Meka…..a short story

There once was this girl, this fabulously emotional girl that lived in a country full of wonder. The land was decorated in plants of various greens and gold. The earth orange, brown and greens. It was a land of beauty. A place like a picture, the kind found hanging on walls of fancy art exhibitions. Only standing on the land, watching the passing of the day, could one really see the truth of its beauty. No painting could do it justice. For all its beauty you can sense the danger it holds.

She, like the land was beautiful. Not the kind of outer beauty that made men stop and drink in the sight of her. No, she has an inner beauty that shines outward. Shines so brightly, many have to turn away or risk being blinded. The brown tussles of her hair rarely entice compliments but her inner nature does. The way she walks does not make men whistle, nor does the plainness of her face but her eyes hold you captured. Those blue eyes know stories that can calm you, that can frighten you, that can make you think. Those eyes shine with youth, with wisdom. They shine with love, forgiveness and understanding. She shines with love and compassion but don’t ever take that as weakness. She is stronger than you and I.

Meka is her name. Meka the wise, Meka the lovely, Meka the strong.

Meka stood on the edge of the cliff. Wasn’t very high up but it was the perfect spot to watch the rising of the sun to greet the day. She looked over the edge, the stone cliff face was spotted with bushes . She marveled at the twisted branches, followed the roots into the rocks small cracks. The only foothold they had. It seemed like such a precarious life, sending tiny roots into the tiny crevices. Yet the plants seemed firmly planted in life.

This made Meka’s heart flutter, the thought of life. Just at that moment the sun began to set. The sky changed from blue to different shades of orange and reds. The sunset marked the time he would wake. She smiled to herself. A smile of pure love and delight as she turned away from the setting sun and headed for home.

The cottage was a short walk from the cliff. It faced out to look over the ocean, surrounded by trees and shrubbery. The greenery looked out of place amongst the pebbles and sand before it but it was her home. The place she felt safest in the most.

Rushing inside she saw he was already there.  The blinking “hi, you there?” was on her screen. He must have woken early just to talk. before she even sat down, Meka typed back a reply “Yes I’m here”.

Her laptop beeped with reply.

“Meka I love you but we need to talk”

Her heart skipped a beat. Immediately she knew something was wrong. She took a few moments to gather herself before she typed back to him.

“Tommy is there something wrong?”

“Meka you are the most kind, loving person I have ever met but I’m afraid I cannot be with you. I’m sorry…”

Her heart shattered, she reread his words, sat there staring at the screen willing it not to be true. Never noticing he had gone.

Moments flew by. Time seemed to stop. Meka couldn’t move or comprehend his words. After what seemed like hours she finally allowed herself to cry. She wept all alone in her cottage, the place she had made for them both. She wept all night long, until she finally exhausted herself enough to sleep.

Meka awoke in the afternoon to find herself curled into a tight ball upon the floor. She shivered with the days chill, slowly stretching her limbs to ease the stiffness. AS she stood up, Meka glanced at her laptop and saw a new message from Tommy.

With a heavy heart but also with hope, she sat down and clicked the message.

“Meka my love,

I do love you but I cannot be with someone like you. You are too emotionally unstable for me to handle. I cannot take tears. It makes me uncomfortable. It is not that you cry with abandonment but when you do cry, it is like the world has killed its very soul. No one with a heart could ever withstand such pure love such as yours. It is too much to bare.

I placed you on a pedestal. I worshiped you. I believed we could make a life together, but I was wrong. Your beauty blinded me. The honesty you express was a little too confrontational. I made you larger than life, so large you eclipsed my sun. My world turned dark except where you shone.

Then one day you made an error of judgement, you showed that even one with such inner beauty as you hold, can have a darkness within. A hidden evil. Something to destroy souls. This is why I shall never be with you.

My love, I cannot bare the real you. The facade of pure, the light you shine is nothing more than a harpy’s call. You would devour my soul. Destroy all I am, in the name of love. You must understand why this I cannot allow to happen.

My heart aches. You are not who I made you out to be. You have female whimsical emotions that have betrayed you. Wish it wasn’t so but I cannot move past your actions to hurt another, regardless of the unjust they unleashed upon you. May God have mercy on your soul.

You were my first love. My first heartache. my first true friend.

Goodbye T”

Meka stared at the message. She read it again and again until she realised his meaning. Tears freely flowed down her face, soaking into her dress. Placing her head onto her arms, Meka cried. She cried until there was no more tears left. Until she had no more energy to cry. Until the emptiness took her over.

