Monologue From A Misunderstood Woman

Tuesday 2nd December 2008

Monologue From a Misunderstood Woman.

Now, my life was never perfect. In fact, it was pretty awful. I've had years of hell. It doesn't matter now though, I'll be dead soon. I have a terminal illness and according to my doctor I have less than a month left to live. So, I am writing my life story, I want people to read it when I'm gone, to show how much I have suffered, and to show I have been so misunderstood by everyone.

I have never mentioned my mother before, not to anyone, but when I was seven years old she was a pregnant with triplets. My dad was away fighting in the war. My mum was on her own looking after me. She had fallen out with my parents because they took an instant dislike to my father. They told her to get rid of him, but my mum claimed that she was happy with my father. My grandparents weren't actually interested in me as I was my father's daughter. I didn't quite understand why they hated my dad so much, and never did find out why. I don't think he ever actually did anything to them, they were just one of those couples; that hate a person for no reason. They even turned mum's younger sister against her and told her not to have any contact with us. My mum had no one to turn to when she went into labour. My mum was suffering from what is now known as post natal depression after having the triplets, even though that wasn't known about in them days, she just got more ill, then killed the babies. My own brother and sisters' killed by our own mother. How could she even do that? I hated her for it, I just couldn't forgive her. I found it hard living with her, arguing with her every day, calling her a killer. I didn't mean to cause her stress, or to call her those things; it's just I was so angry and devastated from what I had seen. Then she started hitting me. I was only seven, and I was so scared. When I was nine, Mum was finally arrested after I plucked up the courage to tell a teacher at my school about what I was going through at home, she went to prison for killing the triplets, and abusing me and I was put in to care.

Now, I don't like to talk about my days in care either. They were full of sadness and I was so unhappy. Finally I was fostered by Sandra. At first I hated her and refused to speak to her, but after a while I got used to her, got used to the idea that someone actually finally cared. She was much nicer than the other foster families I had stayed with. I remember moving house to house every six weeks. I just hoped I could stay with Sandra forever. I was devastated when Sandra told me she had cancer and didn't have much longer left to live. I remember bursting into tears. The next day I remember I cried the whole day at school, and remember coming home to Sandra, dressed in a suit with the neighbours from next door Belinda and Jake. Belinda told me that she was going to take me in after Sandra died and I would be looked after by her. I didn't know what to think. I just smiled and pretended I was okay with it, but after I nervously asked Sandra what Belinda and Jake were actually like. Sandra told me they were a young couple, who wanted to have a child, but couldn't conceive naturally, and that they were really nice.

Just three weeks later, Sandra died. I was taken in by Belinda and Jake. They were nothing like what Sandra said they were like. I hated them, but Belinda was worse than Jake. She was a nasty jealous person. I know it sounds horrible to say, but it was a good thing she couldn't have children, because I would of felt sorry for them if they had her as a mother. She was only 23 years old. Not old enough to bring up a 10 year old child. She was always telling me horrible things about Sandra and how she deserved to die. I was not going to let her talk about Sandra like that, she was like a mother to me, and in fact she was better than my real mother.

Living with Belinda and Jake reminded me of being back with my mother, as all I did was argue with them, just like I did with mum. I remember when Belinda told me that my dad had died in the war, that was the last straw I couldn't take it anymore, and realised if my dad was dead I would have to stay with that woman forever, so I ran away.

I was living on the streets for over two months, then one cold, winter and rainy day, a kind old lady offered me a place to stay. She introduced herself to me. Her name was Vera. Vera offered me a cup of soup saying that I could get ill if I stayed out in the cold for too long. Vera had lived a tragic life and told me some stories that I'm not going to bore you with, but they helped me learn a lot, so I decided to go back to London to stay with Belinda. Vera helped me pack my bags and even travelled down to London with me. Vera dropped me off at Belinda's, and there was awkwardness between the two. Belinda was the daughter that Vera left in London when she was a teenager. I was scared when Belinda attacked Vera, and she was knocked out on the ground. Belinda then yelled abuse at Vera, telling the whole neighbourhood that Vera dumped her in London when she was 12, to live on the streets. I was shocked but then realised that's why Vera took me in, because she felt guilty for what she done to Belinda, and didn't want it to happen to me.

Living back with Belinda was strange for a while. Jake had decided to leave her after Belinda's mental state and her drinking because of what happened with Vera. I tried to persuade Jake to come back home so Belinda could be happy, I didn't even like the pair of them. I was just trying to help and I was concerned about her mental health. Belinda just used to drink herself to sleep or cry. I think the worst memory of my life was when I came home from school the next week, and found Vera and Jake both lying dead on the living room floor, with blood coming from their heads. Belinda told me she whacked them with a metal ornament. I remember crying because I was scared and realised that Belinda's mental health was out of control and she started smashing up the house. I tried to calm her down, and pushed her down on the sofa. Belinda wept and said she needed to remove the bodies from her house and pushed them out into the garden. I tried to get her to leave the bodies and phone the police, but Belinda grabbed the phone of me and started punching and kicking me, and I remember thinking she was going to kill me too, because she was mentally ill. I thought she would just leave my body to rot just like Jake and Vera's. Belinda then dragged me up the stairs by my hair to lock me in a bedroom, but I just lashed out and kicked her. Belinda went rolling backwards down the stairs and was dead straight away. I think her neck was broken, but I was never sure. I just knew I had killed her and thought how could I, I was only 10. I knew I had to leave that house and run. I packed my bags and left.

I was living on the streets again and hoped another person like Vera would come and pick me up. My wish eventually came true. A man came and approached me, and I was shocked it was my dad. The man I thought that was dead, or so I was told he was by Belinda. I remember jumping up on him and hugging him. I was so confused. Belinda told me he died. I told him what Belinda said and how I thought he was dead, and how badly she treated me. My dad told me he was going to kill her for treating me like that. I told him I've already killed her. That's when I told him all about Sandra, Jake, Vera and mum killing the triplets. My dad just burst into tears and I hugged him. He told me I was so brave with what I have been through and that he was so proud with me for staying strong. That made me smile, as no one has ever said anything so nice to me like that before. I took him back to Belinda's house, and he was shocked by the state of it. Dad then removed Vera, Jake and Belinda's bodies by burying them in the garden.

I don't remember much about living with my dad before he went away to the war; I just remember mum used to cry all the time about the fact that dad was always out with a woman called Diane. I remember living with him after though, when he came back for me. We were living in Belinda's house. He seemed happy when he first arrived, but he had a mental breakdown soon enough. I think he was disturbed, depressed and angry from the war. On my 11th birthday, my dad smashed up the house and I tried to calm him down. He then just started hitting me. I didn't feel angry. I just felt sorry for him, and myself. It made me think that I was some kind of punch bag and it was acceptable for me to be hit by lots of different people. It made me want to end my own life, and I thought about ending it.

Months went on, and my dad kept apologising everyday for hitting me on my birthday. It just reminded me how weak I had become, thinking about ending my own life. I came home from school one day, and found another woman and child in the house. I screamed at them to leave, but then dad appeared and said he had something to tell me. Dad introduced me to Diane, the woman he was always out with, and her daughter Libby. Dad then told me that he was Libby's dad and he was getting married to Diane. Dad then finally told me he was cheating on mum when they were married. That's when I realised that was why he was always going out with Diane and leaving me and mum at home, with mum all moody and depressed. It made all the sad memories of my crying mum come flying back. I yelled at dad and Diane for treating mum like that, and blamed them for mum being the way she was. Dad said it wasn't fair to blame them for that. I argued back and expressed my anger that they were moving in with us. A couple of weeks living with Diane and Libby, I was convinced that I was no longer wanted by my dad, and Diane wanted me gone, she even told me so herself that she and Libby are dad's family now, and there is no space for me. I decided I was going to run away and this time, never come back.

I was living in a flat with a couple of depressed 18 year old alcoholics named Rosie and Ben. I tried to talk to them about my anger, but they just didn't seem to want to listen to me. They were too interested in their own sad little lives to even care about mine. I remember though, when I was crying a couple of days later, they wanted to hear what was wrong with me. It changed my opinion and made me realise they are not as selfish as I thought. I told them everything. They told me that if they went through what I went through they would kill themselves. I thought about the day I tried to, on my 11th birthday, but I told them that I was strong. Living there for a few more days help me decide to go back home, even though I was dead set against it, and feeling physically sick about the fact that I have to see Diane again, but I couldn't cope in there for much longer. I asked them to come and live with me. Rosie, Ben and me arrived back at Belinda's old house. I had been gone this time for 5 months. Dad welcomed me back, but Diane was not too pleased.

