Diary of a lost soul

                                                          Diary of a lost soul                                                                      
                                                                By:Leonie Isaacs

July 15th
Dear diary
He was out all day today, which allowed me to feel at ease knowing I didn’t have to spend the day trying to keep out of his way.After last night I wasn’t sure which character he was going to adapt today.
Last night was the night of my parents 40th wedding anniversary. As usual he morphed into the role of the devoted husband.The night was actually going really good. My parents had booked a hall, which was very nicely decorated in a white theme. Pearly white table cloths dressed round tables, laid with tall vases filled with white orchids, and where complimented by white satin fabric covered chairs. There were four columns in each corner of the hall that were decorated in white tinsel lights. There was a long table along one of the walls that was laid with a buffet to make your mouth water. At one end of the room stood two large doors that led out onto a small garden, and in front of them a band played sweet jazz .

I was speaking to my mother when David approached us. He smiled at me, kissed my mum lightly on the check, told her she looked lovely and asked her how she had been. They spoke for a moment, then my dad called my mum over and David turned his attention to me. We had only been speaking for about two minutes when I caught eyes with Michael. He had the most angriest look on his face that it actually sent shivers through me. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with him.. I didn’t think it could have been about David. I mean we had argued about him once before, but he knew he was a really good friend of my fathers, and plus that was a couple of years ago now. My speaking to him was out of respect more than anything. We weren’t exactly friends.
On the drive home he asked me why I was flirting with him. It took me a few seconds to try and figure out who he was talking about because I hadn’t flirted with anybody. I tried to think of something to say to keep him calm. He called me a stupid bitch and told me to stop playing dumb. That I knew who he was talking about. He then told me “David”. I told him I didn’t, that we were just talking. He asked me why I was laughing so much, what was so funny.
I tried to explain myself, but as usual he wasn’t interested. He had already made up his mind of what had happened. He finished saying what he had to say, then we sat in silence all the way back. Michael hasn’t hit me in awhile. Lately he just seems to be putting all of his energy into inventing new names for me. When ever he did hit me it was never outside. He always managed to hold his temper till we were behind closed doors.
He didn’t even bother to wait this time. As soon as the front door closed he punched me in the mouth. “That was for answering back” was what he spat at me. Because I wasn’t expecting it till we at least got in the living room, I wasn’t prepared. As I hurled over and clutched my mouth he grabbed me by the hair and warned me not to ever show him up like that again. He then pushed me to the ground, turned round and went upstairs.
I didn’t want to sit there for to long just in case he came back down, so picked my self up and went to get some kitchen towels to clean the blood off the floor .
I know he’ll probably come stumbling into bed later on tonight, and as usual I’ll pretend I’m sleeping, yet the stench of the alcohol will keep me up for hours.

July 16th
Dear diary
Breakfast this morning was tense. By ritual I got up at 6.30 to have it ready and on the table for him by 7.30. He arrived at the table with the consequences of last nights drinking spree painted all over his face.We both ate in silence, only speaking when one of us wanted something from across the table. Seeing him sat there smartly dressed in his suit for work, vibrating an essence that always warmed me up inside, brought up immense emotions of love.I hate the way he can so easily do that. I know most would think I’m stupid. The things I have put up with from Michael over the years are unspeakable, and yet for some unknown reason I can’t help but love him.

When things are good they are really good. He’s got this way of making me feel like I’m the only other person in the world. Like I’m the only person he see’s., which makes me feel special in a way I can’t describe, and gives me a divine sense of security.

But when things are bad, they are REALLY bad. The moods I’ve gotten used to, and along time ago I learnt not to answer back as to try and dispute the situation. He just gets so angry sometimes, I don’t always understand why at the time but I always know it’s because of something I did. His forms of punishment over the years have grown to become near enough unbearable.

I feel like I have sunken so far within myself that I don’t remember who I am anymore. I’m nothing more than an empty shell. Memories of a past life cease to exist. Now there is only Michael.

July 16th

Dear diary

Michael has been so lovely this evening. He called from work and told me not to bother cooking, that we were going out for dinner. He took me to a restaurant in town, one I had always wanted to go to and the one he had always promised to take me to. The restaurant was just how I knew it would be. I had imagined what dining in there would be like on numerous occasions, when I would gaze through the window on my trips into town. The food was lovely. Michael ordered me The fish in butter sauce, with a salad. We had a chocolate sponge soufflé drizzled with warm cream for desert.