She remembered the incident he referred too. The one Tommy could not move past. Thinking about it made her angry. The heat of the anger rising from the pit of her stomach.

How dare he.

How dare he take one single moment in time and solely focus on it. How dare he take her one misdemeanor and decide that it crossed out all of the good deeds she had done. How dare he find one single flaw and decide that made her unworthy.

She counted all his flaws and of those there were many. Not once had she complained of his hot headiness. Not once had she considered his cruel jokes of others as something that meant he was unworthy. She never complained about how he over thought things or when he became quiet and withdrawn. No, she accepted him faults and all because she knew he was a decent person. A man worthy of loving.

She reread his message, with reality dawning. He couldn’t leave his current life. His mother needed him, the distance to Meka was too far. His only option was to find a flaw, something he could never live with. Something for him to hate.

With a heavy heart she wrote him a simple message in reply before deleting all connections with him.

“Tommy  it is ok to hate me, if that is what you need to heal”

Meka went to the counter where Tommy’s photo sat. She picked up the silver framed photo with a gentleness that could only convey love. She caressed his face with her thumb. A small smile turning the corners of her mouth, as she whispered “I understand”.

The sun was about to set. Meka placed the photo face down, grabbed her shawl from the back of the lounge chair. Slowly she walked back to the cliff. She looked over it, at the twisted bushes, down at the jagged rocks below, across to the ocean that continued its splashing upon the shore regardless.

Before the sun began to set Meka let one single tear roll down her face, before she left the life she had made behind…

Silencing the Victim

I was asked today to remain silent. To no longer stand up against my bullies. This astounded me. Cannot fathom why I was asked to stop standing up for myself and to let the bullies say what ever they want to me. How is ignoring them going to make them stop when this has never helped before?

It surprised me because when I’ve been attacked before by these individuals, many came to my aide and the bullies were put in their place. Their constant harassment stopped for a while. If many voices stand together, those that try to harm others stand no chance.

It seems to me that people DON’T want to stand up for what is right anymore, just want things to be peaceful and not disturb their lives. Everyone turns a blind eye to what is actually happening around them with no care for their fellow man. It is like everything is too much for them to deal with.

So I am meant to stand there and take what ever abuse is hurled at me. Apparently if I do this after some time they will get bored and move onto another target. This is what I find disturbing. There will be another target. Someone else will suffer the constant insults and attacks on their character for no other reason than the bullies are bored.

No one seems to care that the next person they attack may not be able to withstand the abuse. No one cares that these bullies could be damaging a persons self worth. No one will care even if these bullies push someone to the brink and they commit suicide. All they care about is their lives return to normal.

If we all stood together and stated quite clearly that bullying behavior is unacceptable the message might finally be received. Until then, there will always be another victim of someones callous attacks.

Good people let bad things happen. It is unfortunate but true. I won’t stand idly by and let it happen.

Broken….

It has been a wonderful few months that has now come to an abrupt and heart wrenching end.

I fell in love. Shouldn’t have let it happen. He is my best friend and half my age. I knew it was never going to work out but I was so lost in the moment, the promises that the age divide meant nothing, that I wanted to believe anything was possible. So I allowed myself to really feel for someone for the first time in years. I opened my heart, my life, my soul to another only to have it all ripped apart.

It may sound over dramatic, but right now that is how I feel. Broken, discarded and useless. As a woman my expiry date was a decade ago. Now I am nothing more than an old woman past 40. A woman to be over looked for her younger counterparts. A woman that has nothing to offer because of her age. This is how I feel right now, its what I hear in general discussions with people. It is how society perceives females. Once their beauty starts to fade and their child bearing days are gone, you have no use.

So I’ve been tossed away yet again but at least this time it was by someone that does really care for me. I just can’t give them what they really want in life, a family of their own. I support them in ending the relationship. Understand why it is for the best and that they have to find someone closer to their own age, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything it makes the whole situation even worse.

I finally found someone I connect with, someone who could over look all my faults and still love me, only for my age to be the barrier. Life never seems to bring happiness only hardship and heartache.

I don’t know if our friendship will survive this. I truly hope it does. I don’t have many people I call friends, I’d hate to lose the most important friend I have all because of my age…

Constant Harassment

Life has not turned out the way I imagined. It isn’t even remotely close. Life for me is an endless story of pain, grief and seclusion. The more I fight it, the more of a recluse I become.

