But I’m under contract

Something I started thinking about at 4pm on a random boring Tuesday. The promises we make ourselves. No. Not promises. More like contracts. Long running scripts, fulfilling expectations.

I promised I’d never be loved, or wanted or sexualised ever again. I was 14.

I pledged I’d never suicide, after seeing it up close, in high definition. The most envious I’ve ever been was when I realised I’d have to live through what he did, and that I couldn’t make the same choice, could never cause a fraction of that pain. And that he wouldn’t know any of it.

When I was 10, I was given a horse. I clung to him. I was focused. I managed his care, his diet, my life revolved around him. He was my safe place and I knew I would always need to have horses. I will forever be grateful for that all encompassing passion and commitment, it saved me through my messy adolescence, but I’m not really there now. Horses don’t serve me the way they used to. Still I hang on. Because that’s what I do. I have horses.

I knew I’d never be ok again, after my ex left, and its dawned on me that I sub consciously hold myself to all these contracts, expectations that I set for myself. It’s hard letting go of all this. If I’m ok, does that mean I didn’t try hard enough? Does it mean I think Bailey not having the ideal is good enough?

Growing up, I assumed that I’d end up being a single mother, living in a unkempt house with a menagerie. It wasn’t what I wanted, it was just what I expected. So here I am. I have been a cyclebreaker in other, arguably more important ways, so it stands to reason I should be able to break this one too, if I so choose.

We really do create our own reality.

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Hey guys, seems time for a life update yeah?

So, you’ll never guess what. I’m still off mainstream treatment, and still holding steady. I have good days (like yesterday) and very flat days (like today). I’ve lost some weight (I needed to, and should keep dropping naturally I hope) and my cycle is slowly becoming regular. My skin is looking better, I haven’t needed a nap in the afternoon in ages, and I’ve slowly started riding again 🙂

My best mate lives with us now, it’s awesome. Saved my ass financially too. And sometimes, she makes my bed ❤

Everything is so up in the air but I’m fighting in the only ways I can to keep our house and lifestyle, and that’s that. Underneath that, I’m stable. I have shitty horrible days but I’m ok. I know myself. I’m single and actually good with that to the point of wanting to stay that way. Bailey is just a livewire, bright and happy. He’s developed a real sense of humour (god knows he’ll need it) and his creativity has been shining through. We’re still ‘homeschooling’ (legally, though truth be told we tend to edge more toward unschooling these days, not that we try to fit into any particular category) and I can’t see us re-entering mainstream education any time soon. It just works for us. I regret putting him into school in the first place, I had that spot in my tummy where you know something’s not right but I just I don’t know? Wanted us to fit in? I guess school is just the thing to do, and there aren’t a lot of options here.

Everything is geared towards people entering the mainstream education system. Doesn’t mean it’s bad, just not for everyone I guess. 

So yeah, that’s us. There’s been a lot of friend drama, house drama, financial drama but I feel removed from it all most of the time. It doesn’t matter. It’s highly likely I’ll end up walking out of this house with nothing to show for it but that’s ok. If I’m here for one year or ten before starting over I’m just going to make the best of it. We like it here. It’s cruisy and I have the best work and friends, but I find gorgeous people anywhere i go and Bailey seems the same. I want to stay here as long as possible, because we’re set but when it’s time to go, I won’t grieve. 

Sunsets and stars. Bonfires. Hugs and true friends and the smell of rain. I can have the important things anywhere we go.

x

 

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Show Me How Big Your Brave Is

Sometimes, when I’m overwhelmed, I get in the shower, turn the water as hot as I can stand and sit at the bottom with my hands over my ears.  It feels like I’m in another world, totally removed.

Lately it’s been a daily occurrence, sitting, counting to ten, letting tears escape, rinse and repeat.

I’m starting to get used to the idea that I might not reach this ‘acceptance point’ and feel stable from then on, that it’s going to be up and down, good and not so good days mixed in with cancer counts and banana pancakes, reading eggs and nosebleeds, horses and long drives and friendship and bullshit.

This hurts, you know? It sounds so juvenile but at a base level, cancer has hurt my feelings. It’s not fair. I’m not the type of person who gets sick young. I sleep with men I shouldn’t, get addicted to television series, love avocado and can catch the trickiest horses.  Bailey’s not the type of kid who has a sick single Mum. He’s homeschooled, wants to be a ninja, loses his brain on sugar and likes Adventure Time. I have no idea what these ‘types’ are, I just know we’re not it.

