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Dr. Celia Banting

Copyright © 2008 by Dr. Celia BantingAll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, in-cluding photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Wighita PressP.O. Box 30399Little Rock, Arkansas 72260-0399www.wighitapress.comThis is a work of ction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used ctitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataBanting, CeliaI Only Said Leave Me Out Of It/Dr. Celia Banting – 1st Editionp. cm. ISBN 9780978664893 (paperback)1. Therapeutic novel 2. Suicide prevention 3. Divorce4. Blended familiesLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2007930370Layout by Michelle VanGeestCover production by Luke JohnsonPrinted by Dickinson Press, Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA

Issues addressed in this book:Identical twins/nature versus nurture/effects on personalityDevelopment of a conscienceFamily scapegoatsPassive aggressivenessSarcasmBribery and manipulationCo-dependencyAdultery/divorceAbandonmentCoping with step-parents and step-siblingsStaying OK with injusticeFamily therapyMind games versus true intimacyLove versus being in lovePositive and negative StrokesKarpman’s Drama TriangleActive listening skillsOwnership or rejection of step-parents/families

Also by Dr. Celia Banting…I Only Said I Had No ChoiceI Only Said “Yes” So That They’d Like MeI Only Said I Couldn’t CopeI Only Said I Didn’t Want You Because I Was TerriedI Only Said I Was Telling the Truth• • • •Available after April 2008…I Only Said I Could Handle It, But I Was WrongI Only Said It Didn’t HurtI Only Said I Wasn’t HungryI Only Said I Wanted To Kill Myself; I Didn’t Really Mean It

Dedicated to Erica Elsie. Also dedicated to Joe and Ann Daly, and all those who turn divorce and remarriage into a happy, blended family where everyone has a valued and special place .

AcknowledgmentsMy grateful thanks go to my proofreader and typesetter, Michelle VanGeest, who frees me from my dyslexic brain, and replaces my mother’s voice. Thanks to Bev, my stray-word spotter, too. I thank my wonderful husband, Des, for the inspi-ration and support he gives me. Thank you to Luke and Sam for their faith, inspiration and talent. Thank you to Helen and Dave, and Moya and Tony for their faith and support. Thank you also to Susan Harring and Ron Woldyk for their reliability and professionalism. Thank you to my dear friend Vicki for her guiding sense of style. Thank you to Dr. Claude Steiner for the great gift he has given humankind by explaining operant conditioning in terms of Warm Fuzzies and Cold Pricklies, which enables everyone to understand a complex concept in simple, accessible and amus-ing terms. Thank you, Dr. Steiner, for your analogy of one’s “heart” being a Fuzzie Bag. Thank you to Stephen Karpman for his “Drama Triangle,” which simplies Dr. Eric Berne’s concept of psychological game-playing. Thank you to all my psychotherapy tutors and colleagues at the Metanoia Institute, London, for teaching me about human nature, psychopathology, growth and recovery. I thank the good Lord for giving me a lively imagination, and I also thank my parents for moving to the Isle of Wight, “the land that bobs in and out of view, depending upon the sea mist.”

11É Ñ Chapter One “Whatever!” Lesley snarls at me.“Will you two just stop it? I’m sick of you arguing,” Mom shouts, as she hangs a shiny orna-ment on the Christmas tree. “Well, Maizy started it,” Lesley whines. “Maizy, go to your room.” “Mom, that’s not fair.” I can feel tears prick my eyes as a sense of injustice swamps me. How come Lesley can twist everything around so that it’s al-ways my fault and I get into trouble? “Don’t argue with me. Go to your room!” Mom raises her voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lesley smirk-ing. Something snaps inside me. No, I’m not going to my room again. It’s always me that Mom sends away when Lesley and I ght. I’m going across the road to old Mrs. White’s house to feed Sooty, her cat.

12É Ñ “What’s all the noise about?” Dad asks, as he opens the front door. “It’s the twins again,” Mom snaps. “Do something with them. I can’t do everything on my own.” Lesley ops down on the sofa in front of the TV and acts all innocent while I tell my side of the story, praying that Dad will stick up for me. He lets me down. “Maizy, just do as you’re told, love. Go to your room,” he says, with a plea on his face. I love my dad so much, but I wish he’d stand up for me just once. Frustration ares inside me, and I refuse to be conned to my room because Lesley has gotten me in trouble yet again. “I hate you, Lesley,” I yell, but she laughs, turn-ing around so that Mom can’t see her as I grab my coat before slamming the door behind me. I can still hear Mom yelling at Dad, blaming him for all the arguments in our house. What’s wrong with them? Why can’t they see that it’s Lesley who makes all the trouble? She gets away with every-thing. I trudge my way through the snow, across the de-serted road, towards Mrs. White’s house. I’ve been helping her for years now, since she had a stroke and lost the use of her right arm. At rst Lesley and I used to take turns to go but after Lesley tried to tie a recracker to Sooty’s tail, Mrs. White told her