Currently I’m being subversively attacked by a couple using intellectual warfare to wear me down. People are so focused on the physical side of domestic violence that they over look the mental abuse that happens just as frequently. Even after removing myself and my children from the home of my attacker 9 years ago, the relentless attacks upon me continue. There seems no end in sight until my youngest child turns 18, but even then there is no guarantee  he and his wife will stop.

They are on a campaign to ruin my reputation. They have isolated me from some family members and lost me friends. The constant lies they tell those closest to me are beyond vile. Its repugnant the stories they tell. Yet they continue to try and paint me as the hateful woman. The mother not allowing her children to see their father. They paint me as the attacker, the abuser, the wretched parent who beats her children. They make me out to be some vengeful harpy, intent on revenge.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Am I glad my children are refusing to have contact with their father? Bet your bottom dollar I am. Now I know they are safe, but this doesn’t give me any sort of sick pleasure. I find it saddening that they have no father they can love and look up too. That they are missing out on all of the extended family from their father’s side, makes me want to cry. Family should mean so much to each other but in cases of domestic violence family takes on a whole new meaning.

My children are not so trusting of people, they are quiet and reserved in new situations. Always analyzing for a threat. It takes them a long time to truly warm up to new people but due to the scars they bare, they never fully give of themselves. As a mother watching them always being on alert breaks my heart.

So I do my best to hide the attempts of control from their father, the attacks he makes on my character to all those who will listen (even forced too in some circumstances). I don’t tell them when he demands things or uses their school as a way to try and undermine me. I don’t tell them he has been in the area dropping things at the school to play the ‘poor father’ card. I hide the endless threats from his lawyer.

My daughter only recently learned of the physical damage I received from him by accident. As she was too young to remember when I left, she has no memory of his abuse, just a vague feeling that not everything was right. The knowledge that her father had physically harmed me, left me with a permanent injury made her scream in torment. She cried and ranted, stormed around the house slamming items down on the table. Her rage, her pain was more than she could handle. It made her more adamant she never wanted to see him again.

In her mind that was over stepping the line. Her father had no right to harm me just as no one has the right to harm her. Now every time I drop a glass or can’t carry the shopping she curses her father. This is not healthy for her and I wish she would let it go for her own mental state. But the slightest show of pain or discomfort from me has her face turn to stone as the fire of loathing burns within.

So now I wait……wait for the next round of the assault.  There is no protection for women in my situation. Just an endless cycle of highly intelligent attacks.

 

Hiding in Plain Sight

I never think of myself as a victim of domestic abuse. But I am. My tormentor still takes great glee in making my life miserable when ever he can. I actually count the years until the only contact I will ever have with my tormentor is weddings, births and deaths. 6 more years. I’ve lasted 21, another 6 seems like a walk in the park.

I’m a stubborn person. I stand up to him and his wife. I won’t let them push me around or turn the children into tiny voiceless beings. But all this constant harassment and the continual assault on myself and the children has left its mark. Outwardly I am a tower of strength, a woman happy with her life and full of fun. Inwardly I am a wreck more often than not.

I am terrified of meeting new people. Constantly worry about how they are judging me, mocking my choices, laughing at my obvious low education and inability to speak a coherent train of thought. I don’t ever feel that I am valued or needed. These are some of the scars I carry. My burden from years of being told how worthless I am. I’m my mind this doesn’t make sense. I argue that this information, this outdated view is from one man and not the consensus of the majority. Yet I find subconsciously I fall into to the same pattern of ruling out my worth as a human being. It is an endless cycle that even effects my health, to the point it is actually worrying me.

I am almost 40kg over weight. That is a massive number. I can chart my weight gain with every major event in my life. While some of it is due to my illness, the rest is psychological. I gained 25kg to hide in. 25kg to make me unattractive to the opposite sex. 25kg so that people wouldn’t want to talk to me in case they too caught the ‘fat bug’. 25kg to be a buffer against the human race.

It is totally illogical. I wrestle with the knowledge that I am committing self harm in order to preserve a safety barrier from people who may or may not hurt me. I know exactly what I have done, what I continue to do and yet find myself completely unable to stop myself. I am hurting myself to protect myself. It is maddening to think about but this is my everyday existence. If people view me as disgusting to look at, they don’t interact with me. Nobody wants anything from me. I’m safe in my fat.

I take mental notes on all interactions I have with people. 80% of those are negative. I’m not kidding. From the supermarket checkout to the Doctor’s waiting room, people judge me and treat me based on my weight. Depending on how I am feeling at the time these judgements are either mild entertainment or irritating. Some days I feel sorry for those that judge me harshly. It must be awful to live in such a narrow minded world. Other days I want to scream at those judgements “you don’t know me or what I endure”. But no matter what I’m feeling I still am thankful for my excess weight. My buffer against people getting to close to me.

This madness has to stop. Hiding in my weight, hiding in plain sight from the possibility being emotionally hurt is ridiculous. The only person being hurt is myself. I have closed myself off to even the smallest chance of ever finding friendship. I hide in a body that disgusts most people just to be over looked, ignored and left alone. It is working. Men no longer admire me or give me compliments. Women don’t like to be near me for I convey everything that they might deem wrong in a female form. Most people would prefer to scoff at me and point out the harm I am doing myself than to strike up a conversation. I can stand in a crowded room and know I am safe from being approached. It is a very lonely life. A safe but lonely life.

This madness has to stop.

Longing for a Simple Touch

It has been a funny couple of weeks. I’ve had new symptoms, new ailments or perhaps you could call them sensations. What ever label I give them, the outcome is still the same as always. Pain, lack of mobility and days of not being able to be touched. Someone simply touching my arm to comfort me is painful. My skin feels as though its covered in bruises. Those deep, dark bruises that make you yelp at the slightest bump. Then there are the areas on my body that any pressure, even from clothes that maybe a little tight such as waist bands on pants or sleeves on a top that is fitting, touching those areas makes me nauseous. I actually have shoved people away when they have touched these areas. A reaction I had no control over but a protective measure from the sudden pain.

My muscles feel like the turn themselves into knots. Usually in my neck, shoulders, back, buttocks and sometimes thighs. Last week for the first time ever this knotted muscle pain was in the muscles just above my ankles. It was the weirdest sensation to date. It made walking a struggle as my ankles couldn’t straighten. I walked for days with my ankles turned at wrong angles. I walked on the outer sides of my feet as I couldn’t stand with them flat on the ground. If you could call my slow little shuffle a walk at all.

My daughter remarked my feet looked weird, like they had been scolded in boiling water. They were red, puffy and the skin was shiny yet they were not as swollen as they have been previously. I could still wear my shoes which was a plus. The skin above my ankles was also red. Bending my feet felt like the bones had been broken and were still mending, as if every bend, every flex was cracking the newly mended bones. This whole ordeal lasted several days before it finally started to improve.

During this whole time the rest of my body cried out too. It cried out “don’t touch me”. It has been 7 days without a simple hug. 7 days without the kids being able to even bump me, hold my arm or touch me in any way. My poor cats cannot even sit on my knee for their much loved pats.

My son made me smile though and reminded me that this won’t last forever. In a few days, a few weeks at most I’ll be able to be hugged again but until then I have an inner strength that keeps me going, keeps me smiling. The knowledge that eventually the biggest hug of all is coming my way keeps me pushing on every single day. The thought of that gentle comforting touch of someones hand upon my arm reminds me not all is lost. Its just another hurdle I must jump in the relentless battle with Fibromyalgia.

This Brosh Pain Scale made my day though so I had to share it. So much better than the traditional pain scale doctors use. I might take this into my next appointment to give my Doc a laugh.

0: Hi. I am not experiencing any pain at all. I don’t know why I’m even here.
1: I am completely unsure whether I am experiencing pain or itching, or maybe I just have a bad taste in my mouth.
2: I probably just need a Band Aid.
3: This is distressing. I don’t want this to be happening to me at all.
4: My pain is not f—ing around.
5: Why is this happening to me??
6: Ow. Okay, my pain is super legit now.
7: I see Jesus coming for me and I’m scared.
8: I am experiencing a disturbing amount of pain. I might actually be dying. Please help.
9: I am almost definitely dying.
10: I am actively being mauled by a bear.
11: Blood is going to explode out of my face at any moment.
Too Serious For Numbers: I probably have Ebola. It appears that I may also be suffering from Stigmata and/or pinkeye.

http://www.rasch.org/rmt/rmt264f.htm

Online Abuse, Standing up to the Bullies

Today I really felt like shutting the doors, closing the drapes and switching off the internet. I get tired of the constant haters, the people who feel its their right to abuse someone for no other reason but they can. While I come across many wonderful, thoughtful and kind people online, I also unfortunately find a similar number of vile individuals who try to harm you with their words.

