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Who Am I?

I nearly got there. I know who I am! Everything under control. My thoughts and feelings unaffected by anyone else, what you think of me is nothing to do with me, its your perception and not who I am. Your perceptions are not my reality. And why would I care what anyone thinks of me? Other people’s thoughts & opinions don’t affect my life in any way. Unless I let them. Ramble, ramble, ramble.

But damn, that woman who calls herself mother has done it again. Her perception of me really bothers me.


I rang to wish stepfather a happy birthday and she snatched the phone off him as I said goodbye. I know this because I heard her screech “give me that!”

“What have you been up to?” Not a lot as hardly left the house. Told her I rang the police for Sophie’s (ex) friend who knocked my door last Saturday night after family stress. And that I’d gone into Iceland yesterday and left a message with a young lad, “ask her to knock on my door, tell her I’m worried about her”.

She knocked my door about an hour later.
“I’m so sorry!” she said.
“No, its fine, I’m sorry – I’m really sorry, I should’ve let you stay the night. I feel terrible. What happened?”

The police tried to get her boyfriend’s parents to let her stay there but because of her parents, his parents said no. “You know what they’re like” she said. Yes I do remember his many raging text messages after the whole staying at mine after prom fiasco. I tried to do a good thing for her and it all blew up in my face. And she lit the fuse. Forgive and forget. Mostly because I forget.

The police took her to an emergency foster carer for a couple of nights. She’s now signed herself into care and is living with a family with four children. They sound absolutely lovely. They’ve told her she doesn’t have to tell them anything but they will always be there for her and listen if she does. I might’ve wiped an eye at this point. I hope it will be permanent for her. That poor girl at age 16 has been mentally and physically abused, no love. Taken at a young age from an abusive mother (allegedly) by her mum’s boyfriend. The man she calls dad. She’s not always going to react “the right way” sometimes. I’m praying she’ll be okay and make it through the trial period with the foster parents. No flare ups.

Her boyfriend was with her holding a large suitcase. She wasn’t allowed back in the house (they wouldn’t let her in, she’s dead to them) and the dad gave back her phone. He’d ripped the photo out from the back and smashed the phone screen. I said oh my god how old is he? 5?! He’s some big shot in the military apparently. Bullitary.

“Okay, well here’s my number, I hope it all works out for you but if ever need anything, then call me. Ring my phone so I’ve got your number.”

“There, I’ve rang it” she said. She didn’t. When I picked up my phone later there was no missed call. Sophie said I told you, you’ve served your purpose, she’s fake.

So I’m telling mother about this and she said “did you know I used to foster?” Did I? You never shut up about it. There is no way on this earth they’d let you now with all their background checks and paperwork. I remember her and stepfather trying about 20 years ago and didn’t make it through the first round.

“Well do you remember I used to foster a little girl called Tracey?”

Do I? Do you mean the Tracey that you would always scream that she was the daughter you really wanted, not me, but they gave her back to her parents? That Tracey? The Tracey you told me was taken from you and the social workers said we have a six week old baby girl who is up for adoption and would you like her and you said “no, because I didn’t really want you. I wanted Tracey. But they talked me into it. I used to stick you at the bottom of the garden all day in a pram because you screamed and cried all the time”. THAT Tracey?

Not sure there was a point to the Tracey story but she’s one of those that whatever you say, she’s done it, she’s the expert. So just the words ‘foster care’ and she’s off.

Back to the chit chat and told her about my first time ever gardening efforts and about the garden centre a mile from my house. Ring with your order, pay on the phone, they give you a collection time and its outside in a trolley waiting for you. No interaction. Lovely.

Do you want me to go for you? “Yes”
“How much do you want to spend?”
“£30, I’ll give you the cash”.
“I need to pay by card over the phone. I don’t really want cash, was going to leave plants in your garden and stand well back”.

AND SHE SAID

“I’ll give you your father’s card details” and then in a really solemn voice said “but you won’t spend anything on it will you?”
“WHAT?”
“Well, you won’t spend anything on it?”
“Actually can’t believe you just said that. I’m offering to help and you say that?”

What the fucking fuck?!

“Oh right, okay, well …” [then she said some waffle that I can’t remember because I was bloody fuming]

“Its like you’re not allowed to be nice, and when you do something nice, she can’t bear it, she has to tear you down” said my very surprisingly perceptive Sophie.

Her perception of me is not who I am. It took me 40 years to realise the reason she’s always called me a liar is because she’s projecting. She’s the liar. My friends will confirm that I hold nothing back. I’m too honest. As you an probably tell from my blogs!

But it got to me again though. She actually thought I’d steal from his bank card. Couldn’t be more offensive if she tried.

Bet it kills her that me and Sophie are so close. Possibly because I’ve brought my child up with love and respect, not fear and violence. Possibly!

But anyway, the friend has a foster home, mother has her plants and I have a perfect relationship with my daughter. Everyone’s a winner!

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