Copyright
Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperTrueLife
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First published by HarperTrueLife 2014
FIRST EDITION
Text © Caroline Church 2014
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Cover layout © HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Caroline Church asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Ebook Edition © December 2014 ISBN: 9780008100162
Version: 2014-11-24
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1: Puberty 1980s
Chapter 2: Billy 1990s
Chapter 3: Freddie 2003
Chapter 4: Cody 2010
Chapter 5: Hysterectomy 2012
Last Word
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About the Publisher
Puberty 1980s
The transition into womanhood and a personality change
Growing up in the Seventies, I came from an ordinary working-class family and, although there was an underlying sense of financial difficulty, there was always food on the table and an abundance of love. As I started junior school there was no hint of the heartache to come, and I simply enjoyed life, being popular and surrounded by neighbours and friends I loved. I had a regular life, free of responsibility, with a mum who worked tirelessly in the home and my formative years spent playing games and, during the summer, being out enjoying the long days. We would return when we were hungry and not before, when we would grab a snack and be on our way, without a care in the world.
When I was just ten years old, Mum told my younger sister and me that she had a surprise for us. We both waited patiently while she explained that she was going to have another baby, and even though this news was unexpected, we were both overjoyed and couldn’t wait to be her willing helpers. I remember being fascinated and intrigued by her growing bump, and would often pretend to be the midwife with my stethoscope and nurse’s case, while she allowed me to examine her tummy and listen for the sounds inside; sometimes the baby would get the hiccups, which would make me squeal with delight. It was a joyful and happy time for us all as we waited for the baby to be born.
At the time, we lived in a large block of flats where there was a communal garden and the sense of a very close community. As children we would play the days away, happy and carefree. I was surrounded by little ones, often my baby sisters, and sometimes one of the neighbours would allow me to bath or feed their baby while they got on with their chores. I simply couldn’t wait to have my own child, and I would often walk my sisters in their prams and pretend they were mine. People would stop to admire them and ask me about them, and I just felt so proud that they belonged to me and were so angelic to look at.
By the time I reached puberty, happiness gradually started to leave me; my struggle with depression had begun. I couldn’t figure out why I had this sudden change in personality. I felt immediately different and very alone as I tried to make sense of what was happening to me. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and I remember feeling dreadfully insecure, intensely sad and sorrowful, though I couldn’t say why. It was as if someone else had moved into my body and hijacked my mind, as my thoughts seemed so different to the innocent ones of the past. I tried desperately to cover my despair and sense of anguish with a tough exterior, as I didn’t want anyone to know how I was really feeling or think that I was strange or different in some way.
Fundamentally, as time went by, I just felt as though something was missing and that I didn’t fit in. As I developed and changed, this feeling of despondency increased and I began to suffer from health worries and anxiety. It was then that I noticed my thoughts were becoming obsessive and hostile, and I would sometimes be preoccupied with death and morbidity, which would leave me feeling extremely frightened and alone. I was perpetually worried that something bad was going to happen to my parents and my sisters, and I would be obsessed with trying to protect them whilst lying awake at night, filled with dread and unwanted thoughts. The more my body changed, the more I noticed an increasing mental chatter, with the same thoughts going over and over, as if on a loop, and I would struggle to slow them down. This, of course, left me emotionally drained and sometimes physically exhausted. I hated this whole change in my persona, which seemed to materialise overnight as my body began to change.
When I was fourteen I started my periods and, being at an all-girls school, the realisation hit me quite early that not everybody was suffering the way I was. The pain was something I hadn’t anticipated, and would often leave me hunched over and unable to straighten. In lessons I would flush hot with embarrassment as the teacher was often a man and he wouldn’t understand that it was the first day of my period. More often than not, I would have to go to the nurse’s office as the cramps were too much to bear and I needed to go home. On my way from the office to the sick room I would vomit violently, over and over, and as I clung onto the toilet to stop myself from fainting, tears would stream down my face and my eyes would burn. I would be crouching on the filthy toilet floor, desperately trying to catch my breath as the agony seared straight through my legs and into my pelvis, from where it would wrap around my back. Once the purging had done its job, I would go to the sick room and curl up in the foetal position before falling into a deep sleep, which seemed to be the only respite from the month-to-month misery that was to increase throughout my adolescence.
