My godmother told me about a friend of hers who married someone in the army. During their wedded life, she calculated to the day how much she had seen him during their 13-year partnership. The total was five years. Five years…. That’s 1825 days out of 4745. It made me realise just how lucky I am. You marry someone for a lifetime and she spent 38.46% without him on a daily basis. A lifetime. What a concept.
I wouldn’t say I have craved attention my entire life.A large portion of it would be more accurate. My parents would perhaps answer otherwise when I used to scream all night and refuse to sleep when it was the appropriate time to do so. I was a brat my entire teenage life. I was vile to my parents on a regular basis. I didn’t really try in school. My parents ended up gating me for a term until I got my head down and actually did some work. My only weekend out I had to spend with my grandfather who wouldn’t let me watch television and fed me raw chicken. I cried the entire time. I was allowed out for four hours in one school term. I spent it stocking up on gold bars in Poundland, because I was also banned from the tuck shop.
What I have learned, as hard as I have tried to reject the lessons, is that I have never been quite satisfied with what I already have. No relationship fulfilled enough. No boyfriend worthy enough. No job challenging enough. No regime motivating enough. No love enough. Nothing to stick to, to yearn for, to make me break free from this rather large and endless and dark maze in my mind. Maybe the reality is that I have not tried. Maybe it is that my expectations of life and of work and of people, are set in limits that do not exist. That cannot exist.
Before you make assumptions on reading this, that I have just sat down and written a self-reflection article whilst all the while thinking “oh poor little old me”. Desperate for someone to read it. Desperate for someone to take pity on my own selfish predicament. I don’t want your sympathy or praise. What I want is an answer. What I want is for someone to hand over the book of life that I seem to so desperately need. But mine is unwritten. It is up to me to change my behaviour, to change my outlook, to change my expectations.
The truth is, you are all everything I could need.
Shame on me.
Shame on me.