Some people might say that I'm a bit anal about things. I like to think I'm organised.
Planning a huge wedding was a dream come true for me, I was able to indulge in lists, time lines and budgets. The little monster inside of me was able to pop up now and again and I could excuse it as wedding planning stress. People humoured me but to be honest I can say I must have been a nightmare to live and work with.
In the time it took me to plan my big day I fell in love with the idea of getting married and I fell out of love with the man I was marrying. As a couple we became more and more disjointed and towards our wedding day, getting married was the only thing we talked about. Apart from a huge circle of friends, we had nothing else in common. I put it all down to last minute jitters, but in my heart of hearts I knew we should not have been getting married.
I planned my own hen night (yes, I am so anal that I wouldn't let anyone else plan it) and Mr H planned his Stag party. I went for quiet and classy. He hired a whole pub and 3 private strippers - not quiet nor classy as I was to discover when he returned that night.
Mr H had never been stable mentally and at times people admitted to never knowing if he was joking or serious - I maintain to this day he was always deadly serious. Underneath the happy-go-lucky character that was/is Mr H lies something much darker, much more sinister. Something that had only appeared in fleeting moments prior to the night of his stag party.
Mr H and several friends returned from his stag party, the mood was eerily sedate. Whilst his friends were very intoxicated, Mr H appeared strangely sober. He was angry but trying not to show it. I made the mistake of asking about the evenings events. I made the mistake of ranting at him when his friends revealed there had been strippers at the party. I made the mistake of laughing at him when his friends revealed some of the details of the evening - as the 'stag' the strippers had teased and ridiculed Mr H in front of all of his friends, that's why he was angry.
We argued and his friends went to bed, obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable with the sitaution.
I'd always thought of myself as being the dominant one in our relationship. I'd always seen myself as better than Mr M. I was the academic one, I was the one bringing in the money, paying the bills, buying nice clothes, holidays. I felt very secure in my position of matriarch and if I'm honest I'd used this to keep Mr H in his place, to control him. At the time I didn't see it like that, I just thought I deserved a bit of respect and that he should show some gratitude. Remember that I was naive and conceited.
When we argued I had no hesitation in pointing out all of this toMr H and his shortcoming.
I guess that night I over stepped the mark, pushed all the wrong buttons.
That night everything changed.
I learned that Mr H was not the man I thought he was, nor was I the strong and independent woman I thought I was.
I was beaten and violated in ways that no person should ever be. Everything that was me and mine was taken from me that night, those few hours destroyed everything sacred and precious. In my own home, with the man I was about to marry, with four of his friends upstairs.
In the morning nothing was said, by anyone - yet each and every one of us knew what had happened.
Life carried on.
I was getting married in 7 days.
Friday, 6 March 2009
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Feeling very sorry for myself
Last summer I was diagnosed with Erythema Nodosum (sound like a Harry Potter spell don't you think?).
After 3 months of agonising pain I was given the correct treatment. I had a mild outbreak again in November, I started treatment right away and within a week the symptoms were gone.
I've felt quite low for a week or two - both mentally and physically - then on Tuesday it hit. My joints are burning and feel fused. My shins hurt like the worst shin splints ever, getting up in the morning is a battle. If it wasn't so painful it would be funny watching me trying to change Dora or fasten Lola's shoes - imagine baby Giraffe trying to stand up for the first time.......
So I'm back on the steroids and Zinc bandages (oh, the smell) and hope that they are effective.
I hate feeling like this.
Oh and I forgot to mention that I'm on total bed rest - I love a doctor with a sense of humour!
After 3 months of agonising pain I was given the correct treatment. I had a mild outbreak again in November, I started treatment right away and within a week the symptoms were gone.
I've felt quite low for a week or two - both mentally and physically - then on Tuesday it hit. My joints are burning and feel fused. My shins hurt like the worst shin splints ever, getting up in the morning is a battle. If it wasn't so painful it would be funny watching me trying to change Dora or fasten Lola's shoes - imagine baby Giraffe trying to stand up for the first time.......
