# And she'll take what you give her, as long as its free.....
Mad panic, why wasn't she in school? The first thing that sprung to mind was that he had carried out his threat. They were gone, I would never see her again. I had been in contact with Relate years ago, just in case, registered her details, a lock of hair, fingerprints, if needed on file.
The police were called, the long stony questions, why, who, what. If I knew the answers none of us would be sitting here. It eventually came to light that another girl was missing with her. She was 11, very disturbing in West London, which is a very large place to say the least. I was streetwise, had grown up on some of the worst Yorkshire estates, and have never forgotten my roots. Unfortunately because of her naiivety and behavioural issues she had no sense of right and wrong, and was vulnerable and far younger than her 11 years.
It got to ten o'clock at night, when the phone rang. My nurse hat went on, don't panic, stay calm, even though inside I was enraged, boiling mad. She had stayed out with a friend in a derelict house. On her return, she told me lurid stories of the inhabitants of this place, addicts, alcoholics, where they had spent the day. I could not quite believe my ears, but then this is all she had ever known. This is how she felt safe. Amongst the mad world of her father. No amount of advice, or conversation, filtered through. I recognised this blank wall, nothing filtrates it, it never had with my Mum, with her father. Could this really be happening again?
I was by now in another relationship, stable, happy. She, however was intent on being unstable, permanently had her finger on the self destruct button.
The long stream of psychologists, behavioural experts, who could find nothing wrong. The CT scans and endless medical tests which were all negative. Once again I was at fault, it was because she wanted to see her father, it was my fault, I needed to be taught how to be a mother. What did I see in my childhood they asked that had led to me being a dysfunctional mother. All I wanted was for her to be happy, which she never was.
She started drinking alcohol, smoking. Yes we have all done it, me included. But at the age of 11? Every single day? No.
She would do anything to get her fix. Steal, lie, from her own home and shops. I fought to get her help, social workers. Every single one blamed me and refused to help.
In desperation, I gave up my job, uprooted my life and moved to the coast. Surely this would help? Sadly no. She went missing so often that even the police refused to go and look for her in the end. Who can blame them, they had real fish to fry. I would take her back to the shops and make her take back what she had stolen, asked them to ban her. She just found other shops. I would take her to school, she would walk out of the exit at the other side. School was fantastic and tried so hard with her, but nothing was working. One day she got a friend so drunk that he had his stomach pumped. She rang me so desperate and said she no longer wanted to live. How do you answer that question from a 12 year old when it doesn't sink in. Yet I continued to battle on. She would scream, damage property, and many a time threatened me with a knife. However social workers were not interested.
The 1st night she never came home, I thought she was in the gutter. She had been put into temporary foster care, had refused to say who she was or where she lived. More parenting "reconciliation" lessons ensued. The next week she went missing every single night.
I made a decision, enough was enough. I took her to Social Services and refused to leave until we were seen. Surprising how you get seen when you push hard enough. I sat in the room and through tears said please take her, and keep her safe, make her well, get her the help she needs. Some of you may have been through that? If so you have my sympathy, and I never judge anyone ever in life. However if you have not had this situation just consider for a moment what it feels like. So what happened? They threatened me with prosecution if I walked out of there. Before I could answer she bolted. Laughable, she was even in control then. They continued to refuse to help, saying I had the problem, that all kids did this. Did they?!
One summer she wanted to go and stay with her Dad back up north. So I paid her fare, took her up there, after having had Social Services check he was stable.
Then came the phone call that she wanted to stay there and was not coming home.
It was once again rejection in my life, but as I said to her, my job has never been to make you unhappy in life...
But she'll bring out the best and the worse you can be......#
Monday, 4 April 2011
If you don't know me by now
#Just get yourself together, or we might as well say goodbye......
I don't think I expected things with my Dad to be easy. Once we reached Kent, it was a strange feeling. I suddenly realised the world was a big scary place. My Dad is certainly not a sentimental man. What you see is definitely what you get with him. No artificial colours of flavourings! He did however continue to spin this web of lies regarding his relationship with my Mum. If he had just admitted what he did, told me openly that he never once seeked contact, had just picked up another ready made family and moved on, I could have respected him. The fact that ne never did, merely deepened the long standing scars.
His wife, my stepmum was a staunch character. she openly admitted that she came first with my Dad, and that she had told him he would never choose me above her. I can understand her concern. However I can never quite grasp this hard heart in a person. I am so soft natured, I cry at the slightest thing, someone can usually get around me by tugging at my heart strings. She was however quite instrumental in my finally leaving Yorkshire. She had made me realise I was worth better. Although ours was a difficult relationship, I will always be grateful to her for breaking down my barrier, god rest her soul.
Dad and I just kind of get on, nothing deep, nothing special. Just get on. I can never remake those years, I don't want to. I just accept him for who he is and what he did.
My Mum didn't speak to me for several years. I tried, but she would have none of it. As far as she was concerned I should have stayed near her, never left her, and I was no daughter of hers. My Mum as always the victim, never anyone else. No leeway here, no understanding of what drove me to it. When I really felt she of all people should understand.
