Dirty Little Dog by Kate Skylark & Sophie Jenkins

Author:Kate Skylark & Sophie Jenkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: child abuse, child abuse memoirs, True crime, true stories child abuse, sexual abuse, domestic abuse, sad stories of childhood
Publisher: Kate Skylark
Published: 2017-05-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

That night and for a few days after the night in the tent I felt nothing but relief. I even felt happy that everything was back to normal. It took a few days before I knew that something was still wrong. I stopped being able to sleep properly, often lying awake for full nights. And then the bad dreams began. I would find myself naked in front of people. They weren’t pointing or laughing but were turning away in embarrassment and disgust at my nakedness. I would be running around looking for a toilet, desperately trying to not wet myself. Eventually, in the dream, I would find a toilet, close the door, sit down and let my muscles go with relief as I released the urine and emptied my bladder. I would then wake almost immediately and every time I would find that I had emptied my bladder in reality, too, and was lying in wet sheets. Eight years old and I began wetting the bed like a baby. Years later, the bed-wetting stopped but the horrible naked dreams continued. Even now I will occasionally have this dream when under stress.

Everything in my life changed from that point on. I changed. Everything about my life seemed to fall to bits slowly, gradually from that day. I think back to before the event, and I can just remember life without That in my mind. The memory became like a constant companion. But it was not a friend; That was more like a bully, a captor, a constant supervisor nagging at me. I could be thinking about something completely different, lost in some activity, but all the while I would be aware of this looming horror, That was waiting behind the thoughts, ready to pounce out and make my heart leap and the tears prickle.

My behaviour changed beyond all recognition. I became angry. I would lose my temper and say mean things to my brothers and sisters. I would call my little sister ‘an ugly cow’ and torment my baby brother, squeezing his fingers until he cried. My mother never suspected that something actually might be wrong. She not once asked what might have triggered this change in me. ‘You’re such a hard girl these days, Sophie,’ she would scold, nastily.

The bed-wetting had become almost nightly. My mother became exasperated with me. ‘Sophie, this has to STOP!’ she would say with her ‘on the point of pretend crying’ voice. I was desperate to get her attention. I didn’t have a clear concept of this at the age of eight but, looking back, it was obvious that was what was going on. I remember walking home from school and planning that I would hide in my room and not speak to anyone. ‘They aren’t going to see much of me from now on!’ I clearly remember thinking. Somehow I imagined that would make everyone sit up and listen, notice, give me the attention I was clearly craving.

I became obsessed with the idea that Martin would one day come back for me, and that my mother would tell me to go with him.

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