I started out this year full of fire and fierce hopes, but like all years it's been a mixed bag.
Today, the novel stands at 51,867 words. That's not bad. It's more than double my previous total words written on a project. It's not finished, but it's more than half finished, so I think I'm content with my efforts given how difficult some parts of this year have been.
I've been on a mild SSRI anti-anxiety medication since shortly after my last post, and it has helped immensely with the panic and fight-or-flight responses I was having to my workload. I'm still not sure whether the not coping was due to a chemical imbalance, or whether the chemical imbalance was caused by the workload being absurd, but either way I'm coping a bit better.
The high points of this year included my brother-in-law's lovely wedding, seeing the house where my mother grew up in Nottingham, travelling around the UK a bit, celebrating our first wedding anniversary (I did a video but it's too long to post here, and I don't suppose you lot want to sit for 14 minutes looking at wedding and honeymoon pictures really!), Munchkin starting Year 1, finding the heritage-listed gravestones of my ancestors, spending an enchanted week with the SCA at Raglan Castle in Wales, and losing around a stone through Weight Watchers.
Aha! Oho!
Australia Day is not quite the same in England.
Making friends at his uncle's wedding.
7 Magdala Road, Nottingham: my mother's childhood home.
Surprise awesome park stop in Yorkshire.
Robin Hood's Bay.
Bridge Farm in Almeley, Herefordshire. My great-great-grandfather, Arthur William Dew, was living here in 1871 aged 2.
In the ongoing storage fight in Munchkin's tiny bedroom, I sewed a bookshelf.
Theme park day.
Raglan Castle, Wales
Caution: Archery
Sightseeing in Chichester.
Boarding the plane in Dubai en route to Perth.
A park in Glen Forrest, Perth. My father and I sat on the play equipment, drank coffee and talked.
The graves of my direct ancestors and their relatives, Ashurst, Kent.
Apropos.
6:15am, 25/12/2013
It's been mild so far, but the frost will come.
The low point of the year was, of course, losing my grandmother Jean. Here's some photos of her, just because.
Aged 4, growing up in Liverpool.
Aged 19.
With my grandfather Paul, and their children: (back) Mark, Penny, Nicola; (front) Jonquil, David, Erica, Leonora.
Mum, me, Jean, about 2001.
My first university graduation, 2003.
Family Gathering in 2009.
It's been a year of big events, lots of weddings and lots of driving - from Newcastle-upon-Tyne in the north east to Southampton on the south coast, west to Shropshire and Herefordshire and out to Raglan, and down in the south east to Kent... I've covered a lot of ground this year, and enjoyed it. There's been new babies (though alas still not one of my own yet) and a few people have left us. Certainly a memorable year.
I haven't got a lot of big goals for 2014. Keep writing the book until it is done, then edit it and start on something new. Keep losing weight, until I hit my goal. Try to get a masters application accepted and funded to start next October, on a Heritage theme. Cope at school. Write another Christmas play. Take more photographs. Go for more walks. See more of this amazing country. Make more garb. Sleep properly. Wear interesting clothes. Have some fun. Blog regularly?
Wednesday 11th September started as a perfectly normal day. I went to work, I taught all morning, I grabbed my phone and went to have my lunch.
Sitting down to lunch, I took a look at my emails, and there was one from my Mum which just said "Phone me".
I knew her mother, Jean, was unwell, and my heart sank. I scuttled outside, juggling my credit card and my phone as I tried to charge up a calling card to phone halfway around the world. Before I managed it, my phone rang, Mum's number.
Her news was not good - she'd just had to be the witness at Jean's do-not-resuscitate conversation. Jean had been given two days to live.
I cried all over my colleagues, my head teacher drove me home, and after several phonecalls and wrestling with internet systems, a plane ticket was booked and ten hours later, 10:30pm that night, I was taxi-ing down the runway at Heathrow on my way to Perth.
I arrived at 1am on Friday the 13th (flying out on the 11th of September and flying in on Friday the 13th, it's amazing I got there in one piece). We decided not to go straight to the hospital, and I will forever wonder whether that was the right choice, as I learned later that at that time Jean was still able to talk to people.
We got there around 7am after a few hours' sleep, by which time Jean was, I guess, in a sleep of sorts. She didn't wake up, and died an hour and a half later. I had no last words from or to her, no chance to say any of the thoughts on my mind, but had I gone straight there, perhaps I wouldn't have been there to hold her hand at the very end. I'll never know whether it was the right choice. Perhaps there isn't one. Perhaps she knew I was there. Perhaps, as I was the last of the family who was on their way to get there, she was waiting for me. I'll never know.
Jean wanted to die at home and in her sleep, without having lost any of her mental acuity. Given that they won't really let people die at home any more, this was close. She had five of her seven children and one of her sixteen grandchildren at her side as she slipped away after an astonishingly full life. If any death could be said to be a good one, this was one.
If flinging myself across the world at short notice to watch my grandmother die was not surreal enough, what followed transcended surreality. My cousin, who got married last weekend in Kent, was having a betrothal ceremony in Perth on the 14th. Jean had been adamant that it should go ahead - 'dance at the wedding' was one of her last wishes for us all - and so it did, with us all in this bizarre daze of unprocessed feelings. There were a few tears, but largely it was a masterpiece of kept-up appearances and non-dealing-with-reality.
I stayed in Perth until the following Friday. I managed to see a couple of friends, I sorted out the possessions of mine that remained in Mum's shed, I saw my paternal grandmother (who got taken to hospital with pneumonia as well that week, which was almost more than I could take) and helped in a peripheral way with organising the funeral. The day before the funeral it became apparent that I was the only adult grandchild who wanted to speak (all grandchildren had been asked) so along with my 15-year-old brother I became the voice of all of my cousins at only the second funeral I'd ever attended. I was still adjusting the eulogy a couple of hours before the funeral as family members asked for particular things to be included.