So I'm back on the steroids and Zinc bandages (oh, the smell) and hope that they are effective.
I hate feeling like this.
Oh and I forgot to mention that I'm on total bed rest - I love a doctor with a sense of humour!
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
When the big hand
points to the twelve and the little hand points to the four - it's four o'clock. The time that you Cruella, should drop the boys off. Not 4.30pm, 5pm or even 5.30pm. It's 4pm!
So what part of this exactly don't you understand? The original order states 6pm, but you couldn't be bothered to feed the boys a cooked meal, so you concocted some story about having to take Randall's kids home and you didn't want to have to go out twice - they live around the corner from you for freaks sake!!
Anyway, being the decent and responsible parents that we are, we negotiated 4pm at your request. Every other week I cook our Sunday lunch at tea time and to be honest I'm sick of it being ruined waiting for you to get off your fat, lazy arse and bring the boys.
How about you try to get here at 4pm next week?
So what part of this exactly don't you understand? The original order states 6pm, but you couldn't be bothered to feed the boys a cooked meal, so you concocted some story about having to take Randall's kids home and you didn't want to have to go out twice - they live around the corner from you for freaks sake!!
Anyway, being the decent and responsible parents that we are, we negotiated 4pm at your request. Every other week I cook our Sunday lunch at tea time and to be honest I'm sick of it being ruined waiting for you to get off your fat, lazy arse and bring the boys.
How about you try to get here at 4pm next week?
Monday, 2 March 2009
Would the real Mrs M please stand up? Part 3
Becoming Mrs H.
The last part of my previous post wasn't quite true - I didn't meet Mr H when I was 14. I met Mr H when I was 11, I became his girlfriend when I was 14.
Mr H loved school, just as much as I hated it. Where he failed, I excelled. He was loud, funny and popular, I wasn't. When he asked me to the youth club disco, I accepted.
Things hadn't been good at home, my parents were suffering from depression after my sisters had lied to them, stolen from them and their friends, refused all offers of help (this still makes me laugh. My parents had no money, yet they were prepared to take out a loan to pay for my sisters to go into a detox programme - which they refused) and ended up in prison.
My parents still functioned in the sense that they got up every morning, they went to work, they cooked meals. But they didn't seem interested in us as a family anymore. I guess they felt somehow responsible and vulnerable - perhaps they thought I would hurt them in the same way?
Anyway, given the situation at home and the fact that at 14 I still hadn't started puberty, was not pretty, did not have long blonde hair, did wear second hand clothes - I decided that Mr H (also 14) was a pretty good catch. The fact that he too was no oil painting (buck teeth and acne) and he didn't come from a rich family and was not the star of the school football team made him all the more appealing to me - I'd have no competition.
Funnily enough we were good together. Everyone loved Mr H and in time they loved me too. Don't get me wrong, we were never the golden couple, but In Mr H I had found a family again, his parents and sisters were amazing.
The years passed and I continued to be Mr H's Girlfriend. He left school at 16 - to become an apprentice milk man (if you knew him you would be laughing too). I continued with school, applied to university and was given an unconditional offer to study forensic science. I had ambition, I wanted a better future for myself than my parents had had - Mr H didn't. I had a choice to make and I made it. I left school 3 weeks before I was due to sit my A levels - My parents were devastated, I felt very grown up.
My first job was as an apprentice Butcher - I became vegetarian. I left the butchers and I became a carer. Mr H and I bought our first (and only) home when we were almost 19years old. We took a mortgage for £19K and committed to paying it back at £96 per month. He left his job the day we signed for our mortgage.
I applied to university to study Nursing and was accepted. I started the course a year later. Mr H still had no job, so I worked 4 jobs and studied on a full time course. Again, I made a conscious choice. I could have walked away, we could have managed without me working so much, but to be honest it suited me. I liked having a nice home, with brand new thing in - bought and paid for in full - I strove to reject everything about my childhood. I became a snob.
