I REMEMBER

Today, one of my step mothers came over to the house to see my dad and i felt very uneasy. Then i realised that it was not just unease but a strong dislike verging on hatred. Then i remembered a few episodes from a child when she was the main housewife and i was the main outcast in the house(that is how i always felt).

When i was in secondary school, Jss 3 to be precise, i had to stay in school for half term because we had one of those exams coming on , I think it was called NBEM(no clue what it means). My stepbrother and i happened to be in the same year as he is only a few months older than I am. When students stay in school for the half term week, their parents send them provisions,(my school did not allow such during normal term time).

So, Miss BS(thats me by the way) was so excited about getting her goodies from home and waited what seemed like hours for the driver to arrive. So finally he comes and he stops by at my hostel first. I was so excited, i started checking out the stuff in the car. As i was checking out my goodies, my eyes noticed my brother's bag and i realised that we did not exactly have the same thing. Something i should have mentioned, my step brother is the son of said step mother. Anyways, as a 13 yr old girl, i was curious and decided to go through his provisions. And i noticed MAJOR differences( pls i was a child and these things were important then).

1) step brother ( shall call him hot head) got 2 packs rice krispies while yours truly got NASCO conflakes, one pack to precise.
2) hot head got a big bottle of janded ribena, yours truly got tasty time.
3) while hot head had to tins of milk and milo, i got only one tin each.
4) he obviously got more of everything else than i did.

Now, the SHOCK i felt, was immense. It was at that moment that i realised i was a second class citizen in my father's house and my status as an outcast was established. From that moment on, i kept my distance, i never went into her room unless i had to, i never asked for anything unless it was crucial and i never spoke to my step mother except she spoke to me first. All this was easy to go unnoticed as it was a big family and one person could easily invincible(this might explain my mood swings and my bad habit of keeping things in until i explode).

Another reason why i think i don't like this woman is that i remember her being the reason why my father slapped me for the very first time. I have a strict father but he was hardly ever physical. His words and facial expressions were scary enough. Therefore, for him to have gotten so angry that he thought a slap was necessary was pretty hard to swallow. I can't remember the exact details but i know it involved something like me mistakenly giving away some of uniforms to the gateman's children during one of our spring cleaning. I remember asking the woman for new uniforms and explaining my mistake to her. Its not like i could go back to the gateman to ask for the clothes i had already given them. Of course, she had to shout the whole house down and report the incident to my father. She said in such a way that my father got so pissed off that he slapped me in his rage. I don't think i ever forgave that woman. I think even at that age i saw a degree of maliciousness(word?) that made me wary of her. I knew that she would never have done such a thing to any of my step siblings and it made me realise that i was not wanted in that house.

There are a few more incidents that i can not be bothered to go into. Just remembering them is exhausting and makes me hate her even more.I know i am a grown ass woman now and i should let things go, and i have but i also know that she is someone i can never be comfortable with. Meanwhile the fact that my father made me go with her to sainsburys to purchase a few things was just painful. the walk was painful and the whole experience was just so uncomfortable.

This is one step mother in a few, i shall probably write about others and of course about my mother. I realise that these childhood experiences have contributed to who i am as a person on some level. Perhaps writing about them can help me understand myself more as well as help me let go of some of the memories.