Co/Inter/Dependency

So, it's been a couple of days since I last wrote on here. I've worked hard since last Thursday to show my wife that I am serious in my commitment to her. And I think it's working.. we've talked lots, sometimes descending into anger as both of us have struggled to communicate or understand the other (she would claim it was me not understanding).

So - that's positive.

So where are we at?

My wife - is currently feeling utterly desolated. She explains it's like finding out one of our girls had cancer. I can see the grief/desolation/forlornness over her entire body. Explaining how she feels like that means I can fully empathise as to how she must be feeling. if one of the girls had cancer we would be devastated - which is how she feels.

Why does she feel like this? It has to be a mixture of her mum and me. Her mum who abandoned her, and a husband whose top priority was to "do" church - followed by business - therefore another form of abandonment.

Me - I actually feel pretty good. I feel that I am more in control - in a good way. I am thinking more - rather than my mind being a blank. I am not wanting to go into shutdown/escape mode as often - as I want to be in the here and now. I am very aware that I am trying to work out dependency/interdependency/codependency..

I did book a couple therapist for yesterday, but my wife felt too exhausted to go - and so I cancelled. And I can understand that - due to how she is feeling right now. I feel towards her as if she has had a major bereavement. I just need to be there for her. Right now I can be, as I guess I see it as some form of crisis. But based on past experience I will get to the point where I feel that I have no freedom, that I am being shut in, and will have a strong desire to escape.

My wife would say this was only temporary. She's not always like this. My problem is is that I _feel_ as if it's been like this from the start. She would point out that before she met me she had no problems, went inter railing with a friend around Europe. She went to Morocco with a church group at university for a month. She was happy to go anywhere using public transport.

And this is where I think a couple therapist would come in very handy - as I feel that they would be able to bring some perspective to our relationship. I feel that I am to blame in everything. I've got to the stage in my therapy process where I am looking after myself a little more - and feel that I need to stand my ground a little - I can't be 100% to blame. I can understand a little more of my wife's background - and how it's affected her. She may feel that I am 100% to blame, and I am in part, but only in part. Her mum is not right in the head.

My 12 year old daughter went to stay with my wife's parents with two of her cousins this week. Apparently grandma discounted and criticised throughout the week. She told them that the only singer/dancer in the family was one of their cousins (who is three and has a form of autism). That's despite the fact that grandma has been to see my daughter in three shows - she has a grade 5 in singing, and is doing grades 4/5 in ballet, tap, modern and street jazz. How would that make her feel? Grandma - though not at all meaning it - was being downright mean. Nasty. Belittling. Controlling. The girls got up at 11am, and asked for breakfast - and grandma said "Hahah, do you think I'm stupid?". Why? Because it was later than grandma wanted them to get up. They are 12 and 13! and my 12 year old is as big (bigger in fact) that my 15 year old.

So - if that's for one week - what would it have been like for my wife to live at home till she was eighteen? No wonder that she, like me, escaped to a university as far away as she could at the first opportunity. She was emotionally abandoned by her mum, and what's more her mum would threaten to cut her hair whilst she was asleep. Plonker. Absolute idiot. Stupid cow.

For the first time actually, I'm feeling angry at my wife's mum. I think that before now I've seen it in a far off way. Keeping myself protected, putting it into a box. But now I FEEL angry. Angry that she was like that whilst my wife was growing up. We can protect our children from the grandparents by limiting the time they spend together, and then talking it through afterwards. But for my wife who was at home all those years..

But - I can't make up for that. I can't make it better. I feel like I've tried, in amongst all my church/business seeking. I feel that I have been there for her, but then we are back to the old chestnut. I was therefore in a doing sense, but not in an emotional sense - at least not for the last 12 years. Apparently.

And when my wife feels like this I feel a little claustrophobic. I feel that I need to be here due to a need. But I can only do it for so long before I need to escape. She's sat opposite me now as I write this -just drinking her tea. Why? Because she feels so devastated. And I can understand that. But it really takes it out of me. I feel that she is asking for me. And I can give her me, but when I do I give too much. Then need to pull back by escaping for awhile. So what's the answer?

My wife doesn't have friends or family close by that can support her. They are on the end of a phone, but it's not the same. So it's down to me and an hour a week with her therapist. And I feel that's a heavy burden - and one that I can carry for only so long.

So how do I deal with that? What's being an adult? A loving husband? Emotionally whole.

I don't really know - but feel that I am finding out..

My wife can't continue with me as it is..

We seemed to have reached an impasse. We can both explain to a certain level where we think we are, what we think is needed, but we (maybe?) differ on the way forward.

She wants to know that we are together, on a journey together. She feels that I am not giving her that. I feel that it can't be all my fault - and that there must be some stuff we haven't seen yet. Which is where couple therapy is required. She knows that she can't repeat the pain of the last eighteen years. She can't take "it" any longer, and as a result is running out of options. I don't want her to be unhappy.

In short, as it stands right now we will be separating.

And how do I feel about that? Powerless. A sense of disbelief. A desire for it not to be so. A commitment to make it right - where I can.

My therapist said don't make life changing decisions in the middle of therapy. A good mate of mine said the same. It makes sense. It's also clear that we are working through all manner of stuff at the moment (individually, affecting us as a couple (normally positively)) - but working through this stuff is very difficult and painful. So how can either one of us see clearly? The answer is we can't. At the same time I (think I) understand how my wife feels. She's really hurting, and feels that I am only exacerbating the pain, and for her own health she can't continue.

So regardless of the reasons for the pain, we need to find some way forward quickly otherwise courses of action will be undertaken which once done are difficult to undo.

With this in mind I will call one of the couple therapists recommended to me. The closest one doesn't work during summer holidays. The other one lives over 20 miles away - which is a shame - but I will need to speak to her to see if she can see us for 6-8 weeks until the other returns. I don't think we can wait 6-8 weeks..

Solicitors?

Yesterday, my wife came into the kitchen as I was having breakfast and told me that she couldn't live like this anymore, we needed to see a couple therapist and was going to see a solicitor to see what her options were. She then walked upstairs and locked herself into the bedroom.

So, how did I react?

Well, I actually could see the hurt she was feeling. To me it looked and felt like a six year old coming into her dad/mum and saying "I hate you" because of some deep pain/hurt she was feeling. It was clear to me that the deep wound she had was what was driving the actions and words. I wanted to go upstairs and hug her, and tell her it was going to be ok.

Of course the reality is far more complicated than that. Yes I've hurt her, yes I've not supported her like I could have done, yes I've been happy to have her unconditional support - in short I could have been a much much better husband. She tells me that all she wants is a relationship with me. But living with me is like living in a void. I'm so defended that she can't get close.

However, I'm also starting to see things a little clearer myself. I can see her pain for starters - and I feel that although I may not have helped, it wasn't me that caused it. I.e. I may have picked at the wound, but I didn't give it to her to start with. I'm also realising that we are in certain areas entrenched in certain types of behaviour. Both of us. I read her body language and come to a conclusion based on my past, and she does the same. In short, I see my dad, she sees her mum.

Realising this although not erasing the problem in any way does help give me perspective. I feel that the whole of our married life she has blamed me for every ill. Recently I've had to tell her to stop telling me what I am not doing, how I am not doing it right, how I'm getting it wrong. It's simply not helping! She told me it was the only way she felt she could initiate a reaction from me.

I had a good chat with a mate of mine who lives in our previous town. He knows both of us, and did agree with me that it couldn't be all my fault. He knows that my wife has tried to find something to make her happy for a long time. Property development, buying a farm - all these areas are where my wife is hoping to find the cure to the perpetual itch she feels. The deep wound.

