paleface-warmheart

[paleface-warmheart]

The ballad of the outsider

The day you entered the world, you were entering one that wouldn't be easy. It would rarely ever feel 'easy'.

You would learn very early on that you were 'different' and not 'good different' but bad different. So bad that you would feel lesser, permanently tainted because of your name, your mother's faith and your father's job. Some people were nice, but they were outsiders too.

You didn't look like the other girls, you were fat, smelled and shy. Older people were often cruel telling you 'do you really need that' whenever you would eat from a pooled luncheon. An array of food that you couldn't believe, because you never had a lot at home. You associated food with happiness, and wealth, but also made you hate your body because others told you how much they hated it too.

Your mother would talk to 'satan' and tell him to go away and then she would talk to god and ask for protection. You learnt early on what made girls 'unclean'. That their whole goal in life was to be a dutiful wife and mother. Your mother called it a 'thankless job' and all you ever wanted was a job with meaning and recognition and one in which you would feel smart, and capable and like everyone else. Oh, how much you wanted to be like everyone else.

You could move away!! Leave behind the 'outsider-ness' and be part of the world! You can get your license, get a car, get a great job and go out to dinner whenever you want. Hey, you might even fall in love. That sounds nice. I have never really known that. Love. It was always conditional.

So you leave, you move away and you're on your own. You make mistakes, and learn that it's easier just to do things yourself. Then you don't have expectations. You have control too. Control of your life, your emotions, your reactions and if you can't do it, you're not suddenly disappointed. It's no surprise when you fail, because you're always disappointed with yourself. You're a disappointment, just like you were as a little kid. Never thin enough, pretty enough, good enough at sport. Who would want to love you?

You go back to study, and you realise how much you feel part of something. People are excited for you. You're excited, and you are in love. That's the best. What a dream! You're part of what society values, you're achieving something that is valued. You're valued. Valuable in the way that makes you not an outsider anymore.

It doesn't last for long. The outsider is still there, deep inside. She is so scared that she won't get to be part of something, everything that makes you part of the world. A success! A worthy member of society. You've always wanted to feel worthy. Why can't I believe that I always was?

I keep thinking of what it will be like if I succeed. Then I would be accepted. What that will look like? Doing things the 'normal' way, doing what is expected of a good woman. That was never going to be me. I didn't come from a 'normal' background, and upbringing. I was an outsider. Maybe I still am?

Think of the good. I have a home, I have a car, I have a job. Sure that job makes me feel like the outsider that I have long felt. Yes, it's unfulfilling at times, but I have one. It's paying my bills, it's allowing me to realise what I do and don't want. What kind of workplace I want to be part of, what one I need to be part of. What sort of people I want to be surrounded by. I am happy to go back to study, to know that I can achieve things again. That's my greatest achievement, my degree. It made me feel accepted.

So here we are. That difficult woman. A woman who didn't do things how they are often done. How could she? I wasn't bought up that way, in a world that provided those opportunities, or belief that she could. Does that mean that I shouldn't be accepted? I may have not done things the 'normal' way, what is valued in a woman, but should that mean that I am not accepted? Or worthy?

Let them underestimate me. Try and screw me over and treat me like an outsider. I will 'roar' and then keep quiet. I will fight fair, I always do. What do I have to lose?

So...is being an outsider really that bad?

[paleface-warmheart]

It's my 5 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

[paleface-warmheart]

The other day I wasn’t in a good place. Lots of thoughts whirling through my mind. Why did I survive? What is my purpose? Where to from here? Why do I care? I feel very lost, and very bruised, emotionally, and psychologically. Lifeline chat wasn’t responding, so I called my mum. We spoke, well I cried and things got pretty dark at times. I spoke of my low self-esteem, my fear of failure and what I am living for. It hurt to say those words, but that was the truth. Then mum told me a story from the day I cheated death. Of how an angel broke my fall. Mum said it was my guardian angel. I never believed in them, but it was beautiful to think that something cared for me, let me live, when I was in my darkest moment. Then mum spoke of how the angel was inside my room that night too. When my Dad came in to see me, he saw that angel, filling the whole room with it’s huge wings, gently wrapped around me. Protecting me, keeping me safe. It was a beautiful thought. If it was true to my Dad, than it is true to me too. It wasn’t my time to go. I hope one day I find out why...

[paleface-warmheart]

Black holes and revelations

The universe. That vast space with so much unknown and so many questions. We are just a tiny little dot, with our closest galaxy Andromeda emitting light that left it before humans began to evolve on this beautiful blue planet.  

That there are 200 billion stars in the universe that have a rock-like planet that circles that star, the equal distance from it as our Earth is. The possibility that it can support life, as our blue planet does. How advanced could it be? How advanced could life on there be? How many moons could it have, and have they ventured to it? Is there life on there?  I usually fucking hate the unknown.

I felt so small, so insignificant, but filled with wonder. Wow. The universe is amazing. Beautiful and mysterious. Two of my favourite things! It’s a Tuesday night, witnessing the brilliant Professor Brian Cox, my favourite physicist. Enthralled by his mind and that voice, my goodness, that voice! He always brings it back to what it means to be human. How in this vast space, we can continue learning and exploring. Again, my favourite things and why I dreamed of being an astronomer as a kid. I didn’t have the mathematical brain for it, but it was fun to dream. To imagine. 

Brian spoke about a world line. How if each person recorded the exact hour, minute and second of a significant life event, it would be unique to each person. It is a path that each person or ‘object’ has as it travels through space and time. The faster the object goes, the more time slows down for it. if an object travels at the speed of light, time stops. Physics is cool. I kept thinking about my world line. What events are significant to me, and that I would record time for? What made me feel that time had momentarily stopped, so that I could savour that beautiful moment? What a beautiful memory. 

The events. That time I went back to university. I was going to live out my dream. My greatest single achievement. Then I graduated. I had overcome so many obstacles. What a beautiful achievement. So fucking proud. Then when I fell in love, started a relationship and dreamed of our future moving forward. I assumed we would get married, I wasn’t convinced about kids, neither was he, and I was ok with that. He moved in, we had so many adventures together, and we were truly ‘living’. 

My first professional job! My dream job. I loved what I was working towards, what we were working towards. We were truly ‘living’. Those events would go on my world line. Going overseas too. How beautiful was that!?! I was living out so many dreams, childhood ones at that. On my line, I guess I would have to include the nightmare events too, and not just the beautiful dreams. 2017. Yeah, I have to put that on there. Shit that hurts. 

The night after Brian Cox, is Wednesday and I am off to see Tame Impala. I love their album ‘Innerspeaker’, released back in 2010. What a time, the beginning, when things were starting to be ‘ideal’....before 2017, when things got ‘real’. I have seen Tame Impala before, but it was a different time, an exciting time. It feels different because it is different. Everything is different. Not better different either. 

I get my seat, sit down and begin to think. I am here by myself, in a stadium of thousands of people, I seem to be the only one that came alone. People sit beside me on either side, talking to their friends, family or partners, singing along to the support acts. Genesis Owusu is so fucking full of energy, aggressive at times with his singing and movements, and then seductive. The people around me are chatting, drinking and laughing. I am recording videos of the performance. I feel a little uncomfortable. Tame Impala begins... 

People are smoking in their seats too, not just drinking. I remember doing that. Drinking that is. It was fun! It heightened the experience, the feelings of ‘living’. I always saw Tame Impala when I was standing, making it easy to dance along to my favourite songs. Kevin Parker tells everyone in their seats to get up for Elephant, from the album ‘Lonerism’. I like that album, but it’s too accessible, not psychedelic enough. I sound like such a music wanker haha! I just know that I have better taste than the majority. 

I like being on my feet. I am dancing and singing and admiring the lights. Then the song ‘Eventually’ begins and it hits me...hard. The words sting more than I had anticipated. The memory comes flooding back to me, the anger too. Everyone is singing along. It feels like thousands of people know what it feels like, that feeling of losing someone they loved, after you have tried so hard to keep them... 

