Wednesday, 24 October 2012

Reflections part two


At the beginning of 1992 I found myself back in London after spending 8 months in rehab. I was in a hostel in new cross which is in south London. The trouble was I was back on my old stomping ground .I had already started to drink again and realized that I was still moving in the same circles as before.

 I decided to leave London to give myself a better chance of not returning to my addiction. I packed a bag and headed off to Southampton where I had lived in the past. After 4 months however, I was bored out of my mind so I decided to return to London. The hostel I had been living at before usually had a policy of not readmitting after you have left, however, the hostel manager was an old biker and after I had been to see him he had agreed to let me have another chance.

My first day back in the hostel I made my way to the dining room for dinner. I was sat at a large round table suitable for 8 people on my own when a young girl walked up and said in a sweet voice “is any one sitting here”. I laughed and said “does it look like it, of course you can sit there”. I have to admit now that the first thing I noticed about her was the size of her breasts (chuckle).I started to chat with her and I found out her name was Samantha and she was 19.she was very smartly dressed and in my eyes stunningly pretty. To be honest I didn’t think I had a chance in hell as I was still in my biking days, dressed in my usual ripped smelly old jeans etc... Plus I was infact 12 years older than her.

I had a friend visiting me at the hostel, tony was waiting for me in my room whilst I was having dinner. When I returned I had a big smile on my face and I told him “I have just met the girl that I am going to marry!” She didn’t make it easy but finally, much to my surprise and delight, she agreed to be my girl.

Almost immediately she fell pregnant, I was delighted.one morning after being together for about 6 weeks we were sitting with friends in new cross market café ,when I jumped up got on my knees and asked her to marry me!. After the shock and embarrassment died away she said yes! We were married at the begging of December 1992, it was up to that point the happiest day of my life. Not only did she make me the happiest man alive but looking back (and I have never told her this but maybe she will read this blog) that day she saved my life.

It was never an ‘easy’ marriage, to be honest I really don’t know how she put up with me, for 13 years she put up with my mood swings, the fact that I would wonder off at any time without her knowing where I was, I don’t think she ever really knew how ‘damaged’ I was inside.

We had three wonderful children together, I love them dearly however they were the most difficult thing for me to deal with. Simple things that most fathers would just take for granted like changing them or bathing them were a nightmare, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to do it, I just felt so uncomfortable with it and I couldn’t explain why. Now I know that it was a fear left in me by my abusers.

I had spent years desperately searching for somebody to love me, now I had Sam and the kids but my inability to show them love after years of hiding behind my protective wall eventually cost me my marriage. Something else I can thank my abusers for.

Monday, 8 October 2012

Reflections part one


You would think that after 51 years I would have life sussed, but I haven’t!

My life was never going to be an easy one, from birth it just went downhill. I was, in the first nine years, passed around from one place to another, never really having the chance to settle in one place long enough before being moved again. Even at this stage the Jersey Children’s Service failed me dramatically.

By the time I arrived at Haut De La Garenne at 9 years old I was already in a vulnerable state, often moody, not able to connect with my peers, withdrawn, no pride in myself, all these things lead me now to believe I was suffering depression. A prime target for the bully’s and abusers.

Six years on and finally free from the tyranny, fear and abuse I headed for England, I won’t go into details but it was not a good start and soon I found myself cold and alone on the streets of London. I quickly became involved in the street ‘scene’, nights spent roughing it at Embankment station waiting patiently for the arrival of the ‘soup run’ bus, ah the joy that can be had from a hot cup of soup on a cold night, bliss. If I was really lucky I would get a bed in the Centrepoint hostel on Shaftsbury Avenue, a haven of momentous proportions to a young kid on the street. If I was desperate I would go to the ‘Spike’ or DHSS Resettlement Centre in Dean Street, if anywhere deserved the label ‘last resort’ then it did!

I also started to drink and dabble with drugs soon becoming an alcoholic and barbiturate addict, eventually moving on to harder drugs.

Without realising I had also built this complete this new persona, no longer was I the shy quiet boy who was easily bullied, instead, I had become Ozzy, biker and nutter and definitely not to be messed with, the wall was complete and no-one was ever going to get through it and be able to hurt me again.

For twelve years that was my life, bikes birds and booze/drugs, I can admit now that I did some things during this time that I am not proud of, I was on a course of self-destruction, it was a hell of a ride but I couldn’t get off!          

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