The funeral was Wednesday 18th. I had not been distressed by Jean's body when she died, but I wish I hadn't looked in the coffin as it was all wrong, Jean and not Jean all at once... too much. I drove two of my three siblings in the funeral cortege across Perth to the venue, teaching them as we went that all they had to remember to say was "as well as can be expected" and "thank you". I hugged people I hadn't seen for ages, or who remembered me only as a small child. I got up and spoke. I sat and cried. I drank juice and thanked people for coming and for saying nice things about my eulogy. It was a beautiful funeral and I wish I remembered it clearly instead of in bits and snatches, but I guess that's the way of things.
Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, Jean’s beloved friends and family. When I was in high school, Jean attended a morning tea given by my home economics class. Overhearing me offer Jean coffee, my teacher jumped in with “Christine! How dare you call your grandmother by her first name?” Jean drew herself up, gave the teacher a scathing look, and responded with great dignity, “How dare you tell my granddaughter what she can and can’t call me?”
The teacher never forgave me, but the pride I felt about Jean standing up for me, and for our relationship, more than made up for it. It was only years later that I understood what it meant to Jean to be seen as an individual, not just someone’s granny but a vibrant, complex person whose name deserved to be used.
As an adult, I often find myself echoing one of Jean’s favourite phrases: “That is an un-called-for provocative remark and as such is banned!”. As a result, a rising number of young English school children know the meanings of “un-called-for” and “provocative”, and may even try a little harder not to wind each other up. This might be the smallest part of Jean’s legacy, but nonetheless I think she would have been proud of it.
So who was Jean, to a grandchild?
Roast dinners, birthday cakes, warm hugs, Banknotes slipped secretly into eager young hands; Well-chosen books, comfy chairs, wise words, A fierce defence of kith and kin; A love of nature, an eye for beauty, a powerful history, A lifetime of learning and love.
Thank you, Jean.
The wake was at my aunt's house, afterwards, just for family. Having catered for a 150-person wedding four days earlier, my aunt wasn't able to cater for the wake, so we ordered fish and chips. Jean loved fish and chips as one of the simple joys in life, reminiscent of holiday treats, and I think she would have found it funny and fitting that the family had such a meal in her honour.
Afterwards, my cousin got out his guitar and started strumming, and the family began to sing. Nothing particularly significant, just pop songs of various vintages. We wobbled our way through "When you say nothing at all" and nearly broke down over "Leaving on a jet plane", but there wasn't much reference to Jean at all... just the family, sitting around singing as we've done countless times before, as if Jean was not gone at all but just in another room, or had left for home early while her family carried on foolishly into the night.
I don't believe in any sort of an afterlife - haven't for years. That didn't change when Jean died. I believe she's completely gone. But perhaps as long as we remember people, love them and hold them in our hearts, in some way they're only just a thought away... like they're just in the room next door.
I miss her so much.
Five daughters, two sons, three daughters-in-law, four sons-in-law, ten granddaughters, six grandsons, three each of grandsons-in-law and granddaughters-in-law, three great-granddaughters, two great-grandsons, and one step-great-grandson. What an incredible legacy of love.
When I was growing up, one of my eccentric maternal grandfather's hobbies was farming trout in the creek that ran through my grandparents' property in the Perth hills. I have many vivid memories of this setup: the netting around the enclosures, the smell of the big bin of trout food (very similar to kitten kibble!), the texture of the pole on the long-handled nets we used to catch them, the yellow of the fish innards when they were being gutted for cooking. Sometimes we'd catch, cook and eat them at my grandparents' house; other times, we'd be sent home with cleaned trout ready for cooking.
Inextricably linked with trout is the smell of lemon thyme, which grew in our herb garden and was always the herb of choice when Mum cooked the trout. It smells of warm evenings and sounds like honey bees and cicadas. It's one of the fundamental memory scents of my childhood home.
I was unexpectedly taken back there yesterday in Tesco, half a world away, when I came across a bunch of fresh lemon thyme in the herb section. It's so rare to see lemon thyme in the shops that I leapt at it, then sensibly put it back, saying to Ellie that we'd see whether they had trout at the fish counter first.
They did have trout, both whole and filleted. At the end of our shopping list, and in possession of two trout fillets, we went back for the lemon thyme... and it was gone.
I actually fought back tears, absurdly enough, but consoled myself with the thought of thyme and slices of lemon as a close second. We grabbed a lemon and headed for the checkout.
Naturally, seven hours later when we came to cook dinner, Ellie called me into the kitchen with a chagrined expression: the thyme we both thought was in the cupboard was not there. We must have run out without either of us putting it on the shopping list, I guess. Thwarted again.
So, I ended up having mixed herb and lemon trout, and yes, it was delicious. But next time I'm grabbing the lemon thyme first!
I had wanted to put up a photograph of Whistlepipe Gully where it runs through my grandparents' property, but it seems I don't have one. Instead, this is my family's herb garden in Glen Forrest, Western Australia, circa 1991.
Ok, so it's seriously flaky to fail to blog about one's own wedding for two whole months, but in my defence they've been pretty busy months.
Married life is treating us pretty wonderfully so far. I've started a new (and much nicer) job, and the munchkin has started his full-time schooling career. Big changes for all, but we're managing well enough.
And now I'll stop waffling and Show You The Pretty.
We expected to have pretty decent weather, given that we held our wedding in the middle of July. Unfortunately it was in fact the wettest July for a century. *sigh* Our wedding day was a little drizzly in the morning, but fined up just enough to allow outside photographs after the ceremony.
