Bored of Being Fat

He aint heavy he's my brother.....

2012-02-09T11:20:00.001+00:00

This was just the short end of the abuse, you see children can be cruel to each other, at the best of times, but with a rule book to follow they will, so we, and I mean all of us used to try and get the upper hand, take some control over our lives, we would ask for a cup of tea and when it was brought back, complain, say did you put sugar in this I can't taste it, this was observed by my father and noted and if during the course of the night...., sorry did I not mention, this went on all night long, clicking fingers to get tea, until tomorrow, but then you had a different job to do tomorrow and suffer whatever indignation was to occur if you got that wrong, this is abuse, oh and before you ask, the wife, the mother of two of these children and the step mother of the other two, allowed this to happen, she never challenged, never said I'll do it, you carryon being a child and I'll stop this arsehole from abusing you, no she ordered her tea too.

Do what you do, when you did what you did to me.....

2012-02-09T11:16:00.000+00:00

Abuse is, waiting on parents, in the evening my father would sit in his chair, and would click his fingers, you know like you do to your dog to gets its attention, this click meant who ever had their name on the list to make a drink had to stand up, immediately, I am not being dramatic or over exaggerating, if you didn't stand up or at least say it's me, then you were in real trouble. Anyway you had now entered into the contract of the rota, so you were now expected to make my father a cup of tea, just as he liked or more trouble was to come, this was not the end of this humiliation, because now those children whose names were not on the list, could ask you to make a drink for them too, but this was the cruel bit, they couldn't help you, if they felt like it, they had to order it from you and remain seated, until you brought it back to their seat. Naturally my father’s drink had to be ready first and exactly how he liked it, mostly strong tea with a sweetener, a small pill like thing that was to help with his weight loss. If it was not strong enough, then you had a warning, go and make it right, this was never said with any form of kindness or teaching, "oh dear, it's too weak, never mind next time I'll show you how to make it just how I like it", no this was a warning that another mistake would not be tolerated, god forbid you got it wrong a second time, then you were hit, across the legs, or backside, a reminder how to make tea like he wants right!

Hurt.....

2012-02-09T11:12:00.001+00:00

Things started going downhill immediately, there were the rules of the house, it was supposed to help the house run smoothly, like fuck was it, and it was a control freaks absolute way of divide and rule. You see, as the children we were to become, servants, I am not being flippant with my language here, a rota was drawn, up the 'children', had jobs to do, now let me stop you there, saying we all had chores to do when we were younger, that's not what I'm talking about. This was abuse, clear and simple and I am going to help you sort out the difference. Chores mean helping out, making everyone's life easier, manageable, and of course help build character, instil work ethics and develop team working, sharing and can of course really bring family cohesion.

In the Summer time....

2012-02-09T11:06:00.002+00:00

So it was the really hot summer of 1976, I couldn't believe my luck, I was now living in Devon, and the beach was 1 mile from my house, agreed is was up a ridiculous hill, I mean as a then 11 year old, it seemed ages to walk up the hill, then to walk all the way down the other side, but oh my god, what a place to end up in. It was called Mansands beach and it was sandy and no one went there, because of the bloody hill. So when we did go, me my sister and the dogs, we had 2, then it was just magical, peaceful and so freeing if I knew that that time of such innocence would be shattered by what was to come, I truly think I would have decided to die then, hindsight is a thing that eats away at the soul though, if's and buts, are always of course too late. I'm know that I still wonder if I had known what I know now, what I would have done differently, the reality is ultimately, when my life started to go up shit creak without paddle, rudder, compass and any sign of hope, all the people that were in control, were abusers and that's what you end up living with, and through and spending your life trying to fathom, why me, what for and naturally, aren't you supposed to be caring for me, us, my little sister and I, I mean we had decided to move here for a better life, not this.

So this is it, my father was a true fucking nutcase, control freak, violent, foulmouthed, deviant, arsehole. Seriously, if I had known any of that then of course the wanker, drunk my mother and teamed up with, would have been my first choice, but as I said hindsight, truly is so way too late.

