Tuesday, 18 August 2009

We're always our parents' babies....

...I honestly believe that.

It used to be the bane of my life when I was younger. I definitely fitted the 'Teen from Hell' category...petulant, gothic with a hint of grunge, angst ridden and pretentious. I hated living in my hometown in the South Wales valleys. To me, Aberdare was the ulimate hicksville and made only for coming from. I was forever running away to cities, squatting with Crusties, Animal Rights Campaigners and other Subverts in Bristol on one life-changing, eye opening occasion. I spent New Years Eve 96/97 squatting in a derelict off license in Port Talbot after taking up with another wrong 'un

(An alcoholic Mummy's boy 20 years and 20 days my senior...a story for another day!)

Those are just two of my exploits...basically I put them through the mill. And down the pit and over the ironworks!

Over time I met many lost souls, heard sad stories of broken down families and what happens when people are cast/cast themselves out to drift. I'm very, very lucky in as much as my family accepted me home when I finally wised up and as I got a bit older, we forged a good relationship.

We accept each others' faults

(though I strongly suspect my Dad would have killed for two normal kids in the place of the punky, pierced tattooed freaks he got in my brother and I!)

and realise that the four of us are human first, Mum/Dad/Big Sister/Kid Brother second. Times have changed: Dad's retired and had a health scare last year (a stroke which has left him blind in one eye) Mum has retrained and now manages a team within the hospital wing of Cardiff Prison. My brother is now a Dad and works part time as a Fire Fighter (following in our Dad's footsteps in yet another way, though Dad was full time for over 30 years)

And me? I fell wildly, madly and hopelessly in love with a Glam Punk artist I met online in Jan 2008. After doing the long distance relationship thing for a few months, I decided to move from Wales to Nottingham as being without him made my heart ache. I was still running back then, but now I'm able to come to a stop. He has given me his love, his company in the good times, his support in the bad...he's still the only person who has ever had the guts to suggest where I was coming unstuck and making my mental health problems worse. We love each other madly, care deeply for one and other and clash wildly on occasion...I have never felt as strongly for anyone in my adult life and he says the same to me. I have grown up and am living my life a whole country away from my family. There are times I get homesick and miss them keenly: I get home to see family and friends as often as I can. What puzzles me is why I hurt so badly that they've never visited me in Nottingham.

Whilst I appreciate they have busy lives, sometimes I really wish they would take me up on my invitation to visit and have us show them where we live. Today in particular, I've got the blues and I'm feel grotty as hell. Mother nature's been with the monthly gift, and I've somehow picked up a tummy bug. Double Whammy! Spent almost an hour this morning locked in the toilet, genuinely worried to leave and go back to my desk. Work are spectacularly unsympathetic on these matters just took some immodium and nurofen hoping for the best! Though the trots have slowed to a grind, my face is burning, I ache all over and I want my Mum!

I wonder if everyone feels that way from time to time? After all, my paternal Grandmother told me every time she felt ill she still wanted her Mam. I can't imagine my own Mum wanting her's...my Maternal Grandmother is an oddly emotionless strange woman.. It makes me wonder if I am being demanding, childish. I wonder why she doesn't visit, whether there is a hidden reason. Whether it's something I did or didn't.

I wish I could stop these unwanted thoughts and unanswered questions crowding me. There's things to do...though I could sleep for hours.

Need to pull myself from under this, I can feel myself getting crushed.

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