I never stopped my ex seeing my daughter. I did however want her to be safe. A 2 year court case ensued. Painful, my private life exposed for all to see, ridiculed by people who had no idea, lies, twisted stories, solicitors scoring points. A 4 year old child caught up in the midst of it all. My ex pushed for contact once a month. Not a problem, except that he came down, threatened me with taking my daughter and disappearing to Ireland. Threatened me with violence, and I knew he was capable of it. This was someone I no longer recognised, even though we had been together for 9 years. He was determined I would have no life and would never be free. There was never any violence to my daughter, which is why I never stopped contact, this was at first via a contact centre, eventually for a few hours in London, where I had moved to. Once I filed for divorce he eventually got the message. But then the emotional abuse switched to my daughter. He would cancel plans, put the phone down on her, reduce her to tears. However he remained on a pedestal in her eyes, and I was the bad cop. This I took on broad shoulders, as I was an expert in this by now.
I secured a good job in London, got my daughter in school. All seemed a little more settled. Until the day when the school rang and said my daughter was missing....
# You will never never know me...........#
#
I don't think I expected things with my Dad to be easy. Once we reached Kent, it was a strange feeling. I suddenly realised the world was a big scary place. My Dad is certainly not a sentimental man. What you see is definitely what you get with him. No artificial colours of flavourings! He did however continue to spin this web of lies regarding his relationship with my Mum. If he had just admitted what he did, told me openly that he never once seeked contact, had just picked up another ready made family and moved on, I could have respected him. The fact that ne never did, merely deepened the long standing scars.
His wife, my stepmum was a staunch character. she openly admitted that she came first with my Dad, and that she had told him he would never choose me above her. I can understand her concern. However I can never quite grasp this hard heart in a person. I am so soft natured, I cry at the slightest thing, someone can usually get around me by tugging at my heart strings. She was however quite instrumental in my finally leaving Yorkshire. She had made me realise I was worth better. Although ours was a difficult relationship, I will always be grateful to her for breaking down my barrier, god rest her soul.
Dad and I just kind of get on, nothing deep, nothing special. Just get on. I can never remake those years, I don't want to. I just accept him for who he is and what he did.
My Mum didn't speak to me for several years. I tried, but she would have none of it. As far as she was concerned I should have stayed near her, never left her, and I was no daughter of hers. My Mum as always the victim, never anyone else. No leeway here, no understanding of what drove me to it. When I really felt she of all people should understand.
I never stopped my ex seeing my daughter. I did however want her to be safe. A 2 year court case ensued. Painful, my private life exposed for all to see, ridiculed by people who had no idea, lies, twisted stories, solicitors scoring points. A 4 year old child caught up in the midst of it all. My ex pushed for contact once a month. Not a problem, except that he came down, threatened me with taking my daughter and disappearing to Ireland. Threatened me with violence, and I knew he was capable of it. This was someone I no longer recognised, even though we had been together for 9 years. He was determined I would have no life and would never be free. There was never any violence to my daughter, which is why I never stopped contact, this was at first via a contact centre, eventually for a few hours in London, where I had moved to. Once I filed for divorce he eventually got the message. But then the emotional abuse switched to my daughter. He would cancel plans, put the phone down on her, reduce her to tears. However he remained on a pedestal in her eyes, and I was the bad cop. This I took on broad shoulders, as I was an expert in this by now.
I secured a good job in London, got my daughter in school. All seemed a little more settled. Until the day when the school rang and said my daughter was missing....
# You will never never know me...........#
#
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Think I'll get my coat
# Did you think I'd crumble, did you think I'd lay down and die?....#
As my Dad drove me the many miles back up north many memories flashed through my mind. The broken promises, some happy times, but more sadness than joy.
I analyse myself far too much.I am your typical deeper than deep Scorpio
I blamed myself. It must be me? My Mum had told me so. All this was my fault
I was still in this vicious circle then, and I truly believed that.
Halfway there, my Dad said "Do you still like horses?"
I was a little startled and admitted it is a main passion in my life, why did he ask.
He went on to explain that he took me for horse riding lessons as a small child. Delving deep into my subconscious I could see it. Me up high on a beautiful black horse, Dad at the side holding the reins. The sun shining,my feet slipping in the huge stirrups, giggling and happy. He also told me about the time when my Mum took a short cut with me in my pram across Epsom racecourse. She was horrified to look up and see and hear the large group of horses and thundering hooves coming towards us. There was a race meeting on!!
I think my parents were trying to tell me something 'eh?!
It suddenly all made sense now. Why I had always love horses. My favourite books and film was Black Beauty and Follyfoot, and I can always be found saying hello to any old Dobbin. I always call myself "freespirit" because that is how I want to be - a horse galloping with a free flowing mane.
On reaching my house I felt a knot in my stomach. Could I really do this? Would he let me go?
My Mum was there, a greeting party. She argued with my Dad, the first time they had seen each other since the split. My Dad was very quiet, avoided the verbal blows. Eventually she left.
