The clear out

This week, as it often does, life has forced me to look back at the person I once was.

To admire the person I am now. I am so proud of who I have become.

But I have to get it out of my head. Get it out.

Apologies in advance for rambling.

If you had met me eight years ago, I'm not sure you would have believed I'd be sitting where I am today.

I was a troubled sole.

A sad, vulnerable, confused, het up, anxious girl who had to grow up too soon.

Plunged into a silent responsibility to step up as the stand in parent.

A little tubby. Strange shoes. Brown skirt, white trainer socks. Self conscious. Angry.

I struggled to hold friends down the whole way through my school years.

I'd been bullied through primary school for being a bit different. Puberty hit me when I was 8. Periods came at 9. I was taller & spottier than most.

I remember the day my Mum could not keep her anger in with the bullies any more. She drove me to one of their houses, told the ringleaders parents what her daughter had been doing. How I cried every day going to school.

I remember feeling bad that day, that I might have got them into trouble. I was worried for one of them, worried if at 10/11 she'd be able to cope with a telling off. Her Dad had died weeks before. Even then, even when I was terrified and scared of what they might do or say next, I still did not want her to be any more upset than she already would have been.

When it came to choosing my secondary school my Mum was determined that I would not be subject to the same hell that was primary school. She insisted that I went to Grammar School, an all girls school just a few minutes walk from where she then worked, three train stops away from home.

Gah! I remember the arguments leading up to my 11+. I was adamant that I wanted to go to the local comp, where my 'friends' were going. Where the people were familiar. Regardless of who they actually were. The trouble with me was that I was always so bloody forgiving!

I worked hard to at least not FAIL at the exam, regardless of which school I'd end up going to. Failure has never really been an option for me. 11+ passed, we together sat down and decided that Grammar would be best. There were two people from my primary school who were going. Nice children, who were friendly & bright who there was every chance would share a form with me once there.

Two months into secondary school, my parents separated. My Dad came to collect me from my dance rehearsal for a big show that was coming up. My mum had prepared me for the conversation I was about to have. I knew it was going to happen, it was only a matter of time.

As we sat in the car tears filled his eyes as he told me he would be leaving that afternoon, to stay in our holiday caravan until something else was sorted.

I suppose, looking back, it was strange that I was not sad. I remember tears rolling down my face as he told me, but they were not sad tears. They were tears of relief. No more arguments every Friday because I couldn't find my tap leotard.

I, like my mother, could not cope with his shouting and short temper any more. He would turn in a second from smiles & laughter to aggression and pure anger. I remember once, in a rage, he emptied and threw the contents of my box of barbies ( I had LOADS) across the room.

From then on our house would be quiet and calm, just Mum, Lobster & I & the cat. A safe haven. Everything was going to be okay.

Until the Break-ins started. The fierce malicious name calling. The stalking. The threats. Death threats from him to my Mum. The phone calls to me at bedtime telling me it would be the last time I'd ever hear from him. The time I walked in on him & L's nursery teacher in his flat when he was supposed be watching me as I was ill & off school. Being held against the wall. Running home to phone my Mum. Locking the doors. That time he threw me in the car kicking & screaming, holding a crying 2 year old L, trying to protect her from his fury. He drove us to the middle of nowhere and told me we'd never go home again.

My oldest friend turned her back on me within weeks. Disappeared into the distance. Her family, who had spent the last 11 years at parties and holidays and days out with mine decided that whatever he'd told them was true and that she should no longer be my friend.

That's when it all changed at school really. That's when I became a bit weird. Stood out. Cried a lot.

I was not particularly fashionable, nor did I come from a wealthy family as many of my peers did.

I hold that Man personally responsible for the hell that then became the first five years of secondary school. I trusted no-one. Believed that everyone was out to get me. Once again became an easy target and so the bullying was back.

It would come in waves. I moved from friendship group to friendship group. But the groups just merged. The bitching and gossiping of teenage girls meant that there was no escape. The shit was going to bite me on the arse wherever I turned. At the same time, those primary school 'friends' would be waiting at the train station on my way home to follow me & hurl homophobic abuse. Apparently, because I went to a girls school, it automatically meant I was a lesbian.

My poor Mum. Not only was she facing a new battle with him each & every day, she was having to drag me to school each morning willing me to get through. Willing them to stop. Give me a break. Willing the teachers to step in. Determined not to let those bitches get the better of me. Nor that bastard for that matter.

She'd talk non stop the whole way to school to keep my mind busy,  we'd listen to heart fm who without fail would play Take That's 'Shine' somewhere in that 25 minute slot. We'd listen & sing at volume.

Some mornings she quite literally had to push me out of the car, knowing that as I left her tears would begin to roll down my cheeks, tears rolling down hers the minute I could not see her.

For some time I really struggled with food. The amount of food I ate at that the was the only thing I now realise I had any control over. Not eating was me taking control. As was the constant scratching of my arms.

I had counselling for a short while. Had to go to special sessions with pastoral care. Was advised by the school to take a few weeks out of school because it had all become so bad.

Eventually, at 16 I was moved to another form, in which there were two girls I knew from my options classes. After a VERY bumpy start in a new friendship, which resulted in me FINALLY standing up for myself  and deciding I was not about to be walked all over again to a girl  who had made it her mission to make me feel as unwelcome as possible (cue nasty facebook & msn chats).

From that moment on really everything started to get better at school. There were a few arguments, don't get me wrong. But you put a load of teenage hormonal girls in a group there's always going to be. Particularly when there are boys involved.

Through it all, against the odds, I passed my GCSE's with flying colours. I doubt very much I would have done without my Mum's continued ushering on. Though as I said before, failure was never an option in my head. Sixth Form was in sight.

Home life was still as tough as ever. The break ins, the stalking, the verbal attacks, the taking us and disappearing for days, all of that was still going on.

And then along came Mr. The boy who saved me.

The boy who is now the man who stands beside me at every turn. Who has stood beside me through thick and thin, beautiful and ugly.

Who makes me laugh.

Shelters me from the storm.

Loves me unconditionally.

The boy who gave me the confidence to be who I am today.

The bulshy, head strong, ambitious young woman who will not let anyone stand in her way.

The boy who opens the jam jars when I cannot.

Rescues me when the bus does not show up, even though he's in the middle of something and miles away.

Who at the end of a really crappy day, reassures me that everything will be okay.

The boy who one day I hope will become my husband, the father of my children.

I still find it difficult to trust. I do not let people get too close. Even he struggles sometimes.

I have friends who I love with all my heart, who know me inside out. They know my deepest secrets, my silly habits. They are there always and regardless.

If you had met me eight years ago, I'm not sure you would have believed I'd be sitting where I am today.

But I am so proud of what I have achieved.

And so thankful to those who helped me to where I am today.

And to those who broke me

I am not sure I will ever forgive you

But I must thank you.

Just look at me now.