I haven’t locked myself away. I won’t be shutting off the world, how could I? To do so would be to give in, let these nasty people win. What sort of role model would I be to my children if I did? They need to know how to stand up to such attacks and that by being true to themselves, they are doing the very best thing they can.

I once read a quote by an author long forgotten. It went something like this “Good people let bad things happen”. There was more to it but I use this part as a lesson for my kids. It is true, good people stand by as bad things happen. It doesn’t make them weak, terrible people, or anything else. Not everyone is able to stand up and stop something terrible from happening. You wouldn’t expect a frail grandparent in their 80’s to chase a bag snatcher or a child to stand up to an abusive adult. Sometimes there is no way a person can stop or help in certain situations and they shouldn’t feel bad about it or made to feel they should have done more. But when a person can stand up, can speak  for those that cannot, they should. This is what I teach, this is what I do.

For the last couple of weeks I have been coping a lot of hatred online. Unfortunately it is being perpetrated by men. Women can be nasty online too but the latest abuse I’ve endured has all been by males. I voice my opinion against using the word ‘rape’ in gaming. I will not stand by when people are being racially abusive. I’m a stickler for rules and will remind people to stay within them.  I won’t tolerate being asked for sexual favors just because I’m a female online. Sorry but my bust size and what I’m wearing are my own concerns, not for some creepy sexual online deviant. I don’t swear or hurl abuse at people, but often have it thrown at me. Often in forms of disgusting sexual torture(that they want to perform on me), sexism and get called a lesbian (which I am not). The list of slurs and vile comments are mind boggling. The things these so called men (some are over 40) say to me are beyond disgusting. They know nothing about me except a name on a screen but feel it is their right to abuse me, put me in my place and see me eradicated from their perfect vile little world they have created for themselves. But still I stand up, I still speak for those that cannot or will not. Someone has too.

So I’ve had my little break, sometime to regain my energy. It is time to face these horrid men once again so that others they effect have someone to stand up to them, a voice for when theirs fail. We don’t live in a perfect world, we all have different ideals and beliefs but I really wish people would think before they let their mind run wild. There are real people behind the screens, real people receiving the hatred. Real people that have thoughts and feelings of their own. Just because you can type something doesn’t mean you always should. Yes I know I’m dreaming if I think people such as these would ever think of anyone else first, but I can only hope that one day they will see the harm they are causing and stop.

There is no place for hatred anywhere.

The Fibromyalgia Curse

On Saturday I had to attend a Workshop for my Housing Co-op. It didn’t faze me going to it, I had in place everything I needed to handle the day. I had a ride to and from the venue, plenty of water, pain killers if needed and the confidence to stand/stretch/leave for a walk when needed. The last part is something many people struggle with. They will sit in pure hellish discomfort and pain because they feel they must, to not disturb others or to seem normal. Bugger that. It was one thing I’ve really taken to heart and continued since the pain management course, listen to your own body and do what you must. Honestly no one really takes any notice when you stand up and do some gentle stretches. I’ve even had people tell me after meetings they wished they had joined me.

So off I went, armed with my usual assortment of pain management tricks but it wasn’t going to save me completely from Fibromyalgia. Around 3 1/2 hours into the workshop the fatigue started to kick in. My eyes started to close involuntary. Terrified of nodding off where I sat, I quickly stood up and moved to a wall. Though standing helped me stay awake I was constantly fighting the urge to sleep where I stood. I fought my body for the next 2 hours. Drank as much water as I could, stretching and standing against the wall, all the while trying desperately to concentrate on the speakers. It wasn’t an easy task. I’m certain I missed many vital things as my head swam on the edges of consciousness. Thank goodness 2 of us were there, as the other lady will be able to fill me in on anything I missed.

Sunday I spent recovering, or I should say asleep. I ached from head to toe, it was like having a bad case of the flu but worse. Today I’m not as tired but my body is racked with pain. Oh the joys of fibro.

Now the fatigue wasn’t something that had just hit me out of the blue. I had been battling the days previous from headaches and fatigue. Saturday was actually my best day. At least I had no headache. Most people undervalue the effects of fatigue. So let me explain the feelings and the complete lack of control of fatigue.

