Losing my Dad

A life changing event if ever there was one and it definetly changed my life. In most respects for the better but at the time it felt like I had a wound and it would never heal.  I miss my Dad every day of my life, dream of him nearly every night and feel that he offers me guidance.  Especially since I have stopped drinking on what would be his birthday. 

In 2002 my gorgeous son Josh was born in the May and at Christmas 2002 we all went as a family to stay with Mum and Dad.  It was a lovely Christmas and Mum and Dad revelled in the fact that there was a baby to play with; however we all noticed that Dad seemed very tired and had a really bad cough.  Watching the video and looking at the photos now it was obvious that there was something wrong but I think we all kind of ignored it at the time.  

By February, Dad was admitted to hospital for tests.  And that was it, he never came out and passed away on May 9th.  

He wrote me frequent letters and we talked about Michael Jackson and whether or not, in Dad's words, he was "mad" or "bad" and we both came to the conclusion that he was mad as a box of frogs.  Dad was very upbeat and just wanted to get home.  Obviously that never happened. 

Once he was diagnosed with pancreas cancer, that was it. He was moved to the Hospice in South Shields.  My poor Mum was worn out because she was up and down there twice a day and not driving, it took a toll on her.  I came up as often as I could but it was only every month or so.  Even so, I would notice a change in Dad every time I came and found it very upsetting to see him go from such a strong, creative, beautiful man, to what was left of a shell.

Dad, in his younger days, was terribly handsome, was interested in politics and a speaker; sang in the Felling Male Voice Choir, composed on his organ in the front room, wrote beautiful poetry, which I still have and was in general, a very clever man.  He was also one of the most generous men I have ever met.  I remember him getting up at 2am in the morning to pick me up from whichever night club I was about to stumble out from, never moaning.  I treated him terribly in my teenager years though; I often wish, as I am sure other people do, that I could take all those moments back; one in particular, when all Dad used to do was bring me a cup of tea in the mornings and all I could do was grunt and shout expletives at him...

And so, it got to Sunday, May 4th and I was at a christening when I got a phone call saying I should come as Dad didn't look like he would make the week.  I got absolutely plastered, dangerously so as I was looking after my little Josh and went home, passing out on the bed.  I was in such a state that my good friends came to find me and make sure I was okay.  

That next day I drove up to Mum's and for the next few days, helped with Dad, seeing his decline even more.  By this time he couldn't even speak; in fact the last time he spoke to me was on my birthday, on May 2nd when I told him I had bought him a mug and he said "not another one".... I never got to hear his voice again, except in my dreams. 

I remember the day he died like it was yesterday.  Mum and I went in in the afternoon and Mum brushed his teeth which were all black (every time I brush my teeth I think of him).  I brought in some headphones and a cassette player because somebody said the hearing is the last sense to go; Felling Male Voice choir were singing and when I put them on him it was like somebody had lit a switch as I could see the pleasure in his eyes, just from the beautiful music.  That was a moment to treasure.  Dad loved tigers and had one on his bed that he was holding and another little one on the sideboard.  Strange as it may seem, I felt that the little tiger was looking at me that hold time before we left.

The vicar came in to see him and I knew by his face when he came out that Dad wouldn't be lasting too much longer.  On his chart, the nurse had written "very rested"... whereas usually she had put "rested". I now wonder if that was another word for "on his way out".... 

We went home to get something to eat and just in the middle of Eastenders the phone rang.  I answered it and the nurse said "you need to come now".... For some reason, I couldn't find my car keys and Mum was hysterical so our next door neighbour suggested some friends pick us up.  Maybe if I had gone straight away we might have just got there before Dad died but at the time we didn't know that it was all so imminent; we were just in a panic. 

We got in our friends car and on the way, I saw a rainbow in the sky.  I remember saying to Mum, "Dad's put that there for us"... not knowing he had already passed away.  As we approached the doors of the hospice, the nurse came out and shook her head and Mum collapsed.  All our friends and family went to her and held her up.

In that split second of loneliess at being left behind, as an only child, I vowed to make sure that we had more than one child who could comfort the other one if anything happened to us.  Yes, it was a selfish thought but it was right there and I couldn't take it back.  Of course poor Mum needed the support.

We went in and there Dad was holding his tiger and what looked like fast asleep.  Mum talked to him, combed his hair and then, with her friends, started to clear out his wardrobe.  I found that really strange and hated the fact that they were just getting rid of him and he had only just died.  The nurse opened the window and I sat with Dad, feeling very self-conscious so I didn't say anything to him and just went out of the room.

