Distracted - chapter one in progress

Preface

She was barely an adult when it started. An insatiable passion from within that she neither understood nor knew how to act upon and right now it was driving her insane! What do you do when those feelings surface? A burning need to write it all down without the distractions of her ordinary life. An ordinary husband, ordinary children, a lifestyle that could only be described as average but the fire in her heart and mind she could no longer ignore. 'It's time' the voice kept repeating in her head, 'It's time to begin'. She didn't understand it and frankly didn't need it right now, so many ordinary things to be doing and yet there was that word again 'Ordinary'. Was this how she imagined her life as a child? Living in a fantasy of dolls and fairies, schooling and sleepovers? That childlike dream of Prince Charming's and white weddings and 'when I grow up I want to be' but that was where the dream ended for she never really knew what she wanted to be! A mish mash of 'maybe this or maybe that' but no clear focus, no direction, just a push from a parent when all else failed, suggestions of careers that were 'ok' but still not quite the future she felt was for her and now all of these years later it had not changed. The 'dream' was still undreamt and unrealised as she struggled to decipher what it all meant and what this voice wanted from her. All she knew is that 'this' wasn't it and as her frustrations grew the desire for change grew also. What was it that stopped her working it all out and moving forward? Well family life wasn't helping, that much she did know. Constant interruptions to her chain of thought helped nobody as she grew tired of thinking and bad tempered with the sheer hopelessness of her situation. Just one prevailing thought remained this day. Time to get out. Time to fly.

Chapter One

The trouble with parents is that they always want what is best for you but never really stop to consider what that might be, assuming that their dreams will be some kind of hereditary thing passed down from generation to generation. Now that might work for some families and indeed it would seem to be the case with sons following fathers into careers that have been within the family since the year 'dot' and daughters wanting to grow up and prove themselves in the 'family' business, however that was never going to work for me and it became clear at a young age, perhaps before I was in High School, that I was a creative soul stuck in a practical and academically driven family. My father was a traditional kind of bloke, working hard over long hours in order that my mother could be at home with the children until she began to crave a little freedom and worked part time whilst we were at school. This was family life as far as my father was concerned and, as children, we were expected to work hard, do our best and give him a certain amount of bragging rights in social situations.
As I grew older and discovered a passion for Art, Literature and Music I felt him pull further and further away from being interested in what I was doing and it was not uncommon for me to perform in school concerts and competitions without his input, feeling intense disappointment that he could not support me unless I was winning prizes in academic subjects and being the practical young woman he had expected me to be. That honour passed to my sibling, younger than myself and very like our mother, eager to please and, although not as academically able as I knew I was, falling into an office based suit role in life as expected very quickly upon leaving school.
My life had taken an unexpected turn having failed my Art exam at school (fine art was never my strong point, I simply could not draw and, in those days, Art was all about drawing and painting, not the multimedia selection available to Art students today) and with no real clue what to do, my heart having been set on becoming an interior designer, I found myself asking advice from extended family members. It was suggested that with a caring nature and being quite a sensitive soul I would make a great nurse so I found myself applying for Nursing College, passing my interview and engaging in a number of temping roles to save up money for my college start at 17 years old. I wasn't sure I wanted to be a nurse but didn't have any better ideas and had to do something so off I went, my first time away from home and the controlling aspect of my upbringing, into a city I had not lived in since birth but close to extended family should I need a little support and advice. My life planned and mapped out for me as it always had been, a career plan laid out for me that I had no real interest in but seemed to be a better option than the dole. My father had worked for the benefits agency at one time and was extremely proud of never having to claim no matter how hard times were therefore it was clear that a child of his would be a major source of shame and disappointment should they find themselves in the position of signing on at any time in the future, let alone at 17 years old! The look on his face would not bear thinking about regardless of the miles between us so college it was, nurse material or not. To further complicate matters I was, by this time, in a relationship with a guy I met at one of my temping jobs and, like my father, there was an element of control that saw me unable to mix with fellow students without him insisting on driving over and being a part of that social life. The life I had never had and he was not about to start letting me now. I was tired, frustrated, controlled and friendless with only my extended family for company when I could get over to see them. I struggled on for almost a year when disaster came knocking upon my door. My grandmother, my world and pretty much a second mum to me my whole life lived in the city and we always took a holiday together each year. This year, what with my studies and controlling boyfriend pulling my strings, I had decided not to join her and you can guess what happened next.
The next time I saw her was on her return home, in the city morgue, as I insisted on seeing her before she was taken from me for ever. My heart was destroyed but at the same time I shut out what had occurred and my guilt at not having been with her when she died. For years I would set off to her house or pick up the phone to call her when the crushing realisation would hit me that she was gone. My mother was hit hard by the loss of her mother and yet this loss did nothing to bring us closer as mother and daughter. It hasn't to this day, nor do I think it ever will.