Words are popping out of my brain


I went today to my favourite hippy-crystal bookshop. I was really looking for a book that might be called something like The Goddesses’ Guide to Making Your Husband Dump You Whilst Thinking It Was His Own Idea All Along.

I didn’t find it. Can you imagine?

I’ve lost track of what I need. It feels like I need too much.

Never mind, then,  what I need. What do I actually have? Mainly, it seems, I have children – four of ’em. Ages 17, 15, 6 and 6. Girl, boy, boy and boy, the last two being twins, as you’ve no doubt gathered. I have credit card debt and an overdraft. I own half of the paid-for portion of a Victorian terraced house in an English seaside town. I have an American accent – for the perfectly logical reason that I am, in fact, an American, though I’ve lived here for twelve years.

I have an ex-husband who made me cry every day for years. I have a rather newer husband who began as a knight in shining armour but has somehow morphed into some subtle sort of enemy. I don’t quite know how, but cannot quite look into it, because I also have a genuine fear of confrontation, which clearly frustrates him. All I can see is the hate streaming off of him.

I have a psychiatric diagnosis. I’m bipolar, diagnosed 15 years ago, before Stephen Fry made it trendy. And, like many, since then, there’s been a merry-go-round of medications, a workplace breakdown… I’m still not working, in fact, which the husband detests. So I continually feel I must earn my keep, despite being a mother to four, running a house where the spouse is away on business more often than not.


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