She told me yesterday that I was incapable of relating at any normal level. Is there something of a six year old? This morning in bed - she told me that after our conversation yesterday she realised that there was a well of anger there, based on fifteen years of living with me. I said that the anger towards me was most likely anger at a range of things - me being one of them. She then told me that I wasn't being sympathetic, I was being arrogant and God forbid that I could humble myself to see her point of view. Was there a six year old in there too? Similarly with the threat of solicitors. My therapist wondered if she was being punitive - and I was reminded of seeing my niece who is six having a paddy.

So, what's the answer? What's the way forward. Couple therapy for one. I said to my wife that such a person would I hope bring some sense of perspective to our relationship. My therapist said that we'd been together twenty years and had in one sense (evolutionary) outlived our usefulness, as the children were getting to the age where they would be moving on. Basically we'd procreated, brought the children up, and now were of no use. I may not share the same world view but I understand the sentiment. It's difficult to remain in a long term relationship.

So, we get married, my wife stays at home to have children and support me in my quest to get into church, and then start a business. She loses her friends, and her identity. She claims that my drive was too strong for her to fight against it. The girls get older, she starts to reevaluate her life after having a breakdown of sorts. Starts therapy, twelve months later I start therapy, eight months later I go on a sabbatical. I am now at home full time, the girls are doing their own thing and my wife is wanting to move ahead and claim the things she's not had for the last twenty years all the while harbouring deep anger at me.

Put like that it very easy to see the whys and wherefores. I guess I am going to have to be patient and understanding, allowing my wife to express her anger whilst also protecting myself. In short being an understanding, compassionate and caring adult. But with the emphasis on adult - in the sense of being a whole balanced individual.

My therapist said that I had made huge strides over the last weeks - which was encouraging. I'd put boundaries down for my sister, I was able to put some boundaries down with my wife (don't tell me how bad I am) whilst working through some heavy painful stuff.

So - watch this space..

My conversation as a little boy

Not so much angry. More just a sitting, or realisation of what actually happened when I was a little boy. Allowing myself to feel these feelings, despite how they feel. If that makes sense. Realising that I was left to my own devices, needed to fend for myself, couldn't ask for help from my parents because if I'd been able to think it through the conversation would have gone something like;

Hey dad/mum. I've been thinking, and it strikes me that I have to tiptoe around you. You don't see me, don't give to me emotionally. I'm really hurting here, and yet you can't see it. Because dad gets all the attention - and mum you've decided to live in a way which doesn't upset him. BUT I AM HERE. RIGHT HERE. And I need something from you which you can't give me. I need you to tell me that I am ok, that I am ok as I am. That I don't need to do anything to gain affirmation or significance, because I am affirmed and significant just for who I am. Could you do that for me, because it will really help me at school, at college, at uni, when I get married, when I become a father, when I work out what I want to do with my life. It will save me sooooo much trouble, pain and hurt. If you could do this for me I would be ever so grateful. Thanks.

If only I could have. And that's what hurts. Because I couldn't. Instead the conversation went on in my unconscious something like the following;

Hey Mark. You are in trouble here. Dad. Is just dad. And mum, is for dad. You are not important to them, at least not as important as they are to themselves. So, you are just going to have to find a way through. Blank it out. Pretend it's not happening like mum has taught you. Forget about feeling crushed, not seen, not cared for. Forget about how nasty everyone else is to you. Blank it out. Ignore it. Pretend it's not there. Look to find something whereby which you can prove you are ok. Something by which you can find affirmation and significance. Being you aint going to do it. And once you find it, do it with all your might in order to become the best at it. Then you will have some power, control and significance.

CRAP. I had no chance. And that's the brunt of it. There was nothing I could have done. Nowhere I could have gone. No one I could have gone to. It was me and I. And that was crap. Especially as my mum and dad told/taught me that we were one happy family, better than anyone else. That was just double crap. Oh.. How crappy. Crappy crap crappy crap. sssssssssssssssssahsgjkhasgjhasjg asgh asgh asjg hsg hasg hjskag jsg jsg js jjgjgj asg jsg jaskgj askgj asg jasg jaskg ag j

Positive - friends

Today we had some neighbours round. N&T. They moved in around ten months ago. In fact it was N we met at the pub last week - when I felt so threatened because he was such a genuine guy.

So anyway - they came round for some lunch today, and were here just short of three hours. And we had a great time. Open. Friendly. Talking about stuff. Life. Everything really - so that was good.

Then tonight, I'm going on a pub (ahem) run. Except I have to pick up my daughter from a party at midnight so I can only have one small wine.. :( Probably just as well though. Apparently a group of dads get together the last Friday of each term to drink and get blattered. So a chance to get to know some more people.

Just feel flat today - desolated

Just feel flat today. My insides feel ravaged. Why? Because I've felt so alone. Oh how much we try and hide from the truth. Suppress it, push it to one side whenever it threatens to hurt me.

So. I was Billy No Mates. On my own. Alone. Not seen by my parents. Everything revolved around my dad. Not around me or us. No balance.

I was on the side. Better seen and not heard. Better still if I wasn't see at all.

Pfff. Sigh. It just hurts. Feels raw. I'm listening to classical music as I write this - and it's as if the various notes and harmonies are reverberating at various points within me. Sadness. Welcoming yet distant. Warm yet cold. Soft yet brittle. Much like exercising, the resulting muscle ache reminds you you have muscles where you didn't know - classical music touches part of me I don't know exist. Parts of me I want to keep hidden, locked away for fear of what I may feel. What I may see. What I may need to confront. Parts of me that weren't safe to bring out into the open. Had I of shown a soft side to my dad I would have been crushed. Pulverised. I'd have had it pulled out of me and battered to death. There was no room for my softness. For my gentleness, my being a little boy. I couldn't be a little boy. I had to be a big boy. I had to look after my sisters. I had to ensure we didn't incense dad. When we did (or something else did) we had to watch out, be on high alert. Because he might launch an excorcet missile at us. At me. And boy did it hurt, sting, crush, violate, repress, supress, take the wind out of your sails, leave you holding onto life for all it was worth. 100% degree burns. Limbs torn off. Blood all over the floor. And that was just the external injuries.

There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run to. Noone to run to. Nowhere I could be safe. Nowhere to rest. Nowhere to relax. There was no safe place. The only safe place was outside of the home. And bar school I couldn't go out of the home till eight years old. But even after that I had to be on the house for meals, and chores, and family activities. I had to be near my dad at church (especially when he was the minister, preacher). f jskf skafjaskf jsdf jasjg hhhhasdg hghagasdg hasdg hasdg hsdg hasjg hasg hghhag h

wgf koasg hhhhhhhhhjskg hhhhjkashikJGKOcgjja,ghj,sdfcgjgj,mv hhx

sdkcrapbopollcocksfuichsdf gf

There was just no where I go could to, apart from to dissasociate myself from what was happening. Internalise everything. Pretend it wasn't hapenning whilst all the time I was mr positive to try and counteract the chronic pessimism we encountered on an minute by minute basis. No wonder we are all screwed. Trying our hardest, but screwed none the less.

Crap and bollocks. FUCK and fuck. Bloody crappy fucking bloody crap. That's what it was. There was no life, nothing godly ,nothing great about it. It was ficking crap. ghasdgf hhhhhhhhhhh. It was damn awful. It was a terrible place to be. It sucked us of vitality and life. Of care and compassion. Of gentleness and sensitivity. In place we became masters at control, defending ourselves, trying everything we knew how to to stop ourselves from being violated. And if my dad read this, he would say "but I never physically abused you". In a way you did and in a way you didn't. But emotionally you raped us. You pillaged and raped and tore your scabbard through our insides. And mum stood by and watched.

