I really must stop saying sorry; it doesn’t make things any better or worse. If only I had it in me to be all fierce, fearless and forthright instead of forever sprinkling my discourse with pitiful retractions, apologies and prevarications.
~ Stephen Fry “The Fry Chronicles”
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I feel like these words really are those of my own mind. I have only begun reading, but as I sift through the proper english, the rugged dialect of my own generation seems to lurk behind me and grow ever apparent.
This weekend has indeed been an interesting one, and perhaps as the title claims, a tale of two halves. Quite separate in their being, but drawing ever closer, culminating in a whole, an entirely new event in its own right.
So I start at the beginning and hope that as you read this somewhat explanatory, seemingly never-ending post, you take a quick peek into my own subconscious mind, that you don’t get bored before the final words and fall asleep, head banging on the desk with an arduous ‘thud’.
Christmas
The day I was dreading. While everyone else was with their families, laughing over the Christmas dinner, sharing gifts and being generally merry in their compositions; I would be sat forcing turkey down my oesophagus listening with boredom to the conversations of those in my vicinity. Needless to say that within minutes of arriving at the in-laws, I had the wine flowing, softening my mood, letting my mind wander, inserting the correct and appropriate responses as deemed necessary by common courtesy.
If I would have it, I easily may have stayed at home and spent the whole day in a blur of sleep, desire and music-induced madness. Bouncing around my livingroom with nothing to calm the madness in my mind but the ever-present lure of the internet and my web-based friends seems a sure way to bring about a pleasant experience on my part.
But as luck (though that be a completely baseless term) would have it, the day went pleasantly enough. Started off a bit haywire, with me waking up to find that Alan had one thing only on his mind. Had I turned him down, it would have made for a bad day right from the offset, so again I played pretend and just tried to relax and drift of to pastures calmer.
I know that maybe I should have more self-restraint and self-respect but I have been beaten down, broken beyond repair and these days I find that furthering confrontation only leads to a downward spiral in my own mind and the nightmares are not worth the freedom that I would gain from such an apparent dismissal of my “wifely duties”.
And so it began. The day was already off to a manic start, and it could only go downhill from there.
Being the clumsy footed and haphazard human being I am, of course something would go wrong, and that indeed it did. Naomi went tearing downstairs, eager to open her presents, Alan was in the kitchen, refusing to keep an eye on her and wait for me as I requested, so that I may look upon her surprise as she saw her bike awaiting her in the front room; And so as she rushed towards the room, I ran after her, intent on stopping her from entering the room until he was also present. Needless to say that running on steep stairs is a stupid and somewhat careless feat, I simply lost my footing. I’m not sure if I closed my eyes or if my brain instinctively switched off during those fleeting seconds in which I fell, either way, I don’t remember what happened in that spans of time. Next I knew, I was at the bottom, back bruised, elbows jammed between the wall and the banister, my foot twisted against the wall, tears rolling down my cheeks while my mind tried to block out the pain.
Nevertheless, I got up, hobbled into the livingroom and the insanity of the gift-giving commenced. It was fun watching Naomi rip open her presents and get excited, and it was nice to see Alan smile for once, though it’s not enough to bring back any kind of emotion (although at this point I think I am beyond hope of recovering any sort of immense feeling for him) and it wasn’t enough to make me want to suddenly forget the trials and tribulations of weeks past. Though he hopes for it and though he wills it, I simply cannot make it happen.
So I put on my mask, walked out the door with my held held high, determination gleaming. I refuse to let my inner daemons ruin my angel’s christmas. The rest of the day continues as normal, with the usual family arguments, one sister-in-law refusing to sit where she’s told, the other complaining about eating her vegetables and me- stuck in-between them, willing to scream out and yell at the top of my voice to cease the mindless complaints and idle chatter. Just for someone to host a sensible conversation in which I could participate without needing to justify my interactions. Such wasn’t to be, as it rarely is in a house where manners deemed unnecessary and english revered as little as any other in this modern-day squander of illiteracy.
Is it any wonder that I feel so out-of-place and disconnected, even within the confines of my own family? I think it not surprising that I feel like an older person trapped in the body of a 22-year-old. It is therefore not surprising also, that this lack of emotion for my “husband” has occurred at a time when my thirst for knowledge and intellect is at its highest, but I digress. Now is not the time for idle musings of an overactive mind!
As Christmas Day progressed and tempers flared, I shrank into the background, becoming a piece of furniture, content to please the masses and go along with their plans. I am often too content to bend to the will of others, but while my mind knows the bounds of my own resistance, my heart is too fragile to enforce them and often plays mute. Somewhat masochistic though it may be, I cannot change the design of my own being and while I sit here pondering the inner mechanisms of my own constraints, I cannot help but feel overwhelmed by the pressure that my decisions have placed on my heart. Although this might seem to be a bad thing, I am often glad of the pressure. It reminds me that above all else, I have my faults. As any book has its good chapters, there are often bad passages, almost as if written in deliberately to remind us all of the power of the written word. Same be for my heart. The bad moments of our history ultimately become the tipping point for our future. Either we pander to them and let them swallow us whole, or we fight.
Mother
I chose to fight. I promised myself a year ago that I wouldn’t. I promised myself that I’d not ever put myself at her disposal again, that I’d not contact her, that I’d not be the one doing all the leg work, and yet again that is exactly what I did.
