It's about me, not you!
Dear Mum, Here we are again. Two journals filled and counting! When Julie, you know, that therapist I’ve been seeing for the past couple of years (thanks to growing up with a challenging mother like yourself, the one you said was a complete waste of my time and money, why do I need a therapist, there’s nothing wrong with me outside of the fact that I just don’t listen to you enough!) suggested I write in a journal and get off my chest all the things I tend to say that just aren’t helpful and usually end up with you looking bewildered and wounded and me wanting to beat my head against a brick wall, I don’t think either of us thought I would be quite so prolific. She says it helps me deal with my ‘grievances’ in a more ‘constructive’ way. According to her and her fancy doctorate, sarcasm and gentle self-loathing are not overly ‘mentally hygienic’. Honestly Mum, she sounds ALOT like you when you haughtily remind me that “sarcasm is the lowest form of wit”. The primary difference between the two of you is that her judgement and condescension cost me money while yours costs me my self-esteem.
A Final Goodbye
Marjorie and I were inseparable. We went everywhere together, sat together for all our meals and we playmates. We even slept in the same bed. Mama tried very hard to separate us once, insisting I have my own bed, but Marjorie screamed so loud that Papa told Mama to just leave us be.
The City of Lost Souls
Tamrin sighed and her shoulders drooped at the sound of her doorbell. She needed to invest in one of those video bells so she could see if she actually had to answer the door or could pretend she wasn’t home. Couldn’t the world just leave her be.
The First Step - An Open Letter
Today is my 40th birthday. I’m actually quite excited to be 40. I had a minor flip out at turning 30, but 10 years later, I’m not just fine with being another decade older, I’m happy about it. I’m attributing that to being more settled in my life now than I was then. My life isn’t perfect, I work hard and I work long hours that mean my work/life balance is , well, unbalanced. But the trade off is I’ve achieved a lot in the last 10 years.