As a result we've been devastated. We've got limbs missing. Eye's and tongues missing. Burns down our backs. We can't relate normally. W strive for something we can't get (your love and affirmation). We try and desperately walk as though we don't have polio. We try and desperately climb a vertical cliff wall without arms. CRAP AND BOLLOCKS>> fjkg;lakg klgjjjaklsdg tugg js\g asfgjmmm

caro caro carp crap crap bollocksd, fuickjsdf jklasdgf klasddgf ;b

It's not so much anger I feel as just desolate. Alone. More than hurting. Desolate. THat's a good word.

Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)
1. barren or laid waste; devastated: a treeless, desolate landscape.
2. deprived or destitute of inhabitants; deserted; uninhabited.
3. solitary; lonely: a desolate place.
4. having the feeling of being abandoned by friends or by hope; forlorn.
5. dreary; dismal; gloomy: desolate prospects.
–verb (used with object)
6. to lay waste; devastate.
7. to deprive of inhabitants; depopulate.
8. to make disconsolate.
9. to forsake or abandon.


Yep, that's how I felt without realising it. Desolate. We were all desolated. By our parents, by each other. One was the end product of the other. Then our parents blame us for lack of "normal parental relationships with their children". Ahem - look in the mirror!

Who am I?

Such a small question. Only three words. And each word smaller than the previous. Innocent words. Yet they contain such power.

Who am I?

I thought I knew who I was. A young man, married, father to two girls. I thought I was going to serve God full time. I thought I was a leader, a visionary, a rescuer, a saver of souls, gregarious, charismatic, able to cope in any situation, emotional, sensitive, empathic, sympathetic, caring. I was the one who was ok, better than ok. I was better than most if not everyone else. I had the answers, I knew the way, and that was part of my attraction - why people were drawn to me. I believed it myself.

Then things started to go wrong. I didn't get into church leadership despite trying everything I could to get there. That took me to my early thirties, and the set back was massive. It knocked me for six. I didn't understand it at all, and the conclusion I came to was that I must have got it badly wrong and that I was supposed to be a successful businessman. So off I went. I knackered myself in the process, and forgot that being married and a father was more important. I forgot my wife of my youth. I forgot my two beautiful girls. I worked long grueling hours, home after they had gone to bed. v ag jagjagjasljg asg/ .

Now here I am. I've done it. I've set up a business and now have a management team in place. Sure there's still plenty of risk, we could lose it all, but it's there. I did it.

But at what cost? To me? To my wife? To my girls?

Incalculable. And even as I sit here, I'm aware of the cost. Like a mist seeping up from the ground, cloaking everything as far as the eye can see. Not knowing the boundary thereof. What cost?

And why? Because I was living someone else's dream. Living as I thought I ought to, rather than because of who I was.

My wife and I took our 15 year old daughter into town tonight to buy some clothes. As I was stood there in places like H&M, Topshop, Topman etc. I was aware of how many groups of girls were shopping together (remember we were shopping for girl's clothes). I asked my daughter whether boys shopped together too? "Yeah, of course, just not as often as girls".

I never went shopping with friends for clothes. Never ever. In fact I had no male friends who could go shopping with me until I went to university - and then we had no money anyway. So although I'd stopped going shopping with my mum from around 12/13 (I'm guessing) whenever I did go I only had her advice and guidance in my mind. I didn't have mates, and I certainly couldn't step outside the boundaries of what my mum would have allowed. But that's not the point, the point is I never went shopping with mates. In fact, from 12-18 I never really had any mates bar my best mate who died at 22. The problem was he lived an hour away (we went to a grammar school, I was furthest south you could be, he furthest north). I went to his house for sleepovers, and he mine - but this was maybe from the second year at high school, and lasted till my fourth year. Thereafter I moved..

So really, for most of the week bar Sunday mornings when he started to come to church I had no mates. Matey mates. I fancied a girl at church, but they were all girls at church. No blokes. No mates. I was on my own.

So I had no mates from 2-8, and then again from 12-18 bar a good friend who lived too far away to be a day by day mate. That's not good.

And so, back to the question. Who am I? If I'm not a church leader or a successful business man, if I am not defined by what I do, but rather by who I am - then who am I? And as I look for the answer, it's as if I'm staring into a black hole, a void. I have not the faintest idea.

When my wife is crying - what do I do for the best? If she asks me what I want to do today - what is the right answer? If I want to spend some money on myself - how can I do it? How can I justify it? Guilt comes riding over the hills at full gallop ready to thrust it's blade into my guts.

A]DFKJ ASFJ SDFA FJASFJASF JASF JASG ASG HSDKFG HASLG HASG ASLG H

Sigh. I feel emotional. I want to cry and sob and blub. Yet I find it so hard. I want to cry at the injustice of it. The pain of it. The emotional wreck I am. The fact that I can't empathise with my wife when she most wants me to, can't give to her emotionally. Why not? Because I don't know there is such a thing. I wasn't given emotionally to - had to take on things by myself, and fail. I couldn't make friends, I was the outcast, jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj ###

I so wanted to make friends. All my adult life I've desired to make friends. I chose friends at university and told them I wanted to be real friends. I invested in those relationships, spent time with, talked with, prayed with, laughed with. Bollocks. Not that I didn't, I did, but bollocks because I had to work so damn hard at it. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Why?

Why? Why why why - it wasn't my fault. I did nothing wrong. My bloody parents, and their overwhelming control blanket, domination city. I had no choice. Coulnd't face the real world. They didn't have real mates, and it turns out neither did I. I did with my mate from school - but as I say he was distant. And I did when I first came back to england - for four years which were wonderful. We did everything together. Absolutely everything. But I pulled back from him at about 12 as he was getting into girls, and that was his sole topic of conversation. When I used to talk about the girl at church who I fancied, he would ask me how big were her tits? Had I felt them? Was I going to feel her fanny? When was I? It was his sole topic of conversation. And after one night where he (with me there) managed to fumble a girls breasts and I got a subsequent invite to a party and heard she fancie me I decided to bail out.

gj kkkkghhhhhhhhhhhh

Frustration. Anger. Pain. Grief. Involuntary. Ever present. Hurting. Why. Why me? What did I do wrong? I tried so hard. I didn't do anything wrong. Why me? Why did you pick on me so? Why did you spoil my life? ?Why did you close my options down? Why didn't you teach me to make friends? why didn't you support me emotionally? Why weren't you there for me? On my side? Why weren't you on my side? Why were you against me, like everyone else was? Why didn't you love me? Why didn't you support me? Why didn't you want to see me, hear me, listen to me, comfort me, take care of me, stop the bullies, help me make friends? Why was it so difficult? Why was I so alone? It needn't have been so. You could have changed all that for me. You could have sorted it out. You could have helped me, fixed it, cared for me. You could have made such a difference to my life. But you didn't. You held back, stopped, withheld. And I couldn't do it without you, no matter how hard I tried. You were my parents. You were supposed to be looking after me. Instead we looked after dad.

Dad was more important. His anger. His pain. His needs. That came first way above anything we needed. We had to protect dad. We had to pretend all was well. We had to pretend to ourselves that dad did not have problems. Did not get angry. Could not relate normally. Mum went into this pretense world - presumably because she thought that was the only way to cope.

We were all subservient to dad. His needs. His pain. His anger. His emotional cracked up being.

And poor me. Poor poor poor poor little me. I was lost. I got lost. I wasn't there. I wasn't allowed to have needs. I wasn't allowed to be upset, be angry, be emotional, have my own needs. I wasn't allowed full stop. Dad was all consuming, I was nothing. I was there for dad. Didn't I realise how much he'd sacrificed to have me, because he didn't want children because he knew from his own upbringing and anger that he's struggle. So instead of being open and honest about that they and we had to pretend it was about dad.

