I still feel ashamed afterwards, even though I am alone.
 
5th September 1975 - 5 august 2012
 
At long last the day I was waiting for. I was finally going to the Torquay Girls Grammar School. I was so proud and had tried my uniform on dozens of times 
before the big day. When I got there at 9.00am I was so excited I thought that I would burst with the tension of it all. New books, new friends, the future looking 
rosy. All was right with the world. That first day passed as if in a dream, I couldn't believe how lucky I was to be there. At 4.00pm I left school and started
the long walk home.At the first set of traffic lights they changed for green for me and I started running across the road. Before I knew what was happening, a
car came out of nowhere, jumped the lights and hit me on my right side. I landed face first in the middle of a very busy road. I was in total shock. I had
lost a shoe, my face was bleeding and my lovely new uniform ruined. My briefcase with all my new books were spread all across the road. The driver stopped and
was in total shock (as was I) and offered to take me to the hospital, but I had always been warned about getting into a car with strangers and said no. I started
the walk back to school. I knew by the reaction of strangers as I walked back up the hill that I was badly injured but thought that they would look after me when 
I got back to school. When I finally got there  the maths teacher saw immediately that I needed hospital treatment, but knew that permission was needed from my parents
in order to be treated. So he told me to get into his car and drove me to Isaacs Road. My mother came to the door and went absolutely ballistic. She started shouting 
at the maths teacher "have you done this to my daughter?"I managed to tell her that it was not his fault and that he would take us to the hospital.
When we got there the full extent of my injuries became apparent. My mouth had to be stitched up and I had a hairline fracture in my thigh. That was bad enough, but
I realised then that I would not be going back to school the next day. I was absolutely devastated. After about a week I was well enough to go back to school
but the other girls in my class were shocked by my appearance. I looked like Frankenstein with all those stitches in my face! It  was not exactly the  best way
to start a new school. It was difficult to make friends and I had missed that all important first week. I should have seen the writing on the wall, it did
not bode well for my future school career. After  having been so popular and top of the class at Barton Junior School, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of
the school and my fellow students were all so much more intelligent that I was. I became overwhelmed by it all and was unable to keep up the pace that was set by 
our teachers. The girls there were all destined for great things and as the years went by I saw my wonderful bright future slipping away from me. I tried so hard
but could just not keep up. Eventually the inevitable happened and I was always in trouble for one thing or another and I just gave up trying. It all seemed so
hopeless. Fortunately I had 2 very good friends, Lorraine and Nicky. We became inseperable and got up to all sorts of trouble together. Such as burning our
school reports because they were so awful that we did not dare to take them home, smoking cigarettes behind the gym or just skipping school altogether and going
to the bowling alley to play on the fruit machines. 
Nicky was adopted and lived with a very well to do family and she owned a donkey called Wilfred. She would often turn up at Isaacs Road riding on Wilfred and the two 
of us would go into town together with him. So although I was an absolute failure academically, I at least had the fun and support that was offered by my friends.
 
