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There is magnitude of people out there still recovering from the cavern that abuse leaves in its wake; this book serves as a walkthrough towards recovery.
From personal experience I know that there is camaraderie to be found by sharing your struggle with others that have walked a similar path.
With regards to my own recovery I found far more growth within my pain by reading the words of others. There shared struggle helped me by far more than I ever found within the mental health care profession.
Whilst reading books of this nature you are able to recover and reflect in your own time. Whilst you are sitting in front of a mental health professional, you have been asked to go back into the lion’s den right there at the moment in time. That is something that is not always possible.
Books like my own serve as a recognition that being abused is not something that you had any control over my book makes that very clear.
Without sounding a little like I am the oracle, if my book had been written by someone else, the words within my story would have giving me the strength within to keep walking towards that light.
There is complete madness within its pages teetering on insanity. But that only serves to reiterate that recovery is possible for us all.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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There’s a Fine Line
Teresa Joyce
Copyright © 2017 Teresa Joyce
All rights reserved.
Distributed by Smashwords
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Teresa Joyce is a pen name.
Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Prologue
Where do I begin to write this? I guess I need to go back to 1994 and chronicle events as and when they occurred. At times I will also need to reference my childhood. Some relevant history surrounding that time is needed; the reason for this is that without the knowledge of past events it would be more difficult to understand the things that have occurred subsequent to that time. As we proceed through this book you will be able to see exactly why it is so relevant, and the conflict of interest I will find myself in, in adulthood. In truth, maybe I am now trying to heal myself through this process. But I am also hoping that anyone reading this book and can relate to it may take some strength from its content.
It was not until I sat down to write this that the memories I wish I could have left buried hit me full in the face. But you know nothing ever really stays that way; buried, that is. You want it to and you pray that it will, but it’s always there. You try to understand it; you convince yourself it was your fault entirely; you look into the mirror and you hate yourself. I am remembering times and events that were so very difficult for me to live through, and to be honest, at times I didn’t want to. Having just passed my fiftieth birthday, I now feel ready. Maybe I have now reached a point in my life when I feel a little stronger, so it’s time to open Pandora’s Box. What will I find there? I guess I am not going to know until I can no longer close the lid. How it will affect me? I haven’t a clue, I just know it’s something that I have to do; I need to find some kind of closure.
I feel it’s only right that I refrain from the use of names while writing this book, or even exact months or years. They will only be given loosely, if at all. It will be enough to stick to the decades, these events spanned over. This is not because I feel the need to hide my identity in any shape or form, but there are still people living that I need to consider. For this same reason I will also not be disclosing my real name. If I were to do so I could be linked by association with others and in doing so it could cause untold pain. All of the facts that I am about to tell you were well documented by my own doctor at that time, along with the numerous people I have seen within the mental health care system over the years. There has been many, all hoping that they can help me put this to bed—lay it to rest, as it were. To this day that has not been possible for me; the truth is that I am still under that care umbrella, fighting to find some peace. So when will I be totally discharged? I am really unable to answer that question.
So what is my purpose or intention? It is to hopefully rid my head of the demons, which seem so reluctant to leave, and not to cause new ones in others. So I reiterate here once more; that is not my aim. It may be the case that if it is ever printed, someone will pick it up recognising themselves in it, but that will then be their own choice over how they receive it and deal with their own emotions. The point I am trying to make here is that recognition will not be forced upon them. How will this book turn out? I have no idea; I have never thought of myself as a budding author. It’s not even something I have ever even considered as my chosen career. But this story needs to be told. It may never leave the hard drive of my computer, but if it does, then hopefully I can at least make it readable and find some escape for myself. This is a true story, but you will never know just how many times I have wished and prayed that it wasn’t. They say that there is a book inside of everyone just waiting to be written, be it a fairy tale, fact, or fiction, so this is to be my offering and all based on fact. In some cultures they believe that you know if and when the devil crosses your path, and if this was not him it was a very close relative.
