Welcome to Hickstead, home to both Seven Oak Stables, and Blue Acre - two rival stables. Both offer opportunities for their clients to reach the highest level of excellence. Each stable differs from the other, so choose wisely and never forget, loyalty is everything... Meanwhile as the stables battle it out, there's trouble brewing at the university. Be careful, if you don't pick a side you may get caught in the cross-fire...
This is an chilled out rpg with a super friendly and relaxed atmosphere! Remember to sign up with your characters full name in all caps and don't forget to do your claims! Thank you and Welcome, we've been established since 10th March 2009 but unfortunately have had to close guest view of our boards due to multiple sites ripping off our hard work, such a shame! Come chat to us in Discord before joining if you like!.
••• TEMPLATE courtesy of ALASKA <3 at CAUTION 2.0 SONG LYRICS from UNWRITTEN by NATASHA BETTINGFIELD do not r e m o v e this credit
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My psychiatrist once told me to write down who I think I am. I obey everything I am asked to do (as long as it will not harm another living creature), I can not lie to another adult, I am terrified of what might happen if I do the wrong thing. I did as I was told, but never showed it to him.
Here is what I wrote:
Inside Cara.
On the outside, you will see me dressed up to the nines. I ride dressed as though I am about to enter a show ring. Out of the saddle if I am not training in another of the many sports I participate in, I am dressed as though I am about to go on a job interview. I can be passed off by other people as a snob because I walk with a straight back, shoulders down and back and head held just so, this is also due to my English accent - which comes from being in England for so long.
Is this me though?
I wear what I wear because it is what is expected of me, and because it is all I own. My life was mapped out for me by my father, but other than what was on the will, other people have made decisions on my behalf. I was trained at an early age to obey - one might say I had it beaten in to me (literally).
My first sport lesson - gymnastics - started pretty much as soon as I went into foster care, ballet shortly followed by equestrian and then skating. I took all of theses under my wing, and I excelled in all of them. Later in life, I learned to relish in the fact that my coaching sessions got me out of the houses I was staying in for a little longer.
School was a little difficult at first, as I could remember everything, and it wasn't until I began to do my own study that I found out that I had a photographic memory. I can quote books, right down to line, paragraph and page number. School became easy after that, I got through the work fast enough tat I could put more time into my sports. The sad part about my memory. I can remember everything that I want to forget and nothing I want to remember. I can bring up the face of every man who has laid a hand on me, but I can't even bring up a shadow of what my parents looked like.
Working with horses became the one brightness in my life. They were the ones I could trust with everything. I could tell them everything that was happening and they would keep my secrets. Not only that, but they never looked down on my mixed breeding, the way most humans do (especially those I share my blood with).
Over time, I built a wall around myself. Emotions give people power over you, the more emotion, the more power the other person seems to have. I haven't shed a tear since before I started my schooling career, I don't smile unless I'm riding a horse, talking to a much smaller child or doing one of my other sports - and only then if I really get lost in what I'm doing, or one of the show smiles that all athletes are known for. The closest I get to emotion is the odd frown people say I give when deep in thought.
I may seem calm and confident to all of you. On the inside, I am terrified. I am always waiting for it all to hit the fan.
Do I trust you? I don't even trust myself.
The eyes are the window to the soul You will never see inside mine.
During my time in the system (the foster system, not the criminal one), I have seen other children get to that point where their will to live snaps, I've been there before and after living with Mr Andrews for close to two months, I almost reached that point. I was on the edge of the precipice, about to take the leap and he gave me a bit of news that forced me to step back; my mare had been moves to a new barn and I was moving there as well. When I get told I have a potential foster family, I always take it with a grain of salt as Mr Andrews selects the families with great care, and my well being is never at the top of his list. It's all about what that family can do for him.
After a complete twenty-four hours of not being able to see Chéri, I gathered my bags, got into his car and we drove to the edge of town to a rather impressive looking house. I remained silent as Mr Andrews and Ms Clark signed papers and spoke about me and then he was gone and I was shown up to my room. To be a totally dramatic teenager, I almost had a heart attack when I saw the room!! In one word, it is HUGE, I have a large wardrobe, that my clothes look lost in, and my own bathroom (and that is a blessing in disguise since I was brought to Hickstead).