I had been living back with Rosie, Dad, Diane and Libby for a few months. Rosie was my best friend and we did everything together, despite the fact that she was 7 years older than me. Ben had split up with Rosie and moved back to the flat on his own after we were living back at the house for a couple of weeks. It was my 13th birthday and Rosie's 20th. We decided that we should have a double birthday party to celebrate. Diane decided that she had to ruin our birthday party by ripping our dresses because she had bought the exact same one as us to wear for herself. Me and Rosie were fuming. Rosie told her that she was not going to get away with that and told Diane to watch out. I was scared because I knew what Rosie was like when she was angry. She tried to kill Ben when he decided he had enough of her and decided to leave her and moved back to the boarded up flat. I remember telling Rosie to calm down and she promised me she would. I went off to the supermarket to get some snacks for the party. When I was gone, Rosie gassed the house and it blew up. I remember arriving back and it was totally on fire. I was scared so I ran away again back to the flat. I was living with Ben. He looked after me and told me I could speak to him if I ever need someone to speak to. My dad, Diane and Rosie were dead. I remember Ben helped me organise Dad and Rosie's funeral. I wasn't bothered about Diane and told Ben that her body could be burnt for all I care. The funeral for Dad and Rosie was so emotional. Ben looked after me and made sure I was alright.

I then asked for some time on my own, and visited Libby in hospital. The hospital told me that they wanted me to look after her. I thought about it, I hated her mum, but I was her sister so I decided to keep her and let her live with me. She actually enjoyed living in the flat.

When I was 15, I decided I was fed up living in the flat, and Libby deserved better. I realised I had to talk to the police. Ben told me he would help me, but I told him I didn't need him. Ben agreed he would look after Libby for me though. When I told the police everything that happened for the past 8 years, they told me I need to be sectioned in a mental institution and have counselling. When I arrived at the mental home, I got the shock of my life when my mother appeared. She told me that I was a murderer and pushed me on the floor and started strangling me. It was her that needed the mental institution, not me. To get my mum of me, I picked up a vase and whacked it round her head. She was dead. I was sentenced another 10 years in prison.

I had been in prison for 15 years, getting into fights and all sorts, but that made me a stronger person. I was eventually released from prison. I was 30 years old. I got a job working at the local bar, and was shocked when I discovered that Ben, who I lived in the flat with, and my sister Libby, who was now 23, went into business together and ran it. I was happy for them and the fact that he totally turned his life around, and my sister got the life she deserved. Ben and I started dating, and quickly got engaged after 6 weeks and got married within a month of the engagement. Libby was my bridesmaid, and it was a quiet wedding. I didn't really have any friends as I spent most of my life in either a boarded up flat, mental asylum, or prison. Just a month after the wedding, I fell pregnant. Ben told me he didn't want the baby, he wasn't ready, but I did and was ready, so I quit my job and left him. I moved away with the little money I had from the job and moved into a flat in Wimbledon with a man called Arnold. I didn't like Arnold as he was strange, but he was the only person looking for a flatmate with the price I could afford. I was angry at Arnold's parrots, constantly making horrible noises. I begged him to remove them from the living room, but he told me they were part of the furniture. I decided to put poison in the parrot's food. I felt bad after they died, but Arnold had no idea what I had done. He just told me I got what I wanted. I argued I never wanted the parrots dead; I wanted him to move them to another room. He then told me that if I couldn't put up with a parrot there is no way I'll be able to cope with a baby. That was a good point I thought and made me really scared. I thought he was right. I decided I had to get on with Arnold if I was going to live there and raise the baby with his help I needed to put aside the silly arguments about parrots.

6 months later I gave birth to my son Jordan. After a while, I was beginning to struggle with being a single mum, and Arnold was getting on my nerves. He thought it would be funny to buy some more parrots just before my baby was born, to prepare me. I told him to get rid of the parrots because Jordan hates them. I decided to move back to London, because Arnold was too much to handle and I just physically hated him. I moved in to a Bed & Breakfast, and decided to go and visit Ben and introduce him to his son. Ben said he was sorry, and ready to be a father now. I was over the moon and he let me move back in with him, and decided we should give our marriage a second chance.