Going back to the night before with Professor Brian Cox. All of the talk about the universe, the cosmos, and of how tiny our little blue planet is. It made me feel so small in the grand scheme of things. Tonight, as thousands sing along to the song ‘Eventually’, I felt that my pain was understood, and acknowledged. I stood there, taking it all in, feeling everything. I went home that night and I cried. The next day too, I cried some more. 

Each time I had seen Tame Impala, I was at the beginning of a significant time in my life. The beginning of a time in which I was getting the opportunity to live out a dream. Those key events. When I had made the decision to go back to University after 8 long years, the beginning of a relationship that would change me forever (good and bad), and the beginning of my professional career. Seeing Tame Impala live were there right at the exciting part, the beginning. They are, unintentionally, part of my world line. 

Seeing them Wednesday night, didn’t feel like a beginning at all, but an ending. Maybe it was my way to stop getting ‘lost in yesterday’, as their song goes. Do I embrace it? Or do I erase it? Something to think about, and weather it will call me or stall me? How do I keep finding ways to add to my world line. Just don’t get lost in the black holes in the process..

[paleface-warmheart]

The last time I saw Tame Impala was in 2015. I had just completed university, had began my professional career, I was in love and I felt like I was living a dream. A lot has happened since then, too much really. When I saw them last night, I had such a strong emotional reaction to a number of songs, in particular ‘Eventually’. A particular memory came flooding back. That time that the lyrics were hitting so very hard, as I was walking along, crying, knowing that my relationship was ending. Knowing that there was nothing I could do to change their mind. Last night, when thousands of people sang along to the lyrics at ‘Eventually’, for a brief moment, I felt that they understood how I was feeling at that time, all those years ago. That pain that I still feel sometimes...

It felt full-circle, like an end. I don’t think I need or necessarily want to see Tame Impala again. Not because it wasn’t enjoyable, far from it, it was great! Just seeing them last night felt like the last. Their music represented a time in my life, a beautiful time that I didn’t know what I had ever done to deserve it. Thank you Tame Impala. I think I was meant to see you last night, to help me to heal, to move forward and to leave that time behind, finally. 

[paleface-warmheart]

You've come a long way baby... turned 4 today!

[paleface-warmheart]

Love #represent.

What is love? Why is it displayed in such a way? Sure, the red roses are meant to symbolise the heart, that’s cute, but they wither and die, and seem so delicate, fragile even. That’s not what love should be. Hey, but love is a battlefield, remember? 

It doesn’t need to be a fight, but it does take work, communication, and a lot of vulnerability. It isn’t easy too when you have been socially conditioned your whole life to believe that love is represented by material things and a big performance, a big fucking performance! To show everyone else that you are of value, you’re lovable. Those cheesy gifts, those stuffed teddy bears made in sweat shops, and relegated to the spare room when they are no longer cute, and too cringe-worthy to be on display. That expensive diamond ring, most likely mined by underpaid workers who jump at any opportunity to provide for their family, and will never see a small piece of the wealth that bestows the people who wear it. Those who parade it around, like some status symbol. 

See. I am worth it. I am a valuable woman because a man wants me. Yeah we all know how much more valued a man’s opinion is too, don’t we? I mean you can dream of one day working your way up to his level, you can dream of being worthy of taking on his name. You can be his ‘missus’. What a dream! Just you wait until you can show everyone else your value too! Instagram the fucking shit out of it, out of my ‘special day’. Look at my special fucking dress, my flowers, my redundant fucking bridesmaids and the popularity contest it becomes just to be chosen as one. Wow!  To be that worthy.

What a valuable, good little woman you are if you can get that acknowledgment! If you can lock down a man, continue the tradition, throw that bouquet and bestow an unmarried woman with the fantasy of ‘ever after. Are we still buying that? Buying what they are selling? What if a woman is never seen like that? What if I am never seen like that? If no-one ever wants me to be their ‘wife’. I’ll be damaged goods, right? Nothing but an old maid. Oh the shame.

Why do I, independent me, self-sufficient me, still feel the judgement? The social disappointment, so much disappointment, when I never even envisioned myself as a wife. Why isn’t a University degree, cheating death, getting back to driving a car, getting back to working, why isn’t any of my personal achievements viewed with such achievement? Such celebration...

I think about how close I came to having that ‘value’, that social recognition, that admiration. What did I want differently though? Everything. I didn’t care about an expensive ring, the rehearsed ceremony, taking his name, or a fancy formal reception. I wanted to get married under a lemon myrtle with just immediate family present, and then have a big party! A big party with friends and family and food, and lawn bowls, and piñatas! Lots of piñatas. A celebration of love, not a performance of love. 

I watch MAFS and shake my head at the ridiculousness of it all. That the representation of love is a man ‘choosing’ you. saying that you are worthy, I feel a little sadness too. Sadness because I am still trying to break free from the idea that it is my value as a woman in our society...we all are. 

[paleface-warmheart]

Buy yourself something pretty...

Buy it. Feed your inner child. Make her happy. Make her feel that she is living. Living? She just wants to feel that she is.  She needs to, goodness me does she need to.

I want it, I work hard yeah? I buy it. I wear it, and I feel good, That I am presenting myself in a good light. That little girl always wanted to shine her light, a light that was dimmed for so long. She got away, got her independence, and got validation. Her light was now shining and people told her that it was! Finally! She felt good. 

That light feels much dimmer now. That light used to be so full. So filled with love and happiness, and life. So full of life. Now it is dimmed, running out of electricity. She is filled with self doubt, self hate and pain. So much pain. Too much. I just want to get that light brighter, but how? That yellow light of confidence, happiness and joy. What gave her joy when she was little? What didn’t?

Just go with her to dinner, to a show, to an event. Make her smile and make that light a little brighter. That little child liked that. She just wanted to go somewhere, wear pretty clothes, and not to be told ‘do you think you need that?’ when she  would load up her plate with food. Food that she never ate much of at home, that we couldn’t afford. Fun food, happy food, food that ‘normal’ people ate. Food at the pub, a place where you can get a yummy meal and run around and play with the other kids. Yeah, that was living. 

I look down at my pants. There are holes in the crotch again. My thighs, those thunder thighs are too big. Mum says ‘you’re just so hard to buy for’. I am so self-conscious of my stomach, and my weird, not yet ‘bloomed’ breasts, and yeah, my thighs. I am different, and my mum makes that clear, and so do the other kids. Some other adults too. 

Some days i wanted to be invisible, to not get attention because I was different, and not ‘good’ different. Bad different, unacceptable different, ugly different. I never want to be that again. It wasn’t just how I looked, it was how we didn’t get to do fun things like going out to dinner, and going to see concerts, and going shopping just because. No, we cannot do that, we don’t have the money. That’s what I remember the most. 

I keep wanting to feed that little girl. Nourish her. Make her feel that she is living. Define living How? 

[paleface-warmheart]

Connection, reversal, and the ten of swords

Pick a card, any card. What does it mean? What does anything mean? Where to from here?

I hear that he’s angry. She laughs and says how he is desperate and lonely. He’s given up weed, so he is so ‘annoying’. This doesn’t make me happy. Why? Shouldn’t I take delight? That same man who abused me, called me a burden, crazy, not good enough, who would laugh at my tears. Why am I not happy that he is not ‘coping’ with his new life? A life that he chose when he decided to end it. Decided to push the knife in one last time, just a little deeper. I got the power back, but I feel like I have now lost it. One single moment of anxiety, of neediness. I undid 7 months of growth, of learning, of self-reflection. Of silence. Beautiful silence. Of never experiencing his criticism, his blame, his anger. Of knowing that I would never have to see his emotionally needy mother ever again. His stupid fucking mother who needs to cut the umbilical chord, but who needs her ‘baby boys’ for validation. To feel needed, to feel loved. 

That same mother who would drive me home from rehab. Raising her voice at me, telling me what to do. Blaming me, making me feel guilty for surviving. Those two? What a team! I hope the big C gets her and soon. Good riddance. Goodbye from my life. Take your idiot ‘baby boy’ with you. Do I truly mean that? Deep down?