After unpacking, showering and changing, I went down to find the woman of the house in the kitchen. She is... different from my other foster parents, she is rather laid back, but very business like at the same time. We then went down to the barn so that I could check on Chéri. It seems that all I will be responsible for with her is grooming and exercising, although I have said that I will happily clean her stall and everything else. Ms Clark also said that there are other horses in the barn that need exercising, so I feel that I will have my work cut out for me on that one... as long as her assistant doesn't look at me being barely five feet tall and sticks me on plodders... Sorry, I'm being pessimistic, but I also know that if that does happen, I would never speak up against it, it's not my style.
As lovely as this place seems, there's a part of me - a very BIG part of me - that's waiting for it all to hit the fan and blow up in my face. Sure, I'm being negative, but I know that there are no happily ever afters, not in my life anyway.
Life at Blue Acres is interesting, no that wouldn't be the correct term, since I can be utterly honest here. Life at Blue Acres is... anything but what I am used to. Other than keeping Chéri happy, keeping my grades up and keeping my room tidy, there is not a lot expected of me here. The cooking is done for me, someone else cleans the floors, I have time on my hands that I'm not used to, and I think that is getting to me the most. At least when I was working around the house like a slave, it gave me a chance to work through things. Now? I guess I have to find another way to channel my troubles... Chéri might find that she has the cleanest stall in history.
Upon Mr Andrews' command, I signed my pony and myself up for a local show, and we did relatively well. Chéri really seems to be settling into life here, and I couldn't be more happy about that. The grounds are well kept and the trainers know their stuff. And I know how to keep silent and follow instructions.
School isn't exactly my strong point. I try to keep below the radar and still I seem to pull the attention of at least one teacher. At the school here; it was the history teacher, who decided to fail me on a test on the accusation that I cheated. I spoke with Miss Clarke about is and confessed to her about my memory, which isn't exactly something I want the world to know. And after a meeting with the teacher, we sorted it all out... I hope. And then it was summer and school finished.
While one adult in my life took the problem with school in her stride, the other adult wasn't so blasé about it and he let me know exactly what he felt about me being accused of cheating, and didn't let up until he was sure that I understood - though I well and truly understood after the first strike - and he then went on to showing me exactly what would happen if it occurred again, so now I need to try my damned hardest to keep things in line, make sure that what I write down isn't word for word from the textbook - funnily enough, teachers don't like that kind of thing. At least I always make sure that my assignments are all properly referenced.
I have always known that horses aren't exactly built the best way, and after living more of my life than I have wanted on the competition circuit - gymnastics and equestrian - I have seen the horrors of what can happen at the wrong moment, and not all of it can be blamed on the owners, as I have witnessed horses mucking around in a field, fall over and only one rise again to shake himself off and trot away.
It has not often happened to my mounts before though, so bringing Chéri in lame from the pasture was a little of a shock. Millions of thoughts went through my head, of all things I could have done to prevented it from happening, though it turns out that the only way I could have prevented it was by keeping her in her stall.
I treated her leg the best way I knew how, hosed it, iced the ligament, and then applied a treatment of the black pepper, peppermint and eucalyptus oil that I have always used on horses legs after a bump and competitions, as it acts as a cooling agent. After wrapping her leg, I went and fixed her a feed, adjusting the herbs I give her to add ones that would assist in the healing of her leg; Meadowsweet - for its anti-inflammatory and antiseptic properties, comfrey - to encourage healing, reduce the bruising and soothe inflammation; kelp - is rich in calcium, iodine, iron, magnesium, phosphorus, potassium, selenium, sulphur, zinc and vitamins; A, B, B12, C, D and E, and cider vinegar - to encourage the absorption and dispersal of fluid. I also added the garlic, which I give her every other day as it's the best insect repellent I have ever found.
The vet arrived the next day and after an examination and x-ray, it seems that she has soft-tissue swelling, so I need to keep her as quiet as possible for the next few days and give her banamine, as well as icing the leg. I was asked questions about her past that I could not answer, as when Mr Andrews found the mare, other than the fact that it was my money he was handing over, he didn't allow me to see or sign any of the paper work, so I really know nothing of Chéri's past, other than what the mare tells me. It was near the end of Dr Hawke's examination of her leg that I have decided that I will as Mr Andrews for the papers that the mare came with. It is not fair on her for me to not know anything. I will just need to be prepared to pay whatever price Mr Andrews asks. And, for the good of Chéri, I will pay that price, even if the thought of it makes my blood run cold - though that is not technically possible, I know.