I don't remember a lot after that, apart from going home and the Vicar coming with us and asking if anyone would like to come back and see him as he had been laid out in the chapel.  I wanted to do this on my own so I went with the Vicar.  I got to have some time on my own with Dad; I didn't go too close as it did scare me a little but I did say the Lords Prayer and remember saying to Dad "I am going to tie my hair back because you always liked it up".  I sobbed and then went home.

That night, I had a very vivid dream of my Dad dressed all in white and my Grandma next to him, telling me that Dad was with her and everything was going to be okay. 

A very comforting dream indeed.

Meeting Real Mum

So if you remember.  I was named after my biological Mother who was called Mary, as was I.  I fantasised from an early age that she was actually Debbie Harry from Blondie because I sounded like her when I sang.  Where that came from I have no idea but it was nice to dream.  Sadly, it wasn't too be though.

I had found my biological Dad back when I was 18 and I was so mixed up in those days that everything just fell apart and I no longer saw him after that year.  However, I was still determined to try and find Mary and in 1994 I decided to try again, going back to the Electoral Rolls.  I eventually got a lead from someone who had worked at Carlisle Castle with Mary and they gave me her address which was in London. 

I wrote her a letter and I eventually got a letter back.  Apparently she was absolutely ecstatic that I was looking for her and couldn't wait to meet me.  She lived in London with her Polish husband and her son Paul was now 30 and living in Florida, America.  Everything sounded dreamy and I was rushed with excitement. 

Mary invited me to her house in London the week after and I booked a bus to travel down on.

Something that has stayed with me all my life is a memory that I am not proud of.  I was sitting at the back of the bus and Mum and Dad were waving me off.  They were so happy that I was going on this journey as they knew it would help me become who I needed to be.  However, when I looked back as the bus was driving off, Mum was sobbing in Dad's arms and for a second, I thought, "what am I doing, I already have my parents".. But it was too late... and off I went on my journey.

I kept applying and reapplying my make up; I must have looked like a transvestite by the time I got to the bus station.  I had seen Mary's picture and knew she had dyed blonde hair and looked like an older version of me so it wasn't hard to spot her.  We bonded immediately and the fact that she spoke in this very funny Cumbrian accent was even more endearing.  As we went home to London, we chatted about family, exchanged family photographs, drank champagne and had home cooked food.  When it came to an end, we promised to meet up again very soon.  

And that was that; a very normal and lovely encounter with Mary.  However, on the inside, Mary's husband Andrew didn't want her to have anything to do with me and 6 weeks later, the night before I was due to get married, I got a phone call from Mary saying that she couldn't see me anymore as Andrew didn't like it.  I was absolutely distraught and felt rejected all over again.  

I had an article published about the story and put in it that I would only ever hear from Mary if Andrew passed away.  With a sixth sense, it seemed I was right as in 1998 the phone rang.  Mum spoke to Mary who said that Andrew had passed away and she would love to see me again.... I was quite reticent of having any relationship with her at this point but something was pulling me to her and we all agreed to go and visit.

Mum and Dad were my rock at this point and Mary had moved back to her native Carlisle.  When we got there to see her, she looked a shadow of her former self; no more the dyed blonde hair, but a grey concotion of unbrushed strands and a very slight frame; obviously the death of Andrew had taken it's toll.  

Our relationship blossomed and I used to go to Carlisle for weekends and we became like sisters; going out clubbing and drinking together; we also picked up men and finally I could see where I got my wild streak from.  Mary used to say that the reason why I attrracted the men was because we had these strange pheromones that not many people had.  A load of rubbish in the end but I thought that was the truth!

It was at this point that I began to realise that Mary was an alcoholic.  I was always drinking at her house but she seemed to start a lot earlier than me and always had a full wine glass.  It took a while to realise but eventually I worked it out.  It was only when I took a boyfriend with me who was also an alcoholic, that they two of them started making out and this was the beginning of the end.  

Eventually I met my future husband and spoke to Mary to tell her that I was moving away.  She took it very badly and said she didn't want to see me again.  Yet again, that rejection but this time, I had matured and felt like it was sad, but that was obviously the way that she dealt with things.  

Years later and happily married with three children, I always send Mary a birthday card and a Christmas card with pictures of the family.  I did write to her and speak to her a few times, asking for help with our family tree.  However, she did say that she never wanted to meet the children or me in the future.  

