Sub: Welcome to 2012!
I'm propped against the lime green cushion on the sofa, staring blankly at the screen and not really registering anything that is going on.
That is how I spent my New Year.
I went to see Puss in Boots at the cinema, had an Indian takeaway and now I am plonked in front of the wide screen in the living room. My eyes glaze over as I wish I was somewhere else, anywhere but here. That is how I brought 2012 in.
Despite being effervescent, I am actually quite gloomy. I sit for long amounts of time staring at the ceiling but not really seeing it. I analyse everything I do, have done and will probably do. This, of course, leads to me second guessing people, which can be a pain. I often answer myself before they have had a chance to give their view on some question I have asked. It’s one of the things that annoys me about myself. Then again I have never been anyone else but myself and I make damn sure that I shall not change. If people don’t like me now then I am not to be bothered with them.
This is just one of the issues I used to discuss with my counsellor. After the stroke I was offered the option of having one; I agreed. We outlined a few problem areas in my life and mindset which I need to cure/resolve if I am ever going to be happy.
‘Is anyone truly happy?’ Not what I was meant to say, obviously. Answering a question with a question is considered to be something a ‘smart arse’ does. In real fact I asked it because I was desperate for them to say ‘Yes.’ No answer came as I received a tight-lipped smile in its place. ‘Let’s focus on when you moved to Shropshire from Devon, shall we?’
Well, I suppose I could do…
It’s 2002 and I am in my small studio flat. My first proper home since I moved out from a house-share with a friend whom I had fallen out with. The problem with sharing with friends is that they indubitably find a boyfriend/girlfriend and they are joined at the hip. Her boyfriend, like a cuckoo, upended me from the safety and support of my nest. I have never been like that. I have always prided myself on my ability to still act and function as a separate unit whilst being in a relationship. ‘You’ve never been in love!’ I hear you cry. Maybe, maybe I have not. I cannot recall ever being in love so fully that I immerse myself completely within my partner that I shut the rest of the world out and my friends. If that is ‘love,’ you can keep it!
Abandonment. That is problem number one.
‘Why do you feel as if everyone if going to leave you?’ The pen is tapped against her notepad. She has read my file and knows where it stems from. ‘I imagine it is because my father left us at an early age and then a lot of my family died in my early years.’ She nods and steeples her fingers on the other side of her desk. By me answering fully and truthfully she feels that she has (achievement) ‘unlocked’ a door or something to my soul. Truth is, I quite readily admit my faults and where and why I think they have started. I have never shied away from the fact that I have ‘daddy issues’ and ‘commitment issues,’ albeit in a different way to others. I let her think she has made a breakthrough whilst secretly feeling the serpent coil within my stomach. What an idiot. I let the corner of my mouth twitch. I know I could stop it from doing so but I allow it to slip through today.
‘What is your relationship like now with your father?’ She wants to focus on the future now but I like to just speak as my brain wants me to. Normally this leaves people confused but, hell, this is my time. Well, nowadays it is distant and we rarely see or speak to each other. He has a girlfriend and she has children living with her and so he is ‘busy’ a lot of the time. He does protest that he has nothing to do with the kids as they irritate him and he cannot be bothered with ‘brats.’ Indeed. Why help raise someone else’s children when you neglected your own so thoroughly? That would be ridiculous, right? I smile blankly at him whenever he says this and we are at an embarrassing silence in our conversation. We both know that he lies constantly and we both know that neither of us will say anything to catch him out. I am too old and too tired for this game. I think back to 2002 and start speaking aloud, my eyes distant,
‘Don’t call me ‘dad…’’
Standing in the pub with my so-called father I am left a little take aback. Did he just say that? Yes, yes he did. I am in my late teens and have moved half the country to reconnect with him.
‘Don’t call me…’
It rings through my skull and my insides knot. Outwardly I am as blank faced as usual. I have been practising.
‘Yeah, whatever Simon.’
He goes to the bar, satisfied with my answer. I have ordered a Bacardi and coke and try not to choke on it as it burns its way down my throat. The reasons for him not wanting me to call him ‘dad’ (as if he even deserves the title) is because he hopes to pick up some moronic woman and take her home. My father is how I picture all men. After one thing in the end, no matter how nice they are. If it isn’t sex then it’s control.
A few of his friends come in and flirt in a lecherous way, he lets them as I am now of no interest to him as he’s spotted someone 20 years his junior. The only person I have any fondness for is one of his best friends, Calvin. A lovely gent that is generous with his time, humour and money. He buys me a couple of drinks and we talk about his daughter, who I work with. A few more drinks later and I decide to see where my philandering parent has gone. I am informed that he left some 30 minutes ago with some dark haired girl who he was plying with wine. Money wins out. I went home.
Shortly after this I was taken into hospital with pleurisy. He never visited me. Although I found out he was using my illness as a talking point on women, which cheered me to no end. I’m glad to help you out on your road to scoring, ‘dad.’
This wasn’t the first time I had been very ill and in hospital by any means. It was also not the first time he had not bothered to visit me. I had been attacked about a month after moving to Shropshire as I was walking home late with some friends I had made and we were set upon by some thuggish twats. I had some ribs broken but thankfully no more. It could have been much, much worse. I was put on multiple drugs and kept in hospital. When they asked for next of kin the only person I had was my mother, all the way down in Devon. I offered up my fathers number but it rang out. They did leave a message for him but there was no returned call. ‘Isn't there anyone else closer to home?’ I answered negatively. I did, however give them the girl’s number that lived adjacent to me in the block of flats. She was the only person to visit me.
The strain of the coughing made my ribs ache. I felt a horrific burning in my chest and I thought I was dying. This would be it, the end was coming and I had done absolutely nothing with my life.
After the pleurisy had departed, via draining of my lung and multiple antibiotics and pain killers I took up smoking and drinking. Idiotic, I know, but there was no other outlet. I didn’t self harm in the way that a lot of people my age did. I thought it was ridiculous. By the age of 18/19 I had a serious alcohol problem and was slugging back a bottle of Jack Daniels and 2 or 3 Bacardi bottles a day. We are not talking ‘breezers,’ either. I had mounting stress as I had been offered a job at my father’s firm as an embroiderist and design artist. I did my job and I did it well. My alcohol dependency didn’t seem to affect my work too much and thusly no one suspected a thing. My father treated me badly at work but I understood that this was his way of getting to know me. Tell a lie, I don’t understand it. He basically got a work horse who he could treat badly and knew they wouldn’t leave because he was their father. I look back now and I spit at my past self in disgust. Young and eager to please I worked overtime and took on more than I could handle.
‘You need to get a fucking grip. You need to have someone look at your head, you’re a fucking mess.’
