Would the real Mrs M Please Stand up? Part 10

It's been way too long, but if you want to catch up Link back to this.

So there was I, living with my parents. In my old room. Bliss!

I never missed a day at work throughout, it was my sanity saver. The one thing I was good at and besides, my best friends were there - why would I chose not to go?

Mr H gathered momentum as the good boy jilted. Even my parents bought into his pity party. I was the one painted as the bad guy. I was the one who had left him, who thought I was above my station. I was the one who must have been messing around. It was obviously all my fault.

I didn't say a thing - to anyone. I took the blame, I listened to the rumours, I put up with my parents siding with Mr H. put up with 'our' friends turning into 'his' friends. Why? Because I was free from him.
My heart broke when his family cut me off completely though, yet I still couldn't bring myself to tell them why I'd left. He was their son, brother, grandson, nephew, they didn't have to know about the bad things - who was I to tell them? Even when his father ridiculed me and openly accused me of having an affair with another woman (his drunken logic being that I couldn't possibly have chosen another man over his son), I still didn't tell anyone anything. His Mum (L)refusing all contact from me cut like a knife - I love L so much - and still I kept shtum!

From the July until the November I continued to live in the same small village as Mr H. I tolerated my parents inviting him for lunch, or out for drinks (they felt sorry for him and blamed me). I never saw him nor spoke to him. I just went to work then came home to the comfort of my bedroom.

At work I continued to go from strength to strength. I really blossomed into a confident young lady (I was only 24!). I saw Mr M every day at work and our friendship grew. He was having problems with Cruella - I listened, but never once did I share my opinion, not once did I hint that he deserved better. He was married - end of story, out of bounds!
I'd been asked out for several dates, but after a disaster with a prison officer (another tale for another day) I decided I quite liked being single!

Towards the end of November I began to feel stifled, my parents were beginning to question my motives for leaving Mr H - was it just a case of me thinking I was better than I actually was, had I tried to be a good wife, was I having an affair? (I think the fact that I'd been out socially once since leaving Mr H would have answered the last question). I started looking for somewhere to live and within days had fallen in love with a little two up two down. Nothing to look at - but it felt right.

I put an offer in on the house on 1st December. Mr H moved his 3rd Girlfriend into my old house on the 2nd. I still paid his mortgage. He still threatened to slit my throat if I stopped.

Would the real Mrs M please stand up? Part 9

Wow, it's been a while! If you need a catch up try this.

So there I was. At my parents house, with a car, computer and two suitcases.
The first few days were an absolute blur, I recall spending much of the time in tears, tears of relief and dispair. I do know that I never once thought about going back.

My mum was convinced that I was having an affair and immediately took sides with Mr H. She cooked for him, would go to the house to wash and clean for him, would demand my dad buy him a drink if they saw him in the pub....... Of course I was the guilty party. I had somehow managed to ruin the perfect marriage. My dad, he knew there was more to it, but like the day of my wedding - he never asked the question. Probably because he knew what the answer would be.

My in-laws would not even look at me, never mind talk to me. They thought I was selfish, conceited and above my station. How wrong they were and it broke my heart.

Yet I wouldn't tell them why I had left. Any of them. I couldn't.

I never returned to my lovely little house, not once did I step foot back in it. I continued to pay the mortgage and the bills. Mr H sold my car and I bought a new one. Eventually I signed the house over to Mr H - nice of me eh?
What choice did I have when he was threatening to burn down my parents' home, to hospitalise my dad, to tamper with my car brakes?
Sounds extreme, but I never once doubted that he would follow through with his threats (years later I was to discover that he is a man of his word).

From the age of 14 to 24 I had been with this man. My one and only boyfriend.

So what did I get?

Two suitcases, a computer and a fear of ever telling anyone what had truly happened.

Oh, and I did have a fantastic friend at work. He was amazingly supportive and just the most genuine person I had ever met - Mr M.

Would the real Mrs M please stand up? Part 8

You know the drill, if you need a refresher check this out.


I stood there, in our small kitchen with my chin touching the floor and heart beating so fast it sounded like a drum roll. Mr H was doing his best goldfish impression.

I'd said it, I'd actually spoken those words - out loud, with Mr H in the same room. His reaction made it clear that he'd heard me.
I'd made my decision, now I had to act on it. Yet I couldn't move, I don't know if it was fear or excitement that I was feeling, but boy were my feet glued to the spot. However, this changed the moment Mr H actually began to process what I had said - I calculated I had approximately 10 minutes to get the hell out of that house. Suddenly I had no problem moving or thinking!

Whilst Mr H did the little boy lost routine, I ran upstairs and threw my clothes into a suitcase. I packed another suitcase with books and personal items and disconnected my computer. I loaded it all into the car and drove the half mile to my parents' house. I parked the car and walked inside.

