and I thought it was important that I explore the reasons why, so I can accept and move past the events that hurt me. Having searched back through my blog, I realise I haven't documented the circumstances of my daughter's conception. I'm not going to go into graphic detail, but the events leading up to a baby being made are important and have a relevant bearing on why I crashed, but first a warning:
Daughter, if you're reading this, stop. You need to ask yourself two questions before you decide to continue: Do you really want to know the details of how you came to be, and are you strong enough to deal with the emotions that will definitely be aroused if you read this post? For example, how do you feel when I say that your mother and I had lots and lots of sex? If that makes you feel even slightly uncomfortable, go and do something else instead. If you're hoping for a story of love and tenderness and hope, this isn't it. While ultimately a beautiful, happy, spritely, witty and creative person was brought into the world, knowledge of the events surrounding your creation could have devastating consequences for your mind. I urge you, daughter: come and ask me for permission to read this post, or ask me for the truth and I'll tell you. This post also details some emotional and sexual issues I've developed because of these events, and I'm quite sure you don't want to read about those! Finally, it also contains some opinions about your mother which I don't say to your face, but are based on years of experience and observation. I don't want to slag your mum off to you - you already know who she is - but I wanted to warn you that my opinions are not at all positive.
It all begins in 1996 when I was twenty. I met a girl of sixteen, she was attached and nothing happened. A few weeks later, we met again and she'd broken up with her boyfriend. We ended up in the park kissing. Another few weeks pass and I get a phone call saying her dad had kicked her out and she was sleeping rough at the football ground. Me, being me, suggested she could stay at mine for a couple of days until she found something else.
She was funny, a bit mental, somewhat sexy and we got on well. One thing led to another and we struck up a friendship and relationship, and she stayed with me at my house. In hindsight, I was a naïave young man with low self-esteem, seduced by attention and sex, by the fact that someone was interested in me. We had fun, she and I, and after a few days of attention and sex and naked cuddles I could feel myself falling for her, I could see my brain changing, feel it swim in the happy, blinding chemicals that washed through my bloodstream. There it was. "Love".
Part of me revelled in the love, the sex, the attention - let's call this my Need. Another part of me screamed it wasn't right, pointed out discrepancies in her truths and her unwillingness to complete her exams or get a job, wanted to run and run - my Sense. My Need gagged my Sense; shush, someone loves you, it'll be fine.
Another few weeks pass. A bombshell is dropped: Pregnant. My Sense explodes, but my Need shields me from the effects while it blows itself out. Could she even be pregnant already? How long have we been together? A short time later, she goes for a scan while I'm at work and comes back with a little photograph which was evidence for bombshell two: Twins. Sense waves a big white flag, shines lasers into my eyes and fires cannon into the sky to attract my attention, but Need was getting adept at blocking its cries, doubtlessly helped along by Morals. My Morals told me I should stay with my baby's mother, be a man, marry and and provide for the woman I'd got pregnant. That's a powerful combination right there, and I'm not surprised Need and Morals managed to suppress Sense so effectively.
The relationship continued and we progressively got into a rut, as relationships of this nature tend to do. Things she said and did triggered Sense occasionally, but by now it was apathetic and unable to escape the bindings that Need and Morals had built. For example, she said she received threats from her ex-boyfriend, told me she'd seen him near the house one day while I was at work. She insisted I keep a baseball bat by the bed, once even getting me up in the middle of the night to go and check around the house because she heard a noise; with hindsight this was just a form of control, a way to keep me on edge and make me feel valued. She'd make mistakes in her lies, and I became practised at spotting them, even better at ignoring them when I did. My number one concern wasn't for me, or for her, but for that tiny new person growing inside her. I had to stick it out, for them.
Time passed. We continued our relationship, the sex, the rut, with occasional disagreements and tension creeping in. We'd fall asleep at night, spooning, my hand on her tummy, dreaming of baby. One such night there were strange questions, such as "Would you leave me if I lost the baby?" and "Would you want more kids?" I answered truthfully: "If you lost the baby I'd be sad but we could carry on" and "I'd rather wait until we're financially and socially stable before we tried again."
A couple more weeks down the line and we met for lunch at the pub where we played pool for an hour, a regular occurrence. She took me outside and put on her puppy-dog eyes and said she had something to tell me, but she was afraid of my reaction. Just tell me. But you'll go mad. I won't, just tell me and it'll be fine.
"I've miscarried the twins. But it's ok, I'm pregnant again!"
So she'd lost the twins and not told me. We kept on having sex and she got pregnant again, without giving me a choice despite making my feelings clear when she'd asked me all those questions. Sense made a desperate, howling scramble to get my attention, but as hard as it tried, it was silenced again by Need and Morals. I truly wanted to run away, to get as far from this manipulation as possible, but I stayed.
The rest is history, and much happened afterwards, but this episode in particular left me with some very noticeable mental scars.
I had my sperm hijacked. If I'd had a choice, I'd have made us wait a couple of years to get settled and enjoy each other as a couple before we tried again to have a child, but chances are she knew that Sense would probably win out over Need and I'd leave her, so she got pregnant to tie me down and keep me looking after her. Even simply writing it makes me angry, properly amazed at her gall and astounded that anyone would use human life in such a manipulative and self-serving way. In the intervening years she's proven herself to be constantly manipulative of everyone around her and purely self-serving at all times.
Anyway, what this has left me with is some emotional and sexual issues which I need to process, accept and move past. I don't know if I can do that here, but I know the first step is recognising and reflecting on the sources of the issues, so that's where I'll begin in the next post.
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