On Jordan's 1st birthday, I organised a birthday party for him and saw my aunt who was my mum's sister there. I don't know why she was, my grandparents turned her against me and my mum because she hated my Dad. We argued about my mum and she accused me of killing her. I begged her not to ruin my son's birthday party and I got Ben to remove her from the house. When Ben pushed her out, she whacked a bottle of vodka round his head and Ben was dead. I was scared and ran after her. She then hit me with the bottle and knocked me out cold. I was in hospital fighting for my life. The nurses were worried because I had a piece of glass stuck in my head. A couple of weeks later, I was devastated when my doctor told me I had brain damage because of the glass being wedged in, and need a 24 hour carer to live with me. When I went home, I had to say goodbye to Jordan. Social services told me I need to put him in care as I wasn't able to look after him with an injury to the head and brain damage. I was devastated that I may never see my own son again.

I was living on my own for a couple of years, with carers coming and going. I had to get out the house. I couldn't go anywhere on my own, I could walk, but I was advised to be put in a wheelchair whilst going out just in case I lost my balance at any time. I was depressed. I begged my carer to take me out for lunch, which she did and I was over the moon. She wheeled me into a pub in my wheelchair, it was a Sunday. Families were there having Sunday lunches. Normal, happy families. I felt stupid; I was only 34 years old but felt like an old pensioner. I began to cry and I was comforted by a drunken man called Neville. Neville told me his wife had just kicked him out the house, so I invited him back to my house, despite my carer telling me not to. I was fuming so I threw her out of the house and said I was safe with Neville. Within 3 months, I was pregnant. Me and Neville were going to have a baby. My carers told me I should terminate the pregnancy. NO. I just remember screaming no. Neville wanted the baby, and so did I. I remembered giving up Jordan was hard, so I was not going to put myself through that pain again. Me and Neville decided to get married for when the baby is born.

A couple of months later, my baby was born early. I was devastated because my baby died in my arms. I could not cope living with Neville after the baby, and decided for the best we would get a divorce. I was living on my own once more with my carers coming to see me from day to day. They tried to support me, but I just begged them to let me die in piece. I tried to commit suicide on Christmas day after my baby's death, and I woke up in hospital. It had failed. I was put in a home, with mentally disturbed people and was put on 24 hour suicide watch.

That was my life for the next 15 years. I was depressed and put on medication. The pills were just something I got used to after 15 years. My life changed though very much one day. A man knocked on my door, and explained to me who he was, and burst into tears. My son Jordan, who was now 17 turned up to the care home. He was crying. I told him to come in, but he just looked at me with hatred and started to attack me. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't and told me he won't stop until I was dead. I couldn't believe it. My own son wanted me dead. I pressed my panic button and the staff and security ran in and dragged him away. Jordan is now in prison, and I was taken to hospital to be checked over. That was when I discovered that I have cancer.

I hated Jordan, but I have learnt to deal with the fact that it was my fault. I have been going back and forward to hospital appointments and cancer treatment. I was devastated when they told me that my illness was terminal, and I may not have much longer left to live. I remember bursting into tears, and it made me think of Sandra and what she went through was now happening to me. I quietly left the hospital and asked my carer to take me to Sandra's grave. I felt bad, as I haven't been to the grave in years. I felt mad when I started talking to the grave about cancer treatment. I felt that she was talking back to me, and I could hear her voice giving me advice. I then told my carer that I wanted to die right now and was ready. I begged her to end my life, so I can be relieved of the pain, but she refused saying that euthanasia is against the law and she could get into serious trouble. I shouted at her and said she shouldn't call herself a carer because if she cared about me, she would have ended my life. I was angry and got out my wheelchair and walked away. I fell over and she had to call the hospital, where I was taken back to some ward and they said I may have to stay a couple of days. It wasn't days though; I was in hospital for 7 weeks. Eventually after a couple of months they let me back home and told me I have less than a month left so I could die peacefully, in the care of my carer, at home if I wanted to, which I wanted to. Once I got home I'm decided to write my life story to show people what a troubled life I have had, and if anyone is going through the same things as me, they can get through it just like I have.

Now, I have written this, it has been 3 weeks since the doctors told me that I have less than a month to live, so I guess I only have a couple more days. Anyway, I am writing to say goodbye.

Note from carer – Just 2 days after finished writing this, Mrs Smith, sadly passed away aged 56.

By Tom Daniells 9