He apologised for what happened the other night and I told him he didn’t have to, that bringing me out to the restaurant was more than enough.. Its been a while since I’ve been out. My lack of socialising skills have always restricted me from having many friends.

On the way home Michael suggested we go a way for a little while. Go and rent out a cottage somewhere. Obviously I jumped at the idea, the last time we’ve been anywhere together was our honeymoon, which is a faint memory I try to cling to. I’m really excited about going away, I think a break will be good for both of us.

July 18th

Dear diary

I decided to go and visit my mother this morning. I haven’t really seen her much lately and I didn’t want her to feel like I have been avoiding her, seeing as I haven’t returned any of her calls. Unbeknownst to my parents, having to hear the continuous praises about Michael is becoming difficult. Michael is a pearl in my parents eyes. To them he is the definition of “The perfect man”. To my father he is successful, strong and “really going places”, and to my mother he is well mannered, intelligent and fully devoted to me. She always says I will never find anybody that loves me as much as he does.

I can never tell them. I wouldn’t know where to begin. I mean after all this time it just wouldn’t make sense to them. It took a while for my father to grow to like Michael and now he see’s him as the son he never had. That’s why for so many years I have kept up this image of the happy couple. But know longer is it easy trying to pretend that things are so great between us, I’m beginning to lack the energy I use to paint on that daily smile.

Despite all this I didn’t want mum to sense that something was wrong, so I continued to feed her pleasant stories about my days created by my imagination.

I do love Michael. I do. But I AM aware of his faults. Sometimes he can be really mean and hurtful both physically and emotionally. But besides that he is a really lovely man, and I know he loves me. I think his temper is something that he battles with, I know he wouldn’t be horrible to me intentionally. He loves me.

July 19th

Dear diary

Sometimes I wake up and I feel great, and sometimes I wake up and I feel like I don’t know who I am, or where I am.

Lately I have been having these dreams. I’m walking, I don’t know where, just walking, and I’m surrounded by darkness trying to find the light. I don’t normally read into my dreams but this one stands out to me. I’ve come no closer to figuring out what it could mean.

I have been lying on my bed for half an hour or so now, trying to figure out what I’m going to do my day. Sometimes I feel so lonely. Once I have finished all the housework, (not that there is ever much to do, as Michael likes the house to always be kept a certain way) I don’t really have anything else to do.

In the 3 years since we’ve moved here I have kind of kept my self to my self and everyday I regret that because I don’t really know anybody round here, so the days always seem too drag on. Michael forbids me from working, he says my place is at home. He’ll bring in the money, all I have to worry about is keeping the house clean and making sure meals are ready on time.

I have tried meeting new people, making some friends, but I always seem to find that we don’t have anything in common. I have spent so many years putting on this pretence, that I feel like I can’t distinguish the real me anymore, and so this make’s me feel naturally uncomfortable.

A few weeks ago I was invited to a book club by a woman I met at the library, who I recognised as being a neighbour. We had only ever spoken on passing which was nothing more than a friendly hello. I gratefully obliged , and agreed to attend the first meet up at her house that week.

I felt completely out of place, sat amongst these women who laughed and joked and complained about money struggles, kids, and not having enough time to themselves. And seemed to enjoy jokingly having a good nag about unthoughtful, lazy husbands, as if despite their complaints their lives really led those of love and happiness. As if their husbands lazy ways, which included: leaving toothpaste in the sink, boxers on the bathroom floor, and not doing the washing up enough, played no match for the love their husbands gave them, and the strength their marriages were based on.

I had no place there. Taking part in their conversations was impossible, for then I would have to reveal to them the reality of my life, which made their lives seem like bliss. Their lives seemed so different from mine, and amongst them I felt like a lost soul, trying to find it’s way in the dark.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been having these dreams.

I haven’t attended anymore meet ups.

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Short Story
writing leonie
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This is not exactly a short story but i didn't know what else to class it as. It is a diary, not a complete one which is why i didn't class it as a novel. Here are the first few entries
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