Diary Page from 16.09.09

Fat Shoes!!!

As I walked home in the horrid English rain storm yesterday I looked down at my waterlogged shoes and cursed Evans; the larger ladies chain store. They sold me a useless pair of shoes that couldn’t hold the water out and I was skidding all over the place trying to make it home to my kids without breaking my neck.

I stopped in the pouring rain and looked closely at my shoes;…..they were fat. Fat shoes! My shoes were fat!

I stood and cried in the rain.

I’m fat, a single mum, and a full time worker, broke, happy, miserable and celibate.

My new suede, waterlogged fat shoes just about sum me up.

Something’s have got to change!

My life is now ordinary, it hasn’t always been.

A brief history of fat shoes

I was born in Staffordshire daughter to an uneducated English woman and a Nigerian electrical engineer in 1996. I was a beautiful child and a stunning teenager. I had a brother who was just twelve months and 5 days younger than me and shared all my adventures and troubles. We were the only non-white children in our infant and middle schools apart from an Indian girl.

In 1981 we left Staffordshire to go and start a ‘fabulous’ new life in Lagos Nigeria where we were sent to two different schools and each became the only white kids in our grammar schools. My mother returned to the UK six months later and was not heard from until 1987.

Between 1981 and my return to the UK in 1987 I was sexually assaulted by my fathers best friend, raped twice, beaten by my father repeatedly, had a termination at six months, met the greatest love of my life, stole repeatedly and started living independently at 13 (I think they class it as child abandonment here in the UK but lets not split hairs).

After returning my mother realise we were both more educated than she was and not the gorgeous unspoilt kiddies she left and couldn’t cope with the teenagers that returned and turned us out onto the streets.

I had my first daughter in 1989 to a man with whom I haven’t had a conversation with since 1992 who turned out to be peter pan as it’s clear he’s yet to mature.

I had my second child in 2002 with a man who turned out to be the most violent man I’ve ever met. Charming but not averse to knocking one out with a punch.

So here I am with a twenty year old daughter studying at university and a 7 year old.

And why do I want to start blogging?

Because everyone deserves a voice.