I still cannot understand, as a Mother/Grandmother how you could do that?

Pop Star Days

Ever since I fell in love with Donny Osmond, I was smitten with the pop world.  I fell in love with all of them, from David Soul to Simon Le Bon.  I loved pop music, just like any other young girl and wanted to be in a pop band when I got older.  Good job I learnt to play the piano I suppose...

When I was 18 my Dad bought me a synthesiser and I started to do some gigs, even though I was in the throws of my bulimia and alcoholism; I still managed to practice and linked up with a little band who did Grateful Dead covers. I had never heard of them of course but embraced it just the same, adding it to my musical repertoire.  

Also at this time, I won tickets to a programme called the Roxy which was based in the TV studios where The Tube was made in Newcastle upon Tyne.  I befriended a girl called Julie and after that, I was at the TV studios every week in the audience.  I got to meet Rick Astley, Sisters of Mercy, T'Pau, The Communards and Johnny Hates Jazz and was very starstruck!!!

I didn't get back into music though, until I was in my 20's as the bulimia really got to grips with me and I was in the process of systematically destroying myself in whatever way I could with alcohol and partying, men and general debauchery. 

In 1988 I started work in a Music Shop in the middle of Sunderland, in the North-East and had to flog pianos.  I wasn't very good at the sales side of it but boy, did it give me chance to try out all my musical skills and I was in my element.  It wasn't long before I was introduced to a guy called Rick and fell in love all over again.

Rick came in that day, sat on a stool and just started to play his guitar.  It was the most beautiful music I had ever heard and I found out later it was Led Zeppelin, who at the time, I had never heard of.  I instantly fell in love and asked to form a band with him and his mates.  Two days later, we all met in a pub, they all came back to mine (Mum and Dad were on holiday again) and we trashed the house and I got to seduce Rick in the spare room.  Result....

We spent many nights in the back of the Music Shop (I had the keys) making love and as much as it was a happy time, it was also a very sad time, as Rick liked to talk and analyse me (he later in life became a Social Worker) which made me feel very uncomfortable even though I wanted to be with him.  Again, my alcoholism was at an all time high and I was using it to cope.  

Rick was married and his wife was due to have a baby any time soon.  After the band dissintegrated (ironically enough the drummer had to go into rehab due to alcoholism), one night Rick invited me back to his house.  It turned out that his wife was in labour that night, although I wasn't aware of it at the time and we made love all night.  He seemed very on edge, I remember, not surprising seeing as he was about to become a Dad.  

After that night, our "affair" fizzled out, after he realised I was a loose canon and slowly started to drift away from me.  A few weeks later I was introduced to a guy called Cat, a really cool and lovely guy who I am still in touch with now and after a very brief romance and lots of musicianship and gigs, he introduced me to Sid at a party and we became a couple for two years.  

Now Sid was someone that I totally put on a pedestal.  He was such a talented man; a fantastic drummer, backing singer and he was in a really successful band in the North-East.  I would go everywhere with them; London to the Jazz Cafe and every single gig that they did - I was like the number one groupie.  I remember the time that Sid met my parents and sang and played "My Funny Valentine" on the piano to me... I was in heaven...

However, Sid did have his downsides; he was broke and sponged off me so much that I even bought him the clothes he was wearing every day; I gave him money for buses and food and in general began to feel that I was his meal ticket.  

I eventually moved out of Mum and Dad's and into a 4 bedroom house which was home to 2 other band members and their brother.  At first I was really happy and loved playing my keyboard at home and hearing the other guys jamming and everything was great.  I enjoyed being Mum and looking after them all for a little while.  I joined a band of my own, The Steve Lee Band and did a couple of gigs; again, though I felt very under pressure and pressure made me drink and binge so that didn't last very long.

Sid was away an awful lot and my roving eye started to get going when I was left in the house with one of the bandmates brother.  We started talking and spending evenings together drinking and eventually the inevitable happened and we slept together.  I realised I had made a mistake and tried to tell him so but he had fallen in love with me and demanded for me to tell Sid it was over.  Obviously I didn't want to do that and for a few days, I pretended nothing had happened.  

It was only when Sid opened my bedroom door to find all my belongings outside of it, that he realised something wasn't quite right.  So I told him that I had been unfaithful to him and his world collapsed.  I hadn't realised just how much he loved me and from that night on, my world collapsed too as realisation crept in.  