Why did I try to go to him? To show him that I am not angry anymore? To help him? So he cannot forget me? I cannot forget him. Every time my foot hurts, every time I feel uncomfortable wearing pants that show off my ankle, the one loaded full of metal. The one that I will eventually need to get fused. Fused, so I am in less pain, but I will always feel pain. Pain that I was so selfless. That I hated myself so much. That I was  so damaged, and made myself so very more. Overwhelmingly so.

She tries to change the subject. I don’t know. I don’t know. She looks away. You don’t have to do anything she says. You have come so far, I don’t want to see you go back. And yet, I try to go to him. I try to help the man who abused me. Made me feel guilty for surviving. How fucking dare I? How fucking dare I expect the man who nearly destroyed me, who knew how vulnerable and how unwell I was, to ever truly care? He’s just focused on his next ‘victim’. What if he changes for her? I wasn’t worth it. I was never worth it. 

I am off to see Amyl. I am excited. I feel brave. I am independent. I hear his voice. That voice that used to criticise me, that spoke to me with such hatred, such repulsion. My stomach drops. I want to hide, I need to hide. He is waiting for someone. He is probably waiting for her. The new ‘love of his life’. Sometimes I feel sorry for her. Sometimes I envy her. I miss being her. Is he here? What if he can see me? I want to run, but I love this band! I want to break my record. Twenty Fringe shows! Two shows to go to tomorrow night! Thank god it’s Friday. 

My beloved Alma Mater again. I feel at home. I am so proud. I am thirsty. I head to Chow Town. I see him again. What does it all mean? I walk past him. Fuck you, my space too. I do not look his way. He does not acknowledge me. I feel hurt. I am hurt. So hurt. The hurt overwhelms me. What do I do? Does he forget me? Does he feel anything? All the while my heart is beating so fast. My eyes become wet with tears. I see the show. I cry, but was it the show, or him? I am confused. I need to stop the anxiety. Is it anxiety? I unblock.

Why am I being nice? He feels nothing. He sees it, but does not reply. 48 hours to re block. Fuck. My. Life. I am nothing. He will laugh about me with his friends. That crazy bitch. The one that I will be so happy that I never have to deal with again. So damaged. So very damaged. I can just move onto something with no damage. Someone not from a ‘crazy’ family. Someone not ‘crazy’. Bitches are all so crazy. Except my one ‘non-crazy’ friend. The one that has a messed up history with men. Yet she’s not crazy! She dated a psycho, had a boyfriend in high school in prison, and yet, still not ‘crazy’. I need her to put in a good word anyway, to my next intended victim. She is friends with my past, and she is friends with my future. My bright, sexy future. Just need to lock down that ‘future’. Control her. Manipulate her. 

The cards fall from my hands onto the floor. I laugh. So clumsy! Better pick those up, and which one should I choose? It stares back at me. A person is laying down. There’s swords in their back, are they laying on them? Or are they falling out? The ten of swords, but it is upside down. Reversed? What does it mean? I begin to read the description. I freeze. 

Recovery, regeneration, resisting an inevitable end. You are combating an inevitable change or ending because you are not ready to face up to what is happening. The more you resist, the more it will drag on. So rip off the bandage (however painful that might be) and get this over with so you can start fresh. Fresh. I want to feel fresh, not stale. Stale like overused, damaged goods. 

A welcome sign hey? That the pain and sadness I have been feeling is ending. I am releasing the memories of the past and allowing myself the opportunity to move forward with a sense of renewal and hope for the future. I like that. I love that. Maybe that is what his silence means. An ending. The inevitable. That he is not my future. He is death. I am life. 

Connection. What me and him lost. What I crave. What I need, what I search for. Don’t we all? When I enter ‘Mummy’s’ space I am desperate for connection, intimacy. The two women before me found it, so it’s a given yeah? Then it is not. I push, I strive to connect. I am uncomfortable. Time is up. I lie. ‘We totally connected’ and yet we didn’t. I felt it more with ‘Daddy’. We clicked. They were easy to communicate with. I hated lying to them. What does this mean?

Pushing a connection, it’s hard work, it’s pointless. I just needed to know if there was still a connection. That he doesn’t forget me. That he doesn’t hate me. That he still cares. That he still thinks about me every now and then. That he means what he says. Who am I kidding? It’s long gone. He’s long gone. We connect no more, and my anxiety desperately needed to know if it was still there. If ‘he’ was still there. That same man who had once loved me deeply. Loved me so much that he couldn’t imagine a life without me, and then he did. Not imagined, dreamed. I was stale. She is fresh. 

You cannot push a connection. You cannot push intimacy. They just happen, and when they do, treasure them. You cannot prevent the inevitable. You cannot push the unnatural. Allow it to pass from your life. Open the door, open the space. For the natural, you won’t need to push.

This is my fuck off. This is the final adios. This is my closure. 

[paleface-warmheart]

Little miss is missing...and she's long gone.

I miss her. I miss everything about her. I miss how happy she was when she would smash a great run. I miss when she would get home on a Friday night and have a drink or two. Order Thai on UberEats and have someone to share it with. Having a beautiful life to share with someone, Feeling hopeful for the future. Excited for the adventures that would come her way. Excited for what her life could become. Excited. She was so excited. 

I miss her. I miss that beautiful girl and her beautiful life. I miss her laugh. Her smile. Her spontaneity. The possibilities that existed, and to know that she would be able to make those possibilities a reality, to make them beautiful. Beautiful, because she was beautiful. She was so very scared to lose that beauty. She lost it anyway. What’s left? Just a broken woman. I hate that woman. That beautiful girl is gone. I miss that girl. 

What next? Keep on hating that woman? Keep on missing that girl? Keep living in the past? Keep reminiscing about living a life you had only ever dreamed of. A life so beautiful, that girl did not know what she ever did to deserve it. She lost it anyway, it was never really hers to keep. Just a mirage. Nothing is forever anyway. I hope that new woman isn’t forever. I wish she would go away. She isn’t beautiful, her life is anything but beautiful. How could it ever be? 

It wasn’t the girl's fault. They kept telling her that. The girl tried. She tried so fucking hard. It wasn’t good enough. Now that woman has to live with the consequences. She must live with the pain, the disappointment, the hate. I miss that girl. Her heart was so full. Her smile was so big. Her hopes? Even bigger. It wasn’t her fault. Nothing was entirely her fault. Loving her life, her dreams, her bright future. That wasn’t her fault that she was so scared to lose that. So very scared that she tried to check out before she lost. That life will never come back, it's lost anyway. She can never come back, that girl is gone. I miss that girl. 

Her future is a non-event. This time, if there are fuck ups, it will be that woman’s fault. She has no-one to blame, but herself. That’s not hard anyway, she's a fuck up. She wasn’t worth fighting for. Not worth changing for. She’s a non-event. A smudge in their history. Best left forgotten. I wish I could forget her, but she won’t leave. She won’t die. She keeps breathing, but she isn’t alive. I want to find something, anything that makes me feel like that girl is still living. I don’t want her to be gone. Her future is dead though. Her hopes, her dreams, they’re dead too. I miss those dreams, and those hopes. That girl? I miss her too. 

That woman is really getting on my nerves. Fuck I hate her. Her life is ugly, so fucking ugly. That beauty is long gone. What beauty is left and what beauty is there to look forward to? That girl was surrounded by beauty. She was beautiful. I miss that girl, and her beautiful life. I loved that life. I hate that woman. I hate her life. How could it ever be beautiful, when she can never be? Not after what that girl didn’t mean to do, but what that woman has to live with. How can she ever when she isn’t living? How can she ever live, when she feels more dead inside than ever?

I miss her happiness. I miss her smile. I miss her laugh. I miss her beautiful life. I miss her beauty. I miss her love. That new woman doesn’t know how to love anymore, least of all herself. She isn't lovable. What future of hers is worth being excited for, worth looking forward to? She keeps breathing, her heart keeps beating, but she isn’t living. Why? That girl is long dead. She was living, She was life! Hey she was thriving, but she’s long gone. She didn’t survive, I so wanted her to survive. Only her anxiety, her perfectionism, her need to be loved, to be wanted. That girl was wanted, but not enough.  

 I cry. I cry for that girl that I miss so much. I cry for her dreams. I cry for her beautiful life. I cry for her hopes. That woman isn’t worth crying over. She is worth forgetting. Worth discarding. That girl was worth keeping. I miss her.

