goodness gracious me

Dear Pappa Bear,

I was going to write this by hand, but I thought it would be better if I typed it – because then you’ll receive it straight away.

E and I had a big chat, and we both cried a lot. It’s unusual for her to be upset – to the point of crying, anyway. And I knew, as soon as she began to speak that something wasn’t quite right. I could sense her sadness. We talked a lot about her dad and about you; about our relationships, about loss, about being sick. I told her how much I miss Poppy. How very sad I am. How sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, crying because I know I’ll never get to speak to him again. I know that it’s all part of the process – that I am grieving. I know that those thoughts - those moments of shock – will be few and far in between, eventually.

Eventually.

It’s such an interesting concept, don’t you think? Eventually, I will be a University graduate. Eventually, I will record a 5 track EP. Eventually, I will have a piece published in Frankie Magazine.  Eventually, I will move out of Company Street. Eventually, I will get a haircut, get a job, get out of Adelaide. Eventually, I will lose my mum and my dad.

When I saw you in Hospital on Saturday morning, I thought that it might be the last. Your glazed-over eyes and slow breathing had me convinced that I was going to lose you. I tried to be brave. I even made a joke in the car on the way home with Shane. But the thought was there, and I was so angry and so scared and so sad. I wasn’t just angry at you – I was angry at myself. I know that our relationship has changed dramatically. And I know it must be confusing for you, sometimes. It is for me, as well. It wasn’t intentional, Dad. It just happened, you know? There was a shift.

And I’m not quite sure where the anger comes from. I just know that it exists. And I’m sorry for its existence, I really am. But I think it’s more about me, and what I want and need. We were both so stressed and tense when I was living in Nelson Street. I was so tired, Dad. I was so frustrated and so easily annoyed. And I didn’t want to be. I didn’t like who I was. And sometimes I miss being there; I miss my bed and I miss doing the dishes together. I miss the noises and I miss having cups of tea with you.  It was my home, for a really long time.

I don’t miss the yelling or the screaming or the slammed doors or the volatility, though. I always felt like you were disappointed in me, and maybe that’s unfair…but it’s true. I felt like, if I wasn’t working or studying, then I was letting you down. I was just trying to figure out what I wanted, though. I was so unsure – of everything. And I didn’t feel understood and that’s probably where some of the anger and frustration came from. For a long time, I felt like I was constantly tripping over. Stumbling. And it was really upsetting – because everyone said things like, “You have so much potential,” etcetera. And I do. I know I do. But I couldn’t quite get there. I needed time. And now I’m at Uni and I’m doing really well and it’s all starting to fall in to place. I know that I could have finished the Early Childhood degree, but I wouldn’t have been happy. Life is too short to be miserable. I don’t ever want to do something just because I’m “supposed to,” even if that (according to others makes me selfish. I just don’t see the point in doing a 3 year degree, only to feel resentment and disappointment and regret. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. Because I love the Psych degree and I know that if I continue on in the same way as in Semester 1, then I’ll land a place in the Honours program and I’ll be able to achieve that particular goal. I can do it, Dad. But more than that, I want to.

During my Skype date with E,  I told her about R and I said, “My heart is breaking for him.” And it is. I’m sure that when I was 16, 17, 18 . . . people told me that it wouldn’t always be like this. I’m sure they did. And I’m sure that all I felt when they told me was disbelief. But it does get better. And the fact that I no longer think about dying – except only in the way that you’re supposed to – is testament to that. I don’t think about drowning anymore. I still have days when I’m desperately sad. But I don’t wish that I was dead, instead of just sad. I want to have a family and grow old and a million other things in between. I want to be able to look back on my long life and to be proud of all that I’ve achieved. I am proud of myself now and I’m only 23. It’s a relatively new feeling but it’s definitely one to hold on to.

