Tuesday 29 October 2013
A letter to my mother....
I'm going to Uncle Martin's funeral tomorrow.
I want to be there, because I want to be part of this family. However distant.
I want you know I'm sorry.
I want you to know I care.
I just don't know how to get that across.
I'm trying really hard to rebuild my life, putting positives over negatives. It's become a bit of a mantra and as long as I start each day with that in mind, things can only get better.
There is a gaping hole in my heart that only you three can fill. I had it when I was 4, I have it now I'm 26.
I know I've done it all ass backwards, and I've hurt you with the way I've lived my life. I'm sorry. I don't want to live my life not having you in it somehow.
When I found out you were sick it almost killed me, I didn't know what to do, call you, text you, turn up at the office. It wasn't my right; but you have to understand how much I love you, whether it feels like it or not. I ran to the hospital, demanded to know if you were being looked after there, rang The Christie, no-one would tell me anything. I kept calling. Driving them mad.
I don't want to feel that powerless again, if something happened to you and I couldn't tell you how sorry I am, I just couldn't forgive myself.
I have to live with the things that I have done. I know how many mistakes I've made and how hard it is to put them right - that's not what this is. This is me telling you, I'm here, honest, with nothing to offer you apart from me. The truth, my hard work, and my apology.
I want you to say thank you, for everything you gave me. You have been an amazing mother, and I have been the disgraced daughter. I never meant to cause you embarrassment or pain. I'm well aware having your daughter up in court in the city where you made your name is horrific, but I have to say, when my day of reckoning came, it changed my entire world. Although seeing you on Deansgate broke my heart because I know how disappointed you are.
There's not much more to say, I just wanted you to know that I love you. I don't want to live my life without knowing your safe and well, even if that's all we will ever manage. I don't want you to text me to tell me not to text you ever again. Please just take the time to think about what I've said.
I want you to know I'm happy, I work at the University as Catering Manager, seems I inherited some of KB's culinary flair, although I'm not sure the atrocities I cooked for you would say that same.
I've set up my own business, and its an amazing vehicle to move forward in a positive way.
The most important thing you need to know is I'm not a failure, I'm not a criminal, I'm not a drug-addict, I'm Francesca. I am your daughter. I am finding myself, through hard work, clinical psychologists, medication, a few good friends and an amazing partner.
I want you to know this Francesca, because I don't think either of us have gotten a chance to do that yet.
Love,
Fran x
Friday 4 October 2013
It's not all doom and gloom
It’s easy to sink,
If no-one taught you how to swim,
It’s easy to surrender,
And to just give in.
The trick is to play harder,
Than the game you fought before,
Because with every knock back,
You’ll get up off the floor.
It broke me,
I fixed it,
And fell apart again
Because it’s the battle of a lifetime
That leaves you asking when?
When will it be over?
When will I be free?
When will I be able to sustain this stormy sea?
Will life be easy?
Will I breathe in the air?
Instead of drowning in self pity,
Swallowed up in despair.
Reach out for a hand to hold you,
Forget the one that scolds you,
The words they often sold you,
Don’t matter anymore.
Just do it.
Close the door.
A new chapter awaits you,
Just begging for you to walk through.
So it was a sob story,
With not a patch of hope or glory,
What does that matter in the long run?
You can't undo whats been done?
Exorcise those demons,
Let all the anger out,
There’s no need anymore,
To always scream and shout.
No need for bloodlines,
That mark your skin like a map,
This is a new world,
Where you are not under attack.
Seize this freedom with both hands,
And firmly understand,
Second chances are your last,
No repeats from the past.
Go forth and try your best,
To put it all to rest,
To live life as yourself,
In heaven, not in hell.
Thursday 3 October 2013
The Magic Roundabout
I've always assumed blogs are a place to voice what it is that's on your mind, with an audience, or without. You still get to say what it is you need to. With that in mind, I can see the appeal, its like therapy without the psychiatrist, which is always going to appeal to human nature. A safe place of sorts; which is ironic considering you can bare your soul on the internet and leave yourself more vulnerable than ever.
For me, blogging is a new concept, a way to share my experiences, feelings and thoughts, in the hope that other people can stumble forwards with me, putting positives over negatives. I suppose that is what this is all about. Finding myself. I'm Francesca Barker, I'm 26 years old. That's as far as I have got in terms of understanding who I am. I have a stack of paperwork that dictates who Francesca Barker is, a degree, a criminal conviction, a mental health problem, a business. This is a journey of self discovery, stepping away from labels, assumptions and expectations.
My first blog is aptly titled "The Magic Roundabout" - my life moves in cycles, where I drive myself forward with immense vigor and determination only to throw it all away and press the self destruct button. It has taken me a very long time to recognize this destructive pattern, however, its one thing to recognize and another to make a change. I think I have lived my life as a coward to a certain extent, certainly playing the part of the victim - which is easy to do if the perpetrator and the victim are the same person. You find yourself in a relentless game of table tennis of good and bad, truth and lies and it gets tiring.