My husband and I spent the whole night talking. He admitted he loved someone else, always had, always would. But he then said something that hit a nerve. "You will never leave me, you would never survive without me"
Survive? He didn't know the meaning of the word. I had been surviving since the age of 4. I survived my Dad leaving, my mothers mental illness, lost love, his mistreatment. And brittle and torn I may be, but yes I had survived. So for the very first time, I answered back and said what I thought. "You may think you have broken me, but you have just made me stronger. I will always survive."
The next day I packed my things and loaded them into my Dads car. Strange how you can load up a lifetime into a Ford Mondeo in black plastic bags! I can remember my daughter screaming in the back seat, his face, an expression of disbelief on the doorstep. After that I did not look back. Just calmly said "Just drive Dad please, just go"
My daughter carried on screaming for what seemed like a third of the journey. Unconsolable. I had not done this lightly, I had done it to save her from a lifetime of misery like he had given me. How can you explain this to a four year old? I knew it only too well. I was her, 25 years ago.
As the car drove on, I wondered what would be the next chapter in this numptys life.
# Oh no not I, I will survive. For as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive.............#
As my Dad drove me the many miles back up north many memories flashed through my mind. The broken promises, some happy times, but more sadness than joy.
I analyse myself far too much.I am your typical deeper than deep Scorpio
I blamed myself. It must be me? My Mum had told me so. All this was my fault
I was still in this vicious circle then, and I truly believed that.
Halfway there, my Dad said "Do you still like horses?"
I was a little startled and admitted it is a main passion in my life, why did he ask.
He went on to explain that he took me for horse riding lessons as a small child. Delving deep into my subconscious I could see it. Me up high on a beautiful black horse, Dad at the side holding the reins. The sun shining,my feet slipping in the huge stirrups, giggling and happy. He also told me about the time when my Mum took a short cut with me in my pram across Epsom racecourse. She was horrified to look up and see and hear the large group of horses and thundering hooves coming towards us. There was a race meeting on!!
I think my parents were trying to tell me something 'eh?!
It suddenly all made sense now. Why I had always love horses. My favourite books and film was Black Beauty and Follyfoot, and I can always be found saying hello to any old Dobbin. I always call myself "freespirit" because that is how I want to be - a horse galloping with a free flowing mane.
On reaching my house I felt a knot in my stomach. Could I really do this? Would he let me go?
My Mum was there, a greeting party. She argued with my Dad, the first time they had seen each other since the split. My Dad was very quiet, avoided the verbal blows. Eventually she left.
My husband and I spent the whole night talking. He admitted he loved someone else, always had, always would. But he then said something that hit a nerve. "You will never leave me, you would never survive without me"
Survive? He didn't know the meaning of the word. I had been surviving since the age of 4. I survived my Dad leaving, my mothers mental illness, lost love, his mistreatment. And brittle and torn I may be, but yes I had survived. So for the very first time, I answered back and said what I thought. "You may think you have broken me, but you have just made me stronger. I will always survive."
The next day I packed my things and loaded them into my Dads car. Strange how you can load up a lifetime into a Ford Mondeo in black plastic bags! I can remember my daughter screaming in the back seat, his face, an expression of disbelief on the doorstep. After that I did not look back. Just calmly said "Just drive Dad please, just go"
My daughter carried on screaming for what seemed like a third of the journey. Unconsolable. I had not done this lightly, I had done it to save her from a lifetime of misery like he had given me. How can you explain this to a four year old? I knew it only too well. I was her, 25 years ago.
As the car drove on, I wondered what would be the next chapter in this numptys life.
# Oh no not I, I will survive. For as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive.............#
Monday, 7 March 2011
Where have you been all my life?
# When will I begin, my life again.....#
The letter in my hand, I made a decision. It was a spur of the moment thing. I am prone to these moments of madness. A bit like the impulse advert, sometimes I act, and think after.
A little reckless, I guess you could say!
I had never had any desire to get in touch with my Dad. Mainly because it had only ever been my Mum and me. Perhaps because the taunts I had from school friends about having no Dad had scarred me, perhaps because my Mum always blamed me for his leaving, perhaps because he had never been in touch.
I had seen photos of him. A long dark haired bearded man. The look of a Jack-the lad, carefree, but in essence a stranger. I felt nothing on looking at these pictures.
For some odd reason, I all of a sudden decided to write back to the Salvation Army. Yes my Nan could have my address, etc
Just like that, decision made. I kept this to myself for now. Things were unstable enough at home.
It was about a week later when a letter arrived from my Nan. A picture enclosed of her and my Dad. He was in a wheelchair. They were pictured with horses, a day out somewhere. The letter explained that she had watched me through playground railings after the break-up. She had then kept looking for me, but not found me. The reason my Dad used a wheelchair for long distances was a long term back injury. Gone was the long hair. In fact gone was all his hair! A bald little old man, insignificant. Still no feeling on looking at this photo.
This was all very alien, strange.
She asked in the letter could she pass on my details to my Dad.
I picked up a pen and paper and I wrote. I was 30 years old. 25 years of hurt tumbled out onto those pages. I was crying as I wrote, but it had to be said. Why did he go? How could he just leave? How could he live with himself after just walking away from us? Why had he never been in touch? Did he really think he could just walk back into my life now?