It’s ok. I’m as ok as I can be. There’s no point being otherwise. Last year when I realised I’d been misdiagnosed, mistreated, could have been cured I fell into a hole over it. When I had to write an ‘impact statement’ I felt like I would explode before I got it down on paper. How do you add up hours driving to specialists, whole weekends away from my infant son after radiation, relationship breakdowns, seeing my father cry, the loss of a lifestyle I worked hard for? How could I even halfway articulate how it affects me to know that Bailey didn’t have to know anything about this? That if I’d been diagnosed correctly I could have been in full remission before his first birthday?

These things happen, and no-one is to blame, and that’s the truth. I’ll admit to feeling some closure after seeing my first Doctor, who has no bedside manner, didn’t listen to my concerns, and downplayed independent testing I had done, avoid eye contact until I actually said ‘Fuck You’.

He apologised and it sounded sincere. And I know he would have been asked not to.

*****

So now, I just get to be brave. I’m choosing less treatment in favour of a life where I can play ponies and have my son at home directing his own learning, where we can grow things and take day trips. Where there’s room for coffee, hugs, sex, novels, stargazing. Where I have to be brave enough to deal with the possibility that this won’t pay off, that I may look back and wish I’d done more mainstream treatment. Sometimes, when you have a gut feeling, you have to be brave enough to go with it.

Ash x

 

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With Arms Outstretched

It’s sixteen miles
To the promised land
And I promise you, I’m doing the best I can.

x

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Missing, one soulmate.

I’m kidding.

Mostly.

I’ve been feeling like I might kind of like meet someone, at some point.

I know I’ve said I ‘don’t agree’ with blended families (wow, bitter and hurt and scared much?) but, I dunno, it seems mean to force myself to go through life alone, just because it’s not the way I wanted it.

Kinda reeks of throwing toys out of the pram, right?

I’m a little lonely. I know now that I don’t need a partner, but I’d like one.

Someone funny with sparkly eyes and a nice smile, who is kind to my son without trying to parent him. Who can string a sentence together.

Up until a few months ago, I dated a lot. And I made a heap of new friends (yes, really) and rekindled old relationships. I fucked up a lot, also. I know I’m too picky, but I don’t see the point in getting serious with someone, when there’s a pretty clear deal-breaker.

Someone that never wants to move out of Perth. Someone who gets blind drunk every night and doesn’t see a problem. Someone who has a child the same age, and is at the other end of the parenting spectrum.

And there’s the whole me feeling totally unlovable thing, because really, would you date a single mum with cancer? So when a guy is nice to me, or says he’s interested, I never quite buy it. And I have practically run screaming from a couple of genuinely nice people – but I’m trying not to be so insane.

With guys my age, they’re generally at the ‘get smashed all the time’ or ‘wanting to settle down, get married and have kids’ stage, and I haven’t found a lot that are in between that. Not that I’m only willing to date guys my age, but I generally see guys I’m friends with from school, or used to work with, or whatever and they tend to be in that range.

What I’d really like, is to just meet someone, and have one of those instant attraction things. I probably wouldn’t admit this anywhere else, but I’m a total romantic, and I love all that love at first sight, soulmates, eyes catching across a room stuff. I’ve never ‘looked’ for a relationship before, they’ve always just developed, so I feel kinda lost. I don’t feel good about dating sites – I’m kinda organically minded in lots of ways, I guess. Like a ‘if it’s meant to be, I wouldn’t have to make any effort’ mindset. Not quite, but close enough.

I guess that’s one of the reasons things not working out with Craig shattered me so much, it felt like my belief system was totally shaken. Because it should have worked out, and it didn’t.

So – where does one meet a nice guy? How did you and your significant other meet?

Ash x

ps – goes without saying that my bloods are looking really really excellent or I wouldn’t be thinking about dragging anyone else into all this. Just don’t wanna jinx it til I get full results xx

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Is it Done

Alternate title: Life is crazy, when you are.

