Why blog? 

Photo1_inner_191-523-593-528-176-813-596-831My blog is a work in progress and what I post is mainly unfinished work.  I write because no one sees and yet I want to be seen.  I don’t know what I want to say and yet I have a wish/need to write. There is something I want to say.  It is there like an itch,  I can’t reach,  which keeps me from peace.  I seek peace.  Peace equals a clarity which I don’t have.  If you met me you would not sense this torment.  I have been told I am calm, but this is the opposite of what I feel.  I am a walking contradiction.  I don’t want to be a contradiction.  I want to be clear, normal, sorted.  I want to be like most people.  My mother once said to me, ” what is wrong with you?  You’re not like most children”  I have felt like this all my life.  This might sound like a type of self importance but it really is not that.  I am no better than most; I am just not like most.  I want to be like someone who finds life easy or at least easier. Deep down I know no one finds it easy.  It isn’t, but I want to be like someone who doesn’t believe that she will be punished if she is too proud or takes too much pleasure from life.  I want to learn how to have fun without a voice in my head telling me that it is frivolous to laugh and enjoy life too much.  “After laughter comes tears”, was one of my mother’s favourite curses.  If I laughed too hard with my brother you could bet your last dollar on her saying that we should stop because, “after laughter..comes tears…..”  My brother was truly messed up.  His IQ was tested by his school and he was classified  “near genius”   They tested him because they needed to understand why he was smart one minute and an abject failure the next.  He was a book worm and still is.  I laugh with my boys that uncle David is the only person I know who will sit in the same chair all day long reading.  Dawn till dusk.  He almost makes reading look bad because he does not, and never has had, another life other than books.  He was brilliant and yet he dropped out of school.  Doodled on his O level exams sheets and left school with nothing.  He ran away at 13 and took an overdoes at 15.  All the time my mum blamed the school, but I knew it was family life that was to blame.  I worried about him all the time.

I was messed up too but managed, as women often do, to carry on for the benefit of others.  I worried about my brother more than myself.  I did not worry enough about myself as a child.   I only realised later on how little value I had placed on my life.  I had no recognition of my needs or aspirations  because I put value on others’ lives and not my own..  I am not a martyr or a saint but this is how it has been for most of my life.  I have lived for the benefit of other people and inevitably this causes stress and depression in later life.  My writing is a way of  reconciliation, forgiveness and  rebirth.

So far my blog hasn’t received many visits.  This pleases my introverted side, but also sits ill with the expressive, gregarious me who seeks connection, validation, approval.  Part of me, the negative part, thinks that it is because I am boring and have nothing to say.  This has always been the dominant part of my personality.  The part which has stepped in and said, ” be quiet! You have nothing worth saying and nobody is interested in you.” I hear my mother saying, ” you were only his daughter.  I was his wife”, and I am put right back in my place.  That negative part of me believes that I have no right to think that i , small i, have anything worth saying.   The other part of me which listens to positive, affirmative reinforcement says it is because I am not putting myself out there.  That I am just as important as anyone else and that my voice is as valuable too.  I need to look at myself in the mirror and say this out loud because I don’t quite believe it yet.  I need to read more, like more, follow more and generally be more visible on this platform.  Then I will know if I have anything worthy of interest.  Given the millions of people in the world there must be someone who will feel some kindred spirit with me?  I write to clarify my thoughts, as a form of therapy, to tell my story for my children to read one day and for anyone else who might be interested out there.  If anyone reads this please stop to say hello..



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