by the burden of the emotion I've stored for so long. Yesterday, at work, I was so close to finding that release, to draining it all out, but the timing was poor. I began to cry, to feel the pain seep out of me, and I felt a glimmer of what it feels like to let go, a hint of the catharsis due to me. It llasted merely thirty seconds before a colleague came in and interrupted my flow. I'd hoped to revisit the feeling later in the evening but didn't get a chance, other than some interesting imagery as I fell asleep.
I imagined my body was a vessel, a container holding this warm, strong liquid, a representation of the pain and discomfort of the past fourteen years. It wasn't foul or putrid as I'd expect in wakefullness, but fragrant, thick and a translucent red. I lay on my back in my remote country creek and let it carry me downstream while this liquid slowly drained from my body into the water. I held the image and the feelings surrounding it for a minute or two until I fell asleep.
This whole moment in my life feels important. I am cleansing myself, clearing out the old, defunct emotions and making way for love and appreciation. For example, tonight I get to spend time with some wonderful people, people I adore and admire, even idolise in some respects. They are so lovely, so appreciative and honest, and I want to let that fill me up today. Last time I saw them I had such an awesome time and, again, their acceptance was obvious. It gave me a warm, wholesome glow for some time afterwards, but I'm not sure I let it in. Now, I'm creating space for that acceptance, that glow, and I'll allow it to help build me.
I need to have that outburst of emotion, whether it's tears or anger or whatever. I know that letting it drain slowly won't be a complete process because I don't work like that. I'll get distracted, or the part of me that doesn't want to let go will work to stop it happening. I crave the release, the processing of the emotion, even though facing that hurt scares me terribly.
But yes, I deserve to be free.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Ah christ, it's almost comically simple.
I DESERVE TO FORGIVE HER.
She doesn't deserve my forgiveness because she's never earned my respect, never shown an ounce of remorse for what she did. But I deserve to let it all go. If I offer up my forgiveness to the universe, if I let all the strong emotions follow it and free myself of them, I deserve it. I finally deserve to be free of all the heartache, regret, blame, horror, uncertainty, all the ups and downs and stomach-twisting emotions that have haunted me since we met.
I feel like crying. This feels big. I almost want to give myself time to think it over, but part of me is saying "just do it!" What, here? At work. I don't know if I can give it my full attention. Ugh, I feel dizzy and confused now. A part of me doesn't want to let it go, finds it a comfort, an integral part of me. Well fuck you, part of me, I want rid of it. Get it the hell out of me, by whatever means necessary. It's been poisoning me for so long, holding me back and stopping me being the man I'm meant to be.
OK, I'm crying.
She doesn't deserve my forgiveness because she's never earned my respect, never shown an ounce of remorse for what she did. But I deserve to let it all go. If I offer up my forgiveness to the universe, if I let all the strong emotions follow it and free myself of them, I deserve it. I finally deserve to be free of all the heartache, regret, blame, horror, uncertainty, all the ups and downs and stomach-twisting emotions that have haunted me since we met.
I feel like crying. This feels big. I almost want to give myself time to think it over, but part of me is saying "just do it!" What, here? At work. I don't know if I can give it my full attention. Ugh, I feel dizzy and confused now. A part of me doesn't want to let it go, finds it a comfort, an integral part of me. Well fuck you, part of me, I want rid of it. Get it the hell out of me, by whatever means necessary. It's been poisoning me for so long, holding me back and stopping me being the man I'm meant to be.
OK, I'm crying.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
So, to the issues.
Further to this post about how daughter was conceived, I want to explore the root of certain issues I have with trust and sex. As such, this post contains adult themes.
When I was talking to my friend about these issues, I had a total crash in mood. I felt like crap. I went from happy and conversational to low and introvert in a flash. I said:
Sorry, my point. The reason I've used for not being attached in the past is that I've been off the shelf, not ready, too depressed, I've needed to work on me and be comfortable with myself before I can expect people to be comfortable with me. All well and good, I guess, but I fear it's been a smokescreen, an easy excuse hiding the real fear underneath. The thing is, I've been fixed for a couple of years now; I continue to work hard every day to further understand and develop myself, but fundamentally I'm a whole person again.
