Birth

I remember a time when I had no joy or passion in everything that I did with my life. An overwhelming numbness would squat rent-free in my head. Those days, I was well-known for, what my friends term, taking a sabbatical. I went on many of these. Always thinking I would come back better, wiser. A bloody excuse for not getting off the ass in my head to tell you the truth.

A lot of my dearest friends think they know me well. Well, some think so anyway. The rest make their own assumptions based on how I behave in certain situations. Without wanting to know more, they just leave it at that. All I can say is this: I'll leave it at that too. Go live your live okay and not make mine harder to live. It's tough enough without having to explain my every move to all and sundry. The remains of the day.

Then came the day when I dried my tears, lifted my head and started to acknowledge my fears and insecurities, and began to accept what was presented me the day I was born.

When my mother knew she had me forming in her, she decided, being an unmarried woman, that abortion was her choice for living. Her father, and mine, had other plans. With their decision king, I was given the gift to breathe.


It is breath that keeps me sane nowadays. I have a temper and an ego you can only read of in raunchy paperback novels. I forget to breathe sometimes and I used to kowtow just to make the 'world' a better place.

Now I breathe and then say, Go fuck yourself 'cos I've got a life to live. I will stop at a redlight but when it turns green, you better not be zebraing across.

I know what makes me happy, I know the sadness. Euphoria is what I strive for. Hey, what the hell?! If it means I have to wear a wig sometimes, I will. AND I've got the heels to match.

Muah!

(picture courtesy of 3 peas in a Pod)