Monday, 2 June 2014

On Resilience. (And guzzling apple cider vinegar straight from the bottle like some kind of health fanatic hobo.)

My therapist told me I had resilience.

"Fuck resilience," I said.

The annoying thing is, he's right. If I find the right balance of letting go and holding on, I'm in with a chance here.

I've been making wholesome meals from scratch and stopped eating entire blocks of chocolate. I'm back at the gym, pumping iron like a hardcore motherfucker and when I cry about Cam nobody notices because my tears look like sweat. Griefsweat. His death has threatened to be the end of me - everybody knew that, and even though I'm only one trainride away from complete oblivion I get up in the morning and make my bed anyway. I've stopped hiding in my house. The strongest medication I take is paracetamol. These days I'm on spirulina, wheatgrass, multivitamins, and krill. I even made Dave try oil pulling and we sat on the couch swilling it around in our mouths, trying to make the other laugh. I say yes to all social invitations. I tell my head to shut the hell up. Last week I even went outside in the sunshine and RAN. I haven't ran anywhere for the longest time. All my bits wobbled and I could hardly make it up the hill. Stop, start, stop, start. An old guy putting his bin out pretended to race me and we both laughed because we both knew he was too old to run. But I'm not too old to run, and there's life in this spirit of mine yet.

My sons are the only reason I'm still here. It's been beyond difficult to parent them properly when I have been losing and grieving, but they are the reasons I keep trying. I don't want them to be in therapy years from now, raging about abandonment. I want them to change the world. I want them to question everything about themselves and fall in a heap and always, always get up again. I tell them that we love and miss Uncle Cam so much but that is not the way to die. If I want my boys to always keep trying I have to show them how.

So I've decided to keep going. I still think life is utterly ridiculous and there's no meaning to things. We live in a dying world but at least I can face the apocalypse with rock hard abs amirite? (And a DELICIOUS kale and chilli salad.)

I'm strong. My head is clear. I drink apple cider vinegar every morning and eat nuts for lunch. I do not feed my body when I do not feel hunger. I'm determined and ripe and whole, and creativity is dripping from my fingers.

Last night I took a selfie with Rocco and there was something different about it. Obviously his blonde mop and Tom and Jerry sloppy joe makes a person swoon, but there was something about me I hadn't seen in a long time. There's light in my eyes. I'm back.

In the past few years I've brought attention to the worlds poorest countries, watched my stepdad die from cancer, interviewed the Prime Minister, been admitted to a mental health ward (three times! Sarah Lee cake slabs for all!) and been completely annihilated by the suicide of one of my favourite people in the world. We don't truly love many people in life. My brother Cam wasn't weak he was lost, and letting myself grieve him so deeply is proving to be my salvation. I still wake up every morning and set myself on fire, but one day I'll be dead and all this will be a dream, HALLELUJAH.

How do you get through the things you get through? More importantly, what are you wearing to the end of the world?

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