So, I have trust issues, and I also have difficulty finishing during sex, which I think is quite understandable given the circumstances laid out in my last post. I can illustrate my thoughts on this with another quote from the chat with my friend:
"Who wants a sexual project? I've had so little sex since this all happened I feel like I'm a few grades behind. I think the lack of physical experience and limitations of psychological issues are holding me back in even beginning to look."
I guess I'm not as complete as I thought I was. The betrayal, the hijacking of my kindness, good nature and fertility is still holding me back and stopping me enjoying life totally. The thought occurs that I may need to forgive daughter's mother for what she did if I'm to have any chance of moving past it, but shit that's going to be hard. I also need to accept some of the blame, come to terms with how I feel about what happened and look at how I dealt with it and what procedures I put in place to stop it happening again. This should be fun.
To forgive her. I honestly don't know if I can. But for a minute, I'll put myself in her shoes: sixteen, wayward, already drinking and smoking, sexually active since she was twelve, kicked out of home having seriously fallen out with her father and she's without her family and home comforts for the first time in her life. She's desperate for some affection, some love, someone to look after her and spoil her like she's used to. She finds a man, a kind and sweet man, and sees him as her opportunity to be stable. Maybe she loves him eventually, but probably not. He provides for her, ignores that she's missed her exams and disregards her occasional lies. Whether she's pregnant when she meets him is unclear - she has had quite a few 'phantom' pregnancies and 'miscarriages' in the past twelve years, at least one of which was proven to be complete bullshit - but she gets pregnant to keep the roof over her head, the food and the affection coming her way.
I'm astounded, looking at it this way, that she could be so utterly callous and carefree with creating human life, not least that she could so happily manipulate a nice person into creating it with her. She appears to have lived purely moment to moment and not stopped to think about the consequences of her actions, and it just amazes me. I've told parts of this story to people over the years and they've been shocked; having been through them personally I've never truly felt shocked by it all before, but I feel shocked now.
It occurs to me that she may not have been pregnant when she met me, but soon after we met she told me she was so I'd stay with her, then spent the first couple of months trying to conceive so that the dates wouldn't look crazy when she finally did give birth. I guess I'll never know the truth, and I could speculate about it forever and a day and not reach any firm conclusions, so I should accept this as in the past and move on.
Anyway, back to the point. I can understand the hows and whys of what she did, but I don't know if I can forgive her. I'm so angry with her. I'm utterly furious, in fact. How DARE she use me like that? What gave her the right to take my seed, my soul, my very being and use it to her advantage in that way? The bitch. Two fucking years of my life being ripped to sheds by deceit and manipulation. Another ten years of control and guilt and depression. Fuck her. What a terrible, horrible cunt. I wish she'd just disappear. Fuck off to the other side of the world and never come back, get struck down by some horrendous debilitating disease and never bother us again.
And relax. I don't get angry at her very often. We used to fight a lot and I hated it. She'd start a fight for no apparent reason and push and push. Once, after a night out and with two friends downstairs, we had lots of drunken shouting and aggression and she wouldn't let me out of the bedroom to go for a walk and calm down. More shouting and arguing, I shouted for someone to call the police. Frustration mounting, she punched the side of my head, knocking my glasses flying, so I punched her twice in the face. Still she wouldn't let me leave, so I jumped out of the bedroom window, from the first floor of the house, landing flat on my arse on the ground outside. Another time we fought, I went to the front door to leave and calm down but she blocked my way, refusing my exit. We shouted and screamed and she still wouldn't let me leave, so I nutted her. Her head flew back from the impact of my strike and shattered a small glass panel on the front door. These were the two most violent episodes of our relationship, but there were many dozens more screamy, shouty fights. It was these fights that suppressed my anger when we split up, and that suppression is why I don't get angry at her very often. It occurs to me that there is a pattern in both those instances, and that she seemed to stop me leaving so that I'd get more and more angry and ultimately lash out. She told me after we split up that she actually enjoys arguing, it gives her a buzz. The fucking freak.
