“will you just fuck off”

I thought I was an independent, strong minded women when I was 24. I wasn’t but I put on my protective shield, usually thick.. I mean cement thick make up and strutted to work in high heels that I couldn’t walk in. I suppose I was always worried about people seeing what and who I was. I don’t know why because I wasn’t a bad person. I just didn’t like my appearance very much. My dad’s side of the family are from Irish decent so the pale skin, freckles etc and my mums side have olive skin, dark hair. I was blessed with what I deemed to be god awful genetics from both sides. If you’re around my age you’ll remember the Raggy Dolls, well I was the one found in the reject bin with Sad Sack haha. So I have naturally mousy brown hair, ginger skin, freckles, 7 chins at the moment after having the kids and my mums erratic behavior.

After my father died when I was 23, it felt like my world had smashed into pieces and what once was a full human being I was now snippets of what I used to be scattered around what used to be an ok life. My dad seemed to know a lot about everything and not in a chauvinistic way. He had a beautiful humility to him, he was like a magnet to people who just wanted to know and be around him. God I loved that guy. I stayed up for 3 nights straight when he died just trying to get my head around where this full of life, singing, laughing human being was. Surely that’s not it? so one minute I have a dad and the next there’s a large silhouette in the family album that’s never going to be full again. Don’t get me wrong our family has grown because I have had two more children and gotten married twice after he passed. However, that dad shaped hole is still there. When I see my son laugh its beautiful but I often wish so hard that my dad could see him and his cheeky little run.

When my dad died, I was suddenly the person that everyone relied on. My daughter was 4 and my mum was just lost in grief. I just made each day up as I went along. The next summer after my dad had passed away I had gone out for a girls night. As I walked down the steps of the nightclub I heard someone shout Oi. It was who I know now as my ex husband. I turned around, and the next day and the next and the next day after that we saw each other.

To the periphery, he was the funniest, life and soul of the declining amount of parties we attended together. To me he was a fucking nightmare. We had good times, but for the majority of time we spent together he left me feeling on edge. I am still forever apologizing to people because I was so used to saying it to him. He would explode in rage and sometimes even in public and not even apologise for it. If any of my friends were getting married and we had been invited I would have to be on my best behavior for weeks before so that he wouldn’t throw his toys out the pram and tell me he wasn’t coming on the day.

In arguments I was regularly told I was fat, ugly, uneducated a slag you name it I was called it. This was the man who also told me he loved me. Many times I questioned why he was with me especially if he thought such things. He spat in my face numerous time which made me heave. He called me white trash and that my dad would be turning in his grave if he could see me. That comment hurt the most. I hated him sometimes and just wish that we weren’t together but then I remembered our good times and that our relationship was always a rollercoaster.

When we first started going on dates he once told me that he caught his ex girlfriend cheating on him with another man. He apparently beat this man up so badly the police were involved but the charges were later dropped. I always felt like I was getting punished for her actions. I never kissed another man let alone slept with one. I also know he cheated on me so I feel like he was letting his guilt spill onto me. I never wanted to cheat, my loyalty was always with him even though he gave me hell sometimes. I mean, this man would throw a hissy fit if I didn’t iron his work shirts, I wasn’t about to start cheating, I quite liked being alive.

I always made sure I kept my friends, I went on nights out every other Saturday night. He called me an alcoholic for this as most of the time when I was with them I would knock back shots of sambuca, let my hair down and dance like nobody was watching. I used to stay at my friends house if I was really drunk so that I wouldn’t have to face the consequences of him. One night, I went out with a separate set of friends, not ones that I knew well enough to stay at their houses. I came home tried to be as quiet as I could. I didn’t put the bedroom light on as I didn’t want to wake him. He must have heard me come in and moved to my side of the bed. As I went to lie down he was underneath me. He screamed in my face clenching his teeth. Not something someone would do straight from a deep sleep. He manipulated situations to take his anger out on me usually as a punishment for going out. When I apologised he screamed that I was an alcoholic and who was I sleeping with when I went out? honestly this was getting so boring because I heard it every time I went anywhere. No matter how much I tried to reassure him he still never believed me.

I stomped downstairs and said that I would sleep on the sofa. He shouted at me throwing insults one by one after each step we took. He was so angry, saying that no one actually liked me, my friends felt sorry for me that’s why they hung around with me and that all his friends hated me. Well that made me feel amazing! I got a cover and lay on the sofa. He said that the sofa was in his name and that I’m not allowed on it. I did mention that the bed was in my name yet he lay in it like King Mufasa every fucking night. I just wanted to go to sleep so everything he called me I agreed with. This technique was just making him more angry but I honestly didn’t want to argue. He then topped off his list of insults with, “your dad would be turning in his grave if he could see what a pathetic shit mum and slag you are”. No one mentions my dad like that and he didn’t even know my dad. I felt this red hot wave of anger come over me so I reached out and grabbed a pot of lily’s and threw them against the wall and screamed “will you just fuck off”. He then went quiet. The crazy eyes left him and from the second the pot hit the wall it brought a sense of calm to him, almost like the devil had left in body. He then smirked, and said calmly “I told you you were cuckoo” he then walked off slowly with a sinister air to each step. I just wanted to die, I just didn’t want to live feeling judged, manipulated and a lot of the time bullied anymore.