Apologies

Apologies.

Just one word. Five little letters strung together that we hear each and every day from a multitude of different people. It’s an easy enough thing to say, it rolls off the tongue automatically without thought thanks to our parents drilling it in to our developing minds but do people actually think why they are saying it? You knock into someone in a department store it becomes dismissive as you pass by hurriedly or if you’re like me you say it constantly to the point were your friends tell you to stop apologising. So why is it that when we need to say it for real we just can’t?

I’m the first to admit that I make mistakes, small ones generally but sometimes I can do it on epic scale. I’ve hurt people that mean everything to me by thinking they wouldn’t find out or by not thinking at all. I’ve said all the right words and made all the right noises but it just isn’t enough. Thanks to the general overuse of the word sorry it doesn’t have any impact any more, regardless of how many times it’s said. So the question is how can we apologise fully and mean it? We can plead and cry until our eyes dry out, begging forgiveness from the injured parties. That generally eases our own conscience but very little else. Then there’s the bribery approach, not with money but with gifts, cards or even part of ourselves. How many times have you had make up sex after a blazing row just to appease your partner? It’s true; we do it just to give them a little piece of ourselves as a peace offering. Whose benefit is the apology for anyway? There are two instances in my life that messed me up more than anyone can imagine, both revolve around that little word. The first one I am owed an apology for and the second I can’t apologise enough.

The thing about being bullied is it never really stops. All the name calling and spitefulness ends but it still sticks with you. When it’s more than words it clings harder like some kind of cancer in the back of your mind until it eventually contaminates all of you, becoming part of your personality. The boys who made me what I am today could never apologise enough for what they did. They were nearly twice my age when it started and it carried on for several years. At first it was just teasing and words, I was an easy target because my family weren’t well off at that point so my clothes were handed down by relatives. There is an old saying; sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. I’d love to meet the person who first said that and slap them round the head, don’t they know that words can cause a hell of a lot more pain than a broken bone. A broken bone can be set and will heal but the damage of a few choice words runs a lot deeper. As the boys grew older they learnt new words that I didn’t understand but I instinctively knew that they weren’t nice words that you repeated in front of your parents so I never told them. By this point I had convinced myself that it must be my fault this was happening so I gritted my teeth and let it carry on.

After a while their focus shifted because boys get curious when hormones start to kick in. I became the subject to be studied. All the curiosity about female anatomy was satisfied with me. A seven year old has no concept of a sexual act as a natural, loving thing; at least I didn’t. As far as I was concerned what they were doing to me was part of the bullying, it was a weapon that could be used to control and humiliate. I knew that it was wrong and that it shouldn’t be happening but again my mind told me that it was dirty and I couldn’t tell my parents because it was my fault. So I developed my own twisted reasoning, if it was my fault then I had provoked it so I had to apologise. This is the bit that makes me angry, they made me think it was my fault. Looking back now as an adult I can see how wrong they were and I can’t help but wonder if they feel the same. Still it carried on, getting more and more degrading. Luckily they stopped short of actually raping me, I don’t think they had figured out quite what to do with their bodies yet. It’s surprising that after a while you become desensitised to these things and it all kind of merges into one, to the point were there are only one or two things in particular that stay with you. The first thing that stays with me is when it first happened, at school of all places. I had been excused from class because I needed to use the toilet so the corridors were empty. As I came out into the cloakroom one of the boys was there and he pushed me into the coat rack. Before I realised what was happening he had his hand in my panties and was telling me to be quiet. He said he wanted to know what I smelled like so he wiped his hand against me before removing it to sniff it. The whole incident only lasted about five minutes if that but it has stayed with me for twenty three years so far and probably always will. The second thing is being pinned down and having two boys urinate on your lower half. I don’t think I need to explain that one further.

I don’t think that wanting an apology for this is unreasonable, not that an apology would work. I know now that they were in the wrong and I hope their guilt makes them miserable. Understandably I am somewhat bitter about it, you see because of all this I learnt to see sex as an emotionless act. Something I could use to control and humiliate people and as I grew older I used it. This belief led directly to the one thing that I need to apologise for myself.

When I first met my husband I was still in my late teens and we became friends, nothing more at that point. When we finally kissed for the first time we had known each other for many years. I had always thought (and still do) that he was the most beautiful thing on the planet. Not just because of his looks but because of his personality too and I believed he was way out of my league. My opinion of myself has always been particularly low so I couldn’t accept that he would think I was beautiful too. We fell head over heels for each other and got engaged after a few months. Normally I would say that it happened too quickly but we were already best friends and saw each other almost every day before the kiss so it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Even though I loved him with all my heart I still couldn’t put love and sex together so sex became a separate part of our relationship, just a physical thing. I found it hard to accept him telling me he loved me during or after the act.

Not long after we became engaged another man appeared on my radar. He wasn’t just any man but a musician in a band. I’m not going to say which band but he had been a pin-up of mine for a while and it turned out he was a friend of a friend. At this point my life turned very strange, not only did I meet this person (who was already married) but he started to call me up and e-mail on a regular basis. Of course I was flattered beyond belief so when he started making advances towards me I went along with it. We arranged to go away together for a few days so I made up en excuse and left my fiancé at home. Again I was using sex as a control thing, have you any idea how powerful a feeling it is to have someone you idolised for some time completely besotted with you? I was hooked on it and for several months it carried on. His band had a gig in London so I went on my own and met up with him; we spent several days together in the capital. Unbeknownst to me while I was away my man had found all of the letters that I had received and learnt about everything. When I came home he confronted me with the evidence so I told him matter of factly what had been going on. Things got even more messy and strange. This other man would drive for eight hours from one end of the country to the other just to see me; if I was out he would wait in his car outside my house. I always thought that it was supposed to be the other way round; fans stalked the rock stars not vice versa. I’m not justifying what I did in any way, I know it was wrong but the feeling of power had completely gone to my head and the relationship carried on. My ever wonderful man gave me time to try and figure out what I actually wanted, him or the pin-up so I exploited them both.

It finally came to a head and I couldn’t cope any more so I tried to stop everything with vodka and paracetamol, that was when it hit me. By my side in the ambulance was my fiancé tears in his eyes and I could see how much he was hurting. What had I done? I’d only ever loved one person with this much intensity and I was causing him so much pain. I hated myself for doing this to him, I had been so selfish and unfeeling and a grade A bitch. So I apologised and found that I couldn’t, no matter how many times I said sorry it just wasn’t enough. Let me explain that more clearly, my husband (we’ve been married almost four years now) forgave me long ago. The problem is I can’t forgive myself. I’ve done the therapy understood my reasons but still I can’t say sorry enough. I watch my perfect man while he sleeps and it still amazes me the depth of his love and the fact that he is still by my side. Yes, it made us a stronger couple but if somebody invented a time machine I wouldn’t hesitate to go back and undo everything.

So is the word sorry enough? No it isn’t. Words have more power than anything but the emotion behind them is what gives them strength. If you can’t express emotion than the words become a futile gesture, lip service that has no impact. You can say it a thousand times but if the guilt behind it is so strong it makes no difference. Those boys couldn’t apologise enough for what they did to me just as I can’t apologise enough for what I did to my husband. The only way round it is to consider the effect of your actions before you act. It’s a simple thing but how many of us do it really? Maybe if we all did then sorry would truly become what it already is, a small word that we use in passing.