I was restless, it’s as if my eyes were opening to what future awaited me and although my Job gave me a chance to escape, I needed something to focus on during the times when I was at home and D was off work. I spent most of my time pretending that I was happy that I started to, believe that I was happy. My friends seem to get along with D now, so it was difficult to complain all the time. I am not saying that everyday was all bad; but things had become so bad for me mentally that I wanted a change. I knew at the time I would never enter into another relationship as so far they had not worked out. In fact I blamed myself for not being strong enough to be alone. I had started to blame my father for sending me to England. I guess speaking to my sister all the time just made me want to be with her more each day. I had a deep longing for the past life I knew.
thats it, I was longing…
Looking back, I always felt that I was different, as if I was here for a purpose or that all I had endured so far was for a purpose. I honestly felt there was someone directing my path especially as no one in our circle had even experienced a quarter of what I had been through. This puzzled me and left that nagging feeling that this was not the life I was meant to lead.
I couldn’t shake this off.
“I knew that I needed something to occupy my thoughts, maybe a new interest. This came in the way of my best friend. One day she called me and told me that she was reading this really good book and she wanted me to read it too. She practically sold the book to me over the telephone. She said it was a cannot-put-down book, that she will give it me when she’had finish reading.
And so she did…
I started reading this book “Master of the game” by Sidney Sheldon. the story was so well written and compelling, I thoroughly enjoyed it. She then introduced me to Mills and Boon soon after? This is included in the blog as I specifically remember, how unbeknown to her, how significant this was at the time. This was the beginning of writing and reading and I thought I would start to, write my life diary for myself, not for any particular reason; but it was around this time I started writing. The idea of writing was further entrenched by the solicitor in previous post.
Since I started reading, I was able to block D out and concentrate on the characters. It was working as one on their own cannot argue. I was learning new strategies to get through each day. I decided to obtain all Sidney Sheldons other books which were as good as the first. I Realized I had stopped reading as I did as a child.
My best friend had reconciled me to my love of books. I have never looked back.
A chip of the old block they say….for me that would not happen, I couldn’t and wouldn’t be like mum..
I remained worried that I could somehow transform into my mum, and made a conscious effort not to do so. My fear of my mum started to cause sleep disturbances and recurrent nightmares. I noticed that in each nightmare she was dead and I was terrified. No matter where I ran she would still appear. In the dream I always cried deep sobs, cowering in a corner as she approached me slowly, I would always wake before she touched me; In the dream I wasn’t crying because she was dead but because she never loved me. I would relay my fears to my best friend, and she would say
“If your mum was to die I would worry for your mental state”
She was not wrong.
These dreams made me so determined my children would only have fond memories of me but at times and although my children were important to me. There were times when discipline was needed but I didnt know what to do. As the children became older I felt as if I was mentally stuck at 14 years old. I was now 30 years old but I felt like a teenager that was trapped in a older body. I started to feel out of control and It was as if I was incapable of making simple decisions and simply drifting along with time. I felt a failure as a mum, I never resented being a mum as I knew nothing else, but I felt immature in comparison to other mothers.
As a result with regards to discipline, I was guilty of smacking my children with anything I found as I thought that was what mums were suppose to do. I always felt bad afterwards and yes I should have known better. But I always recalled when mummy, as she was called then, would beat me she would often quote the bible .
Whoever spares the rod hates their children, but the one who loves their children is careful to discipline them
Proverbs 23:13-14New International Version (NIV)
Do not withhold discipline from a child;
if you punish them with the rod, they will not die.
14 Punish them with the rod
and save them from death.
These scriptures use to haunt me until I convinced myself that when my children were naughty they would get smacked, after all that was what I was supposed to do I thought.
The bible said so..
I continued to be resentful of myself for disciplining them, I didn’t know any other way. This was followed by showering them with love and kindness. Well! I did what my father did, and I knew my father loved me. So although I was so young when I left jamaica. His memories of the loving fatherly things he did with me, cause me to do the same to my children. I learnt by seeing and doing. One thing that was dear to my heart, was that my children would never fight as sisters and brother, they would always be there for one another, and there would be no question about this; and if there was anything I could do to prevent ay distance between the children then I would. I would often tell the children that even if they had one packet of sweets they would need to share. Naturally the children fought from time to time, but I never knew. (Now we have a laugh about this)
luckily until today I can say I was sucessful. As all my children remain dear to each other there are no favorites. There are no fights where they have stop speaking to a sibling for more than couple days. I am ok with that, especially as they each know, I would never accept this.
