They know not what they do

I haven’t posted for a week.  To be honest I just haven’t felt up to it.  My physical ailments have been shockingly bad this week, must be the colder weather, a cliche but true.  The pain in my joints has been unbearable and my medications aren’t working on them.  And my right elbow keeps dislocating in my sleep and now I think a nerve has been trapped so I keep dropping things with my right hand and it throbs all the time.  As for for mental state this week – I think the least said about that the better.  Classic depressive symptoms this week folks,  extreme low mood, no enthusiasm to do anything, prolonged bouts of crying and so irritable I can’t even stand to be with myself!

As usual I had my EMDR therapy session on Wednesday.  Was a belter this week.  This week we processed my earliest memory.   My reaction to this memory came as a complete shock to me, I didn’t realise it had upset me to the extent it had.

Shortly after I was born my mother and father separated.  Now in those days the handling of children in divorce was far different than now.  I say that with experience being the mother of three children who have had to deal with the separation of their parents.  Thankfully their father and I have managed to maintain a strong degree of maturity when it comes to any issues regarding our children.  This is mostly borne out of the fact that we both come from ‘broken’ homes, divorced parents.  Back then things were very different, as you will soon learn.

I was around two years old when this memory takes place.  My elder brother, who was around four at the time and I, were in a room at the local Social Services office where amongst other things, visitation and custody arrangements were fought out.  On this particular occasion my brother and I were sat on chairs in the middle of the room.  As I remember it the room was huge, but most likely this is down to the fact we were so young and scary situations make everything far larger in the mind than they actually are.  My mother was sat one side of the room and my father was sat the other.

This brings me to my birth father.  He was the proverbial Peter Pan, never wanted to grow up and never did, well not that I know of.  Until I was four or five he was in and out of my life bringing chaos with him.  I next saw him when I was almost twenty one and he left me life again almost as quickly as he had entered it.  But that story is for a different day.  As much as he loved us and I believe that deep down he truly did, he was a crap father, but I still wonder on the odd and I mean very odd occasion what became of him.

Anyhow, I digress.  My mother was one side, my father the other and us in the middle.  In front of us on another chair sat a member of Social Services.  I cannot remember anything about them, just that they asked questions of us and we answered them.  Then we were asked the question to end all questions, “who do you want to live with, your mummy or your daddy”.  I mean what the hell?   What kind of a question is that to ask of any child, let alone two small children, neither of which were over five years old.  My mum just started crying, my father started yelling at us that she didn’t love us and that she only wanted us to annoy him.  We chose my mother.   I don’t know why.  Maybe we knew how much she loved us, maybe it was because of what my father was saying.  Maybe it was both.  Ironic then how my life turned out based on that decision.   My therapist asked me if I thought my life would have been better if we had chose my father. That’s a question we will never know the answer too.  I wouldn’t have been abused or witnessed my mother being severely beaten on a regular basis, that is a given.   But, he was after all the proverbial Peter Pan, who knows where we would have ended up.

I am now an orphan, not on paper maybe but in my day to day life I now have no contact with either of my parents.  That may be by choice but it still hurts like hell.  It is my fiftieth birthday in a couple of weeks and this will be the first year I have no contact with my mother.  I can still not fathom how she can treat me the way she has or how she can say the things she has said.  Maybe in time I will understand but I don’t think any amount of time will explain her actions to me.

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