My mum arrived in Hertfordshire the day before the wedding. I hadn't seen her for more than two years and it was overwhelming and wonderful to have her there. She also kept us *just* this side of sane as various things went inevitably awry at critical moments!
On the morning of the wedding we went over to the reception venue and got it all set up with the help of Ellie's wonderful brother and sister-in-law. That all went off smoothly, and despite unexpected traffic we still got back to the house in time to meet the hairdresser. We got all dolled up and then dodged the drizzle to climb into a car with *no back doors* (yes that was quite a feat in those dresses!) and get down to the ceremony venue.
Here we are waiting nervously in the small ceremony room before the ceremony, with my mum, the munchkin, and our flower girl:
More waiting:
A note on my jewellery - the crystal earrings and necklace were a gift from my maternal grandfather to my mother, decades ago. She's had them in reserve for me for years, and I'd always intended to wear them on my wedding day.
We walked down the aisle (such as it was - very short as we had to come in a side door instead of the main door due to some light rain!) to "Forever" by Debra Arlyn:
The song was one Ellie found on a youtube video of a German lesbian couple's wedding, and it struck both of us as just so perfect.
The ceremony was short but sweet. We only had one reading, and it will forever make us slightly cross but resigned that the woman who read it (not our lovely celebrant in the picture, but another registry official) flubbed the last line and changed the meaning entirely. Thankfully most people heard it the right way around anyway!
“Love is a temporary madness; it erupts like volcanoes and then
subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to
work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is
inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is.
Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the
promulgation of eternal passion. That is just being in love, which any
fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has
burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those
that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and
when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find
that they are one tree and not two.”
For anyone listening closely, there was a little gasp in the background. My lovely artist friend Sarah had, all unknowing, created a painting for us as a wedding gift... of two intertwined trees. She couldn't have chosen a more perfect subject!
Here we are moments after Ellie put my ring on my finger:
During the signing of the register, we listened to "Flora's Secret" by Enya. It's one of my favourite Enya songs (and Enya is one of my favourite musical entities), and I played it for Ellie pretty early on in our relationship.
The signing mockup photo (we'd already done the actual signing when facing the other way!):
First kiss:
We processed out to "Feeling Good" by Nina Simone. This one was Ellie's idea as I wasn't familiar with it; but as soon as she played it I knew it was right. Civil marriage & partnership ceremonies cannot contain any religious messages or references, but to me (as a nature-loving pagan) this is practically a hymn.
Various set shots from the garden…
Me and my mum :)
One day when we were starting to think about ordering wedding rings, Ellie said "I think what I really want is a rose gold wedding ring." I'd never considered anything other than white gold, but again she was right. They are beautiful (and comfortable!) and I have only taken mine off once since the wedding day.
We had home-made favours (bulk chocolates wrapped in baking foil and tied up in mesh bags, secured with a wired rose) and I printed the table numbers and labels at home, just as I did all of the other stationery.
The cake was one of the aforementioned 'awry' moments. We were planning to get our names and decals to match the stationery printed on a large sheet cake, but the cake printing machines at both local stores broke and it was too late to get to anywhere else, so we improvised. The crystal hearts were the only remnant of the original plan; they are napkin rings that were given to my paternal grandmother on her wedding day.
Our reception was just lovely. I had set up a slideshow of images juxtaposing my childhood with Ellie's - matching first days of school, awkward high school pictures, and so forth. It made for a great conversation piece and icebreaker, as well as allowing for nostalgia on the part of our families. It was also a way to ensure that our absent fathers (in Australia on my part, deceased on Ellie's) were there with us.
A good friend of mine read out a letter from my Dad, and my two maternal uncles also sent 'telegrams' that were read by my Mum during her speech. Ellie's brother made a speech too which brought the house down. He talked about Ellie as a child: "I remember her kind of as a giant book with curly hair and little feet. She'd come running after me... 'Matt! Matt! Matt! Did you know...' and I'd just know I was going to miss Dangermouse." We laughed until we cried. It was everything a big brother's speech should be.
I made a bit of a speech too, and I think I was fairly coherent if a little rambly from nervousness. Luckily when I was running out of things to say the munchkin came up to me and said "Christine, do you know what? I can see a CAKE." and that gave me the perfect out! The munchkin later made his own speech which entertained everyone mightily and is still discussed whenever my wedding is mentioned amongst friends.
Later on the dance floor got going, and despite not having "My Sharona" in his collection (WTF?) the DJ did a stellar job. Watching my Mum get up and do some well-known party dance (a British equivalent to the Hucklebuck) with Ellie's relatives and various British friends was a highlight of the evening. We were there until the waiters gave up, switched the lights on and started clearing up!
It was a brilliant, wonderful, fantastic day and I couldn't have wished for better - not even including wishing for sunshine as I can always reflect that at least it wasn't too hot!
I am very happy that all the months of planning went off so well, that the image I had in my head came to life closely enough that I was completely satisfied. Everyone and everything was wonderful, basically.
Next up: a recap of our GLORIOUS honeymoon. Brace for a picturesplosion!
Last weekend I took my first step into autocrating SCA events, running a Winter Feast at the marvellously-named Place House Hall in Ware, Hertfordshire. It's a medieval hall, small but picturesque inside, and it makes a lovely venue. My best mate A was my feast cook and mentored me through the autocrating process admirably. We had a couple of food stuff-ups along the way, but between the two of us we put an elegant and extensive repast on the table in a fantastic location. I also introduced my Thamesreach Singers group with great pride - we sang six period pieces very competently, to the general approval of the attending populace. It was a great night, and a successful start to event-running for me. Yay :)
Term has been underway for a little over two weeks now. I'm so glad to have my own class again, and I've had compliments from every quarter about how quiet and settled they are under my guidance. I feel competent and confident, quite unlike a lot of my earlier teaching experiences! My class are lovely, and I can have a giggle with them and still get them to work, which is great. I am really enjoying myself, and never go to work feeling any apprehension. What a lovely change from so many past workplaces.