After Dr Hawke left, I returned Chéri to her stall and, after putting the tube of banamine in the first-aid cabinet, I fetched a massage oil and rescue remedy from my tack trunk. If she is to have four days of box-rest, I need to make her as calm as possible and giving her a massage with the neroli oil, the refreshing and distinctive sweet, honeyed and somewhat metallic scent would help relax them both and would help relieve any anxiety, fear, shock and stress from Dr Hawke's visit. And the added bonus is that is was great for relieving depression.
My biggest worry was that she had been injured through something I had done.
My birthday approaches, which means I am another year closer to being free... well as free as I can be. I have a feeling that Mr Andrews will always have an influence on my life. I will leave you with a little quote from the American philanthropist and socialite; Rose Kennedy (July 22, 1890 – January 22, 1995): “It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
After a week of rest and gentle walks around the cross county course, Chéri came sound again; much to my relief, and a month later she was back into full schooling over fences and you would never think that anything had happened to her. I know that her injury wasn’t caused by a fault of mine, but I still have that guilt buried deep within me and I just can’t shake it no matter what anyone says.
Things at school are moving along smoothly, I keep my head down and only do the work that is required of me, even though I thirst for knowledge, I have learned my lesson – and keep being reminded of what will happen if I slip of track again. Failure is not an option; Mr Andrews has made that very, very clear.
My social worker tries to stay away from my current foster home, he collects me from school or has me travel to his office, bit he hardly ever comes here. It’s almost as though he is afraid of Ms Clarke, though I know that man isn’t afraid of anything. Sorry, I digress. Mr Andrews doesn’t come here oft, so imagine my surprise when he turns up towing a float.
Inside that float is a flaxen chestnut Welsh Pony gelding, which I have to tack up there and then; with no idea how long he has been travelling for, and we take him through to the indoor arena. One of the instructors was working his own horse in the arena, but this doesn’t deter Andrews as he still commands me to ride.
My first ride on Huck (the gelding’s registered name is Huckleberry Fin), turns into a lesson, where Mr Flynn has me take the gelding over the lower fences that he had constructed in the arena. Huck has a powerful jump on him, though he is young and full of himself, and the complete opposite from Chéri.
Mr Flynn and Andrews spoke about the former taking me on as a student, while Andrews told him that the two of us could work out how I would be paying for the lessons, of course after he had to mention that I was the foster child of the woman who owns the yard.
Holidays have never been a big thing in my life… No, I guess that would be a lie, holidays are a very big thing in my life. It is when whatever school I am in closes down, I am put into one home or another and life becomes very busy as there is a house to be bedecked, food to be cooked and people to impress. I won’t go into past December’s now, as this isn’t the time to do it, not here, not now.
School has almost finished for the year, the Clarke house and stables are dressed with holiday decorations, though I am getting the feeling that Ms Clarke thinks I went a little overboard but it’s what I’m used to doing. I have also worked out what I shall be cooking for Christmas dinner, but that is another story.
With winter completely set in now, it makes working the ponies a little more difficult and Huck is going completely crazy being cooped in his stall for such large amounts of time, so I will need to work out how to change this; getting up earlier to do my gym routine and riding him before school and then once again afterward.
My meetings with Mr Andrews haven’t lessened any since moving in here; in fact I am thinking that they are becoming more frequent, though I am not to tell Ms Clarke that I am seeing him sometimes three times a week. Some days aren’t as bad as others, though every time he tells me that I am losing condition, gaining weight and become a pampered puppy, so not only do I need to work out a way to school my pony more, I need to work out how to increase my own activity levels.
I need to head off and get a session in with Chéri before night fall.
