This post is part of the writing workshop over at Sleep is for the Weak. I’ve picked writing prompt 4 (putting myself in the mindset of someone else). I’ve put myself into the mind of someone I don’t have a lot of time for but I increasingly feel some sympathy for…
Do you ever wonder why everything you touch goes so hideously wrong. I have achieved all I ever dreamed of; I spent years filled with bitterness, yearning for this, unable to accept the achievements I had already made; and yet now I’ve realised that this is a poisoned chalice, made to taste worst by the fact I so desperately and publicly hungered for this.
I knew that it would be hard work, harder than my previous job but I have always relished a challenge and I have never been afraid to work hard. Everyone hates me. The world, the media and my colleauges have turned into playground bullies, if I don’t smile I am called a miserable git, if I smile it is innapropriate. Everyone watches me all the time waiting to find something to complain about.
Take the wretched letter… if I had a letter typed up for me then I could be slated for my cold impersonal touch and to be honest I believe that this was a letter I had to write myself, without help from aides, somethings have to come from the heart. Yet, rather than acknowledging that in an increasingly cold, unpersonable world I took the time to write a letter of condolance the press slammed my writing and spelling, accusing me of not caring.
I don’t want to drag my family into the spotlight like some but I too have a disabled child, I too have suffered heartache when our premature daughter died in 2001 but there is precious little sympathy for me. Ever.
Comics take the mickey out my eyes, my accent, my demeanour. It’s as if my policies and work as a prime minister is so accepted as a joke that nobody bothers with it anymore. I can take the criticism over my failed policies, over the deaths of soldiers in Afghanistan, over the amount of third world debt left but please make the press stop picking on me as a person.