I admit it was a nasty letter in a way. I had to get that hurt out of me, I deserved my rant and I was jolly well going to have it. How dare he do this to me.
Signed, sealed, delivered. I felt a little smug as I put it in the post box. This is a feeling I have never felt before or since, as it is totally against my nature.
It was probably another week before I got a reply. This was to contain even more hurt.
He explained that my Mum had post-natal depression, she had pushed him to the limit. He had seen other women, stayed out at night to eacape this. He denied the house was ever repossessed or that he left us destitute. He had moved in near his Mum, in the space of a year, met someone else. She had 2 boys of her own from a previous marriage. On getting his divorce he had re-married and brought up these boys as his own. He claimed he had tried to get access but the court had refused.
Perhaps at this point you would sympathise? Side with him a little? Me, I was so angry that I wanted to slap him. I was there at the age of 5 with my Mum, I knew the reality of what we went through. above all it hurt so deeply that he picked up a ready made family and never looked back.
He had given a phone number for me to ring. At this point I felt i had to tell my Mum and husband. My Mum went ballistic. How could I go behind her back and believe him or want anything to do with him? She would not listen to reason as I tried to explain.
I picked up the phone and dialled his number. He answered "Alright darling" As if I was a long lost friend. I let him ramble on, very similar to the letters content. He invited me to meet him and the family. He was living miles away down South, I was then up North.
I made a decision to do it. I had to know. Either to put this to bed once and for all or pursue this other family.
I told my Mum I was going on a course, and asked my husband to back me up. This was because she was so unstable. He promised to look after my daughter, and seemed to uderstand I had to do this alone.
I remember him waving me off at the coach station, he has a strange look on his face.
Victoria Coach Station London, the coach pulls in after an arduous journey. I step off the coach. It was misty. Just like the scene from the Railway Children, there he is. He hobbled towards me. It struck me as hilarious that he knew it was me after 25 years! He hugged me so tightly that it hurt. No tears, no real emotion, but a strange connection.
We went to a cafe, chatted a while about anything and everything. He then drove me to his home. Along the way he explained one of his step sons had tragically been killed in a motor-bike accident, my other step brother was married, lived nearby.
Over the next few weeks we shared life stories, he kept up his side of the story. There were parts of this I definitely knew were untrue, as my Mum had shown me court papers.
I knew he had never ever requested access. I knew he knew where I was all along.
He had made the decision not to see me or even attempt to.
So what did I do? Did I finally stick up for myself? Did I challenge him? Would you?
No, I was numpty me, yet again. I listened, absorbed as he told me these lies.
I accepted him for what he was before me. A liar.
Those years will never be made up. He will never admit what happened or why. He is just my Dad. I will never have the same feeling as if i had been brought up with him. I really don't think he realises that to this day.
It was during this time, I rang home and my husband was as drunk as a skunk. My Mum was in the background, angry. He had told her where I was. Betrayal once again from him.
Why did I expect any different, he will never change. I knew my daughter was unsafe in this environment and I had to leave.
I made the decision, that was it, I was worth better and so was my daughter. I was going to go back up North and pick up my daughter and leave.
My husband however said to me on the phone you will never leave me....
# One day I'll fly away, leave your love to yesterday ....#
The letter in my hand, I made a decision. It was a spur of the moment thing. I am prone to these moments of madness. A bit like the impulse advert, sometimes I act, and think after.
A little reckless, I guess you could say!
I had never had any desire to get in touch with my Dad. Mainly because it had only ever been my Mum and me. Perhaps because the taunts I had from school friends about having no Dad had scarred me, perhaps because my Mum always blamed me for his leaving, perhaps because he had never been in touch.
I had seen photos of him. A long dark haired bearded man. The look of a Jack-the lad, carefree, but in essence a stranger. I felt nothing on looking at these pictures.
For some odd reason, I all of a sudden decided to write back to the Salvation Army. Yes my Nan could have my address, etc
Just like that, decision made. I kept this to myself for now. Things were unstable enough at home.
It was about a week later when a letter arrived from my Nan. A picture enclosed of her and my Dad. He was in a wheelchair. They were pictured with horses, a day out somewhere. The letter explained that she had watched me through playground railings after the break-up. She had then kept looking for me, but not found me. The reason my Dad used a wheelchair for long distances was a long term back injury. Gone was the long hair. In fact gone was all his hair! A bald little old man, insignificant. Still no feeling on looking at this photo.
This was all very alien, strange.
She asked in the letter could she pass on my details to my Dad.
I picked up a pen and paper and I wrote. I was 30 years old. 25 years of hurt tumbled out onto those pages. I was crying as I wrote, but it had to be said. Why did he go? How could he just leave? How could he live with himself after just walking away from us? Why had he never been in touch? Did he really think he could just walk back into my life now?
I admit it was a nasty letter in a way. I had to get that hurt out of me, I deserved my rant and I was jolly well going to have it. How dare he do this to me.