Dad fucking dad. dfhddjk And me? There I was in my cot - crying. Shut him up please. I can imagine it. Oh he would have been proud and frightened. But when I got in his way, when I had needs which didn't coincide with his needs - it was me or him. And he won. How do I know? Because by the age of four I had no friends. I was afraid of going to school and made no friends. I couldn't cope with going to school but had to go anyway, without being able to talk, share, be upset, cry, show that I needed my mum and my dad to love me, care for me, take me, hold me close, affirm me, love me.

Pffff. Sigh. So - who am I? I haven't the faintest clue.

My childhood in Belgium

As I sat there with my therapist today, I realised that the early memory of a large and intimidating school was not the second school I went to, but the first - which would have meant I was about 4 years old. It's unlikely I had a good grasp of flemish. And as I walked up the steps of that huge monstrosity of a building I felt utterly alone. In fact I just found the two schools I went to when I lived in Belgium.

Two things struck me - yes the first school was massive! See photo.

But two - the photos of the kids.. they are so small! And this is surprising to me. Why? Because I had to look after myself (even though I couldn't) - so felt big sort of.

It's weird when I think back to Belgium.

Here's what I remember, and I've tried to order them;.

• Going to school, I reckon I must have been four and I didn't know the language. I remember how I felt as I went up the steps to the front door. I was petrified but couldn't show it.
• I remember where we used to live - both houses.
  
• The first was in a culdesac off the main road into the town centre - it was off the one way system in the heart of the town. The culdesac had terraced small houses in it, probably around 10-12. We were in one of the middle ones. A two up two down, outside toilet, no fridge or TV. I shared the room with my younger sister, and at one point we had someone living with us (who shared our bedroom with a sheet/blanket serparating the room. It was a tiny house - so I don't know how we managed that.
• I remember my dad going to Germany, and coming back with a lamp of some famous water fall. When he went to start the car (we had a green Renault 4) he set fire to his favourite mack which is had put over the engine to keep out the damp whilst he was gone, and was furious with?? Mum? Quite why it would have been his fault I don't know.
• I remember sitting on my dad's lap once - when we had visitors. The fact that I remember it must be significant - and I'm assuming I didn't sit on his lap often - especially when we had guests.
• I vaguely remember getting into trouble at school as I pushed someone (was he bullying me?) and he needed stitches.
• I remember looking up at the sky, and thinking we were moving, and running to tell mum(my) that we were moving.
• I remember our back yard.
• The painted clogs my mum used to put flowers in on the wall
• Nextdoor neighbour's cherry tree which we used to get loads of cherries (krieken) from
• I vaguely remember the walk to school (mum must have taken me)
• I remember the day we moved out, as we found a mars bar behind mum and dad's bed. We were very keen to eat it.
• I don't remember a single child or friend. I do have a very vague recollection of another child living on the same road.
  
• 
  

• We moved into a huge house on a main road right next to the station. It was three stories, had a long halway, a large front room (to me), family room, dining room off that plus a small galley kitchen. Bathrooom was on the first floor along with two bedrooms. Two further bedrooms were on the top floor which is where I ended up.
• I reckon I was about six when I moved, but I'd have to ask my mum!
  
• The window half way up from the first to second floor used to be a perch for me. Very long trains (I used to count them) would roll in from 5am - and I could see them from this vantage point.
• I moved school when I moved house. I used to walk with me and my younger sister on our own. Invariably we got bullied on our way home. From google it looks like 7-800 metres, including crossing a road.
  
• Because the country was catholic, we were excused from the RE lessons and instead had a protestant chap come in. There were three of us in the class, me, my sister and one other child. This of course seperated us from everyone else too.
  
• I used to play marbles at school - though never won. I was on my own, and did not have any friends.
• I have a vague recollection of kids throwing stones at me, but can't remember which school or even if it's true.
  
• There was a cobbled road up the side of the house to a disused factory
• Dad kept an aviary with birds (his only hobby?), we also had a tortoise
• Dad taught me to ride a bike - but there was nowhere to ride it at home
  
• We used to go for the odd walk round the local park, and eat some sort of tree based seeds in autumn (this is a vague but happy memory)
  
• I used to hand out tracts with my dad in the marketplace and on our road. We used to show Billy Graham videos in our second house, and invite people to come and watch them.
  

to be finished..

There was no one there for me

I realise now, looking back, that there was no one there for me as I grew up. As per my last post, I had to look after myself. As I was exploring my feelings yesterday with my wife she said to me "I want to be there for you". And my insides turned inside out.

It's as if I could see what she was offering, but it was too painful to even contemplate. My first thoughts were "but you weren't there for me, no was was there for me". She said that when I explained where my bedroom was and how far I was from everyone else she felt really sorry for me and that no child should have experienced that.

It made me realise just how alone I was from the ages of 2-8, and following on from then. I've built huge defenses and coping mechanisms to overcome this. My wife said she found it hard to imagine I was bullied as a kid based on who I was now. And that's the point. It's like I worked so hard to get myself into a position where I wasn't the one being abused - that now people can't see past it. My theatre face was one saying "I am confident, strong, outgoing, gregarious and friendly." Yet on the inside it's something different. I give the appearance of being vulnerable without actually being so.

It's as if I had Polio as a child, and then worked very hard to erase all signs of it as I grew up. But underneath the mask are the withered muscles. Not pleasant to look at, but hidden from view.

Underneath I crave that people I love will be there for me, but to allow them to be is a violation of the inner boy who spent his life building up defences to cover the fact that he had that need. So I so want that support, care and love - but am petrified of it at the same time - as my experience tells me that to be submissive to someone (vulnerable) will result in being lead to the gallows or the POW camp. That was my experience - and it is a very hard one to break.

So - the process of therapy - I need to lean into it, allow myself to feel the pain, hurt, rejection and anger. As I process these emotions which I was not allowed to have as a kid I will grow up in that area of my life and slowly but surely be able to receive the care that those who love me have for me..

As an aside - maybe this also explains my super spiritual drive. My mind knew that God cared for me, so I gave myself entirely to Him.. though I am assuming that I feel the same way about God as I do about my wife. Namely that to be truly vulnerable would be equivalent to going to the gallows again..

I was so alone - to become vulnerable is my worst fear

I remember my second school. And I was only around five or six years old. We moved from my first school in Belgium to my second school. And what do I remember? Feeling utterly miserable, resigned, intimidated by it's cold, dark atmosphere. I was alone. No support. No one with me. No friends. I was the alien, the stranger, the weirdo, the outsider, the one who didn't belong. I felt so alone.

Fast forward a couple of years. My parents dropped me and my sister off at a christian youth camp somewhere in Holland for a week. I reckon I must have been eight or nine years old. And yet as I made my way to the barracks style tent - I felt exactly the same way. Intimidated, alone, closed in, responsible for myself.

When I look back I don't see my mum comforting me. Allowing me to talk through my fears, hurts and pains. Instead I see that I was responsible for me and my sister. No one to talk to. No one who asked me. No one who was looking out for me. If my mum were to read this I'm sure she would cry out in anguish - telling me I was not remembering right. I can only remember what I can remember.

My bedroom in our second house in Belgium (I lived there from around 5-8) was right at the top of a three story house. It was an old house - this being early seventies, so the house would have been very tall. It was on a main road near the train station - so was quite grand, if not too wide. My parents and sister were on the first floor, I was on the second. As far aware from anyone else as it was possible to be. The stairs were on the other side of the house, my bedroom was cold. And when I was in there I felt alone. And yet I'm pretty sure I chose to go in there, unless of course the spare room (also on the top floor) was reserved for guests by my mum. No doubt she would have made me think it was my choice.