Were the words departed to me after he visited my newish apartment. I had been raking the money in through extra hours and could afford to rent a 1 bedroom town property. I had my two lovely little cats that I doted on day and night. They were my children and I wanted to look after them and treat them as best as I could. This is known as ‘transference.’ As some of you may know from having spoken to me and/or having read previous blog entries I used to care for my little sister. This instinct is inbuilt in me now and I cannot function properly without caring for something or someone.
I hung my head in shame. I was a mess. I did everything he asked of me and still he looked at me like some pestilence that had dared to creep near him. I frowned at the floor, at the carrier bag containing 40 Marlboro lights and 2 bottles of my best friend, Jacky D. Yes, I was a mess.
‘What the hell your mother has been doing with you all these years I don-‘
I punched him in the face. Clean in the face, no build up. My fist cracked as it hit his meaty cheek. Quick as lightning he gave me a solid smack around the face back. A lot heavier and more muscled that I, he knocked me a few feet backwards. It was only due to my uneven flooring that I stayed upright; I could have kissed the architect. He turned white and reached out a hand towards me; I recoiled in disgust and must have been a sight as I seemed to bare my teeth. I was all spit and spite as I shrieked at him,
‘You can say what you like about me you fucking bastard but don’t you dare ever speak ill of my mother! She has been mother and father to me. YOU are a fucking mess. Look at you! Puffing yourself out around the girls, who just look at you and laugh. You’re washed out and washed up. You make me fucking sick. Get out!’
I could feel my lip burning and a very small wet spot appearing on my chin. He’d split my lip. My little cats came slowly into the living room and circled around my feet. I heard a knock at the door and was ready for round two when I realised it was the face of Stephan.
My neighbour came up shortly after he had seen my father leave, cursing my name as he wobbled down the communal stairs. He put a cold flannel to my face to stop the burn of shame staining my cheeks and made us a cup of coffee. Irish.
I went back to work on Monday and acted like everything was normal. I got myself off the drink and ciggies.
The counsellor looks at the clock to her left and I notice that she is fidgeting slightly in her chair. It was going to be New Years in a day or so and she must have been eager to clock off early. I barely smiled as I told her that I was feeling tired and needed to end the session. The visible relief that washed across her face made my lunch rise from its seat in my stomach. I swallowed deeply to keep my urge to vomit on her shiny desk at bay. She scheduled an appointment for ‘next week, same time,’ and I took the reminder slip whilst wishing her a Happy New Year.
That was the last time I went to see her.
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Present day:
I am sat at my vanity-cum-computer desk and it is 1:30am. Time has flown since I started to write this entry and I am only half aware of what I have actually written.
I can hear the tv chattering away in the other room.
Nobody ever just goes out to be with people any longer. We stay in, glued to the television that flickers from programme to programme. Whilst watching it I do wonder if half of the things I think I have done are actually what a character on the tv has done. How do we know the difference when we are so enveloped in whatever rubbish is on?
I do want more. I want to live, experience things out there rather than hole myself off from the world in my safe living room.
Alas, we live our lives in front of a screen of some sort. One day we will all have square eyes.
As soon as I get a job I am saving up for my 10 year plan. It goes something like this:
• Ensure I am in a job where I can advance rather than have my head batting
against the ceiling with no future.
• Move to somewhere bigger.
• Save up enough money and rent out somewhere at a decent price.
• Go through IVF and sperm donor to have a child of my own. I have thought of this and I do want children but I don’t trust anyone enough to have one with someone. It amuses me that people I have dated have mentioned that they do not want children. ‘Who says I was having them with you?’ is my response. I would have to deign someone completely worthy to have children with them. To be honest, I don’t think I will ever feel that way about someone. It’s more on my side than theirs though as I just cannot trust people. Having been ‘done over’ quite a few times I think it’s best this way. Plus I won’t spend years resenting them for inevitably buggering off and leaving me and my children. My mother has given me a solid view of what happens when you get older, you get traded in for a newer model. No matter what you look like, how well you get on-you will be replaced.
Men don’t feature largely in this plan, I know. Truth is I have never needed anyone. I never feel tied to anyone and ever since I can remember I have always believed that a stand alone approach to life is the best one. Even throughout the stroke and other things I have been largely alone but that is more the fact that I could never adequately explain what was happening to me and nobody really understood. I do like helping others though and as I get older I have found I have slipped into that annoying trait of bossing people when I really just mean to help. I think it’s because I see mistakes people are about to make/are making and I want to steer them clear of it. Nobody has ever mentioned me being bossy or overbearing but I do feel like that sometimes.
2012 shall be my year. I will be 26 on the 26th of January and that shall mark them start of my plan. I have waited too long to get better and too long to put my plans into action. I hope that you are, whoever you are, making the most out of your life and not just pissing it away.
Welcome to the rest of your life.
(I bloody well hope the world doesn’t end now I have said all this. I shall be very annoyed.)
Monday, 2 January 2012
Friday, 7 October 2011
School, Teen years, Health, Religion and my Nan
'Do you want to come and skim stones by the weir?'
I declined. I had work!
Before I had my paper round I used to help out around the house for no pocket money. Mum was sometimes a little flush (and I do mean a 'little') and I used to be rewarded with 20p's and such in my little coffee jar that I used as a piggy bank.
I saved all the money I got and went into our local shop near to Christmas, it was called 'The paper shop.' I used up all my money to buy me and my little sister the video of 'The Return of Jafar,' which was the sequel to Aladdin. We laughed all the way through it and rewatched it when mum went to work at a little hotel near our home.
I used to babysit my sister whilst mum tried to earn money working shifts. I was about 8 or 9 years old and my sister would have been 4 or 5 if I recall correctly. Mum could not afford a babysitter and Nan had pneumonia so she was in hospital so I stepped up to the mark and watched Rae for a few hours a day. She was pretty good except when she had tantrums and I used to put her in the little red toy truck and pull her along until she stopped. Sometimes I would have to do it for an hour. She was quite a bad tempered child and would just sit and scream for ages. (Recently we understand that she has some form of psychological disorder, not life threatening but it makes her have incredibly bad mood swings, violent ones and she has medication for that now.)
Life was tough at an early age but it was necessary. I was ill for most of my childhood and so missed a lot of school. Starting straight from the womb I had problems. I have something called Chondromalacia Patella which is a defect from birth. I did not form correctly within the womb and my knees grew abnormally and when I was learning to walk my feet would be completely inwards as I tottered along the carpet. In about 1990 I was taken to Oswestry to the Gobowen Orthopaedic hospital where I went through physiotherapy for many years until I walked 'straight.' It is still more comfortable for me to turn my feet slightly inwards when I walk but I don't do that, for that would be weird. I have scars fom keyhole surgery on both legs and my knees are slightly puffy but other than that they look 'normal.' Later in life I will need some form of kneecap replacement, they predict 30's-40's when this will be needed. Yay, middle-age sounds great!
