AN ASIDE…Of today.
It is just that edge of perverse, when you shop for poison. Yet, one man’s pen is the other woman’s poison, so that which I bought myself last night without appetite for it, without desire, wholly knowing what it would do to the physical being that is me – it wouldn’t be poison to a l l.
Like smoking cigarettes,
like eating so excessively you make yourself sick,
like choosing relationships that corrode you, as you thought no one could, how your father did, again
and again and again.
Like pouring that liquid down your throat, it bubbles in your belly, burns to death all good in its path to the liver,
to damage to kill to destroy, you.
Rather like a like on a Facebook page, it is false comfort.
I have been doing extremely well, because I found another passion. No – NO: my son re-presented that passion to me. It is in both our blood. I was doing it before he fired in my womb. And like Sifu Gawain Sue said to me at purple belt, “Martial arts is to be practiced everywhere, every day; not just here in the dojo”, and l realized I’d been practicing it for many years, long before I entered the dojo…
Sorry, I’m being cryptic. I don’t mean to be: Daniel gave me a one month pass to his dojo, to practice BJJ, muay thai, fundamentals (core strength training) – anything I like, for a month.
“But don’t you want to spend it on one of your friends?”
“You can have it, Mum.”
His response did not address my question, but it answered my veiled question. My son still loves me, though our years brought me to my weakest moment in my whole life.
I’m rambling, but I need to get this off my chest before I can write freely again:
Been doing good. Really good. Felt good.
Was feeling stronger.
Was feeling power return to my life
as I did martial arts again at my son’s dojo.
Was doing good at work too
–coping with the stress better,
not just coming home and drinking, hating whereat I had lost myself.
Daniel was feeling good, his Mum being better
- and better and better.
Then, I got up.
I went to the shop.
I bought some poison.
I drank the poison.
I blacked out.
I woke up.
It was today.
The echoes of voices past
(you may not be happy, you may NOT be well).
I was doing SO well, I HAD to kill it. I HAD to poison it. “Don’t think your shit don’t stink.” “Yes dad.”
I realize (now) that I am having a hard time letting go of “her” – the other me, the me that has been fallen, struggling, aching, breaking for decades.
CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?
I am actually having difficulty
in embracing the wellness
that the last week suggested
could be my life.
I felt good for one week, ONE week I tell you, and then I drenched it in alcohol. Drowned her. Every step forward I had edged myself last week, I drowned back to square one last night. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle.
Is she dragging me back, or am I holding on to the broken her, absurdly afraid of allowing happiness, so accustomed am I to its opposite? Get away healthy, well, fighting you: YOU are not allowed to BE.
I guess I’m speaking this aloud, Subbers – I’m sharing now because there is a sub-theme running with this whole novel that you are unwittingly privy to… besides which, I don’t know many people in this Melbourne town and, well yes, this blog is something of an outlet to a fairly reclusive writer like me.
The main theme is Daniel and me living beyond what hell we went through, and the sub-theme is me here and now trying to get beyond way much else within, still haunting, still struggling, still holding me down and stomping on my happy head, when my happy head dares to rise.
Boots like dad’s.
Ah, pathetic, we humans can be.
One of the videos from my blog VodkaWasMyMuse, which I let drop to focus on the novel this year, to put closure to the novel this year, to blossom forward. I guess I’ve dragged this out to remind myself after bludgeoning my wellness so repulsively,
yesterday is SO passé.
Copyright Noeleen&Daniel 50/50