13É Ñto never come back. At rst I resented having to do it all by myself, but as Lesley and I argued more and more I was glad to have somewhere to go where she couldn’t follow me. I can’t believe that we’re identical twins. Ev-erything about us is the same, even down to the little black mole on our right cheeks, yet I think we’re totally different inside. Lesley’s mean and hateful, and I’m not. Okay, so I argue at times, but she drives me to it. Mom always takes her side and never listens to me. It’s not fair. Sometimes I think Mom can’t be bothered to sort out our ghts and just sends me to my room because Lesley seems to be louder and sneakier than I am. Thoughts ood my mind as I let myself into Mrs. White’s house—she’s gone to her daughter’s for Christmas. Sooty runs up to me and weaves in and out of my legs, pleased to see me. I ll her dish with food and pour milk into her bowl before sitting in Mrs. White’s rocking chair.• • • • Life at home has always been the same, for as long as I can remember. Even when we were really little, Lesley pushed me around. Mom used to tell everyone that I was the quiet one and Lesley was the leader. I always had second choice. It didn’t matter what we were given, she always chose rst and I had what was left over. Mom used to dress us the same but got so fed up with Lesley yelling that

14É Ñmy clothes were hers that she nally dressed us dif-ferently so that there could be no arguments. Whatever I had, Lesley wanted. When we were younger I gave in because, frankly, she scared me when she yelled and screamed, but that changed on our sixteenth birthday. Although I’d tried to keep it a secret at home that I liked a guy at school, I guess Lesley and her friends heard rumors. My best friend, Judy, and I spent every break at school following Mark and his friends. When they ran track we sat and watched, and when they charged down the eld at football practice we cheered loudly. He didn’t seem to no-tice that I was alive even after Judy stuffed a note into his hand one day. “What did you do?” I asked her. “Nothing,” she grinned. “Just helping out.” Every day was lled with thoughts of Mark, and I often got into trouble for daydreaming in class. I lived to see him in the halls when the bell rang and we pushed our way through the crowds to our next class. We didn’t hang out with the other girls during break but positioned ourselves as close to him and his friends as possible without being too obvious. I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was, because, although I didn’t realize it at the time, my sister had obviously noticed. It was the day of our birthday during lunch. I nearly died when Mark walked across the cafeteria

15É Ñtowards me, smiled and said, “You’re awesome.” He just walked past and I could feel my face burn-ing and my heart thumping. Judy dug me in the ribs and said, “Go girl.” Looking back I can barely remember the rest of the day because I oated around on cloud nine. He’d noticed me and thought I was awesome. Yeah! Sooty breaks into my thoughts as she leaps up onto my lap and nestles down, purring with happi-ness. I rock in the chair, stroke the cat, and follow my thoughts. Mom and Dad had planned to take us bowling for our birthday and said that we could bring a friend. Naturally I asked Judy to come along. I’d have rather celebrated my birthday separately, without Lesley, and without my parents, but I didn’t object because I didn’t want to upset Mom and Dad. Having Judy there would make it okay, or so I thought. She came to my house after school to get ready, not that we bothered to dress up. We both wore jeans and a top. Judy and I sat in the back of the car watching Mom stand in the doorway yelling up the stairs, telling Lesley to hurry up. Judy nudged me in the ribs as Lesley appeared. “She looks like a whore,” she snickered in my ear, and sure enough when I looked at Lesley, I couldn’t help but agree. She wore a miniskirt that covered nothing and a low-cut top that exposed everything.

16É Ñ “What’re you looking at?” she demanded, as she sidled into the car next to Judy. “Nothing,” we said together. I tried to stie a giggle as Judy continued to dig me in the ribs. “Nice skirt,” she said to Lesley, and I could tell from her tone of voice that she was being sarcastic. Lesley scowled and turned up her nose as she looked Judy up and down. “Nice last-year jeans,” she bit back, but Judy didn’t seem upset. She nudged my ankle and I shrunk back into my seat. Judy had told me over and over to stand up for myself when my sister picked on me. Judy seemed stronger than me and I was glad she was there. She didn’t care if she upset Lesley. “Are you wearing a padded bra?” Judy asked, staring at Lesley’s breasts that were ghting to es-cape her skimpy top. Lesley gritted her teeth and mouthed the “B” word at Judy so that my parents wouldn’t hear. Judy put a rude hand gesture in her face and my stomach turned over in a double ip. Happy birth-day, Maizy! I couldn’t wait to get out of the car; luckily we didn’t have far to go. Mom fussed with her purse as we all piled out. I was relieved to be away from the oppressive hatred in the back seat. I admired Judy for standing her ground against Lesley. It was something I’d never managed to do.