When I was in my bedroom, and my parents were downstairs on the ground floor -they felt very very far away. They wouldn't be able to hear me move around. I could sit at the top of the stairs and they would not have been able to see me. I remember once when I thought I could hear a mosquito buzzing in my room. I went all the way downstairs in some trepidation to ask my dad to come and find it. He came up, and convinced me the sound was a dripping down some guttering. And he left. And I was left very alone.

And when I look back I realise how alone I was. Apparently before I went to Belgium with my parents (who went as missionaries to start a new church) we were in Birmingham. We lived next door to some dutch people and I played with another lad my age called Robert. Apparently we were thick as thieves. But all that stopped the moment we left England. From that moment, until the moment we came back, I had not a single friend. I was never invited round to anyone else's house. I can remember no parties. I'm sure my mum encouraged me to invite others round for tea at our house (though I can't remember that either) - but I know I didn't have a single friend. No buddy that I would laugh with, joke, with, play with, fight with.. There was no one.

• So, my dad was unavailable - and I was having to deal with his pain and rejection.
• God only knows how my mum was - devoted to my dad as she was - in this foreign land
• I was responsible for my sister (I still remember she was invited to one party)
• I had no friends - none at all
• I had no one to talk to
• School was imposing, intimidating and cold/dark
• And I was alone

Poor kid.

From two years old to eight years old. Not one friend. No one to talk to - because somehow my mum needed to defend my dad more than she did me.

I remember feeling extraordinarily responsible for myself. Felt like I was an adult. When I was eight. That I had to somehow look after myself despite the fact I did not have the tools (or age!) to do so. I had to walk to school whilst looking after my sister, and walk back (while braving the bullies). So I was responsible too.

What would that do to a boy? No friends. Two till eight. Those formative years. A dad who was abusive and fearful, a mum who was somehow lost, sister(s) who looked up to me as their saviour, and me totally alone.

It taught me I was all I had, and that I couldn't be weak. I couldn't show weakness (even though I didn't know how to defend myself) I just had to take it. Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me - as taught by my mum. But names did hurt me. I never cried. I never talked about it with my parents. I never let on how miserable I was. And they never asked. They never probed. They never got it out of me.

When we got back to england, dad went to teacher training college and we had, as before, no money. Our clothes were second hand stuff placed in blag bin bags on our doorstep. My shoes for high school had to be dyed from brown to black.

After teacher training my dad went to teach in Liverpool. It was very stressful for him. And he was very stressed. The school was not a good school. That made him unbearable at home. He was also itinerating (speaking at any church that would have him) and I saw many miracles, healings, people become Christians, demons being expelled etc. I was encouraged to give my testimony.

The point being that home got tougher. Sister numbers 3,4 and 5 were born. And this from my father who didn't want children because of his own upbringing and fears. I have no respect for that. He made the best of it, and was very proud. But never the less. And we lived in a 3 bed semi (until my grandfather died, at which point we moved (again) to somewhere completely new into a much bigger 5 bed house (so big in fact the first time I saw it I asked where our front door was) at 14/15.

But anyway. I excelled in being on my own. Coping on my own (or at least trying to). In fact to go to my parents meant that I would have to be open. And to be open would mean that they could come over my walls and take advantage of me. Something I learnt very early on never to do. Mum would be smarmy, guilt ridden, emotionally incestuous - making me think or feel things I didn't want to. Dad would make me feel that it was my fault, that I was somehow not doing something right, and ultimately it would allow him to sow whatever poison into my spirit. To become vulnerable to either was like giving power to a wraith like creature who would suck the life out of me. Like wilfully deciding that I would walk into a second world war Japanese POW camp, and submit myself to the camp commander. And that was not something I was going to allow myself to do.

So I built defences. Walls. I'll do it myself, because you guys can't help me. Can't look after me. Can't support me. In fact, you want to take whatever I do have and give it to you. But you can't have it. You've wanted it all my life, and even now the only way to make you happy would be for me to enter that POW camp and do all the commander asks of me. But I aint going to do it, so you can sod off. Literally.

My problem is, I've been so alone and coping all my life, that now to become vulnerable means risking the POW camp with people like my wife, my therapist and my neighbour. The feeling that I feel when I look at how I feel, and ponder being vulnerable is nothing short of violating the trust of the little boy inside me.

I've spent years defending myself from a very real danger. I've committed my life to it. So now to dismantle those defenses (albeit for a small group of people) still feels like a bridge to far, a task too great, an ask too much. All my alarms go off. My insides turn to mush. It's like facing my worst fear. Absolutely my worst fear. Allowing someone to come into my inside, past my defences, to see me as I really am. Confused, hurt, in pain, rejected, soft, sensitive, hoping, caring, frightened. Moving past the theatre mask as Jung calls it, past what I project. Past the confident, bullish, optimistic, gregarious, coping, has it all together mask. And see the soft frightened mush that is me.

And yet that's what I want to do. I want to allow my wife, my therapist and selected others into me. But the very act of allowing them feels like wilfully walking to the gallows, the POW camp, allowing my dad to abuse and violate me. So it's no easy thing..

Other issues to work through

What if I can't sell my company for what I want?
What do I do about church?

I'm always in control - and my genuine neighbour threatens me

They moved in eight months ago, and they are genuinely nice people. He especially is really kind, patient and genuine. He asks questions about me, and waits for answers. He thinks through my answers and asks another question. At first I thought it was a mechanism whereby which he could remain in control - as that is what I've done historically. But now that I have talked with him a number of times I think that he is genuine. And it makes me feel very uncomfortable. I've been asking myself why.

Why? I think because it makes me feel vulnerable. If he were a christian and a pastor he would be perfect. He seems to have time, doesn't rush (he's risk averse), and asks meaningful questions. In short he seems to care and have compassion. And buy does it ring my alarms?

Why so? Because as I've said, it makes me feel vulnerable. It's like someone starting to unpack your heart, your insides. And wooaa! That's enough of that. Go any further and you will know everything there is to know about me. And it's uncomfortable! And I will be out of control. WHAM. There it is. I will be out of control. Why is that so scary? Because I'm never out of control. I'm always in control. Always. Always. Always.

What would it be like to not be in control? What would it be like to open up to this neighbour of mine? What would it be like to lose control? My insides churn at the thought. Scary. Frightening. He will gain power over me, he may be able to do something to me that I don't want.

Yes - but will he? Does he strike you as the kind of person who will? Is he in anyway like my dad? No he is not. He's the antipathy of my dad. So he's like my wife. And I've projected my dad (and mum) onto her for years. Am I project my dad onto my neighbour (as well as everyone else I meet?)? Do I project the worst of my dad on everyone? Waiting for someone to whap me on, crush me, drain me, dump on me?

No - my neighbour is not like that. So what have I to fear? Woa. This is close stuff. Ok - so I allow him to ask me questions. I give him open and honest answers. He probes further. I fight with control, but continue to allow myself to be vulnerable. Let's say I get to the point that I become a gibbering wreck. Emotional. Then what? What would I be afraid of? That he now has some power over me. That I would be perceived as a little person, someone without worth, rights or power. In short that I would become a prisoner in a POW camp. Yet would my neighbour deal with me like that? I would feel indebted to him somehow. Like the balance of the relationship would swing from 50/50 to 100/0.

Ok - but would that be the case? I don't know - as I've never really tried it. I've always been in control. Ok - so I realise that I'm basing this relationship on the one I had with my father as a child. Yes. And I realise that my emotions from my childhood are still raw? Yes. So I still need to process those emotions. Yes. But would I do it with my neighbour? That's a tough question. I don't need to, I have a choice. So I can. But I would make myself very vulnerable.

