Trying To Move On

Thank you so much for your supportive comments on my last post.

I was convinced that you would all be appalled and disgusted and maybe some readers were, but the messages suggested an element of understanding that touched me deeply, even though I acknowledge wholeheartedly that my behaviour was wrong.

I took the advice offered and wrote him a letter. I haven’t shown it to him but I did tell him about it and some of what it said. Maybe one day I’ll publish it here but it doesn’t really make any sense. It rambles on and on, part justifying part apologising but whatever, it DID make a difference writing it down – all four pages !

I’ve spent a lot of time talking with him since then and we’ve all been out as a family as well and it does help.

Trouble is, I can’t get over the fact that there is something fundamentally wrong with me.

I only see the therapist once every other week now and the week of the turmoil wasn’t the scheduled time. I called him to ask if he could fit me in. He said no but that he would give me extra time this week. As I put the phone down, I realised that actually there was no real point seeing him. I’d have told him what happened and he’d ask me what I thought the trigger was and we’d go round things like we have for the last few years. It’s not his fault - it’s just that I have become very practised at just talking but somehow avoiding the key issues.

We’ve only touched briefly on my hideous temper. I painted it as me being the unreasonable one who completely loses control while Ewan refuses to engage until I calm down, which makes me more angry. He asked me if I thought that actually that made Ewan the unreasonable one and to be honest, I don’t really remember the outcome. That’s the problem. I don’t remember much about the outcome of any the things we’ve discussed. I’ll tell him all this on Thursday but if nothing else I think I’ve come to the conclusion that the therapist, or at least this therapist, isn’t for me.

I wanted it to work. I tried to persuade myself that it was working, but it clearly isn’t.

Meanwhile, I’ve been going back over my blog and I saw this entry that I posted back in the beginning, two and a half years ago.

I think it’s clear evidence that I haven’t really moved on at all ……

Sasha and Kyle - The Children
I've already said I'm incredibly proud of them but I wonder.... I really wonder if I have been a good enough mother to them.

I am incredibly strict and expect them to behave in a certain way which they have done. Maybe I have inhibited them as a result. They seem fairly normal but who knows what they really go through.

Sometimes Sasha's eyes look very puffy and I don't know anything about why and I can tell she's not inclined to share the burdens in her life but we have the same sense of humour and many times when we talk we end up laughing and laughing until we cry. She is so sensible and I hope we end up as good friends as she is so wise and it will be her telling me what to do for the best very soon.

As for my son, I love him so much. He will always be my child though. I can't imagine him advising me on anything although he is incredibly intelligent and so I guess he will but I can't see a day when I won't be looking out for him.

How did I create such gorgeous children and why do I hold back from loving them completely? That is what makes me abnormal. That makes me a freak. A mother is supposed to love her children totally, beyond life itself. And yet, I don't know if I do. I can't imagine a world without them and I have such strong emotions for them but I think something isn't there.

I shout a lot at them - sometimes it's for no real reason. I think I yell because deep down, my life feels like it's in a mess and I have no control.

I hate myself I think - that's the real problem. If that's the case, how can I love anyone else...or expect them to love me

Speeding Downhill

So my daughter seems very bright and breezy and convinced that everything will be OK. She’s been trying to joke with me that we’ll have a period party when the time comes but I’m not really amused. In fact, I’m seriously anxious. I’ve lost weight again as I just feel constantly sick.

Things haven’t been helped by the fact that my son, who up to now has been everything a mother could wish for, seems to be going off the rails.

He has been earmarked as a potential Oxbridge student and until recently he was doing really well. But all of a sudden he seems embarrassed by his success and has been going all out to impress his friends in other ways.

At the birthday/aftershow party we had a few weeks back, he brought some of his friends along. Not the usual boys he hangs out with who are very nice but some other lads who were very cocky and who thought it was funny to get drunk quite quickly, with no care that they were guests at my party and not at some pathetic teenage rave.

One of them even thought he could light up in my kitchen and I told him firmly that he had to go outside to smoke. Unfortunately, I noticed he took Kyle with him and I found out later that my precious son has been smoking for a while now.

That upset me.

My dad smoked heavily when he was younger and although he stopped eventually, I’m sure it contributed to the heart attack that killed him. I feel very ashamed that my son could be so stupid as to start such a pointless habit.

I told him the next day in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t happy and he promised me that he would stop. He said he didn’t know why he started and that he would put an end to it. Since then, I have noticed he smells of smoke when he comes in from school but he keeps saying that it’s because others smoke around him. I hate the lying and I told him I didn’t appreciate it, but he promised me that he wasn’t smoking anymore.

And then yesterday, I came back early from work as I had a headache and I thought I would stop by his school to see if he wanted a lift and there he was. Standing outside, with a group of scruffy little bastards, holding court, laughing and ….smoking.

I drove home alone and very, very angry.

When he got in, I said I could smell smoke and he just laughed and said very easily “for god’s sake mum, you always say that but I swear, I haven’t been smoking”

And then the red mist came down and I went into a rage.

I told him I saw him smoking with his nasty little friends and he said I was mistaken and I was so furious then, that I hit him. Hard. Round the head. And then I pulled his hair and yanked his head towards me and smelled his breath, and then hit him again.

I don’t know what happened after that but Ewan came down the stairs and shouted at me to calm down and I started shouting at him too. And, oh god, the whole evening descended into hours of real and bitter fury as I spewed out all the bile that seems to have been hidden so deep within me.

I hate myself so much

Today all I can think of is Kyle’s face when I went for him. Why did I do that ? I never hit them when they were growing up. I’m not part of the anti-smacking brigade but I just never thought it was the right way for me to parent as I was raised on regular, hard beatings from my mother and it never solved anything. Why did I hit him? Why did I get so angry?

I’ve realised today that however much I thought the therapist has helped me all this time, he hasn’t really. All these negative emotions are still there within me and they’ve never been resolved.

I feel so worthless, so drained. I don't want to get out of bed. If I could stay here forever I would.

I feel like I’m on the edge of something huge. That if I wanted to, I could let just go of what little control I might be holding on to and fall into a complete mental breakdown. Even as I’m writing I’m not sure that won’t happen. Maybe I should just walk into my local hospital and ask them to section me.

Before leaving for school just now Kyle came in and left a letter on my bedside table, apologising for lying and for making me so angry and pledging never to smoke again and promising to focus on his studies once more.

Trouble is, I don’t feel very forgiving even though I should be the one saying sorry. Instead I’m still angry – at Kyle, at Sasha, at Ewan, at my mother …….but most of all, at me

The therapist told me right at the start of my treatment that I had to learn to like myself. I thought I had but in truth, I don’t think I ever will

I despise me