I decided I'd write some Helen Brittas. Enjoy. Same disclaimers apply.
My parents wished I were a boy. I don't think they ever got over it, and I'm not sure I did either. I never intended for my life to be like this. I never intended for it to be how it was before either, with all that abuse, and three children to care for. I was young when my real life began. Younger than most and three times as dangerous. It left me age twenty seven and with three children, and an abusive husband, and nothing to do but do it again, but with less of the 'husband' and more of the sex and abuse. And then he was gone as well, and I was left with a man in hospital, jaw wired shut and a look of adoration on his face. I used to tell him everything. Well, almost everything. I thought he was wonderful… He is so full of dreams, so full of… well, I'm sure most people know what else he's full of. He tries, he really does, and I guess in many ways, I do still love him. As long as he's not in the same room as me. And here I am, so doped up on medication that they don't work anymore, three slightly older kids and two more. No plans. Nothing. And married to a man who is over full of plans, so much so that people hate him, and it's just so embarrassing. But sometimes, when I watch him getting excited over some fliers he's writing, or encouraging the staff, or even going on about his dreams for hours on end until I want to run away forever or stab him with whatever comes to hand, I realise that I'm jealous. Sure, I didn't intend my life to be like this.
But, I never intended it to be anything at all.