That girl was scared. That woman IS scared. That woman IS damaged. That girl was damaged, but she could hide it behind that beautiful smile. That beautiful life. Where can that woman hide her damage? Where can I hide my damage?

Little miss is missing. Little miss is missed. I awake. I repeat the hate. I am so tired. I am so tired.

[paleface-warmheart]

The fiercely independent, smart, caring, curious woman

I moved to the city after years living in a dead-end town and under the authoritarian ruling of an unloving mother. My first attempt at University was a disaster. I hated it. That job came along and I needed the money so I stayed there for almost 7 years. After many years of working in that dead-end job I got let go. It was a blessing in disguise. My friend got me a job in a supermarket and it propelled me to go and do what I had always wanted to. I went back to University. It was so exciting and amazing, but anxiety inducing too. I loved the fact that I was doing something new and something that would bring me so many opportunities. It still didn't make the anxiety stop. In my 2nd year I reconnected with him. The boy I always found interesting and kind and smart and attractive at the supermarket. I remember feeling overjoyed. Life was beautiful. I met a man who was genuinely attracted to me and wanted to be my boyfriend. I couldn't believe that after all of the shit I had been through in my life it was going a direction that I had only ever dreamed of! I was doing so well at University too. I was living the dream.

My degree ended and I could not get a job. I continued on with Honours and it was the best/worst year of my life. I had to relocate to a new home. I was scared and I was traumatised. It was called PTSD. I hated the man who made me suffer. I hate him. I always will. I handed in my thesis. First Class Honours! I worked at an arts festival. That was kind of horrible, but wonderful all at the same time. My friend got me the job at an NGO. I literally got to do all of the work I had always loved to do like research! My favourite! I felt like I was living the dream. How did I get here? What did I ever do to deserve all of this good luck? I was breaking the mould. I was never going to be like my parents. I was making a difference, I was a success! Life was beautiful.

He moved in, and I was going overseas! My dreams were coming true! I was living a fantasy. It helped that the people at my work were so smart and clever and could give me great advice. I don’t think I would be much without them helping me. Lifting me up and making sure that what I was doing was correct. I was doing so well. I went to Europe! Sure it cost me a fortune, but it was worth every cent. That was always my dream! Then everything changed. My brother had to stay with us for a while. That was hard. Every day was hard. It sucked.

I do not remember much. I just remember the stress and the frustration. I remember him saying how he was 'fucked up' and how I just wanted back the peace and fun of the first year of us living together. I thought he was going to propose on our 5 year anniversary. Everybody did. Everyone except him. Then my whole world came crashing down. I didn’t remind work to take out more tax. My brother lost. The government came knocking. I broke down. I genuinely went crazy. Crazy like all the women in the family. Mum is, My sister is, and now me. I was tired. I didn't want to bring shame. I wanted the pain to end, not just mine, but everyone else's too. Especially his. I couldn't bear being a failure. I couldn't bear to become what was expected of me. Nothing. So I did it.

I wake up. I survived. I didn’t just survive, I was a little thriver. My recovery was remarkable. I was called a walking miracle. When I look back at how far I have come I am proud of myself. I am back walking around the neighbourhood like I used to, going to the gym, and driving my car. I need to focus on all that I have, not all that I lost. I have so much. I cannot forget that. I am still that fiercely independent, smart, caring, curious woman I always was and always will be. I am not crazy either.

We didn’t make it. It was so painful. It is so painful. I get why it had to end intellectually, but I will have to understand it emotionally. I cannot heal with him in my life. I cannot put myself first with him in my life. I cannot hear the criticism from him when I am forever trying to drown out the one that is so loud already, inside my head. I have learnt so much, and from now on, I will learn even more. I am going to learn how to love myself. How to be my biggest cheerleader.

When I look back at my life, when every door closes a new one opens. The ones that have opened are brilliant, are beautiful, are just what I needed at that time in my life. I can open some of those myself too. I have the control, the determination and the desire to move forward.

I trust that the universe will help to guide me, teach me and show me when it is time to close a chapter. Remind me how things happen for a reason. For me? They always do.

[paleface-warmheart]

Worth the chase

“There are three things that I need each day. One, I need something to look up to, another to look forward to, and another is someone to chase.You see every year of my life, my hero is always ten years away. I’m never going to be my hero. I’m never going to obtain that and that’s fine with me because it keeps me with somebody to keep on chasing” - Matthew McConaughey

I will be 45, I will be in my mid-forties. I will be happy that I hung on. That I made it through the pain, the heartache, the regret and the hate I have for myself right now.

I would still be working in a job that I truly love. A job that has meaning, a job where I produce work that makes a difference in people’s lives. A job where I am given so many opportunities to show how talented, gifted and passionate I am about my work. I will be doing a job that I love and a job and workplace that loves me. I will be kind to myself. I will take criticism constructively, and not personally. 

I will be given another opportunity to show I am not only worthy of love, but that I am not scared to love again. I would have opened my heart fully. I would have opened it for the right person, at the right time and for the right reasons. That person will have opened their heart for me too. I will have let my guard down, and know that this person loves me, that I am safe, I am secure and that they are my future. My future isn’t filled with questions. There will be no ‘maybe’s’ false hopes or uncertainty. I will know what they want from life, and they will know what I want too. I will not be scared to express my wants and needs.  

I would have travelled to South America. I would have explored Macchu Picchu, patted many llamas and I would have learned basic Spanish. No, intermediate Spanish! I would have travelled throughout Australia. Just small trips interstate, but I would have had great adventures. I would have made it to Sydney. I wouldn’t have been scared to go there. I would also be painting, and writing, and it would feed my soul. I would be learning and loving every day. 

I would not be in pain. I would have learnt how to manage my health mentally, physically and emotionally. My ankle and left elbow wouldn’t be causing me trouble. My foot and knee would be pain free too. I would have a good amount of money, and I would be able to afford the necessary things and some luxuries too.  I would live with the man I love and who loves me. We would own our home and have an adorable pet dog. 

I would love myself. I would be thankful that I survived, and that I got a second chance at life, and love. I would have a great group of friends that I have many similarities with. I would go out and see art, and movies, and live music. I would have a great social life, but be so happy in my own skin, happy with myself. I would be nurturing my inner child. The introvert in me would be happy, and the ‘people person’ in me would be fascinated and satisfied too.

I would be grateful that we are no longer together. I will forget you. I won’t care if I find out that you are married, that you are happy, and that you have built a life with some other woman. Someone who clearly loves you, and you love them. I won’t care. I would have long forgiven you, and long forgiven myself.

The thoughts would be gone. I wouldn’t even have those thoughts ever again. I would be desperate to live, and I would be truly living.This is my hero. I am my hero. I will keep chasing her, and I will keep finding parts of her along the chase. I will keep adding to my hero, every year I will be adding to my achievements, adding to my happiness and adding to my self-love. 

She is worth the chase. I am worth the chase. 

[paleface-warmheart]

The beauty of synchronicity and the beauty of just knowing...

Everything happens in threes. It’s written in my history. When meaningful and powerful things occur it happens every three years. Seven is profound, and the end of a decade can be so powerful too. 

I feel calmer, more content just thinking about it. To look back at my life and see the connection, the years when life-changing events occurred. Like 2009, the year I left that horrible job, met him, and started a journey to learn and grow like never before. 2012, when I began a relationship. My first. A time that I would learn so much about love, about myself and why I can never silence my voice again.  2015, the year that I got the opportunity to build my employment future, to learn of my capabilities and my career aspirations. 2018, the year I truly saw my strength. Everybody did. 2021 will be a big one too. Who knows what, but it will be significant and it will teach me even more than I already know. I like that thought. 

Then there was 2011. The year I took a huge leap! I started University, like I had always wanted to, and I didn’t just do good, I did great. It was scary, but so beautiful. I learnt how to survive and that I can do anything that I put my mind too. Like 2014, when I learnt how to survive again, this time from a man who terrified, and traumatised me. I got through it though, I got help, and I made it through and I got the all clear. Then 2017. The darkest of all as the year I literally took a leap. The day I nearly left this world forever, but I didn’t. I survived, and I learnt how much it meant to live and of how strong I am. Then 2020, who knows what, but I know it will be about survival. I guess it will be about emotional survival, and why I need to work on me, put barriers up, and put myself first for once. 

