Ricky
Writer
Ricky found writing about his life a very cathartic exercise. It enabled him to take a look at his life in a new light. He was able to examine his life experiences one by one, see what they had taught him and then let them go. Here, he shares one particular experience.
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In March 1999 I met a woman, Iris, who later became my girlfriend. Having mentioned I had written my autobiography (such as it was), she asked to read it. I was delighted as I felt sure this was one of the uses to which it was meant to be put. Reading my experiences and admissions seemed to help Iris tell me something about her life. Perhaps she saw in me something of a kindred spirit through what I’d written — I don’t know. She was particularly keen to tell me about the bullying she had been subjected to at work and how, because she had complained, she was further victimised, to the extent that work colleagues had been instructed to talk to her in what she described as a patronising and rough manner. She said even personal friends had been contacted and told how to speak to her, and she had lost several friends this way. It all sounded a bit odd at the time, and some of it rather far fetched, but by then I was in love with her and I took it at face value.
Iris had qualified as a pharmacist in Turkey, but her qualifications were not recognised in the UK. Rather than upgrading her pharmacy degree, she had, she told me, taken a Masters degree in immunology, a teaching certificate, and a beauty therapy course. A slightly strange mix of qualifications, it seemed. And to what end?
She had been off work sick for about a year when we met because of the stress caused by the victimisation. Not long after our relationship started to get serious, she found herself a job as a receptionist at a GP’s surgery, something well below what she was qualified for and presumably capable of. But she felt with a new relationship and a new job she could put the past behind her.
She moved in with me very early (too early, perhaps) in our relationship. Iris told me she had a very favourable review after the first month in her new job. Then, after a further fortnight, she started worrying that the people behind the persecution at her previous job would contact her new employers and me. She became consumed by worrying, unable to sleep at night, and morose and preoccupied during the day. There was nothing I could say to allay her fears. My assurance that I would not give in to — well, whatever it was — wasn’t enough, and my urging her to think positive thoughts, my suggestions that by worrying she was more likely to create the situation she feared, in retrospect, probably only made things worse — they certainly did not help her.
She told me one evening when she seemed, if anything, more preoccupied than usual, that her colleagues at work had been ‘got at’ and had started talking down to her and ignoring her. It was probably about this time she started thinking I was talking to her in ways I had been instructed to. It is hard to believe that despite my earlier doubts, it was only then I realised her persecution complex was entirely in her own mind. It was little wonder Iris noticed a change in my attitude to her. It was difficult to find anything to talk about that did not offend or upset her and it was oppressive just being around her. A week or two later she was sacked from her job. Of course, she blamed ‘them’ for destroying her career and upsetting her relationship, not recognising that her brooding and depressed attitude was making her uncommunicative and was frightening everyone away.
After a further week or two I asked her to move out and go back to her own flat. It wasn’t so much a difficult decision to make, as one I found difficult to execute. I’m sure I didn’t handle it well; it’s not easy to tell someone you don’t love them the way you did. Iris accepted no responsibility at all for the state of her job, her life or her friendships. She droned on and on about how unfair it was, how ‘they’ had no right to destroy her career and her friendships, how it embarrassed her. This was, I guess, partly directed at those she supposed were behind the persecution as well as her friends and colleagues who had supposedly succumbed to it. I had learned a lot about personal responsibility over the previous few years, and I felt uncomfortable with someone who painted herself as such a pathetic victim. However, I recognised I had brought Iris into my life at that time for a reason, even if at the time the reason was not clear to me.
Even as she left she declared her love for me and said she’d do anything to keep me. I could tell how great her love was for me, and I felt strangely humble for that, and also a bit perplexed as it didn’t seem like a selfless love; it seemed to be full of expectation, need, demands. Is that love?
I felt a great relief, as well as an emptiness, at her leaving. Whilst staying in my house she had pushed a few of my ‘buttons’ and I had often been aware of my reactions almost as they happened, which was quite a new experience for me. A sign of my own growth. However, I had, as at many other times in my life, subjugated my wishes to those of someone else (in this case Iris) and that did not feel at all comfortable or healthy for me.
We continued to see each other for a few weeks after that, although I limited it to just weekends, and I must confess my heart was not in it. I felt there was something I could do to help her overcome these problems she’d been creating in her life. There seemed something ‘right’ about Iris and me, despite our differences and my discomfort. But later I realised I was deluding myself. It had been right for a time, but that time was now over. It was time for us both to move on. A few days after the earthquake in Turkey, in August 1999, Iris went back to visit her mother to make sure she was alright. She phoned me three times from Turkey each time asking me to come over to be with her. Not only did I not want to, there were several reasons why just ‘upping sticks’ even for a week or two was simply not convenient, but she seemed oblivious to my needs and wants. I then realised I had been feeling quite depressed that she didn’t seem to consider my feelings, thoughts or wishes in these matters. I saw her once after her return from Turkey — we had been invited to lunch with mutual friends — and it became quite clear to me I did not wish to be around her negative and draining energy. I knew I needed to look after myself, and being with Iris was unhealthy for me.
We agreed to split up. But even then, Iris continued to phone me several times. Suspecting it was her, I sometimes didn’t answer the phone and she left her messages on my answering machine, on the third occasion expressing surprise that I had not called her back. I felt a little guilty and wondered whether I should return her calls and explain. But explain what? We’d already agreed to split up. And I knew there was absolutely nothing I had left to say to her. She simply didn’t hear anything that didn’t fit with her view of things. When she turned up on my doorstep a week after we’d agreed not to see one another again I was not surprised. I simply told her I hadn’t called her as I had nothing to say. She seemed to understand.
I later spoke to our mutual friends with whom we’d had lunch the day before we split up, and learned that Iris had apparently accused them of inviting her round so they could humiliate her. This, if anything else was needed, was enough to convince me that Iris’s problem was more than I could handle. There was nothing at the meal that could in any way have been thought of as humiliation. But until she accepted she needed help, she was not going to get that much-needed assistance, and she would never be able to recognise just how much support she had already received — and rejected.
I still received a few phone calls from her, as well as a Christmas card. I even received a phone call from her husband to whom she had turned for comfort or support — or something. She had, apparently, returned to him, but said she’d sleep in his spare room because she was still in love with someone else! We had a very amicable conversation. Robert’s main concern was for Iris and her black moods and broodiness. I told him my version of all that had occurred and said I couldn’t see what help anyone could be to her until she accepted she had a problem and it was not everyone else’s responsibility. He asked if anyone had contacted me as Iris claimed, and I assured him they hadn’t — as I’m sure he realised anyway, being in the same position himself. I didn’t gather whether Robert wanted her back, but he sounded very fond of her and he did ask me if it was definitely all over between us, to which I assured him it was.
I was reminded that when we first met, Iris told me she was divorced. Only later did she admit she was only separated and it would be a few months before she was eligible for a divorce. At the time I was mildly irritated at her dishonesty, but I said nothing about it partly because one of the things I was working through with Iris was my tendency to take things rather too personally. In the past my oversensitive self would probably have brooded over it wondering what it meant. Now I just shrugged it off as a lie with no hidden meaning. I also remembered she had lied to me about a ring she wore. She originally said it was her mother’s but it turned out to be her engagement ring, which, she claimed, she wore (the wrong way round) lest it was stolen or lost in her flat.
Whatever, I felt Iris needed professional help, and whilst it was great while it lasted, my life was more in balance without her.