These past few weeks I've been struck with joy and gratitude for the friendships I have. E, of course, first and foremost, who is best friend and lover and everything in between. I had never, ever imagined that a relationship could feel like this! Every day I relish it a little bit more for its marvellous perfection, and each day I'm a little more convinced that trying to be in relationships with men was a big part of what I was getting wrong all these years. Being with E just works.
As well as E, I'm lucky enough to be surrounded by a group of people who know the real me, nothing hidden and nothing to hide. And they love me, and care for me, and look out for me, and appreciate me. And beyond them, a wider group of people who perhaps don't know me as well, but nonetheless care for me greatly and will always be there for me. I had the strange experience before Christmas of walking into a pub where a corner was filled with these people, and seeing every face in the group of about 15 light up as I walked in, just because I was there. How bizarre and heady for someone whose deepest demon is invisibility! I feel so secure in myself these days, and it shows in the quality of my friendships.
These wonderful relationships stand in stark contrast to the negatives, backhanded positives and subtle undermining I was used to from various family members and a few extinct friendships. Every now and then something of that behaviour will intrude from people from my past, and it's amazing how poisonous it feels when once it was normal. I am finding myself better able to ignore it now ... a few peoples' email addresses have been blocked so that I need only read their communications if I feel like it! And I have learned not to react, and only to respond if absolutely necessary. Poison and misery are not things I choose to engage with these days.
So generally... I'm busy, and happy, and loving my life more with every week that passes. It feels good!
I am still kind of reeling at how awesome a day it was. I started out with a long lie-in. As soon as I woke up, good things started to happen. I discovered that 6 incredibly awesome friends had chipped in together to pay for my flights to go and see my best friend H when she's in Vienna over New Years - an incredible surprise as I thought I wasn't going to be able to afford to go! Totally overwhelming :) Then I went up to the parcel office and found that the package waiting for me was not a book I ordered but actually a huge parcel from my family in Perth with gifts and a DVD and other things of win enclosed in it, including the awesome pendant that is my 30th birthday present from Mum - an opal given to me by my grandmother set in white gold. So stunning!
London turned on the warmest December day so far for me, and my wonderful friends A and G showered me with affection and took me out for dinner and cocktails with two of their closest friends, S and E. I'm still not quite sure how it happened but E and I (meeting for the second time) hit it off amazingly and by the middle of today we were thoroughly established as a couple. I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, folks!
I am a very happy, bewildered and over-excited 30 year old, proud to be 30, proud to have a girlfriend, so very lucky in my friends and loved ones and lifestyle. It feels glorious.
I think I only had a bare hour or two of sleep last night, so I'm thinking crashing out soon so I can work in the morning would be a very good idea.
When you’re wrapped up in a lifelong depressive dysfunctional mess, it’s very hard to focus on any particular problem. There’s so much swirling crazy noise that you can’t hear yourself think.
As you work through grief and start to heal, some of the noise subsides, and you can hear other parts of it more clearly.
Lately, I've found that the noise of inadequacy and inferiority has settled to a low hum, allowing me to hear less pressing issues more clearly. And the one that’s shouting the loudest is abandonment.
I’ve been reluctant to call anything in my life experience “abandonment” until now – that good old feeling of inferiority tells me that my problems are not bad enough to warrant attention – but the fact is that my reactions scream “abandonment issues”, so regardless of whether I deserve them, I've got them.
I don’t know exactly what in my past has caused me to freak out when I think someone is physically or emotionally deserting me. There are some strong candidates: my mother going back to work when I was 4; mother’s decision to leave the marriage when I was 13; my father’s crazy-cakes behaviour with his first post-marriage girlfriend the same year; my whole family’s tendency to emotionally ‘check out’ and withdraw love during conflict. I suspect it’s all of these things together.
The only time I remember having an abandonment-specific reaction is during my father’s tumultuous relationship, when he did literally abandon my brother and I by disappearing to go and see the girlfriend in the middle of the night, and ultimately by handing custody of us over to my mother because he couldn’t cope with both the girlfriend and us. That abandonment stung, and I still get upset thinking of one night when I had the ‘flu and woke up vomiting and alone because my father had gone off again. However, although that had a powerful effect on me, the way I react to perceived abandonment now bears more resemblance to how I react to my mother’s withdrawal tactics during arguments.
The way I want to react to perceived abandonment is pretty flaily and crazy-making. If I feel like someone has pulled away from me, or is shutting me out, or has gone non-responsive, I feel panicky. I want to get their attention and reassurance as fast as possible. I want to talk to them, message them, email them, hound them to get reassurance that they’re not abandoning me. If it goes on too long I start to get angry… I want to provoke them, annoy them, get them to argue with me: anything to get them to notice me. If it becomes too emotionally charged I start to want to do dramatic things. I have never self-harmed but I’ve fantasized about it, or wished I could be severely injured or sick so that people would “be sorry”. These thoughts were rife in my teenage years (I think that’s not uncommon) but I still occasionally find them cropping up when I feel abandoned.
As you can see, the whole thing is a pretty crazy reaction that can lead to a sharp downwards spiral.
