Unspoken Words - this is my story

It's strange how life leads us down certain paths at certain times. I say 'life', but I mean 'God' because I do firmly believe the He has always watched over me and protected me, and continues to do so. In truth, I haven't felt 'in touch' for a long time.......I'm there, but it's like I'm detached, watching in on the events of my life as they unfold.....and it's troubled me greatly because it's made me question myself so much.

Last year a friend of mine told me about a group called Adult Children of Alcoholics, recommending it to me and how liberated she felt in attending the meetings. I wasn't ready at the time, so I moved it to the back of my mind and carried on. But the more I have been looking at old family photographs and re-living family memories, and, more recently, reading an old report on my mom, I have come to realise that I need to first accept and acknowledge, and then let go of, the past.

So, this is my story.......it will be the first time I have spoken about my childhood and how I came to be 'me'.

My mom was born in London in 1932. Cutting her story quite short, she loved dancing and had her own dancing school. It was through dancing that she met her first husband, who also loved dancing. But after only 4 years of marriage, and at a time when she felt truly happy, he died of cancer. My mom was only 32 at the time. Her brother paid for her to go and visit him in Zambia shortly after this, and so met my dad, who was a builder at the time. They married shortly after in February 1968, and settled in Pietermaritzburg. My brother was born in 1971, and myself in 1973.

My dad was a still a bachelor when he met my mom. From the bits I remember, he had had a very tough upbringing, traditional Afrikaans, with very strict parents. I remember my dad as being VERY hard-working, very impatient, and had a dreadful temper. I honestly was terrified of him for most of my childhood.

My mom was 40 when I was born, and my dad was 48. In this report I've recently come across, it mentions how my mom struggled to adjust in South Africa, and how lonely she was. And how unsympathetic my dad was.

My dad really was terrifying. He had a short brown leather belt he used on us. Plus we normally had the agony of having to wait until he got home before we'd be hit. There was a lot of that belt - even used to go with when we went on holiday. My mother recently said to me that my brother got it a lot more than me, and that maybe that was why he is as he is. I don't remember, if I'm honest, we were quite young then.

I remember all the drinking, and the arguing. The years blur together and I struggle to remember how old I was. It was just always there. As soon as they started drinking of an evening, you knew where it was going to end...most often my mom being black and blue. I remember once hiding in my brothers room, crying, and he was comforting me, telling me it would be okay.......I remember once not wanting to go outside for a braai because it was cold (and I didn't feel well). My dad went mad and came to chase me outside; my mom defended me, so I got to see her get hit in front of me, because of me. You're not just talking once punch either. I have never felt so guilty. The surreal thing was that, after hitting my mom, he still made me go outside and eat (without my mom, obviously). I never made a fuss again.

Inbetween I remember random things like my mom taking me to a local park, and we sat there, me eating the box of green quality street chocolates she had bought for me, whilst she sat with her bottle. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I remember her telling me things like my dad not wanting us and kicking her in the stomach while she was pregnant. And I remember her telling me that we had been 'perfect' babies, and that if there had been anything wrong with us (due to my mom being 'old' when she had us), we would have been put into a home. I remember her saying how she'd always wanted a little girl, and was disappointed when she had my brother.....I felt so sad for my brother, how did he feel?

But, somehow, in between all of this she still took me to dancing and modelling classes. And my brother to cubs. So, from the outside, I don't think anyone knew.

My high school years were worse. My brother and I no longer spoke. He was just horrible to me, and seemed to resent me. I even avoided taking the same subjects he did, even when I was good at them. It got to the point where he would walk past me in the passageway and push me to the side, or randomly punch me. Later, I once got so mad with him punching me that I just lost myself as I punched him over and over again. It got better after that. But we never spoke; still don't. We do from time to time, but his communication is erratic at best, and he never asks me how I am, nor Trevor, nor Maxine. Months go by when I don't hear from him.

My mom's drinking got worse, to the point where I would find myself sitting in school wondering what I would find when I got home in the afternoon - what state she would be in.......mostly passed out, or close to. It never amazed me how well she could hide her bottles - we would find them hidden everywhere.

In between these episodes my mom would be okay for a while, but then not again. She used to get Antabuse implants done, which lasted for 6 months, so you knew things would be okay for a while. But, sure enough, as soon as the time came near she would start again. The relationship between my mom and dad was very poor - they decided not to get divorced 'for the sake of the children' but instead to lead separate lives. So my brother spent time with my dad, and me with my mom.

I remember another time, driving through the Valley of a Thousand Hills (don't know why we were there), but my mom was too drunk to be driving and we eventually stopped at some hotel and we stayed there the night. I was old enough to know what danger she had placed us in because anything could have happened to us, and I remember feeling embarrassed that the hotel staff had seen us like that. To this day, I have no idea where we stayed that night. And, of course, would never have told my father or brother.