Then back to 2009, when he entered my life. Not long after I got in the drivers seat, literally. A decade later, I re-entered that drivers seat and not long after he left my life. Forever. The number seven shows up with him too. Just after seven years we ended. The first time I spent a night with his friends was around a particular friend’s birthday. The last time i spent it with his friends, it was at the same friends birthday. It was almost exactly seven years apart. The first of his relationships, went for just over seven years. Ours too.

The numbers were all there. The signs were there too. Even in my dreams i knew. My subconscious showing me that I was on the right path, I was back in control. I was moving towards the light. Towards the safety and security of the known. 

I was in my old home and he entered yelling at me about his things. I hadn’t finished speaking to him when he stormed out. I followed him out into the night. He kept walking and I kept calling his name. He didn’t respond, he didn’t turn around he kept walking towards the darkness. His female friend in the darkness called to him while he continued to walk. I stopped. I turned around and saw that my home was glowing. All of the lights were on. I walk towards it. I awake.

The dream felt terrifying when I woke at 3am, but the longer I thought about it, the more comforted I felt. My old home felt safe when I first lived there. He felt safe when I was there with him. Towards the end I no longer felt safe in that home, and towards the end of the relationship I no longer felt safe with him. I would no longer follow him into the dark, into the unknown. He never spoke about how he saw ‘us’, about our future. I was in the dark the entire relationship, never knowing where we were headed. That is why I stopped following him. Why did I follow him in the dark in the first place? Why was I so scared to ask for him to show me the light? To show me his truth?

The dream was comforting as I saw how profound it was. It was telling me that I was now in control of my destiny and I was heading towards the light, something visible, and something safe and secure. 

Where will the next 10 years find me? Where will I be? What will I be doing? Who will be part of my life? All I know is that I will never follow someone blindly again. I like that.  

[paleface-warmheart]

Don’t dream...it’s over

7 years, 1 month, 21 days. The time from the beginning until the very end. The hopes, the dreams, the togetherness, the love...was over. Where did it go wrong?

I think back to the early days. What a beautiful, scary time it was. This man, a man, actually liked me! Wow. He’s so handsome too. So funny, so creative and intelligent. What did I ever do to attract such a beautiful man? His ex-fiance seemed needy, demanding and as if she lived in a fantasy world. She wanted to get married, she wanted the fairy tale and she wanted sex to be intimate. The lights off, and the romance intensified. She kept his ‘dick in a jar’. Disliked porn and would freak out if she caught him having a wank. She wanted marriage first, the house and then the kids. At least one by 25. At least. I started to take mental notes. 

Must not ask too serious questions about marriage, buying a home...and babies. Must not expect to hear ‘I love you’  anytime soon, if at all. Must remember to never ask for the lights off and to encourage frequent wanking, and porn. It was exciting, scary and somewhat satisfying to have a guide of what not to do. I was happy, so happy. His friends were nice too. Well some of them anyway. I think they liked me. I think. 

Two years go by. What are we? Are we on the same page? Do we want the same things? Why do we never talk about our future? Why doesn’t he post that much about me on social media? Why doesn’t he make it public that he is in a relationship with me. I am nearly 30. I need to know if we are heading on the same path, towards the same goal. I don’t think I want kids, but I like the idea of marriage, and creating a home. That would be nice. I just have to finish my Uni degree and get an awesome job! The best job! The highest paying job! I cannot wait to build a future with him. Why doesn’t he talk about it with me?

I ask, he gets angry. I tell myself to not ask that again. I turn 30. The neighbour shows his true colours. I am terrified, and desperate for my life. He cannot cope with me and my panic attacks. I cannot cope with the nightmares, the hyper-vigilance, and the fear. I get away to a new home, an incredible new home with an air conditioner! Wow! That is awesome. I get an amazing job, I get treatment for my PTSD. I recover. He wants to move in. He delays the move in date. I get nervous.

He moves in, it is 2016. I cannot believe that life could ever be this beautiful. What did I ever do to deserve all of this? I am living my dreams! I go on a quiz show, I get a tattoo. Why haven’t we talked about the future? Why do I feel too scared to ask? Our sex life is incredible, but why does it lack an emotional connection? Why do we not make out like teenagers? I like kissing. It’s great. He just likes to peck me on the mouth. No open mouth. He critiques my kissing on our first date. That hurts. Maybe that is why he doesn’t like kissing now. I don’t really like his kissing either. It lacks connection, that intimacy, that warmth. Those magic words ‘I love you’.

I go overseas with my friends and it is so much better that I ever imagined. It is a dream. It is beautiful. I don’t want to leave, but he is waiting for me. My home is waiting for me. I cannot shake the virus. I feel deflated. My brother has to stay with us. It is beyond stressful. I just want him to leave us alone. I am exhausted. We are tense. It is our 5 year anniversary. He books a room in the Hilton. It is a 10 minute drive away. This is not our usual anniversary. I am excited. I am nervous. Could this be the moment I have always dreamed of? 

It doesn’t happen. I am gutted. I cry and the next day I approach him to talk. He responds ‘I want to grow old with you’. That is sweet, but he never mentions the word ‘wife’. Will I be just like his ex? Strung along for 7 years and then dropped for something new, something less ‘needy’. I have to tell my friends that it didn’t happen. I don’t remember much of that year. I barely remember my birthday. I don’t remember much of anything apart from the arguments. I awaken in the hospital.

The next months are a blur, but I remember my excitement. We are going to marry! It’s going to be in Wittunga Botanic Gardens. The Mexican food truck Taco Cat will do our food, and the bagpipe man will do our music. I am beyond happy! He wants to commit to me, he wants to be my forever! Shit gets real. He has panic attacks, and weeks off of work. His mother berates me on my way to rehab. Why are you not doing that to help yourself and Nick? Why do you keep doing this? It’s stressing Nick! That does not help him, you are not helping him! You are making things worse. Do more, do better! You must go on medications to control your ‘crazy’. You must spend $35k on dental work. Do it for me, he says. I am angry that I survived. 

You cannot watch that! You cannot talk about that! You cannot cry over that! You are so sure of yourself! You have an answer for everything! Shut up, don’t speak to me! Leave me alone! The blame is getting worse. I hate myself. He gets sent home from work for mental health reasons. I hate, blame and criticise myself even more, and so does he it would seem, and his fucking mother too. I get approved for my license. I am excited. I will no longer have to rely on others and feel like a burden. Dad gets diagnosed with cancer. Sally dies. Times are tough. 

I attend Sally’s funeral. I feel numb, but on the drive home it hits me. I nearly had one of those. How many people would have come? What pictures would they show? What would they say about me, and who would say it? What music would they play? Nick Cave’s ‘Into my Arms’ I hope. That is beautiful. Sometimes I wish I did have that funeral. Especially when he yells at me for getting upset, for getting anxious. Are you taking your meds? Are you doing your CBT? I am so tired.

Christmas Eve comes round. He looks in my eyes and says ‘I have a little surprise for you at home. I love you so much. You mean the world to me’. I tear up. Could that really be my surprise? He buys a fish. I am gutted. We spend New Years Eve together. It is beautiful. It will be our last. He goes back to work, and things are good. Much better. Dad stays in the Cancer Council Lodge. It is heavy. It is a lot of pressure. We begin to break again.

I start my on-road driving. I am overwhelmed with my new ‘world’. I break down. It is two days before Valentines Day. I will never forget, and never forgive those words ‘I want to get to a point where I look at you and don’t just see a burden’. My heart breaks. I have never seen him filled with so much hate, so much anger, so much disgust. Am I just a burden? I can’t drive yet, so maybe I am. He says I go ‘crazy’ too often. The ‘crazy girl’ from the crazy family, just living up to her reputation I guess.

