A Lifetime of Madness a Whole Lot of Hate

By Jennifer Kruger

A Lifetime of Madness a Whole Lot of Hate is a true story of one girl born in a Victorian country and the horrible life forced on her through out-of-control alcoholics.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jan 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524521813

Book preview

A LIFETIME OF MADNESS

A WHOLE LOT OF HATE

Jennifer Kruger

Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer Kruger.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017900905

ISBN:   Hardcover            978-1-5245-2183-7

              Softcover             978-1-5245-2182-0

              eBook                  978-1-5245-2181-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 01/21/2017

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

744187

Contents

My Dedication To Who Matters

Chapter 1 Where It All Began

Chapter 2 Nightmares Go On

Chapter 3 I Had To Escape Haunting Memories

Chapter 4 My Innocent Boy

Chapter 5 How Much Is Right To Tell Little Ones

Chapter 6 My Mother Worked As A Prostitute

Chapter 7 I Had To Protect My Two Eldest From The Truth

Chapter 8 A Parent’s Biggest Heartbreak

Chapter 9 My Boy Is Amazing

Chapter 10 He Would Become A Very Clever Little Boy

Chapter 11 My Near Destruction

Chapter 12 Alcoholic Destruction For Many In My Family But Not Me

Chapter 13 The Heartache Never Stops

Chapter 14 Nana And Grandad Together Again

Chapter 15 It Was The Battle Of My Life But My Children Needed My Help

Chapter 16 My Personal Failure And Doctors With Huge Egos

Chapter 17 Total Madness

Chapter 18 The Nightmare Continued

Chapter 19 I Had To Keep Strong

Chapter 20 I Will Never Give My Son Away

Chapter 21 I Refused To Let Them Write My Son Off

Chapter 22 Madness Never Ends

Chapter 23 He Caused Such Terrible Hurt

Chapter 24 Our Difficulties Went On And On

Chapter 25 I Keep Wondering Why

Chapter 26 Total Craziness

Chapter 27 Losing A Son

Chapter 28 Closing The Circle On My Sweet Girl’s Nightmare

Final The Nightmare Never Ends

What Mummy Means To Me

We Are Survivors We Are Strong

Editorial

This is a true story of a girl and her three children and their lifelong and courageous battle against one form of abuse after another. Their survival is a huge credit to each of their courage and determination.

MY DEDICATION

TO WHO MATTERS

In my book, I want to post this eternal thank you to first and foremost the three golden lights in my life, my three so wonderful now grown children, Annette, Joseph, and Steven. Love you three to the moon and back. My wonderful cousin Dianne and her daughter Jane and Dianne’s husband, Peter. They are my relatives and I love them each lots and lots. Diane was told by her mum how my father abused me. Her mum was another daughter of our much-loved Nana, and I learned when I was well into adulthood how the Nana who raised my sisters and I was so worried what was going on with my screaming in terror at night that she snuck out the front door one night to go to the back of the house where the room I was made to sleep with my father was. She was successful in finding out why I was screaming so badly. The room he slept in those days was called a sleep out. It had no glass on the windows, just fine wire to keep bugs out, and the windows had heavy wooden shutters. Those shutters were built of wood that develops into small places here and there that develop problems and pop out falling away. Nana was able to see in there that night and she sadly, but I am so grateful, saw what that monster was doing to me. Most times he hurt me, he then threatened me into silence. That night, he was not able to silence me. Apparently, I screamed and screamed and Nana came rushing to my rescue. She smashed the glass out of the centre of the door to my father’s bedroom once she went back in her house putting the top half of her body through that big hole screaming to me above my crying to quickly run to her. I jumped off the bed before he could stop me, grabbed Nana’s hands, and she got me out of there. She never told me she knew the truth about him but bless her wonderful heart she never let me sleep in his bed again. Most of my relatives have tormented and hounded me most of my life, claiming I lied about my father.

My words to those relatives are this. I only wish I was lying. That way my heart and soul would not be haunted by the horrible memories of all the hell he did to me. To hate, abuse, and to not love one’s own child because said parent says that child was not pretty is a vile and despicable reason to hurt an innocent little girl.

To Diane, Jane, and Diane’s husband, Peter, you guys have stood by me and loved me through all these years and until forever I will love you three to the moon and back.

CHAPTER 1

Where It All Began

I am blessed with three wonderful children. My daughter Annette and two sons Joseph and Steven. I am writing this book with the dearest hope of honouring the amazing love and courage of my three super brave and wonderful kids.

My three children and my grandchildren fill my heart and soul. I love them all so very much. Joseph, Annette, and Steven, being your very proud mother has taught me the meaning of true love. I am alive and can smile because of you three.