As for my husband D. He continued to be emotionally aggresive toward me, but the physical abuse had reduced significantly. Further the violence with D, was nothing like Eric. For D it was more as a result of the alcohol and his own insecurities; so try as I might I couldn’t hate him. but his drinking had spiraled out of control, He hardly laughed which was a problem for me as, if you can remember I always laughed, to hide my pain I guess.
D was still constantly accusing me or suspicious of something or the other. He also made the incident with P a constant fixture in our life and it was thrown at me in literally every argument. (Here) So although in his eyes he had changed a little, I was now changing from him, it seemed we could never get it right; when D tried to be pleasant I became horrid, when I tried to be pleasant he was horrid. It was difficult to get a balance. At this point I was as much to blame for the ill feelings in the relationship. This was because I was so unhappy, I was fed up of the demands and my body felt over used and weary. It was obvious that we needed to be apart; but I knew I would end up in another battle for his children, I really couldn’t be bothered. In addition I was still attending court with my mother as she was still fighting for my older children, well by now it was more a criticism of my parenting. Although the case was weakened because I was married it was still a noose around my neck.
I remember this well, this was who I was becoming.
D use to drive a red van to work, and there were times I would come home and there was no one at home, just silence. I would mentally prepare a picture of things to do, first have a bath and just lay there, then relax in the bubbles with my favourite book, or just do nothing and enjoy the stillness of the home; but then I would hear a van door slam and realised it was D, my heart would sink as tears well up in my eyes, one day as he opened the door and came inside he saw my face. He said to me…
“I can go back out you know”
I felt bad as I had let my guard down, but I tried to quickly justify why my face was the way it was. He didn’t really say another word, and we never spoke about the incident again. This was around the time when it was his turn to be nice.
Despite the extra pressure I was living with, At work I became a valued employee, we were like family and I was happy as I could lose myself at work with all the disabled children, going on outings to various places and doing activities. The children asked nothing of me, I grew attached to them, It was my escape.
The resentment was always there. Hung over me like a dark cloud, as if I was walking with the world on my back.
One Day day my neighbour invited me to a birthday barbecue with D. The guy was her close friend. I arrived to meet a really handsome guy, I liked him straightaway, not in the way you are thinking right now, but as a friend of my friend. He was the most funny character I had met. He was a hairdresser and hilarious great sense of humour, he had one daughter whom he was looking after as a single parent. We had a good time although I felt very uncomfortable with D there, he definately didn’t fit in, as she acted like an old man who drank alcohol with the big gut. I was also sure I heard sniggering coming from the kitchen, as I heard someone say “why is she with him?”
So you see others noticed too.
I went back to the hairdresser a few times and he did my hair totslly changed the way I looked, I was well impressed. However when I arrived home ad said to me, “why can’t you do your hair like my sisters”
Typical. I was upset especially as the guy that did my hair was so trendy, totally not in our league. After that meeting he use to come to my neighbors regular and that was that, a very likable person. Then he moved away for couple years.
Watch this space..
Once I had a taste of the so called “good life”, I hated my life pure and simple. I felt like an old woman, I was also refusing Ds demands more and more which left bitterness, between us most of the time. I continued to sleep in the settee/couch sometimes to avoid saying no, and getting pished around or worse the emotional abuse. I would also bring a lot of paper work and scatter on the floor as if I was tired from working. My mask helped me to juggle between motherhood, wife, and employee. It became harder to juggle all three at times but I needed to. It was around this time that I thought of my brothers back home.
I desperately wanted a protector. I had now started wishing one of my brothers was here with me, after all I had three brothers and a sister still in Jamaica; not Rupert as the age gap was too wide, further I didn’t think he was a match for D.
He was too placid.
I really needed someone, but that someone needed to be tough… .Naturally, my brothers in Jamaica had their own lives so the chance was unlikely.