I don't know when I really realised I wasn't pretty. It wasn't anything my mum said, nothing my family did, to make me feel, well, less than pretty. Even though I have many, many, brothers and sisters (thank you biological dad!), I grew up with my two younger sisters, Lynzi and Jaime-Leigh. Lynzi grew up blonde, blue eyes, tan and the one what all my gorgeous little cousins "took after". Jaime-Leigh was the complete opposite, quite pale and and very dark features, a million lashes framed her deep brown eyes. Even as the eldest, I was somewhere in between. My hair wasn't dark enough to be really brown, neither light enough to be considered blonde. I called it my dirty water hair, because that's what it reminded me of. My eyes were a mix of green and blue.Nothing spectacular.Growing up seeing people fawn over Lynzi's beautiful golden hair or Jaime-Leigh's doll-like features didn't bother me, because I did it too. I didn't stop to realise people didn't really fawn over how I looked.
Maybe it was that old catch-all, school. In secondary school, I seen my peers in the toilets trying to straighten their hair with the hand dryers, decide what kind of earring went with the school tie. The popular girls, no matter what their natural hair colour, would have white blonde highlights in their hair, worn like a badge of honour. Perfectly cut in the space just beyond their shoulder blades.When Britney's "Baby One More Time" video came out - those girls wore the knee high socks, tiny skirts, knotted up oversized cardigans, yada yada. I remember looking at then with a feeling not unlike envy, and thinking, "why can't I look like that?".
And what did I look like during those years? From 12-14, my look was tied back hair (barely combed), black trousers, whatever colour trainers I found a pair of first, a school blouse and my loosely put together tie. No make up. Yup, I was a total tomboy. When I wasn't in school I was out on my bike, hanging with friends, mostly boys - not indoors trying to tame my hair or bleach it to within an inch of its life. I wasn't considering how what I wore attracted the boys, I was too busy giving them Chinese Burns!
Forth Year - two months after I turned 15. During that summer, I started changing - just a bit. I realised I liked to take time making myself feel good, if not pretty. For me, it took some effort. I just wasn't naturally pretty, and I realised that information didn't bother me one iota. I re-entered school that year with a foot firmly in each camp - a well dressed tomboy. Just because I didn't wear make up at school didn't mean I didn't experiment with my mum's make up. I had done since I was little, and it was time to put what I learned into practice. On that day, I showed up, wearing classic black court shoes, a pale coloured pair of tights, a black pencil skirt and a fitted cardigan over a blouse with a properly knotted up tie. My make up consisted of clear brow gel and lashes of non-clumpy black mascara, and a small flick of eye liner. Some of my mum's light rose coloured lipstick completed the look. My hair was brushed back, not straightened, in a half up, half down style.
Why do I remember this so vividly, 10 years on? I remember because of the looks I got. Even the teachers had difficultly realising who I was. My friends loved it, and the popular girls felt threatened. I was already friends with the boys they liked, and now I looked, to them, "passable". I won't go into the things they said, what interests me now is why they said what they did. I still don't, to this day, understand it.
Remember, I still didn't consider myself "pretty". Not like them. For all the time they must have spent to look the way they did, to me, it still seemed they had the one thing I didn't - they were pretty anyway. Take away my new look and I'd be that tomboy again, but they'd still look lovely. My male friends still farted in front of me, none of them hadn't come to the startling realisation that they really liked me. More to the point, neither did I. They were still just my friends.
Since then, I've struggled with the thought that my looking after myself means something more than it is. I like doing it, and spending some time in the morning making sure I'll go through the day feeling good about myself is the reason I do it. There's no ulterior motive. I might not feel pretty, but I'll be damned if that doesn't mean I don't appreciate myself. I've discovered something I might not have had I felt pretty enough to not need to bother.
I've went through the tomboy stage, the classic goth stage, the neon bright industrial, the vintage, the Bollywood. So much joy found in the different, the strange, the comfort of experimenting. I've not been lazy in discovering new things, and I love each and every thing. I'm no jeans and t-shirt girl. I can't wear something I know is popular, because I hate the idea of looking like just another person. In my quest, I've found talents in myself, creativity, a different perspective. I've found others like me, to bounce ideas off of. I love that even though I love vintage most of all, I can take different aspects of other styles and make it work. I can't imagine not living this life.
And all because I don't consider myself pretty.
