About Me ⬇️
Hi, I’m Shiv, I’m the byproduct of bad parenting, I guess that’s what makes me such an ImperfectMisfit…
I have a really dark/dry sense of humour sometimes, that’s down to my mental health, I’ve developed unhealthy coping mechanisms over the years for dealing with my trauma & expressing it, due to the upbringing I had, guess you’ve got to build resilience somehow ayy ?
Abit about me, Unfortunately for me both my parents were drug addicts, both mentally unstable & both not really ready to be parents… But they went & did it anyway, (my mum already had a child from a previous failed relationship), I guess “decent life choices” weren’t really on the agenda for neither my Mum or Dad , & then I came along, a little bundle of joy, I didnt make their relationship stronger if anything the relationship became more volatile & they split… This was probably a good decision on their part but it left me without a Dad in my life & the only role model left was a mentally unstable Mother who wasn’t much of a role model.
I hope this blog will put my life into some form of context for everyone else aswel as myself. Maybe people will start to understand the impact bad parenting can have on a child. I also want the blog to help me put things/ life events into some form of order ? Maybe then I’ll understand why I’m here now, 29 years old & DisAbled with a fuck tonne of mental health issues of my own.
I’m Siobhan by the way, Shivorn is how it’s pronounced but for some reason my Dad gave me the Irish spelling (I’m not Irish, nor is he or any of our family). I think the drugs heavily influenced his choice of spelling my name that day I was born, coincidently on his birthday August 18th …. (he was definitely drunk on my day of birth, his birthday)
- My beginning memories …
“You’re an it” I remember been called an “It” constantly over the years, that’s what my stepfather referred to me as, I was young, maybe seven or eight years old when I recall been called It for the first time. I could never understand why he hated me so much, I tried so hard to make him love me, but it just didn’t work. I used to sit in my room and fantasise about my biological Father, wondering what he was like whether he loved me, whether he thought of me and if he would one day come back to save me. Little did I know my real Father wouldn’t be saving me, and this house on Portobello Street was just the beginning. I would have to suffer years of mental and physical abuse from those I loved the most before I finally saved myself.
I'm the byproduct of bad parenting... 