The Word Cloud

Basically, I haven't wrote for a while. I used to do it all the time but things happened and I quit. This isn't a piece of work I ever intend to use or care about, it's quite literally something I started to write to get me back into writing. It isn't good, I warn you that now, and I can write alot better, so please don't judge me on this alone.

Part One:

Writing about yourself is different from writing about anything else. When you create a story, it's simple. You keep some attachment to the characters, you need too or how could anyone ever identify with your creations? but writing about yourself...it's too personal. Creating another life, another world with your head is nothing compared to bleeding your own out on to a page.

Unfortunately sometimes, you have too. You have to tell your story, if you can't tell that then how can you possibly ever tell anyone else's? At this point I should probably warn you I haven't written for a while, this isn't coming as naturally as it once did. If any of you ever like to write, then I hope you know what I mean, even if you don't then maybe you have your 'thing'. That one talent that ever since you can remember you managed to do without even thinking about how you did it? Never once questioning the way your head controlled you? The way your hands moved?. I think this feels weird because I am. I keep looking at my hands as if to say 'what are they doing?' or my mind questions the words appearing in front of it. I never did believe in what I could do.

At this point I guess I should introduce myself. I know normally you're supposed to do that first, but as some say, tradition is overrated. I'm Raven. I'm really not that interesting, not compared to anyone else, not to say that I'm not either. Everyone has their own story and everyone is interesting to someone. I don't want this to sound all... self pitying. I do that sometimes, I think everybody does but this isn't about how I feel about me. This is just the facts, everything that's happened, how it happened and why I guess. I think that's me hoping I'll find out why on the way. More than anything it's going to make me write again, because I think I'm back now, the me I want to be an d I want too write again. I've had the dream for years, silly things shouldn't ruin it. I can't ruin it. I can do it and I will, so yes, let's do this. Let's tell a story and see where it takes us...

So as we are discussing stories, every story has a beginning. Again I'm doing this a little wrong, maybe I should of began at the beginning originally, but I feel that this certain one needed some form of introduction. I think my mother would probably suggest it needed a warning, maybe she's right, but that's later on in the story.

Before there was me, there was him. One year and 8 days previously he arrived, a small bundle who'd only ever experience 8 days of life and even that wouldn't be his alone. They called him Jake, he wasn't supposed to arrive in the world yet but apparently he was a little impatient. Desperate to experience his little bit of the world. My mother was obviously devastated and you would be. I can't even begin to comprehend what it must be like to lose a child, especially your first. Now I'm the age I am currently and I'm in a place where the idea of a child begins to become a possibility I guess I sympathise with her situation so much more. It's not that I didn't before, I'm not heartless, it was just a difficult situation for me, as selfish as that sounds.

I resolutely decided to enter the world exactly, to the hour, one year after my brother died. Screaming straight away apparently, so unlike he'd been, such a difference for my parents. I remember my mum telling me, the shock she'd felt when she realised I was more than a concept of 'trying again one day'. I was real, wanting attention, ready to come and play. She never told me my Father's reaction, and I've never asked. I doubt he had one. I wasn't due that day, I was due the week before but for some reason I waited. Stubborn from the start, no doubt. My mother never told me how she felt about that, it must have been strange for her and maybe it explains a lot, I don't know. I can only guess and I don't think it's a conversation we'll ever have. Maybe she'll be like you one day and sit there and read this and think. Maybe she's never considered how it was for me either, being born into his shadow. She'll probably think this is me being selfish, only thinking of myself, maybe you do too, but it's not, I promise. It's just harder for me. I never met him, I never knew what there was to know of him. To me he was just a figure, something that had been there and gone. Something I spent moments imagining, picturing how things would have been different with his inclusion in life. Would it of changed everything? Nothing? Would I have even been in existence? Why me, and not him? Someone I love, very dearly, always lives by the notion that 'everything happens for a reason', but how can you ever truly know what that reason is? And why does it always seem so ridiculous?

I'm a girl, in case that wasn't quite obvious to you, just yet. I don't remember much of the early stuff, nobody does. Apparently I always wanted to be told stories, never slept and generally called a nuisance. That sounds like me, so I can't dispute what I've been told. During this time apparently it was all going wrong for my parents. From what I've heard, from various sources I'm not entirely sure if It ever went right, but it must of done at some point. A marriage, and two children must of meant something. Despite the way I've always seen them look at each other, with... nothingness, I imagine is the best way to describe it, there has to of been some connection, once upon a time. Just a short fairytale. I've heard the stories of my father's numerous infidelities, of my mother's crazy behaviour. I believe both.

