The year is 1975, i'm 14 years old and nothing scares me. Well thats what I tell myself, if I repeat it enough times I will finally believe it.

But truthfully I don't scare easily. I have an old head on my shoulders, it keeps me safe from the usual perils and fancies of adolescence.

But I hate school! I hate all it stands for-except maybe learning. I hate the institution not its purpose. Learning is fun, my family say i'm a bookworm. I find the richness of life carried forth from the pages of a book, much more rewarding, than having it shoved down your throat whether it interests you or not. The school-bobby(that's the polite version of his title) is on first name terms with me. He hates me, I annoy and irritate him, but he can't touch me. My mother buckles at the threat of societies system of child care. And so I am a free spirit, but I have to show my face sometimes in the classroom...I have to admit I don't make it easy for myself, i'm not interested in the youth culture of the day, it seems far removed from my life and so I am classed as the odd girl.

 

I live on a council estate. The laws of these places of residence are founded through threat and fear. Being young here means you soon learn the meaning of survival. Intimidation is the first law, the harder/tougher you are, the more respect through fear you will have. It seems to be the only way they know how to liven up an otherwise pathetic existance. So if you live in my world you learn the meaning of survival young, and you learn it quickly.

 

So here we have a young girl who doesn't fit in and isn't bothered about that. But I still knew that a punch in the face hurts, I was an individual not stupid. I first met the council estate bully at 13, her greeting was just that-a punch in the face. I vowed from that day onwards that would be the last time she greeted me in such a way. And so for two years I learnt the art of avoidance, evasion and cunning. I led her a merry dance, but she never caught me again. That girl though 3 years older than me had a true pyschotic personality dwelling in her mind. I have no doubt that age wouldn't temper her violence, but even so-she still didn't intimidate me. I would not become one of her kiss-ass cronies.

And so back to school, each school has a bully(such a small word for something so immense and destructive.) She decided it was time to take the weird girl down. And so chose a place to exert her terror in a closed space that was high up. The staircase. 4 floors of vertical hell, now that was damned intimidating-in that it made me walk down it every week-day.

But that was her mistake. She pushed me down the stairs, they spiralled down around a deep well of nothingness. I clung to the banister, I didn't feel the pain of scraped knees, or the humilation of laughter and her jeering. I just felt myself falling over and into that void. That was enough to make that veil that sometimes descends upon my eyes fall, it drenched my mind.

They say madness reflects from the eyes, its a silent calling card that others ignore to their peril.

Now this girl was relatively new, and no doubt ignored the gossip that I was weird in a dangerous way, or perhaps she wanted to prove everyone else wrong. I stood, walked the few steps back towards her and grabbed her, she was taller, bigger and meaner, but I simply didn't care. I bent her back over the banister," I whispered to her, "if you ever put your hands on me again, you will learn to fly. I will throw you over." She didn't say anything. Her cronies didn't know what to do, we were precariously balanced. She looked at me, deep in my eyes. She saw I was not afraid, I smiled and said "so we understand each other?"

I didn't wait for a reply, the pain in my knees was beginning to make its appearance, time to go. It had happened quickly, minutes but the look in my eyes obviously lasted a long time, she never bothered me again.

 

But being fearless was not the whole truth of me. I had one terror, one thing I feared more than anything and it didn't come from those mindless freaks who used violence to gain power. No the intimidation I felt was at the hands of someone who loved me, who I loved more than anyone in the whole world. Its cause came from something inanimate, but which had the power to invoke demons of its own. The person who loved me was my mother and the demon was alcohol...

 

The year is 1991 and i'm now 31 years old and nothing scares me. I still learn from books, I still am odd and value my own distinct personality as ever I did. I no longer face bullies, no longer have to run the gauntlet of fear everyday. And nothing has the power to intimidate me. I say this and I repeat it again and again, until the words ring hollow in my head, as hollow as the reality of the feeling. I tell myself you are brave, nothing scares you, so why is it that the thought of walking out of my own front door, and facing the world out there, why does it cause such trembling of my knees, why does my heart palpatate and the blackness creep its slow hands over me, until I sink into the safety of oblivion. I shut the door, I will try again tomorrow. Maybe when i've had a drink or two I will be strong enough.

 

The year is 2002 I am now in my 40s. I woke up, god I felt terrible what time was it?

I heard her downstairs, I put my head in my hands and wept as I remembered. The sight of my 14 year old daughter's face as had I struck her. The destruction of the room as I had realised my bottle was empty. She had refused to go out in the dark to the corner shop and fetch me more of life's anaesthetic. I hear her crying as she talks softly to her friend. She says she can harldy wait until she is old enough to leave. She says she loves me but equally she hates me. But most of all she is terrified of me...

I creep back upstairs I feel the years fall away and I see a young me, saying to myself that I am scared of nothing, and no one, but this time I remember the sickening memory of the demon that caused me so much fear. I see the bottle stood on my dressing table, its rich, seductive fluidity calling me, promising me so much. But then I remember the only thing that had made my guts churn with fear, so that I would walk the dark streets for the alcohol that my mother craved. I knew the intimidation that love could create. Knew the power of the demon alcohol. My daughters face, merged into my own 14 year old face and I remembered it all. Fear of violence, the threat of violence is at it worst when it's delivered with the softness of love.

Today will not be easy, i've made too many broken promises. But I have to make one now that will not be weakened by the intoxication of alcohol. I have to, I really have to ...