Driving goes so well. Dad gets the clear. We are nearly at 7 years! Wow! He asks me which ‘ring’ I want. I cry. We are going to make it! The lady from my work leaves. I am scared. I tell him that. He cracks. He yells at me. I ‘went crazy’ and I fucked him up. He needs two days off of work. I don’t know what I did wrong. I felt safe and secure to share why I felt ‘scared’ by her leaving. It makes my job hard. I have no-one to help me with the quantitative work needed for ‘traditional’ evaluations. He doesn’t get it.

He plans on leaving. I confront him. I stay at a friends place. He wants to leave our home. He actually wants to leave me for good, not just a break, a break up. I get my license back. I walk 30 minutes to get him his favourite things. He likes chocolate soy milk and Aktavite. I am exhausted, but I force myself to prove how much I love him. Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! You’ll never find another woman like me! Love me! Love me! Love me! He is already on his way out. He has been for a long time.

It ends. I am numb. He tries to control the break up. I take my power back. He gets angry. I just want to know why he wants to end for ‘us’ and why he didn’t want to work on it. The universe literally shows me that this chapter of my life is ending. I feel better. It is meant to be. I feel like I am accepting this end. He tells me he is having second thoughts. I am confused. He has fucking abandonment issues. You’re spot on Freud. I have relationship anxiety, and rejection issues. He wants the break up to be done his way. Slow. Really fucking slow. Just like how he does everything. He says we must support each other, but only on his terms. What he means is for me to only give him support, supporting me is not important, well that’s what he thinks anyway. He berates me for being upset. He calls me negative. It’s a fucking break up you fuckhead! I take the power and control back. 

He only wants to speak about happy memories. I can’t, I need to think of the criticism, the blame, the control, the fucking gaslighting. I hate how he talks to his friends about the break up, about me, about my family and the fucking potential new ‘love of his life’. I wish I didn’t know about that. I cannot get that thought out of my head. I hate that he will have her. I hate that his friends can help build the foundation to a successful relationship. She’s the one. He’ll get his third chance at love. Fucking third. I have friends who have never had one chance, and may never. He will get married, and live happily ever after with pale, quiet, intelligent her. I broke my body and my brain so that he could get his shit together to create a beautiful, stress free, easygoing life with her. What a fucking waste. He doesn’t deserve it. 

I see ‘Mystify’ the Michael Hutchence documentary. It is Winter Solstice. It is a new beginning. Michael is beautiful. The documentary is so perfect. It hits home how similar I am to Michael, but my pain is in reverse. I feel grateful. I can do this. I can move forward. I block him on social media. I read about how to get over relationships. I follow the steps and gather support and advice. He is still in my home. Why? Just go, just leave me to see how my new ‘world’ looks and feels. Why must you drag this out? Why must you continue to torture me?

It is nearly our birthdays. We always spent them together. He tells me that he wants to spend mine with me. I don’t. I will spend it alone. I do not care. I just do not want to be reminded that this will be our last together. He wants me to keep every memento of him, even that professional photo of him. I don’t. I stand up for myself. It is nearly a month since we ended. He won’t leave. It is nearly his birthday. It is nearly my birthday. I will be 35. I am so tired. 

I tell him no. After today there will be no talking, just texting. Yes, but only to inform me when he will be at my home to finish off his packing. I will never speak to him again, or see him again. Unless by accident. I feel good about this. 

The dream is over. It was a beautiful dream at times, but that was the past, that was a long time ago. I woke up. 

Who am I? What are my dreams now? Where do I begin? How will I heal from this? How long will it take? How will I deal with him moving on with her? Being happy, intimate and going on new adventures with her? Fuck him. 

What can I take from this end? From the last 7 years? Where to from here? Where do I begin?

I am no longer a burden. I never was.

[paleface-warmheart]

Is it farewell to the ‘clever girl’?

“That’s right, but they never attack the same place twice.They were testing the fences for weaknesses. Systematically” - Jurassic Park 1993

Meaning ‘swift seizer’ in Latin, the Velociraptor appears to be the most terrifying of all of the dinosaurs. During that 1993 classic film from my childhood, the scene in which they hunt and terrorise the young children in the kitchen would give me nightmares. So much so, that as a grown adult in my 30′s I still cannot watch that scene. The thought of these ferocious, predatory creatures who hunt in packs, and fool their prey were more horrifying to me than the Tyrannosaurs Rex ever was.

After a recent interaction with an old ‘friend’ those memorable lines from Jurassic Park, ‘clever girl’ and the one about how they try to find weaknesses in the perimeter fencing, came flooding back to me. Why? Why would I suddenly be reminded of those lines when thinking about the old ‘friend’ that I had known of since Kindergarten. The one who grew up with me in the same country area, and the one whose parents and mine, were former best friends. That was really all we had in common. She was never very good at school, didn’t have much interest in the bands and movies I liked, was painfully thin while I was the ‘fat kid’. She also appeared scarily asthmatic requiring a ridiculous breathing machine during class times each Winter. Unnecessary, but she loved the attention. To later discover that she was also creepily infatuated with her next door neighbour throughout high school, just added to her oddness. Neighbour was also a girl, but this one was beautiful, earthy, somewhat intelligent and highly attractive to the opposite sex. This old ‘friend’ would latch onto her, want to know her whereabouts, what she was doing, when they would be catching up again. It was suffocating. The beautiful girl knew that she would never let go until she had to break away, escape the clutches of the old ‘friend’. I couldn’t help but think of how whenever I would catch up with this old ‘friend’ she would make me feel worse about my situation. I would end up rehashing the horrible parts of my life. She would then complain about receiving financial support from her parents in ways that I had only ever dreamed of. After catching up with her this last time, I would no longer feel frustrated, weak and bewildered, like I often had in the past. Things had been made so much more obvious to me, and she was still the same. How and why?

Was it her lack of insight? Selfishness? Spoiltness? Inability to accept responsibility for her long history of shitty behaviour? That behaviour that my partner had recently experienced right after the horror of discovering that his ‘special lady’ had jumped from a 5-storey building in a failed attempt to end her own pain, and his too. The selfishness of the old ‘friends’ behaviour that was evident in her reaction towards him. The tantrum-like behaviour of an individual who was not getting her way, not getting what she wanted, not getting what she had too often gotten from me. Priority. Granted, it was an incredibly stressful, shocking time, and she was understandably upset, traumatised and in disbelief. Sounds a bit like how I felt when I discovered the truth, and sounds a lot like how Nick felt the entire time too, and in many ways still does.

That feeling of nervousness, but satisfaction in being able to confront her, to witness whether she was going to face-up and admit that she was wrong. To admit that her behaviour towards Nick was inappropriate, self-centred and worthy of a long overdue apology. That no amount of rehashing her trauma, her tragedies, her horrible upbringing would overshadow how wrong she had been. I was awaiting the opportunity to see if she was still as fucked up a human as I remember. Or was I just becoming another one to add to the list, the long list. The ever increasing list of her ‘friends’ to burn the bridge connecting them to her, connecting them to the human ‘swift seizer’. Beautiful girl had long been on that list. Would I be joining her?

Her ‘velociraptor like’ nature was becoming increasingly more evident. She never ‘hunted’ in a pack, she was more of a loner. However, just like the creatures in the film, she would test, and test, and test, and hope to find a weakness in others. Hope to find something that she could feed off of. Her favourite weakness of all to feed from was the trauma or personal tragedy of others. A tragedy or trauma that she could ‘mine’ for more information, more sustenance. Pretend that she cared, while all along analysing the information to see what she could use, how she could guilt them, manipulate them and make her feel like a ’clever girl’ whenever she succeeded. 

To finally admit that you were the ‘prey’ and that she had been successful in manipulating you,and feeding from you. She had succeeded in identifying your weaknesses, identified your gullibility and your need to feel liked. That same manipulation that had been identified and exposed to you by other friends, but the manipulation that you had long been in denial of. That manipulation that works to find a weakness, any weakness that can become fodder for the old ‘friend’. Something she would feed off of, identifying ways in which to satisfy her needs. Admitting that the manipulation existed, would therefore mean that you would have to admit that you were weak. Weak, just like MIranda had called you throughout your childhood. You cry because Mum hits you? You’re weak. You are indecently assaulted by a work colleague? You’re weak.  Weak. Weak, Weak. Fuck you.

