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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13818
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This is the house I had all my worst times. There were some happy times, I know there were, but the horrible times outweigh them.
Let me be clear: I was not abused or actually harmed physically. And my parents said that they loved me. It was designed and intended as a happy, secure home and I am sure they did whatever their best was. It was just all done wrong.
When my mother, then 88, was hospitalised in May, I had to visit her regularly. I returned to the area of my childhood, and, gradually, between then and her death in October, became immune to the area, the the fact that I drove, every day I visited, past the then home of a boy, not the boy, that I was infatuated with, past the homes of other boys I was seriously attracted to, past the home of the boy who outed me in school.
I visited through my tears, again calling John's name out loud - a throwback to my full obsession - asking him to come and hold me and love me. That would not have happened even if I had phoned him, of course. I'm through that now.
We held the funeral. It was good funeral. The party was happy, we had fireworks, and gave her a good sendoff. Later we tidied the house and reshaped the interior to maximise the saleability. It is not a pretty house, and I hate it. But we made it attractive to live in, and we have found a buyer with whom we are going through the tortuous UK sales process.
Yesterday we went there to do some more tidying and removal of rubbish. We accumulate so much rubbish in our lives and we've done a lot of this rubbish clearance. And we were sitting having lunch when it all became just too much.
What happened to me there:- Wrong love - no affection
- strict discipline
- smacked so often I ran out of the house to get away when I was very small, and floored my father when I was larger
- Much trivial stuff
- Not allowed to go out to dances when I KNEW I needed to meet girls
- Supervised so closely at all times that I had no real privacy
- Terror once I was 13 of being found out as a queer because I would have been sent away to be "cured"
- Given "the wrong bike" with love end generosity such that I felt stupid every time I rode it.
- Never, ever allowed a pet
So much little stuff. And yet they said they loved me.
I was a lovely little boy, and so lonely. They didn't abuse me. The smacking didn't really hurt that much not in any real sense.
I just hate that house.
I have grieved for neither of my parents. He died in 1982 and I didn't grieve then. She in 2007 and I doubt I will grieve for her ever either.
I grieve for my childhood. I think I missed it.
[Updated on: Sun, 02 March 2008 16:40]
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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I am selling the house I grew up in
By: timmy on Sun, 02 March 2008 10:39 |
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
By: acam on Sun, 02 March 2008 13:21 |
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
By: timmy on Sun, 02 March 2008 14:01 |
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
By: acam on Sun, 02 March 2008 21:18 |
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Your Mistreatment
By: unsui on Sun, 02 March 2008 15:31 |
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Re: Your Mistreatment
By: timmy on Sun, 02 March 2008 16:35 |
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
By: timmy on Sun, 02 March 2008 16:38 |
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
By: Camy on Sun, 02 March 2008 22:46 |
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
By: Scott on Sat, 08 March 2008 19:31 |
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
By: timmy on Sat, 08 March 2008 23:30 |
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Re: I am selling the house I grew up in
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Grieving
By: acam on Sun, 09 March 2008 14:39 |
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Re: Grieving
By: timmy on Sun, 09 March 2008 15:02 |
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Re: Grieving
By: marc on Sun, 09 March 2008 20:31 |
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