Hitchhikers guide to insanity

"Hitch hikers guide to insanity
There were periods in my life, up to a few years ago, where I really felt that I had been handed the wrong book to follow. I felt as though other had been given clear instructions on how to live and that my book somehow had had the pages deleted or put into some sort of gobbledy gook. I was constantly struggling to learn the lines, follow the script but always felt out of step and as a result I guess developed a sort of "couldn't care less mentality. I suppose my logic was if I don't show I am hurt, you won't now I am hurt and then that will make things better. I can see the flaw in this now but for years it seemed the way to be so I was.
Another tale,
My second son was born in 1967. He came into the world smiling and, for the first nine months of his life, smiled, ate and slept. This probably just as well, in retrospect. My oldest son adored him. He had prepared for the arrival of his brother, again I was convinced it would be a boy and the name was clear in my mind. I had a cot ready, a wooden one this time. The first frilly one had long gone, my oldest son would put toys in there for his new brother, who he knew was going to be born at home and that he was going to get to see him pretty soon after he was born. The room was prepared. The bed was put on bricks, newspapers were hoarded for the afterbirth, a bonfire was set in the garden to burn the grizzerly bits. My husband was determined to see this birth and was told by the doctor that he could if he would hold the gas and air mask to my face.
Prior to this birth we had lived for a while in a flat, sharing with a drunken sot of a man, who played classical violin and again had been befriended by my mother, she found us the accommodation. We lived in one room; possessions piled up in the corner and covered with bits of material to hide whatever they were. The flat was filthy and it was here that I first discovered that I could get drugs on prescription. The doctor was more than happy to prescribe me Dexedrine and to keep giving them to me. So there I was in a room, hyped up to the eyeballs, all energy and nowhere to go, so I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, charging around the flat cleaning everything I could get my hands on, the violinist was stunned to say the least, and, hid himself in his own room, which he would not allow me access to. I read and read and read. I can remember one night reading three books. I could not eat; I was high as a kite. I drank fluid like it was going out of fashion and also discovered that if I drank alcohol the effect was different, I went instantly into feeling like I was able to deal with anything and everything. Which, of course was not the case. The coming down from the pills was awful, so I learnt to work out when that was beginning to happen and take some more tablets. My body clock was shot and in all this I found out I was pregnant. I believe my son slept through the first nine months to make up for the lack of rest he had as a foetus in the first nine months. He ate like it was going out of fashion and I think smiled that he was out of all that nonsense.
He was born in the July, by this time we had moved back into our rented house, near to my parents in law, and the lodgers were down to one. He was a guy who had the longest hair I had ever seen. He worked as a hod carrier during the week and at the weekends, had me iron his hair, he would lay his hair on the ironing board and, using brown paper to cover it I would iron the curls out of it. He put on his clean togs, took a handful of tablets and partied. I thought that this was what the entire world did. He was a little guy and had a girlfriend who was twice the size of him. Together they went out and spent the weekend living it up. He occupied the small bedroom. The large one was where my husband and I slept and the third was for giving birth in. My oldest son slept in this room until that birth day and then in our bedroom, and when he was able to move back in and share it with his brother.
The day finally came, there was a party going on downstairs, my mother was visiting, people were coming and going and I was preparing to eject this little soul into the world. My husband held the gas and air and missed my face. He was too interested in seeing what was going on. Next door, in the other bedroom, the couple that had been out having a party were busy having sex.
My second son entered the world in minutes, weighing 8lbs 6ozs. My husband was beside himself with excitement. I believe that this is the one and only time I remember where I caught a glimpse of the real person and saw how much energy and joy he had. He put my oldest son on the front of a pushbike and went off to tell people about this birth.
The next day I was up and about, within a week I was back to normal. The relationship was as well. We had so little to say. One event that sticks in my mind was a morning after one of the inevitable parties that took place, bodies all over the house and me cooking a fired breakfast for all and sundry. I had a huge skillet pan, it was full of bacon, I lifted it from the stove and it broke in half. The bacon fell off onto the floor, I picked it up threw it away, took a different pan and carried on cooking. I can tell it like that as a friend at the time, who later moved to America told me that that is what happened, I can remember this as well, but what he added was that there was no reaction, I just carried on, my job you see was to cook and I was aware of some of the outcomes if I did not, this is one. I had made a liver and bacon meal, we had a long refectory table, I served the food and one of the potatoes, which were jacketed was black inside, I had the meal thrown at me. I felt responsible; I should have known that it was rotten inside. Another time, it was November and we were having a Guy Fawkes party, another excuse to drink/drug really. A guy that I subsequently lived with and who fathered my daughter, came in to tell me that my husband was having sex with someone outside and I said something like,what's new. I was shutting down. This was where the alcohol and drugs helped I thought. If I was hit I felt it less, if I was hurt it bounced off me. My logic was taking drugs and drink stopped me feeling and the logic was right, they did.
So back to after my son was born. My mother in law fell and hurt her leg, I used to go around to see if I could help her. This was the beginning of getting to know her as a woman, rather than as the mother of my husband. I was very scared of her until this time. She appeared so confident and together, nothing appeared to faze her. She was a great cook and bottle washer, her house was always clean, she was always there and I believed had had a great and easy life. In this period when she was unwell, we sat in front of her coal fire and she told me some of her story, how she had had to get married, some of the struggles she had had and most of all that she could see what was going on with my husband and I and that if she could help in some way or another she would. Her way of helping was to do something practical, and, I had not been able to see that she had been trying to help from the start. I had seen it as interference. What she had been trying to do was support us and I regretted that I was as harsh with her as I had been. We spent time together and for many years after this I would visit her. In fact long after her son and I separated I continued to go and see her and my father-in -law. I always referred to her as MUM, I felt comfortable with both her and her husband and they appeared to be able to accept me as I was. Many years later she told me that she had seen more than she said and that she understood why I left the marriage and that against all the things she had been bought up to believe she thought I had made a right decision.