Queen Elizabeth the first said; “The past cannot be cured.” I am beginning to see the real meaning of the phrase. I’m not as obtuse as my previous foster families have thought of me, or as many of the people who are part of my present life think. It may have taken me a while to work it out, but I know I have been shaped throughout my life, and conditioned into what Andrews wants me to be…
I’m good; I’m obedient, though I also know that I’m impersonal. Because of my desire to want to please the adults around me – trust me, it hurts a heck of a lot less – I often forget that I’m supposed to share my emotions with the people around me. I would like to think that it’s this that has stopped anyone from adopting me, though I know the truth is that Mr Andrews doesn’t want me adopted. As long as I am in foster care, I am still a pawn in whatever game he has turned my life into. See? Not as dense as some tend to think. I can look outside the box, I can see exactly what is happening to me, I just can’t stop it. Well, I could stop it. In fact I tried that before, the biggest black mark against me, when I slit my wrists and failed. However, I know that death isn’t the answer. Yes, I would be back with my parents, who I don’t even remember. Though if I die, he will win, and I refuse to just give him the winning hand like that. If he wants to be rid of me, then that decision will be on his hands; though I know he has come close to it a couple of times.
Enough talk of the darkness I must hold within myself. Chéri and Huck are doing wonderfully. Now that the weather is warming up, they are both once again spending his days out in the pasture; though I arrive home with baited breath, expecting to find one of them lame. The fact that it happened to Chéri has now left me a nervous wreck when I come to bring them in, though I know that if anything does happen while they are out will not be my fault, that guilt that it happened to my sweet mare will always haunt me.
If there is one thing life has taught me, is that nothing ever stays the same forever, so I wasn’t at all surprised when I discovered that I was moving on to an new family, though when I got there it was a little bit of a shock that I was once again living in a house where the only occupant was a female – I’m slowly beginning to get the feeling that Mr Andrews doesn’t like sharing me with others… or at least he doesn’t like sharing me when he isn’t also there.
I shouldn’t be writing things like this, as I know that if he ever discovered that I write about these things, it would be a long time before I saw the light of day.
My new foster mother is one of the instructors at Blue Acres so at least it means that I don’t have to unsettle my ponies by making them move to another stable, but you know me, I would have packed their things, put their travelling gear on and humbly followed without saying a word. For that is how I have been trained.
Sorry, I digress, the woman I am living with, Ms Aubrianne Jaceson is a nice woman. As well as being a riding instructor, she owns three horses, one riding horse and two youngsters. I have been given permission to work with her young colt, Jazz, and he is a lot of fun to work with and his friendliness makes up for my lack of… emotions.
Emotions still confuse me. I can see them all around me, I am beginning to understand the term when people say they wear their heart on their sleeve, but I just don’t see the logic in emotions themselves. Why would people allow themselves to be that transparent to other people? I must have had some understanding of them at some point, which is why I stopped showing them…
Mahatma Gandhi once said “All through history, there have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall, always.” I hold my breath as I write this, for I fear that if I release it, I shall find that I will awaken and find that the last while has been but a dream that my imagination has created and I will find that the monster that has controlled every step of my life for over the last decade is truly as invincible as he has made me believe.
It seems that from the moment I stepped into the police station with my foster mother, my life screamed to a standstill. Yes, everyone around me went on with their lives, and I have been through the motions of each day myself, but none of it actually happened to me. When talking to the officers, I tried my best to follow the script I have been following since the day I could talk, but they weren’t buying what I said, and no matter how often I told them I was “fine”, they wanted to know more. In the end, the only thing I could do to remain above the tide that threatened to drag me under and drown me, was to tell them what they wanted to know… I only told them what they wanted from the present though, I was careful not to actually tell them how far back it went. People say that it helps to talk about what has happened, but honestly, do they really think that reliving something is really going to make anyone feel better that it is out in the open?
The one meeting then turned to even more “meetings”, though the word now has a completely different context from what I am used to. However they quickly worked out that once I had said my piece, I wasn’t going to say any more, and nothing to persuade me speak, and I outright (albeit silently) refused to speak to any of the therapists they sat me with. I have spoken to therapists in the past, and don’t trust them.
I constantly throw up now, anything can set me off; a thought, a sound, even a smell. I’m not stupid, I know that I don’t eat enough to be throwing up, but there is nothing I can do, and I can’t stomach the thought of eating more.