17É Ñ We’d been bowling for a while and Dad kept go-ing on about our teams being unfair since Lesley’s best friend hadn’t showed up, which left her side one short. Mom asked her where she was, and Les-ley kept glancing at her watch and at the door. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction that no one had bothered to turn up—perhaps her “friends” knew how mean she was. But then my thoughts crashed in on themselves as Lesley’s face lit up. Mark! She ran towards the door and threw her arms around Mark. She kissed him hard before leading him by the hand towards Mom and Dad. My mouth fell open and tears pricked my eyes. Judy was just as shocked. My heart was broken in two and I struggled to hide my feelings. Dad shook Mark’s hand and was goofy, trying to talk man to man with him. “So, Mark, are you in the same class as Lesley?” “No, sir. I’m in the year above her.” “Are you in the same clubs then?” Dad pressed. “I mean, how did you two meet?” “No, we’re not in the same clubs, but she likes to watch me run and play football. She’s there every day,” Mark said, as I swallowed hard, not believing what I was hearing. He was talking about me, not Lesley. “We got together a week ago. She’s awe-some.” When did they get together? What did she do? As I realized that she’d pretended to be me—so that’s

18É Ñwhy he’d come over to me that day and said I was awesome—tears lled my eyes and I wiped them away, praying that no one saw. “Yes, she is awesome,” Dad beamed. “Both my girls are great.” Mark barely glanced at me and I looked away. His eyes were only for Lesley. She slipped her hand into his as Dad struggled to keep the conversation going, and all the time she had a gloating smirk on her face. “D’you like my skirt?” she asked Mark loudly, keeping her gaze on Judy. He almost choked and nodded fervently. “What about my new top?” she said, rotating her shoulders and thrusting out her breasts. Mark looked as if he was about to pass out. He nodded, “Yeah, um, very nice,” he said thickly. Lesley whispered into my ear. “Do you like my new boyfriend?” I felt such hatred rage through me that I didn’t know what to do with my feelings. Judy started to irt outrageously with Mark just to annoy Lesley. He looked confused but pleased, and Lesley cussed carefully at her when Mom and Dad weren’t looking. When we’d nished playing, Mom and Dad took us out to eat. I didn’t want to go. I felt wooden, like a puppet, trying to control the pain I felt. They ordered everything, but I felt sick and just picked at my food. Lesley was obscene. She glanced at me

19É Ñto make sure that I was watching her and then she nudged Mark in the ribs, running her tongue over her ice cream, ashing her eyes seductively at him. He went very red and I don’t know whether Mom and Dad noticed what she was doing. I did, and so did Judy. Judy blurted into the conversation. “Um, Lesley, where’s Jake? I thought you were going out with him.” Mark looked at Lesley, waiting for an answer, and if I hadn’t felt so miserable, I’d have laughed at her discomfort. Lesley looked at Judy danger-ously, and retorted, “I’m with Mark, can’t you see?” She snuggled into him and he glanced awkwardly at Dad. Judy didn’t stop. “That’s funny, because all the girls at school say you and Jake are together.” I watched Lesley grit her teeth. She was trying to control herself in front of Mark, who was looking at her, demanding an answer with his eyes. She was mad; I knew that look. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip,” she said ip-pantly, tossing an icy stare at Judy, which she ignored. “Jake and I were over ages ago for your information,” she snarled at Lesley. “Oh really,” Judy pressed, “I could’ve sworn I saw you kissing him two days ago at the end of soc-cer practice,” she feigned innocence, and then she shrugged, saying, “Perhaps I got it wrong. Perhaps it