I’ve become very conscious and critical of these abandonment reactions lately. I don’t want to be someone who drives friends and loved ones crazy with constant pestering for reassurance. I know I’ve pestered people in the past. I also know that some people (probably unconsciously) have used my need for reassurance to deliberately keep me off-balance or to ‘punish’ me. Both of those are good reasons to get the reactions sorted out.
I can control the reaction – several times lately I’ve had to sit on my hands and not flail to deal with a person’s apparent (or in a couple of cases, actual) withdrawal. I’m proud that I haven’t gone off the deep end on any of these occasions, and have only outwardly reacted by mentioning one or two of these events on this blog. But inside – there’s a weepy, flaily abandonment-fearing crazyperson wanting to get out. There have been tears when no one is looking, and a lot of hand-sitting and attempts at self-soothing to stop myself from going nuts.
That’s what I’d like to try to do next – get those internal reactions under control. To feel okay about people pulling away, and accept the comings and goings (whether actual or imagined) calmly without feeling like my world will fall apart if I can’t get a person to acknowledge me right away. I’m not quite sure where to start, but it’s something I’ll be doing a lot of thinking about over the next few weeks.
Sometimes life whomps you so hard and so unexpectedly that there's nothing you can do but sit back and wait for it to stop. You can't rationalise or plan or do anything really except let the feelings come and go and accept them as they pass.
The past 11 days have been like that for me.
Tuesday of the week before last, I went to a Bi Underground meeting in a north London pub. It was just a social thing, and I was hoping to meet other fun, geeky, open-minded people to hang out with. Nothing too challenging.
After about half an hour, a guy walked in (henceforth, SK). My eyes met his.
WHOMP.
We've now been 'officially' together for a little over a week, and it is amazing. We are on the same page and in sync in so many ways that it's just scary and bizarre that we met in such a random way. This one is really, really, really good. For 5 days I was completely delirious with excitement.
WHOMP.
On Thursday my favourite London school offered me, via my recruitment company, a 6-week supply posting covering a teacher that's been called up for jury duty. She'll be out until the end of the school year, securing my income until the summer holidays, which is a fantastic relief.
WHOMP.
On Sunday night I had trouble sleeping, and on Monday on my way to work, my mobile phone rang. It was my brother in Perth, and right away I knew what it must be. My beloved grandfather Paul had passed away peacefully mid-afternoon Perth time. He had dementia and repeated lung infections and was in a nursing home, and we knew he could go at any time. I knew I wouldn't be home for it when I left, but that's no consolation now.
WHOMP.
One of my aunts did offer to pay for me to go back to Perth for the funeral, but not only would I lose income, I'd also lose this extended posting at the school, and probably wipe out any chance of a year-long job with them after the holidays. It wouldn't be worth it to go home. But I feel such a terribly long way away from my family. Mum is missing me dreadfully (even though she told me not to come back for the funeral, she wishes I was there) and I just want to hug my family and be near them right now.
I miss my grandfather so much. It was time and more for him to go, but now I will never, ever hear his voice again. It's taken me a few days to come to grips with the sadness - through the week I've been putting on a brave face and coping as well as I can, but as the surreal feeling fades and the reality takes hold, I'm falling down inside.
Dickens had it right - it was the best of times and the worst of times. I can't balance up the amazingness of finding SK and the relief of this teaching position and the grief of losing Paul. It won't all fit in my head.
I feel whomped.
So I'm drifting and waiting for it all to make sense again.
It's exactly 4 months today until I leave for London.
I am SO ready to go. There are lots of people and things I'll miss, but the closer the date gets, the more I'm looking forward to the freedom of it. I need to get away from the too-familiar patterns of life. I need to get away from people who constrain me with assumptions and expectations that I should not have to meet. I need to get away from the constant scrutiny and questioning and everything.
In case it's not obvious, I'm feeling a little harassed at the moment! I love my family dearly but sometimes I feel like everything I do is under the microscope, and I'm tired of being constantly cross-examined and/or bullied about choices that are no one's business except mine. I am desperately looking forward to a fresh start and a nice solid distance between me and the people who think they know me.
I will miss them horribly, of course. But it will also be exhilarating.
I took a slightly scary step today and altered my units so I'm double-majoring in Literature and Theology. I wasn't going to do it, because it would interfere with my creative writing minor; but I realised that I couldn't get that minor without doing several internal units, and that's going to be impossible if I'm still in London, or if I'm back in Perth, may or may not be impossible, as I have no idea what I'll be doing! I can do the Lit & Theol double major entirely externally, so I've picked my probable units and worked out a schedule of study. I've decided to push myself this semester while I'm not working full-time, and do three units. Then I'll drop back to two for two semesters before jumping up to 3 again. At that rate I'll finish halfway through 2013.
The Theology major is a source of major (heh) confusion. Part of the reason I decided to go ahead and do it is that I have absolutely no idea why I'm so drawn to it. I just don't know what it is about having a degree in theology that is so irresistible, but it's drawing me towards it and I can't say no. It's absolutely bizarre. I've wanted things, many times; I want the lit degree, for example. But the theology degree wants me. I've never experienced anything like it. I'm so confused. It's not something I've planned or expected or anticipated, but it feels like exactly the right choice.
(I wanted to insert a macro in here with an In Soviet Russia, Degree Gets You caption, but I couldn't find a picture that I liked, so you'll just have to take it as read.)
There's a word in my mind, and writing it or saying it out loud is almost beyond me at the moment, but I can't chase it away. Ordination. There. Ha. Wrote it.
