One Girl`s Journey to Self Discovery
It feels good to belong. To begin, let me tell you all a little about myself. I was raised within a farming community in a hamlet where 100% of the inhabitants were family. I have many happy memories of visiting my Auntgrans house for tea and lard sandwiches. It was a happy time. I suppose the turning point came when my immediate family (unclebrother Joe, and my parents) decided to move to a village. We found it very hard to keep up with the fast paced life the villagers led, and were never quite able to get to know them as they all looked different from one another, and had different surnames. It was just too hard to keep up. But I struggled on, not quite fitting into school life because of this thing called fashion, and the other children`s jealousy toward my natural advantage with math. Was it really my fault that they ran out of fingers before I did? It was a lonely existance.
However, I coped, the child with the adult eyes who eventually grew to her teens. It was at this point I decided that if I couldn`t fit in, I would express my differences, and so began the journey of black clothes and makeup, soon after which I decided to become a vegetarian, as I was finding that sinew from the small children I ate, kept getting stuck between my teeth; both of them. My parents were not best pleased, being of farming stock they couldn`t grasp the fact that I wouldn`t be eating the family dog they had been fattening up for Christmas, I was a huge disappointment, and thus began the journey of parental alienation.
I had noone to turn to when the first sexual flushes of youth began, and no close family nearby to practise with. I realised that I would have to explore my sexuality alone. I was confused, I had urges toward both men and women. What to do?! It didn`t help that I attended an all girls school, and had this strange urge to shave my head and clear out my wardrobe replacing all my black clothes with dungerees. What did it all mean? Thankfully, it was at that point a man came into my life. Things were about to take a drastic turn.
I met him slumped on a street corner, I was 15, and still not knocked up, my body clock was ticking. His long straggly hair and unkempt beard drew me to him, I suppose it brought back the happy memories of the men in my family, and for the first time in a long while, I felt an affinity with another being. A being who was more than willing to bounce my bones and provide me the the council house I had long been aching for. Life was unbearable at home, I couldn`t be arsed to do my exams and get a job, and there, in one afternoon I saw the answer to all my prayers.
Things were good at first, he was unemployed, I had a house and token baby at 16, a generous paypacket from the government for helping to populate the country, I was really doing my bit, and despite the late start, I really fit in on the estate. Unfortunately it all began to crumble after I married him at 17. I was young and foolish, and not wanting to argue with my father and his shotgun, decided that perhaps it would be rather jolly to get married after all. We weren`t paying for it, and the free grub was rather alluring. Like I said. Young and foolish.
Soon after, I realised my error, I no longer fit in with the others on my council estate. A drastic change was clearly needed, in fact, I would say career move. I was ready for the next level, especially since the bastard decided to get a job. WTF was that all about! Clearly we were becoming strangers. At nineteen I felt it was long overdue for me to get impregnated again, boot the husband, and screw the git for all he had. This would certainly make up for the stigma of being married, as most of the other mothers on the estate had no idea who or where the fathers of thier children were, and unlike them, I would be able to screw money from more than one source. I would be in a position of privilage, they would look up to me, and I would finally gain the respect I deserved.
Again, I failed miserably with this as well. The bastard wouldn`t go. Thus we lived like this for years, him working, and me having to collect the kids from school on the few days I could be bothered to send them, knowing all the fag smoking mums who stood outside, refusing to talk to the married mothers with the income, were muttering under their breath, complaining of the clique in the playground, and how I was `one of them, thinking I was too good for them`. How could he do this too me? It was all I could do to bear the shame.
To take my mind off of this sorry state of affairs, I decided to let the git bang me up one more time, knowing it would temporarily restore my faith in myself, for if nothing else, I was good at knocking out babies, and plus, I had the added bonus of being able to claim a supplimentary benefit from the government again, as the git`s wage was too low to support another child. It was never as satisfactory as claiming the dole, but such was my desperation any handout which would remind me of the goverment`s gratitude at populating the land I love, it was enough for me to keep going. At 24, I had achieved three children, but at what cost? They all had the same father, a father I was living with, not to mention married to for seven years. This wasn`t how things were supposed to work. It was the bleakest period of my life.
Eventually things began to pick up. Many of my neighbours had knocked out enough kids to be able to secure a larger house, in more urban areas. I too felt the call to migrate, but managed to resist the urge, for I knew that despite my best efforts, I would never be accepted now, even if I did decide to flock with them. I decided to take my chances with the new blood. My kids were well established on the streets, and I knew this would give them a head start, as they could knock the shit out of the new kids, so perhaps they, at least, could establish themselves, and I owed it to the kids to provide them with the upbringing and standing in society they deserved, after all, they did get me a council house. It was not thier fault I had failed them in all the other areas. Perhaps even I too might stand a chance of redemption as long as I didn`t admit that the git was the father of all my children, or bring up the fact we were married. For the most part it worked. This was drastically aided by a housing takeover. The council sold all their properties and suddenly, instead of council tenant, I became a whole new breed. I was a Housing Association tenant. This meant the difference between my 9 and 13 year olds drinking Lambrini on the street instead of cider. Two bottles for two quid at Iceland, life was really beginning to look up. What I hadn`t expected was the further exceptance from my neighbours, obviously someone had squealed, for they were aware I was was a married teen mum, with one parent to three children, but this was acceptable, it was enough for them that I had started young. Obviously their standards were lower, but this was ok. I could accept that, for as a society failure, I was just pleased to have a place again, no matter how lowly.
I suppose the question which is foremost on your minds after reading my tale, is how I have managed to achieve such a satisfactory existance with my husband after all he has put me through? Well, the answer is simple, after sabataging our lifestyle at home, the pressure finally served to make him quit his job, and we are in the happy position of being rewarded fully by the government. I`m so proud to be British, alive in the knowledge that no matter how much you fuck up, they will be happy to welcome you back with open arms......
That, and the fact I, not long ago, discovered that his maternal Grandmother shares the same maiden name as me. It`s all clicked in place now. We belong together, we always did.
Signed Venusxxx
Inbred, goth, temporary lesbian, teen mum, chav, and estate trash who always had a place in society, but just didn`t always recognise it.
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