A body melting into the carpet basically. My life. Really? Does anybody even care to know? Dead 3 whole years before being discovered. If you should see me and I am smiling don't think my smile is for real. I could not imagine dying alone. I had ulcers is all. I should be alive.
But I never wanted to be in the end left alone. I had a decent education, not advanced...middle class. I was at times happy and quite friendly. Soft and quite clear, without a put on. I was trying to get somewhere in life.
I had a responsible job in the treasury once. From the outside, I reminded people of a person they would want to be. In truth, I had no lifetime friends. At my 21st birthday celebration I had no number of friends there of my own, just other people's friends. My mother died when I was 11 at age 41. I had 3 older sisters brought up Caribbean style. My dad the carpenter, walked with a swagger, a real ladies man. I was not proud of him, wanted no connection really.
When they found my body after 3 years, it appeared I had been wrapping Christmas presents.
"Hi. My name is Joyce and that's nice." A recording of my voice found after death. In life I was quite entertaining and spoken modestly, I was very good at it. I was simply stunning. I turned heads, celebrities and all. All I ever wanted was someone to want me. Trouble is I never had my own interests. I never had any great plans. My smile is just a frown turned upside down. And if by chance you hear me laughing. I only laugh to fool the crowd.
Did I mention I met Mandela? Most people thought I was so positive just like him. But we really don't know people do we? The death of my mother had a profound affect on me. I could not understand it. I gave the impression to all that my dad was dead too. I cut myself off from my sisters. I will take those secrets to the grave with me. No pictures. No music. New reasons given. I kept those reasons to myself.
There was a sadness in my life. It affected me, contributed to my character. I made relationships but only to a certain point. For awhile, I lived in a battered women's shelter. I told no one. We all make bad decisions in our life. Mine were tragic. I do know I was always looking for Mr. Right. In those final days I slept on a lot of couches. Inside I was disturbed.
Once I went into the hospital and I put as my next of kin ...my bank manager. That really sums it up doesn't it?
I was in love once. I even asked him to marry me. I think he refused because with my mocha skin he would have "tinted" children. Oh the thought of being married and having children. I think I was deathly afraid of living the dream, too afraid to just enjoy it. There were demons that wanted me more than life wanted me.
It was as if I never existed. A story of fiction. A theory. Watch me fall from grace.
By the time anyone cared, I was dead. A true documentary: "Dream of a life."