7

Oh dear. 

I’ve recently been reading all those entries I made private, from years ago. I think they go back almost 10 years. They’re pretty tough to read, I had a rubbish time. And I had people I knew in real life leaving me notes saying they wanted to kill me or hoped I would die. At one point, people were convinced I was a massive drug addict, taking heroin and cocaine all the time. Which like, never even happened a little bit?!

And reading about living with Dad, how I thought it would be better moving into Mum’s, then the huge disappointment of getting to Mum’s to discover it was just as bad there but in different ways. They banned me from using the internet, made me ask permission to open doors and windows, told me I was getting under their feet but then wouldn’t let me leave the house, decided to start divorce proceedings just as I started my exams, I couldn’t eat very specific yet randomly chosen food and drink, I wasn’t allowed to choose what to watch on TV. I mean, listing them, they sound like petty first world problems, but when you’re treated with that sort of attitude every day it’s difficult to feel alright about it.

There’s the year where I moved in with my now ex and it seems at that time I was horrible mentally ill, I was barely coping with basic things from day to day. Then of course, I was kicked out, back to my Mum’s, who, upon my sad re-arrival, announced they were planning to move and that I was not allowed to come with them. 

I mentioned that to Mum over Christmas, because she said something stupid like "Oh yes, that room upstairs was always meant to be yours but you never moved in with us." I couldn’t quite believe she didn’t remember what really happened. I can see with hindsight that Rachel didn’t enjoy living with me. I think she nudged Mum into getting rid of me from their house. I’m sure a moody teenager didn’t fit in with her ideal living situation, but come on, if you’re gonna take a woman out of her marriage and family life, you can’t expect the kids to be left behind, you take on everything that comes with the one you love.

Anyway, it was horrible. When Mum said about the bedroom, I didn’t want to get into a big thing about it, but I just replied something like "Well, that’s not really true though is it…" and gently reminded her what it had really been like. She completely denied the whole thing happening. Despite the fact I so clearly remember the day she made me sit down in the armchair, faced me from the sofa and said that I wasn’t to come with them when they moved. There was no option, no choice, my say didn’t count in this matter.

I suppose thinking back on this time, I feel like a lot of people really let me down on support and love. Kate and Anna were fantastic and did what they could but didn’t have a lot of oppurtunities due to school/college/living further away. But I mean, as soon as I moved to the town my boyfriend lived in, he dumped me. As soon as I get away from my Dad’s terrifying behaviour, I arrive in a world where the woman that ran away with my Mum is boss, and with OCD, that makes it terror in a different form. And as I clearly slipped down a slope of depression, anxiety and mild psychosis, doped up on crazy drugs and struggling to maintain sanity, instead of understanding and support, a lot of what I went through involved rejection, restriction and heartbreak.

I think the reason I’m still so upset about this so many years later is that I feel I was put through this rather than putting myself through it. And that a lot of these happenings and consequences were no of my making. To have so much shit piled on top of me for someone else’s extra marital activities was and is difficult to understand. We could probably all agree I didn’t deserve what happened, and yet it still did. And it’s still hard for me to swallow that people I loved made these things happen.

I’m up to the part where I finally moved away from Stockport by myself, and a lot of people who still lived there spread horrible rumours about me, especially people who should have known better. It felt like people were queuing up to discuss al my shortcomings. It’s harsh that although I would agree I have many, none of what they discussed was actually true. All that drugs rubbish, Jobie threatening me (I know it’s empty but it’s still unpleasant). At that point in my life, I had run out of energy for feeling sad, and I just laughed in their faces. Which from their perspective just validated their opinions of me.

But I can look at my life now and think, at least I’m away from all that now. I’ve moved to Belgium, my boyfriend Mat stands by me with unwavering support and love, and he treats me really well. It’s nice to be with someone whoI can feel secure in the knowledge they don’t secretly hate me. He’s open minded and adventurous, which means he doesn’t freak out about living with me, or moving to different countries, exploring new places on cool holidays… 

Yet still, these things from the past bring tears to my eyes so quickly. It feels like it all happened yesterday. And so I know I probably need to see a therapist. I need to admit to myself that although I’ve distanced myself phsyically from the things and people that hurt me, mentally I’m still right there. 

I thought I’d been through enough therapy for this rubbish, and I’m sick of hashing it over again and again. I’m sick of feeling devastated, and let down. And I don’t want to admit that I need help. All I wanna do is shout at everyone who hurt me and hurt them just as much.

So yeah, I need therapy. I guess.