Problems Sorted

2012-02-09T11:05:00.000+00:00

Hi Everyone,

Finally I have sorted all my tech problems and I am going to carry on with my blog, Thanks for being patient and of course thanks for reading.

Tony

Just to let you know!

2011-08-25T23:15:00.000+01:00

Hi Everyone

I am just letting you all know that I have a major technical problem at the mo, my laptop died and I am trying to resolve it, until then my blog will not be updated, sorry about this, I will get it back up and running as soon as possible.

Thanks for reading, if you become a follower of my blog by clicking the link on the right hand side of the blog page, you will be notified when I post anything new.

Cheers
Tony xx

Our House.........

2011-07-25T21:39:00.000+01:00

We arrived, I don’t know what time it was, still light anyway, and my duck needed to get out of its box. We had arrived at a semi detached house, with a pond in the front garden and steps with a railing up to the front door. It looked nice I thought OK, this is where I’m going to live so let’s get the duck out of its box and then I’ll check out my room. Well I’d forgotten ‘she’ was here, ‘she’ was my father’s new wife, and yes it was her from all those years ago, the woman he had the affair with. I was disappointed but I was here now so let’s just get on with it. I was led into the back garden and I opened the box for the duck, well it ran from the box and straight into the hedge and then through the hedge and off into the distance. Oh no, here we go, my father went straight into his rant and started shouting about the fact that he knew it was a bad idea having a duck and that it had nowhere to sleep and if we caught it, then how were we going to keep it in, shout, swear shout, swear. I didn’t think this was a good start and I was right ‘cause everything just got worse. We had to go over to the neighbour that my father didn’t get on well with and ask him if we could search his garden for the duck, he said he would help, we spent what seemed like ages looking for it, then we heard it quacking and homed in on that, then it just ran when I tried to get it and my father was shouting the duck was running I was getting scared of what he was going to do if he caught it, luckily I caught the duck and had it in my arms and was leaving the neighbours garden, when my father said put it back in its box until we know what to do with it. So back in the box it went and then into the garage to make sure it couldn’t escape again. Finally I went into the house, it was a nice 3 bed roomed place with a lounge and dining room and a kitchen extension. Hold on 3 bed rooms, where’s my room, hasn’t ‘she’ got 2 kids already. Yes ‘she’ did have 2 kids and this meant me and my sister would be sharing, me with my step brother and my sister with her step sister. Well that didn’t go down well with anyone; they obviously resented having us cuckoo’s in the nest, and I thought I was getting a room of my own, it turns out no one said I was getting a room of my own I just made that up in my head! So this wasn’t the big problem for now because granny was here too, so actually me, my sister and my step brother were going to be sharing while granny was visiting, for a week, oh god what a pile of sh*t. We were going to the beach tomorrow, so we had to be to bed early so we had food and went off to bed, well we couldn’t sleep and my new step brother, delighted in telling me that this was his room and I wasn’t allowed to touch anything and that he made the rules of the room and I needed to obey them, fucking great I thought I’m back at school, back at the travellers site and the ‘bigger boy’ is still in control of me. I’d given up thinking about the frying pan and the fire, I just thought, anywhere would be better than this, ANYWHERE!

We’re on a road to nowhere…..

