Alison Goswell did not have a happy childhood. After being adopted, she was abused and made to feel inadequate.

She longed to rediscover her natural family, believing that they would offer her more hope and acceptance.

However, as she discovered, the reality was that her birth family's history was one long catalogue of horror, abuse and tragedy.

Now the 31-year-old from Bideford in North Devon just hopes she can stop the destructive cycle of behaviour with her own family.

A childhood wasted, wondering and wishing. A feeling of not quite belonging, or reaching parental expectations.

As the years passed, I became more distant from my adoptive family, the resentment grew, my confidence diminished. Almost reclusive in the comfort of my bedroom, my music was my best friend and every song told a story, usually a sad story, that would make me cry.

If only my mother and father had wanted me, everything would have been alright. I would have been accepted for me, not the somebody I thought I had to try to be.

If only they had had me adopted. Then I would not have been constantly subjected to the hands that felt impelled to touch me at every opportunity.

I was so sure they knew, they had to know, but it went on and on. Nobody did anything to make it stop. Now I know that person should have been me. I had a voice, but was too afraid to speak.

As soon as I turned 18 I sent off for my birth certificate. It had my parent's names and addresses at the time I was born. I tried to find my mother, without any success, but managed to trace my father after writing to the address he lived at 18 years ago.

His mother received the letter and passed it on to him. The next day I received a phone call and arranged to travel to London to meet him.

There were people everywhere. Then I caught sight of him. I don't know how I knew, but it was my father.

Suddenly I became nervous, this was the day I had dreamed of, this was when everything would be perfect, the past could all be put behind me and I could start again.

There was nothing to prove, nothing to fear, just the chance at last to be myself, to find myself.

We spent hours together, talking, crying and laughing. He took me to meet his friends and was so pleased that I had found him.

Then I went to meet my grandmother. It was a strange feeling. The house was familiar. Perhaps in my dreams I had been here before.

That night, my father took me to his local pub. Events that followed changed everything. This was not the person I thought I had met. This was not the way he was supposed to be.

All of a sudden I was scared. It dawned on me that this man was a stranger. I was in unknown territory and the familiar feeling of being lost and alone flooded back.

In a flash, the tables had turned. All those years I thought my adoptive parents had not been able to accept me for who I was. Now I could almost relate to that, to someone not quite matching up or fitting in. To someone being different...

In tears of disappointment and disbelief I ran out. He soon caught up with me. I told him I could not stay and watch him dealing in drugs.

He laughed at me. This was his way of life, it was normal. He had been a heroin addict for years, with the scars to prove it.

To top it all, he informed me that my mother had introduced him to drugs and that he only became addicted because my sister and I were put into care.

In my ignorance, I thought I could help my father, but soon realised I was wasting my time. I have not had any contact with him for some years now. Not because I don't care, but because I feel I have to protect my own children.

I can accept that he has to make his own choices, but I cannot watch him destroy himself and his family. Heroin does just that, not only destroying the body and mind of the person using it but also tearing apart the lives of everyone else.

After meeting my fathers' brother, I was stunned when he casually informed me that he had also been involved with my mother during the time she lived at the family home. He felt there was a possibility that he could be my father.

By this time, I was past caring. All those years I desperately needed to know the truth.

There is no truth, only betrayal. Whoever my father might be, I do not have a desire to know anymore. Under the circumstances, the word 'father' means very little to me now.

During this time, I found out the devastating story about my mother and her family. How one family can be subjected to so much horror is beyond me.

Every generation follows a circle of events. How wrong I was in thinking that abuse would not happen in natural families. My childhood dreams were so misleading. I only hope I can protect my own children and break the pattern.

My grandmother Grace had begun her family out of wedlock, although this was not by choice. She had been raped and kept locked in a room for nine months, until the birth of her daughter.

After marrying, Grace had six more children, the seventh pregnancy ended in the birth of stillborn twins. She then developed cancer and became very dependent on her husband to care for the children. Her main concern was to keep the family together.

Annie, my mother, was three, the youngest child. Grace had become increasingly concerned about her and confided in a family friend who was also a social worker.

It was decided that Annie should be medically examined and the results were devastating for Grace. Her little girl had been sexually abused, following further examinations it was discovered that the two older daughters had also been abused.