My dad was VERY Afrikaans and traditional in his thinking. A woman's place was in the kitchen, and running the house. That being said, he had very strong views about getting a proper education. We had to get good grades, complete high school, and get a degree at University. That was it, there were no other choices. And he would only pay for university if we passed. If we failed, he would stop paying. (I never failed...got a re-write for Economics 1, but only just that one time).

Some time during my high school years my dad bought a mobile home at a site near Winklespruit, within a permanent caravan park. We went down many weekends, mostly alternating, me with my mom, or my dad with my brother. I have a mixture of wonderful friendships made in my times there, as well as horrible memories with my mom being passed out for most of the time we were there. I remember once having to wake her up early on a Monday morning so that she could drive me back to Maritzburg to make it to school on time...we just made it. She used to say some dreadful things to me when she was drunk, about what I was getting up to with the boys.....and I honestly wasn't....I really was sweet and innocent.

It was during this time, with our separate weekends that my dad said I would fail because I was playing with my friends. I was determined to prove him wrong, so I put some effort into studying, without having paid much attention to my grades prior to this.
I was genuinely surprised when my name was called out for the practice of the year end assembly at the end of Std 8. When I asked the teacher why, she told me I'd achieved academic colours.

Quite often we would spend our holidays in the caravan park, and got to meet many holidaying children. By the time I was 15 I had started kissing boys, but still very innocently. There was a boy from Johannesburg that I became fond of one Christmas holiday. Quite unexpectedly he forced himself on me one night...I was so naive I honestly didn't see it coming until he'd pinned me down and I didn't have the strength to get him off me. Afterwards I cleaned myself up and spent the following few weeks panicking I may be pregnant; heaven help me if my parents ever found out. They would just have shouted at me for being so stupid in the first place.
I only told my friend Laura. Never told my parents.

It was during that same period we celebrated Christmas at the park. I remember two boxes of wine, and downing several glasses before walking out of the house. I didn't even make it to the other side of the park before I dropped...I woke up some time later in the back of my dad's car as he was driving me back to Maritzburg. The next day I remember him asking me if my head was sore. I said 'no' even though it was killing me.

Perhaps I should mention that my dad was head elder in our church, and my mom a deacon. And all the while there was this anger and resentment for each other going on, come Sunday morning, there we'd be, sitting in the fourth row. I remember in matric I wrote a poem at school about a black man who came and sat at the back of the church, and no one spoke to him, and he never came back again...... 'but you will go to heaven, and I will go to hell'. I honestly did feel that way.
So I do still have issues about church. I don't have issues about God though. I remember once asking my dad how do I know if I'm doing the right thing, and he said, 'if you can take God with you wherever you go and whatever you do, and not be ashamed of what you are doing'. That works for me, and I try to follow that with everything I do and everything I say.

I started getting terrible migraines as well. Eventually, late std 8 / early std 9, I went to our GP and asked him to help me move to boarding school. I remember talking to a psychologist at the time as well. I just couldn't take it anymore. So I started at Port Shepstone High school in the second school term of std 9. I was lucky in that I had a lovely dormitory, with lovely girls. They accepted me straight away.

Literally a few weeks after moving there, however, I had a sickening feeling there was something wrong at home. I rang and rang all weekend, but no one answered. Initially I thought they'd gone away for the weekend, but there was still no reply. Eventually my dad answered....."now Mariette, I need you to listen to me carefully, your mom has been in a car accident....."

I did have the comfort that her accident was not caused by drink, though, because my mom had had an implant done shortly before I left for boarding school. We hadn't told my dad or brother. So I took great delight in defending her when the question was raised, and it was subsequently confirmed.

It wasn't just a little car accident, my mom overtook a broken down truck, and went straight into the back of another one. Initially the hospital didn't realise she had a brain hemorrhage. It was only 24 hours later they noticed that and took her for surgery. A month later, because she was still deteriorating, they operated again due to further complications and infections. My mom was in hospital for months after. My dad would drive down to Sheppie and fetch me for weekends. I moved back to PMB at the end of Std 9. My brother was moving to Durban to study, and I felt it was where I needed to be.

Despite my mom's accident, my time at hostel was my happiest time at school ever, I have still have two close friends from my time there. I finally began eating properly again, and I worked hard at looking forward and feeling positive about every day....just one step at a time.

