Hello everybody. This won't be a fun blog, won't be interesting in any way, I doubt anyone is actually reading this. Whatever. I just want to Get My Feelings Out. I don't even know where to begin... Let's start right at the beginning....
Way back to when I was 7..
So, the most prominent thing that happened for me during the years of 2003-2004 was my dad leaving home. I don't know what was going through my head at the time... Hate? Worry? Blame? The thing that makes me sick to this very day was lying. I remember asking my mum if my dad had left because of me. The worst thing was, I was doing it for attention. At the age of 7 I manipulated my own family. I don't know what that says about me. I also remember wondering what all the kids would say at school... what would I tell them? How could I get them all to feel sorry for me, hug me and tell me it's alright? Ask me to be their best friend? How very selfish I was. I remember worrying if my dad would come back in the night and kill us, because he must be angry at us, surely? Isn't that why he left? I'd hide with my mum, those nights. I'd hear her cry, too. My seven year old little self would fold my arms around her skinny neck and kiss her and tell her it'd be okay. I can not imagine what she went through, for all those years. I only know a lot of blame was to be given. I remember the day we were last a normal family. The day before my mum and dad had a fight, mum threw dad out, was a barbeque. I remember it all so wonderfully clear...
It was such a sunny day, daddy standing on the table, singing songs like 'Brown Eyed Girl' on the guitar... us kids would sing along too. The whole family was there - nannies, aunties - and the 3 Lions Football song was playing. That was always such a special moment for me. I think daddy was wearing a blue shirt, his hair was short. All his friends were round ours too. I remember him saying something about playing 'musical chairs', as a joke to his friends. I asked if we could play. He said no. I felt rejected. I still feel that feeling now. The dining room was cleared, a lot of people were standing in it. I went to bed...
That was the very last memory, amonst the very scarce I have left, of when dad lived with us.The Day He Left. Oh, that memory is the clearest of all. I woke up to shouting, noises between mum and dad in the room next to us. I was the first to awake, my back against the radiator, scared to move. Of course, I didn't even know what was about to happen existed in family life. I remember feeling bored with all the arguing. Then my brothers creeped in and sat with me, and the bigger girls too, all just exchanging looks whilst the noise went on. The bigger girls mouthed interpretations of the noise to eachother, what they could infer from the noise behind the wall. Us younger children just sat solemnly. Then the shouting got louder, footsteps were heard running down the stairs. We ran after them. I remember mummy and daddy in the garden, I was still so confused. I asked dad what was going on. This is the bit I remember most vividly. I tried to ask him what was wrong, I could see him hurt, I ran after him but he closed the gate, and I could see him getting into his red car and soon he drove away. It was then too I felt rejection. I didn't know whether he was coming back or not, nobody did. Then mum sat down by the front door and cried and cried and cried and we came and found her, all six children huddled on the floor by mum. Mum said "I loved him" a lot. We nodded, pretending we understood, but we didn't really. We loved him too of course, but didn't understand the relevence of love to him leaving. I pointed out that Chewy, our dog, had joined us in our hugging, and said 'Chewy loves us, too'. I don't know if it was the same day, same week or even month, but we went shopping, all of us, in Iceland, and ran for the bus. That day felt different. It was a feeling of unification I had never felt before.
The next thing that followed was cutting all of dad's clothes up. I didn't understand what we were doing, all of us kids laughed at the prospect of cutting daddy's clothes up - it was silly, funny, a game. Except when I saw daddy's face when he came back to collect his things, the game had ended. Guilt settled in. I felt guilty for ganging up on him. It was all of us against him now. This may have been the pivotal moment when I began to, as horrible as it may sound, favour dad.
I am too tired to carry on, and much too emotional. I will continue to tell my story. End of blog for tonight. Love, Amy. x
