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Posts Tagged ‘Relationship’

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 ūüôā

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

x

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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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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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