Guilty Conscience?

Guilt is an ever-pervasive feeling in the life of Annie T. The amount of times I feel guilt over things is inordinate. If I was able to list each guilt with a number and then submit those numbers to the National Lottery, I feel pretty damned sure I would win in the very near future. Yes, I am being fascetious. Don't ask me for the winning streak. I would be inclined to be rude to you!

I thoroughly read a blog today by Lola Snow. She is in recovery and is doing marvellously - I admire her from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. She writes with such wit, honesty, candidness and humour. I love to read Lola's blog - so should you! And this is not a commercial plug because, as yet, she has not agreed to pay me any English Pounds whatsoever!

Where am I? I went back to see my therapist today, for the first time in about four weeks...maybe more. We are now seeing each other under the NHS and at my local GP surgery, so there is no excuse for me to blob. And, by God, I really, really wanted to see her - there was no question of me blobbing from this engagement. And, as usual, she was marvellous - she really ought to be preserved. I wish, in some ways, that I knew her outside of our client-therapist relationship, as she has a great sense of humour, and I truly like her...

We talked about many different things, not dwelling too hard on too many. We talked about the rows between me and Ian, which are becoming way too frequent to bear; the rows between me and Rosemary, my eldest, which are just designed to assassinate; my lack of self-worth; my lack of self-esteem; my feelings of total ugliness since the hair-chopping episode (I still feel like some butch, ugly thing); and...my complete and utter anger towards my Mother.

OK. So, there are things I haven't written about recently - I published a post about seeing her in the pub and then pulled it. But, since then, she has been in touch with MY daughters (whom she calls, 'my girls') and explained to them that, when she snuffs it (which I ardently hope will be soon) they will be in for a grand fortune. I guess I have been cut out of the will, and thus, Rosemary, Bethan and my brother, Paul, are in for a fair few bob...as long as they don't drink, smoke or take drugs. Ever. There are so many caveats to this will (and I have read it, so I know) that those girls are not going to be allowed to experience any normal processes of growing-up.

I smoke, I drink and I was first introduced to drugs (pot, only) when I went to University. I have sporadically smoked dope since; continued to smoke cigarettes, and thoroughly enjoy a glass of vin rouge. I also help old ladies with their shopping bags; take lost kiddies home when they are crying outside of Tesco, knowing their mother is in the Ring O'Bells playing darts; take the poorly priest a roast dinner; and help the disabled pharmacy assistant with the rubbish to the bin at the back of the shop. I'm not a bad bugger, deep down.

Things are eating me up inside today. I discovered the so-called reason for my mother's refusal to speak to me yesterday. Although, when I told her of my engagement to Ian, her only words were, Dear God!, and then a slamming down of the phone and total silence from thereon in.

It would appear that she is not speaking to me due to the way I treated her prior to announcing the engagment. Back in early October 2007, they let themselves into my house at 9am on a Sunday morning. I had treated myself to a bottle of red wine on the Saturday night - my first in many, many months and it had gone to my head. I called her out of duty - if I missed a night's call, there was trouble. She went ballistic at the fact I had drunk red wine. She has a massive problem with people drinking as her brother died of alcoholism whilst in the Royal Navy. His body was found in a ditch when he was on active service, three days after he had actually died.

And so, they hauled me out of my bed, screamed abuse at me, calling me 'a dirty fucking bitch', 'filthy', 'scum' and 'worthless'. Saturday night. One bottle of cheap red plonk, what I deemed would be a usually boring telecon...and then the aftermath. I was actually termed bone idle for being in my bed at 9am on Sunday. I wonder if this is why I ended up having so much trouble enjoying a lie-in for so many months?

Consequently, although I had to apologise profusely, I felt very, very angry about the whole set-up. 37 years of age and being treated like a naughty teenager. The fact that they let themselves into the house grated me no end. Yes, I had given them a key, but it was not to be used abusively. And so, I did speak to them with caution, and conservatively. But I was never, ever rude or belligerent. They deemed it their duty to come here every Monday evening to 'mind' the girls before I returned from work. I dreaded every Monday night. I would only have to clack my heels along the pathway and my mother was waiting for me in the kitchen to berate me over one thing or another. One night, I actually teetered on the frame of the door, attempting to get into my home, while she shook her finger at me, criticising me for the food I had left for the girls - home-made chilli and garlic bread. She didn't know how to bake the garlic bread. But there were instructions on the cellophane? She didn't have her glasses with her. But Rosemary can read them out for you?

So, that is where I am today. 

I spoke to a dear friend, N, last night. I have known him since I was 15 and he is married to my good friend whom I have known since I was 16. I adore the pair of them but we aren't great at keeping in touch, unfortunately. I sent him an email with this blog URL and asked him to read it. And he did! It often astonishes me that my friends bother to read it - one, Z, keeps in touch with it regularly to find out how things are going. It's heart-warming to know I have mates like these, and like my commenters who never cease to say such wonderful, kind things.

N emailed me back, having read all the posts last night, from #1 to #19. And he wrote this little message, which made me giggle, made Ian querulous, and may make you think, too!

"Each blog is like you sitting talking in front of me as your strong (if dubious at times!) sense of humour is streaked through each one. (I am thinking now of the young lady who would so easily do unspeakable things with my cantaloupes on the patio in Warrington :)"**

I have to keep telling myself that with friends like N, R, Z and a wonderful husband like Ian, I don't need my mother. And that is it.

**If you really want to know what I did with those cantaloupes, you'll have to email me. And, when I have told you, I'll have to kill you...