Remembering the early days of being forced to make yourself familiar with that old ‘friend’ who you have known of your whole life, but never truly known. Never invited to their childhood birthday parties, never invited over for slumber parties and movie nights. Never. Not much of a friend back then, and one hell of a ‘swift seizer’ now. She was too obsessed with the beautiful girl anyway. Beautiful girl got away and old ‘friend’ was still left back home, under the watchful eye of her fuck up of a mother. The only ‘mother’ who had the same narcissistic characteristics as your own mother. Maybe that is why she is such a fuck up? Maybe that is why you were easy prey? Anyway, she needed an escape. You helped facilitate that escape. The confusion you felt when she contacted you years after high school wanting to catch up. Why? We were never really friends? Never had similar interests? She would be rude, blunt in high school, but how dare you call her out on that. That’s being a bully. That’s being mean.

 However, you were a mess when she contacted you anyway. Stuck in a shit of a job, life going nowhere, a handful of friends, desperately needing change. You needed someone, anyone. She came along. You were happy that you had someone to do fun things with like go to concerts, music festivals and other adventures that you rarely got to experience. Someone that introduced you to a whole new group of people. People that would eventually become some of your favourite people. I am thankful for that. 

You know that the old ‘friend, the ‘clever girl’ still has a hold. She has so much information, knows my weaknesses and will forever look for another way in. Some way to test, and test, and test. 

Should I be more like the Tyrannosaurus Rex? Stand strong. Stand tall and farewell her...?

[paleface-warmheart]

...but I can’t trace time

The Saturday before Christmas, my two friends and I caught up with a beautiful woman who I have not seen for years. She now lives in the UK and was back in Adelaide with her new fiancé to celebrate their engagement and to spend Christmas in the heat and sunshine of Australia. It was wonderful to see her again, to meet her future husband and to just sit there in the beer garden of a beautiful hotel and admire how glorious this time of year is.

As I sat there drinking my coke, thinking of how content I was, my dear friend asks us ‘So what’s been happening? Anything new?’ We were all quiet until one friend finally breaks the silence to mention her recent purchase. I thought of what was new, what has happened and thought of what was appropriate to discuss at this time. I remained silent. It was not appropriate to discuss, my father, my partner, even mentioning my return to work seemed wrong. The woman goes on to mention how much things have changed since she has been in Adelaide. Again, I remain silent. I thought of everything that has changed and I couldn’t help but think of the changes for hours, days even. So much has changed, so much is different. Where would I even begin?

Changes. I immediately think of Bowie. That beautiful artist that I loved, adored, revered, that same artist that I miss so much. An artist that constantly changed his style, his look, his music, but always remained the ‘Bowie’ that the whole world loved. Extraordinarily talented, brilliant and beautiful. He must have changed inside too, become different, but how? In what ways? Did he miss his former self? Did he like how he had changed? What about my changes? The ones that I love, but the ones that I hate. Sometimes I do not like to recognise who I was, it can make me so sad, but so angry at the same time. Sure, in some ways I did not want to change and I do miss former her sometimes, but other times, bloody hell I do not. I think about what others may miss of her, and I feel numb. Why so numb? I miss the runner her, the driver her, the drinker her, the lover her. I do not miss the high-functioning anxiety her, the selfless her, the ridiculous over-thinker her. What on Earth could others miss about her?

When I walk into my work on Christmas Eve, I am reminded of how I manage to leave the shame and guilt at home and go in 3 days a week to the office and do what is asked of me. Some people seem to be uncomfortable with seeing ‘that girl’ around the place, but I just walk on by and do not acknowledge them. I say ‘Hi’ to those who were always friendly, that I have always felt I could be ‘myself’ around. I know that they do not care that I have changed, because ‘worker’ me is still the same in some ways. She is still ridiculously determined, sarcastic as fuck, and yeah...really smart, but not a smart ass! They are just happy to see me, to see that I am ‘OK’. That feels nice. For those who look at me strangely and are awkward in my presence, for once in my life I do not care. That anxiety ridden, people-pleaser of the past would have been concerned with their lack of acknowledgement. Former me would have thought ‘I bet they don’t acknowledge me because they really don’t like me’. Why do they not like me? I can remember that time they looked at me funny. They probably find me annoying and that is why they gave me that look.That was me, former me. Fuck her. I like to think that she is gone for good. Maybe, maybe not.

I think more about my changes, and what I am happy to leave behind, and how sometimes I know and feel that I am happy to leave those behind that cannot accept my changes too. What is even worth missing about former her? What could others possibly miss about her? Oh yeah, there it is. It’s that selfless, go with the flow her. Don’t upset the apple cart her. Don’t speak your mind her. Don’t tell people ‘go fuck yourself’ her, even when they deserve nothing less. She must be in there somewhere, and will I forever struggle to keep her hidden, to keep her at bay? Fuck her. What has she ever done that could be missed? Oh yeah, there it is again. The fact that she could not stand up for herself enough. Gave others the opportunity to use her for their own fucked up needs by taking advantage of ‘nice’ her, ‘sensitive’ her, too ‘forgiving her. Too much like ‘doormat’ Mum sometimes her. They must have really enjoyed and benefited from her. From the fact that she disliked confrontation and would rarely voice how she really felt. Is that what they miss? After everything that happened they are still thinking of themselves? Surely not!? Fuck them if they do. 

You cannot go through everything that I did, and remain the same person. It’s fucking impossible. Who would even think that was possible? After the fateful choices I made, the pain I have been through and continue to go through, the nightmare of it all, how could I even want to stay the same? That woman who broke her body, who broke her brain for other people? Who thought she was ‘sacrificing’ herself to ‘save’ others? She wasn’t Jesus for fucks sake!? Yeah she was just as crazy as some of those Christians, but really?!? Selfless fucking idiot. Have I always just been surrounded by selfish fucks of people!?! Do I always attract those types? I mean I do curse myself sometimes for displaying some of Mum’s pushover traits? Does anyone truly want me to be her again anyway? Do I even give a shit that I am so fucking determined to not be her anymore, and that maybe, just maybe, some people won’t like that? Should I care when they really just care about themselves and what they have lost? Ok, so over thinker her is still here. Not ridiculous over thinker, but still there. Damn. Some things are still the same anyway. The good stuff hasn’t changed, that caring, thoughtful her. The compassionate, grateful her. The lover of movies and music her. I like her.

I listen to Bowie, and I am happy. So fucking happy. Time may change me...please don’t let that change.

[paleface-warmheart]

The curse of the former ‘fat kid’...

You can take the fat off of the kid...

I look down at my body. My once broken little body. Broken so badly that it is held together with metal plates, and screws. So much so that I resemble a Bunnings catalogue in what is one hell of an X-Ray. I feel like Wolverine, but I am not a mutant. I am a real human. A woman, and one that is flawed, in so many ways. I know this because the media tells me this. I am surrounded by images of how I should look, what I should aspire to be. Thin, but not too thin! Fit, but still feminine looking! Curvy, but not all over, just in the boobs and butt! Social ideals of beauty and attractiveness that are achievable and attainable by so very few, but the aspiration of so very many. 

We are obsessed with physical appearance. I just have to work my way through that social media phenomenon ‘Instagram’ to see the lengths that women will go, to feel ‘acceptable’ maybe even to be ‘accepted’. Wow! I lost 15kg by following this exercise and eating program and now I feel fantastic! I gave birth 5 months ago and now I have a 6 pack and all I did was drink this special tea and not eat carbs after midday! I am a Yummy Mummy! The photos and fitness stars are everywhere, and their minions are in the millions. The power of the ‘Before and After’ photo is undeniable. My Instagram feed is full of them. Full of smiling, confident, empowered women posing in their bikinis, underwear or sports wear. They look so happy. I wonder how it must feel to have random strangers tell you, while you stand there baring your midriff, thighs, and butt, that you look ‘amazing’, ‘incredible’, ‘gorgeous’, ‘HOT!’.

