Only Me(Dear Diary 2024

Sunday …

We are already approaching the second week in January at an alarming rate, and as we do, I begin now to know only too well the term, “Time and tide waits for no man”, or in this case woman, as the weeks float by almost too smoothly for my liking, I realise I have very little awareness of dates, time or the outside world come to that, since 2018 I’ve been living this almost entirely a housebound lifestyle in my Apartment bubble, protected, shielded, it’s not entirely by choice, but with the aid of books and reading I have travelled many roads, roads denied me in reality by situation and disabilities, I find a disquieting contentment with my lot, why disquieting, because with the passage of time, I become increasingly unnerved, the sand drips through life’s hour glass particle by particle I watched transfixed, unable to look away yet knowing by watching alone im wasting the thing I worry most about, and with it the unending need to find some way to capture in word, things that clamour to be heard, things inside the soul that feel the need to break out, but how, when words to me are like butterflies, I see them, their soft wings temptingly flutter in my mind, but when I reach out, with just powdered residue remaining their gone, words, stories, live on but I’ve no voice to release them…

Finding the words….

Back many many moons ago, I was about to come across someone who was going to sum me up in just a few very short devastating words, little would he ever know their lasting impact upon a child. That man was a teacher at Manorway Junior school in Tilbury., His name Mr Brown. I believe totally there was no malice behind the words, he never for one minute set out for those words to lay waste about my world so utterly and completely..but none the less they did!. . It was the 1970s everything was so different back then, (and not just the clothing and feather cut hairstyles or music),. There in small school, built almost entirely from tongue and groove wood painted black was where my education began, At that self same school a parent/teacher meeting took place one autumn,. I wasn’t to know then but that’s when my world suddenly grew smaller… In a tiny classroom sat Mr Brown at his Desk, my mother handbag on her lap fidgeting, words bandied back and forth between my mother and teacher, I was sitting somewhat further towards the back of the class,upon a tiny pine chair reading a book, The words spoken by my elders of which I was taught ignore..Sounded like those in that Charlie Brown cartoon…all I heard blah blah blah..few ums and arghs, nothing broke through my interest in the book upon my lap, that was until the words … “in fact Mrs Marsh I was thinking after talking it through with the head I would like to keep her back in my class for another year”. oh I heard that right enough, I strained my ears to listen intently without either spotting me my attention…if I thought those words hit home, the next ones spun my world a kilter, Mr Brown had said” Theresa knows enough, she’s very bright(kind teacher speak for thick as two planks 😁) “but she cannot find the words to put it down on paper”, at that time I felt it unjustified, i was hurt, I felt betrayed by my favourite teacher, was he really questioning my intelligence, my ability to learn, ….at that time those words caused such devastation, and were to remain with me forever, mainly because In fact their true. Now lets move forward years, decade’s, for I know them to be wise words, a truth spoken not with malice any at play, but with honest observation.

Still to this very day, try as I might the words in my head will not adhere themselves to paper., They dance about tormentingly, making fleeting appearances in my mind, before running off someplace the second I grab a sheet of paper or notebook. It’s as frustrating as hell, Take for instance the lines I write right now, i,ll have gone over and over them, reading, re-reading numerous times, each time im left wanting by my own ineptitude, not satisfied, yet craving with such hunger the lyric and power of the wordsmith, their use of words as easily as they trip from the tongue,. Throughout my years Ive tried hard to content myself with my meagre knowledge and use of written word, but as fast as I can inhale beautifully written dialogue in books, is the speed with which those self same words betray me, leaving me short of their use. So why worry now you ask? Because my voice is too loud for most, yet still never heard..my truths questioned, their validity unaccounted for, if I could find those words required to leave behind something tangible, even though it may only be for these eyes alone, I would feel heard, visible. Then rest at ease.

I was born into a world of Pain, an illness I find hard to pronounce let alone say could easy have robbed me of my very essence, the things that make me, but along with that self same DNA handing illness timebomb, I was found a sheer pigheaded stubborness, mules are beginners compared to moi,. I have a twisted left leg, deformed by lack of cartlidge, collagen,muscle to hold the joints in place, walking is agony, bone grinding against each other, yet I insist on walking, all the while I can propel this body forth, I damn well will, and not only this I will do so with a smile upon this face, sweat trickling down my spine, feeling sick to my stomach with hurting, but I refuse to let it show on the outside, as if by doing so I’m denying the pains very existence, it’s not happening right!…denial is a splendid thing my friends, and although I will not lie to a friend or loved one….oh goodness will I lie like a true professional to myself…

Each day is another day to be borne, the pain grows with the years, the muscle tone getting lax, joints subluxing 24/7 , pain knows nothing of the need to sleep, ignoring my longing for the dream world,. I know I’m not alone with illness, I get that all to well, but what hurts is the fact I’m questioned about the severity and it’s limiting effects, because I cannot find the words to describe how I feel inside, and my outside belies what’s going on within, it has to be confusing….what’s more I don’t want to feel anymore a burden than I am, So I push myself to the utter limits, till exhaustion forces upon me that full stop. But even then guilt eats away at me and I go that one step further, while there’s a heartbeat, there’s a way.

What has all this to do with where I began, because lack of words, a voice, has as Ive said robbed me of the truth, time and time again because my face shows one thing, my mask, an outside persona of someone living a happy go lucky lifestyle.,. But happiness as I know all too well can be bluffed though, I live a pretence almost, until perhaps one day life may just through me a rope, a lifeline, I’m paddling upon the surface, keeping me afloat…part of me grows cold and tired, achingly longing for it to be over, paddling while the rest of world swims by is tiring….

I suppose if I were to sit back and really analyse this, you could say it’s all my own fault, I could be more forthcoming with my issues, but in some respects it’s too ingrained in me to change, and in truth there’s no one I would burden with this, plus while with my mask intact, teeth gritted in my latest battle, no one treats me differently, I hate sympathy, dont you? I don’t want to see that look on their faces, concern, worry…but I guess along with this bluff, I must understand when they question the very truths that leave my mouth…it hurts like hell, because there’s so very people I let in, trust with the wounds of my soul, few told of the scars not only those physical, but mental, of locked away horrors…again I cannot blame them when they question what is my truth…a secret locked away inside so deep it may remain there untold…while the written words still flutter away on pretty gossamer wings into the atmosphere, I must content myself with moths, flying to close to the flame getting my wings burnt…my truths sealed away …….Thank you for allowing me to share, and may 2024 be kind to you all ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤😊