Open Journal #30

full collection links 1- 10 . 11-20 . 21-30

It has been a week of things happening.

A few weeks ago i called an aunt, my fathers sister and the last one standing  of that generation, to see if she could throw any light on my childhood and me being placed into foster care as a baby. She died this week and i was a bit thrown by the timing of our conversation and that if i had hesitated i might have missed the opportunity. I will miss her loving me, i always felt six years old in her company as she would fuss about me and give me extra cake and hug me constantly whenever i was nearby.

The next day, my friend in the mental hospital (let’s call him Fred)(well it’s his name)(well it is highly unlikely you are ever going to meet me let alone him), suffered a series of seizures and had to be sedated for 24 hours to avoid them escalating and killing him. 

His brother and i had a tense 48 hours on whatsapp waiting for news. Never met Fred or his brother so that adds a weird twist at all times. Thankfully he was ok and they are now monitoring him to try and work out what is wrong with him. My job seems to be keeping him cheerful and explaining things he doesn’t understand. 

He is autistic, dyslexic and epileptic so sometimes he struggles. He asked me to help him understand something, he had removed his monitor and all the heavily taped wires because he desperately wanted a shower. When the nurse checked on him a bit later he told her he didn’t want it back on and she said to him ‘a lawn to yourself’ … i had no idea what he meant. I had never heard the expression before.

I went to get a coffee and while it was brewing i said it to myself and suddenly realised he meant ‘a law unto yourself’ … there were no lawns involved at all. Lesson learnt … always say it out loud, sometimes written down doesn’t work.

My mother in law has been declining in the last few years with dementia and last night there was a discussion around the fact that it seems we have reached the point where she need to go into a home and be looked after. Wife departed at 6am to arrange all that and help to ease the process. 

Gone for a few days at least, maybe up to a week, leaving me with two pining dogs, because mummy is their favourite. A house full of painters, noise and chaos every day. Fending for myself never goes well.

My morning emails contain a note from my lawyers, basically saying that over the last 20 years, if anything, the law has tightened around the issue of making Government Child Care departments, responsible for things that third parties do to children. It seems pointless and expensive to pursue any of these avenues. 

I am in a little side discussion attempting to convince my social workers to just give me a little summary of the redacted sections to avoid me taking any legal action over it and i will just drop it. After all, if there is nothing of note, how can it be a problem to just tell me what it is about.

A sensible kind man agrees with me and goes away to persuade his boss that on this occasion they could be helpful and save a lot of messing about. Within a couple of hours he has emailed and explained that he has read all the relevant material and summarises the content and it is nothing i haven’t seen in other documents. 

The decision is made to end it here, there is nothing to be done or gained by continuing with this. My lawyer refuses to bill me for any of this, as he reminds me i did him a favour by participating in a training film for his firm a few years ago and never charged him so he feels it is appropriate to return the favour. I had forgotten but i don’t mention that as a free lawyer is a rare thing.

All of this against a backdrop of tension, as each day goes by i get closer to my first therapy session. I am mostly ok with it, it is my choice and I have precisely the version of a therapist that i set out to find. There is just this anxiety and fear around which stones he looks under and what he might find under them when he looks and the impact on me. I keep having this thought, what if i don’t like the person that is left when he finishes with me.

I seem to constantly feel as if i shouldn’t be talking about any of this, that i will be found out, that my abusers will be angry. Which they would be if they were still alive, quite what i think is going to happen i don’t know, but i can’t shake the feeling. It is like a fear, a dread, maybe that has always been with me and i am just very aware of it at the moment. That sense that nothing good is going to come of this.

As i post this, i am 24 hours away from my first therapy session and the only thing i can equate it to is the absolute worst case of stage fright i have ever experienced. I spent most of yesterday fighting the feeling of wanting to cancel and explaining i had made a mistake and that i wasn’t ready.

I have given myself a stern talking to and told myself that i must not be pathetic and a coward and just get on with it. Problem is I talk a lot of nonsense most of the time so i can’t imagine i am going to listen to myself.