I have known for a long time the issues that have plagued me, I have been in denial, shame. It is a hard fact to accept that your mistakes, and the pain in your life, is cause and consequence of the bad choices you have made. My biggest mistake was thinking I could do this alone. Don't ever be ashamed to ask for help, whether its a cry standing on top of a railway bridge (and believe me, it has been) or a cry that falls on deaf ears, there is ALWAYS someone who can shine a light into the darkness.
I was lost as a child, buried in thoughts and feelings out of my grasp, and its a sad fact that it took a court case at the age of 26 for my history to unravel and for me to find out the dark truth about my past and the stones that paved the way for me to fall apart.
I'm Francesca Barker, but before that, I was Francesca Hall. Daughter of a prostitute, daughter of an alcoholic with a drug problem. Daughter of a violent bloodline. Horrible ghosts filled the court room when I heard my barrister play out my sad story like it was a pantomime. The thought of going to prison was even more abhorrent as I would have to take all these demons with me, to sit and fester leading me to a darker place than I was already in.
On Christmas Eve 2012, I picked up a file from my GP to pass onto my solicitor. Inside that file was a child court case records, pages and pages about a mother and father who beat each other and their children. A poignant paragraph read "Mrs Hall became pregnant with Francesca, she was drinking heavily and was asking for an abortion" Merry Christmas Fran, the answer to your adoption lies here.
I read these horror stories and all I could think to myself was, oh dear, the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree. My Mum wasn't kidding when she said I was "damaged goods" (another story for another day perhaps!)
This is the first time I have been so vocal about what I read in those documents, this is why blogging seemed the appropriate outlet, if it's just words on a page, then it's a little less admission than saying it aloud. Although, I do believe that in order to vent your demons, you have to face them and exorcise them in order to be free.
It's safe to say that my early childhood can be summarized in a paragraph taken directly from the child court case records "Having been told of the decision to make the children Wards of Court, Mr Hall telephoned threatening to kill himself and was later found holding a knife with Francesca in his care.....there is a history of very poor parenting and domestic violence which has given rise to grave concern for the safety of the children"
This is a man who allowed his daughter to be "passed around" like a Christmas toy if you know what I mean!!!
Pretty harrowing stuff to be reading the night before Christmas, but I was very much of the attitude, of 'I deserve this' - that was 9 months ago, and I am aware that wasn't the right mind set, but amidst a pending sentencing in the crown court, the non-existence of a support network, not a family member in sight, it was pretty hard not to grab it with both hands and think THIS IS ME. It wasn't nurture, and to be honest, thats a debatable concept within my family anyway, it was most certainly nature.
I'm still left with the begging question, is this me? Was I destined to end up here? With more in common with my birth mother than my adoptive mother, because really, when playing visa verca, it's concerning. It's awful and ironic that I've spent my life in awe of my adoptive mother, a great woman if somewhat concrete, she is amazing, and I secretly harbor a gratitude for what she gave me. Perhaps I am actually the daughter of Bridie Kehoe (stick that in google for a laugh) a druggie, with a list of convictions as long as your arm, diagnosed with the same mental health disorder as me. It's hard not to feel terrified of who you really are.
Bridie Kehoe. Mother. Drug addict. Murderer - told you to google her. I think she can be summarized in one word - monster.
I found myself standing in the dock in the court room drawing comparisons from her life and mine, her court file reads like fiction, excuses after excuses for her bad behaviour, her mistakes, immense mitigating circumstances to ensure she got a softer sentence. I'm standing there thinking, f*** me, its a mirror image.
There is one difference between me and her. I accept that I did wrong. I accept it was my bad choices. Whilst I know 101 things lead me down the road to self destruction, I make no excuses for it. But that biggest difference between my murderer mother and me? I am sorry for what I did and for those I hurt. Shes rotting in a prison somewhere with blood on her hands and no children in sight, and you can't help but think... good.
Perhaps your reading this thinking I'm being too harsh, it's easy for me to type with anger seeping into the page because I am angry. I am angry she didn't change. Didn't want to. Didn't seize the help she was offered with both hands. Everyone has the chance to make life better. To be the person you want to be. For yourself, for your children, for your wife.
I stood in court room with one thought firmly in my mind, if I am lucky enough to get a second chance, I will never make the same mistake again. I will change. I will take every inch of help that is offered and I will figure out who the hell I am so there is no need to live this life of fake anymore.
Second chances are few and fare between, but life begins again when you make it so.
If you are struggling with anytime similar, talk to someone! Talk to me, just talk
For me, blogging is a new concept, a way to share my experiences, feelings and thoughts, in the hope that other people can stumble forwards with me, putting positives over negatives. I suppose that is what this is all about. Finding myself. I'm Francesca Barker, I'm 26 years old. That's as far as I have got in terms of understanding who I am. I have a stack of paperwork that dictates who Francesca Barker is, a degree, a criminal conviction, a mental health problem, a business. This is a journey of self discovery, stepping away from labels, assumptions and expectations.