This book is for the three of you. Joseph and Steven, you have both looked the possibility of dying in the face several times and God bless you sweet boys, you kept beating the odds. Annette, you are a total blessing. When God was giving out daughters, in you he gave me the best.

It all started for me so long ago in a then called housing commission house in country Victoria. I was born the third child of four girls born to my supposed to be parents. My sisters were Pauline, Raelene, myself then Sally.

I remember a horrible mother who clearly showed and told me she hated me. I was locked in filthy sheds at the back of the yard for entire nights, starved, forced to eat faeces, used like a punching bag, and raped endlessly.

My parents, I truly believe, had no love for one another. Their fights were every day and night. One day, our father told us my sisters and he were moving to the other side of the town to live with our Nana and Grandad. All we were told was that our mum had walked out by herself and gone to live in the city over 100 miles away.

Once we moved to Nana and Grandad’s house, bed space was in short supply. I was told for that reason that I had to sleep at night with my drunken father. I became so terrified and distressed nearly all the time. For a while Nana could not figure out why I was so frightened and upset all the time. I was only a very young child then and had no idea how to say the words. I had been threatened do not tell by a rat who was supposed to be my father. One night, Nana had had enough of my screaming so hysterically. Thank you, God, she decided she was going to find out why. The room my father had was at the back of her house; her bedroom was at the front. I was screaming so terribly that night she went out her front door, walked quietly down her driveway, and came to the sleep out bedroom I had to share with my father. There was a couple of holes in the wooden shutters and through one of those she was able to check on me. When she peeped in, what she saw made her sick to her stomach because she saw him raping me. She told me not long before she went to heaven, if she had a gun, she would have shot him.

She quickly walked back to the front door locking it after she got inside, then she raced out to the back near the door of the sleep out where my supposed to be father and I slept. She raced to the closed door of his room smashing the glass centre with a broom she had. I remember her reaching in and stretching her arms to me telling me, ‘Come to me now, Jennifer.’

I got away from him, grabbed her hand, and she took me to safety. I never again shared his bed. Bless your heart, Nana, you made sure he could never do that to me again.

My grandad had a cement business and my father was one of the men they employed. A couple of years after Nana rescued us, my father told Nana he had met a woman and wanted to move and live with her. Nana did not ask, she told him. ‘Leave the girls here living with me, Noel and I will raise them.’ Thank you God he gave permission for us to live permanently with our grandparents.

Sadly, my torment and fear were far from over. About a year later, after a big fight, Grandad fired my father and he went to work as a bartender in the town we lived. Nana told him he had to pay her board to pay for the food that had to be bought to feed us.

I am not sure who got to make the decision. It was a bad and so wrong one because all my torment and fear from him started again. Nana decided I should be the one to go and get the board for us he promised to pay her every week.

Once again, because of his constant abusive state, he started using the most foul-mouthed drunken words at me. Occasionally, I had to suffer more rapes forced on me by him.

Damn him and damn the monster who was supposed to be my mother. Because of all their horror, I grew as a broken person too frightened to feel.

One day, my supposed to be father met another woman. She was a woman much older than him. Sadly, for me, all I saw in her was another way to pay my father back for all the hell he did to me. I zeroed in on her age. I was just a very injured and badly hurting teenager who wanted so badly to take any opportunity I could to hurt my father and pay him back for all the hell he did to me.

I started saying the most unkind and horrible words to his face about how nothing he was because all he could attract was a very ancient woman old enough to be his mother. I am guilty of using words like old hag and old bag.

I was beaten and bashed many time for this. He used to punch the hell out of me with drunken rages and closed fists until I was black and blue from head to toe.

I also remember waking up quite a few times after he knocked me unconscious for what he described as my rotten mouth.

I never gave him the satisfaction of winning. No matter how badly he hurt me, I did my best to always have the last say. A mouthful of rotten words from me to him, then I took off running.

Unfortunately, sometimes he tracked and caught me and I was beaten again and again.

I have been told it was because of all the abuse forced on me, I was a young badly hurting girl who slowly died inside. I felt I had no one who loved me in a gentle, caring way. All I could think was if my father were okay to rape me, any other man who wanted it could have a turn too.

I refuse to regret my first marriage. I was young and stupid and to be quite honest not in any shape then to make sensible and respectful decisions for myself. I went wild rebelling about my horrible memories that haunted me for years. I will never regret marrying the father of my three kids but only because if I did feel regret, to me I would be wishing my kids out of existence. That will never happen.

I am blessed with my three wonderful children with him so I will never regret the years I suffered all his physical and mental abuse, and his sexual filth.

