Archive for December, 2012

Where I Live Now

It’s 11:30 am, about a million degrees, and I can hear the ocean crashing.  It’s busy at this time of year here so the sound is interspersed with dogs barking, kids squealing, muffled conversations. The sea breeze is coming in much stronger than usual for this time of day, photos and magnets and bills fly off the old fridge.

I’m lying on my bed, here alone, just gazing down the driveway at the ocean, thinking and writing. It looks like it’s getting rough, white caps forming.  I haven’t been thinking about much more than that, today anyway.

I spent the first sixteen years of my life here. I know this place, and there’s something soothing about being here again. I used to love it here, before everything fell apart and I felt like I’d implode if I didn’t escape. I used to love the beaches, the bush (mostly houses and shops now), the freedom. I’ve walked every inch of these beaches, ridden childhood horses through the surf. I can remember family picnics on warm summer nights, long conversations and first kisses. Sneaking behind the dunes to smoke cigarettes, beach parties, swimming out to the pontoon to sunbathe.

I’m technically on an island…from where I’m lying now, the beach is…I guess 80 metres?…in front of me. The estuary is a couple of kilometres behind me. To get more than five minutes drive north or south I have to take one of three bridges. Everytime I go over ‘the new bridge’ a friend who committed suicide underneath it 10 years ago flashes into my mind, and when I drive over ‘the old bridge’, I think of the toddler who lost her life drowning there a couple of days before Christmas and making eye contact with Bailey in the rearvision mirror, I say a silent prayer of thanks that my child is with me.

The house I’m staying in is co-owned by a few members of my Dad’s family. Even though I’ve never been particularly close to them, I’ve spent a lot of time here and I’m fairly comfortable. It’s an old house, just a fishing shack really. The bottom level is mostly cement, intended for boat parking I think. There’s a long dangerous staircase up to the top level, where the kitchen, dining, lounge and a couple of small bedrooms are. The back verandah is closed in and divided so Bailey and I have our bedrooms set up in there to take advantage of the sea breeze. It’s not flash, not at all, with crazy wallpaper and mismatched carpets and old furniture.  Surrounding us now are mostly big new houses, all straining for an ocean view, with only a couple of fibro beach shacks left. It’s expensive to live here now, so I’m grateful to be right on the beach, even with the lack of actual bathroom and air-conditioning in one room only.

It’s haunted, too, but that doesn’t bother either of us.

Sometimes, before I go to sleep, I get a wave of panic, and a frantic thought that screams something like ‘What is wrong with you? You gave up a perfectly normal life, a cute house with the horses in the backyard, what you’d always wanted and worked so hard for, to come back here and what?’


I have to go and grab some stuff from my house up the hill tomorrow and now I’m worried that I’ll be suddenly frozen by emotion when I see other people really truly living there, that I’ll just want to sink into a corner in the bedroom I shared with Craig and cry and cry.

Hopefully not.

On Wednesday I have to go to the hospital to talk about a ‘something’ in my brain the size of a cherry. I feel sick just thinking about it, and even when I’m not thinking about it. I could really use a break with my health, and so could Bailey. His eyes are starting to look so old, and he’s so angry and already knows that life isn’t fair, you don’t ‘get out what you put in’ and there is no ‘karma’ or universal equalizer.

But every night we go to the beach with the dogs, and he squeals and plays in the waves, runs up and down and pretends to surf on his boogie board and I know why we came here.

Happy New Year guys, and thankyou for all the support I’ve received here this year. I needed it desperately.

Much love


Read Full Post »

I’m here! Kind of. In body anyway. I’m still unpacking, but looking forward to having more time to write :). And I feel better already.

Anyway hope you guys all had wonderful holidays, this is what I did Christmas night



Ps – I’m not set up properly here yet, so I’m blogging from my iPhone, apologies if it’s a bit dodgy 🙂

Read Full Post »

God, I’m so stupid.

So needy, and I never want to be again.

I was doing so well, and I fucked it up again, but not knowingly this time. It feels unfair, and I feel ashamed, and I think we all know how this goes. I was honest with him about how my treatment is going not brilliantly, and for a moment it felt like time stood still and then the years kind of all…fell together…until it seemed like just a series of moments like that one,and I looked up, saw tears trickling from the corners of his eyes, and life fell away.

I thought that it meant something, and I was wrong, well from his side anyway, and it feels awful. I don’t think he set out to hurt me, in fact I know he wouldn’t, but I feel used. And like my intense vulnerability was taken advantage of, and I might never want to be touched again. Who would want to?

He doesn’t get it, and I finally understand that this is one of the things I’ve loved about him, he’s never felt my intensity, never been burnt by the heat of my pain, and he could just love me simplistically, without trying to fix me, without worrying about me. He tells me when jokes about dying aren’t funny, pulls me up on it when I’m clearly just being a bitch, lets me cry myself to sleep and just accepts. He doesn’t cut me any slack, even now. I’ve always needed more, and loved him for it anyway, while hating the yearning in myself.

With this much pain comes acceptance, and I’m grateful. While I still hope for us -we just loved the hell out of each other, and I don’t want to let go of that- I know there is nothing more to be done. It hurts. I want to force some intesity out of him. I want that connection, his love, his empathy, but its just. not. there. If he doesn’t want to care, to look after me when I am so needing, he’s not going to. If I am honest with myself, there were signs of this early on, a fundamental weakness difference, an almost conditional commitment. Is it possible that feelings could grow between us, like blowing on embers? I’d like to believe we all have the capacity to embrace the best parts of ourselves while stripping the rest away.


After all the shit I have published without a second thought here – posts about sex, cancer, rape, as well as the day to day mundane, I am struggling with this. I don’t think I have ever written so honestly. It’s healing.

I’m halfway through packing up this house, and I’ve finished greiving for this life. It’s time to leave. I want to sit on the beach with my son. I want to write and write and write while helping him with his schoolwork, I want let him use the juicer and make noise. I want to just love him, forever, however long that might be.


Read Full Post »