Sometimes, I just don’t know where to start. When Bailey was 4 months old and we brought our first house just before I was diagnosed with cancer? The first memory I have of my Dad being in hospital, his Doctor sneaking me into the ICU and being so frightened of the screens, the beeping, finally seeing what his eyes look like behind glasses after hydraulic acid pouring onto his face? The first time I was assaulted as a child? As an adult? My Mum ringing to say she’d found a house overseas, and would see us on holidays? When I witnessed a suicide? When my husband left us? When I left our house? When I (finally but inevitably) developed delayed C-PTSD?

My mind is so fucked up, that if nothing horrible and life altering and traumatic happens for awhile, I get so anxious, and feel sick and heavier in my chest every day, until something does spazz me out.

And then I deal, and recover. And feel normal – whatever that is, for a little while.

I’d really like the normal patches to last longer.

I’d like to not feel as if I need crisis, instability.

I don’t think I come across ‘crazy’ to most people, I’m lucky to make friends very easily. I probably come across happy, or ‘a bit of a hippy, really centred’ (from my newest friend) even while I’m counting down the hours until I can get out of my head with a drink, or write here, or crawl out my soul and into someone else’s.

‘I like the frantic. I like you’ said another friend ‘but you have to like it too.’

I don’t really, but I’m bored without it.

I remember when I was first really sick, some distant family member gave me a copy of ‘You Can Heal Your Life’. I was really offended, because (unless I’m missing something, I didn’t read it cover to cover) it pretty much insinuates that you kind of choose your own illnesses – I think cancer was hanging onto resentment or some such thing. I was actually at a really well, happy point in my life leading up to being diagnosed.

So I don’t buy that, to that extreme anyway, but I do believe that stress can manifest itself in physical illness. Of course it can.

So I end up in this thought loop, is my life crazy/intense/dramatic/whatever because I am, or is the other way around?

Things have been quiet lately, my neighbour has stopped calling me a whore over the fence, treatment is ok with no major ups and downs, things are still static with Craig, I’m not dating, I’m making a conscious effort to not bring drama into my life…

I’m. so. bored.

And I feel boring socially, because I don’t have a funny story about the latest date I went on, I haven’t been in any life threatening situations, no-ones seriously upset me, I’m not getting drunk…

I think I got so used to being extreme, I don’t know how to not be.

How does everyone else do this ‘normal’ thing?

x

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:)

So, I’m feeling like me again.

I mean, I have pneumonia, I’m dead tired, blah blah, but I’m…me.

I’m not drowning anymore, right now, I’m feeling connected to life and myself and Bailey again.

Sure, I’m stressed. I’ve been waiting to start this stem cell treatment because I keep getting sick, and if it’s effective it will make a huge difference to my prognosis. The waiting is making me want to climb the walls, because its like I’m waiting for it to work (because it has to), before I start planning to, you know, have any semblance of a life ever again.

I’m sick of being on hold, but omg you guys, that is so much better than just not caring as long as I could hibernate and numb myself.

I don’t just mean I’m feeling like the me of a few months ago, I mean I feel like…I can’t quite remember when. The me who used to smile for no reason, who would never let a guy treat her like trash (especially while cooking him dinner every Sunday – seriously why didn’t anyone just slap me?!), who would sit in the park for an hour making daisy chains with the cutest child in the world. The me who will cry at a sad movie, and then get the giggles, who would actually appreciate things like fresh air, clean water, and food in the fridge every single day, who dragged her kid out of bed to watch lightning over the ocean.

I’m sure I’ll still have days where life seems hopeless and it’s hard to get out of bed, but this does -deep breath and praying I don’t jinx it- feel like a permanent shift.

And -another deep breath- I want to ride again, struggle on with my horses for as long as I can. I hadn’t really been wanting to, but I think that was more not letting myself want to, because it’s impractical and expensive and blah blah. I might not ever get back to competing now, but that’s ok. It’s never been about that. It’s about the feeling of being the first one to sit on my young horse, the first time our traumatised rescue pony walked up to me and ever so gently tickled my neck with his whiskers.

It’s early mornings, the smell of hay, mixing feeds with molasses, warming my hands under their rugs. It’s feeling that moment when half a ton of instinct and adrenaline decides to work with you.

So, for now, fuck practicality.

I’ve always been a dreamer, anyway.

xx

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You know when it feels like you’ve been punched in the chest?

This afternoon, I was blindsided by this horrible surge of grief. Oddly enough, I’d been feeling stable, quietly productive. It was gorgeous today and I had all the windows open, sea breeze coming in, and I was curled in a patch of sun on the bed.