Would my neighbour be freaked out if I did? My adult head says I don't think so. But the boy in me says don't risk it, you'll give him power over you. I can feel the battle on my insides as I sit here. A fight. A strong urge to run. To fight. To battle against unseen foes.

Yet I don't want to fight. I want to give in. I want to stop. I want to stop fighting. It's tiring being on standby 100% of the time. But stopping means looking at what's inside. It means looking at and facing my pain - so that I can really stop running.

Ok pain. I'm looking at you. I feel weak, powerless, insignificant, small, overpowered, someone with no rights, no voice, have to hide, keep out of the way, be compliant. My insides churn. Twist. It hurts. I was looking for love and acceptance, but got rejection and crushed instead. Why did my dad do it? Why did he hurt me so? I so wanted to please him. So wanted his unconditional love, acceptance and approval. And yet he picked me up and dashed me against a rock. Repeatedly.

So unfair. So uncalled for. Such a shock. Why? Everytime was a shock. I hoped for the best but experienced the worst. I'd brush myself down and repeat the shock, pain and numbness. Couldn't cry about it, as there was no one to cry with - and it was a sign of weakness. It was a sign that I was hurt and I couldn't show that.

But - there was no one anyway. No one on my side. No one who came alongside me. No one who asked me genuine questions, in a caring way, and really listened without judgment at what I was saying. Which brings me back to my neighbour. This is what he does. And it undoes me.

But back then - no one. Not my mum. And there was no one else. Everyone was in fear of my dad. We lived abroad until I was eight, and from that point we lived hours from any relatives. When I was around 14/15 one of my dad's friends challenged him about how he related to us kids (I heard this through some means). My dad fell out with his friend. But his friend was right!

We were battered. Not literally (though sometimes it was physical) - but we were battered emotionally. My dad's pain was such that he could not face anyone, including himself. So to make himself feel better he had to rubbish everyone and everything else - and the guilt and pain he felt would explode as pure undiluted anger.

I had no one to talk to. There was no one for me. I was alone. On my own. Responsible for my sisters (as they were added to the family).

I had no one to talk to. There was no one for me. There was no one. There was no safe place. I couldn't rest in my dad's arms, I couldn't rest in my mum's arms. There was no where I could go and feel safe. We weren't even allowed in my parents bedroom. It was the holy place, and woe betide us if we went in there. So where could I go? Only to my bedroom. Alone. Lost. A little sad boy, in a foreign land where no one wanted him, liked him, befriended him. School was an intimidating and dark scary place. Home with dad was the same.

Fuck. Bastard. How was it possible to be so alone? The second house we lived in in Belgium was huge, with three stories. I was right at the top of the house, on my own. My sister and parents were on the first floor. And it felt like I was a million miles away from the rest of the family. The ceilings were really high, the stairs were steep. And I was alone, literally, at the top of the house - and it felt like a long way away. Maybe that's why I chose that room. To be the furthest away I could. I don't look back thinking I was a little boy of under eight years old. I see myself as old, responsible, on my own, needing to fend for myself.

I was bullied at school and did not have a single friend. Not one. I was responsible for my sister and had to walk her and myself to school and back. We'd get bullied on the way back.
He'd get home. And crap. I didn't want to play with my sister even then. We were allowed to ride a bike down the side of the house. And that's it.

I was on my own.

I was so very much on my own.

Face to face with my dad for ten minutes

So, we dropped my sister off at my dad's house knowing that he would probably be upset that we weren't going to stay. But, we decided that would be easier than dropping off my sister at the local train station then calling dad to pick her up.

I rang the door bell. He said what a surprise it was to see us. I said we weren't staying as we were just dropping my sister (no 3) off before heading on to somewhere else. He took this quite well, so came out to chat for ten minutes.

Here's a rough gist of the conversation - all lead by my dad.

He went to speak at a church yesterday where he was once pastor. Apparently sister's no 2 & 4 went too - which he was surprised by (me too) though the way he said it impled that no 2 had done something wrong by being there. I asked how many were there. Long face, sigh, scowl, portrayal of pain, "twelve to fifteen. I blame the pastor. They should have got rid of him years ago. He is unable to use the talents of the people..." he says. I say "So, who would I have known?". He rattled off a couple of names then proceeded to tell us about an older chap who has problems with his heart, has needed a stent, and went off on one about hospitals, consultants etc. Both my sister and I had to repeatedly stop him to tell us who else was there.

He then relayed the fact that a whirlwind had demolished some adjacent buildings damaging some of the church offices, and that one of the members of the church had had to get involved (almost retired chap). He was acting as site manager and Health and Safety. Dad blew off on another one, scowling, "I pointed out to x that he didn't need to do this, it was an insurance job, so the insurance company should be dealing with it, but he didn't have the brains I've got, for which I praise the Lord for my brains, so he can't see it and he's shattered poor man".

Gee - with sympathy and caring like that who needs enemies?

Asked him about his knees - which were painful and worse in this damp weather meaning he couldn't walk far.

We spoke about the Florida healing outpouring, and he gushed about it. Saying how he'd cried when he'd seen a 12 year old boy healed from spinabiffida and walked for the first time. Why does he cry about that, yet is unable to be soft and gentle with others?

But the thing that really cut me up was his face, his expressions, his eyes, what he portrayed. It's as if I learnt so early on to read him that it's not so much what he says as his expressions that get me. It's like he tries to convey that how he feels is at bursting point with pain, grief and a righteous anger, and that no matter what he may try and do, "they" can't change/do it/fix it/make it better/do it as well as he etc. But the problem is is that he throws this out for others to deal with.

"See how I hurt, see my deep pain, see how I bleed for these poor wretched people.."

And from an early age I did see. And I tried to change things. Became a rescuer thinking that by doing so I would gain acceptance, significance and jusitification.

How can a person live with such negative pain which is being spread liberally like cow muck from the back of a tractor. It sticks to whatever it touches, and is murder to clean off. That's what I feel like. Like I've been covered in muck. It's stuck to me. I smell. I can't wash it off. I don't want to be there "but can't you see the pain of these fields - if it weren't for me mucking them then there would be crop devastation".

To then say "actually no, I'd rather not, I'm doing something else" is to tell my dad that his pain is not important, that his world view is screwed, that I am rejecting him, can't go on the same road as him, resulting in... confusion, pain and utter rejection. For both of us. That's a very difficult thing to do - when you realise that your actions (from whatever motivation) are going to so utterly reject someone else that if you took that into consideration you would end up doing nothing. But doing nothing is an option, as if you do nothing you end up looking like a muck thrower yourself!

So, the only way I can keep myself clean is to not go near the damn muck spreader. But that's my dad. So that means I can't go near my dad, no matter how many bits of him are nice, or soft, or genuine. The pain and hurt that I feel when I get covered in muck is not worth it. So for me to have a relationship with my dad means he needs to unhitch himself from the muck spreader. Until then, he can't come near me.

So I have to come to terms with that. If I see him, right now he is going to hurt me. He's going to hurt me not because of something I've done or because I'm wrong. But because he's hurt and in pain and can't help but spread muck - he needs others to feel his pain in order to feel a measure of acceptance. His worls view does not permit him to see anything from someone else's (mine) perspective. So it's a conundrum, an oxymoron.