The first few chapters may read a little like a reference book, but they are an essential ingredient. They are the calm before the storm, where I am hoping to paint a picture for you. I have toyed with the idea of not doing so, but to my mind they are greatly needed. There is a difference between fact and fiction. While writing fiction, you can quite easily embellish the story. But non-fiction is all about the facts. We will quite quickly reach a point in this book where they cross over, and no embellishment is needed. There is a fine line between sanity and insanity.
Chapter 1
1994 onwards
The phone rang and the person on the other end said “Hi, it’s Dad”. It was in fact my Stepfather, as my real father had been killed when I was only three. My Mum had remarried when I was not far off the age of seven. It always seemed to me that I and my Stepfather never really got along, during both my childhood and teenage years. He never really seemed to like me; I was always the one in trouble for one thing or another, unlike my siblings. I guess that was the main reason I left school at fifteen and went into the Royal Air Force, just two months before my sixteenth birthday.
The day I received his call, I was thirty five, out of the Royal Air Force and married with a child of my own, who was and still is, the love of my life. He said he needed to talk to me; something had come up in the office. At this point I need to tell you that my Stepfather had a small company, which had been growing fast over the last five years or so. My husband worked for him, as did other members of my close family. I also helped out with the running of the office whenever possible, because I was already working on a self-employed basis.
We arranged a time for me to call into the office and ended the conversation, as he seemed reluctant to discuss it over the telephone. The next morning I made my way there; the sun was out and it was a really lovely day. If I had any idea that going there that day would have started the catalogue of events I will relay to you, I would never have left my home. Making that journey was to be the biggest mistake of my life. My aim will be to try to let you see through my eyes the events that snowballed over a period of approximately ten years. So I guess in a way I am going to try and take you along for the ride, but one that I truly wish that I had never been on. It destroyed so many lives (did I say he never really liked me?); I was about to find out just how wrong I’d been (or was I?). Did he just really hate me that much? I will leave that for you to decide.
I arrived at the office around 10am that morning, and after grabbing a coffee, made my way up to my Stepfather’s office on the next floor. He was sitting at his desk talking on the telephone, so I sat down to wait. After he had finished his conversation, I asked him why he wanted to talk. He told me that it was regarding the amount of work within the office. He also thought it would be much nicer to talk outside of the office as he needed a break.
Being in the office could lead to phone calls and interruptions. As I was not working that afternoon I agreed. After a short drive we found ourselves at the zoo. It was a nice day; it would make a change to relax, and to have a walk around. Why that had been our destination, I am not so sure.
After purchasing our tickets the conversation went as follows. He told me that the workload in the office had been just too much for the girls already working there; they were finding it hard to deal with it all properly. Invoices were not getting paid on time, and credit control was a shambles. The banks were also giving him a hard time. He explained that his own time was not being utilized correctly, because it was spent chasing the debt owed to the company. He needed to be out there looking for new work, which was dearly needed to get the company out of the hole it now found itself in.
As I touched on earlier, I was already working, and my time was already accounted for every day between the hours of 9.30am and 3pm. I was very busy teaching and earning a very good hourly rate. We talked more about the hours he wanted me to work, which would have been between the hours of 10am and 3pm. My main role, he specified, would be in credit control. I could not see that this would be possible. I explained this to him, stating the main reason for my concern; that there would be a major loss in my earnings if I were to accept his offer. He then told me that if I were to take up this role and come to work for him, he would match my loss in salary. At that time, I questioned this. The amount he was offering would be far more than most people would be paid for that type of office job. He went on to convince me that he needed a family member in there, someone that cared if the company survived or not. He reminded me that both my husband and other family members relied on their jobs with him, and emphasised how the loss of the company would affect both my Mum and the family’s way of life.
Agreeing to take him up on his offer would be something I would live to regret, but I had no way of foreseeing the events that would follow. To this day I wish I had been in a collision with another car on my way home. If only I could have known, I would have gone back to the office, jumped in my car and driven as far and as fast as possible in the other direction. Hindsight is a wonderful thing and something I clearly was not blessed with at that time.
