Early days....III

Right now I can only write this story in fragments, I can't write about the actual accident yet, only the aftermath.

I don't know why this is, as I have no problem telling people directly when they ask me, but talking to you is different, even though we haven't met, it seems more confronting, isn't that odd? I have often had Mum sitting next to me in her wheel chair as a stranger asks " what happened?" and I tell them, she even seems to delight in me telling them, the more horrible the details the better, but I can't do that here, it is impossible, I can only give you snap shots, and even then only one at a time.

So here is one,

Before her accident Mum was a high achiever, apart from being very beautiful, she was incredibly talented, artistic, and highly driven, she and my father worked together in their fashion business, and through their collaboration stocked some of the best shops in Melbourne, I have been told on many occasions that I was one of the best dressed children due to Mum's clever designs.

I grew up knowing that Mum was very gifted and that I had luckily inherited some of her talents.
I thought that I might become an artist, or possibly a designer, who knows, I still might, but there was one thing I never anticipated.

Guilt.

It is a very difficult feeling to overcome, and I suppose rather hard to explain, but this is what I mean, once you have someone in your life who is disabled you begin to feel horrible about doing or enjoying things that they can't, you feel as if your betraying them by wanting to follow your own dreams, now that they are unable to, and as a result you start leading a half life.

I know that for me I started acting on this guilt very quickly.

Soon after Mum's accident while I was still thirteen I moved out of my bedroom and began to sleep in the lounge or on the floor of my parents room, it seemed to me to be very selfish to continue to enjoy the facets of our old life now that Mum couldn't, so I evicted myself, and nothing symbolized that life better than my bedroom.

It was a beautiful room, mostly white with pink and mint accents, it was filled with porcelain dolls that Mum had selected, a lot of lace, and ribbons, and many books. My friends when they came over were is raptures to play in there, it was very much like being dolls in a life size dolls house.

Now I hated what it meant, I couldn't stand being in there, it now represented everything I shouldn't allow myself to enjoy anymore, everything that had been mine that was now lost to me.

The only person who could have perhaps recognized this behavior as unhealthy was Dad, the irony there being that he was doing the exact same thing in various areas of his life, so in our case it would have been the blind leading the blind, our thinking being too similar to help one another.

I didn't sleep in a room of my own for the next 7 years.

I assume that guilt is a universal feeling amongst families with a disabled member, I wonder at how it affects them? whether it can eventually be ignored or reshaped into something healthier and more productive?, I don't know, all I do know is that for me it shaped the course of my life, and plays an intricate part in all my decisions. It is a strong force, but thankfully not the only guiding one.