I muddled through Matric, if I'm honest. I felt even more estranged from the friends at my old high school. I was different and things had changed. I struggled with how my mom had changed - she was nothing of the person she once was...I can't tell you how shocking it was for me. My dad kept on telling me to have patience with her. The upside from it all was that, for the first time ever, I spent time with my dad, and we spoke to each other. I can honestly say it was the first time I got to know my dad a bit. We would go into town on a Saturday morning to do the shopping, and the stop off at the Thistle hotel on the way home. He would have a stout (I think), and I would have a lager...and we would talk.

I even told him how much I hated always just getting a cheque for my birthday...that I would rather have something small that he had taken the time to buy. And for my next birthday my dad did buy me a bottle of perfume. That was very special to me....

My dad retired in June of 1990. In his 'work' papers are many testimonials and recommendations for his excellent service and efficiency (as senior works inspector) and friendly approach. He was highly respected by many people. I found it very ironic, as I was reading through this report of my mom and the impact of the car accident, mentioning how unsympathetic my dad had been towards her for so many years, but then landed up caring for her after her accident, into his retirement (albeit short-lived).

I didn't want to study in PMB because everyone knew everyone, and I didn't fit in, so I went to study in Durban. My dad would fetch me most weekends and bring me home to visit. In the August of my first year of University I met my now husband Trevor. We met in a night club in Pietermaritzburg, whilst I was going out with a  friend of mine from hostel (who's dad lived in PMB). And that was that really....although my dad was less than impressed with my apprentice tool and die maker (he expected a doctor or lawyer), and I can honestly say it took 3 years before my dad accepted Trevor.

Trev and I moved in together within a month of meeting each other. I daren't tell my dad because he was convinced I was going to fail my subjects at University and I didn't want him worrying. It made for some funny moments every time they came to visit and I would frantically hide all trace of Trevor away, and he would disappear for a while before 'popping in' to visit. I reckon my parents had suspicions, but never said anything.

After university I moved up to Jhb, and took the opportunity of telling my dad I would be moving in with Trevor. He wasn't best impressed, so I explained through my logic of not wanting to rush into marriage, only to have my dad bail me out when I got divorced a few years later if things didn't work out. He went along with it, but did say to Trevor that he was 'taking my daughter away from me'. My dad never came to visit me in Jhb. Although we did talk on the phone often.

A few months after I moved to Jhb in 1994, my dad had a severe stroke, requiring him to have care 24/7. I was barely 21, and didn't cope very well at all. I couldn't bare to see him like that, and I did secretly wish he could peacefully die in his sleep, inside of staying trapped within his crippled body. My brother stepped in and got power of attorney over my dad's affairs, and took it apon himself to arrange things for them. We had arguments about many things, least of which my dad's money, and he rarely consulted me about anything. He eventually moved back to my parents old house, with them. Even at the care homes, my mom still managed to get hold of drink, so we had that to deal with on occasion as well.

In between this Trevor and I got married (in Las Vegas) on our seventh anniversary, much to my brother's disapproval, even though I phoned and spoke to my mom about our plans beforehand. That was 1998.
We them moved to the UK at the beginning of 2000. I never told my dad I was moving to the UK - I didn't want to upset him. He passed away on Valentines day 2001. At the time I wasn't quite 3 months pregnant with Maxine, and because I'd previously had a miscarriage, didn't want to chance the long flight...not just the flight...having to see my brother and his wife was a big part of it too.

After my dad's death I struggled more and more to reach my mom because of my brother and his then wife (a manic depressive). And when I did speak to her she told me how horrible they were to her, and of the terrible fighting that went on at the house. I didn't want my mom to go through all that again, so I had her come and 'visit' me here in the UK, but I only bought I one-way ticket, and she's been here ever since. I even had my father-in-law fetch her and take her to the airport. She was in such a sorry state when she arrived here, right down to holes in the slippers she was wearing. I was so embarrassed as I fetched her at the airport. I'm not proud of what I did, but I would do it again if I was in the same situation again.

Karel, however, got his own back, as he divorced his wife, and sold the house without our knowledge or consent, making a pretty good profit as I've since found out. So all I have left of my parents house are the few photos and papers he kept...nothing else. I hold so much anger for him over it. I love him, but I just cannot get over that he did that, having absolutely no regard nor respect for my mom or I.

So as I continue on this journey, I am realising that there isn't something wrong with me. Where I am struggling to cope as an adult it's because I have such a skewed sense of what 'normal' is, because I never experienced it as a child. I judge myself without mercy. I have difficulty having fun, and I take myself very seriously. I don't react well to changes that are outside of my control. I constantly seek approval and affirmation. I'm super responsible, and extremely loyal. And I still feel different from other people.
But at least I can begin to understand myself a little better now, acknowledge that it did in fact happen, and know that it is not my fault, and it's okay to be me.....I'm not my mom, I'm not my dad, and I'm not my brother....I am me.