There's a Fine Line

By Teresa Joyce

Teresa Joyce was born on the 15th December 1958 the middle child of three. After losing her father at a very young age; this was to set the pattern for the rest of her life. Losing was something she would have to get used to. She still has some memory of her real father but in truth it’s all a little hazy.
Her mother through no fault of her own after that loss had no other alternative, other than to return to her parent’s home with her children in tow. This family unit were to spend only a few years there until the wind of change came along once more. Her life was about to change beyond belief. Her mother was set to meet the man that was to become her stepfather and they moved once more to a new city with the promise of a new life. Hopefully it would be a happy one for all concerned, but it became a place for Teresa that felt far more like a prison.
She would spend many years hating not only herself, but everything around her as the years progressed. She swore to herself that she would leave all this behind at the first possible occasion.
No one was safe if they stood in the way of her stepfather and what he claimed was his. She would be abused and blackmailed, whilst unable to stop or control anything going on around her; Until she felt that the only way out would be to check out on life completely and it seemed a welcoming prospect. Running from memories of all those years living under his rules, buried so deep within her that she never really faced or remembered until she was forced to do so.
She would find herself in a situation that she had no control over and in the grip of a complete madman, who was hell bent on destroying her life.
She found herself delving deeper and deeper into her own unconscious thoughts, revealing to her memories which seemed so alien. Happy memories for Teresa are something that she holds in very short supply, she always thought that they were in her childhood but that was about to be blown out of the water.
But the problem with opening Pandora’s Box, was that once opened she could no longer close the lid. For many years she carried it along with her – like an uninvited guest at a party that never knows when its time to leave. leaving her with an enormous sociological and psychiatric residue.
The onset of a set of circumstances beyond her control would stamp its seal rendering her marriage unworkable. Engineered by the involvement of the one man she had learnt to hate – her stepfather.
She would spend many years within the mental health care system; trying to heal under their care umbrella. She would move from a heterosexual relationship into a lesbian relationship. Firmly believing that anything controlled or even remotely integral to men was something she never ever what’d part of again.
Today this is her message to you – There is always a light at the end of the tunnel; her aim is to reassure that through her own personal experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Joyce
• Release date: Apr 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370938162

Teresa Joyce

Teresa Joyce was born on the 15th December 1958 the middle child of three. After losing her father at a very young age; this was to set the pattern for the rest of her life. Losing was something she would have to get used to. Today she still has some memory of her father, but in truth it’s all a little hazy. Her mother through no fault of her own after that loss had no other alternative, other than to return to her parent’s home with her children in tow. This family unit was to spend only a few years there, until the wind of change came around once more. Happy memories are something that Teresa holds in very short supply. Her mother was set to meet the man that was to become her stepfather, and they moved once more to a new city with the promise of a new life. Hopefully it would be a happy one for all concerned, but it became a place for Teresa that felt far more like a prison. One in which she would spend many years months days and hours hating. She swore to herself that she would leave all this behind at the first possible occasion.

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There’s a Fine Line

Teresa Joyce

Copyright © 2017 Teresa Joyce

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Teresa Joyce is a pen name.

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Prologue

Where do I begin to write this? I guess I need to go back to 1994 and chronicle events as and when they occurred. At times I will also need to reference my childhood. Some relevant history surrounding that time is needed; the reason for this is that without the knowledge of past events it would be more difficult to understand the things that have occurred subsequent to that time. As we proceed through this book you will be able to see exactly why it is so relevant, and the conflict of interest I will find myself in, in adulthood. In truth, maybe I am now trying to heal myself through this process. But I am also hoping that anyone reading this book and can relate to it may take some strength from its content.

It was not until I sat down to write this that the memories I wish I could have left buried hit me full in the face. But you know nothing ever really stays that way; buried, that is. You want it to and you pray that it will, but it’s always there. You try to understand it; you convince yourself it was your fault entirely; you look into the mirror and you hate yourself. I am remembering times and events that were so very difficult for me to live through, and to be honest, at times I didn’t want to. Having just passed my fiftieth birthday, I now feel ready. Maybe I have now reached a point in my life when I feel a little stronger, so it’s time to open Pandora’s Box. What will I find there? I guess I am not going to know until I can no longer close the lid. How it will affect me? I haven’t a clue, I just know it’s something that I have to do; I need to find some kind of closure.

I feel it’s only right that I refrain from the use of names while writing this book, or even exact months or years. They will only be given loosely, if at all. It will be enough to stick to the decades, these events spanned over. This is not because I feel the need to hide my identity in any shape or form, but there are still people living that I need to consider. For this same reason I will also not be disclosing my real name. If I were to do so I could be linked by association with others and in doing so it could cause untold pain. All of the facts that I am about to tell you were well documented by my own doctor at that time, along with the numerous people I have seen within the mental health care system over the years. There has been many, all hoping that they can help me put this to bed—lay it to rest, as it were. To this day that has not been possible for me; the truth is that I am still under that care umbrella, fighting to find some peace. So when will I be totally discharged? I am really unable to answer that question.

