Saturday, 13 June 2015

Some Days Have Bouncers That Won't Let You In.

Sometimes I go silent.

I like silence. I'm an introvert. I'm also loud, obnoxious, caring, compassionate, and can be a huge fucking arsehole. All the contradictions, the different shades of beautiful colours that us messy complex humans can be.

Last week I had a shocker. People very close to me have betrayed, hurt, and cut me to the core. Deeply. Pretty sure I saw bone. It's been intensely difficult to deal with a lot of the relationships in my life for the last few years. I struggle and cry, obviously still in shock and pain about the death of my brother. I don't even believe in the word "grief" anymore. What I'm experiencing is far greater than that because when Cam died? My whole life flew hurtling from underneath the water and every single thing I have ever gone through in my life burst through the surface. I don't joke about having three dead dads anymore. It's not funny. I experienced a lot of trauma and suffering as a kid and have finally been able to let that go. With love. Hopefully. Shit. Mary Oliver once said that somebody gave her a box of darkness once and it took her years to realise that this, too, was a gift.

I can't write on this website about every single thing that happens in my life. It would be wrong, hurtful, inappropriate, and incredibly fucking juicy. I try to be a decent person I really do. Loving my boys and being a good mother is the most important thing in my life. Their parents separated and seeing the pain on their faces, especially lately, is awful. It's really hard to be living in this rented house by myself. Winter is here and there's no proper heating and the lawns are so big I have to pay somebody to do it regularly and on the weeks I don't have the boys I eat cold tinned spaghetti straight out of a can. I fucking hate tinned spaghetti but when there's just me here what's the point. I've put the same load of washing through the machine about five times now but keep forgetting to hang it up. It won't dry on the clothesline and I don't have a dryer. There's a mountain of mail on my kitchen table that I'm terrified to open. My Foxtel has been cut off and I have to pay a cancellation fee to get rid of it and I just might because how can I flick through over a hundred channels and there's still nothing to watch? Hey remember when we just had five TV channels and that was it?

The last time I felt this lonely was probably at the tail end of my drinking days in the nineties. Lost, confused, in pain, damaged, and successfully pushed away everybody in my life who truly cared about me.

I'm angry and so so hurt. And silent, because sometimes I go silent. Bono says some days have bouncers that won't let you in. People often assume that just because I'm not on social media much or have updated my very very important twitter or Instagram or whatever the fuck else there is out there these days - well, people often assume that I have gone off the rails. I know it's mostly coming from a caring place but it's really starting to piss me off. It's my blog and there will be tumbleweeds blowing through here if I want to. Some days everything is wrong and I want to punch inspirational quotes in the face, rage at the state of the world out there and the world in my heart. I don't even want to be happy - just ok. I just want to be ok. I fight to be ok.

Am I ok? No fucking way. But I do actually have a roof over in my head, beautiful beautiful naughty cheeky gorgeous boys that make my heart warm, and PLENTY of tinned spaghetti in my pantry. Some days are alright, a lot are beyond painful, and most I kind of just walk around and hope, dream and pray that one day things might ease. (Oh I pray that they ease.)

So yeah, sometimes I go silent but me and god ARE actually on speaking terms now. Lately I have wept and wept and sat outside on the side deck that I thought would be *perfect* for entertaining when I moved in but to do that you actually have to entertain and if I held a dinner party at this point all I could serve was spaghetti in a can, then perform a profoundly moving performance of Send In The Clowns.

Last week I asked god to help, to protect, to take some of my owies away. And I said thank you to the clouds up there for all of the beauty and goodness in my life. I was in so much pain I couldn't even stand up for about two hours.

But you know what happens when you're in so much pain you can't even stand up for about two hours?

Eventually, you're going to need to take a piss.

So I stood up.

And I intend to keep standing up and rolling with all the shit and mire every day. It's bullshit hard but I'm not a young girl from a small village in Nigeria who was kidnapped by Boko Haram while sitting at my school desk because in many places on this world, men do not want women to get educated. I don't have cancer. I don't live on a slum pile in Delhi, shunned by society. I'm not drinking or using drugs. I have the entire series of Orange is the New Black to look forward to. Dave Grohl exists. I have two arms, two legs, even some elbows hips and knees that are all starting to creak. Good. Get old, this body of mine. Get old and wrinkled and weathered and get real and get through this.

I still got so much to say. I hope that soon my words will overflow and fall right off the page and into peoples laps because jesus humanity needs to wake the fuck up, stop buying dumb shit, question our politicians, sign petitions, march in the streets, stop watching so much porn, and focus on things that will actually contribute something to the planet. Stop pressing snooze. Life is meaningless so we may as well stand up and put some fucking meaning into it.

Love and fucking light, you guys.

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