Then came the IBS (later fully diagnosed as Crohn's disease by Doctor Maxton at Shrewsbury Hospital) IBD in general and Chronic Anemia. The same Doctor Maxton performed a Sigmoidoscopy on me in 2000 when I was taken into hospital for tests to see whether or not the lumps they had found in 1999 were cancer. I waited anxiously for a week or so until my test results came back. They were abnormal. Having had most of my mother's side die from cancer (especially bowel) I was resigned to my fate. I was going to die. Melodramatic as that may seem now, it is really scary when you are around 14 years of age. I was told that because of my other medical problems that I would need more tests and more biopsies to make doubly sure of everything. I was in and out of the Royal Shrewsbury Hospital. They cross referenced everything and found that whilst the lumps were abnormal it was not cancer. I was so relieved. I wouldn't have to say goodbye to my family or friends or make some kind of will. I went on medication and the lumps shrank.
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In 2001 my Nan was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and my mother with Underactive Thyroid (which could have gone untreated as long as 10 years the specialist said) and the stress of this caused me to lose most of my hair. I went to school even less than before and grew increasingly recluse and sick and having the hair loss wasn't exactly going to help the issue of teasing. I threw myself into caring for my Nan whilst mum looked after my sister. Looking after someone with any form of memory/mental problems is tough. Even tougher if you are unwell yourself but I hardly complained. I loved my Nanny dearly and went to take her cooked meals every day as she would sometimes forget to eat. I made sure all her electrics were turned off before she went to bed and that her teeth went into the glass in the bathroom. The constant contact with her was good but nothing can halt that vile disease from making the one's you love worse.
GCSE's were looming but I didn't feel any pressure to succeed in them. I had more important things to worry about. Teachers had pretty much given up on me and normally wrote She could do much better if she applied herself and concentrated in class! I did try and talk to teachers about it all but they pretty much ignored me and concentrated on the kids who were doing well. That was fine. I had given up on anyone remotely giving two shit's about me. I used to say to mum that I felt ill, even when I did not, as I couldn't bare to be in the class with those other children, all of them getting on with their lives without the stress that I had. I grew to resent everyone.
The weather got colder and about 5 months before Christmas Nan fell and broke her hipbone. She moved in with us as she found it hard to get about with the pin in her leg. She slept in my mums room whilst I gave up my room to mum and my sister. I slept in the single bed that was adorned with Barbie that Rae was meant to sleep in. I used to sit with Nanny and watched the comedien 'Jethro' on video with her. She would chuckle at it and I would smile, not really understanding all of what he said but just liking to hear my Nanny laugh. She had the most infectious laugh and when she smiled the whole room was drawn to her. My mum and I are apparently the same as her and I'm glad I have a bit of her with me.
A couple of months before Christmas Nan decided she was fit enough to return home. Indeed she seemed perkier and her memory seemed a lot better! Later we realised that it was probably because we were constantly around her and that helped her.
Money was now tighter than ever as mum had refused any money from Nan to help support her whilst she had been living with us. I decided to get a proper job. I was still only 15 years old but would turn 16 shortly. I worked at a little Garage that was down the road from us. It was owned by family friends and they were very kind to me. I got on well with everyone bar one woman who talked down to me just because I was younger. I was also friendlier, quicker and harder working than her. Age has nothing to do with knowledge, responsibility or efficiency. I very much doubt Yvonne was caring for her Grandmother, holding down a job, trying to cope with her hair growing back slowly and grappling with school work. Still, never mind.
It was a far stretch from the paper round I had when I was about 13. Just hitting teen years and having a 'job' made me feel I was doing my part to support the family and I gave mum all but a little of my money, which I used for a Galaxy Caramel each week. That was my treat. I was proud of my second-hand bike with it's little wonky basket on the front and McDonalds toy stuck to it. I used to bound from it with the paper scrunched in my hand, pleased I was delivering something someone wanted. I felt that the local community was being supported by me and my little bike.
The Garage was a harder tasks mistress and I worked long hours for pennies. Still, I didn't complain. It was freezing cold outside as I walked to work each morning and I waved to mum who would watch me from her bedroom. Some of the jobs I had to do were awful. Mum's best friend, Jean, worked there and would tell me funny stories about mum and her going out and having fun. I loved to hear the stories. I would babysit on those occassion's that mum and Jean would nip out for a few hours and have a glass of wine or two. I was glad that she would enjoy herself, even if it was only three times a year or so. I was quite happy working there.
Just before Christmas my Nan fell for the last time. It was icy on the path outside her warden-controlled bungalow and she must have lay there for a good few hours the paramedics said. I was at work when this had happened and so knew nothing of it until I returned home. I used my key in the front door and it swung open with my neighbours face greeting me on the other side.
'Your nan has been taken to hospital. She fell and broke both her hips and her collar bone. They also think she has pneumonia. Your mum is with her and I've got Rae'
I was heartbroken. I handed my notice in at work the next day as I felt it was my fault she had fell. I obviously had not been caring for her enough after taking the job on. My nan stayed in hospital for a little while and then was moved into a Hospice. I didn't realise until later in life that this is usually where ill people go to live out their final days. I just thought she was having a rest before she would come home, come home to us and I could take her breakfast in the mornings and watch Jethro with her like before. Nan spent Christmas in the Hospice as she could not be away from her breathing apparatus or the nurses. It was the most miserable Christmas I have ever had in my life. Mum said not to buy presents for Nan as she wasn't allowed them really but we made her a card and took her some sweeties.
It was January 2002, my 16th Birthday was coming up. I was dating a guy called Adam who was older than me, about 20. Mum did not approve. I just wanted to be normal and have a 'normal' relationship so she let it slide. I visited Nan less in the Hospice as mum said she needed her rest. Adults cover things up because they think it's good for kids. It isn't. I would have loved to have seen my Nanny more, knowing now that these handfull of times I went to the Hospice would be the last time I saw her alive. Her Alzheimer's was worse. She seemed to remember me, mum and Rae (even though my sister rarely went as she was deemed too young) but she did not remember her son, Derry. It broke his heart to see his mum and not be recognised as her boy. I was upset for him but you need to keep up the contact with someone with memory loss, otherwise they will forget. She remembered her eldest son, Uncle Ray(mond) and that was probably the thing that hurt Derry more.
I remember vividly the last day I saw her. It was January 25th, a day before my 16th Birthday. She was lying in her bed, opposite a woman who constantly had a ventillation mask on her face. It was pretty noisey...
'What the hell is that noise? Turn it off for God sake.'
I nearly wet myself with laughter, Nan is back, I thought. I smiled at her and went to kiss her face and she smiled although it seemed that she didn't really see me. I hesitated before drawing away and touched her face. 'I love you Nan.'