I sat there for 3 hours and said nothing about what had happened. I made small talk, chit chat, I talked an absolute load of crap, anything to avoid thinking or talking about what I had done.
You see, I had failed and I couldn't bring myself to tell my parents. I couldn't summons the courage to admit what had been happening.
As my dad was walking out of the front door (to go to the pub with Mr H) I called him back. I asked if I could stay the night, told him I'd left Mr H. I didn't offer any more information and he didn't ask any more questions. He took my car keys and emptied my car.

So there I was - a car, two suitcases and a computer.
Back in my old bedroom, with my mum and dad. No-one asking difficult questions, no-one telling me to go back to Mr H.

I slept so well that night. I'd finally done it, I'd left Mr H. I was stronger than I had ever thought I could possibly be. I'd made my choice and there was no going back.

Would the real Mrs M please stand up? Part 7

Refresh yourselves with this if you need to.

Have you ever seen the Young Guns films?

Yoohoo! I'll make you famous!

Stick with me, this is relevant. I love these films and much more I love Emilio Estevez (sp??)

I started a new job on 4th October 1999. I started at 09.00hrs and by 09.30hrs I had met Mr M. I walked onto that ward and there he was, my very own Emilio. I was hooked, he was married.

I had been married for just over two years and I had tried hard to make my marriage work. The more I tried, the less I achieved. Mr H chose to follow a different path than the one I wanted to walk on. He wanted to start a family, he wanted me to give up work, he wanted me to love, honour and obey him.

I just wanted to be loved.

We took several holidays to try to work things out, but seriously how do you stop a drinker from drinking when he doesn't want to stop. How do you change someone that doesn't think they need to change. How do you find the strength to walk away when you have no confidence and your last ounce of self esteem has been knocked from you?

I grew to love my new job and I got to know Mr M. He was my friend - no more - just friends. He was married and had two baby boys. His wife was tall, blonde and gorgeous. How could I compete?
In all honesty though I had no intention of competing. He was married, out of bounds, spoken for. I never once told Mr M that I liked him and I don't think I ever behaved in a way that would have let on either.
I spent the next 9 months focusing on my job and saving like mad. For every £ that Mr H spent on alcohol, I saved into an online account. By July 2000 I had saved quite a few thousand and my marriage was as bad as it had ever been. I was at rock bottom and had accepted that this was to be my life - there would be no way out.

Until I turned up for the 1st day of a two week violence and aggression course and guess who was there?

I spent two weeks rolling around on mats with Mr M (very nice), but more importantly I spent two weeks learning about myself. I was strong, both physically and mentally. I could handle the toughest of work situations, much better than many people. On the last day of the course I made a decision.
Driving home I changed my mind so many times, could I - couldn't I? Should I - shouldn't I?

I arrived home at the same time as Mr H returned from the pub. He asked what was for tea & my reply was.......

...... I don't know, I'm leaving you!

Would the real Mrs M please stand up? Part 6

When my eldest sister got married (to an absolute arse hole - another post for another day), and it was just her and Dad sat at home waiting for the wedding car, Dad gave her an 'out'. He told her she didn't have to go through with the wedding, she could take her frock off, polish off the Vodka with Dad and leave everyone else to figure out what had happened. She chose to get married.

On the morning of my wedding I knew I was making the biggest mistake of my life. I had spent the entire week trying to work out what I could do to cancel, postpone, vanish.... I knew it would all be ok in the end though. I knew my Dad, my Hero, would make things ok. He would offer me the same 'out' as he had my sister. No reason required - just an 'out'. It never came.
We waited for the wedding car, just Dad and I. he told me how proud he was of me. He told me how much he & Mum adored Mr H - the son they had never had. I cried as he walked me down the aisle. I cried as I saw the faces of my family and friends. I cried when I saw the 4 friends who had stayed at our home on the night of the stag party.
Yet everyone else was so very happy.

I made my vows in front of God and in saying each and every word I made a commitment to make this marriage work, for better or worse. How bloody true those words were.

So there it happened, I became Mrs H.

I worked at being Mrs H for 3 years. The events of the evening of the Stag party were repeated many times - each time I convinced myself it would be the last. Gone was the selfish, naive and conceited young lady and in her place was me, Mrs H. Too proud and ashamed to admit what was happening.

Then I met Mr M.

Would the real Mrs M please stand up? part 5

I doesn't seem right leaving that last post without some sort of explaination.

I am not a victim in this in any way, shape or form so forgive me it it seems I am claiming to be. All of my life I have made my own choices, granted they have not always been the right ones, but I've lived by the choices that I've made. Whilst not a victim per say, I was young, naive, conceited and utterly, utterly deluded.

7 days before getting married I made the choice to carry on, to tell no-one, to act like it had never happened. Funnily enough, Mr M made the very same choice. IOt was never mentioned between us - ever. One horrendous incident was not going to spoil everything. We all do things we later live to regret and I honestly believed that the events of that night would never be repeated.

Would the real Mrs M please stand up? Part 4

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.

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.

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.

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....