Sid finished with me and I continued to live in the house, going out with the brother.  It lasted a few weeks and by then I had started a new job at the DSS and my musical career was about to finish for another few years.  It was at this point that I met the man who I had a miscarriage and abortion with and who I was with for a few years.  

Musically, I continued to grow in my knowledge; after discovering lots of Led Zeppelin and Queen thanks to Rick, I also discovered Living Colour and Sting thanks to Cat and the other band members.  

Sadly I sold my two synthesizers that my Dad had paid for, to buy food and alcohol.. A hiding to nothing.

Abortions, Miscarriages and anything else in between

It's at this point tht I thought I would just put all of this into one as it does span over a period of 10 years but it's better to get it all under one heading.  

I have 3 gorgeous children and I am very lucky to have them all - love them all with every bone in my body.  However, before I was settled in marriage and children, I did have two abortions and two miscarriages. 

I am truly surprised, that throughout all my sexual activity, that I was not pregnant more and didn't ever get any diseases of any kind.  Luckily, I escaped all of that.

My first miscarriage was on New Years Eve in 1990 when I was with my then boyfriend.  I was madly in love (as usual) and didn't realise obviously that I was pregnant.  It was only when I started getting stomach cramps and went back home from the pub and then went to the toilet to find something "falling out" that I realised this must be a miscarriage.  My Mum called the Doctor and he confirmed that I had miscarried.  It was a very strange time and after some bed rest that night, nobody ever spoke of it again.

A year later, I became pregnant by the same boyfriend.  This time, I was 14 weeks pregnant and constantly throwing up, with something that I now know was hyperemesis gravidarum (I suffered with all three pregnancies with the same condition).  Mum, Dad and said boyfriend had already decided I was to have an abortion - didn't really matter what I thought I remember thinking.... I was packed off to a private clinic, throwing up all the way in the car and said boyfriend picking fights with me all the way; it was a nightmare time. 

I remember lying on a bed in a room full of 3 other girls and one by one they were wheeled off on a trolley and would come back unconscious.  I remember holding onto my belly, wondering what on earth I was doing but realising it was out of my hands.  The next thing, I was in the theatre, counting down from 10 to what was meant to be 1 and before I knew it I was coming round on the trolley in the room with the other girls.  The first thing I did was be sick all over and I honestly thought I must be dying, now that there was no baby in there anymore... However, within half an hour I was fine and was well enough to go home.  

On getting home and going to bed with a very sore belly, Mum presented me with a ring box and inside the ring box was a plastic baby.  This was Mum's way of letting me know what had happened and her way of dealing with it.  It certainly wasn't mine but I accepted the gift all the same. 

Soon after said boyfriend finished with me after I pretended to be dead in the back of an ambulance due to the amount of alcohol I had consumed.  He was a very clever man who knew all along I had a problem with alcohol and wrote me copious amounts of letters which I still have, telling me the fact that I needed help.  Something I obviously ignored!!!

Fast forward 10 years later to 2000 and I was with another man, a married one this time, who had left his wife for me.  I ended up getting pregnant and this time really wanted to keep the baby.  I was working at a data production company at the time and living back at Mum and Dad's after some bad times (more to follow).  I remember booking a midwife appointment so I really must have wanted to keep the baby. 

However, and unfortunately I cannot remember a lot about this time, I was talked around into not keeping the baby, saying it would ruin my life and the man was not suitable for me and I had a lot more to give and a future if I would have an abortion.  Again I agreed and was packed off to hospital.  Sadly, I cannot remember any of this, no matter how I try - I presume, because I have blocked it out.  I was put in a flat whilst I was waiting for the abortion and after I got rid of the baby, became involved in another tenant in the flat.  A hiding to nothing of course.

The last time I had a miscarriage was in completely different circumstances.  I was married, had two gorgeous children and we were trying for a third.  I was very early on and the pregnancy showed up - two days later it wasn't there.... and straight after that month, I caught with my third child. 

I consider myself to be a very lucky lady to have such beautiful and healthy children.

Meeting Dad

Another very strange thing happened at the lovely age of 18.  When I was in the throes of Bulimia and still working as a Shorthand Typist in the middle of Newcastle.  I was following a strict diet of peanut butter and cucumber sandwiches from a daft diet book that I had found which sadly, was slowly making me fatter.