After we left her my mum sent me to bed. She never ever did that. My Uncle Derry had came over and they were chatting in the kitchen whilst I was trying to listen. My sister was in Mum's room watching a video of some sort. I waited for what seemed like hours before mum came to the stairs,
'If the phone goes, let me answer it. Okay?'
I was quite capable of answering the phone, she knew that. Something told me not to argue though and I just nodded. I slunk into my room and did some tidying around. Touching the picture I had of my Nan and me on a swing I smiled. I'd go see her tomorrow and take her the picture so she'd have me with her.
It was about 9pm when the phone went. I jumped a little and went to answer it. Mum beat me to the phone and I stopped in the middle of the stairs and watched mum turn her back on me. Her shoulders were shaking. I knew instantly what had happened. My Nanny, my second mum, my surrogate dad had passed away.
I screamed on the stairs as I had no idea what else to do. I ran up stairs as I heard Uncle Derry run in to see mum. I grabbed Mum's cross and grabbed my sister from the tv, she didn't complain as she must have heard mum crying. I carried her over to Mum's headboard where pictures of Nan had been stuck so mum could sleep with them. I put the cross in Rae's hand and covered it with my own, rocking her back and forth and whispering to her
'Pray for her. Pray for Nanny and Pray that she gets to heaven.'
I recited a prayer from memory and rocked Rae as she howled her sorrow into my shoulder. I looked at all the pictures until my eyes couldn't see any longer. I wanted them burned onto my retinas so I could see Nan forever and never ever forget her. I could hear mum trying to stifle sobs in the kitchen below. I prayed harder than I had ever prayed before. I prayed that Nanny would see Grandad and that she wouldn't hurt any longer. I prayed that mum wouldn't hurt and I prayed that I would see Nan in my dreams.
I dreamt of nothing that night.
There were some complications with Nan's death and I don't really want to go into it but it was a while before she was allowed to be released for burial. They put people in freezers to preserve them. My mind could not get around that fact. We kept making up reasons for my sister as to why she couldn't see 'Nanna' yet. Finally everything was ready and we were allowed to see Nan in the Chapel of Rest.
My mum had explained before I went into the Chapel of Rest that it wouldn't be very nice. That I shouldn't go in. I had to though, I had to say goodbye to one of the most important people in my life. How could I not? I was told that if I had the courage to, that I should kiss her as I wouldn't have bad dreams about her. Not that I had dreamt of her after her death, my mind had been blank. I braced myself and went towards the door...
'Don't scream'
My Aunty Carol whispered to me from my left. Why would I scream? I thought, this is my Nan! I looked at Carol, my Uncle Derry's second wife. She had an ashen face and looked very tired. She had been dressing and making Nan presentable for us to view her. I now only understand what she must have had to do for her to be presentable.
I walked over and looked down at the face of my Nan, Rhea Caslin. The one side of her face was slightly slack and that horrified me. Carol had covered Nan from her folded hands down to her knees with my and Rae's white baby shawl that she had knit us. This was to cover up Nan's cyanosed hands. She didn't have her glasses on and this upset me, she should look like her! She had pictures of me and relatives under the shawl, tenderly tucked under her hands with Carol's meticulous care. My Aunty had thought of everything. I bent my face down and I kissed Nan on the forehead. She felt waxy and cold. This wasn't my Nanny. My Nanny was warm and smelled of Lilac and Talcum powder. I felt at peace after doing this and prayed once again that Nan was safe and happy in heaven.
Me and Aunty Carol were the only one's that went in. Rae was too young and everyone else was too distraught to go in. I lied to mum to make her happy and I told her Nan looked exactly the same and that I wasn't afraid or upset. The last bit was true.
Mum went to stop with my Uncle and Aunty for a week or so and I looked after Rae. It had gone from January into February and my Birthday was forgotten. Mainly by me. Mum could not cope and found it difficult to talk, eat and care for herself. Wherever mum walked, Nan had walked. Whenever Mum went near to where Nan lived she would break down.
I contracted Salmonella just as GCSE's were taking place and I missed a lot of it. Having a subsequent Doctor's note and evidence of illness via 2 stone weight loss I stopped at home. I decided in this time that we should move so mum could be away and start again. I didn't care about friends or anything else other than getting us out of the village and starting again. I put us on a Council Swap list and put 'anywhere' as the destination.
2 weeks later we had an offer.
It was in Devon.
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It's good to cry. I never cried for such a long time and now I find myself doing it every few days. It allows me to remember that I am still human and that I need time to just be upset about things.
January 2012 will be 10 years since my Nanny died and 26 years since her husband, Francis, died. Grandad held out through cancer to see me born and died the day after my Birthday. I am not looking forward to my 26th birthday but I shall make sure that I go to the Garden of Rest and I visit them both.
I love you Nan and I love you Grandad. I didn't get to know you but I always get wonderful images of you from what my Mum used to tell me. I'm sure you would have been the best Grandad in the world.
Whatever your take on religion, everyone needs something to believe in and to love. Nobody should ever question your beliefs if they are true, good and wholesome. I still believe that when I die I will be reunited with everyone I have known and loved. I hope that's true but I guess I won't know until I pass on.
Sorry to anyone struggling through this post but it was something I needed to do. I have never talked fully about my childhood or life with anyone. I feel lighter for having done so.
Thank you for taking time to share some of my life.
x
Me and my Nan.
I declined. I had work!
Before I had my paper round I used to help out around the house for no pocket money. Mum was sometimes a little flush (and I do mean a 'little') and I used to be rewarded with 20p's and such in my little coffee jar that I used as a piggy bank.
I saved all the money I got and went into our local shop near to Christmas, it was called 'The paper shop.' I used up all my money to buy me and my little sister the video of 'The Return of Jafar,' which was the sequel to Aladdin. We laughed all the way through it and rewatched it when mum went to work at a little hotel near our home.
I used to babysit my sister whilst mum tried to earn money working shifts. I was about 8 or 9 years old and my sister would have been 4 or 5 if I recall correctly. Mum could not afford a babysitter and Nan had pneumonia so she was in hospital so I stepped up to the mark and watched Rae for a few hours a day. She was pretty good except when she had tantrums and I used to put her in the little red toy truck and pull her along until she stopped. Sometimes I would have to do it for an hour. She was quite a bad tempered child and would just sit and scream for ages. (Recently we understand that she has some form of psychological disorder, not life threatening but it makes her have incredibly bad mood swings, violent ones and she has medication for that now.)