I have these moments, staying here, where I feel young, and some of what’s happened just falls away. I think it’s the same beaches, the same house, the same smells and sounds. The in-between could just be a dream, right? I could just wander down to the paddock, chuck a bridle on my patchy pony to gallop bareback through the surf. I could walk for miles without being needed, feeling tired, could get lost and found again.

So I was feeling peaceful and young, and I guess my mind just drifted a bit far until I was immersed in a happy time, and when I crashed back, it felt a little…soul destroying? It’s been (OMG) over 2 years since Craig and I lived together full-time, and I don’t know how long since we last had a big ‘lets (maybe, possibly, oh wait actually, I’m not sure) try again’  talk. A couple months? Six? If I thought about it in treatment cycles, I could probably narrow it down.

About 10 years ago now, we spent a lot of time together here. We’d wander along the beaches with my then-puppy, hang out with my best mates, I’d scare him with my interesting shortcuts through gravel tracks.

Sometimes these days, I don’t think about him in an us kinda way for days on end, and then it hits me how real this is. We’re not getting back together. This isn’t just a glitch. Even if the first part of a miracle occurred and he got his shit together, I actually couldn’t forgive him now anyway. Not because he cheated on me, hit me, any of the things when you think ‘unforgivable’. Because he let me go through cancer alone, because I just wasn’t enough. The probability  possibility of me dying doesn’t provoke enough in him, and I know how I’d be if our situations were reversed.

That. Absolutely. Kills.

I’m just staying away from him. As much as I can. It feels like I’m being torn apart but I’ve done everything else.

Whateverrrrr.

I don’t think I’m cut out for marriage anyway, and maybe I shouldn’t just be realising (or admitting to) that now, but I think at heart I’m a bit of a commitment-phobe. I mean, in a relationship, I am committed and I do love very deeply but I also have itchy feet a lot, I genuinely enjoy change, and I need a decent amount of stimulation I guess. Aside from my relationship with Craig and my closest long term friends, I tend to have shorter but quickly intense relationships and friendships.

Or maybe I’m just hurting too much now, and ‘realising I’m not cut out for marriage’ is a bit of a cop-out. I honestly wouldn’t know at this point. I’m one of those blessed people where I don’t seem to find it hard to meet nice guys, genuine people who are funny and smart and kind but god forbid one of them should try to get close to me. I’m even like that with friends now, and I’m getting so. lonely.

The flip-side of all this is at least I’m really actually starting to deal with things (and I am definitely in touch with why I actively avoided this) and I can feel myself changing, and not necessarily in the negative ways people would expect. I think I’m either getting stronger or realising my strength, I’m more inclined to speak up, I’m noticing people don’t put nearly as much emphasis on my physical appearance as I do, and I just feel..free-er. People have been criticizing me left right and centre lately, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care, but I also haven’t compromised myself to please others who don’t even know all the factors behind my decisions :).

So? Win. I think. Who the hell knows, really, and it doesn’t matter.

Anyway guys, I’m sorry for the word-vomit, just wanted to get some thoughts out :). Bman is at Craig’s this week and I also have the week off treatment so I guess that’s why I’m thinking about all this stuff I generally try to keep out.

Love to you all 🙂

xx

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That thing I can never usually write about, 1

‘So, will you write about me one day?’ he asked casually, leaning back against the couch. He passed her the joint, half smiling at her hesitance.

She thought, trying not to show him how her skin prickled. Took a slow drag.

‘Do you want me to?’

‘Write something just for me now. And then something when I’m long gone.’

She smiled, picked up the notebook. ‘You’re not that old’, teasing him.

‘No. Just too old for you.’

She made eye contact, wearing her sexuality like a dress as she crawled into his lap.

‘So why am I here?’

He closed his eyes.

*****

As the months wore on, she started dressing differently. Not to please him, she’d tell herself. Just to try to bridge the gap a little. She cursed less, wrote more. He liked her to wear her hair back, instead of down and styled with salt water. They listened to classical music, staying in to explore each other. He drew her flowers and she enveloped him in prose. Her family was drawn to him; most were.

‘He’s quirky, isn’t he? That’s probably good, you know. For you. You’ve always been mature, anyway.’