2011-07-23T12:53:00.000+01:00

This memory is short I’m afraid, maybe I’ve blocked it out or maybe I have merged all sorts of stuff together and it’s now a blur but this is what I can remember. A granny and a duck don’t mix, well I didn’t know that! She was not happy about the duck, she had made it clear when we arrived at her flat, I didn’t know this at the time, but she went on about it the whole 5 hour journey to Devon. “I said it was a smelly thing and it keeps shitting all the time, keep it away from me” this was difficult as we were in a camper van on our way down the A303. On and on about it (the duck) and me, my little sister and how unhappy she was. We had to stop every 50 miles so she could stretch her legs and “get away from the smell”, of the duck, or was it me she meant? Anyway my father was beginning to show his true colours, he would be calm and pleasant then when it wasn’t going his way, I think that was when he reverted to the child in front of his mother, and he would shout and swear too! Lovely I thought the idyll is fast approaching. 5 hours in a vehicle is like torture to a 9 and a half year old, when is it going to end, well it finally did, and we had arrived in Devon, now I know I am revealing the shit that has happened to me but one thing is true Devon is a beautiful place and I have a place in my heart for it still, rolling hills, amazing coastline, fresh air and sky forever, perfect, but when you arrive in a strangers house you don’t feel any of that.

Just making sure your keeping up......

2011-07-21T22:47:00.000+01:00

Hi Everyone,

Thanks for all your support, I hope you are following my story and are aware that I have gone back to the beginning, to set the scene of why I think I got fat in the first place, I will keep on posting and would appreciate any comments.

Love and Light
Tony x

There’s no one quite like grandma………

2011-07-21T13:04:00.001+01:00

The site where I had lived for the last 10 months was in Romford Essex and now I was going to live in Devon, in Brixham, by the sea and all that country air. I was going to be able to swim in the sea and see cows and sheep and breathe good fresh air, but first because it was a long drive and because my father’s mother, my granny, lived in Stepney we would be stopping off at hers over night. Great I thought I can meet family see who they are and find out what their like. Well as it turns out I got the wrong end of the stick, we weren’t just popping in to see granny, she was coming with us, oh and my dad didn’t have a car, it was a camper van and we were going to all travel down to Devon together in it, Me my duck, my sister, our father and his mother. As we arrived at grannies in the afternoon, we would be staying the night and all going off in the morning. This sounded ok but there I go again putting a shine on it all! Well I was sat in grannies flat and eating a sandwich and drinking tea, old eastend tradition is to give the guests tea and sarnies, and I over heard her say, “well they aint sleeping in my bed ‘til they’ve had a fu*king wash or something, great I thought, running water, HOT running water, maybe even a bath, how brilliant. Then she appeared in the door and said your gonna have to have a bath before bed, yippee I thought, I was right a HOT bath, how lovely, wrong! The bath was run and I was told to go and get in it, so I did, to my surprise, and shock granny appeared at the door once I was in and said “your filthy, look at you, you’ll have to have a scrub”, and she went, I carried on enjoying the hot water, then she was back and she had brought a scrubbing brush, you know the one you do the floor with. I thought am I supposed to use that, well no ‘I’ wasn’t. My granny knelt by the side of the bath and instructed me to stand up, I felt reluctant to and stayed where I was sitting in the water, with it just covering my pride, and then it happened, dear sweet grey haired old granny, shouted “stand up I said”, I leapt to attention and she proceeded to grab the soap and rub it roughly into the brush, and I thought, she’s going to do that to me, and she did. Whilst she scrubbed me with the brush she started a rant that I remember to this day, “Living on a gypsy site, exactly what I’d expect from that bloody woman, look at you, you haven’t had a bath in weeks, you’ve probably got fleas, and you smell like shit”, I giggled a bit when she swore, then I realised she meant my mother was that bloody woman, and I thought hey don’t be rude about my mum, well if that was rude, then I was in for a bigger shock, she just kept on with the insults, but they were filled with her trade mark anger and bitterness, fucking scum this, useless tramp that, I did my usual thing of shutting down, and thinking play dead, stand still it will be over soon and you can, then I realised I couldn’t do my usual and run, I was stuck here and it was only going to get worse. The ordeal over I was just pleased to be in the bed and away from her and now my dad, he hadn’t stopped her saying the things she said, we were in an old council flat in the eastend of London, he must have heard what she had said, she wasn’t trying to keep her voice or her thoughts to herself, fu*king great out of the frying pan, into hell, now sleeping with the devil, where the fuck is the fire, it would’ve still been a blessing.