I've spent a lot more time with my parents recently and I've come to realise how much their fighting effects my mood and instantly takes me back to being a little boy, maybe five or six, scared shitless by his father's shouting. I think my fights with daughter's mother brought some of that back, and one of the main reasons I called time on the relationship is because I didn't want daughter growing up with parents who fought like mine did during my childhood.
Another reason we separated is because she'd started to talk about having another child. I'd explicitly said that I wanted to wait a year or two before to achieve stability before we had another baby. Honestly, I probably knew then we'd separate eventually but I was trying to keep things together for the sake of our daughter. She kept pushing the issue, trying to change my mind, and I thought it was only a matter of time before she 'accidentally' got pregnant again, so that definitely contributed towards my decision to end it.
By ending the relationship, I ended any possibility that this person could do that to me again. But what of others doing it to me? I realise now that it's unlikely; I've put a lot of work into me, my self-awareness and self-esteem, and I don't think I'd get myself into that position again. I'm also unsure whether I'll ever encounter someone so fundamentally nasty again, so maybe I just need to take that to heart and open myself up to Miss Right.
But to forgive her? Do I have to? I quite like this hatred. It's comforting and it's been part of me for so long it feels as if it's twisted around my being like poison ivy.
I've asked google how to forgive. I often ask google these things and it throws up interesting articles which are occasionally helpful. So let's see this one at stress.about.com
Express yourself - tell the other party how you feel, or write a letter and tear it up.
I think I've covered that above, although it may help further to write her a letter and not send it. I might just do that.
Look for the positive - find the silver lining
What better positive than the most wonderful person in the world, the person we created? My god, she's awesome. Such a beautiful girl with a good heart, bright and studious and attentive. She's funny and cheeky and mature and immature and lots of other things. She reminds me of her mother sometimes, in good ways. She often reminds me why I fell for her mum, which isn't really a bad thing. She's definitely the best thing to come out of the relationship.
Cultivate empathy - put yourself in their shoes
Hmmmm. I did that above and it just astounded me and made me angry that someone could be so devoid of conscience. However, when I was writing the first half - kicked out of home, looking for attention and affection, I did feel a pang of sympathy for her. It must've been a real shock when she was out on her ear. Within a couple of years she went from big house, pony, dad running a successful business to a tiny bungalow, no pony and dad scraping a living together. Shame for her, and her family. I can see why she'd find someone like me appealing, I just can't understand where this inherent disregard for others' feelings comes in. It just doesn't make sense. Was her need for love and security so great that she was willing to get pregnant by someone just to keep food on the table and a roof over her head? I guess I should be flattered that I appeared a good enough person for her to choose to do that to, even if it did tear me apart. The thought occurs that she hasn't really deviated from that pattern much since we split up, that she hasn't really grown up and taken responsibility for her personality issues. I don't believe she's ever sought counselling or help with any of her problems, and I pity her for that. Perhaps she's perpetually that twelve- or thirteen-year old girl that lost her riches, that blamed her dad for taking all her wonderful toys and house and ballet classes away. Maybe her treatment of others is just a reflection of that scared and deprived little girl.
Here I go, psychoanalysing this woman I've hardly spoken to in five years. But I think empathising has helped a little - I know she's a fundamentally nasty person but it's nice to see that it wasn't just aimed at me, and understanding the root causes of it makes it somewhat easier to deal with.
Protect yourself and move on - first time, shame on you. Second time, shame on me
I've protected myself, but too well. I've just avoided relationships completely instead of being open to them and guarding against being manipulated. I hadn't really seen that before last week but it's so clear now. I kept telling myself "When I'm fixed, I'll find someone" but now I've been fixed for a while and I'm still holding myself back. It's right, I do need to move on, I must open myself up to relationships else they'll just never happen. Move on.
Get help if you need it
Which I may just do. I have a good friend I can talk this through with, and I know they'll be able to help me focus and work it out.
This has been an interesting exercise, for me anyhow. If you've read this far and don't feel like someone's punched you in the stomach, well done. I'm a bit dizzy, but I'll be fine. I certainly feel a lot better about all this than when I started, and that's no bad thing. I do feel a step closer to moving on from this... Just a little more work to do.