Not such a hardship after all, is it?
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
Friday, 5 February 2010
Homelessness
Yesterday I had a visit from NewArt, a company putting together a DVD for my Housing Association. Basically, they wanted me to talk about how I became homeless, and what led me to apply for the Partick Association. Of course, I wanted to talk about it, because recently, I've discovered I actually want to spread the word. Being in the position of having to declare yourself homeless isn't shameful, and it can lead to the most wonderful things, made all the more wonderful because you can't quite believe your luck will turn when life has beaten you down so low.
J.R.R. Tolkien called it the eucatastrophe. The sudden change of what seems utterly hopeless to joy, and hope. Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse.... they don't.
I suppose most of you know the circumstances of my homelessness. In short, eviction, hostel, private let, stayed with a friend, stayed with another friend, stayed with Gof, hostel again, then finally, blessedly, to a flat with my name on the lease. Some friendships were burned so bad, all that's left is ashes and regret. Some were made, and sealed with love and hope. Mostly though, looking back, it was a real discovery for who I am, and what I can do. I found reserves of strength, eventually, that I didn't believe I had in me. I accepted help, from anyone willing to offer, from family, friends, organisations - and knew it wasn't an admission of defeat. I took time, proper time, and found an iron will. I found that even though I sometimes succumbed to despair, I knew, deep inside, that I will not let this beat me.
And it hasn't. I've still a way to go, no doubt for that - but I'm more hopeful than ever. I'm paying my bills, looking for a job, writing, creating a home, and looking after myself again. Of course, we all know by know, I'm even doing one thing I never thought I would - by marrying the man who stuck by me through all this. I'm still scared, sure, but it's a good fear, the fear that the future I wish for is within my grasp, but I need to work at it to reach it. Not just for me, but for Gof too. For my family. My friends. Everyone who has had a part in the twists and turns so far, and those yet to join me. The fear is knowing I am able to succeed. I would let myself down if I settled for second best.
That's my story. So far. I'll continue to tell it, but right now, my thoughts are on homelessness in general. How much, do we, as the general public (how I hate that phrase!), surmise about homeless people, and how much do we stereotype? It's the runaways, the junkies, alkies, whores of the world who are homeless.
Maybe the majority are. But where did those people, (and they ARE people) come from? What did they run from? Why are they swallowing, injecting, snorting the memories away? One wrong choice and that might have been you. One moment in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all it takes. The stories I heard when I was living in these hostels... I related to these women. I seen how it happened. For everyone I spoke to, they all said the same thing - "Don't end up like me. Don't give up in yourself". These women settled for last place, living in a hostel for good, since it was the only security they'd had in years. I'm sitting here typing this with tears streaming. These people should be commended for simply surviving over the odds, not condemned for something most of them had very little say over. This was something that was done to them, for which they lacked the skills to cope.
Even so, more and more people are becoming homeless as a direct result of this so-called credit crunch. Families who bought their home suddenly finding themselves on the street because the bank foreclosed on their mortgage. People who lost their jobs because the company they worked for went tits up. Armed with very little information, there is a scant amount of support for those who have no real understanding of a system that can be scary to navigate alone.
There's very little actual statistics on homelessness in Glasgow. I know, I've looked. Between homeless charities like Shelter and Crisis publishing fairly general reports like this one and Government trying to "spin" the situation, apparently homelessness has went down according to some reports like this one that states;
But then, we have graphs like this one from the Scottish Government website completely contradicting that!
J.R.R. Tolkien called it the eucatastrophe. The sudden change of what seems utterly hopeless to joy, and hope. Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse.... they don't.
I suppose most of you know the circumstances of my homelessness. In short, eviction, hostel, private let, stayed with a friend, stayed with another friend, stayed with Gof, hostel again, then finally, blessedly, to a flat with my name on the lease. Some friendships were burned so bad, all that's left is ashes and regret. Some were made, and sealed with love and hope. Mostly though, looking back, it was a real discovery for who I am, and what I can do. I found reserves of strength, eventually, that I didn't believe I had in me. I accepted help, from anyone willing to offer, from family, friends, organisations - and knew it wasn't an admission of defeat. I took time, proper time, and found an iron will. I found that even though I sometimes succumbed to despair, I knew, deep inside, that I will not let this beat me.