Then the court case started. I sat in a box and it was like they had my journal in their hands and were commanding me to read out my every private thought to a room full of strangers, and to him. I felt so weak sitting there, like a bug under a microscope as my every word was dissected and inspected from every angle, and I could do nothing as I was possibly facing the end of everything I knew. The fear of what the man glaring at me would do to me if this case was thrown out stilled my tongue on occasion and when the judge would look at me in askance, all I could do was lower my eyes and shake my head in apology as the cold would seep into my very marrow.
I can’t tell you what happened at the end of the trial, as I was excused from the room before it was over – at the insistence of the woman that is now my social worker – I should have argued for my right to know what was going to happen, but I can’t speak up for myself, I have been “conditioned” (that’s the word “they” (the court-appointed therapists) used to describe how I behave) too well. He trained me, the way Pavlov trained the dog, and I don’t even know if I can be retrained (or should that be untrained?).
Even after writing all that, I am still afraid that I shall wake to find it all a dream, and the nightmare I live in, shall still be happening around me. I pace my room in the dark of the night as I fear sleep now more than I ever have in the past. Everything that has happened in the past is awaiting for me to close my eyes, and the fear that I shall awaken in his lair also keeps me from wanting to close my eyes.
Sir Peter Ustinov said, “Unfortunately, a super abundance of dreams is paid for by a growing potential for nightmares.”
Queen Elizabeth the first said; “The past cannot be cured.” I am beginning to see the real meaning of the phrase. I’m not as obtuse as many of the people who are part of my life think, or have thought. It may have taken me a while to work it out, but I know I have been shaped throughout my life, and conditioned into what Andrews wants me to be…
I’m good; I’m obedient, though I also know that I’m impersonal. Because of my desire to please the adults around me – trust me, it hurts a heck of a lot less – I often forget that I’m supposed to share my emotions with the people around me. I would like to think that it’s this that has stopped anyone from adopting me, though I know the truth is that Andrews doesn’t didn’t want me adopted. As long as I am in foster care, I am still a pawn in whatever game he had turned my life into. See? Not as dense as some tend to think. I can look outside the box, I can see exactly what is happening to me, I just can’t stop it… Enough talk of the darkness I must hold within myself. Since the court case, I have been… teamed up with a group of eating disorder specialists, and once they worked out what was wrong with me… It seemed that my throwing up had them a little perplexed about which group I fit into, but they ended up working it out, though as my anxiety has nothing to do with food, I think that had them a little unsettled too, but then I was prescribed something and they moved away from that. I have to visit them three times a week, while I am not in school or at the stable – thank goodness they had not banned me from the one place where I still go to find solitude.
While my therapist is good at what she is trained in, and she seems to believe that I am on the right track to a full recovery. I still don't know what I'm recovering from, but I'm good at doing what I'm told. I now have a food journal where I need to write down everything I eat and then have it signed off each day, I was told that I didn't need to count calories. In fact I think she would prefer that I didn't. However, I have been a gymnast forever and counting calories is what I do, it's a part of my programming that I just can't get rid of – even if I’m not in training at the moment. With the team of medical personal though, I don’t think that there is anything that anyone can do to change what Andrews had conditioned me into. After all, I have been this way for as long as I can remember. Is there any way to change it? And more importantly, do I want to change it? I am who I have always been, who I assume I will always be. Is there so much wrong with me that that too needs to be "fixed"?
With riding, there is always a risk of something going wrong, and during a lesson everything did go wrong. I was having a jumping lesson with Mr Calvert. The lesson was actually going really well, and then on the last pass, Huck went one way and sent me the other. I have a pretty high pain tolerance, so I climbed back on and went over the jumps again.
However, the longer I tried to ignore the pain; it wouldn’t go away so, finally when my side was black from the bruising, I went to my foster mother and told her of my injury. Then it was to the hospital and I was firmly lectured for not coming in sooner, though it turned out that there was nothing broken. However, what they did discover caused me pause.
The nurse that was doing my examination, while she couldn’t find anything that told her my ribs were broken found something that did catch her attention. After a few more tests, it turns out that I’m pregnant.