After admitting to sexually abusing his three daughters, my grandfather was sentenced to nine years in prison.

This was the beginning of the family being torn apart.

The two older girls, Elizabeth and Lucy, were sent to a nunnery in Ireland. Annie and her brother Jack were placed together in the care of Dr Barnardo's. The other children were also placed in care.

The years passed. Annie and Jack often went home at weekends to see their mother. On release from prison, my grandfather caught up with the eldest son, Roger.

Not content with the damage he had already caused, he beat Roger with a baseball bat. Roger had to undergo plastic surgery to repair the damage to his face.

The father then disappeared but apparently re-married in later years. He was also heard on live radio requesting that members of his family come forward. He wanted the chance to make amends. Nobody gave him that chance.

Annie had little direction in life. At 14 she was brought to court as being beyond control and an unfit person order was made. Following this, she was placed in a reception centre, a children's home, three foster homes and two hostels. Each placement broke down. When she was 16 her mother, Grace, passed away.

Elizabeth and Lucy left the nunnery and returned to London. Elizabeth married and had a child of her own. Lucy had a job as a nanny, but she was addicted to barbiturates and died of an overdose of Purple Hearts.

Annie met Sam when she was 18. They soon had a child, Jane, and lived together at Sam's parents' house. Annie left the house after Sam disappeared and she went to stay with her sister Elizabeth.

The landlord had told Annie that she could not stay as the accommodation was too crowded, so she was accepted in a homeless families unit.

By this time, Annie was expecting her second child and had another little girl - me. Jane was admitted into foster care. Annie called me Alison. She found it hard to cope on her own and had started to go out leaving the children alone.

Eventually, the situation came to a head and the children were taken into care. Annie said that she would find a job and find somewhere else to live and then have Jane and Alison back at the earliest time.

This was not to be, Annie had become heavily involved in drug taking and was not fit to look after the children.

The situation continued to worsen, Annie was admitted to prison on various drug charges. On her release she spent most of her time waiting for supplies in cafes and around tube stations.

She stated that she wanted Alison to be adopted, so I was boarded out with a foster family and later adopted. Jane remained in care.

After appearing in court, Annie was ordered to attend a drug unit. It was here that she met her new boyfriend. Annie and David started to live together and they were both addicted to heroin and barbiturates. Although they both managed to give up the barbiturates, they remained addicted to heroin.

Jane was adopted when she was five years old. She had spent most of these years in and out of the children's home. By this time, Annie and David were expecting a child and had a son called Lee. At nine, he was adopted.

Two months after Lee's adoption, Annie died from a heroin overdose. She was 34.

Many questions remain unanswered to me. Why, after all those years an addict, did my mother overdose now?

Was it because she had lost Lee? Was it an accident or had she simply had enough of life? Had David left her? Or maybe he, too, had died of an overdose?

I will never know. I only hope that, for the first time in her life, someone had been there to comfort her, someone had been there to care. One day I will find the strength to visit her final resting place.

My mother led a life of horror, heartache and loneliness. She had little support or guidance. I can never blame her for the way things turned out for Jane and myself.

She must have been very unhappy. My only regret is that I never had a chance to know her. All I have is a picture, but in that picture I see she lives on in my own children. Thank goodness they have had a fairer start in life.

Jane and I were reunited eight years ago. We lead very separate lives, but I will never completely lose contact.

Lee has been missing for nine years. I have been in touch with his adoptive family but they have no idea of his whereabouts.

I have been told that he does know about Jane and myself and would be happy to meet. Maybe this is one dream too far out of reach.

I have met Elizabeth, Jack and Roger. By finding Roger, I have re-united him with Jack after 27 years. They have had the strength to carry on regardless and rebuild their lives.

I have so much admiration for them all. They were not aware of Annie dying and the unhappy life she led and wish they had been in a position to help her.

I have finally been accepted into a family where I have had the chance to find myself and not be afraid to let people know me.

In them I have found trust and the true meaning of 'family'. My partner has given me the strength to believe, he has taught me to love - unconditionally, without fear.

Throughout all my findings. I only hold one person to blame. That person, my grandfather, was the root cause of everything and I am glad he was never given the chance to make 'amends'.

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