I remember my 18th birthday like it was yesterday; having no friends of mine own, I went out with the people from work to a nightclub in the middle of Newcastle City Centre and I got so drunk, someone had to write my name and address on my hand so that the taxi driver could take me home.  I remember waking up the next morning (I was living at home but Mum and Dad were away) naked, hungover and wondering how on earth I got home until I looked at my hand which gave me a big clue.... and then off to work I trundled, after 5 hours sleep and my head in my hands as my colleagues filled me in on what had happened.

I got to meet my Biological Dad after I found some papers in my Mum and Dad's wardrobe with my real birth certificate and all details about my birth written down.  I found out that I wasn't even called Barbara but my real name was Mary (after my Mother) and I even had a different surname that I didn't realise.  For a long time, I completely lost my identity and who I was and this made me even more mixed up.  So now we had a mix of Bulimia, Alcoholism and lost identity to contend with...

My Mum and Dad were amazing and realised it was time that I tried to find my birth parents (they had always told me I was adopted) and off we went to Carlisle to look through the Electoral Rolls.  I really wanted to find my Mum but more than that, wanted to find out if I had brothers or sisters. I didn't manage to find my Mum but I did get a lead to a corner shop in Carlisle that might have been my Granddads so we promptly went round to have a look.  The shop had changed hands but someone who lived next door told me that their son lived round the corner and gave me his address.  I was so close to finding my biological Dad that I started to shake but I managed to keep it together as Mum and Dad waited in the car round the corner and I went to knock on the door.

A boy answered the door and I asked if John was there (my Biological Dad's name) at which point the boy went to get his Dad.  It was so strange but even though I had never seen this dark haired stranger before, I felt an immediate connection although I couldn't explain it.  He asked who I was and I told him and he started to cry, saying John was his brother and he knew all about me and couldn't believe I was here.  He invited me in and went to ring John on the telephone.... it was all very surreal and I spoke to my Biological Dad and he asked to meet me in Newcastle the next day and gave me the number plate of his car.  The strangest thing was that he kept calling me "Mary" but I was flattered at the time and felt that I had suddenly become that person, whoever she was.

The next day, and after very little sleep, I stood and looked out of the window in the building that I worked and overlooked the car park.  All of a sudden I recognised the number plate and John had drove past.  I started to cry and realised it was about to become a reality; finally meeting someone who was related to me.  I very shakily walked out of the building and went round what was called the "Monument".... My plan was to walk round and have a look to see if I knew who John was... Before I even started my walk around, I saw a man on the corner, next to the Travel Agents and I just knew it was him.  Still, I made myself walk right the way round, just in case but I knew anyway.... then I went up to him and told him who I was... he held me and cried and we went back to his car.

At that point, I really did feel like I was having an affair and with my distortion of men in general, it was all very difficult for me.  He hugged me for what seemed like ages in the car and said I looked like my Mother. Then he proceeded to show me pictures of his family; of his wife, his three children which made me very happy to know I had brothers and sisters (being an only child) and his family history.  We then arranged to meet the week after a Durham Cathedral.  I went home on cloud nine and finally felt like I belonged somewhere..

That next week, John and I met up for lunch and were holding hands over the table in the Cathedral restaurant when a lady came up to John and said Hello to him.  John went white and the glance that this lady had given him, was a glance of pure disgust which could only mean that she thought he was having an affair with me.  We both realised then that he had to tell his wife that I existed and that he got another woman pregnant whilst he was engaged to her.  

A week before Christmas, when I was putting the tree up with Mum and Dad, a car pulled up and inside was John, his wife and my little brother Chris.  I was completely gobsmacked, as were Mum and Dad and so began a relationship which would only be be brief but still it was a blood link that I had never had.  

It turned out that Mum had worked with John all those years ago and they both knew each other but she never knew that he my Biological Father.

What a small world indeed....

Bulimia Days

At 18, when my relationship finished with Tim, so began my relationship with Bulimia, my new found friend as a substitute for love.  I remember the first time it happened; I was in Llandudno at my Aunty's house and went out to see a show with a boy (who liked me), watching Michael Barrymore.  I felt really pressured into kissing this guy which I didn't want to do and when I came back I remember eating 3 Twix's in a row and then thinking "I'm going to get fat" so was sick down the toilet.  Obviously not very good at hiding my bulimia, my Aunty promptly rang my Mum and to pardon the pun, my Mum was worried sick and confronted me when I got home.

So began many years of abuse and therapy.  I was in a rehab centre which also had anorexics, two of which died whilst I was there.  I never believed that there was anything wrong with me however and I all I got from rehab was that I kept falling in love with all the Doctors there; I was obviously quite delusional at this point and throwing up daily as well as drinking but it was the food that was the issue at the time. 