I should probably tell you about certain other individuals that are going to be very important throughout this entire story. One, was my Nan, my mother's mum. I can't remember much of being really little, or much of being young at all but as you'll soon see, most of what I do involves her. She was the most amazing person I have ever met, or probably will ever get the chance of knowing. My mother, vehemently disagreed with me for many years. They're relationship, as my mother went through adolescence was always strained and I think it was difficult for my mum to see us being so close. A case of history repeating itself, something which terrifies me to this day. The other, is a dog. Not just any dog, a dog which to this day I still credit with probably saving my life and I have her reminder permanently etched on to my skin. I quite possibly think she did more for me than any one ever has, on the planet and I will never forget her. Judge me all you wish, but I loved Jackie and she loved me. You'll hear more about these two in a little while, I just think they're far too important to just drop into our conversation. You needed to hear about them, know how much they're going to mean and I really hope by the end of this you understand a little why...

Anyway, back to where we were. We'll probably go on a lot of little diversions together, you and me. As they say, the journey is often more interesting than the destination. Maybe it'll help you get to know me better, understand me a little more, maybe it'll give you some great insight into everything that I just can't see. Possibly you'll just end up disliking me rather a large amount and our voyage together will end prematurely, sunken into disarray. Much like my parents, I suppose. To look at them now, I could never imagine them together. Coupley. It just doesn't compute in my head. They are quite simply so utterly different. My mother is... often neurotic, it really must be her way or the highway, so to speak. She's not a horrible woman, she loves people in her own way, and always will. She's a good person with a very good heart, just occasionally good people can go about things the wrong way. I don't mean to sound negative about her, whatever I've said, whatever I will say I love her and I always will, despite everything. She's my mother, she hasn't done anything atrocious to me, not really and in a strange way we really are quite close, despite it all.

My father is much harder to describe. I'm really rather tempted to do what you do when you describe a stranger, you detail their appearance and then you describe how they make you feel. The only difficulty with this would be that after nearly twenty years I'm still entirely unsure about how my father makes me feel. His an intelligent man, and his arrogant, he expects more than people often want to give, I imagine anyway. He has an extensive history of failing with fidelity, with instances when even I have caught him out, as a young girl. He likes heavy metal, I suppose I get my passion for rock music from him, that's one positive I see. He dislikes my mother, the way she handles things and refuses to accept anyone else's view. I suppose his fair, he will at least look at both sides of the argument. He isn't a horrible man, not at all, he has a good job and he is generous, I just don't know him. I have no idea what shaped him, turned him into the man he is today, I have no idea what he happens to be passionate about; just odd facts I picked up here and there. Part of me wants to describe him as cold, but I don't know if that's entirely fair. All I can say is I have no memory of ever hugging my father, of embracing him. The mere concept of such a thing makes me feel so uncomfortable that it's almost embarrassing, and sad. I really do think that's a little sad.

Whilst I changed from a crying infant into a troublesome toddler their marriage fell apart. I don't know the particulars, only that apparently it wasn't a pleasant occurrence, not that I imagine these things to be too accommodating in any situation. She claims that she finally got sick of the extra marital activities, she went to her mother's one day, spoke to Jackie. Asked her if she should leave and Jackie appeared to nod and lick her face, so she did. I don't know where I was. My mum thinks it was because Jackie was always protective of me, ever since I was just a thing growing inside my mother, she'd sit there watching me. When I actually arrived in to the world she was mesmerised, following the bundle I was around like my shadow. She was always a good shadow I suppose, or side kick, I think I prefer that term.

My first memory is actually of D-day. The day he left, or at least I think it is. I'm not entirely sure if I just pieced it together in my head and it became one of those things that you think you remember, or you actually do. I have the picture in my head, of me standing in our old living room. The hideous flower pattered sofas, so garish in such a small room, looming in front of me. Me stood there, playing with my toy hover, pretending to tidy the carpet, hoping the ridiculous drone of the plaything would drown out the screaming from the kitchen. Bananas in Pyjamas also added to the diversion, the ridiculous characters squirming across the screen, not that I happened to pay any type of attention. I remember wishing the hoover was noisier, more of a distraction and then there was a thud. A 'fuck you' and someone running up the stairs. I tried to concentrate on the stain left on the carpet, praying the pretend hoover would suddenly develop some form of magical abilities and clear what an actual appliance couldn't. It didn't and my Dad came back down stairs, holding a bag, he said goodbye and left.

I have no idea where he went, or what the aftermath was. That part my brain seems not to of wanted to recall, or simply blocked it out. I know my mum couldn't afford the house anymore so we moved, into a council house on the other side of town. I was quite excited by this development, it was just around the corner from my Nan's, who whilst my mum worked, and my dad being gone meant I spent most of my time with now anyway. Her, Jackie and my uncle. I briefly remember moving into the house, with our two cats, waiting with my Nan, whilst my mum went to collect more of our stuff. I remember choosing which room I wanted and I remember being really excited by the prospect of the, what I then thought, was the tremendously huge garden. I don't think I saw my Dad for a while, I don't know. I remember next thing I heard he was living with another woman, the woman he Is still with to this day. At first I saw him for a few hours every few months, much like the arrangement now actually. Eventually it became weekends, and even the occasional holiday but I'll tell you more about that later.

