16 July 2010, 4:34 pm
Lost, and lost for words... how can you tell the story of a lifetime when so much of it is lost, and all the rest is mixed up and confused. The times and dates of important moments in my life seem merged, and when I look back at them it is like a jigsaw puzzle that I must work out. that has to be worked out for me to move forwards... Is it not so- that a memory can be the most beautiful thing, but may also haunt you for what seems to be an eternity? Such memories, can be so beautiful, calm and simple that it may bring me to tears. And make me question the very point of the life I am living now. Walking down by the canal to get to our favourite café, and running up the little path beside it to get to the gate where we used to plant the grass seeds. Going to a little party next to the reservoir, the one with the giant bonfire and all the midges. Remembering the scent of the midge spray and how I soon realised that it didn't even work. How I had been led to believe that the light reflecting in the water as it dripped down of the rocks were really faeries. The little rope swing across the ditch, and how I had swung across it because I had been scared I would sink through the mud. And the little old wreck of a boat that sat in the centre of the lake as it had done for years. how I had snuck out onto the landing after my bedtime to listen to the story being read to Daire, and running back into my room when I thought it had finished every night, so that I would still get a kiss on the head goodnight.. In infant school, before lunch every day waving to Ms. Underwood, how we used to sit on the little dragon in the corner of the entire playground. And how all the games seemed to involve the kissing corner. And how, up to the age of about 7, everything bad seemed to have been hidden from me. I am certain I must have been spoilt, and when reality was suddenly shown to me it seemed to have been pushed into my face... and it scared me. When daire's anger problems got worse, and he was finally diagnosed with autism. Angry and violent, at moments these were the only words left to describe him with... except perhaps confusing. When I found out about the battle for custody of me and Daire. I had never really understood that time when I had been picked up by my mum, and hidden away. Unable to see my dad for 2 days. And how, after that I had only been able to see her in the Brian-Jackson centre under supervision. And how we had been kicked out of a house we had lived in for 6 years because of a noise complaint, and panicking that we wouldn't be able to find a house. Contacting the council but being put at the bottom of the list for a house to rent despite the fact that there were two children, 1 disabled. And that should automatically move us up a bit. Walking home from a Halloween party at the age of 8, with a drunken dad who had lent his shoes to Daire. And walking about 10 feet ahead out of the embarrassment of how loudly they were shouting at each other. Then getting back and crying on behind the sofa for hours... not one of them noticing. Those long talks that I used to have with my dad about politics and war, about George bush and how he would only be able to be a president for two more years. With me sat up on the worktop, him smoking and drinking a can or beer. The day when I had waited for about an hour at school, with many failed attempts to call home. Before finally getting a lift back and finding no one, no one but Daire stood outside angry, angry and confused... staying at Fiona's, crying all night but still having to go to school. Being taken out by the head teacher to give a description of my dad, crying all day at school, being told off by the dinner lady but still crying... I was scared that he was dead. I had seen too much on the news about murder and kidnapping. Read too many stories that could have fitted so perfectly here... Staying at my mums for 3 weeks, wearing mums old clothes since we hadn’t been able to get into the house, but only in the second week being told that my dad had tried to kill himself. Crying that I wanted too see him, but no one letting me go to the hospital. Their excuse being that a 9 year old couldn't go into that hospital. When we finally saw him again, being handed a magazine, given a smile and a hug... and thinking to myself how I could not upset him any more. I couldn't lose him. And now as I sit here, 4 years later. Ready to write down my story, ready to try to understand my own mind, and in that- to possibly find some sanity... daydreams~ Days drag on, arguments form but soon die out, tears fall but leave no visible stains, what was once the present becomes the past, and all leave it behind. I often wonder if it is possible that I should find an answer the many questions the past has brought unto me, but I doubt any shall be found. For I am just one person, I am nothing to this world, nothing... Read More »
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