What Am I?

NYE and we’re all looking into the future – but the past is part of that. No matter how hard Eckhart Tolle preaches (and I do listen, honest), we/I cannot isolate the two.

So, what am I? I am a writer – freelance and seeking that perfect job, rather than small short term contracts. I am as poor as a church mouse, but that will get sorted in time. I am a student – studying hard and faking cleverness. I am owned by the most stunning and wonderful dogs. I am creative – I have ideas to paint again, but am too scared nowadays to put brush to canvas – words are my safe medium, with no judgement necessary.

I had an abusive childhood – not physically, just lacking in the love and understanding that an adopted child needs. I was locked in my room for hours at a time, I wasn’t hugged, or Image result for lonely childhood artlistened to. I was judged as unintelligent and backward because I took so long learning to read; the school thought I was ‘retarded’, and my parents never questioned it, never had/took the time to learn what interested me, what made me happy, what gave me the security that I lacked so badly. An ‘artistic’ personality in an academic household – round peg in a square hole!

I had abusive relationships – both physically and mentally, that left me lost and longing, but feeling it was all I deserved; worthless and unlovable, not knowing what ‘normal’ love is, without that desperately sick feeling of need, of needing another person next to me, looking after me.

Image result for booksNow, I am here – three years after the Big Break Up; three years on my own (apart from occasional men) with my dogs. It still amazes me that I am capable of doing even the smallest thing – I take pleasure in hoovering my lovely rented cottage. I am not criticised over the smallest thing. I wash up, despite the dishwasher in the corner, because it’s something I can do. I look at my books – they are all mine, collected in the last three years (I left with nothing). I smile at the paintings hung on the walls – not done by me, but one day maybe.

I lie in my bed at night, cosy with the lamp on, snuggled under the duvet, with a cat curled up on the pillow next to mine, and the dogs snoring in the next room, and am content.

I still panic at the slightest thing – a phone call or bill can send me spiraling out of control; a complicated instruction can confuse the hell out of me. I panic that I won’t have enough money left at the end of the month. That, because I put things off until the last possible minute,  I’ll run out of medication, and the dark will take back what it once owned fully.

But, I’m sitting here, with three writing contracts to complete, one dog softly asleep in theImage result for typewriter on desk kitchen, the other by my feet, the house warming after the night’s chill, and coffee on the go, and I can smile, pushing any worries away for now.

2017 will be my year to shine!

Image result for 2017

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Author: malamute musings

I'm owned by a working team of Alaskan Malamute sled dogs, am a pagany philosophy student, and pretend to be a professional writer - all these add up to .......well, ......to me. And that's what I blog about - random musings, thoughts and being dragged around.

2 thoughts on “What Am I?”

  1. I also feel that despite often meeting my parents’ expectations, a few more cuddles and “well dones” would have been nice, although I do not believe I had it as bad as you did. You should try to find your birth mother if you feel the need, I have a friend here in his late 60’s who did so and it has been good for all involved. You have to take the chance, it may be awful, but if you don’t try then you will always have that itch to scratch.

    My mother was illegitimate (father unknown) but I was not told that until my late teens. I grew up thinking my Great Aunt was my Nan and my Grandmother was my aunt, also names were changed – all to avoid the embarrassment of a bastard child. Strangely, however, my mother was the second such child of my “real” grandmother. Also I know very little about my paternal grandfather. My dad was the only child of two parents’ second marriages; he had nine step-brothers and sisters. My curiosity about my antecedents has been growing and I am now considering having a go with one of the DNA testing companies that have lately been popping up.

    Your story is very moving Kate, keep fighting and keep taking the meds – I do and I know it ain’t easy!

    Happy new year – this one has been a bastard in very many ways and now here in France I am 12 minutes into 2017. Feel better already! x

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    1. Bollocks – I’ve only just seen your comment – bloody technology didn’t let me know (blame the machines lol)
      Sounds like you’ve had a confusing time of it too – us bastards are just sooo embarrassing lol

      I’ve just got my first ever birth certificate through! No father mentioned (obviously I know that it’s either Sir David of Attenborough, or Brian the Blessed), but I may have found details for my mother (Joanna the amazing Lumley) on Ancestry.whatever it is, so looking into this further. I can’t afford the DNA thingy at the mo, but will go down that route when I can.
      I’m planning to use an intermediary person to make contact – can you imagine how scary that would be for my poor birth mother and any subsequent family she has? I’m a nutter, she won’t be impressed lol.

      I have never felt the urge to seek her out before, but now I think if I don’t do it, it’ll be too late, and even if it goes tits up, I want to try!

      Happy 2017 (if a little late) xxx

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