And it hasn't. I've still a way to go, no doubt for that - but I'm more hopeful than ever. I'm paying my bills, looking for a job, writing, creating a home, and looking after myself again. Of course, we all know by know, I'm even doing one thing I never thought I would - by marrying the man who stuck by me through all this. I'm still scared, sure, but it's a good fear, the fear that the future I wish for is within my grasp, but I need to work at it to reach it. Not just for me, but for Gof too. For my family. My friends. Everyone who has had a part in the twists and turns so far, and those yet to join me. The fear is knowing I am able to succeed. I would let myself down if I settled for second best.
That's my story. So far. I'll continue to tell it, but right now, my thoughts are on homelessness in general. How much, do we, as the general public (how I hate that phrase!), surmise about homeless people, and how much do we stereotype? It's the runaways, the junkies, alkies, whores of the world who are homeless.
Maybe the majority are. But where did those people, (and they ARE people) come from? What did they run from? Why are they swallowing, injecting, snorting the memories away? One wrong choice and that might have been you. One moment in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all it takes. The stories I heard when I was living in these hostels... I related to these women. I seen how it happened. For everyone I spoke to, they all said the same thing - "Don't end up like me. Don't give up in yourself". These women settled for last place, living in a hostel for good, since it was the only security they'd had in years. I'm sitting here typing this with tears streaming. These people should be commended for simply surviving over the odds, not condemned for something most of them had very little say over. This was something that was done to them, for which they lacked the skills to cope.
Even so, more and more people are becoming homeless as a direct result of this so-called credit crunch. Families who bought their home suddenly finding themselves on the street because the bank foreclosed on their mortgage. People who lost their jobs because the company they worked for went tits up. Armed with very little information, there is a scant amount of support for those who have no real understanding of a system that can be scary to navigate alone.
There's very little actual statistics on homelessness in Glasgow. I know, I've looked. Between homeless charities like Shelter and Crisis publishing fairly general reports like this one and Government trying to "spin" the situation, apparently homelessness has went down according to some reports like this one that states;
"Homelessness presentations by single applicants down by 38% over the years 2002/03 to 2007/08"
Strategic evaluation of the Glasgow Homelessness Partnership by Blake Stevenson.
But then, we have graphs like this one from the Scottish Government website completely contradicting that!
What to believe? I know I'm not the only casualty of the credit crunch who has ended up homeless. I know I'm not the only person the DWP has let down. So where are the real stories? Where are the success stories? The hopeless cases? Why is no-one asking these questions?
Sunday, 31 January 2010
And so, it happens...
Gof and I have been together for just over two years now. We have never had a serious argument, never gone to bed angry, never lied or hid something from each other. It hasn't always been easy - in fact, it has NEVER been easy, our blossoming relationship was hit by my eviction from Tarfside Oval, and continued on through hostels I had to stay in, a private flat I couldn't afford (to get OUT of said hostels), staying with friends (and the hassles that produced), back into a hostel, until now, I'm becoming more settled in an amazing flat I still can't quite believe is mine.
I've tried so many times to break it off. Not because I don't love him - but because I do. Life with me, and for me, hasn't been easy for such a long time, and I hated putting him through that. Never knowing where I was sleeping that night, or worse, knowing I had to go back to a hostel (as much as the last one was great, and I appreciate everything they did for me there... it's still a hostel), never having enough money to eat, travel, live - well, mood swing Central! Poor Gof couldn't ever predict whether I would be full of the joys of spring, hopeful and positive things would get better, or so depressed that nothing was ever going to go right ever, so I may as well give up. I hated doing that to him. I hated myself.
But he never gave up on me. On us. Never walked away, although lord knows I gave him plenty of ammunition, plenty of reasons to run from the monster I was being. I wouldn't have blamed him. I always thought he deserved better. Still do, really. Now I know he does, simply because he refused to leave me. He has such strength, and so much love and compassion, and I am absolutely certain he deserves better.
So I will be better. I am, already getting there. Instead of telling myself to break it off because he deserves better, I am telling myself to become that person he should have. Already the decision has impacted our lives. He sees how happy and settled I feel. Despite all the issues in our lives, our relationship on it's own has never left the honeymoon state, and now, that feeling has deepened into something more. It's nothing I can explain, but we both feel it. It's settled, full of joy, lusty, wow moments, giggles, serious conversations, and comfort. It's more than that. It's absolutely life-changing.