So what is my purpose or intention? It is to hopefully rid my head of the demons, which seem so reluctant to leave, and not to cause new ones in others. So I reiterate here once more; that is not my aim. It may be the case that if it is ever printed, someone will pick it up recognising themselves in it, but that will then be their own choice over how they receive it and deal with their own emotions. The point I am trying to make here is that recognition will not be forced upon them. How will this book turn out? I have no idea; I have never thought of myself as a budding author. It’s not even something I have ever even considered as my chosen career. But this story needs to be told. It may never leave the hard drive of my computer, but if it does, then hopefully I can at least make it readable and find some escape for myself. This is a true story, but you will never know just how many times I have wished and prayed that it wasn’t. They say that there is a book inside of everyone just waiting to be written, be it a fairy tale, fact, or fiction, so this is to be my offering and all based on fact. In some cultures they believe that you know if and when the devil crosses your path, and if this was not him it was a very close relative.

The first few chapters may read a little like a reference book, but they are an essential ingredient. They are the calm before the storm, where I am hoping to paint a picture for you. I have toyed with the idea of not doing so, but to my mind they are greatly needed. There is a difference between fact and fiction. While writing fiction, you can quite easily embellish the story. But non-fiction is all about the facts. We will quite quickly reach a point in this book where they cross over, and no embellishment is needed. There is a fine line between sanity and insanity.

Chapter 1

1994 onwards

The phone rang and the person on the other end said Hi, it’s Dad. It was in fact my Stepfather, as my real father had been killed when I was only three. My Mum had remarried when I was not far off the age of seven. It always seemed to me that I and my Stepfather never really got along, during both my childhood and teenage years. He never really seemed to like me; I was always the one in trouble for one thing or another, unlike my siblings. I guess that was the main reason I left school at fifteen and went into the Royal Air Force, just two months before my sixteenth birthday.

The day I received his call, I was thirty five, out of the Royal Air Force and married with a child of my own, who was and still is, the love of my life. He said he needed to talk to me; something had come up in the office. At this point I need to tell you that my Stepfather had a small company, which had been growing fast over the last five years or so. My husband worked for him, as did other members of my close family. I also helped out with the running of the office whenever possible, because I was already working on a self-employed basis.

We arranged a time for me to call into the office and ended the conversation, as he seemed reluctant to discuss it over the telephone. The next morning I made my way there; the sun was out and it was a really lovely day. If I had any idea that going there that day would have started the catalogue of events I will relay to you, I would never have left my home. Making that journey was to be the biggest mistake of my life. My aim will be to try to let you see through my eyes the events that snowballed over a period of approximately ten years. So I guess in a way I am going to try and take you along for the ride, but one that I truly wish that I had never been on. It destroyed so many lives (did I say he never really liked me?); I was about to find out just how wrong I’d been (or was I?). Did he just really hate me that much? I will leave that for you to decide.

I arrived at the office around 10am that morning, and after grabbing a coffee, made my way up to my Stepfather’s office on the next floor. He was sitting at his desk talking on the telephone, so I sat down to wait. After he had finished his conversation, I asked him why he wanted to talk. He told me that it was regarding the amount of work within the office. He also thought it would be much nicer to talk outside of the office as he needed a break.

Being in the office could lead to phone calls and interruptions. As I was not working that afternoon I agreed. After a short drive we found ourselves at the zoo. It was a nice day; it would make a change to relax, and to have a walk around. Why that had been our destination, I am not so sure.

After purchasing our tickets the conversation went as follows. He told me that the workload in the office had been just too much for the girls already working there; they were finding it hard to deal with it all properly. Invoices were not getting paid on time, and credit control was a shambles. The banks were also giving him a hard time. He explained that his own time was not being utilized correctly, because it was spent chasing the debt owed to the company. He needed to be out there looking for new work, which was dearly needed to get the company out of the hole it now found itself in.

As I touched on earlier, I was already working, and my time was already accounted for every day between the hours of 9.30am and 3pm. I was very busy teaching and earning a very good hourly rate. We talked more about the hours he wanted me to work, which would have been between the hours of 10am and 3pm. My main role, he specified, would be in credit control. I could not see that this would be possible. I explained this to him, stating the main reason for my concern; that there would be a major loss in my earnings if I were to accept his offer. He then told me that if I were to take up this role and come to work for him, he would match my loss in salary. At that time, I questioned this. The amount he was offering would be far more than most people would be paid for that type of office job. He went on to convince me that he needed a family member in there, someone that cared if the company survived or not. He reminded me that both my husband and other family members relied on their jobs with him, and emphasised how the loss of the company would affect both my Mum and the family’s way of life.