Life was tough at an early age but it was necessary. I was ill for most of my childhood and so missed a lot of school. Starting straight from the womb I had problems. I have something called Chondromalacia Patella which is a defect from birth. I did not form correctly within the womb and my knees grew abnormally and when I was learning to walk my feet would be completely inwards as I tottered along the carpet. In about 1990 I was taken to Oswestry to the Gobowen Orthopaedic hospital where I went through physiotherapy for many years until I walked 'straight.' It is still more comfortable for me to turn my feet slightly inwards when I walk but I don't do that, for that would be weird. I have scars fom keyhole surgery on both legs and my knees are slightly puffy but other than that they look 'normal.' Later in life I will need some form of kneecap replacement, they predict 30's-40's when this will be needed. Yay, middle-age sounds great!
Then came the IBS (later fully diagnosed as Crohn's disease by Doctor Maxton at Shrewsbury Hospital) IBD in general and Chronic Anemia. The same Doctor Maxton performed a Sigmoidoscopy on me in 2000 when I was taken into hospital for tests to see whether or not the lumps they had found in 1999 were cancer. I waited anxiously for a week or so until my test results came back. They were abnormal. Having had most of my mother's side die from cancer (especially bowel) I was resigned to my fate. I was going to die. Melodramatic as that may seem now, it is really scary when you are around 14 years of age. I was told that because of my other medical problems that I would need more tests and more biopsies to make doubly sure of everything. I was in and out of the Royal Shrewsbury Hospital. They cross referenced everything and found that whilst the lumps were abnormal it was not cancer. I was so relieved. I wouldn't have to say goodbye to my family or friends or make some kind of will. I went on medication and the lumps shrank.
------------------------------------------
In 2001 my Nan was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and my mother with Underactive Thyroid (which could have gone untreated as long as 10 years the specialist said) and the stress of this caused me to lose most of my hair. I went to school even less than before and grew increasingly recluse and sick and having the hair loss wasn't exactly going to help the issue of teasing. I threw myself into caring for my Nan whilst mum looked after my sister. Looking after someone with any form of memory/mental problems is tough. Even tougher if you are unwell yourself but I hardly complained. I loved my Nanny dearly and went to take her cooked meals every day as she would sometimes forget to eat. I made sure all her electrics were turned off before she went to bed and that her teeth went into the glass in the bathroom. The constant contact with her was good but nothing can halt that vile disease from making the one's you love worse.
GCSE's were looming but I didn't feel any pressure to succeed in them. I had more important things to worry about. Teachers had pretty much given up on me and normally wrote She could do much better if she applied herself and concentrated in class! I did try and talk to teachers about it all but they pretty much ignored me and concentrated on the kids who were doing well. That was fine. I had given up on anyone remotely giving two shit's about me. I used to say to mum that I felt ill, even when I did not, as I couldn't bare to be in the class with those other children, all of them getting on with their lives without the stress that I had. I grew to resent everyone.
The weather got colder and about 5 months before Christmas Nan fell and broke her hipbone. She moved in with us as she found it hard to get about with the pin in her leg. She slept in my mums room whilst I gave up my room to mum and my sister. I slept in the single bed that was adorned with Barbie that Rae was meant to sleep in. I used to sit with Nanny and watched the comedien 'Jethro' on video with her. She would chuckle at it and I would smile, not really understanding all of what he said but just liking to hear my Nanny laugh. She had the most infectious laugh and when she smiled the whole room was drawn to her. My mum and I are apparently the same as her and I'm glad I have a bit of her with me.
A couple of months before Christmas Nan decided she was fit enough to return home. Indeed she seemed perkier and her memory seemed a lot better! Later we realised that it was probably because we were constantly around her and that helped her.
Money was now tighter than ever as mum had refused any money from Nan to help support her whilst she had been living with us. I decided to get a proper job. I was still only 15 years old but would turn 16 shortly. I worked at a little Garage that was down the road from us. It was owned by family friends and they were very kind to me. I got on well with everyone bar one woman who talked down to me just because I was younger. I was also friendlier, quicker and harder working than her. Age has nothing to do with knowledge, responsibility or efficiency. I very much doubt Yvonne was caring for her Grandmother, holding down a job, trying to cope with her hair growing back slowly and grappling with school work. Still, never mind.
It was a far stretch from the paper round I had when I was about 13. Just hitting teen years and having a 'job' made me feel I was doing my part to support the family and I gave mum all but a little of my money, which I used for a Galaxy Caramel each week. That was my treat. I was proud of my second-hand bike with it's little wonky basket on the front and McDonalds toy stuck to it. I used to bound from it with the paper scrunched in my hand, pleased I was delivering something someone wanted. I felt that the local community was being supported by me and my little bike.
The Garage was a harder tasks mistress and I worked long hours for pennies. Still, I didn't complain. It was freezing cold outside as I walked to work each morning and I waved to mum who would watch me from her bedroom. Some of the jobs I had to do were awful. Mum's best friend, Jean, worked there and would tell me funny stories about mum and her going out and having fun. I loved to hear the stories. I would babysit on those occassion's that mum and Jean would nip out for a few hours and have a glass of wine or two. I was glad that she would enjoy herself, even if it was only three times a year or so. I was quite happy working there.
Just before Christmas my Nan fell for the last time. It was icy on the path outside her warden-controlled bungalow and she must have lay there for a good few hours the paramedics said. I was at work when this had happened and so knew nothing of it until I returned home. I used my key in the front door and it swung open with my neighbours face greeting me on the other side.
'Your nan has been taken to hospital. She fell and broke both her hips and her collar bone. They also think she has pneumonia. Your mum is with her and I've got Rae'
I was heartbroken. I handed my notice in at work the next day as I felt it was my fault she had fell. I obviously had not been caring for her enough after taking the job on. My nan stayed in hospital for a little while and then was moved into a Hospice. I didn't realise until later in life that this is usually where ill people go to live out their final days. I just thought she was having a rest before she would come home, come home to us and I could take her breakfast in the mornings and watch Jethro with her like before. Nan spent Christmas in the Hospice as she could not be away from her breathing apparatus or the nurses. It was the most miserable Christmas I have ever had in my life. Mum said not to buy presents for Nan as she wasn't allowed them really but we made her a card and took her some sweeties.
It was January 2002, my 16th Birthday was coming up. I was dating a guy called Adam who was older than me, about 20. Mum did not approve. I just wanted to be normal and have a 'normal' relationship so she let it slide. I visited Nan less in the Hospice as mum said she needed her rest. Adults cover things up because they think it's good for kids. It isn't. I would have loved to have seen my Nanny more, knowing now that these handfull of times I went to the Hospice would be the last time I saw her alive. Her Alzheimer's was worse. She seemed to remember me, mum and Rae (even though my sister rarely went as she was deemed too young) but she did not remember her son, Derry. It broke his heart to see his mum and not be recognised as her boy. I was upset for him but you need to keep up the contact with someone with memory loss, otherwise they will forget. She remembered her eldest son, Uncle Ray(mond) and that was probably the thing that hurt Derry more.