Monday 9th July 1979
 
I will never forget that day. My father had been released from Digby Lunatic Asylum to celebrate my birthday which was just awful. I did not want to see him,
speak to him, or have anything to do with him. His behaviour scared me. Somehow we got through those difficult days. Then Monday arrived. He had been behaving 
strangely all week but we just put up with it. Soon he would be back in Asylum and we could get back some semblance of normal life again.
At 7.30pm my mother, Tracey and I settled down in the front room to watch Coronation Street. Dad came into the room wearing his best brown suit. He said he
was going out for the evening. Nothing new there. He left and the three of us went to bed at around 9.30pm. About half an hour later there was a knock at the 
front door. It was the police. My mother let them in and went into the front room, Tracey and I both knew that something was very wrong and decided to venture
downstairs to find out what was going on. We went into the front room and I saw my mother sitting all huddled up on the settee, crying as though her heart would
burst. I asked her what was wrong and she said to me 'what's the worst thing that could have happened?'I answered 'Dad has had a car crash'. 'No'she said, 'he's dead'
After those two terrible words I can vaguely remember hysterical laughter. It was a combination of relief and grief, pain and confusion. The most Godawful feeling
in the whole world. I remember burying my head in the bosom of the police woman who was there and begging her to tell me what had happened. I had to know and
my mother was absolutely beside herself with grief, unable to do anything for me or Tracey. Eventually we found out that Dad had shot himself through the
heart with a double-barrelled shotgun. It had happened in the park where I played with my sister and 3 of my schoolfriends were the unfortunate witnesses.
Even now, all these years later, it still seems so unreal. It traumatized me so badly that I developped a Borderline Personality Disorder which is, even now, a
major handicap in my life. What keeps me going is my unstoppable desire to create. Whether it be writing, painting or embroidery, I desperately need that
'down-time'for myself. I am so traumatized that I am impossible to live with, but I am getting more and more comfortable with my own company. I have lived in
institutions for nearly a year now and I am so glad that there is a 'Do Not Disturb'sign on my door. I desperately need time alone, to get my thoughts in
order and try to come to terms with the feelings that tend  to overwhelm me from time to time.
Losing my father in such a violent way made me realise at a very young age that nothing is forever. If you love someone, tell them - right now, today, you may
not get the chance to do it tomorrow.
For years I blamed myself for my father's suicide. If only I had listened to him properly, if only I had told someone about the gun in the back of the car. If
only, if only. I must try to stop blaming myself for my father's actions. That will not benefit anybody, least of all me. I have spent my whole life running away,
to Hawaii, to South America, to Canada, and yet no matter how many kilometers away I am the feelings of guilt and shame still haunt me. The only difference is
that if you find yourself all alone in a strange place with very little money, somehow you find ways of surviving.
Since the death of my father I have developed a survivors instinct. My mother often says to me that even if I landed in pig shit I would come up smelling
of roses, and she is right. Somehow, I always manage to get by. I have learnt to accept every situation for what it is try to make my life as comfortable and
pleasant as possible.
 
