I Prefer Water To Blood

 

images-799It’s a healthy thing to like the people you have been brought up with, especially if they are in your own family.

Families are about protection and safety. They provide our first glimpse of micro-society and prepare us (hopefully) for the macro one. If your first taste of the micro is off-putting, the macro may taste like an ocean of shit.

I never understood why some people chose to distance themselves from their kin. Some moved far away and never shared a word. The tales of long-lost aunties or uncles, brothers or sisters, were always a quiet source of conversation amongst mourners at funerals or weddings. The exiled were the outcasts, or the odd ones. The myriad of reasons that went into that decision to separate could be appreciated, but their drastic solution did seem a little unforgiving and final.

The family ties with my original blood relations have become strained in the years since my dad died. He sat at the head of the table, issuing edicts, wise words, and crippling criticisms. My sisters worshipped him whilst I had qualified respect. Our natural discourse was debate; we found it difficult to agree. Since his death, my sisters and I have fallen away from each other.

In truth, I have always been a black sheep. I like the contrast. I may be contrary. What I have always been is someone who ploughs their own furrow. Ever since I was little, the differences between me and mine, my original family, have been stark. In later years these have become more evident and this has manifested itself in the distance that now lies between us. I would be a dreamer if I thought it was going to change anytime soon.

Now, I have my own family. It is a very different one from the one I grew up in. Here, there is more love and forgiveness. We try to understand and support each other through difficult times, and there have been plenty of those.

My ties with my original family may now be strained, but I haven’t cut them.

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Perhaps the next wedding, or other occasion, will see improvement. 

 

 

Published by

mike2all

This is the story of what happened to me when anxiety took a grip. I lost my senses, I lost my job, and I lost me. I then turned to writing to find those things that had gone missing. How can you teach when you believe that education is a business that is failing in its primary remit of helping to create a better society? Indeed, how can you teach when you believe that you have nothing of value to pass on? The book/blog is the story of my recovery from the absolute darkness of the early days. It is an Odyssey through my life over the last twelve months and a retracing of my steps to discover how I found myself there. More than all of that, it is a re-evaluation and a rejoicing of all that which I call life. Happy reading and I hope it helps. There is madness, Everyday Madness, and not all of it comes from within.

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