Hellena Post - Creatrix

I've tried on so many uniforms and badges that now I'm just me - mother of 8 children and all that entails, flowmad, and human animal parent. Writer of this living book of a blog, philosopher, and creatrix of hand dyed and spun crocheted wearable art. I gave up polite conversation years ago, and now I dive into the big one's.....birth, sex, great wellness, life, passion, death and rebirth.


Monday, May 9, 2016

Almost left, but I'm back again :)

I almost left.  I've been spending months now working on a new website.  Only website that should be.  Ever since the internets started, I've been trying in a almost earnest way to create one, even using one of the first freeware software programs, Arachnophillia, to start my first attempt.  And I've finally got there.

I've created a rather swoosh photo biographical journey.  It was quite profound making it.  Putting stories and photos to all those years that I thought I wasn't doing that much.....

Click here to check it out...


I was going to ditch this blog, leave it to be a historical document, and voyage off into the land of Wix blogs.  

But as time as passed.....I've realised I really don't want to let this blog go.  It is a realistic account of where I've been and the cycles I've been playing through, and I'm going to keep the journey going.  

I wrote a blog post over there, but it didn't really fit, it belonged here.  So I've brought it back.  

I want to stick to photo stories on that blog over there, so come on over and subscribe if you want to be part of that.

Here is the one that nearly got away....




.....................................





The End and the Beginning
April 26, 2016
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Hellena Post

*Trigger alert* If you have been, or suspect you have been sexually abused as a child, this may be a triggering thing to read, so please make sure you've got support and company before reading.

When I was concieved, my father didn't talk to my mother for three months after he found out, he was so pissed off she was pregnant again. Until about 3 months before I was born, (in the days before ultrasounds) and then he decided to call me Christine.  A bit before I was born he thought he should make it Joan Christine. And then just after I was born he realised it was meant to be Helena Joan Christine, and my mother always joked that she raced off to the registry, before he could add any more names.





From that time, he chose me as his 'favourite'.  As the youngest of seven children, he waited till me to take notice of one of his children, as I've been told.  I was the seventh daughter of the seventh son of a Friesian couple who apparently hated each other.  Just like he and my mother hated each other.  Apparently.  I don't remember.


I don't remember anything of the first seven years of my life.  At the age of 45, it honestly only occurred to me recently, that this might not be a necessarily normal thing.  I have brief blips of memories, and most of them are about my father, passing me money behind his back, playing the chair game with me, singing songs about yabbies eating off policemen's willies.  I have a clear memory of playing a game with an empty egg shell and him at breakfast, with a table full of the rest of my family who seem to just not exist.  I don't have a single teeny tiny memory of my mother.  Nothing at all.  


My memories start very abruptly on the day he died in the Granville train accident.  In 1977, when I was 7, and he was 49, which is 7 x 7,  he died.  It took them a long time to uncover the bodies, so I was sent to bed before my family was officially informed that he was dead.  And he was out in the back yard, so I went out to talk to him. He told me he was dead, and that I couldn't touch him, and talked to me for ages.....but I can't remember anything about that either.  So in the morning, when I woke up, and they told me he was dead, I told them I knew.  And I walked into my brothers room, I remember very clearly, and looked around at the posters on his wall, and thought he was going to be an interesting person to get to know.

That's the day my memories start.

And I only thought last year, that maybe it wasn't a coincidence....





When I was 24, I had flashbacks and body memories to a sinister little twist on that chair game I remembered playing with my father.  I was in a stable relationship for the first time in my life, and it was the perfect time for me to remember something.  My dad had sexually abused me when I was 2 years old.  I felt it all happen again.  A few nights later I had a brief bit of another memory, but that was too shocking for me to remember yet, and I stopped it.

Even though I had this experience, I still loved my dad, and still told the stories of him that shaped the parameters of my entire life.  I was angry with him for a bit, but forgave him quite quickly, and didn't talk about it much at all, especially after telling my sister and having her give me the worst reaction possible.  She told me I was a liar, making it up, and it was impossible that it had happened.  I just wanted to be like her she told me.