I only wore designer clothes, my shoes cost more than my dad earned in a week. We had 3 to 4 foreign holidays a year. I bought my food from Marks and Sparks and took greatest pleasure in rubbing my parents' nose in all of this at any given opportunity. You see I had made a choice - never to be like them. I didn't think that their lives and what they had achieved was worth anything, I only saw their failings. I now know that they had never failed, it was us, their children that they fought tooth and nail for, who failed them.
I wanted to do things right. I wanted a good job, a nice house, nice clothes, new car.... I wanted my parents to be proud of me, but more importantly I wanted them to envy everything I had achieved. Naive and conceited - not a good combination.
Mr H and I decided to get married - no big proposal, we just decided. Of course it would be the biggest affair our village had seen. I was 20yrs old and planning the biggest day of my life. There would be no expense spared. I didn't expect my parents to pay for my wedding - by this point they were paying for the huge debts racked up by my sisters - when they offered to pay 1/3 of the cost I let them, after adding a few extras. You can add selfish to my list of personality traits.
Not everything in the garden was rosy. Cracks had started to open up in my relationship with Mr H. He was a drinker and as he didn't have a job he had plenty of time to drink. Don't get me wrong, it kind of suited me this way. He had his life and I had mine. I was earning good money and as long as he had a few bob for a couple of pints he was happy. But with the drinking came the depression and the anger. As I was to discover on the night of his Stag party.
The last part of my previous post wasn't quite true - I didn't meet Mr H when I was 14. I met Mr H when I was 11, I became his girlfriend when I was 14.
Mr H loved school, just as much as I hated it. Where he failed, I excelled. He was loud, funny and popular, I wasn't. When he asked me to the youth club disco, I accepted.
Things hadn't been good at home, my parents were suffering from depression after my sisters had lied to them, stolen from them and their friends, refused all offers of help (this still makes me laugh. My parents had no money, yet they were prepared to take out a loan to pay for my sisters to go into a detox programme - which they refused) and ended up in prison.
My parents still functioned in the sense that they got up every morning, they went to work, they cooked meals. But they didn't seem interested in us as a family anymore. I guess they felt somehow responsible and vulnerable - perhaps they thought I would hurt them in the same way?
Anyway, given the situation at home and the fact that at 14 I still hadn't started puberty, was not pretty, did not have long blonde hair, did wear second hand clothes - I decided that Mr H (also 14) was a pretty good catch. The fact that he too was no oil painting (buck teeth and acne) and he didn't come from a rich family and was not the star of the school football team made him all the more appealing to me - I'd have no competition.
Funnily enough we were good together. Everyone loved Mr H and in time they loved me too. Don't get me wrong, we were never the golden couple, but In Mr H I had found a family again, his parents and sisters were amazing.
The years passed and I continued to be Mr H's Girlfriend. He left school at 16 - to become an apprentice milk man (if you knew him you would be laughing too). I continued with school, applied to university and was given an unconditional offer to study forensic science. I had ambition, I wanted a better future for myself than my parents had had - Mr H didn't. I had a choice to make and I made it. I left school 3 weeks before I was due to sit my A levels - My parents were devastated, I felt very grown up.
My first job was as an apprentice Butcher - I became vegetarian. I left the butchers and I became a carer. Mr H and I bought our first (and only) home when we were almost 19years old. We took a mortgage for £19K and committed to paying it back at £96 per month. He left his job the day we signed for our mortgage.
I applied to university to study Nursing and was accepted. I started the course a year later. Mr H still had no job, so I worked 4 jobs and studied on a full time course. Again, I made a conscious choice. I could have walked away, we could have managed without me working so much, but to be honest it suited me. I liked having a nice home, with brand new thing in - bought and paid for in full - I strove to reject everything about my childhood. I became a snob.