Since the 24th of November, 2009, I have been in a flat I can afford, a beautifully appointed, clean, blank canvas of a house I am slowly, but carefully making a home. But not just any home. I am making a home for us. Gof doesn't live with me as of yet, but I already want, not.. need, to make this a home we'll both know is ours. After all, it's only a matter of time, and as much as I can't wait for the day his post arrives at mine, we are being very careful - we've both lived with people before, and I know there is mistakes I made I don't want to repeat, so I guess he does too.
We've already laid out each of our bottom lines. I want a home with antique furniture, he wants somewhere to hang his band posters. I want the hall to look like a mini gallery, full of my friend's artwork, he wants a display case to show off his collector's items. We both want each of our wages to remain our own, but split the household bills 50/50 in a joint account. There's more, of course, but basically, we are happy with the choices we've made for our co-habitation!
I've never seen the point of getting married. The marriages I grew up seeing? Well, they left a lot to be desired, and a bitter taste in my mouth. People either despairing of or despising each other, but forced to grow old together because divorce just "wasn't the done thing". Staying together for the kids, when those kids grew up thinking a relationship was supposed to be like that, falling into loveless, abusive relationships themselves and calling it love. Or if there was a divorce, the pain and hate of the failure, seeping into the core of a person until all that's left is bitching about who should pay for what and fighting over the kids/dogs/DVD's. And weddings? No thanks! Spending yourselves into debt you'll be paying off the rest of your natural, to make sure you have the perfect dress, venue, buffet, band, reception yada yada yada..... all that money, and the arguments about flower arrangements, food, bridesmaids (do we really need 12?) - the "happy" couple forget about love and start thinking about wedding presents, a honeymoon in Hawaii, and whether a dress to be worn for a few hours on one day should cost hundreds or thousands.
Screw that. I'm never doing that!
That's what I've said for years. I didn't get it, didn't want to, didn't need to. I am happy knowing he loves me and I love him. It's true.
But now.. something's changed. I realise now that I don't care about a big cookie cutter wedding, bridesmaids and all that hoopla. What I care about, is saying, in front of people we both care about, that I love him with all my heart and I don't see that changing. I want to grow old, his hand in mine, and find out what life has in store for us. I want to celebrate that we, together, got through this bad time, and together, we can do anything.
So yeah, I am doing that, after all.
We're getting married.
We're going to stand together, husband and wife, and walk through life in matching strides, and be always what we mean to each now.
I fell hard for this man. Hook, line and sinker. And the most amazing part? He fell the same for me.
I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
I've tried so many times to break it off. Not because I don't love him - but because I do. Life with me, and for me, hasn't been easy for such a long time, and I hated putting him through that. Never knowing where I was sleeping that night, or worse, knowing I had to go back to a hostel (as much as the last one was great, and I appreciate everything they did for me there... it's still a hostel), never having enough money to eat, travel, live - well, mood swing Central! Poor Gof couldn't ever predict whether I would be full of the joys of spring, hopeful and positive things would get better, or so depressed that nothing was ever going to go right ever, so I may as well give up. I hated doing that to him. I hated myself.
But he never gave up on me. On us. Never walked away, although lord knows I gave him plenty of ammunition, plenty of reasons to run from the monster I was being. I wouldn't have blamed him. I always thought he deserved better. Still do, really. Now I know he does, simply because he refused to leave me. He has such strength, and so much love and compassion, and I am absolutely certain he deserves better.
So I will be better. I am, already getting there. Instead of telling myself to break it off because he deserves better, I am telling myself to become that person he should have. Already the decision has impacted our lives. He sees how happy and settled I feel. Despite all the issues in our lives, our relationship on it's own has never left the honeymoon state, and now, that feeling has deepened into something more. It's nothing I can explain, but we both feel it. It's settled, full of joy, lusty, wow moments, giggles, serious conversations, and comfort. It's more than that. It's absolutely life-changing.
Since the 24th of November, 2009, I have been in a flat I can afford, a beautifully appointed, clean, blank canvas of a house I am slowly, but carefully making a home. But not just any home. I am making a home for us. Gof doesn't live with me as of yet, but I already want, not.. need, to make this a home we'll both know is ours. After all, it's only a matter of time, and as much as I can't wait for the day his post arrives at mine, we are being very careful - we've both lived with people before, and I know there is mistakes I made I don't want to repeat, so I guess he does too.
