Don't Give Me That Look

Over the years, I've tried to figure out what exactly the look is. It usually involves getting into the head of others to see how they'd feel (good thing I'm a writer, huh?) Generally, I come to one conclusion.

It's pity.

I hate that. Not just because I think it degrades me, like I'm some weak little creature whose suffered so badly - which I don't think I am, but because telling them makes them sad, and that's what I don't get. Why should they feel sorry? Why should they feel guilty that I'm somehow not as privileged as them?

I get jealous. Of course I do, but then I realise that it's difficult to try and imagine if I had their life. The fact is, I don't. I haven't known any different since I was ten months old, and that's hardly an age where I remember somebody who was there one day and gone the next. It's just fleeting development, and she was a part of it in, what some might say, is the most crucial time. I don't imagine what it's like to have a mother, because I just don't, and I should get  used to it. That's one thing I refuse to imagine, I've decided.

I can pretend that I'm in a mystical world with creatures that are my best friends, with giant hedgehog sports and coffee that turns your fingers black, but that's it. I can't afford to create anymore than that. If I do, I'll fall back into the escapism stage that I fought so hard to stay out of. I live through my characters, and I suppose if people wonder about Marigalot, or Torella, or Amistis, all mothers, and think to themselves "that's not very motherly..."

Then forgive me. I can only write from experience. 

The End

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