Signed, sealed, delivered. I felt a little smug as I put it in the post box. This is a feeling I have never felt before or since, as it is totally against my nature.
It was probably another week before I got a reply. This was to contain even more hurt.
He explained that my Mum had post-natal depression, she had pushed him to the limit. He had seen other women, stayed out at night to eacape this. He denied the house was ever repossessed or that he left us destitute. He had moved in near his Mum, in the space of a year, met someone else. She had 2 boys of her own from a previous marriage. On getting his divorce he had re-married and brought up these boys as his own. He claimed he had tried to get access but the court had refused.
Perhaps at this point you would sympathise? Side with him a little? Me, I was so angry that I wanted to slap him. I was there at the age of 5 with my Mum, I knew the reality of what we went through. above all it hurt so deeply that he picked up a ready made family and never looked back.
He had given a phone number for me to ring. At this point I felt i had to tell my Mum and husband. My Mum went ballistic. How could I go behind her back and believe him or want anything to do with him? She would not listen to reason as I tried to explain.
I picked up the phone and dialled his number. He answered "Alright darling" As if I was a long lost friend. I let him ramble on, very similar to the letters content. He invited me to meet him and the family. He was living miles away down South, I was then up North.
I made a decision to do it. I had to know. Either to put this to bed once and for all or pursue this other family.
I told my Mum I was going on a course, and asked my husband to back me up. This was because she was so unstable. He promised to look after my daughter, and seemed to uderstand I had to do this alone.
I remember him waving me off at the coach station, he has a strange look on his face.
Victoria Coach Station London, the coach pulls in after an arduous journey. I step off the coach. It was misty. Just like the scene from the Railway Children, there he is. He hobbled towards me. It struck me as hilarious that he knew it was me after 25 years! He hugged me so tightly that it hurt. No tears, no real emotion, but a strange connection.
We went to a cafe, chatted a while about anything and everything. He then drove me to his home. Along the way he explained one of his step sons had tragically been killed in a motor-bike accident, my other step brother was married, lived nearby.
Over the next few weeks we shared life stories, he kept up his side of the story. There were parts of this I definitely knew were untrue, as my Mum had shown me court papers.
I knew he had never ever requested access. I knew he knew where I was all along.
He had made the decision not to see me or even attempt to.
So what did I do? Did I finally stick up for myself? Did I challenge him? Would you?
No, I was numpty me, yet again. I listened, absorbed as he told me these lies.
I accepted him for what he was before me. A liar.
Those years will never be made up. He will never admit what happened or why. He is just my Dad. I will never have the same feeling as if i had been brought up with him. I really don't think he realises that to this day.
It was during this time, I rang home and my husband was as drunk as a skunk. My Mum was in the background, angry. He had told her where I was. Betrayal once again from him.
Why did I expect any different, he will never change. I knew my daughter was unsafe in this environment and I had to leave.
I made the decision, that was it, I was worth better and so was my daughter. I was going to go back up North and pick up my daughter and leave.
My husband however said to me on the phone you will never leave me....
# One day I'll fly away, leave your love to yesterday ....#
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Should I stay or should I go now
# If I stay there will be trouble....#
Once the haze in front of my eyes cleared, I switched into nurse mode. Grabbing tea towels, stemming the flow, wrapping them tightly around his wrists. Alerted my mum who lived across the estate and where he had dropped my daughter off 5 minutes earlier. Called an ambulance, waited..
My mum brought my daughter to the flat, this was not a good idea for obvious reasons, but she was not of firm mind also as you know!
Sitting in the ambulance, asking him why? He just sat staring into space in a substance influenced dazed state. The anger whelled up inside me squashing my chest so much it hurt. Choking back tears of hurt, anger, distant memories of this past hurt from my childhood back tenfold in front of me.
Whisked into A/E, into a mass of people I worked with, who with professional attitude carried on regardless, with knowing looks and sympathy.
The psychiatrist who breezed in and breezed out. Advice to contact the emergency clinic to arrange an appointment if he got unstable again. The so called caring NHS, who didn't seem to care less, was blaringly obvious.
Home, trying to sympathise, talk it through, understand. When all I really wanted to do was scream "How could you do this to me and why?"
My mums words echoing in my head "You never say how you really feel"
Why was this? Why could I not just stand up and say how I felt?
He sat there with bandaged wrists, and out tumbled a long story. Suffice to say things were revealed that I had never known had happened from this man in front of me.
This was so alarming, that I looked at him and realised I really knew nothing about him at all. You can have what you think is stable, and it can be swept to the floor in one fell swoop. I felt as if the ground from under me was being swept away.
He really had never cared for me at all. I had been the ultimate numpty, entrusting in someone who had never been truthful from day one.
He said he only loved this girl, and never me.
What would you do? Walk away? Forget him? Thats what I should have done. It was handed to me on a plate. He said "Tell me to leave"
But no, I begged him not to leave. this was re-enacting the episode from my Mum and Dad, like a BBC repeat.
He refused to see a counseller even though I tried so hard to make him see sense.