I remember vividly the last day I saw her. It was January 25th, a day before my 16th Birthday. She was lying in her bed, opposite a woman who constantly had a ventillation mask on her face. It was pretty noisey...
'What the hell is that noise? Turn it off for God sake.'
I nearly wet myself with laughter, Nan is back, I thought. I smiled at her and went to kiss her face and she smiled although it seemed that she didn't really see me. I hesitated before drawing away and touched her face. 'I love you Nan.'
After we left her my mum sent me to bed. She never ever did that. My Uncle Derry had came over and they were chatting in the kitchen whilst I was trying to listen. My sister was in Mum's room watching a video of some sort. I waited for what seemed like hours before mum came to the stairs,
'If the phone goes, let me answer it. Okay?'
I was quite capable of answering the phone, she knew that. Something told me not to argue though and I just nodded. I slunk into my room and did some tidying around. Touching the picture I had of my Nan and me on a swing I smiled. I'd go see her tomorrow and take her the picture so she'd have me with her.
It was about 9pm when the phone went. I jumped a little and went to answer it. Mum beat me to the phone and I stopped in the middle of the stairs and watched mum turn her back on me. Her shoulders were shaking. I knew instantly what had happened. My Nanny, my second mum, my surrogate dad had passed away.
I screamed on the stairs as I had no idea what else to do. I ran up stairs as I heard Uncle Derry run in to see mum. I grabbed Mum's cross and grabbed my sister from the tv, she didn't complain as she must have heard mum crying. I carried her over to Mum's headboard where pictures of Nan had been stuck so mum could sleep with them. I put the cross in Rae's hand and covered it with my own, rocking her back and forth and whispering to her
'Pray for her. Pray for Nanny and Pray that she gets to heaven.'
I recited a prayer from memory and rocked Rae as she howled her sorrow into my shoulder. I looked at all the pictures until my eyes couldn't see any longer. I wanted them burned onto my retinas so I could see Nan forever and never ever forget her. I could hear mum trying to stifle sobs in the kitchen below. I prayed harder than I had ever prayed before. I prayed that Nanny would see Grandad and that she wouldn't hurt any longer. I prayed that mum wouldn't hurt and I prayed that I would see Nan in my dreams.
I dreamt of nothing that night.
There were some complications with Nan's death and I don't really want to go into it but it was a while before she was allowed to be released for burial. They put people in freezers to preserve them. My mind could not get around that fact. We kept making up reasons for my sister as to why she couldn't see 'Nanna' yet. Finally everything was ready and we were allowed to see Nan in the Chapel of Rest.
My mum had explained before I went into the Chapel of Rest that it wouldn't be very nice. That I shouldn't go in. I had to though, I had to say goodbye to one of the most important people in my life. How could I not? I was told that if I had the courage to, that I should kiss her as I wouldn't have bad dreams about her. Not that I had dreamt of her after her death, my mind had been blank. I braced myself and went towards the door...
'Don't scream'
My Aunty Carol whispered to me from my left. Why would I scream? I thought, this is my Nan! I looked at Carol, my Uncle Derry's second wife. She had an ashen face and looked very tired. She had been dressing and making Nan presentable for us to view her. I now only understand what she must have had to do for her to be presentable.
I walked over and looked down at the face of my Nan, Rhea Caslin. The one side of her face was slightly slack and that horrified me. Carol had covered Nan from her folded hands down to her knees with my and Rae's white baby shawl that she had knit us. This was to cover up Nan's cyanosed hands. She didn't have her glasses on and this upset me, she should look like her! She had pictures of me and relatives under the shawl, tenderly tucked under her hands with Carol's meticulous care. My Aunty had thought of everything. I bent my face down and I kissed Nan on the forehead. She felt waxy and cold. This wasn't my Nanny. My Nanny was warm and smelled of Lilac and Talcum powder. I felt at peace after doing this and prayed once again that Nan was safe and happy in heaven.
Me and Aunty Carol were the only one's that went in. Rae was too young and everyone else was too distraught to go in. I lied to mum to make her happy and I told her Nan looked exactly the same and that I wasn't afraid or upset. The last bit was true.
Mum went to stop with my Uncle and Aunty for a week or so and I looked after Rae. It had gone from January into February and my Birthday was forgotten. Mainly by me. Mum could not cope and found it difficult to talk, eat and care for herself. Wherever mum walked, Nan had walked. Whenever Mum went near to where Nan lived she would break down.
I contracted Salmonella just as GCSE's were taking place and I missed a lot of it. Having a subsequent Doctor's note and evidence of illness via 2 stone weight loss I stopped at home. I decided in this time that we should move so mum could be away and start again. I didn't care about friends or anything else other than getting us out of the village and starting again. I put us on a Council Swap list and put 'anywhere' as the destination.
2 weeks later we had an offer.
It was in Devon.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's good to cry. I never cried for such a long time and now I find myself doing it every few days. It allows me to remember that I am still human and that I need time to just be upset about things.
January 2012 will be 10 years since my Nanny died and 26 years since her husband, Francis, died. Grandad held out through cancer to see me born and died the day after my Birthday. I am not looking forward to my 26th birthday but I shall make sure that I go to the Garden of Rest and I visit them both.
I love you Nan and I love you Grandad. I didn't get to know you but I always get wonderful images of you from what my Mum used to tell me. I'm sure you would have been the best Grandad in the world.
Whatever your take on religion, everyone needs something to believe in and to love. Nobody should ever question your beliefs if they are true, good and wholesome. I still believe that when I die I will be reunited with everyone I have known and loved. I hope that's true but I guess I won't know until I pass on.
Sorry to anyone struggling through this post but it was something I needed to do. I have never talked fully about my childhood or life with anyone. I feel lighter for having done so.
Thank you for taking time to share some of my life.
x
Me and my Nan.
Thursday, 6 October 2011
I'll give you a little bit of me...
One of my earliest memories as a child was sitting in the bath with it filled full of Mr.Matey bubbles (which, when I was younger we dubbed, 'cosmos.') I took my index fingers and gave them names. 'Wooby' and 'Mama.' I had no other bath toys apart from a very chewed yellow rubber ducky which lived on the side of the bath and watched me whilst I bathed. I could hear mum struggling with my newborn sister in our shared room. She was putting up a fight as it was bedtime.
After my father left we had very little money but I never wanted for anything. Mainly because my mother made every single day fun. No matter if it was 'borrowing,' (my mother and me went and pikey'd some mesh from a field so we could build a little run for my rabbit, Misty) we used to make a game out of almost anything. My earliest years were spent laughing, not crying, as many children from broken homes do. I was not a demanding child, mum reminds me, I was content with my lot in life. I was deeply loved by my maternal Nan, who used to take me for long walks and explain to me about all the different plants and animals. I come from a very nature-loving family and am thankful for that. I was well educated before I started any form of school and more aware of my surroundings than most children thanks mainly to Nan's nurturing and patience.
