There wasn't a lot of money growing up; just a lot of scrimping and saving and trying to get by with what we had. It's not a lot different now, actually. I still scrimp and save and try to get by with what I have. I work hard though, and I dream of some help coming some day.
Some time ago, I moved into a new home and began to set up my meager posessions and to arrange my tiny area to suit my basic needs. It isn't great, and there are problems, but I guess it will suffice. It's grown on me a little over the years, and I've worked hard to try to get by here. It's not much, but it is home.
When I first walked into this home, I noticed a large window. While observing through the window, I saw someone also moving into her new home. She seemed to always have help. Someone helped move her in and get her settled, and someone always appears to be there for her when she has needs - in fact, someone often seems to anticipate her needs.
I sometimes feel like a drudge, always doing the same thing every day, struggling to get through. The kids are a handful; they don't seem to understand that I'm here to help and love them. Why do they not understand? What I ask of them is not earth-shattering; it's just a little school, some responsibility around the house to help keep it nice, and the hopes they will love eachother and treat eachother well. But it feels like each day I have to start all over, teach them again to be responsible, and how to do basic things. It's such a struggle.
The woman in the window is always very smartly dressed. She seems to have shoes for every occasion, and I've never seen her hair messy. It's like she steps out of bed like that; so effortless. She, too, has kids. They seem really happy. They do everything together. She seems to have time for so many projects and adventures; they're always going out somewhere after school is finished. And she always seems to have help. With anything and everything. Sometimes someone even comes just to talk. And they talk. And talk. And talk.
I don't see my family much. I miss them. It's hard to understand the dynamics of family - everyone seems to be different. I feel like I'm the only one I know who has such a hard time with family. Some of them won't talk to me at all anymore; I didn't even do anything. They just disappeared. There weren't even many to start with. Just another way I am basically alone.
Through the window, I watch as she goes to visit her family. She even has family come visit her, and fairly often. It must be nice, to have your family care about you.
At work, I earn almost nothing; if it wasn't for the kind people there I wouldn't continue, probably. But then I don't know what I'd do for money; there is always something that comes up that I have to deal with, and I never have what I need when that happens. It's so frustrating that I can barely make ends meet. And there she is, whenever I look throug the window, not having to worry about anything because someone is always there to take care of her needs; all she has to do is ask, and her life is presented to her on a silver platter. It would be so nice to feel like that.
At almost every moment I feel completely alone. I have become very envious, watching through the window. In fact, I have grown to hate her. She is perfect, wanted, successful, and admired and adored by people she knows. I'm invisible and unremarkable; I'm not even sure I want to know what people think about me; probably just bad things.
It seems that, no matter how much trouble she experiences, the woman in the window has very successful days. She has someone to call for help when her kids act up. Her house is always clean. Her meals are always served on time. She often just takes her kids and goes to spend time with various friends.
Ha. Friends.
A friend really hurt me a few weeks ago. She made an outrageous disparaging comment about one of my kids and I just wanted to cry. She doesn't understand. She doesn't live here, she can't see everything that happens or how my kids treat me every day. So much for that friendship. She's not the only one, though; most the people I know act like that. They can't understand my life. Even my family doesn't understand my life.
Meanwhile the woman in the window gets nothing but compliments and help and useful friends who adore her and her kids. I hate her so much.
Yesterday, I got tired of watching the perfect one going about her perfect life with her perfect kids and perfect friends and family. So I decided to smash the window; maybe I could board it up or something, but I just wanted to destroy something. So I took a metal baseball bat to it.
As the glass shattered, so did my soul; the window was backed by black felt, and a wall.
The window was a mirror.
