Sea of Fatique - And a Prison

For the last week or so I have felt really really tired. I didn't visit my wife's family at the weekend for the same reason. I felt better this morning, but feel exhausted again now.

Why do I feel so tired I have been asking myself.

Is it because I'm still working through the aftermath of the realisation of how I feel towards my mum? Or rather the feelings I feel myself in regards to my mum? Is it because I'm still in the aftermath of the email to my dad which he still hasn't responded to? Is it because I'm realising just how exhausted I was doing the company? The impact of a lack of parenting by my parents? I.e. just about everything. Catching up with me. Catching up with me because I'm giving myself time to allow it do so. Despite how frustrating it is..

Sigh. I just feel so tired. I'm sleeping fine, more than eight hours a night. Yet I've had a snooze every afternoon this week bar today as I was round at a neighbours. When I got back I felt so exhausted I needed a coffee (which I never drink!) before driving my youngest daughter to a hospital visit.

Crap. My parents were crap. I had a crap upbringing. From the age of 2-8 it was like living in a prison. Nowhere to escape the rampages of my father, no friends, in a foreign place... actually I hated it. I don't think I've said that before, or thought it. But as I look back, it was horrible. What was there to like? What? There was nothing. Crumbs at most. An old lady who was nice. And really that's it. No friends. Foreign language wher my dad taught me everyone was out to get me. A sister who stuck to me like glue. Fear. Abandonment. Rejection. Intimidation.

There was NOTHING positive about the whole experience. I can see no benefit to me. No loving care. No warm feelings.

Yes Mark, it really was that bad.

A living prison. In constant mortal danger. Basic needs taken care off. Emotional needs pushed asunder.

A living prison. And if it wasn't for moving to england at eight and making a friend over the road I think I would have died. And I mean that literally. It was that bad.

I hated aspect of when I came back to england too. The bullying mainly, as well as the home life. What home life?

And I'm allowed to think that, and feel that, and no one can argue against it. That's what it was. No matter what my mum would have me believe.

Mum, it was bad. And you didn't let me believe it was because that would have reflected on you, and you couldn't handle that. So you had me believe that what I was experiencing wasn't the truth - that really I was a happy loved boy. But that's crap and I can see that now. Or rather I'm starting to see that. But as I see it I have to allow myself to feel what I really felt, and that's horrible. Because I've lived in a lie all these years, perpetuated by my parents. For them to know how I really felt would reflect badly on them, and they can't allow that.

So, I lived in a misreable prison up to the age of eight, and a prison after that apart from when I was allowed out.

Great.

MUM, YOU WERE WRONG. AND YOU STILL ARE. AND STOP TRYING TO GET ME TO BELIEVE WHAT YOU WANT ME TO BELIEVE.