The long Goodbye………

2011-07-19T02:34:00.001+01:00

I think I stayed at the caravan site for about 10 months in total, leaving may have been the biggest mistake of my life, I will never know, staying for me was not an option, “he” was still in my mother’s life and in fact would be for a very long time, and I hated living in that “van”, it was not home and still to this day I think 1 week in a caravan is enough for anyone. Anyway events were taken out of my control, my father had found out where we had been taken and were living, he made contact and we, his children were given his new address, so out of spite for “him” I wrote to my father as did my younger sister, we even got a reply. My father read all the time so I guess he had a way with words, well he painted a picture of an idyllic life where he was, with the sea and the country and his dogs and fish pond and it all sounded cosy and nice, later I would learn that words can paint a picture that reality can shatter.

This part is hard to remember, I don’t know why, I have tried to rethink it so many times, but it is still a confused mesh of order and disorder. So what I am going to write is what I believe happened in what order I recall it, I know my sisters have different versions but the reality is, the outcome is the same.

After the letter from my father the urge to leave the site, to go and live the idyll in Devon, that was where he had moved to, was immense. After some discussion and argument my younger sister and I decided that we did not want to stay at the site anymore. Now I have some recollection that my father had threatened my mother that he would get the authorities involved, telling them that we had not been to school and that he knew of her whereabouts, so the council could be informed for any back rent of the house we had run away from, that she would be advised that allowing us to move to Devon with him would be the best option for all.

So it was agreed that my younger sister and I would be collected by our father on a certain day in the summer of 1976 and go and live with him for evermore. I think I was relieved and excited and began to pack and wish the day would arrive sooner, this would not be the wish I would wish for me now, for so many reasons, as I have said leaving the site was a big mistake. I loved my mother and wanted to be with her always but the choices she made meant that I couldn’t be with her any longer, so leaving was what I needed to do, I would miss my other sisters but they could come and visit us whenever they wanted, this was part of the “deal”.

The day arrived and by now the plot we were on was overrun with animals, dogs and cats and ducks and chickens, well I was the proud owner of 2 ducks and they were coming with me, a few nights before us leaving, in a fit of drunken rage “he” had killed one of my ducks because it had shat on him when he picked it up and freaked it out, I used to feel like shitting myself when “he” was in a drunken state. So I was adamant that I was taking my duck with me, my father had other ideas and said there was no room in the car and that it was a long drive and blah and blah and blah, well I said either I go with a duck or I stay with a duck, I got my way, however both me and the duck didn’t live the life we hoped in the idyll of Devon.

Enola Gay………

2011-07-18T00:28:00.000+01:00

I haven’t mentioned this yet, but I am gay, I have always been gay, it’s just that the body, mind and soul don’t tell you that’s what you are, you have to figure it out and anyway, I was nine I wasn’t really thinking about sex or sexuality then, but the “bigger boys” were and they could tell, and they told me often “queer” is a name I have been called more times than I can remember, to be honest if someone shouted out “QUEER” I turned round, habit I guess, not for one minute that I wanted the attention of the person shouting it out, it was reflex or fear flex! If the word “queer” was shouted I was going to get punched or I needed to get running, either way I had to respond to it! Forest Gump ran because he wanted to, I ran cause I had to. Being corned for the umpteenth time is what I was used to so, when I was I played dead, you know stand there let them get it over with, then when the opportunity came, RUN, AGAIN! During this time, of living in hell, I met a boy, he lived on the caravan site too, he wasn’t much bigger than me and he steered clear of the “bigger boys”, so we gravitated together, his tactic for “staying alive”, was to get up before the others (bigger boys), leave the site and not return until it was nearly dark, so he and I did this most days. Back then in the 70’s you had to keep out of sight of the school truancy officer, so we left the site early, 8:00am and walked around doing nothing being invisible. What we didn’t have was money to alleviate the boredom, so we watched what the others did and they all collected “scrap”, so what is scrap, well it’s anything you can collect that once you have it, you take along to a “dealer” who will give you money for it, so we wanted “scrap”. The way to get scrap is to get yourself a pram; you know the old type four big wheels and a “cot” type body to fill with baby and blankets, well we got one of these, to be honest I think he got it and it just became ours, we had the pram and we would walk the streets with a purpose, the purpose was to find “scrap” to take to the dealer. Now two boys not at school and trying to keep out of sight but still find “treasure/scrap”, was a problem because, people don’t just give you scrap, you have to find it, but where do you look? Well suffice it to say “scrap” isn’t always how the owner of the “scrap” sees it, so we would take whatever from whoever we could as long as we thought we could sell it. A dealer buys most things, but metal was the prize, copper and brass was the biggest prize, and copper nor brass grow on trees, so you have to know where to get it from, and the boy, his name does escape me, but he knew where to get it. Firstly plumbers refitting a kitchen had copper and brass, but they knew its value too, so we would offer to help clear up at jobs, all the while watching where the copper and brass was being kept, then when the time was right, and I’m not condoning this behaviour now, we would steal whatever we could and run, sometimes the brand new copper for the plumbing would finds its way into our pram.

