2002 - 2003 The Final Chapter

At the start of this new year I was barely clinging on.

Every day was a minefield of inner turmoil.

It seemed that as soon as I accepted to myself I needed professional help, my mental health quickly deteriated.

Walking through the town to get to work was a daily chore and I could almost hear people passing by judging me and pointing me out as the evil one.

Of course none of this was really happening, To the people in the street I was just another guy on his way to work wishing he was still in bed. But in my mind and in the world I had created for myself I was still the frightened bad little boy that nobody loved.

This world I had created when I was a child was born out of a need to survive. It was supposed to keep me safe from harm. But if no one could get in to reach me and I kept them back for fear of spreading my disease, it was a world that was far from safe.

As an adult, the abuse I suffered at the hands of a cruel and sick man still grew inside me and it was my turn to carry on this abuse.

In place of the bruises were the drugs and drink. My fathers voice was still there, wishing me to die, telling me I was worthless, but this time it was my own voice saying my fathers words.

I really did believe I had no right at all to be alive.

From as far back as I can remember my father would drum it into me that I was a mistake, an unwanted pregnancy. I was the reason for my parents troubled marriage. If I had never been born they would never have been married and my dad wouldnt be mad, standing over me, screaming and spitting in my face.

Imagine every day from childhood to now, knowing you are worthless, believing you dont even have the right to walk the same street as 'normal' people - that's what I felt and to some degree still do now. To me this belief is part of my make up, it comes as easily as breathing. To me it's my life, but I know it's not a life at all.

While most of my friends (of which there are few) would be out unwinding in pubs, de-stressing in the gym and working up a sweat in nightclubs, I favoured my home comforts. No one could get me there, I couldnt affect other people and spoil their nights out.

It is to Steve's credit that he has stuck by me through four long years and because of him I have found my self beginning to accept that someone can love me unconditionally.

With Steve it's different. He wasnt there in that house when I was growing up. He didnt experience what the family went through, the complete oppression, so bad that it prevented a mother from gathering her children in the quiet of night and making a run for it.

When mum did finally get out I had already left home and Im glad she saved herself. After getting to know her again I found a brave woman who faced up to her own fears and beat them hands down.

At this time in my life I couldnt ask for a better mother. Her lack of a maternal nature was in part down to me. When I began to close myself down for protection I shut everyone out, including my own mum.

This feeling of oppresion was always thick in the air and dad had the art of dictatorship down to a fine art. Being the bad child I bore the brunt, but all of us were subjected to some degree, whether it be physical or emotional. And mum was no different.

She was effectively a child when she gave birth to me and looking back I can see her over the years slipping away, the little strength she had fading like a candle flame.

At the age of 28 my sister has had her own share of drug and drink abuse. This has turned to crime and having her children taken away from her.

The only person who seems to have come out of all this without showing any visible signs of mental illness and self abuse is my brother - I hope he's the lucky one. Hopefully too young to remember what was happening to the brother he once shared a bedroom with.

In the middle of January this year I poured myself another glass of whisky and looked at the unopened bottles from christmas still on the kitchen table.

I had never really accepted that I was an addict. Even while writing TimeLine and seeing how I depended on many drinks every day, I couldnt bring myself to accept that I was an alcoholic. Steve could see I liked to drink but didnt want to think he was in a relationship with a drunk. But I knew of all the sly drinks.

The glasses of whisky I'd down in preparation for going on a rare night out to the cinema. The quick drink at lunch time before heading back to work from home.

But I knew.

I looked down at the empty glass and knew this habit had to stop.

And just like that, with the realisation that I had a problem, I kicked the habit. It's now March and I am extremely proud that I have gone this long without giving in.

The bottles are still there on the kitchen table as a reminder of what my life was like. Every day is a struggle, I'd be lie-ing if I said I didnt need a drink right this minute. But that's my point - I may need it but I dont want it.

The feeling of overcoming my addiction put me in good stead for what was to lay ahead.

My first counselling session was confirmed and in February I found myself sitting infront of a stranger, hoping that this time I would get things right.

Elaine told me in that first session that this would be different from the therapy I had in the past. Lasting only 10 sessions this would be intensive and would require hard work on my part.

Im now half way through and for the last five weeks I have thought so long and hard my head hurts. Accepting that I am living with a mental illness and talking openly to some one else about it has opened a massive door to recovery.

Im far from ok, but Im getting there.

My father is still here, in my head. He's very much a part of my life, dominating and controlling, whispering thoughts of malice. He's still feeding me lies but I know he's there now and every day Im finding it easier to tell him to shut up.

Perhaps my biggest problem is having to relearn the basics of life. I dont mean reading and writing, adding and subtracting.

My whole belief system is my fathers. He filled my head with such nonsense that it's really no suprise I find myself where I am today.

As a child you learn through association.

I associated my father with being dirty, unclean and unkept, so I go out of my way to put on a presentable appearance and find it very hard to deal with anyone critisizing the way I look.

I associate something so natural and loving as a hug to be un-natural and hateful. The only times my father would hug me would be after beatings. With blood on my face and cracks on my nose he'd embrace me telling me I made him use his fists.

Even going downstairs now to make myself a bowl of cereal is an act of rebellion. I'd never dream of doing such a thing as a child.

So my biggest hurdle is relearning. And I know I'll come to a stage when I dont flinch and feel uncomfortable when someone goes to hug me. And I know when I eat something I can do so with pleasure.

Im beginning to learn that the world is an exciting place. Like a child Im beginning to view things with the wonder of enlightenment.

And Im looking forward to the end of this journey.

I know where Im heading and what I'll find.

I see a station called 24 Malvern Way. It looks exactly like my childhood house of horror. But I will notice the bright colours of the flowers in the garden, the fresh blue of the front door. And as I knock on the door I can hear my mums laughter from inside, instead of her tears.

My brother and sister will open the door and hug me and tell me they're glad I finally made it.

I'll plant a kiss on my mums cheek when I find her looking up at me from her chair, a big beaming smile welcoming me to the family I never had.

Out in the kitchen will be the dogs running, the family pets no longer confined to cages. And through the window I can see my two girls playing in the garden. I can't wait to bound down the steps and shower them with kisses.

As I venture out I hear a noise and see the shed looming infront of me. The door is open and the cobwebs and imaginary spiders and snakes have been replaced by rays of sunlight, illuminating my father deep in thought at his work bench.

For the longest moment I watch him,capturing the way the sun dances over flecks of grey in his hair. The deep lines around his eyes as he concentrates on his wood work.

He'll look up and see me and without hesitation he'll say "Hey Kiddo! come give your old man a hug".

I'll walk up to him, and like the man I am I hug him.

And as I hear my children shout out "Grandad when's daddy coming back?"

I'll feel glad that I finally made it home.