Finding True Love

Life like for many people was a struggle, back in the mid 80s I lived in the poorer end of town with my parents. When you are young you think you have it all figured out. You leave school go to college or uni, get a career under your belt, find a guy, get married, and have a few kids and live happily ever after or so you are told growing up. I never had a boyfriend at school, I wasn’t one of the cool girls who wore too much makeup with hair so high you need to duck when entering a room, none of the boys fancied me, I was just a plain girl, we didn't have much but we were happy enough.

I left school at 16, started on what was called youth training scheme, YTS for short. My GCSE results were dire, I didn't sit many exams so I was happy to be accepted into a scheme where I could start my almost adult life. I got a place at the YMCA doing training modules for various things like supervising youth groups, working in the tuck shop on disco night, and visiting old folks homes. Eventually getting a job in a residential home looking after elderly residents providing personal care, cooking their meals, and cleaning the home, it was hard work because the lady who owned it liked things done her way and did not like to see u stand around doing nothing. It was fun, had a few crushes but nothing really beyond that until I started going to the pub for lunch with a group of some older people, we all clambered into the pub for lunch on a Friday afternoon. I found that with a bit of makeup I looked older and could go to these pubs without being ask for ID when I chanced my arm for buying alcohol life was made. So Friday night was the night out to the dancing, we all met up in our best clothes, fresh makeup, heels you could hardly walk in but I thought I was the bees knees stepping into the disco like I owned it, I cringe when I think about it now. That was when I met Joe, an older lad who was pretty funny and rather cute. We danced and chatted, danced some more. I felt giddy, a mixture of alcohol and good times, dancing with this man who was few years older than me, 20 years old to be exact, I thought I was an adult now or at least try and make some kind of an effort to show I wasn’t some 16 year old wee girl fresh out the packet. It was the nearing when the end of the night, the slow dancing started. I felt a tap on my shoulder while chatting to my friends, "Would you like to dance? " Joe said, with a huge grin and a glint in his eyes.

"Why yes, of course." With a little help of dutch courage I took to the dance floor and proceeded to slow dance, oh the romance of it all. This was the first time any guy paid attention to me and I was loving it. That night we kissed for the first time, now I know what all the girls meant when they said about butterflies in the belly when you kiss a guy and these butterflies were huge, this effect often happened when I saw Joe. We dated for a while kinda, at least on Friday nights. My Friday night man turned into my boyfriend. We soon fell in love, couldn't wait to see each other 2 nights a week turned into 3, which turned to 4, swept away in the bliss of my first love, but due to people gossiping and lying we broke up, 8 months of love gone thanks to idle chit chat; he just disappeared, never to be heard from him again or so I thought.

A few one night stands nothing major until I met my first husband Ally; he was 21 yrs old. My friends and I went out to another pub just for a change, we tot bored of seeing the same people, the same hook ups. This tall dark haired handsome guy came up to us with his friends in tow, chatting away as you do, introductions were made buy the usual chat up line, “Can we get you ladies a drink?” After a few hours of getting to know each other and several rounds later they asked us if we wanted to go on to somewhere for a bit of a boogie, well needless to say we accepted and went on our merry way do a new club, what harm could it do, I was single if anything was to happen with him, which deep down I hoped it would. Ally and I dated, him coming to mine, me going to his mum's house which was only round the back of my flat, we were practically neighbours, we just haven't met yet. We were together for 3 months when I found out I was pregnant; all hell broke loose with both families, accusation of him taking advantage of me due to being only 16, he was 21. We decided we would marry after the baby was born, the strain of it all for both our families, we certainly didn’t plan on this but we dealt with it. My son was born in the beginning of March, 8lb 3oz. 2 weeks later we married, being newly weds and new parents was tough, living at my house till we got housed by the council. We moved into a flat not to far away from our families, we had nothing just baby things, after all baby comes first right. In time we got the flat furnished with the help of friends and family giving us things when they bought new, a few small loans here and there for carpets and other essentials. While pregnant the abuse started, back then there was no zero tolerance to domestic violence laws, it was a domestic argument, with him it was mental abuse more than physical. He did hit me now and again for answering back, how dare I answer back, he is the man and what he says goes without question, even intimacy was on his terms but his words cut deep. “You are so ugly, you are so lucky I took pity on you by doing you the favour and marrying you," he screamed. I should be worshipping at his feet because no one else would want me, often leaving me a wreck but I had to stay strong for my baby boy, I just couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. Why did he treat me like this, everyt ime he was on a rant to me he left me without a name, I was called a whore, slut, sleeping with every guy that looked at me, I had to take the baby to the shops every time I went or I would be accused of sleeping with the shopkeeper. I can’t have sex with someone when I had the baby with me. I started believing his words to me—maybe I am ugly, I should be grateful he married me. I stopped going out, I stopped answering back, I was trapped, this is my life now, anything to stop the words. It didn’t stop though no matter what I did, everything was wrong and it was my fault. Money was tight, he loved to gamble and thought nothing of cashing in his giro cheque and stepping into the bookies to back a horse before buying food for the baby or us for that matter. If I went out and spent any money I was a selfish cow, even a pound pack of pants I bought at what every woman wants, I was the selfish one, how could I buy myself something when the babies needed food or nappies where as he could do as he pleased with the money. I fell pregnant again when my oldest turned 3.