Caravan of love……….

2011-07-18T00:26:00.001+01:00

A f*@king caravan, who wants to live like this, is one of the first memories I have of the great big adventure I was being taken on? We had driven for what seemed like ages and had arrived at the caravan site, now I don’t want you getting any ideas that this was by the sea or in a park of trees and fields, no this was off a dirt track behind proper houses, where people didn’t want us, a travellers site! Our “home” was a caravan that could sleep six but shouldn’t, just near the entrance to the site and was fenced off somehow. Our “plot” was adjacent to other plots where strange people lived and tomorrow I was going to meet them! My first morning was exciting, you see one big part of the move that hadn’t quite dawned on me until morning was that living here meant no school, NO SCHOOL, I didn’t have to worry about lunch times again or the kids that called me names, I was free this was going to be great, how idyllic it all seemed then, and how awful it was going to turn out. Running water is a blessing and shouldn’t be taken for granted, a flushing toilet is luxury its self, I had just left those behind. “He” was known to the people on the site so we were allowed to be there, mother assured us this was for the best and we should thank our lucky stars “he” had brought us here. Well I don’t I didn’t and quite frankly what the fuck she was thinking is a mystery, but I was there now so I’ll find out where I fit in. I don’t think it is gonna take a genius to figure it out, I didn’t , you see I had weakness written all over me and the “bigger boys” on the site could sense the fear in me, so I had gone from the frying pan into HELL, a fire would have been a blessing!

Moonlighting……….

2011-07-18T00:25:00.001+01:00

My mother had lovers, this was something I didn’t enjoy, mainly because they wanted to “make me a man” they always seemed to see my love for my mother as a weakness never a sons love always weak, I guess I was a bit of a weakling, my weight wasn’t an issue when I was 9 years old. There were issues though, these men who had my mother’s affection always knew what was best for me, “ he needs to toughen up”, “he cries too much” and guess what they always had the cure all, teach him to fight, stop him from sitting on your lap, my mother listened and coerced me into trying out their remedies. I hated them all every last one of them but the one who I hated the most was “him”, “he” always knew how to wound, to take my mother’s glance from me and this he relished in. He even got his brother to join in when he visited so I had no one I could turn to for relief; I hadn’t thought of food as a friend yet but only a few years to go before I used that crutch.

In her wisdom my mother listened to “him” and one night when I was about 9 my sisters and I were woken up to go on an adventure, I mean in the dead of night we were piled into a van with all our belongings and told that we were moving to a very special place, where we could live free and safe!

We had done what is known in the trade as a ‘moonlight flit’!

Me and Mrs Jones……….