We went and bought a house, started again you could say. Except this was papering over the cracks. The drinking got worse, although thankfully the violence did not. I feel this was by luck rather than chance. However, the emotional abuse was far far worse. To this day those words stick in my mind and you will find that I rarely look in a mirror, as those scars will never ever fade.
My daughters behaviour problems worsened, many psychologists again saw her. Again nothing solved. I despaired of ever getting help. She was, is such a beautiful girl but 24 hours a day with a full time job, mentally unstable husband and Mum, I was bending, ready to snap.
Something had to give. There were so many days when I just wanted to run and never look back.
One day a letter arrived. It was from the Salvation Army. It was my paternal grand-mother. She was writing on behalf of my Dad. Could she find out my address as he wanted to meet me? This was 25 years after he had left me and Mum in Manchester. There had been no contact. I knew nothing about this man. He was a stranger. I had never wanted to meet him. It had never entered my head.
But as I sat there with this paper in my hand, a thought entered my head.... should I?
# So come on and let me know should I stay or should I go?.....#
Once the haze in front of my eyes cleared, I switched into nurse mode. Grabbing tea towels, stemming the flow, wrapping them tightly around his wrists. Alerted my mum who lived across the estate and where he had dropped my daughter off 5 minutes earlier. Called an ambulance, waited..
My mum brought my daughter to the flat, this was not a good idea for obvious reasons, but she was not of firm mind also as you know!
Sitting in the ambulance, asking him why? He just sat staring into space in a substance influenced dazed state. The anger whelled up inside me squashing my chest so much it hurt. Choking back tears of hurt, anger, distant memories of this past hurt from my childhood back tenfold in front of me.
Whisked into A/E, into a mass of people I worked with, who with professional attitude carried on regardless, with knowing looks and sympathy.
The psychiatrist who breezed in and breezed out. Advice to contact the emergency clinic to arrange an appointment if he got unstable again. The so called caring NHS, who didn't seem to care less, was blaringly obvious.
Home, trying to sympathise, talk it through, understand. When all I really wanted to do was scream "How could you do this to me and why?"
My mums words echoing in my head "You never say how you really feel"
Why was this? Why could I not just stand up and say how I felt?
He sat there with bandaged wrists, and out tumbled a long story. Suffice to say things were revealed that I had never known had happened from this man in front of me.
This was so alarming, that I looked at him and realised I really knew nothing about him at all. You can have what you think is stable, and it can be swept to the floor in one fell swoop. I felt as if the ground from under me was being swept away.
He really had never cared for me at all. I had been the ultimate numpty, entrusting in someone who had never been truthful from day one.
He said he only loved this girl, and never me.
What would you do? Walk away? Forget him? Thats what I should have done. It was handed to me on a plate. He said "Tell me to leave"
But no, I begged him not to leave. this was re-enacting the episode from my Mum and Dad, like a BBC repeat.
He refused to see a counseller even though I tried so hard to make him see sense.
We went and bought a house, started again you could say. Except this was papering over the cracks. The drinking got worse, although thankfully the violence did not. I feel this was by luck rather than chance. However, the emotional abuse was far far worse. To this day those words stick in my mind and you will find that I rarely look in a mirror, as those scars will never ever fade.
My daughters behaviour problems worsened, many psychologists again saw her. Again nothing solved. I despaired of ever getting help. She was, is such a beautiful girl but 24 hours a day with a full time job, mentally unstable husband and Mum, I was bending, ready to snap.
Something had to give. There were so many days when I just wanted to run and never look back.
One day a letter arrived. It was from the Salvation Army. It was my paternal grand-mother. She was writing on behalf of my Dad. Could she find out my address as he wanted to meet me? This was 25 years after he had left me and Mum in Manchester. There had been no contact. I knew nothing about this man. He was a stranger. I had never wanted to meet him. It had never entered my head.
But as I sat there with this paper in my hand, a thought entered my head.... should I?
# So come on and let me know should I stay or should I go?.....#
Friday, 4 March 2011
China in your hand
# Don't push too hard, your dreams are china in your hand...#
So back to the party. Me a student nurse, he was a friend of my best mates boyfriend.
Not my usual type, blonde, same height (Miss Jones has a penchant for tall, dark you understand..although its hard to generalise, I have to be honest here!)
He was I suppose the "bad boy", was in care as a youngster, skirmishes with the law, you get the idea. It wasn't the best chat up line of all time, "Can you show me where the bog is like?" That should have really told me something, but you know what young love is like, we've all been there?!
Anyway Cyndi Lauper always reminds me of that party, my mate and I loved her at the time, and I think that album was on repeat all weekend. We were quite unseparable that weekend, but I wasn't bowled over if I am honest, perhaps attracted to someone down to earth. It wasn't long before I was spending weekends at his flat, or he at mine. This was a whirlwind time of late nights, studying for nursing exams and partying.
It was a year later he was drunk in a pub and on Valentines Day said "Hows about thee and me getting engaged?" again, not smooth or that much of a compliment but I was taken in.
We moved into our own flat, got married and thats when the problems escalated.
To say he liked a drink was an understatement, I would come home from work to find the lounge piled high with empty cans, various "mates" in residence and a general free for all.