We've already laid out each of our bottom lines. I want a home with antique furniture, he wants somewhere to hang his band posters. I want the hall to look like a mini gallery, full of my friend's artwork, he wants a display case to show off his collector's items. We both want each of our wages to remain our own, but split the household bills 50/50 in a joint account. There's more, of course, but basically, we are happy with the choices we've made for our co-habitation!
I've never seen the point of getting married. The marriages I grew up seeing? Well, they left a lot to be desired, and a bitter taste in my mouth. People either despairing of or despising each other, but forced to grow old together because divorce just "wasn't the done thing". Staying together for the kids, when those kids grew up thinking a relationship was supposed to be like that, falling into loveless, abusive relationships themselves and calling it love. Or if there was a divorce, the pain and hate of the failure, seeping into the core of a person until all that's left is bitching about who should pay for what and fighting over the kids/dogs/DVD's. And weddings? No thanks! Spending yourselves into debt you'll be paying off the rest of your natural, to make sure you have the perfect dress, venue, buffet, band, reception yada yada yada..... all that money, and the arguments about flower arrangements, food, bridesmaids (do we really need 12?) - the "happy" couple forget about love and start thinking about wedding presents, a honeymoon in Hawaii, and whether a dress to be worn for a few hours on one day should cost hundreds or thousands.
Screw that. I'm never doing that!
That's what I've said for years. I didn't get it, didn't want to, didn't need to. I am happy knowing he loves me and I love him. It's true.
But now.. something's changed. I realise now that I don't care about a big cookie cutter wedding, bridesmaids and all that hoopla. What I care about, is saying, in front of people we both care about, that I love him with all my heart and I don't see that changing. I want to grow old, his hand in mine, and find out what life has in store for us. I want to celebrate that we, together, got through this bad time, and together, we can do anything.
So yeah, I am doing that, after all.
We're getting married.
We're going to stand together, husband and wife, and walk through life in matching strides, and be always what we mean to each now.
I fell hard for this man. Hook, line and sinker. And the most amazing part? He fell the same for me.
I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
Friday, 29 January 2010
Looking forward to it!
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Jenny Joseph
***Normal service will resume soon!***
Saturday, 16 January 2010
Well well...
Food poisoning has had me housebound for the past week. A particularly bad dose, my doctor said, but the silver lining is I've lost 5lbs without trying, so I'm using that to kickstart my weight loss in the New Year. My stomach has shrunk from the not not eating much, and I have no intention of expanding it out again!
But on to nicer things. I'm officially back looking for work. I signed myself back to Jobseeker's Allowance, and I'm grabbing as much help as I can from whoever is offering it - from agencies to charities, I'll look for work knowing I have plenty of support.
I know I can go back to work, I crave the dual challenge and routine having a job will give me, and I'm emotionally in a better place than I have been in years. I'm just worried, I suppose, about two things. Firstly, that I'll run before I walk and rush into something I can't handled after being out of work so long, and secondly, explaining to any potential employers why I've been out of work for so long. It won't be an easy discussion.
You know the weirdest thing? When I was calling the different departments about switching over to Jobseeker's, they were all so, so shocked when they learned this wasn't something I was forced to do, rather, I chose to make the switch and start looking for a job. When they discovered I had went to my doctor of my own volition, and discussed the possibility of returning to work, rather than being told I had to - well, let's say the calls got a lot more cordial. Mostly, they thought they would be dealing with someone who was being forced, kicking and screaming, but to earning a (an?) honest crust.
But that's all I want to do. Work my day, go home, and look around my little piece of mine, and know I've bought each piece with money I've earned. To look in my bank account and know that the money there is money I worked for, every penny, not cash put there for me to survive on until two weeks time.
Anyone know of anything going? I'm not being picky!
PS. the announcement I alluded to in an earlier post? It is coming, I promise! Unforeseen delays mean I can't say now, but all will be explained in due course!
But on to nicer things. I'm officially back looking for work. I signed myself back to Jobseeker's Allowance, and I'm grabbing as much help as I can from whoever is offering it - from agencies to charities, I'll look for work knowing I have plenty of support.
