SMILE.

I received a small ‘get well’ card this morning from a distant aunty. I have seen her once in about ten years, and I was slightly taken aback. I sometimes wonder what impression my family has of me - many of my Dad’s family are reserved Catholics. And many of my mother’s family prefer to bury their heads in the sand, preferring not to have much contact with us. My immediate family have always been the black sheep of both sides - my mother, father, brother and myself all suffering from mental health problems, as well as my father’s addiction to cocaine. Growing up I never had much contact with either sides of the family, other than sporadic relationships forming and falling apart soon after. I guess I first stood out for being the gay one, and more recently for my spell in a pyschiatric hospital, my addiction to self-harming, and now yet another suicide attempt. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to live their lives - safe, secure, knowing that their children are living happily on a day-to-day basis, as opposed to my mother’s constant worry about what state I will wind up in. Sometimes I dream about what it’s like to exist in their family, to know where I’m heading and where I’m from. Instead I spend my days not knowing what direction my life will take, falling through the cracks. I wonder if they see me as helpless, a lost cause that is best forgotten, marked with the occasional sending of a sympathy card.