I only wore designer clothes, my shoes cost more than my dad earned in a week. We had 3 to 4 foreign holidays a year. I bought my food from Marks and Sparks and took greatest pleasure in rubbing my parents' nose in all of this at any given opportunity. You see I had made a choice - never to be like them. I didn't think that their lives and what they had achieved was worth anything, I only saw their failings. I now know that they had never failed, it was us, their children that they fought tooth and nail for, who failed them.
I wanted to do things right. I wanted a good job, a nice house, nice clothes, new car.... I wanted my parents to be proud of me, but more importantly I wanted them to envy everything I had achieved. Naive and conceited - not a good combination.
Mr H and I decided to get married - no big proposal, we just decided. Of course it would be the biggest affair our village had seen. I was 20yrs old and planning the biggest day of my life. There would be no expense spared. I didn't expect my parents to pay for my wedding - by this point they were paying for the huge debts racked up by my sisters - when they offered to pay 1/3 of the cost I let them, after adding a few extras. You can add selfish to my list of personality traits.
Not everything in the garden was rosy. Cracks had started to open up in my relationship with Mr H. He was a drinker and as he didn't have a job he had plenty of time to drink. Don't get me wrong, it kind of suited me this way. He had his life and I had mine. I was earning good money and as long as he had a few bob for a couple of pints he was happy. But with the drinking came the depression and the anger. As I was to discover on the night of his Stag party.
The colour Purple
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Saturday, 28 February 2009
Would the real Mrs M please stand up? Part 2
Where did I get to in my quest for cleansing and disclosure?
Probably somewhere round about my 8th birthday I realised that my parents were not as financially stable as those of many of my friends. They couldn't afford to buy the pony that I would pray for every night. The very pony that I dreamt of so vividly that one morning I woke up so excited as I truly believed they had bought it for me - many of you may not realise just how much an 8 year old can cry in 24 hours!
What I didn't realise was that my father had joined one of the largest trade union disputes of the century, he didn't work for over a year.
We had no money.
Full stop!
I didn't understand the strange words that would fly between my parents, I didn't understand the embarrassment my mum faced when she couldn't pay the shopping bill at the checkout and had to select items to return. I didn't understand when my Dad cried the day he returned to work - defeated - I just thought he would miss being at home with us.
From my point of view it wasn't so bad, I got to pick loads of new clothes from the clothes mountain donated from all over the country. I got to go to the soup kitchen every day for my meals and even got free meals at school - although I had to deal with the stigma of having a yellow free meal disk, but hey, I've never been too proud!. My parents were still fantastic and to be honest I loved having Mum and Dad at home to play with, rather than Dad being at work 12 hours a day, every day.
I suppose the rest of these early years were none eventful, I never broke any bones, I never suffered from any childhood illnesses, my parents didn't divorce. I might not have had everything I ever wanted, but in all honesty I had everything I ever needed.
Then Mum got poorly.
She didn't want to be involved with us girls anymore, she didn't want to teach us to sew, bake, knit, cook. In fact I don't think she could stand to have us around at all. Dad didn't escape her wrath either - but like the gentleman he is he stuck by her.
We (my sisters much more than I) on the other hand suffered the verbal and physical abuse she threw at us daily. My mum was gone and in her place was someone I didn't like much. I didn't know that she was suffering from mental illness, that she didn't know what she was doing when she hit us, swore at us, dragged us round with our hair. Thankfully, my Dad, my Mr Fantastic soon realised that she needed help. Mum had a couple of hospital admissions, surgery and medication. She didn't go back to being the Mum I loved - but I now wonder if she did, but I just didn't let her.
I honestly think this is where it all went down hill. I don't blame Mum for anything - I did, for a long time but not now.
My eldest sister had a child when she was just 17 and he came to live with Mum, Dad and me, whilst both my sisters went into self destruct mode. For the next 5 years they lived a life of crime and drugs stuck in the vicious circle so familiar with so many families. I was left at home practically raising my nephew (whom I adore).