When I was talking to my friend about these issues, I had a total crash in mood. I felt like crap. I went from happy and conversational to low and introvert in a flash. I said:
"I guess I had my paternity taken from me and used against me."I've just had a revelation, while writing that last quote. Maybe I've been keeping myself out of relationships for the past *counts* my god, it's got to be approaching ten years! Jeez, I didn't realise it'd been so long. A decade without love. Shit. That's gotta change.
"I've considered getting a vasectomy. I figure it's the only way I could be 100% sure it wouldn't happen again."
"I guess I need to get over what she did and learn to trust..."
"I have real insecurities about having children in the future."
Sorry, my point. The reason I've used for not being attached in the past is that I've been off the shelf, not ready, too depressed, I've needed to work on me and be comfortable with myself before I can expect people to be comfortable with me. All well and good, I guess, but I fear it's been a smokescreen, an easy excuse hiding the real fear underneath. The thing is, I've been fixed for a couple of years now; I continue to work hard every day to further understand and develop myself, but fundamentally I'm a whole person again.
So, I have trust issues, and I also have difficulty finishing during sex, which I think is quite understandable given the circumstances laid out in my last post. I can illustrate my thoughts on this with another quote from the chat with my friend:
"Who wants a sexual project? I've had so little sex since this all happened I feel like I'm a few grades behind. I think the lack of physical experience and limitations of psychological issues are holding me back in even beginning to look."
I guess I'm not as complete as I thought I was. The betrayal, the hijacking of my kindness, good nature and fertility is still holding me back and stopping me enjoying life totally. The thought occurs that I may need to forgive daughter's mother for what she did if I'm to have any chance of moving past it, but shit that's going to be hard. I also need to accept some of the blame, come to terms with how I feel about what happened and look at how I dealt with it and what procedures I put in place to stop it happening again. This should be fun.
To forgive her. I honestly don't know if I can. But for a minute, I'll put myself in her shoes: sixteen, wayward, already drinking and smoking, sexually active since she was twelve, kicked out of home having seriously fallen out with her father and she's without her family and home comforts for the first time in her life. She's desperate for some affection, some love, someone to look after her and spoil her like she's used to. She finds a man, a kind and sweet man, and sees him as her opportunity to be stable. Maybe she loves him eventually, but probably not. He provides for her, ignores that she's missed her exams and disregards her occasional lies. Whether she's pregnant when she meets him is unclear - she has had quite a few 'phantom' pregnancies and 'miscarriages' in the past twelve years, at least one of which was proven to be complete bullshit - but she gets pregnant to keep the roof over her head, the food and the affection coming her way.
I'm astounded, looking at it this way, that she could be so utterly callous and carefree with creating human life, not least that she could so happily manipulate a nice person into creating it with her. She appears to have lived purely moment to moment and not stopped to think about the consequences of her actions, and it just amazes me. I've told parts of this story to people over the years and they've been shocked; having been through them personally I've never truly felt shocked by it all before, but I feel shocked now.
It occurs to me that she may not have been pregnant when she met me, but soon after we met she told me she was so I'd stay with her, then spent the first couple of months trying to conceive so that the dates wouldn't look crazy when she finally did give birth. I guess I'll never know the truth, and I could speculate about it forever and a day and not reach any firm conclusions, so I should accept this as in the past and move on.
Anyway, back to the point. I can understand the hows and whys of what she did, but I don't know if I can forgive her. I'm so angry with her. I'm utterly furious, in fact. How DARE she use me like that? What gave her the right to take my seed, my soul, my very being and use it to her advantage in that way? The bitch. Two fucking years of my life being ripped to sheds by deceit and manipulation. Another ten years of control and guilt and depression. Fuck her. What a terrible, horrible cunt. I wish she'd just disappear. Fuck off to the other side of the world and never come back, get struck down by some horrendous debilitating disease and never bother us again.
