Goodbye, Darkness

Island of Tears

Contains graphic descriptions of violence. Readers discretion advised.

Updated 16.08 23

It must have been 30 years ago or so. I worked in a mental youth ward near Oslo, Norway. We had a young boy there. 8 or 12 (there is a reason for my inaccuracies).

He had been raped by his father since he was four. With a knife at his throat, and the statement “if you tell mum, I will first cut your throat, then mine”. This went on for four years, before the mother found out. My talks with her, having a smoke at the porch… her regret at not understanding. Not believing in the signs she saw… Her face will never leave me.

He used to turn towards male coworkers while showering, spreading his butt-cheeks to offer himself.

I asked to be excused from assisting him in the shower situation. Yet, it affected me.

The father got a sentence of four years.

Another boy shared a myriad of images. Being zipped up in a sleeping bag and kicked. The crunch of the face of a young boy with Downs syndrome, under a military boot. His.

His face twisted when describing an act of torture so heinous, I had to Google it. I found it described in a war movie from Serbia, I believe. It involved a garden hose, a length of barbed wire, a dangling key, it’s corresponding lock, and a can of lube.

A girl (13?), angelic, with platina blond hair, was found after having escaped an institution. Her retelling waking up with a line of men waiting for their turn between her legs, the syringe dangling from her arm… it was 22 or 23 years ago and I can still see the room where she retold the story.

I should add. I have found out that I am an empath. I feel the emotions of others as if they are mine. And I store them.

A few final images from the some of the institutions where I have worked. I quit in 2018 to work with music, healing and preaching. I am also planning to start a holistic hospital called Earth House, offering the finest in allopathic and complimentary care.

I have signed XX declarations of confidentiality. Hence, the inaccurate ages and lack of information identifying the places I worked in.

* A boy witnessing a newborn being torn in two, as punishment for the local Daesh warlord not being told of the imminent birth.

* A young single immigrant, his doctor’s face as he struggled to penetrate the scar tissue covering his arms. His new cuts so deep, they had to be sown. His hand, clutching mine.

So many images. So many stories.

Yet, I consider myself blessed. My 22+ years in social work, the last 15 as child welfare worker (#barnevernspedagog and proud of it!), have left traces. But mostly, they have left hope.

Some of my kids still keep in touch. And yes, they are my kids. I have a huge family spread across Norway & the rest of the world. I see from Facebook, Twitter and Snapchat that they have vibrant lives.

My life is unorthodox. I mostly live in my car, travelling to where my intuition tells me to go. I only trust myself. I trusted my dog, Cooper Frost, but he died in 2020. I am a celibate monk. Now, I have a new one, Trollheads Nessi, who is just as scarred as me, having had two previous families and a long history of abuse.

And I hate child molesters, drug dealers, traffickers and racists with a burning fire. This is what my church and charity is dedicated to fight against.

But if you have Googled #mAncient, and seen me on YouTube ranting about some perceived injustice.

Don’t judge me. Come walk a mile in my boots first. Then we can talk. And while you are walking, listen to my music. I can promise you – there are stories behind every song.

If you want to get in touch, the best place is LinkedIn.