MAKE DAD HAPPY -> DO WHAT HE WANTS -> I BECOME A DRONE -> I CAN'T FUNCTION

I NEED TO FUNCTION -> CAN'T BE A DRONE -> CAN'T PLEASE HIM

Thus a relationship is not possible. And it's not my fault. It's not my fault. I have done nothing wrong. And I'm still fed up of having to tip toe around his pain. As everyone else has to. Because he can't handle his own pain, and everyone intrinsically knows this, everyone tip toes because there is no option. The only answer to that conundrum is not to see him.

DAD CAN'T HANDLE HIS OWN PAIN -> NO ROOM FOR OPENESS & HONESTY -> NO RELATIONSHIP

So - to repeat myself. The only way I can enjoy the relationship we both want is if he stops chucking muck. But to do that he needs to be able to see himself for what he is, and work through whatever issues that throws up. If I don't want to be covered in muck, I can't go near the muck thrower. Case sera sera. QED.

There is NOTHING I can do about this. My insides scream for me to do something. Try harder. Fix him. Rescue him. He's all lost and hurt like a puppy dog. No. This is my dad, a grown man. I can't do anything. I've tried from every conceivable angle. As has my mum and no doubt my sisters. I am not alone. I can't change my dad. I can't change him. I can't get him to see something he can't see. I can't get him to change his mind. I can't get him to alter his viewpoint, his map, his north pole, his compass. I can't work through his pain and grief for him. I can't do it. I can't make it better. I can't do anything to make it better. There is nothing I can do. There is nothing I can do. There is nothing I can do. there is nothing I can do to make it better. I can't make our relationship work. I can't visit him to talk it through. I can't talk to him on the phone, or send an email to him. If I try, he reads it wrong, gets upset, angry, rejected. I can't do it. I can't do anything. I can't try harder. It's not my fault. I didn't do this. I didn't make him like this. I didn't reject him. His dad did. His mum did. His growing up family did. NOT ME. NOT US. It's his past that hurts him, not his current. His current is as a result of his past.

I CAN NOT DO IT. I CAN'T CHANGE HIM. I CAN'T FIX HIM. I CAN'T HAVE THE RELATIONSHIP I WANT WITH HIM BECAUSE HE IS NOT ABLE TO HAVE IT. TO DO WOULD REQUIRE HIM TO STOP CHUCKING MUCK. TO DEAL WITH HIS MUCK THROWING TENDENCIES. TO UNDERSTAND WHY HE DOES IT. WHICH REQUIRES A REAL DEGREE OF SELF AWARENESS. WHICH IS NOT SOMEWHERE DAD WANTS TO GO, BECAUSE IT WILL BRING HIM FACE TO FACE WITH HIS OWN INADEQUACIES. I CAN'T DO IT. I CAN'T DO IT. I CAN'T DO IT. I CAN'T CHANGE HIM. i CAN'T GO THERE. IT'S WRONG FOR ME TO. IT HURTS ME IF I TRY. MORE THAN HURTS, TAKES ANOTHER STRIP OFF ME. SOMETHING I CAN'T GET BACK. EXHAUSTS ME. TIRES ME OUT. WEARS ME OUT. STOPS ME FROM BEING ABLE TO ENJOY LIFE. I CAN'T GO RUNNING. CAN'T GO TO THE GYM. CAN'T EAT CERTAIN FOODS. FEEL CRAP WHEN I'M WORN OUT, AND CAN'T EAT.

TRYING TO DO THE IMPOSSIBLE RESULTS IN ME FEELING LIKE I DO.

Insides are you listening? Brain? Mind? Soul? Spirit? Psyche? Self? Conscious? Unconscious? I CAN'T DO THIS ANY MORE. I need to stop trying to please my dad - for it is NOT possible. It is not possible. Repeat after me "IT IS NOT POSSIBLE!" Get that into your head, heart, everywhere..

Phew - she's gone

Phew. Sister number 3 has now left the building. And the ense of relief and space is palpable. We dropped her off at my parents (only my dad was there). The dining room looks like a bomb has hit - with all the unsorted/sorted/charity boxes still in there - but she's gone. Her bedroom probably looks the same. As does the garage. But hey, she's gone.

My wife and I now have access to our laptops full time. We can sit in the living room any time we want. We can cook just for the family again. We don't need to think about child number three (we only have two girls). We don't have to be careful about what and how we say it. We can move around naked if we want (albeit when the girls are out!).

Most importantly - there won't be someone sapping our energy (emotional and physical) day and night. We are absolutely exhausted (both of us), knackered, tired and worn out.

She's lived with us this time for a month, and a week a couple of weeks before that. But the overall effect was pretty tiring. Primarily because she;

• Was physically wasted - so we had to do everything for her
• Was emotionally full - and needed to offload how she was feeling on a very regular (daily) basis
• If she didn't offload, then she was unable to handle anything (and I mean anything) resulting in detracting from us, then fearing she was rejecting us, and as a result bursting into tears whenever she tried to talk to me
• She needed taking everywhere - as she had no money nor energy to get there herself.
• We had to be really careful when we did talk to her, as if we said anything wrong (how she perceived it) she would get upset, prickly, agitated, contrary and very defensive. She couldn't rest, be at peace, let anything go by. She had to have a say on anything (including things she knew nothing about such as village cricket, bringing girls up, whether we would pay for our daughters to get married ("no - you don't do that anymore" - "well we are" says my wife).

On top of that she lived in our living room as she needed mindless TV on to relax too, whilst taking one of our laptops so she could be on the internet.

In short, despite the fact we tried hard not, it resulted in her taking over much of our lives. And that at a point when we were supposed to be recovering on my sabbatical means we weren't in a place ourselves to to do this.

But what choice did we have? At the end of the day it is a choice. Do you help someone, or do you let them go somewhere else? She could have gone to my parents - but she would have been unable to sort out the storage. She could have stayed in a B&B or hostel rather than with us - but she had no money. Regardless - it's something we chose to do - knowing that we would be impacted. And we have been. And now we can recover and move on knowing that we did something wonderful for someone else.

A heart felt call to God

God I love you. God I want you. God - I want to work this stuff out. Please help us. Please visit us. Please visit us with an increased (huge deluge) of grace and your loving presence. God we want you. God we want to follow you but so much has got in the way. Crap stuff, painful stuff. Past hurts. Past pains. Control. Human hands. But God - through it all I still want you.

How to ensure we are being nurtured - and God

So - in order to ensure we don't spend the rest of our lives rescuing and being exhausted - we need to ensure we are being fed.

"Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord". Trouble is, is this it? Clearly not in the meaning we as well intentioned christians mean it. Otherwise we would not go to work, would not eat normal food etc. There would be no hobbies, no excercise, no watching TV, reading or anything else that wasn't 100% full on spiritual.

So - how do we ensure we are being nurtured and fed more than we are giving out.

For starters -we need to look at ourselves and make ourselves a priority. Jesus did this - he did NOT spend all of his time with people. They were too exhausting, took too much from him. No, instead her would withdraw from the crowds, go to lonely places, deserts, mountain tops, river walks, fields, back of gardens, roof tops, attics.. he knew he needed to feed his body, soul and spirit.

How much are Caroline and I doing this?

We need to think about it, plan for it, prioritise this. This includes not only leisure (such as hobbies, interests), but friendships (like making new ones which nurture us too), but also God. We currently are floating - not able to find a church for us. We are not spending time with God.

So here I am - watching/listening to GOD TV with the Florida Healing Outpouring. Apparently a revival is breaking out there. i've been listening to 15 minutes or so of workship - and he's onto his second song. The immediate difference between this and other worship sessions is a) they don't reallly care how they sound and b) they want to meet with God. They are singing songs like "God meet with me". "God set us free". "God come and visit us". Encouraging the congragation of some 750-1250 (hard to tell) to lay their souls bare before God. Waiting in worship, pushing in past the veil. An expecatation that they are there to worship a living God - and are willing to push and press in to do so.

