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Life is one long lesson

Well, this is something of a shock. I have learned stuff. Here’s a quick list of the ‘stuff’:

1 – Someone remembers me who I thought never would

2 – My ex is a dad

3 – I need a new job

4 – My daughter has issues

 

Number 2 on this list is kind of irrelevant as I was fairly sure he was a dad already, it just happened that it was confirmed last week. This is not a surprise, but the kid has got a stupid dumb ass name. The poor thing. However, it is very much inkeeping with the father’s inflated sense of importance and general pomposity.

Let’s move along.

I need a new job. My current one, don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty cool. I work somewhere I like. The work is easy. My colleagues are lovely. The hours are good and fit in with my life and my kids’ school life. The pay isn’t great, but then, it is retail – I do not expect a miracle. However, next week we’re meant to be starting a new rota as our delivery schedule has changed. Well, they’ve already postponed it once, so it might not happen at all. This is just one of the many variables that are making it hard to cope with. So they want me to work different hours, OK. But they’ve actually changed my hours so it’s more difficult for me to work now than it was before. So I’m working half my contracted hours and they’re not paying me for the other half as I can’t work the new hours consistently. You ken? They’re not changing my contract, but if I don’t work the second half of my hours for 13 weeks it will become my contract anyway. Following? My boss is leaving at the end of this week and therefore doesn’t give a flying fuck about this. He is an asshole anyway and is basically leaving it for the new manager to sort out, coz he’s nice like that. NOT! What a cunt. So, we come to the rub – I need another job really. I applied for one last week with a company I’ve worked for in the past, doing the exact same job that I did before. Do I get an interview? Do I fuck! Because everything is done online now, not even a former employee can get past the algorithm to sit face to face with someone. And I was fucking good at that job too, they’re missing out. Twats. I’ve got a couple other things I’m looking at, so we’ll have to wait and see. I’d love to work for myself, from home, but that may be a pipe dream. For now I will have to keep all my fingers crossed that they let me be a falconer at the local airfield and shoot guns. Or I’m going to retrain as a counsellor.

Next!

My baby girl. My sweet, gorgeous, smarter-than-the-average-bear baby girl. She has issues. In the process of looking for jobs and stuff to do with counselling I came upon some articles about children and their reaction to traumatic events. We already think she might have some sort of ‘ism’ and I think she suffers Attachment Disorder as well. It’s not really bad, but she does show a lot of the symptoms. Just after her 2nd birthday, in the space of 3 months, her father died, I had a baby and we moved house. That is just TOO much shit for a 2 year old to deal with. I was a total wreck and, in hindsight, emotionally unavailable to her for a long time, when she needed me most. I carry a huge amount of guilt with me about this. I feel I should have done better by her. She deserved more than what she got. But the past is the past, and it’s all water. I can’t take it back – the way I was, the things I did, or didn’t do. It tears my heart up to think that this happened to her. I often used to think I was the one who suffered because of what happened, but I forget about her. She was only tiny and she had to cope with all that. She must have felt so alone, scared, abandoned even. No wonder she does strange things now. I let her down. I know a lot of it was out of my control, but I still feel I let her down then. She is now 7 and still suffers the consequences of those months. My precious, beautiful, brave girl – I will make it up to you.

Let’s end on a positive note shall we?

There is a guy I first knew over 15 years ago. I fancied him like crazy. I didn’t think he felt the same so nothing ever came of it. We went our separate ways. I got married not long after that and he was in a band and toured for several years. I lived in the same town for all that time, whilst he travelled the world. Shit happened in my life, and shit happened in his life. Between us we’ve seen pretty much every awful thing you can imagine, been through hell – bones and hearts broken, drug addiction, abuse, death. We never spoke in all those years. Then, 5 years ago, we got back in touch. I forget why, some random reason, probably Facebook related. I was widowed by this time, he was living back in the UK. We talked a lot and discovered that we had felt the same when we were teenagers. I’d wanted him, he’d wanted me too. Why had we never taken the next logical step and been a couple? It obviously wasn’t the right time then, maybe it was now. We were both damaged by life, battered, been brought to our knees by circumstance. Now that all of that was over, maybe we could….. We met up. Once. It was great. We chatted, the sun shone. We walked through a park, messed about on the swings and shit, smoked cigarettes. That feeling was still there, we both knew. As it grew time for me to leave him, I felt I might not get another shot so I ran, jumped and wrapped my legs around him, kissed him. (Yes, dear reader, I really did do this). Briefly, one fleeting kiss. And then he was gone. We parted and then lost touch again. SHIT! He started seeing a girl I vaguely knew, I started seeing someone. Life got in the way – again.images

Fast forward to this past week. In a weird Facebook way, we found each other again. Hurrah! He’s with someone else now, who makes him happy, I’m glad. And you know what, reader? He remembers that one kiss. His memory is shot to shit, and mine is pretty bad too, but he remembers me, he remembers he wanted me and he remembers that single, momentary kiss. I’ll be honest, I did almost make eye water. This has got to be the most amazing thing anyone has ever said to me. My track record with men is pretty horrendous – I have been called most derogatory terms you can think of and am generally labelled a freak or psycho – and they don’t ever remember me, not even the ones who I’ve slept with would remember me. But this guy, this schoolgirl crush, can remember this one thing despite having only seen me once in 15 years. I felt so special, that I was one of the things his head chose to store in its memory box.

