I wake up. I wearily wash my face in luke warm resignation. As I look around the wretched room, it makes me wonder how on earth I have ended up here. What has happened in my life that dictates that I am reduced to living in this hovel?
Did I orchestrate my own demise or was it predetermined that this is my life?
Is this my life just for now?
Has my Maker got other plans for little old me that won’t play out until I have paid my penance?
I look in the mirror and see my reflection staring back at me. Is that me? She sure as hell seems familiar. Surely it’s not me. The image looks sad, lonely and unresponsive. She has deep hollow eyes. Her hair is a cheap nasty yellow colour with dark brown roots desperately trying to escape. It is the sort of face that you would cross the road from in order to avoid any sort of contact with. It is me.
I would like to say that I was once a nice girl with a nice home and loving parents. I would like to say as well that once upon a time I had a good job with real prospects. But alas…it would be a lie. All lies. Born bad, that’s me all over.
See, this is the thing, logic dictates that we cannot help our upbringing. You all have sympathy for the children of incapable and ineffective parents. But woe betide those poor little strays when they turn into adults. Who cares then? Ill tell you who cares…no-one.
Personally myself, I was the result of an imbecilic wanton slut and a naïve inexperienced petty thief who were thrown together by pregnancy. Their union was an angry piece of cinema history in the making. They would have wiped the boards, no question.
So, here I am staring at the peeling wallpaper and filthy linoleum floor, and I’m wondering why?
Why is it that I am incapable of leading a normal life?
I see you all every day going about your business, meeting for lunch, shopping, taking your children to the park. I see illicit meetings and drunk fuelled revelry. I see too much. I want to be a part of your life, but I don’t know how too. When I approach, I see fear in your eyes, I see mothers pull their children close to their breasts to protect them. I am human and I do have feelings, please stop shunning me. Slowly, very slowly I am dying. And when I die, I want to return as the morning dew, each and every day. I want to be moist, fresh, pure and renewing. I want to be the champagne that covers the hedgerows and lawns in the morning. I want the one thing that’s lacking in this life at the moment. And that one thing is … … …Hope.