I was born in 1992, and at this current moment, in my student accommodation on the second of May 2013, i have decided to discuss my childhood experience of maternal neglect. This is not for sympathy, or to gain attention through reeling off a bunch of over-emotional bullshit. I merely hope to present this world with a viewpoint that sadly, i am aware that all too many of you have already seen from.
I always receive the same ignorant questions - "Don't you miss her?" "Don't you want to meet her?" "So you don't even know where she is?".Yes, i hear the same things every time i mention my (lets call it) "living arrangements". The simple answer to these questions have always been the same. No, no and no.
For all of the difficulties i had in my childhood, i have never, not once, wished to see my mother again.
From a young age i became acutely aware that my family was not the same as every other- we were different. We lived in a small two bedroom flat where me and my three younger siblings shared one room that two rickety bunk beds claimed the majority of space in. It was a council flat... cold, deteriorating, but it was home. We were infinitely worse off financially than any of my friends, and to be completely honest, that fact remained true for most of my young life. People always told me that there was a time when my parents were truly happy. In their younger years they seemed to share a bonding similarity - they were both miserable at home. So, with my dad earning an average wage and my mother taking place as his dependent, they moved in together and shortly after, i was conceived. Most of what happened between them moving in and my birth has always been hazy...nobody seems to quite remember what occurred and the people who do remember don't really talk about it. I am however sure that their happiness quickly deteriorated and they stayed together, as many other couples "for the sake of the kids", albeit in a state of misery.
I was an unbelievably happy child, and from my first word - "daddy" - to now, i can honestly say that my father took place as number one in my tiny heart. My mother became an alcoholic with all the charms that alcohol brings. Thankfully, for my earliest years, my father and grandmother took every precaution to shelter me from the adult issues that plagued our house. My brother and two sisters quickly followed me into the world, with barely a five year gap between me and the youngest. Predictably, the relationship between my mother and father disintegrated until no scraps of affection were shown between them. My father felt guilty for the reality he had brought us into and my mother became bitter against the children who stole her youth. She became unfaithful and took a variety of substances to "escape" us. My father didn't trust my mother to be left alone with me, and subsequently quit his job to become our full time carer. As a result, we were forced into the stigma of "a benefits family", living off of the government, in a flat that was too small and parents that hated one another. My father became so frustrated with my mother that he realised, in his words, that he had to leave, or he would kill her and we would be left with nothing. With the intent of returning to us, victorious, my brave father struck out alone to gain full custody of me and my siblings.
Sadly, as all government proceedings do, our case was dragged out horrendously for over two years. My father became furious at the system for forcing us to stay with the very thing that he was trying to protect us from. I started school, and was forced to leave my baby sister at home with my mother, causing an unimaginable strain on me. Even at such a young age i knew she was dangerous and couldn't be trusted to take care of us. At lunchtime, i would sneak out of the back gate of school to run home and check on the youngest and make sure she was fed and changed. My other siblings were often at nursery, so safely out of the way. Despite my regular great escapes, school became my sanctuary becoming lost in the books and colours that we couldn't afford at home. I made friends, lots of them, and rapidly became a star pupil with highest regard from all of my teachers. As school began to take a large portion of my life, i was able to forget about all of my home-troubles, if only for a couple of hours before the memory kicked me once again. My mother relished her power as single parent, not for the parenting part, but for the ability to control the money she could spend and the power she held over my father. Every weekend, my father would come to the flat to collect us for his government approved time, and she sent him away. "No, you can't take them"...sorry...*SLAM*.
We were cut off from my father for a long time, unable to phone him or see him and too young to understand why. It was an utterly heartbreaking time for us as siblings. Eventually, my father broke down and forced his way into the house to see us, losing his temper and pushing my mother aside to get to us. Although i was only small, a part of me urged him on, i hoped he would just take us away. In my father's absence, we were neglected. Our house never held any food, we were always cold and often left alone. My mother made her way through a trail of men, all disgusting and all alcoholic or addicts. One stands out in particular, the man who left needles on the floor where my baby sisters crawled around. The man who, after hearing of his actions, my father hunted down and hurt...badly. My father was sent away and was classed as unfit to care for us. My grandmother still fought her way into our lives and taking us on weekends while my mother paraded around our local town with our weeks allowance stuffed in her pockets. We visited my father once while he was away, i was shocked at how he looked. Pierced ears and sad. The sight of us rose his blue eyes out of its fog and he wept. I remember a lot of tears.
I remember many things from this time in my life: hunger, worry, sadness, and most predominantly, responsibility I cared for my siblings in every way i could. Changing them, feeding them with anything i could find, loving them. My youngest sister began to call me "mummy". The physical absence of my father combined with the emotional absence of my mother had an incalculable effect on me i am sure. However, i never complained, this was my reality. I blossomed in school and kept my siblings alive during the week before we visited my grandmother. One night, i conducted my usual routine, getting the older two into bed, followed by the youngest, turning on the night light and then falling asleep.
"Come on sweetheart". A police man was stood in our bedroom. I was terrified, jumped down from my bunk bed and grabbed hold of the youngest. "It's okay...we're taking you to your daddy".
I relaxed and without a word, starting packing all of our favourite things into bags. The youngest's toys, my brother's teddy bears, my sister's clothes. In a matter of moments we were out of the door, being marched to a police car and climbing into the back seat. My mother screamed as we were driven away. "It's okay darling". I clutched on to my siblings tight and let out a sigh of relief , we were going home.
From the day we walked into my grandmother's house and saw my father sat on the sofa with tears in his eyes, i felt safe. Although it is fourteen years since we moved back with my father, i still remember the happiness and joy i felt. I know my father committed crimes, but they were crimes of love for his children. He is the greatest man i have ever known and will always love and respect him for taking on four of us Nobody can truly understand just how much of a star he is to us.
My mother attempted contact a couple of times after we left, sending irregular cards on birthdays and maybe throwing some cash in to tempt us back into contact with her. For a couple of years, we visited her at her mother's house, although she slept for the majority of time and it came to a swift end. The last time i saw her, i was nine years old (just). The difficulty is knowing that my memories of her are purely reliant on the memory of a much younger, much more vulnerable me. I acknowledge that she was not all bad, but her actions spoke much louder than she ever did. Her total lack of consideration for her children will never be excused. As i have grown into a woman, i find it much easier to talk about my past and the way i was treated. I believe it has made me a better person. I have never smoked, and rarely drink, i am a university student with a successful academic career behind me and hopefully a successful future career ahead of me. My siblings are growing into beautiful young adults, bursting with potential.
If, by any small miracle, my mother reader this (and she will know it is me), i hope she sees what i have become and kicks herself for letting four wonderful, beautiful children pass through her grip. She will never be forgiven for the various wrongs she committed against us, and will be glad to hear that on mother's day at my house, i am the one who gets the chocolates.