I was browsing through the books on the shelf in the waiting room and I found a quote by Joseph Campbell that has stuck with me: "Find the place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain." If it is correct, all I need to do is find this joy inside me…
My life is now counted in weeks. It has been seven weeks since I fell from Huck during a lesson. I was lucky not to have broken any ribs that day, and I now know that I probably should never have got back in the saddle that day, just to prove a point to myself. And I am sure that is the only reason I did it. Had it being during a competition I would have had no choice but to have exited the arena with as much dignity as I could manage, but in a lesson I had the choice and I made it…
Sorry, I digress. Weeks. Seven weeks since the fall, eighteen weeks since the trail, and twenty-three weeks since I was last in the hands of a man named Tony Andrews.
For all the upheavals he caused to my life, this was one I never expected to happen. I still cannot fathom that why I fall pregnant to Him now, after more than thirteen years of what he had put me though, I now fall prey to him. Some may even call it his endgame, but he shall never know, unless word gets to him, my baby shall never know how their existence came to be. I will not place that weight upon the shoulders of a child who does not deserve it.
There are times when I now sit and wonder about my own parents, which I do not think of much, as thoughts of them brings nothing but frustration. How it is that I can remember everything bad that has ever happened to me, yet when I think of my parents, I can’t even bring up a shadow? Many say it is because I was too young then to begin storing memories, but I remember the first person to ever… I was two the first time it happened, and I remember that, and that was six months after I became an orphan that none of my own blood wanted.
Now I think of them though, and wonder how my mother was throughout her pregnancy with me. Did she suffer morning sickness? How was the birth? I have many questions that I know can never be answered, as where my parents are, there is no mailing address and though I know there is family, do I really want to contact them, when they turned their backs on me that night?
However, life goes on. I am trying to eat properly, though it is harder than one would think, after years of only eating tiny amounts, but I am trying. Very few people know of my current… situation. One girl at the barn knows, though I trust Emma to keep quiet about it. Everything is hidden in plain sight currently, and I hope to keep it that way as long as possible.
My life begins another new journey today. I should go now, as I hear Ms Vang approaching, which means that it is time to go to my new home. I do not know how much this person knows, but I hope that things will work smoothly. I will do my best to be the best person they want, and hope that things will continue as smoothly as currently appear.
I have no cute idioms today, so I shall just bid you adieu.
Gandhi said, “Better to be violent if there’s violence in our hearts than to put on the cloak of non-violence to cover impotence.”
I could not imagine harming another living being; be they human, animal, or insect, so I cannot work out why for so long I have been so acceptable of the fact that that violence is alright when it is directed toward me.
I can only fathom what my parents were like when they looked after her. Were they caring doting parents? Or was I no more than a bother, getting in the way of both of their jobs? I been told that her mother had been driving to take her father his meal the night of the fire that had their lives extinguished in a factory fire. But still, that tells me nothing of how they were toward me.
I care deeply about the welfare of my horses, some would tell you more than I care for myself, but I cannot say I love them. What is love? Can I give it to another without knowingly have felt it myself? In the past people have said they only do they things to be out of love, because the care for me. But how would you show those things by using fear and pain?
I try my best to hide my emotions and feelings from the world, and have done so for so long that I often forget what they are, but I still feel. I may have trouble trying to understand how I feel, but I still feel pain. Do I not bleed when I am cut? Ok, I don’t cry, but that doesn’t make me any less human that any other person.
I am slowly coming to grips with my past, unravelling what happened to me and why, though I think it will be a long time before I fully understand it. Find the logic to why I have been through what I have. Though, as bad as it may have seemed to others; I knew exactly what to expect and when. I just fear that it has become the norm to me and what I may do to compensate.
I finish with this: Gandhi also said, “I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary. The evil it does is permanent.”
Rose Kennedy said, “Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?”
They say a change is like a holiday, but I guess I would have to know what a holiday is to know that that means. My therapists decided that it was in my “best interest” to be in a household where my primary caregiver wasn’t a male so I once again find myself moving foster homes and only half days at school.
My visits with the team of dietitians and doctors hasn’t changed though and my gain of ten pounds hasn’t impressed them much, which is probably because I’m also pregnant, but I’m trying. I guess I just burn more calories than I eat.
Why do people think that talking through all the bad things that have happened will make them better? Is living through it the first time not enough? It seems that the line of questioning one day brought on contractions, and after a rather short labour I welcomed a very tiny (5lb 4oz) Kyoto Dulcea into the world.
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