Morning,
As I mentioned some time ago, there are some issues that I have needed to say out loud, because I think they need to be said. Not because I want to say it, far from it, but because I need to say this in writing. Writing my thoughts out aloud on this blog has allowed me to think more closely about how to convey them. But it comes with responsibility, and a lot more than I first realized when I started out doing this some years ago, on a different blog completely.
Those friends, who are reading this, I dearly apologize for what I say at the bottom of this piece, but again on my side of the fence, it needs to be said – you certainly won't understand where I am coming from on the point that I discuss, but again I apologize. There are a couple of bits on this blog, which until now have been completely unknown to the vast majority of you.
Unfortunately, I have a couple of revelations in this piece which are relevant in this piece. Read at your risk, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Lastly, I apologize if I repeat myself, several times in this piece but this sort of post is not the sort that I do normally. It's not as irreverent, sardonic and dare I say eloquently written as I try to write my blogs normally.
It is about eight years ago since my father decided to walk out on myself and my family, leaving Mum to fend for herself and left her with all of his debts and the various shit that he left behind. My relationship with my father was relatively cordial up to the point of when he left for a younger model. He had left home for 'financial reasons' a year before, citing the lack of payment of his council tax – but I have my own suspicions into why he truly left home. And it wasn't for any of the reasons mentioned above – I won't elaborate much further, that can be left for another time.
At the time of Dad leaving the marital home, I had been back from the Isle of Wight for about a year and had seriously struggled to adapt to life at home, due to the vast differences in lifestyle, between school and home – and the thought of taking my own life had been seriously considered due to this as well as other factors. The lack of friends that I had back then, as well as having no job had amplified this still further. Some will say that I should have been strong for my mother and sister but they themselves wanted shot of him. Having been beaten and bruised by his brutality for the previous few years that I had been at boarding school, which is understandable. But at a time when I needed a father-figure, someone to talk to even, there was no-one to talk to.
The last time I spoke to my Dad face to face, was nearly four years ago – four years this October to be precise. Although there was a flurry of e-mails that were sent between myself and him, that soon dried up. Apart from Christmas cards, I don't have any communication with him.
This is the bit where people are going to be offended – particularly my mother and sister. I wish I could talk to him; there are things that I have to talk to him about subjects that frankly I can't talk to my mother about, and certainly not my sister.
My friends are absolute stars, but even they wouldn't be able understand why I need him.
You see for seven years of my life I was away from home, so obviously I was away from my parents for long periods of time – but at least there was father-figures of sorts there at school, that I could look up to and aspire to be.
When I left school, I lost that influence that had kept me on the straight and narrow and there was a sense within me, that the likelihood of me getting anywhere in life was practically next to nil – having only left school with a couple of GCSEs, and even then they weren't anything to write home about.
Dad at this point was working at a pub in Pluckley, just outside Ashford, opposite the Train Station actually, I remember one story where having forgotten a fresh pair of chef clothes, he called home and asked my sister to drop them off at the train station on the way up to picking me up from Vauxhall Bridge, the half-term before I left school, and there he was on the platform waiting for the train to pull in, with my sister in tow with his clothes for that night. Unbelievable!
I remember the morning that Dad in effect told me that he was leaving home, to move into some dingy apartment down by Marine Parade here in Folkestone. At the time, I didn't appreciate the seriousness of the situation, partly because I was in my own zonked-out world, but as time passed on it became abundantly clear to me that he was seeing someone else – it was probably Boxing Day of that same year, so we're talking 1999 now, where he took me to Canterbury for the day. Back then there was only the out-of-town shops which were open, and I remember him having to buy me a new mobile as mine had died due to one drop to the floor too many.
On the way home, he began talking about the possibility of moving away, he didn't say where or when, but it seemed like a matter of time before he did go.
He eventually told us just two days before he was due to start his new job in Bournemouth. It was days before I was due to start my third spell at college and my spirits were as high as they had been in the two years since I had left school – saying that, that wasn't difficult, considering my two suicide attempts in those preceding years.
Both times I had been persuaded not to go ahead with them by my sister. Both times were attempted down what was East Cliff, nowadays more of a landslip away from being nothing more than a mound. The first time was Christmas 1999, I was working at Argos as part of a training program and I really wasn't enjoying it at all. All I remember of that morning, was having a explosive argument with my mother and sister over my life and how they were controlling me to the point of by remote control, some things don't change that much, unfortunately.