Gradually I seemed to get a bit better and got a job as a Doctors Receptionist.  This didn't last for very long as I was pinching money to spend on my habit and promptly was dismissed (not surprising of course). 

After that came the days of Hospital Radio in the 80's which were great fun and I stumbled across it because I loved music and loved Tim who I had been going out with when he joined.  Both Tim and Philip were both would be DJ's and regularly did stints for pubs and clubs as soon as they hit 18 so Tim and I joined the radio station to see where it would take us.  However, when Tim and split up, he stopped going but I continued.

It was a great place to be and there were so many people there that I made a whole new set of friends.  I enjoyed going up to the wards and taking requests from all the patients and also DJing and presenting a few times with my own show, although to be honest, I wasn't particularly good at it!!!

At this time, my drinking had moved on from the 4 pack every night (hidden from the parents obviously) and going out clubbing at the weekend and getting completely blitzed, to really hard core partying nearly every night.  I had a job as a Shorthand Typist in the middle of Newcastle but both my drinking and my bulimia were out of control.

I am surprised I even managed to keep any jobs as the amount of time I spent clubbing and partying got worse.  I remember seducing a guy from a company called Trendsetters (first time I had ever met him), went on a date with him, slept with him and then came back into work at 8am looking like death warm up.

Whilst I was still in my job, at Hospital Radio I was managing to sleep my way around most of the DJ's and was developing a bit of a reputation for being an easy girl.  However, even through all of this, I did manage to have a relationship with a boy called Phil who I went out with for 6 months.  However, he wouldn't sleep with me and I soon got bored and went on to pastures new.

The next phase I like to call "Bandgate"

The Corn Field Part 2

At the age of 14 I fell madly in love with Tim who was a year older than me and had just moved to our Comprehensive School.  He was everything I had ever wanted; smart, funny, good looking and popular.  And he also totally ignored me.  

So I started to hang around with his "gang" (yes he was the Head of a Gang which made him even more attractive) and we started to go to this nightclub called Zones 123 which was a nightclub for 14-18 year olds.  Philip, (my first boyfriend) was also in the gang and we would all hang around together and go to the off licence to buy 4 cans of beer or cider.  This was the first time I had ever tasted alcohol and for my 14th birthday, I was bought 4 cans of Special Brew.  I remember thinking it was the most disgusting thing I had ever tasted..... very bitter sweet...

Tim had a big reputation and had already been out with nearly all the girls in his gang, apart from me and a girl called Janet (who later on turned out to be a lesbian so that spoke volumes).  He briefly went out with Janet before walking up to me on the top of the bus and saying to me "well there's only you left so how about you go out with me".... 

I had never been so happy in my entire life and for the next 4 years, started a massive relationship with Tim.  The relevance of the Corn Field was epic as we spent most of our time having sex there and boy was it good.  The smell of any field very quickly takes me back to those summer days spent lying there naked, not even caring or thinking that anyone would see us.  It's frightening what you do when you are younger.

We would regularly have sex in each other's houses; most of the time Philip (yes him again) was our decoy and he would sit and watch television whilst we were bonking beside him.  Or we would be in Tim's bathroom or sneaking around upstairs; all part of being teenagers I guess but Tim had a ferocious sexual appetite and with all that I had seen and read, I was only too happy to play the "fantasy" that he wanted.  

I loved him more than anything else but things came to a head when I started to realise that he had a bigger hold on me than I thought and I decided I wanted to break up at aged 18.  Tim reacted badly to this and sensing he was about to lose me, called a meeting of our parents and said he wanted to marry me.  I very quickly "grew up" a bit in those few hours and promptly told him it was over.  

For the next few months he would stalk me, walking his new girlfriend around the block to make me jealous.... 

Meanwhile, I had joined a Hospital Radio station and a whole new breed of men were about to be introduced to my charms....

The Corn Field Part 1

At 11 I became a fully fledged woman.  I remember the day well, not in the way of a "Carrie" horror film scene but remember feeling completely shocked at home when I was bleeding and didn't tell my Mum all day because I thought I had "cut" myself (yes I was that naieve).  Eventually, my Mum figured it out and so began my menstrual cycle, a lot earlier than most of the girls in my class. 

I remember very well, my best friend who had arrived at her periods six months later than me, asking me to show her how to put a tampax up and I had to do it for her!! I hated the fact that I was becoming a woman and tried to ignore it as much as possible.  

