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I've been labelled a whistleblower' on several occasions throughout my life. It's always been followed by gazes of contempt and derision. Why...? Because I dared to stand up confess to the abuse I'd suffered by people who used fear to exploit me. I was made to feel that I'd my actions were so totally abhorrent and far worse than the years of abuse I'd suffered mainly at the hands of my mother.

As a child, I was beaten, mentally humiliated, ridiculed and treated almost like a slave, all in the understanding that I should be grateful to be alive. I was told on many occasions by my mother that she could have gotten rid of me. I was labelled selfish, evil and stupid' and nothing I ever did was right, or worthy of praise. When you're told by the person you love and trust that this is the case, you begin to believe it.

At the age of five I felt my mother's emotional neglect, it was normal for me. She was never affectionate or kind, just there. I was fed, clothed and I went to school. In the absence of a father, my mother was everything to me. My mother worked three nights a week during which time I was left with a neighbour. When I did see her, I don't remember there being anything emotionally positive about it, though I was always glad that she was home. I missed her, I guess.

I think this lack of attention manifested itself in several unfortunate but vivid memories. Firstly, I was sent home by school when I pretended to have lost my sight (it was a dare from my school friends that got hugely out of hand.) The doctor said I was vying for attention. Secondly, I put my arm in a gas fire to see what would happen and was superficially scarred for life. Thirdly, I was accidentally pushed into a rose bush, whilst riding a push bike and scarred on one side of my face. Fourthly, I tried to follow the older kids by copying a bicycle stunt and I ended up knocking out my two front teeth and badly grazing all of my limbs. At the age of seven, I was glad when my sister and brother came along (half but I don't regards them that way) mostly because I was no longer alone and I calmed down somewhat. Subsequently however, this seemed to give my mother (and step father) licence to bestow the unwanted role of au pair upon me, without the pay.

At her very worst, my mother was extremely aggressive and abusive. She would berate me buying the wrong product from the supermarket or having an untidy room. Her normal action was to throw everything she could find in my room into the middle of the

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