All to their own, but after a 12 hour shift, this was a little wearing!
One day I overheard a conversation I shouldn't have, when he told his mate "I only married her to have kids" This sent me reeling emotionally, though I never told him I had overheard it. The drinking continued, but along with it a rage that would escalate in him putting holes in doors/cupboards etc. I knew this was bordering on something, but they say love is blind?! I knew there was something underlying this rage, but could not work out what. I had always told my mother as a teenager, "I will not tolerate a partner hitting me, thats it"
In time, I found out I was having my daughter. This time period was good, and he was supportive immediately after. However the drinking escalated to all time heights along with other substances.
My daughter in the midst of this mayhem, was growing up fast. However she seemed to be displaying worrying behaviour. I remember taking her for vaccinations and on the way home her screaming. Not just a toddler tantrum, this lasted half an hour. There was just no controlling her. Biting, scratching me, screaming. I can see the peoples faces on the bus now. One woman said to me "my child is handicapped, and she does not make a noise like that". This embarrassed me so much that the tears were pouring down my face. This behaviour however became a daily routine. Getting called away from work because she had hurt someone at playgroup/bitten them/punched them etc. My husband comatose on the sofa, my mum still suicidal. Madness around me, like a Dr Who credits tunnel I seemed trapped in. I had to wrap her in a blanket to stop her hurting me or herself, and got used to the stares and comments on a daily basis. The "experts" so called as I am afraid I have seen so many in so many places that I feel let us down so badly, told me it was my fault, I was a bad mother, there was nothing wrong with her. I was accused of wanting a label for her. This angered me. I was a professional, I knew this was not "normal behaviour" and was something of the ilk of autism/aspergers etc. The help and support however was nowhere to be found.
She tried to jump out of windows, would run off ahead without warning, in front of cars, was aggressive, screamed constantly and it was like Jeckyl and Hyde when she could be a little loving and was a very intelligent child.
My husband was so drunk one day that I flipped, I had had enough. I tried to reason with him, but when he said "You have too much to say for yourself" that was the final straw.
Still calmly, I stuck up for myself saying he needed to get himself sorted out. With that he put his hands around my throat and pushed me back so hard my head hit the wall.
Did I stick to what I always had said? Did I leave? Well its easy to tell someone what they should do. But with a small child and someone you love, in reality that is impossible.
One night he didn't come home. I knew where he was. Across the road on the estate with a girl half his age. Everyone knew.
The next day he rolled in, just as I was ready to go to work. He admitted what he'd done.
I did what I always do, coped with it on my own, went to work, pretended nothing had happened, never told a soul.
That night I came home from work. As I opened the door, the next few minutes were like a film still..
He was stood in the bathroom, blood pouring from his wrists. Timed exactly for when I would walk through the door. The one thing he knew my mother had repeatedly done to me as a teenager. The only person I had ever shared this hurt with. The one thing he knew would scar me yet again.
# But they're only dreams, and you shouldn't push too far #
So back to the party. Me a student nurse, he was a friend of my best mates boyfriend.
Not my usual type, blonde, same height (Miss Jones has a penchant for tall, dark you understand..although its hard to generalise, I have to be honest here!)
He was I suppose the "bad boy", was in care as a youngster, skirmishes with the law, you get the idea. It wasn't the best chat up line of all time, "Can you show me where the bog is like?" That should have really told me something, but you know what young love is like, we've all been there?!
Anyway Cyndi Lauper always reminds me of that party, my mate and I loved her at the time, and I think that album was on repeat all weekend. We were quite unseparable that weekend, but I wasn't bowled over if I am honest, perhaps attracted to someone down to earth. It wasn't long before I was spending weekends at his flat, or he at mine. This was a whirlwind time of late nights, studying for nursing exams and partying.
It was a year later he was drunk in a pub and on Valentines Day said "Hows about thee and me getting engaged?" again, not smooth or that much of a compliment but I was taken in.
We moved into our own flat, got married and thats when the problems escalated.
To say he liked a drink was an understatement, I would come home from work to find the lounge piled high with empty cans, various "mates" in residence and a general free for all.
All to their own, but after a 12 hour shift, this was a little wearing!
One day I overheard a conversation I shouldn't have, when he told his mate "I only married her to have kids" This sent me reeling emotionally, though I never told him I had overheard it. The drinking continued, but along with it a rage that would escalate in him putting holes in doors/cupboards etc. I knew this was bordering on something, but they say love is blind?! I knew there was something underlying this rage, but could not work out what. I had always told my mother as a teenager, "I will not tolerate a partner hitting me, thats it"
In time, I found out I was having my daughter. This time period was good, and he was supportive immediately after. However the drinking escalated to all time heights along with other substances.
