I am an only child. Only children end up spending a lot of time alone. I was a very cheerful child. But very afraid of my mum. Fear because she was the disciplinarian and my entertainment. My father was particularly interested.
I remember being desperate for his attention as a child. As only children do they find ways to entertain themselves. Mine was playing teacher and lining all my toys up and calling out the register and so on. As I got older, barbies and colouring books, as I got older again a hair dressing doll and PlayStation, then I became a gamer and artist. I'd often show my parents my art. My mum would humor me whereas my father would always criticize. So much so eventually I'd hide my art from him. He picked on me a lot, you know like siblings. But as a father he never told me or appeared to show me he loved me. If we went to a friend of his he'd usually ignore me until they took an interest in me and he'd want me to be a performing monkey.
He lied a lot. Cheated and stole. He also was a con artist. My parents broke up, monthly and 2 weekly. I was always his way back. Convince my mum he was going to take me out to only come over to seduce my mum back into their normal Saturday routine, leaving me sat waiting in my coat and backpack. Until I got sick of the routine and refused to go out with him. I caught him rifling through my mums letters, kidding another woman, I was even made to wait in the car whilst he visited his fancy woman. When he went in she was wearing one thing when he left she was wearing another. (All very Craig David).
When I told my mum of these things she brushed them off questioning what I had seen, convincing me I was wrong. Never once did she tell me that he said I was living or telling the truth. Infact I was threatened by him on separate occasions. He would always sneak up behind me if I was in the kitchen washing up and scare me then threaten me. I refused to be a victim and I'd tell my mum. But it only made things worse as she took his side.
I begged to live with relatives. I even called social services but she convinced them I was reciting stories from my Jacqueline Wilson books. Being the angst teen that I was. I was severely bullied at school and they kept calling me weird and mad I actually started to believe, did I hate my father so much that I had conjured up these things in my head? But as I got older and made some friends with developing young women I noticed the lust in his eyes as he looked at my friends. Disgusted, I didn't invite them around again. I had to protect them.
I remember one afternoon coming home early from college it was a hot day and I was skyping a friend for our coursework. I was half dressed not that they could see but to my surprise my father crept in through the doors shocked to see me, he tried to engage with me but i said I was doing my homework. I typed my friend to stay silent in the hope he'd go away but he didn't, he took his phone out to take a photo of me. I refused several times. Blocking his view with my hand. Big mistake he laughed across the room and pinned me to the sofa. Grinding his hips against mine. Hot breath on my face, shouting "what are you going to do now?" My friend shouted and he released me. Shaken, I ran off.
Too afraid to tell my mum for fear she wouldn't do a thing I started staying at friends houses occasionally coming home when my mum asked and when I needed to wash my clothes. I remember she'd order me a Chinese my favourite spare ribs. I tried to be cordial and sat with them at the dinner table. Mum never seemed to notice how entranced my father was watching me eating the ribs, I asked to be excused and ate them in my room. I was once again disgusted, but convinced I was just making it up in my head. That it's just because I disliked him. On the rare occasions I came home and name he called me, spoilt brat, dyke, ugly I actually started to believe it.
I've moved out for 6 years and not spoken to him during this time. My mum was supposed to have split from him after me overhearing him slagging us off to another woman then asking her to take her top off over Skype. I went over it in my head for hours after my mum got home. I had to have been wrong. It's my mind playing tricks on me yet again. I told her and he fessed up to slagging us off. In fact, the following day he apologized saying, "I don't know what you thought you heard, but what you heard was wrong and I'm sorry you feel so much hate towards me that you have to say these things."
That was it.
But you know what's funny, even though I moved out, it's still happening. And by my mother. For financial reasons and I feel out of revenge for hearing that conversation and telling my grandparents. My mums never been innocent, growing up she'd tell me that she didn't even want children, and often said it when she was angry with me asking "God to give her strength, and who told her to go and have a child!" I wasn't a bad child, honestly. I was very quiet and bullied into being the over honest individual I was/am. Kind and generous and a little to caring and gullible, for my own good. I was a neat freak for fear of upsetting my mum. Other children came home with cuts and bruises I only ever had frizzy hair. Everything else was pristine condition. I remember my teacher years later said "I remember your red boots, Dr. Martens they were. You wouldn't get an inch of dirt on them, always wiping away and signs of a schoff!"
But what she didn't realise was, I was being reminded every time I put them on "do you know how much they cost me, they better last you, as I'm not buying them again. Money doesn't grow on trees. Don't think I'm like them other mums that just let's their kids treat their things anyhow!"
I could go on and on. But I will tell you this it's left me with no self belief and very little confidence. Anything I do isn't good enough. And I'm my harshest critic. That along with the reoccurring voices of mum & dad. It's true what psychologists say, I ended up falling for a man exactly like my father.
I'm single now because I just can't trust own judgment.
Can I be healed? Who knows.