The first time, it seemed almost charming, the flip-side to his creativity. She wasn’t scared, even when he made her load the gun again and again. But that night, without knowing why, she took it.

‘It’s because I love you. You need to be able to protect yourself’

‘You’ll protect me. Nothing’s going to happen anyway. Unless you’re not telling me something.’

His eyes darkened.

*****

She took him to the hospital, listening to him talk to ghosts in the car. Adjustment, make sure you keep taking your stabilisers, was what she remembered. Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. The intensity left. Stability didn’t suit her. They decided to see someone else. So he could be him. But well. No more bullets on the stove. No more sleeping for 16 hours. They went to the beach, for bushwalks. The apartment was covered in drawings and notes. It was Spring. She visualised this being for always. Keeping this Balance.

2

*****

To be continued. If I’m brave enough.

Just wanted to try something a little different and this has been on my mind lately. I hope you guys don’t mind :). It’s important for me to start putting this to rest finally, and writing is the best safest way I know.

Thanks for reading,

Ash xxx

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Yep Yep

When someone asks me how I am, I’ll quite often respond with this. I don’t know where or who I picked it up from (conversely, I’ve noticed a few friends have picked it up from me) or even what I mean by it.

Maybe it’s a ‘I’ve said everything there is to say, nothing has changed, so let’s move on’

That’s generally the type of person I am. I get on with it. I ‘pull my socks up’, my ‘finger out’. I ‘build a bridge’, ‘move on’, keep my ‘chin up’. (‘You have a determined chin, Flossy’, one of the most special people I’ve ever known used to say.)

Also, I’m not great at small talk. I find it boring and suburban and annoying, and it probably shows.  I don’t want to discuss soft furnishings past a ‘yes that looks good’ or ‘omg no’ opinion when asked for.

(But I know other people LOVE small talk, and with people I love, I’m happy to indulge them. They usually notice when I start twitching and cut me a break.)

Maybe (lately) it’s code for OMG. CAN’T EVEN.

I’m not ok.

People are noticing.

I’m not ok to the point where even fucking Craig calls to check on me.

‘Hey. Just checking in. You ok?’

‘Yep yep. How’re you?’

‘Yeah good. What’s happening with -insert phone company name-? And did you get your license back? How’s treatment? What’s happening for school holidays?’

-mumbling so he can’t hear me fighting tears- ‘Yeah. I’m getting through it. Thanks for calling. Sorry, I better go. Bye.’

Somehow, through all of this, we’re friendly again. I think it makes things worse, somehow.

I’m not ok to the point that MY MOTHER is moving back. Anyone who knows me personally knows what a head fuck that would be. The conversation when she told me was so circular that she probably doesn’t want to come back now, I don’t know. All I could say was ‘Um. Why?’, and ‘You know it’s Perth, right?’. Apparently it seems ‘like you and Bailey might need me around a little more’, and I think it’s a testament to my self-restraint that I didn’t point out that I actually needed her 15 years ago, instead murmuring something about my grandmother being thrilled, while my mouth slowly filled with blood.

I’m relating to people less and less or maybe I just don’t have it in me to try right now. I’m sick of people asking me ‘what’s wrong’ or saying that I just need to learn how to accept help, ‘let go and let God’ (whatever the fuck that is), restore my karmic balance, meditate, whatever. I just want to scream ‘I HAVE CANCER AND IT’S ACTUALLY OK TO STRUGGLE WITH THAT!’. I’m sorry that I’m not pouring drinks, making everyone giggle, that I’m not able to be cruisey with my time and energy. I’m sorry that I actually don’t feel like I can spend a day at a horse show right now, or give some lessons. Or whatever.

I am doing better though. If nothing else, I’m sticking up more for me and Bailey and really really starting to accept that it is just us, that I can’t rely on anyone else. I won’t rely on anyone else, won’t compromise myself ever again. I’ve always put other people first, and I just can’t anymore.

If there was ever a time to put myself first, this is it.

I’ll never give anyone the power to (almost) break me again. Not that it doesn’t feel like that could still happen, I know I’m not all the way through yet. I don’t know how to get all the way through. I feel like you probably have to want it, more than I do.

I have no idea what I’ve written or why I’ve written, but the pressure in my chest just eased off a bit, and that’s enough for me. So no editing, reading back, anything. For once.

Love love xx

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