My first blog is aptly titled "The Magic Roundabout" - my life moves in cycles, where I drive myself forward with immense vigor and determination only to throw it all away and press the self destruct button. It has taken me a very long time to recognize this destructive pattern, however, its one thing to recognize and another to make a change. I think I have lived my life as a coward to a certain extent, certainly playing the part of the victim - which is easy to do if the perpetrator and the victim are the same person. You find yourself in a relentless game of table tennis of good and bad, truth and lies and it gets tiring.
I have known for a long time the issues that have plagued me, I have been in denial, shame. It is a hard fact to accept that your mistakes, and the pain in your life, is cause and consequence of the bad choices you have made. My biggest mistake was thinking I could do this alone. Don't ever be ashamed to ask for help, whether its a cry standing on top of a railway bridge (and believe me, it has been) or a cry that falls on deaf ears, there is ALWAYS someone who can shine a light into the darkness.
I was lost as a child, buried in thoughts and feelings out of my grasp, and its a sad fact that it took a court case at the age of 26 for my history to unravel and for me to find out the dark truth about my past and the stones that paved the way for me to fall apart.
I'm Francesca Barker, but before that, I was Francesca Hall. Daughter of a prostitute, daughter of an alcoholic with a drug problem. Daughter of a violent bloodline. Horrible ghosts filled the court room when I heard my barrister play out my sad story like it was a pantomime. The thought of going to prison was even more abhorrent as I would have to take all these demons with me, to sit and fester leading me to a darker place than I was already in.
On Christmas Eve 2012, I picked up a file from my GP to pass onto my solicitor. Inside that file was a child court case records, pages and pages about a mother and father who beat each other and their children. A poignant paragraph read "Mrs Hall became pregnant with Francesca, she was drinking heavily and was asking for an abortion" Merry Christmas Fran, the answer to your adoption lies here.
I read these horror stories and all I could think to myself was, oh dear, the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree. My Mum wasn't kidding when she said I was "damaged goods" (another story for another day perhaps!)
This is the first time I have been so vocal about what I read in those documents, this is why blogging seemed the appropriate outlet, if it's just words on a page, then it's a little less admission than saying it aloud. Although, I do believe that in order to vent your demons, you have to face them and exorcise them in order to be free.
It's safe to say that my early childhood can be summarized in a paragraph taken directly from the child court case records "Having been told of the decision to make the children Wards of Court, Mr Hall telephoned threatening to kill himself and was later found holding a knife with Francesca in his care.....there is a history of very poor parenting and domestic violence which has given rise to grave concern for the safety of the children"
This is a man who allowed his daughter to be "passed around" like a Christmas toy if you know what I mean!!!
Pretty harrowing stuff to be reading the night before Christmas, but I was very much of the attitude, of 'I deserve this' - that was 9 months ago, and I am aware that wasn't the right mind set, but amidst a pending sentencing in the crown court, the non-existence of a support network, not a family member in sight, it was pretty hard not to grab it with both hands and think THIS IS ME. It wasn't nurture, and to be honest, thats a debatable concept within my family anyway, it was most certainly nature.
I'm still left with the begging question, is this me? Was I destined to end up here? With more in common with my birth mother than my adoptive mother, because really, when playing visa verca, it's concerning. It's awful and ironic that I've spent my life in awe of my adoptive mother, a great woman if somewhat concrete, she is amazing, and I secretly harbor a gratitude for what she gave me. Perhaps I am actually the daughter of Bridie Kehoe (stick that in google for a laugh) a druggie, with a list of convictions as long as your arm, diagnosed with the same mental health disorder as me. It's hard not to feel terrified of who you really are.
Bridie Kehoe. Mother. Drug addict. Murderer - told you to google her. I think she can be summarized in one word - monster.
I found myself standing in the dock in the court room drawing comparisons from her life and mine, her court file reads like fiction, excuses after excuses for her bad behaviour, her mistakes, immense mitigating circumstances to ensure she got a softer sentence. I'm standing there thinking, f*** me, its a mirror image.
There is one difference between me and her. I accept that I did wrong. I accept it was my bad choices. Whilst I know 101 things lead me down the road to self destruction, I make no excuses for it. But that biggest difference between my murderer mother and me? I am sorry for what I did and for those I hurt. Shes rotting in a prison somewhere with blood on her hands and no children in sight, and you can't help but think... good.
Perhaps your reading this thinking I'm being too harsh, it's easy for me to type with anger seeping into the page because I am angry. I am angry she didn't change. Didn't want to. Didn't seize the help she was offered with both hands. Everyone has the chance to make life better. To be the person you want to be. For yourself, for your children, for your wife.
I stood in court room with one thought firmly in my mind, if I am lucky enough to get a second chance, I will never make the same mistake again. I will change. I will take every inch of help that is offered and I will figure out who the hell I am so there is no need to live this life of fake anymore.
Second chances are few and fare between, but life begins again when you make it so.
If you are struggling with anytime similar, talk to someone! Talk to me, just talk
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