People always said my life was like a tragic story. I can see what they mean, but it was hard to appreciate the art in my life when I had to live with it day in, day out. It was a cliché of a life, often hard to believe it was actually real. Trouble and misery flocked to me like vultures, taking another bite out of me when I was down already. Every corner was full of shadows. I hate to sound like I’m part of a depressive cult, but if you talked to anyone who knew me…well, it wasn’t good.

I’m currently looking through my diary entries from years and years ago. I won’t bore you with the actual words of the entries, they’re quite emotional, some embarrassingly so. When you’re in the heat of the situation, you say things a tad more dramatically and live to regret them later. Well these thoughts seem to plague my entries throughout the years, and I certainly don’t feel the same now. Then again, it’s very well to say you don’t feel any pain years after you’ve been burnt.

Going back twenty years ago, that seems to be where luck abandoned me. I was about twelve years old when my father left. He was off on his motorbike, after some woman at work apparently. He’d failed to mention this woman until the day he left, yet it turned out he’d been seeing her for months. Mother didn’t take it well; she lost all self-confidence and retreated into a shell, metaphorically. Well I suppose physically as well seeing as she rarely left the house for the next year. I didn’t mind so much about my father leaving, seeing as for the last year he had barely been there. I was more annoyed about how he’d affected my mother, she was crying every evening and silent every morning. It made me more independent I suppose, but it’s never good to be completely dependant or independent, and soon I was the latter.

Nineteen years ago was the next port of call for my sinking ship. Mother’s anti-depressant pills had got the better of her; or rather that was the easiest explanation for her suicide. The real reason is that she had been on them for so long that her body had built up immunity to them, so she no longer felt the effects. She was forced to face up to the reality of her situation and she didn’t like it one bit. For most of her life she’d had it fairly easy, right up to marriage. She coped with tough times worse than I did, and for this reason decided to hang from the banisters. It was a pretty traumatic experience finding her like that, or so I gathered from the neighbour who found her. Luckily I was spared from seeing her in such a state; I only had to see her when she was made up nicely for the open casket funeral.

However I had a shock of my own, having to leave my home and friends to go live with my aunt. To be fair on her, their family was perfectly nice to me and took me in with great care. They were poor though, and after the compulsory sympathy it was clear that I only added to their burdens. I didn’t fit in so well at my new school, my cousins didn’t appreciate me tagging along all the time and eventually I decided to leave his friend group. The only group who would have me were the misfits, as no one else liked a reject from any crowd. I didn’t really have much in common with them, so my friendships started to wane and I was soon alone. But again, I should have appreciated the independence I had because of it.

I stupidly got involved with sports over education, and obviously the dream of becoming a footballer soon vanished before my eyes. All that was left to see were my A-Level results, and looking at my diary entry, I wasn’t too pleased with them. They were not terrible results by anyone’s standards, but not good enough to rescue me from a mediocre lifestyle. Flashing forward, my job was predictably dull, an accountant with no future. It was a one rung ladder job, the only upside being that I met my future wife.

That period, about thirteen years ago, was the happiest time of my life, as far as I can remember. Sure, I had no ambitions, no future, but I had a present and I was making the most of that. She was the only one who didn’t treat me like a loser at work, the only one who made me feel like I was worth something. We talked and I forgot all the past sorrows of my life. She laughed, and I wasn’t aware there was such a thing as sorrow. We bought a home together, tying the knot a few years down the line. It was a small ceremony, nearly all from her side, mine consisting mainly of people from work. The honeymoon was golden, and the feeling remained for about six months. Then everything started to settle into the fatal trap of routine.

Fate decided I was too content again obviously, so it decided to pull the strings in my life again. Soon I was settling divorce details, as my wife sat at the opposite end of the table with her new lover waiting out. Come to think of it, it was rather like my father’s affair, in the way that I was left in the dark until it was all too late. Maybe that taught me a lesson about naivety though.