This was the time that I met Mr H - I was 14 years old and had just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Probably somewhere round about my 8th birthday I realised that my parents were not as financially stable as those of many of my friends. They couldn't afford to buy the pony that I would pray for every night. The very pony that I dreamt of so vividly that one morning I woke up so excited as I truly believed they had bought it for me - many of you may not realise just how much an 8 year old can cry in 24 hours!
What I didn't realise was that my father had joined one of the largest trade union disputes of the century, he didn't work for over a year.
We had no money.
Full stop!
I didn't understand the strange words that would fly between my parents, I didn't understand the embarrassment my mum faced when she couldn't pay the shopping bill at the checkout and had to select items to return. I didn't understand when my Dad cried the day he returned to work - defeated - I just thought he would miss being at home with us.
From my point of view it wasn't so bad, I got to pick loads of new clothes from the clothes mountain donated from all over the country. I got to go to the soup kitchen every day for my meals and even got free meals at school - although I had to deal with the stigma of having a yellow free meal disk, but hey, I've never been too proud!. My parents were still fantastic and to be honest I loved having Mum and Dad at home to play with, rather than Dad being at work 12 hours a day, every day.
I suppose the rest of these early years were none eventful, I never broke any bones, I never suffered from any childhood illnesses, my parents didn't divorce. I might not have had everything I ever wanted, but in all honesty I had everything I ever needed.
Then Mum got poorly.
She didn't want to be involved with us girls anymore, she didn't want to teach us to sew, bake, knit, cook. In fact I don't think she could stand to have us around at all. Dad didn't escape her wrath either - but like the gentleman he is he stuck by her.
We (my sisters much more than I) on the other hand suffered the verbal and physical abuse she threw at us daily. My mum was gone and in her place was someone I didn't like much. I didn't know that she was suffering from mental illness, that she didn't know what she was doing when she hit us, swore at us, dragged us round with our hair. Thankfully, my Dad, my Mr Fantastic soon realised that she needed help. Mum had a couple of hospital admissions, surgery and medication. She didn't go back to being the Mum I loved - but I now wonder if she did, but I just didn't let her.
I honestly think this is where it all went down hill. I don't blame Mum for anything - I did, for a long time but not now.
My eldest sister had a child when she was just 17 and he came to live with Mum, Dad and me, whilst both my sisters went into self destruct mode. For the next 5 years they lived a life of crime and drugs stuck in the vicious circle so familiar with so many families. I was left at home practically raising my nephew (whom I adore).
This was the time that I met Mr H - I was 14 years old and had just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Would the real Mrs M please stand up?
I guess I don't really know what my Blogs all about anymore. I started at a time when I was having great difficulty dealing with Cruella. I needed an outlet. I needed people to understand me. I needed to realise that she was insignificant and I needed to move on.
Looking back on my posts, I honestly think I've come some way to achieving what I needed to do, so I guess now is the time to consider 'where do I go from here?'
I have been fortunate to have had quite a few of you stumble on my blog (whichever search term you used you are welcome) and many have stuck around - you guys keep me grounded with your comments.
I feel that before I can move forward I need to go back. I feel like there is so much about me that you don't know (much of it you wouldn't want to know) and I suppose in a form of cyber cleansing and in keeping with this free therapy, I should enlighten you, so here goes:-
I was born in 1976 and have two elder sisters. My eldest sister was born when my parents were just 15 and 16 yrs old - not the done thing in rural Scotland in 1971. My father remained at school, then college - he sat his final exam the night I was born, he missed my birth. He passed the exam with flying colours. My Mum is the youngest daughter in a family of 7 - her father fought in the D Day landings during the second world war -he was one of the lucky ones who returned from war, but died in 1972. I never met my Grandfather.
My Godfather is a priest, he was my fathers best friend and became disillusioned with the church - he has been a missionary in Africa since 1982. I don't know my Godmother. (I am thankful every day for my girls' Godparents - Trixi I love you hon)
I was early to walk (7 1/2 months) and was talking in sentences by 18 months. I started school aged 4 in a baby size 5G shoe (Dora wears the same size now at 17 months). My 'nickname' as a child was Titch because I was so small. I excelled at school, yet hated every minute of it.