It worries me because it would be so hard to get people to understand why I was doing it. I'm a naturally religious girl in an apathetically agnostic family. How does that even happen? I'm becoming more and more comfortable with the fact that faith is an integral part of my personality, and I'm learning to talk about it without embarrassment. But such a public display of commitment to that faith? Some of my family might never speak to me again. I know that for a fact. Other friends and family might drift away, or never feel comfortable around me again. I would expect to pay an extremely high social price for making that commitment.
And yet, I'm not the slightest bit afraid of it. Just intrigued.
And THAT is scary. I'm scared of my lack of fear. Huh.
... Yes, I did say I was confused.
This is part of the reason why I just need to be away. I can't see or hear what I want to do over the shouting of social expectations. I'm craving the solitude of being a very long way away, so that I can hear myself think and work out where I'm going with this.
In some ways, the 8th of May is the end of the forseeable future for me. I have absolutely no idea what will happen on the other side of it. But I have no doubt it will be exciting and fascinating.
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In other news, my ebook reader finally arrived today, and I've loaded it up with the complete Sherlock Holmes. Oh, the joys of reading :) *sings*
I've had a very nice Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Dad, Dad's girlfriend, my brother, my brother's fiancee and I gathered at Dad's, and we got Chinese takeaway and made a festive meal of it. We all sat around chatting until late, when I had to leave for midnight mass. I was rostered on at the cathedral, so no escaping it!
Midnight mass was fun - all four acolytes had the giggles and we kept teasing each other or making eye contact and grinning about things. It was a very delightful experience.
I wasn't in bed until 2:30am, so I was pretty tired when my alarm went off. I dragged myself back to the cathedral for a "big moment" - I was rostered on as Gospel Subdeacon, standing in front of the nave altar beside the celebrant, assisting with the major parts of the service. Scary, as I've only done it once before! This is how I looked:
There was a TV camera there, but the news I managed to tape only showed a few seconds of the footage. I was in it, but was facing the altar with my back to the camera, so you could only see my robes and ponytail! Pretty cool nonetheless.
After church I had lunch with Dad, his girlfriend and my Grandma. It was low-key as Grandma has COPD and poor hearing, so we can't be too boisterous around her. It was a pleasant meal, but I was glad to run away to my room for a while afterwards for some no-people time.
In the late afternoon I trekked up to Mum's for dinner. We opened presents then sat down to a fantastic traditional turkey meal, which Mum has down to a fine art. Afterwards we sat around chatting, reminiscing and joking for hours.
On Boxing Day I slept until midday, trying to catch up on some sleep. In the afternoon we (Dad, his girlfriend, me) went to Grandma's for afternoon tea, where we met my aunt, her girlfriend, and my 24-year-old female cousin whom I haven't seen for ages. We had a lovely time chatting about family and nibbling delicacies.
I'm determined to go nowhere and do nothing today, apart from sit at the computer, practise my French & German, and maybe write something. I'm tired, but it's been a good Christmas, and I'm sure I'll have lots of fond memories of it when I'm freezing my butt off in London this time next year!
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I'm currently in the process of choosing my units for next semester. At this point I've decided to take Introduction to Literature and Thinking Theology (basically Theology 101). The degree keeps morphing in my head, but right now I'm majoring in Literature and minoring in Creative Writing and Theology. Part of my mind keeps pondering that it's not too late by any means to switch to a BTheol rather than a BA, but I don't think I'm ready for that yet. So I'll minor in it, see how I feel about it. I'll go ahead with my plan to do this degree and get a PhD in Lit, then see whether BTheol still appeals. It's the next logical step in this faith journey, and has been calling me softly for some time, but I'm not at that point yet. If that's where I'm going, I'll get there eventually!
I turned 29 yesterday, and celebrated with a "Not Quite 30th Birthday Party" hehe. I won't be able to have the grand 30th shinding I was planning as I'll be celebrating my 30th in England, so I threw it a year early in a slightly less dramatic format. It was a great evening with lots of fun had by all.
Today I had lunch with various family members on Mum's side and had a nice convivial time.
These are some of the gifts I got:
A turquoise & silver pendant;
A pair of silver & amethyst earrings; The Lonely Planet: Europe on a Shoestring; The Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Travel;
A box of Toblerone Tinys;
A bottle of Brown Brothers Tawny Port;
An Australia to UK power point adaptor;
A shiny black passport cover with cute things embroidered in black on it;
A necklace of blue Venetian glass beads;
A £10 note (worth $20 Australian; the start of my first-day-in-the-UK currency collection!);
An unspecified amount donated to World Vision in my name; and
A digital photo frame (major present from Mum, the idea being that I can put up any photo anywhere once I'm in the UK).
I'm also getting a BeBook e-book reader (major present from Dad - can't do without books even when moving continents!) and a silver and amethyst pendant, both of which are still in the post. I'm looking forward to those late birthday presents!
I've had a lovely birthday and I feel very privileged to have such lovely friends and family :)
I was up at Mum's this afternoon getting my budget plugged in to her budget program. I stayed for dinner, and as we were serving out, Mum said something about MD.
11yo Brother: Who is MD? Mum: Christine's new boyfriend . . . is he a boyfriend, or someone you're just dating? Me: Y- 13yo Sister: He's a boyfriend, they changed their statuses on Facebook. Me: ... Me: Totally busted by my sister. Thanks, sis!
Mum phoned me this morning in tears to say that the family cat, Mia, who has had cancer for a couple of years, finally needed to be put down. She'd become very weak and was shaking a lot, breathing strangely and not moving around much. They've waited because she wasn't in pain even though her left ear and eye had gone funny, but it was time.