Even at my thinnest, fittest, ‘lightest’, I would never have had the confidence to share my body in such a public space where thousands, sometimes millions of others could see me and judge me. Why? Because to me, my body was never good enough. It was never thin enough, strong enough, ‘acceptable’ enough. My legs were always thicker than I wanted them to be. They never had enough shapeliness to warrant me wearing shorts, a mini skirt or tight clothing. My stomach was never flat enough, and my hips were always too ‘child-bearing’ in shape. The thought of having a child terrified me. Not because of the pain of labour, the sleepless nights and the sore, achy body. No, it was the thought of my body changing in a way I wouldn't like. Women would constantly say ‘'Your body is never the same after child birth’. I wouldn't mind my tiny boobs being bigger, but that's about it. My breasts, those petite little breasts, were too small to wear a plunging neckline, a bikini without padding, or a strapless top. Those same breasts that began to ‘blossom’ when I was twelve, but stopped ‘blossoming’ when I chose to starve my body. Starve my fat, heavy, rotund, abnormal body. A body that I was frequently told was too big, too unnatural for a girl of my age.

When I began to starve my body, I knew that I would be starting High School the next year in another area. I would be among other people who I may or may not have met before. What would they think of me? Would there be any cute boys? Would I forever be known as the ‘fat girl’ of the class just like I was in Primary School? I don’t want to be teased like I always was. The butt of jokes. The girl that boys would insult other boys about, by saying that they had a crush on me. They didn't. That was the insult. To infer that a boy had such horrible taste that he would like someone so fat, so ugly, so undesirable. Being told to stop being a ‘pig’ at ‘shared’ luncheons at school, at church, and at sporting clubs. The thought of being called a ‘pig’ in High School, being called ‘fat’ by a whole new group of people scared the hell out of me. I wanted to make a good impression. I wanted to start afresh. The only way I could do that was by no longer being fat. I had to punish my body for being so ugly. For taking up too much space. 

The year before I was in my last year of Primary School, my older sister went on a super restrictive diet and had lost so much weight. She went from being a ‘fat girl’ to a ‘thin girl’. The thinnest girl. Admittedly she had become too thin, so thin that Mum and Dad would have to take her to the specialists in the city, to see whether she would be officially diagnosed as Anorexic. Just like those famous models on the Catwalk like Kate Moss! My sister was so thin, that her collar bones stuck out, along with her ribs, her shoulders, her back and her long, slender piano fingers were more slender than they had ever been. Sure she looked unwell in some clothing, but she was thin! Oh to be thin! What it would feel like to walk into a store, and just pick a dress off of the rack in a small size, and know that it would fit. To not be anxious and then embarrassed because your mother would ask the shop assistant to confirm her comments that the clothing looked ‘bad’ on me because of my size. To feel my pale skin redden with each second that you knew the assistant was judging your body. Your mother pointing out your ‘thunder thighs’ that she would constantly remind me made buying pants difficult, sometimes even impossible. My large, round stomach that made me feel self-conscious when I was wearing t-shirts, bathers, dresses, just about anything. My sister was my inspiration. I didn’t want to be that thin, just thin. 

I weigh myself not long after my birthday. That can’t be right? Is that right? I weigh 62kg. That sounds wrong. I know Stephanie and Kristy weigh 45kg, maybe even less. Am I really that much more than them? I don’t feel that much bigger than them. I just know, if it is right, that is really bad. Dolly magazine told me that I should weigh in the 44-52kg range for my height. I knew deep down that it is probably right. It would make sense then, that the people who called me ‘fat’ for so many years, were right. I was fat. Really fat. Now I knew that not only could I become thin, just like my sister, but that I had to. I was inspired. From the next morning I would aim to be thin. I would no longer eat cake. I would no longer eat chips. Butter? Ice cream? Meat? Biscuits? Nope. None of them. Ever. They made me fat, so denying them, would make me thin.

For the next 6 months I watch my once round, heavy body, become lighter. Gone are my ‘thunder thighs’, but so are my breasts. My once ‘blossoming’ breasts stopped ‘blossoming’ months ago. I wear crop tops to school, that's all I need as I am not big enough for a bra, and I wear oversized clothing so as not to accentuate how non-existent my breasts are. I am still not as thin as I want to be, but boys look at me now and do not screw up their faces or make jokes about me to my face! I don't get as much attention as Jessica and Natasha, with their big boobs, athleticism and self-confidence. Hey, but I get looked at! It feels good. The scales keep going down. 48kg, 46kg, 42kg. My mother compliments me, but tells me not to lose too much more. I could do with losing at least 5kg more. My legs are still not as thin as I want them to be. That extra 5kg will sort that out! 

It feels good to get attention from others, and not in a negative way either. One woman at church even told me the other week that I was ‘quite pretty’. Wow. No one has ever used that word to describe me. Me? Pretty? Unheard of. I like the feeling of clothes being loose on me. I like the feeling of no longer having to wear a pad, or having to get a period at all! I sure don't miss that each month. Dolly magazine tells me that is not a good thing, but how would they know!?! I like it. Boys begin to ask me out. I have to say ‘No’ even if I kind of like them. Mum says I cannot date boys until I am 16. I feel like I will never kiss a boy. I don't want bad breath for that if I ever do. I better chew chewing gum and not eat garlic. That's the worst! I wonder if I will ever lose my virginity? I don't think I would want to show my tiny breasts to a boy. They only like a size C-cup and above anyway. I don't think my legs are slim enough either. I will have to wait until I am older, working full time, driving to work, and can afford boob implants and liposuction for my thighs. 

My teenage years go by. I still have tiny breasts, but I know once I move to the city, I can get them taken care of. I have looked up implants, and they only cost $10,000! That's not that much to actually have boobs! I begin University and my weight fluctuates dramatically. My sister is mean and horrible to live with. I lose all of the money I had saved up, I fail at my first year of University. I suffer severe depression. I do work placement in the Summer holidays at a screen printing business, I decide not to return to University and begin working at the screen printing business full time instead. I am really good at it! They really like me and it is so much fun! There is even one guy who flirts with me and makes me feel attractive. He is not a nice man though. They pay me the same amount per week that I used to get from Centrelink in a whole fortnight as a student. I am making real money! I can buy clothes, but I would prefer if I weighed less. CLEO magazine said that carbs make you fat, and if I just walk each day I can lose weight! No more pasta! No more muffins! Hello salad! I weigh myself regularly and I see the weight fall off me. Customers compliment me. A man even asks me out on a date! He wants me to be his girlfriend. I don't know if I want to be his girlfriend. Do I even like him in that way? He sees me naked. I want the lights turned off the whole time. I just want to get it over and done with, so that I can finally ‘lose’ it. He sells drugs, or so I am told. I don't want to be with him anymore. I stop returning his phone calls. I like someone else anyway. Someone handsome, confident and funny. I doubt he would be into me though.

I go back to my blonde hair. I like that handsome, funny man more and more, and after a few years we hook up. He actually likes me, but not enough to make me his girlfriend. He says he's a ‘boob man’ and I have none. We do not last very long. For the next 4 years I do not date anyone. I learn more about my body and what I like. I buy books to guide me. That's fun. I feel naughty. I lose my job, start a new one and decide to go back to University. I begin to like who I am becoming. My body is still not what I want it to be but it's better than it has been in years. I join a gym, I start to run. I fall in love with a beautiful man. I achieve so much more at University than I ever imagined. I win awards, I get a wonderful job, my partner moves in with me. Life seems perfect. Then my world comes crashing down. I wake in a room foreign to me...

The months go by. My once fit and toned body becomes weak, uneven, flabby. I don't want to wear jeans, bring attention to my freakishly smaller left leg, with its disgustingly thick ankle. I don't want to bring attention to my ‘gammy’ left arm. That arm that will not straighten or touch my face or rotate properly or bend either. I yearn for my former body. I would give anything to look at my body and see potential. Sure, back then my thighs were bigger than I wanted them to be, but I could control my body. I could make it smaller, more muscular. Never perfect in my eyes, but maybe ‘acceptable’ in the eyes of others. I don't feel that I can ever make that a possibility again. What if I become fat again? I feel that I have lost control. 

I count the steps on my Fitbit. I scroll through Instagram. I look down at my body...