2011-07-18T00:24:00.000+01:00

My father was having an affair, with a woman who lived not far from us in Ockendon Essex. I hated her and to some extent still do, she has always been there at the worst times in my life, and she has never been remorseful for her part in the pain of my life and was to a great extent complicit with it. My mother was struggling to make ends meet, if my father was giving her any money to help I am not aware of it, we certainly didn’t live well on what my mother earned. Somehow my father convinced or bullied, he was quite the bully so I am sure it was with bullying that he forced my mother into giving us to him, to live with him and “her”. I have very strong and fairly mixed memories of this but I intend to recount my version, so I will.

I recall having a bag of my clothes with me and 2 of my sisters and we arrived at “her” house, it was small and smelled different to my own and I didn’t want to be there, but I remember it being an adventure, from my perspective it was, we packed up and were going to live in a strange place with different rules and different things and I wanted to go but felt pulled away from my mother, but I went, I even think I was excited about the change.

My father was different he didn’t shout he seemed softer there was no violence and “her” children seemed to like him!

I don’t recall how long we stayed there but I know one of my sisters didn’t want to be there and made it known, she cried all the time and repeated I want my mum, I want to go home. My other 2 sisters and I were not pleased to be there but were I think happy to be anywhere that wasn’t at the house with my mother, I don’t know why? All I do know is as soon as we were there we were back at home with mother, this however didn’t last long!

ChChChCh Changes…….

2011-07-18T00:23:00.000+01:00

When I was about 7 or 8 my parents separated, my mother my sisters and I remained in the house I remember most from those early years, it was in South Ockendon, Essex. My father had moved in with his mistress, a fact I learned of late in my eighth year. The house was on a council estate, so everyone knew each other’s business and close neighbours rallied round when times were tough. My mother was a nurse at a psychiatric hospital and I remember her smelling of urine and bleach, she found some solace in the fact that the universe had given her a talent for singing, which she used to alleviate some of her pain, by singing at the local “social club”, council estates in the seventies had these at their heart, where the good the bad and the ugly whiled away their wages and lives each weekend.

By now my memories are of wanting to be free, because I was the odd kid at school, were starting to take shape, we had free school meals, because of my parents breakup, and the other kids knew and made us feel dirty and poor because of it, this is where I think my relationship with food started its unhealthy demise, I didn’t like to line up for my food because I had to have a special ticket that said “I come from a broken home, and we are poor can you give me some food please”, the ticket had to be given to the dinner lady before I could get my lunch, so I opted to wait until last so no one could observe this, which meant having cold food that I would eat as fast as possible or worse I would skip lunch all together just to forgo the humiliation of it all, this meant that I was starving by home time and eat as much as I could when I got there. Living here with my mother was OK, a lot of the motherly duties were heaped on my oldest sisters shoulders, the rest of us disliked her for bring the “boss of us”, something she didn’t want or ask for but was made to do, she didn’t do a great job, why should she, she was 12 years old. I played out a lot; near to where we lived was a youth club, a large hut in a concreted area where the kids hung out during school holidays and most weekends. I was an awkward kid didn’t fit in, not because I didn’t want to I just felt different from the others, the boys played football or rounders or anything with a ball and the need to run about, I didn’t, because in the hut was an upright piano, a few of the keys were missing and some of the others stuck down when you played them so you had to lift them back up so you could play them again, which to any buddy Bach just won’t do. I think all of us kids, my sisters and I, I mean, get our love of music from our mother, her being a singer and all. I sat at that piano, not wanting to join in with the “sports” as this usually meant me getting my head bashed in by the other kids, for hours and hours, I taught myself to play by ear, picking out the tunes of the day on it key by key, note by note.

When the day was over it was back to our house to listen to more music and wait for the return of my mother, she was out working or in the evening singing at the social. She usually brought back people with her on a Saturday night and the party would go on. Here is where I think my first feelings of not liking my body started, men and women who were drunk would dance and strip and be overtly sexual and we (my sisters and I) would see all of this. I thought I don’t want to be doing this when I’m older so I would stay upstairs out of the way, hiding myself from the display down there.

