Smoking and Guns

I've recently found that with EMDR therapy it's possible for the first time in ... well, ever really, to begin dealing effectively with some of the trauma caused by _.  It costs money I don't have to spare so I've had to stop but I've heard today that it may be possible to find funding so will see if I can continue.

I was very skeptical at first, not least because I have learnt to be suspicious of everyone and everything for some reason I can now actually put my finger on. However I managed to overcome my suspicions using logic.  EMDR, based on eye movement, seemed to make sense to me. Being awake and moving the eyes whilst dealing with your trauma, might do the trick if that's what happens during sleep (allegedly).  How l envy those who reach proper amounts of REM sleep to process stuff!   Anyway, bingo! After all the re-traumatising talking counselling and the therapist who started crying when I told her my story (in fairness, it must be gruelling listening to constant tales of woe), I felt I was getting somewhere. 

I began to have memories come back. Mental pictures of random things I hadn't thought about in 50 years!  Those heavy medicine balls we had in the gym and the relay games we did with them for PE, even as I type this, I recall standing in a circle passing the stupid thing to each other.  Then I got a picture of some white blobs.  What was this now?  Oh, they're not blobs... they're... white... sticks? ....no, cigarettes?  Yes! White cigarettes! Hang on... they're those menthol ones I started smoking... what were they called?.... Oh yeah! Consulate! ... in a green and white packet! Like the JML ad: "but wait... there's more!"  Oh blimey, and there was More too- those extra long cigarettes that came out- just remembered those now).

Yeah, know exactly how you feel!

But why the hell was I smoking? I was an athlete,  picked to represent St Joseph's (until I decided they weren't to gain any glory from my abilities thanks very much) so why would I smoke? But I did start smoking. I absolutely hated it. Why did I start then?.... 

Ohhhh yeahhhh!  Because it was an act of rebellion against a certain teacher (_) with an absolutely obsessive desire to catch someone smoking in the toilets  (presumably for the thrill of carrying out the punishment).  Of course, smoking menthol fags was the way not be smelt out in our childish reasoning back then!

But yes, this guy was obsessed with domineering, controlling behaviour.  There was one occasion when a friend and I were over on the rifle range one lunch break (yeah there was a rifle range, a popular place to go smoking I believe. Has anyone dug there for bodies yet?) We were happily minding our own business digging air pellets out of the tree bark (boys collected random stuff back then - petrol station coins, football stickers, stamps, dust... bits of lead...) when who should drive across the sports field towards us but Mr How-can-I -terrify-you -best?.

He leapt out of the car fully confrontational and accused us of smoking which, to two non-smokers clearly attending to the needs of a tree and not skulking behind it and with nope, no fags in our pockets, seemed a little bizarre to say the least. 

"You were smoking! If I catch you smoking... threat, threat, threat ..."  

Seriously? 

There seemed to be a collective insanity among most of the staff at this so-called 'educational establishment' that almost daily made one appreciate all the more the 'normal madness' of family and home at evenings and weekends for those of us 'lucky' enough to have been day boys. 

That home/family 'normal' was pretty short lived once this same teacher had wormed his way into my parents' social circle. 

It wasn't until I was at college aged 18 where someone said 'Why do you smoke?' and I couldn't answer, that I managed to stop instantly. It was almost as though I'd been given permission to lay that one down. You don't have to do that any more. He's not here.

So, what do we conclude from today's lesson boys?  

There is no smoke if there's no fire, sir.  

Correct, and I can testify now the smoke and smog is finally starting to clear, there was more than one loose cannon / smoking gun at St Joseph's.

Processing .....|||||||||||67% there.....

It's important not to live on 'what ifs' but going to St Joseph's could and should have been a much more positive experience. 

Having deliberately flunked exams to escape St Joes as soon as possible, in my early 40's I decided I really ought to get some qualifications because I knew I wasn't "stupid" as _ had liked to highlight at every opportunity in front of the class.  I now recognise that was all part of his coercive controlling behaviour, to make sure I was as afraid of him as possible and thereby minimise the risk of my speaking to my parents about what he'd done.  There was just no escaping the guy. He went to our church. He lived near me. "Befriending' my parents was also a classic abuser tactic and as my academic career evaporated before their eyes, I'm pretty certain they sought his advice on what to do with me. Such a nice man in their eyes, I'm certain.

Anyway, I like to try and count my blessings and had it not been for _,  I wouldn't have taken such a rocky road. The thing about rocky roads is that on them, you encounter rocks.  My wife is one such and I'm very blessed and thankful that she's had the patience to help me unpack some of this stuff.  (She's as much a victim of the abuse I encountered by the way. She shouldn't be having to put up with all the rubbish that occasionally comes to the surface.)

Regarding education, it came as no surprise to me that I was able to sail through an Access course (A-levels) and get to university as a mature student.  However, getting into campus for a 9 a.m. lecture where the lecturer would swan in late and talk about who wasn't there last week began to grate a bit and I decided I'd bail out because I'd sold my first bit of writing. I didn't need a degree for that.  

The arts was something I would have relished had it existed at Birkfield (St. Joseph's) but as I recall, our career choices were rather imaginatively, the army, Navy, RAF or banking.  I remember many a boarder skulking at the back of class drawing military hardware in their jotters and realising that these poor kids had issues of their own too. 

Anyway, life handing out lemons has always been my cue to attempt making some drinkable wine. It's a difficult thing to do and takes time and miracles but as the weird Brother Ives once said, 'Remember that God can turn any evil situation to his own advantage'.  That was one of only two interesting things that caught my attention at that school.  

As I write, there appears to be a gradual process emerging of former pupils coming forward as De La Salle continue to stay silent and attempt, it seems, to remain unaccountable for the sins of their past. You can't have it both ways guys. God either favours the poor (that includes us survivors FYI) as you teach, or He favours the abuser.  It seems to me that DLS would do well to come clean now, rather than get taken to the cleaners later.  Abuse survivors are highly trained experts in doing things the unnecessarily hard way though so, y'know, your call DLS/St Joes. 

I know there's a lot still to come out for many of us and I know all too well it's deeply unsettling to realise the past wasn't anywhere near as rosy as we like to paint it. Apologies if I have triggered anyone. 

Once again, if any other former (or current!) St Joesph's pupils need to tell their story to someone in confidence re ANY type of abuse experienced there, either this blogger or the police are here for you. It takes an enormous amount of courage but you'll find you're not alone. 

Take care.