I started work in the office on the Monday of the following week, after having made the calls needed to arrange replacements for my current work. This was not too difficult as I was self employed and therefore needed to give no prior notice. I kept hold of the evening work along with the weekends, as they would not interfere with my day job. I liked the work and it kept me fit, I also had a lot of friends in and around the industry. I did not want to lose touch with that or them. So here I was, sitting at my desk about to start something new. I told myself that I would put everything I could into this role; it had to work, because the impact on my family would be dire if the company were to fold. I picked up the phone and made that first call, in an attempt to chase the monies owed that would hopefully stop that from happening.
Mid 1950s - Mid 1960s
At this point I would like to go back to my childhood, to a time when my mum met and married my dad. He was an Irish guy over here working on the roads; I don’t know if you are aware of this, but the Irish it seemed, built most of the roads here in England at that time. He and his family had all moved over from Ireland, chasing the monies and the work. They had found themselves in Huddersfield in Yorkshire, but the work took him all over the country. Cornwall was one such place and where he was to meet my Mum. He was a charmer, full of fun, with the gift of the gab, and a lot of fun to be around. He could not read or write, though this was something that my mum was not aware of for many years. He would look at the paper with the pretence of reading it, clearly ashamed of the fact. If he were in a pub he would be singing and dancing on the tables, buying drinks for everyone. Everyone liked him; and my Mum fell in love hook line and sinker.
After dating for a few very short months he asked if she would marry him, and the rest, as they say, is history. My mum moved to Huddersfield with him when the work came to an end. This must have been a really big step for her; she was leaving behind her family, hoping to make one of her own. This was the way her fairy tale started, and my siblings and I are here as proof of that. The long hard luck story that came along after does not make for happy reading. The marriage was only good for a short period of time before it all started to go wrong. He was away all week working and it must have been hard for mum. She was in a new place and maybe feeling like a fish out of water. When arriving back on a Friday night, his first port of call would always be the pub, spending most of what he had earned. He would then make his way home steaming drunk, and if my mum even dared to ask for money for food he would see red. It would be a boot in her stomach or a punch to her head. She was losing weight rapidly. She made sure that any available food went to us kids, and she just went without. With no one to turn to, she was alone. How could she tell this to her family all that way down in Cornwall? And what if she did? They were in no position to help. No, she just had to get on with it alone; she had made her bed. She did find the courage to leave him at one point, only to be followed and dragged back, and told that if she were to ever do it again, he would take us children to Ireland, and we would be lost to her. That was quite simply something she could not and would not risk.
There is so much more to this story, and my aim is to try to make you fully understand the hardship that she endured as a young wife and mother. Could she ever find a way out of this living hell? Little did she know that the way out was not too far away.
I clearly remember that day a policeman knocked on our door. I was about three at the time; they had come to tell my Mum some bad news, or what they quite rightly thought was bad news. My dad had been killed outright in a road accident, so there she was alone, a widow with three small children. No help was to arrive from my late dad’s family; in fact quite the opposite. They had never treated her well and I think that is an understatement. She must have been at her wit's end. When I was told the full story in adulthood and listened to her explain, I am in no doubt that every day must have been a nightmare, so full of pain and the unknown. What would the next day bring? She had left her family willingly, because she was so in love with this good looking Irish guy. What next for her? His death must have been a release in so many ways, but where would she go? What could she do? The only answer available to her was to return to her family in Cornwall, and get the help she needed to bring up her children.
So why am I telling you this? Going back so far into my mum’s life and her first married years? Well, the best answer I can give to you is that as this story unfolds, it will all come to light. Needless to say, my mum had gone through some really bad times struggling on her own. There were days without food, no coal for the fire and holes in her shoes. This was oh so evident when pregnant, carrying me; she could still easily wear a pencil slim skirt while eight months pregnant. Nobody would or could have been able to tell that she was carrying a child, despite the fact that I was a month early. It was a boot thrown into her stomach without care by my drunken Father, which inevitably induced her pregnancy. Life for my mum at that point was not good, and the future must have looked very bleak indeed. She went about arranging the details of her plan to return home, she was going back to her family with us in tow. She was so very different, maybe even unrecognisable, from the young lady that had left there not so very long ago.
