The Blind One

Each and every day is a cycle of my life and my routine, as I wake up I continue hoping that my life would be 'just another nightmare'.

For so long now my heart has longed to be in another place, a better place, but it never seems to work out for me. I never get what I want nor what I deserve, at least not in this life time. I don't understand why God or other mighty powers allow this sacrifice in my life to persist. It is not fair to those that I love, for I live to protect them and keep them safe.

Yet I can't help but feel responsible, I want to ignore it because if these thoughts poison my mind, I will lose my loved ones, along with my self.

People think that having to write in a diary is a way of hiding your true feelings, and others like me feel differently. I believe that having my diary, helps me express my self in a way that I want, if I simply sat on a sofa, pouring my thoughts to a stranger I wouldn't feel complete, because I know that to them I am just another emotionally unstable customer, and it is their job to 'try' and calm me down so that I am just like everybody else.

I chose to say no and keep my diary close to me so that each morning and night, I express how I feel. and it doesn't matter if I sound poetic or weird, I don't care, because its just how I feel.

placing my diary inside my pillow I got up from the bed before heading to the kitchen to start on breakfast. my name is , Elizabeth Richards and my story began like this.

A couple from different nationalities in an era of racism and discrimination had decided to deviate from the norm. The female was of African origin, but having lived in London for all her life she considered herself British. The male on the the other hand was what was considered a 'Brit' who came from a stable home, and who had first come into the word right in the centre of London. The couple claimed that they were in love that they decided to get married, soon the female fell pregnant,and months later birthed their child. But there seemed to been a mistake, the child began grow and produce features that did not fully resemble half of each person and the man began to wonder and ponder on the fact that there was a possibility that the little girl was not his, and that his wife had cheated on him somehow.

Soon the man grew paranoid and angry and as the child grew, the male became utterly abusive to his wife, claiming that the child wasn't his. He constantly lashed out at his child and wife, he injured his wife to the extent that she lost use of her legs and when he realised what he'd done the male fled, leaving his crippled and unresponsive wife and child to fend for themselves.

I was seventeen when I started looking after my mum, she can't do anything for herself any more, its like she's given up, and here I am slowly doing the same.

I was placed in a temporary home for the year in which my mother spent in hospital to recover. As soon as I hit eighteen I was able to come home. The house which my mothers late parents had brought and left for her marking their success in being able to buy a house in the uk.

I flipped the pancake and served it up, pouring some syrup on the breakfast I decided to take it to the next level, I grabbed the sugar, chocolate cream and lemon sauce and slobbered it all over my meal, I rolled the pancake so that it looked like a fajita....

"happy birthday to me I guess" I shrugged and took a bite into the revoltingly tasty pancake, after finishing my meal I cleaned up

"how are you feeling?" I asked hoping she'd say something, but of course she didn't, she simply looked at me smiling as though she was proud.

"try and clean yourself up, I'll make you something to eat" I spoke and went to the kitchen, and took out the ingredients for lunch, I started frying the chicken strips and  began boiling the potatoes. the whole process took approximately ten minutes since I just had to cook for mum and myself. After I was done I went back to the bathroom to help

This...is just another day in my so called life.

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