I know I can go back to work, I crave the dual challenge and routine having a job will give me, and I'm emotionally in a better place than I have been in years. I'm just worried, I suppose, about two things. Firstly, that I'll run before I walk and rush into something I can't handled after being out of work so long, and secondly, explaining to any potential employers why I've been out of work for so long. It won't be an easy discussion.
You know the weirdest thing? When I was calling the different departments about switching over to Jobseeker's, they were all so, so shocked when they learned this wasn't something I was forced to do, rather, I chose to make the switch and start looking for a job. When they discovered I had went to my doctor of my own volition, and discussed the possibility of returning to work, rather than being told I had to - well, let's say the calls got a lot more cordial. Mostly, they thought they would be dealing with someone who was being forced, kicking and screaming, but to earning a (an?) honest crust.
But that's all I want to do. Work my day, go home, and look around my little piece of mine, and know I've bought each piece with money I've earned. To look in my bank account and know that the money there is money I worked for, every penny, not cash put there for me to survive on until two weeks time.
Anyone know of anything going? I'm not being picky!
PS. the announcement I alluded to in an earlier post? It is coming, I promise! Unforeseen delays mean I can't say now, but all will be explained in due course!
Monday, 4 January 2010
The Not The Resolutions List for 2010
I want to discover new bands, new music. Online, gigs, anywhere!
I want to remind everyone they are absolutely beautiful, just the way they are.
I want to go to bed knowing I've done the dishes.
I want to make sure Gof knows at all times he is loved very very much.
I want to indulge in my girlie side without feeling like I look like I want to be a little girl.
I want to write more often.
I want to decide.
I want to take my make up off every night.
I want to stick to a food plan, not a diet.
I want to see my flat grow into my home.
I want to stick at a job.
I want to find joy in what I do.
I want to see my family more often.
I want to create beautiful things.
I want to go to more burlesque shows.
I want my savings to be savings, not emergency money.
I want to let go of the hurt.
I want to wear something each day that has no purpose other than being lovely.
I want to take more pictures.
I want to reach for the stars....
Sunday, 3 January 2010
A(nother) small update.
I'm a bit broken right now. I'm literally battered and bruised. Some people just shouldn't drink. No, scratch that - some people shouldn't drink and then bust into someone's home to cause trouble. Especially when that someone is your estranged sister and she has a home filled with people who love her. Especially a few small hours after the New Year bells have rung. Yes, a grown woman beat me because I wouldn't allow her to go near my dear friend. That lovely lady is suffering physical and mental pains, which this grown woman, full of jealously, bitter hate and alcohol, knew all about. And yet, still wanted to attack her own sister in a completely unprovoked rage.
I could repeat what happened over and over again and still it doesn't make sense. Every family has their issues, this I know (and don't we all!), but the vile blackness spewing from that, that thing's mouth... it's worse than the attack on me. Her other sister, a woman I've met before and disliked on sight because of her petty behaviour has joined in, and took the side of that drunken maniac. My friend, my amazingly generous friend, now needs to go through life knowing her own sisters hate her that much - and for no real reason. Jealously is a powerful, destructive thing.
Since then, things have only got worse. There have been death threats, and threats towards any (as yet unborn) children my friend may have, both of them threatening her with this since she dared go to the police.
The police are involved, and there has been a charge of assault for what that woman done to me. Statements taken, and pictures of my injuries have been done today. I hope, for my friend, for her husband too, that her darling sister is punished to the full extent of the law. I hope that her other sister is similarly charged for the threats.
...and to think, these women have sons. How ashamed must they be? Those poor boys.
I could repeat what happened over and over again and still it doesn't make sense. Every family has their issues, this I know (and don't we all!), but the vile blackness spewing from that, that thing's mouth... it's worse than the attack on me. Her other sister, a woman I've met before and disliked on sight because of her petty behaviour has joined in, and took the side of that drunken maniac. My friend, my amazingly generous friend, now needs to go through life knowing her own sisters hate her that much - and for no real reason. Jealously is a powerful, destructive thing.
Since then, things have only got worse. There have been death threats, and threats towards any (as yet unborn) children my friend may have, both of them threatening her with this since she dared go to the police.
The police are involved, and there has been a charge of assault for what that woman done to me. Statements taken, and pictures of my injuries have been done today. I hope, for my friend, for her husband too, that her darling sister is punished to the full extent of the law. I hope that her other sister is similarly charged for the threats.
...and to think, these women have sons. How ashamed must they be? Those poor boys.
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