1994 onwards
The first few weeks in the office were so busy that I never really had time to think; I was working within the Credit Control among other things. My hard work was starting to pay off; I was making untold calls to all and every company concerned. It could be said that they were fed up with hearing my voice. I still had my evenings and weekend jobs, and with that and the running of my home time passed by very quickly. I started to feel settled there; the work was rewarding. I felt that I was getting somewhere. I was not only helping the company back on its feet, but I was also endeavouring to make sure members of my family, not least my husband, stayed in employment.
It was about this time that my Stepfather started asking me into his office to talk. We would go over all the debt that I was chasing, talk about the plans he had, and if they worked it would hopefully pull in far more work. But it was going to be a big job with everyone having to pull their weight and get stuck in. Pressure was being applied by the bank on a monthly basis, relating to the size of the overdraft, but what was the answer? The company needed to use the overdraft a lot at that point just to get by. Our talks together were becoming longer and longer; it was becoming so difficult just trying to fit in the work of credit control. But that was the reason I was there, right? I guess the only way I can explain is that for some reason known only to him, the need was no longer urgent.
I arrived for work one morning to be met by my Stepfather outside the office. He said he felt he needed to get away from the office for a while; he asked me if we could go for a drive and talk. There were things that he needed to talk through; issues that he did not want to discuss with just anyone, i.e. staff members. He told me that he was feeling the pressure and completely stressed out; that he had no one else around that he could trust with his problems; someone he felt he could unburden himself on, and he needed to do that, but to whom? He did not want the office staff knowing too much, especially with regards to the state of the company’s finance. He said that he could not talk it through with my mum because he did not want to worry her; that I was strong and he felt that I was well able to cope with it and he needed someone. To be honest, at that time I was very good at dealing with the pressures of life (unlike the present) and he had come to the conclusion that I was his best option.
After we had driven around for a while, he announced we should take some downtime; after all we had earned it. He said that we may as well stop at a pub somewhere and get something to eat (it was lunch time by then and we were both a little hungry). We arrived at the nearest pub that was serving food, and headed for the nearest empty table. We were given the menus, we ordered drinks and the conversation continued. It was still broadly about the company. We were bouncing ideas off each other, and to be honest I felt just that little bit special. Here was someone I had gone through my whole childhood thinking never really liked me, but here he was asking for my opinion, and from the reactions I was receiving, I had some invaluable ideas, something worth saying. In reality, and looking back now, I’m not even sure that he was hearing me. The game had started and I was unknowingly just a pawn in the pursuit of what he wanted.
Mid 1950’s - Mid 1960’s
My Mum arrived in Cornwall not long after my Dad’s funeral, which she had not been allowed to attend. The reason for this I touched on earlier, but I will add more here. My Dad’s family had never really accepted my Mum. For one thing she was not Irish, and in my Grandmother’s eyes, she had taken her son away from her; he should have married some nice Irish girl. In the fullness of time she was to stay ever-present between my parents, even after my Dad’s death. This was something that she would not change; she was always going to be with him at all cost. This I was to witness many years later, while looking for answers and my lost family.
We moved in with my grandparents, all sharing one bedroom; unfortunately there was only a limited amount of empty space available to us. I loved my grandparents so it was nice to be there with them, and sharing a room all together was all just part of the fun. Their house backed on to a very large park area; it was great. All I had to do was climb over the back hedge, and from that time on I had the biggest back garden in the world. Right up until we were once again to leave Cornwall as a new family, I spent many hours playing in it, and I could not envisage then that things were to change.
My Mum had to find work as it was now down to her and her alone to keep us; she would need to purchase everything we needed, as well as put food on the table, and contribute to the increased cost of running my grandparents’ home. The list must have seemed endless to her at that point, but my Mum was so very special. She loved her children and whatever it took, she was determined to provide; a new chapter was about to start in her life. The long working hours she would have to fit in around us, but no matter, we were all she cared about. She would have died for us, walked over hot coals just to keep us safe. You may ask yourself, well what about her? That was of no consequence and she had little self worth. There was the paper delivery round, starting at 5am every weekday morning, before returning home to get us ready for school. Once done, she traipsed off to a day job in the laundry, coming home after a day’s work to cook for us and get us all ready for bed. Her day was still not finished, and, with my grandparents there to watch over us, once more she went off to work. Another four hours in the local fish and chip bar; was that her life now? A widow with three children working all the hours that God gave her. If only I could become even close to being anything like her in my own lifetime, but sadly I am not that special.