Because I was such an independently minded person I couldn't tolerate the amount of control that they wanted to inject into my life and although I'm back home, now after several months living with a work colleague (former, now), they know that they can't control me. In fact if anything I call the shots now!
The second suicide attempt came on my 18th birthday. This is something that up till now I have decided not to talk about to anyone because people didn't need to know. It is something which is not known to anyone. Not Mum, my sister, nor any of my friends – neither here in Folkestone, nor any of my school friends that I still remain in contact.
The reason was that some junkie who was on the same training course as me, decided to steal my birthday money which had been given to me by my Dad, it was some 50 quid – and both myself and Dad seriously kicked off, sending various messages to the training course, threatening all-out revenge on the little bitch who stole the money. I know full well who stole the money, I know what the money was used for – and here's a clue, it wasn't to feed her family that night.
Anyway, I went down to the training place, the next day. Guess what, the cunts threatened to report me to the police for threatening behavior. Who said it was threats! Because of previous incidents involving myself and the authorities, I didn't have any trust in the police being able to nail the junkie down. In the end, I didn't do anything as they threatened to get me charged on the threatening behavior, if I went ahead and pressed charges against the fucking bint.
I think that was the moment that I lost all respect for authority. Dad was to leave for Dorset within a few months of that incident and I think that that as well as everything that happened before had made me think that everything and everyone was against me.
It wasn't until the morning that he was due to leave for Dorset that he actually came up to Mum's and told us what the situation was. From what I remember looking back, he had been up North Yorkshire and Scotland that week, and he gave us this lollipop from Gretna Green. They were inscribed 'Best Son' and 'Best Daughter' as he had got the same for my sister. Obviously, with him having left home the year before, I had heard inklings from conversations between Mum and my sister in the previous weeks, saying that this was going to happen.
I think I exploded at all three of them. They had it seemed ignored what I felt and didn't even give me a chance to give my thoughts. At the time, I was considering leaving Folkestone, as it did and still does hold very dark and nasty memories – as I have mentioned before. At that moment I didn't know what to think, whether to jump ship and go with Dad to Dorset, have a better life, better job prospects or stay up here and try and sort my life out – saying that though, it seemed like it was falling apart at the seams at that moment.
In the end, I wasn't given that option and I had to stay with Mum and my sister. That was the start of the end of my relationship with my Dad; I have barely seen him half a dozen times since then. The last time was just under four years ago. I get Christmas cards from him, but absolutely nothing at all from him, come my birthday, which is why the cards that I get from my friends are that extra special.
The autumn Dad left, I went back to college. I only survived about four weeks, before walking out and having another emotional breakdown. Which seemed to go on for some months – there were times when I wouldn't be able to sleep without crying, I needed someone to talk to. But who could I talk to about something like this? I couldn't exactly go to the person I wanted to talk to, he was hundreds of miles away with his fucking bit on the side.
Looking back on that period of my life probably makes me realize just how close I got to losing it, completely. Mum was oblivious to the problems that I was dealing with, mostly in the head. She said that she was worried about me, but she was doing 11 hour shifts – she couldn't worry about me 24/7.
In my life, I've had friends whose parents have passed away, long before they should and the emotional connection that they have with them, in death is infinite. It's like they are still with them, every day they live and breathe.
I don't have that connection with my Dad. That broke the moment, he left home, left Mum in the deep brown stuff and got himself a younger model.
Hard as this might be to explain, but I envy those friends who have suffered a dreadful loss. Even in that time of grief and sorrow, something is there, which can never ever be broken, it's unique to them. They have that to keep for as long as they live. Nothing can replace having your Mum or your Dad or your Brother or Sister with you, watching you, being with you – as you go on in life. But you have all the memories of them, to cherish as long as you remember.
I don't have any good memories of my father.
I've never really had my Dad in my life, and yet when I left school and needed that father figure to help me through my depression and my suicidal thoughts and eventual attempts, I had to drag myself through it. He had his chance to have that influence in my life and he threw it away for the chance of a second sex life, via Viagra. I can't forgive him for that – and I have done some forgiving in my lifetime. I've had to for my own good.
But not for that.
Those of you who read this, and have strained relations with your parents, with your brothers and sisters, make up with them.
Don't make the same mistakes, which I made and take them for granted, thinking that they are going to be there for as long as you want them to be.
It never ends up as being like that.
It's my father's birthday today.
A phone call would not go amiss, wherever you are.
Please.