He will always hold a special place in my heart. He will also forever be the one that got away.

 

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My truth

 What is my truth? Well, I’ll try to quantify it.
I’ve seen a lot, done a lot, had a lot, lost a lot more and gained tenfold more than I ever thought possible.
I used to believe my truth was something I could find, that it was connected to a person, a thing, a place. Uh uh. No, missy, it is NOT any of these things.
Our truth is inside of us, there from our first breath in this world.
I didn’t know this until about 3 months ago. Now that is a long fucking time to not know how to find your truth. That’s over 30 years of searching and the whole time I was looking, it was already there – you can imagine, I was a bit pissed off. Hell, I was pretty incandescent with rage and contempt for the people who never told me it was there. And I was pretty fucked off at myself too – how could I have missed it?
I’ll tell you exactly how I missed it – I had been told that this ‘hole’ I felt was meant to be filled with something else. That something was God. Yes, we’re back on this again. I’m really beginning to see how this concept is pretty damn destructive in so many ways.
I have attended several different churches in my life, this is what happens when your parents are devout. This is one of the only things I can remember about my childhood. Seriously, until I left home I can recall very little. The things that stick in my mind are these: my first day at school, twice (I attended 2 different primary schools), a boy with both his legs in braces, a teacher looking after me whilst my youngest sister was being born, another teacher asking me how to spell something when I was 10, bullies and church. There is very little else. Oh, and the house we lived in, with a lime green dining room and yellow bathroom. Anyway… 
The most prominent of these are the bullies and church. Church was, when I think about it, pretty bloody awful. I remember feeling guilty a lot of the time, and I always KNEW that I didn’t fit in right, that I was different. And the attitude of certain people, including my parents, towards the bullies was directly related to church life. You guessed it – turn the other cheek.
Who the FUCK thought that shit up! It’s basically a free pass for people to treat you like shit and you have to stand there and take it. To hell with that! Well, I can say this now, but at the time I was so scared of making a fuss that I retreated into myself. My folks knew I was unhappy, but I don’t remember them helping me to deal with this. They didn’t help me find my truth then, so I could be strong and stand up to these kids. All I remember them saying to me was ‘they’re jealous, just ignore them.’ This is the shittest advice in all the world.
I’m going to make a statement here: KIDS, DON’T PUT UP WITH BULLIES – YOU ARE AWESOME, THEY ARE RUBBISH. THEY GET OFF ON MAKING YOU FEEL CRAP TO MASK THEIR OWN FEELINGS OF CRAP-NESS. TELL SOMEONE, PLEASE! DO NOT SUFFER IN SILENCE, EXPOSE THEM!
OK, feel slightly better for that. But this was the mistake that I happened to suffer. My parents’ attitude to bullies caused me to suffer in silence. Even my father, who was bullied himself, simply said ‘I had it pretty shit, you just have to get on with it.’ Thanks Dad. NOT helpful.
So, basically, from the ago of about 7 until I was 18, I didn’t feel able to find any truth within myself as I was too busy keeping my head down and trying to avoid the bullies.
I’ve just this moment realised how bad this was. Why did nobody help me find my truth? I was so alone. It seemed that nobody cared. I didn’t trust anybody, let alone myself. Although, with hindsight, if I had been able to trust myself, I might have fared better. But then I didn’t have my truth, so it’s a bit irrelevant now. How much better things could have been if I was only taught how to deal with it.
I digress – no truth + church guilt = nasty bullies who made my life hell. 
Eventually I dropped out of school because of this, I had no friends left. I’d only had 3 to start with. Then I started to search for the truth which eluded me. 
 I tried various things. Went a little crazy. I now tend to flit and I am fickle. Trying to find your truth outside of yourself does not work. Believe, sister. I thought I had to FIND some outside thing that would reveal it to me. Nope. Not men or sex, not alcohol, not work, not study, not chocolate (although this is pretty good), not religion, not friends, not enemies, not success or recognition, not even having children.
Only when you learn to love yourself can you find it. I still struggle to love myself. All the years of hate and pain and loneliness poured over me, drowning me, obscuring my view – or both myself and others – suffice to make loving yourself incredibly difficult. It’s a slow and painful process to learn this. But I AM learning. Learning that I am enough, that I may be damaged but the damage has forced me to forge myself anew, into something better. I am more than the sum of my parts. I am beautiful and sexy and desirable (those 3 I’ve never put on paper until now, the thought of doing so caused me to feel sick with shame). I am NOT ashamed of who I am or where I have been, what I’ve done.
I am not whole, I’m still broken. But broken = beauty. Chaos = perfection. I love myself and I will live my truth.