Success Story

1.

I was born on the 7th June, 2003 at 5:27 am, in The Whittington Hospital, London and I weighed around seven pounds. My mum refused to hold me - she knew that otherwise she couldn't let me go.

Dad wasn't aware of my existence at this point. 2003, he was halfway through his A-Levels, and didn't realise the damage that one night with the girl he couldn't even remember the name of had done.

But she remembered his name, and his address. You can imagine the surprise on my dad's face as he opened the door on that early morning to be faced with me in (as far as he was concerned) that slutty bitch's arms.

Despite the fact it was June, it was overcast and cold, and I was wrapped up in nothing more than one of those little baby suits and a blanket as my mother held me in a baby carrier at arm's length.

I know there was some heated conversation, and I'll never actually know what happened, but I can imagine that there was some fierce protesting from Dad as Mum handed him the carrier.

Eventually, I was set down on the doorstep and Mum walked away. Dad was angry, I know that much. He looked down at me and felt his life crumble, but picked me up and carried me inside.

The commotion had woken up his parents, who (needless to say) were furious at Dad's carelessness. They laid into him with all they had (waking up his sister - she didn't say much but sat at the top of the stairs watching everything unfold).

Then I started screaming. Loudly. Dad just blankly stared at me, without even having my grandparents come and help. He stormed past his parents and hid in his room, ignoring the shouting still going on downstairs.

Fran (my aunt, Dad's sister) told me years later about walking in and seeing Dad sobbing on his bed, me cast aside on the floor, still in the baby carrier. She closed the door again and sat outside, shocked that her brother had actually created life, but hadn't even passed his A-Levels yet.

Eventually Dad cautiously picked me up and balanced my newborn body precariously in his arms, trying to figure out what was wrong. Desperate and helpless, he asked my Gran what to do, and she said I was probably just hungry.

How could she be so casual when there was no way of feeding me?

Wanting to help, Fran left to go and get some formula for me, leaving me wailing in my now emotionless father's arms. He didn't even know how to hold me properly, how to calm me down. He didn't know how this could happen; he barely remembered who this girl was and yet she knew him well enough to be the father of her child.

When Fran got back, it was clear that she was serious about her role as an aunt. She'd brought everything we needed to keep me alive. Well, not actual love from my Dad, but close enough.

"Well, who do we contact to put her up for adoption?" Dad put me down on the table in front of him. I called for him to pick me up, but he ignored me. Fran reached out for me, but Dad stared her back down.

"It's simple: we don't." Gran crossed her arms and glared at Dad. "Dan, you made you bed, and now you've got to lie in it." Dad groaned and picked me up, finally looking me in the face properly.

Despite being a small woman in height and stature, Gran could seriously kick some ass out there. Even Dad listened to her on the quiet.

However, I'm not so sure that she was as convinced by her words but the end of the week as she was at first. I screamed almost all night. I constantly needed attention. I just didn't sleep. And neither did anyone else because of that.

Dad was ready to kill himself quite quickly. He was operating on no sleep and had classes that he was expected to work in. Worse, someone at his school heard about the fact he has a child and it had spread round like wildfire. Being someone who struggled socially anyway, this didn't help.

Eventually Fran started helping more, because Gran and Grandad were still angry at Dad. She fed me and changed me so that Dad could nap and study. I still feel close to her now because of it.

But then there were the times Fran had to work and Dad was at school. I was finally left with my grandparents and, boy, could they have not given less of a fuck about me. They fed me, but only so they didn't get done for murder.

As soon as Dad became available, I was forced back into his arms and held there, not being moved but just silently cuddled. It was worse when I was balanced on one knee and a book on the other so that Dad could study his English Lit and hold me at the same time.

Oh, little did I know that nothing would change for years. Dad was always too busy, Fran had things to do and my grandparents hated me. I was not in a good position.