About Me, My Family and My Life - Teenage Years: A Life in the Doghouse!

by Elaine Riley
(Lancashire, UK)

It was never really my intention to write so much of this in so few "sittings", but now that the start has been made, it's as if everything else just naturally wants to follow. The words are there, forming sentences and flowing, almost of their own accord. It's as if the pressure of wanting to be let free has allowed my thoughts to break through the "floodgates"... I guess if it needs to be said, it HAS to be said...

My teens were dreadful years. I know that's probably true for so many people. The teenage years are never easy to deal with. They're a time of awkwardness, of trying to find out where you fit in, of outgrowing childhood, but never being really sure if, and when, you're an adult. They are a time of trying to assert your own personality, of getting used to a constantly changing body, of taking on board new and often frightening levels of responsibility.

I can imagine that for some teens, those with supportive and caring families, these transitional years are made more bearable. There is a wealth of experience in ones' parents, which, if tapped into, can help to make sense of this difficult phase. After all, it's fortunate if you are able to benefit from the knowledge of those who have done it all before!

But in my family, this really wasn't to be the case. It was as if, somehow, as soon as I was old enough to go to High School, I was also considered old enough to fend for myself. The change to High School was not easy. My parents made my responsibilities very clear - life would be all about getting good grades, a good job, and so forth. No more fun! My parents entered me into examinations to try out for a sponsored place at Public School, but despite my getting through to the second round of tests (to decide whether I got a Scholarship, or Bursary), they withdrew me, not wanting to take the risk of having to pay anything for my education. I was very dejected, as I could not comprehend this decision. I was the only child from my Infant School to have entered these exams and passed! This was a clear sign to me that I would never be good enough!

My life became a daily bout of arguments, with my parents trying to make all the decisions for me, and me desperate to assert myself. My relationship with my father tailed off after I showed little interest in pursuing Science subjects to University level. It was clear that my parents did not see MY interests as relevant. They could think only of what they saw as a "good Degree", a "good job"... The fact that I achieved more highly in Arts subjects such as English and Music was a problem in its own right; after all, to my parents, these kind of subjects were "namby pamby", they "did not get you a proper job".

I think something about my mum changed after she had my brother. It was as if she was more strained, and this triggered resurgence of some of her illness. She spent most of her time on my brother. Dad worked long hours, and was rarely present to provide care. He appeared to think that all he had to do was give my mum money, and that was his "caring" done! Mum worked part-time, and then got home, cooked tea for me and my brother, bathed my brother, put him to bed... All before dad got back from work, by which time his tea was expected to be on the table (if not, all Hell broke loose).

I was expected to keep out of the way, despite needing to finish my homework. Dad would move me from the table, shouting if I was not fast enough. He cared little if he was noisy, putting the T.V. or radio on very loud. I could not concentrate on my homework, and did not have a desk in my room, so had to make do with the floor. If I asked dad to turn the noise down so I could finish my work, he deliberately turned it UP. This was a regular occurrence, which he continued doing, taunting me into arguments that ended with a "good hiding" for me being "rude". If I didn't finish my homework, this meant further punishment. If I got in dad's way, needing the bathroom when he wanted it, asking to use the table while he ate, this resulted in shouting matches and fights. Mum never stepped in to stop it.

Mum seemed constantly tired, so I took on many of the household chores. This did not help my situation; rather, it was taken for granted. Mum drank a lot, although I suspect that on her medication, she should not have. It was a huge embarrassment to see all the empty bottles lined up behind our garage - Vodka, Wine, Bacardi... About half a bottle, or at least four glasses per night! She spent much of every evening asleep! Funny that my parents never saw this as problematic, despite frequently lecturing me about the evils of drink!

Lectures were a regular occurrence. Despite their "laissez faire" attitude in respect of providing emotional support, my parents never ceased to bark out orders, and to lay down "rules". I could not talk to my parents, or confide in them; they were distant in an emotional sense. They did not talk about relationships, or sex, except to describe them as "bad". I was not allowed to ask questions, or "talk back". When telling me to do something, my parents always stated "because we said so"; they never gave proper reasons and became aggressive if challenged. Mum screamed, or became hysterical, crying and yelling at the same time. She could always turn on the "waterworks" to get her own way, but if I cried, I was accused of "melodrama" and smacked. Dad generally had little to do with me, other than punishment. This included shouting, yelling, threatening me and hitting me. I tried to hide in my room, but dad followed, hitting and kicking me if he caught me. He would pin me between the radiator wall and the bed, grabbing and twisting my wrists (like a "Chinese Burn") to stop me getting free. My parents would shove me and shake me. On one occasion, my dad even pushed me out of the house, down the steps and slammed the door in my face. I felt my feet come off the ground, and I was crying at the time. This was because I had dared to ask the reason for something I was told to do. A friend's mum noticed bruises on my wrists, but did not act.

Life was like prison. I had friends, but they rarely came in the house, as my parents were selective about this. Only "friends" who achieved at school came in, the rest sat on the garden wall! Most did not want to come in as my parents openly argued and shouted in front of them, and mum moaned about mess. It was painfully embarrassing. We were seldom allowed to my room, as we might make a mess. My parents punished me in front of friends, who often had to take their own leave of the house.

I had no privacy, as my parents entered my room whenever they pleased. Mum used excuses like "just checking" and "seeing if there are boys in here"! I was not permitted to decorate my room, or have pets - again to do with mum's phobias, and obsession about dirt. My phone-calls and mail were checked. One occasion, after I had bought clothes my parents hated, dad raided my wardrobe, burning and binning items he wished to "censor". Clothes were a frequent source of argument, as was music. To assert my personality, and detract from how unhappy I felt, I became a "Goth".

My unhappiness was deep-seated, and due also to continued bullying at school. I struggled to fit in, and to feel "wanted". Life felt full of punishment, no matter where I was. I could not meet my family's expectations and ever-moving "goalposts", but if I did well at school, I was picked on by jealous kids. I felt I identified with the "Goth" scene. I could dress in black, and hide behind clothes which took on the form of "camouflage" for me. "Angsty" music reflected my mood. Piercings made me feel less inhibited about a body and face that I believed to be hideously ugly.

But to my parents, especially my mother, my changed appearance and behaviour was a source of nightmare. She derided my outfits as "tarty" - I dressed like a "slut". As far as she was concerned, this was what I had become. She warned me that boys would only want me "for one thing". It was assumed that if I smelled of smoke, not only was I smoking, but drinking and taking drugs too! If I was heard phoning a boy, it was assumed I'd had sex with him! After a while, I began to feel that if this was what I was to be accused of, then I might as well do it! (Continued...)