03rd October 2007

We went off to our last childbirth 'class' last night. We learnt all about the different drugs you can take. We both agree that the less the better, if possible.
Do you know that one of the strongest memories of my past is feeling tremendously guilty when I threw away a sandwich my mother made for me in the bin. It’s not so much the action that matters here, rather the reaction. From a young age I have been extremely sensitive to how my actions can effect others and also myself. Is it guilt? Is it morality? Is it that I don't want to be thought of negatively? Maybe it’s all these things. I just know that I suffer when I do wrong by someone. So imagine if I really did something bad. I think I have on a couple of occasions, well I don't think, I know because I still think about these things. I think 'remorse' is the word I am thinking of. It is also the lack of this in others that irks me the most. Your Mother comes from a different kind of upbringing and she can have a tendency towards saying hurtful things. I want you to realise that this is just her upbringing and that it is just something they did. They say things in the heat of the moment but they also have a very tough skin. I do not so it has definitely cause tension between us at times. This is what relationships are about, learning how each other communicate and trying to find a middle ground. So if you are sensitive like me then understand that it is not meant to hurt as much as it could. If you have a thicker hide then you are probably wondering what I am on about.


Go and listen to some Leonard Cohen and tell me what you think. Make sure you read the lyrics too. Here is one example -



We met when we were almost young

deep in the green lilac park.

You held on to me like I was a crucifix,

as we went kneeling through the dark.


Oh so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ...


Your letters they all say that you're beside me now.

Then why do I feel alone?

I'm standing on a ledge and your fine spider web

is fastening my ankle to a stone.


Now so long, Marianne, it's time that we began;