Nothing ever seems to work out for me in life. Most days, I feel as though ‘ve brokend. So much so, I’ve even named it: The Curse of Life. It has followed me for as long as I can remember, way back into my childhood.
Maybe it’s the price I have to pay for all the mirrors I broke growing up. Shattered and laying in a messy pile after trying to be a Prima Ballerina in my basement or epically failing to make my face up to look like Gwen Stefani, mirrors have never stood a chance against my clumsy self. Seven years of bad luck times eight, no, ughhm…nine. Yeah, times nine mirror. That’s sixty-three years of bad luck hanging over my head. Not even counting the mirrors I’ve broken since becoming an adult! I never bothered to keep count those ones, but knowing my lack of luck, I can guarantee there has been a few too many.
It’s silly for anyone to believe the mirrors are causing my ill-fate, though. I don’t want to end up in a white padded cell with a suicide-prevention, carpet- like fabric, brown-striped garment on while my clothes lie in a crumpled heap outside the tightly locked door to live out the rest of my day as a mental patient. Really. I promise you. I’m not THAT kind of paranoid, suspicious, and irrational crazy.
Just the cursed kind of crazy.
I can’t think of any circumstance or situation which worked out remotely close to the plan. Not one, single, measly experience or milestone has been deemable as stereotypical or normal by the standards of mainstream society. The family I was born into being a preposterous shamble of botched relationships and over-dramatic wreckage which collided the day I was born. Well, more than likely from the day my parents wed, in all technicality.
If Germany and Russia couldn’t stay allies during WW2, who would think a marriage between them would work out only a generation later?
HA! Some funny shit right there! I was the girl with divorced parents before I ever graduated from preschool. This is right where it seems The Curse Of Life began for me, only because it’s as far back as I remember. My dad had a piece on the side hanging around, waiting for the divorce. He moved my new “aunt”, only twelve and a half years older than myself, into our home the night after my mom moved out. It didn’t take my mom too much longer to find someone she’d eventually marry a few years later, though.
Every one of them, I know now, were either functioning alcoholics or well on their way to becoming one. It doesn’t make a difference what all else proceeded to go down in my childhood, because most certainly, whatever did go right and did go wrong was still completely screwed in some way. Nothing was easy. Nothing was simple.
I was, however, a child eager to follow the plan as society’s unwritten rules inadvertently expect one to follow, of my own recognizance. Perpetually, I was working hard to prove myself and most parents would be extremely grateful for and terribly proud to have a child who wanted to complete their education in full. Especially, with such great enthusiasm for learning as mine. I used to wish on every first star and add to my bedtime prayers every night, a plea to be deemed worthy of just one, small, normal life element which I wanted more than anything else. Yet, The Curse of Life didn’t even allow me that.
Without the necessary encouragement and support, without role models to outline the basics, and without the financial means to go at it alone, I never made it to a good University. I wasn’t even living at home when I graduated high school, but at least I graduated in full. I ended up in community college receiving a two-year certificate as a Health Unit Coordinator, so I could make it on my own without the added stress of a minimum wage job drowning me before I was even legally allowed to consume alcohol.
Sure, you’re probably thinking now, “How is one messed up childhood, that doesn’t seem half-so-bad, so damned cursed?” Simple. Add in every little happenstance and incident to go awry coupled together with the much bigger occurrences leading to a few failed suicide attempts, plus the pathetic messed up example of a family, and BAM! VOILA! TA-DA! One cursed life.
If I really tried to write down each little happenstance which changed the outcome or altered the course of my life in some aberrational way, it would be the length of the entire full-volume encyclopedia SET Of BOOKS! You know, those swiftly obsolete with the arrival of the internet, big ole’ honkin’, hard covered things full of pages explaining about everything one could want to know about in the physical world? For as many entries as there are in each Encyclopedia Britannica, there are mishaps, accidents, catastrophes, and let down on my record, each one happening against all odds.
Events left to my arranging never work out in the slightest. No matter how early I begin preparing for departure, I’m late for everything by at least fifteen minutes, regardless of importance. Punctuality is my mortal enemy. Orderliness is like a punch line to someone else’s inside joke about me being chattered behind my back, even though I was known for my awesome organizational skills when I was working. My house is a chaotic hazard to anyone not accustomed to walking around and over boxes, baskets, and piles of junk running amuck. I’m also prone to strange and unlikely injuries and illnesses. The spinal column disease I was diagnosed with usually doesn’t leave dormancy until middle-age. I began showing symptoms in my early twenties.
A brilliant mind with no golden ticket to collect on. Never quite popular enough to be noticed for my talents, yet never talented enough to be noticed and become popular for them. The constant misfortunes I have faced in life prevented me from developing at a steady pace, as well as, perusing anything of interest passionately. Little things are constantly going to shit. Big things are constantly going to hell.
The Curse of Life has remained an ever present factor throughout my life. Every day is like going to battle, because I’m constantly fighting to deal with unsuspected challenges or unannounced changes to the gameplan, hurled at me while my back is turned only momentarily. I love my children, my husband, and the family I have built with my cursed life, even if they weren’t planned to come along as they did. Nothing ever happens as it is intended when you’re cursed, my only hope is that children never break single mirror in their lifetimes. Or, at least, until they’re grown up and moved out, because I have enough bad luck with The Curse of Life for us all!
Today’s post was a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.
I’m using: Chatter ~ knowing ~ striped ~ pile ~ hanging ~ crumpled
They were submitted by:http://singlemumplusone.blogspot.com
Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:
By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom