Loss

Before I met the man I would marry I was in a relationship with another lad. He lived quite far away and so I went to his house after work before my day off, stayed the night and spent the next day there and the same after work on Saturday. We both saw our mates on the days in between so it worked out fine and I particularly liked his Mom who I was close to, she was easy going and likeable and his home had a very different atmosphere to my own. I was happy. And because I was trained to be of use to the significant people in my life, I was oblivious to the fact he seemed unable to hold down a job and I paid for almost everything. He did casual work on building sites and though his Dad was in the trade and on occasion found him a regular job he never managed to keep it for long. His timekeeping was poor, even on the days be bothered to turn up. He preferred an odd few days here and there rather than full time employment and with me subsidising him I suppose he didn`t really need the money. I worked full time and as a department manager earned a reasonable wage. What money he earned he saved up and spent on himself and the odd old banger of a car that he then struggled to afford to run. It was me who paid for our evenings in the pub, meals out or takeaways. I also treated him to clothes and shoes with my staff discount, paid for taxis or petrol to cover lifts from his brother and left him money to spend when I went back to my house. It never once crossed my mind I was being leached off or to wonder why he never bought me anything in return apart from a silver eternity ring from Argos with cubic zirconia`s in which I asked for as a Birthday present. He lay in bed and dossed about and I worked full time to cover our expenses. I then foolishly allowed myself to get pregnant when there was a few days gap between running out of my pill before I could get to the Dr`s for another prescription. I never imagined I would ever write about all this, it`s been pushed to the corner of my memory due to shame and guilt but I`ve addressed so much here and this was a time when I needed support, guidance, love and understanding, a time when yet again I found myself abandoned to cope alone, full of guilt and fear and as ever, unable to register just how poorly I was treated as I had no higher bench mark to measure it by. 

So the boyfriend was unimpressed at my news and naturally it never crossed my mind I may have had the right to decide to keep the baby, my parents wrath, being dumped, probably homeless and unable to support myself and a child, were all highly probable obstacles in the way of that happening. I felt my unplanned pregnancy was proof I was bad and considered it wholly my fault alone, after all I was trained in blame and the `Two to Tango` argument never entered my head. In the days when our situation was sinking in, me 20 and him 19, or so I thought, I went to work as normal and tried hard to conceal my morning sickness. But one night, home alone, while my parents were at bingo, I began to suffer with crippling stomach cramps and heavy bleeding. Scared out of my mind, both from the physical trauma and how I could keep my secret, I spent three hours either sitting on the loo or rolling on the floor in agony and sobbing with terror as I passed clots and bled endlessly. By the time they arrived home I was in such a state it was impossible to hide and I blurted out that I was having a miscarriage. It makes my blood run cold still, all these years on, that I had to give them just the sort of ammunition they loved and so were able to take the moral high ground and then had tangible proof of what a wicked, wilful girl I was. The embarrassment of the neighbours seeing an ambulance and questions being asked meant I was bundled into the car and there was a heated row about the quickest route to take and where to park. Whilst my Father was shouting, desperate to hear a few comforting words, I spitefully said that I would give him the petrol money with a hope of hearing a "don`t be ridiculous, my only concern is you and the baby".... I got stoney silence for an answer. I spent 2 nights in hospital, a scan told me the loss had been so severe there was nothing left in my womb that needed removing so I was not in need of a scrap as it was called. I was deathly pale and shocked to the core. Boyfriend and his Mom came to see me, she was full of concern and he was full of himself, seeming not to grasp the situation, either that or his relief that our little problem was solved was written all over his inanely grinning face. I went home to a frosty reception, there were lectures and accusations, words such as, disgraceful, irresponsibility, sordid, illegitimate and disappointment were bandied about though I was still so shaken after what had happened I took little of their preaching in. Neither one of them once put an arm around me, asked why I felt I could not tell them, or showed me the slightest morsel of love. I took to my room and lay on the bed staring at the wall hour after hour, day after day as it slowly dawned on me that the boyfriend was a no show. Mother had not long had our phone disconnected for the umpteenth time so he could not call and any hope or expectation I had of him turning up to comfort me and be by my side to face the music with my Parents slowly slipped away in those long long hours I spent forever listening for a car to pull up, forever longing to hear the doorbell. I really was in the depths of despair, I had lost my baby who I had never even felt I was allowed to consider having the right to bring into the world, it seemed I had lost my relationship too and without a doubt I knew soon enough Mother would use this whole saga as a tool to make sure I yet again lost a place to lay my head as well. And so as the days slipped away I would watch the dusk fall and the lights from the busy road that we lived by would flicker against the walls of my room, as I hoped and prayed one of them just may be him turning into our road. My heart ached with the pain of loss and need and shame and I pulled my sadness around me like a damp cold cloak as I waited for the one who never came. After a few days I decided to walk to the phone box and call him, I was weak and shaky and had eaten little after hiding away in my room for so long and feeling sick at the thought of food. My heart pounded at the thought of calling, would he be there, would he even want to speak to me, was it over ? And then fate dealt me another blow. Unknown to me there had been some sort of system failure in our area and so the phone in the nearest call box was dead. Damn it, I shook slightly and steadied myself, thinking of the quickest walk to the next call box. I got there to find this was dead too, I choked a few tears back and walked to another. I tried 6 or 7 before feeling so woozy I had not choice but to go home. I was greeted with a terse "What did e say then" from Mother. The next day I tried again, all the same boxes and a few more, still all dead. I`ll add here that for years after I would have nightmares where I would be desperate to call someone but every phone I tried to use was broken. Mother again was eager for an update, it was quite the soap opera to her. "What, all of em?!" she questioned in disbelief and disappointment when I informed I could not find one pay phone working and so had no announcement I had been dumped to delight her or news that it was `back on` to enrage her. That night I heard her whispering to my Father and I was then told that he would drive me to find a box with a working phone. I knew this was more out of my Mothers need for the next chapter of my sorry story rather than any care for my distress. And so I left Father sitting in the car and heaved the heavy door open, it creaked and I was greeted with that awful musty and faintly dirty smell from call boxes of the time. My heart pounded as I picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. I could not dial the number quick enough. He answered. He was as casual and cheerful as can be, he offered no real reason why he had not been in touch but all I cared about was that it seemed we were still an item, however neglectful he had been in my hour of need. We made arrangements for me to go to his house over the weekend and things picked up where they left off much to my Mothers disgust. Over the next few months I got promoted and so spent even more money on our courtship in the hopes all would be well and I would have someone to validate me in some feeble way and Mother would not have the satisfaction and fun of gloating over my heartbreak. My periods were irregular and leaving my pills at his house one time and possibly being more fertile after my miscarriage I foolishly yet again fell pregnant. I knew I dare not let my parents find out and he was instantly adamant I needed to get a termination. Again I went along with it all, never once allowing myself to believe there may have been a chance to have this child alone without any of them. I was not someone who thought a generous welfare system would be an option for me, I was programmed to give not to take. An odd thing had happened a while back also. We had been walking in his village and bumped into a local lad who smirked and nodded at me, saying "different girlfriend?" when I questioned this it was dismissed as his mates stupid humour. I also noted he had began working a little more regularly, was constantly counting his stash of money, even though I still paid while he saved and he had mentioned a new crowd he was hanging out with during the days we did not see each other. I was never introduced to any of them. So....and I struggle with how I could of been so meek and down trodden I had allowed this to come about....but this was the arrangement. I would take two days off work, I would travel alone, by two trains and a taxi, have a termination around midday and then get discharged late afternoon, catch two trains and a taxi back, lie to my parents about staff training at head office and then rest at home the next day then back to work. He was not coming with me as he had to work, surprisingly, for a change. He would pay half to the termination, only it would be in instalments as he didn`t have it all at the moment, I would pay the rest and the cost of travel. The clinic gave me strict instructions I must be there by 11am to be booked in and have the procedure that same day and be allowed home. And here fate lends a hand yet again. Up at the crack of dawn and not allowed to eat or drink I waited for my second train, there was an announcement and I was puzzled as the train behind me was going to my destination, I double checked with a guard and was assured this train would take me where I needed to go and so I walked away from the platform side that I thought my train left from and mistakenly took the the other train which stopped at every station on the way and arrived 45mins later then my correct fast train. I was sick with panic and rang the clinic explaining in tears my mistake but it was no good, I was too late and so had to go home and dream up some cancellation lie to my Parents who thankfully were as disinterested as ever, unaware there was a new development with their Jezebel of a Daughter. The boyfriend was horrified to hear my tale, so horrified he told me to re-book it and he would take me in his newly acquired car, whenever, whatever day it was, no question. Relieved he was putting himself out for me, naive fool that I was, I was truly grateful and dutifully paid for a tank of petrol. He was very jolly all that day, joking and chatting with everyone despite the circumstances, his mood quite at odds with mine. I was subdued, hearing a whispering voice in the back of my head asking why had I done that, it was so wrong, everything felt wrong that day. I remember Almaz by Randy Crawford being on the radio as we drove home. It had rained and there were grey clouds and white clouds jostling to block out the weak sun which made futile attempts to spotlight our car with a splash of warmth as we raced home, job done. I spent two days at his house where everyone seemed very quiet, which I took as judgement for the choice we made. His Brother was particularly nasty to him and could not look me in the eye at all, it was months later before the real reason for his behaviour dawned on me. He dropped me off saying he didn`t want me to come and stay mid week as was the usual arrangement but would pick me up on the evening of my day off for a `drink`, I questioned why I couldn`t come to stay at his but he made excuses. I sensed this was the end and went into my house, up to my bedroom and lay on the bed, allowing the realisation he was probably already seeing another girl to sink in, as I numbly joined the dots of all the tell tale signs I had chosen to ignore.

I should of known he was a seasoned liar. When we met I was just turned 20 and he told me he was 19, we would joke about me being the older woman. I had my 21st Birthday whilst seeing him {it was his parents who took us all out for the evening and made it special for me, my own barely acknowledged it was my Birthday let alone my 21st. "Don`t ya think you ought to be goin out with out us Amanda??" my Mother barked, full of jealousy and resentment when she heard about it, the fact they had not suggested a thing to mark the day escaped her} So when his Birthday was approaching I mentioned his 21st several times. It was then he sat me down and told me he had lied when we met and he 18 not 19 then so this was his 20th not his 21st.

 So I was again alone, I no longer had the company of the baby I was too conditioned to admit I wanted so badly and the bleeding from the termination served as a reminder of that. A termination I had ended up footing the bill for. He called for me as agreed. We went for a `drink`. I cannot remember the words he used, or the reasons he gave but I was told with a casual conviction that he didn`t want to be with me anymore and he would rather hang out with his mates. I was devastated. I tried to negotiate a more casual arrangement but he would not be swayed. He drove me back to my house with Stand By Me playing on the radio, tears streaming down my face. Doesn`t it make you sad I sobbed, "No, it`s just a song" he laughed back. And so I found myself yet again laying on my bed, still bleeding though no longer waiting for him to call by. Of course I realise now I was nothing more than a source of ready cash and easy sex to him and he no doubt lived like a single bloke in the days I was too far away to have any clue what he was doing. 

Some weeks later he came to my place of work to see me, he informed me he was seeing someone and smiled happily as he told me he had just treated her to a weekend away as `he thought she was in need of a little holiday`. I quietly asked him if he had the money he owed me for the termination, he did not. I already knew he was seeing someone as one evening, on my way home from work, when my bus was nearing my stop, I was shocked to see him, in his car, over take the bus with his new love beside him. They parked on the pub car park across the main road and I was aware they were watching me as, head down, I walked quickly towards my house, wondering what the hell he was playing at. I never did work that out but I think he was stupid enough to have stopped and tried to introduce us to each other had he had a chance. I wondered if she had any idea he had still been seeing me when he had met her or about the termination and how easy it was to get rid of both his child and me when he wanted to move on.

 It was his cheap ring that my Mother plucked from the bin a few days later and decided to wear herself while I was nursing a broken heart and feeling guilt and loss about the choice I allowed myself to make.

That guilt haunts me still.

Lies and Illusions

"Do you want a scratching ?" my friend held out a bag of salty and delicious looking pork rind. "No thanks" I replied without thinking, "I`m not allowed them, I`ve got fragile teeth" there was a pause while I was gazed at with surprise and then amusement which gave way with to uncontrollable laughter at my reply. I stood blushing and feeling silly until the moment was gone and we carried on with whatever else we were amusing ourselves with. They were not bullying me with their laughter, it was not done in a mean way but for me it underlined my inability to self edit before I spoke and save myself embarrassment. 

Afterwards I pondered what I had replied quickly and with conviction, without a second thought. I wasn`t allowed scratching`s because I had fragile teeth. I ran my tongue over my teeth and tried to wobble them with my finger, they felt pretty secure. Were they fragile ?
 I`d never been told they were, not by a dentist because I was never taken to one. Not until I get to my teens when my teeth showed signs of protruding and she took me once to get braces. It was two buses and a short walk, two buses and a short walk for me, not her. Needless to say she never took me again. At 13 I was instructed to catch the bus to town and then another to the dentist and when I panicked and pleaded I did not know where the 2nd bus stop was or where to get off and which way to walk to the surgery she grew quiet and her mean, calculating dark eyes darted about as she weighed up the cost of a taxi to enable me to go alone to the appointment against the inconvenience of having to take me herself. Taxi it was then. 

 So at that stage there was nothing to indicate my teeth were in anyway fragile, especially considering I was not encouraged to brush them regularly and often I had to resort to squeezing and squeezing the very last traces of toothpaste from a rolled up tube as it was rarely remembered to be repurchased as it was only me who used it, my parents both had dentures. She also had a habit of commenting that my teeth had always been cream, this absolved her of any responsibility as to why they were not sparkling white. Looking back I realise it was a classic move from my Mother. She hated scratching`s and anyone enjoying something which she disliked she viewed as an affront to herself and so if she was able to she either discouraged it or banned it completely. Or, as was the case here, made up some dramatic lie to ensure she was obeyed. So it was instilled in me my teeth were fragile to stop me eating scratching`s because she did not like them. Is it any wonder I have had such a fractured sense of self identity for so very long....
I clearly remember my mouthwatering as I watched my Father chobble his way through a bag whilst my Mother tutted and sighed. If she was not about I was allowed to sneak one but instructed to not let ya Mother find out.

I was fed other fantasies too. When she came upon me playing by myself and chattering to my dolls as part of a game or reading out loud, I was warned with great gravity...."Amanda, ya musn`t talk to yourself because it encourages spirits" she nodded her head once and looked at me menacingly as if sharing some dark secret that only grownups knew of. I remember my tummy going over with fear. And so with one bizarre lie she was successful in eliciting fear in me for talking to my dolls. Whenever I forgot and did I would suddenly remember her words and become still, listening and wondering if there was some ghost or demon present because I had spoken to it without meaning to. Now I recognise this as one of many examples where she silenced me because so often any tangible sight or sound of my existence seemed to grate on her. The quieter I was, the more invisible, the happier she was. She seemed to be pre programmed to erase any proof of my presence, perhaps to ensure the spotlight was only ever on her. 
And then we have the Every seven years lie. As I grew and my body changed and I had aliments, went through puberty etc, rather than offer reassurance coupled with simple explanations designed to educate and not terrify she was always dramatic and theatrical. Things were spoke of in hushed tones as if everything was secretive, she told me odd facts but always implied there was more, much more but I was far too young to be told such things. 

Naturally my imagination ran riot and therefore I terrified myself with all it conjured up...all these dark things that only older people knew of as I in turn would when I was old enough to deal whatever it was I was too young to know now. She often warned me "every seven years ya body changes" she never expanded on how or why, it was just said as a warning. Which led me to worry and count forward to how old I would be then and fret over what would happen. The only clue I had was anything I happened to overhear about bodies and sex and boys at school which naturally only served to confuse and scare me more. Should I ever comment or ask anything regarding something I had noticed about myself, as all young girls do, I was told mysteriously "well, every seven years ya body changes" and that shut down any further discussion and saved her the irritation of speaking to me about me, which she clearly was not interested in doing. When I mentioned my chronically dry skin I was told eating more butter would solve the problem.  

 My Father was old school and left all delicate matters to my Mother but I clearly remember this..... When my periods started I was told Go an tell ya Dad , she glowed with excitement over the announcement and dispatched me to find him and share the news as if I had won a prize at school or something like, except if I had won a prize it would of been minimised. I found him planting seeds in pots and I stood to attention in front of him and announced quietly "Mom says I`ve got to tell you that I`ve started my periods" he looked flustered for a second and then turned and told me gravely "Well you are a Woman now then" and he turned back to his potting. "Oh" I replied and sensing that was the end of the exchange turned and left, thinking to myself....am I ? Am I a woman ? I didn`t feel like a woman, apart from when I was doing all the housework. I looked down at my body for signs of my womanhood but saw only a child with slight hint of a bust about to show. I was 11 years old. On reflection I think my Mother sensed the usefulness of this tangible proof I was no longer a child, therefore no longer in need of nurturing and much attention not that I had ever had a lot and she began to use the line you`re not a little girl anymore when berating me for some misdemeanour or instructing me on how to tackle some new responsibility she was off loading on to me. In truth the only thing I clearly remember about my being a little girl was that it wasn`t really allowed. 

 When she gave me my medical card which showed what Dr I was registered with and had my NHS number on I was informed to NEVER EVER lose it because I wouldn`t be able to see a Dr if I needed to. She implied I could be left to die...literally ! And I believed her ! I was paranoid about loosing this card, why she didn`t keep it with hers I don`t know, perhaps she was secretly hoping I would lose it, oh what a telling off that would of been ! In my 20`s when I re-registered for a new Dr after yet another new place to live she barked at me "I ope ya`ve got ya card" No I replied with glee, I`ve lost it twice and just as she drew breath to launch a tirade I interrupted her and told her it was no big deal as I can just apply for another, it`s easy, lots of people lose them. Her mouth set into a mean line as she smarted silently from being over ruled. By this stage it was all about small wins !