Agreeing to take him up on his offer would be something I would live to regret, but I had no way of foreseeing the events that would follow. To this day I wish I had been in a collision with another car on my way home. If only I could have known, I would have gone back to the office, jumped in my car and driven as far and as fast as possible in the other direction. Hindsight is a wonderful thing and something I clearly was not blessed with at that time.

I started work in the office on the Monday of the following week, after having made the calls needed to arrange replacements for my current work. This was not too difficult as I was self employed and therefore needed to give no prior notice. I kept hold of the evening work along with the weekends, as they would not interfere with my day job. I liked the work and it kept me fit, I also had a lot of friends in and around the industry. I did not want to lose touch with that or them. So here I was, sitting at my desk about to start something new. I told myself that I would put everything I could into this role; it had to work, because the impact on my family would be dire if the company were to fold. I picked up the phone and made that first call, in an attempt to chase the monies owed that would hopefully stop that from happening.

Mid 1950s - Mid 1960s

At this point I would like to go back to my childhood, to a time when my mum met and married my dad. He was an Irish guy over here working on the roads; I don’t know if you are aware of this, but the Irish it seemed, built most of the roads here in England at that time. He and his family had all moved over from Ireland, chasing the monies and the work. They had found themselves in Huddersfield in Yorkshire, but the work took him all over the country. Cornwall was one such place and where he was to meet my Mum. He was a charmer, full of fun, with the gift of the gab, and a lot of fun to be around. He could not read or write, though this was something that my mum was not aware of for many years. He would look at the paper with the pretence of reading it, clearly ashamed of the fact. If he were in a pub he would be singing and dancing on the tables, buying drinks for everyone. Everyone liked him; and my Mum fell in love hook line and sinker.

After dating for a few very short months he asked if she would marry him, and the rest, as they say, is history. My mum moved to Huddersfield with him when the work came to an end. This must have been a really big step for her; she was leaving behind her family, hoping to make one of her own. This was the way her fairy tale started, and my siblings and I are here as proof of that. The long hard luck story that came along after does not make for happy reading. The marriage was only good for a short period of time before it all started to go wrong. He was away all week working and it must have been hard for mum. She was in a new place and maybe feeling like a fish out of water. When arriving back on a Friday night, his first port of call would always be the pub, spending most of what he had earned. He would then make his way home steaming drunk, and if my mum even dared to ask for money for food he would see red. It would be a boot in her stomach or a punch to her head. She was losing weight rapidly. She made sure that any available food went to us kids, and she just went without. With no one to turn to, she was alone. How could she tell this to her family all that way down in Cornwall? And what if she did? They were in no position to help. No, she just had to get on with it alone; she had made her bed. She did find the courage to leave him at one point, only to be followed and dragged back, and told that if she were to ever do it again, he would take us children to Ireland, and we would be lost to her. That was quite simply something she could not and would not risk.

There is so much more to this story, and my aim is to try to make you fully understand the hardship that she endured as a young wife and mother. Could she ever find a way out of this living hell? Little did she know that the way out was not too far away.

I clearly remember that day a policeman knocked on our door. I was about three at the time; they had come to tell my Mum some bad news, or what they quite rightly thought was bad news. My dad had been killed outright in a road accident, so there she was alone, a widow with three small children. No help was to arrive from my late dad’s family; in fact quite the opposite. They had never treated her well and I think that is an understatement. She must have been at her wit's end. When I was told the full story in adulthood and listened to her explain, I am in no doubt that every day must have been a nightmare, so full of pain and the unknown. What would the next day bring? She had left her family willingly, because she was so in love with this good looking Irish guy. What next for her? His death must have been a release in so many ways, but where would she go? What could she do? The only answer available to her was to return to her family in Cornwall, and get the help she needed to bring up her children.

So why am I telling you this? Going back so far into my mum’s life and her first married years? Well, the best answer I can give to you is that as this story unfolds, it will all come to light. Needless to say, my mum had gone through some really bad times struggling on her own. There were days without food, no coal for the fire and holes in her shoes. This was oh so evident when pregnant, carrying me; she could still easily wear a pencil slim skirt while eight months pregnant. Nobody would or could have been able to tell that she was carrying a child, despite the fact that I was a month early. It was a boot thrown into her stomach without care by my drunken Father, which inevitably induced her pregnancy. Life for my mum at that point was not good, and the future must have looked very bleak indeed. She went about arranging the details of her plan to return home, she was going back to her family with us in tow. She was so very different, maybe even unrecognisable, from the young lady that had left there not so very long ago.

1994 onwards

The first few weeks in the office were so busy that I never really had time to think; I was working within the Credit Control among other things. My hard work was starting to pay off; I was making untold calls to all and every company concerned. It could be said that they were fed up with hearing my voice. I still had my evenings and weekend jobs, and with that and the running of my home time passed by very quickly. I started to feel settled there; the work was rewarding. I felt that I was getting somewhere. I was not only helping the company back on its feet, but I was also endeavouring