If you follow me on twitter, first of all, I am so very sorry. Secondly, you might know I'm on holiday at the moment. Thirdly, you may have seen I had a bit of a meltdown on Saturday...
It's a long story. A long, painful story, that I try not to think about, because it reminds me of a deeply unhappy time in my life. But Saturday kind of slapped me to get my attention, vomited it into my face, and then skipped off laughing. So I'm writing the fuck out of it now, because it tore me apart.
The Girl. My daughter. My beautiful, wonderful, amazing daughter. I saw her. She was out with my mum, my brother, his partner. And she was holding hands. With her. Mortal Enemy Number One. The woman who destroyed me. The woman who dismissed my suicide attempt as my 'little stunt'. The woman who told Alistair, as I lay dying, that I was attention seeking. Her. That woman.
The woman who never acknowledged I was pregnant with The Girl. The woman who didn't meet The Girl until nine days after she was born, despite coming to my house twice a day. The woman who, on the day I was diagnosed with severe post natal depression, told Alistair that I was pathetic, and he couldn't go home an hour early to support me. The woman who caused the mother of all arguments between her, Alistair, and my brother the same afternoon. The woman who refused to come to my disciplinary when The Girl was twelve days old because that woman was too upset.
The woman who initiated the disciplinary process, because I 'should' have been back at work full time with a week old The Girl. The woman who said that other mothers do it all the time. The woman whose first question to Alistair when he told her The Girl was born, healthy, and beautiful was to say I had to be in the office, twelve hours after giving birth. The woman who rolled her eyes when I winced that afternoon.
The woman who tsked when other people suggested that a newborn, a three year old, a full time job, and severe PND might be too much. The woman who told people I was crap at my job, who flagged up every mistake I made, who started my every working day with a mountain of passive aggressive notes, who undermined me at every opportunity. The woman who had no understanding of my job, no idea of what I had to do, the plates I had to spin, the significance of certain meetings, people, phone calls.
She destroyed me. She systematically worked her way through everyone close to me. Those she could, she befriended, and turned them against me. Those who could see her for what she was had their work doubled, their lives made just that little bit harder, treated poorly, until they resigned, or were sacked. She made sure I wasn't just overworked, isolated, doubting myself. She made me worthless.
That woman didn't want The Girl to be born. That woman didn't just resent The Girl's birth, she hated it. Because she hated me. I'll never know why. It's painful. Fuck, it hurts, to be hated, really hated. To know someone doesn't want to just avoid you, but to bestow an empty, joyless, and bleak life on you. Thanks to her and PND I got to the point where death seemed my only option. The woman who made me know, with absolute certainty, that feeling like this was entirely my fault, and the only thing I could do about this life was to remove myself from it. The woman who warped my feelings about myself as a parent so much that I knew it was better that The Girl would grow up with no memories of me, her mother. The woman who did this.
Do you still wonder why seeing The Girl holding hands with the woman made me cry?