Saturday, June 21, 2014
On the outside looking in
Christmas last year, I spent at St Leonards with my children, Mum and Dad and my brothers and their families. I’d spent twenty years wondering if each Christmas would be the last I would have my Dad. Last year; he looked good. I didn’t wonder. I guess I’d stopped wondering; believing his off handed claims that he would live forever.
But I regress. This was not a blog about my Dad, even though I still can’t quite believe how it feels not to have him in my life and I wonder how long it will take to get to the part where I smile when I think of him instead of feeling like there is a ragged hole of a wound where someone stabbed my heart.
My focus for this entry is on the photos taken Christmas day; more specifically, a series of me and the ex-squeeze. I know that they say the camera adds kilos, but I look back at those photos and I see an empty stranger and wonder how the hell I became that person. We look like a pair of dumplings. Pudgy faces and bodies…
As I look back, I see that although we had metamorphosed into something else, the reasons why and what we saw when we looked at each other was completely different.
I still saw the person that I loved; but became the person I felt he saw. It amazes me the physical impact emotions can have on a person. I wasn’t valued by the person I loved; therefore, I must not have value. I was vapid; and as I look at the photos, I see that at least on some conscious level, I was aware that I was becoming invisible. I wore a bright green and red dress on with red and green streaks in my hair (it was Christmas, after all).
I walked out of that door and have shed nine kilo; I’m writing… I’m saving. Life isn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s good. Last weekend I spent down the coast with my best friend. Today I’m off to the other side of town to catch up with another friend. My kids come and go; work is busy…
I always thought that my life would run to script. Meet someone, fall in love, get a home, grow old; but steps one and two would appear to be next to impossible; maybe they just weren’t for me. Maybe they were never meant to be for me. Now I see that I need to forget those steps and focus on getting a house and having somewhere to grow old at, on my own.
I need to get back to discovering myself. I need to write. Focus on turning my life back to the course it’s supposed to be on – whatever the Hell that is… Having said that, if the perfect guy lands in my lap, I’m not going to slam the door in his face.
Posted by Mistress at 11:27 AM