“Oh why were you born so beautiful

Oh why were you born at all?

You’re no f****** good to anyone

You’re no f****** good at all”

My Dad used to sing this to me. He sang it to me when we were on our own, he sang it in company. He thought it hilarious to see how it affected me. How my whole body would respond; going bright red with rage and embarrassment. How I would cross my arms and tighten my mouth until you could not see my lips. Early on I realised that any response would be counter-productive… but I could not get my body to remain indifferent. 

My parents, between them, did quite a “number” on us; me and my three siblings. One of us emigrated to get away from them. One of us told the police of emotional abuse and was taken away into care. One of us was taunted daily for having a stammer until finally leaving home, and independent, was able to engage therapists who helped control and eradicate it. And me? Aged 11, I was given a dog to care for, a longed for puppy; and was told that if I failed to walk the pup even once, it would be “put to sleep.” At that age, I had no idea what was meant; but could hear the implied threat. The pup was walked twice daily. By me and only me; for over a decade.

They wanted me to stay at home; to achieve yes, but ultimately to stay at home. Once I got away, I never went back for longer than for as short a time as possible. I went back for two reasons; one, my dog. Mum was quite likely to simply have her “put to sleep” as I was no longer available to walk her. The second; my sister. She was left at home alone with them as we older ones fled at our first opportunity. I needed to mitigate their effect on her if I could. 

When my mum became violent and doubly incontinent with dementia, my siblings did not believe me. One insisted he could care for her and demanded she be put on a plane and sent to him as soon as possible. So we sent her. He sent her home within a week. “She hit my children with her walking stick and set my house on fire”. I phoned the GP surgery late one night after she had relieved herself once in a cereal bowl, and once just on the floor; lit a candle in her bed, having constructed a tent out of her bedding. Earlier she had threatened to smash up the inside of a pub where we had gathered to “discuss mum.” I asked that she be sectioned under the Mental Health Act of 1983. 

Seeing your mum being taken away, screaming and fastened inside a strait jacket is not easy. Having the police and an ambulance outside your house at 2am is tricky too. 

CMM

A Moodscope member