My daughter in the midst of this mayhem, was growing up fast. However she seemed to be displaying worrying behaviour. I remember taking her for vaccinations and on the way home her screaming. Not just a toddler tantrum, this lasted half an hour. There was just no controlling her. Biting, scratching me, screaming. I can see the peoples faces on the bus now. One woman said to me "my child is handicapped, and she does not make a noise like that". This embarrassed me so much that the tears were pouring down my face. This behaviour however became a daily routine. Getting called away from work because she had hurt someone at playgroup/bitten them/punched them etc. My husband comatose on the sofa, my mum still suicidal. Madness around me, like a Dr Who credits tunnel I seemed trapped in. I had to wrap her in a blanket to stop her hurting me or herself, and got used to the stares and comments on a daily basis. The "experts" so called as I am afraid I have seen so many in so many places that I feel let us down so badly, told me it was my fault, I was a bad mother, there was nothing wrong with her. I was accused of wanting a label for her. This angered me. I was a professional, I knew this was not "normal behaviour" and was something of the ilk of autism/aspergers etc. The help and support however was nowhere to be found.
She tried to jump out of windows, would run off ahead without warning, in front of cars, was aggressive, screamed constantly and it was like Jeckyl and Hyde when she could be a little loving and was a very intelligent child.
My husband was so drunk one day that I flipped, I had had enough. I tried to reason with him, but when he said "You have too much to say for yourself" that was the final straw.
Still calmly, I stuck up for myself saying he needed to get himself sorted out. With that he put his hands around my throat and pushed me back so hard my head hit the wall.
Did I stick to what I always had said? Did I leave? Well its easy to tell someone what they should do. But with a small child and someone you love, in reality that is impossible.
One night he didn't come home. I knew where he was. Across the road on the estate with a girl half his age. Everyone knew.
The next day he rolled in, just as I was ready to go to work. He admitted what he'd done.
I did what I always do, coped with it on my own, went to work, pretended nothing had happened, never told a soul.
That night I came home from work. As I opened the door, the next few minutes were like a film still..
He was stood in the bathroom, blood pouring from his wrists. Timed exactly for when I would walk through the door. The one thing he knew my mother had repeatedly done to me as a teenager. The only person I had ever shared this hurt with. The one thing he knew would scar me yet again.
# But they're only dreams, and you shouldn't push too far #
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Theres a place for us, you know the movie song...
At the very same disco the same year on New Years Eve, I found myself dancing with the most fantastic guy.
Eyes of blue that encaptured me and mesmerised me to the spot... A close dance, a kiss to welcome in the New Year that left my head completely spinning like never before.
This relationship touched me deeply, so deeply that I would never forget him ever in my life, or the true love I felt for him.
Sadly events with my mum worsened and she became very jealous and critical of friends.
I was to meet this fantastic person one Saturday and my mum was in such a poor state that I dared not leave her. In the good old 1980s we had no mobile phones, and so in essence I stood this person up. On that day he never knew what really happened and we lost touch.
This person would reappear later in my life....
At a fair I met my next brief encounter - Darren, 12 years older, loved soft metal, leather jackets, loving, caring. A whirlwind of patchouli oil, some of my still favourite records and a lot of growing up!
The next boyfriend I had was the real life boy next door. This was a tempestuous relationship of 2 years interwoven with naiivety, ill matched, again tainted with my family events.
One day a note on my doorstep - "Sorry, I have fallen out of love with you"
This relationship breakdown was at the time one of the final straws. On finishing school I decided to be a nurse, throwing myself into training. I also left home at 17, moving into bedsit land, deciding that I needed my own space away from home. These times were another growth spurt and I enjoyed some freedom away from home.
Nursing was the only career I ever wanted to do and I was hoping this would be a positive chapter in my life.
A few days into my training, I met who would become my first husband at a party
Would this be the one for me?
When you gonna realise, it was just that the time was wrong.....
At the very same disco the same year on New Years Eve, I found myself dancing with the most fantastic guy.
Eyes of blue that encaptured me and mesmerised me to the spot... A close dance, a kiss to welcome in the New Year that left my head completely spinning like never before.
This relationship touched me deeply, so deeply that I would never forget him ever in my life, or the true love I felt for him.
Sadly events with my mum worsened and she became very jealous and critical of friends.
I was to meet this fantastic person one Saturday and my mum was in such a poor state that I dared not leave her. In the good old 1980s we had no mobile phones, and so in essence I stood this person up. On that day he never knew what really happened and we lost touch.
This person would reappear later in my life....
At a fair I met my next brief encounter - Darren, 12 years older, loved soft metal, leather jackets, loving, caring. A whirlwind of patchouli oil, some of my still favourite records and a lot of growing up!
The next boyfriend I had was the real life boy next door. This was a tempestuous relationship of 2 years interwoven with naiivety, ill matched, again tainted with my family events.
One day a note on my doorstep - "Sorry, I have fallen out of love with you"
This relationship breakdown was at the time one of the final straws. On finishing school I decided to be a nurse, throwing myself into training. I also left home at 17, moving into bedsit land, deciding that I needed my own space away from home. These times were another growth spurt and I enjoyed some freedom away from home.
Nursing was the only career I ever wanted to do and I was hoping this would be a positive chapter in my life.
A few days into my training, I met who would become my first husband at a party
Would this be the one for me?
When you gonna realise, it was just that the time was wrong.....
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