My Mother had worked for her Father, my Granddad, with my Uncle, at my Granddad’s pet business but at some point during this time that all seemed to go wrong. They had some form of ridiculous family fall out, that to this day I've never been told about. The level of appreciation my Mother has for him, I can only imagine it must have been something catastrophic. I'm always curious to the details, probably because, like most people, I dislike not knowing important information, especially when it's purposefully with held from you. I'm sure if they had ever actually told me what occurred I'd probably shrug it off and wonder what all the fuss had been about, excitement comes rarely in my family. Anyway, she began looking for other jobs. She got one in a city about twenty miles away, and as she didn't drive that meant bus travel and more time at my Nan's. Between working twelve hour days and trying to be in her twenties she didn't see me much. When she did, I'd scream, cry, I didn't want to go home with the strange lady. She had her friends, her lovers and her life, whilst I had my nan, playing with Jackie and a fantastical world of Science – fiction that my uncle was opening up for me. I had endless days of bliss watching Star Trek, discovering what a Predator was and then acting it all out with the help of Jackie and any other willing pet that was in the house. Usually, this included them all, apparently my childish desires were exactly what they wanted to fulfil, and they easily succumb to my demands. It was a wonderful time for me, when everything was simple and nothing else mattered. I didn't mix with many other children my age, but I was perfectly happy about that. I had my own bubble of creativity that I didn't want anyone else changing.

When school was introduced into the mix it wasn't quite as fun. Don't get me wrong, I did brilliantly, well up until the end, but that's later. I was always bright, I picked things up incredibly quickly and was probably more gifted than my genealogy would suggest. I don't know why it happened, or even what happened but at the age of about 10 it became a horrible experience. I just remember feeling secluded, alone. I always had friends, always. It wasn't some horrific, terrible thing that nobody should ever go through. It affected my self – confidence,to this day, but that's all. I survived. I was just an outcast, someone watching from the horizon, and in the end that's probably better.

Whilst I was at my Nan's and battling the demons that school gave me, other things were happening else where, causing eventual harm to my little world of insignificance. My Mother's best friend was diagnosed with Breast Cancer, this meant I saw her less and less. Tiana needed her and she had to be there. I remember being at home with my Mum one day, as she cried that Tiana would die. She really is forever the pessimist in every possible situation, it verges on humorous on occasion, not this particular one obviously. Tiana actually survived, someone I cared a lot for, until a few years ago, again that will all come out later. My Father also began to reproduce with his Stepford wife. A boy, Oscar. A couple of years later a girl followed, Ruby.

I spent weekends with my Father by this time, in whatever location he lived in. He has a very well paying job and Stepford wife always got bored of the house they had, in it's lovely, yet sterile location, so they would move to one exactly the same however many miles away. She doesn't like me, Stepford Wife. The only time she would ever converse with me would be after my dad picked me up on a Friday night, we'd arrive at the house and he'd say 'She's here, say hello' and she would smile, in a waxwork manner literally reply 'hello', that was that. Our weekend interaction. My Father occasionally tried for more, subtly created bonding situations for us, I think they were doomed to failure before he even began. She never wanted to know me and I certainly didn't feel comfortable around her, Would you? She didn't even like me interacting with the children, any time I did she'd be in the room, like a hawk, glaring at me, encouraging her offspring to come away from me as if I was the devil in disguise. My Dad's way of dealing with our emotional distance was to use his wallet, she hated this. Would do everything in her worldly power to assure I received as little as possible. The amount of times I heard the expression 'Don't tell Jane' is uncountable.

I never wanted to go to my Dad's. I'd put up a fight, beg my Mother, my Nan and pretty much anyone I thought had any power. Naturally I'd never of told him, we weren't close enough for me to reveal myself to him. At the same time I regularly thought of the idea of living with him, fed up of the arguments with my Mother, which raged. Still, to this day, the arguments we've had are legendary. A very special friend of mine simply says 'nobody can argue like you two' and she probably isn't wrong. The amount of times I told my father, albeit indirectly, that I didn't want to talk to him anymore is ridiculous. He'd always wonder what the problem was and eventually I'd feel bad, unable to actually discuss the issue with him and things would return to how they were previously, like nothing had ever occurred. Occasionally he'd attempt to have a 'conversation' about what had occurred, but we never succeeded at this and quickly realised it was something we just shouldn't do. Our relationship wasn't going to be a communicative one. ...