I am proud of how far I’ve come in regards to my music, and my eating. I am proud of the fact that I’m no longer 40-something kilos. I am recovering from an Eating Disorder and for that, I am proud of myself. I am proud of the close friendships I have; long-standing relationships with people like S, J and D. I am proud of the relationship I have with E. I am proud of how well I am doing at Uni. I am proud of the fact that I have never had a cigarette. I am proud of my slowly-changing body shape, because it means that I am healthy. I am proud of how easily I make new friends. I am proud of the fact that I am getting better at letting things go – toxic relationships, old regrets . . . I am proud of the fact that I can stand up for myself. I am proud of who I am, and who I am becoming. I am learning, still. And I will continue to learn and grow and evolve. I will make mistakes and I won’t always get it right the first time around. But I’m not giving up, Dad.

And don’t ever think that I’ve given up on you, either. I know that we don’t really hang out anymore, but you’re in the back of my mind and whenever something happens – good or bad, I always want to tell you. I want to share things with you, like my music and my successes with Uni. I just can’t be present all the time. I know that you would probably like to see me more often and I’m sorry that it hasn’t been the case. But when I’m not at uni, I’m with my friends or at home – just having Grace time. I am learning more and more to be okay with just being by myself. I’m sure you can understand that. And after the two weeks in Grafton, I realised that I should be making more of an effort with you, because you won’t be around forever. Your stint in the QEH definitely reiterated that. And it scared me. It fucking terrified me. So, this is me – saying to you – that I will make more of an effort, perhaps dinner at your place once a week (I just can’t guarantee what night it will be, because things come up, etc) but I want to do that and I want to make sure that our relationship remains positive, and that you know how loved you are.

And on that note, I might leave it there. Don’t feel like you have to reply, I just wanted to get these words out and for you to have time to sit down and really take them in.

Over the years, that list has been edited a number of times. There are core values that remain, though. Things like, “They have to get along with at least one of their parents,” and “Having a car is preferable.” I don’t care so much now about their taste in music or whether they know who Angus and Julia Stone are. I care about morals and goals and how quick they are to anger; their use of language, their favourite books.

I have been single - properly single - for close to two years. This has mostly been by choice. I loved someone, more than I could possibly ever explain. But he was manipulative and cruel and he did not love me back. I wrote a handful of songs about him though, and I thought that maybe we would end up together.

I have floated through the past year and a half. I have kissed plenty of guys, had one night stands, fallen in to routines of hanging out with - and then sleeping with - a handful of dudes. I have entertained the idea of a future with one or two of these guys, and I have had my ego bruised. Not necessarily heart break, but some version of it.

The same patterns repeat themselves. I can usually sense when something is about to fall apart. I know when the “I’m not looking for anything serious,” conversation is about to happen. I know when I not wanted. The cracks are easily visible, and yet . . . I continue on in the same way.

Something has shifted, though. The Universe has offered up a new chance in the shape of a 28 year old carpenter with sparkly eyes and a warmth that I feel in my bones.

It is early days for us, but I feel that it could be the start of something, you know? I wasn’t ready a few months ago. If I had been introduced to M even a couple of weeks ago, I probably would have shrugged my shoulders and said, “I can’t do this.”

I want to let him in, though.

I remember when you came back. I asked J how he felt; if he was glad that you were home. I think he said something about how you were just friends . . . that he didn’t love you anymore. It’s hard to tell if he was lying, or not. I think there was probably some truth in what he was saying, but then again . . .

It’ll be me and him and our little girl and maybe a dog or a goldfish and there’ll be books and music and brightly-painted walls and excellent snacks and instruments and cuddles and (hopefully) a big bath and routines and traditions and unconditional love and theme-nights and picnics and kissing and singing.

He’ll understand my dark days and I will understand when he can’t. I will always say yes to a cuddle. I’ll teach our little one to skip and to tie her shoelaces and to say “please” and “thank you” and “you’re welcome.”

I’ll read to her every night; sing to her every morning. We’ll swim and splash and dance and twirl and giggle.

It won’t be perfect, but it will be our version of it. We will all have a sense of belonging. We will know that we are loved and respected; admired and adored.