August 1979
 
I can remember quite clearly that because of my father's violent death it was decided by the powers that be that my mother, sister and I needed counselling. The counsellor appointed to us was J.S.. A middle-aged, middle-class, mid-life-life crisis Jew who thought he knew it all, but in actual fact knew nothing at all about our needs.
First of all he hit on my mother. It made me feel sick to my stomach when I found out that she had had sex with him. How could she? How could he? My father was barely 4 weeks dead.
Then there was my Auntie S. who at the time was very unhappily married to my mother's brother. My boyfriend of the moment and I saw them having sex in his car one evening as we were walking home.
The next victim on his list was me. I had not gone to my father's funeral, I had not cried, and I was having terrible trouble sleeping. Even now, in 2012, I still dream that his death did not really happen and that it was all a terrible misunderstanding. I dream that he is still alive and I can smell him in my dreams. He smells of Virginia tobacco and night air and I can almost touch him. Then he starts to walk away and I run after him and I see him turning a corner and just cannot keep up with him. The nights that I have this dream I wake myself up crying hysterically.
As you can imagine, I was an emotional wreck by this time in my life. Then J.S. turned his attention to me. I was flattered and desperate for warmth and affection, but at the same time I hated him because he had had sex with my mother and my favourite auntie. 
He turned up at the house one afternoon in the summer of 1979 and said that I had to go with him for therapy. My mother said it was OK so I got into his car. I should have known better and seen it coming, but I was only a child of 15 who was  desperately unhappy and looking for attention anywhere I could find it. I'm sure you can guess what happened next. He drove me to field somewhere in the middle of the countryside and had sex with me. He took my jeans and knickers off and put the passenger seat into the reclining position. He started to lick me and I remember thinking 'how dirty, that's where my pee comes out'. After that he had full sex with me and then drove me back home to my mother as though nothing had happened.
I can remember thinking that this sex business occurred woth men of all ages. Not just young boyfriends or dirty old men, but literally ALL men will say and do anything to get their penis inside of my vagina. My second husband often said that I had sex tattooed on my forehead.  He said that even though he could not explain it, there is something about me that makes men horny. I will tell you more about my second husband later.
The J.S. affair came to an end when I telephoned his wife one night from a discotheque at 1.00am. I was absolutely blind drunk and already hated all men with a vengeance. When she picked up the phone I told her that her husband had been having sex with me and other members of my family. He grabbed the phone and started shouting abuse at me for calling so late at night. But I didn't care about that. I was hoping that his wife would realise what a scumbag she was married to and I wanted to hurt him as much as possible. Having sex with a widow and her daughters after such a violent suicide. How could anyone be so unfeeling? To this day I cannot imagine how anyone could have taken advantage of a family so desperately in need. We needed practical and emotional help, not someone who was going to abuse us.
Already at the age of 15, I realised that if I wanted to get to get anywhere in life I would have to take my knickers off. I just had to make sure that I got what it was I wanted from them before they had sex with me because once they had had an orgasm, they dropped me like a hot potato. When I say that I got men to do things for me, I am talking about them buying a new dress for me, paying  for the hairdresser or simply giving me money. You could say that I had unwittingly started my career as a prostitute. Not a career I am proud of, but one that I am apparently very good at. Even now, at the age of 48, I regularly place advertisements on teletext of Amsterdam t.v. That way I build up a group of 3 or 4 men that I visit in the afternoon. They give me money or cocaine, or other presents. Whatever, I don't do it for nothing. I enjoy living this double life. Mother and respectable housewife on the one hand, and whore on the other. It satisfies the dark side of my charachter. Sometimes when I am standing at the checkout in the supermarket I look at the people standing there and and cannot imagine what they would think if they knew that only an hour before I was having perverse sex with a drug dealer and smoking cocaine. Then the paranoia sets in - do I look normal? am I doing OK? Sometimes it gets so bad that I leave the supermarket without buying anything. I just cannot bear to stand there with the risk that someone may guess what I have been doing.
I hate that feeling. When I am coming down off cocaine I prefer to be alone. The feeling is absolutely terrible. So you are probably wondering why I do it to myself time and time again. Well, the reason is that the first 2-3 minutes after you smoke it you experience what junkies call a 'flash'. It is the most incredible feeling in the world. It is a million times better than sex, but after that first time it never really comes back again. And before you know it, you are spending all your time chasing after money so that you can buy another rock of crack and you are constantly hoping for that euphoric feeling again. Once you have experienced it and if you have an addictive personality, you are hooked for life. It is a no-win situation.
 
