“To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand: therefore if thou art moved, thou runn’st away” He makes a lot of sense, Shakespeare. I obtained most of my morals from him actually.
 
I just love all his work. In fact so much so it enables me to forget my own little miserable excuse of a life for a while and laugh at others instead. And, believe me, there’s plenty of time and opportunities to do that in here. 

     I think I’m supposed to use this period to wallow in self-pity, think about my mental health, and discover what or who ‘made me like this’. I, however, am not like the other pitiful animals that are enclosed in this cage. I don’t want to think and I don’t want to talk (especially to some patronising, know-it-all strangers, who, if we’re all completely honest with ourselves, don’t REALLY give a damn) and most importantly of all, I don’t want to ‘recuperate’! Do you know why? Because I’m not even ill!!

I don’t have a temperature. I am not regurgitating foodstuffs. I am not even bed-bound due to an unfortunate accident! Yet, these strange looking people in white coats continue to feed me pills at rhythmic intervals, force me to lie on a couch and talk about what I’m thinking, THEN proceed to throw me out of the room when I’m just being honest(is it my fault that Margaret women dresses like a lamb when she is so obviously mutton or dare I say a ram, and smells like she’s been on a three day fishing trip then trod on dog poo on the way to work? I think not!).

Then on top of all that hell, they won’t give me back my razor or shoelaces! How’s a guy supposed to wear shoes if he doesn’t have his bloody shoelaces?!

     I’m not even clear on why I’m in here. I was just having a little jamboree with my child over a footie victory when, I think, I must’ve fallen asleep. Next thing I knew I woke up here. Don’t know what’s happened to my child. Don’t even know if he’s alive. I miss him.

It’s only been a couple of months but we’ve spent the last sixteen years together. Inseparable we were. (Smiling) Oh the times we had! I’m a single father, did I mention that? My wife left me years ago, couldn’t cope with something or other, can’t for the life of me remember what it was. Or maybe she died. Oh I can’t remember, what does it matter now anyway, it was years ago. I hope Jamie is being looked after, he doesn’t know how to cope by himself.

The family and neighbours think this is my transgression. I resent that. I happen to know I’m a very good father, always there for my child and kept him well out of harms way. Taught him everything I know I did. Didn’t send him to school, didn’t see the need. He’d only then get into trouble, learn nothing about the real world and spend half his time away from home if he made friends.
 
Now, now don’t you give me that look of criticism. I knew what was best for him. I knew what he needed to learn for when he was ready to leave the nest, and taught him it.

He got some lessons. I did go to school in my pubescent years you know. Soon perceived there was more to life however, but I still carry some of my educational baggage around. I loose it sometimes but it’s there. 

     My parents did all right by me; taught me right from wrong. They were a little harsh but as sure as hell got through to me at any length. Well, at least my father did.
 
If I’m completely truthful I actually didn’t like him that much. Although looking back I can see he did no real harm. I just hated the way he treated my mother. I still see the bruises on her face and arms where he’d hit her or do whatever it was he did when he’d drag her off someplace after a night out on the booze.
 
Afterwards though my mother seemed quite happy, almost giddy on some occasions and the household would be peaceful for a while. I think the alcohol calmed them down.
 
They weren’t alcoholics though, they just liked a regular drink. They were thirsty, liked the taste and it made them happy. What’s the problem? I don’t see one. Again the family and neighbours did though. Even the kids at school thought I was weird and stayed clear from me.
 
I was bright but school wasn’t the place for me. I felt like a duck out of water. I wasn’t about to give in though, I didn’t care what they thought. Just cause they were all rich and had fancy clothes and cars didn’t mean my family had to as well right? 

     I got really lonely though, never had any friends for more than a few weeks. They were all too scared to come over to my house cause my father would yell at them.

I’d ask him to try and contain himself but then he’d say I had no respect talking to him like that and hit me. I just hit him back. (laughing) We got into some scraps we did, I usually won too! Now, now no need for applause, I’m just a natural antagonist; of both the physical and mental flavour.

You had to be careful though, if you won too many times in the one week dad would get angry. Sober too which strangely, happened to be worse. Suppose it was because he could actually see where I was standing, managed to hit me instead of mum’s favourite brass lamp.

Only put me in hospital a couple of times though. No big deal. It taught me my lesson, which was the sole purpose of the beating anyway. He didn’t mean any harm, he was just being a good father.

      At the age of sixteen my mum left home. She took her lamp and left, all in the space of about an hour. I think she met someone else. No-one ever told me the details. She broke my father’s heart. ‘Women are evil’ he used to say, ‘wouldn’t trust one as far as I could throw them.’ He said he never wanted anything to do with women ever again. Told me never to pay them a minutes attention. Then he beat me, and took to bed for a week. 

     After a couple of months though, he started getting out and about again. Going on dates and bringing people back. He didn’t think I knew what was going on, but I did. Someone with half my I.Q could’ve figured it out.

He seemed a lot happier though so I wasn’t about to complain. It made my life a hell of a lot easier (for a while anyway).

He soon fell back into his old habits. Eventually I got sick of the questions I got asked at school about my bruises and scars which multiplied as the phone calls to my home did. So I left. What was the point in staying?

Don’t get me wrong I wasn’t running away from my problems, I never do that. School was just an accessory to me. I didn’t need it and could happily live with-out it.

I had that same attitude towards my father. So I joined the army. It was definitely more my kind of place (if you know what I mean).

     Look would someone please be courteous enough to tell me why I’m in this overly disinfected, slightly characteristic igloo? I turned out fine. So did my child. I’m a good father, I’ve no need to be in here.


To be continued......