I have a younger sister and even though girls are meant to follow more after mothers, we were both little tom boys. I would rather be playing in my Biker Mice From Mars tent than giving imaginary tea to some plastic tart. I got into scrapes and scraps and came home with bruises more often than not. I didn't really 'fit in' at school as I wasn't overly interested in the things others were. I got on well at school but would often close myself off for some 'me' time. Sadly the teachers thought this was odd and mum would be spoken to after class. Kids can sense when something is up and so I was teased. I cannot really remember what for but kids never need a proper reason, do they? Coming from a little village-type place everyone finds out about you. The teachers mentioned that maybe my introvertedness was to do with my father leaving. How ridiculous. Some children are just naturally like that, we are all different after all.
It was hard on mum, feeling she had to tow the weight for her and for my estranged father. She did her best and to be honest it was enough. I never, ever asked where my father had gone or when he would be back. I never mentioned him at all, in fact.
'It was as if you knew. The day he walked out on us you slept in my bed and smiled and told me you loved me.'
My mum often tells me how towards the end of the marriage to my father I had become distant from him and pretty much stayed out of his way. He did get violent about a week before the day arrived where he said he was seeing someone else. She was 16 years old and from the workplace he and my mother were at. Mum had even comforted the girl once. I remember stopping with nan a lot so I probably figured something was amiss as Nanny usually came to ours to stop.
Shortly after the upheaval of leaving our family home and moving in with my nan, mum had her varicose veins ripped out (ouch!). It was our first Christmas without our dad and without our home. All we wanted to do was go sledging as we had never been before but mum was not allowed to get her dressings wet or be on her feet much. With two young children and no support except for my extremely poorly nan, she bandaged her leg tightly and wrapped a bin bag over it. We trudged through the snow to the hills that were behind where our old house was. The big 'Sold' sign was glaring at us through the mini blizzard.
We played for hours, not noticing mums growing discomfort as she was laughing despite the agony she must have been in. Begging to have one push down the hill before we went home, we ran to the top, slipping and getting faces full of snow as we went head first into the ground. We had a bright yellow sledge that seated me and my little sister, whom was firmly ensconced within my grip. We both wore warm clothing and knitted bobble hats made by Nanny. Mum gave a huge push and we whizzed down, squealing as we went. Sadly, mum hadn't realised just how hard she pushed and we were heading straight for the partially frozen brook! Hysterically laughing and doing her best to run after us mum grabbed the back of our little sledge before we flew over the edge of the bank. She had tears streaming down her face but we were laughing. It was the best Christmas we had ever had.
Mum's hysteria was explained later on in life as she relives the image of two little bobble hats wiggling on top of the heads of two rosy-cheeked kids. My mother and indeed the rest of my mothers family have an odd sense of humour. I still laugh like a drain each time she tells me as she is always giggling like a crazed woman when repeating it.
I suppose this was really just to remember the good stuff that has happened as often people, including me, focus mainly on what a bad hand they have been dealt. You make your life, regardless of the start you have had. Just remember that.
As it draws closer to Christmas and I am on my own this year with no family around and no partner to share it with I will always remember that we made the best of past Christmas's and I shouldn't feel sad.
I love you mum and I'm sorry I don't visit you nearly enough. I miss you every single day x
Now my bloody mascara has run all down my face and I look like a member of 'Kiss.'
After my father left we had very little money but I never wanted for anything. Mainly because my mother made every single day fun. No matter if it was 'borrowing,' (my mother and me went and pikey'd some mesh from a field so we could build a little run for my rabbit, Misty) we used to make a game out of almost anything. My earliest years were spent laughing, not crying, as many children from broken homes do. I was not a demanding child, mum reminds me, I was content with my lot in life. I was deeply loved by my maternal Nan, who used to take me for long walks and explain to me about all the different plants and animals. I come from a very nature-loving family and am thankful for that. I was well educated before I started any form of school and more aware of my surroundings than most children thanks mainly to Nan's nurturing and patience.
I have a younger sister and even though girls are meant to follow more after mothers, we were both little tom boys. I would rather be playing in my Biker Mice From Mars tent than giving imaginary tea to some plastic tart. I got into scrapes and scraps and came home with bruises more often than not. I didn't really 'fit in' at school as I wasn't overly interested in the things others were. I got on well at school but would often close myself off for some 'me' time. Sadly the teachers thought this was odd and mum would be spoken to after class. Kids can sense when something is up and so I was teased. I cannot really remember what for but kids never need a proper reason, do they? Coming from a little village-type place everyone finds out about you. The teachers mentioned that maybe my introvertedness was to do with my father leaving. How ridiculous. Some children are just naturally like that, we are all different after all.
It was hard on mum, feeling she had to tow the weight for her and for my estranged father. She did her best and to be honest it was enough. I never, ever asked where my father had gone or when he would be back. I never mentioned him at all, in fact.
'It was as if you knew. The day he walked out on us you slept in my bed and smiled and told me you loved me.'
My mum often tells me how towards the end of the marriage to my father I had become distant from him and pretty much stayed out of his way. He did get violent about a week before the day arrived where he said he was seeing someone else. She was 16 years old and from the workplace he and my mother were at. Mum had even comforted the girl once. I remember stopping with nan a lot so I probably figured something was amiss as Nanny usually came to ours to stop.
Shortly after the upheaval of leaving our family home and moving in with my nan, mum had her varicose veins ripped out (ouch!). It was our first Christmas without our dad and without our home. All we wanted to do was go sledging as we had never been before but mum was not allowed to get her dressings wet or be on her feet much. With two young children and no support except for my extremely poorly nan, she bandaged her leg tightly and wrapped a bin bag over it. We trudged through the snow to the hills that were behind where our old house was. The big 'Sold' sign was glaring at us through the mini blizzard.
We played for hours, not noticing mums growing discomfort as she was laughing despite the agony she must have been in. Begging to have one push down the hill before we went home, we ran to the top, slipping and getting faces full of snow as we went head first into the ground. We had a bright yellow sledge that seated me and my little sister, whom was firmly ensconced within my grip. We both wore warm clothing and knitted bobble hats made by Nanny. Mum gave a huge push and we whizzed down, squealing as we went. Sadly, mum hadn't realised just how hard she pushed and we were heading straight for the partially frozen brook! Hysterically laughing and doing her best to run after us mum grabbed the back of our little sledge before we flew over the edge of the bank. She had tears streaming down her face but we were laughing. It was the best Christmas we had ever had.