With time, I grew to hate my first husband. I did not know it when I first met him. All I stupidly thought was he was someone who truly cared.

I keep focusing on my love for my children. That helps me get through bad and sad days.

CHAPTER 2

Nightmares Go On

I remember after our mother eventually abandoned us. Thank you, God, and we went to live with our maternal parents, the abuse and nightmares continued.

Back then, I felt my nightmare would never end. After the father person moved out of Nana and Grandad’s house to go live with his horrible girlfriend, Nana gave me the job of going to where he worked, serving beer in a local hotel so he could give me the board he owed Nana weekly for my sisters and my needs.

My father’s girlfriend, Lil, was much older than he was then, and to be blunt she was a very mean lady all the time to us. I never once let her get away with all her abuse on my sisters and me. Every time she said something horrible, I threw her abusive words right back to her. I did not care that I was going to get another beating for saying horrible words to her. Every chance she got she complained and whined to my father that I was being so rude to her.

Because I was in so much deep pain in my heart and soul caused by both my parents I used to get huge enjoyment in being mean to and name-calling Lil. She used to ramble on and on about how I was a very awful child. I wanted so bad to spill it all about what my father was doing to me but I had been hurt so badly by him and my mother, I was so scared if I told anyone he might have killed me.

I felt dirty and totally worthless, always hungry to be loved. But hey, when I think about it, now I know that I had no idea how it truly felt to be loved. I did not know what being loved was all about. All I knew was that it was something that happened to other people, not me.

Every Saturday morning, I had to go to the pub where my father worked to pick up the board money he owed Nana. One Saturday, as I went there, his girlfriend saw me walking towards the bar where he was preparing to open. From memory, she must have been in a very bad mood because she started picking on me the minute she saw me. I disliked her intensely and every time she said something horrible to me, I replied with the angriest words I could muster. I focused on her very old age and my father was stupid to be with such a mean old bag. Not too long into our argument, she started crying and ran to the bar where he was working. Before I had a chance to escape, he came running towards me from out of nowhere, grabbing and pulling me by a large clump of my hair all the way to the bar where he was in preparation to open it. He dragged me kicking and screaming into the bar and threw me on the floor. He followed me in and started punching and hitting me into my stomach and back. He made endless smart ass remarks about how he couldn’t hit me on my face or the wicked witch Nana would find out what he did. When I collapsed on the floor in a heap, that rotten supposed to be father raped me again. When his filth was finished, he cleaned me up and warned me through a snarling face that if I told anyone he was going to kill my Nana.

I was terrified of losing my Nana. I loved her so much and I always will. I did as he threatened and I never told a soul.

I could not care to think of life without my beloved Nana. She was the only person close to a parent I had and I loved her to the moon and back, I always will.

As long as I stayed at Nana’s house, I was safe. My father rarely went there and it took years before my mother briefly returned to there.

Life sadly had to go on and Nana knew nothing and it was not her fault. She still got me to go pick up our board off him every Saturday so the nightmare for me never got better. I used anything I could think of to hurt my father back. He was never kind or nice to me and he called me every bad and dirty word he could think of every time I had to get the money for Nana.

I never told Nana. I was scared to death if I did she was going to get upset with and have a go at him verbally and that she might have gotten killed.

My best theory for a long time was that if I kept closest to wherever my Nana was, that was when I was safest.

From what I saw of my three sisters’ interaction with him, he treated them one hell of a lot better than he treated me. For that reason, I grew up very ostracised from my sisters, I kept thinking, ‘You foolish girls, if only you knew what a dirty pig he was.’

From what I saw, very few people in our town liked my father or mother. I have memories of so many people telling me they knew I was the daughter of the town drunks.

One other thing I will always be so grateful for: the fact that we had our Nana and Grandad. My Grandad was a drunk but he was a gentle drunk. He came home from the pub every night. He was drunk every night and once he finished eating he went to bed. I have no memory whatsoever of Grandad abusing or mistreating us.

My cunning rat father never ever hit my face and he made the threat many times to kill my sweet Nana if I told. I never did tell her the truth of how he was so horrible to me.

Like the moon and stars in the heavens, that’s how much I loved my Nana and I still do.

Going to school, both in primary and high school, for me was horrible. When I look back in my memories, I cannot recall the correct number of all the times other kids in my school told me how they knew about my sisters and I and how badly the whole town hated us all because my mother they said was a whore and a harlot and my father is definitely the town drunk.

No way for any child to grow up let me tell you.

I was allowed to get on my bicycle and ride, ride and ride wherever I wanted to as long as I was home before dark. I used to ride my bicycle out into the farmlands around our town. I always picked somewhere fun and enjoyable for the lost child I was to sit and enjoy and do silly fun things.