He was born with congenital scoliosis, a curvature of the spine. I noticed his rib cage wasn’t right, I went to the doctors but was told it will fix itself in time, it was down to the way he developed in the womb, being such a small girl there is not a lot of room in my womb, it will sort itself out. It didn’t and he was referred to a specialist at Yorkhill hospital Glasgow for tests. The mental abuse continued only this time it was aimed at my son's health like it was mine and my mutant family's fault his son was deformed. Every few months the trek into Partick to get his plaster jackets changed, he came with me to a few of the overnight stays in hospital, he certainly never went into the anesthetic room and watch him go under, it broke my heart watching him go limp when it took effect, still always thinking he will change somethings gotta snap him out of this, make him see I'm struggling, a thought I had over and over again. The summers were murder for my son, poor wee man carrying this extra weight unable to take it off just to feel the cool again. Needless to say he didn't. One day I woke up as in really woke up, I knew this marriage was over. One day in January he decided he was going to his friend's birthday party and I had to find him money to go and it was my fault if he couldn’t go. I walked to my parents house, I begged my mum to give me money, I told her I was going to pack mine and the boys' stuff as much as I could manage, I ended the marriage packing what I could to take to my mum's. He came down a few nights demanding I come home and that he was sorry this time, but this wasn’t a new tactic on his part, he was always sorry for bringing me down; if I was such a mess maybe he wouldn’t act this way. He eventually gave up and the divorce was final after several months of discussing his visits to the kids. We were living with my mum when Joe got back in touch, we rekindled our courtship, the subject of marriage was brought up and quickly dismissed. Being a single mum was hard I was thankful Joe helped show me what a man should be. Taking the kids out to give me a break, cooking meals for us when I had been up all night with a teething baby.

Joe and I married a few years later, he surprised me by proposing totally out of the blue blinded by love I said yes. The wedding was a big white wedding affair, although my first one was a cheap white wedding with me wearing my future sister in laws wedding dress, there was no big reception, the cars were provided by friends who dressed their cars with ribbons, flowers etc for the day. We had a cake, proper wedding cars, bridesmaids the works, the boys in top hat and tails, it was a good day but what I didn’t know was that Joe liked a drink. He was a good husband taking the kids everywhere playing stepdad, I knew he drank but he could handle it right, sitting with a bottle of buckfast every night was the norm, I thought somewhere in the back of my mind I could change him. How was I going to do this, it had to be something big and I wasn't ready for another baby. This carried on for a few years, we started to discuss having a baby, could we handle a baby, what with my son's visits to hospital, would that change him—could this be the turning point to be sober, to go to AA meetings? He did try but soon failled. Things took a turn when the alcoholism took over and paranoia set in, I was cheating or someone was coming to get him when I found him looking for weapons for this imminent attack, checking windows and doors, hiding behind the curtains to see who was outside, stealing money out my purse blaming the kids, lying pass out drunk when he was meant to be looking after the boys to let me go to bingo with some of our neighbours. I found out while he was taking the kids to the park he would drink, hiding the bottle in the pram. I had to get my boys out of there, things had gone too far, god knows what was going to happen next. I had to make a plan, how was I going to make a break for it now I have 3 small children to look after. While Joe was out supposedly looking for work I packed some things and went to go to my mum's house. Mum and Dad were divorced at this point, I started getting some clothes together while holding the baby, Joe came home and caught me, tried to grab the baby from my arms, I was going nowhere with his son. We had a bit of a tussle trying to get the baby away from him and make a run for it, eventually managing to over power him. Marriage number 2 ended and once again I’m back to being a single mum living back with my mum, here we go again.