However, none of it could be ignored on the day when I found my Dad's stash of pornography in a wooden cupboard next to the bed. In those days it was real hard core stuff, no details spared and I still remember the smell of the cupboard and the exciting feeling of lying on my parents bed, "reading" the magazines and thinking that this is how women must behave in order to get a man.  I used to take some of them into my bedroom and study every position so I knew exactly what I needed to do.  Sadly, this was to form my view of sex for the next 25+ years. 

On my 13th birthday I had a big party and all my friends were invited.  I had already had a boyfriend at Junior School, called Philip but it was all very innocent apart from the fact that I used to flash my boobs at him in my boob tube whilst he was putting his records on!!!  We only kissed and played Dracula in the bedroom; just lovely lighthearted fun!!  However, this all fizzled out when I started Comprehensive School and fell in lust with a boy called David.  

Sadly the feelings didn't seem reciprocated and he was in lust with a girl called Julie.  So I did what I thought was the right thing and I locked him in my bathroom, pinned him to the floor and kissed him passionately (through his brace).  He was so taken aback he didn't know what to do, although he did kiss me back.  

The next day, on the way home from school, I asked him to come and sit with me and do our homework in the corn field.  And then I seduced him and made him have sex with me.  I have no idea whether he enjoyed it; I certainly didn't enjoy the sex, if you can call it that, but I did enjoy the feeling that it gave me, as I empowered him.  

Sadly, however, after a handful of times in the corn field, David made an excuse that he wanted to watch Charlies Angels instead of walking home with me and as a woman scorned, I seduced his best friend instead (who was going out with my best friend at the time - she never spoke to me again).  All I remember about that encounter was that he had on burgundy underpants.  Funny what you remember.  

So I had finally lost my virginity, although a long time later, I was so ashamed of the way that I did lose it, that I would tell people I was raped which was a terrible thing to do but it kind of made me justify what I had become.

Soon the corn field would become even more significant.

Adoption Days

I was 6 weeks old when I was adopted back in 1968.  Any pregnancy out of wedlock was frowned upon in those days but my biological Mother was having an affair with my biological Father who was then engaged to another girl who he was due to marry.  

Said Biological Mother (who shall from now on be called Mary) decided that she couldn't cope with me, even though she already had a son who was 4 at the time I was born.  Mary's sister offered to have me but that didn't work out either so I was put up for adoption in Carlisle, which is where I was born.

Meanwhile, 6 months earlier, my "parents" had put their names down for adoption and my Dad (who shall from now on be called Jim) had moved jobs to the North-East from their native Manchester so they looked likely to adopt a baby from the Northern area of the country.  My Mum (who shall from now on be called Edna) had always wanted a baby (she had had breast cancer at 25 and had to have a mastectomy) and had already started the adoption process of a little boy but eventually the little boy went back to his original birth mother.  This time, there was no going back and Edna and Jim, after being interviewed vigorously by the Adoption Society in Newcastle upon Tyne, were matched with me, a little girl.  They matched so well in those days; they knew I was from a biological musical/creative background and Jim and Edna were both very musical; my Dad sang in the Felling Male Voice Choir and played piano, as did Edna.  

I was born on May 2nd 1968 to Mary.  I was with Mary for 11 days before the Social Services took me away; something that would later come up psychologically when I had my daughter Molly but more on that later.  I don't know what that must have been like for Mary but I know that this has stayed with me, just as a feeling when people leave me, which obviously can't really be put into words.  

In November 1968, Edna and Jim finally became parents to me and Mum told me of the day that she got me and I was put in her arms when she was sitting in the back garden.  All that waiting and wondering had finally gone and Mum sobbed till her heart nearly broke, full of love for me and bewilderment.  It must have been a truly beautiful moment.  

From then on, I had an idylic childhood; the best parents, family, friends, everything was perfect.  I did well at school, played the piano at concerts, was popular and above all was very, very happy.  

The very nature of such a wonderful childhood until puberty is something I treasure.

27th April 2015

Not just another date on the calendar but it would have been my Dad's 88th birthday had he still been alive.  Not a big milestone, I guess, you could say, just another birthday to remember.  However, this one was different.  Don't ask me how, don't ask me why.... 

