Growing up until the age of five I have some happy memories. At the age of five my parents split up, one minute to me things seemed fine, the next we were being taken away from our dad. The next thing I remember is going into a car with total strangers and driving for hours. I was soon to find out we had moved away with my mothers new boyfriend, how I took this at the time I cant remember. The only thing I can remember is after about two weeks, this stranger hitting me with a leather belt, this soon was a regular occurrence. As time went on things did not get better. From belts to bear hands usually to my bear skin. Growing up I hated this man, I would never bring friends to the house because the times I did he would just shout and make me feel so little. Through my childhood I lived in fear, fear of the next time I would get a beating. How ever much I hated this man I always tried to please him,as far as going out robbing houses and shops with him, he use to tell me if I got caught I was to young for the police to do anything, this still didn't please him, the beatings would still go on. The only happy memories through these years are when he went to prison, I felt I could be me without having to live a lie of trying to be someone else. When he went to prison for the second time I thought my mother would not have him back, but when he got out he came for a visit, and I can remember my mother asking me if I thought she should have him back, thinking that is what she wanted I said yes. For years after I felt guilty for saying yes, the beatings stopped for a little while.