Occasionally, if I came across a single bull in a paddock far enough away from the farmhouse, I played silly risky games with the confused and often pissed off bull. I got loads of enjoyment in doing probably dangerous stuff as a way to let out all my stress that was full in me. I used to race from one side of the fenced in paddock to the other laughing squeaking and screaming with an overflow of excitement that I found fun.

When I think of my precious Nana’s face now, I smile because I know now if she found out the very dangerous risks I was taking, I would have been in big trouble with her.

Now as I write my book I think of you, Nana, and I know I did right in not telling you the truth about how I was still being treated. I did not know as a child you already knew and I just felt it important not to tell you as I did not want you hurt and maybe blaming yourself.

I just could not bear the thought of my hurting you or the risk my supposed to be father might have carried through the threats to kill you if I told.

CHAPTER 3

I Had To Escape Haunting Memories

I know that Nana telling us to not take notice of kids at school and what they kept saying about my mother was her way of trying to help us. I knew I felt nothing for my mother, but still it hurt because they kept looking down their noses at my sisters and me, mocking and name-calling us with bad words and how we were as bad as her.

It made me even more angry knowing how terrible she treated me while she was in our lives, but also finding out how she behaved kept on effecting and hurting us even with her gone.

On the positive side of our life our grandparents did their best to give us some enjoyment. Nana and Grandad both loved living on the river and just about every school holidays they packed their house up, packed everything we needed and went to camp on the river. We were sunburned brown; we were taught to survive and we loved it.

When I think back now my memories of life at the Murray or Goulburn rivers were all so exciting for children. My sisters and I just about drove Nana nuts begging constantly to go swimming. One thing she was very firm about. We had to wait one hour after eating before we could go in swimming because she told us if we did not wait that one hour we would sink to the bottom of the river and drown. Second, she always insisted we were not allowed in the rivers to swim unless she had her chair strategically placed to keep watch over us. We got tired and impatient with her for doing that then but certainly understand now.

Another thing Nana was very firm about. She absolutely refused when camping to have her mattress on the ground, sheets on the ground. She did not mind that the rest of us slept on our mattresses in tents, but her mattress had to be placed on the back of Grandad’s flatbed truck. I understood even then why Nana insisted on sleeping up off the ground. She told us repeatedly, no Joe Blake was going to crawl into bed with her.

She was frightened of snakes.

Grandad always took one or more of his boats with him when we all went river camping. He loved to go fishing all up and down those rivers and it was obvious he knew what he was doing as he caught many fish. He also trapped fish with the nets he made that he put partially or completely across the rivers. I remember one time he and several other male relatives and friends were in the boats out on the Goulburn river helping Grandad secure a net totally across the river, which was illegal to do. With what happened that day, it was clear none of them had any idea they were being watched. The minute the net was totally in place, several unknown men jumped up from the bushes they had been hiding yelling out ‘Gotcha Ernie’. They were Fisheries and Wildlife inspectors and had been keeping Grandad under surveillance as his fishing knowledge and success were widely known.

Grandad and all his helpers that day were told they had to go to court several weeks later and were heavily fined for illegally placing that net as they did.

God bless my grandad. He worked hard for his family, he was in simple terms, I believe a very sad man. Because in his earlier years he had been a bit if a larrikin and flirt and Nana found out about one affair he had she then kicked him out of her bed and never allowed him to return.

He seemed to accept her decision and he never left her. But he yearned to be back with her in the double bed. That was something she never forgave him for. He spent all the rest of his years banished to the bed in the back bedroom.

The state of his marriage, I believe, is the reason he turned more and more to drinking beer. In those days, pubs were only allowed to remain open until 6.00 p.m. Grandad stayed there after work every day till pub closing time then came home to drink his tea and go to bed.

My father, as he worked for Grandad for several years in his cement contracting business, also went with Grandad after work, consuming large amounts of beer.

Nana had both of their meals prepared and on hot plates and she never gave them that meal. She remained in the lounge room away from them when they came in drunk. I was given the job of going to the kitchen and giving them their prepared evening meal. Grandad was never verbally abusive to me; my father was every chance he got.

Sarah, my supposed to be mother, had a sister, Grace. After I moved to Melbourne, I was supposed to keep on living with Grace. It was something I simply could not do for very long. She got me a job working in a shop near her house. The first day I knocked off work she was waiting for me outside the door of the business where I had the job she arranged. She was a lot like Shirley and was sometimes very abusive to me, so seeing her waiting there, I got very frightened not knowing why she did that. I