Then when I was 31, I went to a breath worker, who read my body.  I was so surprised when he told me, after watching me walk and looking at my feet, that my incredibly high foot arch denoted terror in my childhood.  I couldn't remember any of it until 7, and it was miserable after that but terror? 


Then fast forward to a year ago.


I'd had this knee injury for ages, on my right knee.  I'd always called that my father knee, as it had a knack of falling out from underneath me every time I had issues with my man, or men in general, or my father.  It would go on and off when emotional issues were erupting, but this was different.  It was lasting for months.  I'd tried chiropractic, acupuncture, massage, cranio sacral, you name it I tried it.  And my knee would get better and then go again.  I came to realise it was psychosomatic.

And I found myself reading this PDF paper called 'Ritual Abuse & Torture In Australia' by ASCA.  Not really sure how I got there, but read it I did, and it came to a description of Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that left me chilled.

  • Sense of complete difference from others
  • Belief that the self is not human
  • Preoccupation with relationship with perpetrator
  • Attribution of total power to perpetrator
  • Idealisation of perpetrator, gratitude to perpetrator
  • Belief in a supernatural/special relationship with perpetrator
  • Acceptance of belief system or rationalisations of perpetrator
  • Repeated failures of self protection
  • Sense of hopelessness and despair

Now I've not gone into all the details obviously, but the ridiculous accuracy of this list totally floored me.  There are so many ways that I've made my father the corner pin of my life.  The foundationary fairy tale that the rest of my story exists in.   And so many creative ways that I separated myself from my early childhood.  Believed I was different.  Not human.  Hadn't even been there in fact.  I honestly thought until recently, that something must have happened in those first seven years, but it didn't matter really, cause something or someone else had been in my body while it happened, and I was off in the stars with my soul brother.  

And let's not even mention how many ways I failed to protect myself and later my family, especially when it comes to close friends and home........
So I've been seeing a counsellor, doing my own research, and just finished doing an Adult Survivors of Childhood Abuse group, and just about to engage with a Psychologist who has worked with this before.  

And I reckon it's taken me this long to get even close to wrapping my mind around it.  And to realise that I'm at the end and the beginning, all at the same time.  In as deep and crucial a way as I was when I left home, family, school, church, animals, and friends when I was 14, and it felt like the rug of my entire existence was ripped out from underneath my feet.  

My father has been the reason and the answer, and the special and magical rug, that I've been riding all my stories on, for my whole conscious life.  And he was really quite evil.  I was so distressed during my group recently, when I realised that all the blips of memories that I have of him were grooming tactics.  Separating me out from the rest of my family like a predator, giving me treats so that the betrayal and abandonment and the shock of the abuse was so great, that it shocked me out of my body for 7 years.  Visiting terror on me regularly enough that it vanished me.  And turned him into my religion.  

I may never remember what happened in those first 7 years, and I trust myself to only give me the memories when I can deal with them, but I feel like an end has finally come for the way I've survived and mythologised my early life.  

And certainly a beginning, with understanding how I've justified myself and my life, and re-victimised myself over and over, till I could come close enough to understand why.  A beginning to believing that we all deserve home.  Sanctuary.  A safe place to live and love.




3 Comments
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Maire Joy Barron ·
Thanks for sharing Hellena. I'm so glad you did some group work.
UnlikeReply1Apr 26, 2016 9:40pm
Hellena Post ·
And in the process of looking for some more.....there's a very specific place that I need to go, and I need a seasoned travel guide to get there smile emoticon
LikeReplyMay 2, 2016 7:12pm
Clarity Beaumont ·
Love you always Hellena. You are such a guide for this world that needs you and your particular wisdoms. Thank you as ever for your open and sharing self.
Hellena Post ·
And thank you for bringing the lights into your part of the world too! Inspirational woman of earth heart emoticon
LikeReplyMay 2, 2016 7:13pm
Violet-Maie Scott ·
Too many thoughts.thank you for this post.your web site is stunning and I love it.o beautifully Nimbin
Hellena Post ·
Thank you so much darlin woman! heart emoticon
LikeReplyMay 2, 2016 7:14pm










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