20É Ñwas someone else.” Then she shook her head delib-erately and said, “No, it was you, I know it was.” There was a question on Mark’s face, silent but demanding, and Dad glanced around the table sens-ing the awkwardness. “So Judy, have you bowled before?” Dad said, his voice slightly higher than normal. “I thought you were going to beat us at one point. You’re pretty good.” I recognized that voice—it was the one he used when trying to calm everyone down. Everyone looked at him. Judy looked around the table, totally fearless, and said, “Not as good as Lesley. Perhaps she prac-tices with Jake,” she added, smiling at Lesley with contempt in her eyes. Lesley oundered for a moment but then came back at Judy. “We won because of Mark,” she said, staring into Judy’s eyes, daring her to carry on. “Were you on the wrong side?” she asked. Mom pushed her plate towards the center of the table, her jaw clenched, and I knew she was mad. “It’s been a long day,” she said, cutting across the raw animosity between Judy and Lesley. “Time to go, I think,” she said, as she fumbled under the table to retrieve her purse. Dad insisted that Mark should come back to our house. On the way home Judy hissed into my ear about standing up for myself and how evil my sister

21É Ñwas to steal the guy I liked. She made an obscene hand gesture to Lesley as Dad dropped her off out-side her house. When we got home I got out of the car rst. I couldn’t bear to watch Lesley with Mark, and I wanted to rush to the sanctity of my room. I was so desperate to cry—to let out all my pain and anger. Mom followed me up the path and said, “Maizy, put the kettle on and make some hot chocolate.” “No,” I snapped. “I want to go to bed.” “Excuse me.” Her voice had a dangerous edge to it—I’d crossed a line. “It may be your birthday but don’t you sass me, young lady. Go and put the kettle on.” My jaw hurt as my teeth were clenched in anger and I tried to hide my feelings. Dad ushered Lesley and Mark through the front door and I disappeared into the kitchen, trying to get away from the gloat-ing on Lesley’s face. I felt consumed with rage and wanted to kill her. I hated how it made me feel, but I couldn’t help it. I stood at the sink and took a deep breath, but Mom got on to me. “What are you standing there for? Put the kettle on, will you?” I snatched it up and turned the tap on as hard as I could, ignoring the water that sprayed over me. “Maizy! Look what you’re doing. Stop it. Look at the mess,” she yelled. I didn’t care about the mess or being soaked by

22É Ñspray. Nothing could make me feel any worse than I felt right then. “What’s gotten into you?” Mom nagged. “I only asked you to make some hot chocolate. Be nice. Lesley’s brought her boyfriend home. What’s wrong with you?” Lesley poked her head around the door. “Mark likes two sugars,” she said, laughing at me. I couldn’t help it, I cussed at her. Mom hissed into my face, “What’s gotten into you? Why are you behaving this way? You’re being rude. Stop it.” I gritted my teeth and made the hot chocolate. Mom told me to take the tray into the living room. She was mad so, because I didn’t want to make her even angrier, I did what she said. She followed me with a plate of chocolate cookies. “My sister’s quite the little hot chocolate mak-er,” Lesley taunted. “I’ll take those, Mom,” she said, reaching up to take the plate of cookies. She put them right beneath Mark’s nose and said, “Hey, baby, have one. They are good.” I walked away, willing myself not to cry. I reached the stairs when Lesley, sensing she had lost her au-dience, jibed at me. “Happy birthday, sissy. Perhaps next birthday you can bring your boyfriend.” I refused to face her or answer, but with anger distilling into rage, I walked up the stairs with as much dignity as I could.

23É Ñ I was glad that my room was rst on the left because I barely made it through the door before collapsing on my bed, sobbing into my pillow as quietly as I could. I’d rather have died than show Lesley just how much she’d hurt me. Later, I heard Mom and Dad go to bed and Mark leave, when a car pulled up outside our house and honked. I blew my nose when I heard Lesley coming up the stairs. The light beneath my door changed, casting shadows that told me she was outside my door. She didn’t knock. My door burst open and she stood there, proud, her face a triumph. She walked into my room and shut the door. “It was so easy,” she sneered. “D’you think you’d have gotten him by just watching and follow-ing him? You’re pathetic. You don’t know anything. All I had to do was mess around with him, promise him everything. He was all over me—couldn’t get enough of me. He kisses like a dream,” she jeered quietly so that she didn’t alert Mom and Dad. “Did you really think that the most popular guy in school would fancy you? Give me a break. You’re so lame—look at you.” Something snapped inside me and I leapt off my bed and ew at her. She screamed loudly and mo-ments later Mom and Dad burst through my door. “Arrrhh,” Lesley cried dramatically, “she’s try-ing to kill me. I didn’t do anything.”