And relax. I don't get angry at her very often. We used to fight a lot and I hated it. She'd start a fight for no apparent reason and push and push. Once, after a night out and with two friends downstairs, we had lots of drunken shouting and aggression and she wouldn't let me out of the bedroom to go for a walk and calm down. More shouting and arguing, I shouted for someone to call the police. Frustration mounting, she punched the side of my head, knocking my glasses flying, so I punched her twice in the face. Still she wouldn't let me leave, so I jumped out of the bedroom window, from the first floor of the house, landing flat on my arse on the ground outside. Another time we fought, I went to the front door to leave and calm down but she blocked my way, refusing my exit. We shouted and screamed and she still wouldn't let me leave, so I nutted her. Her head flew back from the impact of my strike and shattered a small glass panel on the front door. These were the two most violent episodes of our relationship, but there were many dozens more screamy, shouty fights. It was these fights that suppressed my anger when we split up, and that suppression is why I don't get angry at her very often. It occurs to me that there is a pattern in both those instances, and that she seemed to stop me leaving so that I'd get more and more angry and ultimately lash out. She told me after we split up that she actually enjoys arguing, it gives her a buzz. The fucking freak.
I've spent a lot more time with my parents recently and I've come to realise how much their fighting effects my mood and instantly takes me back to being a little boy, maybe five or six, scared shitless by his father's shouting. I think my fights with daughter's mother brought some of that back, and one of the main reasons I called time on the relationship is because I didn't want daughter growing up with parents who fought like mine did during my childhood.
Another reason we separated is because she'd started to talk about having another child. I'd explicitly said that I wanted to wait a year or two before to achieve stability before we had another baby. Honestly, I probably knew then we'd separate eventually but I was trying to keep things together for the sake of our daughter. She kept pushing the issue, trying to change my mind, and I thought it was only a matter of time before she 'accidentally' got pregnant again, so that definitely contributed towards my decision to end it.
By ending the relationship, I ended any possibility that this person could do that to me again. But what of others doing it to me? I realise now that it's unlikely; I've put a lot of work into me, my self-awareness and self-esteem, and I don't think I'd get myself into that position again. I'm also unsure whether I'll ever encounter someone so fundamentally nasty again, so maybe I just need to take that to heart and open myself up to Miss Right.
But to forgive her? Do I have to? I quite like this hatred. It's comforting and it's been part of me for so long it feels as if it's twisted around my being like poison ivy.
I've asked google how to forgive. I often ask google these things and it throws up interesting articles which are occasionally helpful. So let's see this one at stress.about.com
Express yourself - tell the other party how you feel, or write a letter and tear it up.
I think I've covered that above, although it may help further to write her a letter and not send it. I might just do that.
Look for the positive - find the silver lining
What better positive than the most wonderful person in the world, the person we created? My god, she's awesome. Such a beautiful girl with a good heart, bright and studious and attentive. She's funny and cheeky and mature and immature and lots of other things. She reminds me of her mother sometimes, in good ways. She often reminds me why I fell for her mum, which isn't really a bad thing. She's definitely the best thing to come out of the relationship.
Cultivate empathy - put yourself in their shoes
Hmmmm. I did that above and it just astounded me and made me angry that someone could be so devoid of conscience. However, when I was writing the first half - kicked out of home, looking for attention and affection, I did feel a pang of sympathy for her. It must've been a real shock when she was out on her ear. Within a couple of years she went from big house, pony, dad running a successful business to a tiny bungalow, no pony and dad scraping a living together. Shame for her, and her family. I can see why she'd find someone like me appealing, I just can't understand where this inherent disregard for others' feelings comes in. It just doesn't make sense. Was her need for love and security so great that she was willing to get pregnant by someone just to keep food on the table and a roof over her head? I guess I should be flattered that I appeared a good enough person for her to choose to do that to, even if it did tear me apart. The thought occurs that she hasn't really deviated from that pattern much since we split up, that she hasn't really grown up and taken responsibility for her personality issues. I don't believe she's ever sought counselling or help with any of her problems, and I pity her for that. Perhaps she's perpetually that twelve- or thirteen-year old girl that lost her riches, that blamed her dad for taking all her wonderful toys and house and ballet classes away. Maybe her treatment of others is just a reflection of that scared and deprived little girl.
Here I go, psychoanalysing this woman I've hardly spoken to in five years. But I think empathising has helped a little - I know she's a fundamentally nasty person but it's nice to see that it wasn't just aimed at me, and understanding the root causes of it makes it somewhat easier to deal with.
