Seventeen years in the making

Blogged on Wednesday 07th May 2008 at 09:35pm Comments closed

Last night seemed normal. I switched off my laptop, did my nightly ritual of cleaning my teeth and washing my face and slipped into bed. Paul was already in there so I snuggled up behind him and gave him cuddle. Men like cuddles really, don’t let them tell you any different. I was lying there thinking about how lucky I am, how happy I am and how utterly content I felt. I turned over because really, I’m the sort of person that likes facing towards the wall when they sleep. As soon as I did, I let out a sob. A vivid memory from my childhood, for no reason what so ever apart from probably wanting to ruin my happiness, pushed its way up into my conscious.

Crying, howling, bawling my eyes out. I was four years old, perhaps five. I can even remember the wallpaper; slightly raised stripes, similar to an artex pattern, but less swirly and more straight. I had just witnessed my mother walking out the door. This was a weekly occurrence for me but it never got any easier. I was brought up by my grandmother for a good portion of my childhood. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my grandma dearly, but you can’t replace a mothers touch, can you? I was told to stop crying, but I couldn't. Why shouldn't I cry for my mummy? She's mine. I want her. I couldn't comprehend why she had to keep leaving, I didn't understand.

I was allowed to spend Wednesday afternoons with my mum after school and that was it. And when it was all done and dusted, she left. I hated it. I remembered feeling angry, I was four years old and I was fucking angry. My friends got to spend time with their mum’s, after school, in the mornings, at the weekends, just before bed, every single day. And all I got was a few measly hours on a Wednesday afternoon.

So there I was in bed, seventeen years later and having a suppressed memory suddenly resurface. I cried, silently, I tried to stop but I couldn’t. Every time I thought I’d stopped crying, I’d cry harder. Silent racking sobs, I didn’t make a sound. Paul was unaware next to me, I couldn’t bear to wake him up to tell him what I was feeling. How can you explain to someone how it feels to have their mother stripped from them week after week? Pain lessens after a while, but it didn’t for me. I had to relive it weekly and I did for several years, until my grandma died and no one could look after us anymore and my mother was given custody rights again by the courts. I hate talking about my past, I hate complaining but some things just have to come out. And it did. And it felt good.

My head throbbed, my nose was blocked from all the crying, my face a salty mess of tears and my eyes felt sore. I couldn’t sleep for a few hours, I just kept reliving every single detail, every emotion, every little bit of joy at seeing my mum again and then having it all ripped away from me. I remembered all the other stuff too, what came after. And finally, after some time, I drifted off to sleep. And the next morning I realised I just put a demon to rest. I’ve prided myself on being strong for so long, it felt good to cry. It felt good to let go of those memories. It felt good to grieve.

There have been no comments left yet

Why don't you leave a comment for me?

Have your say

Comments are automatically closed after 60 days of when the blog was originally posted. If you wish to comment on a closed blog, please contact Teesee directly instead.