Who am I to deny my daughter her nanny on Boxing day? Despite my heart telling me not to go, to not send any messages and to just let it all fade into the background, my head, my logic said otherwise. Whilst it is all too easy to forget and move on as though nothing has happened, little can be done about sound logic. Where emotions fail, logic takes over and when all else shatters and falls apart, logic will still remain.
Perhaps it is this logic that is to blame for all that is wrong in my world. Is it my logic which is so deeply flawed or is it that I simply have too strong a bond to my family? Either way it is somewhat of a burden which I wish to rid myself of.
My visit to mother went well, considering the terms of our meeting were not precisely a welcomed event. She wishes me to apologize for something I am not at fault for and though I cannot EVER apologize where there is no fault, I did feel a tad guilty that something somewhere had fallen into disarray.
And then, of course there was the issue over what had happened in may. I told my mother -in the best way possible of course, that she had done something inexcusable to me. That you should NEVER leave your own child in the hospital that close to death, without so much as a “how are you?” with all being said, I must admit that even I cracked under the weight of it all. being face to face with my mother for the first time in neigh on 2 years was something for which I was grossly underprepared and although I thought I coped well, it is only looking back now, some Twelve hours later, that I realise just how wrong I was.
I didn’t “cope” with it at all. The only way I managed to last as long as I did without having a breakdown was because Naomi was there and I had auto-tuned my mind to somebody else. In all of those moments when things got awkward and I felt the need to say something without purpose, I focused on him. That one person who is able to calm my mind when things get hectic. The one person who’s very touch I crave, like sun to the leaves of a tree.
Conversation stayed strictly towards Naomi and how she was getting on and that is probably a good thing. It was pleasant without too much awkward and I accomplished all that I wanted. My little girl saw her nanny and I can now feel content that I have done all that I could to facilitate their relationship.
The ball as they say, is now in her court. I have done my duty as a mother AND a daughter. Maybe not my duty as a wife, although I could care less about that, in fact the whole time I was over there, the thought that Alan was sat in the car waiting was far from my mind. Though it pains me to say, I think that perhaps the argument that started this breakdown in communication between myself and my family -that being their brutish inacceptance of Alan as a husband and father figure, perhaps they were indeed correct. Although in saying that, were they really all that surprised? They say that who we choose to be with are not that unlike our own parents, as we tend to fall for men much like our fathers due to a psychological need for similarity, much like an infant craves their parents, we as adult crave a similar interaction, to further bolster our moral upbringings.
My father. Possibly one of the weakest influences of my life, and yet at the same time, the pinnacle of all which is wrong with the way I am. Being a 3-year-old and having my mouth taped shut at night so that I couldn’t cry out into the night, being whipped with the buckle of his belt while he stood naked in my bedroom late at night, beaten until I couldn’t sit down – just because I woke up early and needed to use the bathroom.
Can I say that I am surprised that my entire family see Alan as a controller? I can’t disagree. Mother made some strong points, which I chose to ignore. I stood by him and am now paying the price for such. It is simply not enough to be wanted and loved anymore. It is not enough to merely hope for salvation and though I warrant more respect than I am currently getting, I cannot say that it is not forthcoming. I put myself in this situation, and like many others that I have fallen foul to in my 22 years on this earth, I shall have to wait it out and to hope that somewhen soon I find the inner courage to stop the endless cycle of hate, regret and fear.
I fear that I don’t have the strength to leave. I fear that I have lost all courage and wisdom, that I have nothing left to base my existance upon other than a mere facade of being a wife and a mother. My self-worth is meaningless to many and only I can find a way out of the situation I am now faced with.
To say that I’d rather be anywhere but here is an understatement. There is nothing that I’d like more than to pack a bag, take some money and a passport and just leave the country. Should I not have had Naomi, that is precisely what I would be doing. I’d be elsewhere, with someone else, Anyone, but not here. Not with someone who respects me as little as he does.
The rising and falling chromaticisms of my own emotions has me bound to this someone, almost as if my heart is in a trance. Like the cadances of a well tuned piece of music, my heart beats in perfect synchronicity to his.
As all else falls apart around me, his calming mantra soothes me, brings about me an inner peace and while all else is lost and just we remain, I feel at one with harmony. It seems rather childish to say, specifically as we have never met, but there is just something inexplicable, incredible and inaudible between us and whether it is just I who feels it or whether the feeling is mutual, I am not sure, but something has happened which has taken my mind off for the time being and has me focussed entirely on someone else. Whether its wonton or lust, love or desire, that is not to be known but somehow, somewhen, I may just find out and until then, speculation be the devil, it has to be.
I shall not be making any new years resolutions. I believe not in their false hope, but I shall leave you for tonight with this-
Whatever the future should hold, be it good or bad, I just hope, with all my heart that I can finally put the past to rest. No more abuse, no more hatred, no more ignorance. I can stand for it no longer. My heart has taken enough and cannot shatter any smaller.
Thank you as ever, my friends. You have been the rocks on which I stand.
And to you, (you know who you are, should you ever read this) you shall never know the depth of emotion you gave me. Be it your will or not, you are doing something I thought impossible. You are helping rebuild this broken doll, fragile and pale, and turning me into something beautiful. I can only hope that one day, we meet and the mystery, although then broken, shall not fade and leave ugliness. You have my undying gratitude, my thanks, my heart.
Lacrimosaangel~ Eyes on me 