The divorce cost me, and I was soon pressurised in my meaningless job. They were unhappy about inter-company relationships as it was, and with news of the divorce they signalled that one of us had to go. Despite being the bill payer for my ex’s life still, she decided to let me take the fall, so I was reduced to becoming a street cleaner as a quick fix. This job became less temporary than I would have liked, as no one would hire someone who was currently a street cleaner.

I really do hate to bore you with the narrative of my life, but that was a short summary of my downfall. Actually, it’s not quite a downfall as I was never at the top. My life was soon reduced to pub crawls at nights, and court visits as to why I couldn’t provide enough money for my scheming ex. As I sat in the pub one night, I retold this story to another man sitting at the bar. Suicide was beginning to be an option at this point, following in my mother’s footsteps, so this was the lowest point of my life.

However my life flipped as suddenly as the face of a coin, as the man mentioned that he was an upcoming film producer. He was interested by the success of reality T.V, and wanted to see if a new genre of movie could make it to the top. He explained that he wanted to make a movie of my life, seeing as it was the epitome of misfortune. He claimed that the public loved movies about that as it was, as they love to feel good about their own lives. But there was a twist he wanted to put at the end, and this was where his new idea of a movie came about.

I didn’t believe he was genuine until the contracts started coming through. I didn’t want to play myself in the movie; that would be rather vulgar and self-obsessed. Also, the hardest person to act is yourself, because you don’t know how you project yourself to the public. Anyway, I decided to help with the script, and chose the unknown actor willing to portray myself. The plot of the movie followed a fairly accurate account of my life, which in itself was nothing too special. The other writers and my producer friend decided to make various references to society and culture, putting humour in here and there. Although humour to me ruined the serious nature of my life, it made it a better watch so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.

The twist was revealed when the movie, called 'Silver Lining', was opened to the public. The film ended by correctly, if equally horrifically, saying that I would have a happy ending if the film did well. I got a cut of the profits, so it was completely true, but it seemed to me a very risky climax to the film. It turned out to be a masterstroke by the producer, blackmailing the public emotionally, relying on their need for happy outcomes. They rushed in their thousands, aware they were being controlled. Of course I was being controlled; the public were in essence controlling my future. Everyone that was controlled seemed to be left happy though. The public were morally satisfied just as much as I was financially.

I tried to avoid the cameras when the movie was released, however it was unavoidable. Critics were deeming it either grotesque manipulation, or genius innovation. Either way it caused controversy, the heart of any topic of discussion, so I was whisked away to various interviews and chat shows. I had nothing much to say, I tried to talk about the cultural references and the bits I genuinely liked about the film. Sadly all that people were interested in was if I was ok now that I had lots of money. I was given a large house and adoring groupies, everything that came with being in the public eye without working for fame.

I’m now a celebrity of the oddest sense. Surrounded by public figures of scandal, people who live in the gossip columns after making their name on reality T.V, I’m the opposite. To the public, I’m what I can only describe as a public sympathy figure. I’m not expected to do anything, the world is quite happy to look after me considering all I’ve been through. It occurred to me that I could do no wrong, after I ended up abusing the same substances as my rock star friend one night. He ended up on the front page, humiliated horribly. The articles glossed over my part however, some even claiming I was trying to stop him. I’m outside the law; no one wants to touch me.

Honestly, I don’t know whether I’m in a better state now than I was a year ago. Then, I at least had my freedom, able to make my own life in a Capitalist society. Now I have no chance, people around me define my life. I’m not allowed to do anything, people telling me to “relax, you’ve been through enough”. I haven’t earnt my living, although I’ve suffered for it. Before, I had my freedom, but nothing to do with it. These days I have everything to do, but no freedom to get any satisfaction from life.

As I said before, my life has always been laced with trouble and misery. This part of my life is no different, merely the most bittersweet of them all. To everyone else, I have everything now, but really I still have nothing. And worst of all, my luck can never change.