24É Ñ Mom wrenched me away from Lesley, and Dad stood wringing his hands, looking wretched, not knowing what to do. Lesley was yelling, enjoying herself, and I was so mad that I couldn’t stop from cussing at her. “Stop it!” Mom shouted into my face. “What is wrong with you?” I didn’t get to answer before Lesley spoke out. “I only came into her room to wish her ‘Happy Birth-day’ and she went crazy,” she said innocently. Mom pushed me towards my bed and yelled, “Get to bed,” and with exasperation in her voice she yelled at Lesley, too. “I can’t believe you girls. Why can’t you get along? You’re twins, for heaven sake. Get to bed, both of you. I’ve got to get up early.” She pushed Lesley out of my room and Dad fol-lowed silently. Lesley called out, “Good night, sissy. Happy birthday,” as she went to her room, and I felt more hatred for her than I’d ever felt before. I felt consumed by it. I lay on my bed, my heart racing. I felt so frus-trated that I cried all over again and then punched my pillow and pretended it was Lesley, but that didn’t help. I felt as if I was a mass of writhing feel-ings, like hissing snakes full of rage and venom. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I punched the wall and felt my knuckles crunch. The pain was better than the pain inside me. It shook me up and

25É Ñfocused my senses away from the injustice I felt. With my hand throbbing, I became calmer and laid on my bed, thinking. Every year Mom would take us to a twin convention, where hundreds of identical twins and their parents would meet. I hated it. I felt like an exhibit in a freak show. I felt worse when I saw how close the other twins were. It made me feel so alone and it made me question what was wrong with us. How could I look in the mirror and feel good about myself when all I saw was my hateful, vicious sister, exactly the same as me, even down to the mole on our cheeks? Did that mean that I was hateful, too? The thought that I could be like her sent a tide of pain surging through me, and a solitary tear spilled out of my eye and lodged in my ear. I had lain awake for hours. Judy was erce the next morning when I met her at school. She cussed Lesley out and told me that she’d x it. “Leave it,” I cried. “It’s no good.” She was mad and almost stamped her foot. “No, I won’t leave it. Your sister’s a…” She was very rude about her. “I’m going to let Mark know what she did.” “No, leave it,” I begged. “You’ll just make it worse. He didn’t know I existed. Please, leave it.” But she wouldn’t. She pounced on him at break time. I hung back, praying that the ground would open up and swallow

26É Ñme whole, as she told him what Lesley had done. I felt more humiliated than I thought was possible when he laughed at her, and said, “Who cares? I want the one who gives me what I want.” Judy cussed him out and told him that he was a supercial jerk, and although I was grateful that she had stood up to him and fought in my corner, I felt worthless. It all felt messed up. Mark only wanted “me” if I behaved like a whore, which my sister had done impersonating me. I felt confused, angry and ashamed. What would he say in the locker room about me? Would all the boys at school now think that I was a whore and mistake me for Lesley? “What a jerk!” Judy spat. “Your sister’s welcome to him.” She shook her head and slipped her arm through mine as she pulled me along the hall to our next class. And that’s how it was between my sister and I. She loathed me and I hated her, partly because I was scared of her vindictiveness—it was like she had no conscience. Yes, I knew I could be mean too, but I always felt bad about it later. She didn’t. She nished with Mark within days when she saw that I didn’t care. Of course I still cared, but I learned to act as if I didn’t and she got tired of bait-ing me. Mark told everyone at school how “easy” I was and the kids couldn’t gure out which one of us was uptight and which one was a whore. The kids were mean and Judy got into lots of ghts.

27É Ñ Fall turned into winter and a brittle truce re-sided in our house. Mom was busy, Dad took a new job and was out all the time, and Lesley was busy trying to win back her reputation while sabotaging mine. I worked hard at my grades and focused on Judy, who made me laugh all the time. I wished I were more like her. I studied hard and longed for the Christmas break. It nally arrived. • • • • Mrs. White’s cat wakes up and stretches her legs, showing her claws, and she shakes me into the present. The anger I feel as my memories replay in my mind still bubbles inside me, but suddenly I feel sad. It’s nearly Christmas and we’re expecting Aunt Hettie and Grandma in a while. I love my Aunt Het-tie—she’s as loose as Mom is tight. I love Grandma, too. Since Grandpa died she’s gone a little crazy. I love Christmas and I don’t want it to be ruined by my anger. I take a deep breath and decide to ig-nore Lesley. I gently push Sooty off my lap and rell her bowls again before slipping out of the door. I’m going to go across the road to our house and help Mom decorate the tree. Mom lets me help every year. I steel myself as I stomp through the snow de-termined to ignore Lesley’s attempts to rile me and get me into trouble.