1981 12-08-2012
 
By this time in my life I was totally out of control. I was regularly getting drunk and hanging out with older boys, especially if they owned a motorbike.
I was having sex with a stream of different men. I very rarely went to school, and when I did deign to turn up I was a disruptive influence on the other
girls. To put it mildly, I was running wild and my mother was at her wits end with me. Fortunately I still had Nicky and Lorraine as friends, but it was
becoming increasingly clear to me that they were sometimes frightened by my behaviour. I spent most of my days hanging around in the bowling alley
or trying to score drugs from the bad boys on the seafront. My teachers, auntie Midgie, my mother and every other 'normal'member of society absolutely
despaired of me. I was desperately unhappy and could only numb the pain by using alcohol and soft drugs.
In the spring of 1981 I met up with A.H., a Portuguese boxer, and I fell for him hook, line and sinker. Before me he had had a relationship with my sister
but asis always the case, once she had had sex with him he didn't want to know anymore. So he moved onto me and I lapped it up. One of the most sought after
boys in Torquay was actually chasing after me.
Just a few days before the Royal Wedding of Prince Charles and Princess Diana I went out in the pick-up truck with Nelly and Nicky. Nelly was driving with
his dog on the passenger seat beside him. Nicky and I sat in the open air in the back of the pick-up. We spent the evening cruising around drinking beer
and smoking cigarettes. At about 10.00pm the unthinkable happened. We were driving back to Torquay through the country lanes when all of a sudden the truck
hit a hedge on a bend and tipped over. Nicky, Nelly and the dog were all thrown from the truck, I was not. I knew instantly that something terrible had 
happened and went into shock. Don't forget that we are talking about 1981, so nobody had a mobile phone. Our only option was to wait for another car to drive
past, flag it down, and hope that the driver would telephone for help once he got to Torquay. Eventually a car did stop and after lying in a car wreck in
the pouring rain for an hour an ambulance finally turned up. When we got to Torbay Hospital it became apparent how bad my injuries were. I had broken 3 
bones in my lower back and had gone through the cabin window with my head, but the main worry was whether or not I would ever walk again. I was strapped to
a Strycker bed, the purpose of which was to immobilize my body. I could only move my eyes, lips and fingers. It was an absolute nightmare and a terrifying
time for me. Thank goodness though, I came out of ik OK. There you go, the pig shit thing again! After I had been in hospital for about 2 months my mother
said that she would take care of me at home. It was impossible for her to hold down a full time job at Marks and Sparks, look after the house and my sister
and come to visit me in hospital, so I was moved back to Isaacs Road. One afternoon whilst my mother was a work and my sister was at school, A.H. came to
see me and the inevitable happened. We had unprotected sex in my sick bed. When it was over he left, and as was the norm, I did not hear from him again.
He had got what he wanted and was now ready to move onto pastures new. 
I gradually recovered from the car crash (although my back still hurts when the weather is damp) and started a relationship with R.H. He was about 10 years
older than me and an alcoholic but for some strange reason we clicked. Two losers together. By October I started noticing some strange symptoms. I was 
throwing up every morning and started complaining to my mother that the milkman was delivering sour milk. I was also getting fatter and did not have
my period, but presumed that this was due to a lack of exercise and the trauma of the car crash. By November it suddenly dawned on me that I may be
pregnant. So I went to my GP and asked for a pregnancy test. I had to phone up on Friday afternoon to get the results. So I skipped off school and called
from the telephone box by the bowling alley. There I heard the terrible news, yes, I was pregnant. I spent the most horrendous weekend worrying myself
silly about what to do next. By the Monday I realised that I would have to tell my mother. She was absolutely fantastic. She did say however that I would
have to have an abortion which was something I really did not want to do. But as she pointed out, I had no income, no home, R.H. had disappeared once he
heard that I was pregnant so I was really alone in the world yet again.
So she made an appointment for me to see a gynaecologist in Torbay Hospital. Oh my God, he was horrible. He said girls like me did not deserve to have
children and it would be better if he did not simply perform the abortion, but that he sterilise me at the same time. Thank Goodness my mother spoke up
for me and that did not happen. But I clearly remember him performing an internal examination. He was so brutally rough with me that the tears just 
poured down my face. The nurse whispered in my ear that I must not show any emotion or it would only make the examination worse. He was so heartless
and downright nasty to me that I was beside myself with grief by the time the appointment was over.
Anyway, the date was set for the abortion, and I was taken into hospital in the morning and discharged at lunchtime. Over the course of the weekend the
pain just got worse and worse and eventually my mother decided to call for an ambulance as I could not walk because of the pain I was in. I was taken
back into hospital where a scan revealed that the abortion had not been succesful and that my womb was infected and I was giving birth to the remains of
the baby that the doctor had left inside me. I was in so much pain and was repeatedly chastised for crying because they said that I was disturbing the other
patients. Because you are reading this, you already know that I survived this horrible episode, but it scarred me for life. It was just as traumatic as
the death of my father and the car crash. All that and still only 17 years old. Life can only get better, surely?


© Copyright 2018 Julie Loosemore. All rights reserved.

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