My clothes were always pre-worn by my sisters or best friend Kelly- it was first up, best dressed in our house. I can't ever remember having new clothes bought for me (I'm sure I must have) but I can remember my Mum sitting up till all hours sewing and knitting. We were always clean and well presented. I was jealous that my friend had every material possession a girl could ever ask for. She was jealous that I had fantastic parents who loved us to bits and spent time with us - not knocking ten bells out of each other!
One of my earliest childhood memories is sitting with my Father, on his knee, both reading our library books, I think I must have been about 4. Every Monday we would walk to the library to exchange our books, I thought my Father was so fantastic as he was able to borrow 4 at a time. I loved the little manilla library token and was so very proud to have been trusted with it. I continued to go the the library with my father until I left home at 18, by which point I too had 4 little manilla tokens.
Every year my parents saved to take us on holiday, we had 7 days of living like kings - the rest of the month it was Egg and chips and hiding behind the sofa when the shop-a-cheque lady knocked on the door! My parents were strict, they had strong morals and principles. They both have an amazing sense of what is right and wrong - I feel blessed that they instilled these in me - although as an 8 year old I would much have rather have had the material possessions!
Part two to follow....
Looking back on my posts, I honestly think I've come some way to achieving what I needed to do, so I guess now is the time to consider 'where do I go from here?'
I have been fortunate to have had quite a few of you stumble on my blog (whichever search term you used you are welcome) and many have stuck around - you guys keep me grounded with your comments.
I feel that before I can move forward I need to go back. I feel like there is so much about me that you don't know (much of it you wouldn't want to know) and I suppose in a form of cyber cleansing and in keeping with this free therapy, I should enlighten you, so here goes:-
I was born in 1976 and have two elder sisters. My eldest sister was born when my parents were just 15 and 16 yrs old - not the done thing in rural Scotland in 1971. My father remained at school, then college - he sat his final exam the night I was born, he missed my birth. He passed the exam with flying colours. My Mum is the youngest daughter in a family of 7 - her father fought in the D Day landings during the second world war -he was one of the lucky ones who returned from war, but died in 1972. I never met my Grandfather.
My Godfather is a priest, he was my fathers best friend and became disillusioned with the church - he has been a missionary in Africa since 1982. I don't know my Godmother. (I am thankful every day for my girls' Godparents - Trixi I love you hon)
I was early to walk (7 1/2 months) and was talking in sentences by 18 months. I started school aged 4 in a baby size 5G shoe (Dora wears the same size now at 17 months). My 'nickname' as a child was Titch because I was so small. I excelled at school, yet hated every minute of it.
My clothes were always pre-worn by my sisters or best friend Kelly- it was first up, best dressed in our house. I can't ever remember having new clothes bought for me (I'm sure I must have) but I can remember my Mum sitting up till all hours sewing and knitting. We were always clean and well presented. I was jealous that my friend had every material possession a girl could ever ask for. She was jealous that I had fantastic parents who loved us to bits and spent time with us - not knocking ten bells out of each other!
One of my earliest childhood memories is sitting with my Father, on his knee, both reading our library books, I think I must have been about 4. Every Monday we would walk to the library to exchange our books, I thought my Father was so fantastic as he was able to borrow 4 at a time. I loved the little manilla library token and was so very proud to have been trusted with it. I continued to go the the library with my father until I left home at 18, by which point I too had 4 little manilla tokens.
Every year my parents saved to take us on holiday, we had 7 days of living like kings - the rest of the month it was Egg and chips and hiding behind the sofa when the shop-a-cheque lady knocked on the door! My parents were strict, they had strong morals and principles. They both have an amazing sense of what is right and wrong - I feel blessed that they instilled these in me - although as an 8 year old I would much have rather have had the material possessions!
Part two to follow....
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