Reader’s Block! It’s at a stand still!

Being totally engrossed in a book was something I used to absolutely love. Since having children though, my books have just become ornaments gathering dust.

My poor books have been gathering dust for over 11 years now. I used to love thrillers, books that messed with my mind a bit, as well as reference books.

My bookshelf is choc-a-block of books from my childhood that I can’t bear to part with, books that are over 100 years old, home butchery books, cooking books, art and craft books as well as reference books on how to look after most types of domestic pets.

When reading, I don’t like to be disturbed, I love to grab a book, get comfortable and lose myself for hours on end.
I used to love reading an entire book in a single sitting.

This hasn’t been the case over the past almost 12 years though as I have always had (young) children around me.

I do read the stories in magazines. It’s not the same as getting stuck into a book, but it is better than nothing I guess.

Me? Nervous?

It’s the night before a big day and quite honestly, I’m trying to not make a fuss about it at all.

Inside, I’m absolutely shitting myself. On the outside, I try and remain calm and collected. I have to be strong for my kids and family.

The biggest problem I have is if I have to shake someone’s hand. I can’t hide the sweaty palms. That’s the big giveaway of how nervous I am.
Over the years, you learn the tricks of the trade on how to look like nothing bothers you and hide the true fact that inside you’re absolutely shitting yourself.

You do what you have to do to try and be as normal as you can…

Always in the wrong place.

I’m almost hanging off the side of the bed.

I’m almost tempted to just get out of bed and do something… go for a walk, pace back and forth in the entrance to the house, look out the window to try and find something happening…

I feel like such a hindrance. No matter where I am, I feel I am in the wrong place.
No matter what I do, it feels as though I have done the wrong thing.

I just want to feel like I am an important part of something. An important part of someone’s life.

I just don’t feel like that anymore. I feel like I’m an object.
An object for sexual favours, an object that will change plans for others at the drop of a hat, an object that is expected to do things for others and feel no negativity towards anything- even if it means missing out on doing things that I truly looked forward to.

I just wish I could disappear.

Grow wings and fly off into the distance, letting the wind carry me far far away.

Far away to a place where there is room for me to be me.
And people will be accepting of that.