I raced up the hill and gave Mia a cuddle before my stepdad took her to the vet. She was still aware and greeted me and purred when I stroked her, but she was also clearly very unwell. I stayed with Mum for an hour, chatting to her and 13yo sis and comforting each other. It wasn't until I left that I suddenly started bawling my eyes out, and on the way up to the highway I passed my stepfather returning from the vet where Mia was put down, which *really* set me off. Soon I found I was crying my heart out, not just for Mia, but for Phyllida too even though I thought I'd cried myself out over her before; and for my maternal grandfather, who is having regular mini-strokes and getting more fragile by the week, and probably won't see out the year. I had to go to a particular shop half an hour away and I cried nearly all the way there, and I'm still on the verge of tears now even though it's hours later and I've been racing around doing errands and things. I just feel hurt all through.
My housemate is away all weekend so I'm alone. I have friends who will drop everything to look after me or will include me in their plans, but I think maybe I do need to be alone. Grieving has to be done, it can't just be ignored. I obviously have some things about Phyllida and my grandfather that need to be processed and have been kick-started by losing Mia, and I need to address them. It's time to write some not-to-be-sent letters again.
I went to the shops this evening to buy bathers. Ha. I came away with a rash vest that will cover up the bathers I bought when I was 10kg heavier, and between those bathers, the rashie and my board shorts I should get away with the kids' swimming lessons for the next two weeks. I hope. I also came home with a self-tanning moisturiser. I abhor tanning and despair that people still use the sun or sun beds to damage their skin in the pursuit of a particular appearance. But . . . my legs are SO white. So I'm caving a bit and using a cocoa butter with a gradual bronzing ingredient instead of regular cocoa butter, which is my all-over body moisturiser of choice. Just so that I don't walk around the pool feeling like a rising moon!
I also splashed out just a little bit and bought myself a $25 sterling silver and cubic zirconia ring. It's very simple - the silver splits across the top into two little waves and a small circular CZ is caught between them. I'll post a picture when I can. Resizing is going to cost more than the actual ring - about $35 - but I'll have it next Thursday. It's a reward for having the courage to get myself to here and now, physically, mentally, emotionally and financially. I think I've done rather well!
Mum just forwarded to me an email from my aunt, who is currently living in England and was able to go to Phyllida's funeral. From her description it was an absolutely gorgeous service and very satisfying and joyous as well as sad.
I'm bawling my eyes out, but I'm glad too. How strange is that?
Mum's first cousin, Phyllida, passed away from leukaemia overnight Perth time, so Christmas afternoon / evening in London where Phyllida and her family live. She'd been sick for 18 months and had several setbacks recently (of the organ failure variety), and we'd been told a few days ago that there was no hope and little time. Phyllida was the same age as Mum (52) and completely healthy before the leukaemia struck. She was Mum's closest cousin and beloved by the whole family connection because she was just a nice, nice, nice person. She had a husband and a 17-year-old son who must be going through an unimaginable Christmas period dealing with this. I had only met Phyllida a couple of times, and while I liked her a lot I wasn't close to her, so I'm just quietly grieving, as much for the grief my closer relatives are feeling than for my own grief. Mum and my grandparents are devastated, as is a first cousin who lived in London for some time and knew Phyllida well, and other aunts, uncles and cousins who have visited her in London.
Keeping them all in your thoughts would be very much appreciated.
Christmas post in a few days when this has all sunk in.
I stutter when I get nervous. I always have done. I hate hearing myself do it, but of course getting worked up about the stuttering makes me stutter even more! And since I've always been nervous in just about every social setting, even with family I've known all my life, there's been a lot of stuttering over the years.
Last night, Stepdad's family Christmas. I've known this lot since I was in my early teens, consider them family, and yes, have always had stuttering moments around them, particularly when speaking to my step-uncles and the one cousin my age.
This time - not a single stutter. And not because I stayed silent, either :D In fact I was in conversation pretty much constantly, and my voice never so much as wavered. I felt 100% secure in myself the entire time.
I also realised this morning that I haven't had any negative self-talk for at least a week.
I started this blog when I was 25, and now I'm 28. Yeep!
I've been having a great day, too, despite having had to work. Dad came up for our Presentation Night yesterday, and stayed over. We stayed up until 1am talking, and then this morning he gave me a card with money in it before he left. Yay!
The staff got me a really nice present, too, which I got at lunchtime :D
And then when I went to the post office after school I received a card from my grandmother with scratch-and-win tickets in it, on which I won $20, and more importantly, a package from Murdoch University saying that I got into the course I applied to do! I'm so excited :D I can't wait to enrol! And what a fantastic birthday present!
I'm happy in a way I'm not really used to. I'm very excited over the course, but the happiness itself isn't hysterical, desperate happiness, but rather contentment and recognition that the good parts of life are good no matter what else is going on. This is somewhat new for me, and I'm enjoying it. Y hallo thar, inner peace!
Growing pains of the soul and mind are no less painful than those of the body.
At the moment I'm digging deep into my childhood, doing the work I need to do to understand why I get pulled into negative relationships time and time again. Part of the answer is the straightforward issue of being an Aspie growing up in a neurotypical word which has given me a desperate need to belong, to be normal, to be seen as fitting in. Sticking with bananaheads because being in a grown-up relationship made me one of the "real people" is part of my problem.
But the more painful issue is one of sibling dynamics. Throughout my childhood, my brother was the one who acted up and acted out. Not that he had no reason - diagnosed with ADHD and undiagnosed with Aspergers, he didn't exactly have it easy. But his problems were so visible. He got into trouble, he had manic episodes, he broke windows, he had to change schools so many times because the staff were running out of patience with his issues. Not all the time - not every day - but he was certainly a high-maintenance child.
