Why Mum Went Mad...

Maybe I have lived the life I have just to talk about it.

Not that it's been an especially difficult life really. I have a roof over my head, and plenty of good food, and a Hubby and children that I love, and a family that loves me; and I've never lost anyone tragically or had it particularly rough- so I feel like a bit of a whiner actually, carrying on like this sometimes. The Psychologist Guy told me to write a story about it, so you can blame him if it isn't any good. For some reason he thought I might have some sort of talent for it. I might not though. We'll see.

I've probably made the mistake of believing that I am weird or special when I, in fact, am not. I hope not. I hope I am unusual. I hope my writing is different enough to make me rich- or at least to make me some money. That would be nice. I don't like being poor. Something positive should come out of all these negatives. And I don't want to have to go to real work. I can't imagine having to go somewhere for forty hours a week. What can I do for forty hours a week that will make me want to wake up in the morning? I can't bear to be near all those different people all day- hasn't anyone told you I'm socially a misfit? It's not even that I don't want to fit in; I just don't think that I can. I need to be at home sitting on my bench smoking. That is where I belong. That is who I am now.

I wasn't always this way- people just don't understand me anymore. They think I can grow out of being what I am. They All perceive me as a loser and a failure; my Parents, Grandmother and Hubby especially. They might be right. It's not like they get to know everything about me though. They, especially, don't get to hear about the stories that I write or the dreams that I have. But why would I show them? If I was a professional surfer they'd still think of me as a beach bum. Nothing is ever good enough. They speak to me like I am a child.

Don't forget to do this if you want my advice you'll have to learn to listen. Can you remind me to remember to wake up in the mornings? And please- don't forget to tell me how fucked up in the head I am every day. You know how much I like to hear it. Don't forget now, will you, to think about how disappointed in my sorry life you all are- it's the fucking highlight of my Tuesday.

The funny thing is they don't even have to say these things out loud to me. It's when they ring to check if I'm still asleep, or to see if my children have been driven to school, or to see if I have remembered the music lessons, and whether they have had breakfast today; or when they say how messy the house is; or when they tell me not to bother paying them back the money that I've needed to borrow just so that we could eat the day before pay day. I don't want them to have to pay my way in life. I don't want to have to still rely on my parents or sons to look after me when I'm old.

I promise you that I'm trying to do the best I can under the circumstances. I don't like being a failure in life. It has it's downsides- that's for sure. It's not financially rewarding to be a failure, for one thing. You have no social status either, because even though whatever money the government provides to me goes straight into the house and the bills and the food and whatever, I am not considered to have contributed anything as I haven't gone out and 'worked' for the money.

Everyone who pays tax that I know think that They, personally, are my provider. I don't have the skills to do an ordinary job in an office, I'm too old for most sales jobs and I have nothing to sell- except perhaps my thoughts, and they might not even be worth anything. That's what I'm trying to find out I guess. So I suppose I should at least start by calling myself a Writer for the first time, and give it a whirl. I've got nothing to lose, except maybe six months' worth of Groundhog Days, by completing this little project- and if nothing else, my kids can read my little story one day and try and work out why Mum went mad.