Mum's hysteria was explained later on in life as she relives the image of two little bobble hats wiggling on top of the heads of two rosy-cheeked kids. My mother and indeed the rest of my mothers family have an odd sense of humour. I still laugh like a drain each time she tells me as she is always giggling like a crazed woman when repeating it.
I suppose this was really just to remember the good stuff that has happened as often people, including me, focus mainly on what a bad hand they have been dealt. You make your life, regardless of the start you have had. Just remember that.
As it draws closer to Christmas and I am on my own this year with no family around and no partner to share it with I will always remember that we made the best of past Christmas's and I shouldn't feel sad.
I love you mum and I'm sorry I don't visit you nearly enough. I miss you every single day x
Now my bloody mascara has run all down my face and I look like a member of 'Kiss.'
Monday, 19 September 2011
Monday musings and weekend boozings.
Well...
Some of you may have read my other blog (the emo was so rife in the old one that I decided to start afresh) katsramblesthroughlife and decided to stick with me here. Or you may be completely new, if you are: Hello!
To kickstart this new Diary I am going to tell you about the last few days...
I am single and have been for a while now and so I thought to myself: Dating sites, go? Yes!
I am on www.plentyoffish.com and am finding it all a little daunting to be honest with you. I registered on Saturday and today is Monday. I have now 35 pages of messages...*35* I have NO idea what the hell is going on and my head is a bit whacked from it all. I have tried my best to reply to everyone, even the one's I am not interested in as I find it rude not to.
Some people obviously cannot wait a day though and have continously spammed me over and over again. I have been bombarded with phone numbers, declarations of love (not joking) and a few would pay me for sex (um...) but there are a few little gems on there after you've waded through the hoardes of 'u luk wel fit' messages.
It is very hard to find someone who I find attractive and who doesn't talk like a complete idiot. I am in no means the best looking or the smartest person on there but a little decorum wouldn't go amiss, surely?
Here are some of the messages I have received thus far:
Now that is fine. I will overlook the spelling and the fact that he has put two x's after his message. I am a strange woman on the internet, do not give me kisses.
I then get a second message from him less than 2 hours after the first...
No kisses this time. I have not replied to the first message yet as I am busy and doing some daft Chemistry Q&A on here. Kev, calm down. So I send him this message the next day (Sunday) as it was getting late:
'Hello :)
I get a reply almost instantly. Kev has obviously not left the keyboard.
The kiss is back. It annoys me. I decide to get ready and hop on a train to visit family as I've not seen them and my Grandmother is unwell. Anyway, in the meantime...
I get back home and receive that. Kev, what in the actual fuck are you doing giving some random woman on a dating site your number? Seriously now. A bit forward? Try a LOT forward! So he wants to take me for coffee but he hates coffee? Am I meant to sit there and drink mine with Kev staring at me all doe-eyed? Kev...suggest something we would *both* like to do. So, I am mulling over a reply and it's about 9pm on Sunday when I get another message...
Good Christ on a bike. Kev has sent me a virtual rose with his virtual points.
I close the laptop and go downstairs to drink most of a bottle of white wine. I then drive my housemate crazy and cry. Not strictly because of Kev but because I cannot seem to find anyone who doesn't drive me mad.
So...there we have it! I have many, many more messages but that is an example of what they usually contain.
Guys: Please don't go mad if a girl doesn't contact you straight away, it makes you a peck-head and whilst women like a keen bloke it is creepy if you keep spamming her all the time.
That's me done for now! I'll probably post another about this woman that sent me a message, trawling for a girl to have a threesome with her and her boyfriend...
Some of you may have read my other blog (the emo was so rife in the old one that I decided to start afresh) katsramblesthroughlife and decided to stick with me here. Or you may be completely new, if you are: Hello!
To kickstart this new Diary I am going to tell you about the last few days...
I am single and have been for a while now and so I thought to myself: Dating sites, go? Yes!
I am on www.plentyoffish.com and am finding it all a little daunting to be honest with you. I registered on Saturday and today is Monday. I have now 35 pages of messages...*35* I have NO idea what the hell is going on and my head is a bit whacked from it all. I have tried my best to reply to everyone, even the one's I am not interested in as I find it rude not to.
Some people obviously cannot wait a day though and have continously spammed me over and over again. I have been bombarded with phone numbers, declarations of love (not joking) and a few would pay me for sex (um...) but there are a few little gems on there after you've waded through the hoardes of 'u luk wel fit' messages.
It is very hard to find someone who I find attractive and who doesn't talk like a complete idiot. I am in no means the best looking or the smartest person on there but a little decorum wouldn't go amiss, surely?
Here are some of the messages I have received thus far:
'you sound very nice
and i wouldnt mind getting to know you a little better
kev xx'
Now that is fine. I will overlook the spelling and the fact that he has put two x's after his message. I am a strange woman on the internet, do not give me kisses.
I then get a second message from him less than 2 hours after the first...
'Sorry if I sounded a bit eager
Maybe coffee sometime
Kev'
No kisses this time. I have not replied to the first message yet as I am busy and doing some daft Chemistry Q&A on here. Kev, calm down. So I send him this message the next day (Sunday) as it was getting late:
'Hello :)
Sorry about my untimely reply! As I've only just joined I am still getting to grips with it all :/
Hope you are well.
Kat.'
I get a reply almost instantly. Kev has obviously not left the keyboard.
'Yep I'm fine
Where abouts in wxm have you moved to ?
I live in town centre
Kev x'
The kiss is back. It annoys me. I decide to get ready and hop on a train to visit family as I've not seen them and my Grandmother is unwell. Anyway, in the meantime...
'so going out on a limb, how about a coffee or sumat next weekend well i say coffee but i cant stand the stuff but its an icebreaker non the less
bit forward i know but i'll put my number txt me or call or whatever
kev x
07---------'
I get back home and receive that. Kev, what in the actual fuck are you doing giving some random woman on a dating site your number? Seriously now. A bit forward? Try a LOT forward! So he wants to take me for coffee but he hates coffee? Am I meant to sit there and drink mine with Kev staring at me all doe-eyed? Kev...suggest something we would *both* like to do. So, I am mulling over a reply and it's about 9pm on Sunday when I get another message...
kevbam has used some points and bought you this gift!!!.
didnt mean to be sarky
kev x
Good Christ on a bike. Kev has sent me a virtual rose with his virtual points.
I close the laptop and go downstairs to drink most of a bottle of white wine. I then drive my housemate crazy and cry. Not strictly because of Kev but because I cannot seem to find anyone who doesn't drive me mad.
So...there we have it! I have many, many more messages but that is an example of what they usually contain.
Guys: Please don't go mad if a girl doesn't contact you straight away, it makes you a peck-head and whilst women like a keen bloke it is creepy if you keep spamming her all the time.
That's me done for now! I'll probably post another about this woman that sent me a message, trawling for a girl to have a threesome with her and her boyfriend...
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