When I was nine, we suddenly left the misfits, the weirdos and the misunderstood behind. Mum also took me out of the Catholic school. I was excited about so many things. The possibilities were endless, or so I thought. Nan and gramp had also moved to a nearby little town, so it was fresh starts all round. Dad was also still keeping a watchful eye on me, all the while having occasional sex with my mum.

Him doing that, was actually as normal as all the new boyfriends my mother always had.

It was about this time that my memories truly did begin. I was getting older, so I was able to remember more. In hindsight, this was probably when my relationship with my mother truly began to change. I was maturing, so I really began to question who my mother was and why she could be so many different mothers in the one body.

There was the silly mum.

The listening mum.

The friendly mum.

The caring mum.

The protective mum.

Yet there were times when my mother would just get this feral look in her eye, and I just knew that it wasn't going to be a good day. There were occasions when she could be motherly, but she was never what you'd call a 'loving mother'. I just don't think she had it in her. Mum seemed to only care about money, and from whom she could get it. The term 'Sugar Daddy', well that summed up most of the men who flitted in and out of her life. Mum's life evolved around money. Which in turn, made her life also evolve around sex.

Sex and money, I think that was all my mum confidently knew.

Even at the age of nine, I was sick of the many boyfriends. Most of them never gave a toss about my brother and I. If anything, we were an inconvenience. Jason was always the easy-going one, whereas I would speak up if I didn't like the latest Sugar Daddy.

A deeply embedded rebellion had grown within me. I was nine, and probably came across as a right little madam. But I had reason to be that little madam. At the age of nine, I had already endured so much. I had to grow up too, too fast. So there were still so many times when I would call my nan and gramp on the telephone, and they would come and get me.

For me, mum was too unpredictable. More often than not, she would become someone that I just hated being around.

She was volatile.

Argumentative.

Selfish.

Aggressive.

Unstable.

There was a huge wedge between us, that we both could never dislodge. Sometimes she tried, and sometimes I did too, but I think that the emotional damage that had formed between us, just never could be repaired.

I never forgot that beating my mum gave me.

At a time when I needed her to be a proper mum and just hold me—she beat me.

That was something I couldn't ever forget. Nor was it something I could ever forgive.

Maybe during her nicer of moments, that was her guilt surfacing?

But because of mum's total inability to 'mother', there would always be something else that she would do to make that wedge between us ever bigger.

I just couldn't trust my mum.

So, I couldn't ever love her.

I know it annoyed her when I would run to my nan and my gramp, maybe it even hurt her, but when I felt insecure, unsafe or unhappy—I would always run to them.

There, I felt loved.

There, I felt wanted.

And I can honestly say; I don't think my mum ever wanted me to have that.

She began trying to make me stay with her.

She tried everything—being nice, being threatening, reasoning with me, losing her temper and crazily shouting at me—but I had become numb to the many sides of my mother.

It was around this time when she began fostering a troubled teen called Jeanette. Ironic really, when she wasn't even able to identify that her own daughter was indeed troubled. Nevertheless, I still liked Jeanette. To me, she was this pretty and rebellious teenager, who had a cool boyfriend with a motorbike and had an amazing singing voice.

I had always loved music, and Jeanette was more than happy to sit with me for hours and teach me new songs. We would sing ABBA, Haircut 100 and Mari Wilson. The song I always used to love to hear her sing, was Leader of the Pack by The Shangri-Las. Her singing voice was absolutely amazing, and maybe if she had taken another path in her life, she could have been a great vocalist. But Jeanette was a troubled girl. Her mum had died when she was very young, and she adored her mum. I think childhood grief was what finally lead Jeanette down her very own self destructive path. She would smoke, drink, sleep around, steal, take drugs and stay out all night.

Mum knew Jeanette's struggling father, and maybe even saw a lot of the misunderstood teen in herself, so decided to take the wayward teenager under her own knowing wing. Between them, they would eventually go on to share a strange and disturbing connection.

But when Jeanette boldly first came into our lives, she also brought into my life my first ever real friend. This friend would show me the joys that childhood could bring. She would provide me yet another safe haven...and she would also show me how to create happy memories.