It usually starts with just being tired, my limbs feel heavy. They are often hard to move. Walking, the mere moving of one leg in front of the other is like running a marathon. You seem to exert an enormous amount of energy just to move. When I try to raise my arms, anything above shoulder height is impossible. It is like trying to lift dead weight and the higher you lift, the harder it is to do and maintain that level. Just raising a glass to my lips takes great control and effort. My head feels like gravity has doubled, the weight of it pushing down upon my neck which causes muscle aches and stiffness. This flows on through my body making me want to do nothing more than find the lowest point possible and just lay there. My brain may be alert but is often close to shut down. Thinking, even the simplest of tasks becomes a monstrous problem. Just trying to decide what to drink sometimes can take me 5 minutes. Doesn’t seem possible? Well it is. I’ve been left in tears for not remembering what it was that I had gotten up to do only moments earlier, because the mere effort is exhausting. My children mock me lovingly for fumbling my words because I find it so hard to formulate them correctly. My speech becomes a jumbled mess, with sentences often repeated though I don’t recall saying them in the first place. When it all reaches peak fatigue, I shut down. I fall asleep where ever I am. I have no control over it, it is very hard to fight and often I cannot. Sleep washes over me and there is nothing I can do to prevent it. Sounds fun doesn’t it? No not really.

Because of this I have to be wary of driving. I do it as little as possible because I do not want to be responsible for someones death. This thought plagues me often. I would give up driving altogether if I could, but without proper public transport I cannot. I limit myself at parties and functions. Never too many at once, which can be disappointing for those that invite me. I often have to politely refuse invitations. Thus I miss out on a lot of social contact with friends and family.

The major problem I face is that people don’t understand the curse of my condition. They don’t believe the real effect it has upon my life, the limitations I face. I get called lazy, an attention seeker, a bludger, a liar, a hypochondriac. People shun me, whisper behind my back, ignore my very existence all because they don’t understand fybromyalgia, they don’t understand or comprehend fatigue. To them it is a made up illness for people with mental health issues. Sorry but it is real.

This illness, this condition is a curse to all those that suffer from it. There is not a single part of our lives not effected by it. Fibromyalgia is all consuming, completely evasive in every part of our lives. It leaves nothing untouched. Nothing is spared yet I find it is the most unbelieved illness by the masses.

Oh well, I better go stretch and hope that today I can at least stay awake and cope with my pain.

My heart goes out to all Fibromyalgia and Fatigue sufferers. I wish you all a better day.

Putting Things into Perspective

I was on the phone with my electricity company for almost an hour. I was nearly brought to tears over a payment plan rise of $17. No matter how much the lovely lady on the end of the line tried, she could not help me evade this blatant grab for money I do not have to give.

Unfortunately my account is in arrears. This wasn’t due to me not paying my account but a accounting and clerical error on their behalf. Slowly and without ever defaulting on the plan I first agreed too, I’ve been reducing the amount owed. Apparently this is no longer good enough. All my continuing years of being a good customer and always paying what is owed is for naught. Now they want the extra $17 a fortnight. Doesn’t sound like much until you live in my world.

What could $17 dollars buy? 4 chicken breasts. That is 3 meals for my family. I could buy a cheaper cut of chicken but even thighs would still cost me around $12-14 for same weight as the breasts. I could stop drinking milk as lactose free is more expensive than regular milk. That would save $10 but I’d have to spend some, if not more on replacing it with something else. I’ve already stopped buying steak, so cannot cut that out but we could do without cheese and maybe reduce fruit variety from 3 to 2. We already eat lots of stews and stirfrys as they are filling and nutritious, no desserts or special treats. We don’t eat take away anymore. The monthly $5 of chips is no longer an option. We do not buy our favorite brands, but the cheaper options. The coffee is almost all gone again now, that won’t be replaced. I guess that isn’t such a bad thing, but try explaining to guests you can only offer them tap water or tap water. I get lots of quizzical looks.

The cupboards look dismal, the fridge is bare. But lets put it into prospective.

I still have a roof over my head, food to eat and heating to keep warm. I have good, clean clothes in the wardrobe and an old car that still goes. I have my family and 2 dogs for both company and security. My health while poor, isn’t too bad. I can still move around and for the most part, take care of myself. It could be much, much worse. I live in a country that is considered safe, isn’t war torn or making it’s people suffer. I have freedoms others are envious of and do not even dare to dream about. I’m surrounded by hundreds of books, each with a story to tantalize my mind and most modern contraptions to make every day life easier.

I only have to read stories of those a hell of a lot poorer than I to know my $17 dilemma really isn’t something to complain about. For in reality I’m very rich compared to some. Time for me to go do some creative accounting.

Sometimes we just need to remind ourselves that life isn’t always as bad as we think…