Healing the Broken...aka... Battle Scarred Journey
Healing the Broken...aka Battle Scarred Journey...
Kim Wheeler writes from the heart, opening old wounds that never completely heal in order to shed light on his past from being abandoned by his birth mother aged just five days, through the traumas and abuses meted out in his children home in Lewisham, fostering, adoption and schooling. Kim then talks openly about some of his physical life changing injuries and near death and how all this affected him and what he needed to learn to overcome such traumas. The book covers several abuses due to skin colour, unknown parentage and humble beginnings and then swiftly moves on to a litany of injuries, surviving meningitis, drug and alcohol abuse and then having to live with an incurable spine injury and very early retirement.
Healing the Broken then describes about Kim’s breakdown and how bit by bit, day by day he climbed from the bottom of his lonely pit towards the light of freedom and salvation, a journey that in itself took over ten years to a new life where he is now free from the confines of self and ego, a content man who enjoys nothing more than his rescue dogs, writing, photography, positive attitude, freedom and contentment which seemed unobtainable many years ago.
We all fall down but sometimes all we ever needed was someone to hold our hand and help us stand.
One thousand scars...extract from Healing the Broken/ Battle Scarred Journey
Let me begin by painting you a vivid picture...I was sitting in my lounge when I was suddenly hit by the realisation of how crap my life had become...I reeled at the reality, my mind imagined all my physical wounds and I saw and felt the scalpel slash my hands, the back of the hand axe smash my face, the large axe smashing into my foot and then finally, the sledge hammer smashing into my lower spine..In slow motion I began to fall on to my knees and as I did, with gaping wounds and a blood soaked body, a hole opened up in front of me and as I continued to fall, my body separated into one thousand copies of me. We silently continued to fall, all one thousand copies of me slamming in to the ground at the bottom of this dark, cold, barren shit pit. We rejoined as one. I felt my body, the dripping blood, the open wounds and I fucking screamed and I continued, to fucking scream.
Silently, I checked my new surroundings, my new home, my very own shit pit. I reached out to touch the walls, my hands still shaking and the wounds still open and painful. I looked up