Everyone has a story, but how far are you willing to speak?

I had an interesting conversation about my blog. The comments were made out of concern. My blogs are too personal and could be interpreted as a cry for help. This is very true, but in cyber land you are not looking at facial reactions to events that took place. So you are not able to distinguish the if and what’s of the text that is written. With a novel you have a build up to the event. Where has I am typing random thoughts that can leave questions. The fact people find my comments are too personal does not faze me. It is intended to be that way.

It was mentioned does my husband read my blog? I don’t know and if he did he would not say.

Now to me a cry for help is something that needs to be addressed. I am not crying for help, but I am looking into my situation and discussing warts and all openly on a blog. My breast cancer is just another glitch in my life. Which to me has its own path that I must walk. It has come along in a period of my life where there were already issues and left me angry. That anger can not subsided due to other issues that constantly crop-up every now and then. Some of which I have not discussed on the blog.

Now I could be seen as a crazy women who is attention seeking. Well hell yeah! This is a open blog for others to read freely and analyze. So I give you a fragment of a past journey I took.

At the tender age of nineteen I had my first child. Now my parents were racist and did not agree to me having my eldest daughter. This was later excepted and all was forgiven, but not forgotten.

The pressure I was put under would of made anyone crack and was noted later. I had been encouraged to move back home after the birth of my daughter. My family had told me if I did not I would lose my child. I had an emergency C/section and Pre-eclampsia to contend with and I was scared. Unbeknown to me this was utter rubbish. Things were being put in place to protect me and my daughter, but I was confused.

For the first two months of my daughters life I had to keep her quiet. My father had not agreed for me to return home. I have a picture showing the day he actually looked at my daughter and I thought excepted her as part of the family. 

When my daughter was sixteen months old she had her first febrile fit. At the time I had gone out with friends to relax. My eldest daughters father had vanished shortly after her birth and life had to go on. So this was my first night away from my daughter with friends. I was twenty one and I was encourage by friends and my parents to go. On my return home the following day I was greeted with. It should be you in that hospital not her!

I looked around I asked where is Kayleigh?

She had been rushed into hospital and no-one had come to Scarborough to inform me. My heart was totally in pieces and my father had refused to take me to the hospital. Which later he said he had not said. I ran away from the house to try and get to the hospital she was in. I had no money or means of transport. I was in the middle of a village miles from nowhere. So I took off in the middle of the night in the pouring rain. We lived eight miles away from Bridlington and it took me two hours to get to the hospital. The hospital staff told me she was not there and they phoned Hull hospital. That hospital was thirty six miles away so I took off into the night and started to walk there. Thirty minutes into my journey a car pulls up and they could see the distress I was in. I had tears running down my face and I was soaking wet. I told them what had happened and they said they would help. I am not one for climbing in cars, but I trusted them. They took me as far as a roundabout that was just outside of Hull. They gave me some money to catch the late bus to Hull hospital. As I approached the hospital I prepared myself for the lies they had told staff. They were trying to get my daughter put into care. This I later found out through a health visitor. Now the story they had told staff had made me out to be a party animal. I did not buy nappies for my child or food. I slept most the day away and neglected her needs. This was utter rubbish of course and my friends  Sandra, Maria etc stood fast. We did not drink alcohol none of us. We all had responsibilities to our children and partners.

As I walked onto the ward I was treated like a criminal. I was not allowed to be alone with my baby. My eldest sister was in the room with my daughter. My parents left to have a coffee nothing was said.

Well pick her up! Aren’t you going to cuddle your baby? Asked my eldest sister. I looked away I was soaking wet and freezing cold. What person picks up their child knowing it will cause them to cry. I look at her wishing I could whisk her away from this madness. My eldest sister walks over and kicks my shin. Come on pick her up? You don’t love her! You’re a selfish bitch! What mother goes out when her child is ill?

I turn away because I know she wants a argument so I can be removed from the hospital. Again she kicks me in my shin to get a response. I shout leave me alone! The nursing staff had already been told to keep a close watch on the room. As I yelped out my parents were returning along with staff. They requested I be removed from the hospital or security/social services be called. My heart sank I was unable to be with my baby. I was told to go home and freshen up. There was nothing I could do to change anyone’s opinion.

When I got to the house I had to sleep in the same bedroom as my younger sister. In the corner of the room was a empty cot. My faith/trust in my family had finally been broken to bits.

Three months later my daughter had a repeat febrile fit. This time I was there to see it and I could do nothing to stop it. When we arrived at the same hospital the staff remembered my daughter. Again I was treated like a criminal the damage had been done.  

When I returned home with Kayleigh. I had been doing a lot of thinking about my situation. Friends said they would help me return to Scarborough, but I knew my family would stand in my way if I removed Kayleigh from their care. So I arranged a meeting with my health visitor. We met away from the house and prying eyes. I explained my situation and she understood after all they had been observing and noting behaviour. I said I was leaving Kayleigh under my parents care and returning once I had a place to live. She said that they will keep a close watch on Kayleigh. The decision I made was the hardest in my life. After all I was playing into their hands.

My home was a attic room which I shared with my friends children. Any financial help was dropped because I had left my child benefit book with my mother to help support Kayleigh. So my mother had been made Kayleigh’s guardian. I was taking care of Sandra’s children whilst she worked and saving up what little money I could. It got so hard not having Kayleigh that Sandra grabbed me by my arms and said go get her! Which I did and my mother was angry. At first Kayleigh was confused because she had not seen me in six weeks, but thirty minutes and she realised I was mummy.

I had tried all sorts to find a flat, but every door I knocked on was met with a no. Single parent with a mixed race child and on DSS. No-one wanted to help me at all. So has a final stop I went to the council office. They said I had moved from the area for over a year and now I was East ridings responsibility. All my friends were in Scarborough and I was Scarborough born, but I was met with the same response. Another friend had told me how someone had threatened to take an overdose and they got a flat. So like a fool I took a bottle of Anadin into the office and swallowed them one by one. The staff just stood there and laughed at me and repeated we cannot help you. I went to my doctors surgery and told the health visitor what I had done. She grabbed my hand and said you silly girl.

Now I was not taking an overdose I was trying to hold the office to ransom. I was rushed to hospital and I had my stomach pumped. My mother blamed my friends and my friends blamed her.

In the end I ended up in Bridlington with my daughter on a October month homeless. I had not told my family where I was going. I spent two nights on the streets with my daughter and a day in a hostel before the council put me in a B & B.

Now I was crying load for help then and I was not heard. The truth is plain only you can help you. Now writing a blog is an open way of discussing and people can reply.  Now when I took my overdose of sorts I saw a therapist of sorts. I say this because before he took that roll on he had managed my pregnancy. He had met my family and spoke to them. He understood why I had done what I had done. He said the usual things a therapist would say and then said, Sarah you are your own worst enemy you do not talk. If I had said right at the beginning and not locked myself into a fear frenzy. Me and my daughter would of had the help when she was born, but until you can show trust in someone’s judgement or help you are left alone.

Now my friend said today I was just waiting for you to say something. Yes I am depressed, but no amount of people I speak to can resolve that depression. I must face up and realise for me to get out the slump I need to address my personal issues. It does not mean I am looking at a bottle of pills and that’s why at the end of my post I say, ‘My answer is not a bottle of pills’. My frustrations started long before the cancer as you can see in that very post. I am a distant, but loving parent who wants the chocolates, roses and attention every woman graves. And yes a good hug would not go a miss...

I just hope my friend can read between the lines and smile. Everyone has a story to tell it is just how far your willing to drop the cloth within your personal life.