1994 Onwards
Things in the office were not improving; I was still chasing money from the larger companies that did not want to pay on time. They were just so difficult to pin down; so our own invoices were just not getting paid. The cash flow available at that time was not in good shape, but it seemed that my Stepfather wanted to stay away from the office more and more. It was now not just the odd long lunch break, but the whole morning or even the whole day. What was going on with him? If I think back to that time, I chastise myself; why did I not see it? Was I just stupid?
Around that time he was also dealing with the sale of his Mother’s house, as she had gone into a nursing home due to ill health. One morning he came to me to ask for some help relating to his Mother’s house sale. Many other things were already making a pull on my time, but I was helping. If I could do this, then the company would not go under; and my mum would be ok. She would never need to know the whole story and just how bad things were becoming. He reminded me on more occasions than I can count that she would not be able to cope. What was wrong with me? It was only my time he was asking for; Mum had always been there for me and it was now my turn to be there for her. But he wanted a lot more than my time; there I was again—stupid.
Mid 1950s - Mid 1960s
Things in Cornwall carried on the way they were for quite a while with us growing up and Mum working. Everything seemed to be just fine, but hey, I was a kid. I could and would not have understood that my mum must have been so lonely for male company. It was a real shock when mum sat us down saying that she had something to tell us. She had met someone, a sailor, while at the pictures with her cousin and he was coming to meet us, but why? But come he did, looking very smart in his naval uniform. I remember thinking just how smart he looked, but also being a little afraid of him without knowing why. Just how scared I was came to light when he swooped down and picked me up, putting me on his shoulders. Now this isn’t something I tell everyone, but I opened my bladder, all the way down the back of that smart uniform. I still clearly remember doing so. Not that I was ever allowed to forget. Was it an omen? I would not have known at that time what that even meant.
It seemed like no time at all before Mum told us she was getting married, and that we were all moving to Bristol. Bristol, why? We lived here; my Grandmother and Granddad were here, my entire family, my friends, everything was here. But to Bristol we went after he had arranged to buy himself out of the Navy. Arriving at our now new step mum’s home, with us all once again having to share one room, but this time there was an extra body. It had to be that way; until they found us a home of our own, which hopefully would not take too long. Mum was happy; this had to be a good thing. He was good looking as well as twelve years her junior. He went out to work and was providing for us, which meant she could stay at home. By this time I was thinking that maybe Bristol was a good thing; everyone was going to live happily ever after. Yes, Bristol was good; I would find new friends, I could treat this like a new adventure, everything was going to be fine.
My mum must have felt that all her dreams had come true at once; she was married once more to a younger, handsome man. He had no problem with the fact that he would also be taking on another man’s three children. She would not have to struggle quite so much anymore; he was working seven days a week without complaint. We were getting by—although only just at that point; but things were set to change over the next decade. Life would go from survival, to comfortable, to well off. She had suffered for so many years, but it was now her turn for the good life, to do everything she had always wanted to do, but could never afford before.
For many years, this was the way it stayed. Holidays, new and bigger houses, new cars; she was able to go into all the shops that she had never before been able to. The charity shops were no longer an option as my Stepfather was always a good provider. He worked hard and reaped only the rewards that came from the effort and the long hours he put in. Of that I will say you could not fault him. By this time both my siblings and I were married and no longer living at home. My mum had her grandchildren that she loved, and they loved her. At that time she was living the dream life; it was a dream and she did not want to wake up. There is no doubt that life for her in the past, and before my dad was killed, was so full of hurt, pain and heartache. The truth is that at that time she never knew where the next mouthful was coming from, along with being used as a punch bag if she dared to ask him to part with some of his beer money to feed us; a cardinal sin?
