So, just recently alot has been going on. Alot of interesting (boring) stuff that I have shared about my day to day activities. Well today not alot happened, so I thought that instead I would share something else that’s been going on just recently. In the background…

So I guess I should start by mentioning the fact that my Dad is not actually my real father. My real father is a weasel that I haven’t seen since I was in fact aroundabout 4 or 5. My Dad, as in the guy who lives with and is married to my mother is the real father of my brothers and sisters, and has been in my life since very shortly after my real father wasn’t.

I don’t know him, I’ve not seen him since I was 4 or 5. I know that I used to go and visit with him when I was younger, and I remember my Dad taking me to his house in the car and dropping me off for my visit. I remember him picking me up afterwards aswell. So, I know that my father was in my life even after my Dad came into the picture. I don’t remember any mistreatment and yet I know that the reason I have never seen him is because my Mother has never allowed it. I know that my Father left my life because my mother made it that way. I remember him trying to visit me and being turned away. When I was a young child and later on. I know he tried to get access to me when I was 13ish, and I know he tried again when I was 17.

Now my Mother will never speak of it, or him. I know that she has told me on occasion that as much as she loves me, it’s hard sometimes when someone reminds you every day of the one person you can’t stand. My Mother was young when she had me. She was 20, and it makes me wonder if being with my real father was a big mistake for her, and having me just reminds her of that? In my laymans opinion, and my brush with postnatal depression when my son was born – I think she had PND and that it was sufficiently bad that she didn’t bond with me the way she could have. It took me nearly a year to find that bond with my son, and I wonder if she ever found it with me.

Anyways, it’s not a secret, not something I guard closely. I don’t panic and backtrack when someone works out that my surname on my birth certificate is different to my maiden name. I’m open about the fact that I do not know who my father is, it just never comes up in conversation. But, I can’t ask my Mum about him, she makes me feel guilty. She tells me that I have a Dad now and that I would hurt his feelings by delving and looking for another Dad. Now I’m 25, I decided to find out what I could.

I asked for a copy of my medical records. I figured there’d be some clue in there about what went on, and my Mother alluded to something being in there. I waited weeks for a copy of my records to come through – until I looked on the internet and found out that I can just ask the surgery if I can go in and read the records they have there for me, and photocopy anything I want to take away. I just need to take them a letter and make an appointment.

So.. last Thurday, the errand I had to run at the Doctor’s Surgery before going out with Gemini was taking them the letter I’d written. Did you know that they only have to keep childhood records until you’re 21, and adult records only have to be kept for 3 years? The lady at the surgery looked at my records and told me that she has letters in there from 1985. I got an appointment for first thing the next morning.

I went in there bright eyed and bushy tailed and I looked at my records. I didn’t know what I’d find, and truth be told I wasn’t expecting to find anything. But what I did find is very strange indeed. When I was almost three, there are reports of suspected ”paternal abuse” due to certain marks on my body and it says that they contacted Social Services. It doesn’t go into it that much, so I don’t know the details, and for once I am happy about my mind letting me down because I think it’s a blessing that I don’t remember.

One thing I do remember is that my Mother had a night job as a cleaner when I was young, and I would stay at home with him in the evenings. I can vaguely remember one day crying and begging my Mother not to leave me with him, and she did anyway. I just thought I was playing up and I must have been close to my Mother, but now I’m wondering if there was a reason I hated to be alone with him.

In the next few consultation reports, the doctor seems to be concerned that I am still living at home and says he will contact Social Services again to ask “why this vulnerable, withdrawn child STILL lives with a father who is CLEARLY causing her irreparable harm” He also states that my Mother is in “clear denial” and has “no intention of leaving”. I’m very surprised to be honest. I had no idea it was within a doctor’s remit to judge these situations, but the lady down at the surgery told me that back then they wrote all sorts of stuff in the files.

About a year later there are a few letters from the hospital to my doctor about me not turning up for some speech therapy appointments and them being very concerned that I suddenly have stopped talking. They say that they have contacted Social Services. 

The interesting thing about these letters is that my address is down as being in a women’s refuge. I remember something about being there. I remember lots of women and children sleeping in the same room, and them putting up some more bunk beds one day. I remember my Mum meeting someone there with the same name as me. 

A few months later another letter says that I would benefit from seeing a psychologist because the Speech Therapy people are of the opinion that I can talk but am not talking because of some sort of trauma “possibly sexual abuse”  

About a month after the last Speech Therapy letter, there is a consultation with the doctor who writes “now in care with Mrs Smith of..” and then there’s an address. Reading through the notes, I was in care for six months, before there is a consultation report saying that I am with my Mother. It says “Mother now pregnant by someone else, child now lives with them. Homelife is now satisfactory. Father has been arrested and is awating court on abuse charges.”

Something else grabbed my attention from when I was 11. I went to the Doctor’s for some minor complaint - an ear infection I believe – and it says “presented with Mother and FIVE brothers and sisters!!! CHAOS!!” I have to laugh at that one, as the lady told me, they used to write all sorts of stuff in the files back then as they didn’t know that the DPA would come into force and make it so easy for patients to view their files. This was also before the realms of political correctness came into play!

Then, in the mid 90s when I was a teenager there is something about a history of a genetic disorder in my father’s family. Apparently a letter was received that I should get a genetic test. I never did get that test, but I am a quarter of a century old and I have not discovered any genetic diseases yet. I think I’ll be OK. Although I’ll give them a ring just in case.

So my mind boggles for many reasons. It seems that my real father is a grade A asshole who I am better off without, but I have some big questions that if I could, I would ask my Mother. For instance - if I had marks on my body and a doctor suspected I was being abused – why didn’t my Mother take me away from him? Why was it not until a long time later that I was in a refuge with her? Why was I in care? Did my Father go to prison for abusing me? Why did doctors and Social Services seem to care about me more than she did? Why didn’t she take me to appointments for speech therapy when I suddenly stopped talking?

I have so many questions, but I really think I have to keep it all to myself. I mean, what good would it do to drag this up 20+ years later? I wonder if I’m abnormal, and that I should care about all this stuff more than I do? But for some reason I just don’t. I have that numb feeling. I’m sure I should be very upset that my life started like that but right now - although if I could choose I’d have had a different start to life – I’m not sure I should care about something I can’t remember.

For some reason, I’m thinking more about the fact that to photocopy the sheets I have brought home cost me 40p a sheet!! What a rip off, eh?!!