Good evening Dear Bloggets. It’s almost midnight, our house has gone to bed. All lights are off Christmas and normal and our dogs have gone out for the last time. Hub has just gone to bed and I’m writing to you with a blog before bed.
Writing to me is like breathing, only much more beautiful rather than a necessary action. I must breathe to live, much the same as I have to write and if I don’t make my fingers move my mind be motivated and my mouth whisper in the midnight hour or whatever time it is whilst words fall onto your pages, I can’t seem to survive! To me writing is a compulsion, a necessary need and something that I have felt compelled to do since a small child. I was told when I was just fifteen by of all people, my typing teacher, that I should be a writer when I left school. At the time, I smiled. I was going to be a model, something that already by that age I had flirted with but confidents and an encouraging waistline prevented my dream to occur having said that, I was invited to work in Paris, Milan New York and London as a sixteen year old but I had been away from my parents all of my life and couldn’t leave them again, no matter how much I wanted to model and why did I want to model? Because that was the only thing I was good at. It was in my blood my genes, but I was to learn later on in life that so was writing, and that is another story, a long story that has to wait for the day when my autobiography I hope will be written.
In those days of knowing I was easy on the eye but feeling a total reject and failure at everything in life, I wrote, I would sit on my own in my bedroom at home writing pen to paper for hours drawing pictures to go along with my writing, mainly short stories and poetry. A lot like today, mind you, I also wrote a diary every day, but in that diary, it was my words written only for me to read. Gosh, some pain went in those words. Pain which I should have had professional help with but little did I know back then that so called experts were ill qualified to sort out my mind. And so, life continued.
I wrote from I was very small until I married then went onto having my baby. Then the rest is history. No more writing. Nowhere to express my inner feelings that were forbidden from the big world. Words which teased and taunted my world, my entire existence. Closed curtains and turned off lights. Blindfolded and hands tied.
How would I ever write again? I was now unable to write and read print so the end?
I was drowning in the vast river, flowing fast were the ripples which turned into waves that lead to the North Sea. Rocks were waiting for me but I had to survive and swam from the rocks and the mouth of the sea to the pebbles, playing popping their heads up and sinking back down before being thrown out of the river to make paths for walkers on summer days. I followed those paths, used all of my strength and lifted myself from the dirty heavy water that had been my blanket for so long.
I heard people walking over the water, of course that wasn’t possible. Only in the bible, right? My brain told me that a bridge of life was there waiting for me and I began to walk towards voices. Nettles stung me and undulating narrow paths lead me to the next stage in life. The bridge. It took all my might to climb over there in fact I only got half way for so long. I stood in the middle of the bridge taking in the air, the fragrances around me. I listened in my dark world for someone, something to turn on the light. I heard my enemies beneath the bridge floating by and like the Chinese proverb, I watched them, but they were encouraging me to jump in with them. I denied their invitation and stood, not strong, just still. Still enough to hear the whispering of the tall grasses which framed the river banks. They spoke to me and guided me.
It was not long after then I was pushed in the direction of the next platform of life and that was further education.
At first it was an escapism for me. Away from the life I knew. I was to educate and be educated. It was there where I found inspiration to continue in my dream of writing and it was there I learned how blind people could write and read with the use of the computer and software.
Among all sighted students my journey was tough. I battled and never wanted to stop. Not until I received the recognition I knew I had to witness. I wasn’t the pretty girl with the eyes that didn’t work. I wasn’t the no hoper, the girl who had to marry as a child or the stupid useless bastard that I was referred to daily. I was for some time allowed to me me. I received the top grades and felt pride. Despite one of my tutors doing her level best to put me down, she was totally anti blind. She succeeded in the end. I had a place at a very good university in my home town of Newcastle, thanks to the combination of that tutor and my strength at college in the form of another tutor who left, as well as the weakness of me who by this point in life was totally dependent on others as I was a shadow, a shell if you like. My emotions had been removed, my heart had been ripped out and my direction was still. It was then when I decided that I had come to the end of that part of my life.
Now where? I just continued writing, I had six years of education. I proved to myself that I actually could do something in life. Sadly, only to be knocked down again as late as months ago, but one thing I am hanging onto is the fact that one day I really hope one day that I write my books, I get some kind of push again, this time going right over that bridge over the other side and shake hands with those who discouraged me and who encouraged e. I want to be a best seller. You may mock, but my heart and soul tells me that is what I was born to do as without writing, what am I? What do I have left?
Anyone can cook and clean. Some better than others, but in general it’s not difficult. I know of many people who are blind who say they can’t cook or clean and that is up to them they have strengths I don’t have, they can go from Glasgow to London on their own without fear. Me? I shall stick with the duster in my hand rather than doing that. I have done something similar before but without worries? No. I was a wreck. Give me a mop and bucket anytime. There was a time earlier in the year I believed that I could do better. That was removed from me too. But still, I have my writing. I’m constantly up against negativity, nasty people who in reality have the minds of a narcissist and don’t want others to stand in their way. They want to be in the front of the queue and try to block stamp on whoever may push in front of them. Sadly, we live in a world where by we can’t walk alongside one another.
But I still am able to put words to paper to your screens and thankfully, you still read my words, my writing, my feelings and views whether they be yours or not, so you have an open mind? That is why you return to my blog page. Also, I hope because you too are like me. So I have connected with similar minded people. We share thoughts and aspirations, dreams and hope! You are an endorsement to my work, for my life and publicly announce reason of my existence and for that I am eternally grateful and if my dream comes true and I ever do write my books, I shall never forget my dear Bloggets.
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