Every year it was a hard day to get through; every year, I would remember with love and tears, my darling Dad who was taken far too early from Pancreas Cancer; the disease that took him from a strong, beautiful man into a broken shell.  I never tried to focus on the end though and always on what he was and how much of a wonderful Dad he was to me.  So really this birthday was like any other except it was to become the most significant day for 30 years. 

It began like all other days; with a hangover, a fog of alcohol in my system which stopped me from functioning in the real world; although I had got so used to "functioning" that it seemed so normal to get up at 5am, guzzle a whole bottle of coke to start to rehydrate and then go back to a wet, alcohol sweat induced bed and then wake up in a panic when the alarm went off, just in time to struggle to get the kids to school.  

To everyone else, I was ditzy, funny, crazy and always manic Mum in the playground; little did they realise that I was always still drunk, after only going to bed about 6 hours before and still enjoying the ride from the alcohol, even at that early time in the morning.  It was only when they didn't see me an hour later, when the alchol started to wear off and the tiredness began, that this party girl was definetly not up for any more fun.

And so it began, with the party in the playground, the tiredness in the morning, the sleep until it was time to function again.  A phone call to Mum to let her know that I was thinking of her and that I was actually aware that it would have been Dad's birthday.  

And then, from nowhere, a notion.  That, just perhaps, I could stop drinking today, of all days.  I could stop drinking after 30 whole years of abuse; 30 years of having a drink every day (apart from when pregnant with my babies due to hyperemesis, not due to not wanting a drink sadly).  A realisation that 30 years of my life had been stripped away to alcohol and not one thing had been a positive thing out of the whole time.  

And there it was; from that thought I created a whole new identity in my head; a sober, calm, loving, financially better off, healthy woman with less wrinkles, less cellulite and more energy, more vitality, more to give; a better wife; a better Mother, a better person.... 

I had tried a few times to give up alcohol; AA beckoned twice but each time, after 6 weeks, I would fail, due to the fact that I put alcohol on such a pedestal, I would always fail because I was always trying to reach it and punishing myself in the process.  Sadly, it never worked for me and each time I would end up drinking more than the last time. 

Imagine the shame on national television when Andy (my husband) and I were on a programme called Make me A Baby on BBC3, when we were trying to conceive Molly, and there was me clutching 8 bottles of wine and the presenter telling the nation that "nobody will get pregnant if you drink as much as Barbara".  Ironically enough I became pregnant two weeks after the show but you would think that would kind of bring the message home that enough is enough, especially when a friend stopped me and said "oooh I saw you on the telly!! You like a drink don't you"!... 

Fast forward 8 years later and my husband had even stopped taking the wine bottles out to the bottle bin; trying to wake me up to the realisation that I was drinking too much by letting them stack up on the kitchen shelf.  However I just kept adding the bottles to the line up and not even realising half the time that there were 10 bottles there in one week.... just aggravated by the fact that there wasn't much room to put another few!  

Yes there were factors that led up to this massive life changing event; about a year prior to becoming sober, I purchased a book by Allen Carr (not the comedian!) who outlined how you could give up drinking by using reverse psychology and renaming alcohol "devastation".  The book was a revelation to me and shocked me so much that I did give up for a day as some of the things he said struck a chord with me.  However, my addiction was so strong that it didn't take long before "devastation" invited me back into it's life and got me back where it thought I belonged.  However, I do believe at the moment I read the book, that alcohol had started to lose something of it's "magic"....  

This coupled with my health declining over the year; every morning I would wake up feeling the same, with mouth ulcers, aching stomach, pale skin and knowing that I had a double addiction with Bulimia Nervosa which had been with me, again for 30 years.  The double addiction meant that as soon as I abused food, I would abuse alcohol.  However, I would abuse alcohol without abusing food.  Confusing, yes, but it all seemed to make sense to me in my little world.  I knew how much damage I was doing and although it's a bit of a clique, I wanted to see my children grow up and be there for them.  Waking up like this every morning was not the way to go about it.  

And every morning, I would look in the mirror and say to myself "no more.... " or "I won't drink tonight".. and by 6pm every night, I would have failed.  

I am not sure what made everything "click" into place on 27th April.  Nor do I particularly care why everything clicked.  All I know is that from that day on I have felt completely different.  I do in fact regard alcohol as "devastation" because that is all it has done in my life.  Even when I met my husband, I was drinking heavily every day and successfully managed to hide it.

My husband said that I should start going back to church after getting sober.  However, I am not convinced that "God" helped me to become sober.  I think it was something in me that realised after all this time that I want to live.  

I want my life back after devastation has stolen it off me.