It is astonishing, the peace that comes from deciding how and when you're going to die. Let's walk together: a celebration of sorts, a de-cluttering of the soul and physical space, before My Last Day arrives.
One of my brothers got divorced last year. His ex was a friend of mine before they met, so the last few years have involved a high level of discomfort, trying to not lose a friend but also to not betray my family obligations.
SO: their divorce was finalised in October 2015; she’s engaged, and we’ve met him (he came with her and the girls, to a family event), and he’s lovely. It was awkward, but less so than I’d expected.
Meanwhile, my brother has met his soulmate online (in a FB forum for followers of Reformed theology), and is working towards a permanent move to hick-infested backwoods USA to be with her. He’s been over 2x (for a week, each time) to spend time with her in person, and came back even more convinced that She Is The One.
Between the move, the reinforcement of his ultra-conservative religious beliefs and the fact that he’s started reposting articles from The Blaze, I’m concerned that he’s buying into the far right’s political extremism echo chamber.
I hadn’t been planning a trip to the dentist, but I had searing face pain when eating/drinking cold things, then biting down on a sandwich, then a constant & growing pain no matter what else was happening.
And now I have a massive hole in my jaw, after the offending tooth (now just an enamel shell) was prised out.
Today I held my wet washing over my face while I wept, trying to block the noise. It just all came together badly this week.
I started thinking about relationships, and here’s the gut-crunchingly honest timeline:
1980: first kiss, age 8 – rapidly followed by…
1980: first simulated sex – a family friend, 2 years older than me.
1980: first oral sex.
1981: at this point so hyper-sexualised that everything was fair game – made to be the Sex Doll that laid on its back while allowing eight 12yo boys to take turns to “rub up against [me]”. I was reading comic books while this was happening.
1982: first gossiped about – by 13yo boys who couldn’t have known, but…
1982: first labelled a [fat, ugly, nasty] lesbian/cunt for declining a boy’s invitation.
1984: first raped.
1985: first & last anyone labelled “boyfriend”; it was a classmate in Grade 9, when I was 13, and it only lasted 6 weeks. He told me he wanted to spend more time with his friends, and I was bored (because he was timid about holding hands!).
Months ago, I started to cache knockout doses (Relpax 40&80mg x2, codeine 15mg/paracetamol 500mg x4, Phenergan 25mg x4, Dozile x4, 200mg ibuprofen x4, Tramol x4, Lyrica 300mg x2, Endep 25&50mg x3, melatonin x3) of meds around my room & my outside smoking area, in preparation (how mortified I would be, to get to the appointed date but be too broke to fill scripts!).
Two days ago I combined all of them & stared at the pile for a long time before I put it away. Since then I’ve been existing in my usual pointlessness, interspersed with staring at the bottle in front of me.
Last night I poured them all out & thought about taking them. I eventually put them away, but right now I’ve been awake for 10 minutes & I have the bottle in hand & I’m simultaneously wanting to take them & wanting to be talked out of taking them.
It’s way ahead of time, but it’s starting to feel like I’m going to bail early.
Yes, I am to be knowing the words and where-if to be using same. No, I do NOT want to edit your book/thesis/Craigslist ad for free, or research business contacts for a vague/unspecified possible future hypothetical maybe reward.
No, you may not break an 18-month silence by attempting smarmy buttering up, giving up, admitting you’d like my help & then call it a favour.
I’ve been going back through my diaries, starting age 11. Weeping for that poor child who was already lost, and angry, and under pressure to lose weight, and confused about cultural identity, and socially awkward.
To that child, I want to say:
None of these fellow students’ opinions mean anything, and you’ll never see them again anyway.
You’ll learn down the road that your understanding of what it is to “be Australian” is flawed: you either are or you aren’t, and nobody else’s definition has to apply.
You’ll be ecstatic when you learn of the worldwide TCK networks: these are your people.
Please: be happy in the moment. Stop analysing. Stop wailing about the inherent unfairness of life and learn how to work with it.
Learn to eat within reason. Tell someone how unhappy you are. You’re screaming at innocent parties when you could be using that energy to fight for your future.
Learn how to deal with unrequited “love”, so that when you’re 35 you’re not still trailing after uninterested males trying to get their attention.