Part of this question has been answered now I'm not in a care home , have some structure to my life etc, I still don't know how I'll find a girlfriend/wife, have a family and be happy. I know regular readers will have heard me moan about this before and some might say there are plenty of 'normal' people who are perfectly happy without achieving/aspiring to this rather old fashioned ideal, to that I would say at least they had the chance because it seems that noone has the slightest bit of interest in the pariah that I am now.
In hospital the despair was worse, only slightly allayed by the numerous pretty therapists that I was fortunate enough to encounter. I fell in love (a little) with a lot of lovely girls who in the real world wouldn't have given me a 2nd glance (because pretty girls don't go for disabled guys) I tried to make them laugh to distract them from my malfunctioning body, which seemed to help but in the medium term it was pie in the sky – before my girlfriend left me (to her credit she stuck around for a while, making her eventual departure heinous [yeah,yeah,heard it no-one cares],YAWN etc...)I only repeat it because it was a big deal to me), well I suppose flies are for some reason attracted to sh*t.
I fell for pretty therapists who I couldn't work out why they were being nice to me. I had become this useless lump
I hated myself and suppose I still do. Given this, I couldn't work anything out. I think the first time I experienced this unrequited love was with Orla,
After being in Charing Cross for about 7 weeks, I was moved to Kings in Camberwell and the awful looking and asylum like Frank Cooksey rehab ward. Here I fell hopelessly for two therapists, Andrea,
After the Frank Cooksey. I moved to the Royal Hospital for Neurodisability in Putney (RHN), where I met and fell for Ali,
I guess the moral of this particular sad story is a demonstration of how hopeless I felt during my incarceration in hospital. I am reminded of the greek myth of Tantallus, stuck for eternity in a tank where he could never eat and drink despite the fact that cool water and juicy grapes were just out of reach of his mouth. I felt/feel like a kidnap victim who identifies with his captors, a sort of 'Stockholm Syndrome'. I'm waiting to be rescued. It's going to take someone special. I hope I just sound like a tortured (and honest) normal person, not a weird (overly honest) person, which brings me on to why on earth I wrote all that.
Some might regard it as overshare, probably not the first or last time that I'll be guilty of that, but I got an email from an old college mate, Richard Rous
In other news I went to see the 'importance of being Earnest' last night at the Regents Park outdoor theatre last night. I'm sure it's quite beautiful on a balmy summers evening but when it's unseasonably freezing it becomes a bit more of an endurance event. As ever,lovely to be able to take Tony and Kate