Protect yourself and move on - first time, shame on you. Second time, shame on me
I've protected myself, but too well. I've just avoided relationships completely instead of being open to them and guarding against being manipulated. I hadn't really seen that before last week but it's so clear now. I kept telling myself "When I'm fixed, I'll find someone" but now I've been fixed for a while and I'm still holding myself back. It's right, I do need to move on, I must open myself up to relationships else they'll just never happen. Move on.
"It's important to remember that forgiveness is not the same as condoning the offending action."Interesting. How about, I understand the reasons why she did what she did, I don't have to like them, but I understand her motivations. Can I forgive her? Probably not, at least not yet. I may need some help with that. And that leads me to:
Get help if you need it
Which I may just do. I have a good friend I can talk this through with, and I know they'll be able to help me focus and work it out.
This has been an interesting exercise, for me anyhow. If you've read this far and don't feel like someone's punched you in the stomach, well done. I'm a bit dizzy, but I'll be fine. I certainly feel a lot better about all this than when I started, and that's no bad thing. I do feel a step closer to moving on from this... Just a little more work to do.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
A recent conversation brought a crash in mood
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.
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.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
It was a big hill, bigger than any I'd climbed before.
The barely-trodden path was bordered by thick bracken, with bees lazily zipping between heather flowers. My legs started to ache about halfway up and I was panting like crazy from the adrenaline and exertion. I reached the top and looked out over the view as the cloud shadows raced away and the sun coloured in the landscape. Here, alone, on top of the hill, heart racing and wind whispering in my ears, was a perfect moment.
I walked to the end of the ridge and sat down to look at the panorama through my binoculars. Kites and buzzards circled in the thermals from the lunchtime sun. Harvesters kicked up yellow dust as they reaped, occasional bonfires thrust grey columns into the sky. I drank it all in, as far as the eye could see, sating my thirst for the great outdoors.
So absorbed was I in this visual feast, I hadn't spotted a figure walking up the hill in front of me. As it got nearer I could make out solid boots, a light Tilley and rucksack straps; closer still, near the top when they stopped to rest and turned to take in the view, I could see curves and long dark hair. She nodded and smiled as she approached, passing me to see the sights from the other side of the hill.
I unpacked my lunch and a bottle of ale and began to recharge in the glorious sunshine. After a few minutes I heard a shuffling behind me and a voice piped "Mind if I join you?"
We sat next to each other, the wind toying with her hair while we ate our lunches and enjoyed the sightly view. She gracefully accepted half of my beer and we talked genially about where we'd been that day, our lives, families and friends. From her smiles and open conversation I really felt like we were getting along.
Once fed, we packed and compared maps to see where we were headed. When she abandoned her route and accompanied me on mine, I got an unusual twisting in my stomach, but that didn't stop me from smiling at her as we walked down the side of the hill, together.
I walked to the end of the ridge and sat down to look at the panorama through my binoculars. Kites and buzzards circled in the thermals from the lunchtime sun. Harvesters kicked up yellow dust as they reaped, occasional bonfires thrust grey columns into the sky. I drank it all in, as far as the eye could see, sating my thirst for the great outdoors.
So absorbed was I in this visual feast, I hadn't spotted a figure walking up the hill in front of me. As it got nearer I could make out solid boots, a light Tilley and rucksack straps; closer still, near the top when they stopped to rest and turned to take in the view, I could see curves and long dark hair. She nodded and smiled as she approached, passing me to see the sights from the other side of the hill.
I unpacked my lunch and a bottle of ale and began to recharge in the glorious sunshine. After a few minutes I heard a shuffling behind me and a voice piped "Mind if I join you?"
We sat next to each other, the wind toying with her hair while we ate our lunches and enjoyed the sightly view. She gracefully accepted half of my beer and we talked genially about where we'd been that day, our lives, families and friends. From her smiles and open conversation I really felt like we were getting along.
Once fed, we packed and compared maps to see where we were headed. When she abandoned her route and accompanied me on mine, I got an unusual twisting in my stomach, but that didn't stop me from smiling at her as we walked down the side of the hill, together.
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