You Couldn't Make This Sort Of Stuff Up!
I'm not gonna get all negative on you. I'm a happy, healthy mum of two who is on EP when I should be doing the housework. Its my day off from work and I dont want to iron a pile of clothes though, so here I am...
I did have a horrible childhood. Together with my older sister, we were brought up in a family of practising Jehovah's Witnesses (I say practising because from what I saw, they never actually got it quite right), until my parents split and my mother ran off with our next door neighbour when i was 9, and sent us to live with our grandparents (who hated the intrusion into their retirement) for a couple of years. She would visit us occasionally, but mostly we didnt have contact with either parent until one day she turned up to collect us and take us to live in another county with her and her new husband (the next door neighbour we had always called Uncle Doug and also a Jehovah's Witness).
From the first day we arrived, my mother made it quite clear that her new husband came before us(probably because she is a very materialistic person and he was a successful accountant with lots of money) and our lives at that point spiralled out of control.
I never worked out why, but they both began to live the high life, drinking and smoking and celebrating Christmas and birthdays for the first time in our lives (which at the time was great for us as we got presents). Maybe they'd been so strictly governed by their religion that they just went a bit crazy when they left it?
Anyway, they drank every day. Lots. Then they bought a freehold pub in Wales and moved us 450 miles away from anything we'd ever known to live and work in this pub with them. I was by now 12. My sister originally came with us but decided she couldnt stand it and left to return home to Buckinghamshire. To this day she feels guilty for leaving me, but I dont think of it that way and definitely dont blame her for anything.
That is when my real problems started. I now lived with two alcoholics, who quickly fell out of love with oneanother. My 'stepfather' also had a penchant for creeping into my room and molesting me. In the daytime when I was at school I used to dread home time. I remember forgetting my housekeys and having to stand outside in the snow for an hour and a half until 5.30 when they opened the pub because they wouldnt come down and let me in as punishment for forgetting them. My 'stepfather' was a control freak in the extreme and my mother was just a selfish, drunken, aggressive person who preferred money to her children.
In the pub, there was guest accomodation with separate access and exit from our own living accomodation. On one occasion I crept across to one of the guest bathrooms to lock myself in and bathe in peace without the pervert finding me. He found me and kicked the lock off the door to get in. He hadnt planned to be heard, but the noise alerted my mother and she found him 'cuddling' me and 'helping' me have a bath. I was 13. At that point I thought my life would change and that she would know what a disgusting pervert she had married...but she started screaming at me for being a filthy little '****' trying to taunt her husband away from her. From that day forward I detested her. Part of me died. It was the part that could send me into a burning building to save her if she was trapped and the bit that would enable me to go on to cut her out of my heart like a tumour.
They carried on in much the same way and I spent all of my time with our cook (we served food in the pub). Although it was never said out loud, I knew that people knew what was going on and that the landlord was a pervert. It made me feel worse that they knew. I felt like a non-person because they said nothing and let it happen to me. (As an adult, I never walk away when I observe something I think is wrong or sinister. I think it helps me put right the wrong right. I also now realise that some people are just the sort to walk away from stuff that isnt their problem)
They sold that pub when I was 15. I was still at school doing my exams, but they'd landed a sack full of cash from the sale and drove off into the sunset to spend it on more booze and some other business venture that they would later ruin through their alcoholism. They left me living with the cook and her family, which was absolute bliss. I remember feeling so relaxed knowing that they werent going to spring up from somewhere and it start all over again.
I have always had a strong mind, so I dont feel the need to take any of the blame for what happened to me. I was a child and deserved love and protection that wasnt there. I have some issues with intimacy and probably a whole load of other stuff if I sat down and thought about it for long enough, but I dont. I did more so when I was younger. On occasions when Ive felt like I couldnt cope I have tried counselling, drugs, drink, even sex. The counselling wasnt for me. I didnt think the counsellor was very experienced and I felt awkward sitting in a room with a silent woman holding a box of tissues, eagerly anticipating some sort of outburst. Ive always had a sense of humour, and I used to sit there with my Venezuelan counsellor ( we really struggled to understand each other), repeating my last sentence again, then asking her to do the same for me as she held the tissue box. At first I thought she had a cold till I realised that they were meant for me, haha. It was like a bad sit com.
My mother and stepfather moved away and I saw her a few times over the years. Lots happened and I gave my mother many chances to turn herself around, but she never rose to that challenge. When I had my first son 17 years ago, she wasnt really interested in him and I definitely didnt want her to be any influence on his life, but in the interests of being a fair person I decided to give her one last chance.
One daty she took my beautiful 10 month old baby boy out for a drive while I was working. She had asked to do this and as she had told me that she had stopped drinking and gone back to the Jehovah's Witnesses, I allowed her to take him. When she returned him, she pulled up outside my house, opened her drivers side door and fell into the road, drunk as a skunk. With my son sleeping in his carseat in the back.
I thought I might die with the shock. I was so scared that he couldve been killed. I felt so awful for giving my lovely, innocent little baby to her. What was I thinking, believing that she'd actually stopped drinking!
I havent seen my mother since that day. I was firm and I rang her when she was likely to be sober to tell her that she would never see my son or me again. My son is 17 now and I have a 7 year old that she has never met. She probably doesnt know that I even have him. I dont allow any one to know exactly where we live, incase she turns up out of the blue. Not that she would. She tried to find me via a relative some years ago because she said she had grandmothers rights and that she would take me to court. I laughed at that. I doubt she could stand up long enough to hear the evidence against her.
Her husband the pervert died of lung cancer last year Ive been told. She apparently has made utterings that she would like to see us. Of course she says she has stopped drinking and is a Jehovah's Witness again. Man, they arent very choosy who they let in these days.