The last post left me feeling upbeat, that I’m doing something positive to make a difference, not just to my life but to that of my children. I said a while back to my eldest that if he doesn’t need therapy when he’s my age I’ll feel I’ve done a good job.
The opposite happens when I watch a soppy sentimental film, the kind I used to eschew as being beneath me although I’d watch the occasional one for just being fun. Now when I see our heroine having stumbled around in the dark, not seeing the hero standing in front of her or having whatever twists in the tale to deny her him; when she finally sees the inevitable light and it all ends happily ever after I cry.
Not with sappy tears of happiness, but with tears of misery, of jealousy and envy for that one perfect moment when you think life’s going to be happy ever after, even if it’s not true but for that one moment when you can believe in that possibility.
I suppose, thinking about it rather than just crying about it, that my parents denied me that hope that that one true moment could happen, let alone that it could last. While they told me I had to make plans, they didn’t tell me to dream and to chase it, but to be realistic and get what I want by planning and working hard.
But I want to cry when I see grandparents picking up their children, or whole families visiting a special assembly, or when families and friends get together for a celebration to have fun. When I see people together and they’re happy, it hurts. People being there for one another as my parents never were. And I wish I had that, just once.
This may sound over-dramatic, but when you’re crying in front of a film that isn’t that good, that certainly isn’t true and yet you still yearn to be that person and have that dream, even though you know it isn’t real but you want it anyway, well it’s a mess.
I’ve got to the point now where I can be with a group of friends, that I have enough to be called a group, that if I’m lonely or sad there’s someone to talk to, whether with sympathy or just to make me laugh. I’ve come such a long way in the last five years or so.
But that doesn’t stop me feeling that I’ve missed out and that I’m still missing out. I don’t look forward to the future because I still lack hope that tomorrow might well be a better day and the thought of ten years from now is just not somewhere I want to go.
I’m sure I’ll get there eventually, but in the meantime it’s a lonely place to be.