Читать книгу The Throwaway Boy - Alix Chapel - Страница 8

When I’m reminded of something, or if I’m remembering somewhere my husband, Billy, and I went or something we did during the 20 years we’ve been together, I automatically categorise it as either ‘before’, ‘during’ or ‘after’. Even now, when I think of ‘before’, my tummy turns over. It doesn’t matter how lovely the memory is, I still get that feeling because I know what is to come.

The ‘during’ phase, for me, starts with my husband’s mental breakdown. The memories from the years that follow are clouded in a sort of haze. It was like a bad dream. It was so awful for so long that now it is as if I lost those years of my life.

I can’t believe it all started in 1997 – a decade has passed since then. What makes me feel even worse is that for my husband it all started over 35 years ago.

The period of ‘after’ is the same for both of us – basically, after the truth came out. However, Billy’s ‘before’ and ‘during’ are vastly different. Perhaps most poignant is that he doesn’t have many ‘before’ memories. He was so young when the bad took over that, for him, all his life from an early age has been in the ‘during’ phase.

My childhood was a stark contrast. I grew up in Canada, where my parents emigrated in the mid-1960s, and led a happy and normal life. While I was squabbling with my sisters over Barbie dolls, Billy, growing up in Wales, was experiencing what no child should have to go through. I sometimes feel guilty for what I had, but I also know that my childhood helped to make me who I am, which has enabled me to be there for Billy.

By the time Billy was in his early twenties, he was a master at being able to push the memories away. His mind had done a remarkable job of protecting him. Sadly, it had had lots of practice. He learned to avoid things that made him remember his past. He spent the whole of his twenties pretending he was just like everyone else and adapting to living with the feelings of worthlessness and guilt that never left his head. He felt ashamed and dirty all the time. He hated himself, but hid it well, and worked hard at doing so. I met that boy hiding in a man’s body in 1985. He fell in love with me, and I fell in love with him. But deep down he didn’t think he deserved my love. The chip on his shoulder was fast becoming a chunk and his demons were constantly lurking below the surface.