Really

 
It’s the waking up I really loathe. Another monotonous day, and what the hell for? They never change. I feel the misery and pain always …always…it never fades. That phase that everything heals overtime well I am living proof that it is really bollocks. Please do not try and explain the good stuff that came and went without me realizing.
 
It is not often that one is looking through a window with the sun shining through, lighting up the floor and my face so that I can see my reflection on the window. Do I really look like that? If only I earnt more money for that plastic surgery job. I would hopefully look and then feel like someone else…what a relief that would be…but obviously too simple and easy. Always thinking of an escape, aren't we all. However, for me the escape never materializes…and I know deep down it never will.

" Come on Mummy"

Yes off we go, this statement wakes me up from my thought patterns that seem common with the morning for most people I know. It’s the motivation that is difficult to get the energy and stamina to face another day. Is it worth it…of course I have my helper.

"Yes... coming. Have you got everything?"

"Of course I have Mummy really..."

Off we go outside the confines of the security we call our 'home'. It often feels like I need a stiff drink for Dutch courage in order to step outside my safety zone. Only I am not yet dependent on alcohol. Matter of time that I will be…I welcome it.  Everything must, is, less of an issue, more of a small irritation, and of little concern when drunk. Maybe that should be my ambition. To build towards a perspective on life which would enable me to survive better, and probably shorter but happier numbed from the pain I feel.

" Come On…"

Awoken again from my slumbering, bleak thoughts. However, feeling and thinking this way is amazingly comforting. Really, it seems I have always been like this. If I woke up happy, because it is a thought and feeling so alien to me, it would probably make me depressed. Nothing in life is simple, or a straight mathematical equation. If only the world was scientific, I feel I would be able to construct a happy life. Only there are too many variables. Really, why, is unpredictability really the spice of life? I have always found it confusing, always, always, always. Funny…the experience of life never makes it easier. That was a ‘bummer’ to realize.

Anyway, I was out of the door now, and the clouds where gathering in front of the sun. If only the sun could shine always, every day would I feel good? I would be able to dress the same I guess and planning what to wear would become predictable. However, clouds, wind, rain, there they were the variables which make everything 'so much more interesting.... exciting... unpredictable. I think it really is confusing. How are we supposed to adapt to ever changing situations. It really is too much, for anyone isn't it?

I remember my first ever boyfriend, we met in the spring of course. You can guess the effect this had on my psyche. Wind, rain, warm sunshine…bloody weather. Whatever next… what was I to wear to impress a young man. I could dress to thrill and freeze to death. Go sensible and end up sweaty with no sex at the end. What’s a girl to do? I should have known then, that I think too much and was never going to be happy. Too concerned with trivial detail…or so my counsellor said. I should really have stuck at religion.
 

However, whilst recognizing that I have felt my mind drifting trying to explain the unexplainable, religion is really far too simple to explain everything. I am not that stupid to believe a man or concept would design the world to be confusing and a never-ending balancing act of good versus evil. Really, is life a game? and who is enjoying playing with me I wonder. Not the weather.

It begins to rain, great.

Still, this is England and this is but to be expected. I could save my money and move to Spain. Everyone I know has ambitions to do this. Spain? I really have just mustered English to the point where I can explain myself, and my thoughts to others. I really cannot ever feel I would be capable of doing that in another language. It seems to have taken me a life-time to get to this stage.

" Mummy ... cross the road...this way."

Oh… another reality check, why are children so rude? Really, I want to be miserable, it is me? It is what I do best. If only it paid well. Well, there was always the DLA payments, of course, it had its benefits.

Across the road, over the hill chasing a small boy all the way. Boy he is getting fast. I always imagined him growing up. Now I knew he was a boy in a hurry.

" Come on...Come on"

Across the road again and into the waiting room.

The waiting room is very busy. (Very chaotic with several conversations crossing over one another.) Who where they talking to? It was hard to tell. It unnerved me a little. I look for my little helper but he has disappeared …like I said always in a hurry. But I shudder at the thought of him gone for that moment. It feels cold.
 
"Hello Mrs Siddu.... Dr Patel is waiting for you"

Really who is this Doctor? How do they know who I am? It hard enough for ‘me’ to remember.

" Mrs Siddu..how did you get here?"

"I followed my son"

" Really....I supposed we cannot re-imbursh you for that"

" Where is he now..?"

"Really Mrs Siddu.... he is with the angels now?"

Really... as if I didn't know. But it’s hard to let go. Isn't it.... really?