And my heart? My heart is moved - whilst at the same time I feel parts of me saying "now watch yourself, don't get sucked into man". And that's such a difficult thing. Because anything that God does with man is therefore tainted by man. It can't be helped. So - how to find and meet with God in the middle of fallible humans like me... cos whatever I may thing, I am no different to anyone else.

"Waves of mercy, would you come down and drown me, all of heaven, waves of mercy, fall down over me. All of my weeping and mourning, turn to rejoicing (just praise him tonight, you are worthy oh God).. "

Stop rescuing, start living!

All of our married lives we have rescued. Church is an obvious place to rescue. Caring for people. Caring for others. Helping out, spending time with, encouraging, praying with, supporting, counselling, doing DIY for, giving lifts to, giving money to, having people live with us, stay with us, being hospitable, running (alpha, follow up, cell, home, prayer) groups. All very justifiable. All expected.

We are masters at it. My sister (see previous post) lost everything dear to her in the Thailand Tsunami of '04. She lost her partner of seven/eight years, and her best friend. She lost her physical health (still not fully recovered). She's not worked since. I got her (and another male friend) out of Thailand. I got her into a five start rehab place in Germany (where she was airlifted to - a long story in itself). I paid for her to go there as her insurance wouldn't cover it. She was there for 2-3 months. I stayed with her for 3 or so weeks (maybe 4) at the rehab place - talking with her, ensuring she was eating, getting her to and through physio therapy. I helped her pack her flat, cleaned her flat, dealt with her landlords, paid for it to be moved into storage, paid for storage for twelve months, paid for her to fly back to the UK, and then allowed her to live with us for six months whilst she continued to recover.

We put up with having to throw a barrier around her as she couldn't cope with people - including my parents. They didn't understand and blamed us. We paid for her to have laser surgery (not cheap either) on her eyes. We paid for this, and that, and the other. We took her to places, friends, etc. etc.

But that's just one example. We have done lots of rescuing type things. My wife is currently paying five hundred pounds a month to her brother so that he can keep the house with the children after his divorce. We are also 'giving' (lending?) him £30k to pay out his ex wife. We have paid I forget how much, say £600 a month for 9 months to my youngest sister once she lost her job due to ill health. We've given thousands to those in need. We put ourselves out. We've looked after children.

I've already written how I gave £2k to a mate to help with his debts, and lent him a further £2k (which he's now paid back). I helped him move (probably over five days worth of effort on my part).

In short, if we saw a need and thought we could help we did.

And now we are exhausted. Years and years of helping others - rescuing others - has worn us out. There's so much need out there. And we've been given so much.

But we can't do it any longer. We need to be wiser about being rescuers.

I talked with my wife yesterday about this -saying that instead of expending our energy on others we should look to start to feed and nourish ourselves. Our souls. Our bodies. Our spirits. Make it a priority - actively prioritising things to ensure we do things for us, feeding and nourishing us.

Not sure how this is going to work out yet. But we need to start doing it. So that, along with my realisation that I was projecting crap onto my wife meaning I couldn't be with her and support her means a whole new future is opening up. I don't need to be in control, don't need to fear domination (see previous posts) means I can relax, be calmer, and enjoy being with my wife for a whole day, or week? Or month etc whilst still being free to see friends, and be on my own.

So - stop rescuing, and start living.

Harder said than done - but we are going to give it a go!

My sister living with us for more than a month is enough!

Pfff. I'm knackered. Exhausted and worn out. I helped my sister move all of her belongings from the storage place into out garage. Actually - that should read I moved all the stuff.

She came to the UK 11 weeks ago, and stayed with us a week or two. Then went away for 3-4 weeks, then came back four weeks ago. Before she stayed with us she agreed that she would not stay for more than three days in a week as we all needed our space. Of the last four weeks she has been away maybe four to five days.

She's physically wasted/exhausted - so can't do anything.
She's emotionally wasted/full - so needs to let it out.

It's like my wife and I have been full time carers for an adult who won't face the reality of the situation. And I'm supposed to be on a sabbatical because I'm exhausted!! After the last time she visited I have deliberately kept barriers in front of me. And she has found that hard - as it bangs on her rejection. But as time goes on it gets more and more difficult. There is another person in your house - and you have to relate to them. But to relate to my sister is like relating to an abused eight year old.

You can't actually point anything out to her - as she can't handle it, disagrees and starts crying. If you try and have a conversation with her, it's all about her. Start talking about one of the girls doing dancing and it becomes about what sort of dancing she does, did or would like to. It's very tiring. It means you have to constantly watch what you say, how you say it. It's worse than walking around egg shells.

So if you put up barriers - and leave her to it - then after a couple of days she starts talking to you whether you want to or not. "What do you think, should I do A or B, wear A or B, go to A or B, pack A or B, leave on A or B date, see friend A or B, spend £a or £b??". She can't make a decision on anything. My wife has just sat through two hours of watching my sister try on various clothes to help her decide a) which clothes she should keep and b) which clothes she should take back to Israel (where her boy friend lives). My wife is exhausted.

She's taken over one of the bedrooms, the dining room (which has currently filled with around 10-15 boxes in all different states of unpacking/sorting) and is often ensconced in the living room because "she needs to watch boring TV in order to switch off". In addition, she will have either my laptop or my wife's.

She's so fearful of being rejected she is constantly checking whether she is ok. If you even hint that it may be a bit of a pain for her to be here - but hey, that's life - then she fills up. Blames the fact that she's been here for four weeks without a break. That she has no one to talk too. She can't talk to her friends because of where they are at. She can't visit her "many excellent friends" because they are too busy, she has already visited them, they have their own issues...

Talk to her about therapy and she claims that she has excellent friends - who have helped her immensely. Where are these friends? Where were they during the weeks/months she has been sorting through her storage? Did they give her lifts there? No I did. Did they help her move boxes, sort boxes, try and be empathetic/sympathetic whilst clearly doing the wrong thing? No - that was me. Did they try and encourage her, praise her as she sorted through box after painful box? No - that was me too. Did they see her getting more and more emotionally full, and wonder what to do for the best? No - that was me too. Did they sit her down, offer hugs at the appropriate moment, ensure she had stuff to drink and eat? Nope - that was me too. Did they give her a lift back to ours? Cook her tea (different from everyone else because she can't eat what everyone else eats?) - no - that would be me or my wife. Did they get interrupted when they were having a cosy night in with the wife in order to be asked to either help make a decision, or listen to her as she poured out her emotionally full mind? No - that would have been us. Did anyone else give her money? Take her places, take her out (to stop her going insane?), take her to the train/bus station, pick her up? Plan for her coming one day only to be told she wasn't? Plan for her not coming only to find out she was?

And all the time - not actually being able to speak your mind to her as she couldn't handle it.

What friends? Where are they? These magic friends who mean the world to you. These wonderful friends who listen to you, support you, "awesome" friends. Bollocks. They are acquantances, colleagues. Yes friends, but not really deep wonderful awesome friends who will stick by you through thick and thin. No - that was me and my wife.

Not my parents, not my other sisters. But us. And it's bloody tiring, exhausting..

We've been rescuers. We've been carers. We've been parents, brother/sister, friends to her. And we've reached the end. She was supposed to leave Friday in order to visit an awesome friend. We knew she wouldn't go - as she wouldn't be ready and she was too wasted. She didn't. So she's here. She said she's go Monday. She hasn't even started packing to leave yet (what a rigmarole that will be!). She still has some 20 boxes to sort. The rest has now been removed from storage into our garage.

I can't wait for her to go - so that we can get our life together again. Relax. And stop being resuers - see next post..