It’s still rock and roll to me……

2011-07-18T00:21:00.001+01:00

Early on, I think I was a happy kid, you know experiencing life through the eyes of a child, falling down picking myself up, being picked up by those around me, normal stuff, well as normal as normal feels when it’s happening to you!

The first few years of my life were Ok, living with my parents and sisters was what I was doing and to be honest enjoying it, then the bad days came, I guess as early as 5 or 6 years old, I realised my parents didn’t really like each other, the reasons I didn’t discover until later, but at about 5 I knew that violence was the way my father ruled his kingdom and I truly believe it was at this age I learned that fear is a way of being.

I want to say I am not looking for pity or comfort, I am stating that for my journey towards liking me and ultimately loving me, I really did need to understand where the f*@k I came from and letting you know is a way of sharing with you the tools I’ve used to lose the weight I needed to and finding the love I wanted.

So having realised fear is a way of being, I began being fearful. Being full of fear is all consuming, you wait for the gaps when you can relax, but they don’t come too often, so you wake each day tense waiting for “it” to start and as regular as clockwork it does start.

My father was always disappointed, with everything, his life, his marriage, and his children and definitely with himself. So to stop his pain he metered it out to those around him, he couldn’t decide how to express it best, and shouting when he was annoyed was the first clue to the violence that he would resort to if the shouting didn’t stop his pain. As kids we learned to listen out for the shouting, this taught us that pretty soon there would be a beating, for who, we couldn’t be sure, but for one of us a certainty.

My mother “ate” her pain, I have so very few memories of her but one that I am sure of is that for the time I had with her she was sad! Sad is such a perfect word to describe her, unfortunately, as I cannot recount hearing her laugh or seeing her smile or even knowing what she found joy in, my older sisters have memories of her that are different, I know, but they had more time with her then my younger sister and I did and therefore they have memories that I don’t.

Where did I begin……

2011-07-18T00:20:00.000+01:00

So my parents met not sure where, when and how, but they did and began their life as is often the case, from the wedding to the maternity unit with hardly a pause, and in the 50’s this was how it was done, do I think they were in love, I guess then yes, by the end of their marriage certainly not.

I have 2 sisters older than me and one younger, the age gap between us all is not that great, so I think my parents just got pregnant as they were living their lives, planned or not they were having kids!

I love my sisters and know they love me, but throughout our lives the tools and mania our parents gave us, have certainly hindered our ability to just love each other, we have fought for it and ultimately hurt each other whilst trying to love each other.

Someone once said “you don’t fight for peace, you peace for peace”, so learning that love is joyful and peaceful has been a hard lesson my sisters and I have “fought” for.

The Road is Long

2011-07-18T00:16:00.000+01:00

So are you sitting comfortably then I shall begin……

I don’t think I am anyone special, in fact most of my life my father made sure I knew I wasn’t, you know put downs and aggression, these were his tools of love and affection. I guess he was doing what he learned from his parents. Oh my god already I’m sounding like a therapist’s test case, well forgive me but the reality is, before you can go forward you should look back to see where you came from.

I come from mixed parents, or should that be mixed up parents, anyway my father is from Irish stock and my mother from Maltese, I used to think I was exotic, but I really am mixed. As far as I can remember my father’s parents were hard working, salt of the earth kind of people, although his mother we’ll talk about later!

He grew up in the east end of London, Stepney I believe and had brothers and a sister who were all ruled by a rod of iron, wielded by their mother. I only met her a few times and each time was a painful look into the eyes of a woman with so much anger that it’s hard to conceive of her love being anything other than bitter, of what I don’t know, but bitter and angry she was. Her husband my grandfather, was less of an entity, I met him the same amount of times and can’t remember his voice or his manner, other than silent and done in, I suppose living with all the anger she had made you that way.

My mother’s family are more of a mystery to me, I know she had sister’s and maybe a brother but meeting them is a haze, I think I did meet 2 of her sisters, when and for how long is lost to me, like so much of my mother’s life.