I was the opposite. I never acted out, and when my problems did bubble to the surface, they came in the form of hysterics and inconsolable tears. I was a withdrawn, introverted child, the polar opposite of my brother. My problems were no less severe - diagnosed ADD and undiagnosed Aspergers - but I was no trouble. My brother received the lion's share of everyone's attention, because he had to. He needed it, for sure. But I needed it too . . . and never got it. That is the great unmet need of my childhood - for someone to look past the fact that my brother was loud and I was quiet, and realise that I needed help too.
Time and time again, when my brother worked himself up into a state and started acting out, my parents would rescue him - new school, new counsellor, new hobby etc. For years and years and years I waited for my parents to rescue me too. I just knew that sooner or later they would realise just how much pain I was in, how much I was struggling at school, and pull me out, find me a school that would work for me. It never happened . . . because they never knew. And I never asked for help. How could I ask, when my brother so clearly needed their attention more than I?
One effect of this dynamic is relatively easy to deal with: I need to learn to acknowledge my own needs, recognise them as valid, and be prepared to stand up for them. Another effect . . . not so easy. I have to ask myself: do I get into these relationships where I am still suffering and still living out that silently-going-crazy coping role because I am still waiting to be rescued? Is the part of me that puts up with these relationships that same little girl who waited all those years for someone to notice the pain? Am I unable to say no to crazy-making situations because it's my way of giving the universe / my peers / my parents / others one last chance to do what I needed them to do all those years ago?
I have to put that pain to bed forever before I can let someone into my life. I need to make peace with the fact that child-Christine and teen-Christine are never going to be rescued. I have to learn to live with how it was, not how it should have been.
I haven't the faintest idea where to start, but I'll get there somehow.
I'm watching "The Holiday" this evening and want to share this quote:
Iris: "I wanted to get away from one guy, an ex-boyfriend who just got engaged and forgot to tell me." Arthur: "So, he’s a schmuck." Iris: "As a matter of fact he is a huge schmuck . . . how did you know?" Arthur: "He let you go. This is not a hard one to figure out."
I have mentioned before the wonderful blog Getting Past Your Past, an incredibly empowering resource for people who are grieving over their break-up and are ready to question why it went wrong and what they can do to end up in a good relationship next time. The site advocates using a tool called the "Relationship Inventory" to take stock of what went wrong and right in your last relationship, and what that meant in terms of your own satisfaction. Some of the questions are hard to answer, because they ask you to question your own beliefs and understandings. But when you finish, it feels good. Oh, so good.
These are some of the things I’ve discovered so far.
1. S was controlling, manipulative, jealous, passive-aggressive, inflexible and enormously self-centred.
2. I ignored S’s behaviour because I was busy being the ‘good’ girlfriend and enabling S’s behaviour because giving in to him meant that I was not being a brat.
3. This was an issue for me because I have struggled against a tendency to a volatile temper. I had formerly adopted crazy-making habits and was determined to defeat them, to the point where I failed to maintain basic standards about how I could be treated.
4. I also ignored S’s increasingly crazy-making behaviour because I did not have the self-confidence to admit that I could see that it was going wrong.
5. This was a self-confidence issue for me because I felt that being in a proper adult relationship was a validation of my own status as a genuine adult, meant that I was ‘keeping up’ with my partnered friends and cousins. These are two issues I have struggled with. By backing out of the relationship I would be going back to the ‘single and failing at life’ tag I’d ascribed to myself.
6. I have self-esteem issues for a number of reasons going right back to the first few years of school. One is the simple fact that having an Aspergers brain means that I have felt different, substandard and confused for much of my life. Another is my role of silent child / ‘the one who copes’ in my family structure. The latter has resulted in my aversion towards asking for help and a habit of belittling my own needs because, as a child, my needs were never as great as those of my brother. I have also developed the habit of belittling my achievements, because what I achieved in spite of my minor needs were never as impressive as what others (ie my brother) achieved in the face of his greater needs. This is a false perception, and a belief not shared by other people, who see my achievements independently to others’ and are really very proud of me.
7. In most of my relationships, I have repeated the pattern of accepting what I should not accept, because I lacked the self-confidence to draw the line at the risk of losing the relationship. In these situations I was clinging to the validation that being in any relationship provided, and doubted my own ability to distinguish between acceptable friction and unacceptable behaviour. I broke up with B because of his denigrating behaviour, then reneged and had to find it out again in the repeat relationship. I took it from E until my walk-over-ness drove him away. I caught it in time with N. With C, I allowed actual abuse to drag on for a year before finally refusing to accept it any longer, precipitating the breakup. D drove himself away by buying into his own crazy-making manipulation, but I had realised that the relationship was going to end because of it. With S, I pretended that I could accept and deal with the treatment I was receiving, and although I still have no idea exactly what precipitated the breakup on S’s part, the way he was treating me was appalling and I should not have been allowing it.
8. The key for me to have successful relationships in the future is to develop an unassailable feeling of self-worth, and to be absolutely clear with myself about what I will and will not accept from others. To do this I will need to unpack every layer of my self-doubt, address every false perception, reject every unwarranted label, and replace the falsehoods with positive truths that will support my belief that I deserve only the best treatment from only the best people. Then, and only then, will I be ready for another relationship.
So there it is. I have a LOT of work ahead of me. I don’t know how long it will take, and for some parts I don’t even know how I will achieve it. But I’m going to get there. No more crazy-making, no more doubt. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.
Our language and culture tends to deal in absolutes. He is a student. She is a teacher. People are, or are not. We have more trouble with processes, gradual slides from one thing to another. And this is strange, because most people spend most of their lives in the process of changing, not as the static "things" their labels would